 CHAPTER V After making a hasty meal at the house I started full of pleasing anticipations for the wood for how pleasant a place it was to be in. What a wild beauty and fragrance and melodiousness it possessed above all forest! Because of that mystery they drew me to it. And it was mine, truly and absolutely, as much mine as any portion of earth's surface could belong to any man, mine with all its products, the precious woods and fruits and fragrant gums that would never be trafficked away, its wild animals that man would never persecute nor would any jealous savage dispute my ownership or pretend that it was part of his hunting-ground. As I crossed the savanna I played with this fancy, but when I reached the ridge-yeminence to look down once more on my new domain the fancy changed to a feeling so keen that it pierced to my heart and was like pain in its intensity, causing tears to rush to my eyes. And caring not in that solitude to disguise my feelings from myself and from the wide heaven that looked down and saw me, for this is the sweetest thing that solitude has for us, that we are free in it, and no convention holds us. I dropped on my knees and kissed the stony ground. Then, casting up my eyes, thanked the author of my being for the gift of that wild forest, those green mansions where I had found so great a happiness. Elated with this strain of feeling I reached the wood not long after noon, but no melodious voice gave me familiar and expected welcome, nor did my invisible companion make itself heard at all on that day, or at all events, not in its usual bird-like warbling language. But on this day I met with a curious little adventure, and heard something very extraordinary, very mysterious, which I could not avoid connecting in my mind with the unseen warbler that so often followed me in my rambles. It was an exceedingly bright day, without cloud, but windy, and finding myself in a rather open part of the wood near its border, where the breeze could be felt. I sat down to rest on the lower part of a large branch, which was half-broken and still remained attached to the trunk of the tree while resting its terminal twigs on the ground. Just before me, where I sat, grew a low, wide-spreading plant covered with broad, round, polished leaves, and the roundness, stiffness, and perfectly horizontal position of the upper leaves made them look like a collection of small platforms, or round tabletops, placed nearly on a level. Through the leaves to the height of a foot or more above them, a slender dead stem protruded, and from a twig at its summit depended a broken spider's web. A minute dead leaf had become attached to one of those loose threads, and threw its small but distinct shadow on the platform leaves below, and as it trembled and swayed in the current of air, the black spot trembled with it, or flew swiftly over the bright green surfaces, and was seldom at rest. Now as I sat looking down on the leaves and the small dancing shadow, scarcely thinking of what I was looking at, I noticed a small spider, with a flat body and short legs, creep cautiously out onto the upper surface of a leaf. Its pale red color, barred with velvet black, first drew my attention to it, for it was beautiful to the eye, and presently I discovered that this was no web-spinning, sedentary spider, but a wandering hunter that captured its prey, like a cat, by stealing on it concealed and making a rush or spring at the last. The moving shadow had attracted it, and, as the sequel showed, was mistaken for a fly running about over the leaves and flitting from leaf to leaf. Now began a series of wonderful maneuvers on the spider's part, with the object of circumventing the imaginary fly, which seemed specially designed to meet this special case, for certainly no insect had ever before behaved in quite so erratic a matter. Each time the shadow flew past, the spider ran swiftly in the same direction, hiding itself under the leaves, always trying to get near without alarming its prey, and then the shadow would go round and round in a small circle, and some new strategic move on the part of the hunter would be called forth. I became deeply interested in this curious scene. I began to wish that the shadow would remain quiet for a moment or two, so as to give the hunter a chance. And at last I had my wish. The shadow was almost motionless, and the spider moving towards it, yet seeming not to move, and as it crept closer I fancied that I could almost see the little striped body quivering with excitement. Then came the final scene, swift and straight as an arrow the hunter shot himself on to the fly-like shadow, then wiggled round and round, evidently trying to take hold of his prey with fangs and claws, and finding nothing under him. He raised the forepart of his body vertically, as if to stare about him in search of the elusive fly, but the action may have simply expressed astonishment. At this moment I was just on the point of giving free and loud vent to the laughter which I had been holding in when, just behind me, as if from some person who had been watching the scene over my shoulder, and was as much amused as myself at its termination, sounded a clear trill of merry laughter. I started up and looked tastefully around, but no living creature was there. The mass of loose foliage I stared into was agitated, as if from a body having just pushed through it. In a moment the leaves and fronds were motionless again. Still, I could not be sure that a slight gust of wind had not shaken them. But I was so convinced that I had heard close to me a real human laugh or sound of some living creature that exactly simulated a laugh that I carefully searched the ground about me, expecting to find a being of some kind. But I found nothing. Going back to my seat on the hanging branch I remained seated for a considerable time, at first only listening, then pondering on the mystery of that sweet trill of laughter. And finally I began to wonder whether I, like the spider that chased the shadow, had been deluded and had seemed to hear a sound that was not a sound. On the following day I was in the wood again, and after a two or three hours' ramble, during which I heard nothing, thinking it useless to haunt the known spots any longer, I turned southwards and penetrated into a denser part of the forest, where the undergrowth made progress difficult. I was not afraid of losing myself, the sun above in my sense of direction, which was always good, would enable me to return to the starting point. In this direction I had been pushing resolutely on for over half an hour, finding it no easy matter to make my way without constantly deviating to this side or that, from the course I wished to keep, when I came to a much more open spot. The trees were smaller and scantier here, owing to the rocky nature of the ground, which sloped rather rapidly down, but it was moist and overgrown with mosses, ferns, creepers, and low shrubs, all of the liveliest green. I could not see many yards ahead owing to the bushes and tall fern-frons, but presently I began to hear a low, continuous sound, which when I advanced twenty or thirty yards further, I made out to be the gurgling of running water, and at the same moment I made the discovery that my throat was parched and my palms tingling with heat. I hurried on, promising myself a cool draft, when all at once, above the soft dashing and gurgling of the water, I caught yet another sound, a low warbling note or succession of notes, which might have been emitted by a bird. But it startled me nevertheless, bird-like warbling sounds had come to mean so much to me, and pausing I listened intently. It was not repeated. And finally, treading with the utmost caution so as not to alarm the mysterious vocalist, I crept on until, coming to a green heart with the quantity of feathery foliage of a shrub growing about its roots, I saw that just beyond the tree the ground was more open still, letting in the sunlight from above, and that the channel of the stream I sought was in this open space about twenty yards from me, although the water was still hidden from sight. Something else was there, which I did see. Instantly my cautious advance was arrested. I stood gazing with concentrated vision, scarcely daring to breathe, lest I should scare it away. It was a human being, a girl-form, reclining on the moss among the ferns and herbage near the roots of a small tree. One arm was doubled behind her neck for her head to rest upon, while the other arm was held extended before her, and the hand raised towards a small brown bird perched on a pendulous twig just beyond its reach. She appeared to be playing with the bird, possibly amusing herself by trying to entice it on to her hand, and the hand appeared detented greatly, for it persistently hopped up and down, turning rapidly about this way and that, flirting its wings and tail, and always appearing just on the point of dropping on to her finger. From my position it was impossible to see her distinctly, yet I dared not move. I could make out that she was small, not above four feet six or seven inches in height, in figure slim, with delicately shaped little hands and feet. Her feet were bare, and her only garment was a slight chemise-shaped dress, reaching below her knees, of a whitish-gray color, with a faint luster as of a silky material. Her hair was very wonderful, it was loose and abundant, and seemed wavy or curly, falling in a cloud on her shoulders and arms. Dark had appeared, but the precise tint was indeterminable, as was that of her skin which looked neither brown nor white. Altogether, near to me as she actually was, there was a kind of mistiness in the figure which made it appear somewhat vague and distant, and a greenish-gray seemed the prevailing color. This tint I presently attributed to the effect of the sunlight falling on her through the green foliage. For once, for a moment, she raised herself to reach her finger nearer to the bird, and then a gleam of unsubdued sunlight fell on her hair and arm, and the arm at that moment appeared of a pearly whiteness, and the hair, just where the light touched it, had a strange luster in play of iridescent color. I had not been watching her more than three seconds before the bird, with a sharp, creaky little chirp, flew up in a way in sudden alarm. At the same moment she turned and saw me through the light leafy screen. But although catching sight of me thus suddenly she did not exhibit alarm like the bird, only her eyes, wide open, with a surprised look in them, remained immovably fixed on my face. And then slowly, imperceptibly, for I did not notice the actual movement so gradual and smooth it was, like the motion of a cloud of mist which changes its form in place, yet to the eye seems not to have moved. She rose to her knees, to her feet, retired, and with face still towards me, and eyes fixed on mine, finally disappeared, going as if she had melted away into the verdure. The leafage was there occupying the precise spot where she had been a moment before, the feathery foliage of an acacia shrub, and stems in broad arrow-shaped leaves of an aquatic plant, and slim, drooping fern-frons, and they were motionless and seemed not to have been touched by something passing through them. She had gone, yet I continued still, bent almost double, gazing fixedly at the spot where I had last seen her, my mind in a strange condition, possessed by sensations which were keenly felt and yet contradictory. So vivid was the image left on my brain that she still seemed to be actually before my eyes, and she was not there, nor had been, for it was a dream, an illusion, and no such being existed, or could exist in this gross world, and at the same time I knew that she had been there, that imagination was powerless to conjure up a form so exquisite. With the mental image I had to be satisfied for although I remained for some hours at that spot, I saw her no more, nor did I hear any familiar melodious sound, for I was now convinced that in this wild solitary girl I had at length discovered the mysterious warbler that so often followed me in the wood. At length, seeing that it was growing late, I took a drink from the stream, and slowly and reluctantly made my way out of the forest, and went home. Early next day I was back in the wood full of delightful anticipations, and had no sooner got well among the trees than a soft, warbling sound reached my ears. It was like that heard on the previous day just before catching sight of the girl among the ferns. So soon, thought I, elated, and with cautious steps I proceeded to explore the ground, hoping again to catch her unawares. But I saw nothing, and only after beginning to doubt that I had heard anything unusual, and had sat down to rest on a rock. The sound was repeated, soft and low as before, very near and distinct. Nothing more was heard at this spot, but an hour later, in another place, the same mysterious note sounded near me. During my remaining time in the forest I was served many times in the same way, and still nothing was seen, nor was there any change in the voice. Only when the day was near its end did I give up my quest, feeling very keenly disappointed. It then struck me that the cause of the elusive creature's behavior was that she had been peaked at my discovery of her in one of her most secret hiding-places in the heart of the wood, and that it had pleased her to play me out in this manner. On the next day there was no change. She was there again, evidently following me, but always invisible, and varied not from that one mocking note of yesterday, which seemed to challenge me to find her a second time. In the end I was vexed, and resolved to be even with her by not visiting the wood for some time. A display of indifference on my part, wood, I hoped, resulted in making her less coy in the future. Next day, firm in my new resolution, I accompanied Kuako and two others to a distant spot, where they expected that the ripening fruit on a cashew tree would attract a large number of birds. The fruit, however, proved still green, so that we gathered none and killed few birds. Returning together, Kuako kept at my side, and by and by, falling behind our companions, he complimented me on my good shooting, although as usual I had only wasted the arrows I had blown. Soon you will be able to hit, he said, hit a bird as big as a small woman, and he laughed once more immoderately at the old joke. At last, growing confidential, he said that I would soon possess the sabbatana of my own, with arrows in plenty. He was going to make the arrows himself, and his uncle ought to winky who had a straight eye would make the tube. I treated it all as a joke, but he solemnly assured me that he meant it. Next morning he asked me if I was going to the forest of evil fame, and when I replied in the negative, seemed surprised, and very much to my surprise evidently disappointed. He even tried to persuade me to go, where before I had been earnestly recommended not to go, until finding that I would not. He took me with him to hunt in the woods. While I am by, he returned to the same subject. He could not understand why I would not go to that wood, and asked me if I had begun to grow afraid. No, not afraid, I replied. But I know the place well, and I'm getting tired of it. I had seen everything in it, birds and bees, and had heard all its strange noises. Yes, heard, he said, nodding his head knowingly, but you have seen nothing strange, your eyes are not good enough yet. I laughed contemptuously, and answered that I had seen everything strange the wood contained, including a strange young girl, and I went on to describe her appearance, and finished by asking if he thought a white man was frightened at the sight of a young girl. What I said astonished him. Then he seemed greatly pleased, and growing still more confidential and generous than on the previous day. He said that I would soon be a most important personage among them, and greatly distinguish myself. He did not like it when I laughed at all this, and went on with great seriousness to speak of the unmade blowpipe that would be mine, speaking of it as if it had been something very great, equal to the gift of a large tract of land, or the governorship of a province north of the Orinoco. And by and by he spoke of something else more wonderful even than the promise of a blowpipe, with arrows galore, and this was that young sister of his, whose name was Ualava, a maid of about sixteen, shy and silent and mild-eyed, rather lean and dirty, not ugly, nor yet prepossessing. And this copper-colored little drab of the wilderness he proposed to bestow a marriage on me. Anxious to pump him, I managed to control my muscles and ask him what authority he, a young nobody, who had not yet risen to the dignity of buying a wife for himself, could have to dispose of his sister in this offhand way. He replied that there would be no difficulty, that Rune would give his consent, as would Otto Winky, Piaki, and other relations, and last and least, according to the matrimonial customs of these latitudes, Ualava herself would be ready to bestow her person, K.U., worn fig-leaf-wise, necklace of acuri-teeth, and all, on so worthy a suitor as myself. Finally, to make the prospect still more inviting, he added that it would not be necessary for me to subject myself to any voluntary tortures to prove myself a man, and fitted to enter into the purgatorial state of matrimony. He was a great deal too considerate, I said, and with all the gravity I could command, asked him what kind of torture he would recommend. For me, so valorous a person, no torture, he answered magnanimously. But he, Kuako, had made up his mind as to the form of torture he meant to inflict some day on his own person. He would prepare a large sack, and into it put fire ants. As many as that, he exclaimed triumphantly, stooping and filling his two hands with loose sand. He would put them in the sack, and then get into it himself naked, and tie it tightly round his neck, so as to show to all spectators that the hellish pain of innumerable venomous stings in his flesh could be endured without a groan, and with an unmoved countenance. The poor youth had not an original mind, since this was one of the commonest forms of self-torture among the Geyana tribes. But the sudden wonderful animation with which he spoke of it, the fiendish joy that illumined his usually-stulled countenance, sent a sudden disgust and horror through me. But what a strange, inverting kind of fiendishness is this, which delights at the anticipation of torture inflicted on oneself and not on an enemy. And towards others these savages are mild and peaceable. No, I could not believe in their mildness. That was only on the surface, where nothing occurred to rouse their savage cruel instincts. I could have laughed at the whole matter, but the exulting look on my companion's face had made me sick of the subject, and I wish not to talk any more about it. But he would talk still. This fellow whose words as a rule I had to take out of his mouth with a fork, as we say, and still on the same subject. He said that not one person in the village would expect to see me torture myself, that after what I would do for them all, after delivering them from a great evil, nothing further would be expected of me. I asked him to explain his meaning, for it now began to appear plain that in everything he had said he had been leading up to some very important matter. It would, of course, have been a great mistake to suppose that my savage was offering me a blowpipe and a marketable virgin sister from purely disinterested motives. In reply he went back to that still unforgotten joke about my being able eventually to hit a bird as big as a small woman with an arrow. Out of it all came, when he went on to ask me if that mysterious girl I had seen in the wood was not of a size to suit me as a target when I had got my hand in with a little more practice. That was the great work I was asked to do for them. That shy, mysterious girl with the melodious wild bird voice was the evil being I was asked to slay with poisoned arrows. This was why he now wished me to go off into the wood, to become more and more familiar with her haunts and habits, to overcome all shyness and suspicion in her, and at the proper moment when it would be impossible to miss my mark, to plant the fatal arrow. The disgust he had inspired in me before, when gloating over anticipated tortures, was a weak and transient feeling to what I now experienced. I turned on him in a sudden transport of rage, and in a moment would have shattered on his head the blowpipe I was carrying in my hand, but his astonished look as he turned to face me made me pause, and prevented me from committing so fatal an indiscretion. I could only grind my teeth, and struggle to overcome an almost overpowering hatred and wrath. Finally I flung the tube down, and bait him take it, telling him that I would not touch it again if he offered me all the sisters of all the savages in Guyana for wives. He continued gazing at me, mute with astonishment, and prudence suggested that it would be best to conceal as far as possible the violent animosity I had conceived against him. I asked him somewhat scornfully if he believed that I should ever be able to hit anything, bird or human being, with an arrow. No, I almost shouted, so as to give vent to my feelings in some way, and drawing my revolver, this is the white man's weapon, but he kills men with it, men who attempt to kill or injure him, but neither with this nor any other weapon does he murder innocent young girls treacherously. After that we went on in silence for some time. At length he said that the being I had seen in the wood, and was not afraid of, was no innocent young girl, but a daughter of the deity, an evil being, and that so long as she continued to inhabit the wood they could not go there to hunt, and even in other woods they constantly went in fear of meeting her. Too much disgusted to talk with him. I went on in silence, and when we reached the stream near the village I threw off my clothes and plunged into the water to cool my anger before going into the others. CHAPTER VI Thinking about the forest girl while lying awake that night, I came to the conclusion that I had made it sufficiently plain to her how little her capricious behaviour had been relished, and had therefore no need to punish myself more by keeping any longer out of my beloved green mansions. Accordingly next day, after the heavy rain that fell during the morning hours had ceased, I set forth about noon to visit the wood. Overhead the sky was clear again, but there was no motion in the heavy sultry atmosphere, while dark blue masses of banked-up clouds on the western horizon threatened a fresh downpour later in the day. My mind was, however, now too greatly excited at the prospect of a possible encounter with the forest nymph to allow me to pay any heed to these ominous signs. I had passed through the first strip of wood and was in the succeeding stony sterile space when a gleam of brilliant colour close by on the ground caught my sight. It was a snake lying on the bare earth had I kept on without noticing it. I should most probably have trod upon or dangerously near it. Viewing it closely, I found that it was a coral snake, famed as much for its beauty and singularity as for its deadly character. It was about three feet long and very slim, its ground colour a brilliant vermilion. With broad jet black rings at equal distances round its body, each black ring or band divided by a narrow yellow strip in the middle. The symmetrical pattern and vividly contrasted colours would have given it the appearance of an artificial snake, made by some fanciful artist, but for the gleam of life and its bright coils. Its fixed eyes, too, were living gems, and from the point of its dangerous arrowy head the glistening tongue flickered ceaselessly as I stood a few yards away regarding it. I admire you greatly, Sir Serpent," I said, or thought, but it is dangerous, say the military authorities, to leave an enemy or possible enemy in the rear, the person who does such a thing must be either a bad strategist or a genius, and I am neither. Retreating a few paces, I found and picked up a stone about as big as a man's hand and hurled it at the dangerous-looking head with the intention of crushing it, but the stone hit upon the rocky ground a little on one side of the mark, and, being soft, flew into a hundred small fragments. This roused the creature's anger, and in a moment with raised head he was gliding swiftly towards me. Again I retreated, not so slowly on this occasion, and finding another stone I raised and was about to launch it when a sharp ringing cry issued from the bushes growing near, and, quickly following the sound, forth stepped the forest girl, no longer illusive and shy, vaguely seen in the shadowy wood, but boldly challenging attention, exposed to the full power of the meridian sun, which made her appear luminous and rich in color beyond example. Seeing her thus, all those emotions of fear and abhorrence invariably excited in us by the sight of an active venomous serpent in her path, vanished instantly from my mind. I could now only feel astonishment and admiration at the brilliant being as she advanced with swift, easy, undulating motion towards me, or rather towards the serpent which was now between us, moving more and more slowly as she came nearer. The cause of the sudden wonderful boldness, so unlike her former habit, was unmistakable. She had been watching my approach from some hiding place among the bushes, ready no doubt to leave me adorned through the wood with her mocking voice, as on previous occasions, when my attack on the serpent caused that outburst of wrath. The torrent of ringing in to me inarticulate sounds in that unknown tongue, her rapid gestures, and above all her wide-opened sparkling eyes and face of flame with color, made it impossible to mistake the nature of her feeling. In casting about for some term or figure of speech in which she described the impression produced on me at that moment, I think a waspish and, better still, avispata, literally the same word in Spanish, not having precisely the same meaning nor ever applied contemptuously, only to reject both after a moment's reflection. Yet I go back to the image of an irritated wasp as perhaps offering the best illustration, and of some large tropical wasp advancing angrily towards me, as I have witnessed a hundred times, not exactly flying, but moving rapidly, half running and half flying over the ground with loud and angry buzz, the glistening wings open and agitated, beautiful beyond most animated creatures in its sharp but graceful lines, polished surface and varied brilliant coloring, and that wrathfulness that fits it so well and seems to give it additional luster. Wonder struck at the sight of her strange beauty and passion. I forgot the advancing snake until she came to a stop at about five yards from me. Then to my horror I saw that it was beside her naked feet. Although no longer advancing, the head was still raised high as if to strike, but presently the spirit of anger appeared to die out of it. The lifted head, oscillating a little from side to side, sunk down lower and lower to rest finally on the girl's bare instep and lying there motionless, the deadly thing had the appearance of a gaily colored silken garter just drop from her leg. It was plain to see that she had no fear of it, that she was one of those exceptional persons to be found it is said in all countries who possess some magnetic quality which has a soothing effect on even the most venomous and irritable reptiles. Following the direction of my eyes she too glanced down, but did not move her foot. Then she made her voice heard again, still loud and sharp, but the anger was not now so pronounced. Do not fear, I shall not harm it, I said in the Indian tongue. She took no notice of my speech and continued speaking with increasing resentment. I shook my head, replying that her language was unknown to me. Then by means of signs I tried to make her understand that the creature was safe from further molestation. She pointed indignantly at the stone in my hand which I had forgotten all about, had once I threw it from me, and instantly there was a change. The resentment had vanished and a tender radiance lit her face like a smile. I advanced a little nearer, addressing her once more in the Indian tongue, but my speech was evidently unintelligible to her, as she stood now glancing at the snake lying at her feet, now at me. Again I had recourse to signs and gestures, pointing to the snake, then to the stone I had cast away. I endeavored to convey to her that in the future I would, for her sake, be a friend to all venomous reptiles, and then I wished her to have the same kindly feelings towards me, as towards these creatures. Whether or not she understood me, she showed no disposition to go into hiding again, and continued silently regarding me with a look that seemed to express pleasure, had finding herself at last thus suddenly brought face to face with me. Flattered at this, I gradually drew nearer, until at the last I was standing at her side, gazing down with the utmost delight into that face which so greatly surpassed in loveliness all human faces I had ever seen or imagined. And yet to you, my friend, it probably will not seem that she was so beautiful, since I have, alas, only the words we all used to paint commoner coarser things, and no means to represent all the exquisite details, all the delicate lights and shades, and swift changes of color and expression. Moreover is it not a fact that the strange or unheard of can never appear beautiful in a mere description, because that which is most novel in it attracts too much attention, and is given undue prominence in the picture. And we missed that which would have taken away the effect of strangeness, the perfect balance of the parts and the harmony of the whole. For instance, the blue eyes of the northerner would, when first described to the black-eyed inhabitants of warm regions, seem unbeautiful and a monstrosity, because they would vividly see with the mental vision that unheard of blueness, but not in the same vivid way the accompanying flesh and hair tints with which it harmonizes. Think then less of the picture as I have to paint it in words, than of the feeling its original inspired in me when, looking closely for the first time on that rare loveliness, trembling with delight, I mentally cried, Oh, why has nature, maker of so many types and of innumerable individuals of each, given to the world but one being like this? Scarcely had the thought formed itself in my mind before I dismissed it as utterly incredible. No, this exquisite being was without doubt one of a distinct race which had existed in this little-known corner of the continent for thousands of generations, albeit now perhaps reduced to a small and dwindling remnant. Her figure and features were singularly delicate, but it was her color that struck me most, which indeed made her differ from all other human beings. The color of the skin would be almost impossible to describe, so greatly that it varied with every change of mood, and the moods were many and transient, and with the angle on which the sunlight touched it and the degree of light. Beneath the trees, at a distance, it had seemed a somewhat dim white or pale gray. Near in the strong sunshine it was not white, but alabasterian, semi-pollucid, showing an underlying rose color, and at any point where the rays fell direct, this color was bright and luminous, as we see in our fingers when held before a strong firelight. But that part of her skin that remained in shadow, a period of dimmer white, and the underlying color varied from dim rosy purple to dim blue. With the skin the color of the eyes harmonized perfectly. At first, when lit with anger, they had appeared flame-like. Now the iris was of a peculiar soft or dim and tender red, a shade sometimes seen in flowers. But only when looked closely at could this delicate hue be discerned, the pupils being large, as in some gray eyes, and the long dark shading lashes at a short distance made the whole eye appear dark. Think not, then, of the red flower, exposed to the light and sun in conjunction with the vivid green of the foliage. Think only of such a hue and the half-hidden iris, brilliant and moist with the eye's moisture, deep with the eye's depth, glorified by the outward look of a bright, beautiful soul. Most variable of all in color was the hair, this being due to its extreme fineness and glossiness, and to its elasticity, which made it lie fleecy and loose on head, shoulders, and back. A cloud with a brightness on its surface made by the freer outer hairs, a fit setting and crown for a countenance of such rare changeful loveliness. In the shade, viewed closely, the general color appeared a slate, deepening in places to purple. And even in the shade, the nimbus of free, glossy hairs half-veiled the darker tints with a downy pallor, and at a distance of a few yards it gave the whole hair a vague, misty appearance. In the sunlight the color varied more, looking now dark, sometimes intensely black, now of a light, uncertain hue, with a play of iridescent color on the loose surface, as we see on the glossed plumage of some birds, and at a short distance, with the sun shining full on her head, it sometimes looked white as the Noonday cloud. So changeful was it, and ethereal in appearance with its cloud colors, that all other human hair, even of the most beautiful gold in shades, pale or red, seemed heavy and dull and dead-looking by comparison. But more than form and color and that enchanting variability was the look of intelligence, which at the same time seemed complementary too, and one with the all-seeing, all-hearing alertness appearing in her face. The alertness one remarks in a wild creature, even when in repose and fearing nothing, but seldom in man, never perhaps an intellectual or studious man, she was a wild, solitary girl of the woods, and did not understand the language of the country in which I had addressed her. What inner or mind-life could such a one have more than that of any wild animal existing in the same conditions? Yet looking at her face it was not possible to doubt its intelligence. This union in her of two opposite qualities, which with us cannot or do not exist together, although so novel, yet struck me as the girl's principal charm. Why had nature not done this before? Why, in all others, does the brightness of the mind dim that beautiful physical brightness which the wild animals have? But enough for me that that which no man had ever looked for or hoped to find existed here, that through that unfamiliar lustre of the wild life shone the spiritualizing light of mind that made us kin. These thoughts passed swiftly through my brain as I stood feasting my sight on her bright, pecan face. While she, on her part, gazed back into my eyes. Not only with fearless curiosity, but with a look of recognition and pleasure at the encounter, so unmistakably friendly that, encouraged by it, I took her arm in my hand, moving at the same time a little nearer to her. At that moment a swift, startled expression came into her eyes. She glanced down and up again into my face. Her lips trembled and slightly parted as she murmured some sorrowful sounds and a tone so low as to be only just audible. Thinking she had become alarmed and was on the point of escaping out of my hands, and fearing above all things to lose sight of her again so soon, I slipped my arm around her slender body to detain her, moving one foot at the same time to balance myself. And at that moment I felt a slight blow and a sharp burning sensation shoot into my leg, so sudden and intense that I dropped my arm, at the same time uttering a cry of pain and recoiled one or two paces from her. But she stirred not when I released her. Her eyes followed my movements. Then she glanced down at her feet. I followed her look and figured to yourself my horror when I saw there the serpent I had so completely forgotten and which even that sting of sharp pain had not brought back to remembrance. There it lay, a coil of its own thrown round one of her balls, and its head raised nearly a foot high, swaying slowly from side to side, while the swift forked tongue flickered continuously. Then, only then, I knew what had happened, and at the same time I understood the reason of that sudden look of alarm in her face, the murmuring sounds she had uttered, and the downward startled glass. Her fears had been solely for my safety, and she had warned me, too late, too late, in moving I had trodden on or touched the serpent with my foot, and it had bitten me just above the ankle. In a few moments I began to realize the horror of my position. Must I die? Must I die? Oh, my God! Is there nothing that can save me? I cried in my heart. She was still standing motionless in the same place. Her eyes wandered back from me to the snake. Gradually its swaying head was lowered again, and the coil unwound from her ankle. Then it began to move away, slowly at first, and with the head a little raised, then faster, and in the end it glided out of sight. Gone! But it had left its venom in my blood. Oh, cursed reptile! Back from watching its retreat my eyes returned to her face. Now strangely clouded with trouble, her eyes dropped before mine, while the palms of her hands were pressed together, and the fingers clasped and unclasped alternately. How different she seemed now! The brilliant face grown so pallid and vague looking. But not only because this tragic end to our meeting had pierced her with pain, that cloud in the west had grown up and now covered half the sky with vast lurid masses of vapor, blotting out the sun, and a great gloom had fallen on the earth. That sudden twilight and a long roll of approaching thunder reverberating from the hills increased my anguish and desperation. Death at that moment looked unutterably terrible. The remembrance of all that made life dear pierced me to the core. All that nature was to me, all the pleasures of sense and intellect, the hopes I had cherished, all was revealed to me as by a flash of lightning. Bitterest of all was the thought that I must now bid everlasting farewell to this beautiful being I had found in the solitude, this lustrous daughter of the deedy, just when I had won her from her shyness, that I must go away into the cursed blackness of death and never know the mystery of her life. It was that which utterly unnerved me. It made my legs tremble under me, and brought great drops of sweat to my forehead, until I thought that the venom was already doing its swift fatal work in my veins. With uncertain steps I moved to a stone a yard or two away and sat down upon it. As I did so, the hope came to me that this girl, so intimate with nature, might know of some antidote to save me. Touching my leg and using other signs, I addressed her again in the Indian language. The snake has bitten me, I said. What shall I do? Is there no leaf, no root, you know, that can save me from death? Help me! Help me! I cried in despair. My signs she probably understood, if not my words, but she made no reply, and still she remained standing motionless, twisting and untwisting her fingers, and regarding me with a look of ineffable grief and compassion. Alas! It was vain to appeal to her. She knew what had happened, and what the result would most likely be, and pitted, but was powerless to help me. Then it occurred to me that if I could reach the Indian village before the venom overpowered me, something might be done to save me. Oh, why had I tarried so long, losing so many precious minutes? Large drops of rain were falling now, and the gloom was deeper, and the thunder almost continuous. With a cry of anguish I started to my feet and was about to rush away towards the village, when a dazzling flash of lightning made me pause for a second. When it vanished I turned a last look on the girl, and her face was deathly pale, and her hair looked blacker than night, and as she looked she stretched out her arms towards me and uttered a low wailing cry. Bye for ever! I murmured, and turning once more from her, rushed away like one crazed into the wood. But in my confusion I had probably taken the wrong direction, for instead of coming out in a few minutes into the open border of the forest and on to the savannah, I found myself every moment getting deeper among the trees. I stood still, perplexed, but could not shake off the conviction that I had started in the right direction. They I resolved to keep on for a hundred yards or so, and then, if no opening appeared, to turn back and retrace my steps. But this was no easy matter. I soon became entangled in a dense undergrowth, which so confused me that at last I confessed despairingly to myself that for the first time in this wood I was hopelessly lost. And in what terrible circumstances? At intervals a flash of lightning would throw a vivid blue glare down into the interior of the wood, and only served to show that I had lost myself in a place where even at noon in cloudless weather progress would be most difficult. And now the light would only last a moment, to be followed by a thick gloom, and I could only tear blindly on, bruising and lacerating my flesh at every step, falling again and again, only to struggle up and on again, now high above the surface, climbing over prostrate trees and branches, now plunged to my middle in a pool or torrent of water. Hopeless. Utterly hopeless seemed all my mad efforts, and at each pause, when I would stand exhausted, gasping for breath, my throbbing heart almost suffocating me. A dull, continuous, teasing pain in my bitten leg served to remind me that I had but a little time left to exist. By delaying at first, I had to allowed my only chance of salvation to slip by. How long a time I spent fighting my way through this dense black wood I know not. Perhaps two or three hours. Only to me the hours seemed like years of prolonged agony. At last, all at once, I found that I was free of the close undergrowth and walking on level ground, but it was darker here, darker than the darkest night, and at length, when the lightning came and flared down through the dense roof of foliage overhead, I discovered that I was in a spot that had a strange look, where the trees were very large and grew wide apart, and with no undergrowth to impede progress beneath them. Here recovering breath, I began to run, and after a while found that I had left the large trees behind me, and was now in a more open place, with small trees and bushes, and this made me hope for a while that I had at last reached the border of the forest. But the hope proved vain. Once more I had to force my way through dense undergrowth, and finally emerged on to a slope where it was open, and I could once more see for some distance around me by such light as came through the thick pall of clouds. Trudging on to the summit of the slope, I saw that there was open savanna country beyond, and for a moment rejoiced that I had got free from the forest. A few steps more, and I was standing on the very edge of a bank, a precipice not less than fifty feet deep. I had never seen that bank before, and therefore knew that I could not be on the right side of the forest. But now my only hope was to get completely away from the trees, and then to look for the village, and I began following the bank in search of a descent. No break occurred, and presently I was stopped by a dense thicket of bushes. I was about to retrace my steps when I had noticed that a tall, slender tree growing at the foot of the precipice, its green top not more than a couple of yards below my foot, seemed to offer a means of escape. Nerfing myself with a thought that if I got crushed by the fall I should probably escape a lingering and far more painful death, I dropped into the cloud of foliage beneath me, and clutched desperately at the twigs as I fell. For a moment I felt myself sustained, but branch after branch gave way beneath my weight, and then I only remember, very dimly, a swift flight through the air before losing consciousness. CHAPTER 7 of Green Mansions This is a Lieberbox recording. All Lieberbox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Lieberbox.org. With the return of consciousness I at first had a vague impression that I was lying somewhere, injured, and incapable of motion. That it was night and necessary for me to keep my eyes fast shut to prevent them from being blinded by almost continuous vivid flashes of lightning. Injured and sore all over, but warm and dry, surely dry, nor was it lightning that dazzled, but fire-light. I began to notice things little by little. The fire was burning on a clay floor a few feet from where I was lying. Before it, on a log of wood, sat or crouched a human figure. An old man, with chin on breast and hands clasped before his drawn-up knees, only a small portion of his forehead and nose visible to me. An Indian I took him to be, from his coarse-length gray hair and dark brown skin. I was in a large hut, falling at the sides to within two feet of the floor. But there were no hammocks in it, nor bows and spears, and no skins, not even under me, for I was lying on straw mats. I could hear the storm still raging outside, the rush and splash of rain, and at intervals the distant growl of thunder. There was wind, too. I listened to it sobbing in the trees, and occasionally a puff found its way in, and blew up the white ashes at the old man's feet, and shook the yellow flames like a flag. I remembered now how the storm began, the wild girl, the snake-bite, my violent efforts to find a way out of the woods, and finally that leap from the bank where recollection ended. That I had not been killed by the venomous tooth, nor the subsequent fearful fall seemed like a miracle to me. And in that wild, solitary place, lying insensible, in that awful storm and darkness, I had been found by a fellow creature, a savage doubtless but a good Samaritan all the same, who had rescued me from death. I was bruised all over, and did not attempt to move, fearing the pain it would give me, and I had a racking headache. But these seemed trifling discomforts after such adventures and such perils. I felt that I had recovered, or was recovering, from that venomous bite, that I would live and not die, live to return to my country, and the thought filled my heart to overflowing, and tears of gratitude and happiness rose to my eyes. At such times a man experiences benevolent feelings, and would willingly bestow some of that over-plus of happiness on his fellows to lighten other hearts, and this old man before me, who was probably the instrument of my salvation, began greatly to excite my interest in compassion. For he seemed so poor in his old age in rags, so solitary and dejected as he sat there with knees drawn up, his great brown bare feet looking almost black by contrast with the white wood ashes about them. What could I do for him? What could I say to cheery spirits in that Indian language, which has few or no words to express kindly feelings? Unable to think of anything better to say, I at length suddenly cried aloud, "'Smoke, old man! Why do you not smoke? It is good to smoke!' He gave a mighty start, and turning fixed his eyes on me. Then I saw that he was not a pure Indian, for although as brown as old leather he wore a beard and mustache. A curious face had this old man, which looked as if youth and age had made it a battling ground. His forehead was smooth, except for two parallel lines in the middle running its entire length, dividing it in zones. His arched eyebrows were black as ink, and his small black eyes were bright and cunning, like the eyes of some wild carnivorous animal. In this part of his face youth had held its own, especially in the eyes, which looked young and lively. But lower down age had conquered, scribbling his chin all over with wrinkles, while mustache and beard were white as thistle down. "'Aha! That dead man is alive again!' he exclaimed, with a chuckling laugh. This in the Indian tongue, then in Spanish he added, "'But speak to me in the language, you know best, senor. Or if you are not a Venezuelan, call me an owl.' "'And you, old man?' said I. "'Ah! I was right. Why, sir, what I am is plainly written on my face. Surely you did not take me for a pagan. I might be a black man from Africa, or an Englishman, but an Indian. Heh! That! No! But a minute ago you had the goodness to invite me to smoke. How, sir, can a poor man smoke who is without tobacco? Without tobacco in Guyana? Can you believe it? But, sir, do not blame me. If the beast that came one night and destroyed my plants when ripe for cutting had taken pumpkins and sweet potatoes instead, it would have been better for him if curses have any effect. And the plant grows slowly, sir. It is not an evil weed to come to maturity in a single day. And as for other leaves in the forest I smoke them, yes, but there is no comfort to the lungs in such smoke. My tobacco-pouch was full, I said. We'll find it in my coat if I did not lose it. "'The saint's forbid,' he exclaimed. "'Grandchild, Rima, have you got a tobacco-pouch with the other things? Give it to me.' Then I first noticed that another person was in the hut, a slim young girl who had been seated against the wall on the other side of the fire, partially hid by the shadows. She had my leather belt, with a revolver in its case, and my hunting-knife attached, and the few articles I had had in my pockets on her lap. Taking up the pouch, she handed it to him, and he clutched it with a strange eagerness. "'I will give it back presently, Rima,' he said. "'Let me first smoke a cigarette, and then another.' It seemed probable from this that the good old man had already been casting covetous eyes on my property, and that his granddaughter had taken care of it for me. But how the silent, demure girl I kept it from him was a puzzle, so intensely that he now seemed to enjoy it. Drawing the smoke vigorously into his lungs, and after keeping it ten or fifteen seconds there, letting it fly out again from mouth and nose in blue jets and clouds, his face softened visibly, he became more and more genial and loquacious, and asked me how I came to be in that solitary place. I told him that I was staying with the Indian Rooney, his neighbor. "'But, senor,' he said, "'if it is not an impertinence, how was it that a young man of so distinguished an appearance as yourself, a Venezuelan should be residing with these children of the devil?' "'You love not your neighbors, then?' "'I know them, sir. How should I love them?' he was rolling up his second or third cigarette by this time, and I could not help noticing that he took a great deal more tobacco than he required in his fingers, and that the surplus on each occasion was conveyed to some secret receptacle among his rags. "'Love them, sir. They are infidels, and therefore the good Christian must only hate them. They are thieves. They will steal from you before your very face. So devoid are they of all shame, and also murderers. Gladly would they burden this poor thatch above my head, and kill me and my poor grandchild who shares this solitary life with me, if they had the courage. They are all errant cowards, and fear to approach me. Fear even to come into this wood. He would laugh to hear what they are afraid of. A child would laugh to hear it.' "'What do they fear?' I said, for his words had excited my interest in a great degree. "'Why, sir, would you believe it? They fear this child, my granddaughter, seated there before you. A poor innocent girl of seventeen summers, a Christian who knows her catechism, and would not harm the smallest thing that God has made. No, not a fly, which is not regarded on account of its smallness. Why, sir, it is due to her tender heart that you are safely sheltered here, instead of being left out of doors in this tempestuous night.' "'To her? To this girl?' I returned in astonishment. "'Explain, old man, for I do not know how I was saved. "'Today, senor, through your own heedlessness you were bitten by a venomous snake. Yes, that is true, although I do not know how it came to your knowledge. But why am I not a dead man, then? Have you done something to save me from the effects of the poison?' "'Nothing. What could I do so long after you were bitten? "'When a man is bitten by a snake in a solitary place, he is in God's hands. He will live or die as God wills. There is nothing to be done. "'But surely, sir, you remember that my poor grandchild was with you in the wood when the snake bit you?' "'A girl was there. A strange girl I have seen and heard before when I have walked in the forest. But not this girl. "'Surely not this girl.' "'No other,' said he, carefully rolling up another cigarette. "'It is not possible,' I returned. "'Ill what you have fared, sir, had she not been there. "'For after being bitten you rushed away into the thickest part of the wood and went about in a circle like a demented person for heaven knows how long. But she never left you. She was always close to you. You might have touched her with your hand. And at last some good angel who was watching you in order to stop your career made you mad altogether and caused you to jump over a precipice and lose your senses. And you were no sooner on the ground than she was with you. Ask me not how she got down. And when she had propped you up against the bank, she came for me. Fortunately the spot where you had fallen is near, not five hundred yards from the door. And I, on my part, was willing to assist her in saving you, for I knew it was no Indian that had fallen, since she loves not that breed, and they come not here. It was not an easy task for you ways, senior. But between us we brought you in." While he spoke, the girl continued sitting in the same listless attitude as when I had first observed her, with eyes cast down and hands folded in her lap. Recalling that brilliant being in the wood that had protected the serpent from me and calmed its rage, I found it hard to believe his words, and still felt a little incredulous. Rima, that is your name, is it not? I said. Will you come here and stand before me and let me look closely at you? See, senior. She meekly answered, and, removing the things from her lap, she stood up, then passing behind the old man came and stood before me, her eyes still bent on the ground, a picture of humility. She had the figure of the forest girl, but wore now a scanty-fated cotton garment, while the loose cloud of her hair was confined in two plates and hung down her back. The face also showed the same delicate lines, but of the brilliant animation and variable color and expression there appeared no trace. Gazing at her countenance as she stood there silent, shy, and spiritless before me, the image of her brighter self came vividly to my mind and I could not recover from the astonishment I felt at such a contrast. Have you ever observed a hummingbird moving about in an aerial dance among the flowers? A living prismatic gem that changes its color with every change of position. How it turning, it catches the sunlight on its burnish neck and gorgeous plumes, green and gold and flame colored, the beams changing divisible flakes as they fall, dissolving into nothing, to be succeeded by others and yet others. In its exquisite form, its changeful splendor, its swift motions and intervals of aerial suspension, it is a creature of such fairy-like loveliness as to mock all description. And have you seen this same fairy-like creature suddenly perch itself on a twig in the shade, its misty wings and fan-like tail folded, the iridescent glory vanished, looking like some common, dull plumage little bird sitting listless in a cage? Just so great was the difference in the girl as I had seen her in the forest and as she now appeared under the smoky roof in the firelight. After watching her for some moments I spoke, Rima, there must be a good deal of strength in that frame of yours which looks so delicate. Will you raise me up a little? She went down on one knee and placing her arms around me assisted me to a sitting posture. Thank you, Rima. Oh, misery! I groaned. Is there a bone left unbroken in my poor body? Nothing broken! cried the old man, clouds of smoke flying out with his words. I have examined you well, legs, arms, ribs, for this is how it was, senor. A thorny bush into which you fell saved you from being flattened on the stony ground. But you are bruised, sir, black with bruises, and there are more scratches of thorns on your skin than letters on a written page. A long thorn might have entered my brain, I said, from the way it feels. Feel my forehead, Rima. Is it very hot and dry? She did as I asked, touching me lightly with her little cool hand. No, senor, not hot, but warm and moist, she said. Thank heaven for that, I said. Poor girl, and you followed me through the wood in all that terrible storm. Ah, if I could lift my bruised arm I would take your hand to kiss it in gratitude for so great a service. I owe you my life, sweet Rima. What shall I do to repay so great a debt? The old man chuckled, as if amused, but the girl lifted not her eyes nor spoke. Tell me, sweet child, I said, for I cannot realize it yet. Was it really you that saved the serpent's life when I would have killed it? Did you stand by me in the wood with the serpent lying at your feet? Yes, senor, came her gentle answer. And it was you I saw in the wood one day lying on the ground playing with a small bird? Yes, senor. And it was you that followed me so often among the trees, calling to me, yet always hiding, so that I could never see you? Yes, senor. Oh, this is wonderful! I exclaimed, where at the old man chuckled again. But tell me this, my sweet girl, I continued. You never addressed me in Spanish. What strange musical language was it you spoke to me in? She shot a timid glance at my face and looked troubled at the question, but made no reply. Senor, said the old man, that is a question which you must excuse my child from answering. Not, sir, from want of will, for it she is docile and obedient, though I say it, but there is no answer beyond what I can tell you. And this is, sir, that all creatures, whether man or bird, have the voice that God has given them, and in some the voice is musical and in others not so. Very well, old man, said I to myself. There let the matter rest for the present. But if I am destined to live and not die, I shall not long remain satisfied with your too simple explanation. Rima, I said, you must be fatigued. It is thoughtless of me to keep you standing here so long. Her face brightened a little, and bending down she replied in a low voice, I am not fatigued, sir. Let me get you something to eat now. She moved quickly away to the fire, and presently returned with an earthenware dish of roasted pumpkin and sweet potatoes, and kneeling at my side fed me deftly with a small wooden spoon. I did not feel grieved at the absence of meat and the stinging condiments the Indians love, nor did I even remark that there was no salt in the vegetables. So much was I taken up with watching her beautiful, delicate face, while she ministered to me. The exquisite fragrance of her breath was more to me than the most delicious vines could have been, and it was a delight each time she raised the spoon to my mouth to catch a momentary glimpse of her eyes, which now looked dark as wine when we lift the glass to see the ruby gleam of light within the purple. But she never for a moment laid aside the silent, meek, constrained manner, and when I remembered her bursting out in her brilliant wrath on me, pouring forth that torrent of stinging invective in her mysterious language, I was lost in wonder and admiration at the change in her, and at her double personality. Having satisfied my wants, she moved quietly away, and raising a straw mat disappeared behind it into her own sleeping apartment, which was divided off by a partition from the room I was in. The old man's sleeping place was a wooden cut, or stand, on the opposite side of the room, but he was in no hurry to sleep, and after Rima had left us, put a fresh log on the blaze and lit another cigarette. Heaven knows how many he had spoke by this time. He became very talkative, and called to his side his two docks, which I had not noticed in the room before, for me to see. It amused me to hear their names, Sucio and Galosso, dirty and greedy. They were surly looking brutes, with rough yellow hair, and did not whim my heart, but according to his account they possessed all the usual canine virtues, and he was still holding forth on the subject when I fell asleep. CHAPTER 8 When morning came I was too stiff and sore to move, and not until the following day was I able to creep out to sit in the shade of the trees. My old host, whose name was Nuflo, went off with his dogs, leaving the girl to attend to my wants. Two or three times during the day she appeared to serve me with food and drink, but she continued silent and constrained in manner as on the first evening of seeing her in the hut. Late in the afternoon old Nuflo returned, but did not say where he had been, and shortly afterwards Rima reappeared, Demura's usual, in her faded cotton dress, her cloud of hair confined in two long plates. My curiosity was more excited than ever, and I resolved to get to the bottom of the mystery of her life. The girl had not shown herself responsive, but now that Nuflo was back I was treated to as much talk as I cared to hear. He talked of many things, only omitting those which I desired to hear about, but his pet subject appeared to be the divine government of the world, God's politics, and its manifest imperfections, or, in other words, the manifold abuses which from time to time had been allowed to creep into it. The old man was pious, but like many of his class in my country, he permitted himself to indulge in very free criticisms of the powers above, from the King of Heaven down to the smallest saint whose name figures in the calendar. These things, senor, he said, are not properly managed. Consider my position. Here am I compelled for my sins to inhabit this wilderness with my poor granddaughter. She is not your granddaughter. I suddenly interrupted, thinking to surprise him into an admission. But he took his time to answer. Senor, we are never sure of anything in this world. Not absolutely sure. Thus it may come to pass that you will one day marry and that your wife will, in due time, present you with a son, one that will inherit your fortune and transmit your name to posterity. And yet, sir, in this world you would never know to a certainty that he is your son. Here we are, he continued, compelled to inhabit this land and do not meet with proper protection from the infidel. Now, sir, this is a crying evil, and it is only becoming in one who has the true faith, and is a loyal subject of the all-powerful, to point out with due humility that he is growing very remiss in his affairs, and is losing a good deal of his prestige. And what, senor, is at the bottom of it? Favoritism. We know that the Supreme cannot himself be everywhere, attending to each little trick-track that arises in the world, matters altogether beneath his notice, and that he must, like the President of Venezuela, or the Emperor of Brazil, appoint men, angels, if you like, to conduct his affairs and watch over each district. And this manifests that for this country of Guyana the proper person has not been appointed. Every evil is done, and there is no remedy, and the Christian has no more consideration shown him than the infidel. Now, senor, in a town near the Orinoco I once saw on a church the archangel Michael, made of stone, and twice as tall as a man, with one foot on a monster shaped like a caiman, but with bat's wings, and a head and neck like a serpent. Into this monster he was thrusting his spear. That is the kind of person that should be sent to rule these latitudes, a person of firmness and resolution, with strength in his wrist, and yet it is probable that this very man, this Saint Michael, is hanging about the palace, twirling his thumbs, waiting for an appointment, while other weaker men, and heaven forgive me for saying it, not above a bribe, perhaps, are sent out to rule over this province. On this string he would harp by the hour. It was a lofty subject on which he had pondered much in his solitary life, and he was glad of an opportunity of ventilating his grievance and expounding his views. At first it was a pure pleasure to hear Spanish again, and the old man, albeit ignorant of letters, spoke well. But this, I may say, is a common thing in our country, where the peasant's quickness of intelligence and poetic feeling often compensate for want of instruction. His views also amused me, although they were not novel. But after a while I grew tired of listening. Yet I listened still, agreeing with him, and leading him on to let him have his fill of talk, always hoping that he would come at last to speak of personal matters and give me an account of his history and of Rima's origin. But the hope proved vain. Not a word to enlighten me would he drop. However cunningly I tempted him. So be it, thought I. But if you are cunning, old man, I shall be cunning too, and patient, for all things come to him who waits. He was in no hurry to get rid of me. On the contrary, he more than hinted that I would be safer under his roof than with the Indians, and at the same time apologizing for not giving me meat to eat. But why do you not have meat? Never have I seen animals so abundant and tame as in this wood. Before he could reply, Rima, with a jug of water from the spring in her hand, came in. Plancing at me, he lifted his finger to signify that such a subject must not be discussed in her presence. But as soon as she quitted the room, he returned to it. Senor, he said, have you forgotten your adventure with the snake? Know then that my grandchild would not live with me for one day longer if I were to lift my hand against any living creature. For us, Senor, every day is fast day, only without the fish. We have maize, pumpkin, cassava, potatoes, and these suffice. But even of these cultivated fruits of the earth she eats but little in the house, preferring certain wild berries and gums, which are more to her taste, and which she picks here and there in her rambles in the wood. In eyes, sir, loving her as I do, whatever my inclination may be, shed no blood and eat no flesh. I looked at him with an incredulous smile. And your dogs, old man? My dogs! Sir, they would not pause or turn aside if a Kota Mundi crossed their path, an animal with a strong odor. As a man is, so is his dog. Have you not seen dogs eating grass, sir, even in Venezuela, where these sentiments do not prevail? And when there is no meat, when meat is forbidden, these sagacious animals accustom themselves to a vegetable diet. I could not very well tell the old man that he was lying to me. That would have been bad policy. And so I passed it off. I have no doubt that you are right, I said. I have heard that there are dogs in China that eat no meat, but are themselves eaten by their owners after being fattened on rice. I should not care to dine on one of your animals, old man. He looked at them critically and replied, Certainly they are lean. I was thinking less of their leanness than of their smell, I returned. Their odor when they approach me is not flowery, but resembles that of other dogs which feed on flesh, and have offended my two sensitive nostrils even in the drawing-rooms of Caracas. It is not like the fragrance of cattle when they return from the pasture. Every animal, he replied, gives out that odor which is peculiar to its kind, an incontrovertible fact which left me nothing to say. When I had sufficiently recovered the suppleness of my limbs to walk with ease, I went for a ramble in the wood, in the hope that Rima would accompany me, and that out among the trees she would accast aside that artificial constraint and shyness which was her manner in the house. It fell out just as I had expected. She accompanied me in the sense of being always near me, or within earshot, and her manner was now free and unconstrained as I could wish, but little or nothing was gained by the change. She was once more the tantalizing, elusive, mysterious creature I had first known through her wandering melodious voice. The only difference was that the musical, inarticulate sounds were now less often heard, and that she was no longer afraid to show herself to me. This for a short time was enough to make me happy, since no lovelier being was ever looked upon, nor one whose loveliness was less likely to lose its charm through being often seen. But to keep her near me, or always in sight, was, I found, impossible. She would be free as the wind, free as the butterfly, going and coming at her wayward will, and losing herself from sight a dozen times each hour. To induce her to walk soberly at my side, or sit down and enter into conversation with me, seemed about as impracticable as to tame the fiery-hearted little hummingbird that flashes into sight, remain suspended motionless for a few seconds before your face, then, quick as lightning, vanishes again. At length feeling convinced that she was most happy when she had me out following her in the wood, that in spite of her bird-like wildness she had a tender human heart which was easily moved, I determined to try to draw her closer by means of a little innocent stratagem. Going out in the morning, after calling her several times to no purpose, I began to assume a downcast manner, as if suffering pain or depressed with grief, at last finding a convenient exposed root under a tree, on a spot where the ground was dry and strewn with loose yellow sand, I sat down and refused to go any further. For she always wanted to lead me on and on, and whenever I paused she would return to show herself, or to chide or encourage me in her mysterious language. All her pretty little arts were now practiced in vain, with cheek resting on my hand, I still sat. So my eyes fixed on that patch of yellow sand at my feet, watching how the small particles glinted like diamond dust when the sunlight touched them. A full hour passed in this way, during which I encouraged myself by saying mentally, this is a contest between us, and the most patient and the strongest of will, which should be the man, must conquer. And if I win on this occasion it will be easier for me in the future, easier to discover those things which I am resolved to know, and the girl must reveal to me since the old man has proved impracticable. Meanwhile she came and went and came again, and at last, finding that I was not to be moved, she approached and stood near me. Her face, when I glanced at it, had a somewhat troubled look, both troubled and curious. Come here, Rima, I said, and stay with me for a little while, I cannot follow you now. She took one or two hesitating steps, then stood still again, and at length, slowly and reluctantly, advanced to within a yard of me. Then I rose from my seat on the root so as to catch your face better, and placed my hand against the rough bark of the tree. Rima, I said, speaking in a low caressing tone, will you stay with me here a little while and talk to me, not in your language, but in mine, so that I may understand? Will you listen when I speak to you and answer me? Her lips moved, but made no sound. She seemed strangely disquieted, and shook back her loose hair, and with her small toes moved the sparkling sand at her feet, and once or twice her eyes glanced shyly at my face. Rima, you have not answered me, I persisted. Will you not say yes? Yes. Where does your grandfather spend his day when he goes out with his dogs? She shook her head slightly, but would not speak. Have you no mother, Rima? Do you remember your mother? My mother! My mother! She exclaimed in a low voice, but with a sudden wonderful animation. Bending a little nearer, she continued, Oh, she is dead. Her body is in the earth and turned to dust. Like that! And she moved the loose sand with her foot. Her soul is up there, where the stars and the angels are, her father says. But what is that to me? I am here, am I not? I talk to her just the same. Everything I see I point out, and tell her everything, in the daytime, in the woods when we are together, and at night when I lie down I cross my arms on my breast, so, and say, Mother, Mother, now you are in my arms. Let us go to sleep together. Sometimes I say, Oh, why will you never answer me when I speak and speak? Mother, Mother, Mother! At the end her voice suddenly rose to a mournful cry, then sunk, and at the last repetition of the word died to a low whisper. Ah, poor Rima! She is dead and cannot speak to you, cannot hear you. Talk to me, Rima. I am living and can answer. But now the cloud, which is suddenly lifted from her heart, letting me see for a moment into its mysterious depths, its fancies so childlike and feelings so intense, had fallen again, and my words brought no response except the return of that troubled look to her face. Silence still, I said. Talk to me, then, of your mother, Rima. Do you know that you will see her again some day? Yes, when I die. That is what the priest said. The priest? Yes, it, Voa. Do you know? Mother died there when I was small. It is so far away. And there are thirteen houses by the side of the river, just here, and on this side, trees, trees. This was important, I thought, and would lead to the very knowledge I wished for. So I pressed her to tell me more about the settlement she had named, and of which I had never heard. Everything have I told you, she returned, surprised that I did not know that she had exhausted the subject in those half-dozen words she had spoken. Oblige to shift my ground, I said at a venture. Tell me, what do you ask of the virgin mother when you kneel before her picture? Your grandfather told me that you had a picture in your little room. You know, flashed out her answer with something like resentment. It is all there in there, waving her hand towards the hut. Out here in the wood it is all gone, like this. And stooping quickly she raised a little yellow sand on her palm, then let it run away through her fingers. Thus she illustrated how all the matters she had been taught slipped from her mind when she was out of doors, out of sight of the picture. After an interval she added, Only mother is here, always with me. Ah, poor Rima, I said, alone without a mother and only your old grandfather. He is old. What will you do when he dies and flies away to the starry country where your mother is? She looked inquiringly at me, then made answer in a low voice. You are here? But when I go away. She was silent, and not wishing to dwell on a subject that seemed to pain her, I continued. Yes, I am here now, but you will not stay with me and talk freely. Will it always be the same if I remain with you? Why are you always so silent in the house, so cold with your old grandfather? So different, so full of life like a bird when you are alone in the woods. Rima, speak to me. Am I no more to you than your old grandfather? Do you not like me to talk to you? She appeared strangely disturbed at my words. Oh, you are not like him? She suddenly replied. Sitting all day on the log by the fire. All day, all day! Galosso and Sucio lying beside him, sleep, sleep. Oh, when I saw you in the wood I followed you, and talked and talked, still no answer. Why will you not come when I call to me? Then mocking my voice. Rima, Rima, come here, do this, say that. Rima, Rima. It is nothing, nothing. It is not you, pointing to my mouth, and then as if fearing that her meaning had not been made clear, suddenly touching my lips with her finger. Why do you not answer me? Speak to me, speak to me, like this, and turning a little more towards me, and glancing at me with eyes that had all at once changed, losing their clouded expression for one of exquisite tenderness. From her lips came a succession of those mysterious sounds which had first attracted me to her, swift and low and bird-like, yet with something so much higher and more soul penetrating than any bird music. Ah, what feeling and fancies, what quaint turns of expression unfamiliar to my mind, were contained in those sweet wasted symbols. I could never know, never come to her when she called, or respond to her spirit. To me they would always be inarticulate sounds, affecting me like a tender, spiritual music, a language without words, suggesting more than words to the soul. The mysterious speech died down to a lisping sound, like the faint note of some small bird falling from a cloud of foliage on the topmost bow of a tree, and at the same time that new light passed from her eyes, and she half averted her face in a disappointed way. Rima, I said at length a new thought coming to my aid. It is true that I am not here, touching my lips as she had done, and that my words are nothing, but look into my eyes and you will see me there, all, all that is in my heart. Oh, I know what I should see there, she returned quickly. What would you see? Tell me. There was a little black ball in the middle of your eye. I should see myself in it no bigger than that, and she marked off about an eighth of her little finger nail. There was a pool in the wood, and I looked down and see myself there. That is better, just as large as I am, not small and black like a small, small fly. And after saying this a little disdainfully, she moved away from my side and out into the sunshine, and then, half turning towards me, and glancing first at my face, and then upwards, she raised her hand to call my attention to something there. Far up, high as the tops of the tallest trees, a great blue-winged butterfly was passing across the open space with loitering flight. In a few moments it was gone over the trees, then she turned once more to me with a little rippling sound of laughter the first I had heard from her, and called, Come, come! I was glad enough to go with her then, and for the next two hours we rambled together in the wood. That is, together in her way, for though always near she contrived to keep out of my sight most of the time. She was evidently now in a gay, frolic-some temper, again and again when I looked closely into some widespreading bush, or peered behind a tree, when her calling voice had sounded, her rippling laughter would come to me from some other spot. At length, somewhere about the center of the wood, she led me to an immense morrow tree, growing almost isolated, covering with its shade a large space of ground entirely free from undergrowth. At this spot she all at once vanished from my side, and after listening and watching some time in vain I sat down beside the giant trunk to wait for her. Very soon I heard a low, warbling sound which seemed quite near. Rima! Rima! I called, and instantly my call was repeated like an echo. Again and again I called, and still the words flew back to me, and I could not decide whether it was an echo or not. Then I gave up calling, and presently the low, warbling sound was repeated, and I knew that Rima was somewhere near me. Rima, where are you? I called. Rima, where are you? came the answer. You are behind the tree. You are behind the tree. I shall catch you, Rima! And this time, instead of repeating my words, she answered, Oh no! I jumped up and ran around the tree, feeling sure that I should find her. It was about thirty-five or forty feet in circumference, and after going round two or three times I turned and ran the other way, but failing to catch a glimpse of her, I at last sat down again. Rima! Rima! sounded the mocking voice as soon as I had sat down. Where are you, Rima? I shall catch you, Rima. Have you caught Rima? No, I have not caught her. There is no Rima now. She has faded away like a rainbow, like a drop of dew in the sun. I have lost her. I shall go to sleep. And stretching myself out at full length under the tree, I remained quiet for two or three minutes. Then a slight rustling sound was heard, and I looked eagerly round for her. But the sound was overhead, and caused by a great avalanche of leaves which began to descend on me from that vast leafy canopy above. Ah! little spider monkey, little green tree snake, you are there! But there was no seeing her in that immense aerial palace hung with dim drapery of green and copper-colored leaves. But how had she got there? Up the stupendous trunk, even a monkey could not have climbed, and there were no lianas dropping to earth from the wide horizontal branches that I could see. But by and by, looking further away, I perceived that on one side the longest lower branches reached and mingled with the shorter boughs of the neighboring trees. While gazing up I heard her low rippling laugh, and then caught sight of her as she ran along an exposed horizontal branch. He wrecked on her feet, and my heart stood still with terror, for she was fifty to sixty feet above the ground. In another moment she vanished from side in a cloud of foliage, and I saw no more of her for about ten minutes. When all at once she appeared at my side once more, having come round the trunk of the mora. Her face had a bright, pleased expression and showed no trace of fatigue or agitation. I caught her hand in mine. It was a delicate, shapely little hand, soft as velvet and warm, a real human hand. Only now, when I held it, did she seem altogether like a human being, and not a mocking spirit of the wood, a daughter of the deedy. Do you like me to hold your hand, Rima? Yes, she replied with indifference. Is it I? Yes. This time as if it was small satisfaction to make acquaintance with this purely physical part of me. Having her so close gave me an opportunity of examining that light, sheeny garment she wore always in the woods. It felt soft and saddening to the touch, and there was no seam nor hem in it that I could see, but it was all in one piece like the cocoon of the caterpillar. While I was feeling it on her shoulder and looking narrowly at it, she glanced at me with a mocking laugh in her eyes. Is it silk? I asked. Then as she remained silent I continued. Where did you get this dress, Rima? Did you make it yourself? Tell me. She answered, not in words, but in response to my question a new look came into her face. No longer restless and full of change in her expression, she was now as immovable as an alabaster statue. Not a silken hair on her head trembled, her eyes were wide open, gazing fixedly before her, and when I looked into them they seemed to see, and yet not to see me. They were like the clear, brilliant eyes of a bird, which reflect as in a miraculous mirror all the visible world, but do not return our look and seem to see us merely as one of the thousand small details that make up the whole picture. Suddenly she darted out her hand like a flash, making me start at the unexpected motion, and quickly withdrawing it held up a finger before me. From its tip a minute gossamer spider, about twice the bigness of a pin's head, appeared suspended from a fine, scarcely visible line, three or four inches long. Look! she exclaimed, with a bright glance at my face. The small spider she had captured, anxious to be free, was falling, falling earthward, but could not reach the surface. Leaning her shoulder a little forward she placed the fingertip against it, but lightly, scarcely touching, and moving continuously, with a motion rapid as that of a fluttering moth's wing, while the spider, still paying out its line, remained suspended, rising and falling slightly at nearly the same distance from the ground. After a few moments she cried, Drop down, little spider! Her fingers' motion ceased, and the minute captive fell, to lose itself on the shaded ground. Do you not see, she said to me, pointing to her shoulder, just where the fingertip had touched the garment a round shining spot appeared, looking like a silver coin on the cloth. But on touching it with my finger it seemed part of the original fabric, only whiter and more shiny on the gray ground, on account of the freshness of the web of which it had just been made. And so all this curious and pretty performance, which seemed instinctive in its spontaneous quickness and dexterity, was merely intended to show me how she made her garments out of the free-floating lines of small, gossamer spiders. Before I could express my surprise and admiration, she cried again, with startling suddenness, Look! A minute shadowy form darted by, appearing like a dim line traced across the deep glossy Mora foliage, then on the lighter green foliage further away. She waved her hand in imitation of its swift curving flight, then dropping it, exclaimed, Gone! Oh, little thing! What was it? I asked, for it might have been a bird, a bird like moth or a bee. Did you not see? And you asked me to look into your eyes. Ah, little squirrel, salow inky, you remind me of that, I said, passing my arm around her waist and drawing her a little closer. Look into my eyes now and see if I am blind, and if there is nothing in them except an image of Rima like a small, small fly. She shook her head and laughed a little mockingly, but made no attempt to escape from my arm. Would you like me always to do what you wish, Rima, to follow you in the woods when you say, Come, to chase you round the tree to catch you, and lie down for you to throw leaves on me, and to be glad when you are glad? Oh, yes! Then let us make a compact. I shall do everything to please you, and you must promise to do everything to please me. Tell me. Little things, Rima. None so hard is chasing you round a tree. Only to have you stand or sit by me and talk will make me happy, and to begin you must call me by my name, Abel. Is that your name? Oh, not your real name? Abel, Abel, what is that? It says nothing. I have called you by so many names, twenty, thirty, and no answer. Have you? But, dearest girl, every person has a name. One name he is called by. Your name, for instance, is Rima, is it not? Rima, only Rima, to you, in the morning, in the evening. Now, in this place, and in the little while, where no I? In the night when you wake, and it is dark, dark, and you see me all the same. Only Rima. Oh, how strange! What else, sweet girl? Your grandfather Nuflo calls you, Rima? Nuflo. She spoke as if putting a question to herself. Is that an old man with two dogs that live somewhere in the wood? And then, with sudden petulance, and you ask me to talk to you. Oh, Rima, what can I say to you? Listen. No, no! She exclaimed, quickly turning and putting her fingers on my mouth to stop my speech, while a sudden merry look shone in her eyes. You shall listen when I speak and do all I say. And tell me what to do to please you with your eyes. Let me look in your eyes that are not blind. She turned her face more towards me, and with head a little thrown back and inclined to one side, gazing now full into my eyes as I had wished her to do. After a few moments she glanced away to the distant trees. But I could see into those divine orbs, and knew that she was not looking at any particular object. All the ever-varying expressions, inquisitive, petulant, troubled, shy, frolicsome, had now vanished from the still face, and the look was inward and full of a strange, exquisite light, as if some new happiness or hope had touched her spirit. Sinking my voice to a whisper, I said, Tell me what you have seen in my eyes, Rima. She murmured in reply, something melodious and in articulate, then glanced at my face in a questioning way. But only for a moment, then her sweet eyes were again veiled under those drooping lashes. Listen, Rima, I said. Was that a hummingbird we saw a little while ago? You are like that, now dark, a shadow in the shadow, seen for an instant, and then gone, O little thing, and now in the sunshine standing still, how beautiful, a thousand times more beautiful than the hummingbird. Listen, Rima, you are like all beautiful things in the wood, flour and bird and butterfly, and green leaf and frond, and little silky-haired monkey high up in the trees. When I look at you, I see them all, all and more, a thousand times, for I see Rima herself, and when I listen to Rima's voice, talking in a language I cannot understand, I hear the wind whispering in the leaves, the gurgling running water, the bee among the flowers, the organ birds singing far, far away in the shadows of the trees. I hear them all, and more, for I hear Rima. Do you understand me now? Is it I speaking to you? Have I answered you? Have I come to you? She glanced at me again, her lips trembling, her eyes now clouded with some secret trouble. Yes, she replied in a whisper, and then, no, no, it is not you. And after a moment doubtfully, is it you? But she did not wait to be answered. In a moment she was gone, round the morrow,