The fosse under the drawbridge seemed a ravenous abyss, and the deep road cut through the glacis and overhung by the outworks appeared to be leading down into the bowels of the earth.  The road, too, down into the valley was steep, winding and much cut up by use and the heavy winter rains.

“I have been so much on horseback lately,” she said, apologizing for her fears, “and so seldom in a carriage, and this is such a rickety old thing, that you must excuse my alarm.  Besides, I do not know that Antonio ever played the part of postillion before.  Why, the coach will run over the mules,” she exclaimed presently, as it glided down a steep spot; then springing up and leaning out of the window, she called out in plaintive Portuguese, “Antonio, my good Antonio, beware of that short turn in the road, or we will all go tumbling down the hill together!  Excuse my terrors, Colonel L’Isle, but some late occurrences have shaken my nerves sadly.”

Surprised at her unusual timidity, L’Isle tried to calm her fears, and taking her hand, endeavored to keep it, while he assured her that every Portuguese peasant was familiar with mules and mountain roads from boyhood.  With a little laugh, she, struggling, rescued the captured member, saying, “I shall need both my hands to scramble out with when the coach breaks down or overturns, whichever happens first,” and after this she was more chary of her demonstrations of terror, to escape his demonstrations of protection.

“If you doubt honest Lobo’s ability to drive you safe home,” said L’Isle, “though I do not, perhaps your own man may be more skilful.”

“What! cut down my two yards of footman into a postillion?” exclaimed Lady Mabel; “on a mule, too!  Why, he would rebel against such degradation!”

“It would be promotion,” said L’Isle, laughing, “to put a footman into the saddle; and William would be of use for once in his life.”

“Neither I nor nature demand usefulness of him.  His whole capital consists in being a tall footman, who becomes his livery; and he fulfills his destiny when both he and it excite the admiration of the Elvas ladies.”

The coach presently turned into the olive yard, and drew up before the old monastic pile without accident.  L’Isle was surprised to see the inhabited part of the building brightly lighted up at this late hour.  Old Moodie, looking graver and more sour than ever, was at the open door.  L’Isle handed Lady Mabel out of the coach, and she coolly took his arm, showing that he was expected to hand her up stairs, before taking leave of her.  Moodie followed them into the drawing-room, and said abruptly, “Well, my lady, will you have supper now?”

“Certainly, if it be ready.  By-the-bye, Colonel L’Isle, I did not see you take the least refreshment at Mrs. Shortridge’s—­not even half a pound of sugarplums, like the Portuguese ladies.”

“I followed your example; for you yourself fasted.”