CHAPTER XXXI.

“Is it our business if there should be something concealed?” the German

asked when called upon to help pry the masked door open. “The house is

not ours.”

His companions, full of excitement, broke out upon him. Where was his

enterprise, his romance, his courage! It was a deserted house. Perhaps

its owners knew nothing of this door.

Their excitement was contagious; and he went with them in search of a

lever. They found saplings that bent and dry sticks that broke. But

their determination increased with the obstacles; and at last the right

touch was given, the door was on the hinge and rolled slowly back,

disclosing a dim descent between walls, with a light shining across from

below.

All three recoiled a moment at their own success. “We enter at our

risk,” said the German. “We have no right here.”

The other two went down cautiously, and after a moment called to him,

and he followed. They had pried open an old chest from which the lock

dropped almost at a touch, and were eagerly pulling out the twigs and

dry leaves with which it was filled. All had the same thought. Surely

such pains would be taken only to conceal a treasure. And it must have

been there a very long time.

One of them went up to keep watch while the other two worked, changing

hands; for the chest was large, and the débris could be removed only in

sifting handfuls.

When the bottom was reached, a chorus of somewhat bitter laughter rose;

for there was nothing there but a few rough stones. It had evidently

been prepared as a mockery, probably long years before.

They prepared to go on their way. But first they went to the mouth of

the cave, and outside on the narrow ledge. There was no passage. Only

chasms, precipices, and a dashing torrent that sprinkled them as it

fell, met their eyes.

They went up, leaving the door open, mounted their donkeys, and started

for the station.

At a little distance down through the pines they met a man and woman

coming up. The woman’s face was covered with a veil, the man only nodded

in passing them.

“Don Claudio Loredan!” said Elena to herself when they had passed. “What

in the name of heaven brings him here!”

At the turn of the path the three travelers paused to look back at the

old house with its background of mountains.

“Farewell, El Dorado!” said the Viscomte de Courcelles.

“Farewell, my Promised Land!” said Don Claudio Loredan.

The German paused a moment when the others went on, looking back

dreamily. “Farewell, Io!” he said.

“It is strange,” he said, rejoining his companions, “that sometimes on

leaving a place or person one scarcely knows the name of, there comes a

feeling of sadness, almost of irreparable loss.”

“I suppose,” said the Frenchman, “that the veiled lady we have just met

is one of the exiles from the Olives. I wonder if they expect her at

home.”

She was expected. She was looked for joyously and longingly. The people

of San Salvador remained watching all the afternoon. The men sent up to

follow Iona had not returned. Doubtless all three were waiting to

accompany Elena. They watched the turn of the mountain path, sure that

they would take the outer one next the town. Spyglasses were ready to

catch the first glimpse of their coming.

“They are coming! They are coming!”

The flutter of a garment was visible around the rock.

Tacita looked through a glass that rested on a man’s shoulder. Her other

hand was in her husband’s arm.

“It is Elena!” she said, “She comes first, and is on foot. She holds her

handkerchief hanging straight down at her side. Now she stops and lifts

both her arms, then drops them again. It must mean grief for the peril

we have been in. The men follow with the donkeys. They seem to carry

heavy baggage, or something— What are they doing? There is no one else.

What do they carry? O Dylar, where is Iona?”

She gave him the glass, her face losing its light, and growing pale and

frightened. The little company on the heights was now plainly seen.

Dylar took the glass, looked through it, and took it away from his eyes.

His face was livid.

“My God!” he said. “Where is Iona!”

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in

spelling.

2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

San Salvador · 第 31 / 31 章