“I am indebted to you; I have escaped the insult offered to my companion, for you did not propose life to me at the expense of faith and honour. Velasquez has told you a sad history—now hear mine. I am a soldier’s orphan—I have no kindred left; for when my only uncle, the good old canon of Seville died, I saw my last relative on earth committed to the grave. I was then a student, and, but for circumstances, would have been, most probably, a monk. You came, and war, and violence, and insult, followed in your footsteps. Day after day I heard the hateful tale of French oppression, until my blood became gall, and I burned to take vengeance on the invaders. The slow and cautious movements of regular warfare were unsuited to a spirit active and ardent as mine; I sought a daring leader, and found him in Juan Diez. For three years I have followed the Empecinado. Would you know more of me?—ask who I am? Mine is a title seeond only to my leader’s—I am ‘The Student,’ Jose Martinez!”
He ceased, as he announced his name. La Coste, the moment that the words w’ere uttered, signed to a chasseur, whispered some secret order, and then, turning to the guerillas, he coldly pronounced their doom.
“The time is short,” he added; “have either of you aught to ask for?”
“I would wish,” replied the elder Spaniard, “to spend a few minutes with a priest.”
“The Curé shall be sent for,” replied the French commandant; “and thou, young man—hast thou no request to make?”
“None from thee!” returned the Student, boldly. “Here! Landlord, fetch me a cup of wine!”
The order was obeyed: and holding the untasted horn in his hand, he thus continued:
“‘Tis the last wine that I shall drink! Tell the Empecinado, also, what was the last pledge that passed the lips of José Martinez!—-’Viva Espana!—Mueran los Franceses!’” * And he emptied the cup to the bottom.
* Live Spain!—Death to the French!
The Cura obeyed the summons of the French commandant, the manacles were removed from the wrists of the captives, and the priest retired to a corner of the kitchen, apart from all besides, to shrive the condemned offender. Scarcely ten minutes passed, before Velasquez rose from his knees, and, with a face that bespoke a perfect resignation to his fate, stepped back to the place where his fellow-sufferer, the Student, was standing, still holding the empty wine-cup in his hand. The Cura motioned Martinez to retire—he obeyed; the shrift was short, and, in five minutes, the Student rejoined his companion in misfortune.