“Say no more,” exclaimed Lady Mabel.  “If that be the verdict you find against our allies, I will not accuse you of blindness to their faults.  They are unworthy of the lovely and romantic land they live in,” she added, gazing on the scene before her.  “What beautiful mountain is that which trenches so close upon the border, as if it would join itself to the Serra de Portalegre?”

“It is the mountain of Albuquerque, so called from a town at its foot.”

“That was the title of the Spanish duke, who died lately in London,” Lady Mabel remarked.

“And in one sense the most unfortunate Spaniard of our day,” added L’Isle.  “Of the highest rank among subjects, uniting in his person names famous in Spanish history; he was brave and patriotic, and though still young, one of the few Spanish leaders whose enterprize did not lead to disaster.  But the Supreme Junta, in its jealousy would never entrust him with any but subordinate commands, subjecting him to the orders of Castanos Cuesta, and other inefficient leaders whose blunders his good conduct often covered.  When, at length Andalusia was lost by the folly and cowardice of others, he only had his wits about him, and by a speedy march saved Cadiz.  The rabid democrats of the city repaid him with ingratitude and insults, which drove him into exile; and, denied the privilege of falling in defence of his country, he died broken-hearted in a foreign land.”

“Are these people worth fighting for?” exclaimed Lady Mabel, indignantly, reining back her horse, as if about to abandon her Spanish allies to their own folly.

“Perhaps not,” said L’Isle, “if we were not also fighting for ourselves.  Spain is a convenient field on which to drub the French.  But it is time to follow our party.”

They now left the hill and getting back into the road, galloped after their friends, but did not overtake them until they had reached the little river Cayo, which here divides Portugal from Spain.  The ladies, on their mules, were grouped together in doubt and hesitation on this bank, while several of the gentlemen were riding about in the water, searching for holes in the bed of the stream, which was swollen and turbid from the late rains.

“You hesitate too long to pass the Rubicon,” said Lady Mabel, “just let me tuck up the skirt of my riding dress, from the muddy waters, and I will lead you over into Spain.”

She was soon on the other bank, and her companions followed her.  The road now led them across a sandy plain, which, treeless and desolate, contrasted strikingly with the fertility and cultivation around Elvas.