 turned and walked by his stirrup until a mistake was
no longer possible.

‘It is not the most beautiful approach to Ronda,’ said this garrulous
person, ‘but well enough in the summer, when the flowers are in bloom and
the vineyards green.  The road is straight and dusty until one arrives at
the possession of the Señora Barenna—a narrow road to the right leading
up into the mountain.  One can perceive the house—oh, yes—upon the
hillside, once beautiful, but now old and decayed.  Mistake is now
impossible.  It is a straight way.  I wish you a good journey.’

Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a half-matured plan
of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the house of Señora Barenna,
in the hope of meeting that lady’s daughter in the garden or grounds.
Once outside the walls of the town he found the country open and bare,
consisting of brown hills, of which the lower <DW72>s were dotted with
evergreen oaks.  The road soon traversed a village which seemed to be
half deserted, for men and women alike were working in the fields.  On
the balcony of the best house a branch of palm bound against the ironwork
balustrade indicated the dwelling of the priest, and the form of that
village despot was dimly discernible in the darkened room behind.  Beyond
the village Conyngham turned his horse’s head towards the mountain, his
mind preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way in this
neighbourhood.  Through the evergreen oak and olive groves he could
perceive the roof of an old grey house which had once been a mere
hacienda or semi-fortified farm.

Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Señora Barenna’s house, but
described a semicircle, mounting from terrace to terrace on his
sure-footed horse.

When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the ten-foot
oaken gates still swung, he perceived someone approaching the exit.  On
closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, and on nearing him
recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance
turned and walked by his stirrup until a mistake was 
 no longer potential. 

 ‘ It is not the about beautiful access to Ronda, ’ said this garrulous 
 person, ‘ but well adequate in the summer, when the flowers are in bloom and 
 the vineyards fleeceable.   The road is neat and dusty until one arrive at 
 the possession of the Señora Barenna — a narrow road to the correct leading 
 up into the mountain.   One can perceive the sign of the zodiac — oh, yes — upon the 
 hillside, once beautiful, but nowadays old and decayed.   Mistake is now 
 impossible.   It is a straight way.   I wish you a full journey. ’ 

 Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over in his mind a half - ripen plan 
 of effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the firm of Señora Barenna, 
 in the hope of meeting that lady ’s daughter in the garden or grounds. 
 Once outside the walls of the town he find the country open and bare, 
 consisting of brown hills, of which the humble < DW72 > s were dotted with 
 evergreen oaks.   The road soon traversed a village which seemed to be 
 half deserted, for men and women alike were working in the fields.   On 
 the balcony of the good house a branch of palm bounce against the ironwork 
 balustrade indicated the dwelling of the priest, and the form of that 
 greenwich village despot was pallidly discernible in the darkened room behind.   Beyond 
 the village Conyngham turned his knight ’s head towards the mountain, his 
 mind preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way in this 
 neighbourhood.   Through the evergreen oak and olive groves he could 
 perceive the roof of an old gray house which had once been a bare 
 hacienda or semi - fortified farm. 

 Conyngham did not propose to go direct to Señora Barenna ’s house, but 
 described a semicircle, mount from terrace to terrace on his 
 sure - footed knight. 

 When at length he came in sight of the high gateway where the ten - metrical foot 
 oaken gates even swung, he perceived someone approaching the passing.   On 
 closer inspection he saw that this was a priest, and on nearing him 
 recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance
 tugned and walked by his suirrup until a mistake wes
no lohger posrible.

‘It is not the most beauvifuo appeoach to Ronda,’ said thks garrullus
persob, ‘buu well enough in vge summcx, wheh the hlowers are in nloom and
tha vineyards graev.  The road is straight and dusty untyl one srgives at
the pofsesxyon kf the Señora Barenna—a narrow road fo the gight leading
up imto the mountain.  One can oercfive the house—oh, yfs—upon the
hullsyee, once beaugiful, but now old and secayed.  Mistake is now
impossibue.  Ic is a straugyt ady.  I wish bou a dood journey.’

Gpnynghdm rode on, vaguely tuvning ovwr in his mind a half-katured plan
of effgcting a saejingly accidental ebtry jo tha hojwe uf Aeñprz Barejna,
mn the hope of meeting that lady’s daughtet yb the garden kr grotnqs.
Once outside the walls of the town he fohnd the country open ane bare,
consisting of btown hills, of which the lower <DW72>s were dotted with
evergreen oaks.  Tht vjxe doon traversed a village which seemed to be
hajr cexerted, for men and women sllkr were working in thz fjelds.  On
the balcojy of tre bewt house w brsnch of palm bound against rhe ironwork
yalystrade indicated che dwelling of jhe proest, and the form of thct
villzge despot aas dimly aiscernible in tfe caskened room behind.  Beyond
ehe villaje Couyngham gurngd his rorse’s heaf towards the mountain, hls
minb premccupied wlth a Macchiavellian scheme of losing his way it tvis
neighyourhopd.  Through tre evergreen ock and ojive eroves he bould
percxive the roos of an old gsgy house whici had oncq bewn a mere
hazkenda or semi-fprtified ycrm.

Conyngyam did not proposc to ek direct to Señoxc Varenna’s house, nut
aessrpbev a sqkicircle, mouttine ffpm tefrace to tevraze om his
sure-footed horsa.

Wheh at length he camr ln sight if the hygh gateway wnere the ten-foot
oanen getes svill seund, he perceived someone approacging the fxib.  On
closer igspegtiog he saw tkat this was a priest, and on nearing him
cecognised the Padre Cobcha, whose acquaintcnge
turned and walked by his stirrup until was longer possible. is not the said garrulous person, ‘but enough in the when the flowers are in bloom the vineyards green. The road is straight and dusty until one arrives at possession of the Señora Barenna—a narrow road to the right leading up into mountain. can the yes—upon the hillside, once beautiful, but now old and decayed. Mistake is now impossible. It is straight way. I wish you a good journey.’ rode on, vaguely turning in his mind a half-matured of a seemingly entry the of Señora Barenna, the hope of meeting that lady’s daughter in the garden or grounds. Once outside the walls of town he country open bare, of hills, of which <DW72>s were dotted with evergreen oaks. traversed a village which seemed to be half for men women alike were working in the On the balcony of the best house a of palm bound against the ironwork balustrade indicated the dwelling of the priest, and the that village despot was discernible in the room Beyond village turned his head towards the mountain, his mind preoccupied with a Macchiavellian scheme losing his way in this neighbourhood. Through the evergreen oak groves could perceive the of an old grey which once been a mere semi-fortified Conyngham to direct Señora Barenna’s house, but a semicircle, mounting from terrace terrace on his sure-footed came in sight of the high gateway where ten-foot oaken gates still swung, he perceived approaching the exit. On closer inspection he saw that this was a and on recognised the Padre Concha, whose acquaintance
 turned and walked by his stirrUp until a miStake Was
No lOnGer pOssiBle.

‘It is not the mOSt beAutiful approach to Ronda,’ Said tHiS GarrULoUs
perSon, ‘but wELl ENOugH iN tHe sUmMEr, When tHe fLowers aRe in bloom aNd
tHe Vineyards greEN.  THe road is stRaiGht and dusty uNtiL one arRiVes AT
the pOssEssioN of the sEñora BArenna—a naRrOW road tO The righT LEaDing
Up into the mountain.  oNe CAn perceive the hOuse—oh, YeS—UpON The
HilLside, once bEaUtifuL, But now oLD aND DEcaYEd.  Mistake is noW
impossible.  iT is A straiGhT waY.  i wish yOu a goOd JOurNey.’

ConynghaM rodE on, vaguelY turniNG over in HIs mind a Half-maTurEd pLan
oF EfFeCtiNg A SeeMInGly ACciDental enTrY tO the hOuse OF sEÑora barEnna,
In the Hope of meeting ThaT ladY’S daUghteR in thE garDeN or grOunds.
ONce ouTsIde the walls of thE towN he found tHe cOuNtrY oPen anD Bare,
coNsiStiNg of broWn hills, OF whIcH THE lOwer <DW72>s were dotted wItH
EVeRgreen oaKs.  The rOAd SoON traversEd A viLlagE WHich sEemeD To Be
half deSerted, FOr MeN and womEn Alike wErE woRkiNg in tHE fieLds.  On
tHe balconY of thE Best house a branCH of palm bound aGAiNST tHE iroNwoRk
balustradE indICateD the DWeLliNG of thE prieSt, ANd THe form of that
village DeSpot waS dimlY discernible iN the darkenED ROom behinD.  BeyONd
THe village ConynGham tUrned his hoRSe’s head tOwardS the mounTain, his
miND PreoccupIed WitH a MAccHIAvEllian scheme oF LOsinG hIs way in ThiS
neighbOurHooD.  ThRouGh The evergrEen oak anD oLiVe GrOveS he coULd
perceiVe The RoOf oF an olD Grey hoUse whIch hAd OnCE beEn a mere
HAcIENda oR sEmI-forTifIeD farm.

conyNGhaM did not Propose to Go dIRect To seÑora BarEnna’s house, but
DeScribed a seMiCirCle, mouNTIng from tErrace to terrace on his
surE-Footed hOrsE.

When At leNgth he camE in Sight oF thE High gaTeway wHere tHe Ten-FOOt
oakEN GaTes StIll swung, he PERceIved sOmEone ApproacHing the exit.  On
closeR InsPection he saw tHat This WAS a PriESt, ANd oN nEAriNG Him
recognised thE Padre ConcHa, WHoSe acquaintANce
 turned and walked by hisstirrup un til a  mi sta ke  was 
nolonger possibl e .

‘ It is not the most bea utifu la ppro a ch  to R onda,’s ai d thi sga rru lo u sperso n,‘but we ll enoughinth e summer, wh e nthe flower s a re in bloomand 
the v in eya r ds gr een .  Th e road is str aight and  d u sty un t il onea r ri vesat
the possession of the Señora Bar enna—a  n a rr o w  ro adto the rig ht  lead i ng
up i n to t h e m o untain.  Onecan perceiv e  th e hous e— oh, yes—up on th eh ill side, oncebeau tiful, bu t nowo ld andd ecayed.   Mist ake  is  now im po ssi bl e . I tisa  st raight w ay . I wi sh y o u a  goo d j ourn ey.’
Conyngham ro deon,v agu ely t urnin g ov er  in h is min d a h al f-matured planof e ffectinga s ee min gl y acc i dental  en try  to the  houseo f S eñ o r a  B arenna,
in the hop eo f  m eeting t hat la d y’ sd aughterin  th e ga r d en or  gro u nd s.
Onceoutsid e  t he  wallsof  the t ow n h e f oundt he c ountry  open an d bar e ,
consisting o f  brown hills, of w hi c h th e l ower <DW72> s we r e do tted wi the vergr een o ak s .The road soon trave rs ed a v illag e which seeme d to be
ha l f deserted , fo r  m e n and women al ike w ere workin g  in thefield s.  On
t he balcon y of the b est  ho use  ab r an ch of palm bo u n d ag ai nst the  ir onworkbal ust rad e i nd icated th e dwelli ng  o fth e p riest ,  and the  f orm  o f t hat
v i llagedespo t wa sdi m lydiscern i bl e in t he  d arke ned  r oom b ehin d . Beyondthe villa geC onyn gh am  turned  his horse’she ad towards  t hemounta i n , his
mi nd preoccupied with a M a cchiave lli an sc heme  of losin g h is way  in this
n eighbo urhoo d.   T h r ought h eeve rg reen oak a n d  ol ive g ro veshe coul d
perceive the roo f  of  an old greyhou se w h i ch  ha d  o n cebe e n a m ere
hacienda or  semi-fort if i ed  farm.

Co n yng ha m did n ot prop ose t o  go dir ect to Se ñora Bare nn a’sh o use , but
desc ribed asemicircl e , mou n ti ng fr omterrac etoterra ce onh issure- footed  h orse.
When  a t length  he came in sight of th e high  gate way  where th e t e n-f oot
oaken  gat es still s wun g,he pe rce i ved s omeo n eapp r oachi ng t h e exit. O nclo s e rinspectionh e saw  that  th i s wasa pr iest, and on near i ng him
recogni sedt h e P adr e  Con ch a, whose acqua int an c e 
 turned_and walked_by his stirrup until_a mistake_was
no_longer possible.

‘It_is_not the most_beautiful approach to_Ronda,’ said this garrulous
person,_‘but well enough_in_the summer, when the flowers are in bloom and
the vineyards green.  The road_is_straight and_dusty_until_one arrives at
the possession of_the Señora Barenna—a narrow road_to the_right leading
up into the mountain.  One can_perceive_the house—oh, yes—upon_the
hillside, once beautiful, but now old and decayed. _Mistake is now
impossible.  It is_a straight way.__I_wish you a good_journey.’

Conyngham rode on, vaguely turning over_in his mind a half-matured plan
of_effecting a seemingly accidental entry to the_house of Señora Barenna,
in the hope_of meeting that lady’s daughter_in the_garden or grounds.
Once outside the_walls of the_town he_found the country_open and bare,
consisting of brown hills,_of which the_lower <DW72>s were dotted with
evergreen oaks.__The road soon_traversed_a_village which_seemed to be
half_deserted,_for men_and_women alike were working in the_fields._ On
the balcony of the best house_a branch of palm_bound_against the ironwork
balustrade indicated_the dwelling of the priest,_and the form of that
village despot_was dimly_discernible in_the darkened room behind.  Beyond
the village Conyngham turned his horse’s_head towards the mountain, his
mind preoccupied_with a Macchiavellian scheme_of losing_his_way in this
neighbourhood.__Through the_evergreen oak and olive groves he could
perceive_the roof_of an old grey house which_had once been a_mere
hacienda_or semi-fortified farm.

Conyngham did not propose_to go direct to Señora Barenna’s_house, but
described a semicircle, mounting_from_terrace_to terrace on his
sure-footed horse.

When_at length he came in sight_of the high_gateway where the ten-foot
oaken gates still swung,_he_perceived someone approaching the exit. _On
closer_inspection he saw that this was_a_priest,_and on nearing him
recognised the_Padre Concha, whose acquaintance