“If you think so, White Man,” answered Mattai in a voice that shook a little, strive as he would to command it, “lift up the holy thing and give me the writing that is beneath it. Stay, first take this, set it in the symbol, replacing the eye upon it,” and he handed him the forged tablet.
The señor obeyed, nor did any wonder come to pass when he lifted that dreadful-looking jewel, and changed the true for the false.
“Read it,” said Maya, as the tablet was passed to Mattai, “you have knowledge of the ancient writings.”
“Perhaps it were best left unread,” he said, doubtfully.
“Nay,” she answered, “let us know the worst. Read it, I bid you.”
Then he read these strange words in a slow and solemn voice:
“The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin.”
Now the faces of us who heard turned grey in the lamplight, for though the gods of this people were false, we felt that the voice of a true prophet spoke to us from that accusing tablet, and that we had called down upon our heads a vengeance which we could not measure.
“Did I not tell you that it were wiser to leave the writing unread,” gasped Mattai, letting the tablet fall from his hand as though it were a snake.
The clatter of it as it struck the marble floor seemed to wake us from our evil dream, for the señor turned on him, and said fiercely: