"Good—I thank you, Domingo," said Grant, taking paper from a pocket-book, and making a hasty note or memorandum for Lord Wellington.
"Ay—Dios mi terra!" said Juanna, with a soft sigh, as she dropped her head upon Grant's shoulder, and Domingo kissed her brow.
"Now, where is Manrico el Barbado?" asked the captain, as he securely gummed the secret note.
"Within call," said Domingo, giving a shrill whistle.
A sound like the whirr of a partridge replied, and then a strong and ferocious-looking peasant, bare legged, and bare necked, with an enormous black beard (whence came his soubriquet of el Barbado), sprang up the rocks and made a profound salute to Grant, who was beloved and adored by all the guerillas, banditti, and wild spirits whom the French had unhoused and driven to the mountains; and among these his name was a proverb for all that was gallant, reckless, and chivalresque.
"Is your mule in good condition, Manrico?"
"He was never better, senor."
"Then ride with this to Lord Wellington; spare neither whip nor spur, and he will repay you handsomely."
"And how about yourself, senor?"
"Say to his lordship that I will rejoin him as early and as I best may."