"Madre Mia! It was said to be an Alonzo Cano, and had narrowly escaped the clutches of the Marshals Soult and Massena, when they swept away the golden moidores of the Portuguese and the divine Murillos of the Spaniards. It belonged to the chapel in which the saint was baptized, and was quite as veritable and wonderful as the holy countenance of Jaen, and was usually placed over the great altar; but one day when the chapel was undergoing repair, it was placed at the porch, where it was seen by a certain ruined gamester--a savage and desperate fellow, worse than Juan Roa or Don Fabrique, as he came past that way. In a fit of mad despair, having just lost everything, he struck his dagger into the bosom of the picture, from which there immediately gushed out a torrent of blood in the sight of the terrified people; while a faint cry was heard in the air, as of one in pain afar off." "And the gamester?" "Went raving mad and died, chained like a wild beast in the Gaza de Locos of Jaen." To our gift, our companion added a doubloon, a present so valuable that it excited our surprise and kindled the fear of the poor nun, who accepted it with reluctance, and, with abundance of genuflections and thanks, whipped up her burro, which trotted away. "Shall I not have the honour of escorting you to Estrelo, reverend señora?" cried our friend, hurrying after her. "Muchos gratias--no, no! a thousand thanks, señor," she replied, hurriedly; "no one will molest a poor sister of Santa Theresa." Her ill-concealed repugnance to receive his alms evidently impressed the Spaniard, who seated himself in silence, and smoked with a sullen expression, as if somewhat depressed by the whole affair; but Jack Slingsby, who hated silence more than anything in the world, began to make some casual inquiries as to whether or not the famous Urquija had been heard of hereabout, and where he was generally to be found. "Found," reiterated the Spaniard, with a frown of surprise; "he is often found by those who least like such a discovery." "So it seems," replied Jack, "and by the accounts we heard of him at the--how do you name it?--the venta last night, he seems to be ripe fruit for the gallows." "Indeed," said the Spaniard, quietly making up another cigarillo, "you are very loud, Señor Viajador, (traveller), in condemning this poor son of Andalusia, this Don Fabrique; but you do so simply because you know nothing about him; being, like most Englishmen, totally ignorant of every country except your own portion of Britain, and, believing that whatever is not English must be radically, physically, and morally wrong, you have come among us predisposed to ridicule and to condemn." "The deuce!" said Jack, with an air of pique; "I beg to assure you, my fine fellow, that I could tell you a story of a posada----"