"Would that I had!" said Magdalena, more calmly; "but thou hadst then been left to a malice like that which has slain me.--No, not like that; for it is content with thy _life_!--I would ask thee more of myself," she went on, more composedly, after a little pause, "but it needs not. If I can show thee thou wrongest me concerning Hilario, canst thou not believe I may be even _here_ without stain? Well, I care not; one day, thou wilt know thou hast wronged me. But let the shame rest upon me now; for it needs I should think, not of myself, but of thee. Listen to me, Juan Lerma; for fallen or not, yet am I thine only friend among a thousand enemies. Give up thy service, thy hopes of fame and fortune in this land, and leave it. Leave Mexico, return to the islands. Thou hast marvellously escaped a death, subtly and cruelly designed; and now thou art destined to an end as vengeful, and perhaps even more inevitable. Yet there is one way of escape, and there is one moment to take advantage of it. Leave Mexico: Cortes is thy foe.--Leave Mexico." "These are but wild words, Magdalena," said Juan, with a troubled voice. "I would do much to remove _thee_ from a situation, the thought whereof is bitterer to me than my own misfortunes." "Wouldst thou?" said Magdalena, eagerly. "Go then, and I go likewise; go then, and know that thy departure not only releases me from a situation of disgrace, but enables me to make clear a reputation which thou--yes, _thou_,--believest to be sullied and lost. I am not what I seem--Saints of heaven, that I should have to say it! But by the grave of my mother, I swear, Juan Lerma, thou doest me as deep a wrong as others. Leave this land, and thou shalt see that the fame of an angel is not purer than mine own scorned name,--no, by heaven, no freer from a deserved shame. Thou shakest thy head!--I could kill thee, Juan Lerma, I could kill thee!"--she went on, with a strange mingling of fierce resentment and beseeching grief; "I could kill thee, for I have not deserved this of thee!" Then, changing her tone, and clasping her hands submissively, she said, "But think not of me, or rather continue to think me unworthy of aught but pity: think not, above all, that what I do is with any reference to myself. No, heaven is my witness, I claim of thee neither affection nor respect; I am content to be mistaken, to be despised. All this I can endure, and will, uncomplaining,--so that I can rescue thee from the danger in which thou art placed. Leave this land: Don Hernan deceives thee; he hates thee, and thirsts after thy blood. He has confessed it!" "God be my help!" said Juan, despairingly; "my life is in his hands. If this be true--" "If it be true!" repeated Magdalena: "It is known to all but thyself." "It is _not_ true!" exclaimed the young man, vehemently: "I have done him no wrong, and he is not the detestable being you would make him. If he be, I owe him a life--let him have it; it is in his hands."