y will sight one another.

The men afoot are advancing at about the same rate of speed as those on
horseback. The latter have ceased showing off, as if satisfied with the
impression they must have made, and are now approaching in tranquil
gait, but with an air of subdued triumph--the mock modesty of the
_matador_, who, with blood-stained sword, bends meekly before the box
where beauty sits smiling approbation.

The two pedestrians climb the hill less ceremoniously. Glad to stretch
their limbs upon land--"shake the knots out of their knees," as
Cadwallader gleefully remarks--they eagerly scale the steep. Not silent
either, but laughing and shouting like a couple of schoolboys abroad for
an afternoon's holiday.

Suddenly coming within view of the house, they bring their boisterous
humour under restraint at sight of two heads above the parapet. For
they know to whom these belong, and note that the faces are turned
towards them.

At the same instant the horsemen also see the heads, and observe that
the faces are _not_ turned towards _them_. On the contrary, _from_
them, the ladies looking in another direction.

Some chagrin in this. After all their grand caracolling, and feats of
equitation, which must have been witnessed by the fair spectators.

At what are these now gazing? Is it a ship sailing up the bay, or
something else on the water? No matter what, and whether on land, or
water; enough for the conceited fellows to think they are being
slightingly received.

Disconcerted, they seek an explanation, mutually questioning one
another. But before either can make answer in speech, they have it
under their eyes--in the shape of a brace of British naval officers.

Like themselves, the latter have just reached the summit of the ridge,
and are moving on towards Don Gregorio's gate. It is midway between;
and keeping on at the same rate of speed, the two pairs will meet
directly in front of it.

Before that moment, neither has ever set eyes on the other.
Notwithstanding, there is an expression on the faces of all four, which
tells of mutual recognition, and of no friendly nature.

Calderon whispers to De Lara:

"The English officers!"

Cadwallader says, _sotto-voce_ to Crozier:

"The fellows we've heard about--our rivals, Ned, like ourselves, I
suppose, going to visit the girls."

De Lara makes no response to Calderon. Neither does Crozier to
Cadwallader. There is not time. They are now close up to