“This:  I ask that you will stop with my father and give him your help in the war that must come.  I would see this Urco crushed, but without that help I am sure that the Chancas and the Yuncas are too weak to overthrow the Inca might.  Remember that if I escape marriage thus only can you hope to win me, namely, by the defeat and death of Urco.  Say, then, that you will stay here and help to lead the Chanca armies, and say it swiftly, since that dotard, Upanqui, frets to be gone.  Hark! his messengers call and search; my women can hold them back no more.”

“I will stay,” I answered hoarsely.

“I thank you, and now farewell, till in life or death we meet again.  Thoughts come to my mind which I have no time to utter.”

“To mine also, Quilla, and here is one of them.  You know the man who was with me on the island.  Well, he is more than he seems.”

“So I guessed, but where is he now?”

“In hiding, Quilla.  If you should chance to find him, bear in mind that he is an enemy of Urco and one not friendless; also that he loves me after his fashion.  Trust him, I pray you.  Urco is not the only one of the Inca blood, Quilla.”

She glanced at me quickly and nodded her head.  Then without more words, for officers were pressing towards us, she drew a ring off her finger, a thick and ancient golden ring on which were cut what looked like flowers, or images of the sun, and gave it to me.

“Wear this for my sake.  It is very old and has a story of true love that I have no time to tell,” she said.

I took it and in exchange passed to her that ancient ring which my mother had given to me, the ring that had come down to her with the sword Wave-Flame, saying: 

“This, too, is old and has a story; wear it in memory of me.”

Then we parted and presently she was gone.

I stood watching her litter till it vanished in the evening haze.  Then I turned to go to find myself face to face with Huaracha.

“Lord-from-the-Sea,” he said, “you have played a man’s—­or a god’s—­part to-day.  Had you bidden my daughter bide here, she would have done so for love of you and the Chanca people must have been destroyed, for as that old Inca or his spokesman told us, the breaking of my oath would have been taken as a declaration of instant war.  Now we have breathing time, and in the end things may go otherwise.”

“Yes,” I answered, “but what of Quilla and what of me?”

“I know not your creed or what with you is honour, White Lord, but among us whom perhaps you think of small account, it is thought and held that there are times when a man or a woman, especially if they be highly placed, must do sacrifice for the good of the many who cling to them for guidance and for safety.  This you and my daughter have done and therefore I honour both of you.”

“To what end is the sacrifice made?” I asked bitterly.  “That one people may struggle for dominion over another people, no more.”