“Yes, my lord; but he is a devil,” said L’Isle, drily.

“I beg your pardon.  I did not mean to make an unsavory comparison.  But here is another billetdoux from Sir Rowland awaiting you.”

L’Isle, taking the dispatch handed to him, broke the seal and read it deliberately, then said:  “Does Sir Rowland think I keep an extra stud of horses, to do the riding that properly belongs to his own staff?”

“Why, where is he sending you now?”

“To Badajoz, on an errand similar to that on which I went into Andalusia.”

“To Badajoz?  That is no distance at all; at least nothing to grumble at,” said Lord Strathern.  “You are growing lazy, L’Isle.  Why Mabel would ride that far after a rare flower.  Just think you are chasing a fox, who takes the high road, and never doubles once between this and Badajoz.”

“That would be a fox of a new breed,” suggested L’Isle.

“I confess,” said his lordship, “I never started one of the kind.  But Sir Rowland’s staff have their hands full just now.  To lighten their labors, I have had to furnish more than one officer for special duties.  You surely would not have Sir Rowland send an aid all the way from Coria, merely to see if those Spanish fellows in Badajoz are in a state to march without disbanding, or without plundering the country as they move through it!”

“Talking of marauding, my lord,” said L’Isle; “I wish the taste for that diversion was confined to our Spanish friends.  It is becoming every day more necessary to check the excesses of our own people.  We cannot send out a party into the country around, but on their return they are dogged at the heels by complaints and accusations.  When we march hence, we shall leave a villainous name behind us.”

“Oh, we will never come back here again,” said Lord Strathern, carelessly.  “Moreover, two-thirds of these complaints are groundless, and the rest grossly exaggerated.”

“The sacking of the farmer’s house on the border needed no exaggeration,” said L’Isle.

“I tell you that was done by the Spaniards,” exclaimed Lord Strathern.

“Yet worse cases than that have occurred, and gone unpunished,” urged L’Isle.

“Because they never could prove the charge, and point out the culprits,” replied his lordship.  “The country is full of rateros.  They commit the crimes and our fellows bear the blame.”

“That is often true; but I have met with one little case in which the offenders can be pointed out.”

“Well, let me hear it,” said Lord Strathern, leaning back in his chair, as if compelled to listen, but anxious to be rid of the subject.