Kate sat by the bed. Carlota lay on the bed, making small, horrible moaning noises. The drums outside on the church-roof started to roll, in a savage, complicated rhythm. Kate went to the window and looked out. People were streaming dazzled from the church.
And then, from the church-roof, came the powerful singing of men’s voices, fanning like a dark eagle in the bright air; a deep relentless chanting, with an undertone of passionate assurance. She went to the window to look. She could see the men on the church-roof, the people swarming down below. And the roll of that relentless chanting, with its undertone of exultance in power and life, rolled through the air like an invisible dark presence.
Cipriano came in again, glancing at Carlota and at Kate.
“They are singing the song of Welcome to Quetzalcoatl,” said he.
“Is that it?” said Kate. “What are the words?”
“I will find you a song-sheet,” he said.
He stood beside her, putting the spell of his presence over her. And she still struggled a little, as if she were drowning. When she wasn’t drowning, she wanted to drown. But when it actually came, she fought for her old footing.
There was a crying noise from Carlota. Kate hurried to the bed.
“Where am I?” said the white-faced, awful, deathly-looking woman.
“You are resting in bed,” said Kate. “Don’t trouble.”