By nightfall, however, thanks to the good padre's real skill, which was superior to his superstition in the efficacy of black-faced mutton, Quentin was quite relieved, and after a time related his whole story from the time of his leaving Herreruela. Florez listened to him with considerable interest, approved of all he had done, and gave him much good advice; but added that he feared De Saldos would hold him accountable for the loss of his sister, for whose treatment, and of whose ultimate fate among the French, he had the greatest apprehension. He added that his visit to the villa seemed to have been a special interposition of heaven in Quentin's favour, as he would inevitably have died in mortal agonies but for the prompt and simple applications which saved him. He desired Ramon to take special charge of the patient to Portalegre; to see that by the way he got nothing stronger for food than milk, gruel, or barley broth, and no wine whatever; and then giving them all his benediction, which the muleteers received on their knees with uncovered heads, he stuck his shovel hat on his worthy old cranium, the thin hairs of which were white as snow, mounted his sleek mule, and pricking its dapple flanks with his box stirrup-irons, departed for Marvao, by the way of Valencia de Alcantara, where he hoped to trace, and perhaps release the unfortunate girl from her captors. Impatient though the muleteers were to proceed with their train of mules, which were laden chiefly with wine for Sir John Hope's division, they agreed to remain for a night at the villa, where their cattle grazed on the lawn. With dawn next day they set forth, with Quentin riding at the head of the train, mounted on Madrina, and feeling very much like one in a dream. "Come, Ignacio Noain, a stirrup-cup ere we go," said Ramon, as he came forth, cracking his enormous whip, a blunderbuss slung on his back, and his sombrero rakishly cocked over his left eye. Ignacio handed a cupful of wine to his leader. "Demonio!" said the latter, "this smacks of the borrachio skin." "To me it was luscious as a melon of Abrantes in June, after the coarse aguardiente we drank last night," said Ignacio, who looked rather bloodshot about the eyes. "Of course you haven't tried the casks of Valdepenas on the three leading mules?" said Ramon, with a cunning leer. "They are for the English general and his staff, so every cask is guarded by an outer one." "And thus your gimlet failed to reach the wine?" "Precisely so."