“I’ll tell you briefly,” replied the elder: “I am no soldier; I was born on the banks of the Sedana, and inherited a farm my ancestors had tilled for centuries. We lived then in humble opulence. My father died; I succeeded to his small possessions, married as suited my lowly rank, and was as happy as love and contentment can make an humble man. Twice I became a father: need I add that this fond tie bound me still closer to the partner of my home and heart? Your armies overran the country; but for a time the remoteness of our hamlet protected us. Where was the dwelling, however isolated, that at one time or other escaped the fearful visits of your marauders? A foraging party entered our hamlet. They took what they would, and none resisted; they ate, and drank, and plundered--none offered remonstrance or complaint. I was from home--and I tell the tale as it was told me afterwards. Within that solitary hamlet, there lived some of the fairest peasants in Toledo. The morning rose upon them in happy innocence--when it set they were ruined and dishonoured. Maid and matron alike were exposed to licentious brutality. My poor Inez told me the story of her wrongs, and made me swear eternal vengeanee on the villain who had robbed her of her honour. He was the leader of the party, and that enabled me to trace him. Where he went, I followed--ay--followed close as a bloodhound on the trail. Night and day I dogged his steps. When he removed, no matter how distant were his quarters, there did I, his evil genius, appear. Nine months passed, and still I never could strike a certain blow--but he who waits for vengeanee seldom waits in vain. The moment came at last, and in the publie square of Salamanca I stabbed him to the heart. Vengeance was satisfied: and did I then return to my home? _I_ had no home--it was a ruin. My farm was wasted; my cattle taken away; I found my wife a maniac--for insult and cruelty had deprived her of reason. I sought my children--they were beggars, living on the bounty of the charitable. What could I do but swear vengeance anew, and band with those gallant spirits who were in arms against the oppressors of their country. Well, you ask me, would I live? I answer, _yes_--not that life to me is worth the holding; but for the sake of that poor maniac and her starving orphans--still would I live.” While he told his simple story the recollection of his wrongs supported him; but the allusion to the sad calamities which French barbarity had entailed upon his wretched family evidently affected him; and I observed that the dark eye which lately flashed defiance was moistened with a tear. “Spaniard, what wouldst thou give for life?” demanded Colonel La Coste. “Aught that became an honest man,” was the reply. “I will name the terms, and then say wilt thou accept them and be free?” “Speak!” said the guerilla. “Thou knowest the Empeeinado--thou art in his confidence--his haunts are known to thee;--couldst thou, if at liberty, find him out?”