oring loudly. Here and there, iron hooks
protruded from the massive walls, over which the damp was trickling in
thick heavy drops. The whole aspect of the place was dismal and terrible.
On the upper portion of the vault, which was raised a couple of steps
above the lower part, from which it was separated by a bar, more care had
been expended. It was wainscoted, the floor was covered with mats, and
furnished with cushioned chairs. Its appearance, however, was still rude
enough, but by no means out of keeping with that of the two hard-featured
and surly officials by whom it was occupied.

During the pause that ensued after No. 4 had been called out, the chief
alguazil held a brief conversation with the alcalde, the effect of which
seemed to be greatly to increase the impatience of the latter.

"_Muerte y infiernos!_" exclaimed he violently.

"_Vengo! vengo!_" replied a voice, accompanied by the rattle of chains,
and then, supported between two grim-looking executioner's aids, an
enfeebled and wretched object was dragged forward, and placed at the bar.

"Your name is Andres Pachuca?" asked the alcalde sharply.

The prisoner, a youth some twenty years of age, gave no answer.

"Is it so, or have you lost your tongue, perchance?" demanded the alcalde
in an angry tone.

"He had tongue enough in the fonda of Trespana," snarled a voice from the
background, "when he proposed the health of the accursed Morellos."

"You hear the charge," said the alcalde, too lazy to repeat it himself,
and converting the words of the police spy into a formal accusation.

"Senor, for the sake of God's mother, have mercy!" cried the culprit
beseechingly. "I was misled."

"So were eighty thousand others," was the surly answer. "Write down his
confession, and away with him to the Acordada."

"Above or under ground?" asked the escribano.

"Wherever the maestro has room," replied the alcalde. "No. 5."

The knees of the unfortunate youth smote together, and he fell down as if
he had received a sudden and stunning blow.

"Do not be a fool," growled one of the executioner's assistants with a
horrid laugh. "You drank Morellos' health in sherry and sangaree; you can
drink it now, for a change, in fresh Tezcuco water; it is a trifle saltish
as you know, but there is soft lying in it, at least if the snakes and
lizards will leave you alone. That is to say, if you get into one of the
lower cells, where many people have lasted half a year. If you gi