"Farewell, Juan, farewell; farewell, my brother—we will never see each other more!"
"What meanest thou, my sister? Hold me by the arm—Tarry not, or we shall perish."
"I cannot go, Juan—I will remain, Juan—I must die, Juan, I must die. Weep for me, pray for me, remember me—Now go, now go! Go, Juan, go!"
It is impossible to express the mingled tenderness and vehemence with which she uttered these words. Poignant grief darkened in her eyes, in which glimmered the light of the most passionate love; and all the while she shed floods of tears. Unable to comprehend an agitation so extraordinary, and valedictions which he thought little short of insanity, he grasped her by the hand, and endeavoured to draw her after him. She resisted even with screams, until, utterly confounded, and somewhat incensed by opposition so unreasonable and inopportune, he turned again to remonstrate, and perhaps rebuke. But the reproach was banished from his lips, before they had given it utterance. She again flung her arms around his neck, and muttered with tones that went to his heart,
"I cannot go with you, Juan—Oh my brother! pardon me, my brother, and do not curse me. Bid me farewell, Juan, bid me farewell for ever—I love you Juan, I love you too much!—Now I can live no more, Juan, I can live no more—Farewell! farewell! farewell!" And flinging from his arms, as if from a serpent that had suddenly stung her to the heart, she uttered another shriek, and fled through the burning door by which she had entered.
Juan remained fixed to the spot, as if struck by a thunderbolt; and before he could banish the words of the thrice-unhappy victim of passion from his ears, there rushed into the chamber, with furious shouts, a rabble of Spanish soldiers, blood-stained, and begrimed with smoke and cinders, the leader of whom struck the Ottomi dead with a single thrust of his spear, while the others rushed upon Juan, some crying out to kill, and others to spare him.
"Hands off!" cried Najara, throwing himself betwixt them and Juan. "Remember orders,—the general's orders!—The king, señor Juan? Where is the king?"
"Unhand me, villains!" cried Juan, endeavouring to shake off the soldiers who held him fast, while Befo attempted vainly to give him assistance:—"Kill me, if you will, but save my sister, my poor sister—Quick! for the love of heaven, quick!" he cried, observing some dart towards the door through which she had vanished: "Cortes will reward you—save her! save her!"
"Follow them, Bernal, man," cried Najara to the historian, who had just plucked his spear from the body of Techeechee—"What dost thou with slaying gray-headed Indians? Follow La Monjonaza,—five-hundred crowns,—ay, by my troth, and call them five thousand—to him that recovers her alive! Ah, señor Juan! your dog has more brains than yourself. But for his howling, you must e'en have roasted, man. Come along, come along—Be of good heart; there is no fear now of either axe or rope."
With such words as these, he drew Juan from the chamber, and supporting his tottering steps between himself and another, and bidding the rest of the party to surround them, so as to guard against any outbursting of rage from their excited companions, he bore him from the scene of bloodshed and conflagration.