ado, stepped within the cell. They were accompanied by
Gomez.

The prisoner believed that his hour was come. They were going to lead
him forth to execution. He was wrong. That was not their design. Far
different. They had come to gloat over his misery. Their visit was to
be a short one. "Now, my brave!" began Roblado. "We promised you a
spectacle to-day. We are men of our word. We come to admonish you that
it is prepared, and about to come off. Mount upon that banqueta, and
look out into the Plaza; you will have an excellent view of it; and as
it is near you will need no glass! Up then! and don't lose time. You
will see what you will see. Ha! ha! ha!"

And the speaker broke into a hoarse laugh, in which the Comandante as
well as the sergeant joined; and then all three, without waiting for a
reply, turned and went out, ordering the door to be locked behind them.

The visit, as well as Roblado's speech, astonished and puzzled Carlos.
For some minutes he sat reflecting upon it. What could it mean? A
_spectacle_, and he to be a _spectator_? What spectacle but that of his
own execution? What could it mean?

For a time he sat endeavouring to make out the sense of Roblado's words.
For a good while he pondered over the speech, until at length he had
found, or thought he had found, the key to its meaning.

"Ha!" muttered he; "Don Juan--it is he! My poor friend! They have
condemned him, too; and he is to die before me. That is what I am
called upon to witness. Fiends! I shall not gratify them by looking at
it. No! I shall remain where I am."

He threw himself once more prostrate along the banqueta, determined to
remain in that position. He muttered at intervals:--

"Poor Don Juan!--a true friend--to death--ay, even to death, for it is
for me he dies--for me, and--oh! love--love--"

His reflections were brought to a sudden termination. The window was
darkened by a face, and a rough voice called in:--

"Hola! Carlos, you butcher of buffaloes! look forth! _Carajo_! here's
a sight for you! Look at your old witch of a mother! What a figure she
cuts! Ha! ha!"

The sting of a poisonous reptile--a blow from an enemy--could not have
roused Carlos more rapidly from his prostrate attitude. As he sprang to
an upright position, the fastenings upon his ankles were forgotten; and,
after staggering half across the floor, he came down upon his knees.

A second effort was made with more caution, and th