"I was in the same plight in which I had marched from Aranjuez; my wings worn to black wire; coat purple, and patched with grey and blue at the elbows; my Tartan trews a mass of darns; scabbard, as I have said, six inches too short for the claymore; shoes all gone at the toes; and my last shirt all gone too, save the wrists and collar. But I was weatherbeaten as a smuggler; and I looked more like a soldier than the pomatumed Dons of the Spanish line, or the Cavaliers of Calatrava, who turned up their mustaches and muttered 'basta!' as I passed them, to where the Marquis stood, with a lady leaning on his arm.
"Don Christoval, of Santa Cruz, was a tall, gaunt man, with a long Castilian visage, black lack-lustre eyes, and a solemn air of lofty pomposity. His mustaches were curled up to his ears. He had an enormous basket-hilted toledo depending from a sling-belt, and carried his handkerchief stuffed into the hilt thereof. He wore the uniform of a Spanish lieutenant-general, and had various little gold and silver ornaments sparkling on his breast. I was aware that a graceful and bright-eyed young girl, in white lace, with her head wreathed by a superb tiara of brilliants, leaned on his arm; but so solemnly severe was the brow of the Marquis and so brief his greeting, though in the old style of Castilian courtesy, that he riveted my whole attention. Besides, I was not a little indignant at the unceremonious manner in which I had been brought before him, and made a spectacle to his guests.
"'Señor Don Christoval,' said I, 'for what am I brought—I may say dragged—hither from my billet, after a tedious march, and after having duly delivered over my detachment, according to my orders from head-quarters?'
"'Señor official,' replied the Marquis, with a look of grave severity, 'you are charged with murdering two Spaniards, carrying off twenty mules from La Guardia, and levying other contributions in the partida.'
"'Who dare to be my accusers?' I asked, thunder-struck at such a charge.
"'The alcalde of La Guardia, whose brother is one of the slain; and Alonzo Perez, a master-muleteer of Fuentelfresno, whose mules you carried off.'
"'Marquis, on my honour as a British officer and gentleman, I deny this.'
"The Marquis smiled coldly, as he replied,—
"'To-morrow we will confront you with the worthy alcalde; and as for the mules, the owner recognised them this morning, drawing your waggons into Ciudad Real. Each animal has a private notch in its ears.'
"'Marquis, I beg to assure you——'