“Yes,—for shame.”
“My poor friend!”
“But consider,” said Hualpa,—“consider how rapidly I had risen, and to what height. Admitting my self-accusations, when before did man fall so far and so low? What wonder that I fled?”
“Well, you have my judgment. Seat yourself, and hear me further.”
Hualpa took the seat this time; after which the ’tzin continued. “The seizure was made in the palace. The king yielded to threats of death. He could not resist. While the strangers were bearing him past the teocallis, and you were looking at them, their weapons were at his throat. Had you yielded to Io’s prayer, and given the signal, and had Cuitlahua obeyed, and with his bands attempted a rescue, your benefactor would have been slain. Do not think me dealing in conjectures. I went to him in the street, and prayed to be allowed to save him; he forbade me. Therefore, hold not yourself in scorn; be happy; you saved his life a second time.”
Again Hualpa gave way to his gratitude.
“Nor is that all,” the ’tzin continued. “In my opinion, the last rescue was nobler than the first. As to the lord Cuitlahua, be at rest. He was not himself when he chid you so cruelly; he now thinks as I do; he exonerates you; his messengers have frequently come, asking if you had returned. So, no more of shame. Give me now what else you did.”
The sudden recall to the past appeared to throw Hualpa back; his head sunk upon his breast again, and for a time he was silent; at length he replied, “As I see now, good ’tzin, I have been very foolish. Before I go on, assure me that you will listen with charity.”
“With charity and love.”
“I have hardly the composure to tell what more I did; yet the story will come to you in some form. Judge me mercifully, and let the subject be never again recalled.”