And through the company, without apology, he rushed. The soldier saluted, and followed him.
“To the gate, Sandoval! See the rest of this affair, and report,” said Cortes, quietly. “We will stay the business until you return.”
CHAPTER IX.
TRULY WONDERFUL.—A FORTUNATE MAN HATH A MEMORY.
Two canoes, tied to the strand, attested that the royal party, and Io’ and Hualpa, were yet at Chapultepec, which was no doubt as pleasant at night, seen of all the stars, as in the day, kissed by the softest of tropical suns.
That the lord Hualpa should linger there was most natural. Raised, almost as one is transported in dreams, from hunting to warriorship; from that again to riches and nobility; so lately contented, though at peril of life, to look from afar at the house in which the princess Nenetzin slept; now her betrothed, and so pronounced by the great king himself,—what wonder that he loitered at the palace? Yet it was not late,—in fact, on the horizon still shone the tint, the last and faintest of the day,—when he and Io’ came out, and, arm in arm, took their way down the hill to the landing. What betides the lover? Is the mistress coy? Or runs he away at call of some grim duty?
Out of the high gate, down the terraced descent, past the avenue of ghostly cypresses, until their sandals struck the white shells of the landing, they silently went.
“Is it not well with you, my brother?” asked the prince, stopping where the boats, in keeping of their crews, were lying.
“Thank you for that word,” Hualpa replied. “It is better even than comrade. Well with me? I look my fortune in the face, and am dumb. If I should belie expectation, if I should fall from such a height! O Mother of the World, save me from that! I would rather die!”
“But you will not fail,” said Io’, sympathetically.