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It was now midnight. Audience after audience,
and council after council, in the great hall of the
palace, had shown how rapidly were approaching
to a climax the involved events and schemes, which
had for their object the overthrow of the Indian
empire, as well as some that looked to an end
equally dark, though of less public import. The
Captain-General had despatched several audiences
entirely of a private nature, and hoped to be relieved
of his toil, while discharging from his presence
an individual already known to the reader as Gaspar
of the Red Beard. Whatever might have been
the subject of the conference, its conclusion was
unsatisfactory to both parties; for Olea departed
with a visage both sullen and vindictive, while
Cortes strode to and fro, evidently affected by vexation
and anger.

As Olea, who had long since got rid of the `infidel
gait,' which had drawn a remark from Cortes,
and which, doubtless assumed to assist his disguise,
only adhered to him through habit,—as he vanished
through the great door, another character made his
appearance, entering by one of those doors which
opened from the garden. It was the señor Camarga;
who, from the friar's habit, again flung
over his armour, seemed to have been engaged, a
second time, in his maskings.

“What news, señor? what news hast thou?”
demanded Cortes, in a low voice, making a sign to
the visitor to imitate his cautiousness. “Hast

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thou gathered aught of my dog Villafana? By my
conscience, we are at a fault; the fox is scared
into virtue: Najara hath seen no ill in him, Guzman
avers he hath detected no sign of guilt, and
not a spy is there of all, who does not swear that
his fright in the matter of Olin, (that knave, too,
cajoled me!) has reduced him into submission and
honesty. Hast thou found nothing?”

“Nothing to be thought of, perhaps,” replied
Camarga. “Villafana is either returned to his allegiance,
as your excellency hints, or he is too deep
in distrust, to confer with me any further. He
swears, if one could believe him, that he has thought
better of his schemes, and is now resolved that they
were foolish and unjust,—and therefore that he has
ended them.”

“He lies, the rogue!” said Cortes; “you have
pursued him too closely.—It was an ill thought to
league Najara with him.—These things have made
him suspicious, not penitent. I have taken the hunchback
away, restored Villafana to his prisonward,
and, in short, taken all means to seduce him into
security. You will see the cloven foot again, and
that right shortly.”

“Perhaps what I have to say will make your excellency
believe it is displayed already. He has
admitted one to speak with the prisoner—”

“Hah!” cried Cortes,—“a file of spearsmen!—
But no; it matters not. There is no fear of escape;
and this were too aimless an explosion. Know
you the person he has admitted?”

“I do not,” said Camarga; “but from the glance
of the garment, methought 'twas some such godly
brother as myself. And yet 'twas a taller man
than Olmedo.”

“By my conscience,” said Cortes, quickly, “methinks
I can divine the mystery: but of that anon.
Hark thee, friend Camarga, dost thou still burn for
this wretched man's life? I tell thee, there is much

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intercession made for him. It was but a moment
since that the Barba-Roxa,—a good soldier, i'faith,—
made certain fierce moans for him, mingled with
divers mutinous reproaches. I vow to heaven, I
could have struck the knave dead, but that he saved
my life at Xochimilco.”

“I have heard that Juan Lerma did the same
thing, on the plains of Tlascala,” replied Camarga,
dryly.

“Thou art deceived!” exclaimed Don Hernan,
with a sudden shudder. “The attempt, I grant
you, the attempt he made; but I needed no help.
Yet do I remember the act; and, by heaven, I
would I might forgive him,—I would I might! I
would I might! for the thought of judging him to
death, is like a wolf in my bosom. Once I loved
him as my son,—yes, as my very son,” he repeated,
with extraordinary agitation; “and when he
played with my little children, I swear, I looked
upon him but as their elder brother. What will
men say of the act, since they cannot know the
cause?”

Apparently Camarga looked upon this burst of
relenting feeling, (for such it really was,) with too
much dissatisfaction and alarm, to notice the allusion
to a cause differing from any with which he
was acquainted. He exclaimed, hastily, and with
a darkening visage,

“If open mutiny and resistance be not excuse
enough, have I not spoken an argument that should
steel thy heart for ever! Shall I utter it again? I
swear to thee then, that this miserable creature,
Magdalena,—this wretch that even thou wouldst
have made the slave of thy pleasures, and thereby
added upon thy soul a sin never to be forgiven,—
no, never!—is a true NUN,—forsworn, lost, condemned!
Wilt thou refuse to punish the author of
a horrible impiety? Would that I had strangled her,
when an infant, though with mine own hand!—

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Thou talkest of a wolf in thy bosom; couldst thou
feel one fang of the agony, that this act of horror
has planted in mine, thou wouldst deem thyself
happy. Let the wretch die: ask not for further
cause; think not of any.”

“The cause is, indeed, enough,” said Cortes,
crossing himself with dread, “to ensure not death
only, but a death at the stake of fire; and I am not
one to think the punishment should be made easy.
I could tell thee a story of the end of broken vows,
and the vengeance of God upon the robber of convents;
but it needs not.—Sleep in thy grave, poor
wretch! and be forgotten.” He muttered a few
words to himself, and then banishing, with an effort,
what seemed a mournful recollection, he resumed,—
“Tell me but one thing, Camarga, and I
am satisfied. The cause is enough, (though this is
a crime to be judged by ecclesiastics,) to ensure the
young man's fate; but it is not enough to explain
the rancour of thy hatred. Speak me the truth—
Is this unhappy creature child of thine?”

“Think so, if thou wilt,” said Camarga, with a
lip ashy and quivering, “but ask not, ask not now.
Give the young man to the block, and commit the
girl into my hands, with the means of leaving this
land; then, if thou hast the courage to listen, thou
shalt hear a story that will freeze thy blood.—Is he
not guilty of this thing?”

“Is he not guilty of more?” muttered the Captain-General.
“It is enough; thou hast steeled my
heart. I leave him in the hands of the Alcaldes
and De Olid, who have no such faintness of heart
as confounds mine. Fare thee well, señor: I know
thee better, and I like thee well. Turn not thine
eye from Villafana.”

Thus, mingling the suggestions of a native policy
with passions not the less constitutional, Cortes dismissed
his disguised visitant. The curtain of the
great door had scarce concealed the retreating

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Camarga, before he heard a footstep behind; and
looking round, he beheld the figure of La Monjonaza
steal in from the garden, and cross the apartment.

“What sayst thou now, Magdalena?” he cried,
striding up to her, and viewing with interest a
countenance sternly composed, yet bearing the
traces of recent and deep passions. “Thou shouldst
have told me of this.—Yet what sayst thou now?”

“Nothing,” replied the maiden, calmly, but with
tones deeper than usual,—“Nothing.—Do thy
work.”

With these brief and mystic expressions, she
passed among the secret chambers; and the Captain-General,
stalking into the garden, until the chill
breezes from the lake had cooled his feverish temples,
betook himself, at last, to his couch, to subdue,
in slumber, imaginary empires, and contend with
visionary foes.

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