So saying, he took Guzman's arm, and departed from the chamber.
CHAPTER IX.
Some two hours or more after he had been discharged from the presence of the Captain-General, Juan Lerma sat musing in one of the many hundred chambers which composed the vast extent of the palace of Nezahualcojotl, a different being from that the reader beheld him returning from exile. The coarse tilmaltli, or native cloak, and the barbarous tunic, had been exchanged for raiment of a better material and fashion, a part of which,—the bragas and xaqueta, at least—were from the wardrobe of the general, while modesty, or reluctance to accept any further of such assistance than was absolutely necessary, had induced him to substitute for the plain but costly capa, or mantle, of velvet, the long surcoat of black cloth, very richly embroidered, which had, as he was told, accompanied the suit of armour, sent by his unknown friend. This valuable and well-timed gift lay upon a platform beside his matted and canopied couch, shining brilliantly in the light which a waxen candle diffused throughout the apartment. He sat upon a native stool, carved of a solid block of wood, and his fine countenance and majestic figure, besides the advantages they received from becoming garments, appeared even of a more elevated beauty, when seen by this solitary ray.
His only companion was the dog Befo, whose shaggy coat, yet gleaming with moisture, betrayed that he had shared with the young man his evening bath in the lake. The attachment of this beast was much more natural than remarkable. Five years before, when Juan was but a boy in Santo Domingo, Befo had been his playmate and companion;—had followed him to Cuba, when the youth began to weary of dependence, and long for a life of activity and distinction; and was finally presented by the grateful adventurer to Cortes, as the only gift in his power to bestow; for, at that time, saving his youth, health, and good spirits, Befo made up the sum of his worldly possessions. In the change of masters, however, Befo did not trouble himself to acquiesce; nor did he perceive any necessity, while treating Cortes with all surly good-will and respect, to abate a jot of his love for the hand which had first sustained and caressed him. The dog is the only animal that shows disinclination to be transferred from one master to another. The horse cares not, the ox submits, and man makes no opposition. The dog has a will of his own, and acknowledges no change of servitude, until conscious of a change of affection.
The stirring and harassing events of the day, though they had exhausted the spirit of the youth, had yet brought with exhaustion that nervous irritableness which drives away slumber from the eyes of the over-weary. Twice or thrice, Juan had flung himself on the couch to repose, but in vain; and as he now sat questioning himself how far the substitution of soft mats and robes for a bed of earth, might account for his inability to sleep, he began to revolve in his mind, for the twentieth time, his change of fortunes, and wonder at the inauspicious, and, as it seemed to him, unnatural sadness, which oppressed his spirits.
"I have been restored," he muttered, half aloud,—and, as he spoke, Befo, roused by the accents from the floor, thrust his rough head over his knees, to testify his attention,—"I have been restored to favour, and, in great part, to the friendship of the General.—Thou whinest, Befo! I would I could read the heart of a man as clearly as thine.—Yet has he not distinguished me with a high command,—a captain's? I trow, it is not every one who can so soon step into this dignity, especially when without the recommendation of birth, as Alvarado hinted.—I will show this proud cavalier, that God does not confine all merit to hidalgos' sons. If he give me but a capable force—Twenty foot and six horse?—'tis but a weak array for a field where eighty men have perished. Yet I care not: if I have but Xicotencal to back me, with some two or three xiquipils[9] of his Tlascalans, it will be enough. If I fall,—perhaps that will be better: I am too faint-hearted for these wars. Villafana says, that he brands the prisoners too, and sells them for slaves. This is surely unjust—He was another man at Cuba."
At this moment, the dog raised his head and growled, and Juan heard steps approaching through the long passage, that ran by his door. Here they stopped, and Befo continuing to give utterance to his displeasure, the voice of Villafana whispered through the curtain,
"Put thy hand on the beast's neck, or box him o' the ears—He is no friend of mine."
"Enter," said Juan, "if thou art seeking me. He will do thee no harm."