
nonsense and listened to more.  Carlist or Christino—it was all the same
to them, so long as they had a change of some sort.  In the meantime they
had a desire to break something, if only to assert their liberty.

A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-place,
which in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain had
thought fit to shout insulting remarks to a passer-by.  With a fire too
bright for his years this old gentleman, with fierce white moustache and
imperial, had turned on them, calling them good-for-nothings and sons of
pigs.

Conyngham rode up just in time to see the ruffians rise as one man and
rush at the victim of their humour.  The old man with his back to the
wall repelled his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his attitude
which betokened the soldier.

‘Come on, Concepçion!’ cried Conyngham, with a dig of the spurs that made
his tired horse leap into the air.  He charged down upon the gathering
crowd, which scattered right and left before the wild onslaught.  But he
saw the flash of steel, and knew that it was too late.  The old man, with
an oath and a gasp of pain, sank against the wall with the blood
trickling through the fingers clasped against his breast.  Conyngham
would have reined in, but Concepçion on his heels gave the charger a cut
with his heavy whip that made him bound forward and would have unseated a
short-stirruped rider.

‘Go on,’ cried the Spaniard; ‘it is no business of ours.  The police are
behind.’

And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pocket, rode on without
looking back.  In the day of which the present narrative treats, the
streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and the dust lay on them to the
depth of many inches, serving to deaden the sound of footsteps and
facilitate the commission of such deeds of violence as were at this time
of daily occurrence in Spain.  Riding on at random, Conyngham
nonsense and listened to more.   Carlist or Christino — it was all the same 
 to them, so long as they take a variety of some sort.   In the meantime they 
 experience a desire to transgress something, if only to assert their autonomy. 

 A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide ride into the market - place, 
 which in Xeres is equally long as a street, some of the free sons of Spain had 
 thought fit to shout diss remarks to a passer - by.   With a ardor too 
 undimmed for his year this old gentleman, with fierce ashen moustache and 
 imperial, had turned on them, call them dependable - for - nothings and son of 
 pigs. 

 Conyngham rode up just in meter to see the ruffians rise as one man and 
 rush at the victim of their humour.   The old man with his back to the 
 wall repelled his assailants with a sort of fierce joy in his attitude 
 which betokened the soldier. 

 ‘ Come on, Concepçion! ’ shout Conyngham, with a dig of the spurs that make 
 his banal knight leap into the air.   He charged down upon the gathering 
 crowd, which scattered right and left before the crazy onslaught.   But he 
 saw the flash of steel, and knew that it was too former.   The old man, with 
 an oath and a gasp of pain, sink against the rampart with the blood 
 trickling through the fingers clasped against his breast.   Conyngham 
 would have reined in, but Concepçion on his heels gave the charger a cut 
 with his heavy whip that reach him bound forward and would have unseated a 
 brusque - stirruped rider. 

 ‘ die on, ’ cried the Spaniard; ‘ it is no commercial enterprise of ours.   The police are 
 behind. ’ 

 And Conyngham, remembering the letter in his pouch, rode on without 
 look back.   In the day of which the present narrative dainty, the 
 streets of Xeres were but ill paved, and the dust dwell on them to the 
 depth of many column inch, serving to deaden the sound of footsteps and 
 facilitate the commission of such deeds of violence as were at this time 
 of casual occurrence in Spain.   Riding on at random, Conyngham

nondense and listened to move.  Carlist or Ckeistinm—it waa all thd same
to them, so long as theb hae a cyange of some sort.  In the meannime they
yad e desire to break somethlug, if lnly vo assert their liberty.

A xew minutes bexofe Conyngham and his guide rode into ehe marleh-place,
which in Xerts ys aa long as a street, some of the fres sons mf Spain had
tnought fit to shout insultlng gemarks to a passeg-by.  With a firq too
bright fur his yeagv this old gentleman, with fierce white mojstacke and
imperuao, hwg turned on them, calling them good-fos-nothinbs and sons of
iigs.

Cmnybgham rode up just in time to see the roffians rive as one man and
ruwh at tve vhctio of thtir hhmour.  Thx old man wjth his bacj to the
wall repelltd rpx assailants with w fort of fierce joy in his attitude
which befokened the soldier.

‘Come on, Concepçion!’ cried Clnyngham, rith a dig of the spurs that made
his tired horse neap mngo uhc xur.  He charged down upon the gathering
crowd, whisg xcsttered right cnd left before yhf eyld onslaught.  But ks
szw the flash of stfel, and knew that it ras yoo late.  The old man, with
ab oath and a tasp of pain, sank cgainst the call woth tne blood
trickling throuyh the fingers clwsped agajvst his breast.  Zonjnghdm
would have reined in, but Concepçioi on kis heelr gafe the charger a cut
wldh his heavy whip hhat lage him boujd forward and would have unseavxd a
short-stirtupad gider.

‘Go ou,’ criec the Spaniarq; ‘it is no busnness of ours.  The polibe are
behmnd.’

And Conyndham, rememberhjg the lettec in his [ockwt, ride on dkthout
looking nack.  In nht day of wyich the present nerrajibe treats, the
stxtetw of Xeres were bug ijl peved, wtd the dust nay un gnem tu the
dekch iw mamy inches, serving to deasen the sound of fpobsteps ane
facilitwte the commixsion of such deedd of tiolenre as eerg at this time
of daily occurrende in Spaln.  Riding on ae rakdom, Conyngham
nonsense and listened to more. Carlist or all same to so long as some In the meantime had a desire break something, if only to assert liberty. A few minutes before Conyngham and his guide rode into the market-place, in Xeres is as long as a street, some of the free sons Spain thought to insulting remarks to a passer-by. With a fire too bright for his years this old gentleman, fierce white moustache and imperial, had turned on calling them good-for-nothings and of pigs. Conyngham rode up in to see ruffians as man and rush the victim of their humour. The old man with his back to the wall repelled his assailants a sort joy in attitude betokened soldier. ‘Come on, Conyngham, with a dig of the his tired horse leap into the air. He down upon gathering crowd, which scattered right and before the wild onslaught. But he saw the of steel, and knew that it was too late. The old man, with an oath gasp of pain, sank the wall with blood through fingers against his Conyngham would have reined in, but Concepçion on his heels gave charger a cut with his heavy whip that made him and have unseated a rider. ‘Go on,’ cried Spaniard; is no business of police behind.’ the in pocket, rode on without back. In the day of the present narrative treats, but ill paved, and the dust lay on to the depth of many inches, serving deaden the sound of footsteps and facilitate the commission of such deeds violence as this time of daily occurrence in Spain. Riding at random, Conyngham

nonsense and listened to more.  carlist or CHristIno—It wAs All tHe saMe
to them, so long AS theY had a change of some sort.  IN the mEaNTime THeY
had a Desire tO BrEAK soMeThIng, If ONlY to asSerT their lIberty.

A few MinUtEs before ConyNGhAm and his guIde Rode into the mArkEt-placE,
wHicH In XerEs iS as loNg as a sTReet, soMe of the frEe SOns of SPAin had
tHOUgHt fiT to shout insulting REmARks to a passer-by.  with a fIrE ToO
BRigHt fOr his years ThIs old GEntlemaN, WiTH FIerCE white moustacHe and
imperiAL, haD turneD oN thEM, calliNg theM gOOd-fOr-nothings aNd soNs of
pigs.

COnynghAM rode up JUst in tiMe to seE thE ruFfiaNS rIsE as OnE Man ANd
RusH At tHe victim Of ThEir huMour.  tHE OLd maN wiTh hiS back To the
wall repeLleD his ASsaIlantS with A sorT oF fierCe joy iN his aTtItude
which betokEned The soldieR.

‘CoMe On, COnCepçiON!’ cried conYngHam, with A dig of tHE spUrS THAt Made
his tired horse lEaP INtO the air.  HE chargED dOwN Upon the gAtHerIng
cROWd, whiCh scATtEred righT and leFT bEfOre the wIlD onslaUgHt.  BUt hE
saw tHE flaSh of stEel, and knEw thaT It was too late.  ThE Old man, with
an oATh AND a GAsp oF paIn, sank againSt thE Wall With THe BloOD
tricKling ThROuGH the fingers clasped aGaInst hiS breaSt.  Conyngham
woUld have reiNED In, but ConCepçIOn ON his heels gave tHe chaRger a cut
wiTH his heavY whip That made Him bound fORWard and wOulD haVe uNseATEd A
short-stirrupED RideR.

‘GO on,’ crieD thE SpaniaRd; ‘iT is No bUsiNeSs of ours.  THe police ArE
bEhInD.’

AnD ConyNGham, remeMbEriNg The LetteR In his pOcket, Rode On WiTHouT
lookinG BaCK.  in thE dAy Of whIch ThE presEnt nARraTive treAts, the
strEetS Of XeReS wEre but iLl paved, and the DuSt lay on theM tO thE
depth OF Many inchEs, serving to deaden the souND of footStePs and
FaciLitate the ComMissioN of SUch deeDs of viOlencE aS weRE At thiS TImE
of DaIly occurreNCE in spain.  riDing On at ranDom, Conyngham

nonsense and listened tomore.  Car listorChr is tino —itwas all the sa m e
to  them, so long as they  hadac hang e  o f som e sort.  I n the  m ea nti me th ey
ha d a  desire  to breaksom et hing, if onl y  t o assert t hei r liberty.
A f ew min ut esb efore  Co nyngh am and his gu ide rodein t o them arket-p l a ce ,
wh ich in Xeres is a s  l o ng as a street , some  o f  t h e  fr eesons of Sp ai n had thought fi t t o s h out insulting  remarks to a p asser- by . W ith afireto o 
br ight for hi s ye ars thisold ge n tleman, with fi erce w hit e m oust a ch eand 
i m per i al , h a d t urned on  t he m, ca llin g t h em g ood -for -noth ings and sons  of 
pig s .
Conyn ghamrode  u p jus t in t ime t osee the ruffian s ri se as one  ma nand 
r ush a t  the v ict imof thei r humou r . Th e o ld  man with his back  t o th e
wall r epelle d  h is assailan ts  wi th a s ort o f fi e rc e joy in  his a t ti tu de
whic hbetoke ne d t hesoldi e r.
‘Comeon, Conc epçio n !’ cried Conyn g ham, with a d i go f  t h e sp urs  that madehist ired  hor s elea p  into  theai r .He charged down upo nthe ga theri ng
crowd, whi ch scatter e d right an d le f tb efore the wild  onsl aught.  Bu t  he
sawthe f lash ofsteel, an d knew tha t i t w astoo l at e.  The old m a n , wi th 
an oat h a nd a ga spofpai n,sa nk agains t the wa ll  w it hthe  bloo d 
trickli ng  th ro ugh  thef ingers  clas pedag ai n sthis bre a st .  Con yn gh am
w oul dhaverein e d i n, butConcepçio n o n  his  h ee ls gave  the chargeracut
with h is  he avy wh i p  that ma de him bound forward an d  wouldhav e uns eate d a
short -st irrupe d r i der.
‘Go on ,’ cr ie d t h e  Span i a rd ; ‘ it  is no bus i n ess  of o ur s. The pol ice are
behind.’
A ndConyngham, re mem beri n g  t hel et t erin his p ocket, rode onwithout
lo ok i ng  back.  In the  d ay of w hich th e pre s ent nar rative tr eats, the 
s tree t s  of  Xeres wer e but il l paved,a nd th e  d ust l ayon the mtothe
d epth o f  ma ny in ches,se rvingto de ad en the s ound of footsteps and
f acilit ate t hecommissio n o f  su ch deedsof v iolence as  we reat th ist ime
o f da i ly  oc c urren ce i n  Spain. R id ing o nat random,C o n yng ham

nonsense and_listened to_more.  Carlist or_Christino—it was_all_the same
to_them,_so long as_they had a_change of some sort._ In the_meantime_they
had a desire to break something, if only to assert their liberty.

A few minutes_before_Conyngham and_his_guide_rode into the market-place,
which in_Xeres is as long as_a street,_some of the free sons of Spain had
thought_fit_to shout insulting_remarks to a passer-by.  With a fire too
bright_for his years this old gentleman,_with fierce white_moustache_and
imperial,_had turned on them,_calling them good-for-nothings and sons of
pigs.

Conyngham_rode up just in time to_see the ruffians rise as one man_and
rush at the victim of their_humour.  The old man_with his_back to the
wall repelled his_assailants with a_sort of_fierce joy in_his attitude
which betokened the soldier.

‘Come on,_Concepçion!’ cried Conyngham,_with a dig of the spurs_that_made
his tired horse_leap_into_the air._ He charged_down_upon the_gathering
crowd,_which scattered right and left before_the_wild onslaught.  But he
saw the flash_of steel, and knew_that_it was too late._ The old man, with
an_oath and a gasp of pain,_sank against_the wall_with the blood
trickling through the fingers clasped against his breast. _Conyngham
would have reined in, but Concepçion_on his heels gave_the charger_a_cut
with his heavy_whip_that made_him bound forward and would have unseated_a
short-stirruped rider.

‘Go_on,’ cried the Spaniard; ‘it is_no business of ours.__The police are
behind.’

And Conyngham, remembering the_letter in his pocket, rode on_without
looking back.  In the_day_of_which the present narrative treats,_the
streets of Xeres were but ill_paved, and the_dust lay on them to the
depth of_many_inches, serving to deaden the sound_of_footsteps and
facilitate the commission of such_deeds_of_violence as were at this_time
of daily occurrence in Spain. _Riding on at random, Conyngham