It is you, dear light of my soul, it is you who call me back to life. Would I preserve it, if I was not sure that death, by the same stroke, would cut short your days with mine? The moment was arrived that the divine flame, with which the Sun animates our being, seemed going to expire. Laborious Nature was just preparing to give another form to that portion of matter which belonged to her in me. I was dying; you was losing for ever half of yourself, when my love restored my life, which I now dedicate to you. But how can I inform you of the many wonders that have happened to me? How shall I recollect ideas that were all confusion, even when I received them, and which the time that is since past, renders still less intelligible.

Scarcely, my dear Aza, had I entrusted our faithful Chaqui, with the last tissue of my thoughts, when I was surprised by an uncommon noise in our habitation; about midnight two of my ravishers hurried me out of my gloomy retreat, with as much violence as they had employed in snatching me from the Temple of the Sun.

Though the night was very dark, they made me travel so far, that sinking with the fatigue, they were obliged to carry me into a house, which I could perceive, notwithstanding the darkness, it was exceedingly difficult to get at.

I was thrust into a place more streight and inconvenient than even my prison had been. Oh! my dear Aza, could I persuade you what I do not myself comprehend, if you were not assured that a lye never sullied the lips of a child of the Sun.

This house, which I judge to be large, by the number of people it seems to contain, is not fixed to the ground, but being in a manner suspended, kept in a continual balancing motion.

Oh! light of my mind, Ticai-Viracocha should have filled my soul like yours, with his divine knowlege, to have made me capable of comprehending this prodigy.