The old man paused.

“God forgive you, senor!” said Jack Brimblecombe, softly.

“You do not, then, turn from me, do not curse me?  Then I will try you farther still, senors.  I will know from human lips, whether man can do such deeds as I have done, and yet be pitied by his kind; that so I may have some hope, that where man has mercy, God may have mercy also.  Do you think that I repented at those awful words?  Nothing less, senors all.  No more than I did when De Soto (on whose soul God have mercy) called me—­me, a liar!  I knew myself a sinner; and for that very reason I was determined to sin.  I would go on, that I might prove myself right to myself, by showing that I could go on, and not be struck dead from heaven.  Out of mere pride, senors, and self-will, I would fill up the cup of my iniquity; and I filled it.

“You know, doubtless, senors, how, after the death of old Almagro, his son’s party conspired against Pizarro.  Now my brother remained faithful to his old commander; and for that very reason, if you will believe it, did I join the opposite party, and gave myself up, body and soul, to do Almagro’s work.  It was enough for me, that the brother who had struck me thought a man right, for me to think that man a devil.  What Almagro’s work was, you know.  He slew Pizarro, murdered him, senors, like a dog, or rather, like an old lion.”

“He deserved his doom,” said Amyas.

“Let God judge him, senor, not we; and least of all of us I, who drew the first blood, and perhaps the last, that day.  I, senors, it was who treacherously stabbed Francisco de Chanes on the staircase, and so opened the door which else had foiled us all; and I—­But I am speaking to men of honor, not to butchers.  Suffice it that the old man died like a lion, and that we pulled him down, young as we were, like curs.

“Well, I followed Almagro’s fortunes.  I helped to slay Alvarado.  Call that my third murder, if you will, for if he was traitor to a traitor, I was traitor to a true man.  Then to the war; you know how Vaca de Castro was sent from Spain to bring order and justice where was naught but chaos, and the dance of all devils.  We met him on the hills of Chupas.  Peter of Candia, the Venetian villain, pointed our guns false, and Almagro stabbed him to the heart.  We charged with our lances, man against man, horse against horse.  All fights I ever fought” (and the old man’s eyes flashed out the ancient fire) “were child’s play to that day.  Our lances shivered like reeds, and we fell on with battle-axe and mace.  None asked for quarter, and none gave it; friend to friend, cousin to cousin—­no, nor brother, O God! to brother.  We were the better armed:  but numbers were on their side.  Fat Carbajal charged our cannon like an elephant, and took them; but Holguin was shot down.  I was with Almagro, and we swept all before us, inch by inch, but surely, till the night fell.  Then Vaca de Castro, the licentiate, the