THE ROMANCE OF WAR (SEQUEL) (continued 2)

"Well, Señor Gaspar," said Stuart, who had listened coolly to all this preamble with folded arms, "and your law; what is it on that particular head?"

"Death!"

"And the ransom?"

"Why, señor, we must arrange that. A cavalier is well worth a prior, or four alcaldes; but, as you are a soldier, and soldiers are seldom overburdened by the weight of their purses, we will not be severe."

"But Don Alvaro is rich," said Juan de la Roca. "Remember, my friends, that he married a rich dame of Truxillo, whose estates, when joined to his own, will be ample enough for a princedom—ay, for a kingdom larger than ever was Algarve."

"And bethink ye of the rich ores," said Narvaez; "ores dug for him from the bowels of the mountains at Alcocer, at Guadalcanal, and Cazella in Estremadura, dug for him by the hands of wretched slaves condemned to his service for petty or pretended crimes by the accursed regidores, the escrivanos del numero, the alcaldes, the syndics, the military commanders, and the devil knows who more!"

"Cazella?" observed Gaspar; "right! there is silver and gold dug there."

"Yes, and have been so ever since the days of the infidel Moors," said Juan. "And Alvaro has mines of silver and copper at Logrosen, and in the Sierra de Guadaloupe. Diavolo! señores, a heavy fine! The cavalier of Estremadura is rich, and will redeem his friend from death. He has but to dig when he wants gold."

"Carajo!" said a robber; "I well know that. I was condemned to dig in the mine of Logrosen for robbing a priest of his mule; and I slaved away in those horrible pits until my bones well nigh parted company, and my back was flayed by the thongs of the cursed overseer. But one day I dashed out his brains with a shovel, and fled to the guerillas of Salvador de Zagala. A heavy ransom from Alvaro!"

"Two hundred golden onzas!" cried Juan de la Roca; "and if Villa Franca refuses, give his friend the Briton to feast the wolf and the raven!"

"Viva! Juan has spoken like a prince!" cried the banditti, while they made hill and valley ring with their boisterous applause.

Two, with their muskets loaded, had particular orders to escort Stuart, and to shoot him dead if he attempted to escape; after which, the whole band got in motion and advanced up the mountains, seeking the most steep and dangerous paths, which often wound along the edge of beetling and precipitous cliffs, where Stuart, although a Scotsman and a mountaineer, had considerable trouble in threading his way.

Their journey ended when they reached a little square tower, which in size and form was not unlike the old fortalice of a lesser Scottish baron. It was perched on the summit of a steep rock, amid a wild and savage solitude, which appeared more dreary, at the time that Ronald viewed it, by the light of the waning moon.

This mountain fortress had been for centuries a ruin; and the little village, which had once been clustered near it, (according to the usual fashion in Spain,) had ages ago disappeared. But the outlaws, whom the feeble and crippled power of the Spanish authorities could not suppress, had thoroughly repaired it, and made it their principal stronghold; and from it, as their head-quarters, their lines and posts of communication were maintained through all the Basque provinces. Tradition said that it was erected by a petty prince of Navarre, and that the origin of its name was the murder of a priest within its walls. It was called the Torre de los Frayles (or Friars' tower); and the Guipuzcoan muleteer was careful to time his journey so that this ill-omened spot should be a few leagues in his rear before night fell.

On entering, a temporary drawbridge, crossing a deep fosse or chasm in the rocks, and forming the sole communication with the cliff, on a projection of which the tower was perched, was withdrawn, and Stuart, for the first time, felt his heart sink, as he entered the walls of the dreary abode of crime, and heard the strong door shut and barricaded behind him.

CHAPTER V.

HOME.

"He came not. Still, at fall of night,

She burned her solitary light,

By love enkindled,—love attended;

And still her brother chid her care.

* * * *

Thus pass away the weary weeks,

And dim her eyes, and pale her cheeks."

The Salamandrine.

During the spring of 1814, while Ronald Stuart was serving with Lord Wellington's army in the South of France, the pecuniary affairs of his father came to a complete crisis. The net woven around him by legal chicanery, by his own unwariness in plunging headlong into law-suits, and by prodigality of his money otherwise, he was ruined. "A true Highlander cannot refuse his sword or his purse to a friend," and the laird of Lochisla had been involved to the amount of several thousands in an affair of "caution," every farthing of which he had to pay. At the same time bills and bonds became due, and on his making an application for cash to Messrs. Caption and Horning, W.S., Macquirk's successors, they acquainted him, in a very short letter, composed in that peculiar style for which these gentlemen are so famous, "that Lochisla was already dipped—that is, mortgaged—to the utmost bearing, and that not a bodle more could be raised." The unfortunate laird found that every diabolical engine of "the profession" was in requisition against him, and that the estate which had descended to him through a long and martial line of Celtic ancestors, was passing away from him for ever. In the midst of his affliction he received tidings of the deeds of his brave son Ronald, who was mentioned with all honour by Sir Rowland Hill in the despatch which contained the account of the successful passage of the Nive, and of the storming of the château.

"Heaven bless my brave boy!" said the laird; "I shall see him no more. It would rejoice me to behold his fair face and buirdly figure once again, before my eyes are closed for ever: but it may not be; he will never behold my tomb! It will be far distant from the dark pines that shade the resting-place of my forefathers in the islet of the Loch."

And the old laird spoke truly. Ere long he saw the hall of his fathers in possession of the minions of the law: the broad lands of Lochisla became the prey of the stranger; and, with the trusty auld Donald Iverach and a faithful band of followers, the feeble remnant of his people, who yet, with true Highland devotion, insisted on following their chieftain to the far-off shores of Canada, he bade adieu for ever to his father-land.

Ere yet he had departed, however, there came one who had heard of his misfortunes and of his contemplated exile, to offer him his hand in peace and affection. It was the Lord of Inchavon.

"I will be a friend to your noble boy," he said. The Stuart answered only "Heaven bless you, Lisle! but the lad has his sword, and a fearless heart."

They parted; and the clan Stuart of Lochisla, with its venerable leader, was soon on its way across the western wave.

At the time these events were occurring at home, Ronald was in the neighbourhood of Orthes with his regiment, which, in the battle that took place there, came in for its usual share of the slaughter and honour.

The long-awaited and eagerly wished-for peace arrived at last. Regiments were disbanded, and ships paid off; and in every part of Europe soldiers and sailors were returning to their homes in thousands, to take up the plough and spade, which they had abandoned for the musket and cutlass. The Peninsular part of our army were all embarked at Toulouse, and the inmates of Inchavon watched anxiously the daily post and daily papers for some notice of the arrival of the transports containing Fassifern and his Highlanders, whose destination was the Cove of Cork.

One evening, a bright and sunny one in June, when Lord Lisle had pushed from him the sparkling decanters across the elaborately-polished table, and sunk back in his well-cushioned easy chair to enjoy a comfortable nap, and when Alice had tossed aside successively all the newspapers, (she read only the marriages, fashionable news, and the Gazette,) and taken up the last novel, which in her restlessness she resigned for Marmion, her favourite work, she was suddenly aroused from its glowing numbers by the noise of wheels, and the tramp of carriage-horses treading shortly and rapidly in the birchen lane, between the walls and trees of which the sound rung deep and hollow. The book fell from her hand; she started and listened, while her bosom rose, and a blush gathered on her soft girlish cheek. The sound increased: now the travellers had quitted the lane, and their carriage was rattling up the avenue, where the noise of the horses' feet came ringing across the wide and open lawn.

Alice shook the dark curls from her animated face, which became flushed with expectation. She moved to the window and beheld a travelling-chariot, drawn by a pair of stout bays, with the great-coated driver on the saddle. The whole equipage appeared only at intervals between the trees and clumps of the lawn, as the driver made the horses traverse the long and intricate windings of the avenue, which had as many turnings as the Forth, before the house was reached.

"O papa! papa!" she exclaimed, clapping her white dimpled hands together, and leaping to his side to kiss him and shake sturdily the huge knobby arms of his old easy chair, and again skipping back to the windows with all the wild buoyancy of her age, "dear papa, do waken! Here comes Louis!"

"Eh! what! eh! Louis, did you say?" cried the old lord, bolting up like a harlequin. "Is the girl mad, that she frisks about so?"

"O dear papa! 'tis my brother Louis!" and she began to weep with joy and excitement.

"It must be he," replied her father, looking from a window; "it must be Louis! I don't think we expect any visitors. But to come thus! I always thought he would ride up from Perth on horseback. On my honour 'tis a smart turn-out that! A double imperial on the roof, and—how! there is a female, a lady's maid behind, and the rogue of a footman with his arm around her waist, according to the usual wont and practice. A lady inside, too! See, she is bowing to us. Well; I would rather have seen Louis, but I wonder who these can be!" He rang a bell violently.

"'Tis our own Louis, indeed! O my dear brother!" exclaimed Alice, trembling with delight. "Hold me up, papa; I am almost fainting. Ah!" added she inwardly, "when Louis is so near, Ronald Stuart cannot be far off."

"Louis, indeed!" replied her father pettishly, for he thought she had disappointed him. "Tut, girl! do you not see the lady in the vehicle?"

"O papa! that is a great secret,—the affair of the lady; we meant to surprise you;" and without saying more, she bounded away from his side.

The chaise was brought up at a gallop to the steps of the portico, and the smart postilion wheeled it skilfully round, backing and spurring with an air of speed and importance, scattering the gravel in showers right and left, and causing the chaise to rock from side to side like a ship in a storm. This was for effect. A postilion always brings his cattle up at a sharp pace; but the chaise was well hung on its springs, and the moment the panting horses halted, it became motionless and steady. At that instant Alice, with her masses of curls streaming behind her, rushed down the splendid staircase, through the lofty saloon, and reached the portico just as the footman sprang from the dickey and threw down the iron steps with a bang as he opened the door. An officer, muffled in a large blue cloak lined with red, leaped out upon the gravel walk; Alice threw her arms around her brother, and hung sobbing on his breast.

"Alie, my merry little Alie, has become a tall and beautiful woman!" exclaimed Louis, holding her from him for a moment while he gazed upon her face, and then pressed her again to his breast. "Upon my honour you have grown quite a tall lady," he added, laughing. "Our father—"

"Is well, Louis, well; and waiting for you."

"Good! This is my—this is our Virginia," said Louis, handing out his Spanish wife. "This is the dear girl I have always mentioned in my letters for two years past, Alice; her friends have all perished in the Peninsular war, and I have brought her far from her native land, to a foreign country. You must be a kind sister to her, Alie, as you have ever been to me."

"I will always love her, Louis; I will indeed," murmured the agitated girl, who, never having beheld a Spaniard before, expected something very different from the beautiful creature around whose neck she fondly twined an arm. "I am your sister: kiss me, Virginia dear!" said she, and two most young-lady-like salutes were exchanged. The fair face of Alice Lisle blushed with pleasure. The darker cheek of the Castilian glowed likewise, and her bright hazel eyes flashed and sparkled with all the fire and vivacity of her nacion.

"Louis," whispered Alice, blushing crimson as she spoke, and as they ascended the sixteen steps of variegated Portsoy marble which led to the house; "Louis, is not Ronald Stuart with you?":

"Alas! no, Alice," replied Lisle, changing colour.

"Poor dear Ronald!" said his sister sorrowfully, "could he not procure leave too? Papa must apply to the colonel—to your proud Fassifern, for it."

"Virginia will inform you of what has happened," said Louis, with so sad a tone that all the pleasant visions which were dancing in the mind of the joyous girl were instantly destroyed, and she grew deadly pale; "Virginia will tell you all about it, Alie. Ladies manage these matters of explanation better than gentlemen."

"Matters!" reiterated the affrighted Alice involuntarily; "matters! Heaven guide me! I thought all the terrors of these four years were passed for ever. But what has misfortune in store for me now?"

Her father, whose feet and limbs were somewhat less nimble and flexible than hers, and had thus been longer in descending the stair and traversing the long lobbies, now approached, and embraced his son with open arms; while, en masse, the servants of the mansion crowded round, offering their good wishes and congratulatory welcome to the Master, as Louis was styled by them, being the son of a Scottish baron. He was now the Master of Lisle, or Lysle, as it is spelt in the Peerage. The stately figure of the fair Castilian, who, embarrassed and confused, clung to the arm of the scarcely less agitated Alice, puzzled the old lord a good deal. She yet wore her graceful mantilla and tightly fitting Spanish frock of black satin. The latter was open at the bosom, to show her embroidered vest and collar, but was laced zig-zag across with a silver cord. The thick clusters of her hair were gathered in a redecilla, or net-work bag, behind, all save the glossy brown curls escaping from beneath a smart English bonnet, which although it fully displayed her noble and beautiful features, contrasted or consorted strangely with the rest of her attire.

The old lord appeared astonished and displeased for a moment. He bowed, smiled, and then stared, and bowed and smiled again, while Virginia coloured crimson, and her large Spanish eyes began to sparkle in a very alarming manner; but beginning to suspect who the fair stranger was, the frank old lord took both her hands in his, kissed her on each cheek, begged pardon, and then asked whom he had the honour of addressing.

"How!" exclaimed Louis in astonishment; "is it possible that you do not know?"

"Not I, upon my honour!" replied his father, equally amazed; "how should I?"

"Were my letters from Orthes and Toulouse relative to my marriage never received?"

"Marriage!" exclaimed his father, almost pausing as they crossed the saloon. "By Jove! Master Louis, you might have condescended to consult me in such a matter!"

"My dear father," replied Louis, laughing, for he saw that his parent was more astonished than displeased, "you cannot be aware of the circumstances under— But you know the proverb, all is fair in war; and my letters—"

"Were all received,—at least, Alice received them all."

"Ah! you cunning little fairy," said Louis turning towards his pale sister; "you have played us all this trick to surprise your good papa, when he heard of his new daughter."

"A wonderful girl! to be the repository of so important a secret so long," said her father, evidently in high glee. "But she always loved to produce a commotion, and to study effect. I will hear all your stories by-and-by, and sentence you each according to your demerits; but we must not stand here, with all the household gaping at us. Lead your naughty sun-burnt brother up-stairs, Alice—he seems to have forgotten the way,—and I will escort your new sister."

He gave his arm to Virginia, and conducted her up the broad staircase which led to the upper part of the mansion, where the splendour and elegance of the furniture, the size of the windows, the hangings, the height of the ceilings, the rich cornices, the carving, the gilding, the paintings, statues, lustres, the loftiness, lightness, and beauty of everything architectural and decorative, struck the stranger forcibly when she remembered the sombre gloom and clumsiness, both of fabric and fashion, to which she had been accustomed in the dwellings of her native country. Indeed, the mansion of the richest Spanish grandee was not so snug by one-half as the coachman's apartment above the stables at Inchavon-house.

Alice was in an agony of expectation to hear what Louis had to say about Ronald Stuart; but she was doomed to be kept cruelly on the mental rack for some time, while all her brother's humble but old and respected friends among the household appeared in succession, to tender their regards and bid him welcome, expressing their pleasure to "see him safe home again among decent, discreet, and responsible folk," as the jolly old butler, who acted as spokesman, said. There was the bluff game-keeper, in his tartan jacket, broad bonnet, and leather spats, or leggings, long Louis's rival shot, and master of the sports; there was the pinched and demure old housekeeper, with her rusty silk gown, keys, and scissors, and huge pouch, which was seldom untenanted by a small Bible and big brandy flask; the fat, flushed and greasy cook, whose ample circumference proclaimed her the priestess and picture of good living; the smart and rosy housemaids all ribands and smiles,—Jessie Cavers in particular; and there was Jock, and Tom, and Patie, laced and liveried chevaliers of the cockade and shoulder-knot, who were all introduced at the levee in their turn, while confusion, bustle, and uproar reigned supreme through the whole of the usually quiet and well-ordered mansion of Inchavon.

Every one was glad and joyful to behold again the handsome young Master of Lisle; but then his lady! she was termed 'an unco body,' and about her there were two conflicting opinions. The men praised her beauty, "her glossy hair, and her hawk's een," the women her sweetness and affability; but almost all had observed the crucifix that hung at her neck, and whispered fearful surmises of her being a Papist.

"My dear sir," said Louis, after they had become tolerably composed in a sort of snug library, termed by the servants, 'my lord's chaumer,'—"can it be possible, or true, that Alice has never informed you of my marriage with Donna Virginia de Alba?"

"I concealed it to surprise dear papa," replied Alice, making a sickly attempt to smile.

"You always loved effect, Alie," said her father; "but really I could have dispensed with so sudden a surprise on this occasion. How fortunate I am in having such a beauty for a daughter!" He passed his hand gently over the thick brown curls of the Spaniard. "Look up at me, Virginia; a pretty name, too! On my honour, my girl, you have beautiful eyes! I ever thought Alie's were splendid, but she will find hers eclipsed. Your father—"

"Was the Duke of Alba de T——," interrupted Louis, who was now anxious to produce an effect of a different kind in his bride's favour. "He was a Buonapartist—"

"Ah! his name is familiar to me. He—"

"Was unfortunately slain when the fort, or château, where I was confined, was so bravely stormed by Ronald Stuart's light company."

"I heard of all that, when the news arrived in London. Our Virginia comes of a proud, but a—a—an unfortunate race." He could not find a more gentle word.

"Spain boasts not of a nobler name than that of Alba; but, save a sister in a convent in Galicia, my dear Virginia is its only representative. All the cavaliers of her house have fallen in battle; and lastly the duke, by the hands of Evan Iverach and Macrone, a serjeant, who attacked him with his pike. Poor Stuart, though in peril himself, did all he could to save him; but the hot blood of the Gaël was up, and the fierce Spaniard perished. But Virginia is weeping: we are only recalling her sorrows, and must say no more of these matters just now. Ronald Stuart—"

"Ah! by-the-by, what of him? A brave fellow! See how Alice blushes. Faith! I shall never forget the day the dauntless young Highlandman pulled me out of Corrie-avon. Has the good lad returned with you to Perthshire?"

"No," answered Louis with hesitation, glancing uneasily at Alice while he spoke. "He has not returned yet."

"'Tis well," continued his father. "Poor Stuart! he will have no home—no kind friends to return to, as you have, Louis, after all his toil and bloodshed. Not a hand is there now in the green glen of the Isla to grasp his in welcome!"

"I read in the Perthshire papers that the estate had been sold, and that his father, with all the Stuarts of the glen, had emigrated to Canada. Dreadful intelligence it will be for him when he hears it! He will be wounded most deeply in those points where the true Highlander is assuredly most vulnerable. He will be almost driven mad; and I would scarcely trust other lips than yours, Alice, to reveal the sad tidings to him. I read them at Toulouse. Stuart was not with us then. He has been—he has been—six weeks missing from the regiment."

"Six weeks missing!" cried Lord Lisle, while a cry of horror died away on the pallid lips of Alice, who drooped her head on the shoulder of Virginia.

"Keep a brave heart, Alie dear!" said Louis, clasping her waist affectionately. "I have no fears for your knight of Santiago, as the mess call him. He will swim where another man would sink. Had you seen him, as I often have, skirmishing in advance, charging at the head of his company, or leading the forlorn hope at Almarez on the Tagus, or the château on the Nive, you would suppose he had a charmed life, and was invulnerable to steel and lead, as men supposed Dundee to be until the field of Killiecrankie. Perhaps he has joined by this time. I procured six months' leave, and left the Highlanders the instant the anchor was dropped at Cove. My next letters from the regiment may have some intelligence. Campbell, I know, will write to me instantly, if he hears aught."

"But how comes it to pass, that Stuart is missing? what happened?" asked his father, while Alice listened in breathless agony to the reply.

"We were quartered at Muret, a town on the Garonne, eight or nine miles distant from Toulouse. We had lain there ever since the decisive battle gained over Soult; and in the church-yard of Muret Stuart buried his servant, a brave lad from Lochisla, who had received a death-shot on that memorable Easter Sunday. Ronald mourned his loss deeply; for the lad had become a soldier for his sake, and they were old schoolfellows—old companions and playmates. He was a gallant and devoted fellow. You remember him, Alice? Many a love-letter he has carried to and fro, between this and Lochisla; and often, bonnet in hand, he has led your pony among the steepest cliffs of Craigonan, by ways and crooks where I should tremble to venture now."

"And he is dead?" said Alice, giving vent to her feelings by a plentiful shower of tears.

"He was shot by a Frenchman's bullet, Alie."

"Poor dear Evan!" replied his sister, wringing her white hands; "I shall never forget him. He was ever so respectful and so obliging."

"Jessie Cavers has lost her handsome sweetheart. He was buried close by the old church of Muret, and Ronald's hand laid his head in the grave. He received a deeper—a better—yet not less hallowed tomb than the many thousands who were covered up in ditches, in the fields, and by the way-sides, just wherever they were found lying dead. At Muret, one night, a despatch arrived from Lord Wellington by an orderly dragoon. It was to be forwarded to the Condé de Penne Villamur, at Elizondo, a town on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees; and, as its bearer, Stuart departed about midnight, on horseback. Sufficient time for his return elapsed before our embarkation at Toulouse. The eventful day came; but no Stuart appeared, and we embarked without him. Some unlooked-for circumstance must have caused delay,—perhaps his horse becoming lame, or his cash running short: but we shall probably hear of him from Toulouse, or Passages, in a fortnight at the furthest. I have no fears for Ronald Stuart. He will cut his way, scatheless, through perils which a score of men would sink under."

"I trust in Heaven that it may be so," said Lord Lisle fervently. "Truly, I wish the lad well; he is the last stem of an old tree, that has fallen to the earth at last."

Although Louis spoke cheerfully to comfort his agitated sister, he nevertheless felt considerable anxiety regarding the fate of his friend. He knew too well the disorderly state of the country through the wild frontiers of which he had to pass; and his imagination pictured a hundred perils, against which Ronald's courage and tact would be unavailing. He besought Virginia to comfort Alice, by putting the best possible face upon matters; but her unwary relative made circumstances worse, by letting truths slip out which had been better concealed, and which, although they seemed quite common-place matters to a Castilian, presented a frightful picture of Spain to a young Scottish lady.

The unhappy Alice became a prey to a thousand anxious fears and apprehensions, which prepared her mind to expect the worst. A month passed away—a weary month of misery, of sad and thrilling expectation, and no tidings were heard of Stuart. By Louis's letters from the regiment, it seemed that his brother-officers had given him up for lost. The newspapers were searched with sickening anxiety, but nothing transpired; and the family at Inchavon beheld, with deep uneasiness, the cheek of Alice growing pale day after day, and her bright eyes losing their wonted lustre. About six weeks after Louis's arrival, Lord Lisle communicated with the military authorities in London regarding the young soldier, in whose fate his family were so greatly interested. All were in a state of great expectation when the long, formidable letter, covered with franks, initials, and stamps, arrived. To support herself Alice clung to Virginia, and hid her face in her bosom, for she trembled excessively while her father read the cold and official reply to his anxious letter.

"Horse Guards, * * * 1814.

"My Lord,

In reply to your Lordship's letter of the 25th instant, I have the honour to acquaint you, by the direction of His Royal Highness the Commander-in-chief, that nothing has transpired, further than what the public journals contain, respecting the fate of Captain Ronald Stuart, of the Gordon Highlanders. But, if that unfortunate officer does not rejoin his regiment at Cork before the next muster-day, he must be superseded.

I have the honour to be,

My Lord, &c. &c. HENRY TORRENS, Mil Sec."

"Right Hon. Lord Lisle,

of Inchavon."

Alice wrung her hands, and wept in all the abandonment of woe. The last reed she had leant on had snapped—her last hope was gone, and she knew that she should never behold Ronald more. The next muster-day (then the 24th of every month) arrived; and, as being still "absent without leave," he was superseded, and his name appeared no longer on the list of the regiment. It was sad intelligence for his friends in Perthshire; but it was upon one gentle-loving and timid heart, that this sudden stroke fell most heavily. Poor Alice! she grew very sad, and long refused to be comforted. As a drowning man clings to straws, so clung Alice to every hope and chance of Ronald's return, until the letter of Sir Henry Torrens drove her from her last stronghold.

Days rolled on and became weeks, and weeks rolled on to months, and in her own heart the poor girl was compelled to acknowledge or believe, what her friends had long concluded, that Ronald Stuart was numbered with the dead. It was a sad blow to one whose joyous heart had been but a short time before full almost to overflowing with giddy and romantic visions of love and happiness. Under this severe mental shock she neither sickened nor died, and yet she felt as deeply and poignantly as mortal woman could suffer.

Few or none, perhaps, die of love or of sorrow, whatever poets and interested romancers may say to the contrary. But as this is not the work of the one or the other, but a true memoir or narrative, the facts must be told, however contrary to rule, or to the expectation of my dear readers.

In course of time the sorrow of Alice Lisle became more subdued, the bloom returned to her faded cheek, and she used to laugh and smile,—but not as of old. She was never now heard to sing, and the sound of her harp or piano no more awoke the echoes of the house. She was content, but far from being happy. When riding or rambling about with Virginia or Louis, she could never look down from the mountains on the lonely tower and desert glen of Isla without symptoms of the deepest emotion, and she avoided every path that led towards the patrimony of the Stuarts.

But a good example of philosophy and resignation under woe was set before her by her servant, Jessie Cavers. That young damsel, finding that she had lost Evan Iverach beyond the hope of recovery, instead of spoiling her bright eyes in weeping for his death, employed them successfully in looking for a successor to his vacant place. She accordingly accepted the offers of Jock Nevermiss, the gamekeeper, whose coarse shooting-jacket and leather spats had been for a time completely eclipsed by the idea of Iverach's scarlet coat and gartered hose.

The old Earl of Hyndford came down again in the shooting season, and renewed his attentions to Alice; but with no better success than before,—much to his amazement. He deemed that her heart, being softened by grief, would the more readily receive a new impression. He quitted Inchavon-house, and, in a fit of spleen and disappointment, set off on a continental ramble, acting the disconsolate lover with all his might.

Louis, leaving Virginia at Inchavon with his sister, rejoined the Highlanders at Fermoy, and in a week thereafter had the pleasure to obtain a "company."

The Highlanders were daily expecting the route for their native country, but were again doomed to be disappointed. They were ordered to Flanders,—to the "Lowlands of Holland," where Scottish valour has been so often triumphant in the times of old, for the flames of war had broken forth again with renewed fury.

CHAPTER VI.

THE TORRE DE LOS FRAYLES.

"Thought's fantastic brood

Alone is waking; present, past, and future,

Wild mis-shaped hope and horrible rememb'rings,

Now rise a hideous and half-viewless chaos

To fancy's vision, till the stout heart fails

At its own prospect."

The Hermit of Roselva.

When Ronald found himself helplessly and, as he thought, irrecoverably immured in the Torre de los Frayles, and surrounded by a band of the most merciless and desperate ruffians conceivable,—defenceless, in their power, and secluded among the wildest fastnesses of the Spanish Pyrenees, his heart sickened at the hopelessness of his prospects. His life depended entirely on the will and pleasure of his captors, and he felt all that acute agony of spirit of which a brave man is susceptible when reflecting that he might perish like a child in their hands, helpless and unrevenged. He was conducted to a desolate apartment, to which light was admitted by a couple of loop-holes, which, being destitute of glass, gave free admittance to the cold air of the mountains.

Excepting an antique table and chair, the room was destitute of furniture, and Ronald was compelled to repose on the stone-flagged floor, with no other couch than a large ragged mantle, which a renegade priest, one of thousands whom the war had unfrocked, lent him, offering, at the same time, indulgently to hear his confession. Ronald glanced at the long dagger and brass-barrelled pistols which garnished the belt of the ci-devant padre, and, smiling sourly, begged to be excused, saying that he had nothing to confess, saving his disgust for his captors, and the sense he felt of Spanish ingratitude.

"Morte de Dios!" swore the incensed priest as he departed, "you are an incorrigible heretic. Feeding you, is feeding what ought to be burned; and I would roast you like a kid, but for that meddling ape Gaspar!"

By order of the last-named worthy, who appeared to be the acknowledged leader, a sentinel was placed at the door of the apartment, which was well secured on the outside to prevent Ronald's escape. At the same time Alosegui, who said he wished to be friendly to a brother capitan, gave him a screw of a peculiar construction, with which he could strongly secure his door on the inside—a necessary precaution when so formidable an enemy as Narvaez Cifuentes was within a few feet of him. Having secured the entrance as directed, he rolled himself up in the cloak of the pious father,—but not to sleep, for dawn of day found him yet awake, cursing his untoward fortune, and revolving, forming, and rejecting a thousand desperate plans to escape. Even when, at last, he did drop into an uneasy sleep or dreamy doze, he was quickly aroused by the twangling of guitars and uproar of a drunken chorus in the next apartment, where the padre was trolling forth a ditty, which, a few years before, would have procured him a lodging for life in the dungeons of the terrible Inquisition.

To Stuart, his present situation appeared now almost insupportable. He sprang to the narrow loop-holes, and made a long and acute reconnoisance of the country round about, especially in the neighbourhood of the robbers' den, and he became aware that escape, without the concurrence of Alosegui or some of his followers, was utterly impracticable. The tower was perched, like an eagle's nest, on the very verge of a perpendicular cliff, some hundred yards in height, and a chasm, dark and apparently bottomless, separated the tower from the other parts of the mountain, or, I may say, the land, as it hung almost in the air. At every pass of the hills leading to the narrow vale where it was situated, a well-armed and keen-eyed scout kept watchful guard, for the double purpose of giving alarm in case of danger, or warning when any booty appeared in sight. The bottom of the valley which the tower overlooked was covered with rich copse-wood, among which wound, like a narrow stripe of crystal, a mountain stream, a tributary of the Bidassoa,—the way to the West.

About noon he was visited by Gaspar Alosegui, with whom he was ceremoniously invited to take breakfast; and yielding to the cravings of appetite, he unhesitatingly accepted the proposal, and sat down at the same table with four fellows, who, Gaspar told him, were the greatest cut-throats and most expert bravoes in Spain. The apartment in which they sat was a dilapidated hall, which bore no distant resemblance to the one at Lochisla, save that its roof was covered with carved stone pendants and grim Gothic faces, among which hung branches of grapes or raisins, nets of Portugal onions, bags of Indian corn, and other provender; and the floor was strewed with mule-pannels, saddles, arms of all sorts, towards which Ronald glanced furtively from time to time, and countless bales, barrels, wineskins, &c. like a merchant's storehouse.

Ronald got through his repast without offending any of the dagger-grasping rogues; but he was so much disgusted with their language and brutality of manner, that in future he resolved to eat by himself, at all risks. Narvaez, with a strong party under his command, was absent, to watch for a train of mules in the neighbourhood of Roncesvalles, and Ronald was therefore relieved from his hateful presence. Gaspar assembled the remainder of the band in solemn conclave, to consult about the ransom of Stuart. When the latter, who stood near Alosegui's chair, looked around him upon the ruffian assemblage, and beheld so many dark, ferocious, and black-bearded faces, he felt that, among such men, his life was not worth a quarto.

The amount of the ransom had been fixed on the preceding evening. When Alosegui inquired where the Condé de Villa Franca then resided, no one could say any thing with certainty about it, but all supposed him to be at Madrid. In support of this supposition, the soi-disant padre produced, from the crown of his sugar-loaf hat, a ragged number of "El Español," at least three months old, well worn and frayed, and which he carried about him for gun-wadding. In one of the columns, the arrival of Don Alvaro and his countess appeared among the fashionable intelligence. To Madrid, therefore, it was resolved that Ronald should despatch a letter, the bearer of which should be Juan de la Roca, who, for cunning and knavery, was equal, if not infinitely superior, to Lazarillo de Tormes, of happy memory. His travelling expenses were also to be defrayed, fully and amply, before the captive would be released. To save time, for it was a long way to Madrid, Ronald proposed to communicate with the British consuls at Passages or Bayonne; but the proposition was at once negatived by a storm of curses and a yell of dissatisfaction from the banditti, while, waving his hand, Alosegui acquainted him sternly, that it was inconsistent with their safety or intentions to permit his corresponding with the consul at either of these places, as some strenuous and unpleasant means might be taken to release him unransomed. And before they would proceed farther in the business, the wily bandidos compelled him to pledge his solemn word of honour as a cavalier and soldier, that he would not attempt to escape,—a pledge which, it may be imagined, he gave with the utmost reluctance. While his bosom was swelling with rage and regret, Ronald seated himself at the table and wrote to Alvaro, praying that he would lend him the sum the thieves required, and setting forth that his life was forfeited in case of a refusal. Seldom has a letter been indited under such circumstances. While he wrote, a Babel of tongues resounded in his ear,—all swearing and quarrelling about the delay, and proposing that cold steel or a swing over the rocks should cut the matter short, as it was very doubtful whether the Count de Villa Franca would ever send so large a sum of money. But Gaspar's voice of thunder silenced their murmurs.

"I will drink the heart's blood of any man who opposes or disobeys my orders," cried he, striking the rude table with his mighty fist. "I am a man of honour, and must keep my word, par Diez! Hark you, my comrades; again I tell you, that for three months the life of the prisoner is as sacred as if he were an abbot."

"Three months!" thought Ronald bitterly. "In three months, but for this cursed misfortune, I might have been the husband of Alice Lisle."

The letter to Don Alvaro was sealed by Ronald's own seal, (which one of the band was so obliging as to lend him for the occasion,) and placed in the hand of Juan de la Roca.

"Adios, señor! adios, vaga!" said the young thief with an impudent leer, and presenting his hand to Ronald at his departure. "Remember, señor, that for your sake, I lose the chance of winning one of the sweetest prizes in Spain."

"How, Señor Juan?" replied Stuart, bestowing on him a keen glance of contempt.

"A girl, to be sure, a fair girl we captured near Maya," said Juan sulkily; "and I am half tempted to cast your despatch to the winds."

"Come, Juan, we must part friends at least," said Ronald, willing to dissemble when he remembered how much his fate lay in the power of this young rascal. He gave him his hand, and they parted with a show of urbanity, which was probably affected on both sides.

In a few minutes he beheld him quit the Friars' Tower, and depart on his journey mounted on a stout mule, and so much disguised that he scarcely knew him. His ragged apparel had been replaced by the smart attire of a student, and was all of becoming black velvet. A large portfolio was slung on his back, to disguise him more, and support the character which he resolved to bear as a travelling artista. He was a very handsome young fellow, and his features were set off by his broad sombrero and the black feathers which vanity had prompted him to don. A black silk mantle dangled for ornament from his shoulders, while one more coarse and ample was strapped to the bow of his mule's pannel. He had a pair of holsters before him, and wore a long poniard in his sash: altogether, he had very much the air of a smart student of Salamanca or Alcala. From a window Ronald anxiously watched the lessening form of this messenger of his fate, as he urged his mule down the steep windings of the pathway to the valley; and a thousand anxieties, and alternate hopes and doubts distracted him, as he thought of the dangers that beset the path of his ambassador, of the lengthened duration and possible result of his expedition.

In no country save Spain could the dreadful atrocities perpetrated by the wretches into whose hands Ronald had fallen, have been permitted in the nineteenth century. A day never passed without the occurrence of some new outrage, and many were acted under his own observation. On one occasion the band captured an aged syndic of Maya, who had made himself particularly obnoxious by executing some of the gang. His captors, to refine on cruelty, tore out his eyes and turned him away on the mountains in a tempestuous night, desiring him to return to his magistracy, and be more merciful to cavaliers of fortune in future.

An unfortunate medico of Huarte, who was journeying on a mule across the mountains from St. Juan de Luz, where he had been purchasing a store of medicines, fell into their clutches somewhere near the rock of Maya. He could procure no ransom: many who owed him long bills, and whom he rescued from the jaws of death by the exercise of his art, and to whom his messenger applied, would send him no answer, being very well pleased, probably, to be rid of a troublesome creditor. One of the band being seriously ill, the life of the medico was to be spared if he cured him. The bandit unluckily died, and the doom of his physician was sealed. It was abruptly announced to him that he must die, and by his own weapons, as Gaspar informed him. The unhappy son of Esculapius prayed hard that his life might be spared, and promised that he would dwell for the remainder of his days in the Torre de los Frayles,—to spare him, for he was a very old man, and had many things to repent of. But his tyrants were inexorable. After being confessed with mock religious solemnity by Gorgorza de la Puente, he was compelled to swallow every one of his own drugs, which he did with hideous grimaces and trembling limbs, amidst the uproarious laughter and cruel jests of his destroyers, who beheld him expire almost immediately after finishing the nauseous dose they had compounded, and then consigned his body to that charnel-house, the chasm before the doorway of their pandemonium.

Several months elapsed—months which to Ronald appeared like so many centuries, for he had awaited in almost hourly expectation the arrival of some intelligence from Madrid; but the dreary days lagged on, and his heart began to lose hope. Juan de la Roca appeared to have travelled slowly. Letters were received from him by Alosegui, at different times, by the hands of certain muleteers and contrabandistas, who, on passing the mountains, always paid a regular sum as toll to the banditti, whom, for their own sakes, they were glad to conciliate so easily. These despatches informed the thieves of Juan's progress; but they often cursed the young rascal, and threatened vengeance for his tardiness and delay. But Juan, by exercising his ingenuity as a cut-purse, pick-pocket, cloak-snatcher, and gambler, contrived to keep himself in a constant supply of cash; and he seemed determined to enjoy to the utmost the short term of liberty allowed him. At last he disappeared. His companions in crime heard of him no more; but whether he had been poniarded in some brawl, sent to the galleys, or made off with Stuart's ransom-money, remained a mystery. The last appeared to the banditti to be the most probable cause for his non-appearance, and their curses were loud and deep.

Stuart now found that his life was in greater jeopardy than before. Alosegui proposed to him to take the vows, and join the banditti as a volunteer in their next marauding expedition; and added, that if he would take pains to conciliate the good-will of the lieutenant, the Señor Narvaez, and distinguish himself, he might be promoted in the band. Alosegui made this proposal with his usual dry sarcastic manner; and although Ronald, who was in no humour to be trifled with, rejected the strange offer of service with as much scorn and contempt as he could muster, he saw, on second thoughts, that for his own safety a little duplicity was absolutely necessary. He affected to have doubts, and craved time to think of the matter, intending, if once well-armed, free of the tower, and with his feet on the free mountainside, to fight his way off, or to die sword in hand.

But he was saved from the dishonour of even pretending to be their comrade for a single hour, because, in a very short space of time, a most unlooked-for change of politics took place at Torre de los Frayles.

A train of muleteers about to depart from Elizondo for France or the lower part of the Pyrenees, sent forward one of their number to the robbers' den to pay the toll. The mule-driver was made right welcome. The banditti found it necessary to cultivate to the utmost the friendship of these travelling merchants, with whom they trafficked and bartered, exchanging goods and valuables for money, clothing, arms, and ammunition, supplies of which were regularly brought them, and accounts were balanced in the most exact and business-like manner.

The envoy from Elizondo had transacted his business, and been furnished with Alosegui's receipt and pass, formally signed and marked with a cross; but he seemed in no hurry to depart, and remaining, drank and played at chess and dominoes for some hours with the thieves, who were, scouts excepted, generally all within their garrison in the day-time.

Ronald knew that a messenger from a train of mules was in his place of confinement; but as visits of this kind in no way concerned him, he had ascended to the summit of the tower, and there paced to and fro, watching anxiously as usual the long dim vista of the valley, with the expectation of seeing Juan de la Roca, on his grey mule, wending his way towards the Tower of the Friars. He would have hailed with joy the return of this young rogue as a delivering angel; but such a length of time had now elapsed since his disappearance that, in Ronald's breast, hope began gradually to give way to despair; and when he remembered Alice, his home, and his forfeited commission, his brain almost reeled with madness. Shading his eyes from the hot glare of the noon-day sun, he was looking intently down the long misty vale which stretched away to the westward, when he was roused by some one touching him on the shoulder.

He turned about, and beheld the round and good-humoured face of Lazaro Gomez, fringed, as of old, with its matted whiskers and thick scrub beard.

"Lazaro Gomez, my trusty muleteer of Merida! how sorry I am to see you in this devil's den."

"Señor, indeed you have much reason to be very happy, if you knew all."

"How, Gomez?"

"Hush, señor! Speak softly: you will know all in good time. I came hither to pay the toll for my comrades, who at present keep themselves close in Elizondo for fear of our friends in this damnable tower; and there they must remain until I return. By our Lady of Majorga, but I am glad to see you, señor! As I say now to my brother Pedro, Señor Caballero, allow me to have the honour of shaking hands with you?"

Stuart grasped the huge horny hand of the honest muleteer and shook it heartily, feeling a sensation so closely akin to rapture and delight, that he could almost have shed tears. It was long since he had shaken the hand of an honest man, or looked on other visages than those of dogged, sullen, and scowling ruffians. At that moment Stuart felt happy; it was so agreeable to have kind intercourse, even with so humble a friend, after the five months he had passed in the dreary abode of brutality and crime.

"And why, Lazaro, do you address your brother, the sergeant, so formally?"

"Ah, señor! Pedro is a great man now! He is no longer a humble trooper, to pipe-clay his belts and hold his captain's bridle. By his sword he has carved out a fair name for himself, and a fair fortune likewise. He led three assaults against Pampeluna, like a very valiant fool as he is, and was three times shot through the body for his trouble. Don Carlos de España, a right noble cavalier, embraced him before the whole line of the Spanish army, and appointed him a cornet in Don Alvaro's troop of lancers. The next skirmish with the enemy made him a lieutenant, knight of Santiago, and of the most valiant order of "the Band." Don Alvaro has also procured him a patent of nobility, which he always carries in his sash, lest any one should unpleasantly remind his nobleness that he is the eldest son of old Sancho Gomez the alguazil, who dwelt by the bridge of Merida."

"I rejoice at his good fortune."

"But I have not told you all, señor," continued the gossiping muleteer. "A rich young widow of Aranjuez, the Condéssa de Estramera, fell in love with him, when one day he commanded a guard at the palace of Madrid. An old duenna was employed—letters were carried to and fro—meetings held in solitary places; and the upshot was, that the condessa bestowed her fair hand, with a fortune of—of—the holy Virgin knows how many thousand ducats, upon my most happy rogue of a brother. Lieutenant Don Pedro Gomez, of the lancers of Merida; and now they live like a prince and princess."

"Happy Pedro! The condessa is beautiful; I have seen her, Lazaro."

"Plump Ignesa, the chamber-maid at the posada of Majorga, is more to my mind. I never could relish your stately donnas, with their high combs and long trains. This condessa is niece of that prince of rogues, the Duke of Alba de T——, who was killed in the service of Buonaparte: but Pedro cares not for that."

"In the history of his good fortune you see the advantage of being a soldier, Lazaro."

"With all due respect to your honourable uniform, which I am sorry to see so tattered, señor, I can perceive no advantage in being a soldier—none at all, par Diez! I envy Pedro not the value of a maravedi. He has served and toiled, starved and bled, in the war of independence, like any slave, rather than a soldier."

"So have I, Lazaro," said Stuart; "and these rags, and confinement here for five months, have been my reward."

The muleteer snapped his fingers, then gave a very knowing wink, and was about to whisper something; but, observing one of the banditti watching, he continued talking about his brother.

"Ay, like any poor slave, señor; and has more shot-holes in his skin than I have bell buttons on my jacket. And now, when the war is over, he has still a troublesome game to play in striving to please his hot-headed commanding-officer and lady wife, whom it would be considered a mortal sin to baste with a buff strap, as I may do Ignesa when she becomes my helpmate and better half. Pedro's honours weigh heavily upon him, and he has many folks to please; whereas I have none to humour save myself, and perhaps that stubborn jade Capitana, my leading mule, or Ignesa of Majorga, who gets restive, too, sometimes, and refuses to obey either spur or bridle. But my long whip, and a smart rap from my cajado, soothe the mule, and my sweet guitar and merry madrigal, the maiden. I am a thousand times happier than Pedro! I never could endure either domestic or military control, and would rather be Lazaro Gomez, with his whip and his mules, than the stately king of the Spanish nation. I have the bright sun, the purple wine, my cigar, and the red-cheeked peasant-girls to kiss and dance with,—and what would mortal man have more? Bueno!"

He concluded by throwing himself into an attitude, and flourishing his sombrero round his head with a theatrical air. Ronald smiled; but he thought that, notwithstanding all this display, and Lazaro's frequent assertions that he was happier than Pedro, a little envy continued to lurk in a corner of his merry and honest heart.

"But has Pedro never done aught for you, Lazaro, in all his good fortune?" asked Ronald.

"Oh, señor! his lady wife, disliking that her brother-in-law should be treading a-foot over sierra and plain at a mule's tail, gave me the post of Escrivano del Numero at Truxillo, which I kept for somewhere about eight weeks. But I always grew sad when I heard the merry jangle of mules' bells; and one morning, unable to restrain myself longer, I tossed my Escrivano's cope and rod to Satanas, seized my whip and sombrero, and once more took to the road as a merry-hearted muleteer of Merida, and neither Pedro nor the condessa have been able to catch me since."

"I am happy to find you are such a philosopher," said Ronald, with a sigh, which was not unnoticed by the muleteer.

"I could say that, Señor Caballero, which would make you far happier," said he, with a glance of deep meaning. "But," he added, pointing to the armed bandit, who kept a look-out on the bartizan near them, "but there are unfriendly ears near us."

"Speak fearlessly, Lazaro!" said Ronald eagerly, while his heart bounded with expectation. "I know that rascal to be a Guipuscoan, who understands as little of pure Castilian as of Greek. In heaven's name, Lazaro, what have you to tell me? I implore you to speak!"

"Señor," said the muleteer, lowering his voice to a whisper, "you have thrice asked me about Don Alvaro, and I have thrice delayed to tell you what I know: good news should be divulged cautiously. Well, señor, the famous cavalier of Estremadura has encamped three hundred horse and foot among the mountains near Elizondo. He comes armed with a commission from the king, and his minister Don Diego de Avallo, to root out and utterly destroy this nest of wasps, or cientipedoros. The place is to be assailed about midnight; so look well to yourself, señor, that the villains do not poniard you in the fray; and, if you have any opportunity to aid us, I need not ask you to do so. I am to be Don Alvaro's guide, as I know every foot of ground hereabout as well as I do at Merida, having paid toll here twenty times. But this will be my last visit of the kind; and I came hither only to reconnoitre and learn their pass-word, in case it should be needed. Keep a brave spirit in your breast for a few hours longer, señor, and perhaps, when the morning sun shines down the long valley yonder, Alosegui and his comrades will be hanging round the battlement, like beads on a chaplet. I pray to the Santa Gadea of Burgos that the night be dark, that we may the more easily take the rogues by surprise."

Ronald's astonishment and joy at the sudden prospect of liberation revealed to him by Lazaro Gomez, deprived him of the power of utterance for a time. He was about to display some extravagant signs of pleasure, and to embrace the muleteer, when the keen cold glance of the Guipuscoan bandit, who was watching them narrowly, recalled him to a sense of his danger. He almost doubted the reality of the story, and narrowly examined the broad countenance of the burly muleteer; but truth and honesty were stamped on every line of it. The horizon of Ronald's fortune was about to clear up again. He felt giddy—almost stunned with the suddenness of the intelligence, and his heart bounded with the wildest exultation at the prospect of speedy liberty, and of vengeance for the thousands of insults to which he had been subjected while a prisoner in the Torre de los Frayles.

When Lazaro departed, Stuart gave him the only token he could send to Don Alvaro,—a button of his coat, bearing a thistle and the number "92." He desired him to acquaint the cavalier that it would be requisite to provide planks to cross the chasm before the tower, otherwise the troops would fail to take its inmates by surprise.

This advice was the means of saving Stuart's life at a very critical juncture.

CHAPTER VII.

SPANISH LAW.

"Hard the strife, and sore the slaughter,

But I won the victory,—

Thanks to God, and to the valour

Of Castilian chivalry."

The Cid Rodrigo.

As nearly as Ronald could judge by the position of the sun,—being without a watch,—it was about the hour of three in the afternoon when Lazaro departed.

It was yet nine hours to midnight, and although that time seemed an age to look forward to, yet so full was his mind of joy, and crowding thoughts of gladness, hopes, and fears, that evening surprised him long before he imagined it to be near; and he had much ado in preserving his usual cold and serene look, and concealing the tumult of new ideas which excited him from the insolent bravoes, who were continually swaggering about, and, according to their usual wont, jostling him rudely at every corner and place where he encountered them. To remonstrate would have been folly, and to these petty annoyances he always submitted quietly.

On this last eventful evening he submitted to the penance of dining at the same table with the banditti, and even condescended to 'trouble' his friend the padre for a piece of broiled kid; but, as soon as the repast was ended, he withdrew to the tower-head. He preferred to be alone, almost dreading that his important secret might be read by Alosegui, Cifuentes, or any other who bent his scowling and lack-lustre eyes upon him.

At times, too, there came into his mind a doubt of the truth of Lazaro's story; but that idea was too sickening to bear, and he dismissed it immediately.

The sun had set. Masses of dun clouds covered the whole sky, which gradually became streaked with crimson and gold to the westward, where the rays of the sun yet illumined and coloured the huge mountains of vapour, although his light was fast leaving the earth.

The appearance of the sky and aspect of the scenery were wonderful and glorious. The whole landscape was covered with a red hue, as if it had been deluged by a red shower. The mountain streamlet wound through the valley of the Torre de los Frayles, like a long gilded snake, towards the base of a dark mountain, where appeared part of the Bidassoa, gleaming under the warm sky like a river of liquid fire. Beautiful as the scene was, Ronald seemed too much occupied with his own stirring thoughts to admire it, or to survey any part with curiosity, save that which, by gradually assuming a more sombre hue, announced the approach of night. It was not easy for him to observe a landscape with an artist's eye, while placed in the predicament in which he then found himself.

He remembered, with peculiar bitterness, the countless mortifications and insults which he had received from Alosegui, the padre, and many others, and he contemplated with gloomy pleasure the display which these master-rogues would make when receiving, by the cord or the bullet, the just reward of all their enormities. He remembered with pleasure that he had never broken the parole of honour he had pledged to these miscreants,—and truly he had been sorely tempted. Owing to their irregular and dissipated course of life, more than one opportunity of escape and flight had presented itself.

"I expect a storm to-night, señor," said Gaspar, breaking in abruptly on his meditations.

"Indeed, señor!"

The other swore a mighty oath, which I choose not to repeat. "San Stephana el Martir! si, señor,—and no ordinary storm either. We shall miss our prize of a rich hidalgo of Alava, who, with an escort of twenty armed men, would have departed to-night from a posada a few miles from this, and meant to bivouac at a place on the hill-side, of which the inn-keeper, who is an old friend of mine, sent us all due notice. Look you: hombre! the sky grows dark almost while we look upon it, and the clouds, in masses of black and red, descend on every side, like gloomy curtains, to shut out the sun from our view, and the wind, which blows against our faces, seems like the very breath of hell! Pooh! this is just such a night as one might expect to see our very good friend the devil abroad."

"He is no friend of mine, Señor Alosegui, although he may be a particular one of yours," said Ronald with a smile.

"By the holy house of Nazareth!" swore the bandit, "you may come to a close acquaintance with him after you have served for a time, as I expect you shall, in our honourable company."

"Well; but what of the storm?" asked Ronald, more interested about that, and unwilling to quarrel with his captor when there was so near a prospect of release. "What leads you to suppose there will be one to-night?"

"These few rain-drops now falling are large and round; hark, how they splash on the battlement! The valley, the sierra, the tower, the river, and every thing bear a deep saffron tint, partaking of the hue of the troubled sky. Santos! we shall have a storm roaring among the mountains and leaping along the valleys to-night, which will cause the old droning monks at Maya to grow pale as they look upon each other's fat faces, and while they mumble their aves, count their beads, and bring forth the morsel of the true cross to scare away Satanas and his imps of evil. By-the-by, speaking of Maya reminds me of your case, señor. A train of mules, which crossed the Pyrenees without paying us our customary toll, are on their return homeward from Bayonne to Maya, laden with the very best of all the good things this world affords for the use of the pious and abstaining fathers of the convent of Saint Francis. Forty men, commanded by Narvaez Cifuentes, will set out to-morrow to meet our friends in the Pass of Maya, and a sharp engagement will probably take place. A priest is with them; on his shoulder he bears the banner of Saint Francis of Assissi, but if they imagine that we hidalgos of fortune will respect it, the holy fathers are wofully mistaken. The mules are escorted by a party of armed peasants, commanded by an old acquaintance of Gorgorza, the padre Porko, who is as brave as the Cid, and has served with honour in the guerilla bands during the war of independence. The muleteers are all stout fellows, too, and being well armed with cajados, trabucas, and long knives, will likely show fight,—and, truly, Narvaez will see some sharp work. Now, hark you, señor; if you are willing to join him and his brave companions, you will have an opportunity of making your first essay as a cavalier of fortune under a very distinguished commander. Do this, señor, and you will live among us honoured and respected, as an equal, a friend, and a brave comrade. If you fall in conflict, all is at an end; but if taken by the authorities, to suffer martyrdom by the law on the gallows, the garrote, or the wheel, then you will have the glory of dying amid a vast multitude, upon whose sympathy the fame of your exploits will draw largely. You like not my proposition? Well, señor caballero, I have to acquaint you that I shall not be able to resist the fierce importunities of Narvaez Cifuentes, and those who are his particular friends. Their poniards are ready to leap from their scabbards against you now,—now that all chance of your being ransomed has failed. I have a sort of friendship for you, señor, because, instead of supplicating for life, you have rather seemed to defy fearlessly the terrors of death; the which stubborness of soul, if it wins not the pity, certainly excites the admiration of the jovial picaros, my comrades. You are a fine fellow over the chessboard or wine-cup, and your bearing would be complete if you would follow the example of Cifuentes, and swear and swagger a little at times. But you will acknowledge that the flowing ease of action and expression which distinguishes that accomplished cavalier, are difficult of imitation."

"I must confess they are, Señor Gaspar," replied Ronald, who could scarcely help smiling at the other's manner, which had in it a strange mixture of impudence, and part serious, part banter. "But I have really no desire to become the pupil of your friend."

"As you please, amigo mio; as you please," replied Alosegui, speaking slowly as he puffed at his cigar; for, like a true Spaniard, he smoked from the time he opened his eyes in the morning till he closed them again at night. "I once saw you perform the bandit to the very life in the* Posada de los Representes* at Aranjuez, when the British officers acted La Gitana, and some of Lope de Vega's pieces, for the amusement of themselves and the ladies of the city. You are a superb imitator, and, under the tuition of Narvaez, would, I doubt not, fulfil my utmost expectations."

"The devil take Narvaez!" muttered Ronald, who was getting impatient of Gaspar's style of speech.

"All in good time," said the other quietly. "You have been enemies of old, I believe; some affair of rivalry, in which Cifuentes was successful. I understand perfectly; but in our community among the Pyrenees here, we have no such petty feelings of dislike. However, señor," continued the robber, suddenly changing his satirical tone for a stern and bullying one; "however, I would have you to think well of all I have said, as I should be sorry to see your bones cast into the vast depth of the chasm, to swell the grisly company there. So give me a definite answer to-morrow, señor, before Narvaez departs for Maya, or fatal results may ensue."

He flourished the paper cigar which he held between two fingers and withdrew, nodding significantly as his tall and bulky figure descended the narrow staircase leading down from the paved roof of the tower.

Ronald, who was glad of his strange friend's departure, turned again to watch the long vista of the valley, which was now involved in darkness. He would probably have remained there till midnight, but he was soon compelled to follow Alosegui, as the storm, which had long been threatening, now descended in all its fury.

The atmosphere became dense and close, while the sky grew rapidly darker and darker, till it assumed the dreary blackness of a winter night, and an ocean of rain descended on the earth with such violence, that it was a wonder the little tower was not levelled beneath it like a house of cards. The thunder-peals were grand and sublime: louder and louder than a thousand broadsides, they roared as if heaven and earth were coming together.

The banditti grew pale as they viewed each other's grim visages in the blue glare of the lightning. They grew pale as death, and their "felon souls" quaked within them, for there is a terrible something in the sound of thunder, which appals most men. It seems like God's own voice speaking in the firmament.

But Alosegui called for lights and for liquor, and pig-skins and jars were speedily set abroach; the half-ruined hall was soon illuminated by candles of all sorts and sizes, which streamed and guttered, untrimmed and unheeded, in the currents of air that passed freely through the place, although the crazy windows were covered up with boards, and stuffed with cloaks, bags of straw, &c. to keep out the wind and rain.

Assembled in the dilapidated hall, if it deserved such a name, the banditti withdrew their guards and scouts, and forgot the storm without amid the laughter and brutal uproar of their carousal. Wine and the strong heady aguadiente—a liquor not unlike Scottish whisky,—were flowing like water, and the noise within the Torre de los Frayles almost equalled the uproar of the elements without.

Ronald's spirits fell, and he grew sad; he expected that there would be no attack that night, and he pitied the unfortunate soldiers who were exposed on a night-march to such a storm. From old experience he well knew the misery of such a duty. He withdrew from the scene of bandit merriment, and seeking a solitary place, watched the elemental war without, and gazed with mingled awe and pleasure on the bright streaks of forked lightning as they darted through the sky, lighting up the shattered cliffs, the mountain tops, the deep valley, and the swollen river,—displaying them vividly, tinging them all over with a pale sulphurous blue, and causing the whole scene to assume a wild and ghastly appearance. Again the thunder roared, then died away, and nought could be heard but the howling wind, and the rain rushing fiercely down from the parted clouds.

After continuing for about two hours, the storm at last began to abate, and Stuart's hopes of freedom revived. It yet wanted some hours of midnight, but he greatly feared that the fury of such a tempest would scatter Don Alvaro's command of horse and foot, drench them to the skin, and destroy their arms and ammunition. Yet he still continued at the loophole, watching the dispersion of the clouds, the appearance of the stars, and the increasing light of the moon as the successive shrouds of gauze-like vapour withdrew from her shining face.

While thus engaged, he was aroused by the sound of some one standing behind him. He turned sharply round, and beheld Cifuentes, flushed with his potations and ripe for brawl and uproar, reeling about with a horn of liquor in one hand and a drawn stiletto in the other. In his drunken insolence he dashed the cup, which was full of the rich wine of Ciudad Real, in Ronald's face, and he was for a moment almost blinded by the liquor. Full of fury at the insult, he rushed upon the robber, and grasping him by his strong and bull-like neck, tripped up his heels and hurled him to the floor in a twinkling, He dashed the head of the aggressor twice on the pavement to stun him, and wresting the poniard from his grasp, would inevitably have slain him with it, had he not been prevented by the interference of the ci-devant padre Gorgorza and others. He was grasped from behind and drawn away from his antagonist, who had very little breath left in his body after such a knock down. Drawn daggers were gleaming on every side; but the ruffians stood so much in awe of Alosegui's formidable strength and vengeance, that they longed yet feared to strike Stuart with their weapons. In the grasp of so many, his arms were pinioned fast, so that his rage could only be indicated by the heaving of his breast, by the fire which glared in his eyes, and by the swollen veins of his forehead.

A short pause ensued, until Narvaez staggered up from the floor, completely sobered, but at the same time completely infuriated by the assault which he had sustained. He at first howled like a wild beast, and sprang upon his helpless prisoner with the intention of poniarding him on the spot; but suddenly changing his mind, he laughed wildly, and swore and muttered while pointing to a rope which, unhappily, was at that time dangling from the stone mullion of a window, about twelve feet from the floor, and he proposed to hang Stuart here. The idea was greeted with a perfect storm of yells and applause.

A cold perspiration burst over the form of the captive, and he struggled with a strength and determination of which hitherto he had believed himself incapable; but his efforts were as those of a child, in the hands of so many. He had to contend with forty devils incarnate, well armed, and flushed with rage and wine.

How eagerly at that moment Stuart longed for the appearance of Alvaro, and how deeply he deplored his having given loose to passion, when, by restraining it, another hour had perhaps seen him free! But he longed in vain, for Alvaro came not, and his regrets were fruitless. He was to die now, and by the ignominious cord!

As they dragged him across the apartment, he called frantically on Alosegui; but that worthy lay on the floor in a corner insensible,—or perhaps pretending to be so,—from the quantity of liquor he had imbibed. In this dreadful extremity, when hovering on the very verge of death, Ronald condescended to remind Cifuentes that he saved his life at Merida, when Don Alvaro was about to hang him like a cur in the chapter-house of a convent there.

But Narvaez only grinned, as, with the assistance of his great row of teeth, he knotted a loop on the cord, and said that it was by the rope, the bullet, or the dagger he always paid his debts, and that he had permitted Stuart to live too long to satisfy his scruples as an honourable Spaniard.

"Up with him, amigos mios!" cried he, flourishing the hateful noose. "Carajo! pull, and with a strong hand!"

At that moment Ronald uttered a cry of triumphant joy; Narvaez dropped the cord, and the banditti started back, cowering with alarm. The stairs and the doorway of the apartment were filled with soldiers, the sight of whose bristling bayonets, with the shout of "Death to the bandidos! Viva el Rey!" struck terror on the recreant garrison of the Torre de los Frayles. Several officers rushed forward with their swords drawn, and in the tall cavalier with the steel helmet, corslet, and cavalry uniform, Ronald recognised his old friend Alvaro de Villa Franca.

"Dogs and villains!" he exclaimed, "surrender! But expect no mercy; for I swear to you, by the head of the king, that ye shall all die, and before another day dawns,—ay, every man of you!"

By this time the hall was crowded by about fifty infantry, while a number of dismounted dragoons, armed with their swords and carbines, occupied the stair and adjacent passages. The cowards whose den had been so suddenly surprised, forgetting to use the weapons with which they were so well equipped, fell upon their knees, every man excepting Narvaez. They cried for mercy in the most abject terms, but the cavalier turned a deaf ear to their entreaties, as they had done to hundreds before.

"Señor Don Ronald!" said he, embracing Stuart, "our Lady has been singularly favourable to us to-night. We toiled our way over these rocky mountains, notwithstanding the storm, and have truly arrived at a most critical moment. Our friends of the Friars', or rather the Thieves' Tower, shall find that I have not made a fruitless journey from Madrid. But first allow me to introduce an old friend, Don Pedro Gomez."

A number of ceremonious Castilian bows were exchanged, after which the cavalier continued,—

"Immediately on receiving your letter, and obtaining all the information requisite about this den of the devil, I ordered the bearer, Juan—Juan—I forget his name, to be hanged; and, waiting on Diego de Avallo, our secretary for home affairs, I procured a commission under the great seal to proceed as I chose in the duty of rooting out this nest of ruffians, who have so long been the terror of the country hereabout, and by the sacred shrine of the Virgin del Pilar! I will avenge your captivity and their crimes most signally. Guard well the staircase and doorway with our own troopers, Don Pedro."

The ci-devant sergeant was garbed and equipped like Alvaro, and had evidently acquired very much the air of a well-bred cavalier.

Excepting Alosegui, who stared about him with an air of drunken stupidity, the robbers were completely sobered, and remained on their knees, crying for mercy,—mercy in the name of the Holy Virgin, of her Son, of the Saints, and in the name of Heaven; but stern looks and charged bayonets were the only, and certainly fitting reply, and one by one they were stripped of their poniards and pistols, which were broken and destroyed by the soldiers. Narvaez alone scorned to kneel, but he stood scowling around him with a dogged, sullen, and pale visage, while his knees quaked and trembled violently.

"Alvaro," said Stuart, "look upon this sulky ruffian, who is too proud, or perhaps too frightened, to kneel."

"Cifuentes of Albuquerque!" cried the stern cavalier, in a tone almost rising into a shriek. "Dios mio! the destroyer of Catalina, of my poor sister! Ah, master-fiend! most daring of villains! Heaven has at last delivered you to me, that you may receive the reward of your long life of crime. At last you shall die by my hand!" He was about to run him through the heart, but checked the half-given thrust.

"No!" he continued, "you shall not die thus. To fall by my sword is a death fit for a hidalgo or cavalier. Thou shalt pass otherwise from this earth to hell, and die like a dog as thou art!"

Taking his heavy Toledo sabre by the blade, he aimed a blow at Narvaez, which demolished his lower jaw, and laid him on the floor. Upon the throat of the writhing robber he placed the heel of his heavy jack-boot, and watched, without the slightest feeling of compunction or remorse, the horrible distortions and death-agonies exhibited in his visage, and from his compressed throat withdrew not his foot till he had completely strangled him, and he lay a blackened, bloated, and disfigured corse on the floor.

"At length Catalina is avenged!" exclaimed the cavalier, turning with fierce exultation to Stuart, who had witnessed without regret or interference the retribution which had so suddenly hurled the once-formidable Narvaez to the shades.

The fears of the banditti were renewed on beholding this terrible scene, and again they implored piteously to be spared, offering to become Alvaro's slaves, imploring that they might be sent to dig in his mines in Estremadura, or sent to the galleys, or any where,—but, oh! to spare their wretched lives, and they would offend against God and man no more. The stern cavalier listened as if he heard them not. He ordered them to be pinioned; and Lazaro Gomez appearing with a huge bundle of the cords with which he bound his mules' packages, tied the ladrones in pairs, binding them hard and fast back to back.

Meanwhile some of the soldiers were ransacking the tower "from turret to foundation-stone," expecting to find vaults and strong rooms piled with vast heaps of treasure. But the soldados were wofully disappointed; not a cross or coin fell into their hands, save what they obtained in the pouches of the thieves, whom they pricked remorselessly with their bayonets and otherwise maltreated, to force them to reveal where their plunder was deposited.

Whether the wretches were obstinate, or had nothing to conceal, I know not; but the exasperation of the soldiers was greatly increased when they discovered that they should return without the gold, the jewellery, and the consecrated images, with which they hoped to have stuffed their havresacks.

"This is well," said Alvaro, watching with grim satisfaction the adroit manner in which Lazaro linked the rogues together. "On my honour, Lazaro, you should have been a general instead of a mule-driver. But what is wisdom in the former, the world stigmatizes as mere cunning in the latter. Believe me, Señor Stuart, the entire success of this expedition is principally owing to this sturdy rogue of Merida, on whom I would bestow a cherry-cheeked bride and a thousand hard ducats, if he would only quit mule-driving, and settle quietly down within the sound of the bells of San Juan. He was our guide to-night during the whole of the tempest, and notwithstanding its fury and the darkness, which was so intense that I could scarcely see my horse's ears, he conducted us up the mountains, by some chasm or gorge, safely and surely, horse and foot, as only the devil—"

"Or a muleteer of Merida, señor."

"Ay, Lazaro, or a muleteer of Merida, could have done. He provided planks for us to cross the chasm here, which otherwise must have brought us to a dead halt; and it was entirely owing to his tact and observation that we were enabled to surprise the villains at so critical a time. A sore penance you must have endured, my friend, in spending so many months in such company; but it might be the less regretted, as it will probably go to your account of time in purgatory. You shall have most ample satisfaction, however, before the night is much older, for all the injuries you have suffered from them."

Ronald was so much overjoyed at his deliverance, that he could scarcely find words to express his feelings, and the obligations which he owed to Don Alvaro; but, with a spirit of forgiveness highly honourable, he began to intercede for the lives of some of the banditti, who had not made themselves quite so obnoxious as the rest while he was kept in durance among them: but Alvaro replied, that the commands of Don Diego de Avallo, the Spanish minister, expressly enjoined that no quarter should be given, as it was the intention of government to strike a general terror into the banditti which infested every part of the country, and that they must be cut off, root and branch. Ronald then proposed that they should be marched down the mountains to Vittoria, or any other town, and there delivered over to the civil authorities; but Villa Franca said that he had no time to spare, and the horde of the Torre de los Frayles must be instantly disposed of.

"We settle these matters quicker in Spain than you do in Britain, where the military are so simple as to permit themselves to be ruled by alcaldes and lawyers," said the cavalier, smiling and waving his hand with a decided air. "So we will leave these humbled bravoes to the tender care of Don Pedro Gomez, and then take our departure for the town of Maya, to which our horses will convey us in a few hours. Thank Heaven, the storm has completely passed away, and the appearance of the moon gives promise of a glorious night. Without her assistance we should assuredly break our necks in descending from this cursed eagle's nest."

The soldiers fell back respectfully, as Ronald and Alvaro left the crowded hall. Ronald's heart was dancing with delight as they descended the worn and dilapidated stair, upon the steps of which he had not trodden for five months since the unhappy night on which he first entered this Pyrenean prison-house. Pausing a moment, to direct that the head of Cifuentes should be struck off, according to the Spanish custom, and placed upon a pole in the Pass of Maya, the cavalier descended after Stuart. But the despairing cries and fervent supplications of the prisoners followed them; and some, on finding that their last moment was come, began to shriek for a priest in the most heart-rending accents of superstitious terror and despair: but no priest was there, to hear their horrible confessions.

"A padre, a padre, O noble señores! A padre, por amor de Santa Maria, el Madre de Dios!" howled the despairing Gorgorza de la Puente, as the soldiers dragged him forth. "Noble cavalier! valiant soldiers! destroy me not, body and soul! I am a holy priest, señores! Oh! I was one once. Hear me, for the love of Heaven! I have much to repent of, and terrible things to confess. I poniarded a monk in San Sebastian, and stole the holy vessels from his altar. I—I—"

"Quick with the rope!" cried Pedro. "Twist it about his neck, and stop his mouth before he raises his master the devil, by speaking thus."

"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the other, struggling furiously, as three stout soldiers dragged him to the summit of the tower. "Mercy yet a little while! I carried off a lady of Subijana de Alava, and robbed her of life and honour among the mountains. I robbed—holy saints! good soldiers! will no one hear my confession? Can no one hear me?—can no man forgive me? Accursed may ye be! bloody wolves and pitiless— O misericordia, mio Dios! O Santissima Maria!" and he was launched into eternity.

Nearly twenty men were pouring forth rhapsodies like the above, and the tower became filled with sounds of lamentation, shrieks, and cries,—groans, prayers, and the wildest blasphemy mingled with the most pious ejaculations; but it was a just retribution which had fallen upon these wicked men.

Ronald's heart beat lightly as he crossed the terrible chasm, where so many unfortunates had found a tomb. He had been a captive—on the very verge of death, and now he was free, and "himself again."

The bright moon was shining aloft like a globe of silver, and the dewy sides of the hills, the rivulets which trickled from the rocks, the sleepy stream at the bottom of the valley, and every violet-cup and blade of grass were gleaming in its radiant light.

At a little distance from the chasm were a party of Alvaro's cavalry, escorting the horses of those who were engaged in the tower, and their tall lance-heads, bright helmets and cuirasses, were flashing and glittering in the moonlight. Their caparisoned war-horses were sleek-skinned and long-tailed Andalusians, and were cropping the grass with their bridles loose.

"Pedro is a rough dog," said the cavalier, looking complacently back. "He is stringing a fair chaplet for the devil in the merry moonlight. In ten minutes he will have the ladrones all dangling over the battlement. Santos! 'tis not work for soldiers' hands; but the dogs deserve not to die by military weapons, for they are as arrant cowards as ever blanched before the eye of a brave man. Look back, just now, Don Ronald!"

Ronald turned round, and beheld with disgust the Spanish soldiers forcing the pinioned banditti over the walls, where they hung by the neck, dangling and writhing in couples. Although he was at some distance from the tower, he could distinctly perceive their convulsions, and heard their heels rattling against the walls, from the ruinous battlement of which the stones were tumbling every instant into the chasm with a thundering sound, which caused the horses of the lancers to snort and rear. It was a ghastly sight.

"Now, then, ho for Maya! I believe we shall find our way across the mountains without the aid of Lazaro, now the bright moon is shining with such splendour," was the exclamation of Alvaro as they mounted and set forth. Stuart rode beside him on the horse of an orderly, and four Spanish lancers followed as an escort. They descended towards the valley by the steep and perilous path-way, which was so narrow as to admit but one horseman at a time, and often overhung the abyss, passing so close to the edge of the beetling craigs, that the eye scarcely dared to scan the depth below. It was well for the riders that the horses they rode had been accustomed to stand fire, otherwise some lives might have been lost as they descended the rocks. Before they were half-way down, a sudden glare shot across the sky from the mountains above them. A terrific shock and explosion followed, and the rock of the Torre de los Frayles was seen enveloped in a cloud of black smoke, which, after curling upwards, floated away through the clear blue sky.

"Keep your horses tight by the head!" cried Alvaro, as his mettlesome steed kicked and plunged in the narrow path, whilst Ronald expected to see him vanish over the rocks every second. "Draw well on the curb, señors; or, diavolo! some of us will be in the other world presently!"

Their cattle, however, were soon quieted, and Stuart again looked towards the place where the Torre de los Frayles had stood, but no trace of the tower was visible. The smoke had dispersed, and the rock was bare. The sound of a cavalry trumpet, calling 'to mount,' was heard soon afterwards, and the roll of an infantry drum echoed away among the mountains.

"Pedro has put powder in the vaults and blown up the place, that it may never again become a nest for such birds of prey," said Alvaro. "'Tis a tower of friars or thieves no longer, but in one moment has been dashed into fifty thousand fragments of stone. Here comes Pedro on our rear; the troop are descending the hill."

As he spoke, a long line of glittering casques and spears, moving in single file, appeared descending the rocks, and vanishing in succession under the shadow of the impending cliff, behind which the moon was shining, and casting long gigantic shadows across the valley below. The soldiers brought with them the now crest-fallen and dejected Alosegui, who, as Ronald's former preserver and defender, was, at his earnest intercession, alone permitted to escape the terrible retribution so successfully wrought on his guilty confreres.

On inquiring about Carlos de Avallo, to whose evil influence Ronald believed his captivity to have been mainly owing, Villa Franca informed him that a duel had taken place between that violent young cavalier and Don Alvarado. It had been fought on the Puerta del Sol of Elizondo, about mid-day four months previously, and ended by Carlos being run through the body by Alvarado, who, to escape the vengeance of his victim's uncle, Don Diego, had absconded to South America, and had not been since heard of.

CHAPTER VIII.

AN ACQUAINTANCE, AND "OLD ENGLAND ON THE LEE."

"Spain! farewell for ever!

These banished eyes shall view thy courts no more:

A mournful presage tells my heart, that never

Gonsalva's steps again shall press thy shore."

M. G. Lewis.

"Pho!" said the count, as they rode into Maya, "amid all the things of which we have been talking, I had quite forgotten to say that there is a countryman of yours here in this town, one who takes the utmost interest in your concerns—why, I know not; he said he was no relative. We became acquainted at Madrid, and, on hearing of your story, he proposed at once to accompany me in this expedition against the robbers in the Pyrenees and other places. He is a spirited, but rather impetuous old cavalier. He has seen service, too, in the Low Countries and other parts, but appears of late to have become somewhat addicted to ease and good living, which has enlarged the circumference of his stomach more than he wishes, and has rendered him subject to a disease we know little of in Spain,—the gout. A sudden fit of it seized him when we were marching en route to your rescue, and the worthy old hidalgo was compelled, much against his will, to quarter himself in Maya till our return. He awaits us yonder in the Posada de los Caballeros, opposite to the convent of Saint Francis."

This being nearly the whole of the information respecting "his countryman," with which Alvaro was able to furnish his companion, Ronald was not a little surprised, on alighting at the miserable posada, to find reclining, in dressing-gown and slippers, in an easy chair, with one leg, swollen and swathed in flannel, resting on a foot-stool, and with a heap of newspapers, guide-books, decanters, cigars, a brace of pistols, and a light-dragoon sabre displayed upon a table before him, no less a person than his noble competitor the Earl of Hyndford. The earl received his young rival kindly, displayed much generous feeling towards him as a brother soldier, laughed heartily at his scarecrow appearance,—for his long residence in the tower had told immensely upon Ronald's rather scanty wardrobe,—and finally, after having heard his story, and repeatedly and energetically d—d the banditti, the Horse-Guards, the gout, and the Peninsula, and having assured his young friend that though there might have been a little weeping, and so forth, on his account at home, there were no broken hearts nor any symptoms of forgetfulness, he promised him—on behalf of his friend 'York,' with whom he had formerly served as aide-de-camp, and his friend Hal Torrens, who, though a war-office man and a staff officer, was a good fellow enough—the immediate restoration of his forfeited commission, and letters to the parties named that should put all right with respect to it.