"Adios, Señor Don Ricardo," replied a sweet voice from the depths of the old Spanish coach. "Vaya usted con Dios, y que no haya novedad Señoras," said I, making a vigorous effort with my best Castilian; and with these words, and one bright parting glance from two black Andalusian eyes, so ended my little romance of a month, as the old-fashioned coach, which was doubtless the production of some cunning workman of Seville or Jaen, rolled slowly, pompously, and heavily away towards the Spanish lines, from the north gate of Gibraltar.…
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