We said farewell to El Sereno, who lamented our departure on the morrow, and feared he might see us no more.
This was probable. Lerida, for all its quaint streets, old-world nooks and splendid outlines, was hardly a place to come to a second time. He moved away rather sadly, for he had his duty to perform, and the moments would not stand still.
We watched him receding in the dark night; a stalwart figure; an honest man, with much that was good in him, though his lines were not cast in grooves where influences for good are strong. At the end of the avenue he called the hour and the night; then passed up out of sight into the market-place once more. There in due time would return that quiet, solemn procession of two; the acolyte bearing the lantern, the priest with his bent back and the weight of years upon him bearing the Host: their mission accomplished: the last rites administered: the pure soul perhaps already far on its long journey.
The night passed on to dawn and daybreak and sunrise: a new day, a new world. Was Nerissa still lingering here, or, as she had said, had her sightless eyes opened to the world beyond? It was impossible to leave Lerida without ascertaining how it fared with this couple that we had found so interesting and exceptional. Though it delayed us some hours, it must be done, the visit paid.
We breakfasted, attended by the erring waiter, who looked pale and brooding and revengeful, as though he meditated drowning the Dragon in her own soapsuds. Then, in the clear early morning, we went forth.
The way was familiar by this time. We knew its every aspect: all the outlines were old friends. We passed up the avenue and through the crowded market-place, where people laughed and talked and bought and sold, as if life were one long joke and would last for ever, and there was no such thing as death and decay. Down the long narrow street where we again saw the men pressing the grapes, and noted the stain of the rich red juice, and smelt the luscious perfume of the muscatel--for they have red grapes here with the muscatel scent and flavour. Onwards into a quiet side street and the quaint old house that now had upon it the dark grey shadow.
We mounted the fine broad staircase with its carved oak balusters and panelled walls. There was not a sound to be heard. At such moments sympathy is quick to respond, and the awful messenger makes the weight of his errand known.