o," replied Cortez, "you have defended your capital like a brave
warrior. I respect your patriotism, I honor you valor, and your firm
endurance of suffering. You shall be my friend and the friend of my
sovereign, and live in honor among your own people."

The keen eye of the monarch flashed with something like indignation,
when allusion was made to the king of Castile, and to himself as his
vassal.

"In honor I _cannot_ live," he said proudly, "for I am defeated. A king
I _cannot_ be, for he is no king who is subject to another. I am your
prisoner. The gods have willed it, and I submit."

Renewing his politic assurances of friendship and favor, the conqueror
sent for the wife and family of his captive, first ordering a royal
banquet to be prepared for them. Supported by Karee, leaning on the arm
of the devoted Nahuitla, the lord of Tlacopan, the queen was ushered
into the presence of the conqueror. Her appearance struck the general
and his officers with admiration. Timid as she was by nature, she had
the air and port of inborn royalty; and, in deference to her husband,
she would not have allowed herself to quail before the assembled host of
Castile, dreaded as they were, and had long been. With a becoming
courtesy, she returned the respectful salutations of Malinche and his
cavaliers, and asked no other favor than to share the fate of her lord.

What that fate was, and how the Castilian knight redeemed his pledges to
his unfortunate and noble captives, is matter of historical record. It
is the darkest page in the memoir of that wonderful chief--a foul blot
upon the name even of _that_ man, who was capable of requiting the
superstitious reverence and confidence of a Montezuma, with a
treacherous and inglorious captivity in his own palace, and a yet more
inglorious death at the hands of his own subjects. History must needs
record it, dark and painful as it is. Romance would throw a veil over
it.

* * * * *

Years of intense suffering, of harrowing bereavement, of insult,
humiliation, and every species of mental and social distress, were yet
appointed to the daughter of Montezuma, the bride of Guatimozin. Her
predicted destiny was fulfilled to the letter. She bowed meekly to her
fate, sustaining every reverse with a fortitude and composure of soul,
that indicated a mind of uncommon resources. It was a long, dark, stormy
day, "but in the evening time there was light." It was the light of