The paba ventured to look up and study the face of the questioner as well as he could in the flickering light.
“I know the vulgar have called me a magician,” he said, slowly; “and sometimes they have spoken of my commerce with the stars. To say that either report is true, were wrong to the gods. Regardful of them, I cannot answer you; but I can say—and its sufficiency depends on your wisdom—your slave, O king, is warned of your intention. You come asking a sign; you would have me prove my power, that it may be seen.”
“By the Sun—”
“Nay,—if my master will permit,—another word.”
“I came to hear you; say on.”
“You spoke of me as a councillor in the palace. How may we measure the value of honors? By the intent with which they are given? O king, had you not thought the poor paba would use his power for the betrayal of his god; had you not thought he could stand between you and the wrath—”
“No more, Mualox, no more!” said Montezuma. “I confess I asked you to the palace that you might befriend me. Was I wrong to count on your loyalty? Are you not of Anahuac? And further; I confess I come now seeking a sign. I command you to show me the future!”
“If you do indeed believe me the beloved of Quetzal’ and his prophet, then are you bold,—even for a king.”
“Until I wrong the gods, why should I fear? I, too, am a priest.”
“Be wise, O my master! Let the future alone; it is sown with sorrows to all you love.”