"
"I can see no objection to your terms, thus far. But who is to be my
overlord?"
"A person whom you may remember," replied Miramon, and he beckoned
toward the rainbow throng of his followers.
One of them at this signal came forward. He was a tall lean youngster,
with ruddy cheeks, wide-set brown eyes, and a smallish head covered with
crisp, tightly-curling dark red hair: and Manuel recognized him at once,
because Manuel had every reason to remember the queer talk he had held
with this Horvendile just after Niafer had ridden away with Miramon's
dreadful half-brother.
"But do you not think that this Horvendile is insane?" Dom Manuel asked
the magician, privately.
"I confess he very often has that appearance."
"Then why do you make him my overlord?"
"I have my reasons, you may depend upon it, and if I do not talk about
them you may be sure that for this reticence also I have my reasons."
"But is this Horvendile, then, one of the Leshy? Is he the Horvendile
whose great-toe is the morning star?"
"I may tell you that it was he who summoned me to help you in distress,
of which I had not heard upon Vraidex, but why should I tell you any
more, Dom Manuel? Come, is it not enough that am offering you a province
and comparatively tranquil terms of living with your wife, that you must
have all my old secrets to boot?"
"You are right," says Manuel, "and prospective benefactors must be
humored.
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