"Señor Juan Lerma," said Cortes, when the last of the assemblage had reluctantly departed:—He had descended from the platform, and spoke with a voice, which, if not decidedly friendly, was, at least, free from every trace of sternness:—"Señor Juan Lerma, I have to say, that for the result of your enterprise, however it has been attended by calamity, you deserve both thanks and honours; and it will rest upon your own determination whether you shall obtain them or not. Some things there are, growing out of this affair, of which it becomes me to speak; and thereby I shall give you an opportunity to remove certain stains not yet washed from your good name; and after that, to take off others that are thought to attach to mine. Hast thou not heard of those fierce and fatal wars, that broke out in Mexico shortly after thy departure."
"I have," said Juan; "the king's spies brought the news to Tzintzontzan; and they were not only lamentable to hear, but they caused us to be cast into cages, and devoted, as we feared, to die the death of sacrifice: For know, señor, the sanguinary Mexitli is the god of all this land."
"And hadst thou no suspicion, before departing, that these wars were brewing, and threatening us with destruction? Thou wert somewhat quicker in catching the heathen tongue than others, and wert not without counsellors and friends even among the household of Montezuma."
To this demand, the young man, though embarrassed by the innuendo that followed it, did not hesitate to answer:
"I had such suspicions, and I made them known to your excellency."
"You did indeed," said Cortes, musingly; "and I derided them, being somewhat heated at the time: but counsel to an irritated temper is even sharper than salt on a wounded skin.—This knowledge, señor," he went on, "some will impute to thee as good reason why thou shouldst loiter fourteen months in the wilderness, to avoid sharing in our perils, which were somewhat more horrible than have ever before beset Christian men."
"This," said Juan, firmly, and a little dryly, for there was something in the tone of the speaker, which, though he knew not why, impressed him unpleasantly,—"this is to make me a coward, which your excellency will not believe me to be."
"By my conscience, no!" said Cortes, with emphasis. "Without much thought of this present expedition of which we speak, there is no man will accuse thee of fear, who has heard of thy voyage in the fusta. By my conscience, a most mad piece of daring!" he continued as if in admiration, although it was observable, that, while he spoke, his countenance darkened, as though there were some disagreeable thought associated with the recollection. "No," he went on, "there will be more said of anger and ambition than of terror. Thou knowest, we have envy and detraction about us, that spare none. I can hear, already, how Villafana and other knaves of his peevish, malicious temper, will speak of thee.—They will speak of thy causes for resentment, of the promised favour of the plotting king, a principality among the lakes, with the hope of loftier succession, and the hand of the princely Maiden of the Star,——"
"And this," cried Juan, interrupting the general, "this is to make me a traitor and apostate! Señor, I doubt not that the señor Guzman is at the bottom of all this slander: and I therefore claim to defie,—"
"Peace! wilt thou put thyself in opposition again? If thou dost but raise thy hand in wrath, save against an infidel enemy, thou wert better never to have been born!"
The sudden sternness with which these words were uttered, checked the impetuosity of the youth, and filled him again with anxious forebodings. The general, instantly resuming the milder tones with which he had spoken before, continued,
"So much will be said ofthee. Before I offer thee my hand, in token that I desire to forget everything of the past, but that I once truly loved thee, and before I propose to thee a new and honourable duty,—hear,—not what will be, but what has been said ofmyself, in relation to thine expedition and to thee."
Here the general paused a moment, eyeing the youth intently, as if to read his most secret thoughts; then continuing, he said, with the utmost gravity,
"It has been said of me, señor Juan Lerma, that I sent thee upon thy enterprise of the South Seas, in the malicious thought that the blow of savages might execute the sentence of vengeance I cared not to commit to a Christian assassin. What thinkest thou of this?"
"Even that it is the blackest and insanest of slanders; and that it shows me, I have little cause to marvel at my own loss of credit, when I find that malice can aim even at your excellency's. Whatever may have been your anger, I never believed your excellency would conceal it, much less expend it, in secret vengeance upon a feeble wretch like myself."
"Thou hast but little worldly knowledge," said the Captain-General, half smiling, "or thou wouldst know, that revenge is of a reptile's nature, crawling rather in secret among dark thickets than openly over sunny plains, and none the less venomous, that it can lie half a year torpid. Neither put thou much trust in innocent looks; which, to a shrewd eye, are like sea-water,—the smoother they lie, the deeper can they be looked into."
Having pronounced these metaphorical maxims with much gravity, his eye all the time bent on the youth, Cortes paused for a moment, as if for a reply; when, receiving none, for, in truth, Juan, not well comprehending them, knew not what to answer, he continued,
"Let us understand one another. There has been strife between us,—strife and ill-will. I have perhaps done you injustice: I thought I had cause. By my conscience, young man, I once loved you very well—I have been sorry for you."
"I have deserved your displeasure," said Juan, hurriedly, moved by the earnestness with which the general spoke; "but, I hope, not beyond forgiveness."
"Surely not, surely not," said Cortes; "but what I may forget as thy friend, I am still bound to consider as thy general. I am now the king's officer, and it becomes me, forgetting all private feelings, to know no friends but those who approve themselves true and valuable servants of his majesty. In this character, I must remember some of thy past acts with disfavour; but in both, it is not improper I should desire thou shouldst have opportunity fully to retrieve thy good name, and, in spite of envy and detraction, to deserve such friendship as I have shown thee in former years."
The exile pondered a moment over the words of the general, in more indecision than before. They spoke of friendship and kindness, and seemed to offer an apology for severity that was rather official than personal; and yet, in this apology, was a degree of reproach, of which it appeared Cortes's resolution to keep him always sensible. Nevertheless, this very tone of complaint served to soothe the little exasperation of feelings which had remained in Juan's breast, while smarting under a sense of wrong and injustice. Anger both irritates and hardens the heart; reproach softens, while it distresses. It seemed obvious to Juan, that Cortes, while apprizing him that a full reconciliation had not yet taken place, was willing, nay anxious, that it should. He answered therefore with the greatest fervour,
"If your excellency will but show me in what manner I may regain your favour—at least your belief that I have not wantonly rejected it—I call heaven to witness, I will remember it as such an act of kindness as that whichthismust ever keep me in memory of."
As he spoke, he touched with his finger a rapier-scar on his right breast, which the narrowness and peculiar fashion of his mantle scarcely enabled him to conceal, even when so disposed.
At this sight, Cortes seemed disordered, if not offended, saying after striding to and fro for an instant,
"Let these follies be forgotten! Bury the past, and think only of the future. It is true, I avenged thy wrong—It gives me no pleasure to remember it.—Did I think this, when I made thee my son,—fed thee at my board, lodged thee on my couch, advanced thee, honoured thee, fought thy battles? did I thinkthis? Pho! Juan Lerma, thou hast not repaid me well!"
"Señor!" said Juan, surprised and confounded by the sudden and reproachful bitterness of these words; "when I presumed to speak to you in opposition to your measures, it was with the boldness—the folly—of affection, jealous for your excellency's—your excellency's—"
"Honour!" said Cortes, sharply. "Let us speak of this no more. To business, señor, to business. Leave mine honour to mine own keeping: thou wilt find, I have it even in my thoughts. To business, to business. What say ye, Councillors?—Wilt thou truly steal my dog from me? If you rob me of naught else, it is no matter.—What say you, señor Capitan Del Salto? what say you, Sandoval? Is this young man fit to be entrusted with a captain's command? He was a good Cornet.—Can we confide to him a duty of danger and trust? His pilgrimage to the Hummingbird-land, methinks, was well conducted. What say you? I have a goodly thought for him—But I will abide your better judgment."
"By St. James," said Alvarado, "there is no braver lad in the army; and were he but of clear hidalgo lineage, I should say, give him a command with the best. But here is my thought: he is a good sailor, especially in piraguas and galleys: give him a brigantine. I will crave to have him in the squadron attached to mine own division."
"In my mind," said Sandoval, "he is good for the land service. It is needful we revenge the death of Salcedo and his eighty loons, who suffered themselves to be killed before Tochtepec. Lerma has the love of the dog Xicotencal, who loves nobody else. He can follow the young señor, with some twenty thousand or so of his bare-legs; and they can take the town among them."
"A good thought," said Cortes, "a good thought: for this is a command which, nobody coveting, there will be none to envy. What sayst thou, señor Lerma? wilt thou adventure upon a deed thought to be both dangerous and desperate? Choose for thyself: I will compel thee to nothing. I tell thee the truth.—No captain seeks after this employment, and three have refused, except upon condition that I give them, besides as many Indians as they can raise, three hundred picked Spaniards. Thou canst not look for more than twenty, with some five or six horsemen."
The eyes of the exile sparkled.
"Your excellency honours me."
"Never think so; deceive not thyself," said Cortes, with apparent frankness. "The enterprise is dangerous, nay, as I have said, desperate; and by my conscience, it will be said of it, as of the South Sea journey, that it is devised for thy ruin.—If I honour thee, I must suffer thereby: no evil can happen to thee, that will not be maliciously imputed to wicked and premeditated design. By my conscience, there are many who think me but a hangman in disguise!"
"I hope your excellency will not think of these things," said Juan, fervently. "I will do battle with any one who presumes—"
"Peace: have I not told thee already that the duel is forbidden under heavy penalties? I swear to thee, they shall be enforced, in all cases of disobedience, were it upon my own brother.—I tell thee again, I can advance thee to no service which will not make me the mark of slander. There are fools about us, who, I know not why, have tortured anger into hatred, and will now interpret good-will into malignant treachery. But I care not for this: the tall tree catches the bolts that pass by the underwood,—the rock that rises above the sea, is lashed by breakers, while the grovellers at the bottom lie in tranquillity. It is thus with the condition of man;—peace abides with the lowly, envy shoots arrows at the high. Think of this, think of this, Juan Lerma, when thou hearest me maligned."
"I shall not need," said Juan. "The more dangerous the duty, the more must I thank your excellency for your confidence. I beseech, therefore, that I may be permitted to undertake this present enterprise."
"Wilt thou march them on foot, and with no better arms than thy Indian battle-axe and buckler?" demanded the general, gravely.
"I have heard," said Juan, with hesitation, "that your excellency has in charge certain horses and arms, which of right are mine, as being the gifts of a bountiful friend."
"It is even so," said Cortes, "and the restoration of them, which thou canst justly claim, will cause some heart-burnings. I must crave your pardon for having presumed to bestow them away, as though they had been mine own property."
"Under your favour," said Juan, "considering that they were the gifts of your excellency's ever honoured and beloved lady—"
"Ha!" cried Cortes, with a darkening visage, "what fiend possessed thee with this impertinent conceit?"
"I beg your excellency's pardon for my presumption," said Juan, "which was indeed caused no more by rumour than by a belief that there was no other being in the world, who could thus far have befriended me."
"Why then," said Cortes, "if thou knowest not the donor, it is the more remarkable; for nobody else does. Very strange! Two horses, the worst of which is worth full nine hundred crowns, and Bobadil almost priceless;—a suit of armour so well chosen to thy stature, that never a man of us all but is as loose in the cuirass as a shrivelled walnut in the shell,—all very positively sent totheefrom Santiago,—for thee, señor, and for nobody else!"
"They are saint's gifts," said Alvarado, devoutly: "the young man has suffered much, and has found favour with heaven."
"Señor," said Juan, mildly, "you are jesting with me. I will hope, by and by, to discover this benevolent patron. What I have to say now, is that my wants will be content with but one of the horses; the return of which will cause your excellency no trouble,—the same being in the hands of the señor Guzman, who has already signified his intention to restore him."
"Ha! has he so, indeed? Why thy very enemies have become thy friends!"
"As for the armour, señor," continued the youth, without thinking fit to notice the latter exclamation, "I will make no claim to it, if you have bestowed it away. A simple morion and breastplate,—or indeed a good cap and doublet of escaupil, if iron be scarce,—will content me, provided I have but a good sword and steed."
"Thou shalt have both," said Cortes, "and the plate-mail also; which being somewhat too gigantic for any cavalier, and too good for a common soldier, I have preserved, thinking some day to bestow it upon the Tlascalan Xicotencal.—Thou art not loath to undertake this business? I will give thee a day to think of it."
"Not an hour, señor," said Juan, ardently. "Give me but time to exchange these heathen weeds and sandals for good armour and a warhorse, and I will depart instantly, with whatsoever force you may think fit to entrust to me."
"Art thou really, then, so hot after danger?"
"God is my protection," said Juan; "I thank heaven, that this dutyisthe most dangerous your excellency could charge me with: it is, for that reason, the most honourable."
"Sayst thou so?" cried the Captain-General, quickly. "There isoneduty, at least, I could impose upon thee, which thou wouldst not be so hasty to accept? No, faith; for the very name of it has caused the boldest soldier in the army to turn pale.—Get thee to the armory; rest and refresh thyself: to-morrow thou shalt to Tochtepec."
"Señor, for your love I will do what others will not: I have years of benefaction to repay. I claim to be appointed to that task which is so dreadful to others."
"By my conscience, no," said Don Hernan: "thiswould be sending thee to execution indeed. And yet I know none so well fitted as thyself: Thou art fearless, cunning, discreet,—at least thou canst be so; and thou art a master of the barbarous language, I think?"
"Your excellency once commended the success with which I laboured to acquire it: my year's wanderings in the west have made it familiar to me almost as the tongue of Castile."
"It is a good endowment," said Cortes. "What thinkest thou of an embassage to Tenochtitlan?"
As he spoke, pronouncing each word with deliberate emphasis, he bent his eyes searchingly on Juan, and a smile crept over his features, as he perceived the young man lose colour and start.
"The man that would do methatduty," he continued, gravely, "would indeed deserve well, not only of myself, but of his majesty, the king of Spain. But think not I mean to overtask thee,—or that I seriously designed to try thee with this rack of probation.—There are bounds to the courage of us all."
"Your excellency mistakes me," said Juan, dispelling all emotion with a single effort, and speaking with a voice as firm as it was serious: "if there be but one good can come of such an embassy—"
"There might bemany," said the general, "not the least of which would be the conquest of the city, and thereby of the whole land, without the loss of Christian lives. Could I but find speech with the prince Guatimozin, I have that which will move him to peaceful submission. But this is impossible."
"Again your excellency is deceived," said Juan, with the composure of one who has taken his resolution. "I will do your bidding,—I will carry your message to Mexico."
"Pho! I did but jest with thee. Three Indian envoys have I sent already: the infidel slew them all."
"And cannot your excellency answer why? Your envoys were Indians,—your excellency's allies, but his subjects, who, in the act of alliance, had committed the crimes of treason and rebellion; for which he punished them with death, as seemed to him right and just. A Spanish ambassador would be received with greater respect, and perhaps dismissed without injury. I will not, with a boastful vanity, proclaim that I fear nothing; but such fears as I have, are not enough to deter me; and again I say, I will do your bidding."
"My bidding!" cried Cortes; "I bid thee not; heaven forfend I should bid thee any such thing. But if thou really thinkest the danger is not great,—if thou art so persuaded—" He paused; his eyes sparkled; he strode to and fro in disorder. Then suddenly halting, he exclaimed, with a faint laugh, "No, by my conscience! no, by heaven! no, by St. James of Compostella! thou art the bravest fool of all, but thou shalt not die the death of a dog! I will not catch thee with tiger-traps!"
To these extraordinary expressions, Juan answered with emotion, but still with unvarying resolution,
"I wait your excellency's orders. I fear not death; I am alone in the world;—father or mother, brother or sister, kinsman or friend, there is not one to lament me, should I come to disaster. If I live, I will, as your excellency has said, have saved the effusion of Christian blood; if I die, heaven will remember the motive, and none will miss me.—I will go to Tenochtitlan."
"Thou art a fool," said Alvarado. "Señor Captain-General, this embassy may not be; I protest against it. The world will cry shame on us."
"I do oppose the same," said Sandoval, "as being the wilful throwing away of a Christian life."
The other cavaliers present were about to add their voices against the measure, when Cortes cut them short by saying, sternly,
"Are ye all mad, señores? Think ye, this thing was said seriously? I did but try the young man's mettle, and I do think he hath somewhat less of gaingiving about him, as well as much more folly, than any one here present. I must get me an ambassador; but, Juan Lerma, thou art not the man."
"To my thought," said Sandoval, "this old Indian, Ocelotzin, will be a much safer emissary."
Apparently the Ottomi, who had listened throughout the whole conference with great attention, and who understood just enough of it to know the course that affairs were taking, did not at all relish the suggestion of Sandoval. He started, flung the gray curtain of hair from his visage, and began to pour forth a torrent of such objurgations and remonstrances as he could find Spanish to express:
"I am not Ocelotzin, the Tiger," he exclaimed; "very weak and old I am,—no claw, no tooth, no roar."—And here the barbarian, by way of confirming his speech, set up a yell, so wild, shrill, and hideous, that the cavaliers started back, catching at their swords in alarm, and two or three soldiers from the ante-room rushed in, as if apprehending some act of treason. But the dog Befo, who had hitherto maintained his post at the feet of Lerma, now rubbing against his knees, now rearing against his breast, and sometimes, when pushed down and too long neglected, expressing his impatience or affection, by extending his vast jaws, as if to swallow the hand that repelled him,—the dog Befo heard the cry of the savage with such indignation as he would have bestowed upon the howl of a rival. He replied with a lion-like growl, and stalking up to the Ottomi, he stood watching him, ever and anon writhing his lips so as to disclose his huge fangs, and seemed waiting the signal to attack, greatly to the terror of the orator.
A wave of the general's hand dismissed the intruding soldiers from the apartment; and at the voice of Lerma, the dog returned to him.
"I am Techeechee," said the orator, resuming his discourse, but with tones greatly subdued; "I am Techeechee, the Silent Dog,—the Silent Dog I am; Techeechee, the Silent Dog,—the Silent Dog I am.—Techeechee."—
All this time, he kept his eyes fixed upon Befo as if dreading an assault; and, in fact, his solicitude had somewhat overpowered his mind, so that he continued for some moments to reiterate the above phrases, without any seeming consciousness of their absurdity. At last, he fell into his vernacular language, and this happily releasing him from his trammels, he poured forth, with amazing volubility, a string of sounds, so harsh, guttural, inarticulate, and unearthly, that they seemed rather the basso chatterings of an ape than the meaning accents of a human being.
"What says the knave?" cried Cortes.
"He says," replied Juan, "that he is the little dumb dog of the hills, and will harm nobody; that Montezuma was a big dog, like Befo, (wherein he lies,) and that Guatimozin the prince is bigger still, and will eat him,—which is to be understood figuratively. He says, he is the Little Dog, and therefore not fit to be an ambassador; but—Ha! what sayst thou, Techeechee?"—
The young man spoke to the Ottomi in his own tongue, and receiving an answer, turned immediately to Cortes, saying,
"It becomes me to inform your excellency of his words; for savage though he be, this old man I have ever found to be marvellously shrewd, as well as faithful. It is his opinion, that the prince Guatimozin would not injureme, if I went on the embassy; wherefore, I beg your excellency to reconsider your resolution. He says, too, he will go with me."
"Your destiny, señor, is to the rebellious and bloody town Tochtepec," replied the general, quickly and decidedly.
"He adds," continued Juan, "that he is Techeechee and no ambassador; but that he is cousin to Quimichin, the Ground Rat, and that he will be your spy,—forquimichinis the word by which they express a spy throughout the whole land."
"I am Techeechee; I will be Quimichin," said the Indian, as if to confirm the words of Juan, and twisting his withered features into a smile, that was meant to express both cunning and affection.
"Dost thou think him faithful?" said Cortes. "I will find service for him. But go, amigo! I have kept thee till thou art as faint and weary as myself. Get thee to Quinones, and the armory. Make thy preparations and take thy rest. I will see thee on the morrow—perhaps to-night, and acquaint thee with thy force and instructions. God be with you—Nay, heed not the dog—Adieu, señores—He has much of your own fidelity, roam he never so much. Take him with you."
When the last of the cavaliers had departed from the chamber, the Captain-General, stepped upon the platform, and throwing himself into the chair of state, sat or reclined thereon, with the air of one worn out by exertion of mind and body, and on the eve of sinking into a swoon.
According to the apologue, every man carries on his back a satchel, in which are deposited his infirmities and vices, and which, though thus concealed from his own eyes, lies very invitingly open to the inspection of his friends. Not satisfied with this exposure of foibles, there are some good-natured moralists, who would dive deeper into the secrets of their neighbours, and who lament, with the old heathen metaphysician, that heaven had not clapped windows into their breasts, so that they might detect even the iniquity of thoughts. This regret may be avoided by all who are willing to satisfy curiosity at their own expense; for heaven has fitted most bosoms with private loopholes, through which each man may survey at his leisure the workings of his own spirit. A peep through the secret casement will disclose something startling, if not humbling, to many, who, in the vanity of good works, are disposed to uplift themselves above their fellows;—such, perhaps, as rational principles, and even kindly feelings, taking their hue from 'that smooth-faced gentleman,'—that biassing spirit which is more comprehensively expressed in Shakespeare's phrase ofCommoditythan in the more familiar one of Interest; for it is true of us all, that virtues are sometimes nothing but passions in disguise, and that reason has a marvellous facility in acquiring the tones of worldly-wisdom. If the mere grovelling villain,—the robber, assassin, or slayer of man's peace,—can find some such spectacle near to his heart as the surgeon's knife exposes in the breast of a cankered corse, what mayhedetect, whose sublimer villany has led, or is leading him, to distinction, upon a highway paved with the miseries of mankind? Methinks, the breast of the ambitious man is a labyrinth of some such caverns as perforate the bowels of a volcano, in whose depths are lost all the petty details of crime, committed, or meditated,—in which there is no light but that which bubbles up from the lava of the vast passion,—and in which there is even no grandeur, that has not arisen from convulsions the most disorganizing and unnatural. Such a heart is, at least to the limited ken of others, a chaos,—but a chaos from which he who imbosoms it, and who alone can understand it, calls up,—less like a god than a demon,—the evil elements, which create the lurid sphere his greatness.
In the bosom of the Conquistador there was a corner, into which the blaze of ambition had not yet penetrated, and where the common passions of our nature were left to rage and struggle as in the heart of a meaner mortal. As he looked therein, he gave himself up to thoughts which devoured him, while his countenance betrayed, for a time at least, nothing beyond such lassitude and faintness as may have characterized the Spartan boy, while bleeding under the fangs of the beast he concealed in his bosom.
As he sat brooding in this apparently calm, yet deeply suffering lethargy, there glided into the apartment, from one of the curtained doors on the right hand, a figure, which, seen for the first time and in the dusky twilight already darkening around, might, to superstitious eyes, have seemed an apparition,—it was so strange, so fair, so majestic, and so mournful. It presented a stature taller than belongs to the beauty of woman, yet not inconsistent with the conception of a divinity; and to this a singular dignity was given by flowing and voluminous robes of a grayish texture, which, both in hue and fashion, bore an air of monastic simplicity, without precisely resembling those of any one order. A sort of hood, or veil, drawn a little aside and resting upon the brow, gave to view a female countenance of wonderful loveliness, and not without a share of that commanding dignity, which distinguished her figure. Her hair, shorn, or perhaps bound behind by a fillet, and thus almost altogether concealed by the hood, gave yet to the gaze two long locks, broad and black, which, falling over either cheek, were lost among the folds of the veil which her right hand held upon her bosom. A complexion dark, yet not tawny,—a chin and nostrils carved like the most exquisite statuary,—lips of dusky crimson,—a brow of marble, and an eye of midnight, made up a countenance both beautiful and characteristic, yet contradictory in the expression of its several parts, and sometimes even in the expression of the same features. Thus, the first impression made upon a spectator by the whole visage, was such as could only be effected by extreme gentleness of disposition; while the second, he scarce knew why, spoke of energy and decision, none the less striking for being concealed under a mask so captivating. Thus, also, the eyes, very large and set widely apart, conveyed, on ordinary occasions, the idea of a spirit passive, melancholy, and inanimate; though the slightest depression of the brow, the smallest motion of the lid, transformed them at once into the brightest torches of passion. If one could conceive the spirit of a Philomela—a compound of sweet tenderness and still sweeter melancholy—dashed with the fire of a Penthesilea, he might conjure up to his mind's eye a correct representation of the mysterious being, (alluded to by Villafana, under the name of La Monjonaza, or the Nun, the word being a sort of cant augmentative ofMonja, a nun,) whom an extraordinary destiny had thrown among the warlike invaders of Mexico.
As she passed from the thick curtain and advanced towards the platform, on which sat the moody general, her visage presented none of its ordinary mildness; on the contrary, her brows were knit together, her lip retracted, and the look with which she regarded him whom all others were learning to fear, was bold, stern, and even fiercely hostile.
The rustling of the curtain, the light sound of her footstep, the bright glance of her eye, when she paused before him, all alike failed to make an impression on the general's senses. She perceived that he was in a waking dream, absorbingly profound and painful, and she stood in silence, from disdainful pride, or perhaps with a woman's curiosity, endeavouring to trace the workings of his spirit from the revelations of his countenance, which, by this time, had changed from a stony inexpressiveness to agitation and distortion. At this moment, the head of the Conqueror was bent forwards, and his eyes directed upon the floor; but she saw enough in the writhing features, and the forehead almost impurpled with blood, to know that the passions then convulsing his bosom, were dark and deadly.
At this sight, the frown gradually passed away from her own visage, and she stood regarding him for the space of several minutes, with a calm and melancholy intentness. Then, perceiving that his lips, though moving as if in speech, gave out no articulate sound, she exclaimed, with a voice that thrilled to his soul, though subdued to the lowest accents,
"Arise, assassin! It isnotjust, it isnotexpedient; and he shall NOT perish!"
It seemed as if she had read his heart. He started up, surprised and confounded; and his first act was to cross himself, as if to exorcise a fiend, conjured up by the mere spell of evil thoughts. He even gave voice to two or three interjections of alarm, before perceiving that the rebuke came only from lips of earth.
"Hah! hah! Santa Maria! Santos y Angeles! hah!—Ho! ho! Infeliz! Magdalena! fair conqueror of hearts! bright converter of souls that shalt be! is it thou,Monja mia Santisima? most devout saint of the veil?" he cried, recovering his self-possession, and banishing every trace of passion with astonishing address. "By thy bright eyes of heaven,—and thanks be thine for the good deed,—thou hast waked me from a dream of night-mare, a most horrible vision. These naps o' the afternoon are but provokers of Incubus,—ay, and Succuba into the bargain. I thank thee, bright Infeliz: it is better to be waked by thy voice, than by sweet music!"
"And dost thou think," said the lady, with a voice whose deep but not unfeminine tones suited so well with the mournfulness of her emphasis,—"dost thou think, I see not, this moment, into thy bosom? Visions and sleep! Speak of visions to thy dull conquerors: they who dream of immortal renown, can best appreciate a vision of bloodshed. Speak of sleep to thy duller victims: the stupid wretches who slumber with the chain at their necks, may well believe that the enslaver has also his seasons of repose. But talk not of these tome, who look upon thee neither with the eyes of follower nor of foe. Thou canst not sleep, thou dost not dream: thy head is too full of fame, thy foot too deep in blood, thy heart too black with evil thoughts—No, nevermore canst thou sleep, nevermore, nevermore!"
The last words were uttered with a cadence so extremely melancholy, and with a manner so much like that of one who apostrophizes self, that a stranger overhearing them, and marking the look and gesture—the upturned eye and the folding of arms on the breast—would have naturally supposed they referred rather to herself than to another. This was, indeed, a suspicion, entertained, in part, by Cortes, who, somewhat confounded by the calm decision with which she rejected a deceitful attempt to explain expressions of countenance so ominous as those he had displayed, now recovered himself, and said, with an air of grave sympathy, in which earnestness could not conceal a vein of sarcasm and bagatelle, that were parts of his nature,
"Fair Infeliz, the Unhappy, (since by this lugubrious epithet you choose to be called,) it is now some two months since you dropped among us from the clouds, the fairest, shrewdest and strangest, as well as the most broken-hearted, and self-accusing of all the angels that have fallen from paradise. For mine own part, however fervently I may thank heaven for sending me such a minister, I have not yet got over my amazement at your presence; which I indeed regard with much the same wonder wherewith I should behold the sun of heaven take up his quarters at my tent-door."
"In this particular," said the lady, with the utmost tranquillity, "you should have been satisfied, (had it accorded with your nature to believe any solution of a problem, that was not suggested by your own imagination,) that the deceptions of others, and no will of my own, brought me from Santiago to Mexico, in a ship which should have carried me to Jamaica.—Your allies do not fit out vessels openly for this land, under the eye of Velasquez.—But why ask you me this? Hast thou no better device to lure me from my purpose? I came, not to speak of myself, but of others. Thou couldst have played the lapwing more subtly, hadst thou dwelt upon the whispers, the nods, the smiles of contempt and the words of scorn, that heralded a compelled coming, find which requite an inevitable stay. But learn, if thou hast not yet learned it, that these things are felt more than they are feared, and that she who has not deserved it, may sometimes have the courage to endure even a degrading misconstruction. Why hast thou not insinuatedthis?" continued the singular being, with a voice that betrayed more feeling than her pride confessed: "this would have drowned every other thought in a true woman; for to woman, good name and fame are more than life-blood,—yes, more than life!—I save thee, however, the trouble; I am reminded of my condition,—a woman alone in thy camp, alone in thy hands;—and yet I return to my purpose, which concerns not myself, but another. Wilt thou have me speak further of myself? If it last till the midnight, be sure I will yet speak of that which I have in view."
"Of thyself, then, beauteous Infeliz," said Cortes, admiringly; "for I vow to heaven, thou art the marvel of womankind, whom I desire to understand even more than to adore. Sit thou upon my barbarian throne, and I will fling me at thy feet, in token that I acknowledge thy supremacy in wit, wisdom, subtle observation, determination, and all other virtues that can grace woman,—ay, or man either; for I swear by my conscience, I think thou art valiant also, fearing nothing that walks under heaven or above the abyss. To the throne then, as queen of my mystery."
"I will answer thee where I stand," said Infeliz, calmly disengaging the hand which the Conquistador had taken to lead her to the platform; "and think not, this gallant folly will make me a whit quicker of apprehension, or reply. Make thy demands, and gain thereby what time thou wilt to answer mine; for this is thy purpose."
"Well then," said the Captain-General, with a look of not less respect than curiosity, "make me acquainted with this. Wherefore, as thy coming hither was so much against thy will, hast thou not once demanded to be taken back to the islands?"
"Because it is not yet my will to be discharged from your presence," replied the lady, calmly.
"Be thou of this mind for ever," said the general, with an air of sincerity. "Now let me know, I pray you, why it is that I am somewhat more forward in confiding to thy scrutiny my secret thoughts than to the best and wisest of my bold cavaliers?"
"Because thou knowest I neither love thee nor hate thee; because I lose not good-will by asking honours and spoils, nor by boasting of services and ability; but chiefly am I troubled with your confidence, because I am the only one who lists not to have it."
"By my faith, thou art very right, especially in the last reason of all," said Cortes, with a laugh; "for secrets are like gnats and musket-bullets, they ever crowd thickest after those who strive most to avoid them.—Tell me now, fair and most provoking Infeliz, why, when I have flung thee open the whole book of my confidence, thou givest me not a single chapter of thine?"
"Because it extends not beyond that single chapter," replied La Monjonaza, patiently, "hath neither beginning nor end, and is, beside, in a language which thou canst not understand."
"Pho, you put me off with nothing," said Don Hernan, again taking the hand of his remarkable guest. "I have but one more question to ask you. Why is it, (and I pray you to forgive me the question,) that, with the consciousness that your situation in this mad land and knavish army, exposes you not only to degrading suspicion, but even to absolute personal danger, you betray no apprehension of the wild reprobates among whom you are placed? that you show no dread even of me?"
"Because," said the maiden, removing her right hand, which she had, up to this moment, preserved upon her breast, and drawing aside the thick folds of veil and mantle,—"because, for the wretch who fears not the woman's arms of modesty and helplessness, I bear with me a weapon which will secure his respect."
And as she spoke, the eye of Don Hernan fell upon a naked and glittering poniard thrust through her girdle, and worn as if it had long formed a part of the habit.
There was something inexpressibly impressive in the calm and simple dignity with which, in the very gesture that pointed out a protection so insufficient, she acknowledged a weakness, in all other respects, unfriended. Cortes, in the multitude of his base and graspingly selfish attributes, was not without some traits of a more generous character; and especially admiring a courage so self-relying, so unaffectedly real, and perhaps so much akin to his own, he had enough of the old leaven of chivalric feeling, to understand and appreciate the claims of the sex to his compassion and protection. That he had other reasons for treating La Monjonaza with respect, cannot be denied.
"Give me thy hand, Magdalena," he said, with an action and voice rather indicating the familiarity of a patron than that of a presumptuous suitor: "Thou art right; thou art a creature after mine own heart; and I swear to thee, I will do thee no wrong, nor suffer it to be done thee by another. Heed not what may be said of thee; my dogs would bay an angel, should one condescend to pay them a visit. Thy cloister-like garments are not amiss;—there be more that venerate than malign thee, for this reason; and, thank heaven, the padre Olmedo finds no sin in thy wearing them. Wilt thou be seated? There is peace between us; let there be confidence. What hast thou to ask of me, Magdalena? Thy revenge is at hand."
The maiden returned the scrutinizing look of the general with one which, if not so piercing, was at least quite as steady:
"Your excellency has thrice called me, who call myself Infeliz, by a name not authorized by any revealments of mine," she said: "you speak also of revenge,—ofmyrevenge!—Yes," she muttered, with a quivering lip; "this is a thing to be thought of, not spoken."
She paused a moment, and Cortes, casting a quick eye round the apartment, said, in a voice confidentially low and insinuating,
"I would the story had come from yourself. But it matters not,—I have it; and disguise is no longer availing. You lose nothing by the change, for I see, thy spirit hath the elements of mine own. Ah! water in the desert! the first kiss of a lover! breath to the suffocating!—such is revenge to the soul of the mighty!—I know thee, thy history and thy purpose.—I have dandled the boy Hilario upon my knee!"
The strong and meaning stress laid upon the last abrupt words, only served to drive the colour from the maiden's cheeks and lips. In all other respects, she remained calm and collected, and replied gravely,—
"The tale comes from the Alguazil Villafana—"
"Hah!" said Cortes, in surprise; "how knowest thou that?"
"Because there is no other,—no other, saveone, who will not speak it,—in all this land, who knows so much of me; and because, were there twenty, the man whom heaven has cursed with the industrious treachery of a spider, and the rage to entangle all things in his flimsy web, would be the first to betray me."
"Thou sayst the truth of Villafana," said Cortes, with a laugh of peculiar exultation. "In spirit and intention, he is the insect you have named; but yet he spins his web, less like the spider, with the chance of destroying, than the silken-caterpillar, that toils for his master, who will smother him in his work, as soon as it is perfected. Ay, thy penetration is clear, thy conception just; the knave is, in all things, a traitor,—a double, a triple,—a centupled traitor!"
"And you both spare him, and give him the means of multiplying his dangerous villanies?"
"I do, by my conscience!" said Cortes, vivaciously. "There is a charm in it, and no little policy. Dost thou think this little fly can deceive? can deceiveme?—Wert thou a man, thou wouldst know, that even above the triumph of vengeance, is the joy of him who watches the nets that his foe is spreading, and, as he watches, fastens them softly down upon the ensnarer."
"And is the insect worthy to be toiled by the lion?"
"Ay,—when the lion is aman!—This is my diversion; it is also my profit. I would not for a thousand crowns, any harm should come to so serviceable a tool: a better decoy never circled the disaffected about him. He is the touchstone that reveals me the metal of the doubtful,—the diamond that cuts me the adamant of malignancy. I look through him, as through the philosopher's glass, and behold the million things of corruption that swarm in the hearts of the curs beneath him.—By heaven! it joys me, that I have one to whom I can speak these secret blisses. Thou art my vizier, my very familiar. Know then, that this very night, the dog meditates a treachery, with which I will be acquainted, and yet seem unacquainted. By my conscience, it delights me to tell thee, with what exquisite industry the poor knave works me a good, while foolishly believing he is doing me an ill. Dost thou not remember that I have told thee, how much it concerns me to procure some trusty envoy, to go between me and the young infidel, Guatimozin of Tenochtitlan?"
"I am familiar with your wishes."
"Learn then, that, this night, Villafana himself procures me the emissary I have myself sought after in vain,—a Mexican noble of high rank.—I could kiss the dog for his knavery!"
"And wherefore does he this?"
"Faith, in the amiable wish to reconcile some of the jarring elements of his conspiracy; to wit, the Tlascalans and Mexicans; the latter of whom, this night, will, with his good help, show the black-cheeked Xicotencal the advantages to be gained by uniting with his mighty and royal enemy of Mexico, to secure the destruction of my insignificant self. Ha! ha! Is not the thought absurdly delightful! Ah, Villafana! Villafana! I have no such merry conceited good-fellow as thou!"
La Monjonaza beheld the exultation, and listened to the mirthful laugh of the Conqueror with much interest, and not a little surprise. It did indeed seem extraordinary, that he should be so heartily diverted by the audacity of a villany that aimed at his downfall, and perhaps his life. But this very merriment indicated how many majestic fathoms he felt himself elevated above the reach of any arts of human malevolence or opposition. It was as if the eagle, flapping his wings among thunder-clouds, shrieked with contempt at schoolboys shooting up birdbolts from the village-green.—It gave a clew to a characteristic which Infeliz was not slow to unravel. A deep sigh from her lips recalled the general from his diversion.
"Thou sighest, Magdalena?" he cried.
"It was for thee," she answered: "I sighed, indeed, to think how much and how trulythou, thus elevated by a touch of divinity above the children of men, dost yet resemble this miserable, grovelling, befooled Villafana!"
"What, I? Resemble him? resemble Villafana?"
"Deny it, if thou canst," said the maiden, with rebuking severity; "and if thou canst not, then humble thyself, and confess the base similitude. Thou differest from him but in this,—that, whereas, in one quality, thou art uplifted miles above his head, thou art, in another, sunk even leaguesbelowhim.—Thou frownest? Hast thou discovered that anger adds aught to the state of dignity? Thou dost, this moment, even with the crawling venom of Villafana, with a rage still more abased, seek a life thou hast not courage openly to destroy."
"Santiago!" cried Cortes, in a heat; "by St. Peter, you are over-bitter. But pho, I will not be angry with thee. Dost thou think me this coward thing?"
"Hast thou not doomed the young man, Juan Lerma, a second time, to death?" cried La Monjonaza, with an eye that trembled not a moment in the gaze of the Captain-General; "and was it not with the embrace of a Judas? Oh, señor!" she continued, firmly, "say not that Villafana is either base or craven.Hestrikes at the strong man, who sits armed and with his eyes open: but thou, ohthou,—thou art content to aim at the breast of the friendless and naked sleeper!—Judge between thyself and Villafana."
It is impossible to express the mingled effects of shame and rage, that disfigured the visage and convulsed the frame of the Captain-General, at this powerful and altogether unexpected rebuke. He smote his brow, he took two or three hasty steps over the floor; when, at last, a thought striking him, he rushed back to the chider, snatched up her hand, and said, with an attempt at laughter, painfully contrasted with his working and even agonized visage,
"Dost thou quarrel with me for fighting thy battles? Oh, by St. James, it is better to draw swordona friend thanforhim: ingratitude always comes of it. Had I thought this of old, I had been a happier man, and thou never hadst mourned the death of Hilario;—no, by'r lady, Hilario had been a living man, and thou happy with him in the island!"
As he hurried over these words, the diversion they gave to his thoughts, enabled him rapidly to recover his self-command, in which, as in affairs of less personal consequence, he always exhibited wonderful power. This accomplished, he continued, with an earnest voice,
"Concealment is now useless: the time waxes, when I must think of other things: let us shrive one another even as two friars, and deceive one another no further than they. Methinks, what I do is for thy especial satisfaction.—An ill loon I am, to do so much for one who so bitterly censures me!—Who thou art, and what thou art, I know not: thou wert an angel, couldst thou give over chiding. The young Hilario del Milagro was the son of mine old friend Antonio:—a very noble boy,—I remember him well.—By heaven, thy hand is turned to ice! Art thou ill?"
"Do I look so?" said the maiden, with a faint laugh. Her face had of a sudden become very pale, yet she spoke firmly, though not without a visible effort. "I listen to thy confession."
"To mine! By my troth, I am confessingthysins and sorrows, and not mine. Well, Magdalena," he continued, "thy emotion is not amiss: it is not every maiden can think calmly of the death of her lover, knowing that his slayer is nigh.—I knew Hilario, when a boy,—ay, good faith, and Juan Lerma, too, his playmate and foster-brother, or his young page and varlet, I know not which. It was on Antonio's recommendation, that I afterwards took this foundling knave to my bosom, and made him—no, not what heis! for this is a thing of his own making. I sent him to Española to recruit: he loitered,—he returned to the house of Milagro—Shall I say more? Hilario, his brother, the son of his best friend and patron, was the betrothed husband of Magdalena; and him did the wolf-cub slay. Wo betide me! for it was I that taught him the use of his weapon.—Is not this enough? Accident hath brought thee to Mexico; thou seest the killer of thy lover; and, like a true daughter of Spain, thy heart is full of vengeance.—Is not this true? Disguise thy wrath in wild sarcasm no longer. Were he the king's son, he should——Pho! recall thy words: Is it not 'just?' is it not 'expedient?'"
To these sinister demands, Magdalena replied with astonishing composure:
"All this is well. Shrive now thyself—Hastthouany cause, personally, to desire his death?"
"Millions!" replied the general, grinding his teeth; "millions, millions! to which the death of Hilario, wringing at thy breast, is but as a gnat-bite to the sting of adders.—Millions, millions!"
"Give him then to death," said Magdalena, with a voice so grave and passionless, that it instantly surprised the Conquistador out of his fury; "give him to death,—but let it be inthyname, notmine."
"Art thou wholly inexplicable?" he cried. "I read thee by the alphabet of human passions, and I make thee not out,—no, not so much as a word. Thy flesh warms and chills, thine eye swims and flashes, thy brow bends, thy lip curls, thy breast heaves, thy frame trembles; and yet art thou more than mortal, or less. When shall I understand thee?"
"When thou canst look to heaven, and say, 'I have done no wrong'—No, no! not to heaven; for what child of earth can look thitherward, and unveil the actions of life?—When thou canst lay thy hand upon thy bosom, and appealing, not to divine justice, but to that of human reason, say, 'What I do is just:'—in other words,never. You are surprised: you bade me repeat my words: I do:—'It isnotjust, it isnotexpedient, and Juan Lerma shallnotdie!'"
"Now by my conscience!" said Cortes, "this is the true dog-star madness! Wert thou not behind the curtain, and didst thou not shriek at sight of him? Mystery that thou art, unveil thyself—Wherefore tarriest thou in this land, suspected, scorned, degraded, if not to have vengeance on him? Wherefore, I say, wherefore?"
"Tosavehim," replied the lady, boldly,—"to save him from the fury that has brought thee to the level of the Alguazil. Else had I long since returned to the islands. Revoke therefore thy commission, and, in any way thou wilt, so that it carry with it neither secret malice nor open insult, contrive to discharge him from thy service. His life is charmed—it is in my keeping."
"Oho!" said the Captain-General, surveying La Monjonaza with an exulting sneer; "sits the wind in that quarter? And thou art but a woman after all! Now was I but a fool, I trow, not to bethink me how the wife of Uriah forgot the death of her husband, when she saw a path open to the arms of his murderer. Is it so indeed? Thou hast fallen from admiration to pity."
"She who withstands evil thoughts and maligning words, will not weep even at the contempt of commiseration," said Magdalena, with a sigh.
"Villafana has then deceived me,—or rather, poor fool, has deceived himself, as is more natural," said Cortes, with a malicious grin. "Never believe me, but thou shalt rule me in this matter, as in others. Juan Lerma shall thank thee for his life, even for the sake of the Maid of Mexico,—thy brown rival, Zelahualla."
As he spoke thus, he watched closely the effect of his words on Magdalena, and beheld a sudden fire light up in her eyes, succeeded by such paleness as had always covered her visage, when he referred to the death of Hilario. Nevertheless, she did not avert her glance, nor exhibit any other manifestation of feeling, except that she replied not a single word.
"It is the truth that I tell thee," he muttered in a low voice, taking up, as if in compassion, her hand, which was yielded passively, and was again cold and dewy; "she is very lovely,—very,—and a king's daughter. He fought for her love with Guzman. So, perhaps, he fought Hilario for thine. By my conscience! he makes love over blood-thirstily! When I spoke to him of Zelahualla,—nay, I mentioned not her name; I spoke only of his friends in the palace of Mexico—yet the colour flushed over his cheeks. Nevertheless, thou shalt rule me; thou shalt have time for consideration: the expedition to Tochtepec can be delayed. Dost thou think he would have consented to be mine envoy to Tenochtitlan, but for the hope of seeing his princess? I could tell thee another thing—(there are more rivals than one)—but it matters not,—it matters not! Thou wilt not be content with—pity!—Arouse thee, and speak.—Art thou marble?"
At this moment, and while it seemed indeed that the unhappy Monjonaza, notwithstanding that her countenance was still inexpressively placid, had been turned to stone, the curtain of the great door, or principal entrance, was drawn aside, and the cavalier Don Francisco de Guzman strode hastily into the apartment. The sound of his footsteps, more than the warning gesture of Cortes, recalled her to her senses. She raised her hand to her brow, and the long hood falling over her countenance, she turned to depart through the door by which she had entered. The evening was already closing fast, and the shadowy obscurity of the chamber perhaps concealed her from the eyes of the intruder. Nevertheless, Cortes perceived, as she glided away, that her step was altered and tottering, and that her hands fumbled for a moment at the door curtain, as if she knew not how to remove it. It yielded, however, at last, and she vanished from his eyes.
"Poor fool," he muttered, with a feeling divided between scorn, anger, and pity, "thou hast discovered to me the broken postern of thy spirit: the walls are strong, but the citadel is in ruins. This is somewhat marvellous,—I will know more of it. It is a new and another thing to be remembered.—Come, amigo: it is over dark here for thy business. We will walk in the open air."
So saying, he took Guzman's arm, and departed from the chamber.
Some two hours or more after he had been discharged from the presence of the Captain-General, Juan Lerma sat musing in one of the many hundred chambers which composed the vast extent of the palace of Nezahualcojotl, a different being from that the reader beheld him returning from exile. The coarsetilmaltli, or native cloak, and the barbarous tunic, had been exchanged for raiment of a better material and fashion, a part of which,—thebragasandxaqueta, at least—were from the wardrobe of the general, while modesty, or reluctance to accept any further of such assistance than was absolutely necessary, had induced him to substitute for the plain but costlycapa, or mantle, of velvet, the long surcoat of black cloth, very richly embroidered, which had, as he was told, accompanied the suit of armour, sent by his unknown friend. This valuable and well-timed gift lay upon a platform beside his matted and canopied couch, shining brilliantly in the light which a waxen candle diffused throughout the apartment. He sat upon a native stool, carved of a solid block of wood, and his fine countenance and majestic figure, besides the advantages they received from becoming garments, appeared even of a more elevated beauty, when seen by this solitary ray.
His only companion was the dog Befo, whose shaggy coat, yet gleaming with moisture, betrayed that he had shared with the young man his evening bath in the lake. The attachment of this beast was much more natural than remarkable. Five years before, when Juan was but a boy in Santo Domingo, Befo had been his playmate and companion;—had followed him to Cuba, when the youth began to weary of dependence, and long for a life of activity and distinction; and was finally presented by the grateful adventurer to Cortes, as the only gift in his power to bestow; for, at that time, saving his youth, health, and good spirits, Befo made up the sum of his worldly possessions. In the change of masters, however, Befo did not trouble himself to acquiesce; nor did he perceive any necessity, while treating Cortes with all surly good-will and respect, to abate a jot of his love for the hand which had first sustained and caressed him. The dog is the only animal that shows disinclination to be transferred from one master to another. The horse cares not, the ox submits, and man makes no opposition. The dog has a will of his own, and acknowledges no change of servitude, until conscious of a change of affection.
The stirring and harassing events of the day, though they had exhausted the spirit of the youth, had yet brought with exhaustion that nervous irritableness which drives away slumber from the eyes of the over-weary. Twice or thrice, Juan had flung himself on the couch to repose, but in vain; and as he now sat questioning himself how far the substitution of soft mats and robes for a bed of earth, might account for his inability to sleep, he began to revolve in his mind, for the twentieth time, his change of fortunes, and wonder at the inauspicious, and, as it seemed to him, unnatural sadness, which oppressed his spirits.
"I have been restored," he muttered, half aloud,—and, as he spoke, Befo, roused by the accents from the floor, thrust his rough head over his knees, to testify his attention,—"I have been restored to favour, and, in great part, to the friendship of the General.—Thou whinest, Befo! I would I could read the heart of a man as clearly as thine.—Yet has he not distinguished me with a high command,—a captain's? I trow, it is not every one who can so soon step into this dignity, especially when without the recommendation of birth, as Alvarado hinted.—I will show this proud cavalier, that God does not confine all merit to hidalgos' sons. If he give me but a capable force—Twenty foot and six horse?—'tis but a weak array for a field where eighty men have perished. Yet I care not: if I have but Xicotencal to back me, with some two or threexiquipils[9]of his Tlascalans, it will be enough. If I fall,—perhapsthatwill be better: I am too faint-hearted for these wars. Villafana says, that he brands the prisoners too, and sells them for slaves. This is surely unjust—He was another man at Cuba."
At this moment, the dog raised his head and growled, and Juan heard steps approaching through the long passage, that ran by his door. Here they stopped, and Befo continuing to give utterance to his displeasure, the voice of Villafana whispered through the curtain,
"Put thy hand on the beast's neck, or box him o' the ears—He is no friend of mine."
"Enter," said Juan, "if thou art seeking me. He will do thee no harm."
"Ay, marry," said Villafana, coming in; "for at the worst, and when other things fail, I will stop him with my dudgeon, be he Cortes's, thine, or any one's else. It stirs my choler to be growled at by so base a thing as a dog."
"Put up thy weapon, nevertheless," said Juan, observing that Villafana had a poniard in his hand; "thou seest, the dog is quiet. In this he pays me the compliment of supposing I can protect myself. What is thy will with me, Villafana?"
"First," said the Alguazil, with a laugh, "to give thee my congratulations touching thy sudden rise from the abyss, and thy meditated flight heaven-ward. And, secondly," he continued, when Juan had nodded his thanks, "to ask, in the way of friendship, from how high a cliff thou canst tumble headlong, without danger of breaking thy neck?"
"This is but a silly question, friendly though it may be," replied Juan.
"Oh, señor," said Villafana, "you must remember, the first night we slept with the army, at the base of El Volcan, the mighty Popocatepetl, how much we admired the great stones, that the devils therein flung up against the stars! You nod again: good luck to your recollections! Did you observe any one of those ignited masses stick against the vault, and there hang among the luminaries?"
"Surely not," said Juan; "those that fell not immediately back into the crater, rolled down among the snows on the mountain-side, and were there extinguished."
"Very well, señor—When you are mounted, you can remember the fire-stones, and make your choice whether to tumble back into the fire of wrath, that now sends you upward, or to quench yourself for ever in the frozen bed of degradation.—You go to Tochtepec?"
"I do," said Juan, somewhat angrily; "and I warn thee, thy malicious metaphors will not make me less grateful for the kindness that sends me."
"God rest you—it were better you had accepted the embassy to Guatimozin."
"Hah!" said Juan, "how knowest thou of this? It was spoken only in secret council?"
"Oh," said Villafana, with a second laugh, "if thou wilt but scratch on one end of a long log, be sure I will hear it at the other. There is something more in the world than magic."
He spoke with marked exultation; indeed Juan had already observed that his carriage was freer and bolder than common, and that he bore himself like a man who cares not wholly to conceal a triumph of spirit, which he thinks it not needful altogether to divulge.
"Harkee, señor Don Juan," he went on, abruptly and inquisitively, "thou art good friends with Xicotencal?"
"So far as a Christian man can be with one, who, though a very noble being, is yet a misbeliever."
"And thou wert sworn friends, at Mexico, with the young prince, Guatimozin?"
"Not so," said Juan: "the young man kept aloof from us all, being of the hostile party; and there was scarce one of us who had ever seen his face. I must confess, however, if I can believe Techeechee, that my preservation in the expedition was owing to his good act; for Techeechee avers, that it was through Guatimozin's good will that he was sent with me, to secure me from the death which was designed for all the rest of the party."
"Designed? dost thou allow it then?" cried the Alguazil, quickly.
"Ay," replied Juan, dryly; "designed by the Mexican lords, but not by Christian leaders."
"And art thou not sorry thou wert not despatched to him as envoy?"
"Why need we talk of this?" said Juan, hesitating. "Guatimozin the king, may be different from Guatimozin the prince."
"He is notyetthe king," said Villafana. "He will not be crowned till the day of the great war-festival, and not then, unless he can furnish a Spaniard for the sacrifice. I'faith, he loves not the blood of his red neighbours."
"Villafana," said Juan, struck with certain uneasy suspicions, "thou seemest better acquainted with these things than becomes a true follower of Don Hernan."
"Not a whit, not a whit," cried the Alguazil, hastily: "this is but the common talk,—the common talk, señor; and I am but a fool to indulge in it, to the prejudice of other business more urgent. Come, señor,—will you walk in the garden? There is a friend to speak with you."
"What friend?" said Juan.—"Villafana, I half suspect you are engaged in some foul work. I will have naught to do with it."
"Lo you now," said the Alguazil, impatiently; "this is wild work. Do you think I will assassinate you? Ho! this is a thing thy best friend would entrust to another. Come, señor;—you have your rapier,—you can take your casque, too, if you have any fear. It is a friend, who has that to say which it concerns your life to know. You know not your danger. God be with you, and your blood be upon your own head! If you refuse, you will not repent you:—no, faith—you will not have time left for lamentation.—Farewell, señor,—"
"Stay, Villafana," exclaimed Juan, much disturbed: "Friend or foe,—it is not that which stays me, but the fear of being entrapped into something more to be dreaded than death. Thou art a schemer; it is thy nature: I will have nothing to do with thy plots, or with those who—"
"Pho! this concerns thyself alone, not me. My only plot is to help one who desires to drag thee out of the fire thou art so bent to burn in. I take you to your friend, and depart: I have other things to occupy me. I am but a messenger. Will you go? I must give you a token then.—You have not forgotten Hilario?"
At these words, muttered under breath, Juan started and turned pale, exclaiming, "Saints and angels! and heaven forbid! Mine ears did not then deceive me? Oh wo to us all! Alas for thine ill news! Have I not pain enough of mine own?"
As he spoke, with a trembling voice, Villafana handed him his cap and sword, saying, as he put into his hand the latter, which was a light rapier,
"A good blade! and has hung at Don Hernan's girdle.—Leave the dog behind: he will but set up his cursed growling, and so bring upon you some one who may not relish the meeting."
"It is true, then?" cried Juan, with tones and aspect of the greatest distress: "So fair, so young, so noble, so fallen!"
"Back, cur! thick-lips! Befo!" cried the Alguazil, as the two left the chamber.—"He grumbles at me, as if to sayEhem, with disdain. Command him thyself: he is a superfluous companion."
The young man waved his hand to Befo; at which signal Befo threw himself upon his haunches, looking after Juan till he beheld him issue from the long passage into the open air. Then rising, with the air of a servant who understands his duty much better even than his master, he followed slowly after the pair into the garden.