aching the door, he wrote over the same, with a
bit of chalk, part of the speech of Henry V., "the royal imp of fame,"
to his soldiers at Agincourt:--

"He that hath not stomach for the fight,
Let him depart----"

to the great astonishment of the two Spanish sentries, who gazed on
the words as if they contained a magical spell.

Frank sat till it was over--"played out the play." Not that he saw
much of the fight, however; he had eyes and speech for nothing but
Juana, and was able to indulge his _penchant_ without interruption, as
the little Governor took great interest in the fight, and the lover
with the silver fishes was a connoisseur in the sport, and laid bets
on the number of horses that each particular bull would kill with
great accuracy. So the Ensign had it all his own way, and, being by no
means the sort of person to throw away this or any other opportunity
with which fortune might favour him, got on quite as well, probably,
as you or I might have done in his place.

Leaving Cadiz next morning, they resumed the order of march they had
adopted in coming--Don Pablo riding, as before, in front with the
knight of the silver fishes, discussing with him the incidents of the
bull-ring. The old gentleman, though very courteous when addressing
the two Englishmen, had but little to say to them--neither did he
trouble himself to talk much to the ladies; and when he did, a sharp
expression would sometimes slip out, convincing Owen that he was
something of a domestic tyrant in private--a character by no means
inconsistent with the blandest demeanour in public. The Ensign was at
great pains to encourage the Major to be gracious to Carlota. "Get a
little more tropical in your looks, Major," he would say; "these
Spanish ladies are not accustomed to frigid glances. She's desperately
in love with you--pity she can't express what she feels; and she
mightn't like to trust an interpreter with her sentiments."

"Pooh, nonsense, boy," said the Major, colouring with pleasure, "she
doesn't care for an old fellow like me."

"Doesn't she?--see what her eyes say--that's what I call ocular
demonstration," quoth the Ensign. "If you don't return it, you're a
stock, a stone." Then he would say something to Carlota, causing her
eyes to sparkle, and canter on to rejoin Juana.

It was genial summer-time with Carlota--she had passed the age of
maiden diffidence, without having attained that of soured and faded
spinsterhood. She