“I have done ill—”
“Nay,” said the father, smiling, “thou hast done well.”
“Bastante,—we shall see. Never had knaves such need of all their strength as when this retreat is begun; yet of what account will they be when loaded down with the gold they cannot consent to leave behind?”
“Why then the permission?” asked the father.
Cortes smiled blandly,—
“If I cannot make them friends, by my conscience! I can at least seal their mouths in the day of my calamity.”
Then bowing his head, he added,—
“Thy benediction, father.”
The blessing was given.
“Amen!” said Cortes.