Up, clear to his vision, rose the destiny prophesied for him by Mualox. As he pondered it, she said, tearfully,—
“I love my father, and he is blind or mad. Now is his peril greatest, now most he needs friendship and help. O ’tzin, leave him not,—I conjure you by his past kindness! Remember I am his child.”
Thereupon he dropped her hand, and walked the floor, while the banners and the shields upon the walls, and the mute glory they perpetuated, whispered of the wrong and shame he was enduring. When he answered, she knew how great the struggle had been, and that the end was scarcely a victory.
“You have asked that of me, my beloved, which is a sore trial,” he said. “I will not deny that the great love I bore your father is disturbed by bitterness. Think how excessive my injury is,—I who revered as a son, and have already put myself in death’s way for him. In the halls, and out in the gardens, my name has been a jest to-night. And how the Tezcucan has exulted! It is hard for the sufferer to love his wrong-doer,—O so hard! But this I will, and as an oath take the promise: as long as the king acts for Anahuac, not imperilling her safety or glory, so long will I uphold him; this, O Tula, from love of country, and nothing more!”
And as the future was veiled against the woman and dutiful child, she replied simply, “I accept the oath. Now lead me hence.”
He took her hand again, and said, “In peril of life I came to say farewell forever; but I will leave a kiss upon your forehead, and plant its memory in your heart, and some day come again to claim you mine.”
And he put his arm around her, and left the kiss on her forehead, and, as the ancient he entered, conducted the unhappy princess from the chamber of banners back to the hall of betrothal.
CHAPTER XI
THE CHANT
“If you have there anything for laughter, Maxtla, I bid you welcome,” said the king, his guests around him.