done?”—­“Borne his stripes, and called for help upon St. Jago, St. Francis Xavier, St. Benedict, and St. Nicholas!”—­“And did you never invoke the three holy Maries?”—­ “Never.”—­“Then that’s what you ought to have done,” returned Senor Pedrillo, with the utmost gravity.  “Now mind me,—­call upon them for aid next time your husband maltreats you.”—­“Alas!” sighed the afflicted wife, “that will most surely be to-night.  I’ve not much faith in your remedy, Pedro; but may be there’s no harm in trying it.”—­“Farewell, then, my poor, pretty, patient, black-bruised cousin,” cried Pedrillo; “next time you see the doctor, let him know how his remedy has sped;” and with a comical expression of countenance, half melancholy, half mirthful, the “trusty and well-beloved cousin” departed.

Late that night, Perez Donilla entered his own habitation as intoxicated and belligerent as ever.  “Where’s my supper?”—­“Here,” said his wife, trembling, as she placed before him a few heads of garlic, a piece of salted trout, a little oil, and a crust of barley bread.  “What’s all this, woman?” exclaimed Perez, in a voice of thunder; and with glaring eyes and demoniacal fury he dashed the fish at her head, and the rest of his supper upon the floor.  “Wretch! how durst you fatten upon olios and ragouts, and set trash like this before your husband?”—­“My dear,” replied Juana, meekly, “I am starving; nothing have I tasted since breakfast.”—­“Don’t lie, you jade!  Where’s the wild-fowl and the Bologna sausage sent you by that rogue, Gomez?  Stolen were they from the canon’s kitchen, and you know it!  And where’s the skin of excellent Calcavella, from the Caballero’s overflowing vaults?  Give it to me this instant, you hussy, you vixen, you—­“—­“Indeed, indeed,” cried the unfortunate wife in deep anguish, “I take all the saints in heaven to witness—.”—­“That, and that, and that,” interrupted the furious tyrant, lashing her severely, according to custom, with a thick thong of leather, and now and then adding a blow with his fist; “let’s see if that will bring me a supper fit for a Christian, and a draught of Don Miguel’s Calcavella!” Juana remembered Pedrillo’s advice, and after roaring out more loudly than usual for aid from St. Jago, St. Francis, St. Benedict, and St. Nicholas, shrieked at the highest pitch of her voice, “May the three blessed Maries help me!” No sooner were the words uttered, than in rushed three apparitions, arrayed in white, but so enfolded in lined, that it was impossible to determine whether they represented men or women; of their visages, only their eyes were visible, peering frightfully from the white covering of their heads; each brandished a good stout cudgel, and each, without uttering a word, falling quick as thought upon Perez Donilla, repaid him the blows he had lavished on his unhappy wife with such interest, as would have sealed his fate indubitably, had not she interposed; but upon