He stumbled among the bowlders, straining his eyes for a sight of the figure, furious to test its reality. But he plunged forward resolutely. Above the temple he came to a stairway leading to the quay, and mounted it, intending, if the streets were quiet, to leave the stream. As he raised head and shoulders above the parapet, an arrow, coming with terrific force, struck the bars of his lifted visor and splintered with a crash that made his ears ring within his helmet. At the same instant the figure rose a few yards ahead and sped away through the darkness. Notwithstanding the shock, Cristoval’s dread vanished in a flash. "Aha! thou flitting, gliding, misty son of an imp of perdition, then thou ’rt real!" He dropped his visor. "By the saints! ’t is a burden off my mind. I thought thee a ghost, but that was no ghostly arrow, my word for it! And ’t was good archery. _Bien_! I’ll keep thee in mind until I can teach thee thou ’rt shooting at a friend." Convinced now that the stranger was a native bent on vengeance on his own account, Cristoval descended again and pushed on up the stream, infinitely relieved in spirit. But thereafter he kept his visor closed. At length the black buildings on either bank came to an end at the great square, and with beating heart the cavalier recognized the pile on the right as the Amarucancha. He crept cautiously up the steps by which the Inca and Mayta had descended on the night of their attempted escape. Here he could look out upon the plaza, so near that he heard the Spaniards’ voices. The fire had eaten from the direction of the Sachsahuaman to its margin, and like the Rimac Pampa, it was partly illuminated by burning ruins. In the middle were awnings and tents occupied by his beleaguered countrymen. Near the camp was the picket line with the steeds saddled, and in front of it, a detachment standing to horse, ready for instant action. Cristoval took it in at a glance, then his eyes sought the palace before him. Immediately opposite was a door. Would it be locked? Locked, no doubt!—and would he dare to knock? First he would try its fastenings. Cristoval was shaking at the knees, and so intent that he had forgotten prudence. He was about to steal across the quay when he was arrested by the tread of an approaching sentinel. The cavalier retreated down the steps with a flash of sudden heat over his body. Ten thousand devils! Here was a condition unforeseen. Standing in the water and leaning against the shadowed wall, he thought with diligence and many whispered interjections. With the square so near he could not overcome the sentinel without an alarm. The attempt might serve as a last resort; but he put it aside to debate a hundred impracticabilities. After a time he crept up the steps again and stole a look at the soldier. The latter was keeping close to the palace wall, and for a pikeman his vigilance seemed preternatural. Had he divined his surveillance by a pair of