every vestige of a crop
had disappeared--reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a
flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.

Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the
lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance. In the midst of
the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a
noise--at first low, but gradually becoming louder. This instantly
roused him from his reverie--causing him to draw bridle and listen.

During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to
distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of a _corps
d'armee_. The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of
gun-carriages and _caissons_, the neighing of horses, and the clanking
of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear--and proclaimed to him the
movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.

He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the
insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town. The alarm given by the
sentinels upon the preceding night--the death of one of the number--the
vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town--
left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.

Sure of the fact--and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer--
he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the
camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

After the first moment of confusion had passed, the Royalists commenced
preparing to receive the attack, with that coolness which springs from
practised discipline. In a short while every one was at his post.

The sun was just appearing above the horizon, disclosing to each army
the view of its antagonist. The advanced sentinels along the lines had
already retired from their posts, and were hurrying towards the camp.
In the town could be heard the voices of the besieged, in solemn chorus
chaunting the psalm "_Venite exultemus Domine_," while shouts of "_Viva
Morelos_!" came from the opposite direction, and loud above all could be
heard the noted war-cry of the marshal, "_Aqui esta Galeana_!"

Almost at the same instant a double fusillade opened its formidable
dialogue from the two separate wings of the Spanish army. Trujano and
Morelos replied to it; one attacking in front, and the other upon the
rear. The hour of r