asked. Perhaps it explains the
sudden disappearance of the Incas. They knew they couldn't follow us
through that narrow crevice; what if they have made for the passage?"

Harry grumbled that we had enough trouble without trying to borrow more.

We decided to wait a little longer before starting out from the cavern;
Harry helped me to my feet to give them a trial, and though I was able
to stand it was only by a tremendous effort and exertion of the will.

"Not yet," I murmured between clenched teeth, and again Desiree sat on
the hard rock and supported my head and shoulders in her arms, despite
my earnest remonstrances. Harry stood before us, leaning on his spear.

Soon he left us again, departing in the direction of the crevice by
which we had entered; I detected his uneasiness in the tone with which
he directed us to keep a lookout around in every direction.

"We could move to the wall," I had suggested; but he shook his head,
saying that where we were we at least had room to turn.

When he had gone Desiree and I sat silent for many minutes. Then I
tried to rise, insisting that she must be exhausted with the long
strain she had undergone, but she denied it vehemently, and refused to
allow me to move.

"It is little enough," she said; and though I but half understood her,
I made no answer.

I myself was convinced that we were at last near the end. It was
certain that the Incas had merely delayed, not abandoned, the pursuit,
and our powers and means of resistance had been worn to nothing.

Our curious apathy and half indifference spoke for itself; it was as
though we had at length recognized the hand of fate and seen the
futility of further struggle. For, weak and injured as I was, I still
had strength in me; it was a listlessness of the brain and hopelessness
of the heart that made me content to lie and wait for whatever might
come.

The state of my feelings toward Desiree were even then elusive; they
are more so now. I had told her I loved her; well, I had told many
women that. But Desiree had moved me; with her it was not the
same--that I felt. I had never so admired a woman, and the thrill of
that kiss is in me yet; I can recall it and tremble under its power by
merely closing my eyes.

Her warm hand, pressed tightly in my own, seemed to send an electric
communication to every nerve in my body and eased my suffering and
stilled my pain. That, I know, is not love; and perhaps I was mistaken
when