“Here were the principles, but they were not enough. Something said to me, ‘What were the Wisdom and Will of the gods without subjects?’ It was a great idea: I thought I stood almost upon the summit!
“And I set about building me a world, I took the treasure of Quetzal’, and collected these marvels, and bought me the labor of art. Weavers, florists, painters, masons,—all toiled for me. Gold, labor, and time are here,—there is little beauty without them. Here is my world,” he said aloud, glancing around the great hall.
“I had my world; next I wanted a subject for my will. But where to go? Not among men,—alas, they are their own slaves! One day I stood in the tianguez where a woman was being sold. A baby in her arms smiled, it might have been at the sunshine, it might have been at me. The mother said, ‘Buy.’ A light flashed upon me—I bought you, my poor child. Men say of the bud, It will be a rose, and of the plant, It will be a tree; you were so young then that I said, ‘It will be a mind.’ And into my world I brought you, thinking, as I had made it, so I would make a subject. This, I told you, was your birthplace; and here passed your infancy and childhood; here you have dwelt. Your cheeks are pale, my little one, but full and fresh; your breath is sweet as the air above a garden; and you have grown in beauty, knowing nothing living but the birds and me. My will has a subject, O Tecetl, and my heart a child. And judge me, holy Quetzal’, if I have not tried to make her happy! I have given her knowledge of everything but humanity, and ignorance of that is happiness. My world has thus far been a heaven to her; her dreams have been of it; I am its god!”
And yet unwilling to disturb her slumber, Mualox arose, and walked away.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SEARCH FOR QUETZAL’.
By and by he returned, and standing by the couch, passed his hand several times above her face. Silent as the movements were, she awoke, and threw her arms around his neck.
“You have been gone a long while,” she said, in a childish voice. “I waited for you; but the lamps burned down low, and the shadows, from their hiding among the bushes, came creeping in upon the fountain, and I slept.”
“I saw you,” he answered, playing with her hair. “I saw you; I always see you.”
“I tried to paint the fountain,” she went on; “but when I watched the water to catch its colors, I thought its singing changed to voices, and, listening to them, they stole my thoughts away. Then I tried to blend my voice with them, and sing as they sung; but whenever mine sank low enough, it seemed sad, while they went on gayer and more ringing than ever. I can paint the flowers, but not the water; I can sing with the birds, but not with the fountain. But you promised to call me,—that you would always call me.”