he had spoken at Arequipa, the father of Maria Cristina de Orellana.
"Why do you stop here?" asked the stranger. "You won't see the procession if you do. Follow me, and I'll show you my daughter coming out of the Corridor of Night"
Dick stared at him. Groups of Indians were passing, all heading in the same direction. The old man spoke again.
"You may as well go with them. They are all off to see the procession of the Bride of the Sun."
Dick followed him mechanically. Why not, after all? He was nearly mad himself. Why should a madman not be his guide? As they walked, Orellana babbled on tonelessly.
"I know you well. You want to see the Bride of the Sun. I see you have even disguised yourself as an Indian to do so. Not in the least necessary, I assure you. You'll see her, right enough, if you come with me. I know Cuzco, below ground and above ground, better than any living man. I have lived in their secret passages for ten years. When I am not under ground, I guide strangers through the city, and show them where the Bride of the Sun used to pass on her way to the Temple of Death. You know that, of course? It's the same as the Temple of the Sun, only underneath. I'll show it you, for it's worth seeing.
