He lay quiet for a space, giving no answer, but from the workings of his hands and face we could see that he suffered much.
“Maya,” he said at length, “can you find me a cool stone to put in my mouth?”
She searched and found a pebble which he sucked, but after a time it fell from his lips, and we saw that it was as dry as when it entered them. Then of a sudden his brain gave way, and he began to rave huskily in many languages.
“Are you devils,” he asked, “that you suffer me to die in torment for the want of a drink of water? Why do you stand there and mock me? Oh! have pity and give me water.”
For a while we bore it, though perhaps our agonies were greater than his own—then Maya rose and looked at his face. It was sunken as with a heavy illness, thick black rings had appeared beneath his blue eyes, and his lips were flecked with blood.
“I can endure this no more,” she said, in a dry voice; “watch your friend, Don Ignatio.”
“You are right,” I answered, “this is no place for a woman. Go and sleep yonder, so that I can wake you if there is need.”
She looked at me reproachfully, but went without answering, and sat down behind a bush about thirty yards away. Here it seems—for all this story she told me afterwards, and for the most part I do but repeat her words—she began to think. She was sure that without water the señor could not live through the night, and it was impossible that her father should return before dawn at the earliest. He was dying, and she felt as though her life were ebbing with his own, for now she knew that she loved him. Unless something could be done he must soon be dead, and her heart would be broken. Only one thing could save him—and her,—water. In the depths of yonder hill, within a few paces of her, doubtless it lay in plenty, but who would venture to seek it there? And yet the descent of the cueva must be possible, since the ancients used it daily, and why could she not do what they had done? She was young and active, and from childhood it had been a delight to her to climb in dangerous places about the walls and pyramids of the City of the Heart, nor had her head failed her however lofty they might chance to be. Why, then, should it fail her now when the life of the man she loved was at stake? And what would it matter if it did fail her, seeing that if he died she wished to die also?
Yes, she would try it!
When once she had made up her mind Maya set about the task swiftly. I was standing by the hammock praying to heaven to spare the life of my friend, who lay there beating his hands to and fro and moaning in misery, when I saw her creep up and look at him.