While Magdalena was yet stealing along after her guide, her eyes fixed upon this line of fires, she heard suddenly a great tumult begin among them, in which the yells of men were faintly distinguished amid the crash of fire-arms and artillery. Shocked and frighted as she was, at being thus made a witness, though afar, of the terrors of human wrath, she soon began to look upon the conflict as of good omen for herself. It would certainly be a more attractive spectacle to any wandering infidels in the garden than might be furnished by the obscure figures of herself and companion. Apparently the Indian maiden thought so too; for she increased her pace, and instead of skulking as before, among green-arched and shadowy alleys, she walked boldly along in a broad exposed path, that led directly to a corner of the palace. But from this very corner they saw rushing a tumultuous throng of barbarians, some of whom ran directly towards them, though the course of others was in another direction. The young guide drew Magdalena into a sheltered walk, and crept timorously along until she reached the palace wall, when she sank down, from fatigue or fear, signing to Magdalena to do the same thing, and thus remained, until the last of the barbarians had vanished. The path now seemed clear, but still the Indian maiden remained cowering on the earth; and Magdalena, whose impatience distracted her mind and almost hardened her heart, perceived that she was sobbing bitterly. She touched her arm. The guide shrank away, but seemed to collect her spirits and courage at the sign. She rose up, and led the way to a broad door, where an armed Indian stood, holding a flambeau. He seemed alarmed, though not surprised at the sight of the pair, and spoke earnestly to the guide, as if to dissuade her from entering. She passed him, however, with a word, and the next moment stopped, in great agitation, before the curtain of a door. Magdalena looked eagerly to her to confirm her hopes; but before the maiden could lift her finger, signing to her to enter, she heard, from within the apartment, the well known growl of Befo. "Juan! dear Juan!" she exclaimed, and darted through the curtain. The young man was pacing to and fro, not bound hand and foot, as her fears had anticipated, but evidently excited in the most painful degree by the distant firing. He turned at the sound of her voice, and threw himself into her arms. "Sister! for I believe thou _art_ my sister," he cried,--"else how could I love thee with a love so unlike that of man for woman? God be praised that I have seen thee once again: for it is time thou wert wrested out of this place. But what is this? Thou art wasted and thin! very thin: thy hands burn, thy cheek is hot--Sister, dear sister, thou art ill!"