answer me one question, Rima."

She drew a little nearer, curious to hear, but was silent.

"Promise that you will answer me," I persisted, and as she continued
silent, I added: "Shall I not ask you, then?"

"Say," she murmured.

"Why do you wish to know about the people of Cuzco?"

She flashed a look at me, then averted her face. For some moments she
stood hesitating; then, coming closer, touched me on the shoulder and
said softly: "Turn away, do not look at me."

I obeyed, and bending so close that I felt her warm breath on my neck,
she whispered: "Are the people in Cuzco like me? Would they understand
me--the things you cannot understand? Do you know?"

Her tremulous voice betrayed her agitation, and her words, I imagined,
revealed the motive of her action in bringing me to the summit of
Ytaioa, and of her desire to visit and know all the various peoples
inhabiting the world. She had begun to realize, after knowing me, her
isolation and unlikeness to others, and at the same time to dream that
all human beings might not be unlike her and unable to understand her
mysterious speech and to enter into her thoughts and feelings.

"I can answer that question, Rima," I said. "Ah, no, poor child, there
are none there like you--not one, not one. Of all there--priests,
soldiers, merchants, workmen, white, black, red, and mixed; men and
women, old and young, rich and poor, ugly and beautiful--not one would
understand the sweet language you speak."

She said nothing, and glancing round, I discovered that she was walking
away, her fingers clasped before her, her eyes cast down, and looking
profoundly dejected. Jumping up, I hurried after her. "Listen!" I said,
coming to her side. "Do you know that there are others in the world like
you who would understand your speech?"

"Oh, do I not! Yes--mother told me. I was young when you died, but, O
mother, why did you not tell me more?"

"But where?"

"Oh, do you not think that I would go to them if I knew--that I would
ask?"

"Does Nuflo know?"

She shook her head, walking dejectedly along.

"But have you asked him?" I persisted.

"Have I not! Not once--not a hundred times."

Suddenly she paused. "Look," she said, "now we are standing in Guayana
again. And over there in Brazil, and up there towards the Cordilleras,
it is unknown. And there are people there. Come, let us go and seek for
my mother's people in that place. With grandfather, but not the dogs;
they would