"Warmer work this, Señor Belmonte, than twanging viols and singing love songs, _n'est-ce pas?_" and from his throat there came again that laugh.
Glancing up, I saw that which caused me to start, even as I heard Juan say: "You! You here! And in this garb!"--saw that which made me wonder if I had gone demented. For this man who had so suddenly come to our rescue, this _fine lame_ whose thrusts had won the fray for us, was none other than the monk I had seen on board _La Sacra Familia_, the holy man known there as Father Jaime.
And swiftly as I gazed up at him there came to my recollection old Admiral Hopson's suspicions as to having seen him before, also the imitation pass he had made across the table with the quill at his brother-admiral, and his words:
"'Twas not always the cowl and gown that adorned his person--rather instead the belt and pistols--the long, serviceable rapier, handy."
Ere he answered either Juan's startled enquiries or my stare of amazement, which he must very well have seen in the moon's rays as I regarded him, he cantered off after my horse, which was standing quietly in the forest side by side with that other animal on whose neck the first wounded man had fallen--he was now lying dead upon the ground!--and brought both back to where we were, leading them by their reins.
"You will want your horse, monsieur," he said, "to continue your journey. _Bon Dieu!_ you both made a good fight of it, though they would have beaten you had I not come up at the moment."
"Believe us, we both thank you more than words can express," I said, while Juan sat his jennet, still breathing heavily from his exertions, yet peering with all the power of those bright eyes at the man before him, "but your appearance is so different from what it was when last we met that--that I am lost in amazement. You were, sir, a holy monk then."
"_Cucullus non facit monachum_," he replied, in what I recognised to be very good Latin, then added, with a laugh: "In journeying through dangerous places we are not always what we seem to be. To wit: Monsieur was either an English soldier or sailor when I saw him last--an enemy to Spain and France--hating both, as I should suppose. Yet now he is a private gentleman, and, I imagine, desires nothing less than that his real position should be known."