One thing alone remains to be recorded. The brown horse, which had followed his master's body to the grave, and watched his interment with an almost human eye, was forced almost by violence from the spot when the last ceremony was ended.
But in the afternoon, when the column was formed to march, and the bugles sounded the advance, he reared furiously, broke the leading rein by which a dragoon was guiding him, and galloped to the spot where they had laid his master.
They followed him, and found him lying on the grave, rooting up the fresh laid sods with his muzzle. But when he saw them drawing near, he rose to his feet with a weak, staggering action, stood for a moment gazing at them proudly, then uttered the same long, shrill, plaintive neigh, and in the sound expired.
They scooped a little hollow—it was no sacrilege—beside the grave of him whom he had borne so truly, whom he would not survive, and laid him by those honoured ashes, with this motto rudely carved on a low headstone close by the simple monument, which love erected to the memory of the gallant Partisan:
Fiel hasta la Muerte.
Marguerita.
They sleep together. Never was better horse or nobler rider.
THE END.
Printed by James Jackson, and Published by him at his Publishing Office, 2, Red Lion Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.