serted me.
All those I loved best on earth were gone; and at the end of it I had
nothing to expect but a long imprisonment in a loathsome dungeon, or
perhaps death. The next evening, when the soldiers halted to bivouac
for the night, as Pedro and I were sitting disconsolately on the ground
at a short distance from each other, with our guards between us, I saw
Don Eduardo approaching. He told the soldiers to withdraw, and sat down
by my side. I saw by his manner that he had undertaken a task which was
not altogether to his taste.

"I have got permission from the colonel to speak to you," he began. "He
considers himself authorised not to act very rigorously with you if you
will accede to his proposals."

"What are they, Don Eduardo?" I asked, at once guessing their tenor.

"Why, he understands you have seen the army of the rebel chief, Tupac
Amaru, and are acquainted with their intentions," he answered.

"I own that I have seen large numbers of Indians collected together, but
I am entirely ignorant of what they were about to do," I said. "But
pray go on, Don Eduardo."

"The proposal is similar to what I made you when we first met," he
replied, the colour rising to his cheeks. "If you can conduct a Spanish
force to where they are to be found, or can contrive to put some of
their chiefs into our power, you and your friend shall forthwith be set
at liberty."

"You, I am sure, Don Eduardo, can expect but one reply from me to such a
question, and you know that it is the only one which, while I remain an
honourable man, I can give."

"I am afraid so," he answered, looking down much grieved. "I am to add,
that if you refuse, as soon as we arrive at the town of San Pablo, you
will be tried and shot as a rebel."

"Before I have been found guilty?" I asked.

"I fear your guilt in our eyes has been too well established by your own
confession," he observed. "Let me advise you to think over the subject
well. It is hard for a youth like you to die."

"Tell me, Don Eduardo, do you believe me guilty?" I asked.

"You have been in communication with the Indians and you wish them
well," he said, avoiding an answer to my question.

"I wish the Spaniards well, and have never instigated the Indians to
rebel by word or deed," said I. "But you have not told me if you think
me guilty."

"I do not. From what I have seen of you I think you incapable of doing
so wrong a thing," he replied, kindly taking my hand. "I wis