"Sacré—you have deceived me!" he hissed, with all the venom of a Frenchman.
"Un ruse de guerre, mon ami, that is all," I retorted. "All is fair in love and war."
The Frenchman, however, was very sulky, and bitterly reproached me for the trick I had played him; it was not until we were seated in the alcalde's house, discussing a flask of good wine and a capital ham, that he recovered his good-humour.
At daybreak on the following morning we resumed our journey, and I had the satisfaction of bringing in my prisoners to Arevalo in safety.
I will here bring my story to a close, for my adventures in the Peninsula would fill a small volume. I served with the gallant 14th Light Dragoons until the Peace of 1814; and as I am now an old man, I hope the reader will not accuse me of vanity when I say that Major Warrington's prediction was fulfilled, and I gained the reputation of being "an excellent light-cavalry officer."
The 14th returned to England in July 1814; and as soon as I could obtain leave of absence I hastened to Charfield, Harry Symes accompanying me. The whole village turned out to welcome us, and we felt fully repaid for the hardships and dangers we had experienced by the affectionate greeting we received.
I remained in the army until 1830, when having entered into the married state, I thought it time to retire and settle down to private life. My father attained a ripe old age, and before he died had the satisfaction of seeing his grandson, the Rev. Richard Warrington—son of Colonel Sir Charles Warrington by his marriage with my sister Kate—installed as Rector of Charfield; so the living did not go out of the family after all.
Harry Symes is now a prosperous farmer, and lives within a mile of our gates. He often pays me an evening visit to chat over the days "when we went soldiering," and I am sure that neither of us has ever regretted our "Flight from Justice."