A strange, soft, bluish light, like that of moonbeams, filled the windowless corridors. Upon the stone floors were carpets of woven matting, and sweet smelling, aromatic incense floated from mosaic-covered burners placed here and there. Everywhere the sacred red, white and green of Kukulcan was used to the exclusion of all other colors; everywhere the Plumed Serpent in all his manifold forms was prominent in the pictures and decorative motifs, and in one brightly illuminated room were arranged hundreds, thousands of stuffed or mummified Quetzal trogans, the sacred birds in whose form Kukulcan or Quetzalcoatl was first supposed to have appeared. Presently we entered a long, high, narrow chamber, and I glanced quickly about. Kinchi Haman was already donning ceremonial robes. Everywhere were carved stone chests and wooden cases filled with priceless ornaments, magnificent robes, feather crowns, ceremonial objects. Which were the ones I should use? To hesitate was to be lost. The gleaming eyes of the priest were watching my every move. I must act quickly, surely, must betray no hesitation. Across my mind flashed the memory of Professor Cervantes’ most prized possession--the painted sculptured door-lintel from Chichen Itza with its figure of a high priest of Kukulcan. And, coincidently with this memory, came the mental picture of old Katchilcan, as I had seen him attired for the ceremony of the sunset. Every detail was instantaneously photographed upon my brain. I saw every ornament, every object as plainly as though it were before my eyes. I wheeled savagely on the priest. “And since when,” I demanded, “has the misshapen priest of Kinich Ahau been paramount in the temple of Kukulcan? I am the master here! You are but a menial, a slave! Bring to me the robes, the crown, the sacred objects that I may attire myself for worship.” He fairly cringed. Once more I had bluffed him. With babbled excuses he scurried about, bringing me robes, sandals, crown. I studied each as he presented it, racked my memory to be sure. Twice I hurled the objects from me and berated him. One, an elaborated, magnificent feather headdress, bore blue and yellow plumes; the other, a great golden disk, bore the symbol of Itzama, the Moon God. Whether he tried to trick me, whether in his haste and nervousness he had made a mistake, or whether he did not know of their significance, I cannot say. But, in any case, my prompt rejection of the objects must have convinced him I was familiar with the ceremonial costume demanded. * * * * * AT last I was fully attired. In one hand I bore the double-headed serpent staff of turquoise mosaic, in the other the feather-woven basket containing the implements for blood-letting. I smiled to myself. As far as appearances went, I might have been the vitalized figure from a prehistoric Mayan monument.