“No, little one,” he said almost tenderly, “you and I won’t fight. You bees belong to a powerful nation, but man for man we hornets are stronger. To do single battle with a bee would be beneath our dignity. If you like you may stay here a little while and chat. But only a little while. Soon I’ll have to wake the soldiers up; then, back to your cell you must go.”
How curious! The hornet’s lofty friendliness disarmed Maya more than anger or hate could have done. The feeling with which he inspired her was almost admiration. With great sad eyes she looked up at her enemy, and constrained, as always, to follow the impulses of her heart, she said:
“I have always heard bad things about hornets. But you are not bad. I can’t believe you’re bad.”
The warrior looked at Maya.
“There are good people and bad people everywhere,” he said, gravely. “But you mustn’t forget we are your enemies, and shall always remain your enemies.”
“Must an enemy always be bad?” asked Maya. “Before, when you were looking out into the moonlight, I forgot that you were hard and dangerous. You seemed sad, and I have always thought that people who were sad couldn’t possibly be wicked.”
The sentinel said nothing, and Maya continued more boldly:
“You are powerful. If you want to, you can put me back in my cell, and I’ll have to die. But you can also set me free—if you want to.”
At this the warrior drew himself up. His armor clanked, and the arm he raised shone in the moonlight.
But the moonlight was turning dimmer in the passageway. Was dawn coming already?