They had come to the lower side of the park, near the roadway. A short pause had followed Cacami's last remark, and he was fixedly and tenderly contemplating his strangely fascinating companion.
The art of fashioning flowers, as well as feathers, into varied and beautiful designs was an accomplishment frequently attained by the native women, and in which Itlza was an adept. She had plucked some choice varieties, here and there, as she walked along, and wrought them into a delicate, heart-shaped bouquet. She noticed her companion's quiet demeanor, and, feeling a magnetic influence from his fixed gaze, turned to look at him.
"Why are you so silent?" she asked, her voice expressive of sympathetic tenderness. She continued: "And what are your thoughts, that the look from your eyes burns into my very heart?"
Her eyes were fixed on his as she spoke, and the love-light, which shone from them, became suddenly intensified. For an instant she was overcome by the power of his superior magnetism, and, holding out both hands, involuntarily exclaimed:
"O, Cacami!"
When Cacami heard the impassioned cry, and saw the no less impassioned light which beamed upon him from the liquid depths of her intensely luminous eyes, the temptation was too strong, and, forgetting his promise, he impulsively clasped her hands in both his own, and, for one moment of blissful thralldom, two souls stood blending on the verge of rapture.
"Itlza!" called the mother, from the hill above.
The spell was broken, and the passionate words which trembled on Cacami's lips remained unsaid.
Itlza quickly withdrew her hands, and answered her mother's call; but the flower-heart was left in Cacami's possession.
With quickened pulse the lovers turned from the blissful spot, and walked toward the house.