Before this satisfactory conclusion of an evening so eventful, the Captain-General was doomed to have his equanimity put to the proof by a new trial. A double line of guards surrounded the prison, and Guzman, Quinones, and Gaspar Olea were among them, the last wringing his hands, and bewailing; but the prison-door was open, a thin smoke issued from it, and he could see, at a glance, that the only persons in the apartment were a few soldiers, dashing water over its partly consumed floor. Under the very threshold lay the bodies of two soldiers, fearfully mangled; another was writhing, gasping, and dying in the arms of his comrades; and a fourth, severely wounded, was narrating to Quinones the particulars of an assault, made, as he averred, by ten thousand devils, or Mexicans, who sprang suddenly out of the earth, killed or dispersed the whole guard, carried off the prisoner, or burned him, he knew not which, (for he lay upon the ground, counterfeiting death,) and then, setting fire to the building, vanished quite as suddenly as they came. "Were these men Mexicans or Tlascalans?" demanded Cortes, without betraying any sign of feeling. The soldier started at the sound of his leader's voice, and hastily replied, "In good faith, senor, I know not, for I was somewhat overcome with fear." "And with wine, sirrah!" exclaimed the General. "But it matters not--thou art too stupid to answer now. Have this fellow into the den, Quinones, and let him be brought to me to-morrow.--Senor Don Francisco, we will walk to the palace." He put his arm into Guzman's, and dragging him to a little distance, where no beam of torch or cresset illuminated his visage, exclaimed, eagerly, "Tell me the truth, Francisco:--has he perished by fire in the prison, or has he escaped me?" "Senor," replied Guzman, "his star, or his devil, has helped him." "Why then the fiends seize thee, and all false friends, who plague me!" cried Cortes, giving way to passion. "Is it thus I am to be cheated?" "Senor," said Guzman, moderately, but without fear; "I have mine own cause of distress, for my hand is horribly mangled, and I have heard that the bite of a dying man causes mortification. So, with this pain of body and mind, I may not speak good counsel or good defence.--When I reached the prison, it was empty and on fire. Had not your excellency interfered with the execution this day--" "Ay, there again!" muttered the Captain-General; "mine own hand is made to befool me; it pulls out of the pit faster than my foot tramples in. Hark thee, Guzman, dost thou not think this young man is protected by some special providence?" "I, senor?"