bringing him
to the ground, where he and his blunderbuss lay motionless. All the
dogs in the neighbourhood set up a howl and a bark, and the place was
fast turning to pandemonium.

We were evidently on dangerous ground, where strangers were not expected
and made welcome; doors opened above us and voices inquired who passed
that way so late. Our lives were in jeopardy amongst these wild
Catalonians, howbeit they have not the sword-and-dagger temperament of
the more impulsive Spaniards. We had fallen amongst thieves. Discretion
being the better part of valour, we glided back like phantoms, passing
safely through the ranks of the enemy, and found ourselves on the great
square which is the market-place, and where we breathed freely.

No one followed in pursuit. It seemed as though, their own territories
abandoned, they cared nothing what became of intruders. Presently the
dogs ceased to bark, silence once more fell upon the night. We hoped our
friend of the blunderbuss had not been seriously wounded, but under the
circumstances it was impossible to make anxious inquiries.

It was difficult to get even a faint impression of the town. Here and
there we caught a vision of promising arcades, and apparently ancient
outlines of houses and gabled roofs, but everything was in tenebrous
gloom. Hardly a single window reflected the faintest ray; the streets
were deserted. Only from a solitary cafe came forth, as we passed, a
small band of some half dozen men, who quietly went up a side street and
disappeared. It was only a little past eleven, but the people of Lerida
are wise and know nothing of midnight oil, wasting energies, and burning
the candle at both ends.

"We are doing no good," said H. C. whose head had been rather damaged by
coming in contact with doors and walls in the narrow lane. "I think it
would be as well to follow the example of these people and retire,
reserving our energies for to-morrow. In this darkness we might charge
another cottage door without a friendly dog to deliver us from a
murderous blunderbuss."

So we turned back in the long narrow street of which Lerida seemed
chiefly composed, and presently found ourselves in the broad hotel
avenue.

In the very centre of it was an old watchman with his staff and
lantern. He threw his light upon us as we approached, then gave a
"Buenas noches" and turned down the spear of his staff in friendly
token.

We thought we recognised both face and voice. Where had