Soon appeared Juanito with a lantern in his hand. We instantly set forward. The two guides began conversing in Gallegan. “_Mon maître_,” said Antonio, “this new scoundrel is asking the old one what he thinks we have got in our portmanteaus.” Then, without awaiting my answer, he shouted, “Pistols, ye barbarians! Pistols, as you shall learn to your cost, if you do not cease speaking in that gibberish and converse in Castilian.” The Gallegans were silent, and presently the first guide dropped behind, whilst the other with the lantern moved before. “Keep in the rear,” said Antonio to the former, “and at a distance: know one thing, moreover, that I can see behind as well as before. _Mon maître_,” said he to me, “I don’t suppose these fellows will attempt to do us any harm, more especially as they do not know each other; it is well, however, to separate them, for this is a time and place which might tempt any one to commit robbery and murder too.” The rain still continued to fall uninterruptedly, the path was rugged and precipitous, and the night was so dark that we could only see indistinctly the hills which surrounded us. Once or twice our guide seemed to have lost his way: he stopped, muttered to himself, raised his lantern on high, and would then walk slowly and hesitatingly forward. In this manner we proceeded for three or four hours, when I asked the guide how far we were from Viveiro. “I do not know exactly where we are, your worship,” he replied, “though I believe we are in the route. We can scarcely, however, be less than two mad leagues from Viveiro.” “Then we shall not arrive there before morning,” interrupted Antonio, “for a mad league of Galicia means at least two of Castile; and perhaps we are doomed never to arrive there, if the way thither leads down this precipice.” As he spoke, the guide seemed to descend into the bowels of the earth. “Stop,” said I; “where are you going?” “To Viveiro, _Senhor_,” replied the fellow: “this is the way to Viveiro; there is no other. I now know where we are.” The light of the lantern shone upon the dark red features of the guide, who had turned round to reply, as he stood some yards down the side of a dingle or ravine overgrown with thick trees, beneath whose leafy branches a frightfully steep path descended. I dismounted from the pony, and delivering the bridle to the other guide, said, “Here is your master’s horse; if you please you may lead him down that abyss, but as for myself I wash my hands of the matter.” The fellow, without a word of reply, vaulted into the saddle, and with a _vamos_, _Perico_! {49} to the pony, impelled the creature to the descent. “Come, _Senhor_,” said he with the lantern, “there is no time to be lost; my light will be presently extinguished, and this is the worst bit in the whole road.” I thought it very probable that he was about to lead us to some den of cut-throats, where we might be