This was expressive enough, and Magdalena's alarm for the safety of the young man was only removed when the maiden drew what was plainly designed for a buckler, interposed between the weapon and his head. Magdalena then, without further hesitation, leaped to the grand object of her desires, by drawing the figure of a man paddling in a canoe. This also her companion understood, and replied to it significantly enough, by surrounding the little vessel with many others, filled with Indians, or other human beings, who attacked it with showers of arrows and darts. "Alas! is there no hope for us then? no hope for my poor brother?" exclaimed Magdalena, wringing her hands. "Maiden! maiden! carry me but to him!--Alas, I speak as to a stone statue!" She then resumed the bodkin, and returning to the first sketch, she drew the figure of two women, entering the cell. The response to this ended her hopes immediately. The Indian girl sketched the outlines of men, armed with spears, circling around the whole cell. Magdalena sank upon the couch in despair, and almost in a frenzy. The maiden, frighted by the vehemence of her grief, endeavoured to soothe her, by pressing her hand to her bosom and forehead, and covering it with kisses and tears; after which she stole quietly from the chamber. It was many weeks before Magdalena beheld her again. She vanished from the hall, she came no more to kneel on her footstool in the morning, and display her melancholy visage to the stranger. Magdalena's heart died within her. She was in a solitude among living creatures,--the most oppressive of all solitudes. Her suspense was intolerable, and preyed upon her health, until she was wasted to a shadow, and the pagan damsels eyed her, when she appeared among them, with looks of pity. She succumbed at last to her fate; the fever of her mind extended to her body; and she was missed from the hall, as well as the young artist. She became ill, and she threw herself upon her couch, to waste away with passion and delirium. But there was still a gleam of happiness to break upon her. One night, when the dancing,--now no longer pursued with spirit, for the cannon of the Spaniards sounded each day louder and nearer,--had ceased, and the flutes were breathed upon no more, she felt her hand pressed with a gentle grasp. She looked up, and beheld the Indian girl at her side, eyeing her with compassion. She sprang to her feet, in an ecstacy of delight, and embraced her; for she hailed her appearance as the herald of joy. "Oh, maiden! maiden!" she cried, "what news of my brother?" The damsel replied with the only words in her power, but the best she could have used, had she been acquainted with the whole speech of Castile. She looked sadly but firmly into Magdalena's face, and murmured softly, "Juan Lelma"--