“I dare not open my eyes.”
“Well, I will see for you. Put your arms around my neck.”
And with that, he carried her up the steps. All the time, he gave ear to the battle.
“Listen, Tecetl; hear that noise! A battle is going on out in the street, and seems to be coming this way. I will lead you into the chapel here,—a holy place, so your father would have said. In the shade, perhaps, you can find relief.”
“How pleasant the air is!” she said, as they entered.
“Yes, and there is Quetzal’,”—he pointed to the idol,—“and here the step before the altar upon which, I venture, your father spent half his life in worship. Sit, and rest until I return.”
“Do not leave me,” she said.
“A little while only. I must see the fight. Some good may come of it,—who knows? Be patient; I will not leave you.”
He went to the door. The sounds were much louder and nearer. All the air above the city apparently was filled with them. Amongst the medley, he distinguished the yells of men and peals of horns. Shots were frequent, and now and then came the heavy, pounding report of cannon. He had been at Tabasco, at Tzimpantzinco, and in the three pitched battles in Tlascala, and was familiar with what he heard.
“How they fight!” he said to himself. “Don Pedro is a good sword and brave gentlemen, but—ah! if the Señor Hernan were there, I should feel better: he is a good sword, brave gentleman, and wise general, also. Heaven fights for him. Ill betide Narvaez! Why could he not have put off his coming until the city was reduced? Jesu! The sounds come this way now. Victory! The guns have quit, the infidels fly, on their heels ride the cavaliers. Victory!”