“Humph!” said the stranger.—“What is the nearest post that is at present occupied by the French cavalry?”
“The nearest!—praise to the Virgin!—I have heard from a traveller is at Areanza—some half score leagues from Toro.”
“‘Tis well,” muttered the stranger.—“Get me a trusty messenger; and mind that he be trusty—or—‘’ he looked the rest, the landlord perfectly understanding it. Egad! I never saw anything more expressive; it was a look that conveyed more than any language could express. One of his companions rose, and looked from the casement.
“How soon,” he said, “the storm has abated! The moon has risen; and a finer night to take a hurried march and surprise a sleeping outpost could not be found.”
“I wish it were otherwise,” returned he who seemed the leader. “And yet ten leagues from a French picket, methinks, is tolerable security. Go, Velasquez,—and see that this packet be sent forward, safely and swiftly. For his messenger’s fidelity I hold the landlord accountable. Tell him that;—and whisper in his ear, that the guest he entertains to-night is —————” His voice dropped, but a smile of sinister expression told the rest.
From a secret pocket the dark stranger drew out a splendid watch. “Past midnight. Come, gentlemen, one round more, and then for bed: we must all be astir by cock-crow.”
The bottle for the last time made its circuit. Velasquez returned after despatching the packet, accompanied by the host bearing a lamp. He conducted us to a long gallery, containing at least sleeping apartments for a dozen; but the only occupants that night were the strangers, the fosterer, and myself. Where the muleteer bestowed himself I knew not; but subsequent events sufficiently explained the reason why we were not favoured with his company.
No stronger proof of caution and insecurity could be required than the care with which each individual arranged his clothes and arms. Every weapon was placed in a position to be ready for the owner’s hand; while the business of the toilet was dispensed with altogether, as we all stretched ourselves on our woollen beds without undressing. The Spaniards crossed themselves devoutly; the fosterer repeated a short prayer; I cried “God bless us!” and in ten minutes all within the spacious chamber slept profoundly.
Several hours must have elapsed, and still my slumbers continued unbroken. Suddenly an uneasy dream disturbed me, and I started upright on the mattress. The lamp was burning gloomily; and the sleepers round the chamber were fast as watchmen. I listened—noises low and indistinct without excited my attention. The sounds were such as men make when they attempt to move unheard. I glided out of bed, and peeped cautiously from the lattice. By Heaven!—the court-yard was filled with dismounted dragoons, and one glance told me that they were enemies.
The elder Spaniard lay on the bed next to mine, and I laid my hand softly on his arm. In a moment his dark eyes were turned suspiciously on mine, as I stooped my head and whispered that we were betrayed. He heard the intelligence without any apparent emotion, slipped quietly from his couch, and looked for a moment on the court-yard. I heard him muttering to himself, “Ten—fifteen—twenty—forty in all: the odds are great, and we, too, cut off from the stables. Ha!—let me think—there’s but one hope—the gate first—the river afterwards—ay, there lies the only chance of our deliverance.”