Una, concerned for David’s safety, ignored the unspoken challenge.
“What is to become of him? Why is he here?” she demanded.
“What is that to you?” was the fierce retort. “He doesn’t know even your name. He is happy. He depends on me.”
“That may be. But there is a mystery. Tell me what it all means. If he is happy, if there is nothing more to be said or done, I will go. Only—tell me.”
“You will not go—not until there is no longer a mystery, as you call it.”
The announcement sounded like the sentence of a judge, from which there is no appeal. It reminded Una that she was in the power of one who had shown towards her an inflexible will. At the same time she was conscious of a softening in Sajipona’s attitude that was both mystifying and reassuring. This beautiful Indian girl had at first resented Una’s presence. She had regarded the other with queenly scorn, and had not disguised the jealous impatience kindled by the brief and futile interview with David. Now this impatience had given place to a deeper emotion that was less easily understood. It might be of kindlier import, an unexpected relenting from the harsh mood that apparently weighed Una’s every word and act with suspicion. Still, it was possible that beneath this newly awakened generosity there lurked something sinister, a deliberate purpose to lead the other to a confession that would be her own undoing. Of this, however, Una had little fear. By nature trustful of those about her, she did not look for harm to herself from one so young, so beautiful, and who now, at any rate, appeared anxious to atone for her former enmity by a graciousness equally marked.
“There is nothing to fear,” said Sajipona, as if reading her thoughts. “Narva will protect your people. There is danger only from your friend, this Raoul Arthur——”
“He is not my friend!” exclaimed Una.