"Will it be an affair of knives or pistols?" "Hush!" said I, as the waiter retired. "Slugs in a saw-pit, and all that sort of thing--a triangular duel, eh? But an officer should have brought it." "Yes, had it been that for which you seem so very anxious." "Anxious! not I, believe me." "Well, this is from a lady." "The deuce--you quite interest me. I can perceive that it is penned on pink paper, a little flourished, but without signature. It is from Paulina, poor girl! I can imagine her writing it, and as Byron says-- "'How tremulously gentle, her small hand--'" "How can you run on thus?" I asked, imploringly. "Fie upon you, Jack, after all the misery we have wrought to these poor people." "Well, perhaps you are right and I am wrong. I beg pardon; but the letter--what is it about?" "Only the safety of our lives." "Our lives--indeed--how so?" "Read it." The note ran thus:-- "SENOR DON RICARDO. "In the name of the Blessed Mother of God, I implore you and your friend to leave Seville on receipt of this, and to take the nearest road for San Lucar de Barameda, where you can reach a steamer, which sails direct for Gibraltar. Don Joaquim vows to have a terrible revenge for the death of our dear brother Hernan; and, last night, was seen in conference with Fabrique de Urquija on the old Alameda. The road you came will be beset--his band are, doubtless, now in hire to waylay you. El santo de los Santos, forgive you the misery you have caused to those who never wronged you, and may it deliver you from the snares of death that lie in your homeward path." "More melodramatic than pleasant," said Jack. "It is from Paulina, no doubt.--how considerate!" "Kind and gentle too," added Jack. "Well, all things duly considered, I think we should take her advice--mount, and be off." "Poor--poor Paulina!" "Deuce take it, Dick, don't be faint-hearted. 'T will be all one when the route comes for the Crimea, and sell or sail is the word." "Not among "Ours," I hope." "The San Lucar road be it." "Then the sooner we leave the better, for we have much to lose and nothing to gain by lingering here." "For there is neither law, justice, nor honour among these Spaniards," said Slingsby, making a smart application to the bell-rope. "What! you say so in the face of this charming letter?" "Charming, indeed, to be told that a captain of robbers--a picturesque ruffian in a steeple-crowned hat and red garters, has been bribed to cut your throat--to 'do' for you in the flower of your youth for a hundred pistoles." The letter raised a glow of sad, of kind, and regretful emotions within me; but I stifled them all, and, calling for the bill, settled with the landlord in person. "What manner of magistrates have you here in Seville?" asked the unwary Jack. "How, señor?" "When they permit thieves to prowl about your streets at night." "Thieves, señor--Ave Maria!"