Now while we were talking the sun had sunk swiftly, so that all the
world was dark. But the light still lingered on the snowy crests of the
volcans Popo and Ixtac, staining them an awful red. Never before to my
sight had the shape of the dead woman whose everlasting bier is Ixtac's
bulk, seemed so clear and wonderful as on that night, for either it was
so or my fancy gave it the very shape and colour of a woman's corpse
steeped in blood and laid out for burial. Nor was it my phantasy alone,
for when Montezuma had finished upbraiding me he chanced to look up, and
his eyes falling on the mountain remained fixed there.
'Look now, Teule!' he said, presently, with a solemn laugh; 'yonder lies
the corpse of the nations of Anahuac washed in a water of blood and made
ready for burial. Is she not terrible in death?'
As he spoke the words and turned to go, a sound of doleful wailing came
from the direction of the mountain, a very wild and unearthly sound that
caused the blood in my veins to stand still. Now Montezuma caught my arm
in his fear, and we gazed together on Ixtac, and it seemed to us that
this wonder happened. For in that red and fearful light the red figure
of the sleeping woman arose, or appeared to rise, from its bier of
stone. It arose slowly like one who awakes from sleep, and presently
it stood upright upon the mountain's brow, towering high into the air.
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