no sound was to be heard. I glanced at Montilla: he was
deathly pale, and on his forehead stood great beads of perspiration,
which, with his bound hands, he was unable to wipe away.

"Shall I tell you who these men were?" asked Sorillo. "One is Don
Eduardo Crawford; the others stand here," and he pointed to the
prisoners. "Listen to your accomplice, Felipe Montilla, if you care to
hear the story repeated."

Again Lurena gave his evidence glibly. I think he had no sense of
shame, but only a strong desire to save his life. He might not have
committed the deed for the sake of the money alone, he said, but he
hated my father for having cast him into prison.

It was poor evidence on which to try a man for his life, yet no one
doubted Montilla's guilt. There he stood with trembling limbs and
ashen face--truly a wretched figure for a cavalier of Spain! His
courage had broken down completely, and to all the questions put by his
self-appointed judge he answered no word.

At length Sorillo asked his officers for their verdict, and with one
consent they pronounced him "Guilty!"

"It is a true verdict," exclaimed Sorillo; "any other would be a
lie.--And now, Felipe Montilla, listen to me for the last time. You
have been proved a traitor to your country, and that alone merits
death; but this other crime touches the members of the Silver Key more
closely. When the great men of Peru called the Indians dogs, Don
Eduardo was our friend. He took our side openly, encouraged us,
sympathized with us, pitied us. And you tried to slay him! not in fair
fight, mind you, and only because you coveted his possessions. For
that you die within forty-eight hours, as surely as the sun will rise
to-morrow!" And all his hearers applauded.

The condemned man still made no reply, uttered no appeal for mercy, but
stood as one dazed. But I thought of the daughter who loved him so
well, and sprang to my feet.

"Hear me!" I cried excitedly. "If Don Felipe has done wrong, it is
against my father. Do you think he will thank you for killing his
enemy? Is that his teaching? You know it is not; you know that he
would forgive him freely--would beg his life from you on his bended
knees. If you really love my father, if you feel that he deserves your
gratitude, spare this man's life. If he has sinned he will repent. I
have come here for him. Do not let me go back alone. Am I to say to
my father, 'You are foolish in thinking the Indians