“Oh! I have dreamed,” she gasped. “I have dreamed a fearful dream. I dreamed that my father came to me, and—I cannot tell it—the child—the child——” and she broke down utterly, and could say no more.
“This place is full of evil memories, and her strength is shattered,” said the señor, when we had calmed her somewhat. “Come back, wife, and sleep.”
“Sleep!” she answered. “I do not think that I shall ever sleep again; and yet, unless I sleep, I shall go mad. Oh! that vision! Truly the curse of Mattai has taken hold of me.”
Some few hours later we met again in the great hall, but Maya said nothing of her dream, nor did I ask her to tell it, though I could see from her face that it was not forgotten. We ate, or made pretence to eat, and sat for a while in silence, till at length the gates opened, and through them came Dimas and some companion priests. Bidding these to stand back, he advanced alone and greeted us kindly.
“I am grieved,” he said, “that you should again be called upon to occupy this gloomy lodging; but I had no choice in the matter, since I am but the servant of the Council, and its commands were strict. It was feared lest the infant might be spirited away, were you left at liberty.”
“It will soon be spirited away, indeed, Dimas,” said Maya, “if it be kept here in the darkness. Already the child pines—within a week he will be dead.”
“Have no fear, lady; your imprisonment is not for long, for this very night, the night of the Rising of Waters, you will all of you be put upon your trial before the Council in the Sanctuary, and charged with the crime of attempting to escape the land.”
“Is there no other charge?” asked Maya.
“None, lady, that I have heard of. What other charge should there be?”
“And what will be the verdict of the Council?”