A short passage through which they stole, darkly, for it was not lighted, conducted them to a chamber, where the guide paused a moment, as if in doubt and fear. A strong light beamed through the curtained door. They listened for a time, until hearing no one stir within, the Indian maiden pulled the curtain timidly aside, and then beckoned Magdalena to follow her. It was a spacious apartment, richly tapestried, and lighted by many such masked torches as Magdalena had seen in her own chamber. The hangings were even continued over the ceiling, so that it resembled a pavilion rather than the sleeping apartment of a king,—for such it was. In the centre was suspended a magnificent canopy, wrought with feathers, overhanging a couch blazing with gold, and bedecked with the richest spoils of the parrot and flamingo, with little pedestals both at the head and foot, on which incense was burning before golden idols. Upon this lay sleeping the Indian lady, whom Magdalena had so often seen during the two first weeks of her durance; and the infant slept clasping her neck. Magdalena doubted no longer that she beheld the queen of the young monarch. But she crept softly after her guide, and was soon buried again in darkness. After many turnings and windings, which made her fancy the palace was a great labyrinth, she suddenly found herself conducted into the open air, by a door exceedingly narrow, and concealed by a mass of trailing vines. But secret as this entrance appeared, it was not unguarded. A tall savage with a spear, started up from the bushes, as if to dispute their right of egress. But a word from his companion, low as the whisper of a breeze, removed his opposition. He flung himself upon the earth, as if to his divinity, and thus remained, until the maidens had passed.

It was by this time midsummer—for so long a period had elapsed since the departure from Tezcuco; but it was the season of the rains, and the chill winds from the lake penetrated Magdalena to the heart. The sky was overcast, the grass loaded with moisture, and every gust shook down a shower from the trees.

It was very dark, and she knew not well to what quarter she was bending her steps. But she could see a line of fires running as it seemed across the lake, from a point in the city to the right hand, and lost in the distance or obscurity of the left. This was, in fact, the northern causeway, or dike of Tepejacac, the nearest point of which was scarce a mile distant from the garden. It was occupied by the troops of Sandoval, who had extended his approach already within the limits of the water suburb. Two or three of his brigantines were also perceived anchored near to the calzada,—at least, their lanterns were seen shining from their prows.

While Magdalena was yet stealing along after her guide, her eyes fixed upon this line of fires, she heard suddenly a great tumult begin among them, in which the yells of men were faintly distinguished amid the crash of fire-arms and artillery. Shocked and frighted as she was, at being thus made a witness, though afar, of the terrors of human wrath, she soon began to look upon the conflict as of good omen for herself. It would certainly be a more attractive spectacle to any wandering infidels in the garden than might be furnished by the obscure figures of herself and companion.

Apparently the Indian maiden thought so too; for she increased her pace, and instead of skulking as before, among green-arched and shadowy alleys, she walked boldly along in a broad exposed path, that led directly to a corner of the palace. But from this very corner they saw rushing a tumultuous throng of barbarians, some of whom ran directly towards them, though the course of others was in another direction.

The young guide drew Magdalena into a sheltered walk, and crept timorously along until she reached the palace wall, when she sank down, from fatigue or fear, signing to Magdalena to do the same thing, and thus remained, until the last of the barbarians had vanished. The path now seemed clear, but still the Indian maiden remained cowering on the earth; and Magdalena, whose impatience distracted her mind and almost hardened her heart, perceived that she was sobbing bitterly. She touched her arm. The guide shrank away, but seemed to collect her spirits and courage at the sign. She rose up, and led the way to a broad door, where an armed Indian stood, holding a flambeau. He seemed alarmed, though not surprised at the sight of the pair, and spoke earnestly to the guide, as if to dissuade her from entering. She passed him, however, with a word, and the next moment stopped, in great agitation, before the curtain of a door. Magdalena looked eagerly to her to confirm her hopes; but before the maiden could lift her finger, signing to her to enter, she heard, from within the apartment, the well known growl of Befo.

"Juan! dear Juan!" she exclaimed, and darted through the curtain.

The young man was pacing to and fro, not bound hand and foot, as her fears had anticipated, but evidently excited in the most painful degree by the distant firing. He turned at the sound of her voice, and threw himself into her arms.

"Sister! for I believe thou art my sister," he cried,—"else how could I love thee with a love so unlike that of man for woman? God be praised that I have seen thee once again: for it is time thou wert wrested out of this place. But what is this? Thou art wasted and thin! very thin: thy hands burn, thy cheek is hot—Sister, dear sister, thou art ill!"

"Think of it not," said Magdalena, with the delight of a maiden, listening for the first time to the voice of affection, and caressing him without reserve: "Oh, Juan, I could die twice over, to hear you speak so; and I care not if I do die, so you are but saved; for you have made me very happy.—You are a prisoner, Juan,—we are both prisoners. An Indian girl brought me here—she will help you to escape, for you can speak her language. You can go to Cortes, and tell him you are the brother of Magdalena. He will not wrong you then,—no, he will not dare—Or perhaps we can fly together—we can fly in a canoe. The maiden will help us, the good maiden: She is at the door—I will call her in."

At this moment, the Indian girl, driven in, immediately after Magdalena, by some sudden alarm, stood at a distance, near the door, muffled in her cloak, and shrinking almost within herself. A single dim and half expiring torch twinkled in the apartment; and its light scarcely reaching her, she remained unobserved, a spectator of every thing, but of course unable to understand a word of the conversation.

"Go not, dear Magdalena," said Juan, folding her in his arms; "for it may be that we have but a moment more to share together. Tarry, and hear what I have to say. I am, as I may say, a prisoner; yet it seems, if I can believe the young king, more because I have incurred the wrath of the Mexicans than his own. Thus it is: the king rescued me from prison in Tezcuco, first, because I had not long before given him liberty, to my own great misfortune, and secondly, because he doubted not, that the wrongs I have suffered would incense me to take part with him, and fight against my countrymen; whereby, as he thinks, he would gain an invaluable auxiliary. On the day of his coronation, he presented me to his people, and called me his brother; nevertheless, they gave me but sour looks, for bitterly do they hate the sight of a Spaniard. If I will fight with them and for them, I win their love,—so he assures me, and so I can well believe; but this is clearly impossible. I have not fought, and I will not; and they say, therefore, that the king should give me up to be sacrificed; and twice already, after having suffered some severe losses, they have come turbulently to the palace, to demand me. For this reason, I dare not appear among them, unless to be torn to pieces.—Tremble not, fear not," he continued, as Magdalena clasped him, as if to shield him from approaching weapons: "I have seen thee bold and resolute among roaring breakers,—else how could I have saved thee, dear sister?—Heaven pardon Hilario! and heaven pardon me, my sister, that I imputed his death to thy warrant!—I have seen thee bold and intrepid. Now summon back what courage thou hast; and, if heaven will, I will save thee yet again from destruction. I can myself escape, but not with thee—"

"Think not of me, Juan, think not of me," said Magdalena, earnestly and fondly. "Thou canst do nothing to make me so happy, as to tell me how I can die for thee. Fly, then; pause not a moment, but fly; and know, that, if I meet thee not again but in heaven, yet thou wilt leave me in heaven, even upon earth, knowing that thou art saved, and that I have ministered somewhat to thy liberation."

"Be of this heart, Magdalena," said Juan, "and rest assured that I will soon return, if I have life, with such a force as will rescue thee likewise from thraldom. My plan of escape involves duplicity, nay, even perfidy; yet are mine ends all pure, honourable, and humane. I perceive that Guatimozin is incapable of resisting much longer. His people are slain by thousands each day, and thousands must soon perish from want. Cortes has already his foot upon the island; and house by house, the city is tumbled into ruins. The poor king is distracted, and resolved to die, burying himself and his whole people under the ruins of his capital. This may be excused in a soldier, and in men; but the town is thronged with poor women and children; there are thousands of them—tens of thousands; and they must perish, if the siege be longer continued. To save them—to save the king himself (for thus only can he be saved,) I will break faith with him; and thus also will I save thee. My only fear is, that his anger may fall upon thee, when he finds I have deceived him; yet this he may not discover. There is one here, with whom, could I but find speech, I could secure thee a protector. Magdalena, I have one friend here, who will be thine. An unfortunate attempt to escape has perhaps robbed me of her assistance. Yet I spoke of thee to her, and—But, dear Magdalena, thou art sick and feeble!—I talk to thee too much. If thou art alarmed, I will not leave thee: we will await our fate together."

"I am sick, Juan, and I know not what is the matter with me," said Magdalena, faintly, suffering the young man to place her upon a seat. "But who is this of whom you speak? Your friend, Juan—surely I shall love your friends."

At this moment, Juan, as he bent over her, caught sight of the jewels which the Indian maiden had placed upon her head and neck, and among others, beheld the star of pearls which had gained for the daughter of Montezuma the name of Zelahualla, or the Lady of the Star, and the silver crucifix.

"Good heaven!" he cried, "do you wear her jewels, and yet ask me who she is?"

Magdalena started to her feet, and both turning together, they beheld the Indian princess, shrinking in the shadow of the room, behind Befo, who seemed to consider her an old friend, her arms crossed upon her breast, her head drooping, and her whole attitude and appearance indicative of a spirit entirely crushed and broken.

"Zelahualla!" cried Juan, with a voice of delight; and rushing towards her, he folded her in his arms, and strove to draw her towards his sister. "Why didst thou not speak to me, Zelahualla? Why dost thou turn from me, Zelahualla?"

The maiden sobbed, and strove to disengage herself from his embrace, saying,

"There is no Zelahualla now—The bright lady of the east is Zelahualla. Juan and the bright lady shall go. Why should Juan think there are two?"

In these broken expressions, Magdalena, had they not been in an unknown tongue, would have traced the workings of jealous and wounded affection. They filled Juan with surprise.

"What is this you say to me, Zelahualla?" he cried, "and what do you mean? Did not Zelahualla promise she would love my sister?"

"She did," replied the princess, without abating her grief: "she will love Juan's sister, and any one that Juan loves; and she has brought the bright lady to Juan, and she has given her her jewels, that Juan may love her more, and forget Zelahualla,—and the cross of his God, too, that he may not be sorry."

"Alas, Zelahualla, what evil-eye has struck thee? Dost thou think I deceive thee? Wilt thou not believe this is my sister?"

The princess looked at him doubtfully and sadly:

"It is all as Juan says: but the king has asked questions, and the nobles have spoken to him with the words of captives; and they say, he has spoken falsely of the bright lady."

"Wilt thou believe them, and not me?" said Juan, not without emotion, for he was touched by the deep and unreproachful sorrow of the young princess, though greatly surprised to find how her ear had been abused. "I swear to thee, and may heaven judge me according to my truth, that, in this matter, I deceive thee not. There is but one Zelahualla, and she is the daughter of Montezuma."

The maiden sank upon his breast, sobbing, but now with rapture. Then running to Magdalena, who had surveyed the scene with varying and extraordinary emotion, she threw herself at her feet, and embraced her knees.

Magdalena stood like one entranced, until Juan, raising up the princess, placed her in her arms, saying,

"Dear sister, give her thy friendship; for there is no one more pure or noble of spirit, though artless, than this poor ignorant maiden; and let the cross again hang on her bosom, for she has confessed her Redeemer. She will watch thee and guard thee while I am gone;—nay, she will nurse thee too, for thou art very ill, and needest kind nurture."

Magdalena returned the embraces of the Indian maiden, but it was with a wildness of manner, that greatly disturbed her brother, and even frighted the princess. He took her hand,—it was hot and trembling. He kissed her, and found her lips burning with fever; and he perceived that excitement had wrought her indisposition into a degree of illness that might prove serious.

"Compose thyself, dear Magdalena," he said. "All now depends upon thy coolness and courage. If thou becomest ill, my scheme must needs miscarry—Nay, I cannot attempt it, until thou art better; for it seems to me now thou art almost delirious."

"Delirious, Juan? No, I am not delirious. Yet I am ill,—very ill, I think. Thou goest alone, dost thou not? Tarry not a moment.—We will leave thee,—we will not stay longer, lest the guards should return and find us."

"Listen to me, Magdalena," said Juan, earnestly, as if he feared lest her senses should wander. "If I fall into the Spaniards' hands alive, I will come to this garden in canoes, with a proper force, and enter it by surprise. If it be possible, I will seize the person of the king, having previously secured him such terms from Cortes as shall protect him in person and in his government, as the vassal of Spain. This will end the war at once. But in this I may not succeed, yet be able to liberate both thee and the princess. Through her address, thou wilt be enabled to walk often in the garden. Walk therein, as near to the lake as possible, especially late in the day, and in the first hours of the evening. The dog Befo I will leave in a cage: when you are in fear, give him liberty.—The princess hath often fed him, and he will guard you well; and his voice, if I come in the night-time, will show me where to seek you.—Do you understand me, dear sister? Struggle but a little against this fever, and perhaps it may leave you. At all events, the thought of your suffering will arm me with double strength, when I return, bringing you relief. Alas, Magdalena, I am sorry to see you thus!"

"It shall be as you say, Juan," said Magdalena, a little incoherently. "I will be governed by this maiden, and for your sake, I will love her well. We will walk in the garden, too. Yet think not of us. If you are safe, we will be content."

"Farewell, Magdalena, dear Magdalena," said Juan. "Walk, if thou art able, even to-morrow; for in the morning I will essay to depart. At any rate, be thou sick or well, if thou hearest a bugle winded in the garden, at any hour, be it morn or midnight, then be sure that you sally out, and Zelahualla with you.—Farewell, sister, farewell!—and farewell, thou, dear princess. When thou thinkest of me, let the cross be in thy hands and on thy lips!"

With these words, and having tenderly embraced them both, Juan led them to the door, and putting their hands together, he had soon the satisfaction to hear them step from the passage into the open air.