There was no need for him to bid the Spaniard to follow, for the anxiety of the traitor who had so nearly slain Roger with his treacherous dagger impelled him forward till he outstripped the priest. Then he took him again by the robe and pulled him on, dragged him through the garden, and on to where one of the many sacrificial towers lifted its lofty walls above the buildings. It was surrounded by a low wall of glazed tiles, and its pavements and steps were constructed in a manner which showed that it was of special design. "The king's tower," said the priest, by way of explanation. "He worships here alone. See the smoke of the fire which burns on the altar. Let the Spaniard mount. I will follow as swiftly as I can. I am weak with fasting." He stood aside to allow Alvarez to pass him, and then, helped by his guard, slowly ascended the steps which encircled the building. And after them came Roger, his tall, gaunt frame pressed against the wall to keep out of sight, and his sword in his hand. He was breathing hard. Every stair seemed as if it would be too much for him, for he had fought hard. He had never during the long days of the siege saved himself in the slightest, and had borne the same privations as had the common people. The exertion and the excitement were almost too much for him. But he thought of the reward, of the knights who had helped to send him to this Terra Firma, and of his comrades. If he escaped to the coast and gained a ship, how miserable to reach home empty handed, to arrive at the port of London with a tale of this siege, and with the report of lost riches. Would they be believed? Would the folks in London city credit the fact that the simple crossbow youth had risen to such high places, and had had the promise of huge wealth? No! They would be thought to be mad. Solid facts would be necessary to convince them. Gold and jewels and pearls. Roger determined to make one last struggle, and bracing himself for it, slowly followed up the stairs. He reached the very top and halted, his body concealed by an ornamental ledge which fringed the edge of the tower. Then he sought for some object behind which he could obtain cover, and from which he could observe what was passing. There was a huge stone vase for flowers near at hand, only the flowers had long since dwindled away, no one having had time or the strength to attend to their watering during the siege. But it would form an excellent obstruction, and our hero crept behind it. Then he slowly lifted his head, and looked on to the square court at the top of the tower. There stood the scarlet-robed priest, obviously delaying so that the white cacique might have time to follow, while Alvarez stood beside him eager, excited, scarcely able to keep still, so much was he roused. But Roger noticed that he had lost the old hunted appearance. He no longer stared about him, looking now over this shoulder and now over that. Once, indeed, he walked to the ledge and stared over into the