The feelings of Juan Lerma were throughout, strange, bewildering and overwhelming; and he gazed upon the three combats, each fought and finished in an inconceivably short space of time, in a species of trance or stupefaction. Great, and doubtless just, as was his detestation of Guzman, there was something both noble and afflicting in the courage with which the unfortunate man bore himself in the midst of savage foes, who, if they awarded him a shout of approbation for every valiant blow, yet screamed with a more cordial delight, at every wound inflicted by an antagonist. Even while Juan doubted not that Guzman's skill and fortitude would insure him a full triumph, and final liberation, he could not but be struck with horror, at beholding a Christian man bound to a stone, and baited like a muzzled bear. How much more overpowering, then, were his feelings, when he perceived, from the complexion given to events by the last contest, that it must end, and perhaps soon, in the destruction of the prisoner.

His emotions became indeed irresistible, when he looked up at the third shout of the multitude,—for he had closed his eyes with dread, while Guzman despatched his third foe,—and saw him, bleeding at three different wounds, and staggering with dizziness, extend his macana, now almost reduced by the fracture of the blades, to a mere bludgeon, towards the king, and exclaim, bitterly and despairingly,

"King of Mexico, if thou knowest either honour or God, give me a fresh sword!"

His words ran through Juan's spirit like sharp knives, and he was seized with a faintiness, so that he could scarce maintain himself on his feet. But while his brain whirled and his eyes swam, he beheld a fourth warrior spring upon the mound, and, yelling as he rose, dart, without a moment's pause, against the captive.

It was now apparent to all, and to none more than the miserable victim himself, that his situation was become wholly desperate. His skill could avail him nothing, while he was so insufficiently armed; his strength was wasting away with his blood; his courage could not long maintain itself against all hope; and even the pride that uplifted him so far above his barbarous antagonists, only exasperated him into frenzy, when he perceived, that, despised as they were, he was in their power, and must soon expire under their blows. His rage was like that of the gallant puma, knotted in the lazo of a hunter, and torn to pieces by dogs, which, were he at liberty, would be but as grass and dust under the might of his talons.

Hopeless of any relief from the king, and maddened by the exulting shouts with which the infidels hailed every symptom of his defeat, he turned furiously upon his new opponent; but not until the Mexican, more skilful or more lucky than his predecessors, had struck him a violent blow upon the side, which he followed up, at intervals, with others, while running round the stone, in imitation of his less fortunate countryman. His success was rewarded by the spectators with screams of delight, which he re-echoed with his own wild outcries.

Yet Guzman was not altogether subdued. Wretched as was his weapon, he handled it with some effect, and struck his assailant two or three such blows as would have ended the combat, had they been inflicted by a better. With one, he staggered the pagan; with a second, he struck him down to his knee; and with a third, he snapped off the last blade of obsidian, upon the scales of the Indian helmet, and now brandished a harmless wooden wand.

At that moment, a Spanish sword, thrown by an unseen hand; fell at his feet,—but fell in vain. Badly aimed, it struck short upon the stone, and rolled back to the mound; and the infidel, recovering his feet, though still staggering, uttered his war-cry, and raised his macana, to strike down the defenceless Christian.

Human nature could withstand the scene of butchery no longer. Juan Lerma forgot that the captive was his foe and destroyer, and the unprincipled oppressor of all he held dear. He saw a man of his own country and faith cruelly assassinated before his eyes, among thousands of pitiless and rejoicing barbarians. He thought not of the impossibility of affording him any real relief, nor of the fate to himself that must follow an attempt so full of folly. His brain burned, his eyes flamed as if in sockets of fire; and obeying an impulse that converted him for a moment into a madman, he rushed through the few nobles who separated him from the mound, and in an instant was at the side of the victim.

To snatch up the weapon he had so vainly cast, to spurn the exhausted warrior from his prey, and to cut the thong that bound Guzman to the stone, were all the work of a second. Almost before the idea had entered the mind of the Mexicans, that the combat was interrupted, so lightning-like were his motions, he had leaped with Guzman from the platform, and, grasping his hand, made his way over the narrow and unoccupied portion of the square, which led to the garden. Even then, the Mexicans stood for awhile dumb with surprise and consternation; for the act was so unexpected, so entirely inexplicable upon any of their principles of action, that they scarce knew if it might not be their Mexitli himself, who thus snatched a victim from the stone of battle.

It has been already mentioned, that the garden wall had, in this quarter, fallen down, and that its place was supplied only by a fence of shrubs and brambles. Its ruins choked the ditch, and gave a passage, which had been formerly effected by a wooden bridge, now buried under the heavy fragments. A single plank spanned over the only gap that was too wide to be passed, except by a bold leap. It was a knowledge of these circumstances, that, in the very tempest of his impulses, determined the course of Juan Lerma, and decided every step he now took to secure life to his wretched companion. He had breathed but a word into Guzman's ear, but it was enough to communicate strength to his heart, and agility to his limbs; and wonderfully adapting his resolutions and movements to those of his guide, he ran with him over the square and across the canal, with such speed, that he rather aided than retarded the steps of his preserver.—They had crossed the plank before the yells of pursuit burst from the astounded assembly, and Juan, striking it now into the ditch with his foot, dragged Guzman through the brambles, exclaiming,

"Quick! quick! If we can but reach the palace, we are saved."

"Is it thou, indeed, Juan Lerma?" cried Guzman, with a voice singularly wild and piteous, but struggling onward.—"Now then thou canst kill me thyself, since thou wouldst not be avenged by infidels."

"Quick! quick! they are following us! they are crossing the ditch!—But fifty paces more!"

"Ten will serve me—and ten words will make up my reckoning—that is, here: the rest hereafter. Stop, fool,—I am dying."

"Courage! courage!" exclaimed Juan, endeavouring, but in vain, to drag further the wretch, for whom his rash humanity seemed to have purchased only the right of expiring in a Christian's arms. "Courage, and move on,—we are close followed."

"Hark,—listen, and speak not," said Guzman, sinking to the earth, for his wounds were mortal, and the exertions of flight caused them to throw out blood with tenfold violence—He was indeed upon the verge of dissolution: "Listen, listen!" he cried, gasping for breath, yet struggling to speak with such extraordinary eagerness, that it seemed as if he held life and salvation to depend upon his giving utterance to what was in his mind. "Listen, Juan Lerma, for I am a snake and a devil. I hated thee for—But, brief, brief, brief! First, Cortes—Hah! they come!—Drag me into a bush, that I may speak and die. No—here—There is no time—Listen. Saints, give me powers of speech! or devils—either! A little reparation—Why not? I belied thee to Cortes—Hark! hark!" he almost screamed, in the fear that he might not be understood, for he was conscious of the incoherency of his expressions; "hark! hark!—Bleeding to death—Concerning—Cortes—his wife—DoÑa Catalina—jealousy, jealousy!—Poisoned his ear. Understand me! understand me!"

Wild as were his words and confused as was the mind of Juan, yet with these broken expressions, the dying cavalier threw a sudden and terrific light upon the understanding of the outcast.

"Good heaven!" he cried, "my benefactress! my noble lady! Oh villain, how couldst thou?—"

"More—more!" murmured Guzman, with impatient, yet vain ardour. "I know all—Thy father—thy sister—Camarga—killed—Aha! Magdalena—the princess—"

"Ay! the princess?" echoed Juan, imploringly: "the princess? the princess?"

But all he could hear in reply to his frantic demand, was "Garci, Garci—" and this name was immediately lost in the roaring shouts of the infidels, who now surrounded the pair.

Had Guzman been able to continue the flight at half the speed with which he had begun it, it is certain they would have reached the palace, considerably in advance of the pursuers; though it is not certain, that would have proved a city of refuge. But his strength failed almost immediately after entering the garden, of which as soon as he became sensible, he began to make his disclosures; and perhaps the haste into which he was driven by the almost instant appearance of the Mexicans, thronging over the broken wall, served as much as the distractions and agonies of death, to make them confused and insufficient. The first word—the name of the lady Catalina,—revealing at once the dreadful delusion, which had converted his best friend into his deadliest enemy, so excited and unsettled Juan's mind, that, in his eagerness to learn still more of the fatal secret, he almost forgot the presence of so many Mexicans, rushing upon him with yells of fury. It was in vain, when they had reached him, that he brandished his sword, and assumed an attitude of defence, calling loudly upon the king. He was thrown down and overpowered,—nay, he was severely wounded, and handled altogether so roughly, that it seemed as if the enraged Mexicans were resolved to drag him to the sacrifice, from which he had rescued Guzman, if not to murder him on the spot; some calling out to kill him, and others roaring, 'The Temalacatl! the Temalacatl!' Their cries were not even stilled when the nobles who waited about the person of the king, drove them away with rods, and Guatimozin himself stalked up to the prisoner. The frown which Juan's rash, and, as he esteemed it, impious act, had brought upon his visage, darkened into one still sterner, when having laid his hand upon the Christian's shoulder, to signify that his person was sacred, the expression of protection was answered only by cries of the most mutinous character.

"We will have the blood of the Spaniard," they screamed. "What said Azcamatzin? It is true—this is a bear we have, that embraces us, and tears open our hearts. He struck the Lord of Death—he takes the victim from Mexitli: he shall be a victim himself—he shall die on the stone!"

It was in vain that Guatimozin employed threats, menaces, and entreaties to allay their passions. Sufferings of a nature and extent so horrible that we have scarce dared to hint at them, had already made them sullen and refractory; and misery and wrath are no observers of allegiance or decorum. The unhappy monarch, now such less in power than in name, feigned to yield to their clamour, for he perceived he could no longer openly save. He commanded Juan to be bound with cords, and carried into a remote corner of the palace, promising, that, when he had recovered a little of his strength and spirits, he should be given up to them, to die on the Temalacatl.

It was perhaps fortunate for Juan, that he was dragged away too suddenly to behold the fate of his rival, who was now in the hands of the priests, apparently reviving—a circumstance hailed with such shouts of joy, that Juan was himself almost forgotten. The infidels carried Don Francisco again from the garden, and hurried him towards the little temple. But before they had passed the square, he expired in their arms—happy only in this, that he fell not by the knives of the priests.

Before the day was over, the citizens were called upon again to resist the Spaniards who had now resumed the offensive, and who continued their approaches with such fierce, determined, and incessant efforts, that they employed the whole time, as well as the whole thoughts, of the besieged.