up the hall, the crowd of nobles and ladies opening a path till we
stood before the throne. Here he uncovered himself, as we did also,
and standing sideways, so that he could be seen both by Tikal and all
that company, he opened his lips to speak. Before a word could pass
them a cry of astonishment broke from the nobles, and of a sudden the
sceptre fell from the hand of Tikal and rolled along the floor.

“Zibalbay!” said the cry. “It is Zibalbay come back, or the ghost of
him, and with him the Lady of the Heart!”

“Aye, nobles,” he said, in a quiet voice, although his hand shook with
rage, “it is I, Zibalbay, your lord, come home, and not too soon, as
it would seem. What, my nephew, were you so hungry for my place and
power, that you must break the oath you swore upon the Heart, and
seize them before the appointed time? And you, Mattai, have you lost
your skill, or have the gods smitten you with a curse, that you
prophesy falsely, saying that it was written in the stars that we who
are alive were dead, thereby lifting up your daughter to the seat of
the Lady of the Heart. Nay, do not answer me. Standing yonder I have
heard all your story. I say to you, Tikal, that you are a foresworn
traitor, and to you, Mattai, that you are a charlatan and a liar, who
have dared to use the holy art for your own ends, and the advancement
of your house. On both of you will I be avenged,--aye, and on all
those who have abetted you in your crimes. Guards, seize that man, and
the Lord Mattai with him, and let them be held fast till I shall judge
them.”

 [image: img_209.jpg
 caption: ‘It is I, Zibalbay, your lord, come home.’]

Now the soldiers that stood on either side of the thrones hesitated
for a moment, and then advanced towards Tikal as though to lay hands
upon him in obedience to Zibalbay’s order. But Nahua rose and waved
them off, saying:

“What! dare you to touch your anointed lord? Back, I say to you, if
you would save yourselves from the doom of sacrilege. Living or dead,
the day of Zibalbay is done, for the Council of the Heart has set his
crown upon the brow of Tikal, and, whether for good or ill, their
decree cannot be changed.”

“Aye!” said Tikal, whose courage had come back to him. “The Lady Nahua
speaks truth. Touch me not if you would live to look upon the sun.”

But all the while he spoke his eyes were fixed upon Maya, whose
beautiful face he watched as though it were that of some lost love
risen from the dead.

Now, as Zibalbay was about to speak again, Mattai the astronomer bowed
before him and said:

“Be not angry, but hear me, my lord. You have travelled far, and you
are weary, and a weary man is apt at wrath. You think that you have
been wronged, and, doubtless, all this that has chanced is strange to
you, but now is not the time for us to give count of our acts and
stewardship, or for you to hearken. Rest this night; and to-morrow on
the pyramid, in the presence of the people, all things shall be made
clear to you, and justice be done to all. Welcome to you, Zibalbay,
and to you also, Daughter of the Heart,--and say, who are these
strangers that you bring with you from the desert lands across the
mountains?”

Zibalbay paused awhile, looking round him out of the corners of his
eyes, like a wolf in a trap, for he sought to discover the temper of
the nobles. Then, finding that there were but few present whom he
could trust to help him, he lifted his head and answered:

“You are right, Mattai, I am weary; for age, travel, and the
faithlessness of men have worn me out. To-morrow these matters shall
be dealt with in the presence of the people, and there, before the
altar, it shall be made known whether I am their lord, or you, Tikal.
There, too, I will tell you who these strangers are, and why I have
brought them across the mountains. Until then I leave them in your
keeping, for your own sake charging you to keep them well. Nay, here I
will neither eat nor drink. Do you come with me,” and he called to
certain lords by name whom he knew to be faithful to him.

Then, without more words, he turned and left the hall, followed by a
number of the nobles.

“It seems that my father has forgotten me,” said Maya, with a laugh,
when he had gone. “Greeting to you all, friends, and to you, my
cousin, Tikal, and greeting also to your wife, Nahua, who, once my
waiting-lady, by the gift of fortune has now been lifted up to take my
place and title. Whatever may be the issue of these broils, may you be
happy in each other’s love, Tikal and Nahua.”

Now Tikal descended from the throne and bowed before her, saying, “I
swear to you, Maya----”

“No, do not swear,” she broke in, “but give me and my friends here a
cup of wine and some fragments from your wedding-feast, for we are
hungry. I thank you. How beautiful is that bride’s robe which Nahua
wears, and--surely--those emeralds were once my own. Well, let her
take them from me as a wedding-gift. Make room, I pray you, Tikal, and
suffer these ladies to tell me of their tidings, for remember that I
have wandered far, and it is pleasant to see faces that are dear to
me.”

For awhile we sat and ate, or made pretence to eat, while Maya talked
thus lightly and all that company watched us, for we were wonderful in
their eyes, who never till now had seen a white man. Indeed, the sight
of the señor, auburn-haired, long-bearded, and white-skinned, was so
marvellous to them, that, unlike the common people, they forgot their
courtesy and crowded round him in their amazement. Still, there were
two who took small note of the señor or of me, and these were Tikal,
who gazed at Maya as he stood behind her chair serving her like some
waiting slave, and Nahua his wife, who sat silent and neglected on her
throne, sullenly noting his every word and gesture. At length she
could bear this play no longer, but, rising from her seat, began to
move down the chamber.

“Make room for the bride, ladies,” said Maya. “Cousin, good-night, it
grows late, and your wife awaits you.”

Then, muttering I know not what, Tikal turned and went, and side by
side the pair walked down the great hall, followed by their guard of
soldiers.

“How beautiful is the bride, and how brave the groom!” said Maya, as
she watched them go, “and yet I have seen couples that looked happier
on their wedding-day. Well, it is time to rest. Friends, good-night.
Mattai, I leave these strangers in your keeping. Guard them well--and,
stay, bring them to my apartments to-morrow after they have eaten, for
if it is my father’s will, I would show them something of the city
before the hour of noon, when we meet upon the temple-top.”

When she had gone, Mattai bowed to us with much ceremony and begged us
to follow him, which we did, across the courtyard and through many
passages, to a beautiful chamber, dimly lighted with silver lamps,
that had been made ready for us. Here were beds covered with silken
wrappings, and on a table in the centre of the room cool drinks and
many sorts of fruits, but so tired were we that we took little note of
these things.

Bidding good-night to Mattai, who looked at us curiously and announced
that he would visit us early in the morning, we made fast the copper
bolts upon the door and threw ourselves upon the beds.

Weary as I was, I could not sleep in this strange place, and when,
from time to time, my eyes closed, the sound of feet passing without
our chamber door roused me again to wakefulness. Of one thing I was
sure, that Zibalbay was not wanted here in his own city, and that
there would be trouble on the morrow when he told his tale to the
people, for certainly Tikal would not suffer himself easily to be
thrust from the place he had usurped, and he had many friends.
Doubtless it was their feet that I heard outside the door as they
hurried to and fro from the chamber where Mattai sat taking counsel
with them. What would be our fate, I wondered, in this struggle for
power that must come? These people feared strangers--so much I could
read in their faces--and doubtless they would be rid of us if they
might. Well, we had a good friend in Maya, and the rest we must leave
to Providence.

Thinking thus, at length I fell asleep, to be awakened by the voice of
the señor, who was sitting upon the edge of his bed, singing a song
and looking round the chamber, for now the daylight streamed through
the lattices. I wished him good-morrow, and asked him why he sang.

“Because of the lightness of my heart,” he answered. “We have reached
the city at last, and it is far more splendid and wonderful than
anything I dreamed of. Also the luck is with us, for this Tikal has
taken another woman in marriage, who, to judge from the look of her,
will not readily let him go, and therefore Maya has no more to fear
from him. Thirdly, there is enough treasure in this town, if what we
saw last night may be taken as a sample, to enable you to establish
three Indian Empires, if you wish, and doubtless Zibalbay will give
you as much of it as you may want. Therefore, friend Ignatio, you
should sing, as I do, instead of looking as gloomy as though you saw
your own coffin being brought in at the door.”

I shook my head, and answered:

“I fear you speak lightly. There is trouble brewing in this city, and
we shall be drawn into it, for the struggle between Tikal and Zibalbay
will be to the death. As for the Lady Maya, of this I am certain,
that--wife or no wife--Tikal still loves her and will strive to take
her; I saw it in his eyes last night. Lastly, it is true enough that
here there is boundless wealth; but whether its owners will suffer me
to have any portion of it, to forward my great purposes,--useless
though it be to them,--is another matter.”

“There was a man in the Bible called Job, and he had a friend named
Eliphaz,--I think you are that friend come to life again, Ignatio,”
answered the señor, laughing. “For my part, I mean to make the best
of the present, and not to trouble myself about the future or the
politics of this benighted people. But hark, there is someone knocking
at the door.”

I rose, and undid the bolt, whereon attendants entered bearing goblets
of chocolate, and little cakes upon a tray. After we had eaten, they
led us to the baths, which were of marble and very beautiful, one of
them being filled with water from a warm spring, and then to a
chamber, where breakfast was made ready for us. While we sat at table,
Mattai came to us, and I saw that he had not slept that night, for his
eyes were heavy.

“I trust that you have rested well, strangers,” he said courteously.

“Yes, lord,” I answered.

“Well, it is more than I have done, for it is my business to watch the
stars, especially my own star, which just now is somewhat obscured,”
and he smiled. “If you have finished your meal, my commands are to
lead you to the apartments of the Lady Maya, who wishes to show you
something of our city, which, being strangers, may interest you. By
the way, if I do not ask too much, perhaps you will tell me to what
race you belong,” and he bowed towards the señor. “We have heard of
white men here, though we have learned no good of them, and tradition
tells us that our first ruler, Cucumatz, was of this race. Are you of
his blood, stranger?”

“I do not know,” answered the señor, laughing. “I come from a cold
country far beyond the sea, where all the men are as I am.”

“Then the inhabitants of that country must be goodly to behold,”
answered Mattai gravely. “I thank you for your courtesy, Son of the
Sea, in answering my question so readily. I did not ask it from
curiosity alone, since the people in this city are terrified of
strangers, and clamour for some account of you.”

“Doubtless our friend Zibalbay will satisfy them,” I said.

“Good. Now be pleased to follow me,”--and Mattai led us across courts
and through passages till we reached a little ante-room filled with
ancient carvings and decorated with flowers, where some girls stood
chatting.

“Tell the Lady Maya that her guests await her,” said Mattai, then
turned to take his departure, adding, in a low voice, “doubtless we
shall meet at noon upon the pyramid, and there you will see I know not
what; but, whatever befalls, be sure of this, strangers, that I will
protect you if I can. Farewell.”

One of the girls vanished through a doorway at the further end of the
chamber, and, having offered us seats, the others stood together at a
little distance, watching us out of the corners of their eyes.
Presently the door opened, and through it came Maya, wearing a silken
_serape_ that covered her head and shoulders and looking very sweet
and beautiful in the shaded light of the room.

“Greeting, friends,” she said, as we bowed before her. “I have my
father’s leave to show you something of this city that you longed so
much to see. These ladies here will accompany us, and a guard, but we
shall want no litters until we have ascended the great temple, for I
desire that you should see the view from thence before the place is
cumbered with the multitude. Come, if you are ready.”

Accordingly we set out, Maya walking between us, while her guards and
ladies followed after. Crossing the square, which had been the scene
of the festival of the previous night, but now in the early morning
was almost deserted, we came to the inclosure of the court-yard of the
pyramid, a limestone wall worked with sculptures of hunting scenes,
relieved by a border of writhing snakes, and at intervals by emblems
of the Heart. At the gateway of this wall we paused to contemplate the
mighty mass of the pyramid that towered above us. There is one in the
land of Egypt that is bigger, so said the señor, although he believed
this to be a more wonderful sight because of its glittering slopes of
limestone, whose expanse was broken only by the vast stair that ran up
its eastern face from base to summit.

“It is a great building,” said Maya, noting our astonishment, “and one
that could not be reared in these days. Tradition says that
five-and-twenty thousand men worked on it for fifty years--twenty
thousand of them cutting and carrying the stone, and five thousand
laying the blocks.”

“Where did the material come from, then?” asked the señor.

“Some of it was hewn from beneath the base of the temple itself,” she
answered, “but the most was borne in big canoes from quarries on the
mainland, for these quarries can still be seen.”

“Is the pyramid hollow, then?” I asked.

“Yes, in it are many chambers, for the most part store and treasure
houses, and beneath its base lie crypts, the burying-place of the
_caciques_, their wives, and children. There also is the Holy
Sanctuary of the Heart, which you, being of the Brotherhood, may
perhaps be permitted to visit. Come, let us climb the stair,”--and she
led us across the court-yard to the foot of a stairway forty feet or
more in breadth, which ran to the platform of the pyramid in six
flights, each of fifty steps, and linked together by resting-places.

Up these flights we toiled slowly, followed by the ladies and the
guard, till at length our labour was rewarded, and we stood upon the
dizzy edge of the pyramid. Before us was a platform bordered by a low
wall, large enough to give standing room to several thousand people.
On the western side of this platform stood a small marble house, used
as a place to store fuel, and as a watch-tower by the priests, who
were on duty day and night, tending the sacred fire which flared in a
brazier from its roof. Situated at some distance from this house, and
immediately in front of it, was a small altar wreathed with flowers,
but for the rest the area was empty.

“Look,” said Maya.

The city beneath us was built upon a low, heart-shaped island, so
hollow in its centre that once it might have been the crater of some
volcano, or perhaps a mere ridge of land inclosing a lagoon. This
island measured about ten miles in length by six across at its widest,
and seemed to float like a huge green leaf upon the lake, the Holy
Waters of these Indians, of which the circumference is so great that
even from the summit of the pyramid, a few small and rocky islets
excepted, land was only visible to the north, whence we had sailed on
the previous night. Elsewhere the eye met nothing but blue expanses of
inland sea, limitless and desolate, unrelieved by any sail or sign of
life. Amidst these waters the island gleamed like an emerald. Here
were gardens filled with gorgeous flowers and clumps of beautiful
palms and willows, framed by banks of dense green reeds that grew in
the shallows around the shores. So luxuriant was the vegetation,
fertilised year by year with the rich mud of the lake, and so lovely
were the trees and flowers in the soft light of the morning, that the
place seemed like a paradise rather than a home of men; and as was the
island, so was the city that was built upon one end of it.

Following the lines of the land upon which it stood, it was
heart-shaped--a heart of cold, white marble lying within a heart of
glowing green. All about it ran a moat filled with water from the
lake, and on the hither side of this moat stood a wall fifty feet or
more in height, built of great blocks of white limestone that formed
the bed-rock of the island, which wall was everywhere sculptured with
allegorical devices and designs, and the gigantic figures of gods.
Within the oblong of this wall lay the city; a city of palaces,
pyramids, and temples, or rather the remains of it, for we could see
at a glance that the population was unable to keep so many streets and
edifices in repair. Thus palm-trees were to be found growing through
the flat roofs of houses, and in crevices of the temple-pyramids,
while many of the streets and avenues were green with grass and ferns,
a narrow pathway in the centre of them showing how few were the feet
of the passers-by. Even in the great square beneath us the signs of
traffic were rare, and there was little of the bustle of a people
engaged in the business of life, although this very place had been the
scene of last night’s feast, and would again soon be filled with men
and women flocking to the pyramid. Now and again some graceful,
languid girl, a reed basket in her hand, might be seen visiting the
booths, where rations of fish from the lake, or of meal, fruit, dried
venison, and cocoa, were distributed according to the wants of each
family. Or perhaps a party of men, on their way to labour in the
gardens, stopped to smoke and talk together in a fashion that showed
time to be of little value to them. Here and there also a few--a very
few--children played together with flowers for toys in the shadow of
the palaces, barracks, and store-houses which bordered the central
square; but this was all, for the rest the place seemed empty and
asleep.

 CHAPTER XVI.
 ON THE PYRAMID

“Does not the city lie very low?” I asked of Maya, when we had
studied the prospect on every side. “To my eye its houses seem almost
upon a level with the waters of the lake.”

“I believe that is so,” she answered. “Moreover, during those months
of the year that are coming, the surface of the lake rises many feet,
so that the greater part of the island is submerged and the water
stands about the wall.”

“How, then, do you prevent the town from being flooded?” asked the
señor. “If once the water flowed in, the place would vanish and every
soul be drowned.”

“Yes, friend, but the waters never rise beyond a certain height, and
they are kept from flooding the city by the great sluice-gate. If that
gate were to be opened in the time of inundation, then we should
perish, every one. But it never is opened during those months, for if
any would leave or enter the city they do so by means of ladders
leading from the summit of the wall to floating landing-stages on the
moat beneath. Also night and day the gate is guarded; moreover, it can
be moved from one place only by those that know its secret, who are
few.”

“It seems a strange place to build a city,” answered the señor. “I do
not think that I should ever sleep sound during the months of
inundation, knowing that my life depended upon a single gate.”

“Yet men have slept safely here for a thousand years or more,” she
said. “Legend tells us that our ancestors who came up from the coast
in ancient days settled on the island by command of their gods,
choosing this hollow bed of land to build in, so that rather than
submit themselves to foes, as their fathers were forced to do in the
country beyond the mountains, they could, if need were, flood the
place and perish in the water. For this reason it is that the holy
sanctuary of the Nameless god, the Heart of Heaven, is hollowed deep
in the rock beneath us, for the waters of the lake would flow in upon
it at a touch, burying it and all its treasures from the sight of man
for ever. Now, if you have seen enough, I will take you to visit the
public workshops where fish is dried, linen woven, and all other
industries carried on that are necessary to our comfort,”--and,
turning, she led the way with her ladies towards the head of the
stairs.

As we drew near to it, however, three men appeared upon the platform,
in one of whom I knew Tikal. Seeing Maya he advanced toward her,
bowing as he came.

“Lady,” he said, “learning that you were here with these strangers, I
have followed you to beg that you will speak with me alone for some
few minutes.”

“That I cannot do, cousin,” she answered coldly, “for who knows what
colour might afterwards be put upon my words. If you have anything to
say to me, say it before us all.”

“That _I_ cannot do,” he replied, “for what I have to say is secret.
Still, for your father’s sake, and perhaps for your own, you will do
well to hear it.”

“Without a witness I will not listen to you, Tikal.”

“Then, Lady, farewell,” he said, and turned to go.

“Stay, cousin. If you fear to speak before our own people, let this
stranger--” and she pointed to me, Ignatio--“be present at our talk.
He is of our blood, and can understand our tongue, a discreet man,
moreover, one of the Brethren of the Heart.”

“One of the Brethren of the Heart? How can a stranger be a Brother of
the Heart? Prove it to me, wanderer.”

And, drawing me aside, he said certain words, which I answered, giving
him the signs.

“Do you agree?” asked Maya.

“Yes, Lady, since I must, though it pleases me little to open my mind
before a stranger. Let us step apart,”--and he walked to the centre of
the platform, followed by Maya and myself.

“Lady,” he began, “my business with you is not easy to tell. For many
years we were affianced, and both you and your father promised that we
should be wed when you returned from this journey----”

“Surely, as things are, cousin, it is needless to discuss the matter
of our betrothal,” she broke in with sarcasm.

“Not altogether needless, Lady,” he answered. “I have much to ask your
pardon for, yet I make bold to ask it. Maya, you know well that I have
loved and love you dearly, and that no other woman has ever been near
my heart.”

“Indeed,” she said with a laugh, “these words sound strange in the
mouth of the new-made husband of Nahua.”

“Perhaps, Lady, and yet they are true. I am married to Nahua, but I do
not love her, though she loves me. It is you whom I love, and when I
saw you yesterday all my heart went out to you, so that I almost hated
the fair bride at my side.”

“Why, then, did you marry her?”

“Because I must, and because I believed you dead, and your father with
you, as did every man in the city. You and Zibalbay being dead, as I
thought, was it wonderful that I should wish to keep the place that
many were plotting to take from me? This could be done in one way
only, by the help of Mattai, the most clever and the most powerful man
in the city, and this was Mattai’s price, that his daughter should
become the Lady of the Heart. Well, she loved me, she is beautiful,
and she has her father’s strength and foresight, so that among all the
ladies in the land there was none more fitted to be my wife.”

“Well, and you married her, and there’s an end. You ask my
forgiveness, and you have it, seeing that it does not befit me to play
the part of a jealous woman. Doubtless time will soften the blow to
me, Tikal,” she added, mockingly.

“There is not an end, Maya, and I come to ask you to-day to renew your
promise that you will be my wife.”

“What, cousin! Having broken your troth, would you now offer me
insult? Do you then propose that I, the Daughter of the Heart, should
be Nahua’s handmaid?”

“No, I propose that when Nahua is put away you should take her place
and your own.”

“How can this be, seeing that the Lady of the Heart cannot be
divorced?”

“If she ceases to be the Lady of the Heart she can be divorced like
any other woman; at the least, love has no laws, and I will find a
way.”

“The way of death, perhaps. No, I will have none of you. Honour has
laws, Tikal, if love has none. Go back to your wife, and pray that she
may never learn how you would have treated her.”

“Is that your last word, Lady?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because more hangs on it than you know. Listen: Very soon all the men
in the city will be gathered on this place to hear your father’s
words, and to decide whether he or I shall rule. See, already they
assemble in the temple square. Promise to be my wife, and in return I
will yield to your father and he shall be master for his life’s days
and have his way in all things. Refuse, and I will cling to power, and
matters may go badly for him, for you, and--” he added threateningly,
“for these strangers, your friends.”

“All this must befall as it chances,” she answered proudly, “I do not
meddle with such questions, nor do your threats move me. If you are so
base as to plot mischief against an old man who has poured benefits
upon you, plot on, and in due time meet with your reward, but for
myself I tell you that I have done with you, and that, come what may,
I will never be your wife.”

“Perhaps you may yet live to take back those words, Lady,” he said in
a quiet voice; then, with a low obeisance, he turned and went.

“You have made a dangerous enemy, Lady,” I said, when he was out of
earshot.

“I do not fear him, Ignatio.”

“That is well,” I answered, “but for my part I do. I think that his
plans are ready, and that before this day is done there will be
trouble. Indeed, I shall be thankful if we live to see to-morrow’s
light.”

By this time we had reached the others.

“Are you weary of waiting?” she said to the señor, giving him a sweet
look as she spoke. “Well, I should have been happier here than I was
yonder. Give me your hand and lead me down the stair, for I am tired.
Ah, friend, did you but know it, I have just dared more for your sake
than I should have done for my own.”

“What have you dared?” he asked.

“That you will learn in due time, if we live long enough, friend,” she
answered, “but, oh! I would that we had never set foot within this
city.”

Two hours had passed, and, following in the train of Zibalbay and
Maya, who walked beside him, once more we found ourselves upon the
summit of the pyramid. Now, however, it was no longer empty, for on it
were collected men to the number of some thousands; indeed, all the
adult male population of the city. On one side of the altar were
seated Tikal, his bride Nahua, who was the only woman there, and some
hundreds of nobles, all of whom, I noted, were armed and guarded by a
body of soldiers that stood behind them. On the other side were many
vacant places; and as Zibalbay, with Maya and all the great company of
followers that he had gathered, advanced to take them, Tikal and every
man present on the pyramid uncovered their heads and bowed in greeting
to him.

After a few moments’ pause, two priests came forward from the
watch-house behind the altar, and, having laid upon it an offering of
fresh flowers, the elder of them, who was robed in pure white, uttered
a short prayer to the Nameless god, the Heart of Heaven, asking that
he would be pleased to accept the gift, and to send a blessing upon
the deliberations of his people here assembled. Then Zibalbay rose to
address the multitude, and I noted that his fierce face was pale and
anxious, and that his hand shook, although his eyes flashed angrily:

“Nobles and people of the City of the Heart,” he began, “on this day a
year ago, I, your hereditary ruler and _cacique_, and the high-priest
of the Heart of Heaven, left this city on a certain mission. This was
my mission: To find the severed portion of the sacred symbol that lies
in the sanctuary of the temple, the portion that is called Day, which
has been lost for many an age. You know that our race has fallen upon
evil times, and that, year by year, our numbers dwindle, till at
length the end of the people is in sight, seeing that within some few
generations they must die out and be forgotten. You know also the
ancient prophecy, that when once more the two halves of the Symbol of
the Heart, Day and Night, are laid side by side, in their place upon
the altar in the sanctuary, then, from that hour, this people shall
grow great again; and you know how a voice spoke to me, in answer to
my prayers, bidding me, Zibalbay, to wander forth from the country of
the Heart, following the road to the sea, for there I should find that
which was lost.

“Thither, then, having won the permission of my Council, the
Brotherhood of the Heart, I have wandered alone with my daughter, the
Lady Maya, suffering much hardship and danger in my journeyings, and
lo! I have found that which was lost, and brought it back to you, for
here it hangs upon the neck of this Ignatio, who has accompanied me
from the lands beyond the desert.”

Now a murmur of astonishment went up from the multitude, and Zibalbay
paused awhile.

“Of this matter of the finding of the symbol,” he continued, “I will
speak more fully at the proper time, and to those who have a right to
hear it, namely, to the elected Brotherhood of the Heart, in the holy
Sanctuary, on the day of the Rising of Waters, being one of the eight
days in each year on which it is lawful for the Council of the Heart
to meet in the Sanctuary. But first in this hour I will deal with
other questions.

“It is known to you that, when I went upon my mission, I left my
nephew Tikal to sit in my place, it being agreed between us and the
Council that if I should return no more within two years he should
become _cacique_ of the people. I have returned within one year, and I
find this: That already he has allowed himself to be anointed
_cacique_, and more, that he, who was affianced to my daughter, has
taken another woman to be his wife. Last night with my own ears I
heard him proclaim his treachery in the hall of the palace, and when I
spoke out the bitterness that was in my heart, I, your lord, was met
with threats, and told that Tikal, having been anointed, could not now
be deposed. I use the saying against him. Nobles, have I not been
anointed, and ruled over you and the people for many years, and can I
then be deposed,--I, who am not a traitor to my master, nor a
forswearer of my oaths, as is my nephew yonder?”

Again he paused, and some of the audience, with those who had
accompanied Zibalbay, shouted “No;” but the most of them looked
towards Tikal and were silent. Now Mattai rose from his place behind
Tikal and spoke, saying:

“As one who had to do with the anointing of Tikal to be _cacique_ when
we believed you and the Lady Maya to be dead, I would ask you,
Zibalbay, before we on this side of the altar answer you, to tell us
openly what is the meaning of this journey that you have undertaken,
and for what purpose you have brought these two strangers, who are
named Ignatio and Son of the Sea, with you, in defiance of the ancient
law, which says that he who brings a stranger across the mountains
into the land of the City of the Heart shall die, together with the
stranger.”

Now, when Zibalbay heard this question he started, for he had
forgotten this law, and saw the cunning trap that Mattai had spread
for his feet. Nevertheless he answered boldly, since it was his nature
to be outspoken and straightforward.

“It becomes you ill, Mattai, to question me,--you who have proved
yourself a plotter and a lying prophet, reading in the stars that I
and my daughter were dead, while we still draw the breath of life
beneath them. Yet I will answer you, and, scorning subterfuge or
falsehood, set out the whole matter in the hearing of the people, that
they may judge between me, your party, and your master. First, I will
say that I had forgotten the law of which you speak, whereof I have
broken the letter, or, if at any time I remembered it, my necessities
caused me to disregard it. Learn, then, that the stranger Ignatio is
of royal Indian blood, and the holder of that symbol which I went
forth to seek, and that the white man whom you call Son of the Sea is
as a brother to him, and that both of them are of the fellowship of
the Heart, the Lord Ignatio being no less a man than the master of the
order in yonder lands, as I am here. This Lord Ignatio I summoned to
me, and he came. He came, and with his companion, Son of the Sea,
saved me and my daughter from shame and death at the hands of certain
murderers, white men. Then, when we had escaped, we tried each other,
and laid the symbols side by side, and, lo! Day and Night came
together and they were one. Then, also, I told him the story of how it
happened that I was wandering far from my own place, and he told me
what was his purpose and the desire of his life.

“This is his purpose--to break the yoke that the white man has set
upon the neck of the Indians in the far lands, and to build up a
mighty Indian nation stretching from sea to sea, whereof this city,
Heart of the World, shall be the centre and the capital. Then we made
a compact together, a compact that cannot be broken, and it was this:
That the Lord Ignatio, with the white man, his companion, from whom he
will not be separated, should accompany us here, where the symbols
should be set in the appointed place, that the prophecy may be
fulfilled and fortune return to us: That I should give to him so much
as he may need of the treasures which lie useless in our storehouses,
wherewith he may arm troops and bring about his ends, and that in
return he should bring to us what we need far more than gold and
gems--men and women with whom we may intermarry, so that our race,
ceasing to dwindle, may once again multiply and grow great.

“Such, nobles, is our compact, and this is the path which the god who
rules us has pointed out for our feet to tread. Accept it and grow
great--refuse it and perish. For know that not for myself do I speak,
who am old and near to death, but for you and your posterity for ever.
Be not bewildered or amazed, for, though these things are new to you,
it may well chance that after the Council of the Heart has been
celebrated in the Sanctuary on the night of the Rising of Waters, the
god whom we worship, the Nameless god under whose guidance all these
things have come about, will reveal his purpose by the mouth of his
oracle, and show what part these strangers and each of us shall play
in the fate that is to be. Oh! nobles, and my people, let not your
sight be dimmed nor your heart hardened, and put not away the fortune
and the future that lie before you. I have dared much for your sake;
dare a little for your own. Shut your ears and your gates and rise in
rebellion against me, and I tell you that soon there shall remain of
you and of your glorious home scarcely a memory; but be gentle and be
guided by my wisdom and the will of your gods, and your fame and power
shall cover the world; ay! you shall be to what you were as is the sun
in all its glory to some faint and fading star. I have spoken--now
choose.”

He ceased and for a while there was silence, the silence of amaze, for
the nobles stared each on each, and such of the common people as were
within earshot stood gaping at him with open mouths, since to them who
did not meddle in matters of polity, and, indeed, thought little for
themselves, his words had small meaning. Presently it was broken, and
by Tikal, who sprang from his seat and cried aloud:

“Of a truth they were wise who said that this old man was mad. Have
you heard and understood, O people of the Heart? This is what you must
do to fulfil the will of Zibalbay: First, you must set him in his
place again, giving him all power, and me you must condemn to death or
chains; next, you must pardon him his breaches of the law,--the law
that he of all men was bound to keep. Then you must hand over your
treasures--the treasures hoarded by your forefathers for many a
generation--to these wandering thieves whom he has brought with him;
and, lastly, you must open your gates, which have been kept secret for
a thousand years, to other thieves that they shall lead here, to whom,
forsooth, you must give your women in marriage that the race may be
increased. Say, will you do these things, children of the Heart?”

Now all the nobles who stood behind Tikal shouted “Never!” and the
people beyond took up the cry with a voice of thunder, though the most
of them understood little of what was passing.

Tikal held up his hand, and there was silence.

“You will not do them,” he said, “and base indeed were you had you
answered otherwise. What, then, will you do? Tell me, first, whom do
you choose as your ruler, my uncle, who now is mad and would bring you
to shame and ruin; or me, who have sworn to preserve your ancient
laws?”

“We choose you, Tikal, Tikal!” came the answer.

“I thank you,” he cried, “but what then shall be done with this old
man, and those whom he has brought with him to spy out our secrets and
to rob us?”

“Kill them before the altar!” they shouted, waving their swords.

Tikal thought for a moment, then pointed towards us and said,

“Seize these men.”

At his word a hundred or more of the nobles, who evidently had been
instructed to execute his orders, rushed at us suddenly. As they came
across the open space I saw the señor put his hand to his belt, and
said to him:

“For the love of God! do not strike, for should you touch one of them
they will certainly kill us.”

“That they will do in any case,--but as you wish,” he answered.

Then they broke on us. As they came, all those nobles who had followed
Zibalbay to the crest of the pyramid gave way before their rush,
leaving the three of us and the Lady Maya standing alone.

“Cowards!” said Zibalbay, glancing behind him. Then he drew his
_machete_ and with a shout cut down the foremost of those who assailed
us--a great noble. In another instant the weapon was struck from him,
and the señor and I were being dragged towards the altar, followed by
Zibalbay and the Lady Maya, upon whom, however, our assailants laid no
hand.

“What shall we do with these men?” cried Tikal again.

And again the nobles answered, “Kill them!”

So they threw us down, and men came at us with swords to make an end
of us, which indeed they would have done quickly, had not the Lady
Maya sprung forward, and, standing over the señor, cried, “Hold!” in
so piercing a voice that they stayed their hands.

“Listen, people of the Heart,” she said, “would you do murder upon
your own holy altar, staining it with the blood of innocent men? You
talk of broken laws. Is there not a law in the city that none can be
put to death except after trial before the _cacique_ and his Council?
Have these men been tried, and if so, by whom? You say that my father,
your lawful ruler, is deposed. If that is so, not Tikal, but I, who am
his heir, rule in his stead, and I have passed no judgment on them.”

Now at her words there was a murmur of mingled doubt and applause, but
Tikal answered her, saying:

“Lady, the law you quote holds good for you, for your father, and for
every citizen of the Heart, however humble; but in the case of these
men it does not hold, for they are wandering strangers and spies, who
can claim no protection from our justice, and therefore it is right
that they should die.”

“It is not right that they should die,” she answered passionately.
“You, Tikal, have usurped my father’s place, and now you would
celebrate the beginning of your rule by a deed of the foulest murder.
I tell you that these men are innocent of all offence. If any are
guilty it is my father and I, and if any should suffer we should
suffer. More,” she went on, with flashing eyes, “if these men to whom
we have sworn safe-conduct must die, then for my part I will die with
them, and whether I pass by your hands or by my own, may the curse of
my blood rest upon you for ever and for ever.”

As she spoke she snatched a knife from her jewelled girdle, and stood
before them, its bare blade glittering in the sunlight, looking so
beautiful and fierce that the nobles fell back from her, and hundreds
of the people applauded, saying:

“Hear the Lady Maya, and obey her. She is _cacique_, and no other.”

Now Zibalbay, who had covered his eyes with his hands, looked up and
said:

“You are right, daughter. Since the people reject us, and we cannot
even protect our guests, it is best that we should die with them,” and
once more he covered his eyes with his hands.

Then there came a pause and a sound of whispering. I looked up between
the sword-blades which were pointed at my throat, and saw that Nahua
was standing at the side of her lord, and pleading with him. They were
so close to me that my hearing, always keen, being sharpened moreover
by the fear of instant death, enabled me to catch some of their talk.

“She will do what she says,” said Nahua, “and that will be your ruin;
for if her father is hated, she is beloved, and many will arise to
avenge her.”

“Why should she kill herself because of a white wanderer?” he asked.

Nahua shrugged her shoulders, and smiled darkly, as she answered:

“Who can tell; he is her friend, and women have been known to give
their lives for their friends. Do as you will, but if Maya dies I do
not think that we shall live to see another dawn,” and, leaving his
side, she sought her chair again.

Now Tikal looked at the señor, who was stretched upon the ground
beside me, and seeing that there was hate in his eyes I trembled,
thinking that the end had come, then turned my head aside, and began
to commend my soul to the care of Heaven. As I prayed he spoke,
addressing himself to Maya:

“Lady,” he said, “you have appealed to the law on behalf of these
wanderers, of your father, and of yourself, and by the law you shall
be dealt with. To-morrow the judges shall be chosen, and hold their
court here before the people.”

“It cannot be, Tikal,” she answered calmly, “there is but one court
which can try us four, all of whom are Brethren of the Heart, and that
is the Council of the Heart sitting in the Sanctuary, which assembles
on the eighth day from now, on the night of the Rising of Waters. Is
it not so, nobles?”

“If you are of the number of the Brethren of the Heart, all of you, it
is so,” they answered.

“So be it,” said Tikal; “but till then I must hold you in
safe-keeping. Will it please you to follow Mattai, Lady, and you, my
Lord Zibalbay. Guards, bring these men to the watch-house yonder, and
keep them there till I come to you.”

Maya bowed, and, turning to the audience, she said in a clear voice,
“Farewell, my people. If we are seen no more you will know that my
father and I have been done to death by Tikal, who has usurped our
place, and to you I leave it to take vengeance for our blood.”

 CHAPTER XVII.
 THE CURSE OF ZIBALBAY

Thankful enough was I to rise from the ground feeling my life whole
in me.

“Death has been near to us,” said the señor with something between a
sob and a laugh, as we followed Zibalbay and Maya into the
guard-house.

“He is near to us still,” I answered, “but at least, unless Tikal
changes his mind, we have won some days of respite.”

“Thanks to her,” he said, nodding towards Maya, and as he spoke we
entered the guard-house, a small chamber with a massive door, somewhat
roughly furnished.

So soon as we were in, the door was shut upon us, and we found
ourselves alone. Zibalbay sat himself down, and, fixing his eyes upon
the wall, stared at it as though it offered no hindrance to his sight,
but the rest of us stood together near the door, listening to the
turmoil of the multitude without. Clearly argument ran high among
them, for we could hear the sound of angry voices, of shouting, and of
the hurrying footfalls of the people leaving the pyramid by way of the
great stair.

“You have saved our lives for a while, for which we owe you thanks,”
said the señor to Maya presently, “but tell me, what will they do
with us now?”

“I cannot say,” she answered, “but in this pyramid are chambers where
we shall be hidden away until our day of trial. At the least I think
so, for they dare not let us out among the people, lest we should
cause a tumult in the city.”

Before the words had left her lips the door was opened, and through it
came Tikal, Mattai, and other of the great lords who were hostile to
Zibalbay.

“What is your pleasure with us?” asked Zibalbay, awaking from his
dream.

“That you should follow me,” answered Tikal sternly, “you and the
others,”--adding, with a low bow to Maya, “forgive me, Lady, that I
must exercise this violence towards you and your father, but I have no
other choice if I would save you from the vengeance of the people.”

“It is not the vengeance of the people that we have to fear, Tikal,”
she answered quietly, “but rather your hate.”

“Which it is in your power to appease, lady,” he said in a low voice.

“It may be in my power, but it is not in my will,” she answered,
setting her lips. “Come, cousin, take us to the dungeon that you have
prepared for us.”

“As you wish,” he said; “follow me.” And he led the way across the
guard-house, through a sleeping-chamber of the priests that lay behind
it, to the further wall that was hidden by a curtain.

This curtain, on being drawn, revealed a small stone door, which
Mattai, having first lit some lamps that stood ready in the chamber,
unlocked with a key which hung at his girdle. One by one we passed
through the door, Tikal preceding us, and Mattai, with others of the
great lords, to the number of six, following after us. Beyond the door
lay a flight of twenty steps, then came a gate of copper bars. On the
further side of this gate were flight upon flight of steps, joined
together by landings, and running, now in this direction now in that,
into the bowels of the mighty pyramid. At length, when my limbs were
weary of descending so many stairs, we found ourselves in front of
other gates, larger and more beautifully worked than those that we had
already passed. Presently they clanged behind us, and we stood in a
vast apartment or hall that was built in the heart of the pyramid. It
would seem that this hall had been made ready for our coming, for it
was lighted with many silver lamps, and in one part of it rugs were
laid and on them stood tables and seats. So great was the place that
the light of the lamps shone in it only as stars shine in the sky,
still, as we passed down it, we saw that its roof was vaulted, and
that its walls and floor were of white marble finely polished. Once,
as we learned afterwards, it had served as the assembly-rooms for the
priests of the temple, but now that they were so few it was not used,
except from time to time as a prison for offenders of high rank. At
intervals along its length were doors leading to sleeping and other
chambers. Some of the doors were open, and as we passed them Mattai
told us that these were to be our bed-chambers. Then, having announced
that food would be brought to us, the nobles, headed by Tikal,
withdrew, and we heard the copper gates clash and the echo of their
footsteps die into nothingness upon the endless stairs.

For a while we stood staring at each other in silence. It was Zibalbay
who broke it, and his voice rang strangely in the vaulted place.

“It is his hour now,” he said, shaking his fists towards the stair by
which Tikal had left us, “but let him pray that mine may never come,”
and suddenly he turned and, walking to a couch, flung himself upon it
and buried his face in his hands.

Maya followed him and, bending down, strove to comfort him, but he
waved her away and she came back to us.

“This is a gloomy place,” said the señor, in a half whisper, for here
one scarcely dared to speak aloud because of the echoes that ran about
the walls, “but, dark though it is, it seems safer than the summit of
the pyramid, where sword-points are so many,” and he pointed to a
little cut upon his throat.

“It is safe enough,” Maya answered, with a bitter laugh, “and safely
will it keep our bones till the world’s end, for through those gates
and the men that guard them there is no escape, and the death that
threatened us in the sunshine shall overtake us in the shadow. Did I
not warn you against this mad quest and the seeking of the city of my
people? I warned you both, and you would not listen, and now the
trouble is at hand and your lives will pay the forfeit for your folly
and my father’s.”

“What must be, must be,” answered the señor with a sigh, “but for my
part I hope that the worst is past and that they will not kill us. It
was your father’s rashness which brought these evils on us, and
perhaps misfortune may teach him wisdom.”

“Never,” she answered, shaking her head, “for they are right; on this
matter he is mad, as you, Ignatio, are mad also. Come, let us look at
our prison, for I have not seen it till this hour,” and, taking one of
the hand-lamps that stood near, she walked down the length of the
hall. At its further end were gates similar to those by which we had
entered, and through them came a draught of air.

“Where do they lead?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she answered, “perhaps to the Sanctuary by a secret
way. At least the pyramid is full of these chambers, that in old days
were used for many things, such as the storage of corn and weapons,
and the burying-places of priests, thousands of whom are at rest
within it. Now they are empty and deserted.”

As we walked back again I stopped before a wooden door that stood
ajar, leading into one of the chambers of which I have spoken.

“Let us go in,” said Maya, pushing it open, and we entered, to find
ourselves in a small room lined with shelves. On these shelves, each
of which was numbered, lay hundreds of rolls thickly covered with
dust. Maya took up one of them at a hazard and unrolled the parchment,
revealing a manuscript beautifully executed in the picture-painting of
the Indians.

“This must be nearly a thousand years old,” she said; “I know it by
the style of the painting. Well, we shall not lack history to read
while we sojourn here,” and she threw the priceless roll back on to
its shelf and left the chamber.

A few steps further on we came to another room of which the door was
closed, but so rotten was the woodwork with age that a push freed it
from its fastenings, and we entered. Here also there were shelves,
packed some of them with yellow and some with white bars of metal.

“Copper and lead,” said the señor glancing at them.

“Not so,” answered Maya with a laugh, “but that which you white men
covet, gold and silver. Look what is painted above the shelves,” and
she held up the lamp and read: “Pure metal from the southern mines,
set apart for the service of the Temple of the Heart, and of the
Temples of the East and West. Of gold--such a weight; of silver--such
a weight.”

I stared and my eyes grew greedy, for here in this one room, neglected
and forgotten, was enough wealth to carry out my purpose three times
over, stored there by the forefathers of this strange rust-eaten race.
Ah, if only I could see one half of it safe across the mountains, how
great might be my future and that of the people which I lived to
serve.

“Perhaps you may win it after all, Ignatio,” said Maya, interpreting
my thoughts, “but, to be frank, I fear that you will gain nothing
except a sepulchre in these gloomy vaults.”

After this we visited several chambers that were empty, or filled only
with the wreck of moth-eaten tapestries and curious furnitures, till
at length we came to a room, or rather a large cupboard, piled from
floor to ceiling with golden vessels of the most quaint and ancient
workmanship, which had been discarded by the priests and cast aside as
worthless,--why, I do not know. In front of this gleaming pile stood a
chest, unlocked, that the señor opened. It was packed with priestly
ornaments of gold, set with great emeralds. Maya picked out a belt
from the box and gave it to me, saying:

“Take it, Ignatio, since you love such trinkets. It will set off that
robe of yours.”

I took it and put it on, not over my robe, but beneath it. My friend,
it is the clasp of that belt, which now is yours, that I showed you a
while ago, and with the price of the other gems in it I bought this
_hacienda_ and all its lands.

Wearied at length by the sight of so much useless treasure, we
returned to Zibalbay, who was seated as we had left him, lost in
thought.

At this moment the gates of our prison were opened, and men came
through them, escorted by captains of the guard, bringing with them
food in plenty, which they set upon the table, waiting on us while we
ate, but speaking no word, good or bad. Our meal finished, they
cleared away the fragments, and, having replenished the lamps and
prepared the chambers for us to sleep in, they bowed and left us. For
a while we sat round the table, Zibalbay and I in silence, and Maya
and the señor talking together in a low voice, till at length the
dreariness of the place overcame us, and, as though by a common
impulse, we rose and sought the sleeping-vaults, there to rest, if we
might.

We slept, and woke, and rose again, though whether it was night or day
here, where no light came, we could not tell; indeed, as time went on,
our only means of distinguishing the one from the other was by the
visits of those who brought our food and waited on us.

I think it must have been in the early afternoon of the day following
that on which we were imprisoned, that Tikal visited us, accompanied
only by four guards.

“A small band,” said the señor as he watched them advance, “but
enough to put us to death, who are unarmed” (for all our weapons had
been taken from us), “if such should be their will.”

“Have no fear, friend,” said Maya, “they will not do murder so
openly.”

By now Tikal stood before us, bowing, and Zibalbay, who as usual was
seated brooding at the table, looked up and saw him.

“What do you seek, traitor?” he asked angrily, the blood flushing
beneath his withered skin. “Would you kill us? If so, slay on, for
thus shall I come the sooner to the bosom of that god whose vengeance
I call down upon you.”

“I am no murderer, Zibalbay,” answered Tikal with dignity. “If you
die, it will be by the command of the law that you have broken, and
not by mine. I am here to speak with you, if you will come apart with
me.”

“Then speak on before these others, or leave your words unsaid,” he
answered, “for not one step will I stir with you, who doubtless seek
some opportunity to stab me in the back.”

“Yet it is necessary that you should hear what I have to say,
Zibalbay.”

“Say on then, traitor, or go.”

Tikal thought for a while, looking doubtfully at Maya, from whose fair
face, indeed, he rarely took his eyes.

“Is it your wish that I should withdraw?” she asked shortly.

“It is not mine,” said Zibalbay; “stay where you are, daughter.”

Now Tikal hesitated no longer, but, bidding the guards who had
accompanied him to fall back out of earshot, he said:

“Listen, Zibalbay; yesterday, before the gathering on the pyramid, I
saw your daughter, the Lady Maya, and spoke with her, telling her that
now, as always, I loved her, although, believing her to be dead, for
reasons of state I had taken another woman to be my wife. Then I made
her this offer: That if she would consent to become my wife I would
put away Nahua, whom I had married. Moreover, I added this, that I
would give up my place as _cacique_ to you, Zibalbay, whose it is by
right, to hold for so long as you should live, and would not oppose
you or your policy in any matter. I told her, on the other hand, that
if she refused to become my wife, I would surrender nothing, but would
put out my strength to crush you and her and these strangers, your
friends. She answered me with contempt, saying that I might do my
worst, but she would have naught to say to me. What happened
afterwards you know, Zibalbay, and you know also the danger in which
you stand to-day, now that power has left you, and your very life
trembles in the balance.”

He paused, and Zibalbay, who had been listening to his words amazed,
turned to Maya and said sternly:

“Does this man speak lies, daughter?”

As she was about to answer,--though what she meant to say I do not
know,--Tikal broke in:

“What is the use of asking her, Zibalbay? Is it to be thought that she
will answer you truly, though that I speak truth this wanderer who
stands at your side can bear witness, for he was present and heard my
words. This offer I made to her, and, that it may be put beyond a
doubt, now I make it to her and to you again. If she will take me in
marriage, for her sake I will put away Nahua; I will lay down my rule
and set you in your place again, with liberty, so long as you shall
live, to work such follies as the gods may suffer. All these things I
will do because I love her to whom I have been affianced from my youth
up, better than them all, because she is as the light to mine eyes and
the breath to my nostrils, and without her I have no joy in life, as I
have had none since I believed her to be dead.”

Zibalbay heard, and, rising, lifted his hand to the vault above him,
and said:

“I thank thee, O god, who, in answer to my prayers, hast shown me a
way of escape from the troubles that beset me. Tikal, it shall be as
you wish, and we will swear our peace upon the altar of the Heart.
Doubtless there will be trouble with Mattai and some of his following,
but if we stand together they can be overcome. Rejoice with me,
Ignatio, my friend, for now the seed that we have planted with so much
labour shall bring forth golden fruit.”

Here I heard the señor groan with doubt and wrath behind me, and knew
that, like so many others, this vision which filled my mind with glory
must be brought to nothing because of the fancy of a woman.

“Your pardon, Zibalbay,” I interrupted, “the Lady Maya has not
spoken.”

“Spoken!” he exclaimed. “Why, what should she say?”

“What I said to my cousin Tikal yesterday,” she answered, setting her
lips, and speaking very low,--“that I will have nothing to do with
him.”

“Nothing to do with him, girl! Nothing to do with him! Why he is your
affianced; you do not understand?”

“I understand well, father, but for naught that can be offered to me
upon the earth will I give myself in marriage to a man who has treated
you and me as my cousin Tikal has done,--a man who could not keep his
oath to you, or wait for me one single year.”

“Cease to be foolish,” said Zibalbay. “Tikal has erred, no doubt; but
now he would make atonement for his error, and if I can forgive him,
so can you. Think no more of the girl’s folly, Tikal, but send for ink
and parchment and let us set down our contract, for I am old and have
little time to lose; and perhaps, before another year is gone, that
which you would have snatched by force shall come to you by right.”

“I have the paper here, lord,” said Tikal, drawing a roll from his
breast; “but, pardon me, does the Lady Maya consent?”

“Aye, aye, she consents.”

“I do _not_ consent, father, and if you drag me to the altar with
yonder man, I will cry out to the people to protect me, or, failing
their aid, I will seek refuge in death,--by my own hand if need be.”

Now Zibalbay turned upon his daughter, trembling with rage, but,
checking himself of a sudden, he said:

“Tikal, for the moment this girl of mine is mad; leave us, and come
back in some few hours, when you shall find her of another mind. Go
now, I pray, before words are said that cannot be forgotten.”

Tikal turned and went, and, until the gates at the far end of the hall
had clashed behind him and his guards, there was silence.

Then Zibalbay spoke to his daughter.

“Girl,” he said, “I know your heart and that your lips spoke a lie,
when you told us that it was because of Tikal’s forgetfulness of his
vow and troth that you will not marry him. There is another reason of
which you have not spoken. This white man, who in his own country is
named James Strickland, is the reason. You have suffered yourself to
look on him with longing, and you cannot pluck his image from your
breast. Do I not speak truth?”

“You speak truth, father,” she answered, placing her hand in that of
the señor as she said the words. “To you, at least, I will not lie.”

“I thank you, daughter. Now, hear me; I am sorry for your plight and
for that of the white man, if indeed he would make of you anything
more than his toy, but here your wishes must give way to the common
good. Who and what are you that your whims should stand between me and
the fulfilment of my lifelong desire, between your people and their
redemption? Must all these things come to nothing because of the
fancies of a love-sick girl, whose poor beauty, as it chances by
favour of the gods, can avail to bring them about?”

“It seems so, father,” she said, “seeing that in this matter my duty
to myself and to him who loves me, and whom I love, is higher than my
duty to you and to your scheme. Everything else you, who are my
father, may require of me, even to my life, but my honour is my own.”

“What shall I say to this headstrong girl?” gasped Zibalbay. “Speak,
White Man, and tell me that you renounce her, for surely your heart is
not so wicked that it will lead you to consent to this folly, and to
your own undoing to stand between her and her destiny.”

Now all eyes were fixed upon the señor, who turned pale in the
lamplight and answered slowly:

“Zibalbay, I grieve to vex you, but your daughter’s destiny and mine
are one, nor can I command her to forsake me and give herself in
marriage to a man she hates.”

“Yet it seems that you could command her to break her plighted troth
for your sake, O most honourable White Man,” said Zibalbay with a
bitter laugh. “Hearken, friend Ignatio, for you at least are not in
love, tell your brother there and this rebellious girl which way their
duty lies. Teach them that we are sent here to dwell upon the earth
for higher ends than the satisfying of our own desires. Stay, before
you speak, remember that with this matter your own fate is interwoven.
Remember how you have suffered and striven for many years, remember
all you have undergone to win what to-day lies in your grasp, the
wealth that shall enable you to carry out your purposes. There, in
those vaults, it lies to your hand, and if that be not enough I will
give you more. Take it, Ignatio, take it to bribe your enemies and pay
your armies, and become a king, a righteous king, crowned by heaven to
complete the destinies of our race. Say such words as shall bend this
girl and her lover to our will, and triumph; or fail to say them, and
some few days hence meet the end of a thief at the hands of Tikal. Now
speak.”

I heard him, and my heart stood still within me. Alas! his words were
true, and now was the turning-point of my fate. If the girl would give
herself to Tikal, who was mad with love of her, all would be well, and
within three years the dream of my race might be fulfilled, and the
vengeance of generations accomplished upon the spawn of the accursed
Spaniard. There in those vaults, useless and forgotten, lay the
treasures that I needed, and yonder in Mexico were men in thousands
who by their means might be armed and led; but between me and them
stood the desire of this woman and the folly of my friend. Oh! truly
had my heart warned me against her when first I learned to know her
lovely face, having foreknowledge of the evil that she should bring
upon me. With her I could do nothing, for who can turn a woman from
her love or hate? But with my friend it was otherwise; he would listen
to me if I pleaded with him, seeing that not only my hopes but my very
life hung upon his answer, and no true man has the right to bring
others to their death in order that he may fulfil the wishes of his
heart. Also, it would be better that he should be separated from this
girl, who was not of his blood and colour, and whose love soon or late
would be his undoing. Surely I should do well to pray him to let her
go to the man whose affianced she had been, and he would do well to
hearken to me. Almost the entreaty was upon my lips when Maya, reading
my thought, touched me on the arm and whispered:

“Remember your oath, Ignatio.” Then I called to mind what I had
promised yonder in the desert, when by her courage she had saved her
lover’s life, and knew that once again a woman must be my ruin, since
it is better to lose all than to break such vows as this.

“Zibalbay,” I said, “I cannot plead your cause and mine, though not to
do so be our destruction, seeing that I have sworn that, come what
may, I will not stand between these two. To-day, for the second time
in my life, my plans are brought to nothing by the passion of a woman.
Well, so it is fated, and so let it be!”

Zibalbay did not answer me, but, turning to the señor, he said:

“White Man, you have heard from your friend words that should touch
you more deeply than any prayer. Will you still cling to your purpose,
and take advantage of my daughter’s madness? If so, know that your
triumph shall be short, for when, in some few hours, Tikal comes
again, I will tell him all and give you over to his keeping to deal
with as he wishes. Then Heaven help you, wanderer, for he is vengeful
by nature, nor is that life likely to be long which bars the way
between a ruler of men and the woman he would wed. Answer then, and
for the last time: Do you choose life or death?”

“I choose death,” he said, boldly, “if the price of life be the
breaking of my troth and the surrender of my bride to another man. I
am sorry for you, Zibalbay; and for you, Ignatio, my friend, I am
still more sorry: but it is fate and not I that has brought these
evils on you. If Ignatio here cannot forget his oath, how much less
can I forget mine, which I have sworn with this lady. Moreover, worse
fortune even than to-day’s would come upon us if I did, seeing that
such cowardice could breed no luck. Therefore, till the Lady Maya
renounces me, for good or for evil, in death or in life, I will cleave
to her.”

“And in death or in life I will cleave to you, beloved,” she said.
“Take such vengeance as you wish upon us, my father, yes, if you wish,
give over this man, to whom my heart drew me across the mountains and
the desert, to die at the hands of Tikal; but know that he will hold
me faster dead than he did while he was alive, for into the valley of
death I shall follow him swiftly.”

Now at last the rage of Zibalbay broke loose, and it was terrible.
Rising from his seat he shook his clenched hands above his daughter’s
head and cursed her, till in her fear she shrank away from him to her
lover’s breast.

“As with my last breath,” he cried, “I pray that the curse of your
gods, of your country, of your ancestors, and of me, your father, may
rest upon you and your children. May your desire turn to ashes in your
mouth, and may death rob you of its fruit; may your heart break by
inches for remorse and sorrow, and your name become a hissing and a
shame. Oh! I seem to see the future, and I tell you, daughter, that
you shall win him for whose sake you brought your father to death and
ruin. By fraud shall you win him, and for a while he shall lie at your
side, and this is the price that shall be asked of you, and that you
shall pay,--the doom of your race, and its destruction at your
hands--”

He paused, gasping for breath, and Maya fell at his knees, sobbing:

“Oh! father, unsay those words and spare me. Have you no pity for a
woman’s heart?”

“Ay!” he said, “so much pity as you have for my sorrows and grey hair.
Why should I spare you, girl, who have not spared me, your father. My
curse is spoken, and I will add this to it, that it shall break your
heart at last, ay! and the heart of that man who has robbed me of your
duty and your love.”

Then suddenly he ceased speaking, his eyes grew empty, he stretched
out his arms and fell heavily to the floor.

 CHAPTER XVIII.
 THE PLOT

Springing forward, but too late to save him, the señor and I lifted
Zibalbay from the ground and laid him on a couch. Peeping over our
shoulders, Maya caught sight of his ghastly face and the foam upon his
lips.

“Oh, he is dead,” she moaned; “my father is dead, and he died cursing
me.”

“No,” said the señor, “he is not dead, for his heart stirs. Bring
water, Maya.”

She obeyed, and for hard upon two hours we struggled to restore his
sense, but in vain; life lingered indeed, but we could not stir him
from his stupor. At length, as we were resting, wearied with our
fruitless labour, the gates opened and Tikal came again.

“What now?” he asked, seeing the form of Zibalbay stretched upon the
couch. “Does the old man sleep?”

“Yes, he sleeps,” answered the señor, “and I think that he will wake
no more. The words he spoke to you to-day are coming true, and that
which you took from him by force will soon be yours by right.”

“No,” answered Tikal, “by right it will be the Lady Maya’s yonder,
though by force it may remain mine, unless, indeed, she gives it to me
of her own free will. But say, how did this come about?”

Now I broke in hastily, fearing lest the señor should tell too much,
and thus bring some swift and awful fate upon himself.

“He was worn out with the fatigue of our journey and the excitement of
yesterday. After you had left he began to talk of your proposals, and
suddenly was taken with this fit. These matters are not for me to
speak of, who am but a prisoner in a strange land; still, lord, it
will not look well if he who once was _cacique_ of this city dies here
and unattended, for then people may say that you have murdered him.
Have you no doctors who can be summoned to minister to him, for,
without drugs, or even a bleeding-knife, we have done all we can do.”

“Murdered him! That they will say in any case. Yes, there are doctors
here, and the best and greatest of them is Mattai, my father-in-law. I
will send him. But, Maya, before I go, have you no word for me?”

Maya, who was seated by the table, her face buried in her hands,
looked up and said:

“Is your heart stone that you can trouble me in such an hour? When my
father is recovered, or dead, I will answer you, and not before.”

“So be it, Lady,” he said, “till then I will wait. And now I must get
hence, for there may be trouble in the city when this news reaches
it.”

A while passed, and Mattai appeared before us, followed by one who
carried his scales and medicines. Without speaking, he came to where
Zibalbay lay, and examined him by the light of a lamp. Then he poured
medicine down his throat, and waited as though he expected to see him
rise, but he neither rose nor stirred.

“A bad case,” he said. “I fear that he will awake no more. How came he
thus?”

“Do you wish to know?” asked Maya, speaking for the first time. “Then
bid your attendant stand back, and I will tell you. My father yonder
was smitten down while he cursed me in his rage.”

“And why did he curse you, Lady?”

“For this reason: While we wandered in the wilderness, Tikal, my
cousin and my betrothed, took a wife, your daughter Nahua, who was
crowned with him as Lady of the Heart. But it seems, Mattai, that
though he gave your daughter place and power, he gave her no love, for
to-day this son-in-law of yours came to my father, and in the presence
of us all offered to set him in his lawful place again and to suffer
him to carry out his schemes, whatever they might be, if I would but
consent to become his wife.”

“To become his wife!” said Mattai, in amazement. “How could you become
his wife when he is married? Can there then be two Ladies of the
Heart?”

“No,” answered Maya quietly, “but the proposal of Tikal, my cousin,
is, that he should either put away or kill your daughter--and you with
her, Mattai--in order that he may set me in her place.”

Now when Mattai heard this his quick eyes flashed, and his very beard
seemed to bristle with rage.

“He proposed that! He dared to propose that!” he gasped. “Oh! let him
have a care. I set him up, and perchance I can pull him down again.
Continue, Lady.”

“He proposed it, and my father agreed to the offer, for, knowing that
you have plotted against him, he had little care for the honour and
safety of you or of your house, Mattai. But if my father accepted, I
refused, seeing that it is not my wish to have more to do with Tikal.
Then my father cursed me, and while he cursed was stricken down.”

“You say it is not your wish to marry Tikal, Lady. Is it, then, your
wish to marry any other man?”

“Yes,” she answered, letting her eyes fall, “I love this white lord
here, whom you name Son of the Sea, and I would become his wife. I
would become his wife,” she went on after a pause, “but, Mattai, Tikal
is very strong, and it may be, unless I can find help elsewhere, that
in order to save the life of the man I love, of his friend and mine,
Ignatio, and my own, I shall be forced into the arms of Tikal. But now
Tikal has asked me for my answer, and I have told him that I will give
it when my father is recovered or dead. Perhaps it will be for you to
say what that answer shall be, for alone and in prison I am not strong
enough to stand against Tikal. Say, now, do the people love me well
enough to depose Tikal and set me in my father’s place, should he
die?”

“I cannot say, Lady,” he answered shortly, “but at the least you will
scarcely ask me thus to bring about my own and my daughter’s ruin. I
will be open with you. I gained over the Council of the Heart to
Tikal’s cause, and my price was that he should marry my daughter,
thereby satisfying her love and my ambition. Yes, I have plotted to
set Nahua on high, both for her sake and for my own, seeing that after
the _cacique_ I sought to be the chief man in the city. Can I, then,
turn round and depose him, and my daughter and myself with him? And if
I did, what would be my fate at your hands in the days to come? No, I
seek to be revenged on Tikal, indeed, who has offered so deadly an
affront to me and mine, but it must be in some other way than this.
Tell me now, lady, what is it that you desire most,--to be the
_cacique_ of this city by your right of birth, or to marry the man you
love?”

“I desire to marry the man I love,” she answered, “and to escape from
this place with him back to those lands where white men live. I desire
also that my friend and my lord’s friend, Ignatio, should be given as
much gold as he needs to enable him to carry out his purposes in the
coast country yonder. If things can be brought about thus, Tikal and
Nahua and their descendants, for aught I care, may rule in the City of
the Heart till the world’s end.”

“You ask little enough, Lady,” said Mattai, “and it shall go hard if I
cannot get it for you. Now I will leave you, for I must have time to
think; but, if Tikal returns, say him neither yea nor nay till we have
spoken again. And as for you, strangers, remember that your lives
depend upon your caution. Farewell.”

Two more days passed, or so we reckoned by the number of meals that
were brought to us, but neither Tikal nor Mattai returned to visit us.
Other doctors came, indeed, and saw Zibalbay, who lay upon his bed
like one plunged in a deep sleep, but though they tried many remedies
they were of no avail. On the night of the second day we were gathered
round his couch, watching him and talking together sadly enough, for
the solitude, and the darkness, and the fear of impending death had
broken our spirits, so that even the señor ceased to be merry, and
the presence of her beloved to give comfort to Maya.

“Alas!” she said, “it was an evil day when we met yonder in the land
of Yucatan, and, friend, no gift could have been more unlucky than
that of my love to you, for which, being worth so little, you are
doomed to pay so dear. Fortune has gone hardly with you also, Ignatio,
who are fated thus for the second time to see a woman wreck your
hopes. Say, now, friend,”--and she caught the señor by the
arm,--“would it not be best that we should make an end of all this
folly, and that I should give myself to Tikal? Then I could bargain
for you both that before I pass to him I should, with my own eyes, see
you safe across the mountains, taking that with you which would make
you rich for life. Nor need you trouble for me, or think that you left
me to dishonour, for, so soon as you were gone, I should seek the arms
of another lord whose name is Death, and there take my rest, till in
some day unborn you came to join me.”

“Cease to talk thus, Maya,” said the señor, drawing her to his
breast; “whatever there is to bear we will undergo together, since,
even if I could be so base as to buy safety at such a price, without
you my life would be worth nothing to me, and, indeed, I had rather
die at your side than live on alone. It is my fault that ever we came
to this pass, seeing that, if I had taken your counsel, we should not
have set foot within the City of the Heart. But curiosity conquered
me, for I longed to see the place, as now I long to see the last of
it; also, had we turned back, I must have left Ignatio to go on alone.
Keep your courage, sweetheart, for though your father is dying and our
danger is great, I am sure that we shall escape from these dungeons
and be happy with each other beneath the sunlight.”

Then he kissed her upon the lips and comforted her, wiping away the
tears that ran from her blue eyes.

It was at this moment that I looked up and saw Mattai standing in the
doorway,--for we were gathered, not in the hall, but in Zibalbay’s
chamber,--watching the scene curiously and with a softened face.

“Greeting,” he said, “and forgive me that I come so late, but my
business is secret and such as is best done at night. How goes it with
Zibalbay?”

“He lives,” I answered; “I can say no more, for he is senseless, and,
without doubt, soon must die. But come, see for yourself.”

Mattai walked to the bed and examined the old man, lifting the eyelids
and feeling his heart.

“He cannot live long,” he said. “Well, death is his best friend. Now
to my business. There is trouble in the city, and strange rumours pass
from mouth to mouth among the people, many of whom declare that Tikal
has murdered Zibalbay, and demand that you, Lady, should be brought
before them, that you may be named _cacique_ in his place. Things
being so, it has been urged upon Tikal by the chiefs of his party that
as, do what he will, he can never clear himself of the death of
Zibalbay, it would be well that he should make away with you also,
Lady, and, of course, with these two strangers, your friends, seeing
that then there will be none to dispute his rights. The matter was
laid before him strongly at a secret council held this afternoon, and
once he issued the order for your deaths, only to recall it before the
messenger left the palace; for at the last I saw that his heart
overcame his reason, and he could not bear thus to divorce himself
from you, Lady, though what he said was that he would not stain his
hands with the blood of one so innocent and fair. Still, I will not
hide from you, Lady, or from you, strangers, that your danger is very
great that you go, indeed, in jeopardy of your life from one hour to
the next.”

Now he paused, and Maya asked in a low voice:

“Have you no plan to save us, Mattai?”

“Why should I have a plan, Lady, who with my house would benefit so
greatly by your death?”

“I do not know why you should have a plan, old man,” broke in the
señor; “but I tell you that you will do well to make one, else you do
not leave this place alive,”--and as he spoke, with a sudden movement,
he sprang between Mattai and the door.

“If we are to be murdered like birds in a cage,” he went on, “at least
your neck shall be twisted first. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Son of the Sea,” answered Mattai, flinching a little
before the señor’s fierce face and hand outstretched as though to
grip him. “But I would have you understand something also; namely,
that if I do not return presently, there are some without who will
come to seek me, and then----”

“And then they will find your carcase,” broke in the señor, “and what
will all your plots and schemes advantage you when you are a lump of
senseless clay?”

“Little indeed, I confess,” he answered. “Still, my daughter, whom I
love better than myself, will reap some profit, and with that, in this
sad case, I must be content. But, do not be so hasty, white man. I
asked why I should have a plan? I did not say that I had none.”

“Then if you have one, let us hear it without more ado,” said the
señor.

Mattai bowed, as he answered:

“Your will is mine: but I know not how my plan will please the Lady
Maya yonder, and therefore, before I unfold it, I will make it clear
to you that there is but one alternative,--the death of all of you by
to-morrow’s light. Your lives lie in my hand, and if I must do so to
save my daughter and myself, I shall not hesitate to take them.”

“Any more than I shall hesitate to take yours, old man,” said the
señor, grimly; “for remember always that if you do not make your plan
such as we can accept, you will leave this chamber feet first with a
broken neck.”

Again Mattai bowed, and continued:

“In one way only has Tikal been able to pacify the tumult among the
people, by declaring that the Lady Maya shall be produced before the
Council of the Heart, in the Sanctuary of the Nameless god, upon the
night of the Rising of Waters, being the first day when it is lawful
for the Council to sit in the Sanctuary, and afterwards at dawn in the
eyes of the whole city. The words of Zibalbay have taken a strange
hold of the people, although they cried him down as he spoke them; and
they desire to know what will happen when the prophecy is fulfilled,
and once more the severed halves of the symbol of the Heart are laid
side by side in their place upon the altar. Zibalbay told them that he
believed that then the god would reveal his purpose, and show what
part each of you should play in the fate that is to be, and therefore
the people--aye! and many among the nobles, and even the Council of
the Heart--look to see some sign or wonder when Day and Night are come
together, and that which was parted is made one, for they begin to
hold that the madness of Zibalbay is from heaven, and that the voice
of heaven sent him on his journey.”

Now Mattai thought for a while and went on:

“Lady, I am old, and for many years I have followed the worship of the
gods, doing sacrifice to them, and importuning them with prayers, yet
never have I known the gods to make answer to their votaries, or heard
the voices of the immortals speaking into human ears. It seems that
gods are many: thus, perchance these strangers have their own; and,
Lady, thus it comes that in my age I ask myself if there are any gods
other than those that the mind of man has shaped from nothingness, or
fashioned in the likeness of its own passions. I cannot tell, but I
think that were I in so sore a strait as you find yourselves to-night,
I should not hesitate to give a voice to these dumb gods.”

“What is your meaning?” asked Maya.

“This: When the severed halves of the Heart are set in their place
upon the altar, if there be any gods they should give a sign. Thus, as
I who am the keeper of the Sanctuary know, the ancient symbol on the
altar is hollow, and if it were to chance to open, it might be that a
writing would be found within it,--an ancient writing of the gods,
prepared against the present time,--that shall be to us as a lantern
to one wandering in the dark; or it might be that nothing would be
found. Now, as it happens, in searching through the earliest records
of the temple, I have discovered a certain writing, and it seems to me
that your fortune would be great if this writing should lie within the
symbol on the night of the Rising of Waters. Here it is----”

And from his robe he produced a small plate of dull gold, covered over
with hieroglyphics.

“Read it,” said Maya.

Then Mattai read:

“This is the voice of the Nameless god that his prophet heard in the
year of the building of the Sanctuary, and graved upon a tablet of
gold which he set in a secret place in the symbol of the Sanctuary, to
be declared in that far-off hour when the lost is found and the signs
of the Day and the Night are come together. To thee it speaks, unborn
daughter of a chief to be, whose name is the name of a nation. When my
people have grown old and their numbers are lessened, and their heart
is faint, then, maiden, take to thyself as a husband a man of the race
of the white god, a son of the sea-foam, whom thou shalt lead hither
across the desert, for so my people shall once more prosper and grow
strong, and the land shall be to thy child and the child of the god,
east and west, and north and south, further than my eagles wing
between sunrise and set.”

He finished reading, and there was silence as we looked on each other,
amazed at the boldness and the cunning of this old priest and plotter.
It was Maya who spoke first.

“You have forged this writing, Mattai,” she said coldly, “and now you
desire that I should set it in the symbol, for you are mindful of that
curse which is written in the ritual Opening of the Heart against him
who shall profane its mysteries and token, or who should dare to tell
a lie within the Sanctuary, or to swear falsely by the symbol. In
short, if you do not fear the vengeance of the god, you fear the
vengeance of the Order.”

“To speak truth, lady, I fear both, for, in offering insult to the
Nameless god, who knows what he offends? Still, you must make your
choice--and swiftly, seeing that if you refuse the deed, by to-morrow
you will have learned, or, perhaps--remembering the words of the white
lord--I should say _we_ shall have learned what virtue there is in the
religions.”

Now she turned to us, saying:

“Advise me, friends, for I know not what to answer. In the faith of my
people I have lost faith, and it is to yours that I look for comfort;
and yet the deed seems awful, for if we are not worshippers of the
Nameless god, still we are all of us brethren of the ancient mysteries
of the Heart, and to do this thing would be to break our solemn oaths.
Come, let us put it to the vote, and do you who are the oldest and the
wisest among us, vote first, Ignatio.”

“So be it,” I answered. “For my part I give my voice against the
trick. Of the gods of your people I know nothing and think less, but I
am the Master of our Order in my own land, and I will not offend
against it. To do this thing would be to act the greatest of lies, and
a lie is a sin in the face of heaven. All men must die, but I wish to
pass to doom with my hands unstained by fraud. Still, in this matter
your lives are at stake as well as mine; therefore, if, of the three
of us, two are in favour of the act, I will be bound by their
decision. But if only one is in favour, then he must be bound by
ours.”

“Good, let it be so,” said Maya. “And now, beloved, speak and tell us
whether you choose death and a clean conscience, or life and my love
to gladden it,”--and she looked into his face with her beautiful eyes,
and half stretched out her arms as though she would clasp him to her
breast.

Now, although the señor did not answer at once, when I saw this and
heard her words, I, Ignatio, knew that it was finished, since it could
not be in the heart of a man in love to resist her pleadings and her
witcheries. Presently he spoke, and as he did so his face grew red
with a half shame.

“I have no choice,” he said. “I do not fear to die if need be, but I
should be no man were I to choose death while it is your wish that I
should live. Like Ignatio, I say that the gods of this city are to me
nothing more than idols, and to deceive that which does not exist is
impossible. For the rest, I became a Brother of the Heart not by my
own wish, but by accident, therefore on this point my conscience
pricks me little. Only, to be a partner in this plot, I must speak or
act a lie, and this I have never done before. Still it seems to me
that a man may choose life and his love in place of a cruel and secret
death, and keep his hands clean, even though he must play a harmless
trick as the price of them. Yet, Maya, in this as in every other
matter, I will do your wish, and if you think it better that we should
die, why let us die and make an end.”

“Nay,” she answered, with a flash of reckless passion, “I think it
better that we should live, far from this unlucky city, and there be
happy in each other’s love. For your sake my father’s curse has fallen
on me, and after it all other maledictions of gods or men will be
light as feathers. If this be a sin that we are about to work, I do it
for the sake of you and of our love; also because I would live awhile
in happiness before I go down to the grave. See my father lying there;
throughout a long life he has served his god, and behold how his god
has served him in the hour of his trouble. Let his prayers answer for
us both, for I will have none of such false gods, unless it be to use
them for my ends. If this be a sin that we are about to do, and
vengeance should tread upon the heels of sin, let it fall upon the
heads of my people, who would murder me for no crime; upon the head of
Mattai, who tempted me for his own advantage; and, if that be not
enough, upon my head also. Little do I care for vengeance to come, if
for only one short year I may call you husband.”

“Ill-omened words,” muttered Mattai, shivering a little, “words that
only a woman would utter; but so be it.”

As he spoke I thought that I heard a faint groan break from the man
upon the couch. I glanced anxiously at Zibalbay, to find that I must
have been mistaken, or, at least, that it had not proceeded from his
lips, for he lay there rigid and senseless as a corpse.

“The vote is taken,” I said sadly. “What next, Mattai?”

“Follow me,” he answered, “and I will show you a secret path from this
chamber to the Sanctuary beneath. Nay, you need not fear to leave him,
for if his life still burns within him, it is fast asleep. But stay,
where is the talisman? That will be necessary to us.”

“I have one half,” I answered, “the other is about Zibalbay’s neck.”

“Find it,” he said, sternly, to the Lady Maya. “Nay, you must!”

 CHAPTER XIX.
 THE SACRILEGE

Now Maya bent over the form of her father and took the talisman from
his neck.

“I feel like one who robs the dead,” she said.

“Remember that it is to save the living, and be comforted,” answered
Mattai. “Come, let us be going, for the night draws on.”

“Take a lamp, each of you,” he said presently, when we had reached the
further end of the great hall, where he unlocked the copper gates with
a key from the bunch that hung at his girdle. We passed through, and,
turning, he almost closed the gate, but not quite.

“Why do you leave the gates ajar?” I asked.

“Because there are none to follow us,” he answered, “and who knows
what may happen. Should we be forced to fly the Sanctuary, open doors
are easier to pass than those that are shut.”

“Who or what could force us to fly the Sanctuary?” I asked.

Mattai shrugged his shoulders and went on without answering. Now we
passed down many stairs, along passages, and through secret doors,
each of which Mattai left open behind us, till at length we came to a
blank wall of marble. On this wall Mattai felt with his thumb, till he
found a spot that, being pressed, slid back, revealing a keyhole into
which he inserted a small silver key. Then again he pressed upon the
marble, and a panel moved that might have been two feet wide by six in
height, and we saw that light streamed through the opening. Beckoning
to us he walked through the gap in the wall, and one by one we
followed him into the Sanctuary of the Nameless god, and stood on the
further side of the wall, huddled together and clasping each other’s
hands, for the place was awesome, and its utter silence and solemnity
filled us with fear.

The first thing that caught our eyes, as was natural, for it was built
into the wall opposite to us, and through it streamed the light that
filled the chamber, was the most wonderful and mystic effigy in the
City of the Heart. That effigy was a colossal mask of singular and
fearful beauty, fashioned from polished jade, and similar in design to
those which are to be found in the ruins of Palenque and other
deserted Indian cities, whereof no man knows the age. This huge green
mask was placed above the narrow door that gave entrance to the
Sanctuary, and had been carved to represent the countenance of a being
that, although its features were human, resembled neither man nor
woman in its unearthly dignity and its stamp of cruel calm. The thick
lips were curved with a contemptuous smile, and between them gleamed
teeth made of white enamel; the nose was aquiline, with widespread
nostrils that seemed to inhale the incense of worship; and the
forehead, in whose centre appeared the impress of a woman’s hand
soaked in some scarlet dye, was broad, low, and retreating. Beneath
the solemn and contracted brows were jewelled eyes. Through these
eyes, and, indeed, from the entire surface of the mask, streamed
light, making the face visible as though it were limned in phosphorus,
for the jade was transparent as the thinnest alabaster, and behind it
burned two great lamps that were named after the Sun and Moon.

Such was the effigy of the Nameless spirit that we now beheld for the
first time, who had face but no form; the spirit, Mouth of the Heart,
to whom every lesser god was subject, Utterer of the thoughts of the
Heart of Heaven, Lord of power, Dweller in the darkness behind the
Sun, Searcher of the secrets of death. Without pity was this god of
theirs, and without wrath, who, clothed in eternal calm, so these
people fabled, rested in a home of darkness, watching the shadow of
events celestial and terrestrial in his mirror of the moon, and
telling of them to the Heart which was his soul. The seal of the
woman’s blood-stained hand was set upon his brow because woman is a
symbol of life renewed, the hand is the sign of purpose and the
strength to do it, and by blood and anguish must every purpose be
accomplished. But the Nameless one executed no purpose,--that was the
work of lesser gods. In the beginning the Heart thought, and the Mouth
blew with his breath, giving life to the earth, and causing it to roll
forward among the spheres, and now the Eyes watched, ever smiling,
while it and those upon it work out our doom, till at length its
primal force grows faint and fails when, so said the priests, Heart
and Mouth and Eyes will think and speak and search, and at their
command a new world shall arise from the corpse of the old, and a new
life from the lives of those who dwelt upon it.

Therefore it was, though now faith waned among them with their waning
energies, that this people, knowing no better creed, worshipped the
threefold Fate without a name, whom they held to be master of gods and
men. Therefore, also, long generations since, in this spot which we
came to violate,--to them the most holy on the earth,--they set up
effigies of a Heart, a Mouth, and Eyes, as symbols of his attributes.

The roof of the Sanctuary, which was of no great size, was
vault-shaped, in imitation of the arching sky, and in it appeared a
golden sun, a silver crescent moon, and the stars of heaven. Its walls
were lined throughout with polished blocks of the beautiful stone
known as Mexican onyx, fretted over to the height of a man with a
border of hieroglyphics and effigies of the lesser gods in attitudes
of adoration, all of them cast in gold and set flush with the face of
the wall. The furniture was very simple, consisting only of stools cut
from rich woods heavily gilded in quaint designs, and a small table
whereon lay sheets of paper made of bark, together with brushes of
reed fibre and pots of pigment, such as were used in the
picture-writing of this people. Lastly, at that end by which we had
entered the chamber, stood an altar of black marble written around
with letters shaped in gold, and upon this altar lay something covered
with a silken cloth.

For a minute or more we remained silent, contemplating these wonders;
then, with a gesture of impatience, Mattai spoke in a whisper, saying:

“Let that be done which we have come to do, for now the sacrilege is
committed and it is too late for doubts.”

Speaking thus, he stepped to the altar and lifted the silken cloth
that lay over the object which was upon it, revealing the image of a
human heart fashioned in blood-stone and veined with arteries of gold.
In the centre of this heart appeared a small and shallow hole that had
been hollowed in its substance.

“This is the tradition,” said Mattai, still speaking in a whisper,
“that when the two halves of a certain talisman are placed in this
hollow, the symbol will open and reveal that which has been set within
it since it was fashioned by Cucumatz thousands of years ago, and
there is this in favour of the truth of the tale that golden hinges
appear upon the sides of the symbol. Now one-half of the talisman has
rested here for many generations, till Zibalbay took it with him
indeed, when he went out to seek for the other half, and yet the
symbol has never opened; still, I am sure that it will open when the
whole talisman is set in its place. In this matter, however, there is
something more to fear than the vengeance of the gods, for, as I can
read well--it is written in those letters that encircle the altar--an
ancient tradition tells us that if the symbol be stirred from the
place where it has lain for so many ages, the flood-gate will roll
back and the waters of the lake will pour in upon the city, destroying
it and its inhabitants.”

“Yet the flood-gate cannot roll back when it is not shut, nor can the
waters flow in during the dry season, when they are not on a level
with the walls,” answered Maya.

“They cannot, Lady, and yet other things may happen. Why was the Heart
set thus? Was it not that in the utmost need of its worshippers they
might choose death rather than defeat and slavery? And was this choice
given to them in the wet months only? Be sure that if at this moment
any despairing or impious hand tore yonder symbol from its altar,
either the waters would rush up through the bed of the city, or
subterranean fires would break loose and burn it. Still, though there
is something, I think that we have little to fear, seeing that the
writing says that, in order to bring about so terrible a doom, the
symbol must be torn from its altar with might. And now to our task.
Stranger, give to the Lady Maya your half of the ancient talisman,
that she may set it, together with the half she bears, in the place
prepared in the symbol.”

Now with a sigh, seeing that it was too late to draw back, I undid the
emerald from my neck and gave it to Maya, who laid it side by side
with its counterpart upon the palm of her trembling hand, and stepped
with it to the altar. Here she stood for a moment, then whispered in a
faint voice:

“Terror has taken hold of me, and I fear to do this thing.”

“Yet it must be done, and not by me,” said Mattai, “or we shall have
come on a fool’s errand, and go back, some of us, to a fool’s death,”
and he looked towards me.

“I will not do it,” I said, answering his look, “not because I fear
your gods, but my own conscience I do fear.”

“Then I will,” said the señor boldly, “for I fear neither. Give me
that trinket, Maya.”

She obeyed, and presently he had caused the two halves of the talisman
to fall into their ancient and appointed bed in the symbol. In the
great silence I remember the sound they made, as they tinkled against
the stone, struck my ear so sharply that I started.

For some seconds, perhaps twenty, we stood still, watching the altar
with eager eyes, but the symbol never stirred. Then I said:

“It seems, Mattai, that you must hide your lying writing elsewhere,
since yonder heart will not open, or, if it will, we have not found
the key.”

“Wait a little,” broke in the señor, “perhaps the springs are
rusted.” And before any of us could interfere to stop him, he placed
his thumb upon the halves of the emerald and pressed so hard that the
symbol trembled on its marble stand.

“Beware!” cried Mattai, and as the echoes of his voice died away all
of us started in astonishment, for lo! the heart was opening like a
flower.

Slowly it opened, till the severed talisman fell from it, and its two
halves lay back on the marble of the altar, revealing something hidden
in its centre that shone like an ember in the lamplight. We crept
forward and looked, then stood silent and half afraid, for in the
hollow of the heart, laid upon a square plate of gold which was
covered with picture-writing, glared a red jewel shaped like a human
eye, that seemed to answer stare with stare.

“If we stand like this we shall grow frightened,” said the señor
roughly, glancing round him as he spoke, “there is nothing to fear in
a red stone cut like an eye.”

“If you think so, White Man,” answered Mattai in a voice that shook a
little, strive as he would to command it, “lift up the holy thing and
give me the writing that is beneath it. Stay, first take this, set it
in the symbol, replacing the eye upon it,” and he handed him the
forged tablet.

The señor obeyed, nor did any wonder come to pass when he lifted that
dreadful-looking jewel, and changed the true for the false.

“Read it,” said Maya, as the tablet was passed to Mattai, “you have
knowledge of the ancient writings.”

“Perhaps it were best left unread,” he said, doubtfully.

“Nay,” she answered, “let us know the worst. Read it, I bid you.”

Then he read these strange words in a slow and solemn voice:

“_The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of
the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not
all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin._”

Now the faces of us who heard turned grey in the lamplight, for though
the gods of this people were false, we felt that the voice of a true
prophet spoke to us from that accusing tablet, and that we had called
down upon our heads a vengeance which we could not measure.

“Did I not tell you that it were wiser to leave the writing unread,”
gasped Mattai, letting the tablet fall from his hand as though it were
a snake.

The clatter of it as it struck the marble floor seemed to wake us from
our evil dream, for the señor turned on him, and said fiercely:

“What does it matter what the thing says, rogue, seeing that you
forged it as you have forged the other.”

“Ah! would that I had,” answered Mattai; “but when doom overtakes you
and all of us, then shall you learn whether I forged that ancient
writing;” and he lifted it from the floor, and, hiding it in his robe,
added, “Close the heart, White Man, and give back the severed jewel to
those who wear it.”

The señor obeyed, replacing the silken cloth over the symbol, so that
the altar seemed to be as it had been.

“Now let us be going,” said Mattai, “and rejoice, that if yonder eye
has seen our wickedness, at least it is hidden from the sight of man.
Doubtless the vengeance of the gods is sure, but that of men is
swift.”

As he spoke we turned to leave the Sanctuary, and of a sudden Maya
screamed, and would have fallen had not the señor caught her. Well
might she scream, for there in the narrow niche of the secret door by
which we had entered, framed in it as a corpse is framed in its
coffin, stood a white figure which at first I took to be that of some
avenging ghost, so ghostlike were the wrappings, the snowy beard and
hair, and the thin, fierce face. Another instant, and I saw that
indeed it was a ghost, the ghost of Zibalbay, or rather his body come
back from the boundaries of death to spy upon our sacrilege before it
crossed them for ever.

 [image: img_265.jpg
 caption: It was ... Zibalbay ... come back from the boundaries of
   death.]

Yes, it was Zibalbay, for while he had seemed to be unconscious upon
the bed in the chamber, his senses were awake, and oh! what must he
have suffered when he, the high priest of the Nameless god, heard us
plan our fraud upon his Sanctuary. Then, after we had left him, fury
and despair unfettered the limbs that had been bound so fast and gave
him strength to follow us, though they could not unlock his frozen
tongue. He had followed; painfully he had crept down the stairs, along
the passages, and through the open door, for the path was known to him
even in the dark, till at length he came to the secret entrance of the
Sanctuary. Here once more his force deserted him; here, unable to
speak or stir, he had leaned against the wall and seen and heard all
that was done and said.

Oh! never shall I forget the rage of his quivering face, or the agony
and horror of his tormented eyes as they met our own. No curse could
have been so awful as that look which he let fall upon his daughter,
and no outraged deity or demon could have seemed more terrible to the
human sight than was the tall figure of this dying man, striving even
in death to protect the honour of his gods, which we had violated in
their most ancient holy of holies. Never have I seen such a dreadful
sight, and I pray that never again may I do so either in this world or
the next.

The dying Zibalbay saw our fear, and with a last effort he staggered
forward towards his daughter, his clenched hands held above his head.
For a moment he stood before her as she lay upon her lover’s arm
staring up at him like a bird at a snake, while he swayed to and fro
above her like the snake about to strike. Then, of a sudden, foam
mingled with blood burst from his lips, and he sank down at her feet
dead, dying in a silence that was more awful than any sound.

Of all that followed I need not write. Indeed, I cannot do so, for so
great was my horror at this scene, and so intense the strain which was
put upon my vital force during these hours, that I have little memory
of what chanced after Zibalbay’s death, till I found myself lying
exhausted upon the bed in my prison cell.

Somehow we calmed and silenced Maya; somehow we escaped from that
hateful Sanctuary, and by slow degrees brought her and the dead body
of her father up the narrow stairs and passages to the hall above,
where we laid the corpse upon its bed. Then Mattai left us, and I
remember no more till the next morning when nobles and leeches came to
watch by the body of the dead _cacique_, and to embalm it in readiness
for the tomb.

The next two days went heavily for the three of us, oppressed as we
were by the silent gloom of our prison and the memories of that
dreadful night. The love between Maya and her father had never been
deep, for they were out of tune with each other; still, now that he
was dead she mourned him, the more perhaps because he had died hating
and cursing her. By degrees she recovered from her superstitious
fears, born of the writing in the symbol; but her father’s
maledictions she never could forget, and though she was willing to
earn and to bear these for the sake of her love for the señor, I
think that their memory lay between them like a shadow.

“Oh! why did I ever love you?” she would say. “What have you to do
with me, whom race and law and fate have set apart from me?” And yet
she went on loving him even more dearly.

I, also, was unhappy, for though I put little faith in these omens, or
in the vapourings of dead prophets and the tricks of living
charlatans, I felt that the ill-luck which had clung to me in the past
was with me still. Things had gone cross with me; Zibalbay was dead,
and Woman, the inevitable, had drawn away the heart of my friend and
dragged me and my plans into the whirlpool of her passion, whence, if
at all, they must emerge ruined and shapeless. Still, summoning the
patience of my race to my aid, I bore these secret troubles as I
might, giving counsel and comfort to the lovers, who, lost in their
own doubts and difficulties, thought, as was natural, little of me and
my lost ambitions.

At length they carried away the corpse of Zibalbay to be wrapped in
its winding-sheet of gold and set with all ancient pomp and ceremony
by those of its forefathers in the Hall of the Dead. Maya wept indeed,
but I for my part was glad to see the last of him, and so, I think,
was the señor, whose spirits had begun to fail him in the presence of
so much remorse and grief.

That day--it was the day previous to the night of the Rising of
Waters, on which we were to appear before the Council of the Heart in
the Sanctuary--Tikal came to visit us. To Maya he bowed low, but on
the señor and myself he looked with an angry eye,--with the eye,
indeed, of one who would have killed us if he dared. First, with many
fine words and empty compliments, he offered her his sympathy upon the
death of her father. For this she returned her thanks, quoting,
however, with a flash of her old spirit, a certain proverb of her own
people, of which the meaning is that the death of one man is the
breath of another.

“My father was your foe, Tikal,” she added, “and now that he is gone
you will be able to sleep and reign in peace.”

“Not altogether so, Lady,” he answered, “seeing that he has left
behind him a more dangerous rival to my power, namely, yourself. I
will not hide from you, Maya, what you soon must learn, that a large
portion of the people, and with them many of the nobles, accusing me
of your father’s murder, clamour that I should be deposed, and that
you should be set in my place as _cacique_ of the City of the Heart.
Some few days ago I might have stilled their outcry by commanding you
to be put to death, but now it is too late, for, since then, Time has
fought for you, and doubtless your end would be followed by my own.
When last we met, cousin, I asked you a certain question, to which you
promised me an answer when your father was dead or recovered, and
to-day I have come to hear that answer. While Zibalbay lived I had
much to offer him and you in exchange for your hand, and I offered it
freely. So high a value did I place upon it when it seemed lost to me,
that I was prepared to lay down my power, to suffer your father to
violate the laws, and to incur the eternal hate and active enmity of
Mattai, his daughter, and his party. Now I must make you a lower bid:
that of equal power for yourself; and for your friends here, whatever
they may desire. Should you refuse me, this is the alternative: civil
war in the city till one of us is destroyed, and instant death as the
portion of these strangers.

“But, Maya, I pray you not to refuse me, for I have something more to
offer you--my undying love. From a child I always loved you, Maya,
although you have treated me coldly enough, and now day by day I love
you more. Indeed I believed that you and your father were dead yonder
in the wilderness, for then I had faith in Mattai, whom now I know to
be a rogue, and Mattai swore that it was written in the stars. Even so
I would not have wed another woman, for my heart bled at the loss of
you, had not Mattai made this marriage the price of his support,
without which I could not hope to be anointed _cacique_, seeing that I
have many jealous enemies. It was ambition that led me to consent, and
bitterly have I regretted my folly ever since; for if she who is
called my wife loves me, I hate her, and by this means or by that I
will be rid of her. Forgive me, then, my sin against you, remembering
only that I have loved and served you in the past as I will love and
serve you in the future, and that it was you who brought about these
troubles because, though I prayed you to stay and did all in my power
to prevent you, you determined to accompany your father upon his mad
journey into the wilderness. Now I have spoken, and I thank you for
the courtesy with which you have listened to me.”

“You have spoken, cousin,” she answered, “and your words have been
gentle; yet, if I understand you right, some few days since you were
in doubt as to whether it would not be better to murder me here in
this darksome hole where you have placed us.”

“If policy put any such thought into my mind, Maya, love drove it out
again,” he answered, with confusion.

“So you admit that this was so,” she said. “Well, a day may come when
policy might breed the thought, and love, grown weary, prove not warm
enough to wither it. Also it seems that even now you threaten these my
companions with death, should I refuse you your desire.”

“If you should refuse me my desire, Maya, perhaps it will be for a
secret reason of your own,”--and he scowled at the señor angrily,--“a
reason that the death of these men, or of one of them, will remove.”

“Be sure of one thing, Tikal,” she broke in sharply, “that such a
wicked deed would put an end for ever to your hopes of making me your
wife. Now, listen. I have heard your words, and they have touched me
somewhat, for I think that although you have broken your oath to my
father, and your troth with me, at heart you are honest in your love.
Still, I can give you no answer now, and for this reason, that the
answer does not lie with me, but rather with the gods. To-morrow night
we appear before the high Court of the Council of the Heart, and you
yourself shall set the severed portions of the talisman that we have
travelled so far to seek in the place prepared to receive it, in the
symbol that is on the altar of the Sanctuary. Then, as my dead father
believed,--and he was gifted with wisdom from above,--the god shall
declare his purpose in this way or in that, showing his servants why
all these things have come about, and what they must do to fulfil his
will. By that will, cousin, and not by my own, I shall be guided in
this and in all other things.”

Now, Tikal thought awhile, and answered:

“And if nothing follows this ceremony, and the oracles of the god are
silent, what then?”

“Then, Tikal,” she said softly, “you may ask me again if I will become
your wife, and perhaps, if the Council suffers it, I shall not say you
nay. Now, farewell, for grief still shadows me, and I can talk no
more.”

 CHAPTER XX.
 THE COUNCIL OF THE HEART

Now, when Tikal was gone I sat silent, for although it might be
necessary to save our lives, and to bring about the fulfilment of
Maya’s love, all this double-dealing did not please me, and I could
not talk of it with a light heart. But the señor said:

“I hope that yonder rogue, Mattai, may not have repented or been
over-bribed by Tikal, and set some other prophecy in the hollow of the
symbol, for then, Maya, you will be taken at your word, and things
will be worse than ever they have been.”

“I pray not, and it is not likely,” she answered, starting, then with
a quick burst of passion she added:

“But why do you look at me with such reproach, Ignatio? No, do not
answer, for I know why. It is because you think me a cheat and a liar,
and are saying in your heart, ‘This is a woman’s honour. Thus would
any woman act in the hour of temptation.’ Ignatio, with all your
courtesy, you hate and despise us women, looking on us as lower than
yourselves, as a snare to your strength and a pitfall for your feet.
Well, if so, thus we were made, and can we quarrel with that which
made us? Also, in some ways we are greater than you, though you may be
pleased to call yourselves more honest. _You_ would not have dared for
your love what I have dared for mine; _you_ would not have offered
deadly outrage to the god of your people, to the instinct of your
blood, and the teachings of your youth. No, you would have sat still
and wrung your hands and seen your lover perish before your face, and
then have turned your eyes to the sky and said: ‘It cannot be helped,
it is well; at least, _I_ am clean in the sight of heaven.’

“So be it: I, Maya, am of a different nature, I have dared all these
things and I joy in them, even though you watch me ever with your
melancholy eyes. Why should I not? Is not my love everything to me,
and is it shameful that this should be so? I believe no more in this
unknown god; why, then, should I fear to offend him? I will not see my
betrothed given up to death, and myself to worse than death; and how
can I harm my people by taking a man nobler than themselves to be my
husband? Cease, then, to reproach me by your silence; or, rather,
learn to pity me, for my strait is sore, and doubtless vengeance dogs
my heels. Let it fall, if it will, on me, but not on you,
beloved,--oh! not on you----” and suddenly her anger left her, and she
sank into the señor’s arms and lay there weeping bitterly.

Then I went to the further end of the hall and sat there reading the
ancient writings of this people, which we had found in the chamber.
Indeed, this was my daily occupation, for now I found that these
lovers liked to be alone, unless it happened that there were plans to
be thought out or counsel to be given. A shadow grew between me and
the señor in those days; for, though he said nothing of it, he also
was angry because I did not approve of the dark plot to which we were
parties, and Maya’s outburst spoke his mind with her own. Nor was this
wonderful, for now, looking back, I do not blame her or him, or think
that they did wrong, and I believe that what I really felt was not
indignation at a trick which might well be pardoned, seeing how much
hung to it, but superstitious fear lest some force, human or infernal,
should visit that trick with vengeance; for, as we know, even the
devils have power against us if we give it to them by fighting the
world with their own weapons.

On the following day the attendants who set our meals brought with
them clean robes for each of us, scented and wonderfully worked, and
for Maya certain royal ornaments. In these we arrayed ourselves before
evening, and waited. The hours passed, and at length the copper gates
were opened, and a band of nobles and guards presented themselves
before us, saying that they were commanded to lead us to the
Sanctuary. We answered that nothing would please us better, who were
heartily weary of living like rats in the dark, and in a few minutes
we found ourselves walking up the stairs towards the crest of the
pyramid.

We reached it, and saw the stars shining above us, and felt the breath
of heaven blowing in our faces, and never have the sight of the stars
or the taste of the night air seemed more sweet to me. Leaving the
watch-house we walked to the great stair across the lonely summit of
the pyramid and began to descend its side. At the foot of the stairway
we turned to the right till we came to a double door of copper,
beautifully worked, placed in the centre of the western face of the
pyramid, and guarded by a small body of soldiers, who saluted and
admitted us. Beyond the doors was a great hall not unlike that which
had served as our prison, lit with lamps, lined with polished marble,
and having on either side of its length doorways leading to the
apartments that were used as sleeping-places for the officers on duty.
At the threshold of this hall we were met by priests clothed in pure
white, into whose custody we were given by the company of nobles and
soldiers that had escorted us thus far.

Surrounded by the priests, who chanted as they walked, we passed down
the hall till we reached another and a smaller door. Beyond this lay a
labyrinth of steeply sloping passages, running in every direction deep
into the bowels of the rock beneath the pyramid. So intricate and
numerous were these tunnels, that, even with the assistance of the
lights which the priests carried, it would have been almost impossible
for any one not having their secret, to find a path through them, or
even to keep his face in a given direction for more than a few paces.

Along these passages our guides went without faltering, turning now to
the right, now to the left, and now seeming to retrace their
footsteps, till at length they halted to open a third door, covered
over with plates of beaten gold, on the further side of which lay the
most sacred spot save one in the City of the Heart, the chamber that
served the threefold purpose of a judgment-hall, a church wherein the
nobles attended worship, and a burial-place of the departed _caciques_
of the city. Here in this vast and awful vault, each of them set in
his own niche and companioned by his consort, stood the bodies of
every king-priest who had reigned in the holy city, enclosed in
coffins of solid gold, fashioned to the shape and likeness of the
corpse within, and having the name, age, date of death, and a brief
account of the good or evil that the man had done cut in symbols on
his breast. There they stood eternally, men and women made in gold,
and beneath their brows gleamed false eyes of emeralds. Numerous as
were the niches in the chamber, each had its tenants; and in the last
recess--that nearest to the entrance--stood a new comer; for here in
his gilded sheath was placed the corpse of Zibalbay, by the side of
her who had been his wife and Maya’s mother.

For a moment Maya paused to look upon the bodies of her parents, then
with a sigh and an obeisance she passed on, saying to me, “See, this
Hall of the Dead is full, there is no place left for me or for my
descendants, and surely that is an evil omen. Well,” she added, with a
sigh, “what does it matter where they set us when we are dead? For my
part I had sooner sleep in the earth, or beneath the waters, than
stand for ever cased in gold and glaring with jewelled eyes upon the
darkness. Yes, if I might, I should choose the earth that bore me, for
it would turn my flesh to flowers.”

Then we went on defiling before the silent company of the golden dead,
who seemed to watch us as we walked, till, passing round a
judgment-seat that was set near the end of the hall, we stood in front
of a little door over which burned great lamps. This door was guarded
by two priests with drawn swords, which they pointed towards us as a
sign that we should halt.

Then the priests who had escorted us so far fell back behind the
judgment-seat, and we were left alone.

“Give the sign, keepers of the gate,” said Maya.

Thereupon one of the men with the drawn swords uttered a low and
peculiar cry like to the wail of a child. When he had made this
strange sound thrice at intervals of about half a minute, it was
answered from within by another and a louder cry pitched upon the same
note. Then of a sudden the door was flung wide, and a stern-looking
man with a shaven head came through it.

“Who are you that seek entrance into the Sanctuary?” he asked; “are
you gods or devils, men or women?”

“We are two men and a woman,” answered Maya, “priests and priestess of
the Heart, and we come to take our trial before the Council of the
Heart, as is our right.”

“Do you know the open signs of the Heart, the signs of Brotherhood, of
Unity, and of Love, that you dare to stand upon the threshold of the
Sanctuary, to cross which is death to the ignorant?”

“We know them,” answered Maya. And one by one we gave those signs.

“Do you know the secret signs of the Heart, that you dare to cross
this threshold?” he asked again. “Otherwise get you back and take your
trial in the common judgment-hall.”

“I know them,” answered Maya, “and I vouch for these men who accompany
me. Suffer me, then, to enter, and these with me, for I am here by
ancient right, and I have knowledge both of the outward signs and the
inner mysteries.”

Now the man withdrew, and the door was closed behind him. Presently he
appeared again and said:

“I have reported to the Council, and it is the will of the Council
that you should enter.”

“Follow me,” said Maya to us, “and when you are spoken to make no
answer till I have vouched for you. I will answer for you.”

The priests let their swords fall, and, passing through the
doors,--for there were two of them connected by a short passage,--once
more we found ourselves standing beneath the mask of the Unknown god
in the Sanctuary of the City of the Heart. But now it was no longer
empty.

Behind the little altar were three stools, and upon them, clad in
wonderful apparel, and adorned with gold and gems, sat Tikal, Mattai,
and Nahua, who was the only woman present. In front of the altar was
an open space, and beyond its circle, each wearing the orders of his
spiritual rank, sat the Brethren of the Heart according to their
degree, to the number of thirty-six.

Led by Maya we advanced into the space before the altar, and stood
there in silence. None of those present took note of us; indeed, they
did not seem to see us, but sat with bent heads and with hands folded
crosswise on their breasts. At length one of the Brethren--he who was
nearest to the door, and had questioned us without--rose, and,
addressing Tikal, said:

“Keeper of the Heart, one who claims to be of our company stands
before you, and with her two for whom she vouches, who, although they
be strangers, by your command I have proved to be Brethren of the
Heart, though what more they may be I know not. Be pleased, then, to
prove them also by the voice of their sponsor, that their mouths may
be opened and their prayer come to the ears of the Council.”

At his words two of the brethren rose and blindfolded the señor and
myself, lest we should see the sacred signs, with all of which,
indeed, I was well acquainted, but Maya they did not blindfold. Then
we heard Tikal asking:

“How are you named who are strange to our eyes?” We made no reply, for
a voice in our ears cautioned us to be silent.

“We are named ‘the Son of the Sea’ and ‘Ignatio the Wanderer,’”
answered the voice of Maya.

“Son of the Sea, and Ignatio the Wanderer, why come you here,” asked
Tikal, “through the gate on which is written--‘Death to the Stranger
and to the Uninstructed.’”

“Because we have a prayer to utter, an offering to make, and because,
although we dwell in a far land, we are the servants of the Heart,”
answered Maya.

“How come ye here?”

“The Heart led, the Mouth whispered, and we followed the light of the
Eyes.”

“Show me the sign of the light of the Eyes, or die to this world.”

Now there was silence, and, though we could not see it, Maya showed
the sign on our behalf.

“Show me the second sign, the sign of the Mouth, or be cursed by the
Mouth, and die to this world and the next.”

Again there was silence.

“Show me the sign of the Heart, the third and greatest sign, lest the
Heart think on you, and ye die to this world, to the next world, and
all the worlds that are to be; lest ye be cast out between the Light
and Darkness, and lost in the gulf of fire that joins Heaven to Hell.”

Now we heard a sound of rustling, as though all the company had risen
and were prostrating themselves, and presently the bandages were
lifted from our eyes.

“Strangers,” said Tikal, “your mouths are opened in the Sanctuary
according to the ancient form, and it is lawful for the Council to
listen to your prayer. Speak, then, without fear.”

Then I spoke, saying:

“Brethren,--for so I will dare to call you, seeing that I also, though
a stranger, am of the Brotherhood of the Heart, as I can prove to you
if need be,--ay! and higher in rank than any present here, unless it