“Try, now, to come up. Be careful lest you fall. If you need help, tell me.”
“What shall I do with the bread and meat, and—”
“Leave them. The Mother has been with us. Come up.”
The climbing was really a sailor’s feat, and difficult for her; finally, she raised her head through the trap. At the sight, the slave shrank back, as if to run. Orteguilla spoke to him.
“Be not afraid of the child. I have raised her to help me take care of the temple. We are going to the chapel now.”
The man turned to him curiously; possibly he detected a strange accent under the hood. When, on her part, Tecetl saw him, she stopped, full of wonder as of fear. Old and ugly as he was, he yet confirmed the page’s story, and brought the new world directly to her. So a child stops, and regards the first person met at the door of a strange house,—attracted, curious, afraid.
“Come on,” said Orteguilla.
She raised her hand overhead, and held up the bird with the white wings.
“Take it,” she said.
Used as he was to wonderful things in connection with his old master, the servant held back. A girl and a bird from the cells,—a mystery, indeed!