"Ay, indeed," agreed Velasquez readily. "I would fain see what rebuke for your taunt of cowardice, Captain, the ancient white-locks yonder hath devised, and yon maiden is so eager to carry out." Even Montoro looked curious enough to see what small play was to be performed for their edification. Neither he nor any of them thought it could be anything very desperate, with that slight young girl chosen for the heroine and only actor. Accordingly, thus urged, and with the small, gold-sandalled foot still tapping restlessly before him on the floor, Hernando Cortes at last set himself to the singular task accorded him, and was not let off, by his small monitress, before he had really bound her wrists together too tightly for her to move them as much as a leaf's thickness apart. Then she walked with erect head and firm steps back to the old Cacique, where he sat, even that hot day, beside a brazier of burning coals. Old age had chilled the physical nature, although the brave spirit still glowed with the generous warmth of youth. As his granddaughter stood before him he stooped for a moment over the copper pan of fire. The Spaniards stood at the other end of the apartment still and silent, waiting for what was to come. With all their guessing they had not guessed rightly the nature of the lesson to be taught them. At the expiration of a few instants the Indian maiden returned back towards them, walking with calm, slow dignity as before--her head erect, her full, crimson lips lying lightly and softly together, and her two bound arms stretched out steadily before her. At first the Spaniards looked only at her face, and were greatly puzzled. What had been done to her, or what had she done in that short interval to prove the courage of her nation? They could not tell the riddle. Suddenly the eyes of Montoro fell to her arms, and he uttered a low, pained cry. But he did no more. He seemed as though he could not move; for once his readiness forsook him. His friends looked at him, saw the direction of his eyes, and in their turn they also glanced down at the girl's arms, and in their turn they also uttered startled cries as they did so. There upon the soft, tender young arms lay a glowing coal, eating its fiery way into the bare flesh. And there came the young and delicate owner of those agonized arms pacing along slowly, with a calm and noble bearing and a proudly-smiling face, the champion of her nation's dauntlessness. Pedro de Alvarado sprang forward, an unwonted dimness in his eyes, and snatching away the burning fragment with his fingers, he flung it out into the courtyard, and then with hasty gentleness unbound the tortured, swelling wrists, whilst the girl looked up in his face with a pleased, half-smiling wonder at his pity. The old Cacique turned to Cortes. "Will the white-face chieftain or his brothers any longer doubt the courage of the warriors of Tlascala? They have seen the courage of our maidens."