“What is it? What is it?” she asked eagerly.
Sajipona followed the twisting maze of figures before them with unwonted anxiety. Her usual calm demeanor was gone. She appeared to be reading something the purport of which was not at all to her liking.
“Look!” she exclaimed. “There he is. They have let him pass through the gate. He is coming here. Anitoo’s men are with him.”
To Una the words were meaningless. Yet she knew that her companion was reading, or, rather, witnessing something that was passing before her own eyes, and that hence should have been quite as visible to her—if only she had the clew. But this she did not have. She recognized the hint of danger. She knew that in some way Sajipona had caught a glimpse of some one whom she counted an enemy. She felt that this person was in some way connected with her own party; and then the thought of Raoul Arthur flashed across her mind, at the same time that his veritable image—so it seemed—stood forth in wavering lines of light at her feet.
“Save David from him!” she cried involuntarily.
“You see him—you know him!”
“He came in with us. He is there—look! I don’t know by what invisible power you have conjured up this apparition, but it is real. He is the one man I have feared—and he is coming here!”
Sajipona laughed softly to herself.
“Ah!” she cried, “now you have our secret. Here in this ancient hall, under this sun we have worshiped for countless ages, nothing is hidden. But the man you fear, that you see there, will bring freedom to us both.”
Whatever Sajipona meant by her enigmatical words, the fact was there, the living, moving likeness of Raoul Arthur, in the light-woven tapestry at Una’s feet. Eagerly she watched him. It was certainly Raoul, Raoul hurrying towards her, growing more distinct, more threatening with every moment. Behind him streamed a shadowy line of men—swiftly, confidently—following a trail amid the jagged rocks and precipices of the cave that might well have daunted the boldest spirits, but which seemed powerless to retard their progress. As Una’s eyes became accustomed to the shifting panorama before her, sundry details came into view that at first had been unnoticed. She was familiar with the curious phenomena wrought by the camera obscura, and this singular portrayal on the gleaming floor of Sajipona’s palace seemed at first not unlike that simple method of reproducing objects invisible to the spectator. But as the present picture grew and then faded away, to be followed by others in this magic pool of light, she knew that what she now beheld was quite beyond the power of the cunningly placed lens used in experiments with the camera obscura to portray. The latter, she remembered, could reproduce objects only when they came within a certain definite distance from the lens itself. But here Raoul Arthur and his companions moved across a constantly changing, lengthening space. Moreover, she recognized the path they were following as the one over which she had traveled at a point far away from the palace. They had reached, indeed, the very spot where she and Narva had first caught sight of that topmost pinnacle of the cave, behind and above which flamed the great ball of fire, the sun of this subterranean world. As Sajipona’s palace stood at the base of this pinnacle, she calculated, from her own experience of the journey, that Raoul and his followers were coming directly towards them.
“There is nothing to fear,” resumed Sajipona, as if in answer to her thoughts. “Be glad of their coming. But—for your own people I am afraid.”
“Ah, my poor uncle! I have brought him into all this danger,” exclaimed Una. “Where is he? How can I save him?”
“Look!”
Eagerly studying the portion of the picture indicated, Una suddenly found, to her horror, that Raoul, with that vague, shadowy rabble at his heels, was approaching another group of people, just ahead, among whom she recognized the gaunt figure of Narva, evidently exasperated by the inability of the others to keep pace with her. Even in the uncertain lines of the picture the scorn darkening the features of the old sibyl was easily discernible. Behind her tottered Mrs. Quayle, waving her arms in helpless protest, supported by the faithful Andrew, whose face showed an even greater degree of woe and alarm than usual. They were closely followed by Leighton, imperturbable as ever, and Miranda, whose irascible rocketing from one side to the other of the narrow trail, and whose violent gesticulations manifested all too plainly his indignation. Had it not been for her companions Narva could easily have outstripped her pursuers; but with so timorous a person as Mrs. Quayle this seemed impossible. The hopelessness of it, in spite of all his scolding and prodding, had evidently convinced Miranda of the necessity for a change of tactics. Further flight being a mere waste of energy, there was left the alternative of parleying with the enemy. Hence, without stopping to consult with General Herran, who still suffered, apparently, from his wound, and who plodded patiently along immediately behind Leighton, the doctor suddenly came to a standstill. This unexpected halt very nearly toppled over the others, who were pressing on as hard as they could go and found it difficult to stop on the instant. But Miranda did not heed the ludicrous disorder into which he had thrown them. Facing quickly about, and with arms impressively folded, he bestrode the narrow path as if defying any one who might be foolhardy enough to challenge him. At a distance, and without hearing the torrent of abuse with which he evidently greeted his pursuers, the fiery doctor resembled a small terrier disputing the right of way with a pack of hounds hot on their quarry. What he lacked in physical presence, however, Miranda made up in energy. Undaunted he stood his ground, the men whom he addressed halting with astonishment depicted on their faces. Then, most amazing of all, he wheeled about, placed himself at their head and, waving them forward, strutted along as if he had been their chosen leader.
Amused and impressed by his boldness, the men were apparently willing at first to accept Miranda for their commander. He furnished them with a new kind of entertainment, and for the moment, and just because they did not understand him, it seemed as if they recognized in him a superiority they were not loath to follow. But Raoul’s leadership was not to be so easily superseded. Quickly thrusting Miranda aside, breathless and triumphant from his exertions, the wiry American angrily harangued his troops. He threatened the foremost of them with a pike that he held in his hand, and by their downcast looks and passive demeanor, it was evident that his words and gestures had brought them back to a recognition of his authority. Miranda, still shouting and gesticulating, was ignominiously left to shift for himself, while the cavemen, obeying Raoul’s command, swept onward until they reached the stupefied group of explorers ahead of them. Here another halt was ordered, and Raoul pointed out Mrs. Quayle to his men. Four of the latter promptly left the ranks of their comrades, went forward at a round trot, seized the horrified lady, and swung her up to their shoulders before she knew what was happening, or had time to defend herself. Thus carried by two of the men and held in place by the other two, she was speedily brought into line not far behind Raoul. Leighton evidently protested against the sudden capture of Mrs. Quayle, for whose safety he felt peculiarly responsible. But his appeal was waved scornfully aside. The rest of the explorers, Miranda included, seeing that further resistance was futile, and that they were virtually Raoul’s prisoners, hopelessly resigned themselves to their fate and followed along with the others. A signal was then given, and the entire throng marched rapidly down the trail to the palace. Narva, however, was not among them. In the commotion that took place during the altercation with Miranda, and the subsequent seizure of Mrs. Quayle, she had disappeared.
As the last figures in this strange picture faded from view, Sajipona seized Una’s arm. The waving streams of light reflected on the floor had again become meaningless. It was as if a dream had suddenly passed before them, leaving them, as sleepers awakening, uncertain of the reality of what they had witnessed.
“Who is he?” asked Sajipona—“the stout man who so nearly captured these traitors?”
“A friend, a doctor, who came with us.”
“He is brave! But it is strange that this Raoul Arthur could free himself so easily from Anitoo. He must have killed my poor Anitoo to do that. But your friend was nearly too much for him! Never mind if he failed. They will soon be here. Let us be ready!”
Then, turning to her attendants who stood in a circle at a distance from them, she cried:
“Open the door!”
Obeying her command, two of the cavemen hurried to the farther end of the hall. There was a muffled sound of grating stone, and then the two leaves of the great portal swung slowly open, revealing the glittering, silent garden of the palace beyond.
Surrounded by her people, the ancient diadem of the Chibchas, with its great, smouldering emerald, on her head, Sajipona waited at the entrance to the court. Without, the motionless flowers and shrubbery of the garden were steeped in a pale, quivering light outlining every object with a weird intensity sharper, yet more indefinable than gleams from moon-drenched skies. In this spectral scene the cavemen stood in rows, like carven statues; even Sajipona, mobile, versatile of mood, seemed a woman of marble.
But Una, stirred profoundly by the picture she had seen, doubtful of its reality, not altogether sure of her own ground, aware of the dangers that threatened, but ignorant of their exact character, could not hide her anxiety. Seizing Sajipona’s hand, her eyes were eloquent of unspoken questioning. Her mute appeal was answered by a wistful smile, a glance at once gracious and sorrowful.
“For you there is no danger,” said the queen. “For me—yes, for me there is, perhaps, danger.”
“How can that be?”
“You fear this Raoul Arthur. It is not for you, it is for me he has come. For three years he has plotted to do this thing. My own kinsman, Rafael Segurra, was in league with him. Before now he has attempted to force his way here. The two together found their opportunity in your coming. And now—Arthur has escaped from his captors and again seems to have found traitors among my people.”
“What is it he wants?”
“You ask that—you who know David!”
For a moment the anger and suspicion with which she had first regarded Una kindled in Sajipona’s eyes. But the mood vanished as quickly as it came.
“Surely, you remember what Narva said,” she went on. “He seeks treasure. He sought it with David three years ago, the poor treasure belonging to what is left of my people. Segurra told him where it was, how to get it.”
“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Una. “Now I know! The treasure of Guatavita, of El Dorado, it is here.”
“It is here—it is mine!” said Sajipona sternly. “It will never be his. Always your people have fought for it, have sinned and died to make it theirs. They have driven us off the face of the earth, to hide for centuries in this cave and in that other land that as yet you know nothing of. Here we have made our world—and we will keep what is ours, unless David——”
The words died on Sajipona’s lips. At the far end of the garden the heavy branches of spectral shrubbery swayed and parted, revealing a majestic figure hastening toward them. It was Narva. Gliding along the pathway, she showed an agitation contrasting strangely with her accustomed reserve. Reaching the entrance to the palace, she pointed behind her, at the same time addressing the queen in words unintelligible to Una.
“Yes, they are coming,” said Sajipona, smiling composedly. “It is well. There is nothing to fear.”
Narva had arrived none too soon. As she spoke to the queen, shouts were heard in the distance, and then the tramp of approaching footsteps. Sajipona advanced to the threshold of the palace, where, signing to the others to remain behind, she stood alone, awaiting the noisy intruders. Her defenseless position brought bitter protest from Narva that was supported by a movement among the others to protect their queen. This was quickly rebuked; and when Raoul, his followers and the explorers poured into the garden they were confronted by a group of men and women who gave no sign of uneasiness at their arrival.
It should be noted here that, in spite of his defeat, pictured in the pool of light, Miranda had by no means relinquished his efforts to gain control of Raoul’s men. He had followed along at their side, irrepressible in his attempts to hold their attention—a sort of gadfly whose persistent teasing nothing can stop. Raoul would have put an end to him, once and for all; but in this he found that his men, pacific by nature and training, would not uphold him. Miranda’s rotund figure, vehemence, spasmodic energy, the unmitigated scorn with which he regarded all who differed from him, delighted them. He enjoyed the sort of immunity from punishment granted the old-time court jester. The cavemen liked him because they could never tell what he was going to do next. The novelty of so dynamic a personality appealed to their sense of humor. Thus, when they were all assembled in the garden, the little doctor’s next move was awaited with eagerness. To their astonishment, the flourish expected of him was not forthcoming. Instead, he stood stock still, folded his arms across his chest with all the Napoleonic dignity he could muster, and glared at Raoul.
This extreme composure, however, was not shared by the rest of the explorers. At the first glimpse of Una, standing immediately behind Sajipona, Mrs. Quayle gave a shriek of joy and collapsed into the arms of the schoolmaster, whose own emotions made him a sorry support at the best. Leighton, on the contrary, accompanied by Herran, strode quickly forward and would have reached the threshold of the palace, had he not been waved imperiously aside by Raoul, who now summoned his followers about him, formed them into a close phalanx and advanced rapidly across the garden. When they were within a hundred yards of the palace, they were suddenly met by two men of gigantic stature, who calmly ordered them to halt. Raoul was less intimidated than his followers, who recognized in this unexpected challenge an authority they were accustomed to obey. The two men confronting them evidently belonged to the priesthood. They were distinguished from the rest of Sajipona’s courtiers by their dress, adorned by various symbolical figures embroidered in red and gold, and by two wands, each surmounted by an emerald, which they carried in their hands. Although without military backing, weaponless except for these wands, Raoul saw with dismay that the mere presence of these men excited the respect, and even the homage, of those about him. Many bowed before them; a few showed an unmistakable disposition to abandon their enterprise altogether and take refuge in flight. Before this movement could become general, however, they were arrested by the appearance of Sajipona in their midst.
Descending the steps of the palace, the queen, attended only by Una and Narva, came swiftly forward to meet them. Her bearing, the proud majesty of her beauty, caused a murmur of admiration throughout the ranks of the cavemen that was punctuated by a hearty shout from Miranda, who watched the troubles of Raoul with unrestrained delight. It was not often, indeed, that the rank and file of the Land of the Condor came face to face with their queen. When they did so, the meeting aroused a profound feeling of pride and loyalty. Raoul, seeing the effect Sajipona had upon his men, and already disconcerted by the reception accorded the two priests, had no mind for further encounters that might cost him his entire following. In the outside world, faced by a similar danger, he would have retreated. But here, in the midst of a subterranean labyrinth of unknown extent, retreat was impossible. The alternative was a bold rallying of his forces, a sudden rush for the prize he had ventured so far to win. Turning upon his men, he denounced them savagely for their apparent change of purpose, their cowardice.
“You will remain slaves!” he cried tauntingly. “We have your tyrants in our power. All you need do for your freedom is to follow me and take what belongs to you.”
There were enough who understood his words to translate them to those ignorant of Spanish, and the immediate effect produced on these people, vacillating by nature, ever ready to yield to the strongest personality that appealed to them, was not far from that intended. Spears, knives, blowguns were brandished, a score or more men leaped forward uttering cries of triumph—and again the attack planned by Raoul seemed fairly under way and with a reasonable prospect of success. It was checked—but only for an instant—by a clamorous protest from Miranda. The latter, blazing with indignation, bounded to the front, gesticulating and menacing all who were within his reach.
“He is one canaille, this fellow!” he shouted. “He fight with the womens. He take from you all you have. Do not be estupid. He lie! He lie!”
This outburst astonished more than it convinced those to whom it was addressed. As Miranda spoke in a mixture of English and Spanish, scarcely any one understood what he said. In another moment he would have been swept derisively aside, had not Sajipona quietly interposed. Pointing at Raoul, she spoke a few words to the cavemen in their native tongue. Then she turned to the man whose armed presence at the doors of her palace, threatened her authority, if not her life.
“So! This is the man who, a short time ago, I saved from death at the hands of an angry mob!” she said scornfully. “You did not come to my house then, Don Raoul, as you come now. And yet—if I order these men, whom you think are your followers, to treat you as that other mob would have treated you, they would obey me. Be sure of that! And now, tell me: what have you done with Anitoo?”
Raoul hesitated a moment, then answered sullenly:
“He attacked me. I killed him in self-defense.”
The reply was only half understood by the cavemen; but the attitude of Raoul, contrasted with the majestic bearing and composure of Sajipona, had already aroused their indignation.
“It may have been, as you say, in self-defense—I have only your word for it. But, for the treachery, the rebellion you have brought here,” the queen went on, “by all the laws of our kingdom you should die. But I have something I wish you to do. If you do it, your life will be spared and you will be taken in safety from this cave never to enter it again.”
Sajipona checked the tumult that she saw rising among the cavemen, and spoke a few words to them.
“I have told them,” she explained, turning to Raoul, “that I knew of your coming—as I did. I have told them I have something for you to do before you are expelled from our kingdom. And I have pledged my word for your safety—although none of the men you have led here against me seem to care what happens to you. And now you will come with me.”
There was a murmur of approval. Raoul looked fearfully at his followers. Their submission to the commands of the woman they were accustomed to obey was sufficiently evident to destroy his last hope for even a divided authority. Neither—for he was ignorant of their language—could he tell just what had passed between them and Sajipona. He was glad to accept, however, the queen’s promise of safety; and this, coupled with a desire to get to the bottom of the mystery that had tantalized him since he first met this strange and fascinating being, reconciled him to the enforced abandonment of his schemes for the conquest of a subterranean stronghold into which he had ventured too far to retreat. He therefore bowed his head to Sajipona’s commands and prepared to do as she directed. His submission was greeted with ironical approval by Miranda, who how waddled forward impatiently, dragging Leighton with him, to enter the palace. But in this he was prevented by Sajipona.
“Senor, Doctor,” she said, pleasing his vanity by her knowledge of his professional title, “you must wait. There is much to be done. You are a fine general. You have helped save this palace, my kingdom and all of us from ruin. I am very grateful. Soon you will have everything that you want. And you and your friends will return to your own country in safety.”
This unexpected check, although expressed in terms that were highly pleasing to Miranda’s vanity, was received with a grumbling protest.
“But, Senorita,” he expostulated; “this young lady is here. I look for her everywhere in this cave. I am her family. She must come back to us.”
“Not yet,” was the calm reply. “Very soon, yes. But now she will stay with me.”
There was a finality about this way of putting things that dashed even Miranda’s impetuosity. Leighton, silently watching the brief altercation, and perceiving that Una, who still remained where Sajipona had left her, was perfectly calm and in no need of their assistance, exerted himself to restrain her headstrong champion. This was no easy matter, and the struggle between the two was watched with a covert smile by Sajipona. With the help of Herran and Andrew, however, Miranda’s opposition was finally overcome. After which, without waiting to hear the tirade that, she could see, the doctor was ready to launch, the queen, followed by Raoul, turned to the palace. Regaining the entrance, she faced them once more and waved a farewell to the silent throng in the garden. Then, giving her hand to Una, she passed within, the great doors clanging behind her.
As soon as she reëntered the palace, Sajipona dismissed her courtiers, the cavemen who acted as guards, and even the few female attendants she was accustomed to have near her. Of her own people, Narva alone remained.
Facing Raoul and Una in the deserted hall, flooded with light from the magic sun that a short while since had traced in moving characters of fire the approach of her enemies, Sajipona told of her purpose in bringing them there. She spoke as if she had long foreseen and even planned this interview, and amazed them by her intimate knowledge of various matters that seemed quite beyond the reach of her sources of information. It was as if she had been thoroughly familiar for some years past with Raoul’s schemes, and had even shared in the hopes and fears that brought Una to Colombia.
“I knew of your coming; I planned for it,” she said to Raoul. “For months I have known that you were using every art your cunning could suggest—aided by the treachery of one of my own people—to find your way here. Until now you have been unable to do anything. I was always able to keep you out of here—and I could still have kept you out, had it not served my purpose better to let you come. You are here now—you are looking for what you have always looked. You guessed, long since, of the existence of a great treasure house, built here centuries ago by the rulers of our mountain kingdom who disappeared before the white invaders of this country. Idle stories and legends of those far off times, repeated to you by the peons whom you questioned, vague hints and romances picked up from ancient books, led you to this cave and to the belief that I was, in some way, mixed up with its secret. I will not say that you were right or wrong in all of this. Here you look for a mountain of treasure; as yet you have found none. But you have seen marvels enough since you entered this unknown region to make you eager to solve a mystery that every moment has grown deeper. I will help you—but it must be in my own way, and just so far as it suits my own plans.
“Once, we who live here now shut out from all the rest of the world, were free. We overran all the plains and mountains of Bogota, our rule extended to the warmer countries on every side of us. We practiced arts, cultivated sciences, were familiar with secrets of nature that our conquerors were too rude, too ignorant to understand. But these conquerors excelled us in warfare; and so we were driven either into slavery or hiding. It is in memory of that former age of freedom and empire that my people have called this the Land of the Condor—that, and a strange old legend that you may have heard of. Here we are hidden far, as you know, from the light of the upper earth. A miracle of nature carved this land out of the rock; the science and art of a race older than yours have furnished it and made it what you see. It is guarded, as you know to your cost, by many a labyrinth, strongholds that have baffled you every time you have tried to pierce them. Its people live by means and methods that are forgotten—if they were ever known—to the outer world. Here we have been free to follow the customs and beliefs of our fathers. Here we could still continue a peaceful mode of life you know nothing of. But something has happened that has changed all this. Because of it I have at last permitted, even aided your coming to us. I know all you have sacrificed for this treasure you hope to win from the depths of the earth—treasure that belongs to us. I will not say that your search will be rewarded. Had you succeeded in your plan years ago you would have paid dearly for it. The knowledge of this hidden land would have been forever lost to you. Good fortune—or ill—has brought you here at last. Your fate lies now in the hands of the man you once tried to injure. But there is one thing you must do before his decision can be given. You must free him from a tyranny that, with all our knowledge of mankind’s perils and weaknesses, we are powerless to overcome.”
The demand, vague though it was, did not surprise Raoul. Upon learning of David’s disappearance on the road from Honda to Bogota, he guessed that the missing man had found his way, by some inexplicable method, to this subterranean world, thus repeating his almost fatal adventure of three years ago. This surmise, based on the past, and on indications of similar abnormal mental symptoms that he believed David had again experienced, was corroborated by the cavemen who accompanied him to the palace. From these cavemen he learned that David had been followed by Sajipona’s emissaries ever since his arrival in Honda. These people intended neither his capture, nor to interfere with whatever plans he might have. Instead, they had formed a sort of secret guard, instructed to watch him and report, so soon as they could ascertain it, his purpose in revisiting Bogota. When he was separated from Herran by the regiment of volunteers on the Honda road, he was found in a state of mental bewilderment, not conscious, apparently, that he had lost his traveling companions, but anxious to find his way to some place, which he vaguely described. While in this condition he seemed to recognize the cavemen with whom he was talking. Aided by their hints and suggestions, his recollection of the cave, and especially of Sajipona, grew in vividness. He appeared to remember nothing of Herran, nor of his immediate object in visiting Bogota. But he spoke with increasing clearness of the Land of the Condor. He recalled what had befallen him there three years ago as if it had happened quite recently, and declared he was looking for Sajipona, of whom he spoke with the greatest admiration and gratitude. As he was uncertain of his way, he asked the cavemen to guide him. This, of course, they were ready to do, although they were completely mystified by the sudden oblivion into which, apparently, all his present friends and purposes had fallen in his mind. Sajipona alone he remembered. Three years had passed since he last saw her—but the events crowded into those three years seemed to have left not the slightest trace on his memory. He described his first visit to the cave; but the time between that period and this remained a blank in his mind.
All this Raoul had gathered from the cavemen who, reverting to the Indian belief in such matters, declared that David was bewitched. In a sense, Raoul knew this to be true. He knew also that the spells wrought by modern witchcraft were easily broken by any scientist holding the clew to them. That the cavemen, who possessed secrets in physics unknown to the outer world, should be ignorant of the simplest phenomena of hypnotism was not extraordinary. Even Sajipona shared, to a certain extent, the superstitions of those around her regarding David. She expected Raoul to break the “enchantment” under which David suffered. Una, familiar with Leighton’s experiments and speculations in this field, was quite as confident as the queen that the case was within Raoul’s power. Raoul alone realized the possible consequences following David’s return to normal consciousness.
“Even if I could do as you say,” he asked, “why would you have David changed?”
“As he is now, he is not himself.”
“No, he is not himself,” repeated Una eagerly.
Sajipona’s cheek paled; her lips tightened as if to prevent an angry rejoinder.
“Are you not content with him as he is?” persisted Raoul.
“What is that to you?” she asked coldly. Then, no longer disguising her emotion, she went on:
“You don’t understand what is between us. He comes from a world that I have never seen. In the legends of our kings there is one telling of a stranger who suddenly appears from a land of clouds—a land no man knows—who brings with him the power to make my people, as they once were, rulers of their own land. It is an old tale. Believe it or not—who can be sure of these things? Certainly, the stranger has never come—unless it is David.”
“There have been many strangers since that time,” said Raoul cynically. “Your people have disappeared before the Spaniard. They live unknown, forgotten, in a cave in the mountains. Why do you think David is the stranger in the legend?”
She drew herself up scornfully. Her dark beauty, flashing eye, quivering nostril, needed not the emerald diadem of the ancient Chibchas encircling her brow to proclaim her royal lineage.
“We are not so poor, so abandoned, as you seem to think,” she said. “This is all that is left of a mighty kingdom, it is true—a cave unknown to the rest of the world. But here we are, at least, free. We live the life of our fathers. Our old men have taught us wisdom that is unknown to you. We have wealth—not only the wealth that you are seeking—but secrets of earth and air you have never dreamed of.”
“This may be—I believe it is—all true. But—what is David to do here?” murmured Una.
“If he is the Stranger of the old legend, the Gilded Man we have awaited, this Land of the Condor is his.”
“You are its queen.”
“He will be its king.”
“You have told him?” asked Raoul.
“Years ago. We were happy. I loved him. It was not as the women of your world love. Life was less than his least wish. And he loved me. Plans for the great rejoicing—the Feast of the Gilded Man—were made. Not since the Spaniards came—perhaps never before—has there been such preparation. Then, a change came over him. He talked of an outside world he had seen in his dreams. He was bewitched then, as he is now. He had forgotten you, his false friend, and all the life he had lived before. To cure him, I sent him out with some of our people. He scarcely understood, but he accepted anything I did as if it came from his own will. Then he disappeared. Without a word he left me. There came long years of uncertainty. The few months he passed with me here seemed like some bright dream that vanishes. I began to think it was a dream—when suddenly I heard of him again. Some of my people found him wandering aimlessly in the forest near the Bogota road. He was looking for me, he said—he had forgotten the rest of the world.”
There was an artless simplicity in Sajipona’s confession of her love and disappointment that was more than eloquence. Narva stood apart, her face shrouded in her mantle, motionless, as if the remembrance of these bygone matters carried with it something of a religious experience. Upon Una the effect was startlingly different. She listened in amazement, indignation, at this revelation of a passion in which her lover had shared—of which she had known nothing—and that seemed to place him utterly apart from her. If Sajipona’s tale was true—the manner of its telling, her own engaging personality, carried irresistible conviction—David’s love for Una had been shadowed all along by an earlier, deeper sentiment that gave it the color of something that was not altogether real. Why had he never told her of this Indian romance? Hypnotism indeed! What man could help kneeling in passionate adoration before this queenly woman, whose beauty was of that glorious warmth and fragrance belonging to the purple and scarlet flowers of one’s dreams, whose love combined the unreasoning devotion of a child with the proud loyalty that inspires martyrdom? They had loved—David and Sajipona—there could be no doubt of that. Before he met Una on the shores of that far-off English lake, David had stood soul to soul in a heaven created by this radiant being. He was with her again. The past was completely blotted out; the tender idyl of Derwentwater, of Rysdale, forgotten. Even the sight of Una herself stirred but the vaguest ripple of memory. There was mystery, certainly, in these strange moods of forgetfulness from which David was suffering. Her uncle could give them a learned name and account for them as belonging to something quite outside the man’s will, outside his control. But what did Leighton really know of all this? Such matters were beyond the reach of the mere scientist. With a flash of scorn she doubted Leighton’s knowledge; his wisdom seemed curiously limited. David’s malady—if it was to be called a malady—was nothing less than the delirium caused by love itself, and as such beyond the reach of clinic or laboratory. The spell, the witchcraft, that had transformed him was wrought by Sajipona.
At first Una had not believed this; now the sudden conviction that the man she loved was faithless to her, had always been faithless to her, brought an overwhelming sense of bitterness. Her former anxiety to save him—from peril as she thought—gave place to a feeling that was almost vindictive. She did not view him with the anger of the jealous woman merely; she wanted to have done with him, to forget him altogether. His name was linked by this beautiful Indian to one of the legends of her race; let it remain there!
“Why disturb him now?” she demanded passionately of Sajipona. “He loves you, he is content.”
The revulsion of feeling in her voice was unmistakable. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes, eloquent hitherto of womanly tenderness, dilated in anger. Sajipona smiled enigmatically.
“If you had not come,” she said, “there would have been no question. But you are here. He seems to have forgotten you. I am not sure, I want to be certain, now that he has forgotten you, that he is still himself.”
“Why do you doubt? Yes, he has forgotten me. And he is in your power, he is yours! Why hazard anything further?”
Sajipona ignored the scornful meaning conveyed in the words, regarding Una with a detachment indicating her absorption in a new train of thought.
“A moment ago you were anxious for his safety,” she murmured. “You came here to look for him, to rescue him. Perhaps I have been unjust—perhaps you have a claim——”
“I have no claim,” retorted Una proudly. “Once you saved his life. He has come to you again. He loves you. What man could help loving you!” she added bitterly.
Still Sajipona smiled.
“I must be sure of all this—and so must you,” she said. “If the witchcraft is mine, its power will soon be broken. If there is something else, you, Senor, will discover it.”
She turned impatiently to Raoul, desiring him to go with her to David. Una refused to accompany them. The conviction that she had been mistaken, deluded, filled her with an unconquerable aversion to meeting the man for whom she had been willing to sacrifice so much. Aware of the unreasonableness of this feeling, she yet had no wish to conquer it. To escape from this land of mysteries and terrors, to return to the simple familiar environment of Rysdale—to forget, if that were possible—was now her one desire. She did not attempt to explain or justify herself to Sajipona. Nor was this necessary. To Sajipona, Una’s anger and its cause were alike evident.
“Stay here, if you will, with Narva,” said the queen, with real or feigned indifference. “But remember, you have refused to save the man whom you think is in danger.”
Una did not reply. For the moment the old Indian sibyl, to whose protection she had been assigned, seemed a welcome refuge. Narva’s reserve, her silence, brought a negative sort of relief to her own moods of anguish and indignation. Thus, without regret or misgiving, she watched Raoul and Sajipona disappear through the portal that had first admitted her to the great hall of the palace.
David welcomed Sajipona with genuine pleasure, with an eagerness suggesting that he had been awaiting her coming impatiently. Heedless of his greeting, however, and regarding him earnestly, she asked if he remembered the visitor who had been with him a short time before.
“Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed. Then he went on, betraying a certain degree of anxiety in tone and manner, explaining how this visitor’s face had haunted him as if it belonged to one he had seen in his dreams, one upon whom he had unwittingly inflicted pain. Of course, that could not be, he said, since there was no reality in dreams. After all, a fancied wrong was nothing—and yet, this dim memory of the woman who had been with them a moment before was confusing. Where was she now? he asked. Was she offended because he failed to recognize her? He should have known better—but dreams are troublesome things! He would like to see her again—although it might be painful in a way—and then, perhaps, he would recall more distinctly what now was merely a dim sort of shadow in the back of his brain.
They talked together in the darkened chamber overlooking the portico. The couch from which he rose to greet Sajipona screened, with its regal hangings, Raoul from him. When the queen pointed out this new visitor to him, the result was similar to that following his encounter with Una.
“More dream-people,” muttered David, passing his hand slowly across his eyes. “I know this man, but I can’t exactly place him. It will come back to me in a minute.”
Raoul watched him with the intent, impersonal interest a scientist gives an experiment that is nearing the climax for which everything has been prepared beforehand.
“I think I can help you,” he assured him.
Then, turning to Sajipona; “I must warn you,” he said in a low voice. “There will be a complete change. Why not leave things as they are?”
The queen held her head up proudly.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Raoul shrugged his shoulders, regarding her, and then David, with a gleam of malice in his restless eyes.
“I mean just this: David will remember vividly what is now only a vague dream, and he may forget everything else. Therefore, I say, if you are satisfied with him as he is, don’t disturb his present mood.”
“I am not satisfied.”
“Ah! you are not satisfied. You want to try one more experiment. But, just think!” he went on, a hint of mockery in his voice; “all that legend of your people, about a stranger who would appear from a far-off land and restore the Chibcha Empire—why spoil so pretty a picture? And the chances are, you will spoil it. I warn you——”
A flash of anger checked his words.
“I have pledged myself for your safety,” she reminded him; “keep out of danger! I don’t care for your warnings. Help this man in the way that I have asked, and as you say you can. You’ve tried often enough to injure him. The consequences to me from what you do now—leave all that for me to choose. Oh, never fear! I will repay your service.”
David understood little of what was said, although he strove to piece out a meaning. He perceived he was the subject of their talk. From Sajipona’s angry tone, moreover, he knew that she was offended. The consequent resentment that he felt in her behalf was strengthened by an instinctive feeling of suspicion and dislike toward Raoul. Checking a movement of repulsion, he appealed to Sajipona.
“Let me throw him out of here,” he demanded abruptly.
“Oh, on the contrary!” smiled the queen, not unpleased at his attitude. “He is here because I have asked him to come—and you will help me if you do what he tells you.”
“Do what he tells me? No! Why, Sajipona, what new whim have you got in that beautiful head of yours? Something’s wrong. It must be that I’ve offended you.”
He took her hand, stroking it caressingly, while his eyes sought hers in unrestrained admiration.
“This is hard,” he went on, in a low tone, half laughter, half reproach. “You are always so good, gracious as a queen should be. Now you tell me to do what an enemy of yours commands. As your enemy means mine, that is unreasonable. I fear,” he added playfully, touching her hands with his lips, “I will have to disobey you, just this once, even if you are a great queen. When I am king, and we rule our jolly cave together, as you said we would, it won’t be so bad, I suppose. Men like this, certainly, won’t be around to bother us. How did he get here? I thought one law of this kingdom—and a very good law it is, too—was to keep people out.”
“But you got in.”
“I suppose I did,” he assented dreamily. “But I’m not sure how it happened.”
“That’s just it. This man will tell you. His name is Raoul Arthur.”
David looked at him blankly, repeating the name. Raoul moved out of the shadow of the bed hangings, his eyes fixed on David’s. His lips parted as if to speak, but the words were checked by an imperative gesture from the man before him.
“I’m not sure that I want to listen,” said David. “I know this man, I’m certain that I do—but I can’t tell you when it was that I first met him. It’s all very vague, like the haze that sometimes covers the living pictures in the great pool of light in there. This memory comes like something evil, something that brings ruin. Surely, you don’t want to bring ruin upon us, Sajipona! Why not blot it out altogether?”
She shook her head sadly, looking wistfully into his face. They clasped each other’s hands, oblivious, for the moment, of Raoul’s presence.
“If you are king there must be no forgetting, no dread of a memory that has been lost. You must know! The Land of the Condor is a land of dreams compared with the rest of the world. You have been out there, David, but you have forgotten. Now you must remember.”
“No, not exactly forgotten,” he said uneasily. “It’s all in my head, a lot of things jumbled together—like the haze in there. I have no wish to straighten it out, either. There is such a thing as knowing too much sometimes. We are happier this way—don’t let’s run any risks changing what we already have. Soon there will be that feast, you said—and then, if you are queen, perhaps you will want me to be king. How proud I shall be! You are very beautiful, Sajipona; noble and great, like the daughter of real kings of the earth. You are my dream-queen, you know, the first love to touch my soul with a knowledge of beauty. Such a woman men die for! Sometimes, when you sing to me, or tease old Narva; or when I would hold you and you kind of ripple away laughing, like the little brook at the bottom of the garden—yes, that is the woman men die loving.”
“I wonder if you will always think that!”
“You mean, I may forget?”
“No, you will remember.”
“‘Remember!’ You mean, those other things wrapped in the haze—the things that we wait to see come out in the pool of light. That’s just it! No, I don’t want them; they spoil the first picture. To worship beauty like yours, to live forever in the spell of your eyes, the fragrance of your whole perfect being—that is happiness. I want nothing else. Why lose our dream-loves; why snatch from us, even before it is ours, the first pure flower that touches the lips of youth? Don’t rob me of mine, my queen!”
His appeal thrilled with a dreamy earnestness that would have moved a sterner woman than Sajipona. Nor could there be doubt that the joy he thus kindled in her revived a hope that Una’s coming had almost destroyed. Nevertheless, in spite of this response of her own deep passion to his, her purpose remained unaltered. The very eagerness with which she drank in David’s words—feeling the temptation to let things keep the happy course they had already taken—strengthened her resolve to lose no time, to risk everything now. That such a change as she had feared could be wrought in David after all this, seemed inconceivable. The witchcraft, if witchcraft it was, that drew him to her was something real, real as life, that exorcism could not dissolve. Sure of her triumph, she sought to put him to the test herself.
“David, before you came to me, was there no other woman that you knew?”
“Oh, yes, I think so, surely!” he laughed. “There might have been any number of them. But—why bother about them? Just who they were, or where I knew them, I have forgotten. I hope you don’t think it necessary to remember every woman I have known! Anyway, I can’t. Why, I don’t even remember their names.”
“I mean, one woman only. Perhaps there was one you loved, you know, among all those you have forgotten. Some one who was beautiful—is still beautiful—and who loves you. It might be the woman you saw here a short time ago. She is called Una. Surely, you remember.”
He wrung her hands, kissed them, listened eagerly to what she was saying, at the same time that he longed to seal his ears from hearing. Under his breath he muttered Una’s name, its iteration, apparently, increasing his agitation. Distressed by Sajipona’s questions, he tried to parry them, without revealing too much of his own mental confusion. He did remember Una, he said, but the memory was vague. She might be one of those dream-women, for all he knew, who get mixed up with one’s ideas of reality. He would like to have it straightened out, to know who she was and why the thought of her troubled him. But, after all, it was not particularly important—not important, that is, compared with his love for Sajipona, his certainty that in their union lay a future happiness, not for them only, but for all this wonderful kingdom she ruled over.
“Keep in this mind, if you will,” said Sajipona, the hope that she secretly cherished greatly strengthened by the sincerity and fervor of his protestations; “but first be sure you know dreams from waking.”
Again she expressed her desire to have Raoul brought into the matter, promising David that, through his knowledge and experience, the puzzles and contradictions of the past would be set right. Yielding reluctantly, he turned to Raoul.
The latter had withdrawn to the far side of David’s couch, whence he had watched, with alternate amusement and contempt, all that took place between these two. He now advanced, with the air of one who has the mastery of a difficult situation, and again proffered his services. There was mockery in his voice; before he addressed himself to his task he repeated his warning to Sajipona, reminding her that it might be better not to revive too suddenly a past filled, possibly, with disagreeable surprises. His warning waved impatiently aside, Raoul turned swiftly upon David, his restless, irritating eyes fixed in a steady glare that, bit by bit, broke down the latter’s opposition. Forcing his victim to be seated upon the side of the couch, he stood over him, for a short space, in silence. There was nothing in all this of the gesture and mummery traditionally accompanying certain spectacular manifestations of hypnotism; neither were the two men at any time in physical contact with each other. An onlooker would say that the younger man was unconsciously brought into a passive condition by the exertion upon him of a stronger will, intensified by facial peculiarities that were well calculated to hold the attention. Eyes like Raoul’s, although exciting repugnance, at the same time arouse curiosity. Once absorbed in probing their baffling depths, the object of their regard yields to a sort of baleful fascination hard to shake off. In former years David had been used by Raoul in various psychological experiments, and was thus accustomed, on such occasions, to surrender himself to the other’s compelling influence. This habit was now unconsciously revived. The old grooves of thought and conduct were reopened, as it were, by the resumption of a parallel outward condition. As a result, David fell into a state of complete mental inertia.
To this influence Raoul now added the force of direct suggestion, or, rather, verbal command. The subtle arts of apparent submission, or, at the least, mild expostulation which he usually employed in gaining his ends with an intractable opponent, were cast aside. His attack was concentrated, he spoke scornfully, without compromise in utterance or meaning, so that his hypnotized subject was forced either to resist or to be carried along by him. Through this direct, positive method, he took David back, step by step, over events in the immediate past that had become obscured in his memory.
“On the road from Honda,” he told him, “you were traveling with another man. You were both going to Bogota. You stopped on the road, and at this man’s suggestion you drank several toasts. The liquor confused you. You began to lose track of things. Suddenly, you and your companion met a ragged army of volunteers marching, as they said, to avenge their country on the Americans at Panama. This encounter, bringing you into direct contact with Colombian hostility to your countrymen, intensified your abnormal condition. In the confusion caused by meeting the volunteers, you were separated from your companion. His name—don’t forget!—was General Herran. He also had been mixed up in the Panama troubles. By this time—that is, after you had lost Herran—owing to these various causes, you had fallen into one of those states of forgetfulness that you had experienced before. In this state you forgot what had just happened and remembered instead your experience here three years ago, when your brain had been stunned by an explosion of dynamite. Living again in this memory, you met two cavemen. They spoke to you. You knew them. Immediately, it seemed to you that you were on your way with them to meet Sajipona in this cave where you had been three years before. All that had passed between then and now faded from your mind. But, of course you know that is preposterous! Nothing fades from the mind. The memory of that period that you think you have forgotten is really in your brain, waiting for you to call it to life. And now, you will call it to life.”
The emphasis, the force in what Raoul was saying was due more to his manner, the intensity with which he regarded David, than in the actual words themselves. It was, in a measure, a contest of wills; but, either through long habit of yielding to Raoul in these experiments, or else through a desire to carry out what was evidently Sajipona’s wish, there was no doubt from the first of the result. And when this result came, it was decisive. After the first sentence David’s instinctive opposition was weakened. The desire to allay the anxiety obscurely felt in his own mind helped to bring him under Raoul’s influence. The unexpected sight of Una had disturbed him. Ever since their meeting he had been aware that something in him was lacking, some clew lost between his past and his present. Sajipona, deeply conscious though he was of her majestic beauty, began to take on the vagueness of outline belonging to those persons whose relationship to ourselves is so doubtfully circumstanced that we momentarily expect to lose sight of them altogether. She was literally becoming the dream-woman, the intangible, lovely ideal of youth that he had playfully called her, while Una was becoming correspondingly more real, less elusive. For this very reason, this fear that fate was about to take from him one so desirable as Sajipona, he had felt an excess of joy upon seeing her now. His greeting had been more than usually demonstrative because her coming had reassured him, silenced doubts that were disquieting. Then, on the heels of this, he was aware of Raoul, with all that he meant of uncertainty and restlessness. And yet, in spite of his distaste for anything that threatened the peaceful course his life seemed to be taking, a secret feeling of relief tempered the repulsion aroused by the sudden appearance of his long forgotten friend. Raoul’s words and manner completely possessed him. The scene that he recalled of his meeting with the cavemen on the Honda road was etched on his mind as vividly as if it had just been experienced. And now, with this starting point fixed, Raoul took him backward, step by step.
Again he saw himself with General Herran, stopping on the Honda road to exchange those fatal civilities, and immediately after, the noise and confusion of the marching volunteers, with their threats of vengeance against the Yankees. Back of this came the quiet march with Herran. He recalled their talk, something of their friendly disputes. The effort to do this bewildered him. It seemed as if he were stepping from one world into another. Everything was merged into one gigantic figure of Raoul, a Raoul towering above him, concentrating himself upon him, dominating him until all else faded away and he was lost in a dreamless sleep, filled only with that word of command—“remember!”
How long he remained in this state of unconsciousness—for it was that rather than sleep—he did not know. It might have been years, it might have been a mere moment of time. When the spell was finally broken by Raoul the scene that met his awakened senses puzzled him. He was in Sajipona’s palace, in the room where Raoul had confronted and subdued him. But it was all unfamiliar. His mind was filled with his mission to Bogota. His parting with Una in the sunny courtyard of the inn came back to him, irradiating a dreamy happiness. He had been through some strange experiences since then, he knew. The sight of the bed hangings under which he was reclining, the great spaces of the room, the softened light of the cave, kept alive the memory of many a novel, fantastic adventure. Shaking off his drowsiness, he sprang to his feet. Sajipona and Raoul advanced to meet him. Sajipona! Yes, he remembered her. She was the beautiful Indian queen he was to marry in his dream—it must have been a dream, because Una was not there; except that, at the very last, he remembered, Una had stepped in for just a moment—and he had not known her! How amazed, angry, she must have been! And then—what else could have been expected?—she had gone away. He was anxious now for her safety, although how she could possibly be in this cave, how she could have found her way here, was a hopeless puzzle. The first word he uttered was a cry to Sajipona:
“Where is Una?”
Raoul would have answered, but Sajipona checked him. She realized the full significance of David’s question, although outwardly she showed nothing of her emotion.
“You are yourself again—I am glad,” she said.
“But Una——?”
“She is safe. She reached Bogota after you left Honda.”
David’s relief was evident, although his eyes showed the perplexity arising from his strange awakening.
“I thought she had found her way here,” he said. Then he turned again to Sajipona, this time with an impulsive gesture of gratitude. “I remember everything now. You saved my life. Every moment with you has been filled with happiness. How can I ever be grateful enough for the kindness you have shown me?”
He knelt before her, kissing her hand. She smiled; her other hand rested upon his shoulder.
“Grateful!” she exclaimed playfully. “Have we not a lifetime together before us? You have forgotten the festival that awaits us on the top of the mountain.”
“No, I have not forgotten.”
“Do you want it to take place?”
He arose to his feet, clasping his hands over his eyes as if to fix an uncertain impression. When he bared his face before her again, there was quiet determination in his glance. Again he took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips. Then, with eyes fixed full upon hers, he answered her question:
“Yes.”
Miranda and, in a lesser degree, those who were with him in the palace garden, were indignant at their enforced separation from Una and Sajipona. The doctor, priding himself especially on Raoul’s discomfiture, considered the queen guilty of the basest ingratitude, and even suspected that she might be, at that moment, plotting their destruction. Leighton and Herran scoffed at this, but it appealed to Mrs. Quayle, and that lady, clinging nervously to Andrew, followed Miranda’s explosive talk with appreciative horror. This proving a profitless diversion, however, Leighton proposed the adoption of a plan for immediate action. An attack on the palace, or a retreat that would bring them to the entrance of the cave, were alternately considered. But as both plans seemed to leave Una out of their reach, they were discarded as impossible, and it looked as if they would have to settle down to an indefinite stay in the garden. In the midst of the discussion the doors of the palace were thrown open and Narva and Una hurried out to meet them. Still fearing ambuscades and other undefinable treacheries, Miranda was by no means ready to throw aside his caution at their approach. But the aged sibyl’s lofty disdain was disconcerting, nor was there any resisting the whole-hearted joy with which Una greeted them.
To their eager inquiries she gave the briefest replies. For one thing, she assured them that they had Sajipona’s promise that their escape from the cave would be easy and not too long delayed. Of the queen’s friendly disposition towards them, she said, there was not the slightest doubt. They could count on the carrying out of her promise if, on their side, the conditions she proposed were observed. These conditions were: never, once they were out of it, to enter the cave again; to reveal as little as possible to the outside world of their experiences during their present adventure; and to keep an absolute silence regarding Sajipona’s relationship to this mysterious race of people.
Beyond this Una would say little. The conditions were joyfully accepted. Nothing, certainly, could ever induce them to enter the cave again. But then—there was David. Yes, Una admitted, David was in the palace. She had seen him. He was free, so far as she knew, to come or go as he chose. But he had not said he would return with them. It might be, indeed, that he would choose to live permanently with the cavemen—an amazing possibility that started an avalanche of questions to which only the vaguest answers were given. Doubtless they would see David before they left, Una assured them, and learn for themselves all they wished to know. As for Raoul, she could tell nothing. He was, apparently, in favor with the queen, and engaged in some undertaking for her.
Una betrayed none of her suspicions regarding David in her discussion of these matters. She had not seen him since that first meeting in the little portico adjoining his quarters in the palace, hence she was ignorant of the result of Raoul’s experiment. Sajipona had come to her immediately after its conclusion and, judging by the quiet cheerfulness of her manner, she fancied everything had gone to her satisfaction. This was confirmed by the announcement of the festival that was shortly to take place. This festival, Una had been told, was to be the occasion for great rejoicing among the cave people. It was a sort of national day, a celebration that had not been held in many a long generation. It was intended to recall, she heard, the ancient feast of El Dorado, the Gilded Man, about which, of course, as it existed among the Chibchas before the period of the Spanish invasion, Una was familiar through the traditions as told by David and Leighton. What form this revival of the old ceremonies would take had not been explained. But it piqued her curiosity and, in spite of resentment and wounded pride, she cherished a secret hope that it would bring about a final understanding of David’s position in regard to Sajipona and herself. She felt sure David would be at the festival, and she had an intuitive feeling as well that his presence would dispel the mystery that sundered them. She did not look for, nor did she consciously want a reconciliation. Bitterly she denied herself the possibility of one. But she wished to know definitely, and to its full extent, David’s faithlessness to her. After she had learned this, they could not start on their homeward journey too quickly.
Still absorbed in these reflections, Una and her companions, under Narva’s lead, entered the great court of the palace. Una, of course, had grown familiar with the strange features to be found in this hall of marvels; but the others, entering it for the first time, were amazed at what they saw there. In Leighton this feeling of wonder reached its highest pitch. The shattering of one scientific belief after another that he had experienced ever since entering the cave left him, it is true, somewhat callous to new impressions. But this apathy, if it can be called that, melted away as he stood beneath the great white dome that soared in flashing lines above them. Looking up at the huge ball of fire suspended just beyond the apex of this dome, for a moment he remained speechless. Then, turning to his companions, he voiced the ecstasy that comes with some unexpected, epoch-making discovery.
“Do you know what that is?” he demanded.
No one did. Miranda shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention ostentatiously elsewhere, as if floating balls of crackling white flames, used to illuminate caves, were matters of ordinary experience with him. Andrew’s mouth was opened quite as wide as his eyes as he stood staring upward at the curious illumination. It would be a splendid saving of candle power, he thought, more than enough for the whole village, if they could only manage to take it back with them to Rysdale. But, even if it were small enough, it wouldn’t be possible to carry in one of their trunks, since it would be sure to set things on fire. This objection was made by Mrs. Quayle, and seemed reasonable enough.
“That is the most remarkable thing on earth,” went on Leighton, heedless, in his excitement, of the frivolous comments of his companions. “I have often thought that sooner or later something like this would be discovered. It is impossible to estimate its value. Why, all the billions of dollars that there are in the world to-day could not pay for it at the present market prices.”
The calm assurance with which this estimate was given shattered Miranda’s pose of studied indifference.
“What is it?” he asked sharply.
“Radium!”
The silence that followed was eloquent of the mingled incredulity and delight with which so staggering an announcement was received. Leighton, fascinated with his subject, proceeded to explain things, much as if he were at home again in his laboratory, working out a particularly novel experiment, and expounding his various theories of physics. Of course, he had nothing but theory to go on, since he had never seen, heard of, or believed possible such a huge mass of radium as this that hung above them. And because it was so unbelievably huge, the others refused at first to take it for what he said it was. But he insisted that it could be nothing else. Radium it was—and with this as his basis of fact, he quickly built up an imposing theory that he used to explain more than one matter that before had puzzled them.
This immense globe of radium, he believed, in the first place, was the parent-body of all the infinitesimal particles of this remarkable substance that had recently been found in different parts of the world. The mysterious properties of radium, he said, were only dimly understood as yet by physicists who had experimented with it. Apparently it was a mineral; but as it revealed a constant and amazing activity, throwing out a force that so far had baffled analysis, there were those who held that it was a living, or, better yet, a life-giving substance. The existence of this immense body of radium here, in the center of the cave, explained, to the satisfaction of Leighton, much of the strange phenomena they had seen. Here, obviously, was the source of the soft, diffused light that had puzzled them ever since they passed through the Condor Gate; and it was to this center of energy that they must attribute the increase in buoyancy and physical well-being experienced the further they penetrated into this subterranean world. The peculiar growths, also, half vegetable, half mineral, that had given the appearance of groves and gardens to certain portions of the cave through which they traveled, were undoubtedly due to this marvelous force, occupying the same relative position towards subterranean life that the sun did to the outside world of nature. Moreover, Leighton firmly believed that the supremacy of radium as the life-giver in this cave, involved the existence, as they would discover, of other phenomena having still more subtle, even psychic, qualities. Narva grunted significantly at this observation, and Una confirmed the truth of it by relating how the floor of the court where they were standing had, only a short time before, reflected a series of pictures of events taking place in the outside cave, by means of which they had been able to follow Leighton’s approach to the palace and watched the collision of his party with that of Raoul. It was through this peculiar photographic power of radium, indeed, that Sajipona could discover whatever was taking place in the remotest regions of her domain. This information did not surprise Leighton in the least. On the contrary, he appeared to take it as a matter of course, one of many marvels that might be expected in a land run, so to speak, by radium.
Absorbed in the discussion of these matters, no one noticed the entrance of Sajipona. The queen, coming from the apartment where she had left David and Raoul, was not in a hurry to make her presence known, and lingered long enough behind the others to enjoy the curiosity and wonder with which they were regarding the globe of light above them. She now advanced smilingly, addressing herself particularly to Leighton, whom she complimented for his shrewd guess as to the nature of the force pervading and governing the cave. Indian though she was, inheritor of a realm that, in all its customs and beliefs, was primitive, distant from the civilizations found elsewhere in the world to-day, she had heard and studied enough of Europe and America to be familiar with some of the momentous discoveries of modern science. Hence, she had been quick to grasp the fact that this subterranean sun, worshiped by her ancestors ages ago as the Life Giver—the God that, according to Indian legend, resided under Lake Guatavita—was nothing more nor less than an immense body of radium, the most precious substance known to man, the scarcity of which had led scientists to ransack the uttermost parts of the earth in the hope of adding to their store of it. Here it had always been, the one priceless possession of her people, enabling them to live apart, independent of the world that threatened at one time to exterminate them. How this radium had come there originally she could not tell. It was the result, doubtless, of hidden forces about which philosopher and scientist are as yet ignorant. Or, it might itself be the architect of the subterranean world whose extent and manifold marvels had amazed the explorers. By means of this radium force, as Una had told them, she was able to see what was happening in any part of the cave, even throughout that dark region lying beyond the Condor Gate—an incredible statement, as it appeared to Leighton. For they had been in this outer cave and discovered in it neither the light nor the warmth they had enjoyed on this side the Condor Gate. Hence, argued the savant, this outer cave appeared to lie entirely beyond the zone of radium influence. Sajipona smiled at Leighton’s objection and asked him if nothing had occurred in the outer cave, while he was there, that he had been unable to explain. They had been through so many marvels in so short a time that the explorers looked at each other doubtfully. Mrs. Quayle answered for them.