"They are not above three-score yards distant," said Fabueno, "and, señor, I feel a little faint. I know not, moreover, how I could escape, even if your honour should be so lucky as to reach the ground."
"I should not have forsaken thee, Lorenzo," said the cavalier, giving over, with a sigh, all hope of escape. "There is nothing more to be done.—The foul fiend seize the knave that struck thee, and the dastard that commanded the shot! I would to heaven I had beaten him soundly.—How feelest thou now? If thou canst sleep, it will be well."
"I have no more pain," said the secretary, "but feel a sort of exhaustion, which will doubtless be relieved by rest."
"Sleep then," said Amador, "and have a care that thy wounded member be not oppressed by the weight of thy body. I will myself presently follow thy example. If aught should occur to disturb thee, even though it should be but the pain of thy hurt, scruple not to arouse me."
The neophyte watched till persuaded the secretary was asleep; then devoutly repeating a prayer, he stretched himself on his hard mat with as much tranquillity as if reposing on a goodly bed in his own mountain-castle, and was soon lost to his troubles.
CHAPTER XIII.
The cavalier was roused from his slumbers by a cause at first incomprehensible. The moonlight had vanished from the prison, and deep obscurity had succeeded; but in the little light remaining, he saw, as he started up, the figures of several men, one of whom had been tugging at his shoulder, and now whispered to him, as he instinctively grasped at his dagger,
"Peace, cavalier! I am a friend, and I give you liberty."
"I will thank thee for the gift, when I am sure I enjoy it," said the neophyte, already on his feet; "I remember thy voice—thou art one of the followers of the knave Narvaez?"