“The gods keep the future; they only know. The thought came to me as I sat at the feet of Tula and Nenetzin,—came to me like a taste of bitter in a cup of sweets. Close after followed another even stronger,—how could I be so happy, and our comrade over the lake so miserable? We know how he has hoped and worked and lived for what the morrow is to bring: shall he not be notified even of its nearness? You have heard the sound of the war-drum: what is it like?”
“Like the roll of thunder.”
“Well, when the thunder crosses the lake, and strikes his ear, saying, ‘Up, the war is here!’ he will come to the door, and down to the water’s edge; there he must stop; and as he looks wistfully to the city, and strains his ear to catch the notes of the combat, will he not ask for us, and, accuse us of forgetfulness? Rather than that, O my brother, let my fortune all go back to its giver.”
“I understand you now,” said the prince, softly.
“Yes,” Hualpa continued, “I am to be at the temple by the break of day; but the night is mine, and I will go to the ’tzin, my first friend, of Anahuac the soul, as Nenetzin is the flower.”
“No, you cannot. You have not permission. So farewell.”
“Until to-morrow,” said Io’.
“In the temple,” answered Hualpa.