"I am sorry if it does, for I fear it has forever gone from me," she answered, falling into the same sad vein again.
"I can tell you, Mitla, what will restore your cheerfulness," suddenly spoke the tzin, as if a happy thought had just then come to him, which caused her to look up expectantly. "Come with your father to Tlacopan, and shoot for the archers' prize, which the king has offered."
"On what occasion is the prize to be awarded? I am not informed," she questioned.
"That is true; you could hardly have heard it. There is to be a great tournament soon, at Tlacopan, in which women will contest with bow and arrow for a beautiful prize. Your father and others are going, and you can come with them. It will do you good to be there and become interested in the contest."
"It would be very foolish of me to think of winning a prize in a contest with archers who have had experience in the arena," she replied, dubiously.
"I do not think so. Your arrow is as true as any that will be there on that day. Your success would depend on the deliberation with which your shooting is done. If you are able to compose yourself, under such circumstances, I think you could win the prize," he said, persuasively.
"Would it please you to have me go and shoot for the prize?" she asked, artlessly.
"It would, indeed, please me, Mitla; and I am sure your chances for winning it are as good as the best," he replied, with a sincerity equaling her simplicity. His answer decided the matter in her mind, for to please, and, at the same time, be near him, she would have done anything in reason. She said, by way of acquiescence:
"If my father will not object, I will go, if only in obedience to your wish."
"I am grateful for your consideration of my wishes, Mitla, and shall hold it an honor to have been instrumental in bringing into the arena an archer who, I am certain, will do credit to herself and her friends. I will obtain your father's consent; so you may consider it settled that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you shoot at the tourney."