omplexion, more sunburnt than usual, gave his
countenance a still more energetic character. He appeared pensive, but
his thoughts were no longer so uneasy as they had been; on the eve,
after so many dangers, of realising his vast designs, Don Estevan had,
for the time at least, shaken off gloomy thoughts, and fixed his mind on
the hope of a success which he believed infallible.

He had raised the canvas, which served as a door, in order to glance
upon the men who reposed around, and seemed to wish to compare his means
of action with the aim he was pursuing.

"Nearly twenty years ago," thought he, "I commanded a party of sailors,
nearly equal in number, and as determined as these. I was then only an
obscure younger son, and they aided me to recover my inheritance--yes,
it was mine. But I was then in the flower of my age, and had an aim in
the future to pursue. I have attained this aim--I have even surpassed
it; and now that I have nothing more to desire, I find myself, in my
mature age, scouring the desert as I formerly scoured the sea. Why?"

The conscience of Mediana cried to him, that it was in order to forget
one day of his life, but at that moment he wished to remain deaf to its
voice. The moon shone upon the firearms piled in the centre of the
camp, and cast its light upon sixty men inured to peril and fatigue, and
who laughed at heat and thirst. In the distance a luminous vapour
rested upon the mountains beyond which lay the Golden Valley.

"Why?" repeated Don Estevan; "because there remains to me still an
immense treasure and a vast kingdom to conquer."

The eyes of Mediana sparkled with pride; then this expression passed
away, and he fixed on the horizon a melancholy look.

"And yet," continued he, "what of this treasure shall I keep for myself?
Nothing. The crown will be placed on the head of another, and I shall
not even have a son or any descendant bearing the name of Mediana, who
one day might bow before my portrait and say, `This man could be tempted
neither by gold nor by a throne.' But they will say it of me now, and
is not that enough?"

At this moment Pedro Diaz raised the door of the tent, and said, "You
sent for me, Senor Don Estevan?"

"I wish to speak to you of important things, which I could not do
yesterday, and ought to do to-day; I have some questions to ask; and
although this is the hour for repose, they must not be adjourned. If I
do not deceive myself, Diaz, you are one of t