The axe dropped harmless; up went the visor.
“In time, boy,—in time! An instant more, and thy soul had been in Paradise,” cried Alvarado, laughing heartily. “What hast thou there? Something from the temple? But stay not to answer. To the rear, fast as thy legs can carry thee! Faster! Put the baggage down. We are tired of the slaughter; but for thy sake, we will push the dogs a little farther. Begone! Or stay! Arrows are thicker here than curses in hell, and thou hast no armor. Take my shield, which I have not used to-day. Now be off!”
Orteguilla set the girl upon her feet, took the shield, and proceeded to buckle it upon his arm, while Alvarado rode into the fight again. A moment more, and he would have protected her with the good steel wall. Before he could complete the preparation, he heard a cry, quick, shrill, and sharp, that seemed to pierce his ear like a knife,—the cry by which one in battle announces himself death-struck,—the cry once heard, never forgotten. He raised the shield,—too late; she reeled and fell, dragging him half down.
“What ails thee now?” he cried, in Spanish, forgetting himself. “What ails thee? Hast thou looked at the sun again?”
He lifted her head upon his knee.
“Mother of Christ, she is slain!” he cried, in horror.
An arrow descending had gone through her neck to the heart. The blood gushed from her mouth. He took her in his arms, and carried her to the steps of the temple. As he laid her down, she tried to speak, but failed; then she opened her eyes wide: the light poured into them as into the windows of an empty house; the soul was gone; she was dead.
In so short a space habitant of three worlds,—when was there the like?
From the peace of the old chamber to the din of battle, from the din of battle to the calm of paradise,—brief time, short way!
From the sinless life to the sinful she had come; from the sinful life sinless she had gone; and in the going what fulness of the mercy of God!