"I must pass hastily over it, señores. It was much as I expected it would be; and—will you believe me?—as I hearkened my heart began to soften to him; for, after all, señores, he was as far from being so great a knave and villain as Alberto de Sanchez, as Heaven is from Purgatory. He was so willing to take all upon his own head—to harvest the fruit of his own evil sowing; his sole anxiety was for his family, and especially the beautiful señorita, his daughter—that I felt something of pity for that broken, wicked old man.
"'See,' said he, holding up certain writings upon which he had been engaged when I entered, 'even now I am preparing a statement of my share of the administration of Don Juan's estate; every penny that I touched then—and God knows I would have been spared this moment had I known you were alive when the temptation assailed me—has been accounted for; every penny that I touched has been returned, though to do so has left me a poverty-stricken man. Sore necessity and a conviction that no one but the State would profit by Don Juan's death were the means of my undoing. Even as you thought of your sister, so was I overwhelmed by the thought of my own loved ones—and I fell. But to-morrow, or the next day, or the next—'t is only a matter of days—my family must learn that I am penniless, and Heaven only knows what we—what they will do.'
"So spoke the Señor General, pleading with me, Fernando del Castillo; and when he finished by offering me his life in exchange for an assurance that the past would be buried therewith, I resolved to spare him in the end. Yet it was my intention that an abiding sense of his disgrace and degradation should, before I left him, sink deep into his soul.
"With this in my mind, I said: 'This is very entertaining, Señor Westbrook, but you have not yet shown me that you were not a thief and a rogue,'—as you may believe, señores, he winced at this,—'you have not told me how the past can be wiped out, nor how my beloved dead may be restored to me. These are more to me than any considerations of your own. I have not nursed this fire of wrath and revenge in my heart all these years for it now to be quenched in a mere flood of words. No, no, señor; I believe I should enjoy seeing you brought so low, even as was the Fernando del Castillo whom you knew in Mexico.' He groaned and sank forward, his outstretched right arm, which lay along the edge of the table, sustaining the weight of his drooping body.... 'My God!' burst from the gray lips of the brave General; 'what are you? You are not a man!' ... 'Perhaps not,' I replied, smiling.... 'Señor, let me summon my daughter,' he went on; 'let her fresh innocence plead for itself.' ... 'Señor,' I made answer, 'come with me to the grave of my dead sister; let me show you why I should remain unmoved before your daughter's prayers and tears.'
"It seemed as though his clothes had suddenly become too large for his body. He sat huddled forward, his chin resting on his breast; he stared at me from beneath his white brows with the eyes of a dead man; the fire that had once kindled them was no more—he seemed utterly crushed.
"But even as I watched him, señores, something of that fire began to return; a little flash of cunning, a spark of craft, leaped from them; I read a subtle meaning in their depths; and then the arm that had been lying so supinely on the table began to draw slowly back toward the drawer by his side. So slowly did that arm glide, señores, that, had I not been watching for that very thing, it might have passed unobserved, and I should not now be relating how it fell out. But I did remark that stealthy action, señores, and again I smiled.
"'It is of no use, señor,' I said. 'Believe me, I suspected what is now in your mind. Pause before it is too late; do not add murder to your other villanies.' ... 'Suppose I did?' he muttered, still eyeing me with that crafty look; 'suppose, now, that I did?—it would save my daughter.' ... 'You err,' I retorted, pleasantly; 'I have taken great pains to guard against this very contingency.' I recounted for his benefit my plan to utilize the Señor Slade—of the disposition I had made of the carefully prepared testimony.
"Madre de Dios! the change that swept over the man at the mention of the Señor Slade!
"'You miserable hound!' he shouted, leaping to his feet; and quick as a flash his hand was in the drawer beside him, and a pistol was levelled at my breast. 'You miserable hound!' he shouted again; 'how dared you make this thing known to that scum! Take that!' And the room was filled with a crash of sound.
"But, señores, we had risen together. Even before his finger had pressed the trigger, the silent death shot from my hand to his heart; yet, will you believe it, señores? while he was sinking to the floor—while my right arm was still outstretched—he fired again. That time it was a very narrow escape for me: the bullet went up my sleeve, searing my arm like a hot iron. See! that is the scar. Save for the ruined coat, it did no further damage.