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Rh The French invaded Spain, and their path was as that of some terrible disease, sweeping to death and desolation all before it. Don Henriquez's house was attacked one night; the French were beaten off for a time, but not without much bloodshed. A chance ball laid Mrs. Fortescue a corpse at her daughter's side. Beatrice was wounded, though but slightly, in her very arms; and when daylight dawned on the anxious household, to one half of them it dawned in vain. Zoridos saw that no time must be lost: the enemy would soon be down upon them in overwhelming numbers. A summer-house near, which had been fired, served as a funeral pile—any thing rather than leave even the dead to the barbarity of the invader. Henriquez himself was obliged to force his wife from the body of her mother. A few necessaries were hastily collected—for valuables they had neither thought nor time. Zoridos placed the insensible Margaretta before him on his horse, and rode off, without daring to look back on the happy home they were deserting for ever. Beatrice's nurse followed, with her husband and the child. In better days, a daughter of the nurse had married a young mountaineer, whose remote cottage owed every comfort to their master's fair English bride. There they