her, increased the sense of unreality and mystery filling Una's mind
as she listened to Narva. The story itself was not unlike others of
the kind, handed down from one generation to another, explaining the
origin of some ancient South American race. In the telling of it Narva,
for the first time, forgot her reserve, and her simple eloquence, her
apparent belief in the quaint old fable she was telling, added greatly
to its impressiveness. And there stood the great palace before her,
with its flying condor guarding forever the descendants of that mythical
old zipa! Una was unable to go back in imagination to that primeval
past, especially as it had to do with a country and a people of which
she knew nothing. But the tale itself, and the grace and beauty of the
palace about which it had been woven, reminded her of much that she had
heard and read in other than Indian mythology and literature. Pageants
from medieval legend, with their phantom castles in haunted forests,
engaged her fancy as she listened. For the moment she half expected to
see a troop of Arthurian knights, intent upon some mystic quest, issue
forth from the stately portal, bringing with them a flash of vivid
light and movement that as yet the picture lacked. A zipa she had never
seen, had never heard of before--and even a condor filled a place in
her imagination that was not much more real than that occupied by the
roc, the giant bird of the Arabian tales. But neither Christian knight
nor pagan zipa was here. The silence, now that Narva had finished her
tale, was profound. The murmur of voices, distinctly heard a short
time before, was lost in the distance. The apparent isolation of a
building so rich in possibilities of usefulness, so well preserved
architecturally, was its most inexplicable feature. Una was almost
persuaded that the palace before her was uninhabited, abandoned. If it
belonged, as Narva said, to the dim past of a vanished race, it stood
now merely as a monument to forgotten greatness. Or--did it still serve
as a refuge, a protection, to the descendants of that condor-born zipa
of Narva's legend?
Then, suddenly, as Una was thinking of these ancient, far-off things,
from one of the wings of the palace there rose the clear, high notes
of a woman's voice in a melody not unlike the one Anitoo and his band
had used for a marching song. But Anitoo's song had something of
martial swing and vigor in it; this, although wild in spirit, permeated
by the chanting, wailing quality characteristic of primitive music,
thrilled with strains of passionate tenderness unlike anything Una had
heard. The words of the song were not distinguishable, nor were they
needed to convey the theme inspiring the invisible singer. The latter
seemed to pass from joy to despair, rising again to a solemn pitch of
intensity that partook of the dignity and earnestness of religious
rhapsody. A pagan priest, presiding over ancient rites from which the
faithful expect a miracle, might thus have modulated the notes of his
incantation. As in all music of the kind, the emotion portrayed was
simple, unmixed with the shadings and intellectual complexities that
play so important a part in modern song. The voice interpreting this
emotion showed no great degree of cultivation. Unskilled in the nicer
subtleties of the vocal art, it depended upon a natural, unrestrained
sincerity, enriched by a birdlike clearness and resonance, for its
effects. Its plaintiveness, from the very first strains of the ringing
melody, appealed deeply to Una.
Narva, alive to the sympathetic response aroused in her companion by the
song, laid her hand gently upon Una's arm and drew her in the direction
of the distant portion of the palace from whence, apparently, the notes
came.
"Have care, say nothing!" she repeated impressively.
Una, still absorbed by the weird beauty of the scene and the strange
legends with which it was connected, scarcely noted the reiterated
warning. Her own spirit kindled with friendly warmth for the singer
whose mingled joys and sorrows were so eloquently expressed. She
followed Narva almost unconsciously, eager, and yet half afraid to reach
the climax of their adventure; fearful, likewise, lest by some misstep
or imprudence of theirs the spell of music should be broken.
No sign of life was visible in the great rambling palace that loomed
high above them. The rows of lanceolated openings, that in the distance
appeared to be ordinary windows, upon a nearer view proved to be
unglazed--or, if they were fitted with glass it was too thick to
reveal to an outsider the interior of the palace. That some kind of
vitreous substance filled these openings was evident from the flashes
of light reflected on their surface. Considering the antiquity of the
building, however, and the unknown methods and materials employed by
its architect, it was more likely that the substance used for windows
was a crystal gathered, perhaps, from the queen's garden--the flower
from those alluring bushes that had first caught Una's attention--rather
than manufactured glass that must have been unknown to these Andean
cavemen. Even though the first zipa was the reputed offspring of stars
or condors, it was not likely that in building his palace thousands of
years ago--to quote Narva's estimate--he had been able to fit it with
modern improvements.
Owing to the thickness of these windows, therefore, it was impossible
to make out anything of the interior of the apartments of the palace
for which they were, apparently, intended to serve for light. A close
approach, right under the palace walls, revealed nothing more than
could be seen at a distance; and as Narva avoided the great central
entrance, it appeared to Una that the mystery which so fascinated her
was to remain unsolved. An abrupt angle in the building, however,
brought them suddenly within a little portico, extending between two
massive towers jutting out from the main structure, the existence of
which came as a complete surprise. On the side of this portico away from
the palace clung a vine of pale green foliage, starred with white and
crimson flowers similar to those in the Queen's Garden, forming with
its delicate festoons a cloistered way that had a subtle attractiveness
amidst the imposing lines and columns of the huge edifice rising above
it.
Here Narva and her companion paused, listening to the wild melody coming
to them in a clear rush of sound. At the other end of the portico,
leaning against the side of a long latticed window standing partly open,
they could see the singer, her face turned to the apartment within,
one arm encircling a lyre-shaped instrument the strings of which were
lightly touched by the fingers of her right hand. The long white drapery
in which she was clothed scarcely stirred with the movement from her
playing, while the upward poise of her head, with its masses of dark
hair flowing downward over her shoulders, indicated the rapt intensity
with which she voiced the passion of her song. Apparently she was alone.
The semi-obscurity of the apartment, however, at the entrance to which
she stood, might have screened effectively from an outsider any one who
was within.
For the first few moments the appearance of Una and Narva at the far
end of the portico was unnoticed. Then, as the music died away, the
singer turned and slowly approached them, her manner showing neither
surprise nor displeasure at their presence. As her glance fell upon them
Narva made a low obeisance with a gesture evincing the most profound
self-abasement. In grace and majesty of bearing the being whom she thus
saluted was worthy her homage. Tall and nobly proportioned, serene of
countenance and of a faultless beauty, the deference of those about her
seemed a natural tribute to her queenliness. That high rank belonged to
her by right was suggested by a gold coronet encircling her head. In
the center of this coronet gleamed an emerald of a size and purity rare
even to Bogota, the land of emeralds. An engaging womanliness, however,
softened the dignity of her carriage, the luster of this emblem of her
royalty. To Narva, prostrate before her, she stretched out a hand with
affectionate eagerness, speaking to her, at the same time, in a tongue
unintelligible to Una.
Saluting her again with the utmost reverence, the aged sibyl apparently
answered her questions. She then continued a voluble relation, the
main purpose of which, as Una surmised, had to do with the finding
of strangers in the cave. During this recital the being whom Narva
addressed regarded Una intently, her gaze manifesting an interest she
was at no pains to conceal. Having heard Narva to the end she slowly
approached Una and, to the latter's amazement, spoke to her in English.
"I am Sajipona," she said. "Some call me Queen of the Indians; I am a
queen; but, of my kingdom, this last home of my fathers is all that your
people have left me. Deep underground, hidden from all men, few there
are who know of its existence--and we guard the secret, if need be, with
our lives. Against our law you have ventured here. Why have you come?"
To the abrupt inquiry Una had no answer ready. She hesitated; then,
recalling her mission, she returned the gaze of her questioner with an
awakened courage that went well with her maidenly beauty.
"I seek one who is dear to me," she replied.
"Why do you think he is here?" demanded Sajipona.
"Once, years ago, he was lost. It is said he was in this cave. Now he
has disappeared again--and we look for him here. I know nothing of your
law. You are good--I am sure of it--I beg of you to help me."
The appeal was impulsively made. A smile of sympathy lighted the
features of the queen, followed by a look of pain. Her cheeks paled, the
hand, still clasping the lyre upon which she had been playing, trembled.
Averting her gaze, she turned towards the window where she had first
been standing.
"Why should I help you?" she said. "You have broken our law."
"We didn't know of your law. All we want is to find him."
"If the man you seek is here of his own will, why should I help you find
him? He may wish to remain unknown."
"You do not know," said Una eagerly. "A strange thing happened before.
It may be--how can I explain? It all sounds so improbable!--it may be he
is not himself."
Sajipona laughed ironically.
"Strange indeed! And it will be hard for you to explain. How can he be
not himself?"
"If he has forgotten--if he has lost his memory--"
"His memory? What riddles you talk! How does one lose one's memory? And
if he has lost his memory, can you bring it back to him then?" asked
Sajipona impatiently.
"I think he would remember me," said Una simply.
Sajipona's face showed her skepticism. "We shall see," she said.
"Then you know where he is? He is here?" cried Una.
But her question brought no direct response. Instead, Sajipona turned
to the old Indian who, during this brief colloquy, had shown signs of
uneasiness. She now placed her fingers to her lips and pointed with her
other hand to the apartment in the palace whence Sajipona had just made
her appearance.
"Yes," repeated the queen, "we shall see."
The three women turned to the open lattice window at the other end of
the portico. Objects in the room beyond were at first indistinct, but
as the eye became accustomed to the darkness the whole interior took on
more definite outlines. Una could see that the apartment was furnished
in barbaric luxury. Golden shields gleamed on the walls; hangings, rich
in color and material, were draped from the ceiling; massive cabinets,
ornately carved and encrusted with gold, stood in distant alcoves of the
room. But all these curious evidences of a bygone art were barely noted,
the attention being drawn to the one living occupant within. Lying on
a sort of divan, at some distance from the window, was the figure,
apparently, of a man. He was moving restlessly, as if awaking from
sleep. While Una looked, he rose and stood irresolutely in the center
of the room, one arm flung across his face to shield his eyes from the
light. Then, slowly walking to the window, as if looking for some one,
his arm dropped to his side and, leaning across the lattice, he called:
"Sajipona!"
It was David.
XVIII
SUBTERRANEAN PHOTOGRAPHY
At first he did not see Una. His glance wandered dreamily off in the
distance and then, recalled, as if by the sudden disappearance of some
idle fancy, fixed itself upon Sajipona. A smile of satisfaction passed
over his features as he came out to meet her.
"Why did you stop singing?" he asked, in a voice that was almost
inaudible. "I missed you."
"Some one is here to see you," she said, ignoring the question.
David turned to Una. One would have said that he had not seen her
before, although in her presence he betrayed a strange sort of
agitation. Their eyes met. He took the hand she eagerly stretched out to
him, then slowly relinquished it, perplexed, vaguely conscious of the
other's emotion.
"I'm certain I've seen her before," he said, half jokingly, half in
irritation, addressing Sajipona, "but I can't remember when or where.
For the life of me I can't tell who she is. As for her name, I ought to
know that----"
"Una! Una! Surely you remember, David?"
"David! But of course you told her my name, Sajipona. Did you tell her
your pretty fancy, about the El Dorado, the Gilded Man?"
"Surely, you remember my name--Una?"
"Una--Una," he repeated uneasily. "It sounds familiar--I'm sure I've
heard it--but I can't exactly place it. Strange! How perfectly familiar
it is; yet, I can't place it, I can't place it! It's a beautiful
name--I'm sure I used to think so--and you are beautiful, too, Una!"
Her name, pronounced in the accents she loved so well, brought a flood
of memories that, she felt, must thrill him too. And yet--there he stood
before her, the David she had always known, but now subtly changed,
troubled, unseeing. Amazement robbed her of words. He had forgotten
her. To Sajipona, however, more keenly observant even than Una, it was
evident that an undercurrent of recognition on the part of David was
hopelessly held in check by sheer inability to remember. His manner,
moreover, indicated a mental uneasiness, pain, that could not fail to
excite sympathy.
"When you left us at Honda," began Una, "we expected to follow right
after. Then we heard you had disappeared----"
Laughing mirthlessly, David placed both hands to his head in hopeless
bewilderment.
"It sounds like some dream I might have had years ago. I can't make it
real," he said deprecatingly. "It's no use--I can't remember. Indeed, I
almost believe you are chaffing me. But--it's really too serious a thing
to joke about. You will tell--Una," he added, addressing Sajipona, "how
long I've been here, how kind you've been to me ever since I came back,
so ill I could scarcely look out for myself."
"Ever since you came back?" repeated Una, seizing upon the clew. "Then
you have not always been here? You know the world outside of this cave?
You were here once before, and then went away? Where were you? Try to
remember."
"Why, yes," said David, mystified more than ever; "of course I've been
away. I remember moving about a great deal, visiting many countries,
seeing many people. But I don't remember who any of them were--I can't
recall a single thing plainly, not a name, not a face. Sajipona has
tried to help me. She's very patient about it. But, so far, it has been
no use--and it's painful, I can tell you, trying to remember these
things. I feel comfortable, entirely at peace, only when Sajipona
sings. There's nothing like her singing. I could listen to her forever,
forgetting even to try to remember--if you know what that means."
"But I want you to remember," interrupted Sajipona. "You must try--never
mind how painful it is. You know how much depends on that for both of
us."
"Yes, I know. That's why I try. I believe that when I am entirely well
again it will all come right. All those dark dreams and things that
bother me now will be cleared away and I will be completely myself. Then
it will be as you say. We will be perfectly happy together."
Involuntarily the two women looked at each other. David, standing
between them, calmer than before, remained silent, unconscious of the
effect of his words.
"You must explain what you mean," Sajipona said to him firmly, after a
moment of irresolution.
Aroused from his revery, he looked in perplexity from one to the other.
Then his brow cleared and he laughed softly.
"Oh, yes! You see--Una--Sajipona is very beautiful; and she is just as
good as she is beautiful. I owe her everything. When I am completely
myself again, as I said, she has promised---- You see, I have told her
that I----"
The words died away as he looked at Una. Her face showed neither
anxiety nor surprise, but a deep tenderness and melancholy. At the
sight of her he seemed to lose the thread of what he had to say. He was
mystified, pitiably torn between the struggles of a memory that remained
tongueless, and the realities of a situation that seemed, somehow,
peculiarly unreal. Wistfully he held out his hand to the girl whose
beauty thus moved him, then hastily withdrew it, turning as he did so to
Sajipona.
"Your song was very soothing, my queen," he said ruefully. "I fear I
am not quite myself as yet. Something is wrong--something new. This
lady--Una--you will forgive me?"
"Try to remember," she said earnestly; "there's nothing to forgive."
"There's nothing to remember," he said disconsolately. "I have
tried--but I begin to think it's all a mistake."
He turned abruptly, leaving them to go to the room whence he had come a
moment before. As he reached the open window he paused irresolutely.
"You will not go?" he said, his eyes meeting Una's.
"David!" was all her answer.
He shook his head mournfully, hesitated, then slowly passed into the
darkened chamber beyond.
The two women regarded each other in silence. In Sajipona's glance there
was proud defiance; with Una anxiety had changed to determination. The
wordless duel of emotions was interrupted by Narva, who, until now, had
remained in the background. Upon David's withdrawal the old sibyl shook
off her reserve and addressed herself reverently to Sajipona.
"His old enemy is here," she announced; "there is danger."
Narva's news did not bring the alarm that any one would have supposed it
would bring. Instead, Sajipona's look of anxiety vanished. A flash of
anger gleamed in her eyes. Then she smiled with an eager air of triumph,
grasping the old Indian's arm as if urging her to say more.
"You mean the American, Raoul Arthur?" she asked. "Is he here? I want
him. I have waited for him. But, I didn't see him. Are you sure that he
is here?"
Narva shrugged her shoulders. "He comes for no good," she said. "At
last he finds the way from Guatavita. He seeks treasure. With him are
traitors to the Land of the Condor. He fought Anitoo. He conquered him.
He is on his way to the palace. I heard him with his men on the iron
path. They are many. Defend yourself, Sajipona! We have very little
time."
The appeal was received exultantly. From Una, however, there came a cry
of dismay.
"If there is danger," she exclaimed, "what will become of my uncle and
the others?"
Narva chuckled to herself. "There is no danger to them," she said. "The
fat man will have trouble to run, and the old woman will die because she
is always afraid."
Her grim humor fell on unappreciative ears. At Sajipona's rebuke she
lapsed again into silence, first giving a grudging explanation of what
she had done with the party of explorers. The latter, it appeared,
were practically prisoners where Narva and Una left them. There they
must remain, unless they were discovered by the hostile band that was
believed to have invaded the cave, in which case their release would
mean capture by Raoul and his men. The possible consequences of this
increased Una's alarm, and at Sajipona's command Narva grumblingly set
forth to effect their rescue. As success depended on her speed, Una
was prevented from returning with her. She was thus left alone with
Sajipona, whose plans regarding David now absorbed her attention. Here,
however, she encountered a reserve which she could not break. Every
attempt to gain information was repelled, and in a manner intimating
that Una's interest in David was unwarranted by any previous friendship
between them.
"He does not know you," exclaimed Sajipona exultantly, but with a note
of uneasiness that was not lost on the other.
Una, concerned for David's safety, ignored the unspoken challenge.
"What is to become of him? Why is he here?" she demanded.
"What is that to you?" was the fierce retort. "He doesn't know even your
name. He is happy. He depends on me."
"That may be. But there is a mystery. Tell me what it all means. If
he is happy, if there is nothing more to be said or done, I will go.
Only--tell me."
"You will not go--not until there is no longer a mystery, as you call
it."
The announcement sounded like the sentence of a judge, from which
there is no appeal. It reminded Una that she was in the power of one
who had shown towards her an inflexible will. At the same time she was
conscious of a softening in Sajipona's attitude that was both mystifying
and reassuring. This beautiful Indian girl had at first resented Una's
presence. She had regarded the other with queenly scorn, and had not
disguised the jealous impatience kindled by the brief and futile
interview with David. Now this impatience had given place to a deeper
emotion that was less easily understood. It might be of kindlier import,
an unexpected relenting from the harsh mood that apparently weighed
Una's every word and act with suspicion. Still, it was possible that
beneath this newly awakened generosity there lurked something sinister,
a deliberate purpose to lead the other to a confession that would be her
own undoing. Of this, however, Una had little fear. By nature trustful
of those about her, she did not look for harm to herself from one so
young, so beautiful, and who now, at any rate, appeared anxious to atone
for her former enmity by a graciousness equally marked.
"There is nothing to fear," said Sajipona, as if reading her thoughts.
"Narva will protect your people. There is danger only from your friend,
this Raoul Arthur----"
"He is not my friend!" exclaimed Una.
Sajipona smiled. "We will soon see," she said. "This is the Land of the
Condor, all that is left to an ancient race that once ruled over many
nations. For centuries the poor remaining handful of my people have
managed to live unknown in this little corner of the earth. You are the
first--except one other--from the outside world to find your way into
this forgotten kingdom. When you will be free to return to the outer
world is not for me to say. But, you are here--my guest. Let us have it
that way. This is my kingdom. Enter!"