"Think so, if thou wilt," said Camarga, with a lip ashy and quivering, "but ask not, ask not now. Give the young man to the block, and commit the girl into my hands, with the means of leaving this land; then, if thou hast the courage to listen, thou shalt hear a story that will freeze thy blood.--Is he not guilty of this thing?" "Is he not guilty of more?" muttered the Captain-General. "It is enough; thou hast steeled my heart. I leave him in the hands of the Alcaldes and De Olid, who have no such faintness of heart as confounds mine. Fare thee well, senor: I know thee better, and I like thee well. Turn not thine eye from Villafana." Thus, mingling the suggestions of a native policy with passions not the less constitutional, Cortes dismissed his disguised visitant. The curtain of the great door had scarce concealed the retreating Camarga, before he heard a footstep behind; and looking round, he beheld the figure of La Monjonaza steal in from the garden, and cross the apartment. "What sayst thou _now_, Magdalena?" he cried, striding up to her, and viewing with interest a countenance sternly composed, yet bearing the traces of recent and deep passions. "Thou shouldst have told me of this.--Yet what sayst thou now?" "Nothing," replied the maiden, calmly, but with tones deeper than usual,--"Nothing.--Do thy work." With these brief and mystic expressions, she passed among the secret chambers; and the Captain-General, stalking into the garden, until the chill breezes from the lake had cooled his feverish temples, betook himself, at last, to his couch, to subdue, in slumber, imaginary empires, and contend with visionary foes. CHAPTER XVII. The day after the Feast of the Holy Ghost, or Whitsunday, early in May, 1521, opened upon the valley of Mexico with clouds and vapours, which, sweeping over the broad lake, collected and lingered, with boding fury, around the island city, discharging thunder and lightning, while the sunbeams shone clear and uninterrupted over Tezcuco, and the rich savannas which surrounded it. It was the morning of a novel and impressive ceremony. A rivulet, deepened by the labours of many thousand Indians, into a navigable canal, and bordered for the space of half a league on either side, by narrow meadows, separated the city from another scarce inferior in magnitude, but which yet seemed only a suburb. The whole space thus extending between the two cities, from the lake, as far as the eye could see, was blackened by the bodies of Indian warriors, armed and decorated as if for battle, while the housetops in the cities were equally thronged with multitudes of aged men and women and children. A narrow space was left vacant on each bank of the canal, from which the feathered barbarians, two hundred thousand in number, were separated by the Spanish army, drawn up in extended lines on either bank, the companies of footmen alternating with little squadrons of mounted cavaliers, from whose spears waved bright pennons.