"From Pampeluna, or at least from as near to it as I could venture. The news I bring are bad enough. Yesterday morning, at this hour, Juan Orrio, and the four other officers who were taken in the skirmish near Echauri, were shot to death on the glacis of Pampeluna." "Bad news indeed!" said the Count, starting, in visible perturbation, from the chair on which he had seated himself. "Most unfortunate, just at this time." "At this or at any other time it would hardly be welcome intelligence to the general," observed Don Baltasar. "Orrio was one of the first who joined him after he took command of the king's army, and he greatly valued him both as a friend and an officer." "True," replied Villabuena; "but at this moment I have especial reasons for regretting his death. Have you communicated it to Zumalacarregui?" "Not yet. I have been to his quarters; he rode out at daybreak, and has not returned. My horse is dead beat, and as the direction the general took is not exactly known, I think it better to wait his coming than to follow him. Meanwhile, cousin, a cup of chocolate will be no unwelcome refreshment after the night's march." Villabuena rang a hand-bell that lay upon the table, and gave his orders to the servant who answered the summons. Some smoking chocolate and other refreshments, and a small brazen cup containing embers for lighting cigars, were brought in, and the Major applied himself vigorously to the discussion of his breakfast. Major Baltasar de Villabuena, that distant relative of the Count to whom reference has been already made as the intended husband of his daughter, was a soldier of fortune who had entered the army at an early age, and at the outbreak of the Carlist insurrection was captain in a regiment of the line. He might have risen higher during his twenty years' service, but for his dogged and unpleasant temper, which ever stood in the way of his advancement. The death of the Count's sons, although it constituted him heir to the Villabuena property, made but little real difference in his prospects. The Count was only twelve or fifteen years older than himself, and likely to live nearly as long. The cousins had not met for many years, and had never been on intimate or even friendly terms; and it was therefore with joyful surprise, that, a few days after the commencement of the war, Don Baltasar received a letter from the Count, expressing a wish to see and know more of the man who was to inherit his title and estates. The letter informed him of what he already knew, that the Count had espoused the cause of Charles V.; and it further urged him to throw up his commission in the army of the usurping government, and to hasten to join his kinsman, who would receive him with open arms. Some vague hints concerning a nearer alliance between them, were more than was wanting to raise Don Baltasar's hopes to the highest pitch, and to induce him instantly to accept the Count's propositions. He at once