The priest led the way once more. As we passed through another chamber, we were joined by a dozen or more young men in the tricolored robes of the Serpent God. In another, twenty virgins of the temple joined the procession, and with measured tread, with a low chant, with waving green plumes, we issued from the temple door and looked down upon the vast crowd beneath us. Above our heads the temple walls and lofty roof-comb gleamed like molten gold in the rays of the sinking sun. Below us the plaza and the city were in dusky purple shadows. And in a great wave of sound the cheers of the people rose to us on the calm silent air of evening. Slowly we marched around the broad stone parapet. The acolytes and virgins prostrated themselves, and the priest halted and made obeisance before a short flight of steps that led to a huge sculptured altar above which towered a gigantic image of the Plumed Serpent, a lordly, imposing figure with benign bearded face gazing steadfastly into the east. My heart pounded in my breast. Despite my every effort, I felt nervous, shaky, filled with forebodings. The moment had come. Could I go through with the plan I had formed? Could I dominate the priest and the others. Could I bluff it out? Then thoughts of Itza swept through my troubled brain. Somewhere below me, somewhere in that vast crowd, she and the prince were watching. For her sake, for her love, I must triumph. No longer did I hesitate. A great hush had fallen upon the scene. Not a sound broke the intense stillness. Stepping past the prostrate priest, I mounted the first step, faced the huge image above me, bowed, and at the top of my lungs shouted--in English: “Good evening, old fellow; what do you think of your self-appointed son, Kukulcan?” I wheeled in time to see the priest glance up with an amazed, startled, half-terrified, half-incredulous expression. Never before had he or anyone present heard a word of English from my lips. To him, to all, it was utterly incomprehensible. It must be the secret ceremonial language of the cult of the Plumed Serpent! Below me, already dim in the shadows, the people were prostrate. Once more I shouted, this time in the Zutugil they understood, for I did not intend they should miss any of the events to follow. “Rise, O, people of Mictolan,” I cried. “Rise and look upon the ceremony of the setting sun.” Then, in English to impress them the more, I added, “And upon the setting of the priest here.” Slowly, half fearfully, the people rose and gazed upward towards where I stood.