A. L. O. E.

Heaven be praised!" was the intuitive expression of thankfulness which burst from the lips of Lucius Lepine, when he stood, a free man, beneath the window of that posada which he had scarcely hoped to quit alive. He resolved at once to return to Seville, grateful for being permitted to come forth unharmed from an adventure which he now suspected that it had been folly to undertake. The young man was so well pleased with his escape, that he was not at first troubled by the thought that he had failed of success. Chico had not been detected; the chances were as remote as ever of the stolen property being restored.

Lucius had descended, as the reader is aware, on waste ground at the back of the lonely posada; he had now to find his way to the road. As the young man was quietly and cautiously groping along, feeling his way by the wall of the house, he was arrested in his movements by sounds which betrayed that some one was moving in front of the dwelling. Lucius remained perfectly still, and so close to the wall, which lay in partial shadow, that it was scarcely possible that his figure should be seen from the lane. The full orb of the moon was now visible above the broken line of the eastern horizon, and every intervening object cast long shadows upon the ground whitened with silvery light. Lucius saw three forms moving as noiselessly as they could in the direction of the highroad; they had evidently just issued forth from the wayside inn. One, the tallest, carried a carbine,—his outline resembled that of the man who, to the eye of Lucius, had looked like a brigand; the second, who led a loaded mule, was suspiciously like the landlord himself; the third man was short, and in his awkward gait Lepine recognized that of the bandy-legged Chico.

"There goes the robber, then, stealing away with his plunder, and little dreaming that he is detected and watched!" said Lucius to himself. "But what now is to be done? Were Chico alone I would at once pursue, and arrest him as soon as he should be far enough from this inn to prevent his shouts bringing any of his accomplices to his assistance. But he has a body-guard of two of them already, one carrying fire-arms, and doubtless all three men have long Spanish knives under their cloaks. To encounter such odds would be simply to throw life away, I having no weapon but one old pistol—and I have never fired one in my life! Shall I return to Seville, and as quickly as possible set the police on the track of the robbers? To follow this plan would take time, and during that time the scent might be lost; the alguazils are not wont to be quick in their movements. Even were the treasure to be recovered by the police of Seville, it is doubtful that any of it would reach the hands of its rightful possessors. Shall I follow these men at a little distance, watch their movements, and be ready, should opportunity occur, to have them taken up as robbers caught in the act of carrying away stolen goods? It is all-important that I should not lose sight of Chico, or of that mule which doubtless carries his spoils."

The resolution of Lucius was quickly taken. His was a bold adventurous spirit; and though he had been but a few minutes before congratulating himself on preservation from one great danger, he was ready to throw himself into another. If a doubt crossed the young man's mind, he cast it from him when he thought of the penury of Inez, and the prison of Alcala.

But Lucius had hardly calculated on the extreme difficulty of carrying out his plan of tracking the thieves. At first, indeed, it was comparatively easy to do so, as they pursued a beaten track, and a kind of hedge of prickly pear, which divided the Englishman from the robbers, afforded the former an effectual screen. But the Spaniards soon diverged from the highway and took their course across open country, so that Lucius could scarcely keep them in sight without incurring great risk of himself being seen. It was a strange chase, where the hunter was in greater danger than the quarry whom he was stalking! The moonlight was now only too bright for the safety of Lucius, to whom detection would have been almost certain death. It was well for him that the night was windy, and the sky dotted with many a cloud that was drifted on by the gale. Lucius followed the rifleman's practice when secretly approaching a foe: many times, when the moonlight was clear, the young man lay almost flat on the ground, when the nature of that ground afforded no cover. Then, if a cloud was borne across the face of the moon, Lucius took advantage of the temporary darkness to follow with what speed he might in the direction which the robbers had taken. Since the pursuer could not then trace their dark forms against the horizon, he would listen intently for the slight sound made by the hoofs of their mule. Whenever the brightening edge of the cloud-veil showed that the moon was emerging again to bathe the landscape in light, Lucius would resume his prostrate position, or take advantage of such screen as cactus-bush or lonely aloe, planted here and there, might afford.

During the frequent pauses which he thus necessarily made, the pursuer had ample time for reflection.

"How would my poor mother feel could she see me here, creeping onwards stealthily as the wolf on the track of his prey, myself the more probable victim! Shall I ever live to tell by an English fireside the story of my wild moonlight adventure on the Dehesa?" The memories of home which gushed on the mind of Lucius as he made this reflection almost changed his resolution to pursue his perilous chase. Life was so sweet, when viewed in connection with the home delights which he hoped one day to enjoy, to be lightly parted with, even for the sake of a friend.

But when the mind of the Englishman recurred to Aguilera, now suffering affliction for that faith to which Lucius himself had been a means of converting the Spaniard; when Lepine remembered the tears of Inez, he resolved that, come what might, he would persevere in his efforts to redeem his promise, and save a noble family from ruin. Was not the eye of his heavenly Father upon him? was not danger met in the path of duty? It was to gratify no idle craving for excitement, no vain desire for man's applause, that Lucius was acting the part of a detective under circumstances which rendered that part one of peculiar difficulty and peril. The young Englishman, as he crouched low on the ground, prayed for help and protection, firmness not to give up his chase, and such success that he might not find that he had risked his life in vain.

Ever and anon the robbers paused and turned to look or to listen, as if, like deer, they scented the hunter. Ha! have they not caught sight of him now, as, while resting his chest on the sod, he has incautiously raised his head a little to gain a clearer view of their retreating forms? The three men have stopped at the skirt of a wood; one, the landlord, retraces his steps; the carbine of the bandit seems to be pointed towards the spot where lies the pursuer. The heart of Lucius throbs fast; tightly he grasps his pistol, his sole defence,—his finger is on the trigger! Shall he fire at the nearest man, then spring from the earth and trust to his speed, and the chance that the robber's bullet may miss its mark? The landlord approaches nearer, glancing cautiously from right to left on the ground; he is now so near that Lucius half closes his eyes, lest their glitter in the moonlight should betray his lurking-place behind the small bush, whose shadow affords so poor a screen! Within a few yards of Lucius the Spaniard stoops and picks up some object, it might be a purse or a cigar-case, that he had dropped on the ground. Then he turns round, and, to the great relief of his hidden pursuer, strides back to rejoin his companions. Then the three, with their mule, enter the covert of the wood, whose dark mass of shade lies before them.

Lucius now feared that, unless he should lessen the distance between himself and the robbers, he might, from the intricacies of the wood, lose trace of them altogether. The Englishman therefore rose, and for a time exchanging cautious advance for rapidity of motion, made his way quickly towards the place where the figures of the Spaniards had disappeared in the shadow of the trees. Chico and his comrades had hitherto moved forward in silence; or if they conversed together, it had been in tones too low to reach their pursuer. But the silence was soon to be fearfully broken. Just as Lucius had gained the edge of the wood, a fearful cry, as of one in mortal agony or terror, suddenly thrilled on his ear. The shriek of "Murder!" the cry for help, was repeated again and again, and then came the sharp report of a carbine. There was evidently a death-struggle going on in the wood.

Lucius could not hear that cry and stand still. He could not coldly calculate on the probability that crime was only meeting its due reward, nor reflect that when thieves fall out and slay one another, honest men may be gainers. Obeying the generous impulse of his heart, the young Englishman plunged through the crackling brushwood, shouting loudly as he did so to give notice that help was at hand, and for the same purpose firing off the pistol which he held in his grasp. The latter act was perhaps one of imprudence; yet rash daring oftentimes commands more success than calculating caution. The report of fire-arms, the loud crackling of underwood over which Lucius was forcing his way, his shouts which rang through the wood, alarmed the murderers into the belief that a body of alguazils was upon them. The cries suddenly ceased, and were followed by sounds as of men in flight, pushing through bushes and brambles to make their escape from pursuers. When Lucius came up to the spot which had been the scene of a terrible struggle, he only found a dead mule lying on the blood-stained turf, and a dying man beside it.