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Quexada appeared, covered with gore and dust-his eyes bloodshot, his cheek haggard and hollow, his locks blanched with sudden age-in the hall of the tower, where the women, half dead with terror, were assembled. "Food!" cried he, "food and wine! it may be our last banquet." His wife threw her arms round him. "Not yet," he cried, "not yet; we will have one embrace before we part."
Quexada appeared, covered with gore and dust-his eyes bloodshot, his cheek haggard and hollow, his locks blanched with sudden age-in the hall of the tower, where the women, half dead with terror, were assembled. "Food!" cried he, "food and wine! it may be our last banquet." His wife threw her arms round him. "Not yet," he cried, "not yet; we will have one embrace before we part."
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