,
impressed me with feelings of disgust and loathing.

A single glance at this motley crew would have convinced us, had we not
been quite sure of it already, that we had no favour to expect. There
was not a countenance among them that exhibited the slightest trait of
grace or mercy. No such expression could be seen around us, and we felt
satisfied that our time had come.

The appearance of their leader did not shake this conviction. Revenge
and hatred were playing upon his sharp sallow features, and his thin
lips quivered with an expression of malice, plainly habitual. His nose,
like a parrot's beak, had been broken by a blow, which added to its
sinister shape; and his small black eyes twinkled with metallic
brightness.

He wore a purplish-coloured manga, that covered his whole body, and his
feet were cased in the red leather boots of the country, with heavy
silver spurs strapped over them. A black sombrero, with its band of
gold bullion and tags of the same material, completed the _tout
ensemble_ of his costume. He wore neither beard nor moustache; but his
hair, black and snaky, hung down trailing over the velvet embroidery of
his _manga_. [See Note 2].

Such was the Padre Jarauta.

Raoul's face was before him, upon which he looked for some moments
without speaking. His features twitched as if under galvanic action,
and we could see that his fingers jerked in a similar manner.

They were painful memories that could produce this effect upon a heart
of such iron devilry, and Raoul alone knew them. The latter seemed to
enjoy the interlude; for he lay upon the ground, looking up at the
Jarocho with a smile of triumph upon his reckless features.

We were expecting the next speech of the padre to be an order for
flinging us into the fire, which now burned fiercely. Fortunately, this
fancy did not seem to strike him just then.

"Ha, monsieur!" exclaimed he at length, approaching Raoul. "I dreamt
that you and I would meet again; I dreamt it--ha! ha! ha!--it was a
pleasant dream, but not half so pleasant as the reality--ha! ha! ha!
Don't _you_ think so?" he added, striking our comrade over the face with
a mule quirt. "Don't _you_ think so?" he repeated, lashing him as
before, while his eyes sparkled with a fiendish malignity.

"Did _you_ dream of meeting Marguerita again?" inquired Raoul, with a
satirical laugh, that sounded strange, even fearful, under the
circumstances.

I shall never forget the expre