“Well?”
“A hope of seeing the white face and blue eyes.”
“I begin to understand you, Nenetzin. But go on: what is it I know?”
“What I dreamed,—a great warrior, who loves you. You will see him to-night, and then, O Tula,—then you may tell of the feeling that thrilled me so in my dream.”
And with a blush and a laugh, she laid her face in Tula’s bosom.
Both were silent awhile, Nenetzin with her face hidden, and Tula looking wistfully up at the parrot swinging lazily in the perch. The dream was singular, and made an impression on the mind of the one as it had on the heart of the other.
“Look up, O Nenetzin!” said Tula, after a while. “Look up, and I will tell you something that has seemed as strange to me as the dream to you.”
“Did you ever see Mualox, the old paba of Quetzal’? No? Well, he is said to be a prophet; a look of his will make a warrior tremble. He is the friend of Guatamozin, who always goes to his shrine to worship the god. I went there once to make an offering. I climbed the steps, went in where the image is, laid my gift on the altar, and turned to depart, when a man came and stood by the door, wearing a surplice, and with long, flowing white beard. He looked at me, then bowed, and kissed the pavement at my feet. I shrank away. ‘Fear not, O Tula!’ he said. ‘I bow to you, not for what you are, but for what you shall be. You shall be queen in your father’s palace!’ With that he arose, and left me to descend.”
“Said he so? How did he know you were Tula, the king’s daughter?”