So saying, he placed his tub on the ground beneath the gallows, and with a solemn shake of the head at the prisoner, desired him to kneel upon it, and to pray that all things might go well with him. To this piece of advice poor Morla paid the greatest heed, as he felt Montoro's trembling fingers adjusting that horrible rope about his neck. "Ah, Señor, not too tight," he muttered, even yet thinking it more than probable that his noble countrymen might really hang him, in inadvertence, if not in sport. But they had no such intention. The next minute he felt the tub very slowly and gently drawn from beneath him; his feet naturally went downwards to the ground, which they managed just to touch by the toes, and there he stood, not comfortably certainly, but still not dead--most decidedly not. "And there thou art to stay, upon the gallows--" "Or under it," interrupted Cabrera. "'Upon' was the commander's word," was the sedate answer. "It best becomes us to keep to that. There thou art to stay upon the gallows for the space of half-an-hour, and then be cut down, and thy body cast outside the camp. But hearken, thou Morla; if I find thy body not again within the camp, ten minutes later, I will find thee a further punishment as a deserter. Don Juan de Cabrera hath consented to hide thee in his tent awhile." At the expiration of a rather short half-hour, a very tired, toe-aching Morla was accordingly cut down, and Montoro returned to his tent, thankful enough that his good repute had enabled him to save a fellow-Spaniard's life, but also not a little relieved that the unpleasant farce was over, and his new office of hangman come to an end with sunset. CHAPTER XXVI. _CORTES BURNS HIS SHIPS._ It was night, and sleep reigned throughout the camp of the Spaniards, for the new city of Villa Rica de Vera Cruz could as yet be considered little better than a camp, in spite of its grand-sounding name, and the crowd of duly-appointed officers with which Cortes had endeavoured to give it sudden dignity. Even the sentinels were drowsy at their posts, and scarcely feared rebuke, for peace had prevailed both within and without for some days past, at any rate on the surface of events, and Cortes had been indulging in a short breathing space. Montoro de Diego was in his tent, asleep like his comrades, dreaming of his boyhood, and of the gentle-spirited and lovely young mother who had made poverty and hard usage endurable to him in the past, honour and righteous dealing his firm principles in the present. But his dreams were to be disturbed.