Mamcuna looked puzzled. The sentiment was too fine for her comprehension.
“You talk foolishness, señor. No man would run into danger for a woman whom he did not desire to make his own.”
“I had no desire to make Señora de la Vega my wife. I would have done the same for any other woman.”
“For any other woman! Would you risk your life for me, señor?”
“Surely, Mamcuna, if you were in sorrow or distress and I could do you any good thereby.”
“It is well, señor; your voice has the ring of truth,” said the queen, softly, and with a gratified smile, “and inasmuch as you went not away with Chimu’s pale-faced wife, but let her depart with the negro—”
“The señor would have gone also had we not hindered him,” interposed Chimu’s kinsman. “We saw him lift the woman into the saddle, and he was turning to follow her when Lurin caught him with the lasso.”
“Is this true; would you have gone with the woman?” asked the queen, sternly, her smile changing into an ominous frown.
“It is true; but let me explain—”
“Enough; I will not hear another word. So you would have left me, a daughter of the Incas, who have honored you above all other men, and gone away with a woman you say you do not love! Your heart is full of deceit, your mouth runs over with lies. You shall die; so shall the white woman and the black slave. Where are they? Bring them hither.”