“That is part of the mystery. I never saw him before; nor, until I told the story to the ’tzin, did I know the paba. Now, O sister, can the believer of a dream refuse to believe a priest and prophet?”
“A queen! You a queen! I will kiss you now, and pray for you then.” And they threw their arms lovingly around each other.
Then the bird above them awoke, and, with a fluttering of its scarlet wings, cried, “Guatamo! Guatamo!”—taught it by the patient love of Tula.
“O, what a time that will be!” Nenetzin went on, with sparkling eyes. “What a garden we will make of Anahuac! How happy we shall be! None but the brave and beautiful shall come around us; for you will be queen, my Tula.”
“Yes; and Nenetzin shall have a lord, he whom she loves best, for she will be as peerless as I am powerful,” answered Tula, humoring the mood. “Whom will she take? Let us decide now,—there are so many to choose from. What says she to Cacama, lord of Tezcuco?”
The girl made no answer.
“There is the lord of Chinantla, once a king, who has already asked our father for a wife.”
Still Nenetzin was silent.
“Neither of them! Then there are left but the lord of Tlacopan, and Iztlil’, the Tezcucan.”
At the mention of the last name, a strong expression of disgust burst from Nenetzin.