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!”

They did not pass into the palace through the entrance used by David. Back of where they stood, at a word of command from Sajipona, a large door swung open, revealing a spacious court within flooded with a clear white light that left not a corner or angle in shadow. This light radiated from a central shaft overhead, at first indistinguishable in the dazzling intricacies of the ceiling that stretched away in tier upon tier of crystalline columns above them. Advancing to the middle of this court, under the queen’s guidance, Una beheld, at the apex of the vast dome curving upward to a seemingly immeasurable distance, a large opening beyond which blazed a great ball of fire suspended, apparently, from the topmost pinnacle of the outer cave. The rays from this underground sun—for it is only as a sun that it can be adequately described—shone with an intensity that was fairly blinding. These rays flashed and sparkled in long, waving streamers of flame, disappearing and suddenly renewing their radiance with a ceaseless energy similar to that displayed by some gigantic dynamo whose emanations are produced by a concentration of power as yet unattempted by man. Fascinated by this splendor, Una realized that she was standing beneath the great luminous body whose magical effects she had first witnessed while approaching the palace with Narva. Shielding her eyes from a spectacle that wearied by its vehemence, she turned to Sajipona. But Sajipona was not with her. Una stood alone in the center of the great court.

At another time this sudden isolation would have been alarming. But the many strange adventures experienced during the last few hours had accustomed Una to danger, so that the disappearance of Sajipona served merely to arouse her to a keener sense of her surroundings. Her faith in this beautiful Indian, moreover, was not easily shaken, in spite of the repellant attitude she had first assumed towards her. Treachery from such a source, it seemed to her, was inconceivable.

Stepping back from the direct rays of the great ball of fire, the manifestations of whose mysterious power had until then absorbed her attention, Una found herself in the midst of a throng of people, all of them, apparently, watching her. By their dress, simple and flowing as that worn by the followers of Anitoo, she perceived these were cave men and women, some forty or fifty in number, each one standing motionless along the wall farthest from her. With heads bent forward and arms outstretched towards the center of the court, where Una stood, they appeared to be engaged in some sort of devotional exercise, the visible object of which was a great round disk of gold set in the tessellated pavement that flashed beneath the light pouring upon it from above. Inlaid within this disk, at the outer rim of which she had been standing a moment before, Una could now discern cabalistic figures wrought in emeralds whose deep effulgence was in striking contrast with the haze of golden light surrounding them. The intricate design formed by these figures was difficult to trace, but that each figure, and the pattern into which it was woven, bore a mystical meaning was suggested by the reverence with which this whole glittering pool of light was regarded by the silent throng.

Eagerly Una scanned the white-robed worshipers before her, hoping that among them she might discover David. Not finding him, she sought Sajipona, with the same disappointing result at first. Then her gaze, wandering away from these strange faces, rested upon a slightly elevated platform at one end of the court. There, beneath a gold and gem-encrusted canopy, seated upon a massive throne of pure crystal, she beheld the Indian queen.

From the first Una had felt the spell of her beauty, but its force had been tempered by the flashes of anger, the suspicion, the disdain that had alternately marked their intercourse. Now, although arrayed and staged, as it were, in all the splendor belonging to her high station—with crown and scepter and glittering robe of state—this proud beauty had softened to an almost girlish loveliness, wistful, touched with a melancholy as hopeless as it was appealing. That she was a queen, aloof from those about her, seemed strangely pathetic. Nor did this expression of sheer womanliness change as her eyes met Una’s. Across the width of the great presence chamber a mysterious wave of sympathy seemed to bind these two together. Completing its wordless message, Sajipona arose and stood expectantly while Una approached, the throng before her silently falling back until she reached the foot of the throne. Then, with hands clasped in greeting, the two women faced each other, the enmity that first had sundered them apparently forgotten, or, at the least, held in check by some subtler, purer feeling. Again Una wondered if this could be genuine—if the suspicion with which she had been regarded at first might not still lurk behind this outward graciousness. Little versed in the arts of dissimulation, however, and apt to take for current coin whatever offered of friendliness, she accepted this unlooked-for warmth of welcome with undisguised gratitude. Sajipona drew her gently forward until the two stood side by side on the platform facing the great court, the silent groups of attendants below them. The dazzling light, the flashing splendor of columned walls and vaulted ceiling, the white-robed figures, the jeweled throne, furnished forth a faery spectacle not easily forgotten.

“These are my people,” said Sajipona proudly. “They will protect you as they protect me.”

As if in answer to her assurance the waiting courtiers, absorbed until now in the contemplation of the mystical figures within the circle of light at their feet, slowly turned and made grave obeisance before the two women standing in front of the throne. Following this sign of submission, they came forward as if expectant of some further command. Sajipona smilingly watched the effect of this ceremony on her companion.

“Ah! it is not here as in Bogota,” she said, “or in the world where you come from, far from Bogota. You think all this that you see is unreal—a dream, perhaps. My people are so different from yours—and all these many years they live forgotten, unknown. I have lived in Bogota. There they do not know of this great cave that belonged to the ancient rulers of the mountains. They don’t know that I am queen here, or of this palace that is mine—and the light that burns like the sun. Ah! I wonder what your wise uncle will say when he sees our sun!”

Sajipona laughed noiselessly, with the half-concealed delight that a child hugs to itself when it hides some simple secret from the eyes of its elders. Una, more bewildered than ever at this allusion to Leighton, sought vainly for a reasonable explanation of the marvels surrounding her.

“My uncle!” she exclaimed. “How do you know that he is wise—and he is!—and that he is here? Yes, this sun of yours—what is it, where does it come from?”

Again Sajipona laughed.

“Remember,” she said, “this is not Bogota. Out there it is all very wonderful, very great. You have the sky, the sun, the stars. The mountains stretch away as far as the eye can see; there are plains, cities; and there are buildings greater than any we have here. This is a toy world, you will say, even when you think some things in it very wonderful. But you do not guess the half of what is here. In this world my people have lived in secret for centuries. They have discovered things that even the wisest of your people know nothing of. We have eyes that see everything that happens in our world of stone, eyes that pierce through the stones themselves. I knew when you came into our kingdom; I watched you when you passed through the great gate where the others were fighting. But—you don’t believe me. Come, I will show you.”

Sajipona gave her hand to the astonished girl and the two stepped down from the platform where they were standing and made their way to the center of the court. Here the great circle of light cast by the ball of fire overhead gleamed at their feet like an unruffled pool of sun-kissed water. At the rim of this circle they halted, Sajipona gently restraining her companion, who, in her eagerness, would have passed on.

“Look there on the floor,” she said. “Your eyes may not be as ours; perhaps you will have to wait before you can see. But it will come—you will see.”

Una remembered how she had heard—and laughed—of magicians who pretended to read the future by gazing into a crystal globe. The experiment to which she was now invited seemed like that, only here it was apparently a huge mirror of reflected light that she was told to watch, while no word had been said of finding therein a revelation of things to come. Nor could she see anything in this mirror at first. Waves of light, tongues of leaping flame, passed over the polished surface of the metal, here darting off in long zigzag streaks, there forming a sort of pool of molten, quivering fluorescence, as the physicists call it, varying in size and color, then vanishing utterly. Much the same appearance Una remembered having seen on the surface of a copper kettle when subjected to intense heat. But in this case there was no perceptible heat to account for the phenomenon, which was rather electric in its fantastic weavings—a reduplication, on a gigantic scale, of the wavering finger of light that she had watched play, with such fatal results, on her uncle’s electric psychometer. The resemblance, recognized with a shudder, intensified her interest. The succession of marvels through which she had been passing prepared her for anything. In her present mood, nothing would have surprised her.

“What is it? What is it?” she asked eagerly.

Sajipona followed the twisting maze of figures before them with unwonted anxiety. Her usual calm demeanor was gone. She appeared to be reading something the purport of which was not at all to her liking.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “There he is. They have let him pass through the gate. He is coming here. Anitoo’s men are with him.”

To Una the words were meaningless. Yet she knew that her companion was reading, or, rather, witnessing something that was passing before her own eyes, and that hence should have been quite as visible to her—if only she had the clew. But this she did not have. She recognized the hint of danger. She knew that in some way Sajipona had caught a glimpse of some one whom she counted an enemy. She felt that this person was in some way connected with her own party; and then the thought of Raoul Arthur flashed across her mind, at the same time that his veritable image—so it seemed—stood forth in wavering lines of light at her feet.

“Save David from him!” she cried involuntarily.

“You see him—you know him!”

“He came in with us. He is there—look! I don’t know by what invisible power you have conjured up this apparition, but it is real. He is the one man I have feared—and he is coming here!”

Sajipona laughed softly to herself.

“Ah!” she cried, “now you have our secret. Here in this ancient hall, under this sun we have worshiped for countless ages, nothing is hidden. But the man you fear, that you see there, will bring freedom to us both.”

Whatever Sajipona meant by her enigmatical words, the fact was there, the living, moving likeness of Raoul Arthur, in the light-woven tapestry at Una’s feet. Eagerly she watched him. It was certainly Raoul, Raoul hurrying towards her, growing more distinct, more threatening with every moment. Behind him streamed a shadowy line of men—swiftly, confidently—following a trail amid the jagged rocks and precipices of the cave that might well have daunted the boldest spirits, but which seemed powerless to retard their progress. As Una’s eyes became accustomed to the shifting panorama before her, sundry details came into view that at first had been unnoticed. She was familiar with the curious phenomena wrought by the camera obscura, and this singular portrayal on the gleaming floor of Sajipona’s palace seemed at first not unlike that simple method of reproducing objects invisible to the spectator. But as the present picture grew and then faded away, to be followed by others in this magic pool of light, she knew that what she now beheld was quite beyond the power of the cunningly placed lens used in experiments with the camera obscura to portray. The latter, she remembered, could reproduce objects only when they came within a certain definite distance from the lens itself. But here Raoul Arthur and his companions moved across a constantly changing, lengthening space. Moreover, she recognized the path they were following as the one over which she had traveled at a point far away from the palace. They had reached, indeed, the very spot where she and Narva had first caught sight of that topmost pinnacle of the cave, behind and above which flamed the great ball of fire, the sun of this subterranean world. As Sajipona’s palace stood at the base of this pinnacle, she calculated, from her own experience of the journey, that Raoul and his followers were coming directly towards them.

“There is nothing to fear,” resumed Sajipona, as if in answer to her thoughts. “Be glad of their coming. But—for your own people I am afraid.”

“Ah, my poor uncle! I have brought him into all this danger,” exclaimed Una. “Where is he? How can I save him?”

“Look!”

Eagerly studying the portion of the picture indicated, Una suddenly found, to her horror, that Raoul, with that vague, shadowy rabble at his heels, was approaching another group of people, just ahead, among whom she recognized the gaunt figure of Narva, evidently exasperated by the inability of the others to keep pace with her. Even in the uncertain lines of the picture the scorn darkening the features of the old sibyl was easily discernible. Behind her tottered Mrs. Quayle, waving her arms in helpless protest, supported by the faithful Andrew, whose face showed an even greater degree of woe and alarm than usual. They were closely followed by Leighton, imperturbable as ever, and Miranda, whose irascible rocketing from one side to the other of the narrow trail, and whose violent gesticulations manifested all too plainly his indignation. Had it not been for her companions Narva could easily have outstripped her pursuers; but with so timorous a person as Mrs. Quayle this seemed impossible. The hopelessness of it, in spite of all his scolding and prodding, had evidently convinced Miranda of the necessity for a change of tactics. Further flight being a mere waste of energy, there was left the alternative of parleying with the enemy. Hence, without stopping to consult with General Herran, who still suffered, apparently, from his wound, and who plodded patiently along immediately behind Leighton, the doctor suddenly came to a standstill. This unexpected halt very nearly toppled over the others, who were pressing on as hard as they could go and found it difficult to stop on the instant. But Miranda did not heed the ludicrous disorder into which he had thrown them. Facing quickly about, and with arms impressively folded, he bestrode the narrow path as if defying any one who might be foolhardy enough to challenge him. At a distance, and without hearing the torrent of abuse with which he evidently greeted his pursuers, the fiery doctor resembled a small terrier disputing the right of way with a pack of hounds hot on their quarry. What he lacked in physical presence, however, Miranda made up in energy. Undaunted he stood his ground, the men whom he addressed halting with astonishment depicted on their faces. Then, most amazing of all, he wheeled about, placed himself at their head and, waving them forward, strutted along as if he had been their chosen leader.

Amused and impressed by his boldness, the men were apparently willing at first to accept Miranda for their commander. He furnished them with a new kind of entertainment, and for the moment, and just because they did not understand him, it seemed as if they recognized in him a superiority they were not loath to follow. But Raoul’s leadership was not to be so easily superseded. Quickly thrusting Miranda aside, breathless and triumphant from his exertions, the wiry American angrily harangued his troops. He threatened the foremost of them with a pike that he held in his hand, and by their downcast looks and passive demeanor, it was evident that his words and gestures had brought them back to a recognition of his authority. Miranda, still shouting and gesticulating, was ignominiously left to shift for himself, while the cavemen, obeying Raoul’s command, swept onward until they reached the stupefied group of explorers ahead of them. Here another halt was ordered, and Raoul pointed out Mrs. Quayle to his men. Four of the latter promptly left the ranks of their comrades, went forward at a round trot, seized the horrified lady, and swung her up to their shoulders before she knew what was happening, or had time to defend herself. Thus carried by two of the men and held in place by the other two, she was speedily brought into line not far behind Raoul. Leighton evidently protested against the sudden capture of Mrs. Quayle, for whose safety he felt peculiarly responsible. But his appeal was waved scornfully aside. The rest of the explorers, Miranda included, seeing that further resistance was futile, and that they were virtually Raoul’s prisoners, hopelessly resigned themselves to their fate and followed along with the others. A signal was then given, and the entire throng marched rapidly down the trail to the palace. Narva, however, was not among them. In the commotion that took place during the altercation with Miranda, and the subsequent seizure of Mrs. Quayle, she had disappeared.

As the last figures in this strange picture faded from view, Sajipona seized Una’s arm. The waving streams of light reflected on the floor had again become meaningless. It was as if a dream had suddenly passed before them, leaving them, as sleepers awakening, uncertain of the reality of what they had witnessed.

“Who is he?” asked Sajipona—“the stout man who so nearly captured these traitors?”

“A friend, a doctor, who came with us.”

“He is brave! But it is strange that this Raoul Arthur could free himself so easily from Anitoo. He must have killed my poor Anitoo to do that. But your friend was nearly too much for him! Never mind if he failed. They will soon be here. Let us be ready!”

Then, turning to her attendants who stood in a circle at a distance from them, she cried:

“Open the door!”

Obeying her command, two of the cavemen hurried to the farther end of the hall. There was a muffled sound of grating stone, and then the two leaves of the great portal swung slowly open, revealing the glittering, silent garden of the palace beyond.