Hualpa was kneeling before the monarch.
“Most mighty king,” he said, “if what I have done be worthy reward, grant me the discharge of this fine.”
“How!” said Montezuma, amazed. “The Tezcucan is your enemy!”
“Yet he fought me fairly, and is a warrior.”
The eyes of the king sought those of Iztlil’.
“What says the son of ’Hualpilli?”
The latter raised his head with a flash of the old pride. “He is a slave of Guatamozin’s: I scorn the intercession. I am yet a prince of Tezcuco.”
Then the monarch went forward, and sat by the judge. Not a sound was heard, till he spoke.
“Arise, and come near,” he said to Hualpa. “I will do what becomes me.”
His voice was low and tremulous with feeling, and over his face came the peculiar suffusion of sadness afterwards its habitual expression. The hunter kissed the floor at his feet, and remained kneeling. Then he continued,—