As it was Mamcuna might well say that, having deliberately deceived her, I deserved the utmost punishment which it was in her power to inflict.  At the same time, I was not without hope that when she heard my defence she would spare my life.

By the time we reached the queen’s house my escort had swollen into a crowd, and one of the caciques went in to inform Mamcuna what had befallen and ask for her instructions.

In a few minutes he brought word that the queen would see me and the people who had taken part in my capture forthwith.  We found her sitting in her chinchura, in the room where she and I first met.  Bather to my surprise she was calm and collected; yet there was a convulsive twitching of her lips and an angry glitter in her eyes that boded ill for my hopes of pardon.

“Is it true, this they tell me, senor—­that you have been helping Chimu’s wife to escape, and killed Chimu?” she asked.

“It is true.”

“So you prefer this wretched pale-face woman to me?”

“No, Mamcuna.”

“Why, then, did you help her to escape and kill her husband?  Don’t trifle with me.”

“Because I pitied her.”

“Why?”

“Chimu treated her ill, and she was very wretched.  She wanted to go back to her own country, and she has little children at home.”

“What was her wretchedness to you?  Did you not know that you were incurring my displeasure and risking your own life?”

“I did.  But a Christian caballero holds it his duty to protect the weak and deliver the oppressed, even at the risk of his own life.”

Mamcuna looked puzzled.  The sentiment was too fine for her comprehension.

“You talk foolishness, senor.  No man would run into danger for a woman whom he did not desire to make his own.”

“I had no desire to make Senora de la Vega my wife.  I would have done the same for any other woman.”

“For any other woman!  Would you risk your life for me, senor?”

“Surely, Mamcuna, if you were in sorrow or distress and I could do you any good thereby.”

“It is well, senor; your voice has the ring of truth,” said the queen, softly, and with a gratified smile, “and inasmuch as you went not away with Chimu’s pale-faced wife, but let her depart with the negro—­”

“The senor would have gone also had we not hindered him,” interposed Chimu’s kinsman.  “We saw him lift the woman into the saddle, and he was turning to follow her when Lurin caught him with the lasso.”

“Is this true; would you have gone with the woman?” asked the queen, sternly, her smile changing into an ominous frown.

“It is true; but let me explain—­”

“Enough; I will not hear another word.  So you would have left me, a daughter of the Incas, who have honored you above all other men, and gone away with a woman you say you do not love!  Your heart is full of deceit, your mouth runs over with lies.  You shall die; so shall the white woman and the black slave.  Where are they?  Bring them hither.”