“Yes, father.”
“He must be strong then,” he answered; “I thought that thirst would have killed him ere now.”
“He has had water, father. I descended the cueva and fetched it,” she added, after a moment’s pause.
The old man looked at her amazed.
“How came it that you found courage to go down that place, daughter?” he asked at length.
“The desire to save a friend gave me courage,” she answered, letting her eyes fall beneath his gaze. “I knew that you could not be back in time, so I went.”
Zibalbay pondered awhile, then said:
“I think that you would have done better to let him die, daughter, for I believe that this white man will bring trouble upon us. It has pleased the gods to preserve you alive; remember, then, that your life belongs to them, and that you must follow the path which they have chosen, not that which you would choose for yourself. Remember also that one waits you in the city yonder who may have a word to say as to your friendship with this wanderer.” And he passed on with the mule.
That same evening Maya told me of her father’s words and said:
“I think that before all is done I shall need the help that you have sworn to give me, señor, for I can see well that my father will be against me unless my wish runs with his purpose. Of one thing I am sure, that my life is my own and not a possession of the gods; for in such gods as my father worships and I was brought up to serve, I have lost faith, if indeed I ever had any.”