“Thorne, my steps were tracked out to Mendoza’s _chacra_; my steps were watched to Mendoza’s house last night, he was seized, but, Thorne, not by my information--no, thank God! not by mine. After this confession, I ask you if I am not more to be pitied than despised. I may be upbraided as a spy and traitor, but I have always struggled to befriend Mendoza.” “And why, Le Brun, are you so anxious to know of Mendoza?” “If I find him not by sunset, I myself suffer the punishment intended for him.” “I foresaw that, wretch.” “Press me not too hard, Thorne; I thank Heaven that I alone shall be the victim; and yet, how I shudder at the thought, with all my sins upon me--no, I cannot bear to dream of it. Save me, Thorne!--save me! save me! I throw myself on my knees before you. I never wronged you--I have admired your firmness when I have cursed my own weakness. Save me! save me!” “Confess, then, did you not mean to sell Mendoza to save yourself?” “I know not my own motives, Thorne. I am entirely unmanned--ask me not to what lengths despair might have driven a guilty man. Believe me, I laboured anxiously and keenly for his safety to the neglect and danger of my own; for then my thoughts were ennobled by my aspirations for his daughter. I am too mean and degraded now to dream of matching myself with such purity; and I have sunk into mean grovelling selfishness. Thank God! he has escaped. I would not--no, it is impossible I could have betrayed Mendoza, the father of Anita, to have saved my own worthless self. The first sight of that old man’s honest self must have driven such demon thoughts from my mind. I sought Mendoza, Thorne, to give him these papers. Nay, do not frown so upon me: they are papers signed by himself last night disposing of the half of his property to me in the anticipation of my being his son-in-law; if he escapes his property may be disembargoed--mine never can be. Some papers of my own are there too; some of these claims of mine, Thorne, will be recoverable. I have not a relative in the world; pray give them when--oh, I shudder to think of it--give them to the family of Mendoza, give them to Anita.” “Silence, wretched pettifogger! think not that Anita Mendoza can ever stoop to accept the wages of treachery. I may, I will try to save your own mean life. Sit down there, take advantage of the short time yet spared you to arrange your affairs. I am off to see what may be done to save you from Rosas, whom I despise more than I pity you!” and he rushed out of the room before the trembling Le Brun could thank him for his offered assistance.