the enemy
probably were aware, that Edgar met the first troop of Guerillas, and
to it he attached himself.

I pass over in silence Edgar's warlike adventures, which often might
sound as if taken from some book of knightly fables, and I come to the
time when he unexpectedly encountered Don Rafaele Marchez among the
Guerillas.

"You really had great injustice done to you, Don Edgar," said Don
Rafaele. Edgar turned his back upon him.

When morning broke, Don Rafaele got into a state of anxiety which grew
every instant till it attained a pitch of the most intense anguish. He
ran up and down, sighed, clasped his hands, raised them to heaven, and
prayed.

"What is the matter with the old fellow?" Edgar enquired.

"He has managed," said Isidor Mirr, "to get safe out of Valenzia
himself, and to save the best of his belongings, and get them loaded up
upon mules. He has been expecting them all night, and has every reason
to anticipate evil."

Edgar marvelled at Don Rafaele's avarice, which seemed to render him
oblivious of everything besides. It was midnight; the moon was shining
brightly among the hills; when musketry fire was heard from the ravine
beneath, and presently some rather seriously wounded Guerillas came
limping up, reporting that the troop which was escorting Don Rafaele's
mules had been unexpectedly attacked by some French Chasseurs, that
nearly all their comrades had fallen, and the mules been captured by
the enemy.

"Great heavens, my child--my poor, unfortunate child," Don Rafaele
cried, and sank to the ground.

"What is the matter here?" cried Edgar loudly. "Come on, come on,
brethren, down into the glen, to avenge our comrades, and snatch the
booty from the teeth of these pigs."

"The good German is right," cried Isidor Mirr. "The good German is
right," re-echoed all around, and away they rushed down into the ravine
like a bursting thunderstorm.

There were only a few Guerillas left, and they were fighting with the
courage of despair. With a cry of "Valenzia," Edgar rushed into the
thickest mass of the enemy, and with the death-announcing roar of
thirsting tigers the Guerillas dashed after him, planted their daggers
in the breasts of the foemen, and felled them with the butts of their
muskets. Well-directed bullets hit them in their headlong flight. These
were the Valenzia men who had overtaken General Moncey's Cuirassiers in
their march, dashed upon their flank, cut them down before they
gather