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The muleteer, still weak from his wound, was the last man to be suspected; and of the Count's participation in the affair, no one, excepting Major Villabuena, for a moment dreamed.
My soul is racked with anxiety on her account, and I curse the folly and imprudence that led me to re-enter this devoted land. My child my poor child can I forgive myself for perilling your defenceless innocence in this accursed war!" His nerves unstrung by illness, and overcome by his great affliction, the usually stern and unbending Villabuena bowed his head upon his hands and sobbed aloud.
Three days' marching brought the Count and Herrera to Pampeluna, whither Cordova and his victorious army had preceded them. Count Villabuena had reckoned too much upon his lately recovered strength; and, although the marches had not been long, he reached Pampeluna in a very exhausted state.
Luis could not detach his thoughts from one all-engrossing subject; and at last, although Count Villabuena had expressly forbidden any correspondence between his daughter and young Herrera, the latter, after some weeks' absence, unable to resist any longer his desire to hear from Rita, ventured to write to her.
"You are surprised," said the count at last, "after all that has passed, that I show so little resentment at your uninvited presence here, and at Rita's infringement of my positive commands." Luis would have spoken, but Villabuena resumed. "You will be still more astonished to learn, that there is a possibility of your attachment receiving my sanction."
The news of the preceding day's battle had reached him, but he took small interest in it; he foresaw that many more such fights would be fought, and countless lives be sacrificed, before peace would revisit his unhappy and distracted country. From these gloomy reflections Count Villabuena was roused by the sudden opening of his door.
A ball of another description had since proved fatal to the dragoon. He had fallen in one of the last actions of the war, fighting gallantly by the side of the Mochuelo, whose fortunes he had continued to share. Accompanied by his bride and father-in-law, Herrera was on his way to the villa near Tudela, now again the property of Count Villabuena.
Paco obeyed, and in another moment entered the apartment. "I thought you were in your grave, Paco," said Villabuena, "and so did we all. I myself saw you lying in the dust of the road, with a sabre-cut on your head that would have killed an ox." "It was not so bad as it looked," replied the Navarrese. "Nothing like a close-woven boina for turning a sabre edge.
"It is unnecessary. Say that I have a message to him from friends at Madrid." The servant disappeared, and in another moment his place was occupied by a grave, stern-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of age. "I am Count Villabuena," said he; "what is your business?"
Although the principal force of the Carlists had been driven back into Western Navarre, the road to Pampeluna was not safe without a strong escort, and Herrera himself had incurred no small risk in traversing it as he had done, with only half a dozen dragoons. Count Villabuena yielded to his representations, and the following morning witnessed their departure.
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