If it be indeed permitted to disembodied spirits to look back to the world they have left, and to read the hearts they have, in life, mistaken, then should that of Gaspar Olea have seen, that his unlucky blow fell not upon the head of an apostate, and that it had not slain his friend and companion of the wilderness. Even Gaspar's strength failed to pierce entirely through a morion composed of tiger-skins and thickly-padded escaupil; and though the violence of the blow forced Juan to the earth, and left him for a time almost insensible, it had done him no serious injury. It robbed him, to be sure, of the dearly coveted opportunity of escape, which the lucky service he had done the Captain-General would have rendered of still more inestimable value; but it yet served the good purpose, since he did not escape, of removing from the minds of the Mexicans many fierce doubts and suspicions, with which they beheld him rush into the melÉe.

He was dragged back upon the causeway, and soon found himself in the arms of the king.

"My brother is brave and true," said the young monarch, tearing from his own hair the symbols of military renown, and fastening them to Juan's. "The people have seen his bravery, and now they know him well. Did he not lay his hands upon Malintzin? and was not Malintzin his prisoner, until the red lion with the white and bloody face, struck my brother with his sword? Is this a good deed, men of Mexico?"

"The king's brother is valiant!" exclaimed many nobles, who surrounded the monarch with a guard of honour, eyeing the outcast with reverence.

Their words stung Juan to the soul; for he abhorred his deception, though still urged, by his desire of escaping, to carry it on.

"Why do we stand here idle?" he cried, with affected zeal: "Is not Malintzin yet upon the causeway? My heart is very strong; I will look him in the face again."

At this proof of courage and apparent devotion to their cause, the infidels shouted with approbation. But the king took him by the arm, and withdrawing him a little, said,

"My brother will go now to the palace.—What is this that Azcamatzin says of my brother? He says that my brother pierced the Lord of Death with a sword, and pulled Malintzin out of his hands! This foolish thing of Azcamatzin has made many angry, and they say, 'Let us know; for perhaps the Great Eagle is for Malintzin.' Therefore my brother shall not go from the king, till Azcamatzin thinks better things; for many hurts have made him mad."

"Think not of this," said Juan, eagerly, for every moment the shouts of the Christians were at a greater distance, and he feared that every step of their retreat was one more link taken from his chain of hope.

"My brother," said Guatimozin, interrupting him, "may yet fight the battles of the king, and be the king's friend. It is said to me, by a messenger, that the ships have broken the wall of my garden, and that Spaniards are slaying the women."

"Ha!" cried Juan, his own agitation at this information, contrasting strongly with the frigid placidity of the king.

"Why should the king think of his women—of his wife and his little boy,—when he is taking the Spaniards, like birds in a net? Let my brother think for the king, for the king thinks for his people. My brother's arm is yet strong—he will fight for Zelahualla, and for her sister, the queen."

A thousand contrary emotions tore the breast of Juan, yet his thoughts were fixed upon the garden. He remembered what counsel he had given to the maidens, to sally forth, at any moment, when a trumpet should be heard among the trees; and he conceived the danger in which they would be involved, among a troop of enraged and merciless soldiers. He needed no second exhortation to run to their assistance; and following Techeechee, who remained at his side, he made his way through the multitudes that thronged all the great streets, with a rapidity that, at any other period, would have even surprised himself. He passed the great square of the pyramid, the Wall of Serpents, and the House of Skulls, from which, had he been so minded, he might have looked, at the same moment, upon the three battles raging upon the three several causeways, (for it was here the dikes terminated;) he passed the house of Axajacatl, in which the Spaniards, a year since, had endured those assaults which terminated only in their expulsion from Tenochtitlan; and he trod again upon the vast market square of Tlatelolco, the northern side of which was bounded by the walls of Guatimozin's palace and garden. Upon this square he beheld many infidels, shouting at once with wrath and triumph, a party of whom bore in their arms a Christian prisoner, bound hand and foot, over whom the others seemed to exult, piercing the very heavens with their clamorous cries.

Heart-sick, for well he knew the fate in store for the captive, and struck with foreboding fear, he rushed over the fosse that laved the garden wall, and was now choked up by the falling of a portion of its extent, washed and undermined by the heavy rains, and passed into the pleasant wilderness within. It was a theatre of wild disorder and affright: men were seen rushing to and fro in great numbers, and their cries were re-echoed by the yells of a thousand beasts of prey, famished with hunger, or alarmed by the tumult.

He perceived that the water-wall was rent at one of the chief sally-ports, as if battered by cannon; and he had no doubt, if it were not yet over, that some terrific combat had but lately taken place in the garden.

He came too late to share in it, but as he ran down to the water-side, he beheld four brigantines making their way with oars, for the atmosphere was breathless, towards the dike of Tepejacac, which was itself a scene of furious conflict. The vessels were surrounded by countless canoes and piraguas, some of which seemed to be manned by Tlascalans; for while the brigantines were seen contending with this aquatic army, it was equally manifest that a battle was raging also among the canoes themselves.

He gave but little heed to this spectacle, nor did he scarcely note that among the many human corses which strewed the lower part of the garden, there were several with the visages of Spaniards.

His attention was arrested by a yelping cry; and looking round, he beheld the dog Befo lying upon the ground, with an iron sword-blade, broken off near the hilt, sticking quite through his body. But this painful sight was forgotten, when, having approached, he beheld three or four barbarians raising from the earth what seemed the dead body of Magdalena. There were indeed blood-drops upon her hollow and ghastly cheeks; and when he rushed up among the Indians, they exclaimed,

"The Teuctlis killed her, the men of Malintzin with beards,—they killed the bright-eyed lady, and they killed the daughter of Montezuma!" And then they added their wild lamentations to the mourning cries of Juan.

Distracted himself, as indeed were all the infidels, he could learn nothing but that the Teuctlis, or Spaniards, had suddenly burst into the garden, and besides slaughtering all that opposed them, in their attempt to reach the palace, had killed, or carried off, as seemed much more probable, the princess Zelahualla.

The misery that took possession of his heart at these evil tidings, he smothered within its secret recesses, or strove to forget it in the contemplation of his sister—for so his heart acknowledged her. He bore her to the palace, and gave her in charge to the maidens, who, whatever was their fright, were not unmindful of the duties of humanity. He then, in much of that sullen despair that had oppressed him in the prison of Tezcuco, returned to the garden and to Befo, whom he had left in suffering, and drawing the sword-blade from his body, he examined it with stern curiosity, as if hoping to penetrate the mystery of the whole unhappy transaction, from such records as it might furnish. His scrutiny was vain: it was a blade without any name, by which he might be enabled to guess at its owner. He snapped it under his foot, and muttered a malediction upon the unknown foe:

"Cursed be he that did this deed," he cried; "for he slew the only protector of a feeble and wretched woman."

He then carried Befo, almost with as much tenderness as he had bestowed upon Magdalena, into the palace, and stanching his wounds as he could, deposited him upon his own couch.