I forgot who said that mad enterprises are those which succeed the beet owing to their extravagance, and this paradoxical remark is far truer than a person might be disposed to believe it. Don Melchior's plan of thus introducing himself alone into the presence of the prisoners, a project of wild boldness, would succeed entirely on account of its impossibility. When the young man reached the top of the teocali he stopped, for he must discover the place where the prisoners were confined. He looked searchingly around him. The moon allowed him to distinguish clearly the smallest objects. Several Indians were lying round a smouldering fire, but Don Melchior's eyes did not dwell on them, he was examining the most obscure corner of the buildings that stood on the platform. His eye was caught by a man lying across a door, closed by a wickerwork frame; he gave a violent start, for the prisoners were behind that door. Stepping boldly over the sleeper, he Went up to it. At the moment he reached the Indian the latter rose before him, and set the sharp point of his lance against his chest. "What does my brother want?" he asked in a guttural voice. Don Melchior was not troubled. In spite of his interned emotion, his face remained calm and stoical. "Good," he said in Comanche, a language which he spoke perfectly. "My brother was asleep. Is that the way in which he watches his prisoners?" "The Opossum is not asleep," the Indian said haughtily. "He knows the importance of the duty entrusted to him." "If he is not asleep, how is it that he is ignorant the hour has arrived when I am to take his place?" the young man continued. "Is it so late? I have not heard the hoot of the owl." "Yet it has been sounded twice. Good, my brother is tired; let him go and sleep, while I watch in his stead." The Indian had no reason to doubt what Don Melchior said to him. Besides, he was really desirous of sleep, and was not sorry to catch up a few hours' rest. Hence he made no remark, but quietly surrendered his post, and five minutes later was lying by the side of his comrades fast asleep. This last alarm had been serious, although Don Melchior had bravely gone through with it. Still his agitation was so great, partly to regain his coolness, he remained quiet for nearly a quarter of an hour before he ventured to enter the prisoners' room. At length he did so. Doña Emilia, seated in a corner, was holding her daughter's head on her lap. "Who's there?" she asked, with a sudden start. "A friend," the young man answered in a low voice. Doña Diana sprang up. "Don Melchior!" she cried. "Silence," he said, "silence, in heaven's name." "Oh! I was certain he would come," the young lady continued, as she walked towards him. "Thanks, Melchior," Doña Emilia said, as she offered him her hand. "Thank you for coming; however terrible my situation may be, your presence here is an immense consolation." "Have you come to deliver us, Melchior?" the maiden continued.