“I give you ten minutes with the prisoner, Don Diego.  More, I cannot.”

A little awed by the manner of the Commander, Hurlstone bowed and followed him across the courtyard.  It was filled with soldiers, and near the gateway a double file of dragoons, with loaded carbines, were standing at ease.  Two sentries were ranged on each side of an open door which gave upon the courtyard.  The Commander paused before it, and with a gesture invited him to enter.  It was a large square apartment, lighted only by the open door and a grated enclosure above it.  Seated in his shirtsleeves, before a rude table, Senor Perkins was quietly writing.  The shadow of Hurlstone’s figure falling across his paper caused him to look up.

Whatever anxiety Hurlstone had begun to feel, it was quickly dissipated by the hearty, affable, and even happy greeting of the prisoner.

“Ah! what! my young friend Hurlstone!  Again an unexpected pleasure,” he said, extending his white hands.  “And again you find me wooing the Muse, in, I fear, hesitating numbers.”  He pointed to the sheet of paper before him, which showed some attempts at versification.  “But I confess to a singular fascination in the exercise of poetic composition, in instants of leisure like this—­a fascination which, as a man of imagination yourself, you can appreciate.”

“And I am sorry to find you here, Senor Perkins,” began Hurlstone frankly; “but I believe it will not be for long.”

“My opinion,” said the Senor, with a glance of gentle contemplation at the distant Comandante, “as far as I may express it, coincides with your own.”

“I have come,” continued Hurlstone earnestly, “to offer you my services.  I am ready,” he raised his voice, with a view of being overheard, “to bear testimony that you had no complicity in the baser part of the late conspiracy,—­the revolt of the savages, and that you did your best to counteract the evil, although in doing so you have sacrificed yourself.  I shall claim the right to speak from my own knowledge of the Indians and from their admission to me that they were led away by the vague representations of Martinez, Brace, and Winslow.”

“Pardon—­pardon me,” said Senor Perkins deprecatingly, “you are mistaken.  My general instructions, no doubt, justified these young gentlemen in taking, I shall not say extreme, but injudicious measures.”  He glanced meaningly in the direction of the Commander, as if to warn Hurlstone from continuing, and said gently, “But let us talk of something else.  I thank you for your gracious intentions, but you remember that we agreed only yesterday that you knew nothing of politics, and did not concern yourself with them.  I do not know but you are wise.  Politics and the science of self-government, although dealing with general principles, are apt to be defined by the individual limitations of the enthusiast.  What is good for himself he too often deems is applicable to the