The tzin saw that the girl's gratitude, which was very great, had changed to love, a love that knows no bounds, and he was greatly troubled. It was by no means displeasing to him, for he was a man; yet, he felt it to be most inopportune. In the few days he had been at Tezcot's Mitla had won his profound respect--possibly more, which he was not ready to admit--and he was truly sorry that he was compelled to go away so soon. There was something about the beautiful mountain girl which pleased and charmed him; and it was with difficulty he restrained himself from giving vent to feelings in which he felt he could not afford to indulge; still, notwithstanding his efforts to refrain from doing so, he had once or twice, and but now, permitted his feelings to get the better of him. He was not sure, therefore, of his disinterestedness: the feelings with which he regarded her, he thought, might be awakening love, or might prove to be only fancy. He would wait and see before committing himself. But what of Mitla's loving heart, should it prove to be the latter? This was the thought which gave him pain, and which would have much to do with moulding the impressions which would move him later. The tzin's promise that he would come again had a cheering effect upon Mitla, and she became quite animated. After a half hour of more cheerful conversation they went back to the house, one of them, at least, feeling much brighter for their talk. * * * * * The sun had just dropped behind the western horizon; that conscious impress of loneliness which affects the mind in the twilight of evening, especially in the open country, was beginning to pervade not only the animate, but the inanimate. The animals showed by their actions that they felt it; so, also, did the fowls and birds, by seeking their accustomed roosts. The unwonted stillness of the leaves, the drooping of the flowers, the gentle purling of the running brook, and the placid surface of the lake's waters, all gave evidence of the near approach of Nature's resting time. Two men, hunters, from their appearance, were trudging along the highway, going in the direction of Tlacopan, which lay just ahead of them. The tired motion of their limbs--of one of them, at least--accorded well with the silent voice around them, and told, in language mute but distinct, how welcome to them would be the rest which comes with the night. In those travel-worn pedestrians we would have recognized the young Tezcucans, Euetzin and Cacami, who were nearing the end of their return journey from the mountains, which, owing to the fact that the tzin was a slow traveler, had taken nearly two full days to accomplish. Their destination, as has been intimated, was Tlacopan, which they were making strenuous efforts to reach before dark. "You are much the better traveler, Cacami," the tzin was saying. "While my steps are flagging, yours are light and firm."