_ CHAPTER XXIII. WE SEARCH FOR MONA
We were indeed approaching the surface with great rapidity, and Foedric was obliged to put on power to prevent us from falling too swiftly. Fortunately he was able to keep our ship under perfect management, and so, without accident or even a shock, he brought us gently to land, not far from the spot where Thorwald had seen the signs of life. It was something new for the latter to show so much curiosity, but he could not be more eager than I was to attempt to find out what we had seen through the telescope. So, leaving the rest of the party, we two started out to investigate. It was kind of Thorwald to take me along, because he could ordinarily walk a great deal faster without me, but my love and hope now added wings to my feet and I surprised him with my agility.
Thorwald's skill in determining locality enabled him to choose the right direction, and after quite a walk we ascended a considerable hill, from which we were delighted to discover in the distance a small column of smoke--a remarkable sight on that sterile shore. We hastened toward it, Thorwald with high expectations of an important discovery, and I with a heart beating with joyful anticipations of a different character.
As we approached the spot of such intense interest for us both, I watched my companion closely to see how he would bear the disappointment which I felt sure awaited him; and this, I think, made it a little easier for me to endure my own grief, for, of course, I was disappointed, too. I ought to have known better than to expect to find Mona out on the bleak surface, when she had such a comfortable home inside the moon. What we found at the end of our journey was merely another party of Martians, who had stolen a march on us and made a prior invasion of the moon. But so unselfish were they that when they saw our ship afar off they began to make a smudge and smoke in order to attract our attention and give us the opportunity of sharing with them the glory of their anticipated discoveries. They were pleased with our success in finding them, and proposed that we join our forces in a common camp. So, leaving me, Thorwald returned for the rest of our party, and in due time we were all together, conversing on the footing of old acquaintances. The moon had improved somewhat since we knew it, as everything must which remains in the vicinity of the planet Mars, but it was not yet, as far as the outside, at least, was concerned, a desirable place for a long sojourn.
Our new friends had, unlike us, started from home with the intention of making the attempt to land on the moon, and, having come prepared with tools for a little scientific work, had already begun investigating, with a view to finding out whether the moon contained any vestiges of life. They had heard of the doctor and me and the outlines of our story, but now we had to relate to them in detail all our experience on the moon, while I concluded my part of the narration with the statement of my firm conviction that Mona was still in her quiet refuge, waiting for us to return and rescue her. This interested them exceedingly, and they were eager to join us in searching for her.
The members of our party, catching something of my hope, were ready to enter at once upon this task, and it was decided to divide all our forces into two companies, one to be led by the doctor and the other by me, and then to start in different directions to try to find the entrance to that long passage into the interior. As we knew not on what part of the moon's surface we had alighted, we were undertaking a bold piece of work, but its apparent difficulty had no terrors for the Martians, and I should not have hesitated if the circumference of the moon had been a hundred times what it was. As for the doctor, he had too much spirit to suggest any obstacles.
We arranged a code of signals, and agreed that if either party were successful the other should be notified and the descent made only when all had come together. After dividing the provisions we made our adieus and separated, not knowing when we should see one another again.
But, fortunately, our elaborate preparations were not of much use, for before we had been out an hour the doctor signaled to me that he had found some familiar landmarks. This meant that he was sure of discovering what we were in search of, and accordingly we started at once to rendezvous with his company. On our arrival I recognized, with exultant joy, the features of the landscape which had attracted the doctor's attention. We now led the way with complete assurance, and came at length to the crater down whose side Mona had so strangely led us. The wind was not so strong now, but I was none the less eager to descend and enter that dark way, at the other end of which such happiness awaited me. By this time, also, the whole party were becoming enthused over the situation. When they came to see, one after another, features which they had heard us describe, they acquired a personal interest which had been impossible before, and everyone began to share my faith in regard to Mona.
As we entered the tunnel, the doctor and myself still in the lead, I called Avis and asked her to keep as near me as possible.
"I am flattered," she said, "but what do you want to have me do?"
"Sing," I answered.
"What for? You needn't be afraid of the dark, for we can give you light enough."
And at that instant out flashed half a dozen lamps from different members of the party, a timely illustration of the use of their portable electricity.
"No, Avis," I said, "I am not afraid, but I would like to recall something of the sensation of our first descent into the moon, when we were led, as you know, by the sound of beautiful music. And then, as we near the end, Mona may hear you, and that would be a more gentle introduction than if we should burst upon her unannounced. I know she is not subject to fear or the usual emotions to which I have been accustomed on the earth, but still I think she would like to have us come back to her heralded by your noble song."
Seeing how serious I was in the matter, Avis promised to do as I wished, only suggesting that all the rest should join her from time to time. So, without any unpleasant incident, we traversed the long passage, walking rapidly by the aid of the light and conversing about our interesting situation. It was a rare and pleasing experience for the doctor and me to be showing these wise Martians something new, and we enjoyed the novel sensation of watching their excitement. The fact that we could so satisfactorily entertain our friends after their own fashion with us was something long to be remembered.
But not another one of all the company had the intensity of feeling which filled my breast. Knowing that every downward step was leading me rapidly toward a determination of my fate, I could scarcely control my emotions. Either I was soon to find my heart's life and be raised to the highest pinnacle of happiness, or I was to undergo a disappointment from which I might not recover. For if Mona was not here, where could I look for her? Could I ever regain my hopeful spirits if I should lose her now? I tried to crowd out these dark forebodings by thinking of my love and trying to picture the scene in the midst of which we should discover her.
At length we were drawing near the end. The path was growing wider, which proved to the doctor and me that we should soon emerge into the open village. Indeed, a faint gleam of light was beginning to be seen far in the front. We now pushed on more rapidly, and as we approached the exit Avis was singing at her highest pitch. She stopped suddenly, and then a low and distant strain came to us, sweet even to the ears of our cultured friends from Mars. My heart beat wildly as Thorwald, who was close behind us, exclaimed:
"Hark, hear the echo!"
"Ho!" I cried, "that's not an echo. That's the original, and Avis is the echo. Sing out again, Avis."
A loud, clear note trembled on the air, and brought back to our straining sense, not a repetition of itself but a snatch of varied melody which showed it to be no echo, although evidently an answer. There have been few moments in my life more crowded with happiness than that one. And it was not a passive feeling of enjoyment, but one that spurred me to action. The swift pace which we had all by this time reached was now too slow for me. Seized again by the same fierce passion which took possession of me at my first acquaintance with Mona's voice, I started in her direction on a run, flinging aside everything that might impede me, so overmastered was I by my desire to see her.
But my unreasonable haste brought me a grievous reward. I leaped over the ground with great rapidity for a few minutes, and then, stepping on a treacherous stone, turned my ankle and fell heavily to the ground, my head, thrust forward in running, being the first point of contact with the cruel rocks.
I returned to consciousness by degrees. My faithful ears were, as usual, the first friends to renew acquaintance with me, and the sound they brought was so soothing that I wished for nothing more than to remain as I was, ears only, and listen to it forever. But this was impossible, as I was slowly recovering my other senses and becoming a thinking being once more. I now recognized the pleasant sound as the music of a familiar voice; yes, it was Mona's voice in conversation. I was sure of that, but it seemed so natural that I was not startled. I felt that I must remain perfectly quiet, or the spell would be broken and the music cease. Then I began to wonder where I was and who were with me. I recalled the circumstances of our descent into the moon and my fall as I was running to meet Mona. My mind was active, but I feared that I was physically weak, for I did not seem to have even a desire to move. I wanted to see the face of the dear girl, and it is remarkable that I did not open my eyes at once and call her by name. But I was not in a natural state. The feeling was not sufficiently strong to move me to action. I was just conscious enough to be passively happy, content to lie there quietly and enjoy one thing at a time.
Hitherto I had not tried to distinguish the words, so satisfied was I with the exquisite tones, but now my attention was compelled by this yellow expression:
"So I understand you to say he would not give me up as lost?"
It was the pink voice of Zenith that answered:
"No, indeed. He never faltered in his faith that you would be found. You owe it to him that you can soon leave this worn-out world with us, and we are indebted to him for giving us such a dear friend."
"And he admired my singing?" said Mona in a questioning tone.
"Yes, and everything pertaining to you. He never tired of rehearsing your perfections, and the doctor tells us he loved you from the very first. He certainly seems most devoted to you. I hope, my dear, that you love him."
I was now recovered enough to feel some compunctions about listening further to this conversation, but that is not saying that I had any great desire to stop listening. I knew that in Mona's answer to Zenith's implied question lay my fate, and my moral doubts were not strong enough to make me do anything to keep it back. It has been said on the earth that people who surreptitiously hear themselves spoken of are never pleased, but things must be quite different inside the moon, for, without a shadow of hesitation and in the sweetest air that ever floated from her lips, came Mona's answer:
"Love him? Certainly I love him. Why should I not? I loved him when he was here before, and I should be very ungrateful if I did not care a great deal more for him when I know what he has done for me, and that he now lies here suffering for my sake."
"Oh, Mona," I said to myself, "if this be suffering, let me never know happiness."
Zenith began to speak again, when she was interrupted by the opening of a door. I heard someone walk towards me, and then the doctor's voice broke the silence.
"How is he, Mona? Is there any change?"
"No," replied my beloved, "he hasn't stirred nor shown a sign of consciousness. Cannot something more be done for him?"
I was becoming a little hardened in my guilt by this time, and, although my strength seemed now to be returning to me, I decided to keep still yet longer and hear what words of wisdom the doctor would utter on my case.
"I know of nothing that can be done," he said. "He received no injury except the wound on his head, and that, apparently, is not serious. Time is the great healer in such cases. My chief fear is that when he recovers consciousness we will find his memory is defective, as it was after his plunge into your ocean, Zenith. He will doubtless forget how we ever got into this strange place, and I am almost sure he will not recognize Mona, for that was the direction in which he failed before."
"But you forget," said Zenith, "that Mona herself will be here to sing for him."
"I fear not even that will recall his wandering wits this time. You know he is more badly hurt than before. I dislike to cause you pain, Mona, but I must be frank and tell you that our friend will probably never know you again."
One would naturally expect Mona to have burst into tears at this hopeless prospect, but instead of that she sang out, as joyously as ever:
"Never mind me, Doctor. Only restore him to health and happiness, and it will be of little moment whether he remembers me or not. No one knows better than you do that I am always happy, that's why I am singing all the time."
Such unselfishness as this was more than I could appreciate, and rather more, I thought, than was called for by the circumstances. How could she love me so, and still not care if I never were to know her again? Was she the same Mona, after all, who had so provokingly eluded my love during my former visit? These reflections caused me to decide to come to life, and claim her as mine before she resigned all her interest in me.
So, opening my eyes and looking in her face, I said, as quietly as possible:
"I do remember you, dear Mona, and shall never forget you. Doctor, you see your science has proved false again."
"And glad indeed I am that it has," he rejoined, "since it is so greatly to our advantage."
Then they all gathered around me, and called the others to a general rejoicing over my sudden recovery. My physical injury was but slight, and it was not long before my stupor was entirely gone and I was moving about again. Aside from the finding of Mona, many other things in this place of her abode interested the different members of our party. All were jubilant over the new opportunities for study and investigation, and they promised themselves the pleasure of many more visits to the place in the future. They had now seen enough for once, and all wanted to join in the agreeable task of escorting Mona to Mars and introducing her there. So, without more delay, we ascended to the surface once more, found our air ships in good order, and soon sailed away, leaving the moon without an inhabitant.
Our friends from the antipodes landed with us, and remained some days before reembarking for home.
During our voyage down there was a general agreement to give me plenty of opportunity to remain in Mona's immediate company, though no one seemed to think we need feel at all embarrassed when our conversation was overheard by others.
"Mona," I said, "were you glad to see our relief party when they arrived?"
"I was indeed," she replied, "and yet I was as happy as a bird, living there all by myself and singing for my own amusement the whole day long."
"It is an astonishing thing to me," I continued, "that after the doctor and I had left you so unceremoniously you could go back to your lonely home and be happy there."
"Why, did you think I would mourn for you?"
"Well, yes, I think that would be natural, considering something I know."
"Oh, I should like to hear what you know."
"If I tell you, I shall have to make a confession."
"What is a confession, and how can you make one? Have you anything to make it of?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, laughing. "A confession is an acknowledgment that one has done something wrong, and should be made to the person to whom the wrong has been done."
"Well," said Mona, "if that is it, I am sure I shall never have to make one, for I have never done anything wrong."
This agreed so well with my conception of her that I did not then take in the full meaning of her words, but said in reply:
"But I have, and this is one thing when you were talking to Zenith about me and thought I was unconscious I was recovering, and lay quite still so as to hear what you said."
"And did I say anything to displease you?"
"No, indeed; you said you loved me, and it made me very happy."
"Oh, I remember now. Zenith said she hoped I loved you, and I told her I did. I have always loved you, of course, but I don't see how that can make you happy."
"That's singular," I answered. "I should think you would understand my feeling from your own. But never mind. You and I will be lovers from this time forth, and give the people of Mars an example of devotion worth considering, will we not?"
"You do make the funniest speeches," she replied. "I don't know half the time what you mean. But I am getting tired of sitting so long. Here is Antonia. You talk to her about love, and I'll go over and see Foedric."
The lightness of her manner, when I was so deeply in earnest, gave me a feeling of uneasiness, which was increased when I saw her easy, familiar way with Foedric and heard her merry song as she chatted with him. I was not very pleasant company for Antonia, for I could not prevent a return of that dreadful jealousy. I wondered if this was always to be the history of my wooing--an hour of the supremest happiness, followed so speedily by a period of such anguish. I could not possibly talk on any other subject, and so I said to Antonia:
"They seem well pleased with each other's society. Are you not afraid Foedric will lose his heart to her?"
"My friend," she replied, "we never even think of such things as that. I hope you are not serious in asking the question."
"Forgive me, Antonia," I answered; "I hardly know what I am saying."
And then I rose and followed Mona, and said to her when I came near:
"Well, my dear, what do you and Foedric find so pleasant to talk about?"
"Why, you see," she replied, "Foedric was the first one to find me after you were hurt, and has been very kind to me since, and I have just been telling him I love him. You said it made you happy to hear me say it to you, and I wanted to make him happy too. And then I wanted to see if Foedric would make such funny speeches as you did."
I controlled myself enough to ask:
"And what did Foedric say?"
"Why, his answer made me laugh more than yours did. He said it would make you unhappy to know I had said such a thing to him. I replied that I would tell you myself, and that you were always happy when I said anything to you; and then you came up just in time."
"Now, Mona, do you think it is right to make sport of such a serious matter?"
"I assure you I am in earnest in all I have said."
"Then are you trying to deceive Foedric?"
"Deceive him? What is that?"
"Telling him what isn't true."
"No, indeed. I would never do that."
"It is true, then, that you love him?"
"Certainly it is; isn't it, Foedric?"
I did not wait for Foedric to answer, but continued:
"And still a short time ago you said you loved me."
"Well, is that any wonder, after what you have done for me?"
"But do you love us both at once?"
"I do."
"And do you love Foedric as much as you do me?"
"Certainly. Why shouldn't I? And now let me ask you a question. Do you love me?"
"With all my heart."
"Then why do you bother me so, asking all these questions, and saying things I don't understand? You appear to be surprised to find that I love Foedric. Why, I love everybody. What am I going to do, if I cannot love people as much as I want to?"
"You shall, Mona," I replied, with a sudden softening of my heart toward her. "I was only going to suggest that, if you love Foedric, Antonia may not like you so well."
Foedric began to protest that Antonia would not care, but Mona went right on with:
"Another complication. What possible difference could it make to Antonia?"
"Why, Antonia and Foedric love each other, you know."
"Oh, they love each other, and therefore no one else can love either of them. Is that it? But you have just been talking with Antonia. Don't you love her?"
"Oh, no," I replied hastily. "Or, at any rate, not in the same way that I love you."
"Not in the same way. That's another remark that I can't see any sense in. I must say for myself that I have but one way in which to love, and that is with my whole heart, without reserve or qualification. I cannot parcel out my love, a little to one, a little more to another, and so on. It all goes out to everyone. I couldn't be happy if I should try to restrain it. I think it must be like this delicious sunlight, which I am just beginning to enjoy, an equal comfort to all who choose to partake of it. I love you dearly. What can I do more? If I love others, I am not robbing you--take all you want, and then there will be just as much left."
"Mona," I asked, as she finished, "where did you get such a heart? You are showing me how utterly selfish I have been."
"Good-by," she exclaimed; "I am going back to Antonia. May I love her?"
"You may love everybody," I answered, as she left me with an exquisite note on her lips.
Foedric and I fell into conversation about her. Foedric praised her to the skies, saying that, if this were a fair specimen, the inhabitants of the moon must have been a remarkable people, and that it was unfortunate that they had so nearly passed from the stage.
When I found opportunity to think over the situation I concluded that I had given my heart to a peculiar being, and what had I received in return? She loved me--that was certain. But what kind of love was this, which had no respect to persons? I knew I could claim no exclusive right to the least corner of her heart, and yet she said: "All my heart is yours. What more can you ask?" I was not able to solve the riddle of her mysterious nature, but as I heard her tuneful voice and watched her beautiful face as she talked with Antonia, the very picture of innocent happiness, I realized with great intensity that I loved her more than ever. And I resolved to be patient, and try to lead her gradually into the way of loving which prevailed on the earth at the time we left it.
In due time we landed on the ruddy planet, and there was great diversion for us all in seeing Mona's continued astonishment and in hearing her varied song.
It seemed almost like home to enter Thorwald's house again, where we found everything just as we had left it. The children did not exhibit any astonishment at our long absence, but were glad to see us back and eager to hear about our adventures.
The next morning after our arrival Thorwald gave us a long ride in an electric carriage to show Mona the country. Returning, we took her about the large house and were all delighted to hear her naive remarks. At length Zenith asked Thorwald if he could not think of something that would interest us all. _