“What must be, must be,” answered the señor with a sigh, “but for my part I hope that the worst is past and that they will not kill us. It was your father’s rashness which brought these evils on us, and perhaps misfortune may teach him wisdom.”
“Never,” she answered, shaking her head, “for they are right; on this matter he is mad, as you, Ignatio, are mad also. Come, let us look at our prison, for I have not seen it till this hour,” and, taking one of the hand-lamps that stood near, she walked down the length of the hall. At its further end were gates similar to those by which we had entered, and through them came a draught of air.
“Where do they lead?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she answered, “perhaps to the Sanctuary by a secret way. At least the pyramid is full of these chambers, that in old days were used for many things, such as the storage of corn and weapons, and the burying-places of priests, thousands of whom are at rest within it. Now they are empty and deserted.”
As we walked back again I stopped before a wooden door that stood ajar, leading into one of the chambers of which I have spoken.
“Let us go in,” said Maya, pushing it open, and we entered, to find ourselves in a small room lined with shelves. On these shelves, each of which was numbered, lay hundreds of rolls thickly covered with dust. Maya took up one of them at a hazard and unrolled the parchment, revealing a manuscript beautifully executed in the picture-painting of the Indians.
“This must be nearly a thousand years old,” she said; “I know it by the style of the painting. Well, we shall not lack history to read while we sojourn here,” and she threw the priceless roll back on to its shelf and left the chamber.
A few steps further on we came to another room of which the door was closed, but so rotten was the woodwork with age that a push freed it from its fastenings, and we entered. Here also there were shelves, packed some of them with yellow and some with white bars of metal.
“Copper and lead,” said the señor glancing at them.
“Not so,” answered Maya with a laugh, “but that which you white men covet, gold and silver. Look what is painted above the shelves,” and she held up the lamp and read: “Pure metal from the southern mines, set apart for the service of the Temple of the Heart, and of the Temples of the East and West. Of gold—such a weight; of silver—such a weight.”