"I have said the thing that was false, and my brother does _not_ forget his friend. He did a good deed to Olin; why should he turn his face from Guatimozin? Was Olin in greater distress than the king, beset by enemies who cannot be counted? My brother has looked in the face of the Centzontli, my sister.--The princes of the city, and the kings of the tribes, have said, each one, 'Give me the daughter of Montezuma, and I will die for Mexico.' But the king thought of his brother. Thus it shall be: the Great Eagle shall take the princess for his wife, and be a Mexican; and then, when Guatimozin entreats him to strike his foe, he will call upon his god of the cross,--the Mexitli of the Spaniards,--and strike with all his force. Is it not so?" "Prince!" said Juan, sadly, "even this cannot be. According to our thoughts, there are sins of the deepest turpitude in acts which your customs cause you to esteem virtues. The Spaniard may change his country, but he cannot become the foe of his countrymen. What wouldst thou think of one of thine own people,--thy friend, thy subject--whom thou shouldst find among the Spaniards, and aiming his weapon against thee?" "There are many thousands of them," said Guatimozin, giving way to passion. "Malintzin fights with weapons more destructive than the big thunder-pipes. He goes among the serfs that pay tribute, and he says, 'Pay no more--Is it not better to be free?' Thus he seduces them. But my brother shall think of this again. And now he shall eat and sleep." So saying, and perhaps thinking it unwise to pursue his designs at the present moment, he drew Juan from the mound, and was leading him towards the palace, when the sound of voices and footsteps came from the bottom of the garden, accompanied by the fierce barking of Befo, who was still confined in the cage. "Now do I remember me," said Juan, with a feeling of shame, "that I have suffered the noble animal--" But his words were cut short by an unexpected circumstance. No sooner had his voice sounded, than a wild cry burst from a neighbouring copse, and a female figure, pursued by Mexican warriors, rushed forwards, calling upon him by name, and by a title that had never before blessed his ears. "Juan! Juan! my brother! oh, my brother!" It was Magdalena,--her hair disordered and drooping in the damp air of evening, her face, as far as it could be seen in the imperfect light, pale and distracted. No sooner did her eyes behold him than she redoubled her speed, and throwing herself upon his neck, she cried, with transports of emotion, while the pursuers gathered round in no little amazement. "Oh, Juan! my brother! pardon me and forgive me; for I am your sister,--yes, your sister, your own sister,--and I have come to die with you!"