About an hour before day-break, a time when the chill feeling of the atmosphere increases in Spain, Ronald was roused from his heavy slumber by some one shaking his arm. "Another shot! Keep up your fire, Pedro!" he muttered, not knowing where he was. "Hollo! what is the matter?" he cried, as the glare of the fire, flashing on the epaulets of Lewis, recalled his wandering ideas. "Mr. Stuart, troops are in motion on the plain to the eastward. I considered it my duty to acquaint you," replied the other, and withdrew. "They are either our own people, or some French party thrown forward from Merida. Stand to your arms, there. Men! rouse, rouse! Piper, blow the gathering. Mr. Lisle, get the men under arms,—let them fix bayonets and load: I will be with you immediately." Moving in the direction of the advanced sentry who had given the alarm, he distinctly heard the rapid tramp of horse approaching towards them along the beaten track,—it deserved not the name of road, from Merida. "Cavalry!" thought he, drawing his sword. "Now then for a solid square: I will not surrender to Dombrouski, without a show of fight, even should he come with all his lancers at his back, in their panoply of brass and steel." At that instant the cavalry halted; but the darkness was so great, that he could not discern any trace of them save their sabres, which glittered in the light of the watch-fire. "Teevils and glaumories!" shouted the advanced sentinel, a bluff Gael from the forest of Athole, as he ’ported,’ his musquet. "Wha’s tat,—wha gaes there?" "What the devil does he say? The challenge was German, Wyndham," said a distant voice. "Low Dutch, decidedly," replied another with a reckless laugh. "Perhaps they are some of the _chasseurs Britanniques_." "What would bring them here? Some of the cacadores, probably." "Who goes there? What troops are these?" cried Ronald. "Holloa! all right. A reconnoitring party thrown out from the advanced guard of the second division. What are you?" "A detachment for the first brigade." "Scots?" "Gordon Highlanders." "Captain Wyndham took you for the drowsy Germans," said the officer, riding forward. "All is right, then; we belong to the 9th Light Dragoons, and General Long sent us forward to discover what the fire on the plain meant. We took you for some of the enemy, a party of whom we captured at Merida a few hours ago. Lord knows how they came there! I am sure old Sir Rowland does not." "Then it seems the division is on a forced march?" "Ay, the devil take it! It knocks up our cattle confoundedly," answered Wyndham. "The whole column will be here in an hour; but I must retire, and report to Long. Adieu. Party! threes about; forward,—trot!" and away they went.