THE FLOEIDA POCAHONTAS. 149 



disaster. Solemn-moving men, cloaked to the chia, in 

 spite of the tropical air, clustered together in the Plaza. 

 Lustrous eyes were dim with tears, and duennas hurried 

 hither and yonder to gather some scrap of hope for mis- 

 tresses, whose lii'st young love was buried in the buz- 

 zard's maw. 



" Ortez was summoned to the presence of Nar- 

 vaez's widow. In a few moments he had entered the 

 quadrangular stone court, and stood in a room where the 

 light came in through canopied windows, and the air 

 was cool with the splash of waters, whose music brought 

 back to his memories the houses of Seville. The stately 

 dame of the lost knight sat on a cushion by the window. 

 Her eyes were hollow with watching and grief, and her 

 voice was solemnly deep and low. Behind her sat her 

 daughter, with a black veil shrouding her face. The 

 soldier, leaning on his sword, at her word of command, 

 told the story of their cruise, of their landing and bitter 

 war, he narrated how, one by one, the leaders found 

 inglorious deaths by disease, by heat, by arrows, or flood 

 or quicksand, and how presently they had none to com- 

 mand but De Vacca. 



" ' But your chief— your chief, man ! Where did he 

 fall — how did he die — did you kill the foeman that 

 struck him, and honor his corpse as a king's ?' demanded 

 the proud woman. 



" ' De IsTarvaez did not die by my side, or I would 

 have revenged him ; nor was his body buried by our 

 band.' 



