It was in one of these moments as, rising high in his stirrups, he bore down upon the unflinching ranks of the British infantry, the shrill whistle of a ball strewed the leaves upon the roadside, the exulting shout of a Guerilla followed it, and the same instant Lefebvre fell forward upon his horse’s mane, a deluge of blood bursting from his bosom. A broken cry escaped his lips,--a last effort to cheer on his men; his noble charger galloped forward between our squares, bearing to us our prisoner, the corpse of his rider. “Captain O’Malley,” said a mounted dragoon to the advanced sentry at the bottom of the little hill upon which I was standing. “Despatches from headquarters, sir,” delivering into my hands a large sealed packet from the adjutant-general’s office. While he proceeded to search for another letter of which he was the bearer, I broke the seal and read as follows:-- ADJUTANT-GENERAL’S OFFICE. May 15. Sir,--On the receipt of this order you are directed, having previously resigned your command to the officer next in seniority, to repair to headquarters at Fueutes d’Onoro, there to report yourself under arrest. I have the honor to be your obedient servant, GEORGE HOPETON, _Military Secretary_. “What the devil can this mean?” said I to myself, as I read the lines over again and again. “What have I done lately, or what have I left undone to involve me in this scrape? Ah!” thought I, “to be sure, it can be nothing else. Lord Wellington _did_ recognize me that unlucky morning, and has determined not to let me pass unpunished. How unfortunate. Scarcely twenty-four hours have elapsed since fortune seemed to smile upon me from every side, and now the very destiny I most dreaded stares me fully in the face.” A reprimand, or the sentence of a court-martial, I shrank from with a coward’s fear. It mattered comparatively little from what source arising, the injury to my pride as a man and my spirit as a soldier would be almost the same. “This is the letter, sir,” said the orderly, presenting me with a packet, the address of which was in Power’s hand-writing. Eagerly tearing it open, I sought for something which might explain my unhappy position. It bore the same date as the official letter, and ran thus:--