"We are alike worthy of detestation," said Camarga, rising and flinging back his cowl, "for we are alike villains,--with but this difference between us, that I have preceded thee in the path of remorse, and must perhaps tread it more bitterly, because in all things, self-deluded and baffled. I am what thou thinkest,--the wretched Gregorio--and yet less wretched than when I first discovered the twin children of my brother in thy house at Tezcuco.--Hearken yet a moment, and I have done. All supposed that the unhappy Olivia had cast herself into the river, and so perished. It was not so. Pity, remorse, or some other feeling--perhaps, policy--induced me to preserve her from her distraction. She lived in concealment, until she had given birth to twin children--these very wretches whom we have persecuted. Let me speak their fate in a word. The boy I sent by a creature whose name he bears, to Colon's settlement in Espanola; the girl I devoted from her infancy to the altar; and in both cases, dreamed that I had provided for their welfare, as well as against the possibility of discovery. When I had thus arranged everything for my own security, heaven sent me the first sting of retribution in the person of my brother Julian, returned in safety from the dungeons of Fez, and, in right of seniority, the heir of the honours I had so vainly usurped. It was a fitting reward, but it was not all. Dishonour, other crimes, and awakened suspicions, followed my downfall; and I became an exile and outcast. What life I have lived, it needs not I should speak. A strange accident acquainted me with the stranger truth, that Magdalena had followed her unknown brother to the islands. I had amassed wealth; and an impulse, combining both pity and foreboding terror, drove me to pursue them. It was easy to trace out their respective fates. The wreck of the ship which carried Magdalena, with the supposed loss of all on board, satisfied me that she was with her mother, in heaven. An unexpected event had invested Juan with new interest. This was the death of Julian, without heirs. It was in my power to repair, at least, the wrongs I had done him, by restoring him to his inheritance; the knowledge and proofs of his legitimacy were in my hands, and I resolved to employ them. This I could not do in mine own person, but I discovered--and know, senor, it filled me with joy,--that _thou_ hadst befriended him. I came then to Mexico, to seek the young man, and to enable thee to do justice to the memory, and to the child of thy sister." Gregorio, for so we must now call him, paused a moment, while Cortes strode to and fro, in great agitation. He then resumed: "The first thing I heard was the supposed death of Juan,--his expedition, and the cause of it--thine own bitter and unrelenting hatred."