"By St. Philip," he cried, "I should be a cur to place honour before loyalty! My duty is to my king, do you hear? Shall I help a parcel of bandits to set the king at naught? Shall I bring disgrace on a family that has stood by the throne for untold centuries? My father died on the battlefield with the king's banner above his head, as did his father before him. And I am to stay in a cage when the door is open! I am to let these upstarts trample on the king's rights!" The words swept from his lips in a sweeping, tempestuous torrent, and when they were done he leaped to his feet with an angry cry. I sat in my place looking at him steadily, but making no movement. "I tell you it is monstrous!" he continued. "I care nothing for myself, but I cannot desert the king!" "His Majesty must be greatly in need of friends," I remarked dryly, "to accept the aid of a perjured soldier." It was strong language. I knew it would hurt him cruelly; but a desperate disease requires a desperate remedy. I thought at first he would kill me. His eyes blazed fiercely, and he sprang forward with uplifted hands. Suddenly he paused, and returned abruptly to his seat. Thinking it best not to disturb him, I rose and made the round of the wounded men. I felt awfully sorry for the young major, and almost wished he had not passed his word to Jose. Having done so, he must, of course, abide by it, unless he cared to live with tarnished honour. Presently, returning to the fire, I threw some more fuel on, and sat down again on my heap of sacks. Santiago had covered his face with his hands, and was rocking himself gently to and fro, like a child in pain. Evidently the wild fit had passed, and he had overcome the temptation which had tried him so sorely. For nearly an hour we sat there, speaking no word, then looking me straight in the face, he said suddenly,-- "Crawford, I have acted like a madman, but there is nothing to be feared now." "Nor before," I answered cheerfully. "You would not have gone a hundred yards. Come, let us now dismiss the subject. After all, it was no more than a bad dream." "By St. Philip," he exclaimed, "it was a very ugly one. However, I am in my right mind now, and as soon as we arrive at Moquegua I will withdraw my parole. Then if a chance to escape comes, I can avail myself of it with an easy conscience. You have not reloaded your pistol?" "No. Why should I? there is no need of it." "Not now," he said. "I am master of myself now," and he actually smiled. "You were going to tell me some news," I observed, after a pause. "Now that you have roused my curiosity, I hope you will satisfy it." I spoke half jestingly, and more for the sake of keeping up the conversation than in the expectation of hearing any particular information. It was unlikely, I considered, that Santiago could tell me anything of real interest. In this I was much mistaken, as you will find.