“Pardon,” cried the man, taking the hint; “but to be frank, O lord, it has been so dinned in my ears down in the city yonder, that neither you nor the Lady of the Heart would ever return again, that I thought you must be ghosts. Yes, and so they will think in the city, where I have heard that Tikal rules in your place.”
“Peace,” said Zibalbay, frowning heavily. “We left robes here, did we not? Go, lay them out in the sleeping-chambers, and with them others for these my guests, while the woman prepares our meat.”
The man bowed, stretching out his arms till the backs of his hands touched the ground. Then, taking an earthenware lamp from a side table, he lit it and disappeared behind a curtain, an example which the woman followed after she had rapidly removed the dishes that were upon the table, and fed the fire with wood.
When they were gone we gathered round the hearth to bask in the luxury of its warmth.
“What is this place?” asked the señor.
Zibalbay, who was wrapped in his own thoughts, did not seem to hear him, and Maya answered,
“A poor hovel that is used as a rest-house and by hunters of game, no more. These people are its keepers, and were charged to watch for our return, but they seem to have fulfilled their task ill. Pardon me, I go to help them. Come, father.”
They went, and presently the señor awoke from a doze induced by the delightful warmth of the fire, to see the custodian of the place standing before him staring at him in amazement not unmixed with awe.
“What is the matter with the man, and what does he want, Ignatio?” he asked in Spanish.
“He wonders at your white skin and fair hair, señor, and says that he does not dare to speak to you because you must be one of the Heaven-born of whom their legends tell, wherefore he asks me to say that water to wash in and raiment to put on have been made ready for us if we will come with him.”