"Let him go on, husband," said Maya; "what can a few insults more or less matter to us now. Continue, most noble Tikal; but, for your own sake, restrain yourself, and say nothing that a husband should not hear."
"It is for this reason," he went on, taking no notice of the señor's anger, "that I have come here with a plan to save you all; yes, even this braggart white man who has robbed me of you. If Nahua and I are silent, who will know of your crimes? And if the evidence of them is destroyed before your eyes, who is there that can prove them? Now, I will be silent—at a price. I will even bring the true tablet of the prophecy and the roll of Mattai's confession, and destroy them with fire before you."
"You will be silent," said Maya—"but what of Nahua? Will she be silent also?"
Now Tikal's dark face grew evil with some purpose of his own, though whether it were of murder or of what I do not know.
"Leave Nahua to me," he said. "Withdraw the charge you made against her, of attempting to kill yonder child, and free her thus of the need of appearing this night in the Sanctuary, and I swear to you that no word of her dreadful secret shall ever pass her lips. Then you will be tried upon one issue only—that of having broken your oaths by flying the city—a crime that is not beyond forgiveness."
"You spoke of a price, Tikal; tell us, what is this price that we must pay?"
"The price is yourself, Maya. Nay—hear me out; and you, White Man, keep silent. If you will swear upon the Heart to become my wife within six months from this day, then I, on my part, will swear that the white man—your husband who is not your husband, for he won the consent of the Council to his marriage by a trick—shall be suffered to escape the land unharmed, taking with him his friend and so much of our treasure and things needful for their journey as he may desire. I will swear also—and by this you may see how deep and honest is my love for you—that your son shall not be dispossessed of the place and rank which he holds in the eyes of the people as a Heaven–sent Deliverer whose coming was foretold by prophecy. My child shall give place to yours, Maya. Once before I held out the hand of peace to you, but you refused it and tricked me, and from that refusal has sprung the death of your father and many other sorrows. Do not refuse me again, Maya, lest these sorrows should be increased and multiplied upon you, and upon us all. It is no strange or unnatural thing I ask of you—that you should wed the man to whom for so many years you were affianced, and take your place as the first lady in this city, instead of giving yourself over, with your accomplices, to the most infamous of deaths."
"Yet it is most strange and unnatural, Tikal, that a wife should be asked to part thus from her husband. But stay—it is for him to speak, not me, for he may be glad to buy safety at this cost. First, what do you say, Ignatio? Tell me—though I fear your answer, for it is easy to guess, seeing that Tikal offers all that you can desire, freedom, and treasure to enable you to execute your plans."
"It is true, Lady," I replied, "that he offers me these things—though whether or no he is able to give them I cannot say; and it is true also that I have no wife here whom I must leave, and no prospect save that of a traitor's death. Still, Lady, I remember a certain promise that I made to you yonder in the wilderness, when by your courage you saved your husband's life; and I remember also that it was through me that he, my friend, came to visit this accursed city. Therefore I say, let our fate be one fate."
"Those are very noble words, friend," she said, "such as could have come only from your noble heart. Now, husband, do you speak?"
"I have nothing to say, Maya," replied the señor with a little laugh, "except that I wonder why you waste time, which we might spend happily together, in listening to this fellow's insults. If you bid me to go to save you, perhaps I might think about it; but certainly I will not stir one pace from your side to save myself from any death."
"It seems that I have got my answer," said Tikal. "May none of you regret it to–night when you come to look down into the Pit of Waters. Well, time presses, and I have much to do before we meet again"—and he turned to leave us.
Now, as he went, despair took hold of Maya. For a moment she struggled with it and with herself, then she cried:
"Come back, Tikal!"
He came, and stood before her in cold silence, and she spoke, addressing her husband in a slow voice:
"You are over–hasty; my answer is not yet spoken, husband. Tikal, I accept your offer. Prevent Nahua from giving testimony against us; destroy the evidences she holds, and set these men safe, with all that they may desire, on the further side of yonder mountain, and within six months I will become your wife."
Now the señor and I stared at each other aghast.
"Are you mad?" he said, "or do you speak so in the hope of saving us?"
"Would it be wonderful, husband," she answered, "if I should wish to save myself and my child? That I have loved you and love you, you know; yet is there any love in the grave? While I live, at least I have my memories; if I die, even these may be taken from me. Go back, husband, go back wealthy to your own people and your old life, and choose some other woman to be your companion. Do not forget me, indeed; but let me become as a dream to you, seeing that for all our sakes this is the best. To you also, Ignatio, I say 'go.' Our fellowship has brought you little luck; may its severing be more fortunate, and may you at last attain your ends. Tikal, give me your hand, and let us swear the oath."
He stepped towards her—his eyes glowing with triumph; but as their fingers touched she glanced sideways and upwards, and saw the doubt and agony written on her husband's face. With a little scream, she sprang to him and threw herself into his arms, saying:
"Forgive me; I have tried my best, but this is more than I can do. Oh! weak and foolish that I am, I cannot part from you, no, not even to save your life. Surely you did not think that I should have fulfilled this oath and given myself to him in marriage. No, no—it is to death that I should have given myself when you were gone. But I cannot part with you—I cannot part with you—though my selfishness is your doom."
"I rejoice to hear it," said the señor. "Listen you, Tikal, if you are a man, give me a sword and let us settle this matter face to face. So shall one of us at least be rid of his doubts and troubles."
"Surely, White Man," answered Tikal, "you must be a fool as well as a rogue, otherwise you would scarcely ask me to risk my life against yours, which is already forfeit to the law. Farewell, Maya; long have you fooled and tormented me; to–night I will repay you all"—and he went.
It might be thought that, after Tikal was gone, we should have spoken together of what had passed, and of the dangers before us. But this was not so. I think we felt—all of us—that there was nothing more to be said. It is useless to fight against Fate, and it is still more useless to be afraid of him, seeing that whatever we do or leave undone, he has his will of us at last. So we sat and chatted on different things—of our life at the mine at Cumarvo, of that night which we spent in the hacienda at Santa Cruz, of the death of our brave companion, Molas, and I know not what besides. Presently the child awoke, and its parents occupied themselves with it, finding resemblance to each other in its tiny features, while I walked up and down the hall, counting the lamps, smoking, and wondering where I should be by this time on the morrow.
At length the gates opened, for now it was almost the middle of the night, and there came through them Dimas and a guard of priests. The old man bowed before us and said that the time had come to lead us before the Council in the Sanctuary, but that we were to have no fear, seeing that, from all that he had been able to learn, our offence would be leniently dealt with. Maya asked what was to become of the infant, which could not be left alone, and he replied that she must bring it with her, whereon she began to wrap it in a serape.