"What a pity," muttered Najara, as Juan ate a morsel of food, "that heaven should give thee such a goodly and godlike body, and such a brave soul, (for, o' my life, I believe thou art entirely without fear,) and yet make thee a madman and traitor!" "A traitor!" said Juan, without taking any offence, for, indeed, he seemed to have been robbed of all the fire of his spirit. "It is not possible anybody can believe me a traitor." "Pho! did I not, with mine own eyes, see thee lunge at Cortes? It is base of thee to deny it." "I do not deny it," said Juan; adding, vehemently, "but I call heaven to witness, I saw not his face, and knew him not. He may persecute me to death, as I believe he is doing. Yet could I do him no wrong; no, I _think_, I could not.--But it is bitter, to feel we are trampled on!" "Well, senor, it is better you should be in a passion than a trance. But be not utterly without hope. If you can truly make it appear you knew not the general, it is thought by one or two, you may be pardoned. I have talked with Guzman; and I think he may be brought to forgive and even intercede for you." "I will neither receive _his_ forgiveness nor his intercession," said Juan, frowning. "And I wonder you mention to me his detested name." "Oh, senor!" said Najara, sharply, "you may choose your own friends, and hunt them again among heathen Indians.--That you should sell your life for this dog of a noble!--Fare you well, senor, fare you well." "Stay, Najara," said Juan, following him towards the door: "you said you would answer me such questions as were nearest my heart. Give not over the kindly thought. There are many things, which if I knew, my lot would not be so hard, my dungeon not so killing to my spirit. The army is gone--is Mexico invested?" "Not so," replied the hunchback; "it has a month or two's grace yet.--The troops have marched against the shore-towns.--But for this mad fit, thou mightst have been with them, or making thyself famous at Tochtepec!" Juan sighed heavily. "And the Indian, of whom you spoke,--the young noble,--Olin the orator," he demanded, at first, not without hesitation. "Oh, the cur," replied Najara; "I think Cortes was even as mad as thyself, touching the knave. But wit is like a river, sometimes too full, washing away its own banks--it may be said to drown itself.--He made the dog his ambassador, swore him to return faithfully from Guatimozin, and waited three days for him in vain. Such rogues are like arrows,--good weapons, when you have the cast of them, but not to be expected in hand again, unless shot back by a foeman." It was fortunate, perhaps, that Najara had relaxed so far from his austerity as to resume the vein of metaphor common to his softer moments. Had he been as observant as usual, he must have been struck with suspicion at the sudden gleam of satisfaction, with which Juan heard the good fortune of the Mexican. But he marked it not.