"To bid you hope might be to deceive you," she said. "No, you must not ask it of me. If the time should come when the little love-bird would sing its song for Cacami, he shall know it. Promise, then, to speak no more of love until you have permission, and Itlza will be your friend."
"A wish from you, O Laughing-eyes, is a command to me. I will do the best I can; but should I fail, it will be for love of you." He spoke pathetically, and Itlza's heart went out to him with a sudden impulse, and a more adroit wooer than he might have won there and then, but Cacami had promised, and the opportunity passed unimproved.
"I have your promise, then?" asked the persistent Itlza.
"Yes," he answered, resignedly.
She laughed at his sober acquiescence and pathetic yes, and said:
"Your ready submission almost persuades me to believe you sincere. But, there, do not speak," she suddenly added, anticipating him, as he looked up at her fondly, showing in his expression that he was about to put some thought into words. She placed her hand over his mouth, and continued: "I do believe you would violate your promise before it is cold upon your lips."
He put her hand away gently, and said:
"You shall not again have occasion to check me. Laughing-eyes shall learn that Cacami can hold his tongue."
Euetzin came back from Tezcuco toward evening, and found the twain still lingering under the oak tree near the fountain. The mother came from the house, too, and a half hour was passed in listening to an account of his visit to the city and what it revealed, at the conclusion of which they went in for refreshments.