ffairs had taken, whilst the valet, since he
could find no other resource, freely gave vent to his complaints.

"Senor," he cried, turning to his master, "so may the Lord defend us,
but we are every instant getting deeper into difficulties. Here are we
flying from the clutches of alguazils, to fall into the grasp of the
rebel Moors; and after all, unwelcome as the appearance of alguazils may
be, I should feel very well contented at this moment to be under their
special guardianship, rather than sustain the murderous aspect of these
infidels. Nay, would to God that I were safely and comfortably
incarcerated within the walls of the most obscure dungeon in Granada."

"Let us then look for our way to Granada, and risk the worst from the
friends of Don Lope," said Don Rodrigo, who, though possessed of much
personal courage and resolution, yet was aware these qualities would not
avail him against the enemies which he was likely to encounter by
proceeding.

"Aye, indeed," replied Peregil, "let us find our way to Granada, and may
the guardian angel conduct us safely thither.--Blessed be the virgin!
for a man like myself, endowed with a lively and poetical imagination,
I may say, these wild places are exceedingly disagreeable, for they
induce me to make strange metamorphoses: my fancy is continually upon
the alert to transform every object into any thing save what it really
is: at day-break I mistook my ass for an officer, and your mule for a
Moor. Alas! we are alike, my honored master; for you, Don Rodrigo, when
in a poetic and loving mood, are ever disposed to convert cheeks into
roses, and lips into coral, and to find pearls where others only see
teeth. Now, Senor, by a similar process, when a fit of poetry and fear
comes upon me, I feel marvellously inclined to convert all objects that
come before my view--let alone my ass and your mule--flocks of sheep,
flights of crows, stray cows, and barking dogs, into so many,
ruffian-looking and hideous Moors; and, moreover, I am fully persuaded
that my poetry is not a whit more extravagant than yours."

Don Rodrigo, harassed with the combined inconveniences of hunger and
fatigue, paid little attention to the absurdities upon which his
timorous valet was commenting; but Peregil, emboldened by the passive
forbearance of his master, continued in a higher key:--

"A plague on all lovers, say I; a plague on lovers who for a woman, one
solitary woman, when there is so abundant a choice