deliver up to him, free and without ransom, the person, or persons, who lay under oppression in their castle.
'What persons, or what castle do you mean, madman?' answered one of the millers: 'Would you carry off those, who came to grind their corn at our mills?'
'Enough,' thought Don Quixote to himself, 'it will be preaching in the desert, to endeavour, by treaty, to prevail with such mob to do anything that is honourable: and, in this adventure, two able enchanters must have engaged, the one frustrating what the other attempts, the one providing me a bark, and the other oversetting it: God help us! this world is nothing but machinations and tricks quite opposite one to the other: I can do no more.'
Then looking towards the mills, he raised his voice, and said:
'Friends, whoever you are that are enclosed in this prison, pardon me, that, through my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your affliction; this adventure is kept and reserved for some other knight.'
Having said this, he compounded with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the boat, which Sancho disbursed much against his will, saying:
'A couple more of such embarkations will sink our whole capital.'
The fishermen and millers stood wondering at these two figures, so out of the fashion and semblance of other men, not being able to comprehend what Don Quixote drove at by his questions, and the discourse he held with him: and looking upon them as madmen, they left them, and betook themselves to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and Sancho, like beasts themselves, returned to their beasts; and thus ended the adventure of the enchanted bark.
Of what befell Don Quixote with a fair huntress.
SUFFICIENTLY melancholy, and out of humour, arrived at their cattle the knight and squire; especially Sancho, who was grieved to the very soul to touch the capital of the money, all that was taken from thence seeming to him to be so much taken from the very apples of his eyes. In conclusion, they mounted, without exchanging a word,