The
Posada Was A Large Building, The Windows Of Which Were Well Fenced
With Rejas, Or Iron Grating:
No light gleamed from them, and the
silence of death not only seemed to pervade the house, but the
street in which it was situated.
We knocked for a long time at the
gate without receiving any answer; we then raised our voices and
shouted. At last some one from within inquired what we wanted.
"Open the door and you will see," we replied. "I shall do no such
thing," answered the individual from within, "until I know who you
are." "We are travellers," said I, "from Seville." "Travellers,
are you," said the voice; "why did you not tell me so before? I am
not porter at this house to keep out travellers. Jesus Maria knows
we have not so many of them that we need repulse any. Enter,
cavalier, and welcome, you and your company."
He opened the gate and admitted us into a spacious courtyard, and
then forthwith again secured the gate with various bolts and bars.
"Are you afraid that the Carlists should pay you a visit," I
demanded, "that you take so much precaution?" "It is not the
Carlists we are afraid of," replied the porter; "they have been
here already, and did us no damage whatever. It is certain
scoundrels of this town that we are afraid of, who have a spite
against the master of the house, and would murder both him and his
family, could they but find an opportunity."
I was about to inquire the cause of this enmity, when a thick bulky
man, bearing a light in his hand, came running down a stone
staircase, which led into the interior of the building.
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