"I'm certain I've seen her before," he said, half jokingly, half in irritation, addressing Sajipona, "but I can't remember when or where. For the life of me I can't tell who she is. As for her name, I ought to know that----" "Una! Una! Surely you remember, David?" "David! But of course you told her my name, Sajipona. Did you tell her your pretty fancy, about the El Dorado, the Gilded Man?" "Surely, you remember my name--Una?" "Una--Una," he repeated uneasily. "It sounds familiar--I'm sure I've heard it--but I can't exactly place it. Strange! How perfectly familiar it is; yet, I can't place it, I can't place it! It's a beautiful name--I'm sure I used to think so--and you are beautiful, too, Una!" Her name, pronounced in the accents she loved so well, brought a flood of memories that, she felt, must thrill him too. And yet--there he stood before her, the David she had always known, but now subtly changed, troubled, unseeing. Amazement robbed her of words. He had forgotten her. To Sajipona, however, more keenly observant even than Una, it was evident that an undercurrent of recognition on the part of David was hopelessly held in check by sheer inability to remember. His manner, moreover, indicated a mental uneasiness, pain, that could not fail to excite sympathy. "When you left us at Honda," began Una, "we expected to follow right after. Then we heard you had disappeared----" Laughing mirthlessly, David placed both hands to his head in hopeless bewilderment. "It sounds like some dream I might have had years ago. I can't make it real," he said deprecatingly. "It's no use--I can't remember. Indeed, I almost believe you are chaffing me. But--it's really too serious a thing to joke about. You will tell--Una," he added, addressing Sajipona, "how long I've been here, how kind you've been to me ever since I came back, so ill I could scarcely look out for myself." "Ever since you came back?" repeated Una, seizing upon the clew. "Then you have not always been here? You know the world outside of this cave? You were here once before, and then went away? Where were you? Try to remember." "Why, yes," said David, mystified more than ever; "of course I've been away. I remember moving about a great deal, visiting many countries, seeing many people. But I don't remember who any of them were--I can't recall a single thing plainly, not a name, not a face. Sajipona has tried to help me. She's very patient about it. But, so far, it has been no use--and it's painful, I can tell you, trying to remember these things. I feel comfortable, entirely at peace, only when Sajipona sings. There's nothing like her singing. I could listen to her forever, forgetting even to try to remember--if you know what that means." "But I want you to remember," interrupted Sajipona. "You must try--never mind how painful it is. You know how much depends on that for both of us."