ying several saddles, and presently a
party of Guerillas made an attack on the remainder of the troop. He
shouted out to his deliverers in Spanish, and they welcomed him gladly.
He had only been struck by a spent ball, and soon recovered, so as to
be able to join Don Joachim Blake's force, and enter Valenzia with it,
after several engagements.

Who does not know that the plain watered by the Guadalquivir, where
stands the beautiful Valenzia with her stately towers, is an earthly
paradise? All the heavenly delightsomeness of a sky for ever fair
penetrates and pervades the hearts and souls of the dwellers there, for
whom life is an unbroken festa. And this Valenzia was now the theatre
of a most bitter and bloody war. Instead of the dulcet tones of the
lute, stealing like the cooing of doves up in the nights to the
trellised windows, the place resounded with the hollow rolling of guns
and ammunition waggons, the wild challenge of sentries, and the weird,
mysterious murmur of soldiery marching through the streets. All joy was
driven into dumbness. All the white faces, drawn by grief and horror,
had written upon them the dread anticipation of terrible things
imminent. The most furious execrations, offspring of inward fury, were
showered upon the enemy. The Alameda--at other times the haunt of the
gay world--was now a parade ground for the troops. Here Edgar one day,
as he was standing alone, leaning against a tree, reflecting on the
dark, adverse destiny which seemed to weigh upon Spain, observed that a
man, far advanced in years, tall, and of haughty demeanour, who was
walking up and down near him with long steps, stopped and scrutinized
him keenly each time that he passed him. At last Edgar accosted him,
enquiring courteously what in him had attracted such a share of his
attention. "I see that I was not mistaken," he answered, whilst a
gloomy fire flashed from beneath his black, bushy eyebrows. "You are
not a Spaniard--and yet, if your coat does not belie you, I am bound to
look upon you as one who fights on our side. And that strikes me as
rather remarkable." Edgar, though nettled at the brusquerie of this
gentleman's address, told him, temperately enough, what had brought him
to Spain.

But scarcely had he mentioned the name of Baldassare di Luna than the
old man cried out in much excitement, "Baldassare di Luna do you say?
My beloved cousin! the dearest and most intimate friend I have left in
the world." Edgar repeate