evel to the dust the
descendants of the conquerors of that ill-starred country. And so the
soldier finally fell asleep, with that requiem ringing in his ears.

When daybreak again penetrated the mountain recesses and fell upon the
valley, Saint-Prosper arose to shake off a troubled slumber. An
unhealthy mist hung over the earth, like a miasma, and the officer
shivered as he walked in that depressing and noxious atmosphere. It
lay like a deleterious veil before the glades where myrtles mingled
with the wild limes. It concealed from view a cross, said to have been
planted by Cortez--the cross he worshiped because of its resemblance
to the hilt of a sword!--and enveloped the hoary trees that were old
when Montezuma was a boy or when Marina was beloved by the mighty
free-booter.

The shade resting on the valley appeared that of a mighty, virulent
hand. Out of the depths arose a flock of dark-hued birds, soaring
toward the morbific fog; not moving like other winged creatures, with
harmony of motion, but rising without unity, and filling the vale with
discordant sounds. Nowhere could these sable birds have appeared more
unearthly than in the "dark valley," as it was called by the natives,
where the mists moved capriciously, yet remained persistently within
the circumference of this natural cauldron, now falling like a pall
and again hovering in mid air. Suddenly the uncanny birds vanished
among the trees as quickly as they had arisen, and there was something
mysterious about their unwarranted disappearance and the abrupt
cessation of clamorous cries.

While viewing this somber scene, Saint-Prosper had made his way to a
little adobe house which the natives had built near the trail that led
through the valley. As he approached this hut he encountered a dismal
but loquacious sentinel, tramping before the partly opened door.

"This is chilly work, guard?" said the young man, pausing.

"Yis, Colonel," replied the soldier, apparently grateful for the
interruption; "it's a hot foight I prefer to this cool dooty."

"Whom are you guarding?" continued the officer.

"A spy, taken in the lines a few days ago. He's to be executed this
morning at six. But I don't think he will moind that, for it's out of
his head he is, with the malaria."

"He should have had medical attendance," observed the officer,
stepping to the door.

"Faith, they'll cure him at daybreak," replied the guard. "It's a
medicine that niver fails."

Saint-Pro