“Stop,” said Mrs. Shortridge; “you are libeling our sex, and your love of satire makes you as bitter against Popery as old Moodie himself.”

“It is, at least, no scandal to say that, under her patronage, small sins are easily absolved here, on the performance of certain duties of atonement.”

“What are the duties of atonement?”

“Ave Marias, fasts, and alms.  The alms go to the begging friars, or else to buy masses for the souls in purgatory.”

Walking up the sloping street that leads to the castle, they found this Moorish edifice in a shattered condition, a few towers only standing whole amidst the ruins.  From one of these, looking northward across the river which ran three hundred feet below them, they saw the strong fort of San Christoval towering above them, while they, in turn, overlooked the city, and beyond its walls, the plain to the south, not long since covered with vineyards, and olive groves, and the picturesque villas of the richer citizens of Badajoz—­now its bare surface was furrowed with trenches, ridged with field works, and spotted with ruins.  The devastating blast of war had left it the picture of desolation.

Lady Mabel, turning to ask L’Isle a question, saw him gazing gloomily down into the deep but dry fosse below them.

“What fixes your attention on that spot,” she asked.

“Do you see where the earth shows, by its color differing from the adjacent soil, that it has been turned up not long since?  Thousands of Britons, Portuguese, and French are buried there.  They met but to contend, yet now lie peaceably together.  I have more than one friend among them.”

Mrs. Shortridge put her hand before her eyes, and Lady Mabel turned pale as she gazed earnestly below.  “Come,” she said, at length, “we have seen enough of bloody Badajoz.  There are some feelings that may well kill the idle curiosity that led us hither.”

Descending into the town, they walked into the great square, their party attracting much attention from several groups of citizens and of soldiers of the garrison.  Captain Don Alonso Melendez stopped them here to point out various objects of interest, being evidently anxious to display himself as the patron and intimate of these distinguished strangers.  He brought forward and presented to them two or three more of his brother officers whom he here met.

While he was thus engaged with others of the party, Lady Mabel found leisure to remark to Cranfield:  “Short as is the distance from Elvas to Badajoz, I fancy I can perceive, without listening to the language around me, that I am among a new people.”

“You may well be struck with the language,” said Cranfield, “while listening to our patronizing friend here.  But you must not take his discourse for a fair sample of Spanish style or facts.”

“Of course not,” said Lady Mabel.  “Eloquence and intelligence like his are rare everywhere.”