His Excellency moved uneasily in his saddle, and bit his nether lip. He would dearly have liked to have pounded the rebel war-ship into matchwood for her insolent daring in thus defying the Government of Cholacaca, but he could not but see that such an extreme measure would be impolitic. Therefore he restrained his rage, and waited the approach of the Padre, who was now near at hand. Gomez, a true son of the Church, uncovered as the priest paused before him. The Padre raised his hand in token of benediction, and the staff also uncovered. With the atheistical opinions now prevalent in Cholacaca they would not have done this for any priest save Padre Ignatius, who was much beloved by rich and poor. As for Tim, he had his note-book out, and a greedy little pencil, ready to take down every word of the forthcoming conversation. "Vaya usted con Dios Excelencia!" said the Padre, gravely. "I come from Acauhtzin--from Don Hypolito Xuarez, with a message to the Junta." "A message to the Junta from rebels, Reverend Father?" "It is my duty to prevent this fratricidal war, if possible," replied Ignatius, mildly. "I have spoken with Xuarez, and have persuaded him to send me hither with a message of peace." "And that message?" "Cannot be spoken here, my son. Let us go to the Palacio Nacional!" "By all means, my father. Will you not ride thither. One of my officers will give you his horse." Three or four of the officers at once dismounted, and begged Padre Ignatius to mount; but he refused their offers gently with a wave of his hand. "No, my children. I will walk thither. Ride on, Excelencia I will be with you soon." "But _The Pizarro_, Padre!" "Will lie off there till my message is delivered and the answer given. If the terms are accepted, one gun will be the sign; if refused, two guns, and the war-ship will return to the north." "Ah!" said Gomez, with a meaning smile, as he turned his horse's head towards the gate, "they are afraid to trust themselves in the lion's mouth." CHAPTER X. PADRE IGNATIUS. With cross in hand, the pious father goes From camp to camp on Heaven's errand bent; Soothing the wretched, overborne with woes, And to the weary bringing sweet content. Oh, gentle soul, too kind for this rude earth, What virtues doth thy being comprehend; Thou shouldst have lived in times of peaceful mirth, When war was not, and man ne'er lacked a friend. Of what avail those peaceful words of thine, When for the battle armies are arrayed; What use thy mission of good will divine, When to the foe war's standard is displayed. The drums are beaten, trumpets shrill resound, Two gifts alone thou canst bestow on all; Salute with smiles all those with honour crowned, And for the dead a single tear let fall.