usual to be at peace with all men, and returned his guide’s grave
salutation with an easy nod.

‘These the horses?’ he inquired.

Concepçion Vara spread out his hands.  ‘They have no equal in Andalusia,’
he said.

‘Then I am sorry for Andalusia,’ answered Conyngham with a pleasant
laugh.

They mounted and rode away in the dim cool light of the morning.  The sea
was of a deep blue, and rippled all over as in a picture.  Gibraltar,
five miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud against the pink of sunrise.
The whole world wore a cleanly look as if the night had been passed over
its face like a sponge, wiping away all that was unsightly or evil.  The
air was light and exhilarating, and scented by the breath of aromatic
weeds growing at thevoice for the Pretender.  For the rest,
patriotism was nowhere, and ambition on every side.  ‘For five years we
have fought the Carlists, hunger, privation, and the politicians at
Madrid!  And the holy saints only know which has been the worst enemy,’
said General Vincente to Conyngham when explaining the above related
details.

And indeed the story of this war reads like a romance, for there came
from neutral countries foreign legions as in the olden days.  From
England an army of ten thousand mercenaries landed in Spain, prepared to
fight for the cause of Queen Christina, and very modestly estimating the
worth of their services at the sum of thirteenpence per diem.  After all,
the value of a man’s life is but the price of his daily hire.

‘We did not pay them much,’