"My son," said Father Olmedo, "methinks lonely saunters may be scarcely wise in a strange land at any time; but to indulge them now, when Pedro de Alvarado hath so angered and terrified the people, is too imprudent, I should have thought, even for thy careless courage." "Say rather, for my careless indifference, father," said the young man with a touch of honest reverence for once. "I can lay no claim just now to brave fearlessness. I had even forgotten there was aught to fear. But see, who goes yonder?" The three men stopped, as three other men, all Indians, passed them at a light run. One turned a few yards ahead and nodded gaily to Montoro. "Why, Diego," exclaimed Cabrera in surprise, "surely that is thy man Melchorejo, whom thou hast had so many years?" "Ay," was the reply, "even from his childhood, when I bound up his wounded hand for him. My slight deed of kindness hath reaped a rich reward since then." "So it seems," rejoined the other, "if it is to be crowned by desertion, so soon as he has the fair chance of return to his own home." "But it is not to be so crowned," answered Montoro quietly. "At any rate not now. He has but gone with those poor Indians just taken prisoners by Alvarado, to restore them to their friends." "And to act as our interpreter from Hernando Cortes," added Olmedo; "to assure the Indians of his good-will towards them, and earnest desire for the maintenance of peace." "And behold!--behold its emblem," suddenly cried Cabrera with an unusual expression of wondering awe upon his face. And before his companions could question him, he had sprung forward and flung himself on his knees on the ground, with hands raised in adoration. "What hast thou?" called Father Olmedo eagerly, and for the moment standing still in his amazement. "What hast thou found?" called also Montoro de Diego equally bewildered. And then the two hastened onwards a few paces; in their turn caught sight of some most unexpected object, and also in their turn sprang to their companion's side. One instant the eyes of the priest met those of the Spanish nobleman with an expression of deep rapture in them, and then Bartolomé de Olmedo was about to sink down on his knees beside Cabrera. But his purpose was arrested. "Do it not, my father," hastily murmured Montoro. And clutching at the priest's arm he drew him sharply back to stand beside himself, where he remained gazing down at a stone cross about three feet high, erected in the outer court of a small temple they had reached. The priest looked round at him for a moment reproachfully. The next a sort of mingled fear and horror showed themselves growing in his countenance. And he wrenched himself free from the detaining hand. "Art thou a renegade from the most Holy Faith?" he asked in stern and heart-grieved tones. "Not so," was the short and absent-minded answer, while eyes and thoughts were still equally fixed, it was very evident, upon that cross.