I had more than once observed in the garden of this house a female in the very first blush of youth, and beautiful enough to excite within me a strong curiosity to learn the owner of the cottage.

I inquired, and ascertained that its tenant was a Spaniard of high birth, and one who had acquired a melancholy celebrity by his conduct and misfortunes in the part he had taken in a certain feeble but gallant insurrection in his native country.

He had only escaped with life and a very small sum of money, and now lived in the obscure seaport of------, a refugee and a recluse.
He was a widower, and had only one child,--a daughter; and I was therefore at no loss to discover who was the beautiful female I had noted and admired.
On the day after my conversation with Aubrey detailed in the last chapter, in riding past this cottage alone, I perceived a crowd assembled round the entrance; I paused to inquire the cause.
"Why, your honour," quoth a senior of the village, "I believe the tipstaves be come to take the foreigner for not paying his rent; and he does not understand our English liberty like, and has drawn his sword, and swears, in his outlandish lingo, he will not be made prisoner alive." I required no further inducement to make me enter the house.

The crowd gave way when they saw me dismount, and suffered me to penetrate into the first apartment.

There I found the gallant old Spaniard with his sword drawn, keeping at bay a couple of sturdy-looking men, who appeared to be only prevented from using violence by respect for the person or the safety of a young woman, who clung to her father's knees and implored him not to resist where resistance was so unavailing.