I cannot say the Spaniard loved her; most likely his feeling was the simple affection we all have for things gentle and helpless,—a bird, a lamb, a child; now, however, he knelt over her with tears; and as he did so, he saw the rosary, and that all the beads but one were wet with her blood. He took the string from the slender neck and laid her head upon the stone, and thought the unstained bead was for a prayer uncounted,—a prayer begun on earth and finished in heaven.
CHAPTER XI.
THE PUBLIC OPINION PROCLAIMS ITSELF.—BATTLE.
“How now, thou here yet? In God’s name, what madness hast thou? Up, idiot! up, and fly, or in mercy I will slay thee here!”
As he spoke, Alvarado touched Orteguilla with the handle of his axe. The latter sprang up, alarmed.
“Mira, Señor! She is just dead. I could not leave her dying. I had a vow.”
The cavalier looked at the dead girl; his heart softened.
“I give thee honor, lad, I give thee honor. Hadst thou left her living, shame would have been to thee forever. But waste not time in maudlin. Hell’s spawn is loose.” With raised visor, he stood in his stirrups. “See, far as eye can reach, the street is full! And hark to their yells! Here, mount behind me; we must go at speed.”
The infidels, faced about, were coming back. The page gave them one glance, then caught the hand reached out to him, and placing his foot on the captain’s swung himself behind. At a word, up the street, over the bridges, by the palaces and temples, the horsemen galloped. The detachment, at the head of which they had sallied from the palace,—gunners, arquebusiers, and cross-bowmen,—had been started in return some time before; upon overtaking them, Alvarado rode to a broad-shouldered fellow, whose grizzly beard overflowed the chin-piece of his morion:—
“Ho, Mesa! the hounds we followed so merrily were only feigning; they have turned upon us. Do thou take the rear, with thy guns. We will to the front, and cut a path to the gate. Follow closely.”