"I have deserved your displeasure," said Juan, hurriedly, moved by the earnestness with which the general spoke; "but, I hope, not beyond forgiveness."
"Surely not, surely not," said Cortes; "but what I may forget as thy friend, I am still bound to consider as thy general. I am now the king's officer, and it becomes me, forgetting all private feelings, to know no friends but those who approve themselves true and valuable servants of his majesty. In this character, I must remember some of thy past acts with disfavour; but in both, it is not improper I should desire thou shouldst have opportunity fully to retrieve thy good name, and, in spite of envy and detraction, to deserve such friendship as I have shown thee in former years."
The exile pondered a moment over the words of the general, in more indecision than before. They spoke of friendship and kindness, and seemed to offer an apology for severity that was rather official than personal; and yet, in this apology, was a degree of reproach, of which it appeared Cortes's resolution to keep him always sensible. Nevertheless, this very tone of complaint served to soothe the little exasperation of feelings which had remained in Juan's breast, while smarting under a sense of wrong and injustice. Anger both irritates and hardens the heart; reproach softens, while it distresses. It seemed obvious to Juan, that Cortes, while apprizing him that a full reconciliation had not yet taken place, was willing, nay anxious, that it should. He answered therefore with the greatest fervour,
"If your excellency will but show me in what manner I may regain your favour—at least your belief that I have not wantonly rejected it—I call heaven to witness, I will remember it as such an act of kindness as that which this must ever keep me in memory of."
As he spoke, he touched with his finger a rapier-scar on his right breast, which the narrowness and peculiar fashion of his mantle scarcely enabled him to conceal, even when so disposed.
At this sight, Cortes seemed disordered, if not offended, saying after striding to and fro for an instant,
"Let these follies be forgotten! Bury the past, and think only of the future. It is true, I avenged thy wrong—It gives me no pleasure to remember it.—Did I think this, when I made thee my son,—fed thee at my board, lodged thee on my couch, advanced thee, honoured thee, fought thy battles? did I think this? Pho! Juan Lerma, thou hast not repaid me well!"
"Señor!" said Juan, surprised and confounded by the sudden and reproachful bitterness of these words; "when I presumed to speak to you in opposition to your measures, it was with the boldness—the folly—of affection, jealous for your excellency's—your excellency's—"
"Honour!" said Cortes, sharply. "Let us speak of this no more. To business, señor, to business. Leave mine honour to mine own keeping: thou wilt find, I have it even in my thoughts. To business, to business. What say ye, Councillors?—Wilt thou truly steal my dog from me? If you rob me of naught else, it is no matter.—What say you, señor Capitan Del Salto? what say you, Sandoval? Is this young man fit to be entrusted with a captain's command? He was a good Cornet.—Can we confide to him a duty of danger and trust? His pilgrimage to the Hummingbird-land, methinks, was well conducted. What say you? I have a goodly thought for him—But I will abide your better judgment."
"By St. James," said Alvarado, "there is no braver lad in the army; and were he but of clear hidalgo lineage, I should say, give him a command with the best. But here is my thought: he is a good sailor, especially in piraguas and galleys: give him a brigantine. I will crave to have him in the squadron attached to mine own division."