Chapter X: Part 10

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.

XXI

DREAMS

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."

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.

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.

"Yes, the terrible stone that pulled off my jewelry, and then dragged gold up from the lake outside--how was that done?" she asked, still smarting, apparently, from the indignities she had suffered.

"Oh, that was merely a powerful magnet that attracts gold instead of iron," explained Sajipona, as if such trifling matters were scarcely worthy to be ranked with the other marvels of the cave. "This magnet played a great part, centuries ago, in gathering together all the wealth of my ancestors from the Sacred Lake where it had been cast during the Feast of the Gilded Man. To-day it is never used because all the gold has been taken out of the lake. But--was there nothing else mysterious?"

"Caramba!" ejaculated Miranda, "I know! When we come in from the outside, all is open; we can come in and we can come out. And then, this little old woman is frighten, and I take her out. That is, I think I take her out. But the wall is shut, and we cannot see where it is. We are in prison. Who did that? There is no one there."

Sajipona laughed.

"Yes, that is it! No one was there--except Radium, the influence from the great globe hanging above us. Here, you see, it does many more things than it does in your outside world. It is really the eye of the cave--and sometimes the arm. Although its light does not, as you know, extend into the outer cave, it reflects here, within this circle, whatever is lighted up beyond there. When you came in with your torches I was able to follow you by this means--very obscurely, of course, because torches throw only a small circle of light. I could hardly make you out, but I felt sure who you were. I was expecting you. And then, because I needed you here and feared you might grow tired of so long a journey, I shut the entrance to the cave so you could not escape. That is where radium works like an arm. It can carry an electric force, an irresistible current, without using wire. For our own safety we have this force connected with the entrance to the cave. When that entrance is open and we want to close it, this force is released and moves a great rock that glides into place across the passageway, where it seems to be a part of the wall on either side."

This dissertation from Sajipona on the uses to which radium had been put in her kingdom was amazing enough to Leighton's trained, careful mind. In his own studies of radium activity he had failed to find any indication of the possibility even for the development of the sensational features that were now given to him as accomplished, familiar fact. For one thing, science was restricted in its experiments by the small quantity of radium within its reach. Here the amount, estimating the size of the fiery globe above him, was measured by the hundreds of tons--a fact, of course, that must greatly increase the field over which radium might be made to operate. Nevertheless, except for this vague theory that an unknown power could be developed from a great mass of this marvelous substance, suspended in a great chamber, or series of chambers, not subject to the ordinary outside influences of heat and light and air, it was difficult to find a reasonable explanation for the things that Sajipona told him and that he himself had seen. Most astounding it was, also, to a modern scientist, brought up in the methods and limited by the views of his age, to discover here a development in physics, beyond the dreams of the most daring investigator, that actually belonged to a primitive race, and was first practiced by them in a period and country without scientific culture. The whole affair, indeed, furnished an instance where science seemed to overstep the borderland of the miraculous. It was as marvelous, after all, as the familiar achievements of wireless or the cinema would have been if suddenly presented to the world of half a century ago.

Enjoying the savant's bewilderment, Sajipona described more of the cave's wonders. Her forefathers, she said, had discovered a way to imitate the changes from day to night by a simple process of veiling and unveiling the ball of radium. This was found necessary in order to create the right variations between growth and a state of rest in vegetation. When circumstances made it desirable to use the cave as a permanent habitation, it was found that this variation from light to darkness was indispensable to human welfare. Without it there could be little of the happiness that comes from the storing up and the subsequent expenditure of human energy. Discovering this, certain wise Indians among the cavemen of the past made further experiments in the regulation of light and heat. Among other things, these pioneers in a new science found that the color rays emanating from radium had different properties--some being more life-giving than others--and that by controlling these rays it was possible to create and develop various kinds of subterranean plants. They firmly believed, also, that by working along these lines it would be possible to arrive at new animal forms. Some remarkable experiments were made in this direction, but the results were too indefinite for practical purposes. The whole problem was therefore abandoned years ago, its unpopularity having been increased by the religious prejudice excited against it. This intrusion of what he regarded as blind superstition upon the profitable labors of science incensed Leighton, who muttered imprecations on the idolatries of barbarians. But in this he was checked by Sajipona, who declared that the religious beliefs of her people were in no sense more idolatrous than many of the beliefs current in the outside world. They had their fantastic legends, it is true--like the story of the god who, through the ascendancy of an evil rival, had been imprisoned for ages at the bottom of the Sacred Lake, whence he had been released by the prayers and sacrifices of his followers. Such legends the more enlightened regarded purely as fables, within which were conveyed certain truths that were of lasting value to mankind. The ignorant probably failed to recognize these truths underneath their coverings of legend. But it was not merely the ignorant, it was those who possessed a higher religious sense who were revolted by the effort to create animal life through artificial means. This feeling of antagonism arose simply because in the last of the experiments attempted by the Indian wise men, certain forms were developed, giving feeble signs of life, and indicating unmistakably that if they were ever endowed with a complete, independent existence, they would become a race of malevolent beings, a menace to all existing institutions and peoples. Hence, these wise men were counseled by the more practical and simple-minded of their contemporaries to abandon the rôle of creator, leaving the production of life to the rude and bungling methods to which Nature was accustomed. They were loath to yield in this, but public opinion became too strong for them; the religious element conquered--and these savants of old turned their attention to a new problem that had already been suggested by their partial experiments in the creation of life, and that promised something really worth while. This new problem involved the regulation of man's moral and intellectual natures, not through the teaching of ideas, but by the employment of physical and chemical forces.