_Stranger_.—‘It was no fault of hers; there was no remedy. In her infancy she lost her parents, who were executed; and she was abandoned by all, till my father, taking compassion on her, brought her up and educated her: at last he made her his wife, though three times her age. She, however, remembered her blood and hated my father, and taught me to hate him likewise, and avoid him. When a boy, I used to stroll about the plains, that I might not see my father; and my father would follow me and beg me to look upon him, and would ask me what I wanted; and I would reply, Father, the only thing I want is to see you dead.’ _Myself_.—‘That was strange language from a child to its parent.’ _Stranger_.—‘It was—but you know the couplet, {236a} which says, “I do not wish to be a lord—I am by birth a Gypsy—I do not wish to be a gentleman—I am content with being a Caló!”’ _Myself_.—‘I am anxious to hear more of your history—pray proceed.’ _Stranger_.—‘When I was about twelve years old my father became distracted, and died. I then continued with my mother for some years; she loved me much, and procured a teacher to instruct me in Latin. At last she died, and then there was a pléyto (law-suit). I took to the sierra and became a highwayman; but the wars broke out. My cousin Jara, of Valdepeñas, raised a troop of brigantes. {236b} I enlisted with him and distinguished myself very much; there is scarcely a man or woman in Spain but has heard of Jara and Chaléco. I am now captain in the service of Donna Isabel—I am covered with wounds—I am—ugh! ugh! ugh—!’ He had commenced coughing, and in a manner which perfectly astounded me. I had heard hooping coughs, consumptive coughs, coughs caused by colds, and other accidents, but a cough so horrible and unnatural as that of the Gypsy soldier, I had never witnessed in the course of my travels. In a moment he was bent double, his frame writhed and laboured, the veins of his forehead were frightfully swollen, and his complexion became black as the blackest blood; he screamed, he snorted, he barked, and appeared to be on the point of suffocation—yet more explosive became the cough; and the people of the house, frightened, came running into the apartment. I cries, ‘The man is perishing, run instantly for a surgeon!’ He heard me, and with a quick movement raised his left hand as if to countermand the order; another struggle, then one mighty throe, which seemed to search his deepest intestines; and he remained motionless, his head on his knee. The cough had left him, and within a minute or two he again looked up. ‘That is a dreadful cough, friend,’ said I, when he was somewhat recovered. ‘How did you get it?’ _Gypsy Soldier_.—‘I am—shot through the lungs—brother! Let me but take breath, and I will show you the hole—the agujéro.’