Then there was that strange and beautiful woman, Quilla, to whom my heart went out and not only because she was beautiful, and who, as I thought, at times looked kindly on me. But if so, what did it avail; seeing that she was promised in marriage to some high-placed native man who would be a king? Surely I had known enough of women who were promised in marriage to other men, and should do well to let her be.
Thinking thus, desolation took hold of me and I sat myself down on a rock and covered my face with my hands that I might not see the tears, which I knew were gathering in my eyes, as they fell from them. Yes, there in the midst of that awful solitude, I, Hubert of Hastings, whose soul it filled, sat down like a lost child and wept.
Presently I felt a touch upon my shoulder and let fall my hands, thinking that Kari had found me out, to hear a soft voice, the voice of Quilla, say:
"So it seems that the gods can weep. Why do you weep, O God-from-the-Waves who here are named Hurachi?"
"I weep," I answered, "because I am a stranger in a strange land; I weep because I have not wings whereon I can fly away like that great bird above us."
She looked at me awhile, then said, most gently:
"And whither would you fly, O God-from-the-Sea? Back into the sea?"
"Cease to call me a god," I answered, "who, as you know well, am but a man though of another race than yours."
"I thought it but I did not know. But whither would you fly, O Lord Hurachi?"
"To the land where I was born, Lady Quilla; the land that I shall never see again."
"Ah! doubtless there you have wives and children for whom your heart is hungry."
"Nay, now I have neither wife nor child."
"Then once you had a wife. Tell me of that wife. Was she fair?"
"Why should I tell you a sad story? She is dead."
"Dead or living, you still love her, and where there is love there is no death."
"Nay, I only love what I thought she was."
"Was she false, then?"
"Yes, false and yet true. So true that she died because she was false."
"How can a woman be both false and true?"
"Woman can be all things. Ask the question of your own heart. Can you not perchance be both false and true?"
She thought awhile and, leaving this matter, said:
"So, having once loved, you can never love again."
"Why not? Perchance I can love too much. But what would be the use when more love would but mean more loss and pain?"
"Whom should you love, my lord Hurachi, seeing that the women of your own folk are far away?"
"I think one who is very near, if she would pay back love for love."
Quilla made no answer, and I thought that she was angry and would go away. But she did not; indeed, she sat herself down upon the stone at my side and covered her face with her hands as I had done and began to weep as I had done. Now in my turn I asked her:
"Why do you weep?"
"Because I, too, must know loneliness, and with it shame, Lord Hurachi."
At these words my heart beat and passion flamed up in me. Stretching out my hand I drew hers away and in the dying light gazed at the face beneath. Lo! on its loveliness there was a look which could not be misread.
"Do you, then, also love?" I whispered.
"Aye, more, I think, than ever woman loved before. From the moment when first I saw you sleeping in the moonbeams on the desert isle, I knew my fate had found me, and that I loved. I fought against it because I must, but that love has grown and grown, till now I am all love, and, having given everything, have no more left to give."
When I heard this, ****** no answer, I swept her into my arms and kissed her, and there she lay upon my breast and kissed me back.
"Let me go, and hear me," she murmured presently, "for you are strong and I am weak."
I obeyed, and she sank back upon the stone.
"My lord," she said, "our case is very sad, or at least my case is sad, since though you being a man may love often, I can love but once, and, my lord, it may not be."
"Why not?" I asked hoarsely. "Your people think me a god; cannot a god take whom he wills to wife?"
"Not when she is vowed to another god, he who will be Inca; not when on her, mayhap, hangs the fate of nations."
"We might fly, Quilla."
"Whither could the God-from-the-Sea fly and whither could fly the daughter of the Moon, who is vowed to the son of the Sun in marriage, save to death?"
"There are worse things than death, Quilla."
"Aye, but my life is in pawn. I must live that my people may not die.
Myself I offered it to this cause and now, being royal, I cannot take it back again for my own joy. It is better to be shamed with honour than to be loved in the lap of shame."
"What then?" I asked hopelessly.
"Only this, that above us are the gods, and--heard you not the oracle of Rimac that declared to me that I should slip from the hated arms, that the Sun should be my shelter, and in the beloved arms I should sleep at last, though from the vengeance of the god betrayed I must fly fast and far? I think that this means death, but also it means life in death and--O arms beloved, you shall fold me yet. I know not how, but have faith--for you shall fold me yet. Meanwhile, tempt me not from the path of honour, since this I know, that it alone can lead me to my home. Yet who is the god betrayed from whom I must fly? Who, who?"
Thus she spoke and was silent, and I, too, was silent. Yes, there we sat, both silent in the darkness, searching the heavens for a guiding star. And as we sat, presently I heard the voice of Kari saying:
"Have I found you, Lord, and you also, Lady Quilla? Return, I pray you, for all search and are frightened."
"Why?" I answered. "The lady Quilla and I study this wondrous scene."
"Yes, Lord, though to those who are not god-born it would be difficult in this darkness. Suffer, now that I show you the path."
