"In the days of my grandsire it was; and there are yet some among our Scottish hills who consider none now binding, unless sworn over the unsheathed dirk." "’Tis well: it shows the military spirit of your people. Conform to the present customs of Spain, and to those of your northern ancestors. Swear with me, cavalier." Promptly as Alvaro could have wished, Ronald unsheathed the long Highland dirk with which he had lately equipped himself. It was a handsome weapon set with jewels, and accoutred with knife and fork, like the regimental dirks now worn by every Highland officer: and across it he vowed to aid Alvaro in delivering Cifuentes up to vengeance. "This is well. I will now be calm," said the cavalier in a tone of satisfaction. "You may have some scruples about slaying the dog with your own hand; but deliver him over to the first alcalde, and he will reserve him for the fury of Alvaro of Villa Franca." "Such a reservation may do, should I meet him in camp or city; but woe to him should we forgather in any desert spot,—my sword and his heart will not be long asunder." "Spoken like a true hidalgo, who needs no friend save his own right hand. Our Lady del Pilar! slay me this earthly fiend, and I will consider you as much my brother as if my sister, my sublime Catalina, had wedded you at the altar. Although in truth, to be frank with you, I would rather she had bestowed her hand on her cousin, the Condé of Truxillo, a brave cavalier, who has loved her long and dearly. What now, Pedro? Do you bring me the list of killed and wounded?" said he, as Serjeant Gomez stood erect at the triangular door of the tent, and brought his right hand up to the peak of his helmet, in a sweeping military salute. "The Valencian rogue, senor cavalier; how are we to dispose of him?" "Ha! I had forgotten. Right, my true soldado. A base goatherd, senor," said he, turning to Ronald, "a most contemptible traitor, who guided up the ravine those hundred cuirassiers who so nearly cut your picquet off. Pedro captured the rogue after the skirmish. He is a notorious spy and traitor. Where is he now, Pedro?" "Tied hard and fast, like a Merino sheep, under the belly of my Andalusian," answered Pedro with a grin. "You had better turn him over to the provost-marshal of the camp," said Ronald; "he will give him his deserts from the branch of the nearest tree. The rascal! by his treachery to his country my company has lost fourteen gallant hearts, and I have won this wound." "As he is a prisoner of mine," said Alvaro, "I will dispose of him, and save senor the provost-marshal any trouble in the matter. Desire a file of troopers to dismount and load their carbines,—no! that were a waste of King Ferdinand’s powder. Run your dagger into his throat, Pedro, and see that you strike deep; then fling his carcase over the rocks into the Albuera, and let it rot in that same ravine that he knows so well."