His voice was uncultivated and somewhat harsh, but there was a good deal of fire and expression in the performance, and it was rapturously applauded. The moment the song was over he handed her back the guitar, and, starting up hastily, bade the company adieu, and turned to go. Coming forward, I placed myself before him and began to speak. “I am pressed for time and cannot listen to you now,” he said quickly, scarcely glancing at me. “You are a prisoner--wounded, I see; well, when I return--” Suddenly he stopped, caught hold of my wounded arm, and said, “How did you get hurt? Tell me quickly.” His sharp, impatient manner, and the sight of twenty people all standing round staring at me, quite upset me, and I could only stammer out a few unintelligible words, feeling that my face was blushing scarlet to the very roots of my hair. “Let me tell you, General,” said Alday, advancing. “No, no,” said the General; “he shall speak.” The sight of Alday so eager to give his version of the affair first restored my anger to me, and with that came back the power of speech and the other faculties which I had lost for a moment. “Sir General, all I have to say is this,” I said; “I came to this man's house at night, a stranger, lost, on foot, for my horse had been stolen from me. I asked him for shelter in the belief that at least the one virtue of hospitality still survives in this country. He, assisted by these two men, treacherously disabled me with a blow on my arm and dragged me here a prisoner.” “My good friend,” said the General, “I am extremely sorry that you have been hurt through an excess of zeal on the part of one of my people. But I can scarcely regret this incident, painful as it seems, since it enables me to assure you that one other virtue besides hospitality still survives in the Banda Orientál--I mean gratitude.” “I do not understand you,” I said. “We were companions in misfortune a very short time ago,” he returned. “Have you forgotten the service you did me then?” I stared at him, astonished at his words; and while I looked into his face, suddenly that scene at the magistrate's _estancia_, when I went with the key to let my fellow-traveller out of the stocks, and he jumped up and seized my hand, flashed on me. Still I was not quite sure, and half whispered tentatively, “What, Marcos Marcó?” “Yes,” he returned, smiling, “that was my name at that moment. My friends,” he continued, resting a hand on my shoulder, and speaking to the others, “I have met this young Englishman before. A few days ago, when I was on my way hither, I was arrested at Las Cuevas in his company; it was by means of his assistance that I succeeded in making my escape. He did this good deed, believing at the time that he was helping a poor peasant, and not expecting any return.”