“My thanks to you, Señor. To you I give the prayer beads––it is good to give them to you. More than that is not for me to do. My work takes me from where the feast songs are sung.”
Then he wrapped about him the white robe made of deer skins, and it was as if he had enshrouded himself in silence not to be broken.
With reluctance Don Ruy went up the ladder and left him there. The sweetness of the outer air was good after the reek of many smokes in the kiva––and the adventurer stood on the terrace and drew great breaths and gazed across the tree fringed water, and thought it all a goodly sight well worth the jealousy of the pagan guardian.
Don Diego had accompanied the padre to their own quarters, but Juan Gonzalvo was across the court speaking quietly to Yahn Tsyn-deh whose vanity required some soothing that she had been shut out by Tahn-té from council and her coveted official tasks.
At the wall of the terrace waited the secretary in some hesitation, yet striving for boyish courage to speak the things outside the duty of his office.
“Your pardon, Excellency,” he said lowly. “It is not for me to advise, but I heard some words of the two over there––may I speak?”
“Yes, my lad, and quickly as may be. Their two heads are over close together for discretion. I fear I shall have the task and expense of providing a duenna for my beauteous interpreter.”
“Little enough of love there is with that dame!” commented the other,––“it is hate––your Excellency––and for you to say whether their private hates may not be a breeder of woe for all of us.”
“You mean––?”––and Don Ruy motioned with his head towards the kiva.