They found here many of the first people of Badajoz and many of the Spanish officers and their fair friends.  Leaning against the parapet of the bridge, Lady Mabel forgot the idlers walking by, while she gazed on the scenery around, or watched the gliding stream below, and listened to L’Isle speaking of the Guadiana; of its mysterious disappearance near its source, its course betrayed only by the rich pastures overlying the subterranean streams, of its return to daylight in the lakes called its eyes:  Ojos de la Guadiana; and following it to Portugal, to the Salto de Lobo, so called because a wolf might leap across the deep but narrow chasm between the overhanging rocks, he named the noted places on its banks, and quoted many a ballad of which it was the theme.  Presently, finding themselves almost alone they followed their companions, to the bridge head, and joined the large company assembled in this outwork.  The Spanish officers had provided music for their entertainment, and oranges and confectionary were handed about.  Of the latter, the Spanish and Portuguese ladies, according to national habit, eat a great quantity.  After a pause the musicians struck up a lively seguidilla, the gentlemen secured partners, Lady Mabel declining a dozen applications, and with difficulty ridding herself of Don Alonso, who could not understand how a lady who delighted so much in his conversation could refuse to dance with him.

The level space within this outwork was now crowded with couples, the Portuguese ladies entering fully into the spirit of the hour.  Mrs. Shortridge and Lady Mabel stood aside, with L’Isle, and had the pleasure of witnessing a genuine impromptu Spanish ball in the open air.  They were at once struck with the sudden gayety and activity of a people habitually so grave and inert.  But as one dance followed another, the vivacity of the party increased.  Many of the officers and some of their fair friends were from Andalusia, where music and the castinets are never heard in vain.  Presently the tune was changed, and the excited dancers slid over into the fandango and volero, danced out to the life in so demonstrative, voluptuous and seducing a style, that Mrs. Shortridge declared such exhibitions abominable, and that they should be prohibited by law; while Lady Mabel shrinkingly looked on in bewildered astonishment.  She had herself danced many a time, though not as often as she wished; but such dancing she had never dreamed of before.

At this moment the sun set, and the bells of the churches and convents across the water gave the signal for repeating the evening prayer to the Virgin.  In an instant the gay crowd was arrested as if by magic.  The music ceased; the dancers stood still; the women veiled their faces with their fans; the men took off their hats; and all breathed out or seemed to breathe a prayer to the protecting power who had brought them to the close of another day—­all but the English officers, who, mingled with the devout dancers, stood looking like profane fools caught without a prayer for the occasion.  After a short solemn pause, the men put on their hats, the women uncovered their faces, the music again struck up, and the throng glided off into gayety and revelry as before.