"'GREEN MANSIONS\n\nA Romance of the Tropical Forest\n\nby W. H. Hudson\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\nI take up pen for this foreword with the fear of one who knows that he\ncannot do justice to his subject, and the trembling of one who would\nnot, for a good deal, set down words unpleasing to the eye of him who\nwrote Green Mansions, The Purple Land, and all those other books which\nhave meant so much to me. For of all living authors--now that Tolstoi\nhas gone I could least dispense with W. H. Hudson. Why do I love his\nwriting so? I think because he is, of living writers that I read, the\nrarest spirit, and has the clearest gift of conveying to me the nature\nof that spirit. Writers are to their readers little new worlds to be\nexplored; and each traveller in the realms of literature must needs have\na favourite hunting-ground, which, in his good will--or perhaps merely\nin his egoism--he would wish others to share with him.\n\nThe great and abiding misfortunes of most of us writers are twofold: We\nare, as worlds, rather common tramping-ground for our readers,\nrather tame territory; and as guides and dragomans thereto we are too\nsuperficial, lacking clear intimacy of expression; in fact--like guide\nor dragoman--we cannot let folk into the real secrets, or show them the\nspirit, of the land.\n\nNow, Hudson, whether in a pure romance like this Green Mansions, or in\nthat romantic piece of realism The Purple Land, or in books like Idle\nDays in Patagonia, Afoot in England, The Land\'s End, Adventures\namong Birds, A Shepherd\'s Life, and all his other nomadic records of\ncommunings with men, birds, beasts, and Nature, has a supreme gift of\ndisclosing not only the thing he sees but the spirit of his vision.\nWithout apparent effort he takes you with him into a rare, free, natural\nworld, and always you are refreshed, stimulated, enlarged, by going\nthere.\n\nHe is of course a distinguished naturalist, probably the most acute,\nbroad-minded, and understanding observer of Nature living. And this, in\nan age of specialism, which loves to put men into pigeonholes and label\nthem, has been a misfortune to the reading public, who seeing the label\nNaturalist, pass on, and take down the nearest novel. Hudson has indeed\nthe gifts and knowledge of a Naturalist, but that is a mere fraction of\nhis value and interest. A really great writer such as this is no more to\nbe circumscribed by a single word than America by the part of it called\nNew York. The expert knowledge which Hudson has of Nature gives to all\nhis work backbone and surety of fibre, and to his sense of beauty an\nintimate actuality. But his real eminence and extraordinary attraction\nlie in his spirit and philosophy. We feel from his writings that he\nis nearer to Nature than other men, and yet more truly civilized. The\ncompetitive, towny culture, the queer up-to-date commercial knowingness\nwith which we are so busy coating ourselves simply will not stick to\nhim. A passage in his Hampshire Days describes him better than I\ncan: \"The blue sky, the brown soil beneath, the grass, the trees, the\nanimals, the wind, and rain, and stars are never strange to me; for I am\nin and of and am one with them; and my flesh and the soil are one, and\nthe heat in my blood and in the sunshine are one, and the winds and the\ntempests and my passions are one. I feel the \'strangeness\' only with\nregard to my fellow men, especially in towns, where they exist in\nconditions unnatural to me, but congenial to them.... In such moments we\nsometimes feel a kinship with, and are strangely drawn to, the dead,\nwho were not as these; the long, long dead, the men who knew not life in\ntowns, and felt no strangeness in sun and wind and rain.\" This unspoiled\nunity with Nature pervades all his writings; they are remote from the\nfret and dust and pettiness of town life; they are large, direct, free.\nIt is not quite simplicity, for the mind of this writer is subtle and\nfastidious, sensitive to each motion of natural and human life; but his\nsensitiveness is somehow different from, almost inimical to, that of us\nothers, who sit indoors and dip our pens in shades of feeling. Hudson\'s\nfancy is akin to the flight of the birds that are his special loves--it\nnever seems to have entered a house, but since birth to have been\nroaming the air, in rain and sun, or visiting the trees and the grass.\nI not only disbelieve utterly, but intensely dislike, the doctrine of\nmetempsychosis, which, if I understand it aright, seems the negation of\nthe creative impulse, an apotheosis of staleness--nothing quite new in\nthe world, never anything quite new--not even the soul of a baby; and\nso I am not prepared to entertain the whim that a bird was one of his\nremote incarnations; still, in sweep of wing, quickness of eye, and\nnatural sweet strength of song he is not unlike a super-bird--which is\na horrid image. And that reminds me: This, after all, is a foreword to\nGreen Mansions--the romance of the bird-girl Rima--a story actual yet\nfantastic, which immortalizes, I think, as passionate a love of all\nbeautiful things as ever was in the heart of man. Somewhere Hudson says:\n\"The sense of the beautiful is God\'s best gift to the human soul.\" So\nit is: and to pass that gift on to others, in such measure as herein\nis expressed, must surely have been happiness to him who wrote Green\nMansions. In form and spirit the book is unique, a simple romantic\nnarrative transmuted by sheer glow of beauty into a prose poem. Without\never departing from its quality of a tale, it symbolizes the yearning\nof the human soul for the attainment of perfect love and beauty in this\nlife--that impossible perfection which we must all learn to see fall\nfrom its high tree and be consumed in the flames, as was Rima the\nbird-girl, but whose fine white ashes we gather that they may be mingled\nat last with our own, when we too have been refined by the fire of\ndeath\'s resignation. The book is soaked through and through with a\nstrange beauty. I will not go on singing its praises, or trying to make\nit understood, because I have other words to say of its author.\n\nDo we realize how far our town life and culture have got away from\nthings that really matter; how instead of making civilization our\nhandmaid to freedom we have set her heel on our necks, and under it bite\ndust all the time? Hudson, whether he knows it or not, is now the chief\nstandard-bearer of another faith. Thus he spake in The Purple Land: \"Ah,\nyes, we are all vainly seeking after happiness in the wrong way. It\nwas with us once and ours, but we despised it, for it was only the old\ncommon happiness which Nature gives to all her children, and we went\naway from it in search of another grander kind of happiness which some\ndreamer--Bacon or another--assured us we should find. We had only to\nconquer Nature, find out her secrets, make her our obedient slave, then\nthe Earth would be Eden, and every man Adam and every woman Eve. We are\nstill marching bravely on, conquering Nature, but how weary and sad\nwe are getting! The old joy in life and gaiety of heart have vanished,\nthough we do sometimes pause for a few moments in our long forced march\nto watch the labours of some pale mechanician, seeking after perpetual\nmotion, and indulge in a little, dry, cackling laugh at his expense.\"\nAnd again: \"For here the religion that languishes in crowded cities or\nsteals shamefaced to hide itself in dim churches flourishes greatly,\nfilling the soul with a solemn joy. Face to face with Nature on the vast\nhills at eventide, who does not feel himself near to the Unseen?\n\n \"Out of his heart God shall not pass\n His image stamped is on every grass.\"\n\nAll Hudson\'s books breathe this spirit of revolt against our new\nenslavement by towns and machinery, and are true oases in an age so\ndreadfully resigned to the \"pale mechanician.\"\n\nBut Hudson is not, as Tolstoi was, a conscious prophet; his spirit is\nfreer, more willful, whimsical--almost perverse--and far more steeped in\nlove of beauty. If you called him a prophet he would stamp his foot\nat you--as he will at me if he reads these words; but his voice is\nprophetic, for all that, crying in a wilderness, out of which, at the\ncall, will spring up roses here and there, and the sweet-smelling grass.\nI would that every man, woman, and child in England were made to read\nhim; and I would that you in America would take him to heart. He is a\ntonic, a deep refreshing drink, with a strange and wonderful flavour; he\nis a mine of new interests, and ways of thought instinctively right. As\na simple narrator he is well-nigh unsurpassed; as a stylist he has\nfew, if any, living equals. And in all his work there is an indefinable\nfreedom from any thought of after-benefit--even from the desire that we\nshould read him. He puts down what he sees and feels, out of sheer love\nof the thing seen, and the emotion felt; the smell of the lamp has not\ntouched a single page that he ever wrote. That alone is a marvel to us\nwho know that to write well, even to write clearly, is a wound business,\nlong to learn, hard to learn, and no gift of the angels. Style should\nnot obtrude between a writer and his reader; it should be servant, not\nmaster. To use words so true and simple that they oppose no obstacle\nto the flow of thought and feeling from mind to mind, and yet by\njuxtaposition of word-sounds set up in the recipient continuing emotion\nor gratification--this is the essence of style; and Hudson\'s writing has\npre-eminently this double quality. From almost any page of his books an\nexample might be taken. Here is one no better than a thousand others, a\ndescription of two little girls on a beach: \"They were dressed in black\nfrocks and scarlet blouses, which set off their beautiful small dark\nfaces; their eyes sparkled like black diamonds, and their loose hair\nwas a wonder to see, a black mist or cloud about their heads and necks\ncomposed of threads fine as gossamer, blacker than jet and shining like\nspun glass--hair that looked as if no comb or brush could ever tame its\nbeautiful wildness. And in spirit they were what they seemed: such a\nwild, joyous, frolicsome spirit, with such grace and fleetness, one\ndoes not look for in human beings, but only in birds or in some small\nbird-like volatile mammal--a squirrel or a spider-monkey of the tropical\nforest, or the chinchilla of the desolate mountain slopes; the swiftest,\nwildest, loveliest, most airy, and most vocal of small beauties.\" Or\nthis, as the quintessence of a sly remark: \"After that Mantel got on to\nhis horse and rode away. It was black and rainy, but he had never needed\nmoon or lantern to find what he sought by night, whether his own\nhouse, or a fat cow--also his own, perhaps.\" So one might go on quoting\nfelicity for ever from this writer. He seems to touch every string with\nfresh and uninked fingers; and the secret of his power lies, I suspect,\nin the fact that his words: \"Life being more than all else to me. . .\"\nare so utterly true.\n\nI do not descant on his love for simple folk and simple things, his\nchampionship of the weak, and the revolt against the cagings and\ncruelties of life, whether to men or birds or beasts, that springs out\nof him as if against his will; because, having spoken of him as one with\na vital philosophy or faith, I don\'t wish to draw red herrings across\nthe main trail of his worth to the world. His work is a vision of\nnatural beauty and of human life as it might be, quickened and sweetened\nby the sun and the wind and the rain, and by fellowship with all the\nother forms of life--the truest vision now being given to us, who are\nmore in want of it than any generation has ever been. A very great\nwriter; and--to my thinking--the most valuable our age possesses.\n\nJOHN GALSWORTHY\n\nSeptember 1915 Manaton: Devon\n\n\n\n\nGREEN MANSIONS\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nIt is a cause of very great regret to me that this task has taken so\nmuch longer a time than I had expected for its completion. It is\nnow many months--over a year, in fact--since I wrote to Georgetown\nannouncing my intention of publishing, IN A VERY FEW MONTHS, the whole\ntruth about Mr. Abel. Hardly less could have been looked for from his\nnearest friend, and I had hoped that the discussion in the newspapers\nwould have ceased, at all events, until the appearance of the promised\nbook. It has not been so; and at this distance from Guiana I was not\naware of how much conjectural matter was being printed week by week in\nthe local press, some of which must have been painful reading to Mr.\nAbel\'s friends. A darkened chamber, the existence of which had never\nbeen suspected in that familiar house in Main Street, furnished\nonly with an ebony stand on which stood a cinerary urn, its surface\nornamented with flower and leaf and thorn, and winding through it all\nthe figure of a serpent; an inscription, too, of seven short words which\nno one could understand or rightly interpret; and finally the disposal\nof the mysterious ashes--that was all there was relating to an untold\nchapter in a man\'s life for imagination to work on. Let us hope that\nnow, at last, the romance-weaving will come to an end. It was, however,\nbut natural that the keenest curiosity should have been excited; not\nonly because of that peculiar and indescribable charm of the man, which\nall recognized and which won all hearts, but also because of that hidden\nchapter--that sojourn in the desert, about which he preserved silence.\nIt was felt in a vague way by his intimates that he had met with unusual\nexperiences which had profoundly affected him and changed the course of\nhis life. To me alone was the truth known, and I must now tell, briefly\nas possible, how my great friendship and close intimacy with him came\nabout.\n\nWhen, in 1887, I arrived in Georgetown to take up an appointment in a\npublic office, I found Mr. Abel an old resident there, a man of means\nand a favourite in society. Yet he was an alien, a Venezuelan, one\nof that turbulent people on our border whom the colonists have always\nlooked on as their natural enemies. The story told to me was that about\ntwelve years before that time he had arrived at Georgetown from some\nremote district in the interior; that he had journeyed alone on foot\nacross half the continent to the coast, and had first appeared among\nthem, a young stranger, penniless, in rags, wasted almost to a skeleton\nby fever and misery of all kinds, his face blackened by long exposure\nto sun and wind. Friendless, with but little English, it was a hard\nstruggle for him to live; but he managed somehow, and eventually letters\nfrom Caracas informed him that a considerable property of which he had\nbeen deprived was once more his own, and he was also invited to return\nto his country to take his part in the government of the Republic. But\nMr. Abel, though young, had already outlived political passions and\naspirations, and, apparently, even the love of his country; at all\nevents, he elected to stay where he was--his enemies, he would say\nsmilingly, were his best friends--and one of the first uses he made of\nhis fortune was to buy that house in Main Street which was afterwards\nlike a home to me.\n\nI must state here that my friend\'s full name was Abel Guevez de\nArgensola, but in his early days in Georgetown he was called by his\nChristian name only, and later he wished to be known simply as \"Mr.\nAbel.\"\n\nI had no sooner made his acquaintance than I ceased to wonder at the\nesteem and even affection with which he, a Venezuelan, was regarded in\nthis British colony. All knew and liked him, and the reason of it was\nthe personal charm of the man, his kindly disposition, his manner with\nwomen, which pleased them and excited no man\'s jealousy--not even\nthe old hot-tempered planter\'s, with a very young and pretty and\nlight-headed wife--his love of little children, of all wild creatures,\nof nature, and of whatsoever was furthest removed from the common\nmaterial interests and concerns of a purely commercial community.\nThe things which excited other men--politics, sport, and the price of\ncrystals--were outside of his thoughts; and when men had done with\nthem for a season, when like the tempest they had \"blown their fill\" in\noffice and club-room and house and wanted a change, it was a relief to\nturn to Mr. Abel and get him to discourse of his world--the world of\nnature and of the spirit.\n\nIt was, all felt, a good thing to have a Mr. Abel in Georgetown. That\nit was indeed good for me I quickly discovered. I had certainly\nnot expected to meet in such a place with any person to share my\ntastes--that love of poetry which has been the chief passion and delight\nof my life; but such a one I had found in Mr. Abel. It surprised me\nthat he, suckled on the literature of Spain, and a reader of only ten or\ntwelve years of English literature, possessed a knowledge of our modern\npoetry as intimate as my own, and a love of it equally great. This\nfeeling brought us together and made us two--the nervous olive-skinned\nHispano-American of the tropics and the phlegmatic blue-eyed Saxon of\nthe cold north--one in spirit and more than brothers. Many were the\ndaylight hours we spent together and \"tired the sun with talking\"; many,\npast counting, the precious evenings in that restful house of his where\nI was an almost daily guest. I had not looked for such happiness; nor,\nhe often said, had he. A result of this intimacy was that the vague idea\nconcerning his hidden past, that some unusual experience had profoundly\naffected him and perhaps changed the whole course of his life, did not\ndiminish, but, on the contrary, became accentuated, and was often in\nmy mind. The change in him was almost painful to witness whenever our\nwandering talk touched on the subject of the aborigines, and of the\nknowledge he had acquired of their character and languages when\nliving or travelling among them; all that made his conversation most\nengaging--the lively, curious mind, the wit, the gaiety of spirit\ntinged with a tender melancholy--appeared to fade out of it; even the\nexpression of his face would change, becoming hard and set, and he would\ndeal you out facts in a dry mechanical way as if reading them in a book.\nIt grieved me to note this, but I dropped no hint of such a feeling, and\nwould never have spoken about it but for a quarrel which came at last to\nmake the one brief solitary break in that close friendship of years.\nI got into a bad state of health, and Abel was not only much concerned\nabout it, but annoyed, as if I had not treated him well by being ill,\nand he would even say that I could get well if I wished to. I did not\ntake this seriously, but one morning, when calling to see me at the\noffice, he attacked me in a way that made me downright angry with him.\nHe told me that indolence and the use of stimulants was the cause of\nmy bad health. He spoke in a mocking way, with a presence of not quite\nmeaning it, but the feeling could not be wholly disguised. Stung by his\nreproaches, I blurted out that he had no right to talk to me, even\nin fun, in such a way. Yes, he said, getting serious, he had the best\nright--that of our friendship. He would be no true friend if he kept his\npeace about such a matter. Then, in my haste, I retorted that to me the\nfriendship between us did not seem so perfect and complete as it did to\nhim. One condition of friendship is that the partners in it should be\nknown to each other. He had had my whole life and mind open to him, to\nread it as in a book. HIS life was a closed and clasped volume to me.\n\nHis face darkened, and after a few moments\' silent reflection he got up\nand left me with a cold good-bye, and without that hand-grasp which had\nbeen customary between us.\n\nAfter his departure I had the feeling that a great loss, a great\ncalamity, had befallen me, but I was still smarting at his too candid\ncriticism, all the more because in my heart I acknowledged its truth.\nAnd that night, lying awake, I repented of the cruel retort I had made,\nand resolved to ask his forgiveness and leave it to him to determine\nthe question of our future relations. But he was beforehand with me, and\nwith the morning came a letter begging my forgiveness and asking me to\ngo that evening to dine with him.\n\nWe were alone, and during dinner and afterwards, when we sat smoking and\nsipping black coffee in the veranda, we were unusually quiet, even to\ngravity, which caused the two white-clad servants that waited on us--the\nbrown-faced subtle-eyed old Hindu butler and an almost blue-black young\nGuiana Negro--to direct many furtive glances at their master\'s face.\nThey were accustomed to see him in a more genial mood when he had a\nfriend to dine. To me the change in his manner was not surprising: from\nthe moment of seeing him I had divined that he had determined to open\nthe shut and clasped volume of which I had spoken--that the time had now\ncome for him to speak.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nNow that we are cool, he said, and regret that we hurt each other, I am\nnot sorry that it happened. I deserved your reproach: a hundred times\nI have wished to tell you the whole story of my travels and adventures\namong the savages, and one of the reasons which prevented me was the\nfear that it would have an unfortunate effect on our friendship. That\nwas precious, and I desired above everything to keep it. But I must\nthink no more about that now. I must think only of how I am to tell you\nmy story. I will begin at a time when I was twenty-three. It was early\nin life to be in the thick of politics, and in trouble to the extent of\nhaving to fly my country to save my liberty, perhaps my life.\n\nEvery nation, someone remarks, has the government it deserves, and\nVenezuela certainly has the one it deserves and that suits it best. We\ncall it a republic, not only because it is not one, but also because a\nthing must have a name; and to have a good name, or a fine name, is\nvery convenient--especially when you want to borrow money. If the\nVenezuelans, thinly distributed over an area of half a million square\nmiles, mostly illiterate peasants, half-breeds, and indigenes, were\neducated, intelligent men, zealous only for the public weal, it would\nbe possible for them to have a real republic. They have instead\na government by cliques, tempered by revolution; and a very good\ngovernment it is, in harmony with the physical conditions of the country\nand the national temperament. Now, it happens that the educated men,\nrepresenting your higher classes, are so few that there are not many\npersons unconnected by ties of blood or marriage with prominent members\nof the political groups to which they belong. By this you will see how\neasy and almost inevitable it is that we should become accustomed to\nlook on conspiracy and revolt against the regnant party--the men of\nanother clique--as only in the natural order of things. In the event\nof failure such outbreaks are punished, but they are not regarded as\nimmoral. On the contrary, men of the highest intelligence and virtue\namong us are seen taking a leading part in these adventures. Whether\nsuch a condition of things is intrinsically wrong or not, or would be\nwrong in some circumstances and is not wrong, because inevitable, in\nothers, I cannot pretend to decide; and all this tiresome profusion\nis only to enable you to understand how I--a young man of unblemished\ncharacter, not a soldier by profession, not ambitious of political\ndistinction, wealthy for that country, popular in society, a lover of\nsocial pleasures, of books, of nature actuated, as I believed, by the\nhighest motives, allowed myself to be drawn very readily by friends and\nrelations into a conspiracy to overthrow the government of the moment,\nwith the object of replacing it by more worthy men ourselves, to wit.\n\nOur adventure failed because the authorities got wind of the affair\nand matters were precipitated. Our leaders at the moment happened to be\nscattered over the country--some were abroad; and a few hotheaded men\nof the party, who were in Caracas just then and probably feared arrest,\nstruck a rash blow: the President was attacked in the street and\nwounded. But the attackers were seized, and some of them shot on the\nfollowing day. When the news reached me I was at a distance from the\ncapital, staying with a friend on an estate he owned on the River\nQuebrada Honda, in the State of Guarico, some fifteen to twenty miles\nfrom the town of Zaraza. My friend, an officer in the army, was a leader\nin the conspiracy; and as I was the only son of a man who had been\ngreatly hated by the Minister of War, it became necessary for us both\nto fly for our lives. In the circumstances we could not look to be\npardoned, even on the score of youth.\n\nOur first decision was to escape to the sea-coast; but as the risk of a\njourney to La Guayra, or any other port of embarkation on the north\nside of the country, seemed too great, we made our way in a contrary\ndirection to the Orinoco, and downstream to Angostura. Now, when we had\nreached this comparatively safe breathing-place--safe, at all events,\nfor the moment--I changed my mind about leaving or attempting to leave\nthe country. Since boyhood I had taken a very peculiar interest in that\nvast and almost unexplored territory we possess south of the Orinoco,\nwith its countless unmapped rivers and trackless forests; and in\nits savage inhabitants, with their ancient customs and character,\nunadulterated by contact with Europeans. To visit this primitive\nwilderness had been a cherished dream; and I had to some extent even\nprepared myself for such an adventure by mastering more than one of the\nIndian dialects of the northern states of Venezuela. And now, finding\nmyself on the south side of our great river, with unlimited time at\nmy disposal, I determined to gratify this wish. My companion took his\ndeparture towards the coast, while I set about making preparations and\nhunting up information from those who had travelled in the interior to\ntrade with the savages. I decided eventually to go back upstream and\npenetrate to the interior in the western part of Guayana, and the\nAmazonian territory bordering on Colombia and Brazil, and to return to\nAngostura in about six months\' time. I had no fear of being arrested\nin the semi-independent and in most part savage region, as the Guayana\nauthorities concerned themselves little enough about the political\nupheavals at Caracas.\n\nThe first five or six months I spent in Guayana, after leaving the city\nof refuge, were eventful enough to satisfy a moderately adventurous\nspirit. A complaisant government employee at Angostura had provided\nme with a passport, in which it was set down (for few to read) that my\nobject in visiting the interior was to collect information concerning\nthe native tribes, the vegetable products of the country, and other\nknowledge which would be of advantage to the Republic; and the\nauthorities were requested to afford me protection and assist me in my\npursuits. I ascended the Orinoco, making occasional expeditions to the\nsmall Christian settlements in the neighbourhood of the right bank, also\nto the Indian villages; and travelling in this way, seeing and learning\nmuch, in about three months I reached the River Metal. During this\nperiod I amused myself by keeping a journal, a record of personal\nadventures, impressions of the country and people, both semi-civilized\nand savage; and as my journal grew, I began to think that on my return\nat some future time to Caracas, it might prove useful and interesting to\nthe public, and also procure me fame; which thought proved pleasurable\nand a great incentive, so that I began to observe things more narrowly\nand to study expression. But the book was not to be.\n\nFrom the mouth of the Meta I journeyed on, intending to visit the\nsettlement of Atahapo, where the great River Guaviare, with other\nrivers, empties itself into the Orinoco. But I was not destined to reach\nit, for at the small settlement of Manapuri I fell ill of a low fever;\nand here ended the first half-year of my wanderings, about which no more\nneed be told.\n\nA more miserable place than Manapuri for a man to be ill of a low fever\nin could not well be imagined. The settlement, composed of mean hovels,\nwith a few large structures of mud, or plastered wattle, thatched\nwith palm leaves, was surrounded by water, marsh, and forest, the\nbreeding-place of myriads of croaking frogs and of clouds of mosquitoes;\neven to one in perfect health existence in such a place would have\nbeen a burden. The inhabitants mustered about eighty or ninety, mostly\nIndians of that degenerate class frequently to be met with in small\ntrading outposts. The savages of Guayana are great drinkers, but not\ndrunkards in our sense, since their fermented liquors contain so\nlittle alcohol that inordinate quantities must be swallowed to produce\nintoxication; in the settlements they prefer the white man\'s more potent\npoisons, with the result that in a small place like Manapuri one can see\nenacted, as on a stage, the last act in the great American tragedy. To\nbe succeeded, doubtless, by other and possibly greater tragedies. My\nthoughts at that period of suffering were pessimistic in the extreme.\nSometimes, when the almost continuous rain held up for half a day, I\nwould manage to creep out a short distance; but I was almost past making\nany exertion, scarcely caring to live, and taking absolutely no interest\nin the news from Caracas, which reached me at long intervals. At the end\nof two months, feeling a slight improvement in my health, and with it a\nreturning interest in life and its affairs, it occurred to me to get\nout my diary and write a brief account of my sojourn at Manapuri. I had\nplaced it for safety in a small deal box, lent to me for the purpose\nby a Venezuelan trader, an old resident at the settlement, by name\nPantaleon--called by all Don Panta--one who openly kept half a dozen\nIndian wives in his house, and was noted for his dishonesty and greed,\nbut who had proved himself a good friend to me. The box was in a corner\nof the wretched palm-thatched hovel I inhabited; but on taking it out I\ndiscovered that for several weeks the rain had been dripping on it, and\nthat the manuscript was reduced to a sodden pulp. I flung it upon the\nfloor with a curse and threw myself back on my bed with a groan.\n\nIn that desponding state I was found by my friend Panta, who was\nconstant in his visits at all hours; and when in answer to his anxious\ninquiries I pointed to the pulpy mass on the mud floor, he turned it\nover with his foot, and then, bursting into a loud laugh, kicked it out,\nremarking that he had mistaken the object for some unknown reptile that\nhad crawled in out of the rain. He affected to be astonished that I\nshould regret its loss. It was all a true narrative, he exclaimed; if\nI wished to write a book for the stay-at-homes to read, I could easily\ninvent a thousand lies far more entertaining than any real experiences.\nHe had come to me, he said, to propose something. He had lived twenty\nyears at that place, and had got accustomed to the climate, but it would\nnot do for me to remain any longer if I wished to live. I must go away\nat once to a different country--to the mountains, where it was open and\ndry. \"And if you want quinine when you are there,\" he concluded, \"smell\nthe wind when it blows from the south-west, and you will inhale it into\nyour system, fresh from the forest.\" When I remarked despondingly that\nin my condition it would be impossible to quit Manapuri, he went on to\nsay that a small party of Indians was now in the settlement; that they\nhad come, not only to trade, but to visit one of their own tribe, who\nwas his wife, purchased some years ago from her father. \"And the money\nshe cost me I have never regretted to this day,\" said he, \"for she is a\ngood wife not jealous,\" he added, with a curse on all the others. These\nIndians came all the way from the Queneveta mountains, and were of the\nMaquiritari tribe. He, Panta, and, better still, his good wife would\ninterest them on my behalf, and for a suitable reward they would take me\nby slow, easy stages to their own country, where I would be treated well\nand recover my health.\n\nThis proposal, after I had considered it well, produced so good an\neffect on me that I not only gave a glad consent, but, on the following\nday, I was able to get about and begin the preparations for my journey\nwith some spirit.\n\nIn about eight days I bade good-bye to my generous friend Panta, whom I\nregarded, after having seen much of him, as a kind of savage beast that\nhad sprung on me, not to rend, but to rescue from death; for we\nknow that even cruel savage brutes and evil men have at times sweet,\nbeneficent impulses, during which they act in a way contrary to their\nnatures, like passive agents of some higher power. It was a continual\npain to travel in my weak condition, and the patience of my Indians\nwas severely taxed; but they did not forsake me; and at last the entire\ndistance, which I conjectured to be about sixty-five leagues, was\naccomplished; and at the end I was actually stronger and better in\nevery way than at the start. From this time my progress towards complete\nrecovery was rapid. The air, with or without any medicinal virtue blown\nfrom the cinchona trees in the far-off Andean forest, was tonic; and\nwhen I took my walks on the hillside above the Indian village, or later\nwhen able to climb to the summits, the world as seen from those\nwild Queneveta mountains had a largeness and varied glory of scenery\npeculiarly refreshing and delightful to the soul.\n\nWith the Maquiritari tribe I passed some weeks, and the sweet sensations\nof returning health made me happy for a time; but such sensations seldom\noutlast convalescence. I was no sooner well again than I began to feel\na restless spirit stirring in me. The monotony of savage life in this\nplace became intolerable. After my long listless period the reaction had\ncome, and I wished only for action, adventure--no matter how dangerous;\nand for new scenes, new faces, new dialects. In the end I conceived the\nidea of going on to the Casiquiare river, where I would find a few small\nsettlements, and perhaps obtain help from the authorities there which\nwould enable me to reach the Rio Negro. For it was now in my mind to\nfollow that river to the Amazons, and so down to Para and the Atlantic\ncoast.\n\nLeaving the Queneveta range, I started with two of the Indians as guides\nand travelling companions; but their journey ended only half-way to the\nriver I wished to reach; and they left me with some friendly savages\nliving on the Chunapay, a tributary of the Cunucumana, which flows to\nthe Orinoco. Here I had no choice but to wait until an opportunity of\nattaching myself to some party of travelling Indians going south-west\nshould arrive; for by this time I had expended the whole of my small\ncapital in ornaments and calico brought from Manapuri, so that I could\nno longer purchase any man\'s service. And perhaps it will be as well\nto state at this point just what I possessed. For some time I had worn\nnothing but sandals to protect my feet; my garments consisted of a\nsingle suit, and one flannel shirt, which I washed frequently, going\nshirtless while it was drying. Fortunately I had an excellent blue cloth\ncloak, durable and handsome, given to me by a friend at Angostura, whose\nprophecy on presenting it, that it would outlast ME, very nearly came\ntrue. It served as a covering by night, and to keep a man warm and\ncomfortable when travelling in cold and wet weather no better garment\nwas ever made. I had a revolver and metal cartridge-box in my broad\nleather belt, also a good hunting-knife with strong buckhorn handle and\na heavy blade about nine inches long. In the pocket of my cloak I had a\npretty silver tinder-box, and a match-box--to be mentioned again in this\nnarrative--and one or two other trifling objects; these I was determined\nto keep until they could be kept no longer.\n\nDuring the tedious interval of waiting on the Chunapay I was told a\nflattering tale by the village Indians, which eventually caused me\nto abandon the proposed journey to the Rio Negro. These Indians wore\nnecklets, like nearly all the Guayana savages; but one, I observed,\npossessed a necklet unlike that of the others, which greatly aroused my\ncuriosity. It was made of thirteen gold plates, irregular in form, about\nas broad as a man\'s thumb-nail, and linked together with fibres. I was\nallowed to examine it, and had no doubt that the pieces were of pure\ngold, beaten flat by the savages. When questioned about it, they said\nit was originally obtained from the Indians of Parahuari, and Parahuari,\nthey further said, was a mountainous country west of the Orinoco. Every\nman and woman in that place, they assured me, had such a necklet. This\nreport inflamed my mind to such a degree that I could not rest by night\nor day for dreaming golden dreams, and considering how to get to that\nrich district, unknown to civilized men. The Indians gravely shook their\nheads when I tried to persuade them to take me. They were far enough\nfrom the Orinoco, and Parahuari was ten, perhaps fifteen, days\' journey\nfurther on--a country unknown to them, where they had no relations.\n\nIn spite of difficulties and delays, however, and not without pain and\nsome perilous adventures, I succeeded at last in reaching the upper\nOrinoco, and, eventually, in crossing to the other side. With my life\nin my hand I struggled on westward through an unknown difficult country,\nfrom Indian village to village, where at any moment I might have been\nmurdered with impunity for the sake of my few belongings. It is hard for\nme to speak a good word for the Guayana savages; but I must now say this\nof them, that they not only did me no harm when I was at their mercy\nduring this long journey, but they gave me shelter in their villages,\nand fed me when I was hungry, and helped me on my way when I could make\nno return. You must not, however, run away with the idea that there is\nany sweetness in their disposition, any humane or benevolent instincts\nsuch as are found among the civilized nations: far from it. I regard\nthem now, and, fortunately for me, I regarded them then, when, as I have\nsaid, I was at their mercy, as beasts of prey, plus a cunning or low\nkind of intelligence vastly greater than that of the brute; and, for\nonly morality, that respect for the rights of other members of the same\nfamily, or tribe, without which even the rudest communities cannot hold\ntogether. How, then, could I do this thing, and dwell and travel freely,\nwithout receiving harm, among tribes that have no peace with and no\nkindly feelings towards the stranger, in a district where the white\nman is rarely or never seen? Because I knew them so well. Without that\nknowledge, always available, and an extreme facility in acquiring new\ndialects, which had increased by practice until it was almost like\nintuition, I should have fared badly after leaving the Maquiritari\ntribe. As it was, I had two or three very narrow escapes.\n\nTo return from this digression. I looked at last on the famous Parahuari\nmountains, which, I was greatly surprised to find, were after all\nnothing but hills, and not very high ones. This, however, did not\nimpress me. The very fact that Parahuari possessed no imposing feature\nin its scenery seemed rather to prove that it must be rich in gold: how\nelse could its name and the fame of its treasures be familiar to people\ndwelling so far away as the Cunucumana?\n\nBut there was no gold. I searched through the whole range, which was\nabout seven leagues long, and visited the villages, where I talked much\nwith the Indians, interrogating them, and they had no necklets of\ngold, nor gold in any form; nor had they ever heard of its presence in\nParahuari or in any other place known to them.\n\nThe very last village where I spoke on the subject of my quest, albeit\nnow without hope, was about a league from the western extremity of the\nrange, in the midst of a high broken country of forest and savannah and\nmany swift streams; near one of these, called the Curicay, the village\nstood, among low scattered trees--a large building, in which all the\npeople, numbering eighteen, passed most of their time when not hunting,\nwith two smaller buildings attached to it. The head, or chief, Runi by\nname, was about fifty years old, a taciturn, finely formed, and somewhat\ndignified savage, who was either of a sullen disposition or not well\npleased at the intrusion of a white man. And for a time I made no\nattempt to conciliate him. What profit was there in it at all? Even\nthat light mask, which I had worn so long and with such good effect,\nincommoded me now: I would cast it aside and be myself--silent and\nsullen as my barbarous host. If any malignant purpose was taking form\nin his mind, let it, and let him do his worst; for when failure first\nstares a man in the face, it has so dark and repellent a look that not\nanything that can be added can make him more miserable; nor has he any\napprehension. For weeks I had been searching with eager, feverish\neyes in every village, in every rocky crevice, in every noisy mountain\nstreamlet, for the glittering yellow dust I had travelled so far to\nfind. And now all my beautiful dreams--all the pleasure and power to\nbe--had vanished like a mere mirage on the savannah at noon.\n\nIt was a day of despair which I spent in this place, sitting all day\nindoors, for it was raining hard, immersed in my own gloomy thoughts,\npretending to doze in my seat, and out of the narrow slits of my\nhalf-closed eyes seeing the others, also sitting or moving about, like\nshadows or people in a dream; and I cared nothing about them, and wished\nnot to seem friendly, even for the sake of the food they might offer me\nby and by.\n\nTowards evening the rain ceased; and rising up I went out a short\ndistance to the neighbouring stream, where I sat on a stone and, casting\noff my sandals, laved my bruised feet in the cool running water. The\nwestern half of the sky was blue again with that tender lucid blue\nseen after rain, but the leaves still glittered with water, and the wet\ntrunks looked almost black under the green foliage. The rare loveliness\nof the scene touched and lightened my heart. Away back in the east\nthe hills of Parahuari, with the level sun full on them, loomed with a\nstrange glory against the grey rainy clouds drawing off on that side,\nand their new mystic beauty almost made me forget how these same hills\nhad wearied, and hurt, and mocked me. On that side, also to the north\nand south, there was open forest, but to the west a different prospect\nmet the eye. Beyond the stream and the strip of verdure that fringed it,\nand the few scattered dwarf trees growing near its banks, spread a brown\nsavannah sloping upwards to a long, low, rocky ridge, beyond which rose\na great solitary hill, or rather mountain, conical in form, and clothed\nin forest almost to the summit. This was the mountain Ytaioa, the chief\nlandmark in that district. As the sun went down over the ridge, beyond\nthe savannah, the whole western sky changed to a delicate rose colour\nthat had the appearance of rose-coloured smoke blown there by some far\noff-wind, and left suspended--a thin, brilliant veil showing through it\nthe distant sky beyond, blue and ethereal. Flocks of birds, a kind of\ntroupial, were flying past me overhead, flock succeeding flock, on their\nway to their roosting-place, uttering as they flew a clear, bell-like\nchirp; and there was something ethereal too in those drops of melodious\nsound, which fell into my heart like raindrops falling into a pool to\nmix their fresh heavenly water with the water of earth.\n\nDoubtless into the turbid tarn of my heart some sacred drops had\nfallen--from the passing birds, from that crimson disk which had now\ndropped below the horizon, the darkening hills, the rose and blue of\ninfinite heaven, from the whole visible circle; and I felt purified\nand had a strange sense and apprehension of a secret innocence and\nspirituality in nature--a prescience of some bourn, incalculably distant\nperhaps, to which we are all moving; of a time when the heavenly rain\nshall have washed us clean from all spot and blemish. This unexpected\npeace which I had found now seemed to me of infinitely greater value\nthan that yellow metal I had missed finding, with all its possibilities.\nMy wish now was to rest for a season at this spot, so remote and lovely\nand peaceful, where I had experienced such unusual feelings and such a\nblessed disillusionment.\n\nThis was the end of my second period in Guayana: the first had been\nfilled with that dream of a book to win me fame in my country, perhaps\neven in Europe; the second, from the time of leaving the Queneveta\nmountains, with the dream of boundless wealth--the old dream of gold\nin this region that has drawn so many minds since the days of Francisco\nPizarro. But to remain I must propitiate Runi, sitting silent with\ngloomy brows over there indoors; and he did not appear to me like one\nthat might be won with words, however flattering. It was clear to\nme that the time had come to part with my one remaining valuable\ntrinket--the tinder-box of chased silver.\n\nI returned to the house and, going in, seated myself on a log by the\nfire, just opposite to my grim host, who was smoking and appeared not\nto have moved since I left him. I made myself a cigarette, then drew out\nthe tinder-box, with its flint and steel attached to it by means of\ntwo small silver chains. His eyes brightened a little as they curiously\nwatched my movements, and he pointed without speaking to the glowing\ncoals of fire at my feet. I shook my head, and striking the steel, sent\nout a brilliant spray of sparks, then blew on the tinder and lit my\ncigarette.\n\nThis done, instead of returning the box to my pocket I passed the chain\nthrough the buttonhole of my cloak and let it dangle on my breast as\nan ornament. When the cigarette was smoked, I cleared my throat in the\northodox manner and fixed my eyes on Runi, who, on his part, made a\nslight movement to indicate that he was ready to listen to what I had to\nsay.\n\nMy speech was long, lasting at least half an hour, delivered in\na profound silence; it was chiefly occupied with an account of my\nwanderings in Guayana; and being little more than a catalogue of names\nof all the places I had visited, and the tribes and chief or head men\nwith whom I had come in contact, I was able to speak continuously, and\nso to hide my ignorance of a dialect which was still new to me.\nThe Guayana savage judges a man for his staying powers. To stand as\nmotionless as a bronze statue for one or two hours watching for a\nbird; to sit or lie still for half a day; to endure pain, not seldom\nself-inflicted, without wincing; and when delivering a speech to pour\nit out in a copious stream, without pausing to take breath or hesitating\nover a word--to be able to do all this is to prove yourself a man, an\nequal, one to be respected and even made a friend of. What I really\nwished to say to him was put in a few words at the conclusion of my\nwell-nigh meaningless oration. Everywhere, I said, I had been the\nIndian\'s friend, and I wished to be his friend, to live with him at\nParahuari, even as I had lived with other chiefs and heads of villages\nand families; to be looked on by him, as these others had looked on me,\nnot as a stranger or a white man, but as a friend, a brother, an Indian.\n\nI ceased speaking, and there was a slight murmurous sound in the room,\nas of wind long pent up in many lungs suddenly exhaled; while Runi,\nstill unmoved, emitted a low grunt. Then I rose, and detaching the\nsilver ornament from my cloak, presented it to him. He accepted it; not\nvery graciously, as a stranger to these people might have imagined; but\nI was satisfied, feeling sure that I had made a favourable impression.\nAfter a little he handed the box to the person sitting next to him, who\nexamined it and passed it on to a third, and in this way it went round\nand came back once more to Runi. Then he called for a drink. There\nhappened to be a store of casserie in the house; probably the women had\nbeen busy for some days past in making it, little thinking that it was\ndestined to be prematurely consumed. A large jarful was produced; Runi\npolitely quaffed the first cup; I followed; then the others; and the\nwomen drank also, a woman taking about one cupful to a man\'s three.\nRuni and I, however, drank the most, for we had our positions as the two\nprincipal personages there to maintain. Tongues were loosened now; for\nthe alcohol, small as the quantity contained in this mild liquor is, had\nbegun to tell on our brains. I had not their pottle-shaped stomach, made\nto hold unlimited quantities of meat and drink; but I was determined on\nthis most important occasion not to deserve my host\'s contempt--to be\ncompared, perhaps, to the small bird that delicately picks up six drops\nof water in its bill and is satisfied. I would measure my strength\nagainst his, and if necessary drink myself into a state of\ninsensibility.\n\nAt last I was scarcely able to stand on my legs. But even the seasoned\nold savage was affected by this time. In vino veritas, said the\nancients; and the principle holds good where there is no vinum, but only\nmild casserie. Runi now informed me that he had once known a white man,\nthat he was a bad man, which had caused him to say that all white men\nwere bad; even as David, still more sweepingly, had proclaimed that all\nmen were liars. Now he found that it was not so, that I was a good man.\nHis friendliness increased with intoxication. He presented me with a\ncurious little tinder-box, made from the conical tail of an armadillo,\nhollowed out, and provided with a wooden stopper--this to be used in\nplace of the box I had deprived myself of. He also furnished me with a\ngrass hammock, and had it hung up there and then, so that I could lie\ndown when inclined. There was nothing he would not do for me. And at\nlast, when many more cups had been emptied, and a third or fourth jar\nbrought out, he began to unburthen his heart of its dark and dangerous\nsecrets. He shed tears--for the \"man without at ear\" dwells not in the\nwoods of Guayana: tears for those who had been treacherously slain long\nyears ago; for his father, who had been killed by Tripica, the father\nof Managa, who was still above ground. But let him and all his people\nbeware of Runi. He had spilt their blood before, he had fed the fox and\nvulture with their flesh, and would never rest while Managa lived with\nhis people at Uritay--the five hills of Uritay, which were two days\'\njourney from Parahuari. While thus talking of his old enemy he lashed\nhimself into a kind of frenzy, smiting his chest and gnashing his teeth;\nand finally seizing a spear, he buried its point deep into the clay\nfloor, only to wrench it out and strike it into the earth again and\nagain, to show how he would serve Managa, and any one of Managa\'s people\nhe might meet with--man, woman, or child. Then he staggered out from the\ndoor to flourish his spear; and looking to the north-west, he shouted\naloud to Managa to come and slay his people and burn down his house, as\nhe had so often threatened to do.\n\n\"Let him come! Let Managa come!\" I cried, staggering out after him. \"I\nam your friend, your brother; I have no spear and no arrows, but I have\nthis--this!\" And here I drew out and flourished my revolver. \"Where is\nManaga?\" I continued. \"Where are the hills of Uritay?\" He pointed to\na star low down in the south-west. \"Then,\" I shouted, \"let this bullet\nfind Managa, sitting by the fire among his people, and let him fall and\npour out his blood on the ground!\" And with that I discharged my pistol\nin the direction he had pointed to. A scream of terror burst out from\nthe women and children, while Runi at my side, in an access of fierce\ndelight and admiration, turned and embraced me. It was the first and\nlast embrace I ever suffered from a naked male savage, and although\nthis did not seem a time for fastidious feelings, to be hugged to his\nsweltering body was an unpleasant experience.\n\nMore cups of casserie followed this outburst; and at last, unable to\nkeep it up any longer, I staggered to my hammock; but being unable to\nget into it, Runi, overflowing with kindness, came to my assistance,\nwhereupon we fell and rolled together on the floor. Finally I was raised\nby the others and tumbled into my swinging bed, and fell at once into a\ndeep, dreamless sleep, from which I did not awake until after sunrise on\nthe following morning.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIt is fortunate that casserie is manufactured by an extremely slow,\nlaborious process, since the women, who are the drink-makers, in the\nfirst place have to reduce the material (cassava bread) to a pulp by\nmeans of their own molars, after which it is watered down and put away\nin troughs to ferment. Great is the diligence of these willing slaves;\nbut, work how they will, they can only satisfy their lords\' love of\na big drink at long intervals. Such a function as that at which I had\nassisted is therefore the result of much patient mastication and silent\nfermentation--the delicate flower of a plant that has been a long time\ngrowing.\n\nHaving now established myself as one of the family, at the cost of some\ndisagreeable sensations and a pang or two of self-disgust, I resolved\nto let nothing further trouble me at Parahuari, but to live the\neasy, careless life of the idle man, joining in hunting and fishing\nexpeditions when in the mood; at other times enjoying existence in my\nown way, apart from my fellows, conversing with wild nature in that\nsolitary place. Besides Runi, there were, in our little community, two\noldish men, his cousins I believe, who had wives and grown-up\nchildren. Another family consisted of Piake, Runi\'s nephew, his brother\nKua-ko--about whom there will be much to say--and a sister Oalava. Piake\nhad a wife and two children; Kua-ko was unmarried and about nineteen or\ntwenty years old; Oalava was the youngest of the three. Last of all,\nwho should perhaps have been first, was Runi\'s mother, called Cla-cla,\nprobably in imitation of the cry of some bird, for in these latitudes a\nperson is rarely, perhaps never, called by his or her real name, which\nis a secret jealously preserved, even from near relations. I believe\nthat Cla-cla herself was the only living being who knew the name her\nparents had bestowed on her at birth. She was a very old woman, spare\nin figure, brown as old sun-baked leather, her face written over with\ninnumerable wrinkles, and her long coarse hair perfectly white; yet she\nwas exceedingly active, and seemed to do more work than any other woman\nin the community; more than that, when the day\'s toil was over and\nnothing remained for the others to do, then Cla-cla\'s night work would\nbegin; and this was to talk all the others, or at all events all the\nmen, to sleep. She was like a self-regulating machine, and punctually\nevery evening, when the door was closed, and the night fire made up, and\nevery man in his hammock, she would set herself going, telling the most\ninterminable stories, until the last listener was fast asleep; later\nin the night, if any man woke with a snort or grunt, off she would go\nagain, taking up the thread of the tale where she had dropped it.\n\nOld Cla-cla amused me very much, by night and day, and I seldom tired of\nwatching her owlish countenance as she sat by the fire, never allowing\nit to sink low for want of fuel; always studying the pot when it was on\nto simmer, and at the same time attending to the movements of the others\nabout her, ready at a moment\'s notice to give assistance or to dart out\non a stray chicken or refractory child.\n\nSo much did she amuse me, although without intending it, that I\nthought it would be only fair, in my turn, to do something for her\nentertainment. I was engaged one day in shaping a wooden foil with my\nknife, whistling and singing snatches of old melodies at my work,\nwhen all at once I caught sight of the ancient dame looking greatly\ndelighted, chuckling internally, nodding her head, and keeping time\nwith her hands. Evidently she was able to appreciate a style of music\nsuperior to that of the aboriginals, and forthwith I abandoned my foils\nfor the time and set about the manufacture of a guitar, which cost\nme much labour and brought out more ingenuity than I had ever thought\nmyself capable of. To reduce the wood to the right thinness, then to\nbend and fasten it with wooden pegs and with gums, to add the arm,\nfrets, keys, and finally the catgut strings--those of another kind being\nout of the question--kept me busy for some days. When completed it was\na rude instrument, scarcely tunable; nevertheless when I smote the\nstrings, playing lively music, or accompanied myself in singing, I found\nthat it was a great success, and so was as much pleased with my own\nperformance as if I had had the most perfect guitar ever made in old\nSpain. I also skipped about the floor, strum-strumming at the same time,\ninstructing them in the most lively dances of the whites, in which the\nfeet must be as nimble as the player\'s fingers. It is true that these\nexhibitions were always witnessed by the adults with a profound gravity,\nwhich would have disheartened a stranger to their ways. They were a set\nof hollow bronze statues that looked at me, but I knew that the living\nanimals inside of them were tickled at my singing, strumming, and\npirouetting. Cla-cla was, however, an exception, and encouraged me not\ninfrequently by emitting a sound, half cackle and half screech, by\nway of laughter; for she had come to her second childhood, or, at all\nevents, had dropped the stolid mask which the young Guayana savage, in\nimitation of his elders, adjusts to his face at about the age of twelve,\nto wear it thereafter all his life long, or only to drop it occasionally\nwhen very drunk. The youngsters also openly manifested their pleasure,\nalthough, as a rule, they try to restrain their feelings in the presence\nof grown-up people, and with them I became a greet favourite.\n\nBy and by I returned to my foil-making, and gave them fencing lessons,\nand sometimes invited two or three of the biggest boys to attack me\nsimultaneously, just to show how easily I could disarm and kill them.\nThis practice excited some interest in Kua-ko, who had a little more of\ncuriosity and geniality and less of the put-on dignity of the others,\nand with him I became most intimate. Fencing with Kua-ko was highly\namusing: no sooner was he in position, foil in hand, than all my\ninstructions were thrown to the winds, and he would charge and attack me\nin his own barbarous manner, with the result that I would send his foil\nspinning a dozen yards away, while he, struck motionless, would gaze\nafter it in open-mouthed astonishment.\n\nThree weeks had passed by not unpleasantly when, one morning, I took\nit into my head to walk by myself across that somewhat sterile savannah\nwest of the village and stream, which ended, as I have said, in a long,\nlow, stony ridge. From the village there was nothing to attract the\neye in that direction; but I wished to get a better view of that great\nsolitary hill or mountain of Ytaioa, and of the cloud-like summits\nbeyond it in the distance. From the stream the ground rose in a gradual\nslope, and the highest part of the ridge for which I made was about\ntwo miles from the starting-point--a parched brown plain, with nothing\ngrowing on it but scattered tussocks of sere hair-like grass.\n\nWhen I reached the top and could see the country beyond, I was agreeably\ndisappointed at the discovery that the sterile ground extended only\nabout a mile and a quarter on the further side, and was succeeded by a\nforest--a very inviting patch of woodland covering five or six square\nmiles, occupying a kind of oblong basin, extending from the foot of\nYtaioa on the north to a low range of rocky hills on the south. From the\nwooded basin long narrow strips of forest ran out in various directions\nlike the arms of an octopus, one pair embracing the slopes of Ytaioa,\nanother much broader belt extending along a valley which cut through the\nridge of hills on the south side at right angles and was lost to sight\nbeyond; far away in the west and south and north distant mountains\nappeared, not in regular ranges, but in groups or singly, or looking\nlike blue banked-up clouds on the horizon.\n\nGlad at having discovered the existence of this forest so near home, and\nwondering why my Indian friends had never taken me to it nor ever went\nout on that side, I set forth with a light heart to explore it for\nmyself, regretting only that I was without a proper weapon for procuring\ngame. The walk from the ridge over the savannah was easy, as the barren,\nstony ground sloped downwards the whole way. The outer part of the wood\non my side was very open, composed in most part of dwarf trees that grow\non stony soil, and scattered thorny bushes bearing a yellow pea-shaped\nblossom. Presently I came to thicker wood, where the trees were much\ntaller and in greater variety; and after this came another sterile\nstrip, like that on the edge of the wood where stone cropped out from\nthe ground and nothing grew except the yellow-flowered thorn bushes.\nPassing this sterile ribbon, which seemed to extend to a considerable\ndistance north and south, and was fifty to a hundred yards wide, the\nforest again became dense and the trees large, with much undergrowth in\nplaces obstructing the view and making progress difficult.\n\nI spent several hours in this wild paradise, which was so much more\ndelightful than the extensive gloomier forests I had so often penetrated\nin Guayana; for here, if the trees did not attain to such majestic\nproportions, the variety of vegetable forms was even greater; as far\nas I went it was nowhere dark under the trees, and the number of lovely\nparasites everywhere illustrated the kindly influence of light and air.\nEven where the trees were largest the sunshine penetrated, subdued by\nthe foliage to exquisite greenish-golden tints, filling the wide lower\nspaces with tender half-lights, and faint blue-and-gray shadows. Lying\non my back and gazing up, I felt reluctant to rise and renew my ramble.\nFor what a roof was that above my head! Roof I call it, just as the\npoets in their poverty sometimes describe the infinite ethereal sky by\nthat word; but it was no more roof-like and hindering to the soaring\nspirit than the higher clouds that float in changing forms and tints,\nand like the foliage chasten the intolerable noonday beams. How far\nabove me seemed that leafy cloudland into which I gazed! Nature, we\nknow, first taught the architect to produce by long colonnades the\nillusion of distance; but the light-excluding roof prevents him from\ngetting the same effect above. Here Nature is unapproachable with her\ngreen, airy canopy, a sun-impregnated cloud--cloud above cloud; and\nthough the highest may be unreached by the eye, the beams yet filter\nthrough, illuming the wide spaces beneath--chamber succeeded by chamber,\neach with its own special lights and shadows. Far above me, but not\nnearly so far as it seemed, the tender gloom of one such chamber or\nspace is traversed now by a golden shaft of light falling through some\nbreak in the upper foliage, giving a strange glory to everything it\ntouches--projecting leaves, and beard-like tuft of moss, and snaky\nbush-rope. And in the most open part of that most open space, suspended\non nothing to the eye, the shaft reveals a tangle of shining silver\nthreads--the web of some large tree-spider. These seemingly distant yet\ndistinctly visible threads serve to remind me that the human artist is\nonly able to get his horizontal distance by a monotonous reduplication\nof pillar and arch, placed at regular intervals, and that the least\ndeparture from this order would destroy the effect. But Nature produces\nher effects at random, and seems only to increase the beautiful illusion\nby that infinite variety of decoration in which she revels, binding tree\nto tree in a tangle of anaconda-like lianas, and dwindling down from\nthese huge cables to airy webs and hair-like fibres that vibrate to the\nwind of the passing insect\'s wing.\n\nThus in idleness, with such thoughts for company, I spent my time, glad\nthat no human being, savage or civilized, was with me. It was better to\nbe alone to listen to the monkeys that chattered without offending; to\nwatch them occupied with the unserious business of their lives. With\nthat luxuriant tropical nature, its green clouds and illusive aerial\nspaces, full of mystery, they harmonized well in language, appearance,\nand motions--mountebank angels, living their fantastic lives far above\nearth in a half-way heaven of their own.\n\nI saw more monkeys on that morning than I usually saw in the course of\na week\'s rambling. And other animals were seen; I particularly remember\ntwo accouries I startled, that after rushing away a few yards stopped\nand stood peering back at me as if not knowing whether to regard me as\nfriend or enemy. Birds, too, were strangely abundant; and altogether\nthis struck me as being the richest hunting-ground I had seen, and it\nastonished me to think that the Indians of the village did not appear to\nvisit it.\n\nOn my return in the afternoon I gave an enthusiastic account of my day\'s\nramble, speaking not of the things that had moved my soul, but only of\nthose which move the Guayana Indian\'s soul--the animal food he craves,\nand which, one would imagine, Nature would prefer him to do without, so\nhard he finds it to wrest a sufficiency from her. To my surprise they\nshook their heads and looked troubled at what I said; and finally my\nhost informed me that the wood I had been in was a dangerous place; that\nif they went there to hunt, a great injury would be done to them; and he\nfinished by advising me not to visit it again.\n\nI began to understand from their looks and the old man\'s vague words\nthat their fear of the wood was superstitious. If dangerous creatures\nhad existed there tigers, or camoodis, or solitary murderous\nsavages--they would have said so; but when I pressed them with questions\nthey could only repeat that \"something bad\" existed in the place, that\nanimals were abundant there because no Indian who valued his life dared\nventure into it. I replied that unless they gave me some more definite\ninformation I should certainly go again and put myself in the way of the\ndanger they feared.\n\nMy reckless courage, as they considered it, surprised them; but they had\nalready begun to find out that their superstitions had no effect on me,\nthat I listened to them as to stories invented to amuse a child, and for\nthe moment they made no further attempt to dissuade me.\n\nNext day I returned to the forest of evil report, which had now a\nnew and even greater charm--the fascination of the unknown and the\nmysterious; still, the warning I had received made me distrustful and\ncautious at first, for I could not help thinking about it. When we\nconsider how much of their life is passed in the woods, which become\nas familiar to them as the streets of our native town to us, it seems\nalmost incredible that these savages have a superstitious fear of all\nforests, fearing them as much, even in the bright light of day, as a\nnervous child with memory filled with ghost-stories fears a dark room.\nBut, like the child in the dark room, they fear the forest only when\nalone in it, and for this reason always hunt in couples or parties.\nWhat, then, prevented them from visiting this particular wood, which\noffered so tempting a harvest? The question troubled me not a little; at\nthe same time I was ashamed of the feeling, and fought against it; and\nin the end I made my way to the same sequestered spot where I had rested\nso long on my previous visit.\n\nIn this place I witnessed a new thing and had a strange experience.\nSitting on the ground in the shade of a large tree, I began to hear a\nconfused noise as of a coming tempest of wind mixed with shrill calls\nand cries. Nearer and nearer it came, and at last a multitude of birds\nof many kinds, but mostly small, appeared in sight swarming through the\ntrees, some running on the trunks and larger branches, others flitting\nthrough the foliage, and many keeping on the wing, now hovering and\nnow darting this way or that. They were all busily searching for and\npursuing the insects, moving on at the same time, and in a very few\nminutes they had finished examining the trees near me and were gone; but\nnot satisfied with what I had witnessed, I jumped up and rushed after\nthe flock to keep it in sight. All my caution and all recollection of\nwhat the Indians had said was now forgot, so great was my interest in\nthis bird-army; but as they moved on without pause, they quickly left me\nbehind, and presently my career was stopped by an impenetrable tangle of\nbushes, vines, and roots of large trees extending like huge cables\nalong the ground. In the midst of this leafy labyrinth I sat down on a\nprojecting root to cool my blood before attempting to make my way back\nto my former position. After that tempest of motion and confused noises\nthe silence of the forest seemed very profound; but before I had\nbeen resting many moments it was broken by a low strain of exquisite\nbird-melody, wonderfully pure and expressive, unlike any musical sound I\nhad ever heard before. It seemed to issue from a thick cluster of broad\nleaves of a creeper only a few yards from where I sat. With my eyes\nfixed on this green hiding-place I waited with suspended breath for its\nrepetition, wondering whether any civilized being had ever listened to\nsuch a strain before. Surely not, I thought, else the fame of so divine\na melody would long ago have been noised abroad. I thought of the\nrialejo, the celebrated organbird or flute-bird, and of the various ways\nin which hearers are affected by it. To some its warbling is like the\nsound of a beautiful mysterious instrument, while to others it seems\nlike the singing of a blithe-hearted child with a highly melodious\nvoice. I had often heard and listened with delight to the singing of the\nrialejo in the Guayana forests, but this song, or musical phrase, was\nutterly unlike it in character. It was pure, more expressive, softer--so\nlow that at a distance of forty yards I could hardly have heard it.\nBut its greatest charm was its resemblance to the human voice--a voice\npurified and brightened to something almost angelic. Imagine, then, my\nimpatience as I sat there straining my sense, my deep disappointment\nwhen it was not repeated! I rose at length very reluctantly and slowly\nbegan making my way back; but when I had progressed about thirty yards,\nagain the sweet voice sounded just behind me, and turning quickly, I\nstood still and waited. The same voice, but not the same song--not\nthe same phrase; the notes were different, more varied and rapidly\nenunciated, as if the singer had been more excited. The blood rushed to\nmy heart as I listened; my nerves tingled with a strange new delight,\nthe rapture produced by such music heightened by a sense of mystery.\nBefore many moments I heard it again, not rapid now, but a soft\nwarbling, lower than at first, infinitely sweet and tender, sinking to\nlisping sounds that soon ceased to be audible; the whole having lasted\nas long as it would take me to repeat a sentence of a dozen words. This\nseemed the singer\'s farewell to me, for I waited and listened in vain to\nhear it repeated; and after getting back to the starting-point I sat for\nupwards of an hour, still hoping to hear it once more!\n\nThe weltering sun at length compelled me to quit the wood, but not\nbefore I had resolved to return the next morning and seek for the spot\nwhere I had met with so enchanting an experience. After crossing the\nsterile belt I have mentioned within the wood, and just before I came to\nthe open outer edge where the stunted trees and bushes die away on the\nborder of the savannah, what was my delight and astonishment at hearing\nthe mysterious melody once more! It seemed to issue from a clump of\nbushes close by; but by this time I had come to the conclusion\nthat there was a ventriloquism in this woodland voice which made it\nimpossible for me to determine its exact direction. Of one thing I was,\nhowever, now quite convinced, and that was that the singer had been\nfollowing me all the time. Again and again as I stood there listening it\nsounded, now so faint and apparently far off as to be scarcely audible;\nthen all at once it would ring out bright and clear within a few yards\nof me, as if the shy little thing had suddenly grown bold; but, far or\nnear, the vocalist remained invisible, and at length the tantalizing\nmelody ceased altogether.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nI was not disappointed on my next visit to the forest, nor on several\nsucceeding visits; and this seemed to show that if I was right in\nbelieving that these strange, melodious utterances proceeded from one\nindividual, then the bird or being, although still refusing to show\nitself, was always on the watch for my appearance and followed me\nwherever I went. This thought only served to increase my curiosity; I\nwas constantly pondering over the subject, and at last concluded that it\nwould be best to induce one of the Indians to go with me to the wood on\nthe chance of his being able to explain the mystery.\n\nOne of the treasures I had managed to preserve in my sojourn with these\nchildren of nature, who were always anxious to become possessors of my\nbelongings, was a small prettily fashioned metal match-box, opening\nwith a spring. Remembering that Kua-ko, among others, had looked at this\ntrifle with covetous eyes--the covetous way in which they all looked at\nit had given it a fictitious value in my own--I tried to bribe him with\nthe offer of it to accompany me to my favourite haunt. The brave young\nhunter refused again and again; but on each occasion he offered to\nperform some other service or to give me something in exchange for the\nbox. At last I told him that I would give it to the first person who\nshould accompany me, and fearing that someone would be found valiant\nenough to win the prize, he at length plucked up a spirit, and on the\nnext day, seeing me going out for a walk, he all at once offered to go\nwith me. He cunningly tried to get the box before starting--his cunning,\npoor youth, was not very deep! I told him that the forest we were about\nto visit abounded with plants and birds unlike any I had seen elsewhere,\nthat I wished to learn their names and everything about them, and\nthat when I had got the required information the box would be his--not\nsooner. Finally we started, he, as usual, armed with his zabatana, with\nwhich, I imagined, he would procure more game than usually fell to his\nlittle poisoned arrows. When we reached the wood I could see that he was\nill at ease: nothing would persuade him to go into the deeper parts;\nand even where it was very open and light he was constantly gazing\ninto bushes and shadowy places, as if expecting to see some frightful\ncreature lying in wait for him. This behaviour might have had a\ndisquieting effect on me had I not been thoroughly convinced that his\nfears were purely superstitious and that there could be no dangerous\nanimal in a spot I was accustomed to walk in every day. My plan was\nto ramble about with an unconcerned air, occasionally pointing out an\nuncommon tree or shrub or vine, or calling his attention to a distant\nbird-cry and asking the bird\'s name, in the hope that the mysterious\nvoice would make itself heard and that he would be able to give me some\nexplanation of it. But for upwards of two hours we moved about, hearing\nnothing except the usual bird voices, and during all that time he never\nstirred a yard from my side nor made an attempt to capture anything. At\nlength we sat down under a tree, in an open spot close to the border of\nthe wood. He sat down very reluctantly, and seemed more troubled in\nhis mind than ever, keeping his eyes continually roving about, while he\nlistened intently to every sound. The sounds were not few, owing to the\nabundance of animal and especially of bird life in this favoured spot.\nI began to question my companion as to some of the cries we heard. There\nwere notes and cries familiar to me as the crowing of the cock--parrot\nscreams and yelping of toucans, the distant wailing calls of maam and\nduraquara; and shrill laughter-like notes of the large tree-climber as\nit passed from tree to tree; the quick whistle of cotingas; and strange\nthrobbing and thrilling sounds, as of pygmies beating on metallic drums,\nof the skulking pitta-thrushes; and with these mingled other notes\nless well known. One came from the treetops, where it was perpetually\nwandering amid the foliage a low note, repeated at intervals of a few\nseconds, so thin and mournful and full of mystery that I half expected\nto hear that it proceeded from the restless ghost of some dead bird.\nBut no; he only said it was uttered by a \"little bird\"--too little\npresumably to have a name. From the foliage of a neighbouring tree came\na few tinkling chirps, as of a small mandolin, two or three strings of\nwhich had been carelessly struck by the player. He said that it came\nfrom a small green frog that lived in trees; and in this way my rude\nIndian--vexed perhaps at being asked such trivial questions--brushed\naway the pretty fantasies my mind had woven in the woodland solitude.\nFor I often listened to this tinkling music, and it had suggested the\nidea that the place was frequented by a tribe of fairy-like troubadour\nmonkeys, and that if I could only be quick-sighted enough I might one\nday be able to detect the minstrel sitting, in a green tunic perhaps,\ncross-legged on some high, swaying bough, carelessly touching his\nmandolin, suspended from his neck by a yellow ribbon.\n\nBy and by a bird came with low, swift flight, its great tail spread open\nfan-wise, and perched itself on an exposed bough not thirty yards from\nus. It was all of a chestnut-red colour, long-bodied, in size like a big\npigeon. Its actions showed that its curiosity had been greatly excited,\nfor it jerked from side to side, eyeing us first with one eye, then the\nother, while its long tail rose and fell in a measured way.\n\n\"Look, Kua-ko,\" I said in a whisper, \"there is a bird for you to kill.\"\n\nBut he only shook his head, still watchful.\n\n\"Give me the blow-pipe, then,\" I said, with a laugh, putting out my hand\nto take it. But he refused to let me take it, knowing that it would only\nbe an arrow wasted if I attempted to shoot anything.\n\nAs I persisted in telling him to kill the bird, he at last bent his lips\nnear me and said in a half-whisper, as if fearful of being overheard: \"I\ncan kill nothing here. If I shot at the bird, the daughter of the Didi\nwould catch the dart in her hand and throw it back and hit me here,\"\ntouching his breast just over his heart.\n\nI laughed again, saying to myself, with some amusement, that Kua-ko was\nnot such a bad companion after all--that he was not without imagination.\nBut in spite of my laughter his words roused my interest and suggested\nthe idea that the voice I was curious about had been heard by the\nIndians and was as great a mystery to them as to me; since, not being\nlike that of any creature known to them, it would be attributed by their\nsuperstitious minds to one of the numerous demons or semi-human monsters\ninhabiting every forest, stream, and mountain; and fear of it would\ndrive them from the wood. In this case, judging from my companion\'s\nwords, they had varied the form of the superstition somewhat, inventing\na daughter of a water-spirit to be afraid of. My thought was that if\ntheir keen, practiced eyes had never been able to see this flitting\nwoodland creature with a musical soul, it was not likely that I would\nsucceed in my quest.\n\nI began to question him, but he now appeared less inclined to talk and\nmore frightened than ever, and each time I attempted to speak he imposed\nsilence, with a quick gesture of alarm, while he continued to stare\nabout him with dilated eyes. All at once he sprang to his feet as\nif overcome with terror and started running at full speed. His fear\ninfected me, and, springing up, I followed as fast as I could, but he\nwas far ahead of me, running for dear life; and before I had gone forty\nyards my feet were caught in a creeper trailing along the surface, and I\nmeasured my length on the ground. The sudden, violent shock almost took\naway my senses for a moment, but when I jumped up and stared round to\nsee no unspeakable monster--Curupita or other--rushing on to slay and\ndevour me there and then, I began to feel ashamed of my cowardice; and\nin the end I turned and walked back to the spot I had just quitted and\nsat down once more. I even tried to hum a tune, just to prove to myself\nthat I had completely recovered from the panic caught from the miserable\nIndian; but it is never possible in such cases to get back one\'s\nserenity immediately, and a vague suspicion continued to trouble me for\na time. After sitting there for half an hour or so, listening to distant\nbird-sounds, I began to recover my old confidence, and even to feel\ninclined to penetrate further into the wood. All at once, making me\nalmost jump, so sudden it was, so much nearer and louder than I had\never heard it before, the mysterious melody began. Unmistakably it was\nuttered by the same being heard on former occasions; but today it was\ndifferent in character. The utterance was far more rapid, with fewer\nsilent intervals, and it had none of the usual tenderness in it, nor\never once sunk to that low, whisper-like talking which had seemed to me\nas if the spirit of the wind had breathed its low sighs in syllables\nand speech. Now it was not only loud, rapid, and continuous, but, while\nstill musical, there was an incisiveness in it, a sharp ring as of\nresentment, which made it strike painfully on the sense.\n\nThe impression of an intelligent unhuman being addressing me in anger\ntook so firm a hold on my mind that the old fear returned, and, rising,\nI began to walk rapidly away, intending to escape from the wood. The\nvoice continued violently rating me, as it seemed to my mind, moving\nwith me, which caused me to accelerate my steps; and very soon I would\nhave broken into a run, when its character began to change again. There\nwere pauses now, intervals of silence, long or short, and after each one\nthe voice came to my ear with a more subdued and dulcet sound--more of\nthat melting, flute-like quality it had possessed at other times; and\nthis softness of tone, coupled with the talking-like form of utterance,\ngave me the idea of a being no longer incensed, addressing me now in a\npeaceable spirit, reasoning away my unworthy tremors, and imploring me\nto remain with it in the wood. Strange as this voice without a body was,\nand always productive of a slightly uncomfortable feeling on account of\nits mystery, it seemed impossible to doubt that it came to me now in\na spirit of pure friendliness; and when I had recovered my composure I\nfound a new delight in listening to it--all the greater because of the\nfear so lately experienced, and of its seeming intelligence. For the\nthird time I reseated myself on the same spot, and at intervals the\nvoice talked to me there for some time and, to my fancy, expressed\nsatisfaction and pleasure at my presence. But later, without losing its\nfriendly tone, it changed again. It seemed to move away and to be thrown\nback from a considerable distance; and, at long intervals, it would\napproach me again with a new sound, which I began to interpret as of\ncommand, or entreaty. Was it, I asked myself, inviting me to follow? And\nif I obeyed, to what delightful discoveries or frightful dangers might\nit lead? My curiosity together with the belief that the being--I called\nit being, not bird, now--was friendly to me, overcame all timidity, and\nI rose and walked at random towards the interior of the wood. Very soon\nI had no doubt left that the being had desired me to follow; for there\nwas now a new note of gladness in its voice, and it continued near me\nas I walked, at intervals approaching me so closely as to set me staring\ninto the surrounding shadowy places like poor scared Kua-ko.\n\nOn this occasion, too, I began to have a new fancy, for fancy or\nillusion I was determined to regard it, that some swift-footed being was\ntreading the ground near me; that I occasionally caught the faint rustle\nof a light footstep, and detected a motion in leaves and fronds and\nthread-like stems of creepers hanging near the surface, as if some\npassing body had touched and made them tremble; and once or twice that\nI even had a glimpse of a grey, misty object moving at no great distance\nin the deeper shadows.\n\nLed by this wandering tricksy being, I came to a spot where the trees\nwere very large and the damp dark ground almost free from undergrowth;\nand here the voice ceased to be heard. After patiently waiting and\nlistening for some time, I began to look about me with a slight feeling\nof apprehension. It was still about two hours before sunset; only\nin this place the shade of the vast trees made a perpetual twilight:\nmoreover, it was strangely silent here, the few bird-cries that reached\nme coming from a long distance. I had flattered myself that the voice\nhad become to some extent intelligible to me: its outburst of anger\ncaused no doubt by my cowardly flight after the Indian; then its\nrecovered friendliness, which had induced me to return; and finally its\ndesire to be followed. Now that it had led me to this place of shadow\nand profound silence and had ceased to speak and to lead, I could not\nhelp thinking that this was my goal, that I had been brought to this\nspot with a purpose, that in this wild and solitary retreat some\ntremendous adventure was about to befall me.\n\nAs the silence continued unbroken, there was time to dwell on this\nthought. I gazed before me and listened intently, scarcely breathing,\nuntil the suspense became painful--too painful at last, and I turned and\ntook a step with the idea of going back to the border of the wood, when\nclose by, clear as a silver bell, sounded the voice once more, but only\nfor a moment--two or three syllables in response to my movement, then it\nwas silent again.\n\nOnce more I was standing still, as if in obedience to a command, in the\nsame state of suspense; and whether the change was real or only imagined\nI know not, but the silence every minute grew more profound and the\ngloom deeper. Imaginary terrors began to assail me. Ancient fables of\nmen allured by beautiful forms and melodious voices to destruction all\nat once acquired a fearful significance. I recalled some of the Indian\nbeliefs, especially that of the mis-shapen, man-devouring monster who is\nsaid to beguile his victims into the dark forest by mimicking the human\nvoice--the voice sometimes of a woman in distress--or by singing some\nstrange and beautiful melody. I grew almost afraid to look round lest I\nshould catch sight of him stealing towards me on his huge feet with toes\npointing backwards, his mouth snarling horribly to display his great\ngreen fangs. It was distressing to have such fancies in this wild,\nsolitary spot--hateful to feel their power over me when I knew that they\nwere nothing but fancies and creations of the savage mind. But if these\nsupernatural beings had no existence, there were other monsters, only\ntoo real, in these woods which it would be dreadful to encounter alone\nand unarmed, since against such adversaries a revolver would be as\nineffectual as a popgun. Some huge camoodi, able to crush my bones like\nbrittle twigs in its constricting coils, might lurk in these shadows,\nand approach me stealthily, unseen in its dark colour on the dark\nground. Or some jaguar or black tiger might steal towards me, masked by\na bush or tree-trunk, to spring upon me unawares. Or, worse still,\nthis way might suddenly come a pack of those swift-footed, unspeakably\nterrible hunting-leopards, from which every living thing in the forest\nflies with shrieks of consternation or else falls paralysed in their\npath to be instantly torn to pieces and devoured.\n\nA slight rustling sound in the foliage above me made me start and\ncast up my eyes. High up, where a pale gleam of tempered sunlight fell\nthrough the leaves, a grotesque human-like face, black as ebony and\nadorned with a great red beard, appeared staring down upon me. In\nanother moment it was gone. It was only a large araguato, or howling\nmonkey, but I was so unnerved that I could not get rid of the idea that\nit was something more than a monkey. Once more I moved, and again, the\ninstant I moved my foot, clear, and keen, and imperative, sounded the\nvoice! It was no longer possible to doubt its meaning. It commanded me\nto stand still--to wait--to watch--to listen! Had it cried \"Listen! Do\nnot move!\" I could not have understood it better. Trying as the suspense\nwas, I now felt powerless to escape. Something very terrible, I felt\nconvinced, was about to happen, either to destroy or to release me from\nthe spell that held me.\n\nAnd while I stood thus rooted to the ground, the sweat standing in large\ndrops on my forehead, all at once close to me sounded a cry, fine and\nclear at first, and rising at the end to a shriek so loud, piercing, and\nunearthly in character that the blood seemed to freeze in my veins,\nand a despairing cry to heaven escaped my lips; then, before that long\nshriek expired, a mighty chorus of thunderous voices burst forth around\nme; and in this awful tempest of sound I trembled like a leaf; and the\nleaves on the trees were agitated as if by a high wind, and the earth\nitself seemed to shake beneath my feet. Indescribably horrible were my\nsensations at that moment; I was deafened, and would possibly have been\nmaddened had I not, as by a miracle, chanced to see a large araguato\non a branch overhead, roaring with open mouth and inflated throat and\nchest.\n\nIt was simply a concert of howling monkeys that had so terrified me! But\nmy extreme fear was not strange in the circumstances; since everything\nthat had led up to the display--the gloom and silence, the period of\nsuspense, and my heated imagination--had raised my mind to the highest\ndegree of excitement and expectancy. I had rightly conjectured, no\ndoubt, that my unseen guide had led me to that spot for a purpose;\nand the purpose had been to set me in the midst of a congregation of\naraguatos to enable me for the first time fully to appreciate their\nunparalleled vocal powers. I had always heard them at a distance; here\nthey were gathered in scores, possibly hundreds--the whole araguato\npopulation of the forest, I should think--close to me; and it may give\nsome faint conception of the tremendous power and awful character of\nthe sound thus produced by their combined voices when I say that this\nanimal--miscalled \"howler\" in English--would outroar the mightiest lion\nthat ever woke the echoes of an African wilderness.\n\nThis roaring concert, which lasted three or four minutes, having ended,\nI lingered a few minutes longer on the spot, and not hearing the voice\nagain, went back to the edge of the wood, and then started on my way\nback to the village.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nPerhaps I was not capable of thinking quite coherently on what had just\nhappened until I was once more fairly outside of the forest shadows--out\nin that clear open daylight, where things seem what they are, and\nimagination, like a juggler detected and laughed at, hastily takes\nitself out of the way. As I walked homewards I paused midway on the\nbarren ridge to gaze back on the scene I had left, and then the recent\nadventure began to take a semi-ludicrous aspect in my mind. All that\ncircumstance of preparation, that mysterious prelude to something\nunheard of, unimaginable, surpassing all fables ancient and modern, and\nall tragedies--to end at last in a concert of howling monkeys! Certainly\nthe concert was very grand--indeed, one of the most astounding in\nnature---but still--I sat down on a stone and laughed freely.\n\nThe sun was sinking behind the forest, its broad red disk still showing\nthrough the topmost leaves, and the higher part of the foliage was of\na luminous green, like green flame, throwing off flakes of quivering,\nfiery light, but lower down the trees were in profound shadow.\n\nI felt very light-hearted while I gazed on this scene, for how pleasant\nit was just now to think of the strange experience I had passed\nthrough--to think that I had come safely out of it, that no human\neye had witnessed my weakness, and that the mystery existed still to\nfascinate me! For, ludicrous as the denouement now looked, the cause of\nall, the voice itself, was a thing to marvel at more than ever. That it\nproceeded from an intelligent being I was firmly convinced; and although\ntoo materialistic in my way of thinking to admit for a moment that it\nwas a supernatural being, I still felt that there was something more\nthan I had at first imagined in Kua-ko\'s speech about a daughter of the\nDidi. That the Indians knew a great deal about the mysterious voice, and\nhad held it in great fear, seemed evident. But they were savages, with\nways that were not mine; and however friendly they might be towards one\nof a superior race, there was always in their relations with him a\nlow cunning, prompted partly by suspicion, underlying their words and\nactions. For the white man to put himself mentally on their level is\nnot more impossible than for these aborigines to be perfectly open, as\nchildren are, towards the white. Whatever subject the stranger within\ntheir gates exhibits an interest in, that they will be reticent about;\nand their reticence, which conceals itself under easily invented lies\nor an affected stupidity, invariably increases with his desire for\ninformation. It was plain to them that some very unusual interest took\nme to the wood; consequently I could not expect that they would tell\nme anything they might know to enlighten me about the matter; and I\nconcluded that Kua-ko\'s words about the daughter of the Didi, and what\nshe would do if he blew an arrow at a bird, had accidentally escaped\nhim in a moment of excitement. Nothing, therefore, was to be gained\nby questioning them, or, at all events, by telling them how much\nthe subject attracted me. And I had nothing to fear; my independent\ninvestigations had made this much clear to me; the voice might proceed\nfrom a very frolicsome and tricksy creature, full of wild fantastic\nhumours, but nothing worse. It was friendly to me, I felt sure; at the\nsame time it might not be friendly towards the Indians; for, on that\nday, it had made itself heard only after my companion had taken flight;\nand it had then seemed incensed against me, possibly because the savage\nhad been in my company.\n\nThat was the result of my reflections on the day\'s events when I\nreturned to my entertainer\'s roof and sat down among my friends to\nrefresh myself with stewed fowl and fish from the household pot, into\nwhich a hospitable woman invited me with a gesture to dip my fingers.\n\nKua-ko was lying in his hammock, smoking, I think--certainly not\nreading. When I entered he lifted his head and stared at me, probably\nsurprised to see me alive, unharmed, and in a placid temper. I laughed\nat the look, and, somewhat disconcerted, he dropped his head down again.\nAfter a minute or two I took the metal match-box and tossed it on to\nhis breast. He clutched it and, starting up, stared at me in the utmost\nastonishment. He could scarcely believe his good fortune; for he had\nfailed to carry out his part of the compact and had resigned himself to\nthe loss of the coveted prize. Jumping down to the floor, he held up the\nbox triumphantly, his joy overcoming the habitual stolid look; while all\nthe others gathered about him, each trying to get the box into his own\nhands to admire it again, notwithstanding that they had all seen it a\ndozen times before. But it was Kua-ko\'s now and not the stranger\'s, and\ntherefore more nearly their own than formerly, and must look different,\nmore beautiful, with a brighter polish on the metal. And that wonderful\nenamelled cock on the lid--figured in Paris probably, but just like a\ncock in Guayana, the pet bird which they no more think of killing and\neating than we do our purring pussies and lemon-coloured canaries--must\nnow look more strikingly valiant and cock-like than ever, with its\ncrimson comb and wattles, burnished red hackles, and dark green arching\ntail-plumes. But Kua-ko, while willing enough to have it admired and\npraised, would not let it out of his hands, and told them pompously that\nit was not theirs for them to handle, but his--Kua-ko\'s--for all time;\nthat he had won it by accompanying me--valorous man that he was!--to\nthat evil wood into which they--timid, inferior creatures that they\nwere!--would never have ventured to set foot. I am not translating his\nwords, but that was what he gave them to understand pretty plainly, to\nmy great amusement.\n\nAfter the excitement was over, Runi, who had maintained a dignified\ncalm, made some roundabout remarks, apparently with the object of\neliciting an account of what I had seen and heard in the forest of\nevil fame. I replied carelessly that I had seen a great many birds and\nmonkeys--monkeys so tame that I might have procured one if I had had\na blow-pipe, in spite of my never having practiced shooting with that\nweapon.\n\nIt interested them to hear about the abundance and tameness of the\nmonkeys, although it was scarcely news; but how tame they must have been\nwhen I, the stranger not to the manner born--not naked, brown-skinned,\nlynx-eyed, and noiseless as an owl in his movements--had yet been able\nto look closely at them! Runi only remarked, apropos of what I had told\nhim, that they could not go there to hunt; then he asked me if I feared\nnothing.\n\n\"Nothing,\" I replied carelessly. \"The things you fear hurt not the white\nman and are no more than this to me,\" saying which I took up a little\nwhite wood-ash in my hand and blew it away with my breath. \"And against\nother enemies I have this,\" I added, touching my revolver. A brave\nspeech, just after that araguato episode; but I did not make it without\nblushing--mentally.\n\nHe shook his head, and said it was a poor weapon against some enemies;\nalso--truly enough--that it would procure no birds and monkeys for the\nstew-pot.\n\nNext morning my friend Kua-ko, taking his zabatana, invited me to go out\nwith him, and I consented with some misgivings, thinking he had overcome\nhis superstitious fears and, inflamed by my account of the abundance\nof game in the forest, intended going there with me. The previous day\'s\nexperience had made me think that it would be better in the future to\ngo there alone. But I was giving the poor youth more credit than he\ndeserved: it was far from his intention to face the terrible unknown\nagain. We went in a different direction, and tramped for hours through\nwoods where birds were scarce and only of the smaller kinds. Then my\nguide surprised me a second time by offering to teach me to use the\nzabatana. This, then, was to be my reward for giving him the box! I\nreadily consented, and with the long weapon, awkward to carry, in my\nhand, and imitating the noiseless movements and cautious, watchful\nmanner of my companion, I tried to imagine myself a simple Guayana\nsavage, with no knowledge of that artificial social state to which I had\nbeen born, dependent on my skill and little roll of poison-darts for\na livelihood. By an effort of the will I emptied myself of my life\nexperience and knowledge--or as much of it as possible--and thought\nonly of the generations of my dead imaginary progenitors, who had ranged\nthese woods back to the dim forgotten years before Columbus; and if the\npleasure I had in the fancy was childish, it made the day pass quickly\nenough. Kua-ko was constantly at my elbow to assist and give advice; and\nmany an arrow I blew from the long tube, and hit no bird. Heaven knows\nwhat I hit, for the arrows flew away on their wide and wild career to\nbe seen no more, except a few which my keen-eyed comrade marked to their\ndestination and managed to recover. The result of our day\'s hunting was\na couple of birds, which Kua-ko, not I, shot, and a small opossum his\nsharp eyes detected high up a tree lying coiled up on an old nest, over\nthe side of which the animal had incautiously allowed his snaky tail\nto dangle. The number of darts I wasted must have been a rather serious\nloss to him, but he did not seem troubled at it, and made no remark.\n\nNext day, to my surprise, he volunteered to give me a second lesson, and\nwe went out again. On this occasion he had provided himself with a\nlarge bundle of darts, but--wise man!--they were not poisoned, and it\ntherefore mattered little whether they were wasted or not. I believe\nthat on this day I made some little progress; at all events, my teacher\nremarked that before long I would be able to hit a bird. This made me\nsmile and answer that if he could place me within twenty yards of a bird\nnot smaller than a small man I might manage to touch it with an arrow.\n\nThis speech had a very unexpected and remarkable effect. He stopped\nshort in his walk, stared at me wildly, then grinned, and finally burst\ninto a roar of laughter, which was no bad imitation of the howling\nmonkey\'s performance, and smote his naked thighs with tremendous energy.\nAt length recovering himself, he asked whether a small woman was not\nthe same as a small man, and being answered in the affirmative, went off\ninto a second extravagant roar of laughter.\n\nThinking it was easy to tickle him while he continued in this mood, I\nbegan making any number of feeble jokes--feeble, but quite as good as\nthe one which had provoked such outrageous merriment--for it amused\nme to see him acting in this unusual way. But they all failed of their\neffect--there was no hitting the bull\'s-eye a second time; he would only\nstare vacantly at me, then grunt like a peccary--not appreciatively--and\nwalk on. Still, at intervals he would go back to what I had said about\nhitting a very big bird, and roar again, as if this wonderful joke was\nnot easily exhausted.\n\nAgain on the third day we were out together practicing at the\nbirds--frightening if not killing them; but before noon, finding that it\nwas his intention to go to a distant spot where he expected to meet\nwith larger game, I left him and returned to the village. The blow-pipe\npractice had lost its novelty, and I did not care to go on all day\nand every day with it; more than that, I was anxious after so long an\ninterval to pay a visit to my wood, as I began to call it, in the hope\nof hearing that mysterious melody which I had grown to love and to miss\nwhen even a single day passed without it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nAfter making a hasty meal at the house, I started, full of pleasing\nanticipations, for the wood; for how pleasant a place it was to be in!\nWhat a wild beauty and fragrance and melodiousness it possessed above\nall forests, because of that mystery that drew me to it! And it was\nmine, truly and absolutely--as much mine as any portion of earth\'s\nsurface could belong to any man--mine with all its products: the\nprecious woods and fruits and fragrant gums that would never be\ntrafficked away; its wild animals that man would never persecute; nor\nwould any jealous savage dispute my ownership or pretend that it was\npart of his hunting-ground. As I crossed the savannah I played with this\nfancy; but when I reached the ridgy eminence, to look down once more on\nmy new domain, the fancy changed to a feeling so keen that it pierced to\nmy heart and was like pain in its intensity, causing tears to rush to\nmy eyes. And caring not in that solitude to disguise my feelings from\nmyself, and from the wide heaven that looked down and saw me--for this\nis the sweetest thing that solitude has for us, that we are free in it,\nand no convention holds us--I dropped on my knees and kissed the stony\nground, then casting up my eyes, thanked the Author of my being for\nthe gift of that wild forest, those green mansions where I had found so\ngreat a happiness!\n\nElated with this strain of feeling, I reached the wood not long after\nnoon; but no melodious voice gave me familiar and expected welcome; nor\ndid my invisible companion make itself heard at all on that day, or, at\nall events, not in its usual bird-like warbling language. But on this\nday I met with a curious little adventure and heard something very\nextraordinary, very mysterious, which I could not avoid connecting in my\nmind with the unseen warbler that so often followed me in my rambles.\n\nIt was an exceedingly bright day, without cloud, but windy, and finding\nmyself in a rather open part of the wood, near its border, where the\nbreeze could be felt, I sat down to rest on the lower part of a large\nbranch, which was half broken, but still remained attached to the trunk\nof the tree, while resting its terminal twigs on the ground. Just before\nme, where I sat, grew a low, wide-spreading plant, covered with broad,\nround, polished leaves; and the roundness, stiffness, and perfectly\nhorizontal position of the upper leaves made them look like a collection\nof small platforms or round table-tops placed nearly on a level. Through\nthe leaves, to the height of a foot or more above them, a slender dead\nstem protruded, and from a twig at its summit depended a broken spider\'s\nweb. A minute dead leaf had become attached to one of the loose threads\nand threw its small but distinct shadow on the platform leaves below;\nand as it trembled and swayed in the current of air, the black spot\ntrembled with it or flew swiftly over the bright green surfaces, and was\nseldom at rest. Now, as I sat looking down on the leaves and the small\ndancing shadow, scarcely thinking of what I was looking at, I noticed a\nsmall spider, with a flat body and short legs, creep cautiously out on\nto the upper surface of a leaf. Its pale red colour barred with velvet\nblack first drew my attention to it, for it was beautiful to the eye;\nand presently I discovered that this was no web-spinning, sedentary\nspider, but a wandering hunter, that captured its prey, like a cat, by\nstealing on it concealed and making a rush or spring at the last. The\nmoving shadow had attracted it and, as the sequel showed, was mistaken\nfor a fly running about over the leaves and flitting from leaf to leaf.\nNow began a series of wonderful manoeuvres on the spider\'s part, with\nthe object of circumventing the imaginary fly, which seemed specially\ndesigned to meet this special case; for certainly no insect had ever\nbefore behaved in quite so erratic a manner. Each time the shadow flew\npast, the spider ran swiftly in the same direction, hiding itself under\nthe leaves, always trying to get near without alarming its prey; and\nthen the shadow would go round and round in a small circle, and some new\nstrategic move on the part of the hunter would be called forth. I became\ndeeply interested in this curious scene; I began to wish that the shadow\nwould remain quiet for a moment or two, so as to give the hunter a\nchance. And at last I had my wish: the shadow was almost motionless, and\nthe spider moving towards it, yet seeming not to move, and as it\ncrept closer I fancied that I could almost see the little striped body\nquivering with excitement. Then came the final scene: swift and straight\nas an arrow the hunter shot himself on to the fly-like shadow, then\nwiggled round and round, evidently trying to take hold of his prey with\nfangs and claws; and finding nothing under him, he raised the fore\npart of his body vertically, as if to stare about him in search of the\ndelusive fly; but the action may have simply expressed astonishment. At\nthis moment I was just on the point of giving free and loud vent to the\nlaughter which I had been holding in when, just behind me, as if from\nsome person who had been watching the scene over my shoulder and was as\nmuch amused as myself at its termination, sounded a clear trill of merry\nlaughter. I started up and looked hastily around, but no living creature\nwas there. The mass of loose foliage I stared into was agitated, as if\nfrom a body having just pushed through it. In a moment the leaves and\nfronds were motionless again; still, I could not be sure that a slight\ngust of wind had not shaken them. But I was so convinced that I had\nheard close to me a real human laugh, or sound of some living creature\nthat exactly simulated a laugh, that I carefully searched the ground\nabout me, expecting to find a being of some kind. But I found nothing,\nand going back to my seat on the hanging branch, I remained seated for\na considerable time, at first only listening, then pondering on the\nmystery of that sweet trill of laughter; and finally I began to wonder\nwhether I, like the spider that chased the shadow, had been deluded, and\nhad seemed to hear a sound that was not a sound.\n\nOn the following day I was in the wood again, and after a two or three\nhours\' ramble, during which I heard nothing, thinking it useless to\nhaunt the known spots any longer, I turned southwards and penetrated\ninto a denser part of the forest, where the undergrowth made progress\ndifficult. I was not afraid of losing myself; the sun above and my sense\nof direction, which was always good, would enable me to return to the\nstarting-point.\n\nIn this direction I had been pushing resolutely on for over half an\nhour, finding it no easy matter to make my way without constantly\ndeviating to this side or that from the course I wished to keep, when I\ncame to a much more open spot. The trees were smaller and scantier here,\nowing to the rocky nature of the ground, which sloped rather rapidly\ndown; but it was moist and overgrown with mosses, ferns, creepers, and\nlow shrubs, all of the liveliest green. I could not see many yards ahead\nowing to the bushes and tall fern fronds; but presently I began to hear\na low, continuous sound, which, when I had advanced twenty or thirty\nyards further, I made out to be the gurgling of running water; and at\nthe same moment I made the discovery that my throat was parched and my\npalms tingling with heat. I hurried on, promising myself a cool draught,\nwhen all at once, above the soft dashing and gurgling of the water, I\ncaught yet another sound--a low, warbling note, or succession of\nnotes, which might have been emitted by a bird. But it startled me\nnevertheless--bird-like warbling sounds had come to mean so much to\nme--and pausing, I listened intently. It was not repeated, and finally,\ntreading with the utmost caution so as not to alarm the mysterious\nvocalist, I crept on until, coming to a greenheart with a quantity of\nfeathery foliage of a shrub growing about its roots, I saw that just\nbeyond the tree the ground was more open still, letting in the sunlight\nfrom above, and that the channel of the stream I sought was in this open\nspace, about twenty yards from me, although the water was still hidden\nfrom sight. Something else was there, which I did see; instantly my\ncautious advance was arrested. I stood gazing with concentrated vision,\nscarcely daring to breathe lest I should scare it away.\n\nIt was a human being--a girl form, reclining on the moss among the ferns\nand herbage, near the roots of a small tree. One arm was doubled\nbehind her neck for her head to rest upon, while the other arm was held\nextended before her, the hand raised towards a small brown bird perched\non a pendulous twig just beyond its reach. She appeared to be playing\nwith the bird, possibly amusing herself by trying to entice it on to\nher hand; and the hand appeared to tempt it greatly, for it persistently\nhopped up and down, turning rapidly about this way and that, flirting\nits wings and tail, and always appearing just on the point of dropping\non to her finger. From my position it was impossible to see her\ndistinctly, yet I dared not move. I could make out that she was small,\nnot above four feet six or seven inches in height, in figure slim, with\ndelicately shaped little hands and feet. Her feet were bare, and her\nonly garment was a slight chemise-shaped dress reaching below her knees,\nof a whitish-gray colour, with a faint lustre as of a silky material.\nHer hair was very wonderful; it was loose and abundant, and seemed\nwavy or curly, falling in a cloud on her shoulders and arms. Dark it\nappeared, but the precise tint was indeterminable, as was that of her\nskin, which looked neither brown nor white. All together, near to me as\nshe actually was, there was a kind of mistiness in the figure which made\nit appear somewhat vague and distant, and a greenish grey seemed the\nprevailing colour. This tint I presently attributed to the effect of\nthe sunlight falling on her through the green foliage; for once, for a\nmoment, she raised herself to reach her finger nearer to the bird, and\nthen a gleam of unsubdued sunlight fell on her hair and arm, and the arm\nat that moment appeared of a pearly whiteness, and the hair, just\nwhere the light touched it, had a strange lustre and play of iridescent\ncolour.\n\nI had not been watching her more than three seconds before the bird,\nwith a sharp, creaking little chirp, flew up and away in sudden alarm;\nat the same moment she turned and saw me through the light leafy screen.\nBut although catching sight of me thus suddenly, she did not exhibit\nalarm like the bird; only her eyes, wide open, with a surprised look\nin them, remained immovably fixed on my face. And then slowly,\nimperceptibly--for I did not notice the actual movement, so gradual and\nsmooth it was, like the motion of a cloud of mist which changes its\nform and place, yet to the eye seems not to have moved--she rose to her\nknees, to her feet, retired, and with face still towards me, and eyes\nfixed on mine, finally disappeared, going as if she had melted away into\nthe verdure. The leafage was there occupying the precise spot where she\nhad been a moment before--the feathery foliage of an acacia shrub, and\nstems and broad, arrow-shaped leaves of an aquatic plant, and slim,\ndrooping fern fronds, and they were motionless and seemed not to have\nbeen touched by something passing through them. She had gone, yet I\ncontinued still, bent almost double, gazing fixedly at the spot where\nI had last seen her, my mind in a strange condition, possessed by\nsensations which were keenly felt and yet contradictory. So vivid was\nthe image left on my brain that she still seemed to be actually before\nmy eyes; and she was not there, nor had been, for it was a dream, an\nillusion, and no such being existed, or could exist, in this gross\nworld; and at the same time I knew that she had been there--that\nimagination was powerless to conjure up a form so exquisite.\n\nWith the mental image I had to be satisfied, for although I remained for\nsome hours at that spot, I saw her no more, nor did I hear any familiar\nmelodious sound. For I was now convinced that in this wild solitary girl\nI had at length discovered the mysterious warbler that so often followed\nme in the wood. At length, seeing that it was growing late, I took a\ndrink from the stream and slowly and reluctantly made my way out of the\nforest and went home.\n\nEarly next day I was back in the wood full of delightful anticipations,\nand had no sooner got well among the trees than a soft, warbling sound\nreached my ears; it was like that heard on the previous day just before\ncatching sight of the girl among the ferns. So soon! thought I, elated,\nand with cautious steps I proceeded to explore the ground, hoping again\nto catch her unawares. But I saw nothing; and only after beginning to\ndoubt that I had heard anything unusual, and had sat down to rest on\na rock, the sound was repeated, soft and low as before, very near and\ndistinct. Nothing more was heard at this spot, but an hour later, in\nanother place, the same mysterious note sounded near me. During my\nremaining time in the forest I was served many times in the same way,\nand still nothing was seen, nor was there any change in the voice.\n\nOnly when the day was near its end did I give up my quest, feeling very\nkeenly disappointed. It then struck me that the cause of the elusive\ncreature\'s behaviour was that she had been piqued at my discovery of her\nin one of her most secret hiding-places in the heart of the wood, and\nthat it had pleased her to pay me out in this manner.\n\nOn the next day there was no change; she was there again, evidently\nfollowing me, but always invisible, and varied not from that one mocking\nnote of yesterday, which seemed to challenge me to find her a second\ntime. In the end I was vexed, and resolved to be even with her by not\nvisiting the wood for some time. A display of indifference on my part\nwould, I hoped, result in making her less coy in the future.\n\nNext day, firm in my new resolution, I accompanied Kua-ko and two others\nto a distant spot where they expected that the ripening fruit on a\ncashew tree would attract a large number of birds. The fruit, however,\nproved still green, so that we gathered none and killed few birds.\nReturning together, Kua-ko kept at my side, and by and by, falling\nbehind our companions, he complimented me on my good shooting, although,\nas usual, I had only wasted the arrows I had blown.\n\n\"Soon you will be able to hit,\" he said; \"hit a bird as big as a small\nwoman\"; and he laughed once more immoderately at the old joke. At last,\ngrowing confidential, he said that I would soon possess a zabatana of my\nown, with arrows in plenty. He was going to make the arrows himself,\nand his uncle Otawinki, who had a straight eye, would make the tube. I\ntreated it all as a joke, but he solemnly assured me that he meant it.\n\nNext morning he asked me if I was going to the forest of evil fame, and\nwhen I replied in the negative, seemed surprised and, very much to my\nsurprise, evidently disappointed. He even tried to persuade me to go,\nwhere before I had been earnestly recommended not to go, until, finding\nthat I would not, he took me with him to hunt in the woods. By and by he\nreturned to the same subject: he could not understand why I would not go\nto that wood, and asked me if I had begun to grow afraid.\n\n\"No, not afraid,\" I replied; \"but I know the place well, and am getting\ntired of it.\" I had seen everything in it--birds and beasts--and had\nheard all its strange noises.\n\n\"Yes, heard,\" he said, nodding his head knowingly; \"but you have seen\nnothing strange; your eyes are not good enough yet.\"\n\nI laughed contemptuously and answered that I had seen everything strange\nthe wood contained, including a strange young girl; and I went on to\ndescribe her appearance, and finished by asking if he thought a white\nman was frightened at the sight of a young girl.\n\nWhat I said astonished him; then he seemed greatly pleased, and, growing\nstill more confidential and generous than on the previous day, he said\nthat I would soon be a most important personage among them, and greatly\ndistinguish myself. He did not like it when I laughed at all this, and\nwent on with great seriousness to speak of the unmade blowpipe that\nwould be mine--speaking of it as if it had been something very great,\nequal to the gift of a large tract of land, or the governorship of a\nprovince, north of the Orinoco. And by and by he spoke of something else\nmore wonderful even than the promise of a blow-pipe, with arrows galore,\nand this was that young sister of his, whose name was Oalava, a maid of\nabout sixteen, shy and silent and mild-eyed, rather lean and dirty; not\nugly, nor yet prepossessing. And this copper-coloured little drab of the\nwilderness he proposed to bestow in marriage on me! Anxious to pump him,\nI managed to control my muscles and asked him what authority he--a\nyoung nobody, who had not yet risen to the dignity of buying a wife\nfor himself--could have to dispose of a sister in this offhand way?\nHe replied that there would be no difficulty: that Runi would give his\nconsent, as would also Otawinki, Piake, and other relations; and last,\nand LEAST, according to the matrimonial customs of these latitudes,\nOalava herself would be ready to bestow her person--queyou, worn\nfigleaf-wise, necklace of accouri teeth, and all--on so worthy a suitor\nas myself. Finally, to make the prospect still more inviting, he added\nthat it would not be necessary for me to subject myself to any voluntary\ntortures to prove myself a man and fitted to enter into the purgatorial\nstate of matrimony. He was a great deal too considerate, I said, and,\nwith all the gravity I could command, asked him what kind of torture he\nwould recommend. For me--so valorous a person--\"no torture,\" he answered\nmagnanimously. But he--Kua-ko--had made up his mind as to the form of\ntorture he meant to inflict some day on his own person. He would prepare\na large sack and into it put fire-ants--\"As many as that!\" he exclaimed\ntriumphantly, stooping and filling his two hands with loose sand. He\nwould put them in the sack, and then get into it himself naked, and\ntie it tightly round his neck, so as to show to all spectators that\nthe hellish pain of innumerable venomous stings in his flesh could be\nendured without a groan and with an unmoved countenance. The poor youth\nhad not an original mind, since this was one of the commonest forms\nof self-torture among the Guayana tribes. But the sudden wonderful\nanimation with which he spoke of it, the fiendish joy that illumined his\nusually stolid countenance, sent a sudden disgust and horror through me.\nBut what a strange inverted kind of fiendishness is this, which delights\nat the anticipation of torture inflicted on oneself and not on an enemy!\nAnd towards others these savages are mild and peaceable! No, I could not\nbelieve in their mildness; that was only on the surface, when nothing\noccurred to rouse their savage, cruel instincts. I could have laughed at\nthe whole matter, but the exulting look on my companion\'s face had made\nme sick of the subject, and I wished not to talk any more about it.\n\nBut he would talk still--this fellow whose words, as a rule, I had to\ntake out of his mouth with a fork, as we say; and still on the same\nsubject, he said that not one person in the village would expect to\nsee me torture myself; that after what I would do for them all--after\ndelivering them from a great evil--nothing further would be expected of\nme.\n\nI asked him to explain his meaning; for it now began to appear plain\nthat in everything he had said he had been leading up to some very\nimportant matter. It would, of course, have been a great mistake to\nsuppose that my savage was offering me a blow-pipe and a marketable\nvirgin sister from purely disinterested motives.\n\nIn reply he went back to that still unforgotten joke about my being able\neventually to hit a bird as big as a small woman with an arrow. Out of\nit all came, when he went on to ask me if that mysterious girl I had\nseen in the wood was not of a size to suit me as a target when I had got\nmy hand in with a little more practice. That was the great work I was\nasked to do for them--that shy, mysterious girl with the melodious\nwild-bird voice was the evil being I was asked to slay with poisoned\narrows! This was why he now wished me to go often to the wood, to become\nmore and more familiar with her haunts and habits, to overcome all\nshyness and suspicion in her; and at the proper moment, when it would be\nimpossible to miss my mark, to plant the fatal arrow! The disgust he had\ninspired in me before, when gloating over anticipated tortures, was a\nweak and transient feeling to what I now experienced. I turned on him in\na sudden transport of rage, and in a moment would have shattered on his\nhead the blow-pipe I was carrying in my hand, but his astonished look as\nhe turned to face me made me pause and prevented me from committing\nso fatal an indiscretion. I could only grind my teeth and struggle to\novercome an almost overpowering hatred and wrath. Finally I flung the\ntube down and bade him take it, telling him that I would not touch it\nagain if he offered me all the sisters of all the savages in Guayana for\nwives.\n\nHe continued gazing at me mute with astonishment, and prudence suggested\nthat it would be best to conceal as far as possible the violent\nanimosity I had conceived against him. I asked him somewhat scornfully\nif he believed that I should ever be able to hit anything--bird or human\nbeing--with an arrow. \"No,\" I almost shouted, so as to give vent to my\nfeelings in some way, and drawing my revolver, \"this is the white man\'s\nweapon; but he kills men with it--men who attempt to kill or injure\nhim--but neither with this nor any other weapon does he murder innocent\nyoung girls treacherously.\" After that we went on in silence for some\ntime; at length he said that the being I had seen in the wood and was\nnot afraid of was no innocent young girl, but a daughter of the Didi, an\nevil being; and that so long as she continued to inhabit the wood they\ncould not go there to hunt, and even in other woods they constantly went\nin fear of meeting her. Too much disgusted to talk with him, I went on\nin silence; and when we reached the stream near the village, I threw off\nmy clothes and plunged into the water to cool my anger before going in\nto the others.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThinking about the forest girl while lying awake that night, I came to\nthe conclusion that I had made it sufficiently plain to her how little\nher capricious behaviour had been relished, and had therefore no need\nto punish myself more by keeping any longer out of my beloved green\nmansions. Accordingly, next day, after the heavy rain that fell during\nthe morning hours had ceased, I set forth about noon to visit the wood.\nOverhead the sky was clear again; but there was no motion in the heavy\nsultry atmosphere, while dark blue masses of banked-up clouds on the\nwestern horizon threatened a fresh downpour later in the day. My mind\nwas, however, now too greatly excited at the prospect of a possible\nencounter with the forest nymph to allow me to pay any heed to these\nominous signs.\n\nI had passed through the first strip of wood and was in the succeeding\nstony sterile space when a gleam of brilliant colour close by on the\nground caught my sight. It was a snake lying on the bare earth; had I\nkept on without noticing it, I should most probably have trodden upon\nor dangerously near it. Viewing it closely, I found that it was a coral\nsnake, famed as much for its beauty and singularity as for its deadly\ncharacter. It was about three feet long, and very slim; its ground\ncolour a brilliant vermilion, with broad jet-black rings at equal\ndistances round its body, each black ring or band divided by a narrow\nyellow strip in the middle. The symmetrical pattern and vividly\ncontrasted colours would have given it the appearance of an artificial\nsnake made by some fanciful artist, but for the gleam of life in its\nbright coils. Its fixed eyes, too, were living gems, and from the point\nof its dangerous arrowy head the glistening tongue flickered ceaselessly\nas I stood a few yards away regarding it.\n\n\"I admire you greatly, Sir Serpent,\" I said, or thought, \"but it is\ndangerous, say the military authorities, to leave an enemy or possible\nenemy in the rear; the person who does such a thing must be either a bad\nstrategist or a genius, and I am neither.\"\n\nRetreating a few paces, I found and picked up a stone about as big as\na man\'s hand and hurled it at the dangerous-looking head with the\nintention of crushing it; but the stone hit upon the rocky ground a\nlittle on one side of the mark and, being soft, flew into a hundred\nsmall fragments. This roused the creature\'s anger, and in a moment with\nraised head he was gliding swiftly towards me. Again I retreated, not\nso slowly on this occasion; and finding another stone, I raised and\nwas about to launch it when a sharp, ringing cry issued from the bushes\ngrowing near, and, quickly following the sound, forth stepped the forest\ngirl; no longer elusive and shy, vaguely seen in the shadowy wood, but\nboldly challenging attention, exposed to the full power of the meridian\nsun, which made her appear luminous and rich in colour beyond example.\nSeeing her thus, all those emotions of fear and abhorrence invariably\nexcited in us by the sight of an active venomous serpent in our path\nvanished instantly from my mind: I could now only feel astonishment\nand admiration at the brilliant being as she advanced with swift, easy,\nundulating motion towards me; or rather towards the serpent, which was\nnow between us, moving more and more slowly as she came nearer. The\ncause of this sudden wonderful boldness, so unlike her former habit, was\nunmistakable. She had been watching my approach from some hiding-place\namong the bushes, ready no doubt to lead me a dance through the wood\nwith her mocking voice, as on previous occasions, when my attack on the\nserpent caused that outburst of wrath. The torrent of ringing and to\nme inarticulate sounds in that unknown tongue, her rapid gestures, and,\nabove all, her wide-open sparkling eyes and face aflame with colour made\nit impossible to mistake the nature of her feeling.\n\nIn casting about for some term or figure of speech in which to describe\nthe impression produced on me at that moment, I think of waspish, and,\nbetter still, avispada--literally the same word in Spanish, not having\nprecisely the same meaning nor ever applied contemptuously--only to\nreject both after a moment\'s reflection. Yet I go back to the image of\nan irritated wasp as perhaps offering the best illustration; of some\nlarge tropical wasp advancing angrily towards me, as I have witnessed a\nhundred times, not exactly flying, but moving rapidly, half running and\nhalf flying, over the ground, with loud and angry buzz, the glistening\nwings open and agitated; beautiful beyond most animated creatures in\nits sharp but graceful lines, polished surface, and varied brilliant\ncolouring, and that wrathfulness that fits it so well and seems to give\nit additional lustre.\n\nWonder-struck at the sight of her strange beauty and passion, I forgot\nthe advancing snake until she came to a stop at about five yards from\nme; then to my horror I saw that it was beside her naked feet. Although\nno longer advancing, the head was still raised high as if to strike;\nbut presently the spirit of anger appeared to die out of it; the lifted\nhead, oscillating a little from side to side, sunk down lower and lower\nto rest finally on the girl\'s bare instep; and lying there motionless,\nthe deadly thing had the appearance of a gaily coloured silken garter\njust dropped from her leg. It was plain to see that she had no fear of\nit, that she was one of those exceptional persons, to be found, it is\nsaid, in all countries, who possess some magnetic quality which has a\nsoothing effect on even the most venomous and irritable reptiles.\n\nFollowing the direction of my eyes, she too glanced down, but did not\nmove her foot; then she made her voice heard again, still loud and\nsharp, but the anger was not now so pronounced.\n\n\"Do not fear, I shall not harm it,\" I said in the Indian tongue.\n\nShe took no notice of my speech and continued speaking with increasing\nresentment.\n\nI shook my head, replying that her language was unknown to me. Then by\nmeans of signs I tried to make her understand that the creature was safe\nfrom further molestation. She pointed indignantly at the stone in my\nhand, which I had forgotten all about. At once I threw it from me, and\ninstantly there was a change; the resentment had vanished, and a tender\nradiance lit her face like a smile.\n\nI advanced a little nearer, addressing her once more in the Indian\ntongue; but my speech was evidently unintelligible to her, as she stood\nnow glancing at the snake lying at her feet, now at me. Again I had\nrecourse to signs and gestures; pointing to the snake, then to the stone\nI had cast away, I endeavoured to convey to her that in the future I\nwould for her sake be a friend to all venomous reptiles, and that I\nwished her to have the same kindly feelings towards me as towards these\ncreatures. Whether or not she understood me, she showed no disposition\nto go into hiding again, and continued silently regarding me with a look\nthat seemed to express pleasure at finding herself at last thus suddenly\nbrought face to face with me. Flattered at this, I gradually drew nearer\nuntil at the last I was standing at her side, gazing down with the\nutmost delight into that face which so greatly surpassed in loveliness\nall human faces I had ever seen or imagined.\n\nAnd yet to you, my friend, it probably will not seem that she was\nso beautiful, since I have, alas! only the words we all use to paint\ncommoner, coarser things, and no means to represent all the exquisite\ndetails, all the delicate lights, and shades, and swift changes of\ncolour and expression. Moreover, is it not a fact that the strange or\nunheard of can never appear beautiful in a mere description, because\nthat which is most novel in it attracts too much attention and is given\nundue prominence in the picture, and we miss that which would have taken\naway the effect of strangeness--the perfect balance of the parts and\nharmony of the whole? For instance, the blue eyes of the northerner\nwould, when first described to the black-eyed inhabitants of warm\nregions, seem unbeautiful and a monstrosity, because they would vividly\nsee with the mental vision that unheard-of blueness, but not in the\nsame vivid way the accompanying flesh and hair tints with which it\nharmonizes.\n\nThink, then, less of the picture as I have to paint it in words than of\nthe feeling its original inspired in me when, looking closely for the\nfirst time on that rare loveliness, trembling with delight, I mentally\ncried: \"Oh, why has Nature, maker of so many types and of innumerable\nindividuals of each, given to the world but one being like this?\"\n\nScarcely had the thought formed itself in my mind before I dismissed it\nas utterly incredible. No, this exquisite being was without doubt one\nof a distinct race which had existed in this little-known corner of the\ncontinent for thousands of generations, albeit now perhaps reduced to a\nsmall and dwindling remnant.\n\nHer figure and features were singularly delicate, but it was her colour\nthat struck me most, which indeed made her differ from all other human\nbeings. The colour of the skin would be almost impossible to describe,\nso greatly did it vary with every change of mood--and the moods were\nmany and transient--and with the angle on which the sunlight touched it,\nand the degree of light.\n\nBeneath the trees, at a distance, it had seemed a somewhat dim white\nor pale grey; near in the strong sunshine it was not white, but\nalabastrian, semi-pellucid, showing an underlying rose colour; and\nat any point where the rays fell direct this colour was bright and\nluminous, as we see in our fingers when held before a strong firelight.\nBut that part of her skin that remained in shadow appeared of a dimmer\nwhite, and the underlying colour varied from dim, rosy purple to dim\nblue. With the skin the colour of the eyes harmonized perfectly. At\nfirst, when lit with anger, they had appeared flame-like; now the iris\nwas of a peculiar soft or dim and tender red, a shade sometimes seen\nin flowers. But only when looked closely at could this delicate hue be\ndiscerned, the pupils being large, as in some grey eyes, and the long,\ndark, shading lashes at a short distance made the whole eye appear dark.\nThink not, then, of the red flower, exposed to the light and sun in\nconjunction with the vivid green of the foliage; think only of such\na hue in the half-hidden iris, brilliant and moist with the eye\'s\nmoisture, deep with the eye\'s depth, glorified by the outward look of\na bright, beautiful soul. Most variable of all in colour was the hair,\nthis being due to its extreme fineness and glossiness, and to its\nelasticity, which made it lie fleecy and loose on head, shoulders, and\nback; a cloud with a brightness on its surface made by the freer outer\nhairs, a fit setting and crown for a countenance of such rare changeful\nloveliness. In the shade, viewed closely, the general colour appeared a\nslate, deepening in places to purple; but even in the shade the nimbus\nof free flossy hairs half veiled the darker tints with a downy pallor;\nand at a distance of a few yards it gave the whole hair a vague, misty\nappearance. In the sunlight the colour varied more, looking now dark,\nsometimes intensely black, now of a light uncertain hue, with a play of\niridescent colour on the loose surface, as we see on the glossed plumage\nof some birds; and at a short distance, with the sun shining full on her\nhead, it sometimes looked white as a noonday cloud. So changeful was it\nand ethereal in appearance with its cloud colours that all other human\nhair, even of the most beautiful golden shades, pale or red, seemed\nheavy and dull and dead-looking by comparison.\n\nBut more than form and colour and that enchanting variability was the\nlook of intelligence, which at the same time seemed complementary to and\none with the all-seeing, all-hearing alertness appearing in her face;\nthe alertness one remarks in a wild creature, even when in repose and\nfearing nothing; but seldom in man, never perhaps in intellectual or\nstudious man. She was a wild, solitary girl of the woods, and did not\nunderstand the language of the country in which I had addressed her.\nWhat inner or mind life could such a one have more than that of any wild\nanimal existing in the same conditions? Yet looking at her face it\nwas not possible to doubt its intelligence. This union in her of two\nopposite qualities, which, with us, cannot or do not exist together,\nalthough so novel, yet struck me as the girl\'s principal charm. Why had\nNature not done this before--why in all others does the brightness of\nthe mind dim that beautiful physical brightness which the wild animals\nhave? But enough for me that that which no man had ever looked for or\nhoped to find existed here; that through that unfamiliar lustre of the\nwild life shone the spiritualizing light of mind that made us kin.\n\nThese thoughts passed swiftly through my brain as I stood feasting my\nsight on her bright, piquant face; while she on her part gazed back\ninto my eyes, not only with fearless curiosity, but with a look of\nrecognition and pleasure at the encounter so unmistakably friendly that,\nencouraged by it, I took her arm in my hand, moving at the same time a\nlittle nearer to her. At that moment a swift, startled expression came\ninto her eyes; she glanced down and up again into my face; her lips\ntrembled and slightly parted as she murmured some sorrowful sounds in a\ntone so low as to be only just audible.\n\nThinking she had become alarmed and was on the point of escaping out of\nmy hands, and fearing, above all things, to lose sight of her again so\nsoon, I slipped my arm around her slender body to detain her, moving\none foot at the same time to balance myself; and at that moment I felt\na slight blow and a sharp burning sensation shoot into my leg, so sudden\nand intense that I dropped my arm, at the same time uttering a cry of\npain, and recoiled one or two paces from her. But she stirred not when\nI released her; her eyes followed my movements; then she glanced down at\nher feet. I followed her look, and figure to yourself my horror when I\nsaw there the serpent I had so completely forgotten, and which even that\nsting of sharp pain had not brought back to remembrance! There it lay,\na coil of its own thrown round one of her ankles, and its head, raised\nnearly a foot high, swaying slowly from side to side, while the swift\nforked tongue flickered continuously. Then--only then--I knew what had\nhappened, and at the same time I understood the reason of that sudden\nlook of alarm in her face, the murmuring sounds she had uttered, and the\ndownward startled glance. Her fears had been solely for my safety, and\nshe had warned me! Too late! too late! In moving I had trodden on or\ntouched the serpent with my foot, and it had bitten me just above the\nankle. In a few moments I began to realize the horror of my position.\n\"Must I die! must I die! Oh, my God, is there nothing that can save me?\"\nI cried in my heart.\n\nShe was still standing motionless in the same place: her eyes wandered\nback from me to the snake; gradually its swaying head was lowered again,\nand the coil unwound from her ankle; then it began to move away, slowly\nat first, and with the head a little raised, then faster, and in the end\nit glided out of sight. Gone!--but it had left its venom in my blood--O\ncursed reptile!\n\nBack from watching its retreat, my eyes returned to her face, now\nstrangely clouded with trouble; her eyes dropped before mine, while the\npalms of her hands were pressed together, and the fingers clasped and\nunclasped alternately. How different she seemed now; the brilliant face\ngrown so pallid and vague-looking! But not only because this tragic end\nto our meeting had pierced her with pain: that cloud in the west had\ngrown up and now covered half the sky with vast lurid masses of vapour,\nblotting out the sun, and a great gloom had fallen on the earth.\n\nThat sudden twilight and a long roll of approaching thunder,\nreverberating from the hills, increased my anguish and desperation.\nDeath at that moment looked unutterably terrible. The remembrance of all\nthat made life dear pierced me to the core--all that nature was to me,\nall the pleasures of sense and intellect, the hopes I had cherished--all\nwas revealed to me as by a flash of lightning. Bitterest of all was the\nthought that I must now bid everlasting farewell to this beautiful being\nI had found in the solitude this lustrous daughter of the Didi--just\nwhen I had won her from her shyness--that I must go away into the cursed\nblackness of death and never know the mystery of her life! It was\nthat which utterly unnerved me, and made my legs tremble under me, and\nbrought great drops of sweat to my forehead, until I thought that the\nvenom was already doing its swift, fatal work in my veins.\n\nWith uncertain steps I moved to a stone a yard or two away and sat down\nupon it. As I did so the hope came to me that this girl, so intimate\nwith nature, might know of some antidote to save me. Touching my leg,\nand using other signs, I addressed her again in the Indian language.\n\n\"The snake has bitten me,\" I said. \"What shall I do? Is there no leaf,\nno root you know that would save me from death? Help me! help me!\" I\ncried in despair.\n\nMy signs she probably understood if not my words, but she made no reply;\nand still she remained standing motionless, twisting and untwisting her\nfingers, and regarding me with a look of ineffable grief and compassion.\n\nAlas! It was vain to appeal to her: she knew what had happened, and what\nthe result would most likely be, and pitied, but was powerless to help\nme. Then it occurred to me that if I could reach the Indian village\nbefore the venom overpowered me something might be done to save me. Oh,\nwhy had I tarried so long, losing so many precious minutes! Large drops\nof rain were falling now, and the gloom was deeper, and the thunder\nalmost continuous. With a cry of anguish I started to my feet and\nwas about to rush away towards the village when a dazzling flash of\nlightning made me pause for a moment. When it vanished I turned a last\nlook on the girl, and her face was deathly pale, and her hair looked\nblacker than night; and as she looked she stretched out her arms towards\nme and uttered a low, wailing cry. \"Good-bye for ever!\" I murmured, and\nturning once more from her, rushed away like one crazed into the wood.\nBut in my confusion I had probably taken the wrong direction, for\ninstead of coming out in a few minutes into the open border of the\nforest, and on to the savannah, I found myself every moment getting\ndeeper among the trees. I stood still, perplexed, but could not shake\noff the conviction that I had started in the right direction. Eventually\nI resolved to keep on for a hundred yards or so and then, if no opening\nappeared, to turn back and retrace my steps. But this was no easy\nmatter. I soon became entangled in a dense undergrowth, which so\nconfused me that at last I confessed despairingly to myself that for\nthe first time in this wood I was hopelessly lost. And in what terrible\ncircumstances! At intervals a flash of lightning would throw a vivid\nblue glare down into the interior of the wood and only serve to show\nthat I had lost myself in a place where even at noon in cloudless\nweather progress would be most difficult; and now the light would only\nlast a moment, to be followed by thick gloom; and I could only tear\nblindly on, bruising and lacerating my flesh at every step, falling\nagain and again, only to struggle up and on again, now high above the\nsurface, climbing over prostrate trees and branches, now plunged to my\nmiddle in a pool or torrent of water.\n\nHopeless--utterly hopeless seemed all my mad efforts; and at each pause,\nwhen I would stand exhausted, gasping for breath, my throbbing heart\nalmost suffocating me, a dull, continuous, teasing pain in my bitten leg\nserved to remind me that I had but a little time left to exist--that by\ndelaying at first I had allowed my only chance of salvation to slip by.\n\nHow long a time I spent fighting my way through this dense black wood I\nknow not; perhaps two or three hours, only to me the hours seemed like\nyears of prolonged agony. At last, all at once, I found that I was free\nof the close undergrowth and walking on level ground; but it was darker\nhere darker than the darkest night; and at length, when the lightning\ncame and flared down through the dense roof of foliage overhead, I\ndiscovered that I was in a spot that had a strange look, where the trees\nwere very large and grew wide apart, and with no undergrowth to impede\nprogress beneath them. Here, recovering breath, I began to run, and\nafter a while found that I had left the large trees behind me, and was\nnow in a more open place, with small trees and bushes; and this made me\nhope for a while that I had at last reached the border of the forest.\nBut the hope proved vain; once more I had to force my way through dense\nundergrowth, and finally emerged on to a slope where it was open, and\nI could once more see for some distance around me by such light as\ncame through the thick pall of clouds. Trudging on to the summit of\nthe slope, I saw that there was open savannah country beyond, and for a\nmoment rejoiced that I had got free from the forest. A few steps more,\nand I was standing on the very edge of a bank, a precipice not less than\nfifty feet deep. I had never seen that bank before, and therefore knew\nthat I could not be on the right side of the forest. But now my only\nhope was to get completely away from the trees and then to look for the\nvillage, and I began following the bank in search of a descent. No break\noccurred, and presently I was stopped by a dense thicket of bushes. I\nwas about to retrace my steps when I noticed that a tall slender tree\ngrowing at the foot of the precipice, its green top not more than\na couple of yards below my feet, seemed to offer a means of escape.\nNerving myself with the thought that if I got crushed by the fall I\nshould probably escape a lingering and far more painful death, I dropped\ninto the cloud of foliage beneath me and clutched desperately at the\ntwigs as I fell. For a moment I felt myself sustained; but branch after\nbranch gave way beneath my weight, and then I only remember, very dimly,\na swift flight through the air before losing consciousness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nWith the return of consciousness, I at first had a vague impression that\nI was lying somewhere, injured, and incapable of motion; that it was\nnight, and necessary for me to keep my eyes fast shut to prevent them\nfrom being blinded by almost continuous vivid flashes of lightning.\nInjured, and sore all over, but warm and dry--surely dry; nor was it\nlightning that dazzled, but firelight. I began to notice things little\nby little. The fire was burning on a clay floor a few feet from where I\nwas lying. Before it, on a log of wood, sat or crouched a human figure.\nAn old man, with chin on breast and hands clasped before his drawn-up\nknees; only a small portion of his forehead and nose visible to me. An\nIndian I took him to be, from his coarse, lank, grey hair and dark brown\nskin. I was in a large hut, falling at the sides to within two feet of\nthe floor; but there were no hammocks in it, nor bows and spears, and\nno skins, not even under me, for I was lying on straw mats. I could hear\nthe storm still raging outside; the rush and splash of rain, and, at\nintervals, the distant growl of thunder. There was wind, too; I listened\nto it sobbing in the trees, and occasionally a puff found its way in,\nand blew up the white ashes at the old man\'s feet, and shook the yellow\nflames like a flag. I remembered now how the storm began, the wild girl,\nthe snake-bite, my violent efforts to find a way out of the woods, and,\nfinally, that leap from the bank where recollection ended. That I had\nnot been killed by the venomous tooth, nor the subsequent fearful fall,\nseemed like a miracle to me. And in that wild, solitary place, lying\ninsensible, in that awful storm and darkness, I had been found by a\nfellow creature--a savage, doubtless, but a good Samaritan all the\nsame--who had rescued me from death! I was bruised all over and did not\nattempt to move, fearing the pain it would give me; and I had a racking\nheadache; but these seemed trifling discomforts after such adventures\nand such perils. I felt that I had recovered or was recovering from\nthat venomous bite; that I would live and not die--live to return to my\ncountry; and the thought filled my heart to overflowing, and tears of\ngratitude and happiness rose to my eyes.\n\nAt such times a man experiences benevolent feelings, and would willingly\nbestow some of that overplus of happiness on his fellows to lighten\nother hearts; and this old man before me, who was probably the\ninstrument of my salvation, began greatly to excite my interest and\ncompassion. For he seemed so poor in his old age and rags, so solitary\nand dejected as he sat there with knees drawn up, his great, brown, bare\nfeet looking almost black by contrast with the white wood-ashes about\nthem! What could I do for him? What could I say to cheer his spirits\nin that Indian language, which has few or no words to express kindly\nfeelings? Unable to think of anything better to say, I at length\nsuddenly cried aloud: \"Smoke, old man! Why do you not smoke? It is good\nto smoke.\"\n\nHe gave a mighty start and, turning, fixed his eyes on me. Then I saw\nthat he was not a pure Indian, for although as brown as old leather,\nhe wore a beard and moustache. A curious face had this old man, which\nlooked as if youth and age had made it a battling-ground. His forehead\nwas smooth except for two parallel lines in the middle running its\nentire length, dividing it in zones; his arched eyebrows were black as\nink, and his small black eyes were bright and cunning, like the eyes of\nsome wild carnivorous animal. In this part of his face youth had held\nits own, especially in the eyes, which looked young and lively.\nBut lower down age had conquered, scribbling his skin all over with\nwrinkles, while moustache and beard were white as thistledown. \"Aha, the\ndead man is alive again!\" he exclaimed, with a chuckling laugh. This\nin the Indian tongue; then in Spanish he added: \"But speak to me in the\nlanguage you know best, senor; for if you are not a Venezuelan call me\nan owl.\"\n\n\"And you, old man?\" said I.\n\n\"Ah, I was right! Why sir what I am is plainly written on my face.\nSurely you do not take me for a pagan! I might be a black man from\nAfrica, or an Englishman, but an Indian--that, no! But a minute ago you\nhad the goodness to invite me to smoke. How, sir, can a poor man smoke\nwho is without tobacco?\"\n\n\"Without tobacco--in Guayana!\"\n\n\"Can you believe it? But, sir, do not blame me; if the beast that\ncame one night and destroyed my plants when ripe for cutting had taken\npumpkins and sweet potatoes instead, it would have been better for him,\nif curses have any effect. And the plant grows slowly, sir--it is not an\nevil weed to come to maturity in a single day. And as for other leaves\nin the forest, I smoke them, yes; but there is no comfort to the lungs\nin such smoke.\"\n\n\"My tobacco-pouch was full,\" I said. \"You will find it in my coat, if I\ndid not lose it.\"\n\n\"The saints forbid!\" he exclaimed. \"Grandchild--Rima, have you got a\ntobacco-pouch with the other things? Give it to me.\"\n\nThen I first noticed that another person was in the hut, a slim young\ngirl, who had been seated against the wall on the other side of the\nfire, partially hid by the shadows. She had my leather belt, with\nthe revolver in its case, and my hunting-knife attached, and the few\narticles I had had in my pockets, on her lap. Taking up the pouch, she\nhanded it to him, and he clutched it with a strange eagerness.\n\n\"I will give it back presently, Rima,\" he said. \"Let me first smoke a\ncigarette--and then another.\"\n\nIt seemed probable from this that the good old man had already been\ncasting covetous eyes on my property, and that his granddaughter had\ntaken care of it for me. But how the silent, demure girl had kept it\nfrom him was a puzzle, so intensely did he seem now to enjoy it, drawing\nthe smoke vigorously into his lungs and, after keeping it ten or fifteen\nseconds there, letting it fly out again from mouth and nose in blue jets\nand clouds. His face softened visibly, he became more and more genial\nand loquacious, and asked me how I came to be in that solitary place. I\ntold him that I was staying with the Indian Runi, his neighbour.\n\n\"But, senor,\" he said, \"if it is not an impertinence, how is it that a\nyoung man of so distinguished an appearance as yourself, a Venezuelan,\nshould be residing with these children of the devil?\"\n\n\"You love not your neighbours, then?\"\n\n\"I know them, sir--how should I love them?\" He was rolling up his second\nor third cigarette by this time, and I could not help noticing that he\ntook a great deal more tobacco than he required in his fingers, and\nthat the surplus on each occasion was conveyed to some secret receptacle\namong his rags. \"Love them, sir! They are infidels, and therefore the\ngood Christian must only hate them. They are thieves--they will steal\nfrom you before your very face, so devoid are they of all shame. And\nalso murderers; gladly would they burn this poor thatch above my head,\nand kill me and my poor grandchild, who shares this solitary life with\nme, if they had the courage. But they are all arrant cowards, and fear\nto approach me--fear even to come into this wood. You would laugh to\nhear what they are afraid of--a child would laugh to hear it!\"\n\n\"What do they fear?\" I said, for his words had excited my interest in a\ngreat degree.\n\n\"Why, sir, would you believe it? They fear this child--my granddaughter,\nseated there before you. A poor innocent girl of seventeen summers, a\nChristian who knows her Catechism, and would not harm the smallest thing\nthat God has made--no, not a fly, which is not regarded on account of\nits smallness. Why, sir, it is due to her tender heart that you are\nsafely sheltered here, instead of being left out of doors in this\ntempestuous night.\"\n\n\"To her--to this girl?\" I returned in astonishment. \"Explain, old man,\nfor I do not know how I was saved.\"\n\n\"Today, senor, through your own heedlessness you were bitten by a\nvenomous snake.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is true, although I do not know how it came to your\nknowledge. But why am I not a dead man, then--have you done something to\nsave me from the effects of the poison?\"\n\n\"Nothing. What could I do so long after you were bitten? When a man is\nbitten by a snake in a solitary place he is in God\'s hands. He will live\nor die as God wills. There is nothing to be done. But surely, sir, you\nremember that my poor grandchild was with you in the wood when the snake\nbit you?\"\n\n\"A girl was there--a strange girl I have seen and heard before when I\nhave walked in the forest. But not this girl--surely not this girl!\"\n\n\"No other,\" said he, carefully rolling up another cigarette.\n\n\"It is not possible!\" I returned.\n\n\"Ill would you have fared, sir, had she not been there. For after being\nbitten, you rushed away into the thickest part of the wood, and went\nabout in a circle like a demented person for Heaven knows how long. But\nshe never left you; she was always close to you--you might have touched\nher with your hand. And at last some good angel who was watching you,\nin order to stop your career, made you mad altogether and caused you to\njump over a precipice and lose your senses. And you were no sooner on\nthe ground than she was with you--ask me not how she got down! And when\nshe had propped you up against the bank, she came for me. Fortunately\nthe spot where you had fallen is near--not five hundred yards from the\ndoor. And I, on my part, was willing to assist her in saving you; for I\nknew it was no Indian that had fallen, since she loves not that breed,\nand they come not here. It was not an easy task, for you weigh, senor;\nbut between us we brought you in.\"\n\nWhile he spoke, the girl continued sitting in the same listless attitude\nas when I first observed her, with eyes cast down and hands folded in\nher lap. Recalling that brilliant being in the wood that had protected\nthe serpent from me and calmed its rage, I found it hard to believe his\nwords, and still felt a little incredulous.\n\n\"Rima--that is your name, is it not?\" I said. \"Will you come here and\nstand before me, and let me look closely at you?\"\n\n\"Si, senor.\" she meekly answered; and removing the things from her lap,\nshe stood up; then, passing behind the old man, came and stood before\nme, her eyes still bent on the ground--a picture of humility.\n\nShe had the figure of the forest girl, but wore now a scanty faded\ncotton garment, while the loose cloud of hair was confined in two plaits\nand hung down her back. The face also showed the same delicate lines,\nbut of the brilliant animation and variable colour and expression there\nappeared no trace. Gazing at her countenance as she stood there silent,\nshy, and spiritless before me, the image of her brighter self came\nvividly to my mind and I could not recover from the astonishment I felt\nat such a contrast.\n\nHave you ever observed a humming-bird moving about in an aerial dance\namong the flowers--a living prismatic gem that changes its colour with\nevery change of position--how in turning it catches the sunshine on its\nburnished neck and gorges plumes--green and gold and flame-coloured, the\nbeams changing to visible flakes as they fall, dissolving into nothing,\nto be succeeded by others and yet others? In its exquisite form,\nits changeful splendour, its swift motions and intervals of aerial\nsuspension, it is a creature of such fairy-like loveliness as to\nmock all description. And have you seen this same fairy-like creature\nsuddenly perch itself on a twig, in the shade, its misty wings and\nfan-like tail folded, the iridescent glory vanished, looking like some\ncommon dull-plumaged little bird sitting listless in a cage? Just so\ngreat was the difference in the girl as I had seen her in the forest and\nas she now appeared under the smoky roof in the firelight.\n\nAfter watching her for some moments, I spoke: \"Rima, there must be a\ngood deal of strength in that frame of yours, which looks so delicate;\nwill you raise me up a little?\"\n\nShe went down on one knee and, placing her arms round me, assisted me to\na sitting posture.\n\n\"Thank you, Rima--oh, misery!\" I groaned. \"Is there a bone left unbroken\nin my poor body?\"\n\n\"Nothing broken,\" cried the old man, clouds of smoke flying out with his\nwords. \"I have examined you well--legs, arms, ribs. For this is how\nit was, senor. A thorny bush into which you fell saved you from being\nflattened on the stony ground. But you are bruised, sir, black with\nbruises; and there are more scratches of thorns on your skin than\nletters on a written page.\"\n\n\"A long thorn might have entered my brain,\" I said, \"from the way it\npains. Feel my forehead, Rima; is it very hot and dry?\"\n\nShe did as I asked, touching me lightly with her little cool hand. \"No,\nsenor, not hot, but warm and moist,\" she said.\n\n\"Thank Heaven for that!\" I said. \"Poor girl! And you followed me through\nthe wood in all that terrible storm! Ah, if I could lift my bruised arm\nI would take your hand to kiss it in gratitude for so great a service. I\nowe you my life, sweet Rima--what shall I do to repay so great a debt?\"\n\nThe old man chuckled as if amused, but the girl lifted not her eyes nor\nspoke.\n\n\"Tell me, sweet child,\" I said, \"for I cannot realize it yet; was\nit really you that saved the serpent\'s life when I would have killed\nit--did you stand by me in the wood with the serpent lying at your\nfeet?\"\n\n\"Yes, senor,\" came her gentle answer.\n\n\"And it was you I saw in the wood one day, lying on the ground playing\nwith a small bird?\"\n\n\"Yes, senor.\"\n\n\"And it was you that followed me so often among the trees, calling to\nme, yet always hiding so that I could never see you?\"\n\n\"Yes, senor.\"\n\n\"Oh, this is wonderful!\" I exclaimed; whereat the old man chuckled\nagain.\n\n\"But tell me this, my sweet girl,\" I continued. \"You never addressed me\nin Spanish; what strange musical language was it you spoke to me in?\"\n\nShe shot a timid glance at my face and looked troubled at the question,\nbut made no reply.\n\n\"Senor,\" said the old man, \"that is a question which you must excuse my\nchild from answering. Not, sir, from want of will, for she is docile and\nobedient, though I say it, but there is no answer beyond what I can tell\nyou. And this is, sir, that all creatures, whether man or bird, have the\nvoice that God has given them; and in some the voice is musical and in\nothers not so.\"\n\n\"Very well, old man,\" said I to myself; \"there let the matter rest for\nthe present. But if I am destined to live and not die, I shall not long\nremain satisfied with your too simple explanation.\"\n\n\"Rima,\" I said, \"you must be fatigued; it is thoughtless of me to keep\nyou standing here so long.\"\n\nHer face brightened a little, and bending down, she replied in a low\nvoice: \"I am not fatigued, sir. Let me get you something to eat now.\"\n\nShe moved quickly away to the fire, and presently returned with an\nearthenware dish of roasted pumpkin and sweet potatoes and, kneeling at\nmy side, fed me deftly with a small wooden spoon. I did not feel grieved\nat the absence of meat and the stinging condiments the Indians love, nor\ndid I even remark that there was no salt in the vegetables, so much\nwas I taken up with watching her beautiful delicate face while she\nministered to me. The exquisite fragrance of her breath was more to me\nthan the most delicious viands could have been; and it was a delight\neach time she raised the spoon to my mouth to catch a momentary glimpse\nof her eyes, which now looked dark as wine when we lift the glass to see\nthe ruby gleam of light within the purple. But she never for a moment\nlaid aside the silent, meek, constrained manner; and when I remembered\nher bursting out in her brilliant wrath on me, pouring forth that\ntorrent of stinging invective in her mysterious language, I was lost\nin wonder and admiration at the change in her, and at her double\npersonality. Having satisfied my wants, she moved quietly away\nand, raising a straw mat, disappeared behind it into her own\nsleeping-apartment, which was divided off by a partition from the room I\nwas in.\n\nThe old man\'s sleeping-place was a wooden cot or stand on the opposite\nside of the room, but he was in no hurry to sleep, and after Rima had\nleft us, put a fresh log on the blaze and lit another cigarette. Heaven\nknows how many he had smoked by this time. He became very talkative and\ncalled to his side his two dogs, which I had not noticed in the room\nbefore, for me to see. It amused me to hear their names--Susio and\nGoloso: Dirty and Greedy. They were surly-looking brutes, with rough\nyellow hair, and did not win my heart, but according to his account they\npossessed all the usual canine virtues; and he was still holding forth\non the subject when I fell asleep.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWhen morning came I was too stiff and sore to move, and not until the\nfollowing day was I able to creep out to sit in the shade of the trees.\nMy old host, whose name was Nuflo, went off with his dogs, leaving\nthe girl to attend to my wants. Two or three times during the day she\nappeared to serve me with food and drink, but she continued silent and\nconstrained in manner as on the first evening of seeing her in the hut.\n\nLate in the afternoon old Nuflo returned, but did not say where he had\nbeen; and shortly afterwards Rima reappeared, demure as usual, in her\nfaded cotton dress, her cloud of hair confined in two long plaits.\nMy curiosity was more excited than ever, and I resolved to get to\nthe bottom of the mystery of her life. The girl had not shown herself\nresponsive, but now that Nuflo was back I was treated to as much talk as\nI cared to hear. He talked of many things, only omitting those which\nI desired to hear about; but his pet subject appeared to be the\ndivine government of the world--\"God\'s politics\"--and its manifest\nimperfections, or, in other words, the manifold abuses which from time\nto time had been allowed to creep into it. The old man was pious, but\nlike many of his class in my country, he permitted himself to indulge in\nvery free criticisms of the powers above, from the King of Heaven down\nto the smallest saint whose name figures in the calendar.\n\n\"These things, senor,\" he said, \"are not properly managed. Consider my\nposition. Here am I compelled for my sins to inhabit this wilderness\nwith my poor granddaughter--\"\n\n\"She is not your granddaughter!\" I suddenly interrupted, thinking to\nsurprise him into an admission.\n\nBut he took his time to answer. \"Senor, we are never sure of anything in\nthis world. Not absolutely sure. Thus, it may come to pass that you will\none day marry, and that your wife will in due time present you with\na son--one that will inherit your fortune and transmit your name\nto posterity. And yet, sir, in this world, you will never know to a\ncertainty that he is your son.\"\n\n\"Proceed with what you were saying,\" I returned, with some dignity.\n\n\"Here we are,\" he continued, \"compelled to inhabit this land and do not\nmeet with proper protection from the infidel. Now, sir, this is a crying\nevil, and it is only becoming in one who has the true faith, and is a\nloyal subject of the All-Powerful, to point out with due humility that\nHe is growing very remiss in His affairs, and is losing a good deal of\nHis prestige. And what, senor, is at the bottom of it? Favoritism. We\nknow that the Supreme cannot Himself be everywhere, attending to each\nlittle trick-track that arises in the world--matters altogether beneath\nHis notice; and that He must, like the President of Venezuela or the\nEmperor of Brazil, appoint men--angels if you like--to conduct His\naffairs and watch over each district. And it is manifest that for this\ncountry of Guayana the proper person has not been appointed. Every\nevil is done and there is no remedy, and the Christian has no more\nconsideration shown him than the infidel. Now, senor, in a town near the\nOrinoco I once saw on a church the archangel Michael, made of stone, and\ntwice as tall as a man, with one foot on a monster shaped like a cayman,\nbut with bat\'s wings, and a head and neck like a serpent. Into this\nmonster he was thrusting his spear. That is the kind of person that\nshould be sent to rule these latitudes--a person of firmness and\nresolution, with strength in his wrist. And yet it is probable that this\nvery man--this St. Michael--is hanging about the palace, twirling his\nthumbs, waiting for an appointment, while other weaker men, and--Heaven\nforgive me for saying it--not above a bribe, perhaps, are sent out to\nrule over this province.\"\n\nOn this string he would harp by the hour; it was a lofty subject on\nwhich he had pondered much in his solitary life, and he was glad of an\nopportunity of ventilating his grievance and expounding his views. At\nfirst it was a pure pleasure to hear Spanish again, and the old man,\nalbeit ignorant of letters, spoke well; but this, I may say, is a common\nthing in our country, where the peasant\'s quickness of intelligence and\npoetic feeling often compensate for want of instruction. His views also\namused me, although they were not novel. But after a while I grew tired\nof listening, yet I listened still, agreeing with him, and leading him\non to let him have his fill of talk, always hoping that he would come at\nlast to speak of personal matters and give me an account of his history\nand of Rima\'s origin. But the hope proved vain; not a word to enlighten\nme would he drop, however cunningly I tempted him.\n\n\"So be it,\" thought I; \"but if you are cunning, old man, I shall be\ncunning too--and patient; for all things come to him who waits.\"\n\nHe was in no hurry to get rid of me. On the contrary, he more than\nhinted that I would be safer under his roof than with the Indians, at\nthe same time apologizing for not giving me meat to eat.\n\n\"But why do you not have meat? Never have I seen animals so abundant and\ntame as in this wood.\" Before he could reply Rima, with a jug of water\nfrom the spring in her hand, came in; glancing at me, he lifted his\nfinger to signify that such a subject must not be discussed in her\npresence; but as soon as she quitted the room he returned to it.\n\n\"Senor,\" he said, \"have you forgotten your adventure with the snake?\nKnow, then, that my grandchild would not live with me for one day longer\nif I were to lift my hand against any living creature. For us, senor,\nevery day is fast-day--only without the fish. We have maize, pumpkin,\ncassava, potatoes, and these suffice. And even of these cultivated\nfruits of the earth she eats but little in the house, preferring certain\nwild berries and gums, which are more to her taste, and which she picks\nhere and there in her rambles in the wood. And I, sir, loving her as I\ndo, whatever my inclination may be, shed no blood and eat no flesh.\"\n\nI looked at him with an incredulous smile.\n\n\"And your dogs, old man?\"\n\n\"My dogs? Sir, they would not pause or turn aside if a coatimundi\ncrossed their path--an animal with a strong odour. As a man is, so is\nhis dog. Have you not seen dogs eating grass, sir, even in Venezuela,\nwhere these sentiments do not prevail? And when there is no meat--when\nmeat is forbidden--these sagacious animals accustom themselves to a\nvegetable diet.\"\n\nI could not very well tell the old man that he was lying to me--that\nwould have been bad policy--and so I passed it off. \"I have no doubt\nthat you are right,\" I said. \"I have heard that there are dogs in China\nthat eat no meat, but are themselves eaten by their owners after being\nfattened on rice. I should not care to dine on one of your animals, old\nman.\"\n\nHe looked at them critically and replied: \"Certainly they are lean.\"\n\n\"I was thinking less of their leanness than of their smell,\" I returned.\n\"Their odour when they approach me is not flowery, but resembles that\nof other dogs which feed on flesh, and have offended my too sensitive\nnostrils even in the drawing-rooms of Caracas. It is not like the\nfragrance of cattle when they return from the pasture.\"\n\n\"Every animal,\" he replied, \"gives out that odour which is peculiar to\nits kind\"; an incontrovertible fact which left me nothing to say.\n\nWhen I had sufficiently recovered the suppleness of my limbs to walk\nwith ease, I went for a ramble in the wood, in the hope that Rima would\naccompany me, and that out among the trees she would cast aside that\nartificial constraint and shyness which was her manner in the house.\n\nIt fell out just as I had expected; she accompanied me in the sense of\nbeing always near me, or within earshot, and her manner was now free and\nunconstrained as I could wish; but little or nothing was gained by the\nchange. She was once more the tantalizing, elusive, mysterious creature\nI had first known through her wandering, melodious voice. The only\ndifference was that the musical, inarticulate sounds were now less often\nheard, and that she was no longer afraid to show herself to me. This for\na short time was enough to make me happy, since no lovelier being was\never looked upon, nor one whose loveliness was less likely to lose its\ncharm through being often seen.\n\nBut to keep her near me or always in sight was, I found, impossible: she\nwould be free as the wind, free as the butterfly, going and coming at\nher wayward will, and losing herself from sight a dozen times every\nhour. To induce her to walk soberly at my side or sit down and enter\ninto conversation with me seemed about as impracticable as to tame\nthe fiery-hearted little humming-bird that flashes into sight, remains\nsuspended motionless for a few seconds before your face, then, quick as\nlightning, vanishes again.\n\nAt length, feeling convinced that she was most happy when she had me out\nfollowing her in the wood, that in spite of her bird-like wildness she\nhad a tender, human heart, which was easily moved, I determined to try\nto draw her closer by means of a little innocent stratagem. Going out in\nthe morning, after calling her several times to no purpose, I began to\nassume a downcast manner, as if suffering pain or depressed with grief;\nand at last, finding a convenient exposed root under a tree, on a spot\nwhere the ground was dry and strewn with loose yellow sand, I sat down\nand refused to go any further. For she always wanted to lead me on and\non, and whenever I paused she would return to show herself, or to chide\nor encourage me in her mysterious language. All her pretty little arts\nwere now practiced in vain: with cheek resting on my hand, I still sat.\n\nSo my eyes fixed on that patch of yellow sand at my feet, watching how\nthe small particles glinted like diamond dust when the sunlight touched\nthem. A full hour passed in this way, during which I encouraged myself\nby saying mentally: \"This is a contest between us, and the most patient\nand the strongest of will, which should be the man, must conquer. And if\nI win on this occasion, it will be easier for me in the future--easier\nto discover those things which I am resolved to know, and the girl must\nreveal to me, since the old man has proved impracticable.\"\n\nMeanwhile she came and went and came again; and at last, finding that I\nwas not to be moved, she approached and stood near me. Her face, when I\nglanced at it, had a somewhat troubled look--both troubled and curious.\n\n\"Come here, Rima,\" I said, \"and stay with me for a little while--I\ncannot follow you now.\"\n\nShe took one or two hesitating steps, then stood still again; and at\nlength, slowly and reluctantly, advanced to within a yard of me. Then\nI rose from my seat on the root, so as to catch her face better, and\nplaced my hand against the rough bark of the tree.\n\n\"Rima,\" I said, speaking in a low, caressing tone, \"will you stay with\nme here a little while and talk to me, not in your language, but in\nmine, so that I may understand? Will you listen when I speak to you, and\nanswer me?\"\n\nHer lips moved, but made no sound. She seemed strangely disquieted, and\nshook back her loose hair, and with her small toes moved the sparkling\nsand at her feet, and once or twice her eyes glanced shyly at my face.\n\n\"Rima, you have not answered me,\" I persisted. \"Will you not say yes?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where does your grandfather spend his day when he goes out with his\ndogs?\"\n\nShe shook her head slightly, but would not speak.\n\n\"Have you no mother, Rima? Do you remember your mother?\"\n\n\"My mother! My mother!\" she exclaimed in a low voice, but with a sudden,\nwonderful animation. Bending a little nearer, she continued: \"Oh, she is\ndead! Her body is in the earth and turned to dust. Like that,\" and she\nmoved the loose sand with her foot. \"Her soul is up there, where the\nstars and the angels are, grandfather says. But what is that to me? I\nam here--am I not? I talk to her just the same. Everything I see I point\nout, and tell her everything. In the daytime--in the woods, when we are\ntogether. And at night when I lie down I cross my arms on my breast--so,\nand say: \'Mother, mother, now you are in my arms; let us go to sleep\ntogether.\' Sometimes I say: \'Oh, why will you never answer me when I\nspeak and speak?\' Mother--mother--mother!\"\n\nAt the end her voice suddenly rose to a mournful cry, then sunk, and at\nthe last repetition of the word died to a low whisper.\n\n\"Ah, poor Rima! she is dead and cannot speak to you--cannot hear you!\nTalk to me, Rima; I am living and can answer.\"\n\nBut now the cloud, which had suddenly lifted from her heart, letting me\nsee for a moment into its mysterious depths--its fancies so childlike\nand feelings so intense--had fallen again; and my words brought no\nresponse, except a return of that troubled look to her face.\n\n\"Silent still?\" I said. \"Talk to me, then, of your mother, Rima. Do you\nknow that you will see her again some day?\"\n\n\"Yes, when I die. That is what the priest said.\"\n\n\"The priest?\"\n\n\"Yes, at Voa--do you know? Mother died there when I was small--it is so\nfar away! And there are thirteen houses by the side of the river--just\nhere; and on this side--trees, trees.\"\n\nThis was important, I thought, and would lead to the very knowledge I\nwished for; so I pressed her to tell me more about the settlement she\nhad named, and of which I had never heard.\n\n\"Everything have I told you,\" she returned, surprised that I did not\nknow that she had exhausted the subject in those half-dozen words she\nhad spoken.\n\nObliged to shift my ground, I said at a venture: \"Tell me, what do\nyou ask of the Virgin Mother when you kneel before her picture? Your\ngrandfather told me that you had a picture in your little room.\"\n\n\"You know!\" flashed out her answer, with something like resentment.\n\n\"It is all there in there,\" waving her hand towards the hut. \"Out here\nin the wood it is all gone--like this,\" and stooping quickly, she raised\na little yellow sand on her palm, then let it run away through her\nfingers.\n\nThus she illustrated how all the matters she had been taught slipped\nfrom her mind when she was out of doors, out of sight of the picture.\nAfter an interval she added: \"Only mother is here--always with me.\"\n\n\"Ah, poor Rima!\" I said; \"alone without a mother, and only your old\ngrandfather! He is old--what will you do when he dies and flies away to\nthe starry country where your mother is?\"\n\nShe looked inquiringly at me, then made answer in a low voice: \"You are\nhere.\"\n\n\"But when I go away?\"\n\nShe was silent; and not wishing to dwell on a subject that seemed to\npain her, I continued: \"Yes, I am here now, but you will not stay with\nme and talk freely! Will it always be the same if I remain with you?\nWhy are you always so silent in the house, so cold with your old\ngrandfather? So different--so full of life, like a bird, when you are\nalone in the woods? Rima, speak to me! Am I no more to you than your old\ngrandfather? Do you not like me to talk to you?\"\n\nShe appeared strangely disturbed at my words. \"Oh, you are not like\nhim,\" she suddenly replied. \"Sitting all day on a log by the fire--all\nday, all day; Goloso and Susio lying beside him--sleep, sleep. Oh, when\nI saw you in the wood I followed you, and talked and talked; still no\nanswer. Why will you not come when I call? To me!\" Then, mocking my\nvoice: \"Rima, Rima! Come here! Do this! Say that! Rima! Rima! It is\nnothing, nothing--it is not you,\" pointing to my mouth, and then, as if\nfearing that her meaning had not been made clear, suddenly touching my\nlips with her finger. \"Why do you not answer me?--speak to me--speak to\nme, like this!\" And turning a little more towards me, and glancing at me\nwith eyes that had all at once changed, losing their clouded expression\nfor one of exquisite tenderness, from her lips came a succession of\nthose mysterious sounds which had first attracted me to her, swift\nand low and bird-like, yet with something so much higher and more\nsoul-penetrating than any bird-music. Ah, what feeling and fancies, what\nquaint turns of expression, unfamiliar to my mind, were contained in\nthose sweet, wasted symbols! I could never know--never come to her\nwhen she called, or respond to her spirit. To me they would always\nbe inarticulate sounds, affecting me like a tender spiritual music--a\nlanguage without words, suggesting more than words to the soul.\n\nThe mysterious speech died down to a lisping sound, like the faint note\nof some small bird falling from a cloud of foliage on the topmost bough\nof a tree; and at the same time that new light passed from her eyes, and\nshe half averted her face in a disappointed way.\n\n\"Rima,\" I said at length, a new thought coming to my aid, \"it is true\nthat I am not here,\" touching my lips as she had done, \"and that\nmy words are nothing. But look into my eyes, and you will see me\nthere--all, all that is in my heart.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know what I should see there!\" she returned quickly.\n\n\"What would you see--tell me?\"\n\n\"There is a little black ball in the middle of your eye; I should see\nmyself in it no bigger than that,\" and she marked off about an eighth of\nher little fingernail. \"There is a pool in the wood, and I look down and\nsee myself there. That is better. Just as large as I am--not small\nand black like a small, small fly.\" And after saying this a little\ndisdainfully, she moved away from my side and out into the sunshine; and\nthen, half turning towards me, and glancing first at my face and then\nupwards, she raised her hand to call my attention to something there.\n\nFar up, high as the tops of the tallest trees, a great blue-winged\nbutterfly was passing across the open space with loitering flight. In a\nfew moments it was gone over the trees; then she turned once more to\nme with a little rippling sound of laughter--the first I had heard from\nher, and called: \"Come, come!\"\n\nI was glad enough to go with her then; and for the next two hours we\nrambled together in the wood; that is, together in her way, for though\nalways near she contrived to keep out of my sight most of the time. She\nwas evidently now in a gay, frolicsome temper; again and again, when I\nlooked closely into some wide-spreading bush, or peered behind a tree,\nwhen her calling voice had sounded, her rippling laughter would come to\nme from some other spot. At length, somewhere about the centre of the\nwood, she led me to an immense mora tree, growing almost isolated,\ncovering with its shade a large space of ground entirely free from\nundergrowth. At this spot she all at once vanished from my side; and\nafter listening and watching some time in vain, I sat down beside the\ngiant trunk to wait for her. Very soon I heard a low, warbling sound\nwhich seemed quite near.\n\n\"Rima! Rima!\" I called, and instantly my call was repeated like an echo.\nAgain and again I called, and still the words flew back to me, and I\ncould not decide whether it was an echo or not. Then I gave up calling;\nand presently the low, warbling sound was repeated, and I knew that Rima\nwas somewhere near me.\n\n\"Rima, where are you?\" I called.\n\n\"Rima, where are you?\" came the answer.\n\n\"You are behind the tree.\"\n\n\"You are behind the tree.\"\n\n\"I shall catch you, Rima.\" And this time, instead of repeating my words,\nshe answered: \"Oh no.\"\n\nI jumped up and ran round the tree, feeling sure that I should find her.\nIt was about thirty-five or forty feet in circumference; and after going\nround two or three times, I turned and ran the other way, but failing to\ncatch a glimpse of her I at last sat down again.\n\n\"Rima, Rima!\" sounded the mocking voice as soon as I had sat down.\n\"Where are you, Rima? I shall catch you, Rima! Have you caught Rima?\"\n\n\"No, I have not caught her. There is no Rima now. She has faded away\nlike a rainbow--like a drop of dew in the sun. I have lost her; I shall\ngo to sleep.\" And stretching myself out at full length under the tree,\nI remained quiet for two or three minutes. Then a slight rustling\nsound was heard, and I looked eagerly round for her. But the sound\nwas overhead and caused by a great avalanche of leaves which began to\ndescend on me from that vast leafy canopy above.\n\n\"Ah, little spider-monkey--little green tree-snake--you are there!\"\nBut there was no seeing her in that immense aerial palace hung with dim\ndrapery of green and copper-coloured leaves. But how had she got there?\nUp the stupendous trunk even a monkey could not have climbed, and there\nwere no lianas dropping to earth from the wide horizontal branches that\nI could see; but by and by, looking further away, I perceived that on\none side the longest lower branches reached and mingled with the shorter\nboughs of the neighbouring trees. While gazing up I heard her low,\nrippling laugh, and then caught sight of her as she ran along an exposed\nhorizontal branch, erect on her feet; and my heart stood still with\nterror, for she was fifty to sixty feet above the ground. In another\nmoment she vanished from sight in a cloud of foliage, and I saw no more\nof her for about ten minutes, when all at once she appeared at my side\nonce more, having come round the trunk of the mora. Her face had a\nbright, pleased expression, and showed no trace of fatigue or agitation.\n\nI caught her hand in mine. It was a delicate, shapely little hand, soft\nas velvet, and warm--a real human hand; only now when I held it did she\nseem altogether like a human being and not a mocking spirit of the wood,\na daughter of the Didi.\n\n\"Do you like me to hold your hand, Rima?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, with indifference.\n\n\"Is it I?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" This time as if it was small satisfaction to make acquaintance\nwith this purely physical part of me.\n\nHaving her so close gave me an opportunity of examining that light\nsheeny garment she wore always in the woods. It felt soft and satiny to\nthe touch, and there was no seam nor hem in it that I could see, but it\nwas all in one piece, like the cocoon of the caterpillar. While I was\nfeeling it on her shoulder and looking narrowly at it, she glanced at me\nwith a mocking laugh in her eyes.\n\n\"Is it silk?\" I asked. Then, as she remained silent, I continued: \"Where\ndid you get this dress, Rima? Did you make it yourself? Tell me.\"\n\nShe answered not in words, but in response to my question a new look\ncame into her face; no longer restless and full of change in her\nexpression, she was now as immovable as an alabaster statue; not a\nsilken hair on her head trembled; her eyes were wide open, gazing\nfixedly before her; and when I looked into them they seemed to see and\nyet not to see me. They were like the clear, brilliant eyes of a bird,\nwhich reflect as in a miraculous mirror all the visible world but do not\nreturn our look and seem to see us merely as one of the thousand small\ndetails that make up the whole picture. Suddenly she darted out her\nhand like a flash, making me start at the unexpected motion, and quickly\nwithdrawing it, held up a finger before me. From its tip a minute\ngossamer spider, about twice the bigness of a pin\'s head, appeared\nsuspended from a fine, scarcely visible line three or four inches long.\n\n\"Look!\" she exclaimed, with a bright glance at my face.\n\nThe small spider she had captured, anxious to be free, was falling,\nfalling earthward, but could not reach the surface. Leaning her shoulder\na little forward, she placed the finger-tip against it, but lightly,\nscarcely touching, and moving continuously, with a motion rapid as that\nof a fluttering moth\'s wing; while the spider, still paying out his\nline, remained suspended, rising and falling slightly at nearly the same\ndistance from the ground. After a few moments she cried: \"Drop down,\nlittle spider.\" Her finger\'s motion ceased, and the minute captive fell,\nto lose itself on the shaded ground.\n\n\"Do you not see?\" she said to me, pointing to her shoulder. Just where\nthe finger-tip had touched the garment a round shining spot appeared,\nlooking like a silver coin on the cloth; but on touching it with my\nfinger it seemed part of the original fabric, only whiter and more shiny\non the grey ground, on account of the freshness of the web of which it\nhad just been made.\n\nAnd so all this curious and pretty performance, which seemed instinctive\nin its spontaneous quickness and dexterity, was merely intended to show\nme how she made her garments out of the fine floating lines of small\ngossamer spiders!\n\nBefore I could express my surprise and admiration she cried again, with\nstartling suddenness: \"Look!\"\n\nA minute shadowy form darted by, appearing like a dim line traced across\nthe deep glossy more foliage, then on the lighter green foliage further\naway. She waved her hand in imitation of its swift, curving flight;\nthen, dropping it, exclaimed: \"Gone--oh, little thing!\"\n\n\"What was it?\" I asked, for it might have been a bird, a bird-like moth,\nor a bee.\n\n\"Did you not see? And you asked me to look into your eyes!\"\n\n\"Ah, little squirrel Sakawinki, you remind me of that!\" I said, passing\nmy arm round her waist and drawing her a little closer. \"Look into my\neyes now and see if I am blind, and if there is nothing in them except\nan image of Rima like a small, small fly.\"\n\nShe shook her head and laughed a little mockingly, but made no effort to\nescape from my arm.\n\n\"Would you like me always to do what you wish, Rima--to follow you in\nthe woods when you say \'Come\'--to chase you round the tree to catch you,\nand lie down for you to throw leaves on me, and to be glad when you are\nglad?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\n\"Then let us make a compact. I shall do everything to please you, and\nyou must promise to do everything to please me.\"\n\n\"Tell me.\"\n\n\"Little things, Rima--none so hard as chasing you round a tree. Only to\nhave you stand or sit by me and talk will make me happy. And to begin\nyou must call me by my name--Abel.\"\n\n\"Is that your name? Oh, not your real name! Abel, Abel--what is that? It\nsays nothing. I have called you by so many names--twenty, thirty--and no\nanswer.\"\n\n\"Have you? But, dearest girl, every person has a name, one name he is\ncalled by. Your name, for instance, is Rima, is it not?\"\n\n\"Rima! only Rima--to you? In the morning, in the evening... now in this\nplace and in a little while where know I? ... in the night when you wake\nand it is dark, dark, and you see me all the same. Only Rima--oh, how\nstrange!\"\n\n\"What else, sweet girl? Your grandfather Nuflo calls you Rima.\"\n\n\"Nuflo?\" She spoke as if putting a question to herself. \"Is that an\nold man with two dogs that lives somewhere in the wood?\" And then, with\nsudden petulance: \"And you ask me to talk to you!\"\n\n\"Oh, Rima, what can I say to you? Listen--\"\n\n\"No, no,\" she exclaimed, quickly turning and putting her fingers on my\nmouth to stop my speech, while a sudden merry look shone in her eyes.\n\"You shall listen when I speak, and do all I say. And tell me what to\ndo to please you with your eyes--let me look in your eyes that are not\nblind.\"\n\nShe turned her face more towards me and with head a little thrown back\nand inclined to one side, gazing now full into my eyes as I had wished\nher to do. After a few moments she glanced away to the distant trees.\nBut I could see into those divine orbs, and knew that she was\nnot looking at any particular object. All the ever-varying\nexpressions--inquisitive, petulant, troubled, shy, frolicsome had now\nvanished from the still face, and the look was inward and full of a\nstrange, exquisite light, as if some new happiness or hope had touched\nher spirit.\n\nSinking my voice to a whisper, I said: \"Tell me what you have seen in my\neyes, Rima?\"\n\nShe murmured in reply something melodious and inarticulate, then glanced\nat my face in a questioning way; but only for a moment, then her sweet\neyes were again veiled under those drooping lashes.\n\n\"Listen, Rima,\" I said. \"Was that a humming-bird we saw a little while\nago? You are like that, now dark, a shadow in the shadow, seen for\nan instant, and then--gone, oh, little thing! And now in the sunshine\nstanding still, how beautiful!--a thousand times more beautiful than\nthe humming-bird. Listen, Rima, you are like all beautiful things in the\nwood--flower, and bird, and butterfly, and green leaf, and frond, and\nlittle silky-haired monkey high up in the trees. When I look at you I\nsee them all--all and more, a thousand times, for I see Rima herself.\nAnd when I listen to Rima\'s voice, talking in a language I cannot\nunderstand, I hear the wind whispering in the leaves, the gurgling\nrunning water, the bee among the flowers, the organ-bird singing far,\nfar away in the shadows of the trees. I hear them all, and more, for\nI hear Rima. Do you understand me now? Is it I speaking to you--have I\nanswered you--have I come to you?\"\n\nShe glanced at me again, her lips trembling, her eyes now clouded with\nsome secret trouble. \"Yes,\" she replied in a whisper, and then: \"No, it\nis not you,\" and after a moment, doubtfully: \"Is it you?\"\n\nBut she did not wait to be answered: in a moment she was gone round the\nmore; nor would she return again for all my calling.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThat afternoon with Rima in the forest under the mora tree had proved so\ndelightful that I was eager for more rambles and talks with her, but the\nvariable little witch had a great surprise in store for me. All her wild\nnatural gaiety had unaccountably gone out of her: when I walked in\nthe shade she was there, but no longer as the blithe, fantastic being,\nbright as an angel, innocent and affectionate as a child, tricksy as a\nmonkey, that had played at hide-and-seek with me. She was now my shy,\nsilent attendant, only occasionally visible, and appearing then like\nthe mysterious maid I had found reclining among the ferns who had melted\naway mist-like from sight as I gazed. When I called she would not now\nanswer as formerly, but in response would appear in sight as if to\nassure me that I had not been forsaken; and after a few moments her grey\nshadowy form would once more vanish among the trees. The hope that as\nher confidence increased and she grew accustomed to talk with me she\nwould be brought to reveal the story of her life had to be abandoned, at\nall events for the present. I must, after all, get my information from\nNuflo, or rest in ignorance. The old man was out for the greater part\nof each day with his dogs, and from these expeditions he brought back\nnothing that I could see but a few nuts and fruits, some thin bark for\nhis cigarettes, and an occasional handful of haima gum to perfume the\nhut of an evening. After I had wasted three days in vainly trying to\novercome the girl\'s now inexplicable shyness, I resolved to give for\na while my undivided attention to her grandfather to discover, if\npossible, where he went and how he spent his time.\n\nMy new game of hide-and-seek with Nuflo instead of with Rima began\non the following morning. He was cunning; so was I. Going out and\nconcealing myself among the bushes, I began to watch the hut. That I\ncould elude Rima\'s keener eyes I doubted; but that did not trouble me.\nShe was not in harmony with the old man, and would do nothing to defeat\nmy plan. I had not been long in my hiding-place before he came out,\nfollowed by his two dogs, and going to some distance from the door,\nhe sat down on a log. For some minutes he smoked, then rose, and after\nlooking cautiously round slipped away among the trees. I saw that he was\ngoing off in the direction of the low range of rocky hills south of the\nforest. I knew that the forest did not extend far in that direction, and\nthinking that I should be able to catch a sight of him on its borders,\nI left the bushes and ran through the trees as fast as I could to get\nahead of him. Coming to where the wood was very open, I found that a\nbarren plain beyond it, a quarter of a mile wide, separated it from the\nrange of hills; thinking that the old man might cross this open space,\nI climbed into a tree to watch. After some time he appeared, walking\nrapidly among the trees, the dogs at his heels, but not going towards\nthe open plain; he had, it seemed, after arriving at the edge of the\nwood, changed his direction and was going west, still keeping in the\nshelter of the trees. When he had been gone about five minutes, I\ndropped to the ground and started in pursuit; once more I caught sight\nof him through the trees, and I kept him in sight for about twenty\nminutes longer; then he came to a broad strip of dense wood which\nextended into and through the range of hills, and here I quickly lost\nhim. Hoping still to overtake him, I pushed on, but after struggling\nthrough the underwood for some distance, and finding the forest growing\nmore difficult as I progressed, I at last gave him up. Turning eastward,\nI got out of the wood to find myself at the foot of a steep rough hill,\none of the range which the wooded valley cut through at right angles. It\nstruck me that it would be a good plan to climb the hill to get a view\nof the forest belt in which I had lost the old man; and after walking a\nshort distance I found a spot which allowed of an ascent. The summit of\nthe hill was about three hundred feet above the surrounding level and\ndid not take me long to reach; it commanded a fair view, and I now saw\nthat the belt of wood beneath me extended right through the range, and\non the south side opened out into an extensive forest. \"If that is your\ndestination,\" thought I, \"old fox, your secrets are safe from me.\"\n\nIt was still early in the day, and a slight breeze tempered the air and\nmade it cool and pleasant on the hilltop after my exertions. My scramble\nthrough the wood had fatigued me somewhat, and resolving to spend some\nhours on that spot, I looked round for a comfortable resting-place. I\nsoon found a shady spot on the west side of an upright block of stone\nwhere I could recline at ease on a bed of lichen. Here, with shoulders\nresting against the rock, I sat thinking of Rima, alone in her wood\ntoday, with just a tinge of bitterness in my thoughts which made me hope\nthat she would miss me as much as I missed her; and in the end I fell\nasleep.\n\nWhen I woke, it was past noon, and the sun was shining directly on me.\nStanding up to gaze once more on the prospect, I noticed a small wreath\nof white smoke issuing from a spot about the middle of the forest belt\nbeneath me, and I instantly divined that Nuflo had made a fire at that\nplace, and I resolved to surprise him in his retreat. When I got down\nto the base of the hill the smoke could no longer be seen, but I had\nstudied the spot well from above, and had singled out a large clump of\ntrees on the edge of the belt as a starting-point; and after a search of\nhalf an hour I succeeded in finding the old man\'s hiding-place. First I\nsaw smoke again through an opening in the trees, then a small rude hut\nof sticks and palm leaves. Approaching cautiously, I peered through a\ncrack and discovered old Nuflo engaged in smoking some meat over a fire,\nand at the same time grilling some bones on the coals. He had captured\na coatimundi, an animal somewhat larger than a tame tom-cat, with a long\nsnout and long ringed tail; one of the dogs was gnawing at the animal\'s\nhead, and the tail and the feet were also lying on the floor, among\nthe old bones and rubbish that littered it. Stealing round, I suddenly\npresented myself at the opening to his den, when the dogs rose up with a\ngrowl and Nuflo instantly leaped to his feet, knife in hand.\n\n\"Aha, old man,\" I cried, with a laugh, \"I have found you at one of your\nvegetarian repasts; and your grass-eating dogs as well!\"\n\nHe was disconcerted and suspicious, but when I explained that I had seen\na smoke while on the hills, where I had gone to search for a curious\nblue flower which grew in such places, and had made my way to it to\ndiscover the cause, he recovered confidence and invited me to join him\nat his dinner of roast meat.\n\nI was hungry by this time and not sorry to get animal food once more;\nnevertheless, I ate this meat with some disgust, as it had a rank taste\nand smell, and it was also unpleasant to have those evil-looking dogs\nsavagely gnawing at the animal\'s head and feet at the same time.\n\n\"You see,\" said the old hypocrite, wiping the grease from his moustache,\n\"this is what I am compelled to do in order to avoid giving offence. My\ngranddaughter is a strange being, sir, as you have perhaps observed--\"\n\n\"That reminds me,\" I interrupted, \"that I wish you to relate her history\nto me. She is, as you say, strange, and has speech and faculties unlike\nours, which shows that she comes of a different race.\"\n\n\"No, no, her faculties are not different from ours. They are sharper,\nthat is all. It pleases the All-Powerful to give more to some than to\nothers. Not all the fingers on the hand are alike. You will find a man\nwho will take up a guitar and make it speak, while I--\"\n\n\"All that I understand,\" I broke in again. \"But her origin, her\nhistory--that is what I wish to hear.\"\n\n\"And that, sir, is precisely what I am about to relate. Poor child,\nshe was left on my hands by her sainted mother--my daughter, sir--who\nperished young. Now, her birthplace, where she was taught letters and\nthe Catechism by the priest, was in an unhealthy situation. It was\nhot and wet--always wet--a place suited to frogs rather than to human\nbeings. At length, thinking that it would suit the child better--for she\nwas pale and weakly--to live in a drier atmosphere among mountains, I\nbrought her to this district. For this, senor, and for all I have done\nfor her, I look for no reward here, but to that place where my daughter\nhas got her foot; not, sir, on the threshold, as you might think, but\nwell inside. For, after all, it is to the authorities above, in spite of\nsome blots which we see in their administration, that we must look for\njustice. Frankly, sir, this is the whole story of my granddaughter\'s\norigin.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" I returned, \"your story explains why she can call a wild bird\nto her hand, and touch a venomous serpent with her bare foot and receive\nno harm.\"\n\n\"Doubtless you are right,\" said the old dissembler. \"Living alone in the\nwood, she had only God\'s creatures to play and make friends with; and\nwild animals, I have heard it said, know those who are friendly towards\nthem.\"\n\n\"You treat her friends badly,\" said I, kicking the long tail of the\ncoatimundi away with my foot, and regretting that I had joined in his\nrepast.\n\n\"Senor, you must consider that we are only what Heaven made us. When all\nthis was formed,\" he continued, opening his arms wide to indicate the\nentire creation, \"the Person who concerned Himself with this matter gave\nseeds and fruitless and nectar of flowers for the sustentation of His\nsmall birds. But we have not their delicate appetites. The more robust\nstomach which he gave to man cries out for meat. Do you understand? But\nof all this, friend, not one word to Rima!\"\n\nI laughed scornfully. \"Do you think me such a child, old man, as to\nbelieve that Rima, that little sprite, does not know that you are an\neater of flesh? Rima, who is everywhere in the wood, seeing all things,\neven if I lift my hand against a serpent, she herself unseen.\"\n\n\"But, sir, if you will pardon my presumption, you are saying too much.\nShe does not come here, and therefore cannot see that I eat meat. In all\nthat wood where she flourishes and sings, where she is in her house and\ngarden, and mistress of the creatures, even of the small butterfly with\npainted wings, there, sir, I hunt no animal. Nor will my dogs chase any\nanimal there. That is what I meant when I said that if an animal should\nstumble against their legs, they would lift up their noses and pass on\nwithout seeing it. For in that wood there is one law, the law that Rima\nimposes, and outside of it a different law.\"\n\n\"I am glad that you have told me this,\" I replied. \"The thought that\nRima might be near, and, unseen herself, look in upon us feeding with\nthe dogs and, like dogs, on flesh, was one which greatly troubled my\nmind.\"\n\nHe glanced at me in his usual quick, cunning way.\n\n\"Ah, senor, you have that feeling too--after so short a time with us!\nConsider, then, what it must be for me, unable to nourish myself on gums\nand fruitlets, and that little sweetness made by wasps out of flowers,\nwhen I am compelled to go far away and eat secretly to avoid giving\noffence.\"\n\nIt was hard, no doubt, but I did not pity him; secretly I could only\nfeel anger against him for refusing to enlighten me, while making such\na presence of openness; and I also felt disgusted with myself for having\njoined him in his rank repast. But dissimulation was necessary, and so,\nafter conversing a little more on indifferent topics, and thanking him\nfor his hospitality, I left him alone to go on with his smoky task.\n\nOn my way back to the lodge, fearing that some taint of Nuflo\'s\nevil-smelling den and dinner might still cling to me, I turned aside to\nwhere a streamlet in the wood widened and formed a deep pool, to take\na plunge in the water. After drying myself in the air, and thoroughly\nventilating my garments by shaking and beating them, I found an open,\nshady spot in the wood and threw myself on the grass to wait for evening\nbefore returning to the house. By that time the sweet, warm air would\nhave purified me. Besides, I did not consider that I had sufficiently\npunished Rima for her treatment of me. She would be anxious for my\nsafety, perhaps even looking for me everywhere in the wood. It was not\nmuch to make her suffer one day after she had made me miserable for\nthree; and perhaps when she discovered that I could exist without her\nsociety she would begin to treat me less capriciously.\n\nSo ran my thoughts as I rested on the warm ground, gazing up into the\nfoliage, green as young grass in the lower, shady parts, and above\nluminous with the bright sunlight, and full of the murmuring sounds of\ninsect life. My every action, word, thought, had my feeling for Rima\nas a motive. Why, I began to ask myself, was Rima so much to me? It was\neasy to answer that question: Because nothing so exquisite had ever been\ncreated. All the separate and fragmentary beauty and melody and\ngraceful motion found scattered throughout nature were concentrated and\nharmoniously combined in her. How various, how luminous, how divine she\nwas! A being for the mind to marvel at, to admire continually, finding\nsome new grace and charm every hour, every moment, to add to the old.\nAnd there was, besides, the fascinating mystery surrounding her origin\nto arouse and keep my interest in her continually active.\n\nThat was the easy answer I returned to the question I had asked myself.\nBut I knew that there was another answer--a reason more powerful than\nthe first. And I could no longer thrust it back, or hide its shining\nface with the dull, leaden mask of mere intellectual curiosity. BECAUSE\nI LOVED HER; loved her as I had never loved before, never could love\nany other being, with a passion which had caught something of her\nown brilliance and intensity, making a former passion look dim and\ncommonplace in comparison--a feeling known to everyone, something old\nand worn out, a weariness even to think of.\n\nFrom these reflections I was roused by the plaintive three-syllable call\nof an evening bird--a nightjar common in these woods; and was surprised\nto find that the sun had set, and the woods already shadowed with the\ntwilight. I started up and began hurriedly walking homewards, thinking\nof Rima, and was consumed with impatience to see her; and as I drew near\nto the house, walking along a narrow path which I knew, I suddenly met\nher face to face. Doubtless she had heard my approach, and instead of\nshrinking out of the path and allowing me to pass on without seeing her,\nas she would have done on the previous day, she had sprung forward to\nmeet me. I was struck with wonder at the change in her as she came with\na swift, easy motion, like a flying bird, her hands outstretched as if\nto clasp mine, her lips parted in a radiant, welcoming smile, her eyes\nsparkling with joy.\n\nI started forward to meet her, but had no sooner touched her hands than\nher countenance changed, and she shrunk back trembling, as if the touch\nhad chilled her warm blood; and moving some feet away, she stood with\ndowncast eyes, pale and sorrowful as she had seemed yesterday. In vain I\nimplored her to tell me the cause of this change and of the trouble she\nevidently felt; her lips trembled as if with speech, but she made no\nreply, and only shrunk further away when I attempted to approach her;\nand at length, moving aside from the path, she was lost to sight in the\ndusky leafage.\n\nI went on alone, and sat outside for some time, until old Nuflo returned\nfrom his hunting; and only after he had gone in and had made the fire\nburn up did Rima make her appearance, silent and constrained as ever.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nOn the following day Rima continued in the same inexplicable humour; and\nfeeling my defeat keenly, I determined once more to try the effect of\nabsence on her, and to remain away on this occasion for a longer period.\nLike old Nuflo, I was secret in going forth next morning, waiting until\nthe girl was out of the way, then slipping off among the bushes into\nthe deeper wood; and finally quitting its shelter, I set out across the\nsavannah towards my old quarters. Great was my surprise on arriving\nat the village to find no person there. At first I imagined that my\ndisappearance in the forest of evil fame had caused them to abandon\ntheir home in a panic; but on looking round I concluded that my friends\nhad only gone on one of their periodical visits to some neighbouring\nvillage. For when these Indians visit their neighbours they do it in a\nvery thorough manner; they all go, taking with them their entire stock\nof provisions, their cooking utensils, weapons, hammocks, and even\ntheir pet animals. Fortunately in this case they had not taken quite\neverything; my hammock was there, also one small pot, some cassava\nbread, purple potatoes, and a few ears of maize. I concluded that these\nhad been left for me in the event of my return; also that they had not\nbeen gone very many hours, since a log of wood buried under the ashes\nof the hearth was still alight. Now, as their absences from home usually\nlast many days, it was plain that I would have the big naked barn-like\nhouse to myself for as long as I thought proper to remain, with little\nfood to eat; but the prospect did not disturb me, and I resolved to\namuse myself with music. In vain I hunted for my guitar; the Indians\nhad taken it to delight their friends by twanging its strings. At odd\nmoments during the last day or two I had been composing a simple melody\nin my brain, fitting it to ancient words; and now, without an instrument\nto assist me, I began softly singing to myself:\n\n Muy mas clara que la luna\n Sola una\n en el mundo vos nacistes.\n\nAfter music I made up the fire and parched an ear of maize for my\ndinner, and while laboriously crunching the dry hard grain I thanked\nHeaven for having bestowed on me such good molars. Finally I slung my\nhammock in its old corner, and placing myself in it in my favourite\noblique position, my hands clasped behind my head, one knee cocked up,\nthe other leg dangling down, I resigned myself to idle thought. I felt\nvery happy. How strange, thought I, with a little self-flattery, that\nI, accustomed to the agreeable society of intelligent men and charming\nwomen, and of books, should find such perfect contentment here! But I\ncongratulated myself too soon. The profound silence began at length to\noppress me. It was not like the forest, where one has wild birds for\ncompany, where their cries, albeit inarticulate, have a meaning and give\na charm to solitude. Even the sight and whispered sounds of green leaves\nand rushes trembling in the wind have for us something of intelligence\nand sympathy; but I could not commune with mud walls and an earthen pot.\nFeeling my loneliness too acutely, I began to regret that I had left\nRima, then to feel remorse at the secrecy I had practiced. Even now\nwhile I inclined idly in my hammock, she would be roaming the forest in\nsearch of me, listening for my footsteps, fearing perhaps that I had\nmet with some accident where there was no person to succour me. It was\npainful to think of her in this way, of the pain I had doubtless given\nher by stealing off without a word of warning. Springing to the floor, I\nflung out of the house and went down to the stream. It was better there,\nfor now the greatest heat of the day was over, and the weltering sun\nbegan to look large and red and rayless through the afternoon haze.\n\nI seated myself on a stone within a yard or two of the limpid water; and\nnow the sight of nature and the warm, vital air and sunshine infected\nmy spirit and made it possible for me to face the position calmly,\neven hopefully. The position was this: for some days the idea had been\npresent in my mind, and was now fixed there, that this desert was to\nbe my permanent home. The thought of going back to Caracas, that little\nParis in America, with its Old World vices, its idle political passions,\nits empty round of gaieties, was unendurable. I was changed, and this\nchange--so great, so complete--was proof that the old artificial life\nhad not been and could not be the real one, in harmony with my deeper\nand truer nature. I deceived myself, you will say, as I have often\nmyself said. I had and I had not. It is too long a question to\ndiscuss here; but just then I felt that I had quitted the hot, tainted\natmosphere of the ballroom, that the morning air of heaven refreshed and\nelevated me and was sweet to breathe. Friends and relations I had who\nwere dear to me; but I could forget them, even as I could forget the\nsplendid dreams which had been mine. And the woman I had loved, and\nwho perhaps loved me in return--I could forget her too. A daughter of\ncivilization and of that artificial life, she could never experience\nsuch feelings as these and return to nature as I was doing. For women,\nthough within narrow limits more plastic than men, are yet without that\nlarger adaptiveness which can take us back to the sources of life, which\nthey have left eternally behind. Better, far better for both of us that\nshe should wait through the long, slow months, growing sick at heart\nwith hope deferred; that, seeing me no more, she should weep my loss,\nand be healed at last by time, and find love and happiness again in the\nold way, in the old place.\n\nAnd while I thus sat thinking, sadly enough, but not despondingly, of\npast and present and future, all at once on the warm, still air came\nthe resonant, far-reaching KLING-KLANG of the campanero from some leafy\nsummit half a league away. KLING-KLANG fell the sound again, and\noften again, at intervals, affecting me strangely at that moment, so\nbell-like, so like the great wide-travelling sounds associated in our\nminds with Christian worship. And yet so unlike. A bell, yet not made of\ngross metal dug out of earth, but of an ethereal, sublimer material\nthat floats impalpable and invisible in space--a vital bell suspended on\nnothing, giving out sounds in harmony with the vastness of blue heaven,\nthe unsullied purity of nature, the glory of the sun, and conveying a\nmystic, a higher message to the soul than the sounds that surge from\ntower and belfry.\n\nO mystic bell-bird of the heavenly race of the swallow and dove, the\nquetzal and the nightingale! When the brutish savage and the brutish\nwhite man that slay thee, one for food, the other for the benefit of\nscience, shall have passed away, live still, live to tell thy message to\nthe blameless spiritualized race that shall come after us to possess the\nearth, not for a thousand years, but for ever; for how much shall thy\nvoice be our clarified successors when even to my dull, unpurged soul\nthou canst speak such high things and bring it a sense of an impersonal,\nall-compromising One who is in me and I in Him, flesh of His flesh and\nsoul of His soul.\n\nThe sounds ceased, but I was still in that exalted mood and, like a\nperson in a trance, staring fixedly before me into the open wood of\nscattered dwarf trees on the other side of the stream, when suddenly on\nthe field of vision appeared a grotesque human figure moving towards me.\nI started violently, astonished and a little alarmed, but in a very\nfew moments I recognized the ancient Cla-cla, coming home with a large\nbundle of dry sticks on her shoulders, bent almost double under the\nburden, and still ignorant of my presence. Slowly she came down to the\nstream, then cautiously made her way over the line of stepping-stones\nby which it was crossed; and only when within ten yards did the old\ncreature catch sight of me sitting silent and motionless in her path.\nWith a sharp cry of amazement and terror she straightened herself up,\nthe bundle of sticks dropping to the ground, and turned to run from\nme. That, at all events, seemed her intention, for her body was thrown\nforward, and her head and arms working like those of a person going at\nfull speed, but her legs seemed paralysed and her feet remained planted\non the same spot. I burst out laughing; whereat she twisted her neck\nuntil her wrinkled, brown old face appeared over her shoulder staring at\nme. This made me laugh again, whereupon she straightened herself up once\nmore and turned round to have a good look at me.\n\n\"Come, Cla-cla,\" I cried; \"can you not see that I am a living man and no\nspirit? I thought no one had remained behind to keep me company and give\nme food. Why are you not with the others?\"\n\n\"Ah, why!\" she returned tragically. And then deliberately turning\nfrom me and assuming a most unladylike attitude, she slapped herself\nvigorously on the small of the back, exclaiming: \"Because of my pain\nhere!\"\n\nAs she continued in that position with her back towards me for some\ntime, I laughed once more and begged her to explain.\n\nSlowly she turned round and advanced cautiously towards me, staring at\nme all the time. Finally, still eyeing me suspiciously, she related that\nthe others had all gone on a visit to a distant village, she starting\nwith them; that after going some distance a pain had attacked her in her\nhind quarters, so sudden and acute that it had instantly brought her to\na full stop; and to illustrate how full the stop was she allowed herself\nto go down, very unnecessarily, with a flop to the ground. But she no\nsooner touched the ground than up she started to her feet again, with\nan alarmed look on her owlish face, as if she had sat down on a\nstinging-nettle.\n\n\"We thought you were dead,\" she remarked, still thinking that I might be\na ghost after all.\n\n\"No, still alive,\" I said. \"And so because you came to the ground with\nyour pain, they left you behind! Well, never mind, Cla-cla, we are two\nnow and must try to be happy together.\"\n\nBy this time she had recovered from her fear and began to feel highly\npleased at my return, only lamenting that she had no meat to give\nme. She was anxious to hear my adventures, and the reason of my long\nabsence. I had no wish to gratify her curiosity, with the truth at all\nevents, knowing very well that with regard to the daughter of the Didi\nher feelings were as purely savage and malignant as those of Kua-ko. But\nit was necessary to say something, and, fortifying myself with the good\nold Spanish notion that lies told to the heathen are not recorded, I\nrelated that a venomous serpent had bitten me; after which a terrible\nthunderstorm had surprised me in the forest, and night coming on\nprevented my escape from it; then, next day, remembering that he who is\nbitten by a serpent dies, and not wishing to distress my friends with\nthe sight of my dissolution, I elected to remain, sitting there in the\nwood, amusing myself by singing songs and smoking cigarettes; and after\nseveral days and nights had gone by, finding that I was not going to die\nafter all, and beginning to feel hungry, I got up and came back.\n\nOld Cla-cla looked very serious, shaking and nodding her head a great\ndeal, muttering to herself; finally she gave it as her opinion that\nnothing ever would or could kill me; but whether my story had been\nbelieved or not she only knew.\n\nI spent an amusing evening with my old savage hostess. She had thrown\noff her ailments and, pleased at having a companion in her dreary\nsolitude, she was good-tempered and talkative, and much more inclined to\nlaugh than when the others were present, when she was on her dignity.\n\nWe sat by the fire, cooking such food as we had, and talked and smoked;\nthen I sang her songs in Spanish with that melody of my own--\n\n Muy mas clara que la luna;\n\nand she rewarded me by emitting a barbarous chant in a shrill, screechy\nvoice; and finally, starting up, I danced for her benefit polka,\nmazurka, and valse, whistling and singing to my motions.\n\nMore than once during the evening she tried to introduce serious\nsubjects, telling me that I must always live with them, learn to shoot\nthe birds and catch the fishes, and have a wife; and then she would\nspeak of her granddaughter Oalava, whose virtues it was proper to\nmention, but whose physical charms needed no description since they had\nnever been concealed. Each time she got on this topic I cut her short,\nvowing that if I ever married she only should be my wife. She informed\nme that she was old and past her fruitful period; that not much longer\nwould she make cassava bread, and blow the fire to a flame with her\nwheezy old bellows, and talk the men to sleep at night. But I stuck to\nit that she was young and beautiful, that our descendants would be more\nnumerous than the birds in the forest. I went out to some bushes close\nby, where I had noticed a passion plant in bloom, and gathering a few\nsplendid scarlet blossoms with their stems and leaves, I brought them in\nand wove them into a garland for the old dame\'s head; then I pulled her\nup, in spite of screams and struggles, and waltzed her wildly to the\nother end of the room and back again to her seat beside the fire. And\nas she sat there, panting and grinning with laughter, I knelt before her\nand, with suitable passionate gestures, declaimed again the old delicate\nlines sung by Mena before Columbus sailed the seas:\n\n Muy mas clara que la luna\n Sola una\n en el mundo vos nacistes\n tan gentil, que no vecistes\n ni tavistes\n competedora ninguna\n Desdi ninez en la cuna\n cobrastes fama, beldad, con tanta graciosidad,\n que vos doto la fortuna.\n\nThinking of another all the time! O poor old Cla-cla, knowing not what\nthe jingle meant nor the secret of my wild happiness, now when I recall\nyou sitting there, your old grey owlish head crowned with scarlet\npassion flowers, flushed with firelight, against the background of\nsmoke-blackened walls and rafters, how the old undying sorrow comes back\nto me!\n\nThus our evening was spent, merrily enough; then we made up the fire\nwith hard wood that would last all night, and went to our hammocks, but\nwakeful still. The old dame, glad and proud to be on duty once more,\nreligiously went to work to talk me to sleep; but although I called out\nat intervals to encourage her to go on, I did not attempt to follow the\nancient tales she told, which she had imbibed in childhood from other\nwhite-headed grandmothers long, long turned to dust. My own brain was\nbusy thinking, thinking, thinking now of the woman I had once loved, far\naway in Venezuela, waiting and weeping and sick with hope deferred;\nnow of Rima, wakeful and listening to the mysterious nightsounds of the\nforest--listening, listening for my returning footsteps.\n\nNext morning I began to waver in my resolution to remain absent from\nRima for some days; and before evening my passion, which I had now\nceased to struggle against, coupled with the thought that I had acted\nunkindly in leaving her, that she would be a prey to anxiety, overcame\nme, and I was ready to return. The old woman, who had been suspiciously\nwatching my movements, rushed out after me as I left the house, crying\nout that a storm was brewing, that it was too late to go far, and\nnight would be full of danger. I waved my hand in good-bye, laughingly\nreminding her that I was proof against all perils. Little she cared what\nevil might befall me, I thought; but she loved not to be alone; even for\nher, low down as she was intellectually, the solitary earthen pot had\nno \"mind stuff\" in it, and could not be sent to sleep at night with the\nlegends of long ago.\n\nBy the time I reached the ridge, I had discovered that she had\nprophesied truly, for now an ominous change had come over nature. A dull\ngrey vapour had overspread the entire western half of the heavens;\ndown, beyond the forest, the sky looked black as ink, and behind this\nblackness the sun had vanished. It was too late to go back now; I had\nbeen too long absent from Rima, and could only hope to reach Nuflo\'s\nlodge, wet or dry, before night closed round me in the forest.\n\nFor some moments I stood still on the ridge, struck by the somewhat\nweird aspect of the shadowed scene before me--the long strip of dull\nuniform green, with here and there a slender palm lifting its feathery\ncrown above the other trees, standing motionless, in strange relief\nagainst the advancing blackness. Then I set out once more at a run,\ntaking advantage of the downward slope to get well on my way before the\ntempest should burst. As I approached the wood, there came a flash of\nlightning, pale, but covering the whole visible sky, followed after a\nlong interval by a distant roll of thunder, which lasted several seconds\nand ended with a succession of deep throbs. It was as if Nature herself,\nin supreme anguish and abandonment, had cast herself prone on the earth,\nand her great heart had throbbed audibly, shaking the world with its\nbeats. No more thunder followed, but the rain was coming down heavily\nnow in huge drops that fell straight through the gloomy, windless air.\nIn half a minute I was drenched to the skin; but for a short time\nthe rain seemed an advantage, as the brightness of the falling water\nlessened the gloom, turning the air from dark to lighter grey. This\nsubdued rain-light did not last long: I had not been twenty minutes\nin the wood before a second and greater darkness fell on the earth,\naccompanied by an even more copious downpour of water. The sun had\nevidently gone down, and the whole sky was now covered with one thick\ncloud. Becoming more nervous as the gloom increased, I bent my steps\nmore to the south, so as to keep near the border and more open part of\nthe wood. Probably I had already grown confused before deviating and\nturned the wrong way, for instead of finding the forest easier, it\ngrew closer and more difficult as I advanced. Before many minutes the\ndarkness so increased that I could no longer distinguish objects more\nthan five feet from my eyes. Groping blindly along, I became entangled\nin a dense undergrowth, and after struggling and stumbling along for\nsome distance in vain endeavours to get through it, I came to a stand\nat last in sheer despair. All sense of direction was now lost: I was\nentombed in thick blackness--blackness of night and cloud and rain and\nof dripping foliage and network of branches bound with bush ropes and\ncreepers in a wild tangle. I had struggled into a hollow, or hole, as\nit were, in the midst of that mass of vegetation, where I could stand\nupright and turn round and round without touching anything; but when I\nput out my hands they came into contact with vines and bushes. To move\nfrom that spot seemed folly; yet how dreadful to remain there standing\non the sodden earth, chilled with rain, in that awful blackness in which\nthe only luminous thing one could look to see would be the eyes, shining\nwith their own internal light, of some savage beast of prey! Yet the\ndanger, the intense physical discomfort, and the anguish of looking\nforward to a whole night spent in that situation stung my heart less\nthan the thought of Rima\'s anxiety and of the pain I had carelessly\ngiven by secretly leaving her.\n\nIt was then, with that pang in my heart, that I was startled by hearing,\nclose by, one of her own low, warbled expressions. There could be no\nmistake; if the forest had been full of the sounds of animal life\nand songs of melodious birds, her voice would have been instantly\ndistinguished from all others. How mysterious, how infinitely tender it\nsounded in that awful blackness!--so musical and exquisitely modulated,\nso sorrowful, yet piercing my heart with a sudden, unutterable joy.\n\n\"Rima! Rima!\" I cried. \"Speak again. Is it you? Come to me here.\"\n\nAgain that low, warbling sound, or series of sounds, seemingly from\na distance of a few yards. I was not disturbed at her not replying in\nSpanish: she had always spoken it somewhat reluctantly, and only when\nat my side; but when calling to me from some distance she would return\ninstinctively to her own mysterious language, and call to me as bird\ncalls to bird. I knew that she was inviting me to follow her, but I\nrefused to move.\n\n\"Rima,\" I cried again, \"come to me here, for I know not where to step,\nand cannot move until you are at my side and I can feel your hand.\"\n\nThere came no response, and after some moments, becoming alarmed, I\ncalled to her again.\n\nThen close by me, in a low, trembling voice, she returned: \"I am here.\"\n\nI put out my hand and touched something soft and wet; it was her breast,\nand moving my hand higher up, I felt her hair, hanging now and streaming\nwith water. She was trembling, and I thought the rain had chilled her.\n\n\"Rima--poor child! How wet you are! How strange to meet you in such a\nplace! Tell me, dear Rima, how did you find me?\"\n\n\"I was waiting--watching--all day. I saw you coming across the savannah,\nand followed at a distance through the wood.\"\n\n\"And I had treated you so unkindly! Ah, my guardian angel, my light in\nthe darkness, how I hate myself for giving you pain! Tell me, sweet, did\nyou wish me to come back and live with you again?\" She made no reply.\nThen, running my fingers down her arm, I took her hand in mine. It was\nhot, like the hand of one in a fever. I raised it to my lips and then\nattempted to draw her to me, but she slipped down and out of my arms to\nmy feet. I felt her there, on her knees, with head bowed low. Stooping\nand putting my arm round her body, I drew her up and held her against my\nbreast, and felt her heart throbbing wildly. With many endearing words I\nbegged her to speak to me; but her only reply was: \"Come--come,\" as she\nslipped again out of my arms and, holding my hand in hers, guided me\nthrough the bushes.\n\nBefore long we came to an open path or glade, where the darkness was not\nprofound; and releasing my hand, she began walking rapidly before me,\nalways keeping at such a distance as just enabled me to distinguish her\ngrey, shadowy figure, and with frequent doublings to follow the natural\npaths and openings which she knew so well. In this way we kept on nearly\nto the end, without exchanging a word, and hearing no sound except the\ncontinuous rush of rain, which to our accustomed ears had ceased to\nhave the effect of sound, and the various gurgling noises of innumerable\nrunners. All at once, as we came to a more open place, a strip of bright\nfirelight appeared before us, shining from the half-open door of Nuflo\'s\nlodge. She turned round as much as to say: \"Now you know where you are,\"\nthen hurried on, leaving me to follow as best I could.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nThere was a welcome change in the weather when I rose early next\nmorning; the sky was without cloud and had that purity in its colour\nand look of infinite distance seen only when the atmosphere is free from\nvapour. The sun had not yet risen, but old Nuflo was already among the\nashes, on his hands and knees, blowing the embers he had uncovered to a\nflame. Then Rima appeared only to pass through the room with quick light\ntread to go out of the door without a word or even a glance at my face.\nThe old man, after watching at the door for a few minutes, turned\nand began eagerly questioning me about my adventures on the previous\nevening. In reply I related to him how the girl had found me in the\nforest lost and unable to extricate myself from the tangled undergrowth.\n\nHe rubbed his hands on his knees and chuckled. \"Happy for you, senor,\"\nhe said, \"that my granddaughter regards you with such friendly eyes,\notherwise you might have perished before morning. Once she was at your\nside, no light, whether of sun or moon or lantern, was needed, nor that\nsmall instrument which is said to guide a man aright in the desert, even\nin the darkest night--let him that can believe such a thing!\"\n\n\"Yes, happy for me,\" I returned. \"I am filled with remorse that it was\nall through my fault that the poor child was exposed to such weather.\"\n\n\"O senor,\" he cried airily, \"let not that distress you! Rain and wind\nand hot suns, from which we seek shelter, do not harm her. She takes no\ncold, and no fever, with or without ague.\"\n\nAfter some further conversation I left him to steal away unobserved on\nhis own account, and set out for a ramble in the hope of encountering\nRima and winning her to talk to me.\n\nMy quest did not succeed: not a glimpse of her delicate shadowy form did\nI catch among the trees; and not one note from her melodious lips came\nto gladden me. At noon I returned to the house, where I found food\nplaced ready for me, and knew that she had come there during my absence\nand had not been forgetful of my wants. \"Shall I thank you for this?\" I\nsaid. \"I ask you for heavenly nectar for the sustentation of the higher\nwinged nature in me, and you give me a boiled sweet potato, toasted\nstrips of sun-dried pumpkins, and a handful of parched maize! Rima!\nRima! my woodland fairy, my sweet saviour, why do you yet fear me? Is it\nthat love struggles in you with repugnance? Can you discern with clear\nspiritual eyes the grosser elements in me, and hate them; or has some\nfalse imagination made me appear all dark and evil, but too late for\nyour peace, after the sweet sickness of love has infected you?\"\n\nBut she was not there to answer me, and so after a time I went forth\nagain and seated myself listlessly on the root of an old tree not\nfar from the house. I had sat there a full hour when all at once Rima\nappeared at my side. Bending forward, she touched my hand, but without\nglancing at my face; \"Come with me,\" she said, and turning, moved\nswiftly towards the northern extremity of the forest. She seemed to\ntake it for granted that I would follow, never casting a look behind nor\npausing in her rapid walk; but I was only too glad to obey and, starting\nup, was quickly after her. She led me by easy ways, familiar to her,\nwith many doublings to escape the undergrowth, never speaking or pausing\nuntil we came out from the thick forest, and I found myself for the\nfirst time at the foot of the great hill or mountain Ytaioa. Glancing\nback for a few moments, she waved a hand towards the summit, and then\nat once began the ascent. Here too it seemed all familiar ground to her.\nFrom below, the sides had presented an exceedingly rugged appearance--a\nwild confusion of huge jagged rocks, mixed with a tangled vegetation\nof trees, bushes, and vines; but following her in all her doublings, it\nbecame easy enough, although it fatigued me greatly owing to our rapid\npace. The hill was conical, but I found that it had a flat top--an\noblong or pear-shaped area, almost level, of a soft, crumbly sandstone,\nwith a few blocks and boulders of a harder stone scattered about--and no\nvegetation, except the grey mountain lichen and a few sere-looking dwarf\nshrubs.\n\nHere Rima, at a distance of a few yards from me, remained standing still\nfor some minutes, as if to give me time to recover my breath; and I was\nright glad to sit down on a stone to rest. Finally she walked slowly\nto the centre of the level area, which was about two acres in extent;\nrising, I followed her and, climbing on to a huge block of stone, began\ngazing at the wide prospect spread out before me. The day was windless\nand bright, with only a few white clouds floating at a great height\nabove and casting travelling shadows over that wild, broken country,\nwhere forest, marsh, and savannah were only distinguishable by their\ndifferent colours, like the greys and greens and yellows on a map. At\na great distance the circle of the horizon was broken here and there by\nmountains, but the hills in our neighbourhood were all beneath our feet.\n\nAfter gazing all round for some minutes, I jumped down from my stand\nand, leaning against the stone, stood watching the girl, waiting for her\nto speak. I felt convinced that she had something of the very highest\nimportance (to herself) to communicate, and that only the pressing\nneed of a confidant, not Nuflo, had overcome her shyness of me; and I\ndetermined to let her take her own time to say it in her own way. For a\nwhile she continued silent, her face averted, but her little movements\nand the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers showed that she was\nanxious and her mind working. Suddenly, half turning to me, she began\nspeaking eagerly and rapidly.\n\n\"Do you see,\" she said, waving her hand to indicate the whole circuit of\nearth, \"how large it is? Look!\" pointing now to mountains in the west.\n\"Those are the Vahanas--one, two, three--the highest--I can tell you\ntheir names--Vahana-Chara, Chumi, Aranoa. Do you see that water? It is\na river, called Guaypero. From the hills it comes down, Inaruna is their\nname, and you can see them there in the south--far, far.\" And in this\nway she went on pointing out and naming all the mountains and rivers\nwithin sight. Then she suddenly dropped her hands to her sides and\ncontinued: \"That is all. Because we can see no further. But the world is\nlarger than that! Other mountains, other rivers. Have I not told you of\nVoa, on the River Voa, where I was born, where mother died, where the\npriest taught me, years, years ago? All that you cannot see, it is so\nfar away--so far.\"\n\nI did not laugh at her simplicity, nor did I smile or feel any\ninclination to smile. On the contrary, I only experienced a sympathy so\nkeen that it was like pain while watching her clouded face, so changeful\nin its expression, yet in all changes so wistful. I could not yet form\nany idea as to what she wished to communicate or to discover, but seeing\nthat she paused for a reply, I answered: \"The world is so large, Rima,\nthat we can only see a very small portion of it from any one spot. Look\nat this,\" and with a stick I had used to aid me in my ascent I traced\na circle six or seven inches in circumference on the soft stone, and in\nits centre placed a small pebble. \"This represents the mountain we\nare standing on,\" I continued, touching the pebble; \"and this\nline encircling it encloses all of the earth we can see from the\nmountain-top. Do you understand?--the line I have traced is the blue\nline of the horizon beyond which we cannot see. And outside of this\nlittle circle is all the flat top of Ytaioa representing the world.\nConsider, then, how small a portion of the world we can see from this\nspot!\"\n\n\"And do you know it all?\" she returned excitedly. \"All the world?\"\nwaving her hand to indicate the little stone plain. \"All the mountains,\nand rivers, and forests--all the people in the world?\"\n\n\"That would be impossible, Rima; consider how large it is.\"\n\n\"That does not matter. Come, let us go together--we two and\ngrandfather--and see all the world; all the mountains and forests, and\nknow all the people.\"\n\n\"You do not know what you are saying, Rima. You might as well say:\n\'Come, let us go to the sun and find out everything in it.\'\"\n\n\"It is you who do not know what you are saying,\" she retorted, with\nbrightening eyes which for a moment glanced full into mine. \"We have no\nwings like birds to fly to the sun. Am I not able to walk on the earth,\nand run? Can I not swim? Can I not climb every mountain?\"\n\n\"No, you cannot. You imagine that all the earth is like this little\nportion you see. But it is not all the same. There are great rivers\nwhich you cannot cross by swimming; mountains you cannot climb; forests\nyou cannot penetrate--dark, and inhabited by dangerous beasts, and so\nvast that all this space your eyes look on is a mere speck of earth in\ncomparison.\"\n\nShe listened excitedly. \"Oh, do you know all that?\" she cried, with a\nstrangely brightening look; and then half turning from me, she added,\nwith sudden petulance: \"Yet only a minute ago you knew nothing of the\nworld--because it is so large! Is anything to be gained by speaking to\none who says such contrary things?\"\n\nI explained that I had not contradicted myself, that she had not rightly\ninterpreted my words. I knew, I said, something about the principal\nfeatures of the different countries of the world, as, for instance, the\nlargest mountain ranges, and rivers, and the cities. Also something,\nbut very little, about the tribes of savage men. She heard me with\nimpatience, which made me speak rapidly, in very general terms; and to\nsimplify the matter I made the world stand for the continent we were\nin. It seemed idle to go beyond that, and her eagerness would not have\nallowed it.\n\n\"Tell me all you know,\" she said the moment I ceased speaking. \"What is\nthere--and there--and there?\" pointing in various directions. \"Rivers\nand forests--they are nothing to me. The villages, the tribes, the\npeople everywhere; tell me, for I must know it all.\"\n\n\"It would take long to tell, Rima.\"\n\n\"Because you are so slow. Look how high the sun is! Speak, speak! What\nis there?\" pointing to the north.\n\n\"All that country,\" I said, waving my hands from east to west, \"is\nGuayana; and so large is it that you could go in this direction, or in\nthis, travelling for months, without seeing the end of Guayana. Still\nit would be Guayana; rivers, rivers, rivers, with forests between,\nand other forests and rivers beyond. And savage people, nations\nand tribes--Guahibo, Aguaricoto, Ayano, Maco, Piaroa, Quiriquiripo,\nTuparito--shall I name a hundred more? It would be useless, Rima; they\nare all savages, and live widely scattered in the forests, hunting with\nbow and arrow and the zabatana. Consider, then, how large Guayana is!\"\n\n\"Guayana--Guayana! Do I not know all this is Guayana? But beyond, and\nbeyond, and beyond? Is there no end to Guayana?\"\n\n\"Yes; there northwards it ends at the Orinoco, a mighty river, coming\nfrom mighty mountains, compared with which Ytaioa is like a stone on the\nground on which we have sat down to rest. You must know that guayana is\nonly a portion, a half, of our country, Venezuela. Look,\" I continued,\nputting my hand round my shoulder to touch the middle of my back, \"there\nis a groove running down my spine dividing my body into equal parts.\nThus does the great Orinoco divide Venezuela, and on one side of it is\nall Guayana; and on the other side the countries or provinces of Cumana,\nMaturm, Barcelona, Bolivar, Guarico, Apure, and many others.\" I then\ngave a rapid description of the northern half of the country, with its\nvast llanos covered with herds in one part, its plantations of coffee,\nrice, and sugar-cane in another, and its chief towns; last of all\nCaracas, the gay and opulent little Paris in America.\n\nThis seemed to weary her; but the moment I ceased speaking, and before\nI could well moisten my dry lips, she demanded to know what came after\nCaracas--after all Venezuela.\n\n\"The ocean--water, water, water,\" I replied.\n\n\"There are no people there--in the water; only fishes,\" she remarked;\nthen suddenly continued: \"Why are you silent--is Venezuela, then, all\nthe world?\"\n\nThe task I had set myself to perform seemed only at its commencement\nyet. Thinking how to proceed with it, my eyes roved over the level area\nwe were standing on, and it struck me that this little irregular plain,\nbroad at one end and almost pointed at the other, roughly resembled the\nSouth American continent in its form.\n\n\"Look, Rima,\" I began, \"here we are on this small pebble--Ytaioa; and\nthis line round it shuts us in--we cannot see beyond. Now let us imagine\nthat we can see beyond--that we can see the whole flat mountaintop; and\nthat, you know, is the whole world. Now listen while I tell you of all\nthe countries, and principal mountains, and rivers, and cities of the\nworld.\"\n\nThe plan I had now fixed on involved a great deal of walking about and\nsome hard work in moving and setting up stones and tracing boundary\nand other lines; but it gave me pleasure, for Rima was close by all\nthe time, following me from place to place, listening to all I said in\nsilence but with keen interest. At the broad end of the level summit I\nmarked out Venezuela, showing by means of a long line how the Orinoco\ndivided it, and also marking several of the greater streams flowing\ninto it. I also marked the sites of Caracas and other large towns\nwith stones; and rejoiced that we are not like the Europeans, great\ncity-builders, for the stones proved heavy to lift. Then followed\nColombia and Ecuador on the west; and, successively, Bolivia, Peru,\nChile, ending at last in the south with Patagonia, a cold arid land,\nbleak and desolate. I marked the littoral cities as we progressed\non that side, where earth ends and the Pacific Ocean begins, and\ninfinitude.\n\nThen, in a sudden burst of inspiration, I described the Cordilleras to\nher--that world-long, stupendous chain; its sea of Titicaca, and wintry,\ndesolate Paramo, where lie the ruins of Tiahuanaco, older than Thebes.\nI mentioned its principal cities--those small inflamed or festering\npimples that attract much attention from appearing on such a body.\nQuito, called--not in irony, but by its own people--the Splendid and\nthe Magnificent; so high above the earth as to appear but a little way\nremoved from heaven--\"de Quito al cielo,\" as the saying is. But of its\nsublime history, its kings and conquerors, Haymar Capac the Mighty,\nand Huascar, and Atahualpa the Unhappy, not one word. Many words--how\ninadequate!--of the summits, white with everlasting snows, above\nit--above this navel of the world, above the earth, the ocean, the\ndarkening tempest, the condor\'s flight. Flame-breathing Cotopaxi,\nwhose wrathful mutterings are audible two hundred leagues away, and\nChimborazo, Antisana, Sarata, Illimani, Aconcagua--names of mountains\nthat affect us like the names of gods, implacable Pachacamac and\nViracocha, whose everlasting granite thrones they are. At the last I\nshowed her Cuzco, the city of the sun, and the highest dwelling-place of\nmen on earth.\n\nI was carried away by so sublime a theme; and remembering that I had no\ncritical hearer, I gave free reins to fancy, forgetting for the moment\nthat some undiscovered thought or feeling had prompted her questions.\nAnd while I spoke of the mountains, she hung on my words, following me\nclosely in my walk, her countenance brilliant, her frame quivering with\nexcitement.\n\nThere yet remained to be described all that unimaginable space east of\nthe Andes; the rivers--what rivers!--the green plains that are like\nthe sea--the illimitable waste of water where there is no land--and the\nforest region. The very thought of the Amazonian forest made my spirit\ndroop. If I could have snatched her up and placed her on the dome of\nChimborazo she would have looked on an area of ten thousand square miles\nof earth, so vast is the horizon at that elevation. And possibly her\nimagination would have been able to clothe it all with an unbroken\nforest. Yet how small a portion this would be of the stupendous\nwhole--of a forest region equal in extent to the whole of Europe! All\nloveliness, all grace, all majesty are there; but we cannot see, cannot\nconceive--come away! From this vast stage, to be occupied in the distant\nfuture by millions and myriads of beings, like us of upright form, the\nnations that will be born when all the existing dominant races on the\nglobe and the civilizations they represent have perished as utterly as\nthose who sculptured the stones of old Tiahuanaco--from this theatre\nof palms prepared for a drama unlike any which the Immortals have yet\nwitnessed--I hurried away; and then slowly conducted her along the\nAtlantic coast, listening to the thunder of its great waves, and pausing\nat intervals to survey some maritime city.\n\nNever probably since old Father Noah divided the earth among his\nsons had so grand a geographical discourse been delivered; and having\nfinished, I sat down, exhausted with my efforts, and mopped my brow, but\nglad that my huge task was over, and satisfied that I had convinced her\nof the futility of her wish to see the world for herself.\n\nHer excitement had passed away by now. She was standing a little apart\nfrom me, her eyes cast down and thoughtful. At length she approached me\nand said, waving her hand all round: \"What is beyond the mountains over\nthere, beyond the cities on that side--beyond the world?\"\n\n\"Water, only water. Did I not tell you?\" I returned stoutly; for I had,\nof course, sunk the Isthmus of Panama beneath the sea.\n\n\n\"Water! All round?\" she persisted.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Water, and no beyond? Only water--always water?\"\n\nI could no longer adhere to so gross a lie. She was too intelligent, and\nI loved her too much. Standing up, I pointed to distant mountains and\nisolated peaks.\n\n\"Look at those peaks,\" I said. \"It is like that with the world--this\nworld we are standing on. Beyond that great water that flows all round\nthe world, but far away, so far that it would take months in a big boat\nto reach them, there are islands, some small, others as large as this\nworld. But, Rima, they are so far away, so impossible to reach, that it\nis useless to speak or to think of them. They are to us like the sun and\nmoon and stars, to which we cannot fly. And now sit down and rest by my\nside, for you know everything.\"\n\nShe glanced at me with troubled eyes.\n\n\"Nothing do I know--nothing have you told me. Did I not say that\nmountains and rivers and forests are nothing? Tell me about all the\npeople in the world. Look! there is Cuzco over there, a city like no\nother in the world--did you not tell me so? Of the people nothing. Are\nthey also different from all others in the world?\"\n\n\"I will tell you that if you will first answer me one question, Rima.\"\n\nShe drew a little nearer, curious to hear, but was silent.\n\n\"Promise that you will answer me,\" I persisted, and as she continued\nsilent, I added: \"Shall I not ask you, then?\"\n\n\"Say,\" she murmured.\n\n\"Why do you wish to know about the people of Cuzco?\"\n\nShe flashed a look at me, then averted her face. For some moments she\nstood hesitating; then, coming closer, touched me on the shoulder and\nsaid softly: \"Turn away, do not look at me.\"\n\nI obeyed, and bending so close that I felt her warm breath on my neck,\nshe whispered: \"Are the people in Cuzco like me? Would they understand\nme--the things you cannot understand? Do you know?\"\n\nHer tremulous voice betrayed her agitation, and her words, I imagined,\nrevealed the motive of her action in bringing me to the summit of\nYtaioa, and of her desire to visit and know all the various peoples\ninhabiting the world. She had begun to realize, after knowing me, her\nisolation and unlikeness to others, and at the same time to dream that\nall human beings might not be unlike her and unable to understand her\nmysterious speech and to enter into her thoughts and feelings.\n\n\"I can answer that question, Rima,\" I said. \"Ah, no, poor child, there\nare none there like you--not one, not one. Of all there--priests,\nsoldiers, merchants, workmen, white, black, red, and mixed; men and\nwomen, old and young, rich and poor, ugly and beautiful--not one would\nunderstand the sweet language you speak.\"\n\nShe said nothing, and glancing round, I discovered that she was walking\naway, her fingers clasped before her, her eyes cast down, and looking\nprofoundly dejected. Jumping up, I hurried after her. \"Listen!\" I said,\ncoming to her side. \"Do you know that there are others in the world like\nyou who would understand your speech?\"\n\n\"Oh, do I not! Yes--mother told me. I was young when you died, but, O\nmother, why did you not tell me more?\"\n\n\"But where?\"\n\n\"Oh, do you not think that I would go to them if I knew--that I would\nask?\"\n\n\"Does Nuflo know?\"\n\nShe shook her head, walking dejectedly along.\n\n\"But have you asked him?\" I persisted.\n\n\"Have I not! Not once--not a hundred times.\"\n\nSuddenly she paused. \"Look,\" she said, \"now we are standing in Guayana\nagain. And over there in Brazil, and up there towards the Cordilleras,\nit is unknown. And there are people there. Come, let us go and seek for\nmy mother\'s people in that place. With grandfather, but not the dogs;\nthey would frighten the animals and betray us by barking to cruel men\nwho would slay us with poisoned arrows.\"\n\n\"O Rima, can you not understand? It is too far. And your grandfather,\npoor old man, would die of weariness and hunger and old age in some\nstrange forest.\"\n\n\"Would he die--old grandfather? Then we could cover him up with palm\nleaves in the forest and leave him. It would not be grandfather; only\nhis body that must turn to dust. He would be away--away where the stars\nare. We should not die, but go on, and on, and on.\"\n\nTo continue the discussion seemed hopeless. I was silent, thinking of\nwhat I had heard--that there were others like her somewhere in that vast\ngreen world, so much of it imperfectly known, so many districts never\nyet explored by white men. True, it was strange that no report of such a\nrace had reached the ears of any traveller; yet here was Rima herself at\nmy side, a living proof that such a race did exist. Nuflo probably knew\nmore than he would say; I had failed, as we have seen, to win the secret\nfrom him by fair means, and could not have recourse to foul--the rack\nand thumbscrew--to wring it from him. To the Indians she was only\nan object of superstitious fear--a daughter of the Didi--and to them\nnothing of her origin was known. And she, poor girl, had only a vague\nremembrance of a few words heard in childhood from her mother, and\nprobably not rightly understood.\n\nWhile these thoughts had been passing through my mind, Rima had been\nstanding silent by, waiting, perhaps, for an answer to her last words.\nThen stooping, she picked up a small pebble and tossed it three or four\nyards away.\n\n\"Do you see where it fell?\" she cried, turning towards me. \"That is on\nthe border of Guayana--is it not? Let us go there first.\"\n\n\"Rima, how you distress me! We cannot go there. It is all a savage\nwilderness, almost unknown to men--a blank on the map--\"\n\n\"The map?--speak no word that I do not understand.\"\n\nIn a very few words I explained my meaning; even fewer would have\nsufficed, so quick was her apprehension.\n\n\"If it is a blank,\" she returned quickly, \"then you know of nothing\nto stop us--no river we cannot swim, and no great mountains like those\nwhere Quito is.\"\n\n\"But I happen to know, Rima, for it has been related to me by old\nIndians, that of all places that is the most difficult of access. There\nis a river there, and although it is not on the map, it would prove\nmore impassable to us than the mighty Orinoco and Amazon. It has vast\nmalarious swamps on its borders, overgrown with dense forest, teeming\nwith savage and venomous animals, so that even the Indians dare not\nventure near it. And even before the river is reached, there is a range\nof precipitous mountains called by the same name--just there where your\npebble fell--the mountains of Riolama--\"\n\nHardly had the name fallen from my lips before a change swift as\nlightning came over her countenance; all doubt, anxiety, petulance,\nhope, and despondence, and these in ever-varying degrees, chasing each\nother like shadows, had vanished, and she was instinct and burning with\nsome new powerful emotion which had flashed into her soul.\n\n\"Riolama! Riolama!\" she repeated so rapidly and in a tone so sharp that\nit tingled in the brain. \"That is the place I am seeking! There was\nmy mother found--there are her people and mine! Therefore was I called\nRiolama--that is my name!\"\n\n\"Rima!\" I returned, astonished at her words.\n\n\"No, no, no--Riolama. When I was a child, and the priest baptized me, he\nnamed me Riolama--the place where my mother was found. But it was long\nto say, and they called me Rima.\"\n\nSuddenly she became still and then cried in a ringing voice:\n\n\"And he knew it all along--that old man--he knew that Riolama was\nnear--only there where the pebble fell--that we could go there!\"\n\nWhile speaking she turned towards her home, pointing with raised hand.\nHer whole appearance now reminded me of that first meeting with her\nwhen the serpent bit me; the soft red of her irides shone like fire, her\ndelicate skin seemed to glow with an intense rose colour, and her frame\ntrembled with her agitation, so that her loose cloud of hair was in\nmotion as if blown through by the wind.\n\n\"Traitor! Traitor!\" she cried, still looking homewards and using quick,\npassionate gestures. \"It was all known to you, and you deceived me all\nthese years; even to me, Rima, you lied with your lips! Oh, horrible!\nWas there ever such a scandal known in Guayana? Come, follow me, let us\ngo at once to Riolama.\" And without so much as casting a glance behind\nto see whether I followed or no, she hurried away, and in a couple of\nminutes disappeared from sight over the edge of the flat summit. \"Rima!\nRima! Come back and listen to me! Oh, you are mad! Come back! Come\nback!\"\n\nBut she would not return or pause and listen; and looking after her,\nI saw her bounding down the rocky slope like some wild, agile creature\npossessed of padded hoofs and an infallible instinct; and before many\nminutes she vanished from sight among crabs and trees lower down.\n\n\"Nuflo, old man,\" said I, looking out towards his lodge, \"are there no\nshooting pains in those old bones of yours to warn you in time of the\ntempest about to burst on your head?\"\n\nThen I sat down to think.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTo follow impetuous, bird-like Rima in her descent of the hill would\nhave been impossible, nor had I any desire to be a witness of old\nNuflo\'s discomfiture at the finish. It was better to leave them to\nsettle their quarrel themselves, while I occupied myself in turning\nover these fresh facts in my mind to find out how they fitted into the\nspeculative structure I had been building during the last two or three\nweeks. But it soon struck me that it was getting late, that the sun\nwould be gone in a couple of hours; and at once I began the descent.\nIt was not accomplished without some bruises and a good many scratches.\nAfter a cold draught, obtained by putting my lips to a black rock from\nwhich the water was trickling, I set out on my walk home, keeping\nnear the western border of the forest for fear of losing myself. I had\ncovered about half the distance from the foot of the hill to Nuflo\'s\nlodge when the sun went down. Away on my left the evening uproar of the\nhowling monkeys burst out, and after three or four minutes ceased; the\nafter silence was pierced at intervals by screams of birds going to\nroost among the trees in the distance, and by many minor sounds close\nat hand, of small bird, frog, and insect. The western sky was now like\namber-coloured flame, and against that immeasurably distant luminous\nbackground the near branches and clustered foliage looked black; but on\nmy left hand the vegetation still appeared of a uniform dusky green. In\na little while night would drown all colour, and there would be no light\nbut that of the wandering lantern-fly, always unwelcome to the belated\nwalker in a lonely place, since, like the ignis fatuus, it is confusing\nto the sight and sense of direction.\n\nWith increasing anxiety I hastened on, when all at once a low growl\nissuing from the bushes some yards ahead of me brought me to a stop. In\na moment the dogs, Susio and Goloso, rushed out from some hiding place\nfuriously barking; but they quickly recognized me and slunk back again.\nRelieved from fear, I walked on for a short distance; then it struck\nme that the old man must be about somewhere, as the dogs scarcely ever\nstirred from his side. Turning back, I went to the spot where they\nhad appeared to me; and there, after a while, I caught sight of a dim,\nyellow form as one of the brutes rose up to look at me. He had been\nlying on the ground by the side of a wide-spreading bush, dead and\ndry, but overgrown by a creeping plant which had completely covered\nits broad, flat top like a piece of tapestry thrown over a table, its\nslender terminal stems and leaves hanging over the edge like a deep\nfringe. But the fringe did not reach to the ground and under the bush,\nin its dark interior. I caught sight of the other dog; and after gazing\nin for some time, I also discovered a black, recumbent form, which I\ntook to be Nuflo.\n\n\"What are you doing there, old man?\" I cried. \"Where is Rima--have you\nnot seen her? Come out.\"\n\nThen he stirred himself, slowly creeping out on all fours; and finally,\ngetting free of the dead twigs and leaves, he stood up and faced me. He\nhad a strange, wild look, his white beard all disordered, moss and dead\nleaves clinging to it, his eyes staring like an owl\'s, while his mouth\nopened and shut, the teeth striking together audibly, like an angry\npeccary\'s. After silently glaring at me in this mad way for some\nmoments, he burst out: \"Cursed be the day when I first saw you, man of\nCaracas! Cursed be the serpent that bit you and had not sufficient power\nin its venom to kill! Ha! you come from Ytaioa, where you talked\nwith Rima? And you have now returned to the tiger\'s den to mock that\ndangerous animal with the loss of its whelp. Fool, if you did not wish\nthe dogs to feed on your flesh, it would have been better if you had\ntaken your evening walk in some other direction.\"\n\nThese raging words did not have the effect of alarming me in the least,\nnor even of astonishing me very much, albeit up till now the old man had\nalways shown himself suave and respectful. His attack did not seem quite\nspontaneous. In spite of the wildness of his manner and the violence\nof his speech, he appeared to be acting a part which he had rehearsed\nbeforehand. I was only angry, and stepping forward, I dealt him a very\nsharp rap with my knuckles on his chest. \"Moderate your language, old\nman,\" I said; \"remember that you are addressing a superior.\"\n\n\"What do you say to me?\" he screamed in a shrill, broken voice,\naccompanying his words with emphatic gestures. \"Do you think you are on\nthe pavement of Caracas? Here are no police to protect you--here we are\nalone in the desert where names and titles are nothing, standing man to\nman.\"\n\n\"An old man to a young one,\" I returned. \"And in virtue of my youth I am\nyour superior. Do you wish me to take you by the throat and shake your\ninsolence out of you?\"\n\n\"What, do you threaten me with violence?\" he exclaimed, throwing himself\ninto a hostile attitude. \"You, the man I saved, and sheltered, and fed,\nand treated like a son! Destroyer of my peace, have you not injured me\nenough? You have stolen my grandchild\'s heart from me; with a thousand\ninventions you have driven her mad! My child, my angel, Rima, my\nsaviour! With your lying tongue you have changed her into a demon to\npersecute me! And you are not satisfied, but must finish your evil work\nby inflicting blows on my worn body! All, all is lost to me! Take my\nlife if you wish it, for now it is worth nothing and I desire not to\nkeep it!\" And here he threw himself on his knees and, tearing open his\nold, ragged mantle, presented his naked breast to me. \"Shoot! Shoot!\" he\nscreeched. \"And if you have no weapon take my knife and plunge it into\nthis sad heart, and let me die!\" And drawing his knife from its sheath,\nhe flung it down at my feet.\n\nAll this performance only served to increase my anger and contempt; but\nbefore I could make any reply I caught sight of a shadowy object at some\ndistance moving towards us--something grey and formless, gliding swift\nand noiseless, like some great low-flying owl among the trees. It was\nRima, and hardly had I seen her before she was with us, facing old\nNuflo, her whole frame quivering with passion, her wide-open eyes\nappearing luminous in that dim light.\n\n\"You are here!\" she cried in that quick, ringing tone that was almost\npainful to the sense. \"You thought to escape me! To hide yourself from\nmy eyes in the wood! Miserable! Do you not know that I have need of\nyou--that I have not finished with you yet? Do you, then, wish to be\nscourged to Riolama with thorny twigs--to be dragged thither by the\nbeard?\"\n\nHe had been staring open-mouthed at her, still on his knees, and holding\nhis mantle open with his skinny hands. \"Rima! Rima! have mercy on me!\"\nhe cried out piteously. \"I cannot go to Riolama, it is so far--so far.\nAnd I am old and should meet my death. Oh, Rima, child of the woman I\nsaved from death, have you no compassion? I shall die, I shall die!\"\n\n\"Shall you die? Not until you have shown me the way to Riolama. And when\nI have seen Riolama with my eyes, then you may die, and I shall be glad\nat your death; and the children and the grandchildren and cousins and\nfriends of all the animals you have slain and fed on shall know that you\nare dead and be glad at your death. For you have deceived me with lies\nall these years even me--and are not fit to live! Come now to Riolama;\nrise instantly, I command you!\"\n\nInstead of rising he suddenly put out his hand and snatched up the knife\nfrom the ground. \"Do you then wish me to die?\" he cried. \"Shall you be\nglad at my death? Behold, then I shall slay myself before your eyes. By\nmy own hand, Rima, I am now about to perish, striking the knife into my\nheart!\"\n\nWhile speaking he waved the knife in a tragic manner over his head, but\nI made no movement; I was convinced that he had no intention of taking\nhis own life--that he was still acting. Rima, incapable of understanding\nsuch a thing, took it differently.\n\n\"Oh, you are going to kill yourself.\" she cried. \"Oh, wicked man, wait\nuntil you know what will happen to you after death. All shall now be\ntold to my mother. Hear my words, then kill yourself.\"\n\nShe also now dropped on to her knees and, lifting her clasped hands\nand fixing her resentful sparkling eyes on the dim blue patch of heaven\nvisible beyond the treetops, began to speak rapidly in clear, vibrating\ntones. She was praying to her mother in heaven; and while Nuflo listened\nabsorbed, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on her, the hand that clutched\nthe knife dropped to his side. I also heard with the greatest wonder and\nadmiration. For she had been shy and reticent with me, and now, as\nif oblivious of my presence, she was telling aloud the secrets of her\ninmost heart.\n\n\"O mother, mother, listen to me, to Rima, your beloved child!\"\nshe began. \"All these years I have been wickedly deceived by\ngrandfather--Nuflo--the old man that found you. Often have I spoken to\nhim of Riolama, where you once were, and your people are, and he denied\nall knowledge of such a place. Sometimes he said that it was at an\nimmense distance, in a great wilderness full of serpents larger than the\ntrunks of great trees, and of evil spirits and savage men, slayers of\nall strangers. At other times he affirmed that no such place existed;\nthat it was a tale told by the Indians; such false things did he say to\nme--to Rima, your child. O mother, can you believe such wickedness?\n\n\"Then a stranger, a white man from Venezuela, came into our woods: this\nis the man that was bitten by a serpent, and his name is Abel; only I do\nnot call him by that name, but by other names which I have told you. But\nperhaps you did not listen, or did not hear, for I spoke softly and not\nas now, on my knees, solemnly. For I must tell you, O mother, that\nafter you died the priest at Voa told me repeatedly that when I prayed,\nwhether to you or to any of the saints, or to the Mother of Heaven, I\nmust speak as he had taught me if I wished to be heard and understood.\nAnd that was most strange, since you had taught me differently; but you\nwere living then, at Voa, and now that you are in heaven, perhaps you\nknow better. Therefore listen to me now, O mother, and let nothing I say\nescape you.\n\n\"When this white man had been for some days with us, a strange thing\nhappened to me, which made me different, so that I was no longer Rima,\nalthough Rima still--so strange was this thing; and I often went to the\npool to look at myself and see the change in me, but nothing different\ncould I see. In the first place it came from his eyes passing into mine,\nand filling me just as the lightning fills a cloud at sunset: afterwards\nit was no longer from his eyes only, but it came into me whenever I saw\nhim, even at a distance, when I heard his voice, and most of all when he\ntouched me with his hand. When he is out of my sight I cannot rest until\nI see him again; and when I see him, then I am glad, yet in such fear\nand trouble that I hide myself from him. O mother, it could not be told;\nfor once when he caught me in his arms and compelled me to speak of it,\nhe did not understand; yet there was need to tell it; then it came to me\nthat only to our people could it be told, for they would understand, and\nreply to me, and tell me what to do in such a case.\n\n\"And now, O mother, this is what happened next. I went to grandfather\nand first begged and then commanded him to take me to Riolama; but he\nwould not obey, nor give attention to what I said, but whenever I spoke\nto him of it he rose up and hurried from me; and when I followed he\nflung back a confused and angry reply, saying in the same breath that it\nwas so long since he had been to Riolama that he had forgotten where it\nwas, and that no such place existed. And which of his words were true\nand which false I knew not; so that it would have been better if he had\nreturned no answer at all; and there was no help to be got from him. And\nhaving thus failed, and there being no other person to speak to except\nthis stranger, I determined to go to him, and in his company seek\nthrough the whole world for my people. This will surprise you, O mother,\nbecause of that fear which came on me in his presence, causing me\nto hide from his sight; but my wish was so great that for a time it\novercame my fear; so that I went to him as he sat alone in the wood, sad\nbecause he could not see me, and spoke to him, and led him to the summit\nof Ytaioa to show me all the countries of the world from the summit. And\nyou must also know that I tremble in his presence, not because I fear\nhim as I fear Indians and cruel men; for he has no evil in him, and is\nbeautiful to look at, and his words are gentle, and his desire is to be\nalways with me, so that he differs from all other men I have seen, just\nas I differ from all women, except from you only, O sweet mother.\n\n\"On the mountain-top he marked out and named all the countries of the\nworld, the great mountains, the rivers, the plains, the forests, the\ncities; and told me also of the peoples, whites and savages, but of our\npeople nothing. And beyond where the world ends there is water, water,\nwater. And when he spoke of that unknown part on the borders of Guayana,\non the side of the Cordilleras, he named the mountains of Riolama, and\nin that way I first found out where my people are. I then left him on\nYtaioa, he refusing to follow me, and ran to grandfather and taxed him\nwith his falsehoods; and he, finding I knew all, escaped from me into\nthe woods, where I have now found him once more, talking with the\nstranger. And now, O mother, seeing himself caught and unable to escape\na second time, he has taken up a knife to kill himself, so as not to\ntake me to Riolama; and he is only waiting until I finish speaking\nto you, for I wish him to know what will happen to him after death.\nTherefore, O mother, listen well and do what I tell you. When he has\nkilled himself, and has come into that place where you are, see that he\ndoes not escape the punishment he merits. Watch well for his coming, for\nhe is full of cunning and deceit, and will endeavor to hide himself from\nyour eyes. When you have recognized him--an old man, brown as an Indian,\nwith a white beard--point him out to the angels, and say: \'This is\nNuflo, the bad man that lied to Rima.\' Let them take him and singe his\nwings with fire, so that he may not escape by flying; and afterwards\nthrust him into some dark cavern under a mountain, and place a great\nstone that a hundred men could not remove over its mouth, and leave him\nthere alone and in the dark for ever!\"\n\nHaving ended, she rose quickly from her knees, and at the same moment\nNuflo, dropping the knife, cast himself prostrate at her feet.\n\n\"Rima--my child, my child, not that!\" he cried out in a voice that was\nbroken with terror. He tried to take hold of her feet with his hands,\nbut she shrank from him with aversion; still he kept on crawling after\nher like a disabled lizard, abjectly imploring her to forgive him,\nreminding her that he had saved from death the woman whose enmity had\nnow been enlisted against him, and declaring that he would do anything\nshe commanded him, and gladly perish in her service.\n\nIt was a pitiable sight, and moving quickly to her side I touched her on\nthe shoulder and asked her to forgive him.\n\nThe response came quickly enough. Turning to him once more, she said: \"I\nforgive you, grandfather. And now get up and take me to Riolama.\"\n\nHe rose, but only to his knees. \"But you have not told her!\" he said,\nrecovering his natural voice, although still anxious, and jerking a\nthumb over his shoulder. \"Consider, my child, that I am old and shall\ndoubtless perish on the way. What would become of my soul in such\na case? For now you have told her everything, and it will not be\nforgotten.\"\n\nShe regarded him in silence for a few moments; then, moving a little\nway apart, dropped on to her knees again, and with raised hands and\neyes fixed on the blue space above, already sprinkled with stars, prayed\nagain.\n\n\"O mother, listen to me, for I have something fresh to say to you.\nGrandfather has not killed himself, but has asked my forgiveness and has\npromised to obey me. O mother, I have forgiven him, and he will now take\nme to Riolama, to our people. Therefore, O mother, if he dies on the\nway to Riolama let nothing be done against him, but remember only that\nI forgave him at the last; and when he comes into that place where\nyou are, let him be well received, for that is the wish of Rima, your\nchild.\"\n\nAs soon as this second petition was ended she was up again and engaged\nin an animated discussion with him, urging him to take her without\nfurther delay to Riolama; while he, now recovered from his fear, urged\nthat so important an undertaking required a great deal of thought and\npreparation; that the journey would occupy about twenty days, and unless\nhe set out well provided with food he would starve before accomplishing\nhalf the distance, and his death would leave her worse off than before.\nHe concluded by affirming that he could not start in less time than\nseven or eight days.\n\nFor a while I listened with keen interest to this dispute, and at\nlength interposed once more on the old man\'s side. The poor girl in her\npetition had unwittingly revealed to me the power I possessed, and it\nwas a pleasing experience to exercise it. Touching her shoulder again, I\nassured her that seven or eight days was only a reasonable time in which\nto prepare for so long a journey. She instantly yielded, and after\none glance at my face, she moved swiftly away into the darker shadows,\nleaving me alone with the old man.\n\nAs we returned together through the now profoundly dark wood, I\nexplained to him how the subject of Riolama had first come up during my\nconversation with Rima, and he then apologized for the violent language\nhe had used to me. This personal question disposed of, he spoke of the\npilgrimage before him, and informed me in confidence that he intended\npreparing a quantity of smoke-dried meat and packing it in a bag, with\na layer of cassava bread, dried pumpkin slips, and such innocent trifles\nto conceal it from Rima\'s keen sight and delicate nostrils. Finally he\nmade a long rambling statement which, I vainly imagined, was intended to\nlead up to an account of Rima\'s origin, with something about her people\nat Riolama; but it led to nothing except an expression of opinion that\nthe girl was afflicted with a maggot in the brain, but that as she had\ninterest with the powers above, especially with her mother, who was\nnow a very important person among the celestials, it was good policy to\nsubmit to her wishes. Turning to me, doubtless to wink (only I missed\nthe sign owing to the darkness), he added that it was a fine thing to\nhave a friend at court. With a little gratulatory chuckle he went on to\nsay that for others it was necessary to obey all the ordinances of the\nChurch, to contribute to its support, hear mass, confess from time to\ntime, and receive absolution; consequently those who went out into the\nwilderness, where there were no churches and no priests to absolve them,\ndid so at the risk of losing their souls. But with him it was different:\nhe expected in the end to escape the fires of purgatory and go directly\nin all his uncleanness to heaven--a thing, he remarked, which happened\nto very few; and he, Nuflo, was no saint, and had first become a dweller\nin the desert, as a very young man, in order to escape the penalty of\nhis misdeeds.\n\nI could not resist the temptation of remarking here that to an\nunregenerate man the celestial country might turn out a somewhat\nuncongenial place for a residence. He replied airily that he had\nconsidered the point and had no fear about the future; that he was old,\nand from all he had observed of the methods of government followed by\nthose who ruled over earthly affairs from the sky, he had formed a\nclear idea of that place, and believed that even among so many glorified\nbeings he would be able to meet with those who would prove companionable\nenough and would think no worse of him on account of his little\nblemishes.\n\nHow he had first got this idea into his brain about Rima\'s ability to\nmake things smooth for him after death I cannot say; probably it was the\neffect of the girl\'s powerful personality and vivid faith acting on an\nignorant and extremely superstitious mind. While she was making\nthat petition to her mother in heaven, it did not seem in the least\nridiculous to me: I had felt no inclination to smile, even when hearing\nall that about the old man\'s wings being singed to prevent his escape\nby flying. Her rapt look; the intense conviction that vibrated in her\nringing, passionate tones; the brilliant scorn with which she, a hater\nof bloodshed, one so tender towards all living things, even the meanest,\nbade him kill himself, and only hear first how her vengeance would\npursue his deceitful soul into other worlds; the clearness with which\nshe had related the facts of the case, disclosing the inmost secrets\nof her heart--all this had had a strange, convincing effect on me.\nListening to her I was no longer the enlightened, the creedless man. She\nherself was so near to the supernatural that it seemed brought near me;\nindefinable feelings, which had been latent in me, stirred into life,\nand following the direction of her divine, lustrous eyes, fixed on the\nblue sky above, I seemed to see there another being like herself, a Rima\nglorified, leaning her pale, spiritual face to catch the winged words\nuttered by her child on earth. And even now, while hearing the old man\'s\ntalk, showing as it did a mind darkened with such gross delusions, I\nwas not yet altogether free from the strange effect of that prayer.\nDoubtless it was a delusion; her mother was not really there above\nlistening to the girl\'s voice. Still, in some mysterious way, Rima had\nbecome to me, even as to superstitious old Nuflo, a being apart and\nsacred, and this feeling seemed to mix with my passion, to purify and\nexalt it and make it infinitely sweet and precious.\n\nAfter we had been silent for some time, I said: \"Old man, the result of\nthe grand discussion you have had with Rima is that you have agreed to\ntake her to Riolama, but about my accompanying you not one word has been\nspoken by either of you.\"\n\nHe stopped short to stare at me, and although it was too dark to see\nhis face, I felt his astonishment. \"Senor!\" he exclaimed, \"we cannot\ngo without you. Have you not heard my granddaughter\'s words--that it is\nonly because of you that she is about to undertake this crazy journey?\nIf you are not with us in this thing, then, senor, here we must remain.\nBut what will Rima say to that?\"\n\n\"Very well, I will go, but only on one condition.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked, with a sudden change of tone, which warned me\nthat he was becoming cautious again.\n\n\"That you tell me the whole story of Rima\'s origin, and how you came to\nbe now living with her in this solitary place, and who these people are\nshe wishes to visit at Riolama.\"\n\n\"Ah, senor, it is a long story, and sad. But you shall hear it all.\nYou must hear it, senor, since you are now one of us; and when I am no\nlonger here to protect her, then she will be yours. And although you\nwill never be able to do more than old Nuflo for her, perhaps she will\nbe better pleased; and you, senor, better able to exist innocently by\nher side, without eating flesh, since you will always have that rare\nflower to delight you. But the story would take long to tell. You shall\nhear it all as we journey to Riolama. What else will there be to talk\nabout when we are walking that long distance, and when we sit at night\nby the fire?\"\n\n\"No, no, old man, I am not to be put off in that way. I must hear it\nbefore I start.\"\n\nBut he was determined to reserve the narrative until the journey, and\nafter some further argument I yielded the point.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nThat evening by the fire old Nuflo, lately so miserable, now happy in\nhis delusions, was more than usually gay and loquacious. He was like\na child who by timely submission has escaped a threatened severe\npunishment. But his lightness of heart was exceeded by mine; and, with\nthe exception of one other yet to come, that evening now shines in\nmemory as the happiest my life has known. For Rima\'s sweet secret was\nknown to me; and her very ignorance of the meaning of the feeling she\nexperienced, which caused her to fly from me as from an enemy, only\nserved to make the thought of it more purely delightful.\n\nOn this occasion she did not steal away like a timid mouse to her own\napartment, as her custom was, but remained to give that one evening\na special grace, seated well away from the fire in that same shadowy\ncorner where I had first seen her indoors, when I had marvelled at her\naltered appearance. From that corner she could see my face, with the\nfirelight full upon it, she herself in shadow, her eyes veiled by their\ndrooping lashes. Sitting there, the vivid consciousness of my happiness\nwas like draughts of strong, delicious wine, and its effect was like\nwine, imparting such freedom to fancy, such fluency, that again and\nagain old Nuflo applauded, crying out that I was a poet, and begging\nme to put it all into rhyme. I could not do that to please him, never\nhaving acquired the art of improvisation--that idle trick of making\nwords jingle which men of Nuflo\'s class in my country so greatly admire;\nyet it seemed to me on that evening that my feelings could be adequately\nexpressed only in that sublimated language used by the finest minds in\ntheir inspired moments; and, accordingly, I fell to reciting. But not\nfrom any modern, nor from the poets of the last century, nor even from\nthe greater seventeenth century. I kept to the more ancient romances\nand ballads, the sweet old verse that, whether glad or sorrowful, seems\nalways natural and spontaneous as the song of a bird, and so simple that\neven a child can understand it.\n\nIt was late that night before all the romances I remembered or cared\nto recite were exhausted, and not until then did Rima come out of her\nshaded corner and steal silently away to her sleeping-place.\n\nAlthough I had resolved to go with them, and had set Nuflo\'s mind at\nrest on the point, I was bent on getting the request from Rima\'s own\nlips; and the next morning the opportunity of seeing her alone presented\nitself, after old Nuflo had sneaked off with his dogs. From the moment\nof his departure I kept a close watch on the house, as one watches a\nbush in which a bird one wishes to see has concealed itself, and out of\nwhich it may dart at any moment and escape unseen.\n\nAt length she came forth, and seeing me in the way, would have slipped\nback into hiding; for, in spite of her boldness on the previous day, she\nnow seemed shyer than ever when I spoke to her.\n\n\"Rima,\" I said, \"do you remember where we first talked together under a\ntree one morning, when you spoke of your mother, telling me that she was\ndead?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I am going now to that spot to wait for you. I must speak to you again\nin that place about this journey to Riolama.\" As she kept silent, I\nadded: \"Will you promise to come to me there?\"\n\nShe shook her head, turning half away.\n\n\"Have you forgotten our compact, Rima?\"\n\n\"No,\" she returned; and then, suddenly coming near, spoke in a low tone:\n\"I will go there to please you, and you must also do as I tell you.\"\n\n\"What do you wish, Rima?\"\n\nShe came nearer still. \"Listen! You must not look into my eyes, you must\nnot touch me with your hands.\"\n\n\"Sweet Rima, I must hold your hand when I speak with you.\"\n\n\"No, no, no,\" she murmured, shrinking from me; and finding that it must\nbe as she wished, I reluctantly agreed.\n\nBefore I had waited long, she appeared at the trysting-place, and stood\nbefore me, as on a former occasion, on that same spot of clean yellow\nsand, clasping and unclasping her fingers, troubled in mind even then.\nOnly now her trouble was different and greater, making her shyer and\nmore reticent.\n\n\"Rima, your grandfather is going to take you to Riolama. Do you wish me\nto go with you?\"\n\n\"Oh, do you not know that?\" she returned, with a swift glance at my\nface.\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\nHer eyes wandered away restlessly. \"On Ytaioa you told me a hundred\nthings which I did not know,\" she replied in a vague way, wishing,\nperhaps, to imply that with so great a knowledge of geography it was\nstrange I did not know everything, even her most secret thoughts.\n\n\"Tell me, why must you go to Riolama?\"\n\n\"You have heard. To speak to my people.\"\n\n\"What will you say to them? Tell me.\"\n\n\"What you do not understand. How tell you?\"\n\n\"I understand you when you speak in Spanish.\"\n\n\"Oh, that is not speaking.\"\n\n\"Last night you spoke to your mother in Spanish. Did you not tell her\neverything?\"\n\n\"Oh no--not then. When I tell her everything I speak in another way, in\na low voice--not on my knees and praying. At night, and in the woods,\nand when I am alone I tell her. But perhaps she does not hear me; she is\nnot here, but up there--so far! She never answers, but when I speak to\nmy people they will answer me.\"\n\nThen she turned away as if there was nothing more to be said.\n\n\"Is this all I am to hear from you, Rima--these few words?\" I exclaimed.\n\"So much did you say to your grandfather, so much to your dead mother,\nbut to me you say so little!\"\n\nShe turned again, and with eyes cast down replied:\n\n\"He deceived me--I had to tell him that, and then to pray to mother.\nBut to you that do not understand, what can I say? Only that you are not\nlike him and all those that I knew at Voa. It is so different--and the\nsame. You are you, and I am I; why is it--do you know?\"\n\n\"No; yes--I know, but cannot tell you. And if you find your people, what\nwill you do--leave me to go to them? Must I go all the way to Riolama\nonly to lose you?\"\n\n\"Where I am, there you must be.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Do I not see it there?\" she returned, with a quick gesture to indicate\nthat it appeared in my face.\n\n\"Your sight is keen, Rima--keen as a bird\'s. Mine is not so keen. Let me\nlook once more into those beautiful wild eyes, then perhaps I shall see\nin them as much as you see in mine.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no, not that!\" she murmured in distress, drawing away from me;\nthen with a sudden flash of brilliant colour cried:\n\n\"Have you forgotten the compact--the promise you made me?\"\n\nHer words made me ashamed, and I could not reply. But the shame was\nas nothing in strength compared to the impulse I felt to clasp her\nbeautiful body in my arms and cover her face with kisses. Sick with\ndesire, I turned away and, sitting on a root of the tree, covered my\nface with my hands.\n\nShe came nearer: I could see her shadow through my fingers; then her\nface and wistful, compassionate eyes.\n\n\"Forgive me, dear Rima,\" I said, dropping my hands again. \"I have tried\nso hard to please you in everything! Touch my face with your hand--only\nthat, and I will go to Riolama with you, and obey you in all things.\"\n\nFor a while she hesitated, then stepped quickly aside so that I could\nnot see her; but I knew that she had not left me, that she was standing\njust behind me. And after waiting a moment longer I felt her fingers\ntouching my skin, softly, trembling over my cheek as if a soft-winged\nmoth had fluttered against it; then the slight aerial touch was gone,\nand she, too, moth-like, had vanished from my side.\n\nLeft alone in the wood, I was not happy. That fluttering, flattering\ntouch of her finger-tips had been to me like spoken language, and more\neloquent than language, yet the sweet assurance it conveyed had not\ngiven perfect satisfaction; and when I asked myself why the gladness of\nthe previous evening had forsaken me--why I was infected with this\nnew sadness when everything promised well for me, I found that it was\nbecause my passion had greatly increased during the last few hours; even\nduring sleep it had been growing, and could no longer be fed by merely\ndwelling in thought on the charms, moral and physical, of its object,\nand by dreams of future fruition.\n\nI concluded that it would be best for Rima\'s sake as well as my own to\nspend a few of the days before setting out on our journey with my Indian\nfriends, who would be troubled at my long absence; and, accordingly,\nnext morning I bade good-bye to the old man, promising to return in\nthree or four days, and then started without seeing Rima, who had\nquitted the house before her usual time. After getting free of the\nwoods, on casting back my eyes I caught sight of the girl standing under\nan isolated tree watching me with that vague, misty, greenish appearance\nshe so frequently had when seen in the light shade at a short distance.\n\n\"Rima!\" I cried, hurrying back to speak to her, but when I reached the\nspot she had vanished; and after waiting some time, seeing and hearing\nnothing to indicate that she was near me, I resumed my walk, half\nthinking that my imagination had deceived me.\n\nI found my Indian friends home again, and was not surprised to observe a\ndistinct change in their manner towards me. I had expected as much;\nand considering that they must have known very well where and in whose\ncompany I had been spending my time, it was not strange. Coming across\nthe savannah that morning I had first begun to think seriously of the\nrisk I was running. But this thought only served to prepare me for a new\ncondition of things; for now to go back and appear before Rima, and thus\nprove myself to be a person not only capable of forgetting a promise\noccasionally, but also of a weak, vacillating mind, was not to be\nthought of for a moment.\n\nI was received--not welcomed--quietly enough; not a question, not\na word, concerning my long absence fell from anyone; it was as if a\nstranger had appeared among them, one about whom they knew nothing\nand consequently regarded with suspicion, if not actual hostility. I\naffected not to notice the change, and dipped my hand uninvited in the\npot to satisfy my hunger, and smoked and dozed away the sultry hours in\nmy hammock. Then I got my guitar and spent the rest of the day over it,\ntuning it, touching the strings so softly with my finger-tips that to a\nperson four yards off the sound must have seemed like the murmur or\nbuzz of an insect\'s wings; and to this scarcely audible accompaniment I\nmurmured in an equally low tone a new song.\n\nIn the evening, when all were gathered under the roof and I had eaten\nagain, I took up the instrument once more, furtively watched by all\nthose half-closed animal eyes, and swept the strings loudly, and sang\naloud. I sang an old simple Spanish melody, to which I had put words\nin their own language--a language with no words not in everyday use,\nin which it is so difficult to express feelings out of and above the\ncommon. What I had been constructing and practicing all the afternoon\nsotto voce was a kind of ballad, an extremely simple tale of a poor\nIndian living alone with his young family in a season of dearth; how\nday after day he ranged the voiceless woods, to return each evening with\nnothing but a few withered sour berries in his hand, to find his lean,\nlarge-eyed wife still nursing the fire that cooked nothing, and his\nchildren crying for food, showing their bones more plainly through\ntheir skins every day; and how, without anything miraculous, anything\nwonderful, happening, that barrenness passed from earth, and the garden\nonce more yielded them pumpkin and maize, and manioc, the wild fruits\nripened, and the birds returned, filling the forest with their cries;\nand so their long hunger was satisfied, and the children grew sleek,\nand played and laughed in the sunshine; and the wife, no longer brooding\nover the empty pot, wove a hammock of silk grass, decorated with\nblue-and-scarlet feathers of the macaw; and in that new hammock the\nIndian rested long from his labours, smoking endless cigars.\n\nWhen I at last concluded with a loud note of joy, a long, involuntary\nsuspiration in the darkening room told me that I had been listened to\nwith profound interest; and, although no word was spoken, though I was\nstill a stranger and under a cloud, it was plain that the experiment had\nsucceeded, and that for the present the danger was averted.\n\nI went to my hammock and slept, but without undressing. Next morning\nI missed my revolver and found that the holster containing it had been\ndetached from the belt. My knife had not been taken, possibly because it\nwas under me in the hammock while I slept. In answer to my inquiries I\nwas informed that Runi had BORROWED my weapon to take it with him to the\nforest, where he had gone to hunt, and that he would return it to me\nin the evening. I affected to take it in good part, although feeling\nsecretly ill at ease. Later in the day I came to the conclusion that\nRuni had had it in his mind to murder me, that I had softened him by\nsinging that Indian story, and that by taking possession of the revolver\nhe showed that he now only meant to keep me a prisoner. Subsequent\nevents confirmed me in this suspicion. On his return he explained that\nhe had gone out to seek for game in the woods; and, going without\na companion, he had taken my revolver to preserve him from\ndangers--meaning those of a supernatural kind; and that he had had the\nmisfortune to drop it among the bushes while in pursuit of some animal.\nI answered hotly that he had not treated me like a friend; that if he\nhad asked me for the weapon it would have been lent to him; that as\nhe had taken it without permission he must pay me for it. After some\npondering he said that when he took it I was sleeping soundly; also,\nthat it would not be lost; he would take me to the place where he had\ndropped it, when we could search together for it.\n\nHe was in appearance more friendly towards me now, even asking me to\nrepeat my last evening\'s song, and so we had that performance all over\nagain to everybody\'s satisfaction. But when morning came he was not\ninclined to go to the woods: there was food enough in the house, and the\npistol would not be hurt by lying where it had fallen a day longer. Next\nday the same excuse; still I disguised my impatience and suspicion of\nhim and waited, singing the ballad for the third time that evening. Then\nI was conducted to a wood about a league and a half away and we hunted\nfor the lost pistol among the bushes, I with little hope of finding it,\nwhile he attended to the bird voices and frequently asked me to stand or\nlie still when a chance of something offered.\n\nThe result of that wasted day was a determination on my part to escape\nfrom Runi as soon as possible, although at the risk of making a deadly\nenemy of him and of being compelled to go on that long journey to\nRiolama with no better weapon than a hunting-knife. I had noticed, while\nappearing not to do so, that outside of the house I was followed or\nwatched by one or other of the Indians, so that great circumspection\nwas needed. On the following day I attacked my host once more about the\nrevolver, telling him with well-acted indignation that if not found\nit must be paid for. I went so far as to give a list of the articles I\nshould require, including a bow and arrows, zabatana, two spears, and\nother things which I need not specify, to set me up for life as a wild\nman in the woods of Guayana. I was going to add a wife, but as I had\nalready been offered one it did not appear to be necessary. He seemed a\nlittle taken aback at the value I set upon my weapon, and promised to go\nand look for it again. Then I begged that Kua-ko, in whose sharpness of\nsight I had great faith, might accompany us. He consented, and named\nthe next day but one for the expedition. Very well, thought I, tomorrow\ntheir suspicion will be less, and my opportunity will come; then taking\nup my rude instrument, I gave them an old Spanish song:\n\n Desde aquel doloroso momento;\n\nbut this kind of music had lost its charm for them, and I was asked to\ngive them the ballad they understood so well, in which their interest\nseemed to increase with every repetition. In spite of anxiety it amused\nme to see old Cla-cla regarding me fixedly with owlish eyes and lips\nmoving. My tale had no wonderful things in it, like hers of the olden\ntime, which she told only to send her hearers to sleep. Perhaps she had\ndiscovered by now that it was the strange honey of melody which made the\ncoarse, common cassava bread of everyday life in my story so pleasant to\nthe palate. I was quite prepared to receive a proposal to give her music\nand singing lessons, and to bequeath a guitar to her in my last will and\ntestament. For, in spite of her hoary hair and million wrinkles, she,\nmore than any other savage I had met with, seemed to have taken a\ndraught from Ponce de Leon\'s undiscovered fountain of eternal youth.\nPoor old witch!\n\nThe following day was the sixth of my absence from Rima, and one of\nintense anxiety to me, a feeling which I endeavoured to hide by playing\nwith the children, fighting our old comic stick fights, and by strumming\nnoisily on the guitar. In the afternoon, when it was hottest, and all\nthe men who happened to be indoors were lying in their hammocks, I asked\nKua-ko to go with me to the stream to bathe. He refused--I had counted\non that--and earnestly advised me not to bathe in the pool I was\naccustomed to, as some little caribe fishes had made their appearance\nthere and would be sure to attack me. I laughed at his idle tale and,\ntaking up my cloak, swung out of the door, whistling a lively air.\nHe knew that I always threw my cloak over my head and shoulders as a\nprotection from the sun and stinging flies when coming out of the water,\nand so his suspicion was not aroused, and I was not followed. The\npool was about ten minutes\' walk from the house; I arrived at it with\npalpitating heart, and going round to its end, where the stream was\nshallow, sat down to rest for a few moments and take a few sips of cool\nwater dipped up in my palm. Presently I rose, crossed the stream, and\nbegan running, keeping among the low trees near the bank until a\ndry gully, which extended for some distance across the savannah, was\nreached. By following its course the distance to be covered would be\nconsiderably increased, but the shorter way would have exposed me to\nsight and made it more dangerous. I had put forth too much speed at\nfirst, and in a short time my exertions, and the hot sun, together with\nmy intense excitement, overcame me. I dared not hope that my flight\nhad not been observed; I imagined that the Indians, unencumbered by any\nheavy weight, were already close behind me, and ready to launch\ntheir deadly spears at my back. With a sob of rage and despair I fell\nprostrate on my face in the dry bed of the stream, and for two or three\nminutes remained thus exhausted and unmanned, my heart throbbing so\nviolently that my whole frame was shaken. If my enemies had come on me\nthen disposed to kill me, I could not have lifted a hand in defence of\nmy life. But minutes passed and they came not. I rose and went on, at a\nfast walk now, and when the sheltering streamed ended, I stooped among\nthe sere dwarfed shrubs scattered about here and there on its southern\nside; and now creeping and now running, with an occasional pause to\nrest and look back, I at last reached the dividing ridge at its southern\nextremity. The rest of the way was over comparatively easy ground,\ninclining downwards; and with that glad green forest now full in sight,\nand hope growing stronger every minute in my breast, my knees ceased to\ntremble, and I ran on again, scarcely pausing until I had touched and\nlost myself in the welcome shadows.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nAh, that return to the forest where Rima dwelt, after so anxious day,\nwhen the declining sun shone hotly still, and the green woodland shadows\nwere so grateful! The coolness, the sense of security, allayed the fever\nand excitement I had suffered on the open savannah; I walked leisurely,\npausing often to listen to some bird voice or to admire some rare\ninsect or parasitic flower shining star-like in the shade. There was a\nstrangely delightful sensation in me. I likened myself to a child that,\nstartled at something it had seen while out playing in the sun, flies\nto its mother to feel her caressing hand on its cheek and forget its\ntremors. And describing what I felt in that way, I was a little ashamed\nand laughed at myself; nevertheless the feeling was very sweet. At that\nmoment Mother and Nature seemed one and the same thing. As I kept to the\nmore open part of the wood, on its southernmost border, the red flame\nof the sinking sun was seen at intervals through the deep humid green\nof the higher foliage. How every object it touched took from it a new\nwonderful glory! At one spot, high up where the foliage was scanty, and\nslender bush ropes and moss depended like broken cordage from a dead\nlimb--just there, bathing itself in that glory-giving light, I noticed\na fluttering bird, and stood still to watch its antics. Now it would\ncling, head downwards, to the slender twigs, wings and tail open; then,\nrighting itself, it would flit from waving line to line, dropping lower\nand lower; and anon soar upwards a distance of twenty feet and alight to\nrecommence the flitting and swaying and dropping towards the earth. It\nwas one of those birds that have a polished plumage, and as it moved\nthis way and that, flirting its feathers, they caught the beams and\nshone at moments like glass or burnished metal. Suddenly another bird of\nthe same kind dropped down to it as if from the sky, straight and swift\nas a falling stone; and the first bird sprang up to meet the comer, and\nafter rapidly wheeling round each other for a moment, they fled away in\ncompany, screaming shrilly through the wood, and were instantly lost to\nsight, while their jubilant cries came back fainter and fainter at each\nrepetition.\n\nI envied them not their wings: at that moment earth did not seem fixed\nand solid beneath me, nor I bound by gravity to it. The faint, floating\nclouds, the blue infinite heaven itself, seemed not more ethereal and\nfree than I, or the ground I walked on. The low, stony hills on my right\nhand, of which I caught occasional glimpses through the trees, looking\nnow blue and delicate in the level rays, were no more than the billowy\nprojections on the moving cloud of earth: the trees of unnumbered\nkinds--great more, cecropia, and greenheart, bush and fern and suspended\nlianas, and tall palms balancing their feathery foliage on slender\nstems--all was but a fantastic mist embroidery covering the surface of\nthat floating cloud on which my feet were set, and which floated with me\nnear the sun.\n\nThe red evening flame had vanished from the summits of the trees, the\nsun was setting, the woods in shadow, when I got to the end of my walk.\nI did not approach the house on the side of the door, yet by some means\nthose within became aware of my presence, for out they came in a great\nhurry, Rima leading the way, Nuflo behind her, waving his arms and\nshouting. But as I drew near, the girl dropped behind and stood\nmotionless regarding me, her face pallid and showing strong excitement.\nI could scarcely remove my eyes from her eloquent countenance: I seemed\nto read in it relief and gladness mingled with surprise and something\nlike vexation. She was piqued perhaps that I had taken her by surprise,\nthat after much watching for me in the wood I had come through it\nundetected when she was indoors.\n\n\"Happy the eyes that see you!\" shouted the old man, laughing\nboisterously.\n\n\"Happy are mine that look on Rima again,\" I answered. \"I have been long\nabsent.\"\n\n\"Long--you may say so,\" returned Nuflo. \"We had given you up. We\nsaid that, alarmed at the thought of the journey to Riolama, you had\nabandoned us.\"\n\n\"WE said!\" exclaimed Rima, her pallid face suddenly flushing. \"I spoke\ndifferently.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know--I know!\" he said airily, waving his hand. \"You said that\nhe was in danger, that he was kept against his will from coming. He is\npresent now--let him speak.\"\n\n\"She was right,\" I said. \"Ah, Nuflo, old man, you have lived long, and\ngot much experience, but not insight--not that inner vision that sees\nfurther than the eyes.\"\n\n\"No, not that--I know what you mean,\" he answered. Then, tossing his\nhand towards the sky, he added: \"The knowledge you speak of comes from\nthere.\"\n\nThe girl had been listening with keen interest, glancing from one to the\nother. \"What!\" she spoke suddenly, as if unable to keep silence, \"do you\nthink, grandfather, that SHE tells me--when there is danger--when the\nrain will cease--when the wind will blow--everything? Do I not ask and\nlisten, lying awake at night? She is always silent, like the stars.\"\n\nThen, pointing to me with her finger, she finished:\n\n\"HE knows so many things! Who tells them to HIM?\"\n\n\"But distinguish, Rima. You do not distinguish the great from the\nlittle,\" he answered loftily. \"WE know a thousand things, but they are\nthings that any man with a forehead can learn. The knowledge that comes\nfrom the blue is not like that--it is more important and miraculous. Is\nit not so, senor?\" he ended, appealing to me.\n\n\"Is it, then, left for me to decide?\" said I, addressing the girl.\n\nBut though her face was towards me, she refused to meet my look and was\nsilent. Silent, but not satisfied: she doubted still, and had perhaps\ncaught something in my tone that strengthened her doubt.\n\nOld Nuflo understood the expression. \"Look at me, Rima,\" he said,\ndrawing himself up. \"I am old, and he is young--do I not know best? I\nhave spoken and have decided it.\"\n\nStill that unconvinced expression, and her face turned expectant to me.\n\n\"Am I to decide?\" I repeated.\n\n\"Who, then?\" she said at last, her voice scarcely more than a murmur;\nyet there was reproach in the tone, as if she had made a long speech and\nI had tyrannously driven her to it.\n\n\"Thus, then, I decide,\" said I. \"To each of us, as to every kind of\nanimal, even to small birds and insects, and to every kind of plant,\nthere is given something peculiar--a fragrance, a melody, a special\ninstinct, an art, a knowledge, which no other has. And to Rima has been\ngiven this quickness of mind and power to divine distant things; it is\nhers, just as swiftness and grace and changeful, brilliant colour are\nthe hummingbird\'s; therefore she need not that anyone dwelling in the\nblue should instruct her.\"\n\nThe old man frowned and shook his head; while she, after one swift, shy\nglance at my face, and with something like a smile flitting over her\ndelicate lips, turned and re-entered the house.\n\nI felt convinced from that parting look that she had understood me, that\nmy words had in some sort given her relief; for, strong as was her faith\nin the supernatural, she appeared as ready to escape from it, when a way\nof escape offered, as from the limp cotton gown and constrained manner\nworn in the house. The religion and cotton dress were evidently remains\nof her early training at the settlement of Voa.\n\nOld Nuflo, strange to say, had proved better than his word. Instead of\ninventing new causes for delay, as I had imagined would be the case,\nhe now informed me that his preparations for the journey were all but\ncomplete, that he had only waited for my return to set out.\n\nRima soon left us in her customary way, and then, talking by the fire,\nI gave an account of my detention by the Indians and of the loss of my\nrevolver, which I thought very serious.\n\n\"You seem to think little of it,\" I said, observing that he took it very\ncoolly. \"Yet I know not how I shall defend myself in case of an attack.\"\n\n\"I have no fear of an attack,\" he answered. \"It seems to me the same\nthing whether you have a revolver or many revolvers and carbines and\nswords, or no revolver--no weapon at all. And for a very simple reason.\nWhile Rima is with us, so long as we are on her business, we are\nprotected from above. The angels, senor, will watch over us by day and\nnight. What need of weapons, then, except to procure food?\"\n\n\"Why should not the angels provide us with food also?\" said I.\n\n\"No, no, that is a different thing,\" he returned. \"That is a small and\nlow thing, a necessity common to all creatures, which all know how to\nmeet. You would not expect an angel to drive away a cloud of mosquitoes,\nor to remove a bush-tick from your person. No, sir, you may talk of\nnatural gifts, and try to make Rima believe that she is what she is, and\nknows what she knows, because, like a humming-bird or some plants with\na peculiar fragrance, she has been made so. It is wrong, senor, and,\npardon me for saying it, it ill becomes you to put such fables into her\nhead.\"\n\nI answered, with a smile: \"She herself seems to doubt what you believe.\"\n\n\"But, senor, what can you expect from an ignorant girl like Rima? She\nknows nothing, or very little, and will not listen to reason. If she\nwould only remain quietly indoors, with her hair braided, and pray and\nread her Catechism, instead of running about after flowers and birds and\nbutterflies and such unsubstantial things, it would be better for both\nof us.\"\n\n\"In what way, old man?\"\n\n\"Why, it is plain that if she would cultivate the acquaintance of the\npeople that surround her--I mean those that come to her from her sainted\nmother--and are ready to do her bidding in everything, she could make\nit more safe for us in this place. For example, there is Runi and his\npeople; why should they remain living so near us as to be a constant\ndanger when a pestilence of small-pox or some other fever might easily\nbe sent to kill them off?\"\n\n\"And have you ever suggested such a thing to your grandchild?\"\n\nHe looked surprised and grieved at the question. \"Yes, many times,\nsenor,\" he said. \"I should have been a poor Christian had I not\nmentioned it. But when I speak of it she gives me a look and is gone,\nand I see no more of her all day, and when I see her she refuses even to\nanswer me--so perverse, so foolish is she in her ignorance; for, as you\ncan see for yourself, she has no more sense or concern about what is\nmost important than some little painted fly that flits about all day\nlong without any object.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nThe next day we were early at work. Nuflo had already gathered, dried,\nand conveyed to a place of concealment the greater portion of his garden\nproduce. He was determined to leave nothing to be taken by any wandering\nparty of savages that might call at the house during our absence. He had\nno fear of a visit from his neighbours; they would not know, he said,\nthat he and Rima were out of the wood. A few large earthen pots, filled\nwith shelled maize, beans, and sun-dried strips of pumpkin, still\nremained to be disposed of. Taking up one of these vessels and asking\nme to follow with another, he started off through the wood. We went a\ndistance of five or six hundred yards, then made our way down a very\nsteep incline, close to the border of the forest on the western side.\nArrived at the bottom, we followed the bank a little further, and I then\nfound myself once more at the foot of the precipice over which I had\ndesperately thrown myself on the stormy evening after the snake had\nbitten me. Nuflo, stealing silently and softly before me through the\nbushes, had observed a caution and secrecy in approaching this spot\nresembling that of a wise old hen when she visits her hidden nest to lay\nan egg. And here was his nest, his most secret treasure-house, which he\nhad probably not revealed even to me without a sharp inward conflict,\nnotwithstanding that our fates were now linked together. The lower\nportion of the bank was of rock; and in it, about ten or twelve feet\nabove the ground, but easily reached from below, there was a natural\ncavity large enough to contain all his portable property. Here, besides\nthe food-stuff, he had already stored a quantity of dried tobacco leaf,\nhis rude weapons, cooking utensils, ropes, mats, and other objects. Two\nor three more journeys were made for the remaining pots, after which\nwe adjusted a slab of sandstone to the opening, which was fortunately\nnarrow, plastered up the crevices with clay, and covered them over with\nmoss to hide all traces of our work.\n\nTowards evening, after we had refreshed ourselves with a long siesta,\nNuflo brought out from some other hiding-place two sacks; one weighing\nabout twenty pounds and containing smoke-dried meat, also grease and gum\nfor lighting-purposes, and a few other small objects. This was his load;\nthe other sack, which was smaller and contained parched corn and raw\nbeans, was for me to carry.\n\nThe old man, cautious in all his movements, always acting as if\nsurrounded by invisible spies, delayed setting out until an hour after\ndark. Then, skirting the forest on its west side, we left Ytaioa on our\nright hand, and after travelling over rough, difficult ground, with only\nthe stars to light us, we saw the waning moon rise not long before dawn.\nOur course had been a north-easterly one at first; now it was due east,\nwith broad, dry savannahs and patches of open forest as far as we could\nsee before us. It was weary walking on that first night, and weary\nwaiting on the first day when we sat in the shade during the long, hot\nhours, persecuted by small stinging flies; but the days and nights that\nsucceeded were far worse, when the weather became bad with intense heat\nand frequent heavy falls of rain. The one compensation I had looked for,\nwhich would have outweighed all the extreme discomforts we suffered,\nwas denied me. Rima was no more to me or with me now than she had been\nduring those wild days in her native woods, when every bush and bole and\ntangled creeper or fern frond had joined in a conspiracy to keep her\nout of my sight. It is true that at intervals in the daytime she was\nvisible, sometimes within speaking distance, so that I could address\na few words to her, but there was no companionship, and we were fellow\ntravellers only like birds flying independently in the same direction,\nnot so widely separated but that they can occasionally hear and see each\nother. The pilgrim in the desert is sometimes attended by a bird, and\nthe bird, with its freer motions, will often leave him a league behind\nand seem lost to him, but only to return and show its form again; for\nit has never lost sight nor recollection of the traveller toiling slowly\nover the surface. Rima kept us company in some such wild erratic way as\nthat. A word, a sign from Nuflo was enough for her to know the direction\nto take--the distant forest or still more distant mountain near which we\nshould have to pass. She would hasten on and be lost to our sight, and\nwhen there was a forest in the way she would explore it, resting in the\nshade and finding her own food; but invariably she was before us at each\nresting- or camping-place.\n\nIndian villages were seen during the journey, but only to be avoided;\nand in like manner, if we caught sight of Indians travelling or camping\nat a distance, we would alter our course, or conceal ourselves to escape\nobservation. Only on one occasion, two days after setting out, were we\ncompelled to speak with strangers. We were going round a hill, and all\nat once came face to face with three persons travelling in an opposite\ndirection--two men and a woman, and, by a strange fatality, Rima at that\nmoment happened to be with us. We stood for some time talking to these\npeople, who were evidently surprised at our appearance, and wished\nto learn who we were; but Nuflo, who spoke their language like one of\nthemselves, was too cunning to give any true answer. They, on their\nside, told us that they had been to visit a relative at Chani, the name\nof a river three days ahead of us, and were now returning to their own\nvillage at Baila-baila, two days beyond Parahuari. After parting from\nthem Nuflo was much troubled in his mind for the rest of that day. These\npeople, he said, would probably rest at some Parahuari village,\nwhere they would be sure to give a description of us, and so it might\neventually come to the knowledge of our unneighbourly neighbour Runi\nthat we had left Ytaioa.\n\nOther incidents of our long and wearisome journey need not be related.\nSitting under some shady tree during the sultry hours, with Rima only\ntoo far out of earshot, or by the nightly fire, the old man told me\nlittle by little and with much digression, chiefly on sacred subjects,\nthe strange story of the girl\'s origin.\n\nAbout seventeen years back--Nuflo had no sure method to compute time\nby--when he was already verging on old age, he was one of a company\nof nine men, living a kind of roving life in the very part of Guayana\nthrough which we were now travelling; the others, much younger than\nhimself, were all equally offenders against the laws of Venezuela,\nand fugitives from justice. Nuflo was the leader of this gang, for it\nhappened that he had passed a great portion of his life outside the pale\nof civilization, and could talk the Indian language, and knew this part\nof Guayana intimately. But according to his own account he was not in\nharmony with them. They were bold, desperate men, whose evil appetites\nhad so far only been whetted by the crimes they had committed; while he,\nwith passions worn out, recalling his many bad acts, and with a vivid\nconviction of the truth of all he had been taught in early life--for\nNuflo was nothing if not religious--was now grown timid and desirous\nonly of making his peace with Heaven. This difference of disposition\nmade him morose and quarrelsome with his companions; and they would, he\nsaid, have murdered him without remorse if he had not been so useful to\nthem. Their favourite plan was to hang about the neighbourhood of some\nsmall isolated settlement, keeping a watch on it, and, when most of the\nmale inhabitants were absent, to swoop down on it and work their will.\nNow, shortly after one of these raids it happened that a woman they had\ncarried off, becoming a burden to them, was flung into a river to the\nalligators; but when being dragged down to the waterside she cast up\nher eyes, and in a loud voice cried to God to execute vengeance on\nher murderers. Nuflo affirmed that he took no part in this black deed;\nnevertheless, the woman\'s dying appeal to Heaven preyed on his mind;\nhe feared that it might have won a hearing, and the \"person\" eventually\ncommissioned to execute vengeance--after the usual days, of course might\nact on the principle of the old proverb: Tell me whom you are with, and\nI will tell you what you are--and punish the innocent (himself to\nwit) along with the guilty. But while thus anxious about his spiritual\ninterests, he was not yet prepared to break with his companions. He\nthought it best to temporize, and succeeded in persuading them that it\nwould be unsafe to attack another Christian settlement for some time to\ncome; that in the interval they might find some pleasure, if no great\ncredit, by turning their attention to the Indians. The infidels, he\nsaid, were God\'s natural enemies and fair game to the Christian. To\nmake a long story short, Nuflo\'s Christian band, after some successful\nadventures, met with a reverse which reduced their number from nine\nto five. Flying from their enemies, they sought safety at Riolama, an\nuninhabited place, where they found it possible to exist for some weeks\non game, which was abundant, and wild fruits.\n\nOne day at noon, while ascending a mountain at the southern extremity\nof the Riolama range in order to get a view of the country beyond the\nsummit, Nuflo and his companions discovered a cave; and finding it\ndry, without animal occupants, and with a level floor, they at once\ndetermined to make it their dwelling-place for a season. Wood for firing\nand water were to be had close by; they were also well provided with\nsmoked flesh of a tapir they had slaughtered a day or two before, so\nthat they could afford to rest for a time in so comfortable a shelter.\nAt a short distance from the cave they made a fire on the rock to toast\nsome slices of meat for their dinner; and while thus engaged all at once\none of the men uttered a cry of astonishment, and casting up his eyes\nNuflo beheld, standing near and regarding them with surprise and fear\nin-her wide-open eyes, a woman of a most wonderful appearance. The one\nslight garment she had on was silky and white as the snow on the summit\nof some great mountain, but of the snow when the sinking sun touches and\ngives it some delicate changing colour which is like fire. Her dark\nhair was like a cloud from which her face looked out, and her head was\nsurrounded by an aureole like that of a saint in a picture, only more\nbeautiful. For, said Nuflo, a picture is a picture, and the other was\na reality, which is finer. Seeing her he fell on his knees and crossed\nhimself; and all the time her eyes, full of amazement and shining with\nsuch a strange splendour that he could not meet them, were fixed on him\nand not on the others; and he felt that she had come to save his soul,\nin danger of perdition owing to his companionship with men who were at\nwar with God and wholly bad.\n\nBut at this moment his comrades, recovering from their astonishment,\nsprang to their feet, and the heavenly woman vanished. Just behind where\nshe had stood, and not twelve yards from them, there was a huge chasm in\nthe mountain, its jagged precipitous sides clothed with thorny bushes;\nthe men now cried out that she had made her escape that way, and down\nafter her they rushed, pell-mell.\n\nNuflo cried out after them that they had seen a saint and that some\nhorrible thing would befall them if they allowed any evil thought to\nenter their hearts; but they scoffed at his words, and were soon far\ndown out of hearing, while he, trembling with fear, remained praying\nto the woman that had appeared to them and had looked with such strange\neyes at him, not to punish him for the sins of the others.\n\nBefore long the men returned, disappointed and sullen, for they had\nfailed in their search for the woman; and perhaps Nuflo\'s warning words\nhad made them give up the chase too soon. At all events, they seemed ill\nat ease, and made up their minds to abandon the cave; in a short time\nthey left the place to camp that night at a considerable distance from\nthe mountain. But they were not satisfied: they had now recovered from\ntheir fear, but not from the excitement of an evil passion; and finally,\nafter comparing notes, they came to the conclusion that they had missed\na great prize through Nuflo\'s cowardice; and when he reproved them they\nblasphemed all the saints in the calendar and even threatened him with\nviolence. Fearing to remain longer in the company of such godless men,\nhe only waited until they slept, then rose up cautiously, helped himself\nto most of the provisions, and made his escape, devoutly hoping that\nafter losing their guide they would all speedily perish.\n\nFinding himself alone now and master of his own actions, Nuflo was in\nterrible distress, for while his heart was in the utmost fear, it yet\nurged him imperiously to go back to the mountain, to seek again for that\nsacred being who had appeared to him and had been driven away by his\nbrutal companions. If he obeyed that inner voice, he would be saved;\nif he resisted it, then there would be no hope for him, and along\nwith those who had cast the woman to the alligators he would be lost\neternally. Finally, on the following day, he went back, although not\nwithout fear and trembling, and sat down on a stone just where he had\nsat toasting his tapir meat on the previous day. But he waited in vain,\nand at length that voice within him, which he had so far obeyed, began\nurging him to descend into the valley-like chasm down which the woman\nhad escaped from his comrades, and to seek for her there. Accordingly\nhe rose and began cautiously and slowly climbing down over the broken\njagged rocks and through a dense mass of thorny bushes and creepers. At\nthe bottom of the chasm a clear, swift stream of water rushed with foam\nand noise along its rocky bed; but before reaching it, and when it was\nstill twenty yards lower down, he was startled by hearing a low\nmoan among the bushes, and looking about for the cause, he found the\nwonderful woman--his saviour, as he expressed it. She was not now\nstanding nor able to stand, but half reclining among the rough stones,\none foot, which she had sprained in that headlong flight down the ragged\nslope, wedged immovably between the rocks; and in this painful position\nshe had remained a prisoner since noon on the previous day. She now\ngazed on her visitor in silent consternation; while he, casting himself\nprostrate on the ground, implored her forgiveness and begged to know\nher will. But she made no reply; and at length, finding that she was\npowerless to move, he concluded that, though a saint and one of the\nbeings that men worship, she was also flesh and liable to accidents\nwhile sojourning on earth; and perhaps, he thought, that accident which\nhad befallen her had been specially designed by the powers above to\nprove him. With great labour, and not without causing her much pain, he\nsucceeded in extricating her from her position; and then finding that\nthe injured foot was half crushed and blue and swollen, he took her\nup in his arms and carried her to the stream. There, making a cup of a\nbroad green leaf, he offered her water, which she drank eagerly; and\nhe also laved her injured foot in the cold stream and bandaged it with\nfresh aquatic leaves; finally he made her a soft bed of moss and dry\ngrass and placed her on it. That night he spent keeping watch over\nher, at intervals applying fresh wet leaves to her foot as the old ones\nbecame dry and wilted from the heat of the inflammation.\n\nThe effect of all he did was that the terror with which she regarded him\ngradually wore off; and next day, when she seemed to be recovering her\nstrength, he proposed by signs to remove her to the cave higher up,\nwhere she would be sheltered in case of rain. She appeared to understand\nhim, and allowed herself to be taken up in his arms and carried with\nmuch labour to the top of the chasm. In the cave he made her a second\ncouch, and tended her assiduously. He made a fire on the floor and kept\nit burning night and day, and supplied her with water to drink and fresh\nleaves for her foot. There was little more that he could do. From the\nchoicest and fattest bits of toasted tapir flesh he offered her she\nturned away with disgust. A little cassava bread soaked in water she\nwould take, but seemed not to like it. After a time, fearing that she\nwould starve, he took to hunting after wild fruits, edible bulbs and\ngums, and on these small things she subsisted during the whole time of\ntheir sojourn together in the desert.\n\nThe woman, although lamed for life, was now so far recovered as to be\nable to limp about without assistance, and she spent a portion of each\nday out among the rocks and trees on the mountains. Nuflo at first\nfeared that she would now leave him, but before long he became convinced\nthat she had no such intentions. And yet she was profoundly unhappy.\nHe was accustomed to see her seated on a rock, as if brooding over some\nsecret grief, her head bowed, and great tears falling from half-closed\neyes.\n\nFrom the first he had conceived the idea that she was in the way of\nbecoming a mother at no distant date--an idea which seemed to accord\nbadly with the suppositions as to the nature of this heavenly being\nhe was privileged to minister to and so win salvation; but he was now\nconvinced of its truth, and he imagined that in her condition he had\ndiscovered the cause of that sorrow and anxiety which preyed continually\non her. By means of that dumb language of signs which enabled them to\nconverse together a little, he made it known to her that at a great\ndistance from the mountains there existed a place where there were\nbeings like herself, women, and mothers of children, who would comfort\nand tenderly care for her. When she had understood, she seemed pleased\nand willing to accompany him to that distant place; and so it came to\npass that they left their rocky shelter and the mountains of Riolama far\nbehind. But for several days, as they slowly journeyed over the plain,\nshe would pause at intervals in her limping walk to gaze back on those\nblue summits, shedding abundant tears.\n\nFortunately the village Voa, on the river of the same name, which was\nthe nearest Christian settlement to Riolama, whither his course was\ndirected, was well known to him; he had lived there in former years,\nand, what was of great advantage, the inhabitants were ignorant of\nhis worst crimes, or, to put it in his own subtle way, of the crimes\ncommitted by the men he had acted with. Great was the astonishment and\ncuriosity of the people of Voa when, after many weeks\' travelling, Nuflo\narrived at last with his companion. But he was not going to tell the\ntruth, nor even the least particle of the truth, to a gaping crowd of\ninferior persons. For these, ingenious lies; only to the priest he told\nthe whole story, dwelling minutely on all he had done to rescue and\nprotect her; all of which was approved by the holy man, whose first act\nwas to baptize the woman for fear that she was not a Christian. Let it\nbe said to Nuflo\'s credit that he objected to this ceremony, arguing\nthat she could not be a saint, with an aureole in token of her\nsainthood, yet stand in need of being baptized by a priest. A priest--he\nadded, with a little chuckle of malicious pleasure--who was often seen\ndrunk, who cheated at cards, and was sometimes suspected of putting\npoison on his fighting-cock\'s spur to make sure of the victory!\nDoubtless the priest had his faults; but he was not without humanity,\nand for the whole seven years of that unhappy stranger\'s sojourn at Voa\nhe did everything in his power to make her existence tolerable. Some\nweeks after arriving she gave birth to a female child, and then the\npriest insisted on naming it Riolama, in order, he said, to keep in\nremembrance the strange story of the mother\'s discovery at that place.\n\nRima\'s mother could not be taught to speak either Spanish or Indian; and\nwhen she found that the mysterious and melodious sounds that fell from\nher own lips were understood by none, she ceased to utter them, and\nthereafter preserved an unbroken silence among the people she lived\nwith. But from the presence of others she shrank, as if in disgust or\nfear, excepting only Nuflo and the priest, whose kindly intentions she\nappeared to understand and appreciate. So far her life in the village\nwas silent and sorrowful. With her child it was different; and every day\nthat was not wet, taking the little thing by the hand, she would limp\npainfully out into the forest, and there, sitting on the ground, the two\nwould commune with each other by the hour in their wonderful language.\n\nAt length she began to grow perceptibly paler and feebler week by week,\nday by day, until she could no longer go out into the wood, but sat or\nreclined, panting for breath in the dull hot room, waiting for death\nto release her. At the same time little Rima, who had always appeared\nfrail, as if from sympathy, now began to fade and look more shadowy,\nso that it was expected she would not long survive her parent. To the\nmother death came slowly, but at last it seemed so near that Nuflo and\nthe priest were together at her side waiting to see the end. It was then\nthat little Rima, who had learnt from infancy to speak in Spanish, rose\nfrom the couch where her mother had been whispering to her, and began\nwith some difficulty to express what was in the dying woman\'s mind. Her\nchild, she had said, could not continue to live in that hot wet place,\nbut if taken away to a distance where there were mountains and a cooler\nair she would survive and grow strong again.\n\nHearing this, old Nuflo declared that the child should not perish; that\nhe himself would take her away to Parahuari, a distant place where there\nwere mountains and dry plains and open woods; that he would watch over\nher and care for her there as he had cared for her mother at Riolama.\n\nWhen the substance of this speech had been made known by Rima to the\ndying woman, she suddenly rose up from her couch, which she had not\nrisen from for many days, and stood erect on the floor, her wasted face\nshining with joy. Then Nuflo knew that God\'s angels had come for her,\nand put out his arms to save her from falling; and even while he held\nher that sudden glory went out from her face, now of a dead white like\nburnt-out ashes; and murmuring something soft and melodious, her spirit\npassed away.\n\nOnce more Nuflo became a wanderer, now with the fragile-looking little\nRima for companion, the sacred child who had inherited the position\nof his intercessor from a sacred mother. The priest, who had probably\nbecome infected with Nuflo\'s superstitions, did not allow them to leave\nVoa empty-handed, but gave the old man as much calico as would serve\nto buy hospitality and whatsoever he might require from the Indians for\nmany a day to come.\n\nAt Parahuari, where they arrived safely at last, they lived for some\nlittle time at one of the villages. But the child had an instinctive\naversion to all savages, or possibly the feeling was derived from her\nmother, for it had shown itself early at Voa, where she had refused to\nlearn their language; and this eventually led Nuflo to go away and live\napart from them, in the forest by Ytaioa, where he made himself a\nhouse and garden. The Indians, however, continued friendly with him and\nvisited him with frequency. But when Rima grew up, developing into that\nmysterious woodland girl I found her, they became suspicious, and in\nthe end regarded her with dangerously hostile feeling. She, poor child,\ndetested them because they were incessantly at war with the wild animals\nshe loved, her companions; and having no fear of them, for she did not\nknow that they had it in their minds to turn their little poisonous\narrows against herself, she was constantly in the woods frustrating\nthem; and the animals, in league with her, seemed to understand her\nnote of warning and hid themselves or took to flight at the approach of\ndanger. At length their hatred and fear grew to such a degree that they\ndetermined to make away with her, and one day, having matured a plan,\nthey went to the wood and spread themselves two and two about it. The\ncouples did not keep together, but moved about or remained concealed at\na distance of forty or fifty yards apart, lest she should be missed.\nTwo of the savages, armed with blow-pipes, were near the border of the\nforest on the side nearest to the village, and one of them, observing a\nmotion in the foliage of a tree, ran swiftly and cautiously towards it\nto try and catch a glimpse of the enemy. And he did see her no doubt, as\nshe was there watching both him and his companions, and blew an arrow at\nher, but even while in the act of blowing it he was himself struck by\na dart that buried itself deep in his flesh just over the heart. He\nran some distance with the fatal barbed point in his flesh and met his\ncomrade, who had mistaken him for the girl and shot him. The wounded man\nthrew himself down to die, and dying related that he had fired at the\ngirl sitting up in a tree and that she had caught the arrow in her hand\nonly to hurl it instantly back with such force and precision that it\npierced his flesh just over the heart. He had seen it all with his own\neyes, and his friend who had accidentally slain him believed his story\nand repeated it to the others. Rima had seen one Indian shoot the other,\nand when she told her grandfather he explained to her that it was an\naccident, but he guessed why the arrow had been fired.\n\nFrom that day the Indians hunted no more in the wood; and at length one\nday Nuflo, meeting an Indian who did not know him and with whom he had\nsome talk, heard the strange story of the arrow, and that the mysterious\ngirl who could not be shot was the offspring of an old man and a Didi\nwho had become enamoured of him; that, growing tired of her consort, the\nDidi had returned to her river, leaving her half-human child to play her\nmalicious pranks in the wood.\n\nThis, then, was Nuflo\'s story, told not in Nuflo\'s manner, which was\ninfinitely prolix; and think not that it failed to move me--that I\nfailed to bless him for what he had done, in spite of his selfish\nmotives.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWe were eighteen days travelling to Riolama, on the last two making\nlittle progress, on account of continuous rain, which made us miserable\nbeyond description. Fortunately the dogs had found, and Nuflo had\nsucceeded in killing, a great ant-eater, so that we were well supplied\nwith excellent, strength-giving flesh. We were among the Riolama\nmountains at last, and Rima kept with us, apparently expecting great\nthings. I expected nothing, for reasons to be stated by and by. My\nbelief was that the only important thing that could happen to us would\nbe starvation.\n\nThe afternoon of the last day was spent in skirting the foot of a very\nlong mountain, crowned at its southern extremity with a huge, rocky mass\nresembling the head of a stone sphinx above its long, couchant body, and\nat its highest part about a thousand feet above the surrounding level.\nIt was late in the day, raining fast again, yet the old man still toiled\non, contrary to his usual practice, which was to spend the last daylight\nhours in gathering firewood and in constructing a shelter. At length,\nwhen we were nearly under the peak, he began to ascend. The rise in this\nplace was gentle, and the vegetation, chiefly composed of dwarf thorn\ntrees rooted in the clefts of the rock, scarcely impeded our progress;\nyet Nuflo moved obliquely, as if he found the ascent difficult, pausing\nfrequently to take breath and look round him. Then we came to a deep,\nravine-like cleft in the side of the mountain, which became deeper and\nnarrower above us, but below it broadened out to a valley; its steep\nsides as we looked down were clothed with dense, thorny vegetation, and\nfrom the bottom rose to our ears the dull sound of a hidden torrent.\nAlong the border of this ravine Nuflo began toiling upwards, and finally\nbrought us out upon a stony plateau on the mountain-side. Here he paused\nand, turning and regarding us with a look as of satisfied malice in his\neyes, remarked that we were at our journey\'s end, and he trusted the\nsight of that barren mountain-side would compensate us for all the\ndiscomforts we had suffered during the last eighteen days.\n\nI heard him with indifference. I had already recognized the place from\nhis own exact description of it, and I now saw all that I had looked to\nsee--a big, barren hill. But Rima, what had she expected that her face\nwore that blank look of surprise and pain? \"Is this the place where\nmother appeared to you?\" she suddenly cried. \"The very place--this!\nThis!\" Then she added: \"The cave where you tended her--where is it?\"\n\n\"Over there,\" he said, pointing across the plateau, which was partially\novergrown with dwarf trees and bushes, and ended at a wall of rock,\nalmost vertical and about forty feet high.\n\nGoing to this precipice, we saw no cave until Nuflo had cut away two or\nthree tangled bushes, revealing an opening behind, about half as high\nand twice as wide as the door of an ordinary dwelling-house.\n\nThe next thing was to make a torch, and aided by its light we groped our\nway in and explored the interior. The cave, we found, was about fifty\nfeet long, narrowing to a mere hole at the extremity; but the anterior\nportion formed an oblong chamber, very lofty, with a dry floor. Leaving\nour torch burning, we set to work cutting bushes to supply ourselves\nwith wood enough to last us all night. Nuflo, poor old man, loved a big\nfire dearly; a big fire and fat meat to eat (the ranker its flavour, the\nbetter he liked it) were to him the greatest blessings that man could\nwish for. In me also the prospect of a cheerful blaze put a new heart,\nand I worked with a will in the rain, which increased in the end to a\nblinding downpour.\n\nBy the time I dragged my last load in, Nuflo had got his fire well\nalight, and was heaping on wood in a most lavish way. \"No fear of\nburning our house down tonight,\" he remarked, with a chuckle--the first\nsound of that description he had emitted for a long time.\n\nAfter we had satisfied our hunger, and had smoked one or two cigarettes,\nthe unaccustomed warmth, and dryness, and the firelight affected us with\ndrowsiness, and I had probably been nodding for some time; but starting\nat last and opening my eyes, I missed Rima. The old man appeared to be\nasleep, although still in a sitting posture close to the fire. I rose\nand hurried out, drawing my cloak close around me to protect me from the\nrain; but what was my surprise on emerging from the cave to feel a dry,\nbracing wind in my face and to see the desert spread out for leagues\nbefore me in the brilliant white light of a full moon! The rain had\napparently long ceased, and only a few thin white clouds appeared moving\nswiftly over the wide blue expanse of heaven. It was a welcome change,\nbut the shock of surprise and pleasure was instantly succeeded by\nthe maddening fear that Rima was lost to me. She was nowhere in sight\nbeneath, and running to the end of the little plateau to get free of\nthe thorn trees, I turned my eyes towards the summit, and there, at some\ndistance above me, caught sight of her standing motionless and gazing\nupwards. I quickly made my way to her side, calling to her as I\napproached; but she only half turned to cast a look at me and did not\nreply.\n\n\"Rima,\" I said, \"why have you come here? Are you actually thinking of\nclimbing the mountain at this hour of the night?\" \"Yes--why not?\" she\nreturned, moving one or two steps from me.\n\n\"Rima--sweet Rima, will you listen to me?\"\n\n\"Now? Oh, no--why do you ask that? Did I not listen to you in the wood\nbefore we started, and you also promised to do what I wished? See, the\nrain is over and the moon shines brightly. Why should I wait? Perhaps\nfrom the summit I shall see my people\'s country. Are we not near it\nnow?\"\n\n\"Oh, Rima, what do you expect to see? Listen--you must listen, for I\nknow best. From that summit you would see nothing but a vast dim desert,\nmountain and forest, mountain and forest, where you might wander for\nyears, or until you perished of hunger or fever, or were slain by some\nbeast of prey or by savage men; but oh, Rima, never, never, never would\nyou find your people, for they exist not. You have seen the false water\nof the mirage on the savannah, when the sun shines bright and hot; and\nif one were to follow it one would at last fall down and perish,\nwith never a cool drop to moisten one\'s parched lips. And your hope,\nRima--this hope to find your people which has brought you all the way to\nRiolama--is a mirage, a delusion, which will lead to destruction if you\nwill not abandon it.\"\n\nShe turned to face me with flashing eyes. \"You know best!\" she\nexclaimed. \"You know best and tell me that! Never until this moment have\nyou spoken falsely. Oh, why have you said such things to me--named after\nthis place, Riolama? Am I also like that false water you speak of--no\ndivine Rima, no sweet Rima? My mother, had she no mother, no mother\'s\nmother? I remember her, at Voa, before she died, and this hand seems\nreal--like yours; you have asked to hold it. But it is not he that\nspeaks to me--not one that showed me the whole world on Ytaioa. Ah, you\nhave wrapped yourself in a stolen cloak, only you have left your old\ngrey beard behind! Go back to the cave and look for it, and leave me to\nseek my people alone!\"\n\nOnce more, as on that day in the forest when she prevented me from\nkilling the serpent, and as on the occasion of her meeting with Nuflo\nafter we had been together on Ytaioa, she appeared transformed and\ninstinct with intense resentment--a beautiful human wasp, and every word\na sting.\n\n\"Rima,\" I cried, \"you are cruelly unjust to say such words to me. If you\nknow that I have never deceived you before, give me a little credit now.\nYou are no delusion--no mirage, but Rima, like no other being on earth.\nSo perfectly truthful and pure I cannot be, but rather than mislead you\nwith falsehoods I would drop down and die on this rock, and lose you and\nthe sweet light that shines on us for ever.\"\n\nAs she listened to my words, spoken with passion, she grew pale and\nclasped her hands. \"What have I said? What have I said?\" She spoke in a\nlow voice charged with pain, and all at once she came nearer, and with\na low, sobbing cry sank down at my feet, uttering, as on the occasion of\nfinding me lost at night in the forest near her home, tender, sorrowful\nexpressions in her own mysterious language. But before I could take her\nin my arms she rose again quickly to her feet and moved away a little\nspace from me.\n\n\"Oh no, no, it cannot be that you know best!\" she began again. \"But\nI know that you have never sought to deceive me. And now, because I\nfalsely accused you, I cannot go there without you\"--pointing to the\nsummit--\"but must stand still and listen to all you have to say.\"\n\n\"You know, Rima, that your grandfather has now told me your history--how\nhe found your mother at this place, and took her to Voa, where you were\nborn; but of your mother\'s people he knows nothing, and therefore he can\nnow take you no further.\"\n\n\"Ah, you think that! He says that now; but he deceived me all these\nyears, and if he lied to me in the past, can he not still lie, affirming\nthat he knows nothing of my people, even as he affirmed that he knew not\nRiolama?\"\n\n\"He tells lies and he tells truth, Rima, and one can be distinguished\nfrom the other. He spoke truthfully at last, and brought us to this\nplace, beyond which he cannot lead you.\"\n\n\"You are right; I must go alone.\"\n\n\"Not so, Rima, for where you go, there we must go; only you will lead\nand we follow, believing only that our quest will end in disappointment,\nif not in death.\"\n\n\"Believe that and yet follow! Oh no! Why did he consent to lead me so\nfar for nothing?\"\n\n\"Do you forget that you compelled him? You know what he believes; and he\nis old and looks with fear at death, remembering his evil deeds, and is\nconvinced that only through your intercession and your mother\'s he can\nescape from perdition. Consider, Rima, he could not refuse, to make you\nmore angry and so deprive himself of his only hope.\"\n\nMy words seemed to trouble her, but very soon she spoke again with\nrenewed animation. \"If my people exist, why must it be disappointment\nand perhaps death? He does not know; but she came to him here--did she\nnot? The others are not here, but perhaps not far off. Come, let us go\nto the summit together to see from it the desert beneath us--mountain\nand forest, mountain and forest. Somewhere there! You said that I had\nknowledge of distant things. And shall I not know which mountain--which\nforest?\"\n\n\"Alas! no, Rima; there is a limit to your far-seeing; and even if that\nfaculty were as great as you imagine, it would avail you nothing, for\nthere is no mountain, no forest, in whose shadow your people dwell.\"\n\nFor a while she was silent, but her eyes and clasping fingers were\nrestless and showed her agitation. She seemed to be searching in the\ndepths of her mind for some argument to oppose to my assertions. Then\nin a low, almost despondent voice, with something of reproach in it, she\nsaid: \"Have we come so far to go back again? You were not Nuflo to need\nmy intercession, yet you came too.\"\n\n\"Where you are, there I must be--you have said it yourself. Besides,\nwhen we started I had some hope of finding your people. Now I know\nbetter, having heard Nuflo\'s story. Now I know that your hope is a vain\none.\"\n\n\"Why? Why? Was she not found here--mother? Where, then, are the others?\"\n\n\"Yes, she was found here, alone. You must remember all the things\nshe spoke to you before she died. Did she ever speak to you of her\npeople--speak of them as if they existed, and would be glad to receive\nyou among them some day?\"\n\n\"No. Why did she not speak of that? Do you know--can you tell me?\"\n\n\"I can guess the reason, Rima. It is very sad--so sad that it is hard to\ntell it. When Nuflo tended her in the cave and was ready to worship\nher and do everything she wished, and conversed with her by signs, she\nshowed no wish to return to her people. And when he offered her, in a\nway she understood, to take her to a distant place, where she would be\namong strange beings, among others like Nuflo, she readily consented,\nand painfully performed that long journey to Voa. Would you, Rima, have\nacted thus--would you have gone so far away from your beloved people,\nnever to return, never to hear of them or speak to them again? Oh no,\nyou could not; nor would she if her people had been in existence. But\nshe knew that she had survived them, that some great calamity had\nfallen upon and destroyed them. They were few in number, perhaps, and\nsurrounded on every side by hostile tribes, and had no weapons, and made\nno war. They had been preserved because they inhabited a place apart,\nsome deep valley perhaps, guarded on all sides by lofty mountains and\nimpenetrable forests and marshes; but at last the cruel savages broke\ninto this retreat and hunted them down, destroying all except a few\nfugitives, who escaped singly like your mother, and fled away to hide in\nsome distant solitude.\"\n\nThe anxious expression on her face deepened as she listened to one of\nanguish and despair; and then, almost before I concluded, she suddenly\nlifted her hands to her head, uttering a low, sobbing cry, and would\nhave fallen on the rock had I not caught her quickly in my arms. Once\nmore in my arms--against my breast, her proper place! But now all that\nbright life seemed gone out of her; her head fell on my shoulder, and\nthere was no motion in her except at intervals a slight shudder in her\nframe accompanied by a low, gasping sob. In a little while the sobs\nceased, the eyes were closed, the face still and deathly white, and with\na terrible anxiety in my heart I carried her down to the cave.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nAs I re-entered the cave with my burden Nuflo sat up and stared at me\nwith a frightened look in his eyes. Throwing my cloak down, I placed the\ngirl on it and briefly related what had happened.\n\nHe drew near to examine her; then placed his hand on her heart.\n\"Dead!--she is dead!\" he exclaimed.\n\nMy own anxiety changed to an irrational anger at his words. \"Old fool!\nShe has only fainted,\" I returned. \"Get me some water, quick.\"\n\nBut the water failed to restore her, and my anxiety deepened as I gazed\non that white, still face. Oh, why had I told her that sad tragedy I had\nimagined with so little preparation? Alas! I had succeeded too well in\nmy purpose, killing her vain hope and her at the same moment.\n\nThe old man, still bending over her, spoke again. \"No, I will not\nbelieve that she is dead yet; but, sir, if not dead, then she is dying.\"\n\nI could have struck him down for his words. \"She will die in my arms,\nthen,\" I exclaimed, thrusting him roughly aside, and lifting her up with\nthe cloak beneath her.\n\nAnd while I held her thus, her head resting on my arm, and gazed with\nunutterable anguish into her strangely white face, insanely praying to\nHeaven to restore her to me, Nuflo fell on his knees before her, and\nwith bowed head, and hands clasped in supplication, began to speak.\n\n\"Rima! Grandchild!\" he prayed, his quivering voice betraying his\nagitation. \"Do not die just yet: you must not die--not wholly die--until\nyou have heard what I have to say to you. I do not ask you to answer\nin words--you are past that, and I am not unreasonable. Only, when I\nfinish, make some sign--a sigh, a movement of the eyelid, a twitch of\nthe lips, even in the small corners of the mouth; nothing more than\nthat, just to show that you have heard, and I shall be satisfied.\nRemember all the years that I have been your protector, and this long\njourney that I have taken on your account; also all that I did for\nyour sainted mother before she died at Voa, to become one of the most\nimportant of those who surround the Queen of Heaven, and who, when they\nwish for any favour, have only to say half a word to get it. And do not\ncast in oblivion that at the last I obeyed your wish and brought you\nsafely to Riolama. It is true that in some small things I deceived you;\nbut that must not weigh with you, because it is a small matter and not\nworthy of mention when you consider the claims I have on you. In your\nhands, Rima, I leave everything, relying on the promise you made me, and\non my services. Only one word of caution remains to be added. Do not let\nthe magnificence of the place you are now about to enter, the new sights\nand colours, and the noise of shouting, and musical instruments and\nblowing of trumpets, put these things out of your head. Nor must you\nbegin to think meanly of yourself and be abashed when you find yourself\nsurrounded by saints and angels; for you are not less than they,\nalthough it may not seem so at first when you see them in their bright\nclothes, which, they say, shine like the sun. I cannot ask you to tie\na string round your finger; I can only trust to your memory, which was\nalways good, even about the smallest things; and when you are asked, as\nno doubt you will be, to express a wish, remember before everything to\nspeak of your grandfather, and his claims on you, also on your angelic\nmother, to whom you will present my humble remembrances.\"\n\nDuring this petition, which in other circumstances would have moved me\nto laughter but now only irritated me, a subtle change seemed to come\nto the apparently lifeless girl to make me hope. The small hand in mine\nfelt not so icy cold, and though no faintest colour had come to the\nface, its pallor had lost something of its deathly waxen appearance; and\nnow the compressed lips had relaxed a little and seemed ready to part.\nI laid my finger-tips on her heart and felt, or imagined that I felt,\na faint fluttering; and at last I became convinced that her heart was\nreally beating.\n\nI turned my eyes on the old man, still bending forward, intently\nwatching for the sign he had asked her to make. My anger and disgust\nat his gross earthy egoism had vanished. \"Let us thank God, old man,\"\nI said, the tears of joy half choking my utterance. \"She lives--she is\nrecovering from her fit.\"\n\nHe drew back, and on his knees, with bowed head, murmured a prayer of\nthanks to Heaven.\n\nTogether we continued watching her face for half an hour longer, I\nstill holding her in my arms, which could never grow weary of that sweet\nburden, waiting for other, surer signs of returning life; and she seemed\nnow like one that had fallen into a profound, death-like sleep which\nmust end in death. Yet when I remembered her face as it had looked an\nhour ago, I was confirmed in the belief that the progress to recovery,\nso strangely slow, was yet sure. So slow, so gradual was this passing\nfrom death to life that we had hardly ceased to fear when we noticed\nthat the lips were parted, or almost parted, that they were no longer\nwhite, and that under her pale, transparent skin a faint, bluish-rosy\ncolour was now visible. And at length, seeing that all danger was past\nand recovery so slow, old Nuflo withdrew once more to the fireside and,\nstretching himself out on the sandy floor, soon fell into a deep sleep.\n\nIf he had not been lying there before me in the strong light of the\nglowing embers and dancing flames, I could not have felt more alone with\nRima--alone amid those remote mountains, in that secret cavern, with\nlights and shadows dancing on its grey vault. In that profound silence\nand solitude the mysterious loveliness of the still face I continued\nto gaze on, its appearance of life without consciousness, produced a\nstrange feeling in me, hard, perhaps impossible, to describe.\n\nOnce, when clambering among the rough rocks, overgrown with forest,\namong the Queneveta mountains, I came on a single white flower which was\nnew to me, which I have never seen since. After I had looked long at it,\nand passed on, the image of that perfect flower remained so persistently\nin my mind that on the following day I went again, in the hope of seeing\nit still untouched by decay. There was no change; and on this occasion\nI spent a much longer time looking at it, admiring the marvellous\nbeauty of its form, which seemed so greatly to exceed that of all\nother flowers. It had thick petals, and at first gave me the idea of an\nartificial flower, cut by a divinely inspired artist from some unknown\nprecious stone, of the size of a large orange and whiter than milk, and\nyet, in spite of its opacity, with a crystalline lustre on the surface.\nNext day I went again, scarcely hoping to find it still unwithered; it\nwas fresh as if only just opened; and after that I went often, sometimes\nat intervals of several days, and still no faintest sign of any change,\nthe clear, exquisite lines still undimmed, the purity and lustre as\nI had first seen it. Why, I often asked, does not this mystic forest\nflower fade and perish like others? That first impression of its\nartificial appearance had soon left me; it was, indeed, a flower, and,\nlike other flowers, had life and growth, only with that transcendent\nbeauty it had a different kind of life. Unconscious, but higher; perhaps\nimmortal. Thus it would continue to bloom when I had looked my last\non it; wind and rain and sunlight would never stain, never tinge, its\nsacred purity; the savage Indian, though he sees little to admire in a\nflower, yet seeing this one would veil his face and turn back; even\nthe browsing beast crashing his way through the forest, struck with\nits strange glory, would swerve aside and pass on without harming it.\nAfterwards I heard from some Indians to whom I described it that\nthe flower I had discovered was called Hata; also that they had a\nsuperstition concerning it--a strange belief. They said that only one\nHata flower existed in the world; that it bloomed in one spot for the\nspace of a moon; that on the disappearance of the moon in the sky the\nHata disappeared from its place, only to reappear blooming in some\nother spot, sometimes in some distant forest. And they also said that\nwhosoever discovered the Hata flower in the forest would overcome all\nhis enemies and obtain all his desires, and finally outlive other men\nby many years. But, as I have said, all this I heard afterwards, and my\nhalf-superstitious feeling for the flower had grown up independently\nin my own mind. A feeling like that was in me while I gazed on the face\nthat had no motion, no consciousness in it, and yet had life, a life of\nso high a kind as to match with its pure, surpassing loveliness. I could\nalmost believe that, like the forest flower, in this state and aspect it\nwould endure for ever; endure and perhaps give of its own immortality to\neverything around it--to me, holding her in my arms and gazing fixedly\non the pale face framed in its cloud of dark, silken hair; to the\nleaping flames that threw changing lights on the dim stony wall of\nrock; to old Nuflo and his two yellow dogs stretched out on the floor in\neternal, unawakening sleep.\n\nThis feeling took such firm possession of my mind that it kept me for\na time as motionless as the form I held in my arms. I was only released\nfrom its power by noting still further changes in the face I watched,\na more distinct advance towards conscious life. The faint colour,\nwhich had scarcely been more than a suspicion of colour, had deepened\nperceptibly; the lids were lifted so as to show a gleam of the crystal\norbs beneath; the lips, too, were slightly parted.\n\nAnd, at last, bending lower down to feel her breath, the beauty and\nsweetness of those lips could no longer be resisted, and I touched them\nwith mine. Having once tasted their sweetness and fragrance, it was\nimpossible to keep from touching them again and again. She was not\nconscious--how could she be and not shrink from my caress? Yet there\nwas a suspicion in my mind, and drawing back I gazed into her face once\nmore. A strange new radiance had overspread it. Or was this only an\nillusive colour thrown on her skin by the red firelight? I shaded her\nface with my open hand, and saw that her pallor had really gone, that\nthe rosy flame on her cheeks was part of her life. Her lustrous eyes,\nhalf open, were gazing into mine. Oh, surely consciousness had returned\nto her! Had she been sensible of those stolen kisses? Would she now\nshrink from another caress? Trembling, I bent down and touched her lips\nagain, lightly, but lingeringly, and then again, and when I drew back\nand looked at her face the rosy flame was brighter, and the eyes,\nmore open still, were looking into mine. And gazing with those open,\nconscious eyes, it seemed to me that at last, at last, the shadow that\nhad rested between us had vanished, that we were united in perfect love\nand confidence, and that speech was superfluous. And when I spoke, it\nwas not without doubt and hesitation: our bliss in those silent moments\nhad been so complete, what could speaking do but make it less!\n\n\"My love, my life, my sweet Rima, I know that you will understand me\nnow as you did not before, on that dark night--do you remember it,\nRima?--when I held you clasped to my breast in the wood. How it pierced\nmy heart with pain to speak plainly to you as I did on the mountain\ntonight--to kill the hope that had sustained and brought you so far from\nhome! But now that anguish is over; the shadow has gone out of those\nbeautiful eyes that are looking at me. It is because loving me, knowing\nnow what love is, knowing, too, how much I love you, that you no longer\nneed to speak to any other living being of such things? To tell it, to\nshow it, to me is now enough--is it not so, Rima? How strange it seemed,\nat first, when you shrank in fear from me! But, afterwards, when you\nprayed aloud to your mother, opening all the secrets of your heart, I\nunderstood it. In that lonely, isolated life in the wood you had heard\nnothing of love, of its power over the heart, its infinite sweetness;\nwhen it came to you at last it was a new, inexplicable thing, and filled\nyou with misgivings and tumultuous thoughts, so that you feared it and\nhid yourself from its cause. Such tremors would be felt if it had always\nbeen night, with no light except that of the stars and the pale moon, as\nwe saw it a little while ago on the mountain; and, at last, day dawned,\nand a strange, unheard-of rose and purple flame kindled in the eastern\nsky, foretelling the coming sun. It would seem beautiful beyond anything\nthat night had shown to you, yet you would tremble and your heart beat\nfast at that strange sight; you would wish to fly to those who might be\nable to tell you its meaning, and whether the sweet things it prophesied\nwould ever really come. That is why you wished to find your people, and\ncame to Riolama to seek them; and when you knew--when I cruelly told\nyou--that they would never be found, then you imagined that that strange\nfeeling in your heart must remain a secret for ever, and you could\nnot endure the thought of your loneliness. If you had not fainted so\nquickly, then I should have told you what I must tell you now. They are\nlost, Rima--your people--but I am with you, and know what you feel, even\nif you have no words to tell it. But what need of words? It shines in\nyour eyes, it burns like a flame in your face; I can feel it in your\nhands. Do you not also see it in my face--all that I feel for you, the\nlove that makes me happy? For this is love, Rima, the flower and the\nmelody of life, the sweetest thing, the sweet miracle that makes our two\nsouls one.\"\n\nStill resting in my arms, as if glad to rest there, still gazing into\nmy face, it was clear to me that she understood my every word. And then,\nwith no trace of doubt or fear left, I stooped again, until my lips were\non hers; and when I drew back once more, hardly knowing which bliss was\ngreatest--kissing her delicate mouth or gazing into her face--she all at\nonce put her arms about my neck and drew herself up until she sat on my\nknee.\n\n\"Abel--shall I call you Abel now--and always?\" she spoke, still with\nher arms round my neck. \"Ah, why did you let me come to Riolama? I would\ncome! I made him come--old grandfather, sleeping there: he does not\ncount, but you--you! After you had heard my story, and knew that it was\nall for nothing! And all I wished to know was there--in you. Oh, how\nsweet it is! But a little while ago, what pain! When I stood on the\nmountain when you talked to me, and I knew that you knew best, and tried\nand tried not to know. At last I could try no more; they were all dead\nlike mother; I had chased the false water on the savannah. \'Oh, let me\ndie too,\' I said, for I could not bear the pain. And afterwards, here in\nthe cave, I was like one asleep, and when I woke I did not really wake.\nIt was like morning with the light teasing me to open my eyes and look\nat it. Not yet, dear light; a little while longer, it is so sweet to lie\nstill. But it would not leave me, and stayed teasing me still, like a\nsmall shining green fly; until, because it teased me so, I opened my\nlids just a little. It was not morning, but the firelight, and I was in\nyour arms, not in my little bed. Your eyes looking, looking into mine.\nBut I could see yours better. I remembered everything then, how you once\nasked me to look into your eyes. I remembered so many things--oh, so\nmany!\"\n\n\"How many things did you remember, Rima?\"\n\n\"Listen, Abel, do you ever lie on the dry moss and look straight up into\na tree and count a thousand leaves?\"\n\n\"No, sweetest, that could not be done, it is so many to count. Do you\nknow how many a thousand are?\"\n\n\"Oh, do I not! When a humming-bird flies close to my face and stops\nstill in the air, humming like a bee, and then is gone, in that short\ntime I can count a hundred small round bright feathers on its throat.\nThat is only a hundred; a thousand are more, ten times. Looking up I\ncount a thousand leaves; then stop counting, because there are thousands\nmore behind the first, and thousands more, crowded together so that I\ncannot count them. Lying in your arms, looking up into your face, it was\nlike that; I could not count the things I remembered. In the wood, when\nyou were there, and before; and long, long ago at Voa, when I was a\nchild with mother.\"\n\n\"Tell me some of the things you remembered, Rima.\"\n\n\"Yes, one--only one now. When I was a child at Voa mother was very\nlame--you know that. Whenever we went out, away from the houses, into\nthe forest, walking slowly, slowly, she would sit under a tree while I\nran about playing. And every time I came back to her I would find her so\npale, so sad, crying--crying. That was when I would hide and come softly\nback so that she would not hear me coming. \'Oh, mother, why are you\ncrying? Does your lame foot hurt you?\' And one day she took me in her\narms and told me truly why she cried.\"\n\nShe ceased speaking, but looked at me with a strange new light coming\ninto her eyes.\n\n\"Why did she cry, my love?\"\n\n\"Oh, Abel, can you understand--now--at last!\" And putting her lips\nclose to my ear, she began to murmur soft, melodious sounds that told\nme nothing. Then drawing back her head, she looked again at me, her eyes\nglistening with tears, her lips half parted with a smile, tender and\nwistful.\n\nAh, poor child! in spite of all that had been said, all that had\nhappened, she had returned to the old delusion that I must understand\nher speech. I could only return her look, sorrowfully and in silence.\n\nHer face became clouded with disappointment, then she spoke again with\nsomething of pleading in her tone. \"Look, we are not now apart, I hiding\nin the wood, you seeking, but together, saying the same things. In\nyour language--yours and now mine. But before you came I knew nothing,\nnothing, for there was only grandfather to talk to. A few words each\nday, the same words. If yours is mine, mine must be yours. Oh, do you\nnot know that mine is better?\"\n\n\"Yes, better; but alas! Rima, I can never hope to understand your sweet\nspeech, much less to speak it. The bird that only chirps and twitters\ncan never sing like the organ-bird.\"\n\nCrying, she hid her face against my neck, murmuring sadly between her\nsobs: \"Never--never!\"\n\nHow strange it seemed, in that moment of joy, such a passion of tears,\nsuch despondent words!\n\nFor some minutes I preserved a sorrowful silence, realizing for the\nfirst time, so far as it was possible to realize such a thing, what my\ninability to understand her secret language meant to her--that finer\nlanguage in which alone her swift thoughts and vivid emotions could be\nexpressed. Easily and well as she seemed able to declare herself in my\ntongue, I could well imagine that to her it would seem like the merest\nstammering. As she had said to me once when I asked her to speak in\nSpanish, \"That is not speaking.\" And so long as she could not commune\nwith me in that better language, which reflected her mind, there would\nnot be that perfect union of soul she so passionately desired.\n\nBy and by, as she grew calmer, I sought to say something that would be\nconsoling to both of us. \"Sweetest Rima,\" I spoke, \"it is so sad that\nI can never hope to talk with you in your way; but a greater love than\nthis that is ours we could never feel, and love will make us happy,\nunutterably happy, in spite of that one sadness. And perhaps, after a\nwhile, you will be able to say all you wish in my language, which is\nalso yours, as you said some time ago. When we are back again in the\nbeloved wood, and talk once more under that tree where we first talked,\nand under the old mora, where you hid yourself and threw down leaves\non me, and where you caught the little spider to show me how you made\nyourself a dress, you shall speak to me in your own sweet tongue, and\nthen try to say the same things in mine.... And in the end, perhaps, you\nwill find that it is not so impossible as you think.\"\n\nShe looked at me, smiling again through her tears, and shook her head a\nlittle.\n\n\"Remember what I have heard, that before your mother died you were able\nto tell Nuflo and the priest what her wish was. Can you not, in the same\nway, tell me why she cried?\"\n\n\"I can tell you, but it will not be telling you.\"\n\n\"I understand. You can tell the bare facts. I can imagine something\nmore, and the rest I must lose. Tell me, Rima.\"\n\nHer face became troubled; she glanced away and let her eyes wander round\nthe dim, firelit cavern; then they returned to mine once more.\n\n\"Look,\" she said, \"grandfather lying asleep by the fire. So far away\nfrom us--oh, so far! But if we were to go out from the cave, and on and\non to the great mountains where the city of the sun is, and stood there\nat last in the midst of great crowds of people, all looking at us,\ntalking to us, it would be just the same. They would be like the trees\nand rocks and animals--so far! Not with us nor we with them. But we are\neverywhere alone together, apart--we two. It is love; I know it now, but\nI did not know it before because I had forgotten what she told me. Do\nyou think I can tell you what she said when I asked her why she cried?\nOh no! Only this, she and another were like one, always, apart from\nthe others. Then something came--something came! O Abel, was that the\nsomething you told me about on the mountain? And the other was lost for\never, and she was alone in the forests and mountains of the world. Oh,\nwhy do we cry for what is lost? Why do we not quickly forget it and feel\nglad again? Now only do I know what you felt, O sweet mother, when you\nsat still and cried, while I ran about and played and laughed! O poor\nmother! Oh, what pain!\" And hiding her face against my neck, she sobbed\nonce more.\n\nTo my eyes also love and sympathy brought the tears; but in a little\nwhile the fond, comforting words I spoke and my caresses recalled her\nfrom that sad past to the present; then, lying back as at first,\nher head resting on my folded cloak, her body partly supported by my\nencircling arm and partly by the rock we were leaning against,\nher half-closed eyes turned to mine expressed a tender assured\nhappiness--the chastened gladness of sunshine after rain; a soft\ndelicious languor that was partly passionate with the passion\netherealized.\n\n\"Tell me, Rima,\" I said, bending down to her, \"in all those troubled\ndays with me in the woods had you no happy moments? Did not something in\nyour heart tell you that it was sweet to love, even before you knew what\nlove meant?\"\n\n\"Yes; and once--O Abel, do you remember that night, after returning from\nYtaioa, when you sat so late talking by the fire--I in the shadow, never\nstirring, listening, listening; you by the fire with the light on your\nface, saying so many strange things? I was happy then--oh, how happy! It\nwas black night and raining, and I a plant growing in the dark, feeling\nthe sweet raindrops falling, falling on my leaves. Oh, it will be\nmorning by and by and the sun will shine on my wet leaves; and that\nmade me glad till I trembled with happiness. Then suddenly the lightning\nwould come, so bright, and I would tremble with fear, and wish that\nit would be dark again. That was when you looked at me sitting in the\nshadow, and I could not take my eyes away quickly and could not meet\nyours, so that I trembled with fear.\"\n\n\"And now there is no fear--no shadow; now you are perfectly happy?\"\n\n\"Oh, so happy! If the way back to the wood was longer, ten times, and\nif the great mountains, white with snow on their tops, were between, and\nthe great dark forest, and rivers wider than Orinoco, still I would go\nalone without fear, because you would come after me, to join me in the\nwood, to be with me at last and always.\"\n\n\"But I should not let you go alone, Rima--your lonely days are over\nnow.\"\n\nShe opened her eyes wider and looked earnestly into my face. \"I must go\nback alone, Abel,\" she said. \"Before day comes I must leave you. Rest\nhere, with grandfather, for a few days and nights, then follow me.\"\n\nI heard her with astonishment. \"It must not be, Rima,\" I cried. \"What,\nlet you leave me--now you are mine--to go all that distance, through all\nthat wild country where you might lose yourself and perish alone? Oh, do\nnot think of it!\"\n\nShe listened, regarding me with some slight trouble in her eyes, but\nsmiling a little at the same time. Her small hand moved up my arm and\ncaressed my cheek; then she drew my face down to hers until our lips\nmet. But when I looked at her eyes again, I saw that she had not\nconsented to my wish. \"Do I not know all the way now,\" she spoke, \"all\nthe mountains, rivers, forests--how should I lose myself? And I must\nreturn quickly, not step by step, walking--resting, resting--walking,\nstopping to cook and eat, stopping to gather firewood, to make a\nshelter--so many things! Oh, I shall be back in half the time; and I\nhave so much to do.\"\n\n\"What can you have to do, love?--everything can be done when we are in\nthe wood together.\"\n\nA bright smile with a touch of mockery in it flitted over her face as\nshe replied: \"Oh, must I tell you that there are things you cannot do?\nLook, Abel,\" and she touched the slight garment she wore, thinner now\nthan at first, and dulled by long exposure to sun and wind and rain.\n\nI could not command her, and seemed powerless to persuade her; but I had\nnot done yet, and proceeded to use every argument I could find to bring\nher round to my view; and when I finished she put her arms around my\nneck and drew herself up once more. \"O Abel, how happy I shall be!\" she\nsaid, taking no notice of all I had said. \"Think of me alone, days and\ndays, in the wood, waiting for you, working all the time; saying: \'Come\nquickly, Abel; come slow, Abel. O Abel, how long you are! Oh, do not\ncome until my work is finished!\' And when it is finished and you arrive\nyou shall find me, but not at once. First you will seek for me in the\nhouse, then in the wood, calling: \'Rima! Rima!\' And she will be there,\nlistening, hid in the trees, wishing to be in your arms, wishing for\nyour lips--oh, so glad, yet fearing to show herself. Do you know why?\nHe told you--did he not?--that when he first saw her she was standing\nbefore him all in white--a dress that was like snow on the mountain-tops\nwhen the sun is setting and gives it rose and purple colour. I shall\nbe like that, hidden among the trees, saying: \'Am I different--not like\nRima? Will he know me--will he love me just the same?\' Oh, do I not\nknow that you will be glad, and love me, and call me beautiful? Listen!\nListen!\" she suddenly exclaimed, lifting her face.\n\nAmong the bushes not far from the cave\'s mouth a small bird had broken\nout in song, a clear, tender melody soon taken up by other birds further\naway.\n\n\"It will soon be morning,\" she said, and then clasped her arms about me\nonce more and held me in a long, passionate embrace; then slipping away\nfrom my arms and with one swift glance at the sleeping old man, passed\nout of the cave.\n\nFor a few moments I remained sitting, not yet realizing that she had\nleft me, so suddenly and swiftly had she passed from my arms and my\nsight; then, recovering my faculties, I started up and rushed out in\nhopes of overtaking her.\n\nIt was not yet dawn, but there was still some light from the full\nmoon, now somewhere behind the mountains. Running to the verge of the\nbushgrown plateau, I explored the rocky slope beneath without seeing her\nform, and then called: \"Rima! Rima!\"\n\nA soft, warbling sound, uttered by no bird, came up from the shadowy\nbushes far below; and in that direction I ran on; then pausing, called\nagain. The sweet sound was repeated once more, but much lower down now,\nand so faintly that I scarcely heard it. And when I went on further\nand called again and again, there was no reply, and I knew that she had\nindeed gone on that long journey alone.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nWhen Nuflo at length opened his eyes he found me sitting alone and\ndespondent by the fire, just returned from my vain chase. I had been\ncaught in a heavy mist on the mountain-side, and was wet through as well\nas weighed down by fatigue and drowsiness, consequent upon the previous\nday\'s laborious march and my night-long vigil; yet I dared not think of\nrest. She had gone from me, and I could not have prevented it; yet the\nthought that I had allowed her to slip out of my arms, to go away alone\non that long, perilous journey, was as intolerable as if I had consented\nto it.\n\nNuflo was at first startled to hear of her sudden departure; but he\nlaughed at my fears, affirming that after having once been over the\nground she could not lose herself; that she would be in no danger from\nthe Indians, as she would invariably see them at a distance and avoid\nthem, and that wild beasts, serpents, and other evil creatures would do\nher no harm. The small amount of food she required to sustain life could\nbe found anywhere; furthermore, her journey would not be interrupted\nby bad weather, since rain and heat had no effect on her. In the end he\nseemed pleased that she had left us, saying that with Rima in the wood\nthe house and cultivated patch and hidden provisions and implements\nwould be safe, for no Indian would venture to come where she was. His\nconfidence reassured me, and casting myself down on the sandy floor of\nthe cave, I fell into a deep slumber, which lasted until evening; then\nI only woke to share a meal with the old man, and sleep again until the\nfollowing day.\n\nNuflo was not ready to start yet; he was enamoured of the unaccustomed\ncomforts of a dry sleeping-place and a fire blown about by no wind and\ninto which fell no hissing raindrops. Not for two days more would he\nconsent to set out on the return journey, and if he could have persuaded\nme our stay at Riolama would have lasted a week.\n\nWe had fine weather at starting; but before long it clouded, and then\nfor upwards of a fortnight we had it wet and stormy, which so hindered\nus that it took us twenty-three days to accomplish the return journey,\nwhereas the journey out had only taken eighteen. The adventures we\nmet with and the pains we suffered during this long march need not be\nrelated. The rain made us miserable, but we suffered more from hunger\nthan from any other cause, and on more than one occasion were reduced to\nthe verge of starvation. Twice we were driven to beg for food at Indian\nvillages, and as we had nothing to give in exchange for it, we got\nvery little. It is possible to buy hospitality from the savage without\nfish-hooks, nails, and calico; but on this occasion I found myself\nwithout that impalpable medium of exchange which had been so great\na help to me on my first journey to Parahuari. Now I was weak and\nmiserable and without cunning. It is true that we could have exchanged\nthe two dogs for cassava bread and corn, but we should then have been\nworse off than ever. And in the end the dogs saved us by an occasional\ncapture--an armadillo surprised in the open and seized before it could\nbury itself in the soil, or an iguana, opossum, or labba, traced by\nmeans of their keen sense of smell to its hiding-place. Then Nuflo would\nrejoice and feast, rewarding them with the skin, bones, and entrails.\nBut at length one of the dogs fell lame, and Nuflo, who was very hungry,\nmade its lameness an excuse for dispatching it, which he did apparently\nwithout compunction, notwithstanding that the poor brute had served\nhim well in its way. He cut up and smoke-dried the flesh, and the\nintolerable pangs of hunger compelled me to share the loathsome food\nwith him. We were not only indecent, it seemed to me, but cannibals to\nfeed on the faithful servant that had been our butcher. \"But what does\nit matter?\" I argued with myself. \"All flesh, clean and unclean, should\nbe, and is, equally abhorrent to me, and killing animals a kind of\nmurder. But now I find myself constrained to do this evil thing that\ngood may come. Only to live I take it now--this hateful strength-giver\nthat will enable me to reach Rima, and the purer, better life that is to\nbe.\"\n\nDuring all that time, when we toiled onwards league after league in\nsilence, or sat silent by the nightly fire, I thought of many things;\nbut the past, with which I had definitely broken, was little in my mind.\nRima was still the source and centre of all my thoughts; from her they\nrose, and to her returned. Thinking, hoping, dreaming, sustained me in\nthose dark days and nights of pain and privation. Imagination was the\nbread that gave me strength, the wine that exhilarated. What sustained\nold Nuflo\'s mind I know not. Probably it was like a chrysalis, dormant,\nindependent of sustenance; the bright-winged image to be called at some\nfuture time to life by a great shouting of angelic hosts and noises of\nmusical instruments slept secure, coffined in that dull, gross nature.\n\nThe old beloved wood once more! Never did his native village in some\nmountain valley seem more beautiful to the Switzer, returning, war-worn,\nfrom long voluntary exile, than did that blue cloud on the horizon--the\nforest where Rima dwelt, my bride, my beautiful--and towering over\nit the dark cone of Ytaioa, now seem to my hungry eyes! How near at\nlast--how near! And yet the two or three intervening leagues to be\ntraversed so slowly, step by step--how vast the distance seemed! Even at\nfar Riolama, when I set out on my return, I scarcely seemed so far from\nmy love. This maddening impatience told on my strength, which was small,\nand hindered me. I could not run nor even walk fast; old Nuflo, slow,\nand sober, with no flame consuming his heart, was more than my equal in\nthe end, and to keep up with him was all I could do. At the finish he\nbecame silent and cautious, first entering the belt of trees leading\naway through the low range of hills at the southern extremity of the\nwood. For a mile or upwards we trudged on in the shade; then I began\nto recognize familiar ground, the old trees under which I had walked\nor sat, and knew that a hundred yards further on there would be a first\nglimpse of the palm-leaf thatch. Then all weakness forsook me; with a\nlow cry of passionate longing and joy I rushed on ahead; but I strained\nmy eyes in vain for a sight of that sweet shelter; no patch of pale\nyellow colour appeared amidst the universal verdure of bushes, creepers,\nand trees--trees beyond trees, trees towering above trees.\n\nFor some moments I could not realize it. No, I had surely made a\nmistake, the house had not stood on that spot; it would appear in sight\na little further on. I took a few uncertain steps onwards, and then\nagain stood still, my brain reeling, my heart swelling nigh to bursting\nwith anguish. I was still standing motionless, with hand pressed to my\nbreast, when Nuflo overtook me. \"Where is it--the house?\" I stammered,\npointing with my hand. All his stolidity seemed gone now; he was\ntrembling too, his lips silently moving. At length he spoke: \"They\nhave come--the children of hell have been here, and have destroyed\neverything!\"\n\n\"Rima! What has become of Rima?\" I cried; but without replying he walked\non, and I followed.\n\nThe house, we soon found, had been burnt down. Not a stick remained.\nWhere it had stood a heap of black ashes covered the ground--nothing\nmore. But on looking round we could discover no sign of human beings\nhaving recently visited the spot. A rank growth of grass and herbage now\ncovered the once clear space surrounding the site of the dwelling, and\nthe ash-heap looked as if it had been lying there for a month at least.\nAs to what had become of Rima the old man could say no word. He sat down\non the ground overwhelmed at the calamity: Runi\'s people had been there,\nhe could not doubt it, and they would come again, and he could only look\nfor death at their hands. The thought that Rima had perished, that she\nwas lost, was unendurable. It could not be! No doubt the Indians tract\ncome and destroyed the house during our absence; but she had returned,\nand they had gone away again to come no more. She would be somewhere in\nthe forest, perhaps not far off, impatiently waiting our return. The old\nman stared at me while I spoke; he appeared to be in a kind of stupor,\nand made no reply: and at last, leaving him still sitting on the ground,\nI went into the wood to look for Rima.\n\nAs I walked there, occasionally stopping to peer into some shadowy glade\nor opening, and to listen, I was tempted again and again to call the\nname of her I sought aloud; and still the fear that by so doing I might\nbring some hidden danger on myself, perhaps on her, made me silent. A\nstrange melancholy rested on the forest, a quietude seldom broken by a\ndistant bird\'s cry. How, I asked myself, should I ever find her in that\nwide forest while I moved about in that silent, cautious way? My only\nhope was that she would find me. It occurred to me that the most likely\nplace to seek her would be some of the old haunts known to us both,\nwhere we had talked together. I thought first of the mora tree, where\nshe had hidden herself from me, and thither I directed my steps. About\nthis tree, and within its shade, I lingered for upwards of an hour; and,\nfinally, casting my eyes up into the great dim cloud of green and purple\nleaves, I softly called: \"Rima, Rima, if you have seen me, and have\nconcealed yourself from me in your hiding-place, in mercy answer me--in\nmercy come down to me now!\" But Rima answered not, nor threw down\nany red glowing leaves to mock me: only the wind, high up, whispered\nsomething low and sorrowful in the foliage; and turning, I wandered away\nat random into the deeper shadows.\n\nBy and by I was startled by the long, piercing cry of a wildfowl,\nsounding strangely loud in the silence; and no sooner was the air still\nagain than it struck me that no bird had uttered that cry. The Indian\nis a good mimic of animal voices, but practice had made me able to\ndistinguish the true from the false bird-note. For a minute or so I\nstood still, at a loss what to do, then moved on again with greater\ncaution, scarcely breathing, straining my sight to pierce the shadowy\ndepths. All at once I gave a great start, for directly before me, on the\nprojecting root in the deeper shade of a tree, sat a dark, motionless\nhuman form. I stood still, watching it for some time, not yet knowing\nthat it had seen me, when all doubts were put to flight by the form\nrising and deliberately advancing--a naked Indian with a zabatana in\nhis hand. As he came up out of the deeper shade I recognized Piake, the\nsurly elder brother of my friend Kua-ko.\n\nIt was a great shock to meet him in the wood, but I had no time to\nreflect just then. I only remembered that I had deeply offended him and\nhis people, that they probably looked on me as an enemy, and would\nthink little of taking my life. It was too late to attempt to escape by\nflight; I was spent with my long journey and the many privations I had\nsuffered, while he stood there in his full strength with a deadly weapon\nin his hand.\n\nNothing was left but to put a bold face on, greet him in a friendly way,\nand invent some plausible story to account for my action in secretly\nleaving the village.\n\nHe was now standing still, silently regarding me, and glancing round\nI saw that he was not alone: at a distance of about forty yards on my\nright hand two other dusky forms appeared watching me from the deep\nshade.\n\n\"Piake!\" I cried, advancing three or four steps.\n\n\"You have returned,\" he answered, but without moving. \"Where from?\"\n\n\"Riolama.\"\n\nHe shook his head, then asked where it was.\n\n\"Twenty days towards the setting sun,\" I said. As he remained silent I\nadded: \"I heard that I could find gold in the mountains there. An old\nman told me, and we went to look for gold.\"\n\n\"What did you find?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\nAnd so our conversation appeared to be at an end. But after a few\nmoments my intense desire to discover whether the savages knew aught of\nRima or not made me hazard a question.\n\n\"Do you live here in the forest now?\" I asked.\n\nHe shook his head, and after a while said: \"We come to kill animals.\"\n\n\"You are like me now,\" I returned quickly; \"you fear nothing.\"\n\nHe looked distrustfully at me, then came a little nearer and said: \"You\nare very brave. I should not have gone twenty days\' journey with no\nweapons and only an old man for companion. What weapons did you have?\"\n\nI saw that he feared me and wished to make sure that I had it not in\nmy power to do him some injury. \"No weapon except my knife,\" I replied,\nwith assumed carelessness. With that I raised my cloak so as to let him\nsee for himself, turning my body round before him. \"Have you found my\npistol?\" I added.\n\nHe shook his head; but he appeared less suspicious now and came close up\nto me. \"How do you get food? Where are you going?\" he asked.\n\nI answered boldly: \"Food! I am nearly starving. I am going to the\nvillage to see if the women have got any meat in the pot, and to tell\nRuni all I have done since I left him.\"\n\nHe looked at me keenly, a little surprised at my confidence perhaps,\nthen said that he was also going back and would accompany me One of the\nother men now advanced, blow-pipe in hand, to join us, and, leaving the\nwood, we started to walk across the savannah.\n\nIt was hateful to have to recross that savannah again, to leave the\nwoodland shadows where I had hoped to find Rima; but I was powerless:\nI was a prisoner once more, the lost captive recovered and not yet\npardoned, probably never to be pardoned. Only by means of my own cunning\ncould I be saved, and Nuflo, poor old man, must take his chance.\n\nAgain and again as we tramped over the barren ground, and when we\nclimbed the ridge, I was compelled to stand still to recover breath,\nexplaining to Piake that I had been travelling day and night, with no\nmeat during the last three days, so that I was exhausted. This was\nan exaggeration, but it was necessary to account in some way for the\nfaintness I experienced during our walk, caused less by fatigue and want\nof food than by anguish of mind.\n\nAt intervals I talked to him, asking after all the other members of the\ncommunity by name. At last, thinking only of Rima, I asked him if any\nother person or persons besides his people came to the wood now or lived\nthere.\n\nHe said no. \"Once,\" I said, \"there was a daughter of the Didi, a girl\nyou all feared: is she there now?\"\n\nHe looked at me with suspicion and then shook his head. I dared not\npress him with more questions; but after an interval he said plainly:\n\"She is not there now.\"\n\nAnd I was forced to believe him; for had Rima been in the wood\nthey would not have been there. She was not there, this much I had\ndiscovered. Had she, then, lost her way, or perished on that long\njourney from Riolama? Or had she returned only to fall into the hands\nof her cruel enemies? My heart was heavy in me; but if these devils in\nhuman shape knew more than they had told me, I must, I said, hide my\nanxiety and wait patiently to find it out, should they spare my\nlife. And if they spared me and had not spared that other sacred life\ninterwoven with mine, the time would come when they would find, too\nlate, that they had taken to their bosom a worse devil than themselves.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nMy arrival at the village created some excitement; but I was plainly no\nlonger regarded as a friend or one of the family. Runi was absent, and\nI looked forward to his return with no little apprehension; he would\ndoubtless decide my fate. Kua-ko was also away. The others sat or stood\nabout the great room, staring at me in silence. I took no notice, but\nmerely asked for food, then for my hammock, which I hung up in the old\nplace, and lying down I fell into a doze. Runi made his appearance at\ndusk. I rose and greeted him, but he spoke no word and, until he went to\nhis hammock, sat in sullen silence, ignoring my presence.\n\nOn the following day the crisis came. We were once more gathered in the\nroom--all but Kua-ko and another of the men, who had not yet returned\nfrom some expedition--and for the space of half an hour not a word\nwas spoken by anyone. Something was expected; even the children were\nstrangely still, and whenever one of the pet birds strayed in at the\nopen door, uttering a little plaintive note, it was chased out again,\nbut without a sound. At length Runi straightened himself on his seat and\nfixed his eyes on me; then cleared his throat and began a long harangue,\ndelivered in the loud, monotonous singsong which I knew so well and\nwhich meant that the occasion was an important one. And as is usual\nin such efforts, the same thought and expressions were used again and\nagain, and yet again, with dull, angry insistence. The orator of Guayana\nto be impressive must be long, however little he may have to say.\nStrange as it may seem, I listened critically to him, not without a\nfeeling of scorn at his lower intelligence. But I was easier in my mind\nnow. From the very fact of his addressing such a speech to me I was\nconvinced that he wished not to take my life, and would not do so if I\ncould clear myself of the suspicion of treachery.\n\nI was a white man, he said, they were Indians; nevertheless they had\ntreated me well. They had fed me and sheltered me. They had done a\ngreat deal for me: they had taught me the use of the zabatana, and had\npromised to make one for me, asking for nothing in return. They had also\npromised me a wife. How had I treated them? I had deserted them, going\naway secretly to a distance, leaving them in doubt as to my intentions.\nHow could they tell why I had gone, and where? They had an enemy. Managa\nwas his name; he and his people hated them; I knew that he wished them\nevil; I knew where to find him, for they had told me. That was what they\nthought when I suddenly left them. Now I returned to them, saying that\nI had been to Riolama. He knew where Riolama was, although he had never\nbeen there: it was so far. Why did I go to Riolama? It was a bad place.\nThere were Indians there, a few; but they were not good Indians like\nthose of Parahuari, and would kill a white man. HAD I gone there? Why\nhad I gone there?\n\nHe finished at last, and it was my turn to speak, but he had given me\nplenty of time, and my reply was ready. \"I have heard you,\" I said.\n\"Your words are good words. They are the words of a friend. \'I am the\nwhite man\'s friend,\' you say; \'is he my friend? He went away secretly,\nsaying no word; why did he go without speaking to his friend who had\ntreated him well? Has he been to my enemy Managa? Perhaps he is a friend\nof my enemy? Where has he been?\' I must now answer these things, saying\ntrue words to my friend. You are an Indian, I am a white man. You do not\nknow all the white man\'s thoughts. These are the things I wish to tell\nyou. In the white man\'s country are two kinds of men. There are the rich\nmen, who have all that a man can desire--houses made of stone, full of\nfine things, fine clothes, fine weapons, fine ornaments; and they have\nhorses, cattle, sheep, dogs--everything they desire. Because they have\ngold, for with gold the white man buys everything. The other kind\nof white men are the poor, who have no gold and cannot buy or have\nanything: they must work hard for the rich man for the little food he\ngives them, and a rag to cover their nakedness; and if he gives them\nshelter they have it; if not they must lie down in the rain out of\ndoors. In my own country, a hundred days from here, I was the son of a\ngreat chief, who had much gold, and when he died it was all mine, and I\nwas rich. But I had an enemy, one worse than Managa, for he was rich and\nhad many people. And in a war his people overcame mine, and he took my\ngold, and all I possessed, making me poor. The Indian kills his enemy,\nbut the white man takes his gold, and that is worse than death. Then I\nsaid: \'I have been a rich man and now I am poor, and must work like a\ndog for some rich man, for the sake of the little food he will throw me\nat the end of each day. No, I cannot do it! I will go away and live with\nthe Indians, so that those who have seen me a rich man shall never see\nme working like a dog for a master, and cry out and mock at me. For the\nIndians are not like white men: they have no gold; they are not rich\nand poor; all are alike. One roof covers them from the rain and sun.\nAll have weapons which they make; all kill birds in the forest and catch\nfish in the rivers; and the women cook the meat and all eat from one\npot. And with the Indians I will be an Indian, and hunt in the forest\nand eat with them and drink with them.\' Then I left my country and came\nhere, and lived with you, Runi, and was well treated. And now, why did\nI go away? This I have now to tell you. After I had been here a certain\ntime I went over there to the forest. You wished me not to go, because\nof an evil thing, a daughter of the Didi, that lived there; but I feared\nnothing and went. There I met an old man, who talked to me in the white\nman\'s language. He had travelled and seen much, and told me one strange\nthing. On a mountain at Riolama he told me that he had seen a great lump\nof gold, as much as a man could carry. And when I heard this I said:\n\'With the gold I could return to my country, and buy weapons for myself\nand all my people and go to war with my enemy and deprive him of all his\npossessions and serve him as he served me.\' I asked the old man to take\nme to Riolama; and when he had consented I went away from here without\nsaying a word, so as not to be prevented. It is far to Riolama, and I\nhad no weapons; but I feared nothing. I said: \'If I must fight I must\nfight, and if I must be killed I must be killed.\' But when I got to\nRiolama I found no gold. There was only a yellow stone which the old\nman had mistaken for gold. It was yellow, like gold, but it would buy\nnothing. Therefore I came back to Parahuari again, to my friend; and if\nhe is angry with me still because I went away without informing him, let\nhim say: \'Go and seek elsewhere for a new friend, for I am your friend\nno longer.\'\"\n\nI concluded thus boldly because I did not wish him to know that I had\nsuspected him of harbouring any sinister designs, or that I looked\non our quarrel as a very serious one. When I had finished speaking he\nemitted a sound which expressed neither approval nor disapproval, but\nonly the fact that he had heard me. But I was satisfied. His expression\nhad undergone a favourable change; it was less grim. After a while\nhe remarked, with a peculiar twitching of the mouth which might have\ndeveloped into a smile: \"The white man will do much to get gold. You\nwalked twenty days to see a yellow stone that would buy nothing.\" It was\nfortunate that he took this view of the case, which was flattering to\nhis Indian nature, and perhaps touched his sense of the ludicrous. At\nall events, he said nothing to discredit my story, to which they had all\nlistened with profound interest.\n\nFrom that time it seemed to be tacitly agreed to let bygones be bygones;\nand I could see that as the dangerous feeling that had threatened my\nlife diminished, the old pleasure they had once found in my company\nreturned. But my feelings towards them did not change, nor could they\nwhile that black and terrible suspicion concerning Rima was in my heart.\nI talked again freely with them, as if there had been no break in the\nold friendly relations. If they watched me furtively whenever I went\nout of doors, I affected not to see it. I set to work to repair my rude\nguitar, which had been broken in my absence, and studied to show them\na cheerful countenance. But when alone, or in my hammock, hidden from\ntheir eyes, free to look into my own heart, then I was conscious that\nsomething new and strange had come into my life; that a new nature,\nblack and implacable, had taken the place of the old. And sometimes\nit was hard to conceal this fury that burnt in me; sometimes I felt an\nimpulse to spring like a tiger on one of the Indians, to hold him fast\nby the throat until the secret I wished to learn was forced from his\nlips, then to dash his brains out against the stone. But they were many,\nand there was no choice but to be cautious and patient if I wished to\noutwit them with a cunning superior to their own.\n\nThree days after my arrival at the village, Kua-ko returned with his\ncompanion. I greeted him with affected warmth, but was really pleased\nthat he was back, believing that if the Indians knew anything of Rima he\namong them all would be most likely to tell it.\n\nKua-ko appeared to have brought some important news, which he discussed\nwith Runi and the others; and on the following day I noticed that\npreparations for an expedition were in progress. Spears and bows and\narrows were got ready, but not blow-pipes, and I knew by this that the\nexpedition would not be a hunting one. Having discovered so much, also\nthat only four men were going out, I called Kua-ko aside and begged him\nto let me go with them. He seemed pleased at the proposal, and at once\nrepeated it to Runi, who considered for a little and then consented.\n\nBy and by he said, touching his bow: \"You cannot fight with our weapons;\nwhat will you do if we meet an enemy?\"\n\nI smiled and returned that I would not run away. All I wished to show\nhim was that his enemies were my enemies, that I was ready to fight for\nmy friend.\n\nHe was pleased at my words, and said no more and gave me no weapons.\nNext morning, however, when we set out before daylight, I made the\ndiscovery that he was carrying my revolver fastened to his waist. He\nhad concealed it carefully under the one simple garment he wore, but it\nbulged slightly, and so the secret was betrayed. I had never believed\nthat he had lost it, and I was convinced that he took it now with the\nobject of putting it into my hands at the last moment in case of meeting\nwith an enemy.\n\nFrom the village we travelled in a north-westerly direction, and before\nnoon camped in a grove of dwarf trees, where we remained until the sun\nwas low, then continued our walk through a rather barren country. At\nnight we camped again beside a small stream, only a few inches deep,\nand after a meal of smoked meat and parched maize prepared to sleep till\ndawn on the next day.\n\nSitting by the fire I resolved to make a first attempt to discover from\nKua-ko anything concerning Rima which might be known to him. Instead\nof lying down when the others did, I remained seated, my guardian also\nsitting--no doubt waiting for me to lie down first. Presently I moved\nnearer to him and began a conversation in a low voice, anxious not to\nrouse the attention of the other men.\n\n\"Once you said that Oalava would be given to me for a wife,\" I began.\n\"Some day I shall want a wife.\"\n\nHe nodded approval, and remarked sententiously that the desire to\npossess a wife was common to all men.\n\n\"What has been left to me?\" I said despondingly and spreading out my\nhands. \"My pistol gone, and did I not give Runi the tinder-box, and the\nlittle box with a cock painted on it to you? I had no return--not even\nthe blow-pipe. How, then, can I get me a wife?\"\n\nHe, like the others--dull-witted savage that he was--had come to the\nbelief that I was incapable of the cunning and duplicity they practiced.\nI could not see a green parrot sitting silent and motionless amidst the\ngreen foliage as they could; I had not their preternatural keenness of\nsight; and, in like manner, to deceive with lies and false seeming was\ntheir faculty and not mine. He fell readily into the trap. My return to\npractical subjects pleased him. He bade me hope that Oalava might yet be\nmine in spite of my poverty. It was not always necessary to have things\nto get a wife: to be able to maintain her was enough; some day I would\nbe like one of themselves, able to kill animals and catch fish. Besides,\ndid not Runi wish to keep me with them for other reasons? But he could\nnot keep me wifeless. I could do much: I could sing and make music; I\nwas brave and feared nothing; I could teach the children to fight.\n\nHe did not say, however, that I could teach anything to one of his years\nand attainments.\n\nI protested that he gave me too much praise, that they were just as\nbrave. Did they not show a courage equal to mine by going every day to\nhunt in that wood which was inhabited by the daughter of the Didi?\n\nI came to this subject with fear and trembling, but he took it quietly.\nHe shook his head, and then all at once began to tell me how they first\ncame to go there to hunt. He said that a few days after I had secretly\ndisappeared, two men and a woman, returning home from a distant place\nwhere they had been on a visit to a relation, stopped at the village.\nThese travellers related that two days\' journey from Ytaioa they had\nmet three persons travelling in an opposite direction: an old man with\na white beard, followed by two yellow dogs, a young man in a big cloak,\nand a strange-looking girl. Thus it came to be known that I had left the\nwood with the old man and the daughter of the Didi. It was great news to\nthem, for they did not believe that we had any intention of returning,\nand at once they began to hunt in the wood, and went there every day,\nkilling birds, monkeys, and other animals in numbers.\n\nHis words had begun to excite me greatly, but I studied to appear calm\nand only slightly interested, so as to draw him on to say more.\n\n\"Then we returned,\" I said at last. \"But only two of us, and not\ntogether. I left the old man on the road, and SHE left us in Riolama.\nShe went away from us into the mountains--who knows whither!\"\n\n\"But she came back!\" he returned, with a gleam of devilish satisfaction\nin his eyes that made the blood run cold in my veins.\n\nIt was hard to dissemble still, to tempt him to say something that\nwould madden me! \"No, no,\" I answered, after considering his words. \"She\nfeared to return; she went away to hide herself in the great mountains\nbeyond Riolama. She could not come back.\"\n\n\"But she came back!\" he persisted, with that triumphant gleam in his\neyes once more. Under my cloak my hand had clutched my knife-handle, but\nI strove hard against the fierce, almost maddening impulse to pluck it\nout and bury it, quick as lightning, in his accursed throat.\n\nHe continued: \"Seven days before you returned we saw her in the wood. We\nwere always expecting, watching, always afraid; and when hunting we were\nthree and four together. On that day I and three others saw her. It was\nin an open place, where the trees are big and wide apart. We started\nup and chased her when she ran from us, but feared to shoot. And in one\nmoment she climbed up into a small tree, then, like a monkey, passed\nfrom its highest branches into a big tree. We could not see her there,\nbut she was there in the big tree, for there was no other tree near--no\nway of escape. Three of us sat down to watch, and the other went back\nto the village. He was long gone; we were just going to leave the tree,\nfearing that she would do us some injury, when he came back, and with\nhim all the others, men, women, and children. They brought axes and\nknives. Then Runi said: \'Let no one shoot an arrow into the tree\nthinking to hit her, for the arrow would be caught in her hand and\nthrown back at him. We must burn her in the tree; there is no way to\nkill her except by fire.\' Then we went round and round looking up, but\ncould see nothing; and someone said: \'She has escaped, flying like a\nbird from the tree\'; but Runi answered that fire would show. So we cut\ndown the small tree and lopped the branches off and heaped them round\nthe big trunk. Then, at a distance, we cut down ten more small trees,\nand afterwards, further away, ten more, and then others, and piled them\nall round, tree after tree, until the pile reached as far from the trunk\nas that,\" and here he pointed to a bush forty to fifty yards from where\nwe sat.\n\nThe feeling with which I had listened to this recital had become\nintolerable. The sweat ran from me in streams; I shivered like a person\nin a fit of ague, and clenched my teeth together to prevent them from\nrattling. \"I must drink,\" I said, cutting him short and rising to my\nfeet. He also rose, but did not follow me, when, with uncertain steps, I\nmade my way to the waterside, which was ten or twelve yards away. Lying\nprostrate on my chest, I took a long draught of clear cold water, and\nheld my face for a few moments in the current. It sent a chill through\nme, drying my wet skin, and bracing me for the concluding part of the\nhideous narrative. Slowly I stepped back to the fireside and sat down\nagain, while he resumed his old place at my side.\n\n\"You burnt the tree down,\" I said. \"Finish telling me now and let me\nsleep--my eyes are heavy.\"\n\n\"Yes. While the men cut and brought trees, the women and children\ngathered dry stuff in the forest and brought it in their arms and piled\nit round. Then they set fire to it on all sides, laughing and shouting:\n\'Burn, burn, daughter of the Didi!\' At length all the lower branches of\nthe big tree were on fire, and the trunk was on fire, but above it was\nstill green, and we could see nothing. But the flames went up higher and\nhigher with a great noise; and at last from the top of the tree, out\nof the green leaves, came a great cry, like the cry of a bird: \'Abel!\nAbel!\' and then looking we saw something fall; through leaves and smoke\nand flame it fell like a great white bird killed with an arrow and\nfalling to the earth, and fell into the flames beneath. And it was the\ndaughter of the Didi, and she was burnt to ashes like a moth in the\nflames of a fire, and no one has ever heard or seen her since.\"\n\nIt was well for me that he spoke rapidly, and finished quickly.\nEven before he had quite concluded I drew my cloak round my face and\nstretched myself out. And I suppose that he at once followed my example,\nbut I had grown blind and deaf to outward things just then. My heart no\nlonger throbbed violently; it fluttered and seemed to grow feebler and\nfeebler in its action: I remember that there was a dull, rushing sound\nin my ears, that I gasped for breath, that my life seemed ebbing away.\nAfter these horrible sensations had passed, I remained quiet for about\nhalf an hour; and during this time the picture of that last act in the\nhateful tragedy grew more and more distinct and vivid in my mind, until\nI seemed to be actually gazing on it, until my ears were filled with the\nhissing and crackling of the fire, the exultant shouts of the savages,\nand above all the last piercing cry of \"Abel! Abel!\" from the cloud of\nburning foliage. I could not endure it longer, and rose at last to my\nfeet. I glanced at Kua-ko lying two or three yards away, and he, like\nthe others, was, or appeared to be, in a deep sleep; he was lying on\nhis back, and his dark firelit face looked as still and unconscious as\na face of stone. Now was my chance to escape--if to escape was my wish.\nYes; for I now possessed the coveted knowledge, and nothing more was to\nbe gained by keeping with my deadly enemies. And now, most fortunately\nfor me, they had brought me far on the road to that place of the five\nhills where Managa lived--Managa, whose name had been often in my\nmind since my return to Parahuari. Glancing away from Kua-ko\'s still\nstone-like face. I caught sight of that pale solitary star which Runi\nhad pointed out to me low down in the north-western sky when I had asked\nhim where his enemy lived. In that direction we had been travelling\nsince leaving the village; surely if I walked all night, by tomorrow I\ncould reach Managa\'s hunting-ground, and be safe and think over what I\nhad heard and on what I had to do.\n\nI moved softly away a few steps, then thinking that it would be well to\ntake a spear in my hand, I turned back, and was surprised and startled\nto notice that Kua-ko had moved in the interval. He had turned over on\nhis side, and his face was now towards me. His eyes appeared closed, but\nhe might be only feigning sleep, and I dared not go back to pick up the\nspear. After a moment\'s hesitation I moved on again, and after a second\nglance back and seeing that he did not stir, I waded cautiously across\nthe stream, walked softly twenty or thirty yards, and then began to run.\nAt intervals I paused to listen for a moment; and presently I heard a\npattering sound as of footsteps coming swiftly after me. I instantly\nconcluded that Kua-ko had been awake all the time watching my movements,\nand that he was now following me. I now put forth my whole speed, and\nwhile thus running could distinguish no sound. That he would miss me,\nfor it was very dark, although with a starry sky above, was my only\nhope; for with no weapon except my knife my chances would be small\nindeed should he overtake me. Besides, he had no doubt roused the others\nbefore starting, and they would be close behind. There were no bushes\nin that place to hide myself in and let them pass me; and presently, to\nmake matters worse, the character of the soil changed, and I was running\nover level clayey ground, so white with a salt efflorescence that a\ndark object moving on it would show conspicuously at a distance. Here\nI paused to look back and listen, when distinctly came the sound of\nfootsteps, and the next moment I made out the vague form of an Indian\nadvancing at a rapid rate of speed and with his uplifted spear in his\nhand. In the brief pause I had made he had advanced almost to within\nhurling distance of me, and turning, I sped on again, throwing off my\ncloak to ease my flight. The next time I looked back he was still in\nsight, but not so near; he had stopped to pick up my cloak, which would\nbe his now, and this had given me a slight advantage. I fled on, and had\ncontinued running for a distance perhaps of fifty yards when an object\nrushed past me, tearing through the flesh of my left arm close to the\nshoulder on its way; and not knowing that I was not badly wounded nor\nhow near my pursuer might be, I turned in desperation to meet him,\nand saw him not above twenty-five yards away, running towards me with\nsomething bright in his hand. It was Kua-ko, and after wounding me with\nhis spear he was about to finish me with his knife. O fortunate young\nsavage, after such a victory, and with that noble blue cloth cloak for\ntrophy and covering, what fame and happiness will be yours! A change\nswift as lightning had come over me, a sudden exultation. I was wounded,\nbut my right hand was sound and clutched a knife as good as his, and\nwe were on an equality. I waited for him calmly. All weakness, grief,\ndespair had vanished, all feelings except a terrible raging desire to\nspill his accursed blood; and my brain was clear and my nerves like\nsteel, and I remembered with something like laughter our old amusing\nencounters with rapiers of wood. Ah, that was only making believe and\nchildish play; this was reality. Could any white man, deprived of his\ntreacherous, far-killing weapon, meet the resolute savage, face to face\nand foot to foot, and equal him with the old primitive weapons? Poor\nyouth, this delusion will cost you dear! It was scarcely an equal\ncontest when he hurled himself against me, with only his savage strength\nand courage to match my skill; in a few moments he was lying at my\nfeet, pouring out his life blood on that white thirsty plain. From his\nprostrate form I turned, the wet, red knife in my hand, to meet the\nothers, still thinking that they were on the track and close at hand.\nWhy had he stooped to pick up the cloak if they were not following--if\nhe had not been afraid of losing it? I turned only to receive their\nspears, to die with my face to them; nor was the thought of death\nterrible to me; I could die calmly now after killing my first assailant.\nBut had I indeed killed him? I asked, hearing a sound like a groan\nescape from his lips. Quickly stooping, I once more drove my weapon to\nthe hilt in his prostrate form, and when he exhaled a deep sigh, and his\nframe quivered, and the blood spurted afresh, I experienced a feeling\nof savage joy. And still no sound of hurrying footsteps came to my\nlistening ears and no vague forms appeared in the darkness. I concluded\nthat he had either left them sleeping or that they had not followed in\nthe right direction. Taking up the cloak, I was about to walk on, when\nI noticed the spear he had thrown at me lying where it had fallen some\nyards away, and picking that up also, I went on once more, still keeping\nthe guiding star before me.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nThat good fight had been to me like a draught of wine, and made me for\na while oblivious of my loss and of the pain from my wound. But the glow\nand feeling of exultation did not last: the lacerated flesh smarted; I\nwas weak from loss of blood, and oppressed with sensations of fatigue.\nIf my foes had appeared on the scene they would have made an easy\nconquest of me; but they came not, and I continued to walk on, slowly\nand painfully, pausing often to rest.\n\nAt last, recovering somewhat from my faint condition, and losing all\nfear of being overtaken, my sorrow revived in full force, and thought\nreturned to madden me.\n\nAlas! this bright being, like no other in its divine brightness, so long\nin the making, now no more than a dead leaf, a little dust, lost and\nforgotten for ever--oh, pitiless! Oh, cruel!\n\nBut I knew it all before--this law of nature and of necessity, against\nwhich all revolt is idle: often had the remembrance of it filled me with\nineffable melancholy; only now it seemed cruel beyond all cruelty.\n\nNot nature the instrument, not the keen sword that cuts into the\nbleeding tissues, but the hand that wields it--the unseen unknown\nsomething, or person, that manifests itself in the horrible workings of\nnature.\n\n\"Did you know, beloved, at the last, in that intolerable heat, in that\nmoment of supreme anguish, that he is unlistening, unhelpful as the\nstars, that you cried not to him? To me was your cry; but your poor,\nfrail fellow creature was not there to save, or, failing that, to cast\nhimself into the flames and perish with you, hating God.\"\n\nThus, in my insufferable pain, I spoke aloud; alone in that solitary\nplace, a bleeding fugitive in the dark night, looking up at the stars\nI cursed the Author of my being and called on Him to take back the\nabhorred gift of life.\n\nYet, according to my philosophy, how vain it was! All my bitterness and\nhatred and defiance were as empty, as ineffectual, as utterly futile,\nas are the supplications of the meek worshipper, and no more than the\nwhisper of a leaf, the light whirr of an insect\'s wing. Whether I loved\nHim who was over all, as when I thanked Him on my knees for guiding\nme to where I had heard so sweet and mysterious a melody, or hated and\ndefied Him as now, it all came from Him--love and hate, good and evil.\n\nBut I know--I knew then--that in one thing my philosophy was false, that\nit was not the whole truth; that though my cries did not touch nor come\nnear Him they would yet hurt me; and, just as a prisoner maddened at\nhis unjust fate beats against the stone walls of his cell until he falls\nback bruised and bleeding to the floor, so did I wilfully bruise my own\nsoul, and knew that those wounds I gave myself would not heal.\n\nOf that night, the beginning of the blackest period of my life, I shall\nsay no more; and over subsequent events I shall pass quickly.\n\nMorning found me at a distance of many miles from the scene of my duel\nwith the Indian, in a broken, hilly country, varied with savannah and\nopen forest. I was well-nigh spent with my long march, and felt that\nunless food was obtained before many hours my situation would be indeed\ndesperate. With labour I managed to climb to the summit of a hill about\nthree hundred feet high in order to survey the surrounding country, and\nfound that it was one of a group of five, and conjectured that these\nwere the five hills of Uritay and that I was in the neighbourhood of\nManaga\'s village. Coming down I proceeded to the next hill, which was\nhigher; and before reaching it came to a stream in a narrow valley\ndividing the hills, and proceeding along its banks in search of a\ncrossing-place, I came full in sight of the settlement sought for. As I\napproached, people were seen moving hurriedly about; and by the time I\narrived, walking slowly and painfully, seven or eight men were standing\nbefore the village\' some with spears in their hands, the women and\nchildren behind them, all staring curiously at me. Drawing near I cried\nout in a somewhat feeble voice that I was seeking for Managa; whereupon\na gray-haired man stepped forth, spear in hand, and replied that he was\nManaga, and demanded to know why I sought him. I told him a part of my\nstory--enough to show that I had a deadly feud with Runi, that I had\nescaped from him after killing one of his people.\n\nI was taken in and supplied with food; my wound was examined and\ndressed; and then I was permitted to lie down and sleep, while Managa,\nwith half a dozen of his people, hurriedly started to visit the scene of\nmy fight with Kua-ko, not only to verify my story, but partly with the\nhope of meeting Runi. I did not see him again until the next morning,\nwhen he informed me that he had found the spot where I had been\novertaken, that the dead man had been discovered by the others and\ncarried back towards Parahuari. He had followed the trace for some\ndistance, and he was satisfied that Runi had come thus far in the first\nplace only with the intention of spying on him.\n\nMy arrival, and the strange tidings I had brought, had thrown the\nvillage into a great commotion; it was evident that from that time\nManaga lived in constant apprehension of a sudden attack from his old\nenemy. This gave me great satisfaction; it was my study to keep the\nfeeling alive, and, more than that, to drop continual hints of his\nenemy\'s secret murderous purpose, until he was wrought up to a kind of\nfrenzy of mingled fear and rage. And being of a suspicious and somewhat\ntruculent temper, he one day all at once turned on me as the immediate\ncause of his miserable state, suspecting perhaps that I only wished\nto make an instrument of him. But I was strangely bold and careless of\ndanger then, and only mocked at his rage, telling him proudly that I\nfeared him not; that Runi, his mortal enemy and mine, feared not him but\nme; that Runi knew perfectly well where I had taken refuge and would not\nventure to make his meditated attack while I remained in his village,\nbut would wait for my departure. \"Kill me, Managa,\" I cried, smiting my\nchest as I stood facing him. \"Kill me, and the result will be that he\nwill come upon you unawares and murder you all, as he has resolved to do\nsooner or later.\"\n\nAfter that speech he glared at me in silence, then flung down the spear\nhe had snatched up in his sudden rage and stalked out of the house and\ninto the wood; but before long he was back again, seated in his old\nplace, brooding on my words with a face black as night.\n\nIt is painful to recall that secret dark chapter of my life--that\nperiod of moral insanity. But I wish not to be a hypocrite, conscious or\nunconscious, to delude myself or another with this plea of insanity. My\nmind was very clear just then; past and present were clear to me; the\nfuture clearest of all: I could measure the extent of my action and\nspeculate on its future effect, and my sense of right or wrong--of\nindividual responsibility--was more vivid than at any other period of my\nlife. Can I even say that I was blinded by passion? Driven, perhaps, but\ncertainly not blinded. For no reaction, or submission, had followed on\nthat furious revolt against the unknown being, personal or not, that is\nbehind nature, in whose existence I believed. I was still in revolt: I\nwould hate Him, and show my hatred by being like Him, as He appears to\nus reflected in that mirror of Nature. Had He given me good gifts--the\nsense of right and wrong and sweet humanity? The beautiful sacred flower\nHe had caused to grow in me I would crush ruthlessly; its beauty and\nfragrance and grace would be dead for ever; there was nothing evil,\nnothing cruel and contrary to my nature, that I would not be guilty of,\nglorying in my guilt. This was not the temper of a few days: I remained\nfor close upon two months at Managa\'s village, never repenting nor\ndesisting in my efforts to induce the Indians to join me in that most\nbarbarous adventure on which my heart was set.\n\nI succeeded in the end; it would have been strange if I had not. The\nhorrible details need not be given. Managa did not wait for his enemy,\nbut fell on him unexpectedly, an hour after nightfall in his own\nvillage. If I had really been insane during those two months, if some\ncloud had been on me, some demoniacal force dragging me on, the cloud\nand insanity vanished and the constraint was over in one moment, when\nthat hellish enterprise was completed. It was the sight of an old woman,\nlying where she had been struck down, the fire of the blazing house\nlighting her wide-open glassy eyes and white hair dabbled in blood,\nwhich suddenly, as by a miracle, wrought this change in my brain. For\nthey were all dead at last, old and young, all who had lighted the fire\nround that great green tree in which Rima had taken refuge, who had\ndanced round the blaze, shouting: \"Burn! burn!\"\n\nAt the moment my glance fell on that prostrate form I paused and stood\nstill, trembling like a person struck with a sudden pang in the heart,\nwho thinks that his last moment has come to him unawares. After a\nwhile I slunk away out of the great circle of firelight into the thick\ndarkness beyond. Instinctively I turned towards the forests across the\nsavannah--my forest again; and fled away from the noise and the sight\nof flames, never pausing until I found myself within the black shadow\nof the trees. Into the deeper blackness of the interior I dared not\nventure; on the border I paused to ask myself what I did there alone in\nthe night-time. Sitting down, I covered my face with my hands as if to\nhide it more effectually than it could be hidden by night and the forest\nshadows. What horrible thing, what calamity that frightened my soul to\nthink of, had fallen on me? The revulsion of feeling, the unspeakable\nhorror, the remorse, was more than I could bear. I started up with a cry\nof anguish, and would have slain myself to escape at that moment; but\nNature is not always and utterly cruel, and on this occasion she came to\nmy aid. Consciousness forsook me, and I lived not again until the light\nof early morning was in the east; then found myself lying on the wet\nherbage--wet with rain that had lately fallen. My physical misery was\nnow so great that it prevented me from dwelling on the scenes witnessed\non the previous evening. Nature was again merciful in this. I only\nremembered that it was necessary to hide myself, in case the Indians\nshould be still in the neighbourhood and pay the wood a visit. Slowly\nand painfully I crept away into the forest, and there sat for several\nhours, scarcely thinking at all, in a half-stupefied condition. At noon\nthe sun shone out and dried the wood. I felt no hunger, only a\nvague sense of bodily misery, and with it the fear that if I left my\nhiding-place I might meet some human creature face to face. This fear\nprevented me from stirring until the twilight came, when I crept forth\nand made my way to the border of the forest, to spend the night there.\nWhether sleep visited me during the dark hours or not I cannot say:\nday and night my condition seemed the same; I experienced only a dull\nsensation of utter misery which seemed in spirit and flesh alike,\nan inability to think clearly, or for more than a few moments\nconsecutively, about anything. Scenes in which I had been principal\nactor came and went, as in a dream when the will slumbers: now with\ndevilish ingenuity and persistence I was working on Managa\'s mind; now\nstanding motionless in the forest listening for that sweet, mysterious\nmelody; now staring aghast at old Cla-cla\'s wide-open glassy eyes and\nwhite hair dabbled in blood; then suddenly, in the cave at Riolama, I\nwas fondly watching the slow return of life and colour to Rima\'s still\nface.\n\nWhen morning came again, I felt so weak that a vague fear of sinking\ndown and dying of hunger at last roused me and sent me forth in quest\nof food. I moved slowly and my eyes were dim to see, but I knew so well\nwhere to seek for small morsels--small edible roots and leaf-stalks,\nberries, and drops of congealed gum--that it would have been strange in\nthat rich forest if I had not been able to discover something to stay my\nfamine. It was little, but it sufficed for the day. Once more Nature was\nmerciful to me; for that diligent seeking among the concealing leaves\nleft no interval for thought; every chance morsel gave a momentary\npleasure, and as I prolonged my search my steps grew firmer, the dimness\npassed from my eyes. I was more forgetful of self, more eager, and like\na wild animal with no thought or feeling beyond its immediate wants.\nFatigued at the end, I fell asleep as soon as darkness brought my busy\nrambles to a close, and did not wake until another morning dawned.\n\nMy hunger was extreme now. The wailing notes of a pair of small birds,\npersistently flitting round me, or perched with gaping bills and\nwings trembling with agitation, served to remind me that it was now\nbreeding-time; also that Rima had taught me to find a small bird\'s nest.\nShe found them only to delight her eyes with the sight; but they would\nbe food for me; the crystal and yellow fluid in the gem-like, white\nor blue or red-speckled shells would help to keep me alive. All day I\nhunted, listening to every note and cry, watching the motions of every\nwinged thing, and found, besides gums and fruits, over a score of nests\ncontaining eggs, mostly of small birds, and although the labour was\ngreat and the scratches many, I was well satisfied with the result.\n\nA few days later I found a supply of Haima gum, and eagerly began\npicking it from the tree; not that it could be used, but the thought of\nthe brilliant light it gave was so strong in my mind that mechanically I\ngathered it all. The possession of this gum, when night closed round\nme again, produced in me an intense longing for artificial light and\nwarmth. The darkness was harder than ever to endure. I envied the\nfireflies their natural lights, and ran about in the dusk to capture a\nfew and hold them in the hollow of my two hands, for the sake of their\ncold, fitful flashes. On the following day I wasted two or three hours\ntrying to get fire in the primitive method with dry wood, but failed,\nand lost much time, and suffered more than ever from hunger in\nconsequence. Yet there was fire in everything; even when I struck at\nhard wood with my knife, sparks were emitted. If I could only arrest\nthose wonderful heat- and light-giving sparks! And all at once, as if I\nhad just lighted upon some new, wonderful truth, it occurred to me that\nwith my steel hunting-knife and a piece of flint fire could be obtained.\nImmediately I set about preparing tinder with dry moss, rotten wood, and\nwild cotton; and in a short time I had the wished fire, and heaped wood\ndry and green on it to make it large. I nursed it well, and spent the\nnight beside it; and it also served to roast some huge white grubs which\nI had found in the rotten wood of a prostrate trunk. The sight of these\ngreat grubs had formerly disgusted me; but they tasted good to me now,\nand stayed my hunger, and that was all I looked for in my wild forest\nfood.\n\nFor a long time an undefined feeling prevented me from going near the\nsite of Nuflo\'s burnt lodge. I went there at last; and the first thing I\ndid was to go all round the fatal spot, cautiously peering into the\nrank herbage, as if I feared a lurking serpent; and at length, at some\ndistance from the blackened heap, I discovered a human skeleton, and\nknew it to be Nuflo\'s. In his day he had been a great armadillo-hunter,\nand these quaint carrion-eaters had no doubt revenged themselves by\ndevouring his flesh when they found him dead--killed by the savages.\n\nHaving once returned to this spot of many memories, I could not quit it\nagain; while my wild woodland life lasted, here must I have my lair, and\nbeing here I could not leave that mournful skeleton above ground. With\nlabour I excavated a pit to bury it, careful not to cut or injure a\nbroad-leafed creeper that had begun to spread itself over the spot; and\nafter refilling the hole I drew the long, trailing stems over the mound.\n\n\"Sleep well, old man,\" said I, when my work was done; and these few\nwords, implying neither censure nor praise, was all the burial service\nthat old Nuflo had from me.\n\nI then visited the spot where the old man, assisted by me, had concealed\nhis provisions before starting for Riolama, and was pleased to find that\nit had not been discovered by the Indians. Besides the store of tobacco\nleaf, maize, pumpkin, potatoes, and cassava bread, and the cooking\nutensils, I found among other things a chopper--a great acquisition,\nsince with it I would be able to cut down small palms and bamboos to\nmake myself a hut.\n\nThe possession of a supply of food left me time for many things: time\nin the first place to make my own conditions; doubtless after them\nthere would be further progression on the old lines--luxuries added to\nnecessaries; a healthful, fruitful life of thought and action combined;\nand at last a peaceful, contemplative old age.\n\nI cleared away ashes and rubbish, and marked out the very spot where\nRima\'s separate bower had been for my habitation, which I intended to\nmake small. In five days it was finished; then, after lighting a fire,\nI stretched myself out in my dry bed of moss and leaves with a feeling\nthat was almost triumphant. Let the rain now fall in torrents, putting\nout the firefly\'s lamp; let the wind and thunder roar their loudest, and\nthe lightnings smite the earth with intolerable light, frightening the\npoor monkeys in their wet, leafy habitations, little would I heed it\nall on my dry bed, under my dry, palm-leaf thatch, with glorious fire to\nkeep me company and protect me from my ancient enemy, Darkness.\n\nFrom that first sleep under shelter I woke refreshed, and was not driven\nby the cruel spur of hunger into the wet forest. The wished time had\ncome of rest from labour, of leisure for thought. Resting here, just\nwhere she had rested, night by night clasping a visionary mother in her\narms, whispering tenderest words in a visionary ear, I too now clasped\nher in my arms--a visionary Rima. How different the nights had seemed\nwhen I was without shelter, before I had rediscovered fire! How had I\nendured it? That strange ghostly gloom of the woods at night-time full\nof innumerable strange shapes; still and dark, yet with something seen\nat times moving amidst them, dark and vague and strange also--an owl,\nperhaps, or bat, or great winged moth, or nightjar. Nor had I any choice\nthen but to listen to the night-sounds of the forest; and they were\nvarious as the day-sounds, and for every day-sound, from the faintest\nlisping and softest trill to the deep boomings and piercing cries, there\nwas an analogue; always with something mysterious, unreal in its tone,\nsomething proper to the night. They were ghostly sounds, uttered by the\nghosts of dead animals; they were a hundred different things by\nturns, but always with a meaning in them, which I vainly strove to\ncatch--something to be interpreted only by a sleeping faculty in us,\nlightly sleeping, and now, now on the very point of awaking!\n\nNow the gloom and the mystery were shut out; now I had that which stood\nin the place of pleasure to me, and was more than pleasure. It was a\nmournful rapture to lie awake now, wishing not for sleep and oblivion,\nhating the thought of daylight that would come at last to drown\nand scare away my vision. To be with Rima again--my lost Rima\nrecovered--mine, mine at last! No longer the old vexing doubt now--\"You\nare you, and I am I--why is it?\"--the question asked when our souls were\nnear together, like two raindrops side by side, drawing irresistibly\nnearer, ever nearer: for now they had touched and were not two, but one\ninseparable drop, crystallized beyond change, not to be disintegrated by\ntime, nor shattered by death\'s blow, nor resolved by any alchemy.\n\nI had other company besides this unfailing vision and the bright dancing\nfire that talked to me in its fantastic fire language. It was my custom\nto secure the door well on retiring; grief had perhaps chilled my blood,\nfor I suffered less from heat than from cold at this period, and the\nfire seemed grateful all night long; I was also anxious to exclude all\nsmall winged and creeping night-wanderers. But to exclude them entirely\nproved impossible: through a dozen invisible chinks they would find\ntheir way to me; also some entered by day to lie concealed until after\nnightfall. A monstrous hairy hermit spider found an asylum in a dusky\ncorner of the hut, under the thatch, and day after day he was there,\nall day long, sitting close and motionless; but at dark he invariably\ndisappeared--who knows on what murderous errand! His hue was a deep\ndead-leaf yellow, with a black and grey pattern, borrowed from some wild\ncat; and so large was he that his great outspread hairy legs, radiating\nfrom the flat disk of his body, would have covered a man\'s open hand.\nIt was easy to see him in my small interior; often in the night-time my\neyes would stray to his corner, never to encounter that strange hairy\nfigure; but daylight failed not to bring him. He troubled me; but now,\nfor Rima\'s sake, I could slay no living thing except from motives of\nhunger. I had it in my mind to injure him--to strike off one of his\nlegs, which would not be missed much, as they were many--so as to make\nhim go away and return no more to so inhospitable a place. But courage\nfailed me. He might come stealthily back at night to plunge his long,\ncrooked farces into my throat, poisoning my blood with fever and\ndelirium and black death. So I left him alone, and glanced furtively and\nfearfully at him, hoping that he had not divined any thoughts; thus\nwe lived on unsocially together. More companionable, but still in an\nuncomfortable way, were the large crawling, running insects--crickets,\nbeetles, and others. They were shapely and black and polished, and\nran about here and there on the floor, just like intelligent little\nhorseless carriages; then they would pause with their immovable eyes\nfixed on me, seeing or in some mysterious way divining my presence;\ntheir pliant horns waving up and down, like delicate instruments used to\ntest the air. Centipedes and millipedes in dozens came too, and were not\nwelcome. I feared not their venom, but it was a weariness to see them;\nfor they seemed no living things, but the vertebrae of snakes and eels\nand long slim fishes, dead and desiccated, made to move mechanically\nover walls and floor by means of some jugglery of nature. I grew skilful\nat picking them up with a pair of pliant green twigs, to thrust them\ninto the outer darkness.\n\nOne night a moth fluttered in and alighted on my hand as I sat by the\nfire, causing me to hold my breath as I gazed on it. Its fore-wings\nwere pale grey, with shadings dark and light written all over in\nfinest characters with some twilight mystery or legend; but the round\nunder-wings were clear amber-yellow, veined like a leaf with red and\npurple veins; a thing of such exquisite chaste beauty that the sight of\nit gave me a sudden shock of pleasure. Very soon it flew up, circling\nabout, and finally lighted on the palm-leaf thatch directly over the\nfire. The heat, I thought, would soon drive it from the spot; and,\nrising, I opened the door, so that it might find its way out again\ninto its own cool, dark, flowery world. And standing by the open door I\nturned and addressed it: \"O night-wanderer of the pale, beautiful wings,\ngo forth, and should you by chance meet her somewhere in the shadowy\ndepths, revisiting her old haunts, be my messenger--\" Thus much had I\nspoken when the frail thing loosened its hold to fall without a flutter,\nstraight and swift, into the white blaze beneath. I sprang forward with\na shriek and stood staring into the fire, my whole frame trembling with\na sudden terrible emotion. Even thus had Rima fallen--fallen from the\ngreat height--into the flames that instantly consumed her beautiful\nflesh and bright spirit! O cruel Nature!\n\nA moth that perished in the flame; an indistinct faint sound; a dream\nin the night; the semblance of a shadowy form moving mist-like in the\ntwilight gloom of the forest, would suddenly bring back a vivid memory,\nthe old anguish, to break for a while the calm of that period. It was\ncalm then after the storm. Nevertheless, my health deteriorated. I ate\nlittle and slept little and grew thin and weak. When I looked down\non the dark, glassy forest pool, where Rima would look no more to see\nherself so much better than in the small mirror of her lover\'s pupil, it\nshowed me a gaunt, ragged man with a tangled mass of black hair\nfalling over his shoulders, the bones of his face showing through the\ndead-looking, sun-parched skin, the sunken eyes with a gleam in them\nthat was like insanity.\n\nTo see this reflection had a strangely disturbing effect on me. A\ntorturing voice would whisper in my ear: \"Yes, you are evidently going\nmad. By and by you will rush howling through the forest, only to drop\ndown at last and die; and no person will ever find and bury your bones.\nOld Nuflo was more fortunate in that he perished first.\"\n\n\"A lying voice!\" I retorted in sudden anger. \"My faculties were never\nkeener than now. Not a fruit can ripen but I find it. If a small bird\ndarts by with a feather or straw in its bill I mark its flight, and\nit will be a lucky bird if I do not find its nest in the end. Could a\nsavage born in the forest do more? He would starve where I find food!\"\n\n\"Ay, yes, there is nothing wonderful in that,\" answered the voice. \"The\nstranger from a cold country suffers less from the heat, when days\nare hottest, than the Indian who knows no other climate. But mark the\nresult! The stranger dies, while the Indian, sweating and gasping for\nbreath, survives. In like manner the low-minded savage, cut off from all\nhuman fellowship, keeps his faculties to the end, while your finer brain\nproves your ruin.\"\n\nI cut from a tree a score of long, blunt thorns, tough and black as\nwhalebone, and drove them through a strip of wood in which I had burnt a\nrow of holes to receive them, and made myself a comb, and combed out my\nlong, tangled hair to improve my appearance.\n\n\"It is not the tangled condition of your hair,\" persisted the voice,\n\"but your eyes, so wild and strange in their expression, that show the\napproach of madness. Make your locks as smooth as you like, and add a\ngarland of those scarlet, star-shaped blossoms hanging from the bush\nbehind you--crown yourself as you crowned old Cla-cla--but the crazed\nlook will remain just the same.\"\n\nAnd being no longer able to reply, rage and desperation drove me to an\nact which only seemed to prove that the hateful voice had prophesied\ntruly. Taking up a stone, I hurled it down on the water to shatter the\nimage I saw there, as if it had been no faithful reflection of myself,\nbut a travesty, cunningly made of enamelled clay or some other material,\nand put there by some malicious enemy to mock me.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nMany days had passed since the hut was made--how many may not be known,\nsince I notched no stick and knotted no cord--yet never in my rambles in\nthe wood had I seen that desolate ash-heap where the fire had done its\nwork. Nor had I looked for it. On the contrary, my wish was never to see\nit, and the fear of coming accidentally upon it made me keep to the old\nfamiliar paths. But at length, one night, without thinking of Rima\'s\nfearful end, it all at once occurred to me that the hated savage whose\nblood I had shed on the white savannah might have only been practicing\nhis natural deceit when he told me that most pitiful story. If that were\nso--if he had been prepared with a fictitious account of her death to\nmeet my questions--then Rima might still exist: lost, perhaps, wandering\nin some distant place, exposed to perils day and night, and unable to\nfind her way back, but living still! Living! her heart on fire with\nthe hope of reunion with me, cautiously threading her way through the\nundergrowth of immeasurable forests; spying out the distant villages\nand hiding herself from the sight of all men, as she knew so well how\nto hide; studying the outlines of distant mountains, to recognize some\nfamiliar landmark at last, and so find her way back to the old wood once\nmore! Even now, while I sat there idly musing, she might be somewhere\nin the wood--somewhere near me; but after so long an absence full of\napprehension, waiting in concealment for what tomorrow\'s light might\nshow.\n\nI started up and replenished the fire with trembling hands, then set the\ndoor open to let the welcoming stream out into the wood. But Rima had\ndone more; going out into the black forest in the pitiless storm, she\nhad found and led me home. Could I do less! I was quickly out in the\nshadows of the wood. Surely it was more than a mere hope that made my\nheart beat so wildly! How could a sensation so strangely sudden, so\nirresistible in its power, possess me unless she were living and near?\nCan it be, can it be that we shall meet again? To look again into your\ndivine eyes--to hold you again in my arms at last! I so changed--so\ndifferent! But the old love remains; and of all that has happened\nin your absence I shall tell you nothing--not one word; all shall be\nforgotten now--sufferings, madness, crime, remorse! Nothing shall\never vex you again--not Nuflo, who vexed you every day; for he is dead\nnow--murdered, only I shall not say that--and I have decently buried his\npoor old sinful bones. We alone together in the wood--OUR wood now! The\nsweet old days again; for I know that you would not have it different,\nnor would I.\n\nThus I talked to myself, mad with the thoughts of the joy that would\nsoon be mine; and at intervals I stood still and made the forest echo\nwith my calls. \"Rima! Rima!\" I called again and again, and waited for\nsome response; and heard only the familiar night-sounds--voices of\ninsect and bird and tinkling tree-frog, and a low murmur in the topmost\nfoliage, moved by some light breath of wind unfelt below. I was drenched\nwith dew, bruised and bleeding from falls in the dark, and from rocks\nand thorns and rough branches, but had felt nothing; gradually the\nexcitement burnt itself out; I was hoarse with shouting and ready to\ndrop down with fatigue, and hope was dead: and at length I crept back to\nmy hut, to cast myself on my grass bed and sink into a dull, miserable,\ndesponding stupor.\n\nBut on the following morning I was out once more, determined to search\nthe forest well; since, if no evidence of the great fire Kua-ko had\ndescribed to me existed, it would still be possible to believe that\nhe had lied to me, and that Rima lived. I searched all day and found\nnothing; but the area was large, and to search it thoroughly would\nrequire several days.\n\nOn the third day I discovered the fatal spot, and knew that never again\nwould I behold Rima in the flesh, that my last hope had indeed been\na vain one. There could be no mistake: just such an open place as the\nIndian had pictured to me was here, with giant trees standing apart;\nwhile one tree stood killed and blackened by fire, surrounded by a huge\nheap, sixty or seventy yards across, of prostrate charred tree-trunks\nand ashes. Here and there slender plants had sprung up through the\nashes, and the omnipresent small-leaved creepers were beginning to throw\ntheir pale green embroidery over the blackened trunks. I looked long at\nthe vast funeral tree that had a buttressed girth of not less than fifty\nfeet, and rose straight as a ship\'s mast, with its top about a hundred\nand fifty feet from the earth. What a distance to fall, through burning\nleaves and smoke, like a white bird shot dead with a poisoned arrow,\nswift and straight into that sea of flame below! How cruel imagination\nwas to turn that desolate ash-heap, in spite of feathery foliage and\nembroidery of creepers, into roaring leaping flames again--to bring\nthose dead savages back, men, women, and children--even the little ones\nI had played with--to set them yelling around me: \"Burn! burn!\" Oh, no,\nthis damnable spot must not be her last resting-place! If the fire\nhad not utterly consumed her, bones as well as sweet tender flesh,\nshrivelling her like a frail white-winged moth into the finest white\nashes, mixed inseparably with the ashes of stems and leaves innumerable,\nthen whatever remained of her must be conveyed elsewhere to be with me,\nto mingle with my ashes at last.\n\nHaving resolved to sift and examine the entire heap, I at once set about\nmy task. If she had climbed into the central highest branch, and had\nfallen straight, then she would have dropped into the flames not far\nfrom the roots; and so to begin I made a path to the trunk, and when\ndarkness overtook me I had worked all round the tree, in a width of\nthree to four yards, without discovering any remains. At noon on the\nfollowing day I found the skeleton, or, at all events, the larger bones,\nrendered so fragile by the fierce heat they had been subjected to, that\nthey fell to pieces when handled. But I was careful--how careful!--to\nsave these last sacred relics, all that was now left of Rima!--kissing\neach white fragment as I lifted it, and gathering them all in my old\nfrayed cloak, spread out to receive them. And when I had recovered them\nall, even to the smallest, I took my treasure home.\n\nAnother storm had shaken my soul, and had been succeeded by a second\ncalm, which was more complete and promised to be more enduring than the\nfirst. But it was no lethargic calm; my brain was more active than ever;\nand by and by it found a work for my hands to do, of such a character\nas to distinguish me from all other forest hermits, fugitives from their\nfellows, in that savage land. The calcined bones I had rescued were kept\nin one of the big, rudely shaped, half-burnt earthen jars which Nuflo\nhad used for storing grain and other food-stuff. It was of a wood-ash\ncolour; and after I had given up my search for the peculiar fine clay he\nhad used in its manufacture--for it had been in my mind to make a more\nshapely funeral urn myself--I set to work to ornament its surface. A\nportion of each day was given to this artistic labour; and when the\nsurface was covered with a pattern of thorny stems, and a trailing\ncreeper with curving leaf and twining tendril, and pendent bud and\nblossom, I gave it colour. Purples and black only were used, obtained\nfrom the juices of some deeply coloured berries; and when a tint, or\nshade, or line failed to satisfy me I erased it, to do it again; and\nthis so often that I never completed my work. I might, in the proudly\nmodest spirit of the old sculptors, have inscribed on the vase the\nwords: Abel was doing this. For was not my ideal beautiful like theirs,\nand the best that my art could do only an imperfect copy--a rude sketch?\nA serpent was represented wound round the lower portion of the jar,\ndull-hued, with a chain of irregular black spots or blotches extending\nalong its body; and if any person had curiously examined these spots he\nwould have discovered that every other one was a rudely shaped letter,\nand that the letters, by being properly divided, made the following\nwords:\n\nSin vos y siu dios y mi.\n\nWords that to some might seem wild, even insane in their extravagance,\nsung by some ancient forgotten poet; or possibly the motto of some\nlove-sick knight-errant, whose passion was consumed to ashes long\ncenturies ago. But not wild nor insane to me, dwelling alone on a vast\nstony plain in everlasting twilight, where there was no motion, nor any\nsound; but all things, even trees, ferns, and grasses, were stone.\nAnd in that place I had sat for many a thousand years, drawn up and\nmotionless, with stony fingers clasped round my legs, and forehead\nresting on my knees; and there would I sit, unmoving, immovable, for\nmany a thousand years to come--I, no longer I, in a universe where she\nwas not, and God was not.\n\nThe days went by, and to others grouped themselves into weeks and\nmonths; to me they were only days--not Saturday, Sunday, Monday, but\nnameless. They were so many and their sum so great that all my previous\nlife, all the years I had existed before this solitary time, now looked\nlike a small island immeasurably far away, scarcely discernible, in the\nmidst of that endless desolate waste of nameless days.\n\nMy stock of provisions had been so long consumed that I had forgotten\nthe flavour of pulse and maize and pumpkins and purple and sweet\npotatoes. For Nuflo\'s cultivated patch had been destroyed by the\nsavages--not a stem, not a root had they left: and I, like the sorrowful\nman that broods on his sorrow and the artist who thinks only of his art,\nhad been improvident and had consumed the seed without putting a portion\ninto the ground. Only wild food, and too little of that, found with\nmuch seeking and got with many hurts. Birds screamed at and scolded me;\nbranches bruised and thorns scratched me; and still worse were the angry\nclouds of waspish things no bigger than flies. Buzz--buzz! Sting--sting!\nA serpent\'s tooth has failed to kill me; little do I care for your small\ndrops of fiery venom so that I get at the spoil--grubs and honey. My\nwhite bread and purple wine! Once my soul hungered after knowledge; I\ntook delight in fine thoughts finely expressed; I sought them carefully\nin printed books: now only this vile bodily hunger, this eager seeking\nfor grubs and honey, and ignoble war with little things!\n\nA bad hunter I proved after larger game. Bird and beast despised my\nsnares, which took me so many waking hours at night to invent, so many\ndaylight hours to make. Once, seeing a troop of monkeys high up in the\ntall trees, I followed and watched them for a long time, thinking how\nroyally I should feast if by some strange unheard-of accident one\nwere to fall disabled to the ground and be at my mercy. But nothing\nimpossible happened, and I had no meat. What meat did I ever have except\nan occasional fledgling, killed in its cradle, or a lizard, or small\ntree-frog detected, in spite of its green colour, among the foliage? I\nwould roast the little green minstrel on the coals. Why not? Why should\nhe live to tinkle on his mandolin and clash his airy cymbals with no\nappreciative ear to listen? Once I had a different and strange kind of\nmeat; but the starved stomach is not squeamish. I found a serpent coiled\nup in my way in a small glade, and arming myself with a long stick,\nI roused him from his siesta and slew him without mercy. Rima was not\nthere to pluck the rage from my heart and save his evil life. No coral\nsnake this, with slim, tapering body, ringed like a wasp with brilliant\ncolour; but thick and blunt, with lurid scales, blotched with black;\nalso a broad, flat, murderous head, with stony, ice-like, whity-blue\neyes, cold enough to freeze a victim\'s blood in its veins and make it\nsit still, like some wide-eyed creature carved in stone, waiting for\nthe sharp, inevitable stroke--so swift at last, so long in coming. \"O\nabominable flat head, with icy-cold, humanlike, fiend-like eyes, I shall\ncut you off and throw you away!\" And away I flung it, far enough in\nall conscience: yet I walked home troubled with a fancy that somewhere,\nsomewhere down on the black, wet soil where it had fallen, through all\nthat dense, thorny tangle and millions of screening leaves, the white,\nlidless, living eyes were following me still, and would always be\nfollowing me in all my goings and comings and windings about in the\nforest. And what wonder? For were we not alone together in this dreadful\nsolitude, I and the serpent, eaters of the dust, singled out and\ncursed above all cattle? HE would not have bitten me, and I--faithless\ncannibal!--had murdered him. That cursed fancy would live on, worming\nitself into every crevice of my mind; the severed head would grow and\ngrow in the night-time to something monstrous at last, the hellish\nwhite lidless eyes increasing to the size of two full moons. \"Murderer!\nmurderer!\" they would say; \"first a murderer of your own fellow\ncreatures--that was a small crime; but God, our enemy, had made them\nin His image, and He cursed you; and we two were together, alone and\napart--you and I, murderer! you and I, murderer!\"\n\nI tried to escape the tyrannous fancy by thinking of other things and by\nmaking light of it. \"The starved, bloodless brain,\" I said, \"has strange\nthoughts.\" I fell to studying the dark, thick, blunt body in my hands;\nI noticed that the livid, rudely blotched, scaly surface showed in some\nlights a lovely play of prismatic colours. And growing poetical, I said:\n\"When the wild west wind broke up the rainbow on the flying grey cloud\nand scattered it over the earth, a fragment doubtless fell on this\nreptile to give it that tender celestial tint. For thus it is Nature\nloves all her children, and gives to each some beauty, little or much;\nonly to me, her hated stepchild, she gives no beauty, no grace. But\nstay, am I not wronging her? Did not Rima, beautiful above all things,\nlove me well? said she not that I was beautiful?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, that was long ago,\" spoke the voice that mocked me by the pool\nwhen I combed out my tangled hair. \"Long ago, when the soul that looked\nfrom your eyes was not the accursed thing it is now. Now Rima would\nstart at the sight of them; now she would fly in terror from their\ninsane expression.\"\n\n\"O spiteful voice, must you spoil even such appetite as I have for this\nfork-tongued spotty food? You by day and Rima by night--what shall I\ndo--what shall I do?\"\n\nFor it had now come to this, that the end of each day brought not sleep\nand dreams, but waking visions. Night by night, from my dry grass bed I\nbeheld Nuflo sitting in his old doubled-up posture, his big brown feet\nclose to the white ashes--sitting silent and miserable. I pitied him; I\nowed him hospitality; but it seemed intolerable that he should be there.\nIt was better to shut my eyes; for then Rima\'s arms would be round my\nneck; the silky mist of her hair against my face, her flowery breath\nmixing with my breath. What a luminous face was hers! Even with\ncloseshut eyes I could see it vividly, the translucent skin showing the\nradiant rose beneath, the lustrous eyes, spiritual and passionate, dark\nas purple wine under their dark lashes. Then my eyes would open wide. No\nRima in my arms! But over there, a little way back from the fire, just\nbeyond where old Nuflo had sat brooding a few minutes ago, Rima would\nbe standing, still and pale and unspeakably sad. Why does she come to me\nfrom the outside darkness to stand there talking to me, yet never once\nlifting her mournful eyes to mine? \"Do not believe it, Abel; no, that\nwas only a phantom of your brain, the What-I-was that you remember so\nwell. For do you not see that when I come she fades away and is nothing?\nNot that--do not ask it. I know that I once refused to look into your\neyes, and afterwards, in the cave at Riolama, I looked long and was\nhappy--unspeakably happy! But now--oh, you do not know what you ask; you\ndo not know the sorrow that has come into mine; that if you once beheld\nit, for very sorrow you would die. And you must live. But I will wait\npatiently, and we shall be together in the end, and see each other\nwithout disguise. Nothing shall divide us. Only wish not for it soon;\nthink not that death will ease your pain, and seek it not. Austerities?\nGood works? Prayers? They are not seen; they are not heard, they are\nless-than nothing, and there is no intercession. I did not know it then,\nbut you knew it. Your life was your own; you are not saved nor judged!\nacquit yourself--undo that which you have done, which Heaven cannot\nundo--and Heaven will say no word nor will I. You cannot, Abel, you\ncannot. That which you have done is done, and yours must be the penalty\nand the sorrow--yours and mine--yours and mine--yours and mine.\"\n\nThis, too, was a phantom, a Rima of the mind, one of the shapes the\never-changing black vapours of remorse and insanity would take; and\nall her mournful sentences were woven out of my own brain. I was not\nso crazed as not to know it; only a phantom, an illusion, yet more real\nthan reality--real as my crime and vain remorse and death to come. It\nwas, indeed, Rima returned to tell me that I that loved her had been\nmore cruel to her than her cruellest enemies; for they had but tortured\nand destroyed her body with fire, while I had cast this shadow on\nher soul--this sorrow transcending all sorrows, darker than death,\nimmitigable, eternal.\n\nIf I could only have faded gradually, painlessly, growing feebler in\nbody and dimmer in my senses each day, to sink at last into sleep! But\nit could not be. Still the fever in my brain, the mocking voice by day,\nthe phantoms by night; and at last I became convinced that unless I\nquitted the forest before long, death would come to me in some terrible\nshape. But in the feeble condition I was now in, and without any\nprovisions, to escape from the neighbourhood of Parahuari was\nimpossible, seeing that it was necessary at starting to avoid the\nvillages where the Indians were of the same tribe as Runi, who would\nrecognize me as the white man who was once his guest and afterwards his\nimplacable enemy. I must wait, and in spite of a weakened body and a\nmind diseased, struggle still to wrest a scanty subsistence from wild\nnature.\n\nOne day I discovered an old prostrate tree, buried under a thick growth\nof creeper and fern, the wood of which was nearly or quite rotten, as\nI proved by thrusting my knife to the heft in it. No doubt it would\ncontain grubs--those huge, white wood-borers which now formed an\nimportant item in my diet. On the following day I returned to the spot\nwith a chopper and a bundle of wedges to split the trunk up, but had\nscarcely commenced operations when an animal, startled at my blows,\nrushed or rather wriggled from its hiding-place under the dead wood at\na distance of a few yards from me. It was a robust, round-headed,\nshort-legged creature, about as big as a good-sized cat, and clothed\nin a thick, greenish-brown fur. The ground all about was covered with\ncreepers, binding the ferns, bushes, and old dead branches together; and\nin this confused tangle the animal scrambled and tore with a great show\nof energy, but really made very little progress; and all at once it\nflashed into my mind that it was a sloth--a common animal, but rarely\nseen on the ground--with no tree near to take refuge in. The shock of\njoy this discovery produced was great enough to unnerve me, and for some\nmoments I stood trembling, hardly able to breathe; then recovering I\nhastened after it, and stunned it with a blow from my chopper on its\nround head.\n\n\"Poor sloth!\" I said as I stood over it. \"Poor old lazy-bones! Did Rima\never find you fast asleep in a tree, hugging a branch as if you loved\nit, and with her little hand pat your round, human-like head; and laugh\nmockingly at the astonishment in your drowsy, waking eyes; and scold\nyou tenderly for wearing your nails so long, and for being so ugly?\nLazybones, your death is revenged! Oh, to be out of this wood--away from\nthis sacred place--to be anywhere where killing is not murder!\"\n\nThen it came into my mind that I was now in possession of the supply of\nfood which would enable me to quit the wood. A noble capture! As much to\nme as if a stray, migratory mule had rambled into the wood and found me,\nand I him. Now I would be my own mule, patient, and long-suffering, and\nfar-going, with naked feet hardened to hoofs, and a pack of provender on\nmy back to make me independent of the dry, bitter grass on the sunburnt\nsavannahs.\n\nPart of that night and the next morning was spent in curing the flesh\nover a smoky fire of green wood and in manufacturing a rough sack to\nstore it in, for I had resolved to set out on my journey. How safely to\nconvey Rima\'s treasured ashes was a subject of much thought and anxiety.\nThe clay vessel on which I had expended so much loving, sorrowful labour\nhad to be left, being too large and heavy to carry; eventually I put the\nfragments into a light sack; and in order to avert suspicion from the\npeople I would meet on the way, above the ashes I packed a layer of\nroots and bulbs. These I would say contained medicinal properties,\nknown to the white doctors, to whom I would sell them on my arrival at\na Christian settlement, and with the money buy myself clothes to start\nlife afresh.\n\nOn the morrow I would bid a last farewell to that forest of many\nmemories. And my journey would be eastwards, over a wild savage land of\nmountains, rivers, and forests, where every dozen miles would be like a\nhundred of Europe; but a land inhabited by tribes not unfriendly to the\nstranger. And perhaps it would be my good fortune to meet with Indians\ntravelling east who would know the easiest routes; and from time to time\nsome compassionate voyager would let me share his wood-skin, and many\nleagues would be got over without weariness, until some great river,\nflowing through British or Dutch Guiana, would be reached; and so on,\nand on, by slow or swift stages, with little to eat perhaps, with much\nlabour and pain, in hot sun and in storm, to the Atlantic at last, and\ntowns inhabited by Christian men.\n\nIn the evening of that day, after completing my preparations, I supped\non the remaining portions of the sloth, not suitable for preservation,\nroasting bits of fat on the coals and boiling the head and bones into a\nbroth; and after swallowing the liquid I crunched the bones and sucked\nthe marrow, feeding like some hungry carnivorous animal.\n\nGlancing at the fragments scattered on the floor, I remembered old\nNuflo, and how I had surprised him at his feast of rank coatimundi in\nhis secret retreat. \"Nuflo, old neighbour,\" said I, \"how quiet you are\nunder your green coverlet, spangled just now with yellow flowers! It\nis no sham sleep, old man, I know. If any suspicion of these curious\ndoings, this feast of flesh on a spot once sacred, could flit like a\nsmall moth into your mouldy hollow skull you would soon thrust out your\nold nose to sniff the savour of roasting fat once more.\"\n\nThere was in me at that moment an inclination to laughter; it came\nto nothing, but affected me strangely, like an impulse I had not\nexperienced since boyhood--familiar, yet novel. After the good-night to\nmy neighbour, I tumbled into my straw and slept soundly, animal-like. No\nfancies and phantoms that night: the lidless, white, implacable eyes\nof the serpent\'s severed head were turned to dust at last; no sudden\ndream-glare lighted up old Cla-cla\'s wrinkled dead face and white,\nblood-dabbled locks; old Nuflo stayed beneath his green coverlet; nor\ndid my mournful spirit-bride come to me to make my heart faint at the\nthought of immortality.\n\nBut when morning dawned again, it was bitter to rise up and go away for\never from that spot where I had often talked with Rima--the true and\nthe visionary. The sky was cloudless and the forest wet as if rain had\nfallen; it was only a heavy dew, and it made the foliage look pale and\nhoary in the early light. And the light grew, and a whispering wind\nsprung as I walked through the wood; and the fast-evaporating moisture\nwas like a bloom on the feathery fronds and grass and rank herbage; but\non the higher foliage it was like a faint iridescent mist--a glory above\nthe trees. The everlasting beauty and freshness of nature was over all\nagain, as I had so often seen it with joy and adoration before grief and\ndreadful passions had dimmed my vision. And now as I walked, murmuring\nmy last farewell, my eyes grew dim again with the tears that gathered to\nthem.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nBefore that well-nigh hopeless journey to the coast was half over I\nbecame ill--so ill that anyone who had looked on me might well have\nimagined that I had come to the end of my pilgrimage. That was what I\nfeared. For days I remained sunk in the deepest despondence; then, in a\nhappy moment, I remembered how, after being bitten by the serpent, when\ndeath had seemed near and inevitable, I had madly rushed away through\nthe forest in search of help, and wandered lost for hours in the storm\nand darkness, and in the end escaped death, probably by means of these\nfrantic exertions. The recollection served to inspire me with a new\ndesperate courage. Bidding good-bye to the Indian village where the\nfever had smitten me, I set out once more on that apparently hopeless\nadventure. Hopeless, indeed, it seemed to one in my weak condition. My\nlegs trembled under me when I walked, while hot sun and pelting rain\nwere like flame and stinging ice to my morbidly sensitive skin.\n\nFor many days my sufferings were excessive, so that I often wished\nmyself back in that milder purgatory of the forest, from which I had\nbeen so anxious to escape. When I try to retrace my route on the map,\nthere occurs a break here--a space on the chart where names of rivers\nand mountains call up no image to my mind, although, in a few\ncases, they were names I seem to have heard in a troubled dream. The\nimpressions of nature received during that sick period are blurred, or\nelse so coloured and exaggerated by perpetual torturing anxiety, mixed\nwith half-delirious night-fancies, that I can only think of that country\nas an earthly inferno, where I fought against every imaginable obstacle,\nalternately sweating and freezing, toiling as no man ever toiled before.\nHot and cold, cold and hot, and no medium. Crystal waters; green shadows\nunder coverture of broad, moist leaves; and night with dewy fanning\nwinds--these chilled but did not refresh me; a region in which there was\nno sweet and pleasant thing; where even the ita palm and mountain glory\nand airy epiphyte starring the woodland twilight with pendent blossoms\nhad lost all grace and beauty; where all brilliant colours in earth and\nheaven were like the unmitigated sun that blinded my sight and burnt my\nbrain. Doubtless I met with help from the natives, otherwise I do not\nsee how I could have continued my journey; yet in my dim mental picture\nof that period I see myself incessantly dogged by hostile savages. They\nflit like ghosts through the dark forest; they surround me and cut off\nall retreat, until I burst through them, escaping out of their very\nhands, to fly over some wide, naked savannah, hearing their shrill,\npursuing yells behind me, and feeling the sting of their poisoned arrows\nin my flesh.\n\nThis I set down to the workings of remorse in a disordered mind and to\nclouds of venomous insects perpetually shrilling in my ears and stabbing\nme with their small, fiery needles.\n\nNot only was I pursued by phantom savages and pierced by phantom arrows,\nbut the creations of the Indian imagination had now become as real to\nme as anything in nature. I was persecuted by that superhuman man-eating\nmonster supposed to be the guardian of the forest. In dark, silent\nplaces he is lying in wait for me: hearing my slow, uncertain footsteps\nhe starts up suddenly in my path, outyelling the bearded aguaratos in\nthe trees; and I stand paralysed, my blood curdled in my veins. His\nhuge, hairy arms are round me; his foul, hot breath is on my skin; he\nwill tear my liver out with his great green teeth to satisfy his raging\nhunger. Ah, no, he cannot harm me! For every ravening beast, every\ncold-blooded, venomous thing, and even the frightful Curupita, half\nbrute and half devil, that shared the forest with her, loved and\nworshipped Rima, and that mournful burden I carried, her ashes, was a\ntalisman to save me. He has left me, the semi-human monster, uttering\nsuch wild, lamentable cries as he hurries away into the deeper, darker\nwoods that horror changes to grief, and I, too, lament Rima for\nthe first time: a memory of all the mystic, unimaginable grace and\nloveliness and joy that had vanished smites on my heart with such\nsudden, intense pain that I cast myself prone on the earth and weep\ntears that are like drops of blood.\n\nWhere in the rude savage heart of Guiana was this region where the\nnatural obstacles and pain and hunger and thirst and everlasting\nweariness were terrible enough without the imaginary monsters and\nlegions of phantoms that peopled it, I cannot say. Nor can I conjecture\nhow far I strayed north or south from my course. I only know that\nmarshes that were like Sloughs of Despond, and barren and wet savannahs,\nwere crossed; and forests that seemed infinite in extent and never to\nbe got through; and scores of rivers that boiled round the sharp rocks,\nthreatening to submerge or dash in pieces the frail bark canoe--black\nand frightful to look on as rivers in hell; and nameless mountain after\nmountain to be toiled round or toiled over. I may have seen Roraima\nduring that mentally clouded period. I vaguely remember a far-extending\ngigantic wall of stone that seemed to bar all further progress--a rocky\nprecipice rising to a stupendous height, seen by moonlight, with a huge\nsinuous rope of white mist suspended from its summit; as if the guardian\ncamoodi of the mountain had been a league-long spectral serpent which\nwas now dropping its coils from the mighty stone table to frighten away\nthe rash intruder.\n\nThat spectral moonlight camoodi was one of many serpent fancies that\ntroubled me. There was another, surpassing them all, which attended\nme many days. When the sun grew hot overhead and the way was over open\nsavannah country, I would see something moving on the ground at my side\nand always keeping abreast of me. A small snake, one or two feet long.\nNo, not a small snake, but a sinuous mark in the pattern on a huge\nserpent\'s head, five or six yards long, always moving deliberately at\nmy side. If a cloud came over the sun, or a fresh breeze sprang up,\ngradually the outline of that awful head would fade and the well-defined\npattern would resolve itself into the motlings on the earth. But if the\nsun grew more and more hot and dazzling as the day progressed, then the\ntremendous ophidian head would become increasingly real to my sight,\nwith glistening scales and symmetrical markings; and I would walk\ncarefully not to stumble against or touch it; and when I cast my eyes\nbehind me I could see no end to its great coils extending across the\nsavannah. Even looking back from the summit of a high hill I could\nsee it stretching leagues and leagues away through forests and rivers,\nacross wide plains, valleys and mountains, to lose itself at last in the\ninfinite blue distance.\n\nHow or when this monster left me--washed away by cold rains perhaps--I\ndo not know. Probably it only transformed itself into some new shape,\nits long coils perhaps changing into those endless processions and\nmultitudes of pale-faced people I seem to remember having encountered.\nIn my devious wanderings I must have reached the shores of the\nundiscovered great White Lake, and passed through the long shining\nstreets of Manoa, the mysterious city in the wilderness. I see myself\nthere, the wide thoroughfare filled from end to end with people gaily\ndressed as if for some high festival, all drawing aside to let the\nwretched pilgrim pass, staring at his fever- and famine-wasted figure,\nin its strange rags, with its strange burden.\n\nA new Ahasuerus, cursed by inexpiable crime, yet sustained by a great\npurpose.\n\nBut Ahasuerus prayed ever for death to come to him and ran to meet\nit, while I fought against it with all my little strength. Only at\nintervals, when the shadows seemed to lift and give me relief, would\nI pray to Death to spare me yet a little longer; but when the shadows\ndarkened again and hope seemed almost quenched in utter gloom, then I\nwould curse it and defy its power. Through it all I clung to the belief\nthat my will would conquer, that it would enable me to keep off the\ngreat enemy from my worn and suffering body until the wished goal was\nreached; then only would I cease to fight and let death have its way.\nThere would have been comfort in this belief had it not been for that\nfevered imagination which corrupted everything that touched me and gave\nit some new hateful character. For soon enough this conviction that the\nwill would triumph grew to something monstrous, a parent of monstrous\nfancies. Worst of all, when I felt no actual pain, but only unutterable\nweariness of body and soul, when feet and legs were numb so that I knew\nnot whether I trod on dry hot rock or in slime, was the fancy that I was\nalready dead, so far as the body was concerned--had perhaps been dead\nfor days--that only the unconquerable will survived to compel the dead\nflesh to do its work.\n\nWhether it really was will--more potent than the bark of barks and wiser\nthan the physicians--or merely the vis medicatrix with which nature\nhelps our weakness even when the will is suspended, that saved me\nI cannot say; but it is certain that I gradually recovered health,\nphysical and mental, and finally reached the coast comparatively well,\nalthough my mind was still in a gloomy, desponding state when I first\nwalked the streets of Georgetown, in rags, half-starved and penniless.\n\nBut even when well, long after the discovery that my flesh was not only\nalive, but that it was of an exceedingly tough quality, the idea born\nduring the darkest period of my pilgrimage, that die I must, persisted\nin my mind. I had lived through that which would have killed most\nmen--lived only to accomplish the one remaining purpose of my life. Now\nit was accomplished; the sacred ashes brought so far, with such infinite\nlabour, through so many and such great perils, were safe and would mix\nwith mine at last. There was nothing more in life to make me love it or\nkeep me prisoner in its weary chains. This prospect of near death\nfaded in time; love of life returned, and the earth had recovered its\neverlasting freshness and beauty; only that feeling about Rima\'s ashes\ndid not fade or change, and is as strong now as it was then. Say that it\nis morbid--call it superstition if you like; but there it is, the most\npowerful motive I have known, always in all things to be taken into\naccount--a philosophy of life to be made to fit it. Or take it as a\nsymbol, since that may come to be one with the thing symbolized. In\nthose darkest days in the forest I had her as a visitor--a Rima of the\nmind, whose words when she spoke reflected my despair. Yet even then I\nwas not entirely without hope. Heaven itself, she said, could not undo\nthat which I had done; and she also said that if I forgave myself,\nHeaven would say no word, nor would she. That is my philosophy still:\nprayers, austerities, good works--they avail nothing, and there is no\nintercession, and outside of the soul there is no forgiveness in heaven\nor earth for sin. Nevertheless there is a way, which every soul can find\nout for itself--even the most rebellious, the most darkened with crime\nand tormented by remorse. In that way I have walked; and, self-forgiven\nand self-absolved, I know that if she were to return once more and\nappear to me--even here where her ashes are--I know that her divine eyes\nwould no longer refuse to look into mine, since the sorrow which seemed\neternal and would have slain me to see would not now be in them.'"