"Oh Manco—that is terrible! But the stars?"
"Ay—the stars—the stars, Oneiza! They, too, were there, large and lustrous as thine own eyes; and our fathers, as they lay at night by the margin of some lonely well, watched them in their courses, until they learned to read the mysterious symbol-book of heaven, and drew strange knowledge front the aspect of the sidereal junctions."
"And thou, too, hast this knowledge Manco?"
"Little foolish one! Wouldst thou have me more ignorant than my ancestry? It was taught me by one who had watched the heavens for a whole year from the flaming top of Atlpacaca; and long ago he foretold that danger for Peru which I now see depending in the midst of yonder constellation."
"Danger for Peru? Oh Manco!"
"Ay, love, but not for thee. Look a little lower. See that star, sometimes hidden for a moment by the waving branch of the cactus. How mild and clear it is, like the eye of a happy spirit! Mark how bright it sparkles, in the ether far; that, my own Oneiza, is thy natal star!"
"And which is thine, dearest?"
"The stars," replied Manco, proudly, "have no influence over the destiny of the children of the sun! He that would read our fate, must gaze steadfastly upon the orb of the great luminary of the heavens, and not shrink, although the rays pierce hot and dazzlingly through his brain. But enough of this, beloved! Let us to our rest. The dew is falling heavily upon my plume, and thy tresses too are damp."
"Oh Manco!—I would fain tell thee something—"
"Speak, darling."