"Ah, my dearest sister, the sacredness of Cuzco is no more! Its palaces have been despoiled. The beasts of the Viracochas defile the halls of the Yupanquis. These very decorations on the walls that shelter thee are here only on sufferance." He paused long enough to steady his voice, pressing her hand to stay her from speaking. "A moment more, my dear, and I have done. I have told thee only of Cuzco. The cloud that darkeneth her sunshine hath spread to the four quarters of the empire. Quito hath fallen. Daily, as came the reports of the great pestilence, come now tales of new invasion. The great sea, vacant since the world began, disgorgeth fresh swarms with every tide, as some rotten pool its burden of vermin. The gaunt leader, Pizarro, is rearing cities, driving our children into slavery to hew his stone and build his walls. The fairest vales of Tavantinsuyu are being seized by strangers, their people banished from their homes, or lashed into servitude. Yet I am called the Inca! Oh, Rava, turn away thy face till Manco hath been worthy of his trust!" He sank into a chair, his head bowed. Rava touched him. "Manco, do I behold my brother in despair?" He looked up, his face reddening. "No, no! Not that, my sister, not that! I have spoken of the past and the present. The curse hath fallen whilst I have been held by chains of circumstance—the great Inti knoweth how much against my will. Now, it is ended!" He rose and regarded her with steady eyes, his voice calm, but intense. "It is ended, Rava! To-night I meet the Villac Vmu and my generals. To-morrow at dawn, whilst _chasquis_ are speeding the four roads from Cuzco, the priest will sacrifice to the Sun—not in his desecrated temple, but under his blue vault secretly in the mountains—invoking at last his dread ministers, the Thunder and Lightning. But, Rava," he exclaimed, seizing her hands, "think not that in the weakness thou hast seen to-night there was the plaint of a coward! My heart was full. My lips have been sealed in all these months of shame with links of bronze. No mortal but thee hath heard a sigh or a faltered word; but thy dear eyes have drawn from me what torture could not compel. Not even Amancay, sweetest of consorts, hath heard a whisper of the sorrow which hath made mine every night a harrowed year. But now, it is done!" He fell into gloomy reverie, while Rava, pale and quite silent, sat pressing his hand and looking far away, or anxiously at his sombre eyes. He was oblivious of her presence, until he roused with a faint smile. "But now, dear girl, what of thyself? I have not even told thee my joy in having thee again. Forgive me." Rava placed her fingers on his lips. "No need, Manco, either for thee to tell me, or for me to say that I forgive. But mine is a long story. Be content to-night to know that I am safe." "No; but let me hear it, Rava. It is of concern to me, as thou knowest. How didst come to be at Xauxa?"