watchful eyes in a head simmering with plans for his quick extinction!—but he had not. He paced so many paces to the south, turned with a glance at the sky; paced so many more to the north, turned with a glance at the sky; and so for an hour, when he challenged the relief. Meanwhile, Cristoval descended and stood meditating furiously. Assuredly the chance for entrance here was slight. He picked his way carefully down the stream, ascended by the first flight of steps to the opposite bank, and started toward the square in the shadow of the buildings. At its edge he descried another sentinel, and turned back. At a bridge passed going up, he crossed the rivulet. At the farther side he glanced back up the street toward the western line of fire, now sweeping rapidly forward, and once more caught sight of the flitting figure crossing the light, slinking toward the plaza, but lost at once in the darkness. "Aha! my friend," muttered Cristoval, "thou ’rt off the scent. Keep off it, thou heathen, or I may warm thy legs with the flat of my blade." He moved up the quay with a slight hope of finding an unguarded door into the palace. Twenty paces more and he was startled by a long-drawn yell of agony from the direction of the square. The stranger had attacked a sentinel. "Holy Mother!" he exclaimed, "the skulking archer hath scored." The whispered words had not been said before a second cry arose, fiercely exultant, "_Allah il Allah!_" Cristoval started at the words, and crossed himself. The cry was answered by a shout and a rush of soldiers. Cristoval glanced about for a stairway to descend to the stream. None at hand, and no time to search. He dropped his buckler over the parapet, lowered himself by his hands, and let go. An instant to regain his shield, and he fled down the rocky bottom as a platoon galloped along the edge of the square, divided at the quay, and a party clattered toward him, following the bank on his right. It divided again at the first street, but as he blundered on through the darkness a squad passed him, going down the stream. The square was in an uproar. Far off somewhere Cristoval heard the cry again, "_Allah il Allah!_" and stopped. "José, as I’m a Christian!" He reached the temple garden, blown by the flight, and threw himself upon the bank, nearer despair than he had been since entering the city. Only a miracle would admit him to the Amarucancha. He lay for an hour listening to the patrols, now near, now far, before he rose heavily and looked about. It was necessary to seek a shelter for the coming day; but where he should find security at once from the fire, from Spaniards, and from the equally hostile Morisco, was a question which taxed him to answer. He now had a wholesome dread of buildings, and finally decided upon the garden itself, whose thickets would afford concealment against any but a systematic search.