Cristoval watched the _hamaca_ out of sight, stood looking into Pedro’s vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own. In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants, and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval’s adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness. Rava had daily messages by _chasqui_ from her cavalier, and repeated the news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt. One morning she came into Pedro’s room with more than usual animation and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends. I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who they are?" "Two friends of mine, Ñusta Rava? ’T is easily guessed. One is Cristoval, but who the other—" Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval—but I will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other—" Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his expression as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?" Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."