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."
XXII
A PEOPLE'S DESTINY
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.