"Noble senor," said he, turning to Ronald, "you have this day vanquished one of the most accomplished of King Ferdinand’s cavalry officers,—in fact, senor, I am one of the best swordsmen in all the ten provinces of Spain; and to disarm me thus, is no small feat for so young a soldier, and I honour you for it. Catalina de Villa Franca must be—but strike! Fortune has placed my life a second time at your absolute disposal; take it, for I swear, by every saint on our monkish muster-rolls, I will have no ignominious terms dictated to me, even though disarmed and at your mercy. So strike the blow that will free you from me for ever." "Never! gallant condé. This quarrel was your own seeking, and I forgive you for it freely, and for the many insults you have offered me." "_Senor officiale_, you are too generous: no cavalier or rival in Spain would lose the chance you cast away so carelessly." "Evan, hand this gentleman his sword? And now, condé, we must look to your wound: I trust it is not a severe one?" "Pho! ’tis a mere scratch." "Yet it bleeds much." "_Carajo!_ it does,—more than I wish it to do. But, senor, I have received so many wounds in different ways, and have bled so much, that I marvel I have any blood left in me at all." "I regret that the cut is so severe," said Ronald, as the condé held up his hand, from which the blood streamed freely. "Pho! senor; to express regret, though it may appear very generous, is folly. A few minutes since we would with pleasure have passed our blades through each other’s hearts,—but that feeling is past now. Ho! Mendizabal. Rogue! why do you tarry? Bind up this quickly, and let me be gone. I have lost much time already, and Carlos d’España will scarcely get the despatches within the appointed time." The wound was tied up hastily, so impatient was Don Balthazzar to be gone; and a strange excitement and irritability possessed him now, instead of his former coolness and self-possession. The moment it was over, he sharply scrutinized his saddle-girths and harness-buckles; after which he vaulted with the grace of a true horseman upon the back of his noble Spanish charger, which had stood by unmoved during the conflict between its rider and Ronald Stuart. "Senor," said the condé to the latter in a low but emphatic voice, "our quarrel is ended amicably for the present; but perhaps we may meet again. Do not think that a cavalier of old Castile will thus easily resign to another so fair a prize as Catalina de Villa Franca. No, senor; I must live for her, or learn to die for Spain."