“Think better of it, senor.  The alternative might not be agreeable.”

“Whatever the alternative may be, my decision is irrevocable.  And you said just now you would let me go.”

“Oh, yes, I will let you go, since you insist on it” (smiling).  “All the same, I think you will regret your decision—­Mejia, of course, means to attack us.  He can have come with no other object—­by your advice?”

“Certainly not.”

“That means he is acting against your advice.  The man is mad.  He thought of taking us by surprise, I suppose.  Why, I knew he was on his way hither two days ago!  And if he does not attack us to-night—­and we are quite ready for him—­I shall capture him and the whole of his army to-morrow.  I want you to go with us and witness the operation—­in the character of a spectator.”

“And a prisoner?”

“If you choose to put it so.”

“In that case, there is no more to be said, though for choice, I would rather not witness the discomfiture of my friends.”

Griscelli gave an ironical smile, which I took to mean that it was precisely for this reason that he asked me to accompany him.

“Will you kindly receive Senor Fortescue, as your guest, Captain Guzman,” he said, “take him to your quarters, give him his supper, and find him a bed.”

“Con mucho gusto. Shall we go now, Senor Fortescue?”

I went, and spent a very pleasant evening with Captain Guzman, and several of his brother-officers, whom he invited to join us, for though the Spaniards of that age were frightfully cruel to their enemies, they were courteous to their guests, and as a guest I was treated.  As, moreover, most of the men I met had served in the Peninsular war, we had quite enough to talk about without touching on topics whose discussion might have been incompatible with good fellowship.

When, at a late hour, I turned into the hammock provided for me by Guzman, it required an effort to realize that I was a prisoner.  Why, I asked myself, had Griscelli, who was never known to spare a prisoner, whose face was both cruel and false, and who could bear me no good-will—­why had this man treated me so courteously?  Did he really mean to let me go, and if so, why; or was the promise made to the ear merely to be broken to the hope?

“Perhaps to-morrow will show,” I thought, as I fell asleep; and I was not far out, for the day after did.  Guzman, whose room I shared, wakened me long before daylight.

“The bugle has sounded the reveille, and the troops are mustering on the plaza,” he said.  “You had better rise and dress.  The general has sent word that you are to go with us, and our horses are in the patio.”

I got up at once, and after drinking a hasty cup of coffee, we mounted and joined Griscelli and his staff.

The troops were already under arms, and a few minutes later we marched, our departure being so timed, as I heard the general observe to one of his aides-de-camp, that we might reach the neighborhood of the rebel camp shortly before sunrise.  His plan was well conceived, and, unless Mejia had been forewarned or was keeping a sharper lookout than he was in the habit of doing, I feared it would go ill with him.