THE 'tzin Guatamo sat at breakfast alone in his palace
near Iztapalapan. The fare was simple, — a pheasant,
bread of maize, oranges and bananas, and water from the
spring; and the repast would have been soon despatched but
for the announcement, by a slave in waiting, of the lord
Hualpa. At mention of the name the 'tzin's countenance
assumed a glad expression.

“The lord Hualpa! The gods be praised! Bid him
come.”

Directly the visitor appeared at the door, and paused
there, his eyes fixed upon the floor, his body bent, like one
half risen from a salutation. The 'tzin went to him, and
taking his hand said, —

“Welcome, comrade. Come and account for yourself.
I know not yet how to punish you; but for the present,
sit there, and eat. If you come from Tenochtitlan this
morning, you must bring with you the appetite which is one
of the blessings of the lake. Sit, and I will order your
breakfast.”

“No, good 'tzin, not for me, I pray you. I am from the
lake, but do not bring any blessing.”

The 'tzin resumed his seat, looking searchingly and curiously
at his guest, and pained by his manner and appearance.
His face was careworn; his frame bent and emaciated;

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his look constantly downward; the voice feeble and of
uncertain tone; in short, his aspect was that of one come
up from a battle in which shame and grief had striven with
youth of body and soul, and, fierce as the struggle had been,
the end was not yet. He was the counterpart of his former
self.

“You have been sick,” said the 'tzin, afterwhile.

“Very sick, in spirit,” replied Hualpa, without raising his
eyes.

The 'tzin went on. “After your desertion, I caused inquiry
to be made for you everywhere, — at the Chalcan's,
and at your palace. No one could give me any tidings. I
sent a messenger to Tihuanco, and your father was no better
informed. Your truancy has been grievous to your friends,
no less than to yourself. I have a right to call you to
account.”

“So you have; only let us to the garden. The air outside
is sweet, and there is a relief in freedom from walls.”

From habit, I suppose, they proceeded to the arena set
apart for military exercise. No one was there. The 'tzin
seated himself on a bench, making room for Hualpa, who
still declined the courtesy, saying, —

“I will give an account of myself to you, brave 'tzin, not
only because I should, but because I stand in need of your
counsel. Look for nothing strange; mine is a simple story
of shame and failure. You know its origin already. You
remember the last night I spent with you here. I do, at
least. That day the king made me happier than I shall ever
be again. When I met you at the landing, the kiss of my
betrothed was sweet upon my lips, and I had but one sorrow
in the world, — that you were an exile, and could not
take part, as you so wished and deserved, in the battle which
my hand was to precipitate next noon. I left you, and by
dawn was at my post in the temple. The hours were long.

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At last the time came. All was ready. The ten thousand
warriors chosen for the assault were in their quarters.
The lord Cuitlahua was in the tower of Huitzil', with the
teotuctli and his pabas, at prayer. We awaited only the
king's word. Finally, Io' appeared. I saw him coming. I
raised the stick, my blood was warm, another instant and
the signal would have been given —” Hualpa's voice trembled,
and he stopped.

“Go on,” said the 'tzin. “What restrained you?”

“I remembered the words of the king, — `Io' will come
to you at noon with my commands,' — those were the
words. I waited. `Strike!' said Io'. `The command, —
quick!' I cried. `As you love life, strike!' he shouted.
Something unusual had taken place; I hesitated. `Does
the king so command?' I asked. `Time never was as
precious! Give me the stick!' he replied. But the duty
was mine. `With your own hand give the signal,' — such
was the order. I resisted, and he gave over the effort,
and, throwing himself at my feet, prayed me to strike. I
refused the prayer, also. Suddenly he sprang up, and
ran out to the verge of the temple overlooking the street.
Lest he should cast himself off, I followed. He turned to
me, as I approached, and cried, with upraised hands, `Too
late, too late! We are undone. Look where they carry
him off!' `Whom?' I asked. `The king — my father—
a prisoner!' Below, past the coatapantli, the royal palanquin
was being borne, guarded by the strangers. The blood
stood still in my heart. I turned to the prince; he was
gone. A sense of calamity seized me. I ran to the tower,
and called the lord Cuitlahua, who was in time to see the
procession. I shall never forget the awful look he gave me,
or his words.” Hualpa again paused.

“What were they?” asked the 'tzin.

“`My lord Hualpa,' he said, `had you given the signal

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when Io' came to you first, I could have interposed my companies,
and saved him. It is now too late; he is lost.
May the gods forgive you! A ruined country cannot.'”

“Said he so?” exclaimed the 'tzin, indignantly. “By all
the gods, he was wrong!”

At these words, Hualpa for the first time dared look into
the 'tzin's face, surprised, glad, yet doubtful.

“How?” he asked. “Did you say I was right?”

“Yes.”

Tears glistened in the Tihuancan's eyes, and he seized and
kissed his friend's hand with transport.

“I begin to understand you,” the 'tzin said, still more
kindly. “You thought it your fault that the king was a
prisoner; you fled for shame.”

“Yes, — for shame.”

“My poor friend!”

“But consider,” said Hualpa, — “consider how rapidly I
had risen, and to what height. Admitting my self-accusations,
when before did man fall so far and so low? What
wonder that I fled?

“Well, you have my judgment. Seat yourself, and hear
me further.”

Hualpa took the seat this time; after which the 'tzin continued.
“The seizure was made in the palace. The king
yielded to threats of death. He could not resist. While
the strangers were bearing him past the teocallis, and you
were looking at them, their weapons were at his throat.
Had you yielded to Io's prayer, and given the signal, and
had Cuitlahua obeyed, and with his bands attempted a
rescue, your benefactor would have been slain. Do not
think me dealing in conjectures. I went to him in the
street, and prayed to be allowed to save him; he forbade me.
Therefore, hold not yourself in scorn; be happy; you saved
his life a second time.”

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Again Hualpa gave way to his gratitude.

“Nor is that all,” the 'tzin continued. “In my opinion,
the last rescue was nobler than the first. As to the lord
Cuitlahua, be at rest. He was not himself when he chid
you so cruelly; he now thinks as I do; he exonerates
you; his messengers have frequently come, asking if you
had returned. So, no more of shame. Give me now what
else you did.”

The sudden recall to the past appeared to throw Hualpa
back; his head sunk upon his breast again, and for a time
he was silent; at length he replied, “As I see now, good
'tzin, I have been very foolish. Before I go on, assure me
that you will listen with charity.”

“With charity and love.”

“I have hardly the composure to tell what more I
did; yet the story will come to you in some form. Judge
me mercifully, and let the subject be never again recalled.”

“You have spoken.”

“Very well. I have told you the words of the lord Cuitlahua;
they burnt me, like fire. Thinking myself forever
disgraced, I descended from the azoteas to the street, and
there saw the people's confusion, and heard their cries and
curses. I could not endure myself. I fled the city, like a
guilty wretch. Instinctively, I hurried to Tihuanco. There
I avoided every habitation, even my father's. News of evil
travels fast. The old merchant, I knew, must needs hear of
the king's seizure and what I regarded as my crime. So
I cared not to meet his eyes. I passed the days in the
jungles hunting, but the charm of the old occupation was
gone; somehow my arrows flew amiss, and my limbs refused
a long pursuit. How I subsisted, I scarcely know. At last,
however, my ideas began to take form, and I was able to interrogate
myself. Through the king's bounty, I was a lord,

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and owner of a palace; by his favor, I further reflected,
Nenetzin was bound to me in solemn betrothal. What would
she think of me? What right had I, so responsible for his
great misfortune, to retain his gifts? I could release her
from the odious engagement. At his feet I could lay down
the title and property; and then, if you refused me as a soldier
or slave, I could hide myself somewhere; for the griefstruck
and unhappy, like me, earth has its caverns and ocean
its islands. And so once more I hurried to Tenochtitlan.
Yesterday I crossed the lake. From the Chalcan I heard
the story which alone was needed to make my humiliation
complete, — how Nenetzin, false to me, betrayed the great
purpose of her father, betook herself to the stranger's house,
adopted his religion, and became his wife or — spare me the
word, good 'tzin. After that, I lost no time, but went to
the palace, made way through the pale-faced guards at the
gate and doors, each of whom seemed placed there to attest
the good king's condition and my infamy. Suitors
and lords of all degrees crowded the audience-chamber when
I entered, and upon every face was the same look of sorrow
and dejection which I had noticed upon the faces of the
people whom I passed in the street. All who turned eyes
upon me appeared to become accusers, and say, `Traitor, behold
thy victim!' Imagine the pressure upon my spirit. I
made haste to get away, — unseemly haste. What my salutation
was I hardly know. I only remember that, in some
form of speech, I publicly resigned all his honorable gifts. I
remember, also, that when I took what I thought was my last
look at him, — friend, patron, king, father, — may the gods,
who have forbidden the relation, forgive the allusion! —
I could not see him for tears. My heart is in my throat
now; then it nearly choked me. And so ends my account.
And once more, true friend, I come to you, Hualpa, the
Tihuancan, without title, palace, or privilege; without

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distinction, except as the hero and victim of a marvellous fortune.”

The 'tzin was too deeply touched, too full of sympathy, to
reply immediately. He arose, and paced the arena awhile.
Resuming his seat again, he asked simply, “And what said
the king?”

“To what?”

“Your resignation.”

“He refused to take back his gifts. They could not revert,
he said, except for crime.”

“And he was right. You should have known him better.
A king cannot revoke a gift in any form.”

After a spell of silence, the 'tzin spoke again.

“One matter remains. You are not guilty, as you supposed;
your friends have not lost their faith in you; such
being the case, it were strange if your feelings are as when
you came here; and as purposes too often follow feelings, I
ask about the future. What do you intend? What wish?”

“I see you understand me well, good 'tzin. My folly has
been so great that I feel myself unworthy to be my own master.
I ought not to claim a purpose, much less a wish. I
came to your door seeking to be taken back into service;
that was all the purpose I had. I rely upon your exceeding
kindness.”

Hualpa moved as if to kneel; but the 'tzin caught him,
and said, “Keep your seat.” And rising, he continued, severely,
“Lord Hualpa, — for such you still are, — all men,
even the best, are criminals; but as for the most part their
crimes are against themselves, we take no notice of them.
In that sense you are guilty, and in such degree that you
deserve forfeiture of all the king refused to take back. Put
pass we that, — pass the folly, the misconduct. I will not
take you into service; you have your old place of friend and
comrade, more fitting your rank.”

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Hualpa's face brightened, and he answered, —

“Command me, O 'tzin! With you I can be brave warrior,
good citizen, true friend; without you, I am nothing.
Whatever the world thinks of me, this I know, — I
can reinstate myself in its good opinion before I can in
my own. Show me the way back to self-respect; restore
me that, and I will be your slave, soldier, comrade, — what
you will.”

“It is well,” said Guatamozin, smiling at his earnestness.
“It is well. I can show you the way. Listen. The war,
about which we have so often talked, thanks to the gods! is
finally at hand. The public opinion has done its work. The
whole nation would throw itself upon the strangers to-morrow,
but for the king, who has become their shield; and he
must be rescued; otherwise, we must educate the people to
see in him an enemy to be removed. We cannot spare the
time for that, and consequently have tried rescue in many
ways, so far in vain. To-morrow we try again. The plot
is arranged and cannot fail, except by the king's own default.
Reserving explanation, I congratulate you. You are in
time; the good fortune clings to you. To-morrow I will set
your feet in the way you seek.”

Hualpa gazed at him doubtingly. “To-morrow!” he said.
“Will you trust me so soon, and in a matter so high?”

“Yes.”

“Will my part take me from you?”

“No.”

“Then I thank you for the opportunity. On the teocallis,
that dreadful morning, I lost my assurance; whether it will
ever return is doubtful; but with you, at your side, I dare
walk in any way.”

“I understand you,” the 'tzin replied. “Go now, and get
ready. Unless the king fail us, we will have combat requiring
all our strength. To the bath first, then to breakfast,

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then to find more seemly garments, then to rest. I give
you to midnight. Go.”