“I have buried him with the bones of his brethren and his forefathers,” she said, answering the question that my eyes asked. “It seemed best that you should see him no more, lest your heart should break.”
“It is well,” I answered; “but my heart is broken already.”
“Is the murderer dead?” she said presently in the very words of Diaz.
“He is dead.”
“How?”
I told her in few words.
“You should have slain him yourself; our son’s blood is not avenged.”
“I should have slain him, but in that hour I did not seek vengeance, I watched it fall from heaven, and was content. Perchance it is best so. The seeking of vengeance has brought all my sorrows upon me; vengeance belongs to God and not to man, as I have learned too late.”
“I do not think so,” said Otomie, and the look upon her face was that look which I had seen when she smote the Tlascalan, when she taunted Marina, and when she danced upon the pyramid, the leader of the sacrifice. “Had I been in your place, I would have killed him by inches. When I had done with him, then the devils might begin, not before. But it is of no account; everything is done with, all are dead, and my heart with them. Now eat, for you are weary.”
So I ate, and afterwards I cast myself upon the bed and slept.