“O, I have something so strange to tell you,—something so strange!” she cried, throwing herself upon the hammock.
Her face was bright and very beautiful. Tula looked at her a moment, then put her lips lovingly to the smooth forehead.
“By the Sun! as our royal father sometimes swears, my sister seems in earnest.”
“Indeed I am; and you will go with me, will you not?”
“Ah! you want to take me to the garden to see the dead tiger, or, perhaps, the warrior who slew it, or—now I have it—you have seen another minstrel.”
Tula expected the girl to laugh, but was surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. She changed her manner instantly, and bade the slave who had been sitting by the hammock fanning her, to retire. Then she said,—
“You jest so much, Nenetzin, that I do not know when you are serious. I love you: now tell me what has happened.”
The answer was given in a low voice.
“You will think me foolish, and so I am, but I cannot help it. Do you recollect the dream I told you the night on the chinampa?”
“The night Yeteve came to us? I recollect.”