Prior to this event, on the evening the division halted, Quentin, about the hour of sunset, had wandered to the old Roman aqueduct which lies near the city, and he remained for a time lost in thought while surveying its mouldering arches, and the piles of columns, bases, flowered capitals, enriched friezes, Corinthian entablatures, and broken statues, lying amid the weeds and long grass, the remains of the once superb temples, ruined by the Goths and Moors; and perhaps he was thinking of his old dominie at Rohallion, and the worthy pedant's profound veneration for the ancient days of Rome, the mistress of all the then known world. The place was solitary and almost buried amid old vineyards and groves of now leafless trees. Under one of the mouldering arches, from which, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, masses of luxuriant creepers and trailers were yet hanging, Quentin, leaning on his musket, lingered to admire the scenery and the glory of the golden sunset, which spread its farewell radiance over the vast plain, of which Merida, from its situation on a lofty eminence, commands a view in every direction--the olive groves yet green and waving in the breeze, and the winding Guadiana, while far away in distance, all tinted in dusky blue or russet brown, but edged with flaming gold, stretched the mountain sierras, range over range, towards the north. From the pleasant contemplation of this evening landscape he was suddenly roused by seeing a pair of fierce dark eyes glaring into his own. It was the guerilla Trevino, of whom it seems a mockery to give his once prefix of Padre! "So, senor," said he, with a terrible grimace, "we meet again, do we?" "It seems so, senor," replied Quentin, haughtily, as he stepped back a pace, "and what then?" "Only that I find you in very bad company." "I am alone, senor." "Well, and you alone form the company I refer to," replied the Spaniard, insolently, and with a savage grin, while the fingers of his right hand clutched the haft of his knife, and his thumb was firmly planted on the pommel. There was no mistaking this action or his air for anything else than open hostility, so Quentin warily stepped back another pace, and glanced hastily round to be assured that no other guerillas were lurking near, and then grasping the barrel of his musket, which was unloaded, he stood ready on his defence against an antagonist who possessed, perhaps, twice his bodily strength. "What do you mean, Senor Trevino, by accosting me in this manner?" he demanded. "I mean, _hombre_, that I have been lately at the Convent of Sant Engracia, and that Donna Isidora has _not_ been heard of there; so, in the meantime, I and two or three others have sworn across our knives to kill you, that is all; leaving to time to reveal what you have done with her."