"You have come from the world of light, O Tezcot, and know much that is dark to Ix. If it please you, will you tell me something of what is passing there? How fares it with the people in the valley?"
"Why should Ix, the hermit, who has gone from the world to find seclusion in a mountain fastness, seek knowledge concerning the people and of what is passing beyond? Does the anchorite tire of his lonely mountain cell, and long for a place among them, that he turns from his solitude to inquire after the people's welfare?"
"Tezcot is wise, but he reads only from that which his eyes behold. There are sealed records from which even he can not read. Ix is one of these to all the world, yet not without his sorrows. Memory is not less bright because of the darkness which hides external things," rejoined the hermit, with deep pathos in his voice.
"Tezcot is rebuked," returned he, regretfully. "The wisdom of Ix is greater than his. The hermit's desire to learn something of what is passing among the people in the valley shall be gratified. There is peace on the beautiful Anahuac, and the people appear to be happy; still, there is unrest and repining beneath it all. The signs bespeak a coming storm--not of the heavens, which we wot of when the sky is overcast and chains of fire flash across it--nor yet when the waters descend and the thunder's deep and awful voice is heard. No, it is not a storm like that, but one in which the passions of men shall sway them as the tempest sways the mighty tree; a storm in which blood shall flow and once more stain and soil the beautiful face of Anahuac; and sorrow shall find place in the hearts of many people, and lamentation shall ascend."
The voice of the hunter was like one inspired. The hermit felt it, and replied:
"The language of Tezcot is the language of a prophet. Whose hand is in the strifeful storm of which he foretells?"
"The hand of Maxtla, king at the royal city of Azcapozalco, is in it," answered the hunter.
At the mention of Maxtla's name, an expression of fierceness came over the hermit's face, but the taper's dim light did not reveal it. He inquired, in a voice in which there was evident displeasure, causing the hunter to give him a closer look: