uous Frenchmen
on the spot."

"Did he, indeed?" exclaimed Mrs. Shortridge; then laughing at herself
for being quizzed for the moment, begged L'Isle to tell this to the
Portuguese ladies, and see if they would not believe it.

Meanwhile, Lady Mabel was gazing thoughtfully over the winding valley,
which running toward them from the East, turned abruptly to the South,
indicating the course of the Guadiana, and on the wide plains of
Estremadura _baja_, or the lower, to the blue sierras that walled it
round. "This, then, is Spain," said she; "the land I have read of,
dreamed of, and for the last four years, thought of more even than of
my own."

"And yet," said L'Isle, "you calling yourself a traveler, have been
for months within sight of it, and have never set your foot on Spanish
ground."

"I blush to own it. But you, my self-appointed guide, should blush,
too, at never having led me thither. Come, Mrs. Shortridge: these
soldiers are too slow for us; let us take horse to-morrow, and make an
inroad into Spain."

"Willingly," said Mrs. Shortridge. "But let us take a strong party
with us. We do not know how we might be received, should the Spaniards
mistake us for Portuguese!"

"If a visit to Badajoz is your object," said Cranfield, "I offer
myself as a guide. As I have been lately engaged in repairing its
shattered walls, I may be useful in showing you how to get in.
Knowing, too, some of the Spanish officers there, I may in a parley
induce them to come to terms."

They now descended from the tower, and on leaving the fort, Lady Mabel
led the party to head-quarters, to take their luncheon there, while
they planned their measure for to-morrow's expedition to Badajoz.

CHAPTER XV.

"Where Lusitania and her sister meet,
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide?
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide?
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride?
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall?
No barrier wall, no river deep and wide,
No horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall,
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul.

But these between, a silver streamlet glides,
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook;
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides,
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook,
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look,
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow,
For proud each peasant