"_Caramba!_" cried the Spaniard, fiercely turning round and endeavouring to pierce the darkness which enveloped the stradi: but nothing could be discovered. After a vain attempt again to obtain a hearing from the lady, he took his guitar under his arm, and proceeded leisurely down the street on the darkest side, as if to elude observation, still humming the burden of his ditty, "Adios, querida,"[*] while his heavy spurs and long steel scabbard clattered in accompaniment. The two British officers had turned to pursue their way towards the Plaza, when a cry of "_Diavolo! Ah, perros—ladrones! Carajo!_" burst from the Spaniard, followed immediately by a clashing of steel blades, the noise of which drew Ronald and Alister hastily to the spot. Here they found Don Alvaro, with his back to the wall, contending fiercely with his single weapon against six armed men, from whose swords and poniards he made the fire fly at every stroke he dealt, keeping them at bay with admirable courage and skill. [*] Farewell, love. "One, two, three—six to one! the rascally cowards! Draw, Alister,—draw and strike in," cried Ronald, unsheathing his sword, an example which his companion was not slow in following, and all three were soon engaged, two to one, against the assailants of Alvaro, who were surprised at this unexpected attack, and fought with double desperation to escape. The whole of Ronald’s long-nourished love of tumult, his fiery spirit and inherent fierceness broke forth in this martial fray, and indeed he was put to his mettle. No fewer than three of the ruffians fell upon him pell mell, cutting and thrusting with their long blades, while they watched every opportunity to use the sharper stilettoes which armed their left hands. Ronald’s regimental gorget saved him from one deadly thrust at his throat, and the thick folds of his plaid, where they crossed the iron plate of his left epaulette-strap, saved him from more than one downright blow. Sweeping his long claymore round him, with both his hands clenched in its basket hilt, he fought with the utmost energy, but only on the defensive, and was compelled to retire backwards step by step towards the quay of the Guadiana, where he must have been inevitably drowned or slain, but for the timely interference of a fourth sword, which mingling its strokes with theirs, struck the three Spanish blades to shivers. Two of the fellows immediately fled, and plunging into the river swam to the opposite bank; the third would have followed, but Ronald, grasping him by the throat, adroitly struck the poniard from his hand, and pinning him to the earth, placed his foot upon his neck. At the same moment Alister Macdonald passed his long claymore through the body of the fourth, who fell shrieking—"_Santa Maria! O Dios! O Dios!_" and almost instantly expired. The other two, who had been driven far off by the Spanish officer, now fled, and the brawl was ended.