For the time, however, his own fate occupied him but little. His thoughts turned almost exclusively upon his father. Upon their voyages together, his kindness and care for him, the high hopes they had cherished when they started upon their voyage, and above all upon his parting words, and the last gesture of farewell, just as the ship struck.
For hours Roger lay and sobbed. At last he heard a slight movement in the room and, looking up, saw one of the young slave girls regarding him with a look of deep pity. To her, as to everyone else, Roger had appeared as a supernatural being, come from they knew not whence; but the lad's sobs had touched her human feelings, and shown her that he had sorrows, like herself. Her look brought a feeling of comfort and companionship to Roger's heart; and as, on seeing that she was observed, she turned timidly to retire, he held out his hand to her.
She approached and knelt down beside him and, taking his hand, pressed it to her forehead. She was a girl of some fourteen years old, already, according to Mexican ideas, a woman.
"What is your name?" Roger asked.
The girl looked at him wonderingly, but shook her head. Roger thought a moment, and then touched himself on the breast.
"Roger," he said.
He repeated the word several times. Then he touched her lips and repeated "Roger," and, seeing what was expected, she repeated the word in a soft voice.
He nodded again, touched himself and said "Roger," and then touched her. She now saw what he meant. It was his own name he had spoken, and he now asked for hers.
"Malinche," she said, in her soft Indian voice.
"Malinche," he repeated, "you are a kind-hearted girl. I can see that, Malinche; and I hope we shall understand each other better, one of these days. I suppose you are a servant or a slave, and are not in a much better condition than myself. Now you had better go, and sleep."