She led me into a spacious room, so dimly lighted from the
low door and one small window that it seemed quite dark to me coming
from the bright sunlight. I stood for a few moments trying to accustom
my eyes to the gloom, while she, advancing to the middle of the
apartment, bent down and spoke to an aged man seated in a leather-bound
easy-chair.
"Papa," she said, "I have brought in a young man--a stranger who has
asked for shelter under our roof. Welcome him, papa."
Then she straightened herself, and, passing behind the chair, stood
leaning on it, facing me.
"I wish you good day, senor," I said, advancing with a little
hesitation.
There before me sat a tall, bent old man, wasted almost to a skeleton,
with a grey, desolate face and long hair and beard of a silver
whiteness. He was wrapped in a light-coloured _poncho_, and wore
a black skull-cap on his head. When I spoke he leant back in his seatand
began scanning my face with strangely fierce, eager eyes, all the
time twisting his long, thin fingers together in a nervous, excited
manner.
"What, Calixto," he exclaimed at length, "is this the way you come
into my presence? Ha, you thought I would not recognise you! Down--down,
boy, on your knees!"
I glanced at his daughter standing behind him; she was watching my
face anxiously, and made a slight inclination with her head.
Taking this as an intimation to obey the old man's commands, I went
down on my knees, and touched my lips to the hand he extended.
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