"Maldita! the merchant who sold that wine must either be a rogue at heart, or an old muleteer, to be so well up to all the tricks of the road. And now, senor, here is milk for you; no wine; we must remember the orders of Padre Florez," said Ramon, presenting Quentin with a bowl of new goat's-milk, as he sat, pale as a spectre, on the demipique saddle with which Madrina was accoutred, and which, in addition to all her other fringe and worsted trappings, gave that stately pet-mare very much the aspect of a mummer's nag. Quentin, though refreshed and revived by the cool and delicious morning air, and cheered by the hope of being soon at head-quarters with his present jovial guides, felt sad and bewildered when he thought of Isidora, her beauty, her impetuous spirit, the wild and sudden love she had professed for himself, and the too probable horror of her fate in the hands of the French, who were so unscrupulous towards the Spaniards and Portuguese. Then the mystery of the poison; it was no doubt, he hoped, some fatal mistake, but one which might never be solved or explained. In fancy he seemed still to see her wondrous dark eyes, with their thick black upper and lower lashes, while her soft musical voice seemed to mingle with the melodious bells of the long train of mules at the head of which Madrina paced as guide; and as they descended the vine-clad hills towards the frontiers of Portugal, he turned in his saddle to give a farewell glance at the deserted Villa de Maciera. CHAPTER IV. THE ARMY MARCHES. "No martial shout is there--in silence dread, Save the dull cadence of the soldier's tread, Or where the measured beat of distant drum Tells forth their slow advance--they come! they come! On! England, on! and thou, O Scotland, raise, 'Midst Lusias' wilds, thy shout of other days, Till grim Alcoba catch thy slogan roar, And trembling, glisten to thy blue claymore." LORD GRENVILLE.--1813. On the 2nd day of November, 1808, the division of Sir John Hope broke up from its cantonments at Portalegre, and by successive regiments began its march towards Spain. The whole British army in Portugal was now pouring forward, and it was calculated that when Sir John Moore effected a junction with the Spanish armies, the united forces would amount to one hundred and thirteen thousand men, to oppose the vast power of France, which was divided into eight corps, led by the first soldiers of the Empire, the Marshal-Dukes of Belluno, Istria, Cornegliano, Treviso, Elchingen, Abrantes, Generals St. Cyr and Lefebre.