José, with evident pleasure, began his story. “There was once,” he said, “a great and brave chieftain, whose name was Ollantā. He rebelled against his lord the Inca; he took for himself the province given him to rule over; and he slew those who were sent against him. For he would fain obey no lord, but be lord and Inca over all himself. But, after a long time and a grievous war, in which many men were killed, he was overcome and made prisoner; and his friends, who aided him in his rebellion, were taken also. With their hands bound and their eyes bandaged, they were led to Cuzco. Then, at last, the bandage was taken away. Behold! they stood in the presence of the sole Inca. He sat on his golden throne, the high priest on his right hand, the great general whose valour had won the victory, on his left; and standing around him, like stars around the sun, all his glorious court. He looked awful in his majesty. Right sternly he asked the trembling captives, ‘Why have you done this thing?’ But they only bowed their heads and answered, ‘Father, we have nothing to say.’ Then the Inca turned to the high priest, ‘What do these men deserve?’ he asked. Too well the high priest knew the answer, but his lips refused to utter it. ‘The Sun has given me a merciful heart,’ he said. So the Inca looked from him to the victorious general, whose heart was cast in a harder mould. And he spoke out boldly, ‘Inca, these men have slain our fathers; they must die. Let them be tied to stakes driven into the ground, and let their servants, who fought for them, be made to march over their bodies. Then let those servants also be slain with arrows.’ Then the Inca looked upon the captives; and his face was sad and stern; ‘You have heard your sentence,’ he said.—‘Take them away.’ And the servants wept and wailed and made sore lamentation. But Ollantā and his friends spake never a word; for they knew that their doom was just. As they had sown, they must reap. Only they looked up to the glorious Sun, and around them on the fair earth, as men who take their farewell look of all. “Then once more spake the Inca. ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Unbind those men. They shall not die, but live. Ollantā, I forgive thee.’ And turning to the guards that stood around, he added, ‘Bring the golden helmet, the mace, and the arrows.’ (These were the signs of Ollantā’s forfeited honours.) ‘Give them back to him. And to his friends likewise restore their maces of office, their arrows, and their bracelets.’ Moreover, forasmuch as pardon is not complete without trust restored, he said to him, ‘Ollantā, thou shalt govern Cuzco for me when I go forth shortly upon my warlike expedition to Collasuyu.’ And he sealed all with the generous word, ‘I shall go with joy; leaving, to govern here, my faithful Ollantā.’