ce of my fathers?
Is it that you think your sovereign a prisoner, and wish to release him?
If so you have done well; but you are mistaken. I am no prisoner. The
strangers are my guests. I remain with them only for choice, and can
leave them when I will. Have you come to drive them from the city? That
is unnecessary; they will depart of their own accord if you will open a
way for them. Return to your homes then. Lay down your arms. Show your
obedience to me, whose right it is. The white men shall go back to their
land, and all shall be well again within the walls of Mexico.'

As Montezuma declared himself the friend of the detested strangers a
murmur of contempt ran through the multitude. Their rage and desire for
vengeance made them forget their ancient reverence, and turned them
against their unfortunate monarch.

'Base Aztec,' they cried, 'woman, coward! The white men have made you a
woman, fit only to weave and spin.'

A chief of high rank brandished a javelin at Montezuma, as these taunts
were uttered, and in an instant the place where he stood was assailed
with a cloud of stones and arrows. The Spaniards, who had been thrown
off their guard by the respect shown by the people on their lord's
appearance, now hastily interposed their shields, but it was too late:
Montezuma was wounded by three of the missiles, one of which, a stone,
struck him on the head with such violence that he fell senseless to the
ground. The Mexicans, shocked at their own sacrilegious act, set up a
dismal cry, and dispersed panic-stricken until not one of all the host
remained in the great square before the palace. Meanwhile, the unhappy
king was borne to his own apartments, and as soon as he recovered from
his insensibility the full misery of his situation broke upon him. He
had tasted the last bitterness of degradation. He had been reviled and
rejected by his people. Even the meanest of the rabble had raised their
hands against him, and he had nothing left to live for. In vain did
Cortes and his officers endeavour to soothe the anguish of his spirit
and encourage him to hope for better things. Montezuma answered not a
word. His wounds, though dangerous, need not have proved fatal had he
not refused all remedies, tearing off the bandages as often as they were
applied, and maintaining all the while a determined silence. He sat
motionless, with downcast eyes, brooding over his humiliation; but from
this painful scene the Spanish general was so