The Palla led across a terrace into a large hall, brightly lighted and strewn with rugs. A pair of braziers were burning, for the evening was growing chill, and Rava was soon established among the cushions of a divan, giving a hurried though unconnected narrative of her late adventures to the wondering Maytalca. The Palla, who, as her title indicated, was of royal blood, though not of the reigning family, was the widow of one of the princes of the realm. She was a stately woman, just past middle age, with hair slightly touched with gray, and robed in the rich costume of the women of the nobility. Her bearing was that of a gentlewoman, and whatever disquietude she felt at her steel-clad guest it was effectually concealed. As a matter of fact he gave an impression of formidableness with his rust-streaked armor, his half-grown beard, eyes burning in sockets made deep by hardship, and cheeks hollowed by the recent toil and hunger, which his gentle comportment could only half dispel. When he excused himself some minutes later and left the room with a servant to look after his horse, the Palla turned to Rava and seized her hands. "Rava, my child," she exclaimed, in a low voice, "how hadst thou courage to trust thyself with that terrible-appearing man? I tremble to look at him! I shall never sleep while he is beneath the shelter of this roof." Rava smiled up at her from her cushions. "Ah, Maytalca, thou dost not know him! Had I been a child he could not have been more gentle. Indeed," and the slightest pout came into her expression, "he seemeth to hold me but a child! But oh, my dear, he is brave as he is kind! The god Viracocha himself were not more terrible when he meeteth an enemy: nor thou more tender than he hath been to me. He is invincible; yet hath the heart of a woman. Sleep as thou wouldst with Inti guarding, dearest Maytalca. Thou’lt love him." The Palla seated herself beside the girl and placed an arm about her, gravely studying her eyes. "Hast thou found, Rava, such traits in thy protector?" Rava turned her eyes upon her for an instant with a half-frightened look, then dropped them with sudden reserve. "He was the Inca’s trusted friend, Maytalca," she replied, with womanly art, "and hath been mine. I believe him most worthy."