Euetzin had been gone quite a while, and Itlza, as he had suggested, had taken Cacami over the ground which comprised the villa park, showing him the most interesting of its features, of which the family were justly proud. She had finally brought him to her favorite retreat, in the shade of an old oak tree, at the foot of which stood a rustic bench, and, a little way off from it, a beautiful flowing fountain, which added coolness to the spot, and made it especially inviting.
Itlza was seated on the bench beneath the tree, toying with a bunch of odorous flowers, while Cacami reclined on the ground, almost at her feet.
"You are fleet of tongue, O Cacami, and your voice is like the cooing of a dove. The words fall from your lips as readily as flowing water from a hillside spring. But the thoughts which fill your mind are hidden. Who but yourself may read them?" she was saying, provokingly, in answer to something he had said.
"Surely, Laughing-eyes, you can not think me capable of holding thoughts, which are not in accord with my words? I may be impulsive and hasty, but not deceitful," he answered, with an honest emphasis on his words.
It was clearly a case of love at first sight with Cacami, and his impulsiveness led him to show it plainly. Itlza was more discreet, and would not so easily surrender to the dictates of a smitten heart. She was, nevertheless, fast falling under the influence of the subtle little archer, though, woman-like, persisted in fighting it off. In answer to Cacami's expostulation, she said:
"I would not seem unkind, but would put a check upon your tongue. You are scarcely more than a stranger to me. Two days ago you did not know that such a person lived as I; and yet, in that short time, you are pleading to hear a song from the little love-bird which nestles in Itlza's heart. Know you not, O Cacami, that the little bird is chary, and may be easily frightened away?" she replied archly, but kindly.
"Your words are severe, Laughing-eyes, yet of them I may be deserving, for I have been impetuous; but I can not think my conduct should drive you from me, in that you are surely jesting. I am not a trifler, Itlza, and, believe me, never one spoke more sincerely. Only bid me hope, and I will be your silent slave."
We would not have the reader think that Cacami was foolish, for he was not. He was unquestionably stricken with that peculiar affection which, ever since the first man and woman were brought face to face, has held the loftiest minds, and brought under subjection the strongest wills, making slaves of all, willing or unwilling, to the object through the attraction of which the affection is produced, causing men of intelligence, not infrequently, to fall into ridicule. Still, recognizing the innateness of the thing, we look upon such conduct as a natural consequence.
Cacami's fault was in not restraining his impulsiveness. He read in the words which fell from Itlza's lips that she was not wholly indifferent to his wooing, and, as a last earnest, plead for a hope.
Itlza's reply was not very encouraging.