her of the Spaniards. Otomie would have left
us, and though the captain bade her stay she ate nothing, and presently
slipped away from the chamber.

CHAPTER XXXVII

VENGEANCE

During that meal Bernal Diaz spoke of our first meeting on the causeway,
and of how I had gone near to killing him in error, thinking that he was
Sarceda, and then he asked me what was my quarrel with Sarceda.

In as few words as possible I told him the story of my life, of all the
evil that de Garcia or Sarceda had worked upon me and mine, and of how
it was through him that I was in this land that day. He listened amazed.

'Holy Mother!' he said at length, 'I always knew him for a villain, but
that, if you do not lie, friend Wingfield, he could be such a man as
this, I did not know. Now by my word, had I heard this tale an hour
ago, Sarceda should not have left this camp till he had answered it or
cleared himself by combat with you. But I fear it is too late; he was to
leave for Mexico at the rising of the moon, to stir up mischief against
me because I granted you terms--not that I fear him there, where his
repute is small.'

'I do not lie indeed,' I answered. 'Much of this tale I can prove if
need be, and I tell you that I would give half the life that is left
to me to stand face to face in open fight with him again. Ever he has
escaped me, and the score between us is long.'

Now as I spoke thus it seemed to me that a cold and dreadful air played
upon my hands and brow and a warning sense of present evil crept into my
soul, overcoming me so that I could not stir or speak for a while.

'Let us go and see if he has gone,' said Diaz presently, and summoning
a guard, he was about to leave the chamber. It was at this moment that
I chanced to look up and see a woman standing in the doorway. Her hand
rested on the doorpost; her head, from which the long hair streamed, was
thrown back, and on her face was a look of such anguish that at first,
so much was she changed, I did not know her for Otomie. When I knew her,
I knew all; one thing only could conjure up the terror and agony that
shone in her deep eyes.

'What has chanced to our son?' I asked.

'DEAD, DEAD!' she answered in a whisper that seemed to pierce my marrow.

I said nothing, for my heart told me what had happened, but Diaz asked,
'Dead--why, what has killed him?'

'De Garcia! I saw him go,' replied Otomie; then she tossed her arms
high, and without another sound fell backw