[XIX]
A QUEEN’S CONQUEST
Surrounded by her people, the ancient diadem of the Chibchas, with its great, smouldering emerald, on her head, Sajipona waited at the entrance to the court. Without, the motionless flowers and shrubbery of the garden were steeped in a pale, quivering light outlining every object with a weird intensity sharper, yet more indefinable than gleams from moon-drenched skies. In this spectral scene the cavemen stood in rows, like carven statues; even Sajipona, mobile, versatile of mood, seemed a woman of marble.
But Una, stirred profoundly by the picture she had seen, doubtful of its reality, not altogether sure of her own ground, aware of the dangers that threatened, but ignorant of their exact character, could not hide her anxiety. Seizing Sajipona’s hand, her eyes were eloquent of unspoken questioning. Her mute appeal was answered by a wistful smile, a glance at once gracious and sorrowful.
“For you there is no danger,” said the queen. “For me—yes, for me there is, perhaps, danger.”
“How can that be?”
“You fear this Raoul Arthur. It is not for you, it is for me he has come. For three years he has plotted to do this thing. My own kinsman, Rafael Segurra, was in league with him. Before now he has attempted to force his way here. The two together found their opportunity in your coming. And now—Arthur has escaped from his captors and again seems to have found traitors among my people.”
“What is it he wants?”
“You ask that—you who know David!”