"Does Nuflo know?"
She shook her head, walking dejectedly along.

"But have you asked him?" I persisted.
"Have I not! Not once--not a hundred times."

Suddenly she paused. "Look," she said, "now we are standing in
Guayana again. And over there in Brazil, and up there towards

the Cordilleras, it is unknown. And there are people there.
Come, let us go and seek for my mother's people in that place.

With grandfather, but not the dogs; they would frighten the
animals and betray us by barking to cruel men who would slay us

with poisoned arrows."
"O Rima, can you not understand? It is too far. And your

grandfather, poor old man, would die of weariness and hunger and
old age in some strange forest."

"Would he die--old grandfather? Then we could cover him up with
palm leaves in the forest and leave him. It would not be

grandfather; only his body that must turn to dust. He would be
away--away where the stars are. We should not die, but go on,

and on, and on."
To continue the discussion seemed hopeless. I was silent,

thinking of what I had heard--that there were others like her
somewhere in that vast green world, so much of it imperfectly

known, so many districts never yet explored by white men. True,
it was strange that no report of such a race had reached the ears

of any traveller; yet here was Rima herself at my side, a living
proof that such a race did exist. Nuflo probably knew more than

he would say; I had failed, as we have seen, to win the secret
from him by fair means, and could not have recourse to foul--the

rack and thumbscrew--to wring it from him. To the Indians she
was only an object of superstitious fear--a daughter of the

Didi--and to them nothing of her origin was known. And she, poor
girl, had only a vague remembrance of a few words heard in

childhood from her mother, and probably not rightly understood.
While these thoughts had been passing through my mind, Rima had

been standing silent by, waiting, perhaps, for an answer to her
last words. Then stooping, she picked up a small pebble and

tossed it three or four yards away.
"Do you see where it fell?" she cried, turning towards me.

"That is on the border of Guayana--is it not? Let us go there
first."

"Rime, how you distress me! We cannot go there. It is all a
savagewilderness, almost unknown to men--a blank on the map--"

"The map?--speak no word that I do not understand."
In a very few words I explained my meaning; even fewer would have

sufficed, so quick was her apprehension.
"If it is a blank," she returned quickly, "then you know of

nothing to stop us--no river we cannot swim, and no great
mountains like those where Quito is."

"But I happen to know, Rima, for it has been related to me by old
Indians, that of all places that is the most difficult of access.

There is a river there, and although it is not on the map, it
would prove more impassable to us than the mighty Orinoco and

Amazon. It has vast malarious swamps on its borders, overgrown
with dense forest, teeming with savage and venomous animals, so

that even the Indians dare not venture near it. And even before
the river is reached, there is a range of precipitous mountains

called by the same name--just there where your pebble fell--the
mountains of Riolama--"

Hardly had the name fallen from my lips before a change swift as
lightning came over her countenance; all doubt, anxiety,

petulance, hope, and despondence, and these in ever-varying
degrees, chasing each other like shadows, had vanished, and she

was instinct and burning with some new powerful motion" target="_blank" title="n.感情；情绪；激动">emotion which had
flashed into her soul.

"Riolama! Riolama!" she repeated so rapidly and in a tone so
sharp that it tingled in the brain. "That is the place I am

seeking! There was my mother found--there are her people and
mine! Therefore was I called Riolama--that is my name!"

"Rima!" I returned, astonished at her words.
"No, no, no--Riolama. When I was a child, and the priest

baptized me, he named me Riolama--the place where my mother was
found. But it was long to say, and they called me Rima."

Suddenly she became still and then cried in a ringing voice:
"And he knew it all along--that old man--he knew that Riolama was

near--only there where the pebble fell--that we could go there!"
While speaking she turned towards her home, pointing with raised

hand. Her whole appearance now reminded me of that first meeting
with her when the serpent bit me; the soft red of her irides

shone like fire, her delicate skin seemed to glow with an intense
rose colour, and her frame trembled with her agitation, so that

her loose cloud of hair was in motion as if blown through by the
wind.

"Traitor! Traitor!" she cried, still looking homewards and
using quick, passionate gestures. "It was all known to you, and

you deceived me all these years; even to me, Rima, you lied with
your lips! Oh, horrible! Was there ever such a scandal known in

Guayana? Come, follow me, let us go at once to Riolama." And
without so much as casting a glance behind to see whether I

followed or no, she hurried away, and in a couple of minutes
disappeared from sight over the edge of the flat summit. "Rime!

Rima! Come back and listen to me! Oh, you are mad! Come back!
Come back!"

But she would not return or pause and listen; and looking after
her, I saw her bounding down the rocky slope like some wild,

agile creature possessed of padded hoofs and an infallible
instinct; and before many minutes she vanished from sight among

crabs and trees lower down.
"Nuflo, old man," said I, looking out towards his lodge, "are

there no shooting pains in those old bones of yours to warn you
in time of the tempest about to burst on your head?"

Then I sat down to think.
CHAPTER XII

To follow impetuous, bird-like Rima in her descent of the hill
would have been impossible, nor had I any desire to be a witness

of old Nuflo's discomfiture at the finish. It was better to
leave them to settle their quarrel themselves, while I occupied

myself in turning over these fresh facts in my mind to find out
how they fitted into the speculativestructure I had been

building during the last two or three weeks. But it soon struck
me that it was getting late, that the sun would be gone in a

couple of hours; and at once I began the descent. It was not
accomplished without some bruises and a good many scratches.

After a cold draught, obtained by putting my lips to a black rock
from which the water was trickling, I set out on my walk home,

keeping near the western border of the forest for fear of losing
myself. I had covered about half the distance from the foot of

the hill to Nuflo's lodge when the sun went down. Away on my
left the evening uproar of the howling monkeys burst out, and

after three or four minutes ceased; the after silence was pierced
at intervals by screams of birds going to roost among the trees

in the distance, and by many minor sounds close at hand, of small
bird, frog, and insect. The western sky was now like

amber-coloured flame, and against that immeasurably distant
luminous background the near branches and clustered foliage

looked black; but on my left hand the vegetation still appeared
of a uniform dusky green. In a little while night would drown all

colour, and there would be no light but that of the wandering
lantern-fly, always unwelcome to the belated walker in a lonely

place, since, like the ignis fatuus, it is confusing to the sight