Oh, the indescribable annoyances and weariness of such a march! To feel one self overpowered with sleep, and yet be compelled to trudge on through long and unknown routes and tracts of country,—seeing with heavy and half-closed eyes the road passing by like a running stream, no sound breaking the monotonous tread of the marching feet,—to drop asleep for a moment, and be unpleasantly aroused by your nodding head coming in contact with the knapsack of a front file,—to trudge on, on, on, while every limb and fibre is overcome with lassitude, and having the comfortable assurance that many will be knocked on the head before day-break, while your friends at home are lying snugly in bed, not knowing or caring a jot about the matter. Before dawn the detachments were secreted and bivouacked in the wood of Jarciejo, where they remained the whole day, keeping close within its recesses, as they were now in the immediate neighbourhood of the enemy, upon whose strongholds a night-attack was determined to be made. Before morning broke, Ronald had an opportunity of bringing to a parley the monk, who appeared to dog him in so mysterious and sinister a manner. Standing under the dark shade of a large chesnut, as if for concealment, he suddenly espied the glimmer of his long and floating grey cassock. The young Highlander agilely sprung forward, and caught him by the cope, when, as usual, he was about to fly. "Well, reverend Padre, I have caught you at last! How now, senor?" "What mean you, caballero?" asked the priest gruffly, turning boldly upon him. "Priest! I demand of you," replied the other angrily, "your intentions? Your following me about thus cannot be for good: answer me at once, if you dare! I will drag you to the quarter-guard, and have you unfrocked,—by Heaven, I will! if you answer me not instantly." "Hombre, I understand you not," said the priest insolently. "Unhand my cope, _senor officiale_, or _demonio_! I have a dagger—" "A dagger! How, you rascally padre! dare you threaten me?" "Why not, if you grasp me thus?" answered he in a tone, the deepness and ferocity of which caused Ronald to start. "Unhand me, senor cavalier, or it may be the worse for you in the end. I am a holy priest of _el Convento de todos Santos_, at Merida, and bear a letter from the corregidor to Sir Rowland Hill, who has employed me as his guide." "I believe you not; you are no priest, but some cursed spy of Soult’s, and if so, shall hang before sunrise. Draw back his cowl!" said Stuart to the soldiers, who thronged round. "_Santos-Santissimus! O Madre de Dios!_" cried the other, evidently in tribulation, "touch it not, lest ye commit a grievous sin. I am under a vow, which ye comprehend not. Unhand me, noble cavalier! I am but a poor priest, and may not contend with armed soldiers."