Meantime the workmen in the court-yard clung to the construction of the towers. Lopez was skilful, Cortes impatient. At last they were finished.
That night the ’tzin visited Tula. At parting, she followed him to the landing. Yeteve went with her. “The blessing of the gods be upon you!” she said; and the benediction, so trustful and sweetly spoken, was itself a blessing. Even the slaves, under their poised oars, looked at her and forgot themselves, as well they might. The light of the great torch, kindled by the keeper of the chinampa, revealed her perfectly. The head slightly bent, and the hands crossed over the breast, helped the prayerful speech. Her eyes were not upon the slaves, yet their effect was; and they were such eyes as give to night the beauty of stars, while taking nothing from it, neither depth nor darkness.
The canoe put off.
“Farewell,” said Io’. His warrior-life was yet in its youth.
“Farewell,” said Hualpa. And she heard him, and knew him thinking of his lost love.
In the ’tzin’s absence the garrison of the temple had been heavily reinforced. The azoteas, when he returned, was covered with warriors, asleep on their mantles, and pillowed on their shields. He bade his companions catch what slumber they could, and went into the grimy but full-lighted presence-chamber, and seated himself on the step of the altar. In a little while Hualpa came in, and stopped before him as if for speech.
“You have somewhat to say,” said the ’tzin, kindly. “Speak.”
“A word, good ’tzin, a single word. Io’ lies upon his mantle; he is weary, and sleeps well. I am weary, but cannot sleep. I suffer—”
“What?” asked the ’tzin.
“Discontent.”