An exhibition of nonchalance does not always indicate unflinching bravery, and is never assumed by a brave man, except as a means to an end. Though men of the dare-devil stamp, who are nonchalant, and appear to be careless of consequences, may not, under such circumstances as surrounded the old Tezcucan and his escort, feel in any degree apprehensive, it is not always the result of true courage, but more often lack of consideration. Such men are not to be classed in any sense with the conscientious, considerate man, who, anxious and expectant, steps into the unexplored and doubtful breach, uncertain as to what awaits him there--the man who, realizing that danger, and perhaps death, may be just ahead, sets hard his teeth, and, with paling cheek, goes bravely forward to meet it. The latter is the man who wins battles, and, if needs be, dies a hero, while the former far too often proves himself a blustering braggart, who, when death stalks forth, forgets all else save his own safety, and ignominiously becomes a turn-tail. We have seen Itzalmo, with dauntless courage, face the tyrant Maxtla, the most cruel and heartless man in all the Anahuac; still, he was not a dare-devil, but a conscientious, unswerving friend, who could die in the performance of a duty, as only such men can. His courage, however, was not a feelingless one. His heart, no doubt, beat quicker, while his face grew less florid; yet, in the consciousness of well-doing, and the strength of an unyielding faithfulness, he was capable of heroic action. When the distance of about two squares had been gone over, they were challenged by the demand: "Who goes there at this late hour?" "A priest and escort, on their way to visit the sick," was the quick reply. "Ah, Melca, is that you?" questioned the guard, who recognized an acquaintance in the voice of Itzalmo's companion. "Yes, it is me," he answered. "I am seldom out at this hour," apologetically, "but the call of a friend in distress must needs be answered, even though it be at midnight." The escort was not a little disturbed at his sudden recognition by the guard, though, on second thought, saw security in Itzalmo's perfect disguise. The old man made a venerable representative of the character he had assumed, which the soldier could easily discern in the semi-darkness; and as great reverence for that class of citizens was generally entertained, there was hardly a possibility of detection. After a brief scrutiny of the priestly appearing Itzalmo, the guard said: "It is well, Melca. Pass on; and may your friend find consolation from your visit."