“Hush!” said Fernando, laying his hand on Enrique’s arm. “Let none see your amazement. The hand of God is against us. We were unworthy of the cause we undertook in self-willed opposition.”
He spoke in a tone of calm, sad conviction, and then, seeing Enrique’s distress, added gently—
“The blame lies on me. I know well that you acted for my sake.”
Enrique shook his head; then, after a moment’s silence, started into energy again.
“Now we must sell our lives hard. There is no choice remaining. We march on the town with the first dawn of light. And now to prayer. May God have mercy on us! we are in evil case. Where is Father Martin?”
“My lord, my lord!” cried young Alvarez, rushing up, “here is a sentinel who declares that in the dusk he beheld Father Martin pass him by, and afterwards a figure steal to the enemy’s lines.”
“Where is the holy father!” said Enrique, calmly disregarding this assertion.
But Father Martin was nowhere to be found, and instead of the proposed solemn services, the whole camp was engaged in a passionate discussion as to whether he had been the traitor or not. Young Hartsed hotly defended him, and he and Alvarez disputed till words almost came to blows.
With the first ray of light the rail to arms was sounded, and several hours were spent in desperate efforts to break through the enemy’s ranks. It was all in vain; and as the shadows of evening fell the recall was sounded, and in humiliation and sorrow of heart the defeated princes sent to offer terms of capitulation, and to ask for what ransom they and their troops would be allowed to depart.