A cry! it was a wild and despairing one, that rang terribly along the wooden corridor; a struggle--the stamping of feet--the explosion of a pistol, with the fall of a body heavily on the floor followed; and then all became still save the barking of the _perro de caza_, or house-dog, in the yard. Duff's first thought was of the enemy--that their cavalry were in the town--and that the picquets had been repulsed on the Burgos road. Then he thought of the intruder. "Up, Grant," said he; "get your sword, Garriehorne--the French or the devil are at work here!" "Help, senores caballeros--help!" cried a piteous voice in the corridor. "Is that you, senor patron?" "Si, senor--'tis I and the senora patrona--open, por amor de Dios--the posada has been attacked by thieves." "By thieves"-- "Yes; and by the holy of holies, I have had the narrowest of escapes," he added, dragging in his young and pretty wife. Both were in their night dresses; both were breathless and ghastly pale. "What was the meaning of that pistol-shot?" "You shall hear, senor--you shall hear," replied the host, staggering to a seat. "Dios mio! I was sound asleep, my day's work has been a severe one, so many noble caballeros have been about the house all day long. I was asleep; but the senora patrona saw a man in our room; he carried a pistol in one hand, a lantern in the other. Her cries awoke me, and I sprang from my bed to reach my Albacete knife, which usually lies on a stool close by; when lo! there was a flash in my eyes, a pistol-ball grazed my right ear, and buried itself in the pillow I had just left! Santiago! my knife was in my hand; I became blind! I rushed upon the would-be assassin; once, twice, ay, thrice, my knife was buried in his heart; at first there was a cry of agony, then I heard the breast-bone crack, as, with a heavy sob, he was dead. Ouf!" he added, as a light was brought; "see how my right hand and arm are drenched in blood." He flung the knife on the floor, and it sounded like a knell. "Grant, look to the poor patrona," said Duff. "Come, Garriehorne, the man may not be dead yet." "O, senor, I warrant him dead enough; my first stab went straight to the heart," replied the hostalero, grinding his teeth with savage energy. Proceeding along the dingy corridor, they reached his bedroom, where a man, in a pool of thickening blood, lay prostrate on the floor. "He is quite dead," said Garriehorne. "Grant, turn the poor devil over, and let us see what like he is," said Dick Duff. He was turned on his back, and a hoarse cry burst from old Morello, on recognising in the relaxed jaw and fixed eye-balls of the corpse the features of----_his son Antonio_! * * * * * *