He looked at the courtyard. There were seats tier upon tier on
either side, with awnings over them. In front there was a low wall,
and the ground appeared to fall somewhat precipitously away from
it. Beyond the moonlight disclosed a glorious view of mountains and
hills, valleys and depths.

All this he saw, and his mind was made up either to escape or die
on the spot by the flashing scimitar, far easier to bear than the
fiery death designed for him on the morrow.

And while he thought, a loud cry drew all eyes elsewhere. At a
window, right above the flaming hall, appeared the agonised faces
of some of the hopeful pupils of the "Old Man," forgotten and left,
when the rest were aroused: and so far as human wit could judge,
the same death awaited them which they were to have gazed upon with
pitiless eyes, as inflicted upon a helpless slave, on the morrow.
They had probably been looking forward to the occasion, as a
Spaniard to his auto da fe, as an interesting spectacle.

Oh, how different the feelings of the spectators and the victims on
such occasions; when humanity sinks to its lowest depths, and
cruelty becomes a delight. God preserve us from such possibilities,
which make us ashamed of our nature, whether exhibited in the
Mussulman, the Spaniard, or the Red Indian. But we must not
moralise here.

All eyes were drawn to the spot. The "Old Man" himself, now first
heard, cried for ladders: it was too late, the building was
tottering; it bent inward, an awful crash, and--