THE chinampa, at its anchorage, swung lightly, like an
Indian cradle pendulous in the air. Over it stooped the
night, its wings of darkness brilliant with the plumage of
stars. The fire in the city kindled by Cortes still fitfully
reddened the horizon in that direction, — a direful answer
to those who, remembering the sweetness of peace in the
beautiful valley, prayed for its return with the morning.

Yeteve, in the hammock, had lulled herself into the sleep
of dreams; while, in the canoe, Hualpa and the oarsmen
slept the sleep of the warrior and laborer, — the sleep too
deep for dreams. Only Tula and the 'tzin kept vigils.

Just outside the canopy, in sight of the meridian stars,
and where the night winds came sighing through the thicket
of flowers, a petate had been spread for them; and now
she listened, while he, lying at length, his head in her lap,
talked of the sorrowful time that had befallen.

He told her of the mantas, and their destruction; of how
Hualpa had made way to the presence of Nenetzin, and
how she had saved his life; and as the narrative went on,
the listener's head drooped low over the speaker's face, and

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there were sighs and tears which might have been apportioned
between the lost sister and the unhappy lover; he told
of the attack upon the palace, and of the fall of Iztlil', and
how, when the victory was won, Malinche flung the gods
from the temple, and so terrified the companies that they
fled.

“Then, O Tula, my hopes fell down. A people without
gods, broken in spirit, and with duty divided between two
kings, are but grass to be trodden. And Io,' — so young,
so brave, so faithful —”

He paused, and there was a long silence, devoted to the
prince's memory. Then he resumed, —

“In looking out over the lake, you may have noticed that
the city has been girdled with men in canoes, — an army,
indeed, unaffected by the awful spectacle of the overthrow
of the gods. I brought them up, and in their places sent
the companies that had failed me. So, as the sun went
down, I was able to pour fresh thousands upon Malinche.
How I rejoiced to see them pass the wall with Hualpa, and
grapple with the strangers! All my hopes came back again.
That the enemy fought feebly was not a fancy. Watching,
wounds, battle, and care have wrought upon them. They
are wasting away. A little longer, — two days, — a day
even, — patience, sweetheart, patience!”

There was silence again, — the golden silence of lovers,
under the stars, hand-in-hand, dreaming.

The 'tzin broke the spell to say, in lower tones and with
longer intervals, —

“Men must worship, O Tula, and there can be no worship
without faith. So I had next to renew the sacred fire and
restore the gods. The first was easy: I had only to start a
flame from the embers of the sanctuaries; the fire that
burned them was borrowed from that kept immemorially on
the old altars. The next duty was harder. The images

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were not of themselves more estimable than other stones;
neither were the jewels that adorned them more precious
than others of the same kind: their sanctity was from faith
alone. The art of arts is to evoke the faith of men: make
me, O sweetheart, make me master of that art, and, as the
least of possibilities, I will make gods of things least godly.
In the places where they had fallen, at the foot of the
temple, I set the images up, and gave each an altar, with
censers, holy fire, and all the furniture of worship. By and
by, they shall be raised again to the azoteas; and when we
renew the empire, we will build for them sanctuaries richer
even than those of Cholula. If the faith of our people
demand more, then —”

He hesitated.

“Then, what?” she asked.

He shuddered, and said lower than ever, “I will unseal
the caverns of Quetzal', and, — more I cannot answer now.”

The influence of Mualox was upon him yet.

“And if that fail?” she persisted.

Not until the stars at the time overhead had passed and
been succeeded by others as lustrous, did he answer, —

“And if that fail? Then we will build a temple, — one
without images, — a temple to the One Supreme God. So,
O Tula, shall the prophecy of the king, your father, be fulfilled
in our day.”

And with that up sprang a breeze of summery warmth,
lingering awhile to wanton with the tresses of the willow,
and swing the flowery island half round the circle of its
anchorage; and from the soothing hand on his forehead,
or the reposeful motion of the chinampa, the languor of
sleep stole upon his senses; yet recollection of the battle
and its cares was hard to be put away: —

“I should have told you,” he said, in a vanishing voice,
“that when the companies abandoned us, I went first to see

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our uncle, the lord Cuitlahua. The guards at the door refused
me admittance; the king was sick, they said.”

A tremor shook the hand on his forehead, and larger grew
the great eyes bending over him.

“Did they say of what he was sick?” she asked.

“Of the plague.”

“And what is that?”

“Death,” he answered, and next moment fell asleep.

Over her heart, to hush the loudness of its beating, she
clasped her hands; for out of the chamber of the almost
forgotten, actual as in life, stalked Mualox, the paba, saying,
as once on the temple he said, “You shall be queen in your
father's palace.” She saw his beard of fleecy white, and his
eyes of mystery, and asked herself again and again, “Was
he indeed a prophet?”

And the loving child and faithful subject strove hard to
hide from the alluring promise, for in its way she descried
two living kings, her father and her uncle; but it sought her
continually, and found her, and at last held her as a dream
holds a sleeper, — held her until the stars heralded the
dawn, and the 'tzin awoke to go back to the city, back to
the battle, — from love to battle.