thing can be
conceived more striking than their advance. In the front rode old Cuesta
himself, clad in the costume of a past century, his slashed doublet and
trunk hose reminding one of a more chivalrous period, his heavy, unwieldy
figure looming from side to side, and threatening at each moment to fall
from his saddle. On each side of him walked two figures gorgeously dressed,
whose duty appeared to be to sustain the chief in his seat. At his
side rode a far different figure. Mounted upon a slight-made, active
thorough-bred, whose drawn flanks bespoke a long and weary journey, sat
Sir Arthur Wellesley, a plain blue frock and gray trousers being his
unpretending costume; but the eagle glance which he threw around on every
side, the quick motion of his hand as he pointed hither and thither among
the dense battalions, bespoke him every inch a soldier. Behind them came
a brilliant staff, glittering in aiguillettes and golden trappings, among
whom I recognized some well-remembered faces,--our gallant leader at the
Douro, Sir Charles Stewart, among the number.

As they passed the spot where I was standing, the torch of a foot soldier
behind me flared suddenly up and threw a strong flash upon the party.
Cuesta's horse grew frightened, and plunged so fearfully for a minute that
the poor old man could scarcely keep his seat. A smile shot across Sir
Arthur's features at the moment, but the next instant he was grave and
steadfast as before.

A wretched hovel, thatched and in ruins, formed the headquarters of the
Spanish army, and thither the staff now bent their steps,--a supper being
provided there for our commander-in-chief and the officers of his suite.
Although not of the privileged party, I lingered round the spot for some
time, anxiously expecting to find some friend or acquaintance who might
tell me the news of our people, and what events had occurred in my absence.

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE LETTER.

The hours passed slowly over, and I at length grew weary of waiting.
For some time I had amused myself with observing the slouching gait and
unsoldier-like air of the Spaniards as they lounged carelessly about,
looking in dress, gesture, and appointment, far move like a guerilla than a
regular force. Then again, the strange contrast of the miserable hut with
falling chimney and ruined walls, to the glitter of the mounted guard of
honor who sat motionless beside it, served to pass the time; but as the
night was already