“Your approval is my full reward,” he replied. “But hear me further. What I have said was easy to say; that which I go to now is hard, and requires all my will; for the utterance may forfeit not merely the blessing just given me, but your love,—more precious, as I have shown, than the crown. You were in the palace the day the king appeared and bade the people home. The strangers were in my hand at the time. O, a glad time,—so long had we toiled, so many had died! Then he came, and snatched away our triumph. I have not forgotten, I never can forget the disappointment. In all the labor of the preparation since, I have seen the scene, sometimes as a threat, sometimes as a warning, always a recurring dream whose dreaming leaves me less resolved in the course I am running. Continually I find myself saying to myself, ‘The work is all in vain; what has been will be again; while he lives, you cannot win.’ O Tula, such influence was bad enough of itself. Hear now how the gods came in to direct me. Last night I was at the altar of Huitzil’, praying, when the teotuctli appeared, and said, ‘’Tzin Guatamo, pray you for your country?’ ‘For country and king,’ I answered. He laid his hand upon my shoulder, ‘If you seek the will of the god with intent to do what he imposes, hear then: The king is the shield of the strangers; they are safe while he lives; and if he lives, Anahuac dies. Let him who leads choose between them. So the god says. Consider!’ He was gone before I could answer. Since that I have been like one moving in a cloud, seeing nothing clearly, and the duty least of all. When I should be strongest, I am weakest. My spirit faints under the load. If the king lives, the empire dies: if it is to die, why the battle, and its sacrifices? This night have I in which to choose; to-morrow, Malinche and action! Help me, O Tula, help me to do right! Love of country, of king, and of me,—you have them all. Speak.”
And she answered him,—
“I may not doubt that you love me; you have told me so many times, but never as to-night. I thank you, O ’tzin! Your duties are heavy. I do not wonder that you bend under them. I might say they are yours by gift of the gods, and not to be divided with another, not even with me; but I will give you love for love, and, as I hope to share your fortunes, I will share your trials. I am a woman, without judgment by which to answer you; from my heart I will answer.”
“From your heart be it, O Tula.”
“Has the king heard the things of which you have spoken?”
“I cannot say.”
“Does he know you were offered the crown?”
“No; the offer was treason.”
“Ah, poor king, proud father! The love of the people, that of which you were proudest, is lost. What wretchedness awaits you!”
She bowed her head, and there was a silence broken only by her sobs. The grief spent itself; then she said, earnestly,—