“A moment ago you were anxious for his safety,” she murmured. “You came here to look for him, to rescue him. Perhaps I have been unjust—perhaps you have a claim——”
“I have no claim,” retorted Una proudly. “Once you saved his life. He has come to you again. He loves you. What man could help loving you!” she added bitterly.
Still Sajipona smiled.
“I must be sure of all this—and so must you,” she said. “If the witchcraft is mine, its power will soon be broken. If there is something else, you, Senor, will discover it.”
She turned impatiently to Raoul, desiring him to go with her to David. Una refused to accompany them. The conviction that she had been mistaken, deluded, filled her with an unconquerable aversion to meeting the man for whom she had been willing to sacrifice so much. Aware of the unreasonableness of this feeling, she yet had no wish to conquer it. To escape from this land of mysteries and terrors, to return to the simple familiar environment of Rysdale—to forget, if that were possible—was now her one desire. She did not attempt to explain or justify herself to Sajipona. Nor was this necessary. To Sajipona, Una’s anger and its cause were alike evident.
“Stay here, if you will, with Narva,” said the queen, with real or feigned indifference. “But remember, you have refused to save the man whom you think is in danger.”
Una did not reply. For the moment the old Indian sibyl, to whose protection she had been assigned, seemed a welcome refuge. Narva’s reserve, her silence, brought a negative sort of relief to her own moods of anguish and indignation. Thus, without regret or misgiving, she watched Raoul and Sajipona disappear through the portal that had first admitted her to the great hall of the palace.