by Frank Aubrey
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE TREE'S LAST MEAL.
"And now," said Monella, "I have some other news to give you; for youhave slept for nearly two days, and in that time much has been done.While you slept we have been busy."
"Do you _never_ sleep--yourself?" Templemore asked.
"Yes; but not for long at a time. However, the long rest you have takenis no reproach to you, for it was my doing. I saw that it was needfulto restore your strength and good spirits. You are the better for it;the princess, the lady Zonella, and others have also had long rests andare the better for it, as I have already told Leonard. The king Dranoa,too, is better--in a sense; for he has now no mental trouble, and withhis sickness there is no physical pain nor suffering nor distress ofany kind. But he is very wishful now that the marriage of his daughtershould take place as soon as possible; for only then, he feels, will hebe able to die happily. In deference to his earnest wish I have settledfor it to be solemnised at the end of a fortnight; and, in view of thefact that the state of his health cannot but be a source of sadness tohis people, I have deemed it better to order that it shall be a quietceremonial, and not a great _fete_, as had been planned. This will notoffend your feelings, my son?"
Leonard looked up with a bright smile.
"After what you have told me," he said, "I feel, with gladness andgratitude that it is not without reason that you have so often thusaddressed me--as your son. _Now_, I may indeed claim you as a father."
"You may indeed," Monella assented; "I take the place of my lostfriend."
"Then you have no need to ask whether what you think best pleases _me_.If you will be my father, choose for me and instruct me; for I feelI have need of your help to enable me to take up, and bear worthily,the position I owe to you. I felt this," continued Leonard, with greatearnestness--"I felt this very strongly when I lay in that foul denthat the poor demented wretch called 'the devil-tree's larder.' I madethen a vow that, if it should please God to deliver me from the perilthat threatened me, I would thenceforth devote my life to the goodof the people I had come amongst. I repented sorely that I had givenmy thoughts too much to selfish--albeit innocent--enjoyment; and Ivowed I would not be guilty of that selfishness in the future, if thechance and the choice were offered to me. And now that they _are_, helpme--instruct me, my father, I pray you, in all that may enable me tofulfil that vow."
Monella gazed long and fixedly at the young man; and in his eyes therewas a glistening as of a tear. Then he rose and went to the window thatlooked out over the lake, and stood awhile, with a far-off vacant lookthat told his thoughts were wandering to distant scenes or persons. Itwas some time before he looked round.
And, when he again turned to speak to the young men, they were bothconscious that some indefinable change had taken place in his manner.His face expressed unmistakably a great and exalted joy; and the eyes,that at all times had had so strange a charm in them, had taken ona new expression. For a little while Templemore strove in vain toascertain in what the change consisted; but presently it seemed to himthat they had lost that half-sad, half-wistful expression he had soconstantly remarked; and that they now conveyed, instead, a sense ofcontentment and repose.
"That which you have now told to me," said Monella, walking slowly upto Leonard, "is as sweet to me as water to the thirsty in the desert."With grave deliberation he placed both hands upon the young man'sshoulders and looked into his eyes with fatherly affection.
"Know, my son Leonard--or rather Ranelda, as you rightly should becalled--know that in these words you bring to my soul the message ithas been awaiting--sometimes in hope, too often, alas! in doubt and indespair--through the long ages. Yours is the hand--the hand of the sonof Apalano--that bears to me the key of my fetters; and yours are thelips that announce my coming freedom! My work, then, nears its end, andsoon--ay, _soon_--I--shall--be--_free_!"
While uttering these last words Monella raised his hand, and withupturned face looked rapturously above him, as if his sight, piercingthe marble ceiling overhead, perceived some far-off scene that, whileinvisible to his companions, filled him with the most intense delight.Presently, he turned away with a regretful sigh, as though the visionhe had been gazing at had vanished, and added, with an absent manner,
"Now, when I leave you, I shall feel----"
He stopped; in his eyes there was a far-off look; and Leonard, whohad been looking on with wide-open, wondering eyes that comprehendedlittle, if anything, of his discourse, exclaimed in anxious tones,
"Leave me--leave us! What mean you, my father? You surely do not thinkof leaving the people you so love, to become again a wanderer?"
Monella shook his head; and, appearing to rouse himself, he replied inquite a different voice,
"You misunderstand, my son; I speak of when I shall be calledaway--called from this earthly life."
"But that will not be for a long, a very long time yet," urged Leonard,looking with confidence at the stalwart frame, and remembering the manyfeats of strength the other had performed.
Monella turned his eyes on Templemore.
"Do you remember," he asked, smiling, "a conversation we had one day inthe museum; when I explained to you that no 'Plant of Life' or otherspecific--no power, indeed, of earth--can keep in its earthly cage thesoul that feels its work is done, and that, therefore, frets itselfagainst its prison bars?"
"I remember," answered Templemore in a subdued tone, and avoidingLeonard's questioning eyes.
"Ah! then _you_ understand me. And now"--this with a gesture thatenforced obedience--"now let us go back to that which we were speakingof. I was saying that King Dranoa desires that you and Ulama should bewedded without delay. To spare the feelings of the maiden, and giveher time, so that the matter may not come upon her too suddenly, Ihave named a day two weeks hence. There will be no pageant, no public_fete_; only the necessary ceremony, quiet and solemn."
"I should prefer it so," murmured Leonard.
"Then that is arranged; and it will take place in the great Temple ofthe White Priests that has been closed for so many years. Workmen areengaged upon it, and it is now being cleansed and renovated. It will beready in time.
"The next thing I have to tell you is that Coryon has suffered hispunishment, and is dead."
"Coryon dead?" the other two exclaimed in a breath.
"He is dead," Monella repeated solemnly. "It seems that during thenight after we left, there were dreadful scenes in the amphitheatre.Those large reptiles--they are called 'myrgolams' here--came out oftheir pool and attacked the half-dead wretches entangled in the tree.But the branches tried hard to retain their victims, and so--well,you can almost imagine what took place. The creatures carried off themiserable beings in scraps; tore them piece by piece from the clutchesof the branches till nothing was left!"
He paused for a moment, and his listeners shuddered.
"Thus it came about that the greedy tree was, after all, baulked ofmost of its intended victims; all, indeed, save three or four; thoughthe deaths the others met with were not less horrible. Yesterday,finding the monster had no victims in its grasp, I ordered theseparating door to be withdrawn. In a moment, Coryon was seized andcarried up into its awful gorge. With that, the tale of this terribletree must end. I have no heart to devote more criminals to it; thoughthere are some among the prisoners who are scarcely less guilty thanwas Coryon. But these Sanaima will deal with; he will punish them asseems best to him; and I have set men to work to dig a mine from oneof the cells so as to get underneath the tree. Then it can be blown upwith gunpowder. And I designed to ask you to superintend the work forme," turning to Templemore.
"That I will gladly do. And--the--reptiles?" Templemore was doubtful ofthe name.
"Kill them off, if you can, with bullets. And now, to turn to your ownaffairs. Think not I have forgotten them; I know you are anxious andwill be getting restless and unhappy. As I said to you before, whenyou go away, you will not go empty-handed. On the contrary, you willcarry with you such riches as will
place you beyond the need of toilfor the remainder of your life. I need not say, 'Do not therefore bean idle man,' for I know that you will never be. Whenever it pleasesyou to go, some of my people shall escort you through the wood to'Monella Lodge,' as we called it, and there await you while you go onto Daranato and bring back such Indians as you require. Then, do you,in turn, with your Indians, re-escort my people to the cavern; for, youmust remember, they are not used to forest life; nor can they, if leftalone, protect themselves against wild animals. Will that please you?"
"Yes, truly it is all I can ask or wish for," Templemore responded.
"I shall wish to know--that is, all here will wish to know," saidMonella, "that you get back in safety to 'Monella Lodge.' With theheliograph mirror which you will find packed away at 'Monella Lodge'you can send us back a message to that effect; then, with the one webrought here with us, we can reply, and send you a 'God speed you' tostart you on your way. Shall it be so arranged?"
"Gladly," responded Templemore with emotion. "But must I then resignmyself to the thought that I shall never see Leonard or any of you anymore?"
"You must," Monella answered quietly, but firmly. "Leonard--or Ranelda,as I prefer to call him--has asked me to guide him and instruct him;and my first and last advice to him is, and will be, to keep hispeople to themselves. Now let us consider this question from what youyourself would term a practical point of view. The term 'El Dorado'has come to be a synonym in the outside world for a sort of earthlyparadise, has it not? Originally handed down from actual facts andhistory relating to this, the celebrated island capital of Manoa--theQueen City of my once powerful and extensive empire--with the tales ofits wonderful wealth and the virtues of the Plant of Life; its memorylingered through the ages long after the waters had receded and leftit isolated and unknown. And the Spaniards called it 'El Dorado,'which has ever since been but another expression--as I have said--for'Earthly Paradise,' or 'summit of every man's ambition.' Is it not so?And seeing that the great curse that so long lay upon the land has beenremoved, can you say that _now_ it does not deserve the term? Have wenot here a veritable 'Earthly Paradise'--an actual realisation of whatyou in the outside world understand when you use the expression 'ElDorado?'"
"Truly I believe it."
"Ah yes! It is so now--or will be henceforth, when those who havehad such sorrows here shall have outlived them," said Monella withimpressive emphasis. "But what I would put to you, is this; you have,perhaps, seen something of frontier settlements, or miners' camps,and gold diggings--at least, _I_ have--and you have heard of them.Now, you know well enough that the only people who would care to bravethe hardships of the journey hither would be those led on by the lustand greed of gold. Supposing things were reversed, and you were inLeonard's place, and had here your wife--as he will have--your friends,your own people--all that was dearest in the world, with ample wealth,would you care to allow him, or any one else, to lead people hither, toturn this 'El Dorado' into a 'Gold diggings,' a 'Miners' camp,' withall their hideous associations, their gambling and drunkenness; theirrowdyism and their debauchery, their shootings and murders?"
"No!" said Templemore thoughtfully, "you are right there. Still--surely,between that, and forbidding intercourse altogether--forbidding me evento come to visit my friend----"
Monella smiled and gravely shook his head.
"You think that, between the two extremes, there should be some middlecourse possible," he rejoined. "Unfortunately--or fortunately--thereis none. _You_ will have no need to come here seeking for wealth.You would not be likely to undertake the expedition alone. Those whoaccompanied you would do so from self-seeking motives. Then, again,you will have other ties; you will have your wife, children. You donot contemplate dragging them hither through trackless wastes to greetfriends _they_ have never known as you have? They would not like it,again, if you, a man of wealth, able to do as you pleased, were toleave them for a long space while you made the journey hither alone!And, finally, the thing is not practical or feasible for anotherreason. You will have much ado to find your way out from here. You knowthat in these regions vegetation spreads rapidly unless--as in thecanyon we came up, or in the clearing immediately outside around thecavern by which we entered, or out on the savanna--there are specialcauses that check its spread. Should you come back in a year's time,you would not only find the road we cut out impassable--you could noteven trace it. The spread of the undergrowth, the fall of great treesor branches, the hurling down of rocks from the heights above, floodsfrom the streams and watercourses--all these, and other forces ofnature in this wild region, will, within a few months, have combinedto block up or obliterate completely the path we cut with so muchdifficulty. Is it not so?"
"I fear you are right, though it had not occurred to me," Templemoreadmitted with reluctance.
"Then, again, with the wealth you will take back with you, you will notcare to remain in Georgetown. You will wish to travel with your wife;in any case, it would be years before you would be likely to think ofundertaking another journey."
"If ever you _do_, though, dear old Jack," Leonard burst inimpulsively, "if ever circumstances should arise to make you wish tocommunicate with me, you can always do so by the heliograph, you know,or perhaps by balloon, if I'm still alive."
But, though Leonard put on a cheerful tone, it was easy to see thatboth he and his friend felt deeply the severance that too clearly laybefore them. Yet, after Monella's argument, they saw no alternative.
"I am as sorry as you can be," Monella wound up kindly; "but yourduties call you away from us, even as Leonard's call upon him to stay.And now I must leave you, for many are waiting to see me. First,however"--this to Leonard--"I will lead you to the princess."
Leonard followed him from the apartment into another, where Monellaleft him; and presently Ulama entered, looking radiant, lovely,beautiful--so Leonard thought--beyond belief.
At the sight of Leonard, she threw herself upon him with a joyous cry;with her face upon his shoulder, she sobbed and laughed by turns.
"Oh, my darling! my darling!" she murmured in gentle accents, "if youonly knew how _glad_ I am to see you! I've had such dreams--dreamsabout you--dreams that frightened me so! They _were_ only dreams, werethey not?"
She looked up anxiously, and fixed her glorious eyes upon his face, andclosely scanned it. Then she gave a sigh, the token of relief, and oncemore she nestled her face upon his shoulder.
"Yes!" she said softly, "after all 'twas but a dream! For you lookwell, and your eyes are bright and happy-looking; and in my dreamyou were looking _dreadful_! Your poor face looked so thin, and so_different_, and your eyes so sunken, and they had dark rings aroundthem, and oh! their terrible, despairing look! But it was only a dream,or you could not look well again so soon, as now you do. Yes, 'twasbut a dream, my darling! But oh! an _awful_ dream. I thought there wasa great tree--like that you said you saw one day; and it was a treethat fed on human beings, and you were lying bound and they were goingto give you to that dreadful tree! Oh, Leonard, my love, think whata dream that was for me! Think, for a moment, what I felt! And therewere other dreadful, awful things!" She shivered and cried softly for aspace.
"Yes, my darling," Leonard answered soothingly. "But, as you say, 'twasbut a dream!"
"Ah, yes! And now it seems far off; for, after it, came other dreams,that were happy and delightful, so that the bad one receded everfarther. Just when I seemed even at the very point of death fromhorror, a cool hand pressed tenderly on my brow, and brought me peace.It seemed to cool the fever that had made me think my very brain wouldburst; and a voice said--oh _so_ kindly--'Be at rest, my daughter, Ibring thee peace, and surcease of thy sorrow.' Then I opened my eyesand saw a strange form leaning over me. It was dressed in a warriordress, just like that which stands in our museum and which is calledMellenda's. Helmet, sword, everything the same. Then I felt secure andhappy, for I thought the great Mellenda had come to deliver me in mytrouble. But--and this seems so strange--when I looked up at his face
,who do you think he was? Ah! you would never guess! But the countenancewas Monella's--your friend Monella's! Was not my dream a strange one?"
"Strange, indeed, my dear one," said Leonard tenderly.
"From that moment," went on Ulama, "everything was changed, everythingwas _lovely_. It seemed to me that _you_ then came to me, and led mefrom that scene of horror. Where we went I know not; but, hand in hand,we wandered on, till you led me home. Then once more things becameconfused--I can scarcely remember--but I'm nearly sure Mellenda seemedto come to me again. And--yes--I remember, he repeated, 'Rest, mychild; I bring thee rest and peace.' Then he left me, and we wanderedon--you and I, my Leonard--through the loveliest, the most entrancingscenes; among places, people, strange to me, yet all delightful; and,oh, it all seemed _so_ sweet, so restful, so grateful, after the horrorof that first awful dream! At last I wakened, and they tell me I haveslept through two whole nights and nearly two whole days! Did you notwonder that you saw me not the while? Tell me how you have passed yourtime without me?"
And thus the gentle, loving girl talked on with childlike innocence,Leonard at first evading her inquiries, averse to mar her happiness bytelling her the truth.
Indeed, it was not for some days, and then only by degrees andcarefully guarded words, that he revealed the truth about her 'dreams.'