"You are right; I must go alone."
"Not so, Rima, for where you go, there we must go; only you will

lead and we follow, believing only that our quest will end in
disappointment, if not in death."

"Believe that and yet follow! Oh no! Why did he consent to lead
me so far for nothing?"

"Do you forget that you compelled him? You know what he
believes; and he is old and looks with fear at death, remembering

his evil deeds, and is convinced that only through your
intercession and your mother's he can escape from perdition.

Consider, Rima, he could not refuse, to make you more angry and
so deprive himself of his only hope."

My words seemed to trouble her, but very soon she spoke again
with renewed animation. "If my people exist, why must it be

disappointment and perhaps death? He does not know; but she came
to him here--did she not? The others are not here, but perhaps

not far off. Come, let us go to the summit together to see from
it the desert beneath us--mountain and forest, mountain and

forest. Somewhere there! You said that I had knowledge of
distant things. And shall I not know which mountain--which

forest?"
"Alas! no, Rima; there is a limit to your far-seeing; and even

if that faculty were as great as you imagine, it would avail you
nothing, for there is no mountain, no forest, in whose shadow

your people dwell."
For a while she was silent, but her eyes and clasping fingers

were restless and showed her agitation. She seemed to be
searching in the depths of her mind for some argument to oppose

to my assertions. Then in a low, almost despondent voice, with
something of reproach in it, she said: "Have we come so far to go

back again? You were not Nuflo to need my intercession, yet you
came too."

"Where you are, there I must be--you have said it yourself.
Besides, when we started I had some hope of finding your people.

Now I know better, having heard Nuflo's story. Now I know that
your hope is a vain one."

"Why? Why? Was she not found here--mother? Where, then, are
the others?"

"Yes, she was found here, alone. You must remember all the
things she spoke to you before she died. Did she ever speak to

you of her people--speak of them as if they existed, and would be
glad to receive you among them some day?"

"No. Why did she not speak of that? Do you know--can you tell
me?"

"I can guess the reason, Rima. It is very sad--so sad that it is
hard to tell it. When Nuflo tended her in the cave and was ready

to worship her and do everything she wished, and conversed with
her by signs, she showed no wish to return to her people. And

when he offered her, in a way she understood, to take her to a
distant place, where she would be among strange beings, among

others like Nuflo, she readily consented, and painfully performed
that long journey to Voa. Would you, Rima, have acted

thus--would you have gone so far away from your beloved people,
never to return, never to hear of them or speak to them again?

Oh no, you could not; nor would she if her people had been in
existence. But she knew that she had survived them, that some

great calamity had fallen upon and destroyed them. They were few
in number, perhaps, and surrounded on every side by hostile

tribes, and had no weapons, and made no war. They had been
preserved because they inhabited a place apart, some deep valley

perhaps, guarded on all sides by lofty mountains and impenetrable
forests and marshes; but at last the cruel savages broke into

this retreat and hunted them down, destroying all except a few
fugitives, who escaped singly like your mother, and fled away to

hide in some distant solitude."
The anxious expression on her face deepened as she listened to

one of anguish and despair; and then, almost before I concluded,
she suddenly lifted her hands to her head, uttering a low,

sobbing cry, and would have fallen on the rock had I not caught
her quickly in my arms. Once more in my arms--against my breast,

her proper place! But now all that bright life seemed gone out
of her; her head fell on my shoulder, and there was no motion in

her except at intervals a slight shudder in her frame accompanied
by a low, gasping sob. In a little while the sobs ceased, the

eyes were closed, the face still and deathly white, and with a
terrible anxiety in my heart I carried her down to the cave.

CHAPTER XVII
As I re-entered the cave with my burden Nuflo sat up and stared

at me with a frightened look in his eyes. Throwing my cloak
down, I placed the girl on it and brieflyrelated what had

happened.
He drew near to examine her; then placed his hand on her heart.

"Dead!--she is dead!" he exclaimed.
My own anxiety changed to an irrational anger at his words. "Old

fool! She has only fainted," I returned. "Get me some water,
quick."

But the water failed to restore her, and my anxiety deepened as I
gazed on that white, still face. Oh, why had I told her that sad

tragedy I had imagined with so little preparation? Alas! I had
succeeded too well in my purpose, killing her vain hope and her

at the same moment.
The old man, still bending over her, spoke again. "No, I will

not believe that she is dead yet; but, sir, if not dead, then she
is dying."

I could have struck him down for his words. "She will die in my
arms, then," I exclaimed, thrusting him roughly aside, and

lifting her up with the cloak beneath her.
And while I held her thus, her head resting on my arm, and gazed

with unutterable anguish into her strangely white face, insanely
praying to Heaven to restore her to me, Nuflo fell on his knees

before her, and with bowed head, and hands clasped in
supplication, began to speak.

"Rima! Grandchild!" he prayed, his quivering voice betraying
his agitation. "Do not die just yet: you must not die--not

wholly die--until you have heard what I have to say to you. I do
not ask you to answer in words--you are past that, and I am not

unreasonable. Only, when I finish, make some sign--a sigh, a
movement of the eyelid, a twitch of the lips, even in the small

corners of the mouth; nothing more than that, just to show that
you have heard, and I shall be satisfied. Remember all the years

that I have been your protector, and this long journey that I
have taken on your account; also all that I did for your sainted

mother before she died at Voa, to become one of the most
important of those who surround the Queen of Heaven, and who,

when they wish for any favour, have only to say half a word to
get it. And do not cast in oblivion that at the last I obeyed

your wish and brought you safely to Riolama. It is true that in
some small things I deceived you; but that must not weigh with

you, because it is a small matter and not worthy of mention when
you consider the claims I have on you. In your hands, Rima, I

leave everything, relying on the promise you made me, and on my
services. Only one word of caution remains to be added. Do not

let the magnificence of the place you are now about to enter, the
new sights and colours, and the noise of shouting, and musical