We had jogged along for some time after dark, when the distant twinkle of the-watch-fires announced our approach to the camp.

A detachment of the Fourteenth formed the advanced post, and from the officer in command I learned that Power was quartered at a small mill about half a mile distant; thither I accordingly turned my steps, but finding that the path which led abruptly down to it was broken and cut up in many places, I sent Mike back with the horses, and continued my way alone on foot.
The night was deliciously calm; and as I approached the little rustic mill, I could not help feeling struck with Power's taste in a billet.
A little vine-clad cottage, built close against a rock, nearly concealed by the dense foliage around it, stood beside a clear rivulet whose eddying current supplied water to the mill, and rose in a dew-like spray which sparkled like gems in the pale moonlight.

All was still within, but as I came nearer I thought I could detect the chords of a guitar.

"Can it be," thought I, "that Master Fred has given himself up to minstrelsy; or is it some little dress rehearsal for a serenade?
But no," thought I, "that certainly is not Power's voice." I crept stealthily down the little path, and approached the window; the lattice lay open, and as the curtain waved to and fro with the night air, I could see plainly all who were in the room.
Close beside the window sat a large, dark-featured Spaniard, his hands crossed upon his bosom and his head inclined heavily forward, the attitude perfectly denoting deep sleep, even had not his cigar, which remained passively between his lips, ceased to give forth its blue smoke wreath.

At a little distance from him sat a young girl, who, even by the uncertain light, I could perceive was possessed of all that delicacy of form and gracefulness of carriage which characterize her nation.
Her pale features--paler still from the contrast with her jet black hair and dark costume--were lit up with an expression of animation and enthusiasm as her fingers swept rapidly and boldly across the strings of a guitar.
"And you're not tired of it yet ?" said she, bending her head downwards towards one whom I now for the first time perceived.
Reclining carelessly at her feet, his arm leaning upon her chair, while his hand occasionally touched her taper fingers, lay my good friend, Master Fred Power.