"'Hush, señor; not a word of thanks or of transport, for that would spoil all,' she replied, with calmness and decision. 'I do, indeed, owe you a debt of gratitude; but the mention of that to my father, and more than all to Don José----'
"'Would but accelerate your fate. I have bribed the carcelero,' she whispered, 'and he will sleep sound. His deputy is about to join the guerillas of the great Don Julian Sanchez, and for twenty dollars will guide you to Madrid, sent by my cousin, the ayudante; your horses are waiting at the corner of the Plaza. No more,' she added, shortly, when I attempted to kiss her hand, which the thick folds of her ample veil concealed.
"In a minute we had left the detested prison-house, and crossed the garden which lay between it and the Plaza. Again the glorious moon was rolling in its silver splendour over Ciudad Heal; and as I gazed on my fair companion, the interest I felt for her returned vividly, and became stronger, as the moment approached when I should leave her for ever. I saw her magnificent eyes sparkling through her veil.
"'Señora,' said I, with hesitation, as our attendant, by hurrying on before, had left us for one instant alone--'Señora,' I continued, urged by a kind, a grateful, and a stronger impulse than I could at that time analyse, 'though to remain here is remaining but to die, I leave Ciudad Real with the most sincere sorrow.'
"'But I also am going to Madrid--and this night, too.'
"I remembered the words of Crogan; I knew alia Spanish love was capable of; my heart leaped within me.
"'With you and your brave dragoon. Ah, señor, do not refuse to escort me. My father is bent on marrying me to Don José----'
"'What!--that rascally old town-major? My dear señora, I beg you not to think of it.'
"'Ah! I have thought a great deal of it, and wept for it too.'
"'Then,' said I, drawing my breath more freely, end seeing a prospect of vengeance on the pot-bellied major, 'you do not love him?'
"'Oh no; I hate, abhor, detest him; and to avoid him, am about to retire to Madrid, where my aunt lives. She is reverend mother at our Lady of Attocha. You know the great convent where the little Jesus is that works the miracles, and looks so beautiful, a love of an infant, on the altar of the Hundred Lamps. My aunt will save me from this detested union if you, señor, will but afford me your escort. I am friendless,' she continued, weeping; 'for such is the terror of my father's name that there is not a man in Ciudad Real whom I can trust. Yet I shall confide in your goodness; indeed I am sure--I know--I think, I may. The British officer has a high sense of chivalry 'and honour, but Ay de mi! el Espanol no tiene nada.'