“No,” answered Tikal, “by right it will be the Lady Maya’s yonder, though by force it may remain mine, unless, indeed, she gives it to me of her own free will. But say, how did this come about?”
Now I broke in hastily, fearing lest the señor should tell too much, and thus bring some swift and awful fate upon himself.
“He was worn out with the fatigue of our journey and the excitement of yesterday. After you had left he began to talk of your proposals, and suddenly was taken with this fit. These matters are not for me to speak of, who am but a prisoner in a strange land; still, lord, it will not look well if he who once was cacique of this city dies here and unattended, for then people may say that you have murdered him. Have you no doctors who can be summoned to minister to him, for, without drugs, or even a bleeding-knife, we have done all we can do.”
“Murdered him! That they will say in any case. Yes, there are doctors here, and the best and greatest of them is Mattai, my father-in-law. I will send him. But, Maya, before I go, have you no word for me?”
Maya, who was seated by the table, her face buried in her hands, looked up and said:
“Is your heart stone that you can trouble me in such an hour? When my father is recovered, or dead, I will answer you, and not before.”
“So be it, Lady,” he said, “till then I will wait. And now I must get hence, for there may be trouble in the city when this news reaches it.”
A while passed, and Mattai appeared before us, followed by one who carried his scales and medicines. Without speaking, he came to where Zibalbay lay, and examined him by the light of a lamp. Then he poured medicine down his throat, and waited as though he expected to see him rise, but he neither rose nor stirred.
“A bad case,” he said. “I fear that he will awake no more. How came he thus?”
“Do you wish to know?” asked Maya, speaking for the first time. “Then bid your attendant stand back, and I will tell you. My father yonder was smitten down while he cursed me in his rage.”