a handsome, swarthy-looking Spaniard, whose
dark eyes flashed as his face was lit up by the priest's lamp, which
shot the scarlet silk handkerchief about his head with hues of orange.

"_Buenos Ingles, amigos_," he cried, as he noted the presented musket;
and then volubly he asked if either of them spoke French.

"Yes," cried Pen eagerly; and the rest was easy, for the man went on in
that tongue:

"My friend the priest tells me that you have had a narrow escape from
the French soldiers who had shot you down. But you are safe now. We
are friends to the English. Do you want to join your people?"

"Yes, yes," cried Pen eagerly. "Can you help us? Are any of our
regiments near?"

"Not very," replied the Spanish smuggler, "for the French are holding
nearly all the passes; but we will help you and get you up into the
mountains, where you will be safe with us. But our good friend the
_padre_ tells me that one of you is badly hurt, and he wants me to look
at your wound."

"Oh, it's not very bad," said Pen warmly.

"Ah, I must see," said the man, who had seated himself at the edge of
the opening up which he had come, and proceeded to light a fresh
cigarette.

The next moment, as he began puffing away, he seemed to recollect
himself, and drew out a cigar, which he offered with a polite gesture to
the old priest.

The old man set down the lamp which he had held for his visitor to light
his cigarette, and smiled as he shook his head. Then, thrusting a hand
into his gown, he took out his snuff-box, made the lid squeak loudly,
and proceeded to help himself to a bounteous pinch.

"It is you who have the wound," continued the smuggler. "You are, I
suppose, an officer and a gentleman?"

"No," said Pen, "only a common English soldier."

"But you speak French like a gentleman. Ah, well, no matter. You are
wounded--fighting for my country against the brigand French, and we are
friends and brothers. I have had many a fight with them, my friend, and
I know what their bullets do, so that I perhaps can dress your wound
better than the _padre_--brave old man! He can cure our souls--eh,
father?" he added, in Spanish--"but I can cure bodies better than he,
sometimes, when the French bullets have not been too bad.--Now, father,"
he added, "hold the lamp and let us see."

The priest nodded as he took up the lamp again in answer to the request
made to him in his own tongue; and he now spoke a few words to the
smuggler wh