“Ho, slaves! Put the canoe about; yonder are those whom I would meet,” Hualpa shouted.
The vessel was headed to the south. A long distance had to be passed, and in the time the ambassador recovered himself. Lying down again, and twanging the chord of his bow, he endeavored to compose a speech to accompany the delivery of the vase to Tula. But his thoughts would return to his own love; the laugh with which Io’ received his explanation flattered him; and, true to the logic of the passion, he already saw the vase accepted, and himself the favored of Nenetzin. From that point the world of dreams was but a step distant; he took the step, but was brought back by Io’.
“They recognize us; Nenetzin waves her scarf!”
The approaching vessel was elegant as the art of the Aztecan shipmaster could make it. The prow was sculptured into the head and slender, curved neck of a swan. The passengers, fair as ever journeyed on sea wave, sat under a canopy of royal green, above which floated a panache of long, trailing feathers, colored like the canopy. Like a creature of the water, so lightly, so gracefully, the boat drew nigh the messengers. When alongside, Io’ sprang aboard, and, with boyish ardor, embraced his sisters.
“What has kept you so?”
“We stayed to see twenty thousand warriors cross the causeway,” replied Nenetzin.
“Where can they be going?”
“To Cholula.”
The news excited the boy; turning to speak to Hualpa, he was reminded of his duty.
“Here is a messenger from Guatamozin,—the lord Hualpa, who slew the tiger in the garden.”