“Go on,” said the ’tzin. “What restrained you?”
“I remembered the words of the king,—‘Io’ will come to you at noon with my commands,’—those were the words. I waited. ‘Strike!’ said Io’. ‘The command,—quick!’ I cried. ‘As you love life, strike!’ he shouted. Something unusual had taken place; I hesitated. ‘Does the king so command?’ I asked. ‘Time never was as precious! Give me the stick!’ he replied. But the duty was mine. ‘With your own hand give the signal,’—such was the order. I resisted, and he gave over the effort, and, throwing himself at my feet, prayed me to strike. I refused the prayer, also. Suddenly he sprang up, and ran out to the verge of the temple overlooking the street. Lest he should cast himself off, I followed. He turned to me, as I approached, and cried, with upraised hands, ‘Too late, too late! We are undone. Look where they carry him off!’ ‘Whom?’ I asked. ‘The king—my father—a prisoner!’ Below, past the coatapantli, the royal palanquin was being borne, guarded by the strangers. The blood stood still in my heart. I turned to the prince; he was gone. A sense of calamity seized me. I ran to the tower, and called the lord Cuitlahua, who was in time to see the procession. I shall never forget the awful look he gave me, or his words.” Hualpa again paused.
“What were they?” asked the ’tzin.
“‘My lord Hualpa,’ he said, ‘had you given the signal when Io’ came to you first, I could have interposed my companies, and saved him. It is now too late; he is lost. May the gods forgive you! A ruined country cannot.’”
“Said he so?” exclaimed the ’tzin, indignantly. “By all the gods, he was wrong!”
At these words, Hualpa for the first time dared look into the ’tzin’s face, surprised, glad, yet doubtful.
“How?” he asked. “Did you say I was right?”
“Yes.”
Tears glistened in the Tihuancan’s eyes, and he seized and kissed his friend’s hand with transport.
“I begin to understand you,” the ’tzin said, still more kindly. “You thought it your fault that the king was a prisoner; you fled for shame.”