"Then answer, Fray Antonio," the prisoner said with a grin; "for you alone can reveal the name the Captain asks of us." "I?" the monk said with a start of passion, and turning pale as a corpse. "Ah, ah!" the Captain said, as he turned to him, "this is beginning to grow interesting." It was a singular scene presented by the four men standing round the fire, whose flame fantastically lit up their faces. The Captain carelessly smoked his cigarette, while looking sarcastically at the monk, on whose face impudence and fear were fighting a battle, every incident in which was easy to read; the two hunters, with their hands crossed over the muzzles of their long rifles, smiled cunningly, and seemed to be quietly enjoying the embarrassment of the man whom they had placed in this terrible dilemma. "Don't pretend to look so surprised, Padre Antonio," the prisoner then at length said; "you know very well we were expecting you." "Me?" the monk said in a choking voice; "the scoundrel is mad, on my soul." "I am not mad, Padre, and I will trouble you not to employ such language toward me," the prisoner replied drily. "Come, give in," the other, who had hitherto been silent, cried coarsely; "I do not care to dance at the end of a rope for your good pleasure." "Which will inevitably happen," the Captain remarked quietly, "if you do not decide, Caballeros, on giving me a clear and explicit explanation of your conduct." "There you see, Señor Frayle," the prisoner continued, "our position is growing delicate; come, behave like a man." "Oh!" the monk exclaimed furiously, "I have fallen into a horrible trap." "Enough," the Captain said in a thundering voice; "this farce has lasted only too long, Padre Antonio. It is not you who have fallen into a trap, but you tried to draw me into one. I have known you for a long time, and possess the most circumstantial details about the plans you were devising. It is a dangerous game you have been playing for a long time; a man cannot serve GOD and the devil simultaneously, without all being discovered at last; still, I wished to confront you with these worthy men, in order to confound you, and make the mask fall from your hypocritical face." At this rude apostrophe the Monk was for a moment stunned, crushed as he was beneath the weight of the charges brought against him; at length he raised his head and turned to the Captain. "Of what am I accused?" he asked haughtily. Don Juan smiled contemptuously. "You are accused," he replied, "of having wished to lead the conducta I command into an ambush formed by you, and where at this moment your worthy acolytes are waiting to massacre and rob us. What will you reply to that?" "Nothing," he answered, drily. "You are right, for your denials would not be accepted. Still, now that you are convicted by your own confession, you will not escape without an eternal recollection of our meeting."