“In the old days of the Incas,” José said—and though his voice had certainly a muffled sound, it was unfaltering and full of purpose—“the eldest son of the sole Inca, who should be his heir, was prepared for his high inheritance by severe and arduous exercises. He had to suffer pain and weariness, to fast long and often, to go unshod and in poor mean clothing, to sleep on the bare ground. All this, that ‘when he should behold himself on the throne of his majesty, he should look down from thence with a compassionate eye on the poor, in remembrance that he himself was one of them.’”[53] Fray Fernando feared his companion’s mind was wandering. He scarcely knew what to answer. At length, however, he said, “That was a noble thought.” But after a short pause José went on, in a measured musical tone, almost a kind of chant:—“In after-days, when the poor man came to the Golden Throne with his tale of wrong and woe, he would bend low before the sole Inca, on whose head was the crimson llautu and the white wing-feathers of the cora-quenque. ‘Inca, Child of the Sun, Friend of the poor!’ he would say, ‘I pray thee, look on me. I hunger. Thou hast hungered too. I have no place to lay my head. Nor hadst thou. My feet are weary, and they bleed; for the paths are rough and stony. So were the paths thou didst tread in once.’” Here again José paused, and Fray Fernando suggested, “Then the Inca would have pity on him?” José’s voice rose higher—though still it was soft and harmonious—as he glided insensibly from the parable into the interpretation. “_Pity?_ No. It was not pity He gave me. Shall I tell you, if words _can_ tell it, what He said, stooping down from the throne of His majesty? He said, ‘Come near to Me,’ and I came. Then He said, ‘Child, it is true. My unshod feet have trod that rough and thorny way. My heart has hungered and thirsted—even as thine. I too wept over My people—bitterer tears by far than thou hadst ever need to weep over Tahuantin Suyu. Hast thou forgotten that great and bitter cry, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that slayest the prophets”? Yet I remember all.’”—Here José paused, overcome by his emotion. But “a breath and a beam of heaven” passed through the weary heart of Fray Fernando, as he asked, with eager interest, “Has He then taken the burden from you, José?” “No, He has not; He has shown me more love than that. He has said, ‘I bear it with thee,’—a better word, ten thousand times, than ‘I take it from thee.’ Don’t you know sharp pain can become highest joy sometimes? With us, the crowning glory of the Belting festival for the noble youths who stood victorious and approved, was when the sole Inca pierced their ears with his own right hand. How the touch of that hand thrilled them through with pride and rapture! And now—His hand touches me—His voice whispers, ‘_Once_ I suffered all; _now_ I know all. Wait. Trust me. My name is Secret. Believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God.’” “And you _can_ trust Him now, José?”