“Stop, Mr. O’Halloran,” said Juan Diez, interrupting me. “All you have stated is correct; and the only difficulty in the case is to reconcile gratitude with duty. I see a course by which matters may be accommodated; and, from your interference on his behalf, I will save this Frenchman; that is, provided he accedes to terms. There are none here but those he may rely on. Listen, prisoner, and pause before you answer me.” He took an open packet from his breast. “These papers, in cypher, were found carefully concealed upon the body of your late commander: you were his secretary, and know the key; give me the means of reading the contents, and thou art free as yonder bird.” A pigeon passed the casement at the moment. “Hast thou not the key?”
“I have,” returned the captive.
“Speak—disclose it—liberty is thine; and none shall ever know the means by which I obtained a knowledge of the secret.”
“First, may this tongue be palsied!” And the captive drew himself proudly up.
“To the court-yard, then!” returned the Einpecinado. “No more, sir,” he said, perceiving I was about to urge anew my claims upon him for late service, “have I your final answer to my proposal?” he continued, turning to the condemned.
“Fixed and final!” was the firm reply.
“And upon my conscience, as a true Catholic,” exclaimed the fosterer, “a dirtier proposal, Mister Empecinado, I never listened to!—you would have the honest lad here turn traitor, after hanging three dacent men of the same profession scarcely half an hour ago!—Arrah, have ye neither conscience nor decency, Don Juan?”
“What ho!” returned the Spaniard, “art thou, too, upon me?”
“Mr. Empecinado—and God sees I’m not quite certain whether I’m right or wrong in mistering you—but if it’s wrong, why leave it on my ignorance. We have been comrades for three days, and from the little I know of ye, I would go through fire and water to serve you; more by token, the coldest swim I ever had, I took in your company over that river the other morning. No matter about that—the glass of brandy we had from that friend of yours in the cork wood set all to rights afterwards. Well, as I was saying, ye spoke civilly of me not two hours ago fornent these gentlemen—him with the crooked claw, and his reverence in the colonel’s jacket. Now all I ask you is a trifle. Honour bright, Don Juan! Don’t ye mind, after the swim, and over a glass of brandy-nate, you offered to hang a dozen Frenchmen as a mark of friendship to me and Master Hector there? It’s not much I want; only just let one neck alone. Do, Empecinado, avourneine! Arrah, do, and take my blessing! Why, man, it would be murder, out and out, to harm him. Arrah, just look at the state ye have reduced him to!—you have drove two bullets through his cap; and as to his jacket—and may be the best the crature has in the world—it’s cut into so many ribbons, that, upon my conscience, a respectable scarecrow would be ashamed to wear it in a wheat-field on a Sunday. You know I’m the last man that would interfere in matters that don’t concern me.—Did I part my lips, good nor bad, when ye sent the three gentlemen to the gallows a while ago?—and if you hanged raff of their kind out of the face—for as well as I could understand they were bailiffs or attorneys—sorra one of me would blame ye if ye strung them by the score. But this poor crature—let him go—and take Mark Antony’s blessing.”
Warm as was the fosterer’s appeal, it did not shake the stern resolution of the Empecinado; and a cold movement of his head negatived the supplication for mercy.