This was one of the many passages in it, which were impressed upon his memory, and he remembered, with peculiar bitterness of feeling, that it was with Alice Lisle he had first perused the pages of that now forgotten poem, seated by her side in one of the green birchen glades through which the Isla flowed towards the Tay.
The heavy clang of a charger's hoofs broke in upon his reverie, and raising his eyes, he saw an officer of the light cavalry ride furiously into the Plaza, with his uniform covered with dust, and his horse and accoutrements dripping with white foam. Casting a rapid glance around him, he spurred at once beneath the balcony over which Ronald leaned, knowing him to be a British officer from his uniform.
He checked his horse by the curb-stone of the pavement.
"Evelyn—Lieutenant Evelyn, 13th Light Dragoons," said he, introducing himself. "Mr. Stuart, I presume?"
"Yes,—Stuart, of the 92nd Regiment," replied Ronald bowing. "I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you before?"
"Ay, near La Nava, the evening we drove in Dombrouski's advanced picquet."
"I now remember. But what word from the front?"
"Oh! the old story,—a countermarch. Campaigning is like a game at chess: we have been ordered to retire into Portugal, and the second division will be in full retreat by this time. I suppose they will come down the other bank of the Guadiana."
"This movement, likely, has some relation to the recent investment of Ciudad Rodrigo. You will, of course, have heard of that?"
"Our works are carried within a very short distance of theirs. It is said that Marshal Marmont imagines it will hold out for several weeks yet; before which time he will give Lord Wellington battle, and attempt its relief. His lordship appears to be preparing, as troops from all quarters are concentrating under his command; so that, should Ciudad Rodrigo not soon capitulate, we may expect a battle with Marmont in a few days."