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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 coarse tilmaltli, or native cloak, and the barbarous
tunic, had been exchanged for raiment of a
better material and fashion, a part of which,—the
bragas and xaqueta, 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 costly capa, 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

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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

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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
three xiquipils[8] of his Tlascalans, it will be enough.
If I fall,—perhaps that will 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—Ile 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

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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 heavenward.
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

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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 not yet the 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.”

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“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,

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“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 say Ehem, 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.

eaf015v1.n8

[8] Xiquipil—a military division of natives, consisting of
eight thousand men.

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