And the consequence was this. Within the hour Cristoval tore himself away, and in a condition of agreeable agitation, sought Pedro, who had expected his comrade’s arrival, and had not retired. The cavalier’s mood, as infectious as it was agreeable, seized upon the cook; and the cook, after interjections of the sort peculiar to himself stumped out in quest of Father Tendilla. The good priest was asleep, but straightway became broad awake, fell prey to the infection, and arose precipitately. From Father Tendilla, Pedro went to the door of Señora Bolio, not without trepidation. The Señora was likewise asleep, but after the fourth knock came to the door—far from being forgetful of her cleaver—and opened it to the slight degree consistent with modesty, or caution, or both. Pedro imparted his item of intelligence. The señora uttered a cry of delight, and, both incautiously and immodestly, threw wide the door. "Is it so, Pedro? Is it so? Oh, the dear angel of a girl! Oh, Pedro, thou ’rt the best and wisest of men!" And in the exuberance of her joy the worst befell Pedro. He was embraced. "Pedro, thou ’rt a love!" "Fiends, woman!" cried the cook, wrenching himself free, "’t is no doing of mine! They brought it upon themselves." "Oh, do I not know that, thou simple! But had it not been for thee, they never would! I will come at once, Pedro, dear." Pedro retired, not only agitated, but disarranged, mentally and otherwise. Between midnight and dawn, within the dim, starlit ramparts of the ancient stronghold of Ollanta, was a Christian wedding. Strange the place, yet more strange the assemblage gathered to witness: A stern-visaged young pagan monarch with softened eyes beaming beneath a crimson _llautu_; about him, a score of grim, war-worn nobles of Tavantinsuyu with scars fresh from recent conflict; a throng of dark-haired women in loose-flowing robes and adorned with barbaric splendor. A Spaniard with but one leg, and a Spanish señora were there; the former glowing pleasantly with the sentiments of a genial heart; the other weeping with that mixture of feminine emotions inspired by such occasions, which must forever remain inscrutable to man.