His lips at last unsealed by the approaching separation, and the consciousness that he was about to hazard all for the cause dearest to the hearts of both, he said a thousand things in the soft musical “lengua del Inca,” which would not bear translation. The hour was rapturous, but all too brief, and bounded by that terrible parting. Already he had risen from his place at her feet, and received the pretty Spanish “Vaya con Dios,” which she added to the Quichua “Paccaricama,” when his eye rested on a pair of perfumed Spanish leather gloves, embroidered with seedling pearls, lying beside the guitar, her aunt’s recent gift. Instinct revealed the donor: he saw in them the homage of his rival, and the countenance of Viracocha fell. Coyllur noticed the change, and said, not without confusion, “They are pretty, Viracocha. He would leave them;—but I do not value them.” “They are not worthy to touch the pure hands of my nũsta,” said Viracocha, with a scornful glance at the dainty trifles. “No Child of the Sun is ever adorned with pearls, since they cannot be obtained without risk of life.” (A beautiful trait, recorded by Garçilasso de la Vega of his Inca forefathers.) But Coyllur thought not of the old Incas, her forefathers—she thought only of the young Inca standing before her, whose looks were far more eloquent than words. “I care nothing for such Spanish trumpery,” she said, as, taking the gloves, she flung them from the open window, over the balcony, down into the square beneath. Viracocha’s countenance softened—brightened into restful assurance. “It is well,” he answered. “Now I go. Will my nũsta give me a token—a flower to keep for her sake?” And selecting, from a vase which lay before her on the table, a rich crimson tintin, or passion-flower, Coyllur placed it in the hand of Viracocha, who kissed it and laid it in his bosom. So they parted. XX. The Star Sets. “Untrue! untrue! O morning star—O mine! That sitteth secret in a veil of light Far up the starry spaces—say untrue! Speak but so loud as doth a Tyrrhene moon To wasted waters.” E. B. BROWNING. About ten months afterwards, Viracocha came back. He bent his steps, in the first instance, to the dwelling of Yupanqui. But there all was changed, except the familiar walls,—those adamantine Inca walls, which still defy the hand of time, and the far less gentle touch of man. Even these, however, were hardly visible through the heaps of stones, of timber, and of mortar that lay around them. With these materials, a second story, after the Spanish fashion, was being added to the Inca’s house. A Spanish master-builder was overlooking the work, and directing the labours of a crowd of Indians and negroes. But no one could give Viracocha any information about the former occupants of the dwelling.