were my terms, and as the mob began to get
very noisy and impatient, the bargain was struck.
An agreement was hastily written and signed by
the alcalde, and a cheque for the money was
drawn and entrusted to the master of the shows,
to be handed to me when I should have earned
it. As I traced my signature on the paper I
felt that I was bartering my own life and blood
to save Alice's father. That five thousand reals
would be his ransom. But I had little time to
meditate, for I was hurried off to another room,
and there bidden to assume, as quickly as
possible, the gay costume of a matador, and in the
mean time the magistrates hastened to their
places, and the master of the shows went on the
somewhat awkward errand of explaining to the
multitude that Manuel Zagal had broken his
leg, and that a tyro would take his duties on
himself.

From the dark little chamber in which I was
occupied, clumsily enough, in exchanging my
own clothes for the gaudy Andalusian suit which
was a necessary adjunct of the character I had
assumed, I could now and then catch the sound
of the manager's voice, as in oily accents he
addressed the enlightened audience of his
patrons. At first his speech elicited much noisy
disapprobation, but presently laughter and
cheers drowned the oration, and when he came
back he wiped his forehead with an air of
self-congratulation. The audience had been restored
to good humour. They had been testy and
irritable, the manager told me, as he lent me his
practised aid in dressing, until he reminded them
that, at the worst, they had never seen an
Englishman killed, and might look out for a
novel excitement. "I told them, St. Martin
forgive me, that you were the first toreador in
all London, and had come to Spain to challenge
our best bull-fighters to a contest of skill,"
continued the man, and then bade me look at myself
in the glass. I did so, but hardly recognised
myself, so much was my appearance altered by
the embroidered jacket, the slashed calzoncillos,
the many-coloured silken sash, the scarf heavy
with silken fringe, and all the lace, bell-buttons,
and frippery of my costume. The master of the
shows eyed me critically, from the broad-leaved
sombrero with its red plume and golden cord,
down to the pumps and silk stockings which are
as essential to a matador as to a master of the
ceremonies, and clapped me on the shoulder
with a good-natured word or two of approval.
Then he presented me with the scarlet cloak and
the long straight-bladed sword, and rapidly
explained to me what strokes were considered
"foul," and what were in accordance with the
etiquette of this gory pastime. He was by no
means ill natured, and did his best to encourage
me, offering me wine and refreshments, and
insisting that I should swallow at least one goblet
of strong Calcavella.

"Cheer up, comrade," said he; "keep cool,
avoid the first rush, and you may get off with
unbroken bones and a whole skin. Throw the
cloak well over his horns, and drive in the sword
thus, turning the wrist in this manner, and
avoiding the breastbone. Never be in a hurry,
or you are lost. I have seen old hands lose
their heads at the first roar and dash of a hurt
bull, but I like you, lad, schismatic as you are,
and I don't want to see you go out feet foremost.
Let me feel your pulse." And he took my wrist
between his fingers, probably to ascertain if I
were too much flurried by the approach of danger
to attend to his instructions. However, he
released my hand, muttering with something of
genuine admiration in his tone, "Those island
mastiffs! a tough breed!"

He then conducted me to a nook whence I
could see through a small window which
commanded a good view of the arena and of the
spectators above, while the close trellis-work of
rusty iron prevented the occupant of the lair
from being visible. And then, bidding me be
of good courage, he left me to attend to his
duties. I was alone, though I could hear the
hoarse bellowing of the bulls confined in dens
near me; and now for the first time I had leisure
to realise the rashness of my undertaking. I
had followed the bidding of impulse in what I
had done, and now, as I looked around, and
remembered that the thousands of spectators
would gloat over my dying agonies as greedily as
over those of the brute victims of their cruel
sport, I realised the full danger of my position.
But I quieted my apprehensions by the thought
of Alice. It was for her dear sake, to earn her
father's ransom, that I was crouching where I
was, in this mummer's garb, waiting till I
should be called forth, like a gladiator of the old
pagan days, to redden the sand of the bull-ring
with my blood. For of escape from serious
injury I had little hope. I knew that very few
even of the agile Spaniards, accustomed from
childhood to every detail of these repulsive
spectacles, were willing to accept the perils of
the matador's trade. I had seen bull-fights
before, at Seville, at Vigo, and elsewhere, and
remembered well how formidable were the huge
animals bred in the lonely pastures of Murcia
and Castile, expressly for the arena. But I
drove away these thoughts, and took a deliberate
survey of the amphitheatre.

I looked up at the endless tiers of spectators,
the ladies, with their flashing eyes and waving
fans, some in the old Spanish dress, but most
in Parisian finery; at the dandies of Malaga;
the crowds of shopkeepers and artisans; whole
families together, from the delighted old
grandmother to the child in arms, that was being
taught to clap its little hands and crow at the
sight of bloodshed; at the multitude of peasants
in holiday attire such as their ancestors wore in
the days of Ferdinand and Isabella. I gave a
glance to the place where the captain-general,
in his rich uniform blazing with decorations, sat
amid a brilliant group of officers and ladies,
whose diamonds and courtly splendour seemed
oddly placed in such a scene. And then I
looked down at the ring.

As yet the sports had been merely of an
introductory character. Three or four young bulls
had been worried with tridents and flags. A