I followed my guide.

It was necessary to move with caution, for the walls above were lined by
the Spanish sentries, who fired down continually at our advance posts.
Slinking along under the very shadow of the great convent, we picked
our way slowly and carefully among the piles of ruins until we came to a
large chestnut tree. Here the sergeant stopped.

"It is an easy tree to climb," said he. "A scaling ladder would not be
simpler. Go up it, and you will find that the top branch will enable
you to step upon the roof of that house. After that it is your guardian
angel who must be your guide, for I can help you no more."

Girding up the heavy brown gown, I ascended the tree as directed. A half
moon was shining brightly, and the line of roof stood out dark and hard
against the purple, starry sky. The tree was in the shadow of the house.

Slowly I crept from branch to branch until I was near the top. I had but
to climb along a stout limb in order to reach the wall. But suddenly
my ears caught the patter of feet, and I cowered against the trunk and
tried to blend myself with its shadow. A man was coming toward me on the
roof. I saw his dark figure creeping along, his body crouching, his head
advanced, the barrel of his gun protruding. His whole bearing was full
of caution and suspicion. Once or twice he paused, and then came on
again until he had reached the edge of the parapet within a few yards of
me. Then he knelt down, levelled his musket, and fired.

I was so astonished at this sudden crash at my very elbow that I nearly
fell out of the tree. For an instant I could not be sure that he had
not hit me. But when I heard a deep groan from below, and the Spaniard
leaned over the parapet and laughed aloud, I understood what had
occurred. It was my poor, faithful sergeant, who had waited to see the
last of me. The Spaniard had seen him standing under the tree and had
shot him. You will think that it was good shooting in the dark, but
these people used trabucos, or blunderbusses, which were filled up with
all sorts of stones and scraps of metal, so that they would hit you
as certainly as I have hit a pheasant on a branch. The Spaniard stood
peering down through the darkness, while an occasional groan from below
showed that the sergeant was still living. The sentry looked round and
everything was still and safe.

Perhaps he thought that he would like to finish of this accursed
Frenchman, or perhaps he had a desire to see w