In yonder chair Guatemoc your king was this day tortured by your master Cortes, who swore to treat him with all honour.

By his side sat Teule, my husband and your friend; him Cortes gave over to has private enemy, de Garcia, whom you name Sarceda.

See how he has left him.

Nay, do not shudder, gentle lady; look now at his wounds! Consider to what a pass we are driven when you find us about to die thus like dogs, he, my husband, that he may not live to see me handled as he has been, and I with him, because a princess of the Otomie and of Montezuma's blood cannot submit to such a shame while death has one door through which to creep.

It is but a single grain of your harvest, outcast and traitress, the harvest of misery and death that is stored yonder in the ruins of Tenoctitlan.
Had I my will, I tell you that I had sooner die a score of times than take help from a hand so stained with the blood of my people and of yours--I--' 'Oh! cease, lady, cease,' groaned Marina, covering her eyes with her hand, as though the sight of Otomie were dreadful to her.