said the old man.

"Why don't he mount? The rest have done so, and we are ready,"
continued the old man, anxiously.

At that moment one of the horsemen, better understanding the case
than either Isabella Gonzales or her father, left his well-trained
animal in the road, and hastened to his officer's side. It required
but a glance for him to see that his captain was too weak to mount.

Directing the outrider, who had now mounted one of the horses
attached to the volante, and acted as postilion, to drive towards
him whom his companion was partially supporting, Don Gonzales asked
most anxiously:

"Captain Bezan, you are ill, I fear; are you much hurt?"

"A mere trifle, Don Gonzales; drive on, sir, and I will follow you
in a moment."

"He is bleeding from his left arm and side, father," said Isabella,
anxiously.

"You are wounded-I fear severely, Captain Bezan," said the father.

"A mere scratch, sir, in the arm, from one of the unlucky thrusts of
those Montaros," he replied, assuming an indifference that his pale
face belied.

"Ah! father, what can be done for him?" said Isabella, quickly.