"Ah!" he exclaimed, "use the authority of your father's name to stay that cruel punishment."
The young girl's lip curled proudly.
"It is a self-chosen punishment."
"Self-chosen!"
"Ay, self-chosen. How should the warrior dare the peril of being made a sacrifice by enemies, if he had not fortitude sufficient to bear the rods of his friends? But come, there is more to see, that the white-face may learn that the warriors of Tlascala know how to suffer, and can thereafter have small chance to fear aught that the most cruel foes can do to them."
So saying, the girl once more led the way on to an inner hall opposite to that by which they had first entered. She had, however, scarcely entered it when she turned back again hastily, saying—
"No, not this yet; this is for the last. Come!"
But for once the slightly imperative "Come!" was not obeyed by the white-face as it had been before. His keen eyes had alighted on that which had thrilled him with horror.
"Verily," he exclaimed, "it seems that if ye have many of the blessings of civilization ye have also its curses, even to an Inquisition with all its iniquities."
"What do you mean? what would you do?" exclaimed the girl, half-angered, half-terrified as she saw her companion's perturbed countenance, and could scarcely, with the help of Doña Marina and her attendants, keep him from dashing forward into the dim hall, where a young man lay stretched upon a bier of damp reeds, beneath which burned a great fire of smoking herbs, which were stirred from time to time into greater heat.