[Illustration: frontispiece]

ROMANCE ISLAND

By

ZONA GALE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BYHERMANN C. WALL

INDIANAPOLISTHE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY1906

 "Who that remembers the first kind glance of her whom he loves can fail to believe in magic?" --NOVALIS

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I DINNER TIME II A SCRAP OF PAPER III ST. GEORGE AND THE LADY IV THE PRINCE OF FAR-AWAY V OLIVIA PROPOSES VI TWO LITTLE MEN VII DUSK, AND SO ON VIII THE PORCH OF THE MORNING IX THE LADY OF KINGDOMS X TYRIAN PURPLE XI THE END OF THE EVENING XII BETWEEN-WORLDS XIII THE LINES LEAD UP XIV THE ISLE OF HEARTS XV A VIGIL XVI GLAMOURIE XVII BENEATH THE SURFACE XVIII A MORNING VISIT XIX IN THE HALL OF KINGS XX OUT OF THE HALL OF KINGS XXI OPEN SECRETS

ROMANCE ISLAND

CHAPTER I

DINNER TIME

As _The Aloha_ rode gently to her buoy among the crafts in theharbour, St. George longed to proclaim in the megaphone's monstrousparody upon capital letters:

"Cat-boats and house-boats and yawls, look here. You're bound toobserve that this is my steam yacht. I own her--do you see? Shebelongs to me, St. George, who never before owned so much as a pieceof rope. "

Instead--mindful, perhaps, that "a man should not communicate hisown glorie"--he stepped sedately down to the trim green skiff andwas rowed ashore by a boy who, for aught that either knew, mightthree months before have jostled him at some ill-favoured lunchcounter. For in America, dreams of gold--not, alas, goldendreams--do prevalently come true; and of all the butterflyhappenings in this pleasant land of larvæ, few are so spectacular asthe process by which, without warning, a man is converted from atoiler and bearer of loads to a taker of his _bien_. However, tonone, one must believe, is the changeling such gazing-stock as tohimself. 

Although countless times, waking and sleeping, St. George hadhumoured himself in the outworn pastime of dreaming what he would doif he were to inherit a million dollars, his imagination had nevermarveled its way to the situation's less poignant advantages. Chiefamong his satisfactions had been that with which he had lately seenhis mother--an exquisite woman, looking like the old lace and Romanmosaic pins which she had saved from the wreck of her fortune--setoff for Europe in the exceptional company of her brother, BishopArthur Touchett, gentlest of dignitaries. The bishop, only to lookupon whose portrait was a benediction, had at sacrifice of certainof his charities seen St. George through college; and it made themillion worth while to his nephew merely to send him to Tübingen toset his soul at rest concerning the date of one of the canonicalgospels. Next to the rich delight of planning that voyage, St. George placed the buying of his yacht. 

In the dusty, inky office of the _New York Evening Sentinel_ he hadbeen wont three months before to sit at a long green table fittingwords about the yachts of others to the dreary music of histypewriter, the while vaguely conscious of a blur of eight telephonebells, and the sound of voices used merely to communicate thoughtand not to please the ear. In the last three months he had sometimesremembered that black day when from his high window he had lookedtoward the harbour and glimpsed a trim craft of white and brassslipping to the river's mouth; whereupon he had been seized by sucha passion to work hard and earn a white-and-brass craft of his ownthat the story which he was hurrying for the first edition was quiteruined. 

"Good heavens, St. George, " Chillingworth, the city editor, hadgnarled, "we don't carry wooden type. And nothing else would set upthis wooden stuff of yours. Where's some snap? Your first paragraphreads like a recipe. Now put your soul into it, and you've got lessthan fifteen minutes to do it in. "

St. George recalled that his friend Amory, as "one hackneyed in theways of life, " had gravely lifted an eyebrow at him, and the new menhad turned different colours at the thought of being addressed likethat before the staff; and St. George had recast the story and hadreceived for his diligence a New Jersey assignment which had kepthim until midnight. Haunting the homes of the club-women and thecommon council of that little Jersey town, the trim white-and-brasscraft slipping down to the river's mouth had not ceased to lure him. He had found himself estimating the value--in money--of thebric-à-brac of every house, and the self-importance of everyalderman, and reflecting that these people, if they liked, might ownyachts of white and brass; yet they preferred to crouch among thebric-à-brac and to discourse to him of one another's violations andinterferences. By the time that he had reached home that drippingnight and had put captions upon the backs of the unexpectant-lookingphotographs which were his trophies, he was in that state ofcomparative anarchy to be effected only by imaginative youth and adisagreeable task. 

Next day, suddenly as its sun, had come the news which hadtransformed him from a discontented grappler with social problems tothe owner of stocks and bonds and shares in a busy mine and otherthings soothing to enumerate. The first thing which he had addedunto these, after the departure of his mother and the bishop, hadbeen _The Aloha_, which only that day had slipped to the river'smouth in the view from his old window at the _Sentinel_ office. St. George had the grace to be ashamed to remember how smoothly thesocial ills had adjusted themselves. 

Now they were past, those days of feverish work and unexpectedtriumph and unaccountable failure; and in the dreariest of them St. George, dreaming wildly, had not dreamed all the unobvious joyswhich his fortune had brought to him. For although he had accuratelypainted, for example, the delight of a cruise in a sea-going yachtof his own, yet to step into his dory in the sunset, to watch _TheAloha's_ sides shine in the late light as he was rowed ashore pastthe lesser crafts in the harbour; to see the man touch his cap andput back to make the yacht trim for the night, and then to turn hisown face to his apartment where virtually the entire day-staff ofthe _Evening Sentinel_ was that night to dine--these were among thepastimes of the lesser angels which his fancy had never compassed. 

A glow of firelight greeted St. George as he entered his apartment, and the rooms wore a pleasant air of festivity. A table, with coversfor twelve, was spread in the living-room, a fire of cones wastossing on the hearth, the curtains were drawn, and the sideboardwas a thing of intimation. Rollo, his man--St. George had easilyfallen in all the habits which he had longed to assume--was justclosing the little ice-box sunk behind a panel of the wall, and hecame forward with dignified deference. 

"Everything is ready, Rollo?" St. George asked. "No one hastelephoned to beg off?"

"Yes, sir, " answered Rollo, "and no, sir. "

St. George had sometimes told himself that the man looked like anoval grey stone with a face cut upon it. 

"Is the claret warmed?" St. George demanded, handing his hat. "Didthe big glasses come for the liqueur--and the little ones will setinside without tipping? Then take the cigars to the den--you'll haveto get some cigarettes for Mr. Provin. Keep up the fire. Light thecandles in ten minutes. I say, how jolly the table looks. "

"Yes, sir, " returned Rollo, "an' the candles 'll make a greatdifference, sir. Candles do give out an air, sir. "

One month of service had accustomed St. George to his valet's giftof the Articulate Simplicity. Rollo's thoughts were doubtlesscontrived in the cuticle and knew no deeper operance; but he alwaysuttered his impressions with, under his mask, an air of keen andseasoned personal observation. In his first interview with St. George, Rollo had said: "I always enjoy being kep' busy, sir. _Tome_, the busy man is a grand sight, " and St. George had at onceappreciated his possibilities. Rollo was like the fine print in analmanac. 

When the candles were burning and the lights had been turned on inthe little ochre den where the billiard-table stood, St. Georgeemerged--a well-made figure, his buoyant, clear-cut face accuratelybespeaking both health and cleverness. Of a family represented bythe gentle old bishop and his own exquisite mother, himselfuniversity-bred and fresh from two years' hard, hand-to-handfighting to earn an honourable livelihood, St. George, of sound bodyand fine intelligence, had that temper of stability within vastrange which goes pleasantly into the mind that meets it. A symbol ofthis was his prodigious popularity with those who had been hisfellow-workers--a test beside which old-world traditions of theurban touchstones are of secondary advantage. It was deeplysignificant that in spite of the gulf which Chance had digged theday-staff of the _Sentinel_, all save two or three of which were notof his estate, had with flattering alacrity obeyed his summons todine. But, as he heard in the hall the voice of Chillingworth, thedifficulty of his task for the first time swept over him. It wasChillingworth who had advocated to him the need of wooden type tosuit his literary style and who had long ordered and bullied himabout; and how was he to play the host to Chillingworth, not tospeak of the others, with the news between them of that million?

When the bell rang, St. George somewhat gruffly superseded Rollo. 

"I'll go, " he said briefly, "and keep out of sight for a fewminutes. Get in the bath-room or somewhere, will you?" he addednervously, and opened the door. 

At one stroke Chillingworth settled his own position by dominatingthe situation as he dominated the city room. He chose the best chairand told a good story and found fault with the way the fire burned, all with immediate ease and abandon. Chillingworth's men loved toremember that he had once carried copy. They also understood all thelegitimate devices by which he persuaded from them their besteffort, yet these devices never failed, and the city room agreedthat Chillingworth's fashion of giving an assignment to a new manwould force him to write a readable account of his own entertainmentin the dark meadows. Largely by personal magnetism he had fought hisway upward, and this quality was not less a social gift. 

Mr. Toby Amory, who had been on the Eleven with St. George atHarvard, looked along his pipe at his host and smiled, withflattering content, his slow smile. Amory's father had lately had aconspicuous quarter of an hour in Wall Street, as a result of whichAmory, instead of taking St. George to the cemetery at Clusium as hehad talked, himself drifted to Park Row; and although he now knewconsiderably less than he had hoped about certain inscriptions, hewas supporting himself and two sisters by really brilliant work, sothat the balance of his power was creditably maintained. Surely theinscriptions did not suffer, and what then was Amory that he shouldobject? Presently Holt, the middle-aged marine man, and Hardingwho, since he had lost a lightweight sparring championship, wassporting editor, solemnly entered together and sat down with thesocial caution of their class. So did Provin, the "elder giant, " whogathered news as he breathed and could not intelligibly put sixwords together. Horace, who would listen to four lines over thetelephone and therefrom make a half-column of American newspaperhumour or American newspaper tears, came in roaring pacifically andmarshaling little Bud, that day in the seventh heaven of his first"beat. " Then followed Crass, the feature man, whose interviews wereknown to the new men as literature, although he was not abovepublicly admitting that he was not a reporter, but a special writer. Mr. Crass read nothing in the paper that he had not written, and St. George had once prophesied that in old age he would use hisscrap-book for a manual of devotions, as Klopstock used his_Messiah_. With him arrived Carbury, the telegraph editor, and laterBenfy, who had a carpet in his office and wrote editorials and whocame in evening clothes, thus moving Harding and Holt to instantprivate conversation. The last to appear was Little Cawthorne whowrote the fiction page and made enchanting limericks about every oneon the staff and went about singing one song and behaving, thedramatic man flattered him, like a motif. Little Cawthorne enteredbackward, wrestling with some wiry matter which, when he hadexecuted a manoeuvre and banged the door, was thrust through thepassage in the form of Bennie Todd, the head office boy, affectionately known as Bennietod. Bennietod was in every one'ssecret, clipped every one's space and knew every one's salary, andhe had lately covered a baseball game when the man whose copy he wasto carry had, outside the fence, become implicated in allurements. He was greeted with noise, and St. George told him heartily that hewas glad he had come. 

"He made me, " defensively claimed Bennietod; frowning deferentiallyat Little Cawthorne. 

"Hello, St. George, " said the latter, "come on back to the office. Crass sits in your place and he wears cravats the colour of goblin'sblood. Come back. "

"Not he, " said Chillingworth, smoking; "the Dead-and-Done-witheditor is too keen for that; I won't give him a job. He's ruined. Egg sandwiches will never stimulate him now. "

St. George joined in the relieved laugh that followed. They wereremembering his young Sing Sing convict who had completed hissentence in time to step in a cab and follow his mother to thegrave, where his stepfather refused to have her coffin opened. AndSt. George, fresh from his Alma Mater, had weighted the winged wordsof his story with allusions to the tears celestial of Thetis, shedfor Achilles, and Creon's grief for Haemon, and the Unnatural Combatof Massinger's father and son; so that Chillingworth had said thingsin languages that are not dead (albeit a bit Elizabethan) and thecomposing room had shaken mailed fists. 

"Hi, you!" said Little Cawthorne, who was born in the South, "thisis a mellow minute. I could wish they came often. This shall be aweekly occurrence--not so, St. George?"

"Cawthorne, " Chillingworth warned, "mind your manners, or they'llmake you city editor. "

A momentary shadow was cast by the appearance of Rollo, who wasmanifestly a symbol of the world Philistine about which these guestsknew more and in which they played a smaller part than any otherclass of men. But the tray which Rollo bore was his passport. Thereafter, they all trooped to the table, and Chillingworth sat atthe head, and from the foot St. George watched the city editor breakbread with the familiar nervous gesture with which he was wont tostrip off yards of copy-paper and eat it. There was a tacitassumption that he be the conversational sun of the hour, and infostering this understanding the host took grateful refuge. 

"This is shameful, " Chillingworth began contentedly. "Every one ofyou ought to be out on the Boris story. "

"What is the Boris story?" asked St. George with interest. But inall talk St. George had a restful, host-like way of playing the rôleof opposite to every one who preferred being heard. 

"I'll wager the boy hasn't been reading the papers these threemonths, " Amory opined in his pleasant drawl. 

"No, " St. George confessed; "no, I haven't. They make me homesick. "

"Don't maunder, " said Chillingworth in polite criticism. "This isAmory's story, and only about a quarter of the facts yet, " he addedin a resentful growl. "It's up at the Boris, in West Fifty-ninthStreet--you know the apartment house? A Miss Holland, an heiress, living there with her aunt, was attacked and nearly murdered by amulatto woman. The woman followed her to the elevator and cameuncomfortably near stabbing her from the back. The elevator boy wastoo quick for her. And at the station they couldn't get the woman tosay a word; she pretends not to understand or to speak anythingthey've tried. She's got Amory hypnotized too--he thinks she can't. And when they searched her, " went on Chillingworth with enjoyment, "they found her dressed in silk and cloth of gold, and loaded downwith all sorts of barbarous ornaments, with almost priceless jewels. Miss Holland claims that she never saw or heard of the woman before. Now, what do you make of it?" he demanded, unconcernedly draininghis glass. 

"Splendid, " cried St. George in unfeigned interest. "I say, splendid. Did you see the woman?" he asked Amory. 

Amory nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "Andy fixed that for me. But she never said a word. I _parlez-voused_ her, and _verstehen-Sied_ her, and she sighed andturned her head. "

"Did you see the heiress?" St. George asked. 

"Not I, " mourned Amory, "not to talk with, that is. I happened to behanging up in the hall there the afternoon it occurred;" he modestlyexplained. 

"What luck, " St. George commented with genuine envy. "It's astunning story. Who is Miss Holland?"

"She's lived there for a year or more with her aunt, " saidChillingworth. "She is a New Yorker and an heiress and a greatbeauty--oh, all the properties are there, but they're all we've got. What do you make of it?" he repeated. 

St. George did not answer, and every one else did. 

"Mistaken identity, " said Little Cawthorne. "Do you rememberProvin's story of the woman whose maid shot a masseuse whom she tookto be her mistress; and the woman forgave the shooting and seemed tohave her arrested chiefly because she had mistaken her for amasseuse?"

"Too easy, Cawthorne, " said Chillingworth. 

"The woman is probably an Italian, " said the telegraph editor, "doing one of her Mafia stunts. It's time they left the politiciansalone and threw bombs at the bonds that back them. "

"Hey, Carbury. Stop writing heads, " said Chillingworth. 

"Has Miss Holland lived abroad?" asked Crass, the feature man. "Maybe this woman was her nurse or ayah or something who got fond ofher charge, and when they took it away years ago, she devoted herlife to trying to find it in America. And when she got here shewasn't able to make herself known to her, and rather than let anyone else--"

"No more space-grabbing, Crass, " warned Chillingworth. 

"Maybe, " ventured Horace, "the young lady did settlement work andread to the woman's kid, and the kid died, and the woman thoughtshe'd said a charm over it. "

Chillingworth grinned affectionately. 

"Hold up, " he commanded, "or you'll recall the very words of thecharm. "

Bennietod gasped and stared. 

"Now, Bennietod?" Amory encouraged him. 

"I t'ink, " said the lad, "if she's a heiress, dis yeredagger-plunger is her mudder dat's been shut up in a mad-house to afare-you-well. "

Chillingworth nodded approvingly. 

"Your imagination is toning down wonderfully, " he flattered him. "Amonth ago you would have guessed that the mulatto lady was anEgyptian princess' messenger sent over here to get the heart from anAmerican heiress as an ingredient for a complexion lotion. You'recoming on famously, Todd. "

"The German poet Wieland, " began Benfy, clearing his throat, "has, in his epic of the _Oberon_ made admirable use of much the sameidea, Mr. Chillingworth--"

Yells interrupted him. Mr. Benfy was too "well-read" to be whollypopular with the staff. 

"Oh, well, the woman was crazy. That's about all, " suggestedHarding, and blushed to the line of his hair. 

"Yes, I guess so, " assented Holt, who lifted and lowered oneshoulder as he talked, "or doped. "

Chillingworth sighed and looked at them both with pursed lips. 

"You two, " he commented, "would get out a paper that everybody wouldknow to be full of reliable facts, and that nobody would buy. To beborn with a riotous imagination and then hardly ever to let it riotis to be a born newspaper man. Provin?"

The elder giant leaned back, his eyes partly closed. 

"Is she engaged to be married?" he asked. "Is Miss Holland engaged?"

Chillingworth shook his head. 

"No, " he said, "not engaged. We knew that by tea-time the same day, Provin. Well, St. George?"

St. George drew a long breath. 

"By Jove, I don't know, " he said, "it's a stunning story. It's thebest story I ever remember, excepting those two or three that havehung fire for so long. Next to knowing just why old Ennisdisinherited his son at his marriage, I would like to ferret outthis. "

"Now, tut, St. George, " Amory put in tolerantly, "next to doingexactly what you will be doing all this week you'd rather ferret outthis. "

"On my honour, no, " St. George protested eagerly, "I mean quite whatI say. I might go on fearfully about it. Lord knows I'm going to seethe day when I'll do it, too, and cut my troubles for the luck ofchasing down a bully thing like this. "

If there was anything to forgive, every one forgave him. 

"But give up ten minutes on _The Aloha_, " Amory skeptically put it, adjusting his pince-nez, "for anything less than ten minutes on _TheAloha_?"

"I'll do it now--now!" cried St. George. "If Mr. Chillingworth willput me on this story in your place and will give you a week off on_The Aloha_, you may have her and welcome. "

Little Cawthorne pounded on the table. 

"Where do I come in?" he wailed. "But no, all I get is another wado' woe. "

"What do you say, Mr. Chillingworth?" St. George asked eagerly. 

"I don't know, " said Chillingworth, meditatively turning his glass. "St. George is rested and fresh, and he feels the story. AndAmory--here, touch glasses with me. "

Amory obeyed. His chief's hand was steady, but the two glassesjingled together until, with a smile, Amory dropped his arm. 

"I _am_ about all in, I fancy, " he admitted apologetically. 

"A week's rest on the water, " said Chillingworth, "would set you onyour feet for the convention. All right, St. George, " he nodded. 

St. George leaped to his feet. 

"Hooray!" he shouted like a boy. "Jove, won't it be good to getback?"

He smiled as he set down his glass, remembering the day at his deskwhen he had seen the white-and-brass craft slip to the river'smouth. 

Rollo, discreet and without wonder, footed softly about the table, keeping the glasses filled and betraying no other sign of life. Formore than four hours he was in attendance, until, last of theguests, Little Cawthorne and Bennietod departed together, trying toremember the dates of the English kings. Finally Chillingworth andAmory, having turned outdoors the dramatic critic who had arrivedat midnight and was disposed to stay, stood for a moment by the fireand talked it over. 

"Remember, St. George, " Chillingworth said, "I'll have nomonkey-work. You'll report to me at the old hour, you won't be late;and you'll take orders--"

"As usual, sir, " St. George rejoined quietly. 

"I beg your pardon, " Chillingworth said quickly, "but you see thisis such a deuced unnatural arrangement. "

"I understand, " St. George assented, "and I'll do my best not to getthrown down. Amory has told me all he knows about it--by the way, where is the mulatto woman now?"

"Why, " said Chillingworth, "some physician got interested in thecase, and he's managed to hurry her up to the Bitley Reformatory inWestchester for the present. She's there; and that means, we neednot disguise, that nobody can see her. Those Bitley people are likea rabble of wild eagles. "

"Right, " said St. George. "I'll report at eight o'clock. Amory canboard _The Aloha_ when he gets ready and take down whom he likes. "

"On my life, old chap, it's a private view of Kedar's tents to me, "said Amory, his eyes shining behind his pince-nez. "I'll probablywin wide disrespect by my inability to tell a mainsail from acockpit, but I'm a grateful dog, in spite of that. "

When they were gone St. George sat by the fire. He read Amory'sstory of the Boris affair in the paper, which somewhere in theapartment Rollo had unearthed, and the man took off his master'sshoes and brought his slippers and made ready his bath. St. Georgeglanced over his shoulder at the attractively-dismantled table, withits dying candles and slanted shades. 

"Gad!" he said in sheer enjoyment as he clipped the story and sawRollo pass with the towels. 

It was so absurdly like a city room's dream of Arcady. 

CHAPTER II

A SCRAP OF PAPER

To be awakened by Rollo, to be served in bed with an appetizingbreakfast and to catch a hansom to the nearest elevated station werenovel preparations for work in the _Sentinel_ office. Theimpossibility of it all delighted St. George rather more than thereality, for there is no pastime, as all the world knows, quite likethat of practising the impossible. The days when, "like a manunfree, " he had fared forth from his unlovely lodgings clandestinelyto partake of an evil omelette, seemed enchantingly far away. Itwas, St. George reflected, the experience of having been releasedfrom prison, minus the disgrace. 

Yet when he opened the door of the city room the odour of theprinters' ink somehow fused his elation in his liberty with theelation of the return. This was like wearing fetters for bracelets. When he had been obliged to breathe this air he had scoffed at itsfascination, but now he understood. "A newspaper office, " so arevered American of letters who had begun his life there had onceimparted to St. George, "is a place where a man with thetemperament of a savant and a recluse may bring his American vice ofcommercialism and worship of the uncommon, and let them have it out. Newspapers have no other use--except the one I began on. " When St. George entered the city room, Crass, of the goblin's blood cravats, had vacated his old place, and Provin was just uncovering histypewriter and banging the tin cover upon everything within reach, and Bennietod was writhing over a rewrite, and Chillingworth wasdischarging an office boy in a fashion that warmed St. George'sheart. 

But Chillingworth, the city editor, was an italicized form ofChillingworth, the guest. He waved both arms at the foreman whoventured to tell him of a head that had one letter too many, and hefrowned a greeting at St. George. 

"Get right out on the Boris story, " he said. "I depend on you. Thechief is interested in this too--telephoned to know whom I had onit. "

St. George knew perfectly that "the chief" was playing golf at Lenoxand no doubt had read no more than the head-lines of the Hollandstory, for he was a close friend of the bishop's, and St. Georgeknew his ways; but Chillingworth's methods always told, and St. George turned away with all the old glow of his first assignment. 

St. George, calling up the Bitley Reformatory, knew that the Chancesand the Fates were all allied against his seeing the mulatto woman;but he had learned that it is the one unexpected Fate and the oneapostate Chance who open great good luck of any sort. So, though thejourney to Westchester County was almost certain to result inrefusal, he meant to be confronted by that certainty before heassumed it. To the warden on the wire St. George put his inquiry. 

"What are your visitors' days up there, Mr. Jeffrey?"

"Thursdays, " came the reply, and the warden's voice suggestedhandcuffs by way of hospitality. 

"This is St. George of the _Sentinel_. I want very much to see oneof your people--a mulatto woman. Can you fix it for me?"

"Certainly not, " returned the warden promptly. "The _Sentinel_ knowsperfectly that newspaper men can not be admitted here. "

"Ah, well now, of course, " St. George conceded, "but if you have amysterious boarder who talks Patagonian or something, and we thinkthat perhaps we can talk with her, why then--"

"It doesn't matter whether you can talk every language in SouthAmerica, " said the warden bruskly. "I'm very busy now, and--"

"See here, Mr. Jeffrey, " said St. George, "is no one allowed therebut relatives of the guests?"

"Nobody, "--crisply. 

"I beg your pardon, that is literal?"

"Relatives, with a permit, " divulged the warden, who, if he had hada sceptre would have used it at table, he was so fond of his littlepower, "and the Readers' Guild. "

"Ah--the Readers' Guild, " said St. George. "What days, Mr. Jeffrey?"

"To-day and Saturdays, ten o'clock. I'm sorry, Mr. St. George, butI'm a very busy man and now--"

"Good-by, " St. George cried triumphantly. 

In half an hour he was at the Grand Central station, boarding atrain for the Reformatory town. It was a little after ten o'clockwhen he rang the bell at the house presided over by Chillingworth's"rabble of wild eagles. "

The Reformatory, a boastful, brick building set in grounds thatseemed freshly starched and ironed, had a discoloured door thatwould have frowned and threatened of its own accord, even withoutthe printed warnings pasted to its panels stating that noapplication for admission, with or without permits, would behonoured upon any day save Thursday. This was Tuesday. 

Presently, the chains having fallen within after a feudal rattling, an old man who looked born to the business of snapping up adrawbridge in lieu of a taste for any other exclusiveness peered atSt. George through absurd smoked glasses, cracked quite across sothat his eyes resembled buckles. 

"Good morning, " said St. George; "has the Readers' Guild arrivedyet?"

The old man grated out an assent and swung open the door, whichcreaked in the pitch of his voice. The bare hall was cut by a wallof steel bars whose gate was padlocked, and outside this wall thedoor to the warden's office stood open. St. George saw that ameeting was in progress there, and the sight disturbed him. Then theclick of a key caught his attention, and he turned to find the oldman quietly and surprisingly swinging open the door of steel bars. 

"This way, sir, " he said hoarsely, fixing St. George with his buckleeyes, and shambled through the door after him locking it behindthem. 

If St. George had found awaiting him a gold throne encircled bykneeling elephants he could have been no more amazed. Not a word hadbeen said about the purpose of his visit, and not a word to thewarden; there was simply this miraculous opening of the barred door. St. George breathlessly footed across the rotunda and down the dimopposite hall. There was a mistake, that was evident; but for themoment St. George was going to propose no reform. Their steps echoedin the empty corridor that extended the entire length of the greatbuilding in an odour of unspeakable soap and superior disinfectants;and it was not until they reached a stair at the far end that theold man halted. 

"Top o' the steps, " he hoarsely volunteered, blinking his littlebuckle eyes, "first door to the left. My back's bad. I won't go up. "

St. George, inhumanely blessing the circumstance, slipped somethingin the old man's hand and sprang up the stairs. 

The first door at the left stood ajar. St. George looked in and sawa circle of bonnets and white curls clouded around the edge of theroom, like witnesses. The Readers' Guild was about leaving; almostin the same instant, with that soft lift and touch which makes awoman's gown seem sewed with vowels and sibilants, they all aroseand came tapping across the bare floor. At their head marched awoman with such a bright bonnet, and such a tinkle of ornaments onher gown that at first sight she quite looked like a lamp. It wasshe whom St. George approached. 

"I beg your pardon, madame, " he said, "is this the Readers' Guild?"

There was nothing in St. George's grave face and deferentialstooping of shoulders to betray how his heart was beating or what abound it gave at her amazing reply. 

"Ah, " she said, "how do you do?"--and her manner had that violentabsent-mindedness which almost always proves that its possessor hastrained a large family of children--"I am so glad that you can bewith us to-day. I am Mrs. Manners--forgive me, " she besought withperfectly self-possessed distractedness, "I'm afraid that I'veforgotten your name. "

"My name is St. George, " he answered as well as he could for virtualspeechlessness. 

The other members of the Guild were issuing from the room, and Mrs. Manners turned. She had a fashion of smiling enchantingly, as if tocompensate her total lack of attention. 

"Ladies, " she said, "this is Mr. St. George, at last. "

Then she went through their names to him, and St. George bowed andcaught at the flying end of the name of the woman nearest him, andmuttered to them all. The one nearest was a Miss Bella Bliss Utter, a little brown nut of a woman with bead eyes. 

"Ah, Mr. St. George, " said Miss Utter rapidly, "it has been awonderful meeting. I wish you might have been with us. Fortunatelyfor us you are just in time for our third floor council. "

It had been said of St. George that when he was writing on space andwas in need, buildings fell down before him to give him two columnson the first page; but any architectural manoeuvre could not haveamazed him as did this. And too, though there had been occasionswhen silence or an evasion would have meant bread to him, thetemptation to both was never so strong as at that moment. It costSt. George an effort, which he was afterward glad to remember havingmade, to turn to Mrs. Manners, who had that air of appointingcommittees and announcing the programme by which we always recognizea leader, and try to explain. 

"I am afraid, " St. George said as they reached the stairs, "that youhave mistaken me, Mrs. Manners. I am not--"

"Pray, pray do not mention it, " cried Mrs. Manners, shaking herlittle lamp-shade of a hat at him, "we make every allowance, and Iam sure that none will be necessary. "

"But I am with the _Evening Sentinel_, " St. George persisted, "I amafraid that--"

"As if one's profession made any difference!" cried Mrs. Mannerswarmly. "No, indeed, I perfectly understand. We all understand, " sheassured him, going over some papers in one hand and preparing tomount the stairs. "Indeed, we appreciate it, " she murmured, "do wenot, Miss Utter?"

The little brown nut seemed to crack in a capacious smile. 

"Indeed, indeed!" she said fervently, accenting her emphasis bybriefly-closed eyes. 

"Hymn books. Now, have we hymn books enough?" plaintively broke inMrs. Manners. "I declare, those new hymn books don't seem to havethe spirit of the old ones, no matter what _any one_ says, " sheinformed St. George earnestly as they reached an open door. In thenext moment he stood aside and the Readers' Guild filed past him. Hefollowed them. This was pleasantly like magic. 

They entered a large chamber carpeted and walled in the garishflowers which many boards of directors suppose will joy thecheerless breast. There were present a dozen women inmates, --sullen, weary-looking beings who seemed to have made abject resignationtheir latest vice. They turned their lustreless eyes upon thevisitors, and a portly woman in a red waist with a little Americanflag in a buttonhole issued to them a nasal command to rise. Theygot to their feet with a starched noise, like dead leaves blowing, and St. George eagerly scanned their faces. There were women ofseveral nationalities, though they all looked raceless in the uglyuniforms which those same boards of directors consider _de rigueur_for the soul that is to be won back to the normal. A little negress, with a spirit that soared free of boards of directors, had tried totie her closely-clipped wool with bits of coloured string; anItalian woman had a geranium over her ear; and at the end of thelast row of chairs, towering above the others, was a creature of akind of challenging, unforgetable beauty whom, with a thrill ofcertainty, St. George realized to be her whom he had come to see. So strong was his conviction that, as he afterward recalled, he evenasked no question concerning her. She looked as manifestly not oneof the canaille of incorrigibles as, in her place, Lucrezia Borgiawould have looked. 

The woman was powerfully built with astonishing breadth of shoulderand length of limb, but perfectly proportioned. She was young, hardly more than twenty, St. George fancied, and of the peculiarlitheness which needs no motion to be manifest. Her clear skin wasof wonderful brown; and her eyes, large and dark, with something ofthe oriental watchfulness, were like opaque gems and not morepenetrable. Her look was immovably fixed upon St. George as if shedivined that in some way his coming affected her. 

"We will have our hymn first. " Mrs. Manners' words were buzzing andpecking in the air. "What can I have done with that list of numbers?We have to select our pieces most carefully, " she confided to St. George, "so to be sure that _Soul's Prison_ or _Hands Red asCrimson_, or, _Do You See the Hebrew Captive Kneeling?_ or anythingpersonal like that doesn't occur. Now what can I have done with thatlist?"

Her words reached St. George but vaguely. He was in a fever ofanticipation and enthusiasm. He turned quickly to Mrs. Manners. 

"During the hymn, " he said simply, "I would like to speak with oneof the women. Have I your permission?"

Mrs. Manners looked momentarily perplexed; but her eyes at thatinstant chancing upon her lost list of hymns, she let fall anabstracted assent and hurried to the waiting organist. ImmediatelySt. George stepped quietly down among the women already flutteringthe leaves of their hymn books, and sat beside the mulatto woman. 

Her eyes met his in eager questioning, but she had that temper ofunsurprise of many of the eastern peoples and of some animals. Yetshe was under some strong excitement, for her hands, large butfaultlessly modeled, were pressed tensely together. And St. Georgesaw that she was by no means a mulatto, or of any race that he wasable to name. Her features were classic and of exceeding fineness, and her face was sensitive and highly-bred and filled with repose, like the surprising repose of breathing arrested in marble. Therewas that about her, however, which would have made one, constitutedto perceive only the arbitrary balance of things, feel almostafraid; while one of high organization would inevitably have beensmitten by some sense of the incalculably higher organization of hernature, a nature which breathed forth an influence, laid aspell--did something indefinable. Sometimes one stands too closelyto a statue and is frightened by the nearness, as by the nearnessof one of an alien region. St. George felt this directly he spoke toher. He shook off the impression and set himself practically to thematter in hand. He had never had greater need of his faculty fordirectness. His low tone was quite matter-of-fact, his mannerdeferentially reassuring. 

"I think, " he said softly and without preface, "that I can help you. Will you let me help you? Will you tell me quickly your name?"

The woman's beautiful eyes were filled with distress, but she shookher head. 

"Your name--name--name?" St. George repeated earnestly, but she hadonly the same answer. "Can you not tell me where you live?" St. George persisted, and she made no other sign. 

"New York?" went on St. George patiently. "New York? Do you live inNew York?"

There was a sudden gleam in the woman's eyes. She extended her handsquickly in unmistakable appeal. Then swiftly she caught up a hymnbook, tore at its fly-leaf, and made the movement of writing. In aninstant St. George had thrust a pencil in her hand and she wastracing something. 

He waited feverishly. The organ had droned through the hymn and thewomen broke into song, with loose lips and without restraint, asstreet boys sing. He saw them casting curious, sullen glances, andthe Readers' Guild whispering among themselves. Miss Bella BlissUtter, looking as distressed as a nut can look, nodded, and Mrs. Manners shook her head and they meant the same thing. Then St. George saw the attendant in the red waist descend from the platformand make her way toward him, the little American flag rising andfalling on her breast. He unhesitatingly stepped in the aisle tomeet her, determined to prevent, if possible, her suspicion of themessage. "Is it the barbarism of a gentleman, " Amory had oncepropounded, "or is it the gentleman-like manners of a barbarianwhich makes both enjoy over-stepping a prohibition?"

"I compliment you, " St. George said gravely, with his deferentialstooping of the shoulders. "The women are perfectly trained. This, of course, is due to you. "

The hard face of the woman softened, but St. George thought that onemight call her very facial expression nasal; she smiled with evidentpleasure, though her purpose remained unshaken. 

"They do pretty good, " she admitted, "but visitors ain't best for'em. I'll have to request you"--St. George vaguely wished that shewould say "ask"--"not to talk to any of 'em. "

St. George bowed. 

"It is a great privilege, " he said warmly if a bit incoherently, and held her in talk about an institution of the sort in Canadawhere the women inmates wore white, the managers claiming that theeffect upon their conduct was perceptible, that they were far moreself-respecting, and so on in a labyrinth of defensive detail. "Whatdo you think of the idea?" he concluded anxiously, manfully holdinghis ground in the aisle. 

"I think it's mostly nonsense, " returned the woman tartly, "a bigexpense and a sight of work for nothing. And now permit me to say--"

St. George vaguely wished that she would say "let. "

"I agree with you, " he said earnestly, "nothing could be simpler andneater than these calico gowns. "

The attendant looked curiously at him. 

"They are gingham, " she rejoined, "and you'll excuse me, I hope, butvisitors ain't supposed to converse with the inmates. "

St. George was vanquished by "converse. "

"I beg your pardon, " he said, "pray forgive me. I will say good-byto my friend. "

He turned swiftly and extended his hand to the strange woman behindhim. With the cunning upon which he had counted she gave her ownhand, slipping in his the folded paper. Her eyes, with theirhaunting watchfulness, held his for a moment as she mutely bentforward when he left her. 

The hymn was done and the women were seating themselves, as St. George with beating heart took his way up the aisle. What the papercontained he could not even conjecture; but there _was_ a paper andit _did_ contain something which he had a pleasant premonition wouldbe invaluable to him. Yet he was still utterly at loss to accountfor his own presence there, and this he coolly meant to do. 

He was spared the necessity. On the platform Mrs. Manners had risento make an announcement; and St. George fancied that she mustpreside at her tea-urn and try on her bonnets with just that sameformal little "announcement" air. 

"My friends, " she said, "I have now an unexpected pleasure for youand for us all. We have with us to-day Mr. St. George, of New York. Mr. St. George is going to sing for us. "

St. George stood still for a moment, looking into the expectantfaces of Mrs. Manners and the other women of the Readers' Guild, aspark of understanding kindling the mirth in his eyes. This thenaccounted both for his admittance to the home and for his welcome bythe women upon their errand of mercy. He had simply been verynaturally mistaken for a stranger from New York who had not arrived. But since he had accomplished something, though he did not knowwhat, inasmuch as the slip of paper lay crushed in his hand unread, he must, he decided, pay for it. Without ado he stepped to theplatform. 

"I have explained to Mrs. Manners and to these ladies, " he saidgravely, "that I am not the gentleman who was to sing for you. However, since he is detained, I will do what I can. "

This, mistaken for a merely perfunctory speech of self-depreciation, was received in polite, contradicting silence by the Guild. St. George, who had a rich, true barytone, quickly ran over his littlelist of possible songs, none of which he had ever sung to anaudience that a canoe would not hold, or to other accompaniment thanthat of a mandolin. Partly in memory of those old canoe-evenings St. George broke into a low, crooning plantation melody. The song, likemuch of the Southern music, had in it a semi-barbaric chord that thecollege men had loved, something--or so one might have said who tookthe canoe-music seriously--of the wildness and fierceness of oldtribal loves and plaints and unremembered wooings with a desertbackground: a gallop of hoof-beats, a quiver of noon light abovesaffron sand--these had been, more or less, in the music when St. George had been wont to lie in a boat and pick at the strings whileAmory paddled; and these he must have reëchoed before the crowd ofcurious and sullen and commonplace, lighted by that one wild, strange face. When he had finished the dark woman sat with bowedhead, and St. George himself was more moved by his own effort thanwas strictly professional. 

"Dear Mr. St. George, " said Mrs. Manners, going distractedly throughher hand-bag for something unknown, "our secretary will thank youformally. It was she who sent you our request, was it not? She_will_ so regret being absent to-day. "

"She did not send me a request, Mrs. Manners, " persisted St. Georgepleasantly, "but I've been uncommonly glad to do what I could. I amhere simply on a mission for the _Evening Sentinel_. "

Mrs. Manners drew something indefinite from her bag and put it backagain, and looked vaguely at St. George. 

"Your voice reminds me so much of my brother, younger, " sheobserved, her eyes already straying to the literature fordistribution. 

With soft exclamatory twitters the Readers' Guild thanked St. George, and Miss Bella Bliss Utter, who was of womankind who clasptheir hands when they praise, stood thus beside him until he tookhis leave. The woman in the red waist summoned an attendant to showhim back down the long corridor. 

At the grated door within the entrance St. George found the wardenin stormy conference with a pale blond youth in spectacles. 

"Impossible, " the warden was saying bluntly, "I know you. I knowyour voice. You called me up this morning from the _New YorkSentinel_ office, and I told you then--"

"But, my dear sir, " expostulated the pale blond youth, waving amusic roll, "I do assure you--"

"What he says is quite true, Warden, " St. George interposedcourteously, "I will vouch for him. I have just been singing for theReaders' Guild myself. "

The warden dropped back with a grudging apology and brows of tardysuspicion, and the old man blinked his buckle eyes. 

"Gentlemen, " said St. George, "good morning. "

Outside the door, with its panels decorated in positiveprohibitions, he eagerly unfolded the precious paper. It bore asingle name and address: Tabnit, 19 McDougle Street, New York. 

CHAPTER III

ST. GEORGE AND THE LADY

St. George lunched leisurely at his hotel. Upon his return fromWestchester he had gone directly to McDougle Street to be assuredthat there was a house numbered 19. Without difficulty he had foundthe place; it was in the row of old iron-balconied apartment housesa few blocks south of Washington Square, and No. 19 differed in noway from its neighbours even to the noisy children, without toys, tumbling about the sunken steps and dark basement door. St. Georgecontented himself with walking past the house, for the mereassurance that the place existed dictated his next step. 

This was to write a note to Mrs. Medora Hastings, Miss Holland'saunt. The note set forth that for reasons which he would, if hemight, explain later, he was interested in the woman who hadrecently made an attempt upon her niece's life; that he had seen thewoman and had obtained an address which he was confident would leadto further information about her. This address, he added, hepreferred not to disclose to the police, but to Mrs. Hastings orMiss Holland herself, and he begged leave to call upon them ifpossible that day. He despatched the note by Rollo, whom heinstructed to deliver it, not at the desk, but at the door of Mrs. Hastings' apartment, and to wait for an answer. He watched withpleasure Rollo's soft departure, recalling the days when he had senta messenger boy to some inaccessible threshold, himself stamping upand down in the cold a block or so away to await the boy's return. 

Rollo was back almost immediately. Mrs. Hastings and Miss Hollandwere not at home. St. George eyed his servant severely. 

"Rollo, " he said, "did you go to the door of their apartment?"

"No, sir, " said Rollo stiffly, "the elevator boy told me they wasout, sir. "

"Showing, " thought St. George, "that a valet and a gentleman is avery poor newspaper man. "

"Now go back, " he said pleasantly, "go up in the elevator to theirdoor. If they are not in, wait in the lower hallway until theyreturn. Do you get that? Until they return. "

"You'll want me back by tea-time, sir?" ventured Rollo. 

"Wait, " St. George repeated, "until they return. At three. Or six. Or nine o'clock. Or midnight. "

"Very good, sir, " said Rollo impassively, "it ain't always wise, sir, for a man to trust to his own judgment, sir, asking yourpardon. His judgment, " he added, "may be a bit of the ape left inhim, sir. "

St. George smiled at this evolutionary pearl and settled himselfcomfortably by the open fire to await Rollo's return. It was afterthree o'clock when he reappeared. He brought a note and St. Georgefeverishly tore it open. 

"Whom did you see? Were they civil to you?" he demanded. 

"I saw a old lady, sir, " said Rollo irreverently. "She didn't say aword to me, sir, but what she didn't say was civiler than manypeople's language. There's a great deal in manner, sir, " declaimedRollo, brushing his hat with his sleeve, and his sleeve with hishandkerchief, and shaking the handkerchief meditatively over thecoals. 

St. George read the note at a glance and with unspeakable relief. They would see him. A refusal would have delayed and annoyed himjust then, in the flood-tide of his hope. 

 "My Dear Mr. St. George, " the note ran. "My niece is not at home, and I can not tell how your suggestion will be received by her, though it is most kind. I may, however, answer for myself that I shall be glad to see you at four o'clock this afternoon. "Very truly yours, "MEDORA HASTINGS. "

Grateful for her evident intention to waste no time, St. Georgedressed and drove to the Boris, punctually sending up his card atfour o'clock. At once he was ushered to Mrs. Hastings' apartment. 

St. George entered her drawing-room incuriously. Three years ofentering drawing-rooms which he never thereafter was to see hadrobbed him of that sensation of indefinable charm which for many astrange room never ceases to yield. He had found far too many tablesupholding nothing which one could remember, far too many picturesthat returned his look, and rugs that seemed to have been selectedarbitrarily and because there was none in stock that the ownerreally liked. He was therefore pleasantly surprised and puzzled bythe room which welcomed him. The floor was tiled in curious blocks, strangely hieroglyphed, as if they had been taken from old tombs. Over the fireplace was set a panel of the same stone, which, by thethickness of the tiles, formed a low shelf. On this shelf and ontables and in a high window was the strangest array of objects thatSt. George had ever seen. There were small busts of soft rose stone, like blocks of coral. There was a statue or two of some indefinablewhite material, glistening like marble and yet so soft that it hadbeen indented in several places by accidental pressure. There werefans of strangely-woven silk, with sticks of carven rock-crystal, and hand mirrors of polished copper set in frames of gems that hedid not recognize. Upon the wall were mended bits of purpletapestry, embroidered or painted or woven in singular patterns offlora and birds that St. George could not name. There were rolls ofparchment, and vases of rock-crystal, and a little apparatus, mostdelicately poised, for weighing unknown, delicate things; and jarsand cups without handles, all baked of a soft pottery having a naplike the down of a peach. Over the windows hung curtains of lace, woven by hands which St. George could not guess, in patterns of suchfreedom and beauty as western looms never may know. On the floor andon the divans were spread strange skins, some marked like peacocks, some patterned like feathers and like seaweed, all in a soft furthat was like silk. 

Mingled with these curios were the ordinary articles of a cultivatedhousehold. There were many books, good pictures, furniture withsimple lines, a tea-table that almost ministered of itself, awork-basket filled with "violet-weaving" needle-work, and a gossipyclock with well-bred chimes. St. George was enormously attracted bythe room which could harbour so many pagan delights without itselffalling their victim. The air was fresh and cool and smelled of thewindow primroses. 

[Illustration]

In a few moments Mrs. Hastings entered, and if St. George had beenbewildered by the room he was still more amazed by the appearanceof his hostess. She was utterly unlike the atmosphere of herdrawing-room. She was a bustling, commonplace little creature, withan expressionless face, indented rather than molded in features. Herplump hands were covered with jewels, but for all the richness ofher gown she gave the impression of being very badly dressed; thingsof jet and metal bobbed and ticked upon her, and her side-combs werecontinually falling about. She sat on the sofa and looked at theseat which St. George was to have and began to talk--all withouttaking the slightest heed of him or permitting him to mention the_Evening Sentinel_ or his errand. If St. George had been paintedpurple he felt sure that she would have acted quite the same. Personality meant nothing to her. 

"Now this distressing matter, Mr. St. George, " began Mrs. Hastings, "of this frightful mulatto woman. I didn't see her myself--no, I hadstopped in on the first floor to visit my lawyer's wife who was illwith neuralgia, and I didn't see the creature. If I had been with myniece I dare say it wouldn't have occurred. That's what I always sayto my niece. I always say, 'Olivia, nothing _need_ occur to vex one. It always happens because of pure heedlessness. ' Not that I accusemy own niece of heedlessness in this particular. It was the elevatorboy who was heedless. That is the trouble with life in a greatcity. Every breath you draw is always dependent on somebody else'sdoing his duty, and when you consider how many people habituallyneglect their duty it is a wonder--I always say that to Olivia--itis a wonder that anybody is alive to _do_ a duty when it presentsitself. 'Olivia, ' I always say, 'nobody needs to die. ' And I reallybelieve that they nearly all do die out of pure heedlessness. Well, and so this frightful mulatto creature: you know her, I understand?"

Mrs. Hastings leaned back and consulted St. George through hertortoise-shell glasses, tilting her head high to keep them on hernose and perpetually putting their gold chain over her ear, whichperpetually pulled out her side-combs. 

"I saw her this morning, " St. George said. "I went up to theReformatory in Westchester, and I spoke with her. "

"Mercy!" ejaculated Mrs. Hastings, "I wonder she didn't tear youreyes out. Did they have her in a cage or in a cell? What was thecreature about?"

"She was in a missionary meeting at the moment, " St. Georgeexplained, smiling. 

"Mercy!" said Mrs. Hastings in exactly the same tone. "Some trick, Iexpect. That's what I warn Olivia: 'So few things nowadays are donethrough necessity or design. ' Nearly everything is a trick. Everyinvention is a trick--a cultured trick, one might say. Murder is atrick, I suppose, to a murderer. That's why civilization is bad formorals, don't you think? Well, and so she talked with you?"

"No, Mrs. Hastings, " said St. George, "she did not say one word. Butshe wrote something, and that is what I have come to bring you. "

"What was it--some charm?" cried Mrs. Hastings. "Oh, nobody knowswhat that kind of people may do. I'll meet any one face to face, butthese juggling, incantation individuals appal me. I have a brotherwho travels in the Orient, and he tells me about hideous things theydo--raising wheat and things, " she vaguely concluded. 

"Ah!" said St. George quickly, "you have a brother--in the Orient?"

"Oh, yes. My brother Otho has traveled abroad I don't know how manyyears. We have a great many stamps. I can't begin to pronounce allthe names, " the lady assured him. 

"And this brother--is he your niece, Miss Holland's father?" St. George asked eagerly. 

"Certainly, " said Mrs. Hastings severely; "I have only one brother, and it has been three years since I have seen him. "

"Pardon me, Mrs. Hastings, " said St. George, "this may be mostimportant. Will you tell me when you last heard from him and wherehe was?"

"I should have to look up the place, " she answered, "I couldn'tbegin to pronounce the name, I dare say. It was somewhere in theSouth Atlantic, ten months or more ago. "

"Ah, " St. George quietly commented. 

"Well, and now this frightful creature, " resumed Mrs. Hastings, "do, pray, tell me what it was she wrote. "

St. George produced the paper. 

"That is it, " he said. "I fancy you will not know the street. It is19 McDougle Street, and the name is simply Tabnit. "

"Yes. And is it a letter?" his hostess demanded, "and whatever doesit say?"

"It is not a letter, " St. George explained patiently, "and this isall that it says. The name is, I suppose, the name of a person. Ihave made sure that there is such a number in the street. I haveseen the house. But I have waited to consult you before goingthere. "

"Why, what is it you think?" Mrs. Hastings besought him. "Do youthink this person, whoever it is, can do something? And whatever canhe do? Oh dear, " she ended, "I do want to act the way poor dear Mr. Hastings would have acted. Only I know that he would have gonestraight to Bitley, or wherever she is, and held a revolver at thatmulatto creature's head, and _commanded_ her to talk English. Mr. Hastings was a very determined character. If you could have seen thepoor dear man's chin! But of course I can't do that, can I? Andthat's what I say to Olivia. 'Olivia, one doesn't _need_ a man'sjudgment if one will only use judgment oneself. ' What is it youthink, Mr. St. George?"

Before St. George could reply there entered the room, behind a lowannouncement of his name, a man of sixty-odd years, nervous, slightly stooped, his smooth pale face unlighted by little deep-seteyes. 

"Ah, Mr. Frothingham!" said Mrs. Hastings in evident relief, "youare just in time. Mr. St. John was just telling me horrible thingsabout this frightful mulatto creature. This is Mr. St. John. Mr. Frothingham is my lawyer and my brother Otho's lawyer. And so Itelephoned him to come in and hear all about this. And now do go on, Mr. St. John, about this hideous woman. What is it you think?"

"How do you do, Mr. St. John?" said the lawyer portentously. Hisgreeting was almost a warning, and reminded St. George of the way inwhich certain brakemen call out stations. St. George responded asblithely to this name as to his own and did not correct it. "Andwhat, " went on the lawyer, sitting down with long unclosed handslaid trimly along his knees, "have you to contribute to this mostremarkable occurrence, Mr. St. John?"

St. George briefly narrated the events of the morning and placed theslip of paper in the lawyer's hands. 

"Ah! We have here a communication in the nature of a confession, "the lawyer observed, adjusting his gold pince-nez, head thrown back, eyebrows lifted. 

"Only the address, sir, " said St. George, "and I was just saying toMrs. Hastings that some one ought to go to this address at once andfind out whatever is to be got there. Whoever goes I will verygladly accompany. "

Mr. Frothingham had a fashion of making ready to speak andsoliciting attention by the act, and then collapsing suddenly withno explosion, like a bad Roman candle. He did this now, and whateverhe meant to say was lost to the race; but he looked very wise thewhile. It was rather as if he discarded you as a fit listener, thanthat he discarded his own comment. 

"I don't know but I ought to go myself, " rambled Mrs. Hastings, "perhaps Mr. Hastings would think I ought. Suppose, Mr. Frothingham, that we both go. Dear, dear! Olivia always sees to my shopping andflowers and everything executive, but I can't let her go into thesefrightful places, can I?"

There was a rustling at the far end of the room, and some oneentered. St. George did not turn, but as her soft skirts touched andlifted along the floor he was tinglingly aware of her presence. Evenbefore Mrs. Hastings heard her light footfall, even before the clearvoice spoke, St. George knew that he was at last in the presence ofthe arbiter of his enterprise, and of how much else he did not know. He was silent, breathlessly waiting for her to speak. 

"May I come in, Aunt Dora?" she said. "I want to know to what placeit is impossible for me to go?"

She came from the long room's boundary shadow. There was about her asense of white and gray with a knot of pale colour in her hat and anorchid on her white coat. Mrs. Hastings, taking no more account ofher presence than she had of St. George's, tilted back her head andlooked at the primroses in the window as closely as at anything, andabsently presented him. 

"Olivia, " she said, "this is Mr. St. John, who knows about thatfrightful mulatto creature. Mr. St. George, " she went on, correctingthe name entirely unintentionally, "my niece, Miss Holland. And I'msure I wish I knew what the necessary thing to be done _is_. That iswhat I always tell you, you know, Olivia. 'Find out the necessarything and do it, and let the rest go. '"

"It reminds me very much, " said the lawyer, clearing his throat, "ofa case that I had on the April calendar--"

Miss Holland had turned swiftly to St. George:

"You know the mulatto woman?" she asked, and the lawyer passed bythe April calendar and listened. 

"I went to the Bitley Reformatory this morning to see her, " St. George replied. "She gave me this name and address. We have beensaying that some one ought to go there to learn what is to belearned. "

Mr. Frothingham in a silence of pursed lips offered the paper. MissHolland glanced at it and returned it. 

"Will you tell us what your interest is in this woman?" she askedevenly. "Why you went to see her?"

"Yes, Miss Holland, " St. George replied, "you know of course thatthe police have done their best to run this matter down. You know itbecause you have courteously given them every assistance in yourpower. But the police have also been very ably assisted by everynewspaper in town. I am fortunate to be acting in the interests ofone of these--the _Sentinel_. This clue was put in my hands. I cameto you confident of your coöperation. "

Mrs. Hastings threw up her hands with a gesture that caught away thechain of her eye-glass and sent it dangling in her lap, and herside-combs tinkling to the tiled floor. 

"Mercy!" she said, "a reporter!"

St. George bowed. 

"But I never receive reporters!" she cried, "Olivia--don't youknow? A newspaper reporter like that fearful man at Palm Beach, whoput me in the Courtney's ball list in a blue silk when I never wearcolours. "

"Now really, really, this intrusion--" began Mr. Frothingham, hislong, unclosed hands working forward on his knees in undulations, asa worm travels. 

Miss Holland turned to St. George, the colour dyeing her face andthroat, her manner a bewildering mingling of graciousness andhauteur. 

"My aunt is right, " she said tranquilly, "we never have received anynewspaper representative. Therefore, we are unfortunate never tohave met one. You were saying that we should send some one toMcDougle Street?"

St. George was aware of his heart-beats. It was all so unexpectedand so dangerous, and she was so perfectly equal to thecircumstance. 

"I was asking to be allowed to go myself, Miss Holland, " he saidsimply, "with whoever makes the investigation. "

Mrs. Hastings was looking mutely from one to another, her foreheadin horizons of wrinkles. 

"I'm sure, Olivia, I think you ought to be careful what you say, "she plaintively began. "Mr. Hastings never allowed his name to go inany printed lists even, he was so particular. Our telephone had aprivate number, and all the papers had instructions never to mentionhim, even if he was murdered, unless he took down the noticehimself. Then if anything important did happen, he often did take itdown, nicely typewritten, and sometimes even then they didn't useit, because they knew how very particular he was. And of course wedon't know how--"

St. George's eyes blazed, but he did not lift them. The affront wasunstudied and, indeed, unconscious. But Miss Holland understood howgrave it was, for there are women whose intuition would tell themthe etiquette due upon meeting the First Syndic of Andorra or anoble from Gambodia. 

"We want the truth about this as much as Mr. St. George does, " shesaid quickly, smiling for the first time. St. George liked hersmile. It was as if she were amused, not absent-minded nor yet aprey to the feminine immorality of ingratiation. "Besides, " shecontinued, "I wish to know a great many things. How did the mulattowoman impress you, Mr. St. George?"

Miss Holland loosened her coat, revealing a little flowery waist, and leaned forward with parted lips. She was very beautiful, withthe beauty of perfect, blooming, colourful youth, without line orshadow. She was in the very noon of youth, but her eyes did notwander after the habit of youth; they were direct and steady and abit critical, and she spoke slowly and with graceful sanity in avoice that was without nationality. She might have been thecultivated English-speaking daughter of almost any land of highcivilization, or she might have been its princess. Her face showedher imaginative; her serene manner reassured one that she had not, in consequence, to pay the usury of lack of judgment; she seemedreflective, tender, and of a fine independence, tempered, however, by tradition and unerring taste. Above all, she seemed alive, receptive, like a woman with ten senses. And--above all again--shehad charm. Finally, St. George could talk with her; he did notanalyze why; he only knew that this woman understood what he said inprecisely the way that he said it, which is, perhaps, the fifthessence in nature. 

"May I tell you?" asked St. George eagerly. "She seemed to me a verywonderful woman, Miss Holland; almost a woman of another world. Sheis not mulatto--her features are quite classic; and she is not afanatic or a mad-woman. She is, of her race, a strangely superiorcreature, and I fancy, of high cultivation; and I am convinced thatat the foundation of her attempt to take your life there is sometremendous secret. I think we must find out what that is, first, foryour own sake; next, because this is the sort of thing that is worthwhile. "

"Ah, " cried Miss Holland, "delightful. I begin to be glad that ithappened. The police said that she was a great brutal negress, and Ithought she must be insane. The cloth-of-gold and the jewels didmake me wonder, but I hardly believed that. "

"The newspapers, " Mr. Frothingham said acidly, "became very muchinvolved in their statements concerning this matter. "

"This 'Tabnit, '" said Miss Holland, and flashed a smile of prettydeference at the lawyer to console him for her total neglect of hiscomment, "in McDougle Street. Who can he be?--he _is_ a man, Isuppose. And where is McDougle Street?"

St. George explained the location, and Mrs. Hastings fretfullycommented. 

"I'm sure, Olivia, " she said, "I think it is frightfully unwomanlyin you--"

"To take so much interest in my own murder?" Miss Holland asked inamusement. "Aunt Dora, I'm going to do more: I suggest that you andMr. Frothingham and I go with Mr. St. George to this address inMcDougle Street--"

"My dear Olivia!" shrilled Mrs. Hastings, "it's in the very heart ofthe Bowery--isn't it, Mr. St. John? And only think--"

It was as if Mrs. Hastings' frustrate words emerged in the fantasticguise of her facial changes. 

"No, it isn't quite the Bowery, Mrs. Hastings, " St. Georgeexplained, "though it won't look unlike. "

"I wish I knew what Mr. Hastings would have done, " his widowmourned, "he always said to me: 'Medora, do only the necessarything. ' Do you think this _is_ the necessary thing--with all thefrightful smells?"

"It is perfectly safe, " ventured St. George, "is it not, Mr. Frothingham?"

Mr. Frothingham bowed and tried to make non-partisanship seem atasteful resignation of his own will. 

"I am at Mrs. Hastings' command, " he said, waving both hands, once, from the wrist. 

"You know the place is really only a few blocks from WashingtonSquare, " St. George submitted. 

Mrs. Hastings brightened. 

"Well, I have some friends in Washington Square, " she said, "peoplewhom I think a great deal of, and always have. If you really feel, Olivia--"

"I do, " said Miss Holland simply, "and let us go now, Aunt Dora. Thebrougham has been at the door since I came in. We may as well drivethere as anywhere, if Mr. St. George is willing. "

"I shall be happy, " said St. George sedately, longing to cry:"Willing! Willing! Oh, Mrs. Hastings and Miss Holland--_willing_!"

Miss Holland and St. George and the lawyer were alone for a fewminutes while Mrs. Hastings rustled away for her bonnet. MissHolland sat where the afternoon light, falling through the cornerwindow, smote her hair to a glory of pale colour, and St. George'seyes wandered to the glass through which the sun fell. It was a thinpane of irregular pieces set in a design of quaint, meaninglesscharacters, in the centre of which was the figure of a sphinx, crucified upon an upright cross and surrounded by a border of coiledasps with winged heads. The window glittered like a sheet of gems. 

"What wonderful glass, " involuntarily said St. George. 

"Is it not?" Miss Holland said enthusiastically. "My father sent it. He sent nearly all these things from abroad. "

"I wonder where such glass is made, " observed St. George; "it islike lace and precious stones--hardly more painted than carved. "

She bent upon him such a sudden, searching look that St. George felthis eyes held by her own. 

"Do you know anything of my father?" she demanded suddenly. 

"Only that Mrs. Hastings has just told me that he is abroad--in theSouth Atlantic, " St. George wonderingly replied. 

"Why, I am very foolish, " said Miss Holland quickly, "we have notheard from him in ten months now, and I am frightfully worried. Ahyes, the glass is beautiful. It was made in one of the SouthAtlantic islands, I believe--so were all these things, " she added;"the same figure of the crucified sphinx is on many of them. "

"Do you know what it means?" he asked. 

"It is the symbol used by the people in one of the islands, myfather said, " she answered. 

"These symbols usually, I believe, " volunteered Mr. Frothingham, frowning at the glass, "have little significance, standing merelyfor the loose barbaric ideas of a loose barbaric nation. "

St. George thought of the ladies of Doctor Johnson's AmicableSociety who walked from the town hall to the Cathedral in Lichfield, "in linen gowns, and each has a stick with an acorn; but for theacorn they could give no reason. "

He looked long at the glass. 

"She, " he said finally, "our false mulatto, ought to stand beforejust such glass. "

Miss Holland laughed. She nodded her head a little, once, every timeshe laughed, and St. George was learning to watch for that. 

"The glass would suit any style of beauty better than steel bars, "she said lightly as Mrs. Hastings came fluttering back. Mrs. Hastings fluttered ponderously, as humblebees fly. Indeed, when oneconsidered, there was really a "blunt-faced bee" look about thewoman. 

The brougham had on the box two men in smart livery; the footman, closing the door, received St. George's reply to Mrs. Hastings'appeal to "tell the man the number of this frightful place. "

"I dare say I haven't been careful, " Mrs. Hastings kept anxiouslyobserving, "I have been heedless, I dare say. And I always thinkthat what one must avoid is heedlessness, don't you think? Didn'tNapoleon say that if only Cæsar had been first in killing the menwho wanted to kill him--something about Pompey's statue being keptclean. What was it--why should they blame Cæsar for the condition ofthe public statues?"

"My dear Mrs. Hastings, " Mr. Frothingham reminded her, his longgloved hands laid trimly along his knees as before, "you are in mycare. "

The statue problem faded from the lady's eyes. 

"Poor, dear Mr. Hastings always said you were so admirable atcross-questioning, " she recalled, partly reassured. 

"Ah, " cried Miss Holland protestingly, "Aunt Dora, this is anadventure. We are going to see 'Tabnit. '"

St. George was silent, ecstatically reviewing the events of the lastsix hours and thinking unenviously of Amory, rocking somewhere with_The Aloha_ on a mere stretch of green water:

"If Chillingworth could see me now, " he thought victoriously, as thecarriage turned smartly into McDougle Street. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PRINCE OF FAR-AWAY

No. 19 McDougle Street had been chosen as a likely market by a"hokey-pokey" man, who had wheeled his cart to the curb before theentrance. There, despite Mrs. Hastings' coach-man's peremptoryappeal, he continued to dispense stained ice-cream to the littledenizens of No. 19 and the other houses in the row. The brougham, however, at once proved a counter-attraction and immediately anopposition group formed about the carriage step and exchangedpenetrating comments upon the livery. 

"Mrs. Hastings, you and Miss Holland would better sit here, perhaps, " suggested St. George, alighting hurriedly, "until I see ifthis man is to be found. "

"Please, " said Miss Holland, "I've always been longing to go intoone of these houses, and now I'm going. Aren't we, Aunt Dora?"

"If you think--" ventured Mr. Frothingham in perplexity; but Mr. Frothingham's perplexity always impressed one as duty-born ratherthan judicious, and Miss Holland had already risen. 

"Olivia!" protested Mrs. Hastings faintly, accepting St. George'shand, "do look at those children's aprons. I'm afraid we'll allcontract fever after fever, just coming this far. "

Unkempt women were occupying the doorstep of No. 19. St. Georgeaccosted them and asked the way to the rooms of a Mr. Tabnit. Theysmiled, displaying their wonderful teeth, consulted together, andfinally with many labials and uncouth pointings of shapely handsthey indicated the door of the "first floor front, " whose woodenshutters were closely barred. St. George led the way and entered thebare, unclean passage where discordant voices and the odours ofcooking wrought together to poison the air. He tapped smartly at thedoor. 

Immediately it was opened by a graceful boy, dressed in a long, belted coat of dun-colour. He had straight black hair, and eyeswhich one saw before one saw his face, and he gravely bowed to eachof the party in turn before answering St. George's question. 

"Assuredly, " said the youth in perfect English, "enter. "

They found themselves in an ample room extending the full depth ofthe house; and partly because the light was dim and partly in sheeramazement they involuntarily paused as the door clicked behind them. The room's contrast to the squalid neighbourhood was complete. Theapartment was carpeted in soft rugs laid one upon another so thatfootfalls were silenced. The walls and ceiling were smoothly coveredwith a neutral-tinted silk, patterned in dim figures; and from afluted pillar of exceeding lightness an enormous candelabrum shedclear radiance upon the objects in the room. The couches and divanswere woven of some light reed, made with high fantastic backs, inperfect purity of line however, and laid with white mattresses. Alittle reed table showed slender pipes above its surface and these, at a touch from the boy, sent to a great height tiny columns ofwater that tinkled back to the square of metal upon which the tablewas set. A huge fan of blanched grasses automatically swayed fromabove. On a side-table were decanters and cups and platters of amaterial frail and transparent. Before the shuttered window stood anobservable plant with coloured leaves. On a great table in theroom's centre were scattered objects which confused the eye. A lightcurtain stirring in the fan's faint breeze hung at the far end ofthe room. 

In a career which had held many surprises, some of which St. Georgewould never be at liberty to reveal to the paper in whose service hehad come upon them, this was one of the most alluring. The mereexistence of this strange and luxurious habitation in the heart ofsuch a neighbourhood would, past expression, delight Mr. Crass, thefeature man, and no doubt move even Chillingworth to approval. Chillingworth and Crass! Already they seemed strangers. St. Georgeglanced at Miss Holland; she was looking from side to side, like abird alighted among strange flowers; she met his eyes and dimpledin frank delight. Mrs. Hastings sat erectly beside her, hertortoise-rimmed glasses expressing bland approval. The improbabilityof her surroundings had quite escaped her in her satisfied discoverythat the place was habitable. The lawyer, his thin lips parted, hishead thrown back so that his hair rested upon his coat collar, remained standing, one long hand upon a coat lapel. 

"Ah, " said Miss Holland softly, "it _is_ an adventure, Aunt Dora. "

St. George liked that. It irritated him, he had once admitted, tosee a woman live as if living were a matter of life and death. Hewished her to be alive to everything, but without suspiciouslyscrutinizing details, like a census-taker. To appreciate did notseem to him properly to mean to assess. Miss Holland, he would havesaid, seemed to live by the beats of her heart and not by the wavesof her hair--but another proof, perhaps, of "if thou likest heropinions thou wilt praise her virtues. "

It was but a moment before the curtain was lifted, and thereapproached a youth, apparently in the twenties, slender anddelicately formed as a woman, his dark face surmounted by a greatdeal of snow-white hair. He was wearing garments of grey, cut inunusual and graceful lines, and his throat was closely wound infolds of soft white, fastened by a rectangular green jewel ofnotable size and brilliance. His eyes, large and of exceeding beautyand gentleness, were fixed upon St. George. 

"Sir, " said St. George, "we have been given this address as onewhere we may be assisted in some inquiries of the utmost importance. The name which we have is simply 'Tabnit. ' Have I the honour--"

Their host bowed. 

"I am Prince Tabnit, " he said quietly. 

St. George, filled with fresh amazement, gravely named himself and, making presentation of the others, purposely omitted the name ofMiss Holland. However, hardly had he finished before their hostbowed before Miss Holland herself. 

"And you, " he said, "you to whom I owe an expiation which I cannever make, --do you know it is my servant who would have taken yourlife?"

In the brief interval following this naïve assertion, his guestswere not unnaturally speechless. Miss Holland, bending slightlyforward, looked at the prince breathlessly. 

"I have suffered, " he went on, "I have suffered indescribably sincethat terrible morning when I missed her and understood her mission. I followed quickly--I was without when you entered, but I came toolate. Since then I have waited, unwilling to go to you, certain thatthe gods would permit the possible. And now--what shall I say?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting Miss Holland's. And in that momentMrs. Hastings found her voice. She curved the chain of hereye-glasses over her ear, threw back her head until thetortoise-rims included her host, and spoke her mind. 

"Well, Prince Tabnit, " she said sharply--quite as if, St. Georgethought, she had been nursery governess to princes all her life--"Imust say that I think your regret comes somewhat late in the day. It's all very well to suffer as you say over what your servant hastried to do. But what kind of man must you be to have such aservant, in the first place? Didn't you know that she was dangerousand blood-thirsty, and very likely a maniac-born?"

Her voice, never modulated in her excitements, was so full that noone heard at that instant a quick, indrawn breath from St. George, having something of triumph and something of terror. Even as helistened he had been running swiftly over the objects in the room tofasten every one in his memory, and his eyes had rested upon thetable at his side. A disc of bronze, supported upon a carven tripod, caught the light and challenged attention to its delicate traceries;and within its border of asps and goat's horns he saw cut in thedull metal a sphinx crucified upon an upright cross--an exactfacsimile of the device upon that strange opalized glass from somefar-away island which he had lately noted in the window in Mrs. Hastings' drawing-room. Instantly his mind was besieged by a volleyof suppositions and imaginings, but even in his intense excitementas to what this simple discovery might bode, he heard the prince'ssoft reply to Mrs. Hastings:

"Madame, " said the prince, "she is a loyal creature. Whatever shedoes, she believes herself to be doing in my service. I trusted her. I believed that such error was impossible to her. "

"Error!" shrilled Mrs. Hastings, looking about her for support andfinding little in the aspect of Mr. Augustus Frothingham, whoappeared to be regarding the whole proceeding as one from which hewas to extract data to be thought out at some future infinitelyremoved. 

As for St. George, he had never had great traffic with a futureinfinitely removed; he had a youthful and somewhat imaginativefashion of striking before the iron was well in the fire. 

"Your servant believed, then, your Highness, " he said clearly, "that in taking Miss Holland's life she was serving you?"

"I must regretfully conclude so. "

St. George rose, holding the little brazen disc which he had takenfrom the table, and confronted his host, compelling his eyes. 

"Perhaps you will tell us, Prince Tabnit, " he said coolly, "what itis that the people who use this device find against Miss Holland'sfather?"

St. George heard Olivia's little broken cry. 

"It is the same!" she exclaimed. "Aunt Dora--Mr. Frothingham--it isthe crucified sphinx that was on so many of the things that fathersent. Oh, " she cried to the prince, "can it be possible that youknow him--that you know anything of my father?"

To St. George's amazement the face of the prince softened and glowedas if with peculiar delight, and he looked at St. George withadmiration. 

"Is it possible, " he murmured, half to himself, "that your race hasalready developed intuition? Are you indeed so near to the Unknown?"

He took quick steps away and back, and turned again to St. George, astrange joy dawning in his face. 

"If there be some who are ready to know!" he said. "Ah, " he recalledhimself penitently to Miss Holland, "your father--Otho Holland, Ihave seen him many times. "

"_Seen Otho_!" shrilled Mrs. Hastings, as pink and trembling andexpressionless as a disturbed mold of jelly. "Oh, poor, dear Otho!Did he live where there are people like your frightful servant?Olivia, think! Maybe he is lying at the bottom of a gorge, allwounded and bloody, with a dagger in his back! Oh, my poor, dearOtho, who used to wheel me about!"

Mrs. Hastings collapsed softly on the divan, her glasses fallen inher lap, her side-combs slipping silently to the rug. Olivia hadrisen and was standing before Prince Tabnit. 

"Tell me, " she said trembling, "when have you seen him? Is he well?"

Prince Tabnit swept the faces of the others and his eyes returned toMiss Holland and dropped to the floor. 

"The last time that I saw him, Miss Holland, " he answered, "wasthree months ago. He was then alive and well. "

Something in his tone chilled St. George and sent a sudden thrill offear to his heart. 

"He was then alive and well?" St. George repeated slowly. "Will youtell us more, your Highness? Will you tell us why the death of hisdaughter should be considered a service to the prince of a countrywhich he had visited?"

"You are very wonderful, " observed the prince, smiling meditativelyat St. George, "and your penetration gives me good news--news thatI had not hoped for, yet. I can not tell you all that you ask, but Ican tell you much. Will you sit down?"

He turned and glanced at the curtain at the far end of the room. Instantly the boy servant appeared, bearing a tray on which wereplaced, in dishes of delicate-coloured filigree, strange daintiesnot to be classified even by a cosmopolitan, with his Flemish andFinnish and all but Icelandic cafés in every block. 

"Pray do me the honour, " the prince besought, taking the dishes fromthe hands of the boy. "It gives me pleasure, Miss Holland, to tellyou that your father has no doubt had these very plates set beforehim. "

Upon a little table he deftly arranged the dishes with all thesmiling ease of one to whom afternoon tea is the only businesstoward, and to whom an attempted murder is wholly alien. Heimpressed St. George vaguely as one who seemed to have risen fromthe dead of the crudities of mere events and to be living in a rareratmosphere. The lawyer's face was a study. Mr. Augustus Frothinghamnever went to the theatre because he did not believe that a man ofaffairs should unduly stimulate the imagination. 

There was set before them honey made by bees fed only upon atropical flower of rare fragrance; cakes flavoured with wine thathad been long buried; a paste of cream, thick with rich nuts andwith the preserved buds of certain flowers; and little whiteberries, such as the Japanese call "pinedews"; there was a teadistilled from the roots of rare exotics, and other things savouryand fantastic. So potent was the spell of the prince's hospitality, and so gracious the insistence with which he set before them thestrange and odourous dishes, that even Olivia, eager almost to tearsfor news of her father, and Mrs. Hastings, as critical andsuspicious as some beetle with long antennæ, might not refuse them. As for Mr. Augustus Frothingham, although this might be Cagliostro'sspagiric food, or "extract of Saturn, " for aught that his previousexperience equipped him to deny, yet he nibbled, and gazed, and wasconstrained to nibble again. 

When they had been served, Prince Tabnit abruptly began speaking, the while turning the fine stem of his glass in his delicatefingers. 

"You do not know, " he said simply, "where the island of Yaque lies?"

Mrs. Hastings sat erect. 

"Yaque!" she exclaimed. "That was the name of the place where yourfather was, Olivia. I know I remembered it because it wasn't likethe man What's-his-name in _As You Like It_, and because it didn'tbegin with a J. "

"The island is my home, " Prince Tabnit continued, "and now, for thefirst time, I find myself absent from it. I have come a longjourney. It is many miles to that little land in the eastern seas, that exquisite bit of the world, as yet unknown to any save theisland-men. We have guarded its existence, but I have no fear totell you, for no mariner, unaided by an islander, could steer acourse to its coasts. And I can tell you little about the island forreasons which, if you will forgive me, you would hardly understand. I must tell you something of it, however, that you may know theremarkable conditions which led to the introduction of Mr. Hollandto Yaque. 

"The island of Yaque, " continued the prince, "or Arqua, as the namewas written by the ancient Phoenicians, has been ruled by hereditarymonarchs since 1050 B. C. , when it was settled. "

"What date did I understand you to say, sir?" demanded Mr. AugustusFrothingham. 

The prince smiled faintly. 

"I am well aware, " he said, "that to the western mind--indeed, toany modern mind save our own--I shall seem to be speaking inmockery. None the less, what I am saying is exact. It is believedthat the enterprises of the Phoenicians in the early ages took thembut a short distance, if at all, beyond the confines of theMediterranean. It is merely known that, in the period of which Ispeak, a more adventurous spirit began to be manifested, and theStraits of Gibraltar were passed and settlements were made inIberia. But how far these adventurers actually penetrated has beenrecorded only in those documents that are in the hands of mypeople--descendants of the boldest of these mariners who pushedtheir galleys out into the Atlantic. At this time the king of Tyrewas Abibaal, soon to be succeeded by his son Hiram, the friend, youwill remember, of King David, --"

Mr. Frothingham, who did not go to the theatre for fear of excitinghis imagination, uttered the soft non-explosion which should havebeen speech. 

"King Abibaal, " continued the prince, "who maintained his court ingreat pomp, had a younger and favourite son who bore his own name. He was a wild youth of great daring, and upon the accession ofHiram to the throne he left Tyre and took command of a galley ofadventuresome spirits, who were among the first to pass thestraits and gain the open sea. The story of their wild voyage Ineed not detail; it is enough to say that their trireme waswrecked upon the coast of Yaque; and Abibaal and those who joinedhim--among them many members of the court circle and even of theroyal family--settled and developed the island. And there the racehas remained without taint of admixture, down to the present day. Of what was wrought on the island I can tell you little, thoughthe time will come when the eyes of the whole world will beturned upon Yaque as the forerunner of mighty things. Ruled overby the descendants of Abibaal, the islanders have dwelt in peaceand plenty for nearly three thousand years--until, in fact, lessthan a year ago. Then the line thus traceable to King Hiramhimself abruptly terminated with the death of King Chelbes, without issue. "

Again Mr. Frothingham attempted to speak, and again he collapsedsoftly, without expression, according to his custom. As for St. George, he was remembering how, when he first went to the paper, hehad invariably been sent to the anteroom to listen to the dailytales of invention, oppression and projects for which a continualprocession of the more or less mentally deficient wished the_Sentinel_ to stand sponsor. St. George remembered in particular oneyoung student who soberly claimed to have invented wirelesstelegraphy and who molested the staff for months. Was this oliveprince, he wondered, going to prove himself worth only a half-columnon a back page, after all?

"I understand you to say, " said St. George, with the wearyself-restraint of one who deals with lunatics, "that the line ofKing Hiram, the friend of King David of Israel, became extinct lessthan a year ago?"

The prince smiled. 

"Do not conceal your incredulity, " he said liberally, "for Iforgive it. You see, then, " he went on serenely, "how in Yaque thequestion of the succession became engrossing. The matter was notmerely one of ascendancy, for the Yaquians are singularly free fromambition. But their pride in their island is boundless. They see inher the advance guard of civilization, the peculiar people to whomhave come to be intrusted many of the secrets of being. For I shouldtell you that my people live a life that is utterly beyond the kenof all, save a few rare minds in each generation. My people livewhat others dream about, what scientists struggle to fathom, whatthe keenest philosophers and economists among you can not formulate. We are, " said Prince Tabnit serenely, "what the world will be athousand years from now. "

"Well, I'm sure, " Mrs. Hastings broke in plaintively, "that I hopeyour servant, for instance, is not a sample of what the world iscoming to!"

The prince smiled indulgently, as if a child had laid a little, detaining hand upon his sleeve. 

"Be that as it may, " he said evenly, "the throne of Yaque was stillempty. Many stood near to the crown, but there seemed no reason forchoosing one more than another. One party wished to name the head ofthe House of the Litany, in Med, the King's city, who was the chiefadministrator of justice. Another, more democratic than these, wished to elevate to the throne a man from whose family we had wonknowledge of both perpetual motion and the Fourth Dimension--"

St. George smiled angelically, as one who resignedly sees the lastfragments of a shining hope float away. This quite settled it. Theolive prince was crazy. Did not St. George remember the old man inthe frayed neckerchief and bagging pockets who had brought to theoffice of the _Sentinel_ chart after chart about perpetual motion, until St. George and Amory had one day told him gravely that theyhad a machine inside the office then that could make more things gofor ever than he had ever dreamed of, though they had _not_ saidthat the machine was named Chillingworth. 

"You have knowledge of both these things?" asked St. Georgeindulgently. 

"Yaque understood both those laws, " said the prince quietly, "whenWilliam the Conqueror came to England. "

He hesitated for a moment and then, regardless of another softexplosion from Mr. Frothingham's lips, he added:

"Do you not see? Will you not understand? It is our knowledge of theFourth Dimension which has enabled us to keep our island a secret. "

St. George suddenly thrilled from head to foot. What if he werespeaking the truth? What if this man were speaking the truth?

"Moreover, " resumed the prince, "there were those among us who hadlong believed that new strength would come to my people by theintroduction of an inhabitant of one of the continents. His comingwould, however, necessitate his sovereignty among us, in fulfilmentof an ancient Phoenician law, providing that the state, and everysatrapy therein, shall receive no service, either of blood or ofbond, nor enter into the marriage contract with an alien; from whichlaw only the royal house is exempt. Thus were the two needs of ourland to be served by the means to which we had recourse. For therebeing no way to settle the difficulty, we vowed to leave the matterto Chance, that great patient arbiter of destinies of which yourcivilization takes no account, save to reduce it to slavery. Accordingly each inhabitant of the island took a solemn oath toawait, with an open mind free from choice or prejudice, thesettlement of the event, certain that the gods would permit thepossible. Five days after this decision our watchers upon the hillssighted a South African transport bound for the Azores to coal. Ahundred miles from our coast she was wrecked, and it was thoughtthat all on board had been lost. A submarine was ordered to thespot--"

"Do you mean, " interrupted St. George, "that you were able to seethe wreck at that distance?"

"Certainly, " said the prince. "Pray forgive me, " he added winningly, "if I seem to boast. It is difficult for me to believe that yourappliances are so immature. We were using steamship navigation andlimiting our vision at the time of Pericles, but the futility ofthese was among our first discoveries. "

Involuntarily St. George turned to Miss Holland. What would shethink, he found himself wondering. Her eyes were luminous and herbreath was coming quickly; he was relieved to find that she had notthe infectious vulgarity to doubt the possibility of what seemedimpossible. This was one of the qualities of Mr. AugustusFrothingham, who had assumed an air of polite interest and anaccurately cynical smile, and the manner of generously lending hisprofessional attention to any of the vagaries of the client. Mrs. Hastings stirred uneasily. 

"I'm sure, " she said fretfully, "that I must be very stupid, but Isimply can _not_ follow you. Why, you talk about things that don'texist! My husband, who was a very practical and advanced man, wouldhave shown you at once that what you say is impossible. "

Here was the attitude of the Commonplace the world over, thought St. George: to believe in wireless telegraphy simply because it hasbeen found out, and to disbelieve in the Fourth Dimension because ithas not been. 

"I can not explain these things, " admitted the prince gravely, "andI dare say that you could prove that they do not exist, just as aman from another planet could show us to his own satisfaction thatthere are no such things as music or colour. "

"Go on, please, " said Olivia eagerly. 

"Olivia, I'm sure, " protested Mrs. Hastings, "I think it's veryunwomanly of you to show such an interest in these things. "

"Will you bear with me for one moment, Mrs. Hastings?" begged theprince, "and perhaps I shall be able to interest you. The submarinereturned, bringing the sole survivor of the wreck of the Africantransport. "

"Ah, now, " Mrs. Hastings assured him blandly, "you are dealing withthings that can happen. My brother Otho, my niece's father, was justthis last year the sole survivor of the wreck of a very importantvessel. "

"I have the honour, Mrs. Hastings, to be narrating to you thecircumstances attending the discovery of your brother and MissHolland's father, after the wreck of that vessel. "

"My father?" cried Olivia. 

The prince bowed. 

"After this manner, Chance had rewarded us. We crowned your fatherKing of Yaque. "

CHAPTER V

OLIVIA PROPOSES

Prince Tabnit's announcement was received by his guests in thesilence of amazement. If they had been told that Miss Holland'sfather was secretly acting as King of England they could have beenno more profoundly startled than to hear stated soberly that he hadbeen for nearly a year the king of a cannibal island. For thecannibal phase of his experience seemed a foregone conclusion. ToSt. George, profoundly startled and most incredulous, the possiblehumour of the situation made first appeal. The picture of anAmerican gentleman seated upon a gold throne in a leopard-skin coat, ordering "oysters and foes" for breakfast, was irresistible. 

 "But he shaved with a shell when he chose, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man"

floated through his mind, and he brought himself up sharply. Clearly, somebody was out of his head, but it must not be he. 

"What?" cried Mrs. Hastings in two inelegant syllables, on thesecond of which her uncontrollable voice rose. "My brother Otho, avestry-man at St. Mark's--"

"Aunt Dora!" pleaded Olivia. "Tell us, " she besought the prince. 

"King Otho I of Yaque, " the prince was begining, but the title wasnot to be calmly received by Mrs. Hastings. 

"_King_ Otho!" she articulated. "Then--am I royalty?"

"All who may possibly succeed to the throne Blackstone holds to beroyalty, " said the lawyer in an edictal voice, and St. George lookedaway from Olivia. 

_The Princess Olivia_!

"King Otho, " continued the prince, "ruled wisely and well for sevenmonths, and it was at the beginning of that time that the imperialsubmarine was sent to the Azores with letters and a packet to you. The enterprise, however, was attended by so great danger ofdiscovery that it was never repeated. This is why, for so long, youhave had no word from the king. And now I come, " said the princewith hesitation, "to the difficult part of my narrative. "

He paused and Mr. Frothingham rushed to his assistance. 

"As the family solicitor, " said the lawyer, pursing his lips, andwaving his hands, once, from the wrists, "would you not betterdivulge to my ear alone, the--a--"

"No--no!" flashed Olivia. "No, Mr. Frothingham--please. "

The prince inclined his head. 

"Will it surprise you, Miss Holland, " he said, "to learn that I mademy voyage to this country expressly to seek you out?"

"To seek me?" exclaimed Olivia. "But--has anything happened to myfather?"

"We hope not, " replied the prince, "but what I have to tell willnone the less occasion you anxiety. Briefly, Miss Holland, it ismore than three months since your father suddenly and mysteriouslydisappeared from Yaque, leaving absolutely no clue to hiswhereabouts. "

A little cry broke from Olivia's lips that went to St. George'sheart. Mrs. Hastings, with a gesture that was quite wild and senther bonnet hopelessly to one side, burst into a volley ofexclamations and demands. 

"Who did it?" she wailed. "Who did it? Otho is a gentleman. Hewould never have the bad taste to disappear, like all thosedreadful people's wives, if somebody hadn't--"

"My dear Madame, " interposed Mr. Frothingham, "calm--calmyourself. There are families of undisputed position whichrecord disappearances in several generations. "

"Please, " pleaded Olivia. "Ah, tell us, " she begged the princeagain. 

"There is, unfortunately, but little to tell, Miss Holland, " saidthe prince with sympathetic regret. "I had the honour, three monthsago, to entertain the king, your father, at dinner. We parted atmidnight. His Majesty seemed--"

"His Majesty!" repeated Mrs. Hastings, smiling up at the oppositewall as if her thought saw glories. 

"--in the best of health and spirits, " continued the prince. "Ameeting of the High Council was to be held at noon on the followingday. The king did not appear. From that moment no eye in Yaque hasfallen upon him. "

"One moment, your Highness, " said St. George quickly; "in theabsence of the king, who presides over the High Council?"

"As the head of the House of the Litany, the chief administrator ofjustice, it is I, " said the prince with humility. 

"Ah, yes, " St. George said evenly. 

"But what have you done?" cried Olivia. "Have you had search made?Have you--"

"Everything, " the prince assured her. "The island is not large. Nota corner of it remains unvisited. The people, who were devoted tothe king, your father, have sought night and day. There is, it ishardly right to conceal from you, " the prince hesitated, "acircumstance which makes the disappearance the more alarming. "

"Tell us. Keep nothing from us, I beg, Prince Tabnit, " besoughtOlivia. 

"For centuries, " said the prince slowly, "there has been in thekeeping of the High Council of the island a casket, containing whatis known as the Hereditary Treasure. This casket, with some of thefinest of its jewels, was left by King Abibaal himself. Since histime every king of the island has upon his death bequeathed to thecasket the finest jewel in his possession; and its contents are nowtherefore of inestimable value. The circumstance to which I refer isthat two days after the disappearance of the king, your father, which spread grief and alarm through all Yaque, it was discoveredthat the Hereditary Treasure was gone. "

"Gone!" burst from the lips of the prince's auditors. 

"As utterly as if the Fifth Dimension had received it, " the princegravely assured them. "The loss, as you may imagine, is a grievousone. The High Council immediately issued a proclamation that if thetreasure be not restored by a certain date--now barely two weeksaway--a heavy tax will be levied upon the people to make good, inthe coin of the realm, this incalculable loss. Against this thepeople, though they are a people of peace, are murmurous. "

"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Hastings. "Great loyalty it is that sets up theloss of their trumpery treasure over and above the loss of theirking, my brother Otho! If, " she shrilled indignantly, "we are notunwise to listen to this at all. What is it you think? What is ityour people think?"

She raised her head until she had framed the prince intortoise-shell. Mrs. Hastings never held her head quite still. Itcontinually waved about a little, so that usually, even in peace, itintimated indignation; and when actual indignation set in, the jeton her bonnet tinkled and ticked like so many angry sparrows. 

"Madame, " said the prince, "there are those among his Majesty'ssubjects who would willingly lay down their lives for him. But he isa stranger to us--come of an alien race; and the doubledisappearance is a most tragic occurrence, which the burden of thetax has emphasized. To be frank, were his Majesty to reappear inYaque without the treasure having been found--"

"Oh!" breathed Mrs. Hastings, "they would kill him!"

The prince shuddered and set his white teeth in his nether lip. 

"The gods forbid, " he said. "Such primeval punishment is as unknownamong us as is war itself. How little you know my people; howpitifully your instincts have become--forgive me--corrupted byliving in this barbarous age of yours, fumbling as you do atcivilization. With us death is a sacred rite, the highest tributeand the last sacrifice to the Absolute. Our dying are carried to theTemple of the Worshipers of Distance, and are there consecrated. The limit of our punishment would be aerial exposure--"

"You mean?" cried St. George. 

"I mean that in extreme cases we have, with due rite and ceremonial, given a victim to an airship, without ballast or rudder, andabundantly provisioned. Then with solemn ritual we have set himadrift--an offering to the great spirits of space--so that he maycome to know. This, " the prince paused in emotion, "this is theworst that could befall your father. "

"How horrible!" cried Olivia. "Oh, how horrible. "

"Oh, " Mrs. Hastings moaned, "he was born to it. He was born to it. When he was six he tied kites to his arms and jumped out the windowof the cupola and broke his collar bone--oh, Otho, --oh Heaven, --andI made him eat oatmeal gruel three times a day when he was gettingwell. "

"Prince Tabnit, " said St. George, "I beg you not to jest with us. Have consideration for the two to whom this man is dear. "

"I am speaking truth to you, " said the prince earnestly. "I do notwish to alarm these ladies, but I am bound in honour to tell youwhat I know. "

"Ah then, " said St. George, his narrowed eyes meeting those of theprince, "since the taking of life is unknown to you in Yaque, willyou explain how it was that your servant adopted such unerringmeans to take the life of Miss Holland? And why?"

"My servant, " said the prince readily, "belongs to the lahnas orformer serfs of the island. Upon her people, now the owners of richlands, the tax will fall heavily. Crazed by what she considers herpeople's wrongs following upon the coming of the stranger sovereign, the poor creature must have developed the primitive instincts ofyour race. Before coming to this country my servant had never heardof murder save as a superseded custom of antiquity, like thecrucifying of lions. Her discovery of your daily practice of murder, and of murder practised as a cure for crime--"

"Sir, " began the lawyer imposingly. 

"--wakened in her the primitive instincts of humanity, and herinstinct took the deplorable and fanatic form of your own courts, "finished the prince. "Her bitterness toward his Majesty she soughtto visit upon his daughter. "

Olivia sprang to her feet. 

"I must go to my father. I must go to Yaque, " she cried ringingly. "Prince Tabnit, will you take me to him?"

Into the prince's face leaped a fire of admiration for her beautyand her daring. He bowed before her, his lowered lashes making thickshadows on his dark cheeks. 

"I insist upon this, " cried little Olivia firmly, "and if you do notpermit it, Prince Tabnit, we must publish what you have told usfrom one end of the city to the other. "

"Yes, by Jove, " thought St. George, "and one's country will have aYaque exhibit in its own department at the next world's fair. "

"Olivia! My child! Miss Holland--, " began the lawyer. 

The prince spoke tranquilly. 

"It is precisely this errand, " he said, "that has brought me toAmerica. Do you not see that, in the event of your father's failureto return to his people, you will eventually be Queen of Yaque?"

St. George found himself looking fixedly at Mrs. Hastings' falsefront as the only reality in the room. If in a minute Rollo wasgoing to waken him by bringing in his coffee, he was going tothrottle Rollo--that was all. Olivia Holland, an American heiress, the hereditary princess of a cannibal island! St. George stillinsisted upon the cannibal; it somehow gave him a foothold among theactualities. 

"I!" cried Olivia. 

Mrs. Hastings, brows lifted, lips parted, winked with lightningrapidity in an effort to understand. 

St. George pulled himself together. 

"Your Highness, " he said sternly, "there are several things uponwhich I must ask you to enlighten us. And the first, which I hopeyou will forgive, is whether you have any direct proof that whatyou tell us of Miss Holland's father is true. "

"That's it! That's it!" Mr. Frothingham joined him with all theimportance of having made the suggestion. "We can hardly proceed indue order without proofs, sir. "

The prince turned toward the curtain at the room's end and the youthappeared once more, this time bearing a light oval casket ofdelicate workmanship. It was of a substance resembling both glassand metal of changing, rainbow tints, and it passed through St. George's mind as he observed it that there must be, to give such adazzling and unreal effect, more than seven colours in the spectrum. 

"A spectrum of seven colours, " said the prince at the same moment, "could not, of course, produce this surface. I confess that until Icame to this country I did not know that you had so few colours. Ourspectrum already consists of twelve colours visible to the nakedeye, and at least five more are distinguishable through our powerfulmagnifying glasses. "

St. George was silent. It was as if he had suddenly been permittedto look past the door that bars and threatens all knowledge. 

The prince unlocked the casket. He drew out first a quantity ofpaper of extreme thinness and lightness on which, embossed andemblazoned, was the coat of arms of the Hollands--a sheaf of wheatand an unicorn's head--and this was surmounted by a crown. 

"This, " said the prince, "is now the device upon the signet ring ofthe King of Yaque, the arms of your own family. And here chances tobe a letter from your father containing some instructions to me. Itis true that writing has with us been superseded by wirelesscommunication, excepting where there is need of great secrecy. Thenwe employ the alphabet of any language we choose, these being almostdisused, as are the Cuneiform and Coptic to you. "

"And how is it, " St. George could not resist asking, "that you knowand speak the English?"

The prince smiled swiftly. 

"To you, " he said, "who delve for knowledge and who do not know thatit is absolute and to be possessed at will, this can not now be madeclear. Perhaps some day. .. "

Olivia had taken the paper from the prince and pressed it to herlips, her eyes filling with tears. There was no mistaking thatevidence, for this was her father's familiar hand. 

"Otho always did write a fearful scrawl, " Mrs. Hastings commented, "his l's and his t's and his vowels were all the same height. I usedto tell him that I didn't know whatever people would think. "

"I may, moreover, " continued the prince, "call to mind severalarticles which were included in the packet sent from the Azores byhis Majesty. You have, for example, a tapestry representing an ibishunt; you have an image in pink sutro, or soft marble, of an ancientPhoenician god--Melkarth. And you have a length of stained glassbearing the figure of the Tyrian sphinx, crucified, and surroundedby coiled asps. "

"Yes, it is true, " said Olivia, "we have all these things. "

"Why, the trash must be quite expensive, " observed Mrs. Hastings. "Idon't care much for so many colours myself, perhaps because I alwayswear black; though I did wear light colours a good deal when I was agirl. "

"What else, Mr. St. George?" inquired the prince pleasantly. 

"Nothing else, " cried Olivia passionately. "I am satisfied. Myfather is in danger, and I believe that he is in Yaque, for he wouldnever of his own will desert a place of trust. I must go to him. And, Aunt Dora, you and Mr. Frothingham must go with me. "

"Oh, Olivia!" wailed Mrs. Hastings, a different key for everysyllable, "think--consider! Is it the necessary thing to do? Andwhat would your poor dear uncle have done? And is there a better waythan his way? For I always say that it is not really necessary to doas my poor dear husband would have done, providing only that we canfind a better way. Oh, " she mourned, lifting her hands, "that thisfrightful thing should come to me at my age. Otho may be married toa cannibal princess, with his sons catching wild goats by the hairlike Tennyson and the whistling parrots--"

"Madame, " said the prince coldly, "forgets what I have been sayingof my country. "

"I do not forget, " declared Mrs. Hastings sharply, "but being behindcivilization and being ahead of civilization comes to the same thingmore than once. In morals it does. "

St. George was silent. Olivia's splendid daring in her passionatedecision to go to her father stirred him powerfully; moreover, herwords outlined a possible course of his own whose magnitude startledhim, and at the same time filled him with a sudden, dazzling hope. 

"But where is your island, Prince Tabnit?" he asked. "You'venaturally no consul there and no cable, since you are not even onthe map. "

"Yaque, " said the prince readily, "lies almost due southwest fromthe Azores. "

Mr. Frothingham stirred skeptically. 

"But such an island, " he said pompously, "so rich in material forthe archaeologist, the anthropologist, the explorer in all fields ofantiquity--ah, it is out of the question, out of the question!"

"It is difficult, " said the prince patiently, "most difficult for meto make myself intelligible to you--as difficult, if you willforgive me, as if you were to try to explain calculus to one of thestreet boys outside. But directly your phase of civilization hasopened to you the secrets of the Fourth Dimension, much will bediscovered to you which you do not now discern or dream, and amongthese, Yaque. I do not jest, " he added wearily, "neither do I expectyou to believe me. But I have told you the truth. And it would beimpossible for you to reach Yaque save in the company of one of theislanders to whom the secret is known. I can not explain to you, anymore than I can explain harmony or colour. "

"Well, I'm sure, " cried Mrs. Hastings fretfully, "I don't know whyyou all keep wandering from the subject so. Now, my brother Otho--"

"Prince Tabnit, "--Olivia's voice never seemed to interrupt, butrather to "divide evidence finely" at the proper moment--"how longwill it take us to reach Yaque?"

St. George thrilled at that "us. "

"My submarine, " replied the prince, "is plying about outside theharbour. I arrived in four days. "

"By the way, " St. George submitted, "since your wireless system isperfected, why can not we have news of your island from here?"

"The curve of the earth, " explained the prince readily, "prevents. We have conquered only those problems with which we have had todeal. The curve of the earth has of course never entered ourcalculation. We have approached the problem from anotherstandpoint. "

"We have much to do, Prince Tabnit, " said Olivia; "when may weleave?"

"Command me, " said Prince Tabnit, bowing. 

"To-morrow!" cried Olivia, "to-morrow, at noon. "

"Olivia!" Mrs. Hastings' voice broke over the name like ice upon awarm promontory. Mrs. Hastings' voice was suited to say "Keziah" or"Katinka, " not Olivia. 

"Can you go, Mr. Frothingham?" demanded Olivia. 

Mr. Frothingham's long hands hung down and he looked as if she hadproposed a jaunt to Mars. 

"My physician has ordered a sea-change, " he mumbled doubtfully, "mydaughter Antoinette--I--really--there is nothing in all myexperience--"

"Olivia!" Mrs. Hastings in tears was superintending the search forboth side-combs. 

"Aunt Dora, " said Olivia, "you're not going to fail me now. PrinceTabnit--at noon to-morrow. Where shall we meet?"

St. George listened, glowing. 

"May I have the honour, " suggested the prince, "of waiting upon youat noon to conduct you? And I need hardly say that we undertake thejourney under oath of secrecy?"

"Anything--anything!" cried Olivia. 

"Oh, my dear Olivia, " breathed Mrs. Hastings weakly, "taking me, atmy age, into this awful place of Four Dimentias--or whatever it wasyou said. "

"We will be ready to go with you at noon, " said Olivia steadily. 

St. George held his peace as they made their adieux. A great manythings remained to be thought out, but one was clear enough. 

The boy servant ran before them to the door. They made their way tothe street in the early dusk. A hurdy-gurdy on the curb was bubblingover with merry discords, and was flanked by garrulous Italians withpush-carts, lighted by flaring torches. Men were returning fromwork, children were quarreling, women were in doorways, and apoliceman was gossiping with the footman in a knot of watchingidlers. With a sigh that was like a groan, Mrs. Hastings sank backon the cushions of the brougham. 

"I feel, " she said, eyes closed, "as if I had been in a pagan templewhere they worship oracles and what's-his-names. What time is it? Ihaven't an idea. Dear, dear, I want to get home and feel as if myfeet were on land and water again. I want some strong sleep and agood sound cup of coffee, and then I shall know what's actuallywhat. "

To St. George the slow drive up town was no less unreal than theirvisit. His head was whirling, a hundred plans and speculationsfilled his mind, and through these Mrs Hastings' chatter offorebodings and the lawyer's patterned utterance hardly found theirway. At his own street he was set down, with Mrs. Hastings'permission to call next day. 

Miss Holland gave him her hand. 

"I can not thank you, " she said, "I can not thank you. But try toknow, won't you, what this has been to me. Until to-morrow. "

Until to-morrow. St. George stood in the brightness of the streetlooking after the vanishing carriage, his hand tingling from hertouch. Then he went up to his apartment and met Rollo--sleek, deferential, the acme of the polite barbarism in which the princehad made St. George feel that he and his world were living. Ah, hethought, as Rollo took his hat, this was no way to live, with thewhole world singing to be discovered anew. 

He sat down before the trim little white table with its pretty chinaand silver and its one rose-shaded candle, but the doubtful contentof comfort was suddenly not enough. The spirit of the road and ofthe chase was in his veins, and he was aglow with "the taste forpilgriming. " He looked about on the simple luxury with which he hadsurrounded himself, and he welcomed his farewell to it. And whenRollo had gone up stairs to complain in person of the shad-roe, St. George spoke aloud:

"If Miss Holland sails for Yaque to-morrow on the prince'ssubmarine, " he said, "_The Aloha_ and I will follow her. "

CHAPTER VI

TWO LITTLE MEN

Next morning St. George was early astir. He had slept little and hisdreams had been grotesques. He threw up his blind and looked acrossbuildings to the grey park. The sky was marked with rose, the stillreservoir gave back colour upon its breast, and the tower upon itsmargin might have been some guttural-christened castle on the Rhine. St. George drew a deep breath of good, new air and smiled for thesake of the things that the day was to bring him. He was in thegolden age when the youthful expectation of enjoyment is justbeginning to be savoured by the inevitable longing for more light, and he seemed to himself to be alluringly near the verge of both. 

His first care the evening before had been to hunt outChillingworth. He had found him in a theatre and had got him out tothe foyer and kept him through the third act, pouring in his ears asmuch as he felt that it was well for him to know. Chillingworth haddrawn his square, brown hands through his hair and, in lieu ofcopy-paper, had nibbled away his programme and paced the corner bythe cloak-room. 

"It looks like a great big thing, " said the city editor; "don't youthink it looks like a great big thing?"

"Extraordinarily so, " assented St. George, watching him. 

"Can you handle it alone, do you think?" Chillingworth demanded. 

"Ah, well now, that depends, " replied St. George. "I'll see itthrough, if it takes me to Yaque. But I'd like you to promise, Mr. Chillingworth, that you won't turn Crass loose at it while I'm gone, with his feverish head-lines. Mrs. Hastings and her niece must bespared that, at all events. "

"Don't you be a sentimental idiot, " snapped Chillingworth, "andspoil the biggest city story the paper ever had. Why, this may drawthe whole United States into a row, and mean war and a newpossession and maybe consulates and governorships and one thing oranother for the whole staff. St. George, don't spoil the sport. Remember, I'm dropsical and nobody can tell what may happen. By theway, where did you say this prince man is?"

"Ah, I didn't say, " St. George had answered quietly. "If you'llforgive me, I don't think I shall say. "

"Oh, you don't, " ejaculated Chillingworth. "Well, you please bearound at eight o'clock in the morning. "

St. George watched him walking sidewise down the aisle as he alwayswalked when he was excited. Chillingworth was a good sort at heart, too; but given, as the bishop had once said of some one else, tospending right royally a deal of sagacity under the obviousimpression that this is the only wisdom. 

At his desk next morning Chillingworth gave to St. George a notefrom Amory, who had been at Long Branch with _The Aloha_ when theletter was posted and was coming up that noon to put ashoreBennietod. 

"May Cawthorne have his day off to-morrow and go with me?" theletter ended. "I'll call up at noon to find out. "

"Yah!" growled Chillingworth, "it's breaking up the whole staff, that's what it's doin'. You'll all want cut-glass typewriters next. "

"If I should sail to-day, " observed St. George, quite as if he wereboarding a Sound steamer, "I'd like to take on at least two men. AndI'd like Amory and Cawthorne. You could hardly go yourself, couldyou, Mr. Chillingworth?"

"No, I couldn't, " growled Chillingworth, "I've got to keep my tastesdown. And I've got to save up to buy kid gloves for the staff. Lookhere--" he added, and hesitated. 

"Yes?" St. George complied in some surprise. 

"Bennietod's half sick anyway, " said Chillingworth, "he's thin aswater, and if you would care--"

"By all means then, " St. George assented heartily, "I would careimmensely. Bennietod sick is like somebody else healthy. Will youmind getting Amory on the wire when he calls up, and tell him toshow up without fail at my place at noon to-day? And to wait therefor me. "

Little Cawthorne, with a pair of shears quite a yard long, wassitting at his desk clipping jokes for the fiction page. He washumming a weary little tune to the effect that "Billy Enny took apenny but now he hadn't many--Lookie They!" with which he whiledaway the hours of his gravest toil, coming out strongly on the"Lookie They!" until Benfy on the floor above pounded for quietwhich he never got. 

"Cawthorne, " said St. George, "it may be that I'm leaving to-nighton the yacht for an island out in the southeast. And the chief saysthat you and Amory are to go along. Can you go?"

Little Cawthorne's blue eyes met St. George's steadily for a moment, and without changing his gaze he reached for his hat. 

"I can get the page done in an hour, " he promised, "and I can packmy thirty cents in ten minutes. Will that do?"

St. George laughed. 

"Ah, well now, this goes, " he said. "Ask Chillingworth. Don't tellany one else. "

"'Billy Enny took a penny, '" hummed Little Cawthorne in perfecttranquillity. 

St. George set off at once for the McDougle Street house. A thousanddoubts beset him and he felt that if he could once more be face toface with the amazing prince these might be better cleared away. Moreover, the glimpses which the prince had given him of a worldwhich seemed to lie as definitely outside the bourne of presentknowledge as does death itself filled St. George with unrest, spicedhis incredulity with wonder, and he found himself longing to talkmore of the things at which the strange man had hinted. 

The squalor of the street was even less bearable in the earlymorning. St. George wondered, as he hurried across from the GrandStreet station, how the prince had understood that he must not onlyavoid the great hotels, but that he must actually seek outincredible surroundings like these to be certain of privacy. Foronly the very poor are sufficiently immersed in their own affairs tobe guiltless of curiosity, save indeed a kind of surface morbidwonderment at crêpe upon a door or the coming of a well-dressedwoman to their neighbourhood. The prince might have lived inMcDougle Street for years without exciting more than derisivecomment of the denizens, derision being no other than their humourgone astray. 

St. George tapped at the door which the night before had admittedhim to such revelation. There was no answer, and a repeated summonsbrought no sound from within. At length he tentatively touched thelatch. The door opened. The room was quite empty. No remnant offurniture remained. 

He entered, involuntarily peering about as if he expected to findthe prince in a dusty corner. The windows were still shuttered, andhe threw open the blinds, admitting rectangles of sunlight. He couldhave found it in his heart, as he looked blankly at the four walls, to doubt that he had been there at all the night before, soemphatically did the surroundings deny that they had ever harboureda title. But on the floor at his feet lay a scrap of paper, twistedand torn. He picked it up. It was traced in indistinguishablecharacters, but it bore the Holland coat of arms and crown which theprince had shown them. St. George put the paper in his pocket andquestioned a group of boys in the passage. 

"Yup, " shouted one of the boys with that prodigality of intonationdistinguishing the child of the streets, who makes every statementas if his word had just been contradicted out of hand, "he means debloke wid de black block. Aw, he lef' early dis mornin' wid 's junkfollerin. ' Dey's two of 'em. Wot's he t'ink? Dis ain't no Nigger'sRest. Dis yere's all Eyetalian. "

St. George hurried to Fifty-ninth Street. It was not yet teno'clock, but the departure of the prince made him vaguely uneasy andfor his life he could not have waited longer. Perhaps it was nottrue at all; perhaps none of it had happened. The McDougle Streetpart had vanished; what if the Boris too were a myth? But as hesprang up the steps at the apartment house St. George knew better. The night before her hand had lain in his for an infinitesimal time, and she had said "Until to-morrow. "

On sending his name to Mrs. Hastings he was immediately bidden toher apartment. He found the drawing-room in confusion--the furniturecovered with linen, the bric-à-brac gone, and three steamer trunksstrapped and standing outside the door. All of which mattered to himless than nothing, for Olivia was there alone. 

She came down the dismantled room to meet him, smiling a little andvery pale but, St. George thought, even more beautiful than she hadbeen the day before. She was dressed for walking and had on a soberlittle hat, and straightway St. George secretly wondered how hecould ever have approved of anything so flagrant as a Gainsborough. She lifted her veil as they sat down, and St. George liked that. Tocomplete his capitulation she turned to a little table set beforethe bowing flames of juniper branches in the grate. 

"This is breakfast, " she told him; "won't you have a cup of tea anda muffin? Aunt Medora will be back presently from the chemist's. "

For the first time St. George blessed Mrs. Hastings. 

"You are really leaving to-day, Miss Holland?" he asked, noting thelittle ringless hand that gave him two lumps. 

"Really leaving, " she assented, "at noon to-day. Mr. Frothinghamsails with us, and his daughter Antoinette, who will be a greatcomfort to me. The prince doesn't know about her yet, " she addednaïvely, "but he must take her. "

St. George nodded approvingly. Unless all signs failed, hereflected, Yaque had some surprises in store at the hands of thedaughter of its sovereign. 

"Where does the prince appoint?" he asked. 

He listened in entire disapproval while she told him of the placebelow quarantine where they were to board the submarine. The prince, it appeared, had sent his servant early that morning to assure themthat all was in readiness, a bit of oriental courtesy which made noimpression upon St. George, though it explained the promptwithdrawal from 19 McDougle Street. When she had finished, St. George rose and stood before the fire, looking down at her from aworld of uncertainty. 

"I don't like it, Miss Holland, " he declared, and hesitated, dividedbetween the desire to tell her that he was going too, and the fearlest Mrs. Hastings should arrive from the chemist's. 

Olivia made a gesture of throwing it all from her. 

"Have a muffin--do, " she begged. "This is my last breakfast inAmerica for a time--let me have a pleasant memory of it. Mr. St. George, I want--oh, I want to tell you how greatly I appreciate--"

"Ah, please, " urged St. George, and smiled while he protested, "yousee, I've been very selfish about the whole matter. I'm selfish nowto be here at all when, I dare say, you've no end of things to do. "

"No, " Olivia disclaimed, "I have not, " and thus proved that she wasa woman of genius. For a less complex woman always flutters throughthe hour of her departure. Only Juno can step from the cloudswithout packing a bag and feeding the peacocks and leaving, pinnedto an asphodel, a note for Jupiter. 

"Then tell me what you are going to do in Yaque, " he besought. "Forgive me--what are you going to do all alone there in thatstrange land, and such a land?"

He divined that at this she would be very brave and buoyant, and hewas lost in anticipative admiration; when she was neither he admiredmore than ever. 

"I don't know, " said Olivia gravely, "I only know that I must go. You see that, do you not--that I must go?"

"Ah, yes, " St. George assured her, "I do indeed, believe me. Don'tyou think, " he said, "that I might give you a lamp to rub if youneed help? And then I'll appear. "

"In Yaque?"

He nodded gravely. 

"Yes, in Yaque. I shall rise out of a jar like the Evil Genie; andthough I shall be quite helpless you will still have the lamp. And Ishall be no end glad to have appeared. "

"But suppose, " said Olivia merrily, "that when I have eaten apomegranate or a potato or something in Yaque I forget all aboutAmerica? And when you step out of the jar I say 'Off with his head, 'by mistake. How shall I know it is you when the jar is opened?"

"I shall ask you what the population of Yaque is, " he assured her, "and how the island compares with Manhattan, and if this is yourfirst visit, and how you are enjoying your stay; and then you willrecognize the talk of civilization and spare me. "

"No, " she protested, "I've longed to say 'Off with his head' to toomany people who have said all that to me. And you mustn't say that aholiday always seems like Sunday, either. "

Whereat they both laughed, and it seemed an uncommonly pleasantworld, and even the sad errand that was taking Olivia to Yaquelooked like a hope. 

Then the talk ran on pleasantly, and things went very brisklyforward, and there was no dearth of fleet little smiles at this andthat. What was she to bring him from Yaque--a pet ibis? No, he hadno taste for ibises--unless indeed there should be Fourth-Dimensionibises; and even then he begged that she would select instead amagic field-glass, with which one might see what is happening at aninfinite distance; although of what use would that be to him, hewanted to know, since it would be his too late to follow hererrantry through Yaque? They felt, as they talked, quite like thepuppets of the days of Haroun-al-Raschid; only the puppets, poorchildren of mere magic, had not the traditions of the golden age ofscience for a setting, and were obliged to content themselves withmere tricks of jars of genii instead of applied electricity and itsdaring. What an Arabian Nights' Entertainment we might have had ifonly Scheherazade had ever heard of the Present! As for thethousand-and-one-nights, they would not have contained all herinvention. No wonder that the time went trippingly for the two whowere concerned in such bewildering speculation as the prince hadmade possible and who were furthering acquaintanceship besides. 

"Ah, well now, at all events, " begged St. George at length, "willyou remember something while you are away?"

"Your kindness, always, " she returned. 

"But will you remember, " said St. George with his boy's eagerness, "that there is some one who hopes no less than you for your success, and who will be infinitely proud of any command at all from you? Andwill you remember that, though I may not be successful, I shall atleast be doing something to try to help you?"

"You are very good, " she said gently, "I shall remember. For alreadyyou have not only helped me--you have made the whole matterpossible. "

"And what of that, " propounded St. George gloomily, "if I can't helpyou just when the danger begins? I insist, Miss Holland, that ittakes far more good nature to see some one else set off at adventurethan it takes to go one's self. Won't you let me come back here attwelve o'clock and go down with you to the boat?"

"By all means, " Olivia assented, "my aunt and I shall both be glad, Mr. St. George. Then you can wish us well. What is a submarinelike, " she wanted to know; "were you ever on one?"

"Never, excepting a number of times, " replied St. George, supremelyunconscious of any vagueness. He was rapidly losing count of allevents up to the present. He was concerned only with these things:that she was here with him, that the time might be measured byminutes until she would be caught away to undergo neither knew whatperils, and that at any minute Mrs. Hastings might escape from thechemist's. 

Although the commonplace is no respecter of enchantments, it wasquite fifteen minutes before the sword fell and Mrs. Hastings didmake the moment her prey, as pinkly excited as though herdrawing-room had been untenanted. And in the meantime no one knowswhat pleasantly absurd thing St. George longed to say, it is soperilous when one is sailing away to Yaque and another stands uponthe shore for a word of farewell. But, indeed, if it were not forthe soberest moments of farewell, journeys and their returns wouldbecome very tame affairs. When the first man and maid said even themost formal farewell, providing they were the right man and theright maid, the very stars must have begun their motion. Very likelythe fixed stars are nothing but grey-beards with no imagination. Distance lends enchantment, but the frivolous might say that thepreliminary farewell is the mint that coins it. And, enchantmentbeing independent of the commonplace, after all, it may have beenthat certain stars had already begun to sing while St. George satstaring at the little bowing flames of the juniper branches andOlivia was taking her tea. Then in came Mrs. Hastings, a veryliteral interfering goddess, and her bonnet was frightfully awry sothat the parrot upon it looked shockingly coquettish and irreverentand lent to her dignity a flavour of ill-timed waggishness. But itmust be admitted that Mrs. Hastings and everything that she worewere "_les antipodes des grâces_. " She was followed by a footman, his arms filled with parcels, and she sank among them on the divanand held out her limp, plump hand for a cup of tea. Mrs. Hastingshad the hands that are fettered by little creases at the wrists andwhose wedding rings always seem to be uncomfortably snug. She satdown, and her former activity dissolved, as it were, into anothersort of energy and became fragments of talk. Mrs. Hastings was likethe old woman in Ovid who sacrificed to the goddess of silence, butcould never keep still; save that Mrs. Hastings did not sacrifice. 

"Good morning, Mr. St. George, " she said. "I'm sure I've quiteforgotten everything. Olivia dear, I've had all the prescriptionsmade up that I've ever taken to Rutledge's, because no one can tellwhat the climate will be like, it's so low on the map. I've lookedup the Azores--that's where we get some of our choicest cheese. Andcamphor--I've got a pound of camphor. And I must say positively thatI always was against these wars in the far East, because all thecamphor comes from Korea or one of those frightful islands and nowit has gone up twenty-six cents a pound. And then the flaxseed, Olivia dear. I've got a tin of flaxseed, for no one can tell--"

St. George doubted if she knew when he said good morning, althoughshe named him Mr. St. John, gave him permission to go to the boat, hoped in one breath that he would come again to see them, and in thenext that he would send them a copy of whatever the _Sentinel_ mightpublish about them, in serene oblivion of the state of thepost-office department in Yaque. Mrs. Hastings, in short, was one ofthe women who are thrown into violent mental convulsions by theprospect of a journey; this was not at all because she was settingsail specifically for Yaque, for the moment that she saw a porter ora pier, though she was bound only for the Bronx or Staten Island, she was affected in the same way. 

As Olivia gave St. George her hand he came perilously near tellingher that he would follow her to Yaque; but he reflected that if hewere to tell her at all, he would better do so on the way to thesubmarine. So he went blindly down the hall and rang the elevatorbell for so long that the boy deliberately stopped on the floorbelow and waited, with the diabolical independence of the Americanlords of the lift, "for to teach 'im a lessing, " this one explainedto a passing chamber-maid. 

St. George hurried to his apartment to leave a note for Amory whowas directed upon his arrival to bide there and await his host'sreturn. Then he paced the floor until it was time to go back to theBoris, deaf to Rollo's solemn information that the dust comes up outof the varnish of furniture during the night, like cream out ofmilk. By the time he had boarded a down-town car, St. George hadtortured himself to distraction, and his own responsibility in thissubmarine voyage loomed large and threatening. Therefore, itsuddenly assumed the proportion of mountains yet unseen when, thoughit wanted ten minutes to twelve when he reached the Boris, his cardwas returned by a faint polite clerk with the information that Mrs. Hastings and Miss Holland had been gone from the hotel for half anhour. There was a note for him in their box the clerk believed, andpresently produced it--a brief, regretful word from Olivia tellinghim that the prince had found that they must leave fully an hourearlier than he had planned. 

Sick with apprehension, cursing himself for the ease and dexteritywith which he had permitted himself to be outwitted by Tabnit, St. George turned blindly from the office with some vague idea ofchartering all the tugs in the harbour. It came to him that he hadbungled the matter from first to last, and that Bud or Bennietodwould have used greater shrewdness. And while he was in the midst ofanathematizing his characteristic confidence he stepped in the outerhallway and saw that which caused that confidence to balloonsmilingly back to support him. 

In the vestibule of the Boris, deaf to the hovering attention of adoor-boy more curious than dutiful, stood two men of the stature andcomplexion of Prince Tabnit of Yaque. They were dressed like theyouth who had answered the door of the prince's apartment, and theywere speaking softly with many gestures and evidently in someperplexity. The drooping spirits of St. George soared to Heaven ashe hastened to them. 

"You are asking for Miss Holland, the daughter of King Otho ofYaque, " he said, with no time to smile at the pranks of thedemocracy with hereditary titles. 

The men stared and spoke almost together. 

"We are, " they said promptly. 

"She is not here, " explained St. George, "but I have attended tosome affairs for her. Will you come with me to my apartment where wemay be alone?"

The men, who somehow made St. George think of tan-colouredgreyhounds with very gentle eyes, consulted each other, not with thesuspicion of the vulgar but with the caution of the thorough-bred. 

"Pardon, " said one, "if we may be quite assured that this is MissHolland's friend to whom we speak--"

St. George hesitated. The hall-boy listened with an air of politeconcern, and there were curious over-shoulder glances from thepassers-by. Suddenly St. George's face lighted and he went swiftlythrough his pockets and produced a scrap of paper--the fragment thathad lain that morning on the floor of the prince's desertedapartment, and that bore the arms of the King of Yaque. It was thestrangers' turn to regard him with amazement. Immediately, to St. George's utmost embarrassment, they both bowed very low andpronounced together:

"Pardon, adôn!"

"My name is St. George, " he assured them, "and let's get into acab. "

They followed him without demur. 

St. George leaned back on the cushions and looked at them--leanlithe little men with rapid eyes and supple bodies and greatrepose. They gave him the same sense of strangeness that he hadfelt in the presence of the prince and of the woman in the BitleyReformatory--as if, it whimsically flashed to him, they some wayrhymed with a word which he did not know. 

"What is it, " St. George asked as they rolled away, "what is it thatyou have come to tell Miss Holland?"

Only one of the men spoke, the other appearing content to show tworows of exceptionally white teeth. 

"May we not know, adôn, " asked the man respectfully, "whether theprince has given her his news? And if the prince is still in yourland?"

"The prince's servant, Elissa, has tried to stab Miss Holland andhas got herself locked up, " St. George imparted without hesitation. 

An exclamation of horror broke from both men. 

"To stab--to _kill_!" they cried. 

"Quite so, " said St. George, "and the prince, upon being discovered, disclosed some very important news to Miss Holland, and she and herfriends started an hour ago for Yaque. "

"That is well, that is well!" cried the little man, nodding, andmomentarily hesitated; "but yet his news--what news, adôn, has hetold her?"

For a moment St. George regarded them both in silence. 

"Ah, well now, what news had he?" he asked briefly. 

The men answered readily. 

"Prince Tabnit was commissioned by the Yaquians to acquaint theprincess with the news of the strange disappearance of her father, the king, and to supplicate her in his place to accept thehereditary throne of Yaque. "

"Jupiter!" said St. George under breath. 

In a flash the whole matter was clear to him. Prince Tabnit haddelivered no such message from the people of Yaque, but hadcontented himself with the mere intimation that in some vanishingfuture she would be expected to ascend the throne. And he had donethis only when Olivia herself had sought him out after an attempthad been made upon her life by his servant. It seemed to St. Georgefar from improbable that the woman had been acting under theprince's instructions and, that failing, he himself had appeared andobligingly placed the daughter of King Otho precisely within theprince's power. Now she was gone with him, in the hope of aiding herfather, to meet Heaven knew what peril in this pagan island; and he, St. George, was wholly to blame from first to last. 

"Good Heavens, " he groaned, "are you sure--but are you sure?"

"It is simple, adôn, " said the man, "we came with this message fromthe people of Yaque. A day before we were to land, Akko and I--I amJarvo--overheard the prince plan with the others to tell hernothing--nothing that the people desire. When they knew that we hadheard they locked us up and we have only this morning escaped fromthe submarine. If the prince has told her this message everything iswell. But as for us, I do not know. The prince has gone. "

"He told her nothing--nothing, " said St. George, "but that herfather and the Hereditary Treasure have disappeared. And he hastaken her with him. She has gone with him. "

Deaf alike to their exclamations and their questions St. George satstaring unseeingly through the window, his mind an abyss of fear. Then the cab drew up at the door of his hotel and he turned upon thetwo men precipitantly. 

"See, " he cried, "in a boat on the open sea, would you two be at allable to direct a course to Yaque?"

Both men smiled suddenly and brilliantly. 

"But we have stolen a chart, " announced Jarvo with great simplicity, "not knowing what thing might befall. "

St. George wrenched at the handle of the cab door. He had a glimpseof Amory within, just ringing the elevator bell, and he bundled thetwo little men into the lobby and dashed up to him. 

"Come on, old Amory, " he told him exultingly. "Heaven on earth, putout that pipe and pack. We leave for Yaque to-night!"

CHAPTER VII

DUSK, AND SO ON

Dusk on the tropic seas is a ceremony performed with reverence, asif the rising moon were a priestess come among her silver vessels. Shadows like phantom sails dip through the dark and lie idle whereunseen crafts with unexplained cargoes weigh anchor in mid-air. Onealmost hears the water cunningly lap upon their invisible sides. 

To Little Cawthorne, lying luxuriously in a hammock on the deck of_The Aloha_, fancies like these crowded pleasantly, and slipped awayor were merged in snatches of remembered songs. His hands wereclasped behind his head, one foot was tapping the deck to keep thehammock in motion while strange compounds of tune and time brokeaimlessly from his lips. 

 "Meet me by moonlight alone, And then I will tell you a tale. Must be told in the moonlight alone In the grove at the end of the vale"

he caroled contentedly. 

Amory, the light of his pipe cheerfully glowing, lay at full lengthin a steamer chair. _The Aloha_ was bounding briskly forward, asolitary speck on the bosom of darkening purple, and the men sittingin the companionship of silence, which all the world praises andseldom attains, had been engaging in that most entertaining ofpastimes, the comparison of present comfort with past toil. LittleCawthorne's satisfaction flowered in speech. 

"Two weeks ago to-night, " he said, running his hands through hisgrey curls, "I took the night desk when Ellis was knocked out. Andtwo weeks ago to-morrow morning we were the only paper to be beatenon the Fownes will story. Hi--you. "

"Happy, Cawthorne?" Amory removed his pipe to inquire with idleindulgence. 

"Am I happy?" affirmed Little Cawthorne ecstatically in four tones, and went on with his song:

 "The daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, But there's something about the moon's ray That is sweeter to you and to me. "

"Did you make that up?" inquired Amory with polite interest. 

"I did if I want to, " responded Little Cawthorne. "Everything's trueout here--go on, tell everything you like. I'll believe you. "

St. George came out of the dark and leaned on the rail withoutspeaking. Sometimes he wondered if he were he at all, and he likedthe doubt. He felt pleasantly as if he had been cut loose from allold conditions and were sailing between skies to some unknownplanet. This was not only because of the strange waters rushingunderfoot but because of the flowering and singing of somethingwithin him that made the world into which he was sailing an alienplace, heavenly desirable. A week ago that day _The Aloha_ hadweighed anchor, and these seven days, in fairly fortunate weather, her white nose had been cleaving seas to traverse which had so longbeen her owner's dream; and yet her owner, in pleasant apostasy, hadturned his back upon the whole matter of what he had been used todream, and now ungratefully spent his time in trying to count thehours to his journey's end. 

Somewhere out yonder, he reflected, as he leaned on the rail, thissouthern moonlight was flooding whatever scene _she_ looked on; thelapping of the same sea was in her ears; and his future and hersmight be dependent upon those two perplexed tan-coloured greyhoundsbelow. By which one would have said that matters had been goingbriskly forward with St. George since the morning that he hadbreakfasted with Olivia Holland. 

Exactly when the end of the journey would be was not evident eitherto him or to the two strange creatures who proposed to be hisguides. Or rather to Jarvo, who was still the spokesman; leanlittle Akko, although his intelligence was unrivaled, being contentwith monosyllables for stepping-stones while the stream of Jarvo'ssoft speech flowed about him. Barnay, the captain, franklydistrusted them both, and confided to St. George that "them twolittle jool-eyed scuts was limbs av the old gint himself, and theyreminded him, Barnay, of a pair of haythen naygurs, " than which hecould say no more. But then, Barnay's wholesale skepticism was hisonly recreation, save talking about his pretty daughter "of schoolage, " and he liked to stand tucking his beard inside his collar andindulging in both. In truth, Barnay, who knew the waters of theAtlantic fairly well, was sorely tried to take orders from the twolittle brown strangers who, he averred, consulted a "haythenapparaytus" which they would cheerfully let him see but of which hecould "make no more than av the spach av a fish, " and then directedhim to take courses which lay far outside the beaten tracks of thehigh seas. 

St. George, who had had several talks with them, was puzzled anddoubtful, and more than once confided to himself that the lives ofthe passenger list of _The Aloha_ might be worth no more than coralheadstones at the bottom of the South Atlantic. But he alwaysconsoled himself with the cheering reflection that he had had tocome--there was no other way half so good. So _The Aloha_ continuedto plow her way as serenely as if she were heading toward the whitecliffs of Dover and trim villas and a custom-house. And the sea laya blue, uninhabited glory save as land that Barnay knew about markedlow blades of smoke on the horizon and slipped back into bluesheaths. 

This was the evening of the seventh day, and that noon Jarvo hadlooked despondent, and Barnay had sworn strange oaths, and St. George had been disquieted. He stood up now, going vaguely down intohis coat pockets for his pipe, his erect figure thrown in reliefagainst the hurrying purple. St. George was good to look at, andAmory, with the moonlight catching the glass of his pince-nez, smoked and watched him, shrewdly pondering upon exactly how muchanxiety for the success of the enterprise was occupying the breastof his friend and how much of an emotion a good bit stronger. Amoryhimself was not in love, but there existed between him and all whowere a special kinship, like that between a lover of music and amusician. 

Little Cawthorne rose and shuffled his feet lazily across deck. 

"Where is that island, anyway?" he wanted to know, gazingmeditatively out to sea. 

St. George turned as if the interruption was grateful. 

"The island. I don't see any island, " complained Little Cawthorne. "I tell you, " he confided, "I guess it's just Chillingworth's littleway of fixing up a nice long vacation for us. "

They smiled at memory of Chillingworth's grudging and snarlingassents to even an hour off duty. 

From below came Bennietod, walking slowly. The seaman's life was notfor Bennietod, and he yearned to reach land as fervently as did St. George, though with other anxiety. He sat down on the moon-lit deckand his face was like that of a little old man with uncannyshrewdness. His week among them had wrought changes in the headoffice boy. For Bennietod was ambitious to be a gentleman. Hiscovert imitations had always amused St. George and Amory. Now in thecomparative freedom of _The Aloha_ his fancy had rein and he hadadopted all the habits and the phrases which he had long reservedand liked best, mixing them with scraps of allusions to things whichBenfy had encouraged him to read, and presenting the whole in hisnative lower East-side dialect. Bennietod was Bowery-born andoffice-bred, and this sad metropolitanism almost made of him a goodphilosopher. 

"I'd like immensely to say something, " observed St. George abruptly, when his pipe was lighted. 

"Oh, yes. All right, " shrilled Little Cawthorne with resignation, "Isuppose you all feel I'm the Jonah and you thirst to scatter me tothe whales. "

"I want to know, " St. George went on slowly, "what you think. On mylife, I doubt if I thought at all when we set out. This all promisedgood sport, and I took it at that. Lately, I've been wondering, nowand then, whether any of you wish yourselves well out of it. "

For a moment no one spoke. To shrink from expression is acharacteristic in which the extremes of cultivation and mediocritymeet; the reserve of delicacy in St. George and Amory would havebeen a reserve of false shame in Bennietod, and of an exaggeratedsense of humour in Little Cawthorne. It was not remarkable that fromthe moment the enterprise had been entered upon, its perils and itsdoubtful outcome had not once been discussed. St. George vaguelyreckoned with this as he waited, while Amory smoked on and blewmeditative clouds and regarded the bowl of his pipe, and LittleCawthorne ceased the motion of his hammock, and Bennietod hugged hisknees and looked shrewdly at the moon, as if he knew more about themoon than he would care to tell. St. George felt his heart sink alittle. Then Little Cawthorne rose and squared valiantly up to him. 

"What, " inquired the little man indignantly, "are you trying to do?Pick a fight?"

St. George looked at him in surprise. 

"Because if you are, " continued little Cawthorne without preamble, "we're three to one. And three of us are going to Yaque. We'll putyou ashore if you say so. "

St. George smiled at him gratefully. 

"No--Bennietod?" inquired Little Cawthorne. 

Bennietod, pale and manifestly weak, grinned cheerfully and fumbledin sudden abashment at an amazing checked Ascot which he had derivedfrom unknown sources. 

"Bes' t'ing t'ever I met up wid, " he assented, "ef de deck'd laydown levil. I'm de sonny of a sea-horse if it ain't. "

"Amory?" demanded the little man. 

Amory looked along his pipe and took it briefly from his lips andshook his head. 

"Don't say these things, " he pleaded in his pleasant drawl, "or I'llswear something horrid. "

St. George merely held his pipe by the bowl and nodded a little, butthe hearts of all of them glowed. 

After dinner they sat long on deck. Rollo, at his master'sinvitation, joined them with a mandolin, which he had beendiscovered to play considerably better than any one else on board. Rollo sat bolt upright in a reclining chair to prove that he did notforget his station and strummed softly, and acknowledged approvalwith:

"Yes, sir. A little music adds an air to any occasion, _I_ alwaysthink, sir. "

The moon was not yet full, but its light in that warm world wasbrilliant. The air was drowsy and scented with something that mighthave been its own honey or that might have come from the strangeblooms, water-sealed below. Now and then St. George went aside for aspace and walked up and down the deck or sent below for Jarvo. Once, as Jarvo left St. George's side, Little Cawthorne awoke and satupright and inquiring, in his hammock. 

"What _is_ the matter with his feet?" he inquired peevishly. "Ishall certainly ask him directly. "

"It's the seventh day out, " Amory observed, "and still nobodyknows. "

For Jarvo and Akko had another distinction besides their diminutivestature and greyhound build. Their feet, clad in soft solelessshoes, made of skins, were long and pointed and of almost uncannyflexibility. It had become impossible for any one to look at eitherof the little men without letting his eyes wander to their curiouslyexpressive feet, which, like "courtier speech, " were expressivewithout revealing anything. 

"I t'ink, " Bennietod gave out, "dat dey're lost Eyetalianorgan-grinder monkeys, wid huming intelligence, like Bertran'sBimi. "

"What a suspicious child it is, " yawned Little Cawthorne, and wentto sleep again. Toward midnight he awoke, refreshed and happy, andbroke into instant song:

 "The daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, But there's something about the moon's ray--"

he was chanting in perfect tonelessness, when St. George cried out. The others sprang to their feet. 

"Lights!" said St. George, and gave the glass to Amory, his handtrembling, and very nearly snatched it back again. 

Far to the southeast, faint as the lost Pleiad, a single goldenpoint pricked the haze, danced, glimmered, was lost, and reappearedto their eager eyes. The impossibility of it all, the impossibilityof believing that they could have sighted the lights of an islandhanging there in the waste and hitherto known to nobody simplybecause nobody knew the truth about the Fourth Dimension did notassail them. So absorbed had St. George become in the undertaking, so convincing had been the events that led up to it, and so readyfor anything in any dimension were his companions, that theirexcitement was simply the ancient excitement of lights to themariner and nothing more; save indeed that to St. George they spokea certain language sweeter than the language of any island lying inthe heart of mere science or mere magic either. 

When it became evident that the lights were no will-o'-the-wisps, born of the moon and the void, but the veritable lights that shineupon harbours, Bennietod tumbled below for Jarvo, who came on deckand gazed and doubted and well-nigh wept for joy and poured forthstrange words and called aloud for Akko. Akko came and nodded andshowed white teeth. 

"To-morrow, " he said only. 

Barnay came. 

"Fwhat matther?" He put it cynically, scowling critically at Jarvoand Akko. "All in the way av fair fight, that'll be about Mor-rocco, if I've the full av my wits about me, an' music to my eyes, by thesame token. "

Jarvo fixed him with his impenetrable look. 

"It is the light of the king's palace on the summit of MountKhalak, " he announced simply. 

The light of the king's palace. St. George heard and thrilled withthanksgiving. It would be then the light at her very threshold, provided the impossible is possible, as scientists and devotees haveevery reason to think. But was she there--was she there? If therewas an oracle for the answer, it was not St. George. The littlewhite stars danced and signaled faintly on the far horizon. Whateverthey had to reveal was for nearer eyes than his. 

The glass passed from hand to hand, and in turn they all swept thelow sky where the faint points burned; but when some one had criedthat the lights were no longer visible, and the others had verifiedthe cry by looking blankly into a sudden waste of milky black--blackwater, pale light--and turned baffled eyes to Jarvo, the little manspoke smoothly, not even reaching a lean, brown hand for the glass. 

"But have no fear, adôn, " he reassured them, "the chart is notexact--it is that which has delayed us. It will adjust itself. Thelight may long disappear, but it will come again. The gods willpermit the possible. "

They looked at one another doubtfully when the two little brown menhad gone below, where Barnay had immediately retired, tucking hisbeard in his collar and muttering sedition. If the two strangecreatures were twin Robin Goodfellows perpetrating a monstroustwentieth century prank, if they were gigantic evolutions of Puckwhose imagination never went far beyond threshing corn with shadowyflails, at least this very modern caper demanded respect for soperfectly catching the spirit of the times. At all events it wasimmensely clever of them to have put their finger upon the publicpulse and to have realized that the public imagination is ready tobelieve anything because it has seen so much proved. Still, "sciencewas faith once"; and besides, to St. George, charts and compasses ofall known and unknown systems of seamanship were suddenly becomebut the dead letter of the law. The spirit of the whole matter wasthat Olivia might be there, under the lights that his own eyes wouldpresently see again. "Who, remembering the first kind glance of herwhom he loves, can fail to believe in magic?" It is very likely thathaving met Olivia at all seemed at that moment so wonderful to St. George that any of the "frolic things" of science were to beaccepted with equanimity. 

For an hour or more the moon, flooding the edge of the deck of _TheAloha_, cast four shadows sharply upon the smooth boards. Lined upat the rail stood the four adventurers, and the glass passed fromone to another like the eye of the three Grey Sisters. The farbeacon appeared and disappeared, but its actuality might not bedoubted. If Jarvo and Akko were to be trusted, there in the velvetdistance lay Yaque, and Med, the King's City, and the light upon thevery palace of its American sovereign. 

St. George's pulses leaped and trembled. Amory lifted lazy lids andwatched him with growing understanding and finally, upon a pretextof sleep, led the others below. And St. George, with a sense ofjoyful companionship in the little light, paced the deck until dawn. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE PORCH OF THE MORNING

By afternoon the island of Yaque was an accomplished fact ofdistinguishable parts. There it lay, a thing of rock and green, likethe islands of its sister latitudes before which the passing shipsof all the world are wont to cast anchor. But having once castanchor before Yaque the ships of all the world would have had greatdifficulty in landing anybody. 

Sheer and almost smoothly hewn from the utmost coast of the islandrose to a height of several hundred feet one scarcely deviating wallof rock; and this apparently impregnable wall extended in eitherdirection as far as the sight could reach. Above the natural rampartthe land sloped upward still in steep declivities, but cut bytortuous gorges, and afar inland rose the mountain upon whose summitthe light had been descried. There the glass revealed white towersand columns rising from a mass of brilliant tropical green, and nowsmitten by the late sun; but save these towers and columns not asign of life or habitation was discernible. No smoke arose, nowharf or dock broke the serene outline of the black wall lapped bythe warm sea; and there was no sound save that of strong torrentsafar off. Lonely, inscrutable, the great mass stood, slightlyshelved here and there to harbour rank and blossomy growths of greenand presenting a rugged beauty of outline, but apparently asuninhabitable as the land of the North Silences. 

Consternation and amazement sat upon the faces of the owner of _TheAloha_ and his guests as they realized the character of theremarkable island. St. George and Amory had counted upon anadventure calling for all diplomacy, but neither had expected thedelight of hazard that this strange, fairy-like place seemed aboutto present. Each felt his blood stirring and singing in his veins atthe joy of the possibilities that lay folded before them. 

"We shall be obliged to land upon the east coast then, Jarvo?"observed St. George; "but how long will it take us to sail round theisland?"

"Very long, " Jarvo responded, "but no, adôn, we land on this coast. "

"How is that possible?" St. George asked. 

"Well, hi--you, " said Little Cawthorne, "I'm a goat, but I'm nomountain goat. See the little Swiss kid skipping from peak to peakand from crag to crag--"

"Do we scale the wall?" inquired St. George, "or is there a passagein the rock?"

Bennietod hugged himself in uncontrollable ecstasy. 

"Hully Gee, a submarine passage, in under de sea, like Jules Werne, "he said in a delight that was almost awe. 

"There is a way over the rock, " said Jarvo, "partly hewn, partlynatural, and this is known to the islanders alone. That way we musttake. It is marked by a White Blade blazoned on the rock over theentrance of the submarines. The way is cunningly concealed--hardlywill the glass reveal it, adôn. "

Barnay shook his head. 

"You've a bad time comin' with the home-sickness, " he prophesied, tucking his beard far down in his collar until he looked, forBarnay, smooth-shaven. "I've sailed the sou' Atlantic up an' downfer a matther av four hundhred years, more or less, an' I niver asmuch as seed hide _nor_ hair av the place before this prisint. Thereain't map or chart that iver dhrawed breath that shows ut, new orold. Ut's been lifted out o' ground to be afther swallowin' us in--asweet dose will be the lot av us, mesilf with as foine a gir-rl avschool age as iver you'll see in anny counthry. "

"Ah yes, Barnay, " said St. George soothingly--but he would havetried now to soothe a man in the embrace of a sea-serpent in justthe same absent-minded way, Amory thought indulgently. 

The sun was lowering and birds of evening were beginning to broodover the painted water when _The Aloha_ cast anchor. In the latelight the rugged sides of the island had an air of almost sinisterexpectancy. There was a great silence in their windless shelterbroken only by the boom and charge of the breakers and the gulls andchoughs circling overhead, winging and dipping along the water andreturning with discordant cries to their crannies in the black rock. Before the yacht, blazoned on a dark, water-polished stratum of thevolcanic stone, was the White Blade which Jarvo told them marked thesubterranean entrance to the mysterious island. 

St. George and his companions and Barnay, Jarvo and Akko were ondeck. Rollo, whose soul did not disdain to be valet to a steamyacht, was tranquilly mending a canvas cushion. 

"The adôn will wait until sunrise to go ashore?" asked Jarvo. 

"_Sunrise_!" cried St. George. "Heaven on earth, no. We'll go now. "

There was no need to ask the others. Whatever might be toward, theywere eager to be about, though Rollo ventured to St. George adeprecatory: "You know, sir, one can't be too careful, sir. "

"Will you prefer to stay aboard?" St. George put it quietly. 

"Oh, no, sir, " said Rollo with a grieved face, "one should meetdanger with a light heart, sir, " and went below to pack theoil-skins. 

"Hear me now, " said Barnay in extreme disfavour. "It's I that am tolay hereabouts and wait for you, sorr? Lord be good to me, an' fwhatif she lays here tin year', and you somewheres fillin' the eyes avthe aygles with your brains blowed out, neat?" he demandedmisanthropically. "Fwhat if she lays here on that gin'ral theorytill she's rotted up, sorr?"

"Ah well now, Barnay, " said St. George grimly, "you couldn't have aneasier career. "

Little Cawthorne, from leaning on the rail staring out at theisland, suddenly pulled himself up and addressed St. George. 

"Here we are, " he complained, "here has been me coming through thewatery deep all the way from Broadway, with an octopus clinging toeach arm and a dolphin on my back, and you don't even ask how Istood the trip. And do you realize that it's sheer madness for thefive of us to land on that island together?"

"What do you mean?" asked St. George. 

The little man shook his grey curls. 

"What if it's as Barnay says?" he put it. "What if they should bagus all--who'll take back the glad news to the harbour? Lord, youcan't tell what you're about walking into. You don't even know thespecific gravity of the island, " he suggested earnestly. "How doyou know but your own weight will flatten you out the minute youstep ashore?"

St. George laughed. "He thinks he is reading the fiction page, " heobserved indulgently. "Still, I fancy there is good sense on thepage, for once. We don't know anything about anything. I suppose wereally ought not to put all five eggs in one basket. But, by Jove--"

He looked over at Amory with troubled eyes. 

"As host of this picnic, " he said, "I dare say I ought to stayaboard and let you fellows--but I'm hanged if I will. "

Little Cawthorne reflected, frowning; and you could as well haveexpected a bird to frown as Little Cawthorne. It was rather the nameof his expression than a description of it. 

"Suppose, " he said, "that Bennietod and I sit rocking here in thisbay--if it is a bay--while you two rest your chins on the top ofthat ledge of rock up there, and look over. And about to-morrow orday after we two will venture up behind you, or you could send oneof the men back--"

"My thunder, " said Bennietod wistfully, "ain't I goin' to get toclimb in de pantry window at de palace--nor fire out of aloophole--"

"Bennietod an' I couldn't talk to a prince anyway, " said LittleCawthorne; "we'd get our language twisted something dizzy, andprobably tell him 'yes, ma'am. '"

St. George's eyes softened as he looked at the little man. He knewwell enough what it cost him to make the suggestion, which the goodsense of them all must approve. Not only did Little Cawthorne alwayssacrifice himself, which is merely good breeding, but he madeopportunities to do so, which is both well-bred and virtuous. WhenRollo came up with the oil-skins they told him what had beendecided, and Rollo, the faithful, the expressionless, dropped hiseyelids, but he could not banish from his voice the wistfulness thathe might have been one to stay behind. 

"Sometimes it _is_ best for a person to change his mind, sir, " washis sole comment. 

Presently the little green dory drew away from _The Aloha_, and theyleft her lying as much at her ease as if the phantom island beforeher were in every school-boy's geography, with a scale of miles anda list of the principal exports attached. 

"If we had diving dresses, adôn, " Jarvo suggested, "we might havegone down through the sluice and entered by the lagoon where thesubmarines pass. "

"Jove, " said Amory, trying to row and adjust his pince-nez at thesame time, "Chillingworth will never forgive us for missing that. "

"You couldn't have done it, " shouted Little Cawthorne derisively, from the deck of the yacht, "you didn't wear your rubbers. Ifanybody sticks a knife in you send up a r-r-r-ocket!"

The landing, effected with the utmost caution, was upon a flatstone already a few inches submerged by the rising tide. Looking upat the jagged, beetling world above them their task appearedhopeless enough. But Jarvo found footing in an instant, and St. George and Amory pressed closely behind him, Rollo and little Akkosilently bringing up the rear and carrying the oil-skins. Slowly andcautiously as they made their way it was but a few minutes until thethree standing on the deck, and Barnay open-mouthed in the dory, sawthe sinuous line of the five bodies twist up the tortuous courseconsiderably above the blazoned emblem of the White Blade. 

In truth, with Jarvo to set light foot where no foot seemed everbefore to have been set, with Jarvo to inspect every twig and pebbleand to take sharp turns where no turn seemed possible, the ascent, perilous as it was, proved to be no such superhuman feat as frombelow it had appeared. But it seemed interminable. Even when the sealay far beneath them and the faces of the watchers on the deck of_The Aloha_ were no longer distinguishable, the grim wall continuedto stretch upward, melting into the sky's late blue. 

The afterglow laid a fair path along the water, and the warm duskcame swiftly out of the east. At snail's pace, now with heads bentto knees, now standing erect to draw themselves up by the arms or toleap a wicked-looking crevice, the four took their way up the blackside of the rock. Birds of the cliffs, disturbed from long rest, wheeled and screamed about them, almost brushing their faces withlong, fearless wings. There was an occasional shelf where, withbacks against the wall spotted with crystals of feldspar, theywaited to breathe, hardly looking down from the dizzy ledge. Greatslabs of obsidian were piled about them between stretches ofcalcareous stone, and the soil which was like beds of old lavacovered by thin layers of limestone, was everywhere pierced by sharpshoulders of stone lying in savage disarray. Gradually rock-slidesand rock-edges yielded a less insecure footing on the upper reaches, but the chasms widened and water dripping from lateral crevassesmade the vague trail slippery and the occasional earth sodden andtreacherous. For a quarter of a mile their way lay over a kind ofporous gravel into which their feet sank, and beyond at the summitof a ridge Jarvo halted and threw back to them a summary warning toprepare for "a long leap. " A sharp angle of rock, jutting out, hadbeen split down the middle by some ancient force--very likely aPaleozoic butterfly had brushed it with its wing--and the edges hadbeen worn away in a treacherous slope to the very lip of thecrumbling promontory. From this edge to the edge of the oppositeabutment there was a gap of wicked width, and between was a sheerdrop into space wherefrom rose the sound of tumbling waters. WhenJarvo had taken the leap, easily and gracefully, alighting on theother side like the greyhound that he resembled, and the others, following, had cleared the edge by as safe a margin as if the abysswere a minor field-day event, St. George and Amory looked back withsudden wonder over the path by which they had come. 

"I feel as if I weighed about ninety pounds, " said St. George; "am Ifading away or anything?"

Amory stood still. 

"I was thinking the same thing, " he said. "By Jove--do yousuppose--what if Little Cawthorne hit the other end of thenail, as usual? Suppose the specific gravity--suppose there issomething--suppose it doesn't hold good in this dimension thata body--by Jove, " said Amory, "wouldn't that be the deuce?"

St. George looked at Jarvo, bounding up the stony way as easily asif he were bounding down. 

"Ah well now, " he said, "you know on the moon an ordinary man wouldweigh only twenty-six or seven pounds. Why not here? We aren't helddown by any map!"

They laughed at the pleasant enormity of the idea and were hurryingon when Akko, behind them, broke his settled silence. 

"In America, " he said, "a man feels like a mountain. Here he feelslike a man. "

"What do you mean by that?" demanded St. George uneasily. But Akkosaid no more, and St. George and Amory, with a disquieting idea thateach was laughing at the other, let the matter drop. 

From there on the way was easier, leveling occasionally, frequentlyswelling to gentle ridges, and at last winding up a steep trail thatwas not difficult to keep in spite of the fast falling night. And atlength Jarvo, rounding a huge hummock where converging ridges met, scrambled over the last of these and threw himself on the ground. 

"Now, " he said simply. 

The two men stood beside him and looked down. It seemed to St. George that they looked not at all upon a prospect but upon thesudden memory of a place about which he might have dreamed often andoften and, waking, had not been able to remember, though itsfamiliarity had continued insistently to beat at his heart; or thatin what was spread before him lay the satisfaction of Burne-Jones'wistful definition of a picture: ". .. A beautiful, romantic dream ofsomething that never was, never will be, in a light better than anylight that ever shone, in a land no one can define or remember, onlydesire. .. " yet it was to St. George as if he had reached no strangeland, no alien conditions; but rather that he had come home. It waslike a home-coming in which nothing is changed, none of the littleimprovements has been made which we resent because no one hasthought to tell us of them; but where everything is even more as oneremembers than one knew that one remembered. 

[Illustration]

At his feet lay a pleasant valley filled with the purple of deeptwilight. Far below a lagoon caught the late light and spread it ina pattern among hidden green. In the midst of the valley towered themountain whose summit, royally crowned by shining towers, had beenvisible from the open sea. At its feet, glittering in the abundantlight shed upon its white wall and dome and pinnacle, stood Med, theKing's City--but its light was not the light of the day, for thatwas gone; nor of the moon, not risen; and no false lights vexed thedark. Yet he was looking into a cup of light, as clear as the lightin a gazing-crystal and of a quality as wholly at variance withreality. The rocky coast of Yaque was literally a massive, naturalwall; and girt by it lay the heart of the island, fertile andpopulous and clothed in mystery. This new face which Nature turnedto him was a glorified face, and some way _it meant what he meant_. 

St. George was off for a few steps, trampling impatiently over thecoarse grass of the bank. Somewhere in that dim valley--was shethere, was she there? Was she in trouble, did she need him, did shethink of him? St. George went through the ancient, delicious listas conscientiously as if he were the first lover, and she were thefirst princess, and this were the first ascent of Yaque that theworld had ever known. For by some way of miracle, the mystery of theisland was suddenly to him the very mystery of his love, and the twoso filled his heart that he could not have told of which he wasthinking. That which had lain, shadowy and delicious, in his soulthese many days--not so very many, either, if one counts thesuns--was become not only a thing of his soul but a thing of theoutside world, almost of the visible world, something that hadexisted for ever and which he had just found out; and here, wrappedin nameless light, lay its perfect expression. When a shaft ofsilver smote the long grass at his feet, and the edge of the moonrose above the mountain, St. George turned with a poignantexultation--did a mere victory over half a continent ever make a manfeel like that?--and strode back to the others. 

"Come on, " he called ringingly in a voice that did everything butconfess in words that something heavenly sweet was in the man'smind, "let's be off!"

Amory was carefully lighting his pipe. 

"I feel sort of tense, " he explained, "as if the whole place wouldexplode if I threw down my match. What do you think of it?"

St. George did not answer. 

"It's a place where all the lines lead up, " he was saying tohimself, "as they do in a cathedral. "

The four went the fragrant way that led to the heart of the island. First the path followed the high bank the branches of whose tropicalundergrowth brushed their faces with brief gift of perfume. On theother side was a wood of slim trunks, all depths of shadow anddelicacies of borrowed light in little pools. Everywhere, everywherewas a chorus of slight voices, from bark and air and secret moss, singing no forced notes of monotone, but piping a true song of thegladness of earth, plaintive, sweet, indescribably harmonious. Itcame to St. George that this was the way the woods at night wouldalways sound if, somehow, one were able to hear the sweetness thatpoured itself out. Even that familiar sense in the night-woods thatsomething is about to happen was deliciously present with him; andthough Amory went on quietly enough, St. George swam down that greenway, much as one dreams of floating along a street, above-heads. 

The path curved, and went hesitatingly down many terraces. Here, from the dimness of the marge of the island, they gradually emergedinto the beginnings of the faint light. It was not like enteringupon dawn, or upon the moonlight. It was by no means like going tomeet the lights of a city. It was literally "a light better thanany light that ever shone, " and it wrapped them round first like aveil and then like a mantle. Dimly, as if released from thecenser-smoke of a magician's lamp, boughs and glades, lines andcurves were set free of the dark; and St. George and Amory could seeabout them. Yet it did not occur to either to distrust thephenomenon, or to regard it as unnatural or the fruit of anyunnatural law. It was somehow quite as convincing to them as is hisfirst sight of electric light to the boy of the countryside, and nomore to be regarded as witchcraft. 

St. George was silent. It was as if he were on the threshold ofFar-Away, within the Porch of the Morning of some day divine. Theplace was so poignantly like the garden of a picture that one hasseen as a child, and remembered as a place past all speechbeautiful, and yet failed ever to realize in after years, or to makeany one remember, or, save fleetingly in dreams to see once more, since the picture-book is never, never chanced upon again. Sometimeshe had dreamed of a great sunny plain, with armies marching;sometimes he had awakened at hearing the chimes, and fanciedsleepily that it was infinite music; sometimes, in the country inthe early morning, he had had an unreasonable, unaccountable momentof perfect happiness: and now the fugitive element of them allseemed to have been crystallized and made his own in that floatingwalk down the wooded terraces of this unknown world. And yet hecould not have told whether the element was contained in thatbeauty, or in his thought of Olivia. 

At last they emerged upon a narrow, grassy terrace where white stepsmounted to a wide parapet. Jarvo ran up the steps and turned:

"Behold Med, adôn, " he said modestly, as if he had at that momentstirred it up in a sauce-pan and baked it before their astonishedeyes. 

They were standing at the top of an immense flight of stepsextending as far to right and left as they could see, and leadingdown by easy stages and wide landings to the white-paved cityitself. The clear light flooded the scene--lucid, vivid, many-peopled. Far as the eye could see, broad streets extended, lined with structures rivaling in splendour and beauty thoseunforgotten "topless towers. " Temples, palaces, and public buildingsrose, storey upon storey, built of hewn stones of great size; andnoble arches faced an open square before a temple of colossalmasonry crowning an eminence in the centre of the city. Directly inline with this eminence rose the mountain upon whose summit stoodthe far-seen pillars where burned the solitary light. 

If an enchanted city had risen from the waves because some one hadchanced to speak the right word, it could have been no morebewildering; and yet the look of this city was so substantial, soadapted to all commonplace needs, so essentially the scene ofevery-day activity and purpose, that dozens of towns of pettyEuropean principalities seem far less actual and practicable homesof men. Busy citizens hurrying, the bark of a dog, the mere tone ofa temple bell spoke the ordinary occupations of all the world; andupon the chief street the moon looked down as tranquilly as if thecauseway were a continuation of Fifth Avenue. 

But it was as if the spirit of adventure in St. George had suddenlyturned and questioned him, saying:

"What of Olivia?"

For Olivia gone to a far-away island to find her father was subjectof sufficient anxiety; but Olivia in the power of a pretender whomight have at command such undreamed resources was more than coolreason could comprehend. That was the principal impression that Med, the King's City, made upon St. George. 

"To the right, adôn, " Jarvo was saying, "where the walls arehighest--that is the palace of the prince, the Palace of theLitany. "

"And the king's palace?" St. George asked eagerly. 

Jarvo lifted his face to the solitary summit light upon themountain. 

"But how does one ascend?" cried St. George. 

"By permission of Prince Tabnit, " replied Jarvo, "one is borne upby six imperial carriers, trained in the service from birth. Oneattempting the ascent alone would be dashed in pieces. "

"No municipal line of airships?" ventured Amory in slowastonishment. 

Jarvo did not quite get this. 

"The airships, adôn, " he said, "belong to the imperial household andare kept at the summit of Mount Khalak. "

"A trust, " comprehended Amory; "an absolute monarchy is a bit of atrust, anyhow. Of course, it's sometimes an outraged trust. .. " hemurmured on. 

"The adôn, " said Jarvo humbly, "will understand that we, I and Akko, have borne great risk. It is necessary that we make our peace withall speed, if that may be. The very walls are the ears of PrinceTabnit, and it is better to be behind those walls. May the godspermit the possible. "

"Do you mean to say, " asked St. George, "that we too would betterlook out the prince at once?"

"The adôn is wise, " said Jarvo simply, "but nothing is hid fromPrince Tabnit. "

St. George considered. In this mysterious place, whose ways were asunknown to him and to his companions as was the etiquette of thecourt of the moon, clearly diplomacy was the better part of valour. It was wiser to seek out Prince Tabnit, if he had really arrived onthe island, than to be upon the defensive. 

"Ah, very well, " he said briefly, "we will visit the prince. "

"Farewell, adôn, " said Jarvo, bowing low, "may the gods permit thepossible. "

"Of course you will communicate with us to-morrow, " suggested St. George, "so that if we wish to send Rollo down to the yacht--"

"The gods will permit the possible, adôn, " Jarvo repeated gently. 

There was a flash of Akko's white teeth and the two little men weregone. 

St. George and Amory turned to the descending of the wide whitesteps. Such immense, impossible white steps and such a curious placefor these two to find themselves, alone, with a valet. Struck by thesame thought they looked at each other and nodded, laughing alittle. 

"Alone in the distance, " said Amory, emptying his pipe, "and not acab to be seen. "

Rollo thrust forward his lean, shadowed face. 

"Shall I look about for a 'ansom, sir?" he inquired with perfectgravity. 

St. George hardly heard. 

"It's like cutting into a great, smooth sheet of white paper, " hesaid whimsically, "and making any figure you want to make. "

Before they reached the bottom of the steps they divined, issuingfrom an isolated, temple-seeming building below, a train ofsober-liveried attendants, all at first glance resembling Jarvo andAkko. These defiled leisurely toward the strangers and lined upirregularly at the foot of the steps. 

"Enter Trouble, " said Amory happily. 

They found themselves confronting, in the midst of the attendants, an olive man with no angles, whose face, in spite of its health andeven wealth of contour, was ridiculously grave, as if the_papier-mâché_ man in the down-town window should have had a suddenserious thought just before his _papier-mâché_ incarnation. 

"Permit me, " said the man in perfect English and without bowing, "tobring to you the greeting of his Highness, Prince Tabnit, and hiswelcome to Yaque. I am Cassyrus, an officer of the government. Atthe command of his Highness I am come to conduct you to the palace. "

"The prince is most kind, " said St. George, and added eagerly: "Heis returned, then?"

"Assuredly. Three days ago, " was the reply. 

"And the king--is he returned?" asked St. George. 

The man shook his head, and his very anxiety seemed important. 

"His Majesty, the King, " he affirmed, "is still most lamentablyabsent from his throne and his people. "

"And his daughter?" demanded St. George then, who could notpossibly have waited an instant longer to put that question. 

"The daughter of his Majesty, the King, " said Cassyrus, lookingstill more as if he were having his portrait painted, "will in threedays be recognized publicly as Princess of Yaque. "

St. George's heart gave a great bound. Thank Heaven, she was here, and safe. His hope and confidence soared heavenward. And by somemiracle she was to take her place as the people of Yaque hadpetitioned. But what was the meaning of that news of the prince'streachery which Jarvo and Akko had come bearing? The prince hadfaithfully fulfilled his mission and had conducted the daughter ofthe King of Yaque safely to her father's country. What did it allmean?

St. George hardly noted the majestic square through which theywere passing. Impressions of great buildings, dim white and mistygrey and bathed in light, bewilderingly succeeded one another;but, as in the days which followed the news of his inheritance, hefound himself now in a temper of unsurprise, in that mentalatmosphere--properly the normal--which regards all miracle asnatural law. He even omitted to note what was of passingstrangeness: that neither the retinue of the minister nor theothers upon the streets cast more than casual glances at theirunusual visitors. But when the great gates of the palace werereadied his attention was challenged and held, for though meremarvels may become the air one breathes, beauty will never ceaseto amaze, and the vista revealed was of almost disconcertingbeauty. 

Avenues of brightness, arches of green, glimpses of airy columns, ofboundless lawns set with high, pyramidal shrines, great places ofquiet and straight line, alleys whose shadow taught the necessity ofmystery, the sound of water--the pure, positive element of itall--and everywhere, above, below and far, that delicate, labyrinthlight, diffused from no visible source. It was as if some strangecompound had changed the character of the dark itself, transmutingit to a subtle essence more exquisite than light, inhabiting it withwonders. And high above their heads where this translucence seemedto mix with the upper air and to fuse with moonbeams, sprang almostjoyously the pale domes and cornices of the palace, sending outfloating streamers and pennons of colours nameless and unknown. 

"Jupiter, " said the human Amory in awe, "what a picture for thefirst page of the supplement. "

St. George hardly heard him. The picture held so perfectly theelusive charm of the Question--the Question which profoundlyunderlies all things. It was like a triumphant burst of music whichyet ends on a high note, with imperfect close, hinting passionatelyat some triumph still loftier. 

From either side of the wall of the palace yard came glittering adetachment of the Royal Golden Guard, clad in uniforms of unrelievedcloth-of-gold. These halted, saluted, wheeled, and between theirshining ranks St. George and Amory footed quietly on, followed byRollo carrying the yellow oil-skins. To St. George there was reliefin the motion, relief in the vastness, and almost a boy's delight inthe pastime of living the hour. 

Yet Royal Golden Guard, majestic avenues, and towered palace withits strange banners floating in strange light, held for him but onereality. And when they had mounted the steps of the mighty entrance, and the sound of unrecognized music reached him--a very myth ofmusic, elusive, vagrant, fugued--and the palace doors swung open toreceive them, he could have shouted aloud on the brilliantthreshold:

"He says she is here in Yaque. "

CHAPTER IX

THE LADY OF KINGDOMS

So there were St. George and Amory presently domiciled in a prince'spalace such as Asia and Europe have forgotten, as by and by theywill forget the Taj Mahal and the Bon Marché. And at nine o'clockthe next morning in a certain Tyrian purple room in the west wing ofthe Palace of the Litany the two sat breakfasting. 

"One always breakfasts, " observed St. George. "The first day thatthe first men spend on Mars I wonder whether the first thing they dowill be to breakfast. "

"Poor old Mars has got to step down now, " said Amory. "We are onefarther on. I don't know how it will be, but if I felt on Mars theway I do now, I should assent to breakfast. Shouldn't you?"

"On my life, Toby, " said St. George, "as an idealist you aredisgusting. Yes, I should. "

The table had been spread before an open window, and the windowlooked down upon the palace garden, steeped in the gold of the sunnymorning, and formal with aisles of mighty, flowering trees. Within, the apartment was lofty, its walls fashioned to lift the eye tolight arches, light capitals, airy traceries, and spaces of the hueof old ivory, held in heavenly quiet. The sense of colour, colourboth captive and atmospheric, was a new and persistent delight, forit was colour purified, specialized, and infinitely extended ineither direction from the crudity of the seven-winged spectrum. Theroom was like an alcove of outdoors, not divorced from the open airand set in contra-distinction, but made a continuation of its spaceand order and ancient repose--a kind of exquisite porch of light. 

Across this porch of light Rollo stepped, bearing a covered dish. The little breakfast-table and the laden side-table were set withvessels of rock-crystal and drinking-cups of silver gilt, andbreakfast consisted of delicately-prepared sea-food, a pulpy fruit, thin wine and a paste of delicious powdered gums. These things Rolloserved quite as if he were managing oatmeal and eggs and china. Onewould have said that he had been brought up between the covers of anancient history, nothing in consequence being so old or so new as toamaze him. Upon their late arrival the evening before he hadinstantly moved about his duties in all the quiet decorum with whichhe officiated in three rooms and a bath, emptying the oil-skins, disposing of their contents in great cedar chests, and, fromcertain rich and alien garments laid out for the guests, pretendingas unconcernedly to fleck lint as if they had been broadcloth fromFifth Avenue. He stood bending above the breakfast-table, his lean, shadowed hands perfectly at home, his lean, shadowed face allautomatic attention. 

"Rollo, " said St. George, "go and look out the window and see ifSodom is smoking. "

"Yes, sir, " said Rollo, and moved to the nearest casement and benthis look submissively below. 

"Everything quiet, sir, " he reported literally; "a very warm day, sir. But it's easy to sleep, sir, no matter how warm the days are ifonly the nights are cool. Begging your pardon, sir. "

St. George nodded. 

"You don't see Jezebel down there in the trees, " he pressed him, "orElissa setting off to found Carthage? Chaldea and Egypt all calm?"he anxiously put it. 

Rollo stirred uneasily. 

"There's a couple o' blue-tailed birds scrappin' in a palm tree, sir, " he submitted hopefully. 

"Ah, " said St. George, "yes. There would be. Now, if you like, " hegave his servant permission, "you may go to the festivals or thefuneral games or wherever you choose to-day. Or perhaps, " heremembered with solicitude, "you would prefer to be present at thewedding-of-the-land-water-with-the-sea-water, providing, as Isuspect, Tyre is handy?"

"Thank you, sir, " said Rollo doubtfully. 

"Mind you put your money on the crack disc-thrower, though, " warnedSt. George, "and you might put up a couple of darics for me. "

"No, " languidly begged Amory, "pray no. You are getting your periodsmixed something horrid. "

"A person's recreation is as good for him as his food, sir, "proclaimed Rollo, sententious, anxious to agree. 

"Food, " said Amory languidly, "this isn't food--it's molten history, that's what it is. Think--this is what they had to eat at the cafésboulevardes of Gomorrah. And to think we've been at Tony's, beforenow. Do you remember, " he asked raptly, "those brief and savourybanquets around one o'clock, at Tony's? From where Little Cawthorneonce went away wearing two omelettes instead of his overshoes? Don'ttell me that Tonycana and all this belong to the same system inspace. Don't tell me--"

He stopped abruptly and his eyes sought those of St. George. It wasall so incredible, and yet it was all so real and so essentially, distractingly natural. 

"I feel as if we had stepped through something, to somewhere else. And yet, somehow, there is so little difference. Do you suppose whenpeople die _they_ don't notice any difference, either?"

"What I want to know, " said Amory, filling his pipe, "is how it'sgoing to look in print. Think of Crass--digging for head-lines. "

St. George rose abruptly. Amory was delicious, especially his drawl;but there were times--

"Print it, " he exclaimed, "you might as well try to print theabsolute. "

Amory nodded. 

"Oh, if you're going to be Neoplatonic, " he said, "I'm off to hum anOrphic hymn. Isn't it about time for the prince? I want to get outwith the camera, while the light is good. "

The lateness of the hour of their arrival at the palace the eveningbefore had prevented the prince from receiving them, but he had senta most courteous message announcing that he himself would wait uponthem at a time which he appointed. While they were abiding hiscoming, Rollo setting aside the dishes, Amory smoking, strolling upand down, and examining the faint symbolic devices upon the walls'tiling, St. George stood before one of the casements, and lookedover the aisles of flowering tree-tops to the grim, grey sides ofMount Khalak, inscrutable, inaccessible, now not even hinting at thewalls and towers upon its secret summit. He was thinking howheavenly curious it was that the most wonderful thing in hiscommonplace world of New York--that is, his meeting withOlivia--should, out here in this world of things wonderful beyondall dream, still hold supreme its place as the sovereign wonder, thesovereign delight. 

"I dare say that means something, " he said vaguely to himself, "andI dare say all the people who are--in love--know what it does mean, "and at this his spirit of adventure must have nodded at him, as ifit understood, too. 

When, in a little time, Prince Tabnit appeared at the open door ofthe "porch of light, " it was as if he had parted from St. George inMcDougle Street but the night before. He greeted him with exquisitecordiality and his welcome to Amory was like a welcome unfeigned. Hewas clad in white of no remembered fashion, with the green gemburning on his breast, but his manner was that of one perfectlytailored and about the most cosmopolitan offices of modernity. Onemight have told him one's most subtly humourous story and restedcertain of his smile. 

"I wonder, " he asked with engaging hesitation when he was seated, "whether I may have a--cigarette? That is the name? Yes, acigarette. Tobacco is unknown in Yaque. We have invented no coloniesuseful for the luxury. How can it be--forgive me--that your people, who seem remote from poetry, should be the devisers and popularizersof this so poetic pastime? To breathe in the green of earth and thelight of the dead sun! The poetry of your American smoke delightsme. "

St. George smiled as he offered the prince his case. 

"In America, " he said, "we devised it as a vice, your Highness. Weare obliged to do the same with poetry, if we popularize it. "

And St. George was thinking:

"Miss Holland. He has seen Miss Holland--perhaps yesterday. Perhapshe will see her to-day. And how in this world am I ever to mentionher name?"

But the prince was in the idlest and most genial of humours. Hespoke at once of the matters uppermost in the minds of his guests, gave them news of the party from New York, told how they were incomfort in the palace on the summit of Mount Khalak, struck amomentary tragic note in mention of the mystery still mantling theabsence of the king and repeated the announcement already made byCassyrus, the premier, that in two days' time, failing the return ofthe sovereign, the king's daughter would be publicly recognized, with solemn ceremonial, as Princess of Yaque. Then he turned to St. George, his eyes searching him through the haze of smoke. 

"Your own coming to Yaque, " he said abruptly, "was the result of asudden decision?"

"Quite so, your Highness, " replied St. George. "It was whollyunexpected. "

"Then we must try to make it also an unexpected pleasure, " suggestedthe prince lightly. "I am come to ask you to spend the day with mein looking about Med, the King's City. "

He dropped the monogrammed stub of his cigarette in a little jar ofsmaragdos, brought, he mentioned in passing, from a despoiled templeof one of the Chthonian deities of Tyre, and turned toward hisguests with a winning smile. 

"Come, " he said, "I can no longer postpone my own pleasure inshowing you that our nation is the Lady of Kingdoms as once wereBabylon and Chaldea. "

It was as if the strange panorama of the night before had once moreopened its frame, and they were to step within. As the prince leftthem St. George turned to Rollo for the novelty of addressing areality. 

"How do you wish to spend the day, Rollo?" he asked him. 

Rollo looked pensive. 

"Could I stroll about a bit, sir?" he asked. 

"Stroll!" commanded St. George cheerfully. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Rollo. "I always think a man can best learnby observation, sir. "

"Observe!" supplemented his master pleasantly, as a detachment ofthe guard appeared to conduct Amory and him below. 

"Don't black up the sandals, " Amory warned Rollo as he left him, "and be back early. We may want you to get us ready for a mastodonhunt. "

"Yes, sir, " said Rollo with simplicity, "I'll be back quite sometime before tea-time, sir. "

St. George was smiling as they went down the corridor. He had beenvain of his love that, in Yaque as in America, remained the thing itwas, supreme and vital. But had not the simplicity of Rollo takenthe leap in experience, and likewise without changing? For a moment, as he went down the silent corridors, lofty as the woods, vocal withfaint inscriptions on the uncovered stone, the old human doubtassailed him. The very age of the walls was a protest against theassumption that there is a touchstone that is ageless. Even if thereis, even if love is unchanging, the very temper of unconcern of hisvalet might be quite as persistent as love itself. But the galleryemptying itself into a great court open to the blue among gravenrafters, St. George promptly threw his doubt to the fresh, heaven-kissing wind that smote their faces, and against mystery andargument and age alike he matched only the happy clamour of hisblood. Olivia Holland was on the island, and all the age was gold. In Yaque or on the continents there can be no manner of doubt thatthis is love, as Love itself loves to be. 

They emerged in the appeasing air of that perfect morning, and thesweetness of the flowering trees was everywhere, and wide roadspointed invitingly to undiscovered bournes, and overhead in thecurving wind floated the flags and streamers of those joyous, wizardcolours. 

They went out into the rejoicing world, and it was like penetratingat last into the heart of that "land a great way off" which holdscaptive the wistful thought of the children of earth, and revealsitself as elusively as ecstasy. If one can remember some journeythat he has taken long ago--Long Ago and Far Away are the greattouchstones--and can remember the glamourie of the hour and forgetthe substructure of events, if he can recall the pattern and forgetthe fabric, then he will understand the spirit that informed thatfirst morning in Yaque. It was a morning all compact of wonder anddelight--wonder at that which half-revealed itself, delight in theever-present possibility that here, there, at any moment, OliviaHolland might be met. As for the wonder, that had taken some threethousand years to accumulate, as nearly as one could compute; and asfor the delight, that had taken less than ten days to make possible;and yet there is no manner of doubt which held high place in themind of St. George as the smooth miles fled away from hurryingwheels. 

Such wheels! Motors? St. George asked himself the question as hetook his place beside the prince in the exquisitely light vehicle, Amory following with Cassyrus, and the suites coming after, like thepath from a lanthorn. For the vehicles were a kind of electricmotor, but constructed exquisitely in a fashion which, far fromaffronting taste, delighted the eye by leading it to lines ofunguessed beauty. They were motors as the ancients would have builtthem if they had understood the trick of science, motors in whichthe lines of utility were veiled and taught to be subordinate. Thespeed attained was by no means great, and the motion was gentle andsacrificed to silence. And when St. George ventured to ask how theyhad imported the first motors, the prince answered that as Columbuswas sailing on the waters of the Atlantic at adventure, the peopleof Yaque were touring the island in electric motors of much the samedescription, though hardly the clumsiness, of those which he hadnoticed in New York. 

This was the first astonishment, and other astonishments were tofollow. For as they went about the island it was revealed that theremainder of the world is asleep with science for a pillow and thenight-lamp of philosophy casting shadows. Yet as the princeexhibited wonders, one after another, St. George, dimly consciousthat these are the things that men die to discover, would have giventhem all for one moment's meeting with Olivia on that high-road ofMed. If you come to think of it, this may be why science always hasmoved so slowly, creeping on from point to point. 

Thus it came about that when Prince Tabnit indicated a low, pillared, temple-like building as the home of perpetual motion, which gave the power operating the manufactures and water supply ofthe entire island, St. George looked and understood and resolved togo over the temple before he left Yaque, and then fell a-wonderingwhether, when he did so, Olivia would be with him. When the princeexplained that it is ridiculous to suppose that combustion is thechief means of obtaining light and heat, or that Heaven provideddivinely-beautiful forests for the express purpose of their beingburned up; and when he told him that artificial light and heat wereeffected in a certain reservoir (built with a classic regard for thedignity of its use as a link with unspoken forces) St. Georgelistened, and said over with attention the name of the substanceacted upon by emanations--and wondered if Olivia were not afraid ofit. So it was all through the exhibition of more wonders scientificand economic than any one has dreamed since every one became avictim of the world's habit of being afraid to dream. Although it istrue that when St. George chanced to observe that there were aboutMed few farms of tilled ground, the prince's reply did startle himinto absorbed attention:

"You are referring to agriculture?" Prince Tabnit said after amoment's thought. "I know the word from old parchments brought fromPhoenicia by our ancestors. But I did not know that the art is inpractice anywhere in the world. Do you mean to assure me, " cried theprince suddenly, "that the vegetables which I ate in America wereraised by what is known as 'tilling the soil'?"

"How else, your Highness?" doubted St. George, wondering if he wereresponsible for the fading mentality of the prince. 

Prince Tabnit looked away toward the splendour of some new thought. 

"How beautiful, " he said, "to subsist on the sun and the dust. Beautiful and lost, like the dreams of Mitylene. But I feel as if Iwere reading in Genesis, " he declared. "Is it possible that in this'age of science' of yours it has not occurred to your people that ifplants grow by slowly extracting their own elements from the soil, those elements artificially extracted and applied to the seed willrender growth and fruitage almost instantaneous?"

"At all events we've speculated about it, " St. George hastened toimpart with pride, "just as we do about telephones that will letpeople see one another when they talk. But nearly every one smilesat both. "

"Don't smile, " the prince warned him. "Yaque has perfected boththose inventions only since she ceased to smile at theirprobability. Nothing can be simpler than instantaneous vegetation. Any Egyptian juggler can produce it by using certain acids. We haveimproved the process until our fruits and vegetables are produced asthey are needed, from hour to hour. This was one of the so-calledsecrets of the ancient Phoenicians--has it never occurred to you asimportant that the Phoenician name for Dionysos, the god ofwine-growers, was lost?"

Mentally St. George added another barrel to the cargo of _TheAloha_, and wondered if the _Sentinel_ would start botanical gardensand a lighting plant and turn them to the account of advertisers. 

All the time, mile upon mile, was unrolling before them theunforgetable beauty of the island. So perfectly were its featuresmarshaled and so exact were its proportions that, as in many greatexperiences and as in all great poems, one might not, withoutfamiliarity, recall its detail, but must instead remain wrapped inthe glory of the whole. The avenues, wide as a river, swept betweenwhite banks of majestic buildings combining with the magic of greatmass the pure beauty of virginal line. Line, the joy of line, theglory of line, almost, St. George thought, the divinity of line, waseverywhere manifest; and everywhere too the divinity of colour, nolonger a quality extraneous, laid on as insecure fancy dictates, but, by some law long unrevealed, now actually identified with theobject which it not so much decorated as purified. The mostinteresting of the thoroughfares led from the Eurychôrus, or publicsquare, along the lagoon. This fair water, extending from Med toMelita, was greenly shored and dotted with strange little pleasurecrafts with exquisite sweeping prows and silken canopies. Before awhite temple, knee-deep in whose flowered ponds the ibises dozedand contemplated, was anchored the imperial trireme, withdelicately-embroidered sails and prow and poop of forgotten metals. From within, temple music sounded softly and was never permitted tobe silenced, as the flame of the Vestals might never beextinguished. Here on the shores had begun the morning traffic ofitinerant merchants of Med and Melita, compelled by law to carry ontheir exchange in the morning only, when the light is least lovely. Upon canopied wagons drawn by strange animals, with shining horns, were displayed for sale all the pleasantest excuses forcommerce--ostrich feathers, gums, gems, quicksilver, papyrus, balesof fair cloth, pottery, wine and oranges. The sellers of salt andfish and wool and skins were forced down under the wharfs of thelagoon, and there endeavoured to attract attention by displayingfanciful and lovely banners and by liberating faint perfumes of thenative orris and algum. Street musicians, playing tunefully upon thezither and upon the crowd, wandered, wearing wreaths of fir, andclustered about stalls where were offered tenuous blades, andstatues, and temple vessels filled with wine and flowers. 

At the head of the street leading to the temple of Baaltis (MyLady--Aphrodite) the prince's motor was checked while a processionof pilgrims, white-robed and carrying votive offerings, passedbefore them, the votive tablet to the Lady Tanith and the Face ofBaal being borne at the head of the line by a dignitary in a smartelectric victoria. This was one of the frequent Festival Embassiesto Melita, to combine religious rites with mourning games and thededication of the tablet, and there was considerable delay incidentto the delivery of a wireless message to the dignitary with thetablet of the Semitic inscription. St. George wondered vaguely why, in a world of marvels, progress should not already have outstrippedthe need of any communication at all. This reminded him of somethingat which the prince had hinted away off in another æon, in anotherworld, when St. George had first seen him, and there followed tenminutes of talk not to be forgotten. 

"Would it be possible for you to tell me, your Highness, " St. Georgeasked, --and thereafter even a lover must have forgiven the briefapostasy of his thought--"how it can be that you know the English?How you are able to speak it here in Yaque?"

The motor moved forward as the procession passed, and struck into amagnificent country avenue bordered by trees, tall as elms andfragrant as acacias. 

"I can tell you, yes, " said the prince, "but I warn you that youwill not in the least understand me. I dare say, however, that I mayillustrate by something of which you know. Do there chance to be, for example, any children in America who are regarded as prodigiesof certain understanding?"

"You mean, " St. George asked, "children who can play on a musicalinstrument without knowing how they do it, and so on?"

"Quite so, " said the prince with interest. 

"Many, your Highness, " affirmed St. George. "I myself know a childof seven who can play most difficult piano compositions without everhaving been taught, or knowing in the least how he does it. "

"Do you think of any one else?" asked the prince. 

"Yes, " said St. George, "I know a little lad of about five, I shouldsay, who can add enormous numbers and instantly give the accurateresult. And he has no idea how he does that, and no one has evertaught him to count above twelve. Oh--every one knows those cases, Ifancy. "

"Has any one ever explained them, Mr. St. George?" asked the prince. 

"How should they?" asked St. George simply. "They are prodigies. "

"Quite so, " said the prince again. "It is almost incredible thatthese instances seem to suggest to no one that there must be otherways to 'learn' music and mathematics--and, therefore, everythingelse--than those known to your civilization. Let me assure you thatsuch cases as these, far from being miracles and prodigies, areperfectly normal when once the principle is understood, as we ofYaque understand it. It is the average intelligence among yourpeople which is abnormal, inasmuch as it is unable to perform thesefunctions which it was so clearly intended to exercise. "

"Do you mean, " asked St. George, "that we need not learn--as weunderstand 'learn'?"

"Precisely, " said the prince simply. "You are accustomed, I was toldin New York, to say that there is 'no royal road to learning. ' Onthe contrary, I say to you that the possibilities of these childrenare in every one. But to my intense surprise I find that we of Yaqueare the only ones in the world who understand how to use thesepossibilities. Our system of education consists simply in masteringthis principle. After that, all knowledge--all languages, forinstance--everything--belongs to us. "

St. George looked away to the rugged sides of Mount Khalak, lying inits clouds of iris morning mist, unreal as a mountain of UltimaThule. It was all right--what he had just been hearing was a part ofthis ultimate and fantastic place to which he had come. And yet _he_was real enough, and so, according to certain approved dialectic, perhaps these things were realities, too. He stole a glance at theprince's profile. Here was actually a man who was telling him thathe need not have faced Latin and Greek and calculus; that they mighthave been his of his own accord if only he had understood how tocall them in!

"That would make a very jolly thing of college, " he pensivelyconceded. "You could not show me how it is managed, your Highness?"he besought. "That will hardly come in bulk, too--"

The prince shook his head, smiling. 

"I could not 'show you, ' as you say, " he answered, "any more than Icould, at present, send a wireless communication without theapparatus--though it will be only a matter of time until that isaccomplished, too. "

St. George pulled himself up sharply. He glanced over his shoulderand saw Amory polishing his pince-nez and looking quite as if hewere leaning over hansom-doors in the park, and he turned quickly tothe prince, half convinced that he had been mocked. 

"Suppose, your Highness, " he said, "that I were to print what youhave just told me on the front page of a New York morning paper, for people to glance over with their coffee? Do you think that eventhe most open-minded among them would believe that there is such aplace as Yaque?"

The prince smiled curiously, and his long-fringed lids drooped inmomentary contemplation. The auto turned into that majestic avenuewhich terminates in the Eurychôrus before the Palace of the Litany. St. George's eye eagerly swept the long white way. At its far endstood Mount Khalak. _She_ must have passed over this very ground. 

"There is, " the prince's smooth voice broke in upon his dream, "nosuch place as Yaque--as you understand 'place. '"

"I beg your pardon, your Highness?" St. George doubted blankly. GoodHeavens. Maybe there had arrived in Yaque no Olivia, as heunderstood Olivia. 

"You showed some surprise, I remember, " continued the prince, "whenI told you, in McDougle Street, that we of Yaque understand theFourth Dimension. "

McDougle Street. The sound smote the ear of St. George much as wouldthe clang of the fire patrol in the midst of light opera. 

"Yes, yes, " he said, his attention now completely chained. Yet eventhen it was not that he cared so absorbingly about the FourthDimension. But what if this were all some trick and if, in thisstrange land, Olivia had simply been flashed before his eyes by theaid of mirrors?

"I find, " said the prince with deliberation, "that in America youare familiar with the argument that, if your people understoodonly length and breadth and did _not_ understand the ThirdDimension--thickness--you could not then conceive of lifting, say, a square or a triangle and laying it down upon another square ortriangle. In other words, you would not know anything of _up_ and_down_. "

St. George nodded. This was the familiar talk of collegeclass-rooms. 

"As it is, " pursued the prince, "your people do perfectly understandlifting a square and placing it upon a square, or a triangle upon atriangle. But you do not know anything about placing a cube upon acube, or a pyramid upon a pyramid _so that both occupy the samespace at the same time_. We of Yaque have mastered that principlealso, " the prince tranquilly concluded, "and all that of which thisis the alphabet. That is why we are able to keep our island unknownto the world--not to say 'invisible. '"

For a moment St. George looked at him speechlessly; then, in spiteof himself, a slow smile overspread his face. 

"But, " he said, "your Highness, there is not a mathematician in thecivilized world who has not considered that problem and cast itaside, with the word that if fourth-dimensional space does exist itcan not possibly be inhabited. "

"Quite so, " said the prince, "and yet here we are. "

And, if you come to think of it--as St. George did--that is the onlyanswer to a world of impossibilities already proved possible. Butthe vista which all this opened smote him with irresistible humour. 

"Ah well now, I suppose, your Highness, " he said, "that our oceanliners sail clean through the island of Yaque, then, and never evenhave their smoke pushed sidewise?"

The prince laughed pleasantly. 

"Have you ever, " he asked, "had occasion to explain the principlesof hydraulics, or chess, or philosophical idealism to athree-year-old child, or a charwoman? You must forgive me, butreally I can think of no better comparison. I am quite as powerlessnow as you have been if you have ever attempted it. I can onlyassure you that such things _are_. Without Jarvo or Akko or some onewho understood, you might have sailed the high seas all your lifeand never have come any nearer to Yaque. "

St. George reflected. 

"Is Yaque the only example of this kind of thing, " he asked, "thatthe Fourth Dimension would reveal?"

"By no means, " said the prince in surprise, "the world isliterally teeming with like revelations, once the key is in yourhands. The Fourth Dimension is only the beginning. We utilize thatto isolate our island. But the higher dimensions are graduallybeing conquered, too. Nearly all of us can pass into the Fifth atwill, 'disappearing, ' as you have the word, from the lowerdimensions. It is well-known to you that in a land whose peopleknew length and breadth, but no _up_ and _down_, an object mightbe pushed, but never lifted _up_ or put _down_. If it were to belifted, such a people would believe it to have 'disappeared. ' So, from you who know only three dimensions, Yaque has 'disappeared, 'until one of us guides you here. Also we pass at will into theFifth Dimension and even higher, and seem to 'disappear'; the onlydifference is that, there, we should not be able yet to guide onewho did not himself understand how to pass there. Just as one whounderstands how to die and to come to life, as you have thephrase, would not be able to take with him any one who did notunderstand how to take himself there. .. "

St. George listened, grasping at straws of comprehension, remembering how he had heard all this theorized about and smiled at;but most of all he was beset by a practical consideration. 

"Then, " he said suddenly, the question leaping to his lips almostagainst his will, "if you hold this key to all knowledge, how is itthat the king--Mr. Holland--could get away from you, and theHereditary Treasure be lost?"

The prince sighed profoundly. 

"We have by no means, " he said, "perfected our knowledge. We are atone with the absolute in knowledge--true. But the affairs of everyday most frequently elude us. Not even the most advanced among usare perfect intuitionists. We have by no means reached thatdesirable and inevitable day when our minds shall flow together, without need of communication, without possibility of secret. Westill suffer the disadvantage of a slight barrier of personality. "

"And it is into one of these lapses, " thought St. Georgeirreverently, "that the king has disappeared. " Aloud he askedcuriously concerning a matter which was every moment becoming moreincomprehensible. 

"But how, your Highness, " he said simply, "did your people everconsent to have an American for your king?"

Before the prince could reply there occurred a phenomenon that sentall thought of such insubstantialities as the secrets of the FourthDimension far in the background. 

The prince's motor, closely followed by the others of the train, hadreached a little eminence from which the island unrolled in fairpatterns. Before them the smooth road unwound in varied light. Attheir left lay a still grove from whose depths was glimpsed a slimneedle of a tower, rising, arrow-like, from the green. In thedistance lay Med, with shining domes. The water of the lagoon gavebrightness here and there among the hills. And as St. George and theprince looked over the prospect they saw, far down the avenue towardMed, a little, moving speck--a speck moving with a rapidity whichneither the prince's motor nor any known motor of Yaque had everbefore permitted itself. 

In an instant the six members of the Royal Golden Guard, who uponbeautiful, spirited horses rode in advance of the train of theprince, wheeled and thundered back, lifting glittering hands ofwarning. "Aside! Aside!" shrieked the main Golden Guard, "a motor iswithout control!"

Immediately there was confusion. At a touch the prince's car wasdrawn to the road's extreme edge, and the Golden Guards rodefuriously back along the train, hailing the peaceful, slow-goingmachines into orderly retreat. They were all sufficiently amenable, for at sight of the alarming and unprecedented onrush of the growingspeck that was bearing full down upon them, anxiety sat upon everyface. 

St. George watched. And as the car drew nearer the thought which, atfirst sight of its speed, had vaguely flashed into being, tookdefinite shape, and his blood leaped to its music. Whose hand wouldbe upon that lever, whose daring would be directing its flight, whose but one in all Yaque--and that Olivia's?

It was Olivia. That was plain even in the mere instant that it tookthe great, beautiful motor, at thirty miles an hour, to flash pastthem. St. George saw her--coat of hunting pink and fluttering veiland shining eyes; he was dimly conscious of another little figurebeside her, and of the unmistakable and agonized Mrs. Hastings inthe tonneau; but it was only Olivia's glance that he caught as itswept the prince. There was the faintest possible smile, and she wasgone; and St. George, his heart pounding, sat staring stupidly afterthat shining cloud of dust, frantically wondering whether she couldjust possibly have seen him. For this was no trick of theimagination, his galloping heart told him that. And whether or notYaque was a place, the world, the world was within his grasp, instinct with possibilities heavenly sweet. His eyes met Amory's inthe minute when Cassyrus, prime minister of Yaque, had it borne inupon him that this was no runaway machine, but the ordinary andpreferred pace of the daughter of their king; and while Cassyrus, atthe enormity of the conception, breathed out expostulations inseveral languages--some of them known to us only by means ofinscriptions on tombs--Amory spoke to St. George:

"Who was the other girl?" he asked comprehensively. 

"What other girl?" St. George blankly murmured. 

And at this, Amory turned away with a look that could be made tomean whatever Amory meant. 

On went the imperial train faring back to Med over the road latelystirred to shining dust by the wheels of Olivia's auto. Olivia'sauto. St. George was secretly saying over the words with a kind ofecstatic non-comprehension, when the prince spoke:

"That, " he said, "may explain why an American has been able togovern us. Chance crowned him, but he made himself king. "

Prince Tabnit hesitated and his eyes wandered--and those of St. George followed--to a far winding dot in that opal valley, a merespeck of silver with a prick of pink, fleeing in a cloud of sunnydust. 

"I do not know if you will know what I mean, " said the prince, "buthers is the spirit, and the spirit of her father, the king, whichYaque had never known. It is the spirit which we of Phoenicia seemto have lost since the wealth of the world accumulated at her portsand she gave her trust to the hands of mariners and mercenaries, andlater bowed to the conqueror. It is the spirit that not all thecontinental races, I fancy, have for endowment, but yours possessesin rich measure. For this we would exchange half that we haveachieved. "

St. George nodded, glowing. 

"It is a great tribute, your Highness, " he said simply, and in hisheart he laid it at Olivia's feet. 

Thereafter, in the long ride to Melita, during luncheon upon a highwhite terrace overlooking the sailless sea, and in the hours on theunforgetable roads of the islands, St. George, while incommunicablemarvels revealed themselves linked with incommunicable beauty, satin the prince's motor, his eyes searching the horizon for thatfleeing speck of silver and pink. It did not appear again. And whenthe train of the prince rolled into the yard of the Palace of theLitany it trembled upon St. George's lips to ask whether theformalities of the court would permit him that day to scale theskies and call upon the royal household. 

"For whatever he says, I've got to do, " thought St. George, "but nomatter what he says, I shall go. Doesn't Amory realize that we'vebeen more than twelve hours on this island, and that nothing hasbeen done?"

And then as they crossed the grassy court in the delicate hush ofthe merging light--the nameless radiance already penetrating thedusk--the prince spoke smoothly, as if his words bore no importdeeper than his smile:

"You are come, " he said courteously, "in time for one of theceremonies of our régime most important--to me. You will, I hope, dohonour to the occasion by your presence. This evening, in the Hallof Kings in the Palace of the Litany, will occur the ceremony of mybetrothal. "

"Your betrothal, your Highness?" repeated St. George uncertainly. 

"You will be attended by an escort, " the prince continued, "andBalator, the commander of the guard, will receive you in the hall. May the gods permit the possible. "

He swept through the portico before them, and they followed dumbly. 

The betrothal of the prince. 

St. George heard, and his eager hope went down in foreboding. Heturned, hardly daring to read his own dread in the eyes of Amory. 

Amory, as St. George had said, was delicious, especially his drawl;but there were times--now, for example, when all that the eyes ofAmory expressed was what his lips framed, _sotto-voce_:

"An American heiress, betrothed to the prince of a cannibal island!Wouldn't Chillingworth turn in his grave at his desk?"

CHAPTER X

TYRIAN PURPLE

The "porch of light" proved to be an especially fascinating place atevening. Evening, which makes most places resemble their soulsinstead of their bodies, had a grateful task in the beautiful roomwhose spirit was always uppermost, and Evening moved softly in itsivory depths, preluding for Sleep. Here, his lean, shadowed face allanxiety, Rollo stood, holding at arm's length a parti-coloured robewith floating scarfs. 

"It seems to me, sir, " he said doubtfully, "that this one would 'avedone better. Beggin' your pardon, sir. "

St. George shook his head distastefully. 

"It doesn't matter, " he said, and broke into a slow smile as helooked at Amory. The robes which the prince had provided for theevening were rather harder to become accustomed to than the notionof intuitive knowledge. 

"There's an air about this one though, sir, " opined Rollo firmly, "there's a cut--a sort of _way_ with the seams, so to speak, sir, that the other can't touch. And cut is what counts, sir, cut countsevery time. "

"Ah, yes, I dare say, Rollo, " said St. George, "and as a judge of'cut' I don't say you can be equaled. But I do say that in thestyles of Deuteronomy you aren't necessarily what you might callup. "

"Yes, sir, " said Rollo, dropping his eyes, "but a well-dressed manwas a well-dressed man, sir, then _as_ now. "

As a matter of fact the well-knit, athletic young figures lookeduncommonly well in the garments _à la mode_ in Yaque. One would havesaid that if the garments followed Deuteronomy fashions they had atall events been cut by the scissors of a court tailor to Louis XV. The result was beautiful and bizarre, but it did not suggeststageland because the colours were so good. 

"I dare say, " said St. George, examining the exquisitely fine clothwhose shades were of curious depth and richness, "that this may beregular Tyrian purple. "

Amory waved his long sleeves. 

"Stop, " he languidly begged, "you make me feel like a golden text. "

St. George went back to the row of open casements and resumed hiswalk up and down before the windows that looked away to the hugethreatening bulk of Mount Khalak. Since the prince's announcementthat afternoon St. George had done little besides continuing thatwalk. Now it wanted hardly half an hour to the momentous ceremony ofthe evening, big with at least one of the dozen portents of which heaccused it. 

"Amory, " he burst out as he walked, "if you didn't know anythingabout it, would you say that the prince could possibly have made herconsent to marry him?"

Amory, left in the middle of the great room, stood polishing hispince-nez exactly as if he had been waiting at the end ofChillingworth's desk of a bright, American morning. 

"If I didn't know anything about it, " he said cheerfully, "I shouldsay that he had. As it is, having this afternoon watched a certainmotor wear its way past me, I should say that nothing in Yaque ismore unlikely. And that's about as strong as you could put it. "

"We don't know what the man may have threatened, " said St. Georgemorosely, "he may have played upon her devotion to her father tosome ridiculous extent. He may have refused to land the submarine atYaque at all otherwise--"

St. George broke off suddenly. 

"Toby!" he said. 

Amory looked over and nodded. He had seen that look before on St. George's face. 

"She's not going to marry the prince, " said St. George, "and if herfather is alive and in a hole, he's going to be pulled out. Andshe's _not_ going to marry the prince. "

"Why, no, " assented Amory, "no. "

He had guessed a good deal of the truth since he had been watchingSt. George flee over seas upon a yacht, shod, so to speak, withfire, and he had arrived at the suspicion that _The Aloha_ waswinged by little Loves and guided under water by plenty of blue andgreen dragons. But he had not, until now, been thoroughly certainthat St. George's spirit of adventure had another name; and thoughtheoretically his sympathies leaped to the look in his friend'seyes, yet he found himself wondering practically what effect romancewould be having upon their enterprise. After all, from a newspaperpoint of view, to relinquish any part of the adventure was a kind oftragedy, and it cost Amory something to emphasize his assent. 

"Of course she won't, " he said, "and now let's toddle down and seeabout it. "

When the tread of the feet of a detachment of the Royal Golden Guardwas heard without, Rollo advanced to the door with a dignity whichamounted to melancholy. The setting of a palace and the proximity ofa prince had raised his office to the majesty of skilled labour. Healways threw open the door now as who should say, "Enter. But mindyou have a reason. "

At sight of the long liberty of the corridor where the light laymysteriously touching tiles and tapestries to festal colours, Amory's spirits rose contagiously, and his eyes shone behind hispince-nez. 

"Me, " he said, looking ahead with enjoyment at the glitteringescort, "me--done in a fabric of about the eleventh shade of theYaque spectrum--made loose and floppy, after a modish Canaanitishmodel. I'll wager that when the first-born of Canaan was in theflood-tide of glory, this very gown was worn by one of the mostbeautiful women in the pentapolis of Philistia. I'm going tophotograph the model for the Sunday supplement, and name it _TheNebuchadnezzar_. "

Amory murmured on, and St. George hardly heard him. He could almostcount by minutes now the time until he should see her. Would she seehim, and might he just possibly speak with her, and what would theevening hold for her? As he went forth where she would be, the spellof the place was once more laid upon him, as it had been laid in thehour of his coming. Once more, as in the hour when he had firstlooked down upon the valley brimming with a light "better than anylight that ever shone" he was at one with the imponderable thingswhich, always before, had just eluded him. Now, as then, the thoughtof Olivia was the symbol for them all. So the two went on throughthe winding galleries--silent, haunted--to the great staircase, andbelow into the crowded court. And when they reached the thresholdof the audience-chamber they involuntarily stood still. 

The hall was like a temple in its sense of space and height andclear air, but its proportions did not impress one, and indeed onecould not remember its boundaries as one does not consider theboundaries of a grove. It was amphitheatre-shaped, and about it rana splendid colonnade, in the niches of whose cornices were beautifulgrotesques--but Yaque seemed to be a land whose very grotesques hadall the dignity of the ultimate instead of crying for the indulgencedue a phase. The roof was inlaid with prisms of clear stone, and onhigh were pilasters carved with the Tyrian sphinxes crucified uponupright crosses, surmounted by parhelions of burnished metal. Allthe seats faced a great dais at the chamber's far end where threethrones were set. 

But it was the men and women in the great chamber who filled St. George with wonder. The women--they were beautiful women, slow-moving, slow-eyed, of soft laughter and sudden melancholy, andclear, serene profiles and abundant hair. And they were all _alive_, fully and mysteriously alive, alive to their finger-tips. It was asif in comparison all other women acted and moved in a kind ofhalf-consciousness. It was as if, St. George thought vaguely, onewere to step through the frame of a pre-Raphaelite tapestry andsuddenly find its strange women rejoicing in fulfillment instead ofyearning, in noon instead of dusk. As he stood looking down the vastchamber, all springing columns and light lines lifting through thehoney-coloured air, it smote St. George that these people, insteadof being far away, were all near, surprisingly, unbelievably near tohim, --in a way, nearer to his own elusive personality than he washimself. They were all obviously of his own class; he couldperfectly imagine his mother, with her old lace and Roman mosaics, moving at home among them, and the bishop, with his wise, kindlysmile. Yet he was irresistibly reminded of a certain haunting dreamof his childhood in which he had seemed to himself to walk the worldalone, with every one else allied against him because they all knewsomething that he did not know. That was it, he thought suddenly, and felt his pulse quickening at the intimation: _They all knewsomething that he did not know_, that he could not know. But, asthey swept him with their clear-eyed, impersonal look, a lookthat seemed in some exquisite fashion to take no account ofindividuality, he was gratefully aware of a curious impressionthat they would like to have had him know, too. 

"They wish I knew--they'd rather I did know, " St. George foundhimself thinking in a strange excitement, "if only I could know--ifonly I could know. "

He looked about him, smiling a little at his folly. He saw thelight flash on Amory's glasses as they turned inquisitively on thisand that, and somehow the sight steadied him. 

"Ah well, " he assured himself, "I'll look them up in a thousandyears or so, and we'll dine together, and then we'll say: 'Don't youremember how I didn't know?'"

Immediately there presented himself to them a little man who provedto be Balator, lord-chief-commander of the Royal Golden Guard, andnow especially directed by the prince, he pleasantly told them, tobe responsible for their entertainment and comfort during theceremony to follow. They were, in fact, his guests for the evening, but St. George and Amory were uncertain whether, considering hisoffice, this was a high honour or a kind of exalted durance. However, as the man was charming the doubt was not important. He hadan attenuated face, so conveniently brown by race as to suggest themost soldierly exposure, and he had great, peaceable, slow-liddedeyes. He was, they subsequently learned, an authority upon insectlife in Yaque, for he had never had the smallest opportunity to goto war. 

As Balator led his guests to their seats near the throne every onelooked on them, as they passed, with the serenest fellowship, and noregard persisted longer than a glance, friendly and fugitive. Balator himself not only refrained from stoning the barbarians withcommonplaces, but he did not so much as mention America to them ortreat them otherwise than as companions, as if his was not only thecosmopolitanism that knows no municipal or continental aliens of itsown class, but a kind of inter-dimensional cosmopolitanism as well. 

"Which, " said Amory afterward, "was enviable. The next man fromTrebizond or Saturn or Fez whom I meet I'm going to greet and treatas if he lived the proverbial 'twenty minutes out. '"

A great clock boomed and throbbed through the palace, striking anhour that was no more intelligible than the jargon of a ship's clockto a landsman. Somewhere an orchestra thrilled into haunting sound, poignant with disclosures barely missed. Overhead, through themighty rafters of the conical roof, the moon looked down. 

"That'll be the same old moon, " said Amory. "By Jove! Won't it?"

"It will, please Heaven, " said St. George restlessly; "I don't know. Will it?"

Near the throne was seated a company of dignitaries who wore upontheir breasts great stars and were soberly dressed in a kind ofscholar's gown. Some whispered together and nodded and looked assolemn as tithing men; and others were feverishly restless andcontinually took papers from their graceful sleeves. Bydevelopments these were revealed to be the High Council of Yaque, conservative and radical, even in dimensional isolation. Fartherback rose tier upon tier of seats sacred to the wives and daughtersof the ministry, and St. George even looked hopelessly andmechanically among these for the face that he sought. 

To some seats slightly elevated, not far from the dais, hisattention was at length challenged by an upheaving and billowing ofpurple and black. He looked, and in the same instant what seemed tohave been a kind of storm centre resolved itself cloudily into Mrs. Medora Hastings, breathlessly resuming her seat, while Mr. AugustusFrothingham, in indescribably gorgeous apparel elaborately bent toreceive--and a member of the High Council bent to hand--twoglittering articles which St. George was certain were side-combs. There the lady sat, tilting her head to keep her tortoise-shellglasses on her nose, perpetually curving their chain over her ear, agesture by which the side-combs were perpetually displaced. If theisland people had been painted purple, St. George felt sure that shewould have acted quite the same. Personality meant nothing toher--not, as with them, because it had been merged in somethinggreater, but because, with her, it was overborne by self. And theresat Mr. Frothingham (who did not attend the play during courtbecause he believed that a man of affairs should not undulystimulate the imagination), his head thrown back so that his longhair rested on his amazing collar, his hands laid trimly along hisknees. In that crystal air, instinct with its delicate, dominantimplication of things imponderable, the personality of eachpersisted undisturbed, in a kind of adamantine unconsciousness. Again, as when he had considered the soul of Rollo, St. Georgesmiled a shade bitterly. Is it then so easy to persist, he wondered?Is love's uttermost gift so little? But as the music swelled withpremonitory meaning, he understood something that its verytransitoriness disclosed: the persistence of love, love's mereimmortality, is the dead letter of the law without that which iselusive, imponderable, even evanescent as the spirit of the land towhich he had come, into which he felt himself new-born. 

Immediately, bestowing its gift of altered mood, other music, cut bythe lift and fall of trumpets, sounded from hidden places all aboutthe walls and from the alcoves of the lofty roof. Then a veilhanging between two pillars was drawn aside, and the prince's trainappeared. There were a detachment of the guard, splendid in theirunrelieved gold, and the officers of the court, at their headCassyrus, the premier, who had manifestly been compounded of Heavento be a drum-major, and had so undeviating a look that he seemedalways to have been caught, red-handed, at his post. Last camePrince Tabnit, dressed in pure white save for a collar of preciousstones from which hung the strange green gem that St. Georgeremembered. His clear face and the whiteness of his hair lent to himan air of almost unearthly distinction. His delicate hands wearingno jewels were at his sides, and his head was magnificently erect. He mounted the dais as the music sank to silence, and withoutpreface began to speak. 

"My people, " he said, and St. George felt himself thrilling with thestrength and tenderness of that voice, "in the continuance of thisour time of trial we come among you that we may win strength andcourage from your presence. Since one mind dwells in us all, we haveno need of words of cheer. That no message from his Majesty, theKing, has come to us is known to you all, with mourning. But thegods--to whom 'here' is the same as 'there'--will permit thepossible, and they have permitted to us the presence of the daughterof our sovereign, by the grace of the infinite, heir to the throneof Yaque. In two days, should his Majesty not then have returned tohis sorrowing people, she will, in accordance with our custom, becrowned Hereditary Princess of Yaque and, after one year, Queen ofYaque and your rightful sovereign. "

As the prince paused, a little breath of assent was in the room, more potent than any crudity of applause. 

"Next, " pursued the prince, "we would invite your attention to ourown affairs, which are of importance solely as they are affected bythe immemorial tradition of the House of the Litany. Therefore, inaccordance with the custom of our predecessors for two thousandyears, " lightly pursued the prince, "we have named this day as theday of our betrothal. Moreover, this is determined upon in justiceto the daughters of the twenty peers of Yaque, whose marriage thelaw forbids until the choice of the head of the House of the Litanyhas been made. .. "

St. George listened, and his hope soared heavenward as the hope ofyoung love will soar, in spite of itself, at the mere sight of opensky. The daughters of the twenty peers of Yaque! Of course they wereto be considered. Why should he fear that, because Olivia was inYaque, the mere mention of a betrothal referred to Olivia? He wasbold enough to smile at his fears, to smile even when, as the princeceased speaking, the music sounded again, as it were from the air, in a chorus of pure young voices with a ripple of unknown strings inaccompaniment. 

Suddenly, at the opening of great doors, a flood of saffron lightwas poured upon a stair, and at the summit appeared the leisurelyhead of a procession which the two men were destined never toforget. Across the gallery and down the stair--it might have beenthe Golden Stair linking Near with Far--came a score of exquisitewomen in all the glory of their youth, of perfect physical beautyand splendid strength and fullness of life; and the wonder was nottheir beauty more than a kind of dryad delicacy of that beauty, which was yet not frailty but a look of angelic strength. But theywere not remote--they were gloriously human, almost, one would say, divinely human, all gentle movement and warmth and tender breath. They were not remote, save as one's own soul would be remote by itsvery excess of intimacy with life, Little maids, so shy that theiractuality was certain, came before them carrying flowers, and thesewere followed by youths scattering fragrant burning powder whosefallen flames were instantly pounced upon and extinguished by smallfurry lemurs trained to lay silver discs upon the flames. And asthey all ranged themselves about the throne a little figure appearedat the top of the stairway alone, beneath the lifted curtain. 

She was veiled; but the elastic step, the girlish grace, the poiseand youthful dignity were not to be mistaken. The room whirled roundSt. George, and then closed in about him and grew dark. For this wasthe woman advancing to her betrothal; from the manner of herentrance there could be no doubt of that. And it was none of thedaughters of the twenty peers. It was Olivia. 

She wore a trailing gown of rainbow hues, more like the hues ofwater than of texture, and the warm light fell upon these as shedescended and variously multiplied them to beauty. Her little feetwere sandaled and a veil of indescribable thinness was wound abouther abundant hair and fell across her face, but the gold of her hairescaped the veil and rippled along her gown. Carven chains andnecklaces were upon her throat, and bracelets of beaten gold andjewels upon her arms. About her forehead glittered a jeweled bandwith pendent gems which, at her moving, were like noon sun uponwater. 

As he realized that this was indeed she whom he had come to seek, only to find her hedged about with difficulties--and it might be bydivinities--which he had not dreamed of coping, a kind of madnessseized St. George. The lights danced before his eyes, and hisimpulse had to do with rushing up to the dais and crying everybodydefiance but Olivia. On the moon-lit deck of _The Aloha_ he haddreamed out the island and the rescue of the island princess, and apossible home-going on his yacht to a home about which he had evendared to dream, too. But it had not once occurred to him to forecastsuch a contingency as this, or, later, so to explain to himselfPrince Tabnit's change of purpose in permitting her recognition asPrincess of Yaque--indeed, if what Jarvo and Akko had told him inNew York were accurate, in bringing her to the island at all. Andyet what, he thought crazily, if his guess at her part in thisbetrothal were far wrong? What if her father's safety were not theonly consideration? What if, not unnaturally dazzled by thefairy-land which had opened to her . .. Even while he feared, St. George knew far better. But the number of terrors possible to a manin love is equal to those of battle-fields. 

Amory bent toward him, murmuring excitedly. 

"Jupiter, " he said, "is she the American girl?"

"She's Miss Holland, " answered St. George miserably. 

"No--no, not the princess, " said Amory, "the other. "

St. George looked. On the stair was a little figure in rose andsilver--very tiny, very fair, and no doubt the lawyer's daughter. 

"I dare say it is, " he told him, as one would say, "Now what thedeuce of it?"

Prince Tabnit had risen to receive Olivia, and St. George had to seehim extend his hand and assist her beside him upon the dais. In theabsence of her father she was obliged to stand alone. Then thelittle figure in rose and silver and one of the daughters of thepeers advanced and lifted her veil, and St. George wanted to shoutwith sudden exultation. This then was she--so near, so near. Surelyno great harm could come to them so long as the sea and the mysteryof the island no longer lay between them. Did she know of hispresence? Although he and Amory were seated so near the throne, theywere at one side, and her clear, pure profile was turned towardthem. And Olivia did not lift her eyes throughout the primeminister's long address, of which St. George and Amory, so lappedwere they in wild projects and importunities, heard nothing until, uttered with indescribable pompousness, as if Cassyrus were adowager and had made the match himself, the concluding words beatupon St. George's heart like stones. They were the formalannouncement of the betrothal of Olivia, daughter of his Majesty, Otho I of Yaque, to Tabnit, Prince of Yaque and Head of the House ofthe Litany. 

St. George saw Prince Tabnit kneel before Olivia and place a ringupon her hand--no doubt the ring which had betrothed the islandprincesses for three thousand years. He saw the High Councilstanding with bowed heads, like the necessary archangels in an oldpainting; he caught the flash of the turquoise-blue ephod of thehead of the religious order, as the benediction was pronounced byits wearer. And through it all he said to himself that all would bewell if only she understood, if only she had the supremeself-consciousness to play the game. After all he knew her solittle. He was certain of her exquisite, playful fancy, but had sheimagination? Would she see the value of the moment and watch herselfmoving through it? Or would she live it with that feminine, unhumourous seriousness which is woman's weakness? She had anexquisite independence, he was certain that she had humour, and heremembered how alive she had seemed to him, receptive, like a womanwith ten senses. But after all, would not her graceful sanity ofview, that sense of tradition and unerring taste which he soreverenced, yet handicap her now and prevent her from daringwhatever she must dare?

Amory was beside himself. It was all very well to feel a greatsympathy for St. George, but the sight was more than journalisticflesh and blood could look upon with sympathetic calm. 

"An American girl!" he breathed in spite of himself. "Why, St. George, if we can leave this island alive--"

"Well, _you_ won't, " St. George explained, with brutal directness, "unless you can cut that. "

Before silence had again fallen, the prime minister, all his feverof importance still upon him, once more faced the audience. Thistime his words came to St. George like a thunderbolt:

"In three days' time, at noon, in this the Hall of Kings, " he cried, letting each phrase fall as if he were its proud inventor, "immediately following the official recognition of Olivia, daughterof Otho I, as Hereditary Princess of Yaque, there will besolemnized, according to the immemorial tradition of the island lastobserved six hundred and eighty-four years ago by Queen Pentellaria, the marriage of Olivia of Yaque, to his Highness, Prince Tabnit, head of the House of the Litany, and chief administrator of justice. _For the law prescribes that no unmarried woman shall sit upon thethrone of Yaque. _ At noon of the third day will be observed thedouble ceremony of the recognition and the marriage. May the godspermit the possible. "

There was a soft insistence of music from above, a stir and breathabout the room, the premier backed away to his seat, and St. George, even with the horrified tightening at his heart, was conscious of avague commotion from the vicinity of Mrs. Medora Hastings. Then hesaw the prince rise and turn to Olivia, and extend his hand toconduct her from the hall. The great banquet room beyond thecolonnade was at once thrown open, and there the court circle andthe ministry were to gather to do honour to the new princess, whomPrince Tabnit was to lead to the seat at his right hand at thetable's head. 

To the amazement of his Highness, Olivia made no movement to acceptthe hand that he offered. Instead, she sat slightly at one side ofthe great glittering throne, looking up at him with something likethe faintest conceivable smile which, while one saw, became oncemore her exquisite, girlish gravity. When the music sank a littleher voice sounded above it with a sweet distinctness:

"One moment, if you please, your Highness, " she said clearly. 

It was the first time that St. George had heard her voice since itsgood-by to him in New York. And before her words his vague fears forher were triumphantly driven. The spirit that he had hoped for wasin her face, and something else; St. George could have sworn that hesaw, but no one else could have seen the look, a glimpse of thatdelicate roguery that had held him captive when he had breakfastedwith her--several hundred years before, was it?--at the Boris. Ah, he need not have feared for her, he told himself exultantly. Forthis was Olivia--of America--standing in a company of the women whoseemed like the women of whom men dream, and whose presence, save inglimpses at first meetings, they perhaps never wholly realize. Thesewere the women of the land which "no one can define or remember. "And yet, as he watched her now, St. George was gloriously consciousthat Olivia not only held her own among them, but that in some charmof vividness and of _knowledge of laughter_, she transcended themall. 

A ripple of surprise had gone round the room. For all the air of theultimate about the island-women, St. George doubted whether ever inthe three thousand years of Yaque's history a woman had raised hervoice from that throne upon a like occasion. And such a tender, beguiling, cajoling little voice it was. A voice that held littleremarques upon whatever it had just said, and that made onebreathless to know what would come next. 

"Bully!" breathed Amory, his eyes shining behind his pince-nez. 

Prince Tabnit hesitated. 

"If the princess wishes to speak with us--" he began, and Oliviamade a charming gesture of dissent, and all the jewels in her hairand upon her white throat caught the light and were set glittering. 

"No, " she said gently, "no, your Highness. I wish to speak in thepresence of my people. "

She gave the "my" no undue value, yet it fell from her lips withdelicious audacity. 

"Indeed, " she said, "I think, your Highness, that I will speak to mypeople myself. "

CHAPTER XI

THE END OF THE EVENING

The Hall of Kings was very still as Olivia rose. She stood with onehand touching her veil's hem, the other resting on the low, carvedarm of the throne, and at the coming and going of her breath herjewels made the light lambent with the indeterminate colours ofthose strange, joyous banners floating far above her head. 

Her voice was very sweet and a little tremulous--and it is the verygrace of a woman's courage that her voice tremble never so slightly. It seemed to St. George that he loved her a thousand times the morefor that mere persuasive wavering of her words. And, while helistened to what he felt to be the prelude of her message, it seemedto him that he loved her another thousand times the more--whatheavenly ease there is in this arithmetic of love--for the tendermeaning which, upon her lips, her father's name took on. When, speaking with simplicity and directness of the subject that layuppermost in the minds of them all, she asked their utmost endeavourin their common grief, it was clear that what she said transcendedwhatever phenomena of mere experience lay between her and those whoheard her, and they understood. The _rapport_ was like that amongthose who hear one music. But St. George listened, and though hismind applauded, it ran on ahead to the terrifying future. This wasall very well, but how was it to help her in the face of what was tohappen in three days' time?

"Therefore, " Olivia's words touched tranquilly among the flying endsof his own thought, "I am come before you to make that sacrificewhich my love for my father, and my grief and my anxiety demand. Icount upon your support, as he would count upon it for me. I askthat one heart be in us all in this common sorrow. And I am comewith the unalterable determination both to renounce my thronethere"--never was anything more enchanting than the way those twowords fell from her lips--"and to postpone my marriage"--there neverwas anything more profoundly disquieting than _those_ two words insuch a connection--"until such time as, by your effort and by myown, we may have news of my father, the king; and until, by youreffort or by my own, the Hereditary Treasure shall be restored. "

So, serenely and with the most ingenuous confidence, did thedaughter of the absent King Otho make disposition of the hour'sevents. Amory leaned forward and feverishly polished his pince-nez. 

"What do you think of that?" he put it, beneath his breath, "what_do_ you think of that?"

St. George, watching that little figure--so adorably, almostpathetically little in its corner of the great throne--knew that hehad not counted upon her in vain. Over there on the raised seatsMrs. Medora Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham were looking onmatters as helplessly as they would look at a thunder-storm or acircus procession, and they were taking things quite as seriously. But Olivia, in spite of the tragedy that the hour held for her, wasgiving the moment its exact value, guiltless of the feminineimmorality of panic. To give a moment its due without that panic, is, St. George knew, a kind of genius, like creating beauty, anddivining another's meaning, and redeeming the spirit of a thing fromits actuality. But by that time the arithmetic of his love was byway of being in too many figures to talk about. Which is the properplight of love. 

Every one had turned toward Prince Tabnit, and as St. George lookedit smote him whimsically that that impassive profile was like theprofiles upon the ancient coins which, almost any day, might be castup by a passing hoof on the island mold. Indeed, St. George thought, one might almost have spent the prince's profile at a fig-stall, and the vender would have jingled it among his silver and never havedetected the cheat. But in the next moment the joyous mounting ofhis blood running riot in audacious whimsies was checked by the evenvoice of the prince himself. 

"The gratitude and love of this people, " he said slowly, "are due tothe daughter of its sovereign for what she has proposed. It is, however, to be remembered that by our ancient law the State andevery satrapy therein shall receive no service, whether of blood orof bond, from an alien. The king himself could serve us only in thathe was king. To his daughter as Princess of Yaque and wife of theHead of the House of the Litany, this service in the search for thesovereign and the Hereditary Treasure will be permitted, but she mayserve us only from the throne. "

"Upon my soul, then that lets _us_ out, " murmured Amory. 

And St. George remembered miserably how, in that dingy house inMcDougle Street, he and Olivia had listened once before to therecital of that law from the prince's lips. If they had known hownext they would hear it! If they had known then what that law wouldcome to mean to her! What could she do now--what could even Oliviado now but assent?

She could do a great deal, it appeared. She could incline her head, with a bewitching droop of eyelids, and look up to meet the eyes ofthe prince with a serenity that was like a smile. 

"In my country, " said Olivia gravely, "when anything special arisesthey frequently find that there is no law to cover it. It would seemto us"--it was as though the humility of that "us" took from hersuperb daring--"that this is a matter requiring the advice of theHigh Council. Therefore, " asked little Olivia gently, "will you notappoint, your Highness, a special session of the High Council toconvene at noon to-morrow, to consider our proposition?"

There was a scarcely perceptible stir among the members of the HighCouncil, for even the liberals were, it would seem, taken aback by adeparture which they themselves had not instituted. Olivia, still insubmission to tradition which she could not violate, had gained thetime for which she hoped. With a grace that was like the conferringof a royal favour, Prince Tabnit appointed the meeting of the HighCouncil for noon on the following day. 

"May the gods permit the possible, " he added, and once more extendedhis hand to Olivia. This time, with lowered eyes, she gave him thetips of her fingers and, as the beckoning music swelled a delicateprelude, she stepped from the dais and suffered the prince to leadher toward the banquet hall. 

Amory drew a long breath, and it came to St. George that if he, Amory, said anything about what he would give if he had a leasedwire to the _Sentinel_ Office, there would no longer be room on theisland for them both. But Amory said no such thing. Instead, helooked at St. George in distinct hesitation. 

"I say, " he brought out finally, "St. George, by Jove, do you know, it seems to me I've seen Miss Frothingham before. And how jollybeautiful she is, " he added almost reverently. 

"Maybe it was when you were a Phoenician galley slave and she wentby in a trireme, " offered St. George, trying to keep in sight thebright hair and the floating veil beyond the press of the crowd. Would he see Olivia and would he be able to speak with her, and didshe know he was there, and would she be angry? Ah well, she couldnot possibly be angry, he thought; but with all this in his mind itwas hardly reasonable of Amory to expect him to speculate on whereMiss Frothingham might have been seen before. If it weren't for thisBalator now, St. George said to himself restlessly, and suddenlyobserved that Balator was expecting them to follow him. So, in theslow-moving throng, all soft hues and soft laughter, they made theirway toward the colonnade that cut off the banquet room. And at everystep St. George thought, "she has passed here--and here--and here, "and all the while, through the mighty open rafters in the conicalroof, were to be seen those strange banners joyously floating in thedelicate, alien light. The wine of the moment flowed in his veins, and he moved under strange banners, with a strange ecstasy in hisheart. 

Therefore, suddenly to hear Rollo's voice at his shoulder came as adistinct shock. 

"It's one of them little brown 'uns, sir, " Rollo announced in hisbest tone of mystery. "He's settin' upstairs, sir, an' he's all fersettin' there _till_ he sees you. He says it's most important, sir. "

Amory heard. 

"Shall I go up?" he asked eagerly; "I'd like a whiff of a pipe, anyway. It'll be something to tie to. "

"Will you go?" asked St. George in undisguised gratitude. He wasprepared to accept most risks rather than to lose sight of the starhe was following. 

With a word to Balator who explained where, on his return, he couldfind them, Amory turned with Rollo, and slipped through the crowd. Having reasons of his own for getting back to the hall below, Amorywas prepared to speed well the interview with "the little brown 'un"who, he supposed, was Jarvo. 

It was Jarvo--Jarvo, in a state of excitement, profound andincredible. The little man, from the annoyingly serene mode of mindin which he had left them, was become, for him, almost agitated. Hesprang up from a divan in the great dressing-room of their apartmentand approached Amory almost without greeting. 

"Adôn, adôn, " he said earnestly, "you must leave the palace atonce--at once. But to-night!"

Amory hunted for his pipe, found and lighted it, pressing acigarette upon Jarvo who accepted, and held it, alight, in the palmof his hand. 

"To-night, " he repeated, as if it were a game. 

"Ah well, now, " said Amory reasonably, "why, Jarvo? And we socomfortable. "

The little man looked at Amory beseechingly. 

"I know what I know, " he said earnestly, "many things will happen. There is danger about the palace to-night--danger it may be for you. I do not know all, but I come to warn you, and to warn the adôn whohas been kind to us. You have brought us here when we were alone inAmerica, " said Jarvo simply. "Akko and I will help you now. It wasAkko who remembered the tower. "

Amory looked down at the bowl of his pipe, and shook his vestas intheir box, and turned his eyes to Rollo, listening near by with anair of the most intense abstraction. Yes, all these things werereal. They were all real, and here was he, Amory, smoking. And yetwhat was all this amazing talk about danger in the palace, and beingwarned, and remembering the tower?

"Anybody would think I was Crass, writing head-lines, " he toldhimself, and blew a cloud of smoke through which to look at Jarvo. 

"What are you talking about?" he demanded sternly. 

Jarvo had a little key in his hand, which he shook. The key was on aslender, carved ring, and it jingled. And when he offered it to himAmory abstractedly took it. 

"See, adôn, " said Jarvo, "see! In the ilex grove on the road that wetook last night there is a white tower--it may be that you havenoticed it to-day. That tower is empty, and this is the key. Theremay be guards, but I shall know how to pass among them. You mustcome with me there to-night, the three. Even then it may be toolate, I do not know. The gods will permit the possible. But this Iknow: the Royal Guard are of the lahnas, on whom the tax to makegood the Hereditary Treasure will fall most heavily. They are filledwith rage against your people--you and the king who is of yourpeople. I do not know what they will do, but you are not safe forone moment in the palace. I come to warn you. "

Amory's pipe went out. He sat pulling at it abstractedly, trying tofit together what St. George had told him of the Hereditary Treasuresituation. And more than at any other time since his arrival on theisland his heart leaped up at the prospect of promised adventure. What if St. George's romantic apostasy were not, after all, to spoilthe flavour of the kind of adventure for which he, Amory, had beenhoping? He leaned eagerly forward. 

"What would you suggest?" he said. 

Jarvo's eyes brightened. At once he sprang to his feet and stoodbefore Amory, taking soft steps here and there as he talked, inmovement graceful and tenuous as the greyhound of which he hadreminded St. George. 

"In the palace yard, " explained the little man rapidly, "is a motorwhich came from Melita, bringing guests for the ceremony ofto-night. They will remain in the palace until after the marriage ofthe prince, two days hence. But the motor--that must go backto-night to Melita, adôn. I have made for myself permission to takeit there. But you--the three--must go with me. At the tower in theilex grove I shall leave you, and I shall return. Is this good?"

"Excellent. But what afterward?" demanded Amory. "Are we all to keephouse in the tower?"

Jarvo shook his head, like a man who has thought of everything. 

"Through to-morrow, yes, " he said, "but to-morrow night, when thedark falls--"

He bent forward and spoke softly. 

"Did not the adôn wish to ascend the mountain?" he asked. 

"Rather, " said Amory, "but how, good heavens?"

"I and Akko wish to ascend also; the prince has sent us no message, and we fear him, " said Jarvo simply. "There are on the island, adôn, six carriers, trained from birth to make the ascent. They are thesons of those whose duty it was to ascend, and they the sons formany generations. The trail is very steep, very perilous. Six weretaught to go up with messages long before the knowledge of thewireless way, long before the flight of the airships. They arebecome a tradition of the island. It is with them that you mustascend--if you have no fear. "

"Fear!" cried Amory. "But these men, what of them? They are in theemploy of the State. How do you know they will take us?"

Jarvo dropped his eyes. 

"I and Akko, " he said quietly, "we are two of these six carriers, adôn. "

Then Amory leaped up, scattering the ashes of his pipe over thetiles. This, then, was what was the matter with the feet of the twomen, about which they had all speculated on the deck of _The Aloha_, the feet trained from birth to make the ascent of the steep trail, feet become long, tenuous, almost prehensile--

"It's miracles, that's what it is, " declared Amory solemnly. "How onearth did they come to take you to New York?" he could not forbearasking. 

"The prince knew nothing of your country, adôn, " answered Jarvosimply. "He might have needed us to enter it. "

"To climb the custom-house, " said Amory abstractedly, and laughedout suddenly in sheer light-heartedness. Here was come to them anundertaking to which St. George himself must warm as he had warmedat the prospect of the voyage. To go up the mountain to thethreshold of the king's palace, where lived the daughter of theking. 

Amory bent himself with a will to mastering each detail of thelittle man's proposals. Rollo, they decided, was at once to makeready a few belongings in the oil-skins. Immediately after thebanquet St. George and Amory were to mingle with the throng andleave the palace--no difficult matter in the press of thedepartures--and, on the side of the courtyard beneath the windows ofthe banquet room, Jarvo, already joined by Rollo, would be awaitingthem in the motor bound for Melita. 

"It sounds as if it couldn't be done, " said Amory in intenseenjoyment. "It's bully. "

He paced up and down the room, talking it over. He folded his arms, and looked at the matter from all sides and wondered, as touching astory being "covered" for Chillingworth, whether he were leavinganything unthought. 

"Chillingworth!" he said to himself in ecstasy. "Wouldn'tChillingworth dote to idolatry upon this sight?"

Then Amory stood still, facing something that he had not seenbefore. He had come, in his walk, upon a little table set near theroom's entrance, and bearing a decanter and some cups. 

"Hello, " he said, "Rollo, where did this come from?"

Rollo came forward, velvet steps, velvet pressing together of hishands, face expressionless as velvet too. 

"A servant of 'is 'ighness, sir, " he said--Rollo did that now andthen to let you know that his was the blood of valets--"left it sometime ago, with the compliments of the prince. It looks like a good, nitzy Burgundy, sir, " added Rollo tolerantly, "though the man didsay it was bottled in something B. C. , sir, and if it was it's mostlikely flat. You can't trust them vintages much farther back thanthe French Revolootion, beggin' your pardon, sir. "

Amory absently lifted the decanter, and then looked at it with somecuriosity. The decanter was like a vase, ornamented with goldmedallions covered with exquisite and precise engraving of greatbeauty and variety of design. Serpents, men contending with lions, sacred trees and apes were chased in the gold, and the little cupsof sard were engraved in pomegranates and segments of fruit andpendent acorns, and were set with cones of cornelian. The cups werejoined by a long cord of thick gold. 

Amory set his hand to the little golden stopper, perhapshermetically sealed, he thought idly, at about the time of theaccidental discovery of glass itself by the Phoenicians. Amory wasnot imaginative, but as he thought of the possible age of the wine, there lay upon him that fascination communicable from any linkbetween the present and the living past. 

"Solomon and Sargon, " he said to himself, "the geese in the capitol, Marathon, Alexander, Carthage, the Norman conquest, Shakespeare andMiss Frothingham!"

He smiled and twisted the carven stopper. 

"And the girl is alive, " he said almost wonderingly. "There has beenso much Time in the world, and yet she is alive now. Down there inthe banquet room. "

The odour of the contents of the vase, spicy, penetrating, delicious, crept out, and he breathed it gratefully. It was like noodour that he remembered. This was nothing like Rollo's "good, nitzyBurgundy"--this was something infinitely more wonderful. And theodour--the odour was like a draught. And wasn't this the wine ofwines, he asked himself, to give them courage, exultation, the mostsuperb daring when they started up that delectable mountain? St. George must know; he would think so too. 

"Oh, I say, " said Amory to himself, "we must put some strength inJarvo's bones too--poor little brick!"

With that Amory drew the carven stopper, fitted in the little funnelthat hung about the neck of the vase, poured a half-finger of thewine in each cup, and lifted one in his hand. But the mere odour wasenough to make a man live ten lives, he thought, smiling at his ownstrange exultation. He must no more than touch it to his lips, forhe wanted a clear head for what was coming. 

"Come, Jarvo, " he cried gaily--was he shouting, he wondered, andwasn't that what he was trying to do--to shout to make some far-awayvoice answer him? "Come and drink to the health of the prince. Longmay he live, long may he live--without us!"

Amory had stood with his back to the little brown man while hepoured the wine. As he turned, he lifted one cup to his lips andRollo gravely presented the other to Jarvo. But with a bound thatall but upset the velvet valet, the little man cleared the spacebetween him and Amory and struck the cup from Amory's hand. 

"Adôn!" he cried terribly, "adôn! Do not drink--do not drink!"

The precious liquid splashed to the floor with the falling cup andran red about the tiles. Instantly a powerful and delightfulfragrance rose, and the thick fumes possessed the air. Amory threwout his hands blindly, caught dizzily at Rollo, and was half draggedby Jarvo to the open window. 

"Oh, I say, sir--" burst out Rollo, more upset over the loss of thewine than he was alarmed at the occurrence. If it came to losing agood, nitzy Burgundy, Rollo knew what that meant. 

"Adôn, " cried Jarvo, shaking Amory's shoulders, "did you taste theliquor--tell me--the liquor--did you taste?"

Amory shook his head. Jarvo's face and the hovering Rollo and thewhole room were enveloped in mist, and the wine was hot on his lipswhere the cup had touched them. Yet while he stood there, with thatpermeating fragrance in the air, it came to him vaguely that he hadnever in his life known a more perfectly delightful moment. If this, he said to himself vaguely, was what they meant by wine in the olddays, then so far as his own experience went, the best "nitzy"Burgundy was no more than a flabby, _vin ordinaire_ beside it. Notthat "flabby" was what he meant to call it, but that was the wordthat came. For he felt as if no less than six men were flowing inhis veins, he summed it up to himself triumphantly. 

But after all, the effect was only momentary. Almost as quickly asthose strange fumes had arisen they were dissipated. And whenpresently Amory stood up unsteadily from the seat of the window, hecould see clearly enough that Jarvo, with terrified eyes, wasturning the vase in his hands. 

"It is the same, " he was saying, "it must be the same. The gods havepermitted the possible. I was here to tell you. "

"Tell me what?" demanded Amory with ungrateful irritation. "Is thestuff poison?" he asked, tottering in spite of himself as he crossedthe floor toward him. But Jarvo turned his face, and upon it wassuch an incongruous terror that Amory involuntarily stood still. 

"There are known to be two, " said Jarvo, holding the vase at arm'slength, "and the one is abundant life, if the draught is notover-measured. But the other is ten thousand times worse thandeath. "

"What do you mean?" cried Amory roughly. "What are you talkingabout? If the stuff is poison can't you say so?"

Jarvo looked at him swiftly. 

"These things are not spoken aloud in Yaque, " he said simply, andafter that he held his peace. Amory threatened him and laughed athim, but Jarvo shook his head. At last Amory scoffed at the wholematter and stretched out his hand for the vase. 

"Come, " he said, "at all events I'll take it with me. It can't bevery much worse than the American liqueurs. "

"My word for it, sir, beggin' your pardon, " said Rollo earnestly, "it's a kind of what you might call med-i-eval Burgundy, sir. "

"It is not well, " said Jarvo, handing the vase with reluctance, "yettake it--but see that it touches no lips. I charge you that, adôn. "

Amory smiled and slipped the little vase in his coat pocket. 

"It's all right, " he said, "I won't let it get away from me. I canfind my legs now; I'll go back down. Look sharp, Rollo. Be downthere with the oil-skins. We put on this Tyrian purple stuff overthe whole outfit, " he explained to Jarvo, "and I suppose, you know, that you can get both robes back here for us, if we escape in them?"

"Assuredly, adôn, " said Jarvo, "and you must escape without delay. This wine must mean that the prince, too, wishes you harm. Now letme be before you for a little, so that no one may see us together. Ishall go now, immediately, to the motor--it is waiting already bythe wall on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of thebanquet hall. I shall not fail you. "

"On the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquetroom, " repeated Amory. "Thanks, Jarvo. You're all kinds of a goodfellow. "

"Yes, adôn, " gravely assented the little man from the threshold. 

Ten minutes later Amory followed. Already Rollo had packed theoil-skins, and Amory, his nerves steadied and the excitement of allthat the night promised come upon him, hurried before him down thecorridor, his thoughts divided in their allegiance between thedelight of telling St. George what was toward, and the new andalluring delight of seeing Antoinette Frothingham near at hand inthe banquet room. After all, he had had only the vaguest glimpse ofa little figure in rose and silver, and he doubted if he could tellher from the princess, but for the interpreting gown. 

Amory looked up with an irrepressible thrill of delight. He was justat that moment crossing the high white audience-hall, the anteroomto the Hall of Kings--he, Amory, in Tyrian purple garments. Ifanything were needed to complete the picture it would be to meetface to face, there in that big, lonely room, a little figure inrose and silver. It made his heart beat even to think of thepossibilities of that situation. He skirted the Hall of Kings, andstood in one of the archways of the colonnade, facing the banquetroom. 

The banquet-table extended about three sides of the room, whosecentre the guests faced. The middle space was left pure, unvexed bycolumns or furnishing. At the room's far end Amory glimpsed theprince, at his side Olivia's white veil, and her women about her;and, nearer, St. George and Balator in the place appointed. A guardcame to conduct him, and he crossed to his seat and sank down withthe look that could be made to mean whatever Amory meant. 

"I expect to be served, " murmured the journalist in him, "bybeautiful tame megatheriums, in sashes. And is that glyptodonsalad?"

St. George's eyes were upon the guests, so tranquilly seated, awareof the hour. 

"I fancy, " he said in half-voice, "that presently we shall seelittle flames issuing from their hair, as there used from the hairof the ladies in Werner's ballets. "

Then as Balator leaned toward him in his splendid leisure, fosteringhis charm, there came an amazing interruption. 

The low key of the room was electrically raised by a cry, loosedfrom some other plight of being, like an odour of burningencroaching upon a garden. 

"Why have you not waited?" some one called, and the voice--clear, equal, imperious--evened its way upon the air and reduced to itselfthe soft speech of the others. Silence fell upon them all, andtheir eyes were toward a figure standing in the open interval of theroom--a figure whose aspect thrilled St. George with sudden, inexplicable emotion. 

It was an old man, incredibly old, so that one thought first of hisage. His beard and hair were not all grey, but he had grotesquelybrown and wrinkled flesh. His stuff robe hung in straight foldsabout his singularly erect figure, and there was in his bearing thedignity of one who has understood all fine and gentle things, allthings of quietude. But his look was vacant, as if the mind wereasleep. 

"Why have you not waited?" he repeated almost wonderingly. "Why haveyou not sent for me?" and his eyes questioned one and another, andrested on the face of the prince upon the dais, with Olivia by hisside. The guard, whom in some fashion the strange old man hadeluded, hurried from the borders of the room. But he broke from themand was off up half the length of the hall toward the prince's seat. 

"Do you not know?" he cried as he went, "I am Malakh. Read oneanother's eyes and you will know. I am Malakh. "

As the guards closed about him he tottered and would have fallensave that they caught him roughly and pressed to a door, halfcarrying him, and he did not resist. But as speech was renewedanother voice broke the murmur, and with great amazement St. Georgeknew that this was Olivia's voice. 

"No, " she cried--but half as if she distrusted her own strangeimpulse, "let him stay--let him stay. "

St. George saw the prince's look question her. He himself was unableto account for her unexpected intercession, and so, one would havesaid, was Olivia. She looked up at the prince almost fearfully, anddown the length of the listening table, and back to the old manwhose eyes were upon her face. 

"He is an old man, your Highness, " St. George heard her saying, "lethim stay. "

Prince Tabnit, who gave a curious impression of doing everythingthat he did in obedience to inertia rather than in its defiance, indicated some command to the puzzled guards, and they led oldMalakh to a stone bench not far from the dais, and there he sankdown, looking about him without surprise. 

"It is well, " he said simply, "Malakh has come. "

While St. George was marveling--but not that the old man spoke theEnglish, for in Yaque it was not surprising to find the very madmenspeaking one's own tongue--Balator explained the man. 

"He is a poor mad creature, " Balator said. "He walks the streets ofMed saying 'Melek, Melek, ' which is to say, 'king, ' and so he isseeking the king. But he is mad, and they say that he always weeps, and therefore they pretend to believe that he says 'Malakh, ' whichis to say 'salt. ' And they call him that for his tears. Doubtlessthe princess does not understand. Her Highness has a tender heart. "

St. George was silent. The incident was trivial, but Olivia hadnever seemed so near. 

Sometimes in the world of commonplace there comes an extreme hourwhich one afterward remembers with "Could that have been I? Butcould it have been I who did that?" And one finds it in one's heartto be certain that it was not one's self, but some one else--someone very near, some one who is always sharing one's ownconsciousness and inexplicably mixing with one's moments. "Perhaps, "St. George would have said, "there is some such person who isnearly, but not quite, I myself. And if there is, it was he and notI who was at that banquet!" It was one of the hours which seem tohave been made with no echo. It was; and then passed into otherways, and one remembered only a brightness. For example, St. Georgelistened to what Balator said, and he heard with utmostunderstanding, and with the frequent pleasure of wonder, and was nowand then exquisitely amused as one is amused in dreams. But even ashe listened, if he tried to remember the last thing that was said, and the next to the last thing, he found that these had escaped him;and as he rose from the table he could not recall ten words that hadbeen spoken. It was as if the some one very near, who is alwayssharing one's consciousness and inexplicably mixing with one'smoments, had taken St. George's part at the banquet while he, himself, sat there in the rôle of his own outer consciousness. Butneither he nor that hypothetical "some one else, " who was also he, lost for one instant the heavenly knowledge that Olivia was up thereat the head of the table. 

Amory, in spite of diplomatic effort, had not succeeded in impartingto St. George anything of his talk with Jarvo. Balator was too near, and the place was somehow too generally attentive to permit a secretword. So, as they rose from the table, St. George was still inignorance of what was toward and knew nothing of either the IlexTower or the possibilities of the morrow. He had only one thought, and that was to speak with Olivia, to let her know that he was thereon the island, near her, ready to serve her--ah well, chiefly, hedid not disguise from himself, what he wanted was to look at her andto hear her speak to him. But Amory had depended on the confusion ofthe rising to communicate the great news, and to tell about Jarvo, waiting in a motor out there in the palace courtyard, by the wall onthe side opposite the windows of the banquet room. In an auspiciousmoment Amory looked warily about, thrilling with premonition of hisfriend's enthusiasm. 

Before he could speak, St. George uttered a startled exclamation, caught at Amory's arm, sprang forward, and was off up the long room, dragging Amory with him. 

About the dais there was suddenly an appalling confusion. Push offeet, murmurs, a cry and, visible over the heads between, aglistening of gold uniforms closing about the throne seats, flashingback to the long, open windows, disappearing against the night. .. 

"What is it?" cried Amory as he ran. "What is it?"

"Quick, " said St. George only, "I don't know. They've gone withher. "

Amory did not understand, but he saw that Olivia's seat was empty;and when he swept the heads for her white veil, it was not there. 

"Who has?" he said. 

St. George swerved to the side of the room toward the windows, andold Malakh stood there, crying out and pointing. 

"The guard, I think, " St. George answered, and was over the low sillof a window, running headlong across the courtyard, Amory behindhim. "There they go, " St. George cried. "Good God, what are we todo? There they go. "

Amory looked. Down a side avenue--one of those tunnels of shadowthat taught the necessity of mystery--a great motor car wasspeeding, and in the dimness the two men could see the white ofOlivia's floating veil. 

At this, Amory wheeled and searched the length of wall across theyard. If only--if only--

There on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of thebanquet room stood the motor that was that night to go back toMelita. Bolt upright on the seat was Jarvo, and climbing in thetonneau, with his neck stretched toward the confusion of the palace, was Rollo. Jarvo saw Amory, who beckoned; and in an instant the carwas beside them and the two men were over the back of the tonneau ina flash. 

"That way, " cried St. George, with no time to waste on the miracleof Jarvo's appearance, "that way--there. Where you see the white. "

At a touch the motor plunged away into the fragrant darkness. Amorylooked back. Figures crowded the windows of the palace, and streamedfrom the banquet hall into the courtyard. Men hurried through thehall, and there was clamour of voices, and in the honey-coloured airthe great bulk of the palace towered like a faithless sentinel, thealien banners in nameless colours sending streamers into themoon-lit upper spaces. 

On before, down nebulous ways, went the whiteness of the floatingveil. 

CHAPTER XII

BETWEEN-WORLDS

Down nebulous ways they went, the thin darkness flowing past them. The sloping avenue ran all the width of the palace grounds, and hereamong slim-trunked trees faint fringes of the light touched away thedimness in the open spaces and expressed the borders of the dusk. Always the way led down, dipping deeper in the conjecture of shadow, and always before them glimmered the mist of Olivia's veil, aneidolon of love, of love's eternal Vanishing Goal. 

And St. George was in pursuit. So were Amory and Jarvo, and Rollo ofthe oil-skins, but these mattered very little, for it was St. Georgewhose eyes burned in his pale face and were striving to catch thefaintest motion in that fleeing car ahead. 

"Faster, Jarvo, " he said, "we're not gaining on them. I thinkthey're gaining on us. Put ahead, can't you?"

Amory vexed the air with frantic questionings. "How did it happen?"he said. "Who did it? Was it the guard? What did they do it for?"

"It looks to me, " said St. George only, peering distractedly intothe gloom, "as if all those fellows had on uniforms. Can you see?"

Jarvo spoke softly. 

"It is true, adôn, " he said, "they are of the guard. This is whatthey had planned, " he added to Amory. "I feared the harm would be toyou. It is the same. Your turn would be the next. "

"What do you mean?" St. George demanded. 

Amory, with some incoherence, told him what Jarvo had come to themto propose, and heightened his own excitement by plunging into thebusiness of that night and the next, as he had had it from thelittle brown man's lips. 

"Up the mountain to-morrow night, " he concluded fervently, "what doyou think of that? Do you see us?"

"Maniac, no, " said St. George shortly, "what do we want to go up themountain for if Miss Holland is somewhere else? Faster, Jarvo, can'tyou?" he urged. "Why, this thing is built to go sixty miles an hour. We're creeping. "

"Perhaps it's better to start in gentle and work up a pace, sir, "observed Rollo inspirationally, "like a man's legs, sir, beggin'your pardon. "

St. George looked at him as if he had first seen him, so that Amoryonce more explained his presence and pointed to the oil-skins. AndSt. George said only:

"Now we're coming up a little--don't you think we're coming up alittle? Throw it wide open, Jarvo--now, go!"

"What are you going to do when you catch them?" demanded Amory. "Wecan't lunge into them, for fear of hurting Miss Holland. And whoknows what devilish contrivance they've got--dum-dum bullets with apoison seal attachment, " prophesied Amory darkly. "What are yougoing to do?"

"I don't know what we're going to do, " said St. George doggedly, "but if we can overtake them it won't take us long to find out. "

Never so slightly the pursuers were gaining. It was impossible totell whether those in the flying car knew that they were followed, and if they did know, and if Olivia knew, St. George wonderedwhether the pursuit were to her a new alarm, or whether she werelooking to them for deliverance. If she knew! His heart stood stillat the thought--oh, and if they had both known, that morning atbreakfast at the Boris, that _this_ was the way the genie would comeout of the jar. But how, if he were unable to help her? And howcould he help her when these others might have Heaven knew whatresources of black art, art of all the colours of the Yaquespectrum, if it came to that? The slim-trunked trees flew past them, and the tender branches brushed their shoulders and hung out theirflowers like lamps. Warm wind was in their faces, sweet, reverberant voices of the wood-things came chorusing, and aheadthere in the dimness, that misty will-o'-the-wisp was her veil, Olivia's veil. St. George would have followed if it had led himbetween-worlds. 

In a manner it did lead him between-worlds. Emerging suddenly upon abroader avenue their car followed the other aside and shot through agreat gateway of the palace wall--a wall built of such massiveblocks that the gateway formed a covered passageway. From there, delicately lighted, greenly arched, and on this festal night, quitedeserted, went the road by which, the night before, they had enteredMed. 

"Now, " said St. George between set teeth, "now see what you can do, Jarvo. Everything depends on you. "

Evidently Jarvo had been waiting for this stretch of open road andexpecting the other car to take it. He bent forward, his wirylittle frame like a quivering spring controlling the motion. Themotor leaped at his touch. Away down the road they tore with thewind singing its challenge. Second by second they saw theirgain increase. The uniforms of the guards in the car becamedistinguishable. The white of Olivia's veil merged in thebrightness of her gown--was it only the shining of the gold of theuniforms or could St. George see the floating gold of her hair?Ah, wonderful, past all speech it was wonderful to be fleeingtoward her through this pale light that was like a purer elementthan light itself. With the phantom moving of the boughs in thewood on either side light seemed to dance and drip from leaf toleaf--the visible spirit of the haunted green. The unreality of itall swept over him almost stiflingly. Olivia--was it indeed Oliviawhom he was following down lustrous ways of a land vague as astar; or was his pursuit not for her, but for the exquisite, incommunicable Idea, and was he following it through a worldforth-fashioned from his own desire?

Suddenly indistinguishable sounds were in his ears, words fromAmory, from Jarvo certain exultant gutturals. He felt the carslacken speed, he looked ahead for the swift beckoning of the veil, and then he saw that where, in the delicate distance, the othermotor had sped its way, it now stood inactive in the road beforethem, and they were actually upon it. The four guards in the motorwere standing erect with uplifted faces, their gold uniforms shininglike armour. But this was not all. There, in the highway beside thecar, the mist of her veil like a halo about her, Olivia stood alone. 

St. George did not reckon what they meant to do. He dropped over theside of the tonneau and ran to her. He stood before her, and all thejoy that he had ever known was transcended as she turned towardhim. She threw out her hands with a little cry--was it gladness, orrelief, or beseeching? He could not be certain that there was evenrecognition in her eyes before she tottered and swayed, and hecaught her unconscious form in his arms. As he lifted her he lookedwith apprehension toward the car that held the guards. To hisbewilderment there was no car there. The pursued motor, like awinged thing of the most innocent vagaries, had taken itself offutterly. And on before, the causeway was utterly empty, dipping idlybetween murmurous green. But at the moment St. George had no time tospend on that wonder. 

He carried Olivia to the tonneau of Jarvo's car, jealous when Rollolifted her gown's hem from the dust of the road and when Amory threwopen the door. He held her in his arms, half kneeling beside her, profoundly regardless where it should please the others to disposethemselves. He had no recollection of hearing Jarvo point the waythrough the trees to a path that led away, as far from them as avoice would carry, to the Ilex Tower whose key burned in Amory'spocket, promising radiant, intangible things to his imagination. St. George understood with magnificent unconcern that Amory and Rollowere gone off there to wait for the return of him and Jarvo; he tookit for granted that Jarvo had grasped that Olivia must be takenback to her aunt and her friends at the palace; and afterward heknew only, for an indeterminate space, that the car was movingacross some dim, heavenly foreground to some dim, ultimatedestination in which he found himself believing with infinite faith. 

For this was Olivia, in his arms. St. George looked down at her, atthe white, exquisite face with its shadow of lashes, and it seemedto him that he must not breathe, or remember, or hope, lest the godsshould be jealous and claim the moment, and leave him once moreforlorn. That was the secret, he thought, not to touch away theelusive moment by hope or memory, but just to live it, filled withits ecstasies, borne on the crest of its consciousness. It seemed tohim in some intimately communicated fashion, that the moment, thevery world of the island, was become to him a more intense objectof consciousness than himself. And somehow Olivia was itsexpression--Olivia, here in his arms, with the stir of her breathand the light, light pressure of her body and the fall of her hair, not only symbols of the sovereign hour, but the hour's realities. 

On either side the phantom wood pressed close about them, and itslight seemed coined by goblin fingers. Dissolving wind, persuadinglittle voices musical beyond the domain of music that he knew, quick, poignant vistas of glades where the light spent itself inits longed-for liberty of colour, labyrinthine ways of shadow thattaught the necessity of mystery. There was something lyric about itall. Here Nature moved on no formal lines, understood no frugalityof beauty, but was lavish with a divine and special errantry to adivine and special understanding. And it had been given St. Georgeto move with her merely by living this hour, with Olivia in hisarms. 

The sweet of life--the sweet of life and the world his own. Thewords had never meant so much. He had often said them in exultation, but he had never known their truth: the world was literally his own, under the law. Nothing seemed impossible. His mind went back to theunexplained disappearing of that other motor and, however it hadbeen, that did not seem impossible either. It seemed natural, andonly a new doorway to new points of contact. In this amazing land nospeculation was too far afield to be the food of every day. Here menunderstood miracle as the rest of the world understands invention. Already the mere existence of Yaque proved that the space ofexperience is transcended--and with the thought a fancy, elusive andprofound, seized him and gripped at his heart with an emotion widerthan fear. What had become of the other car? Had it gone down someroad of the wood which the guards knew, or . .. The words of PrinceTabnit came back to him as they had been spoken in that wonderfultour of the island. "The higher dimensions are being conquered. Nearly all of us can pass into the fifth at will, 'disappearing, ' asyou have the word. " Was it possible that in the vanishing of thepursued car this had been demonstrated before him? Into this space, inclusive of the visible world and of Yaque as well, had the carpassed _without the pursuers being able to point_ to the directionwhich it had taken? St. George smiled in derision as this flashedupon him, and it hardly held his thought for a moment, for his eyeswere upon Olivia's face, so near, so near his own . .. Undoubtedly, he thought vaguely, that other motor had simply swerved aside tosome private opening of the grove and, from being hard-pressed andalmost overtaken, was now well away in safety. Yet if this were so, would they not have taken Olivia with them? But to that strange andunapparent hyperspace they could not have taken her, because she didnot understand. ". .. Just as one, " Prince Tabnit had said, "whounderstands how to die and come to life again would not be able totake with him any one who himself did not understand how toaccompany him. .. "

Some terrifying and exalting sense swept him into a new intimacy ofunderstanding as he realized glimmeringly what heights and depthslay about his ceasing to see that car of the guard. Yet, withOlivia's head upon his arm, all that he theorized in that flash oftime hung hardly beyond the border of his understanding. Indeed, itseemed to St. George as if almost--almost he could understand, as ifhe could pierce the veil and know utterly all the secrets of spiritand sense that confound. "We shall all know _when we are able tobear it_, " he had once heard another say, and it seemed to him nowthat at last he was able to bear it, as if the sense of theuninterrupted connection between the two worlds was almost a part ofhis own consciousness. A moment's deeper thought, a quicker flowingof the imagination, a little more poignant projecting of himselfabove the abyss and he, too, would understand. It came to him thathe had almost understood every time that he had looked at Olivia. Ah, he thought, and how exquisite, how matchless she was, and whatHeaven beyond Heaven the world would hold for him if only she wereto love him. St. George lifted the little hand that hung at herside, and stooped momentarily to touch his cheek to the soft hairthat swept her shoulder. Here for him lay the sweet of life--thesweet of the world, ay, and the sweet of all the world's mysteries. This alien land was no nearer the truth than he. His love was theexpression of its mystery. They went back through the greatarchway, and entered the palace park. Once more the slim-trunkedtrees flew past them with the fringes of light expressing theborders of the dusk. St. George crouched, half-kneeling, on thefloor of the tonneau, his free hand protecting Olivia's face fromthe leaning branches of heavy-headed flowers. He had been sopassionately anxious that she should know that he was on the island, near her, ready to serve her; but now, save for his alarm andanxiety about her, he felt a shy, profound gratitude that the hourhad fallen as it had fallen. Whatever was to come, this nearness toher would be his to remember and possess. It had been his supremehour. Whether she had recognized him in that moment on the road, whether she ever knew what had happened made, he thought, nodifference. But if she was to open her eyes as they reached theborder of the park, and if she was to know that it was like thisthat the genie had come out of the jar--the mere notion made himgiddy, and he saw that Heaven may have little inner Heaven-courtswhich one is never too happy to penetrate. 

But Olivia did not stir or unclose her eyes. The great strain of theevening, the terror and shock of its ending, the very relief withwhich she had, at all events, realized herself in the hands offriends were more than even an island princess could pass through inserenity. And when at last from the demesne of enchantment the caremerged in the court of the palace, Olivia knew nothing of it and, as nearly as he could recall afterward, neither did St. George. Heunderstood that the courtyard was filled with murmurs, and that asOlivia was lifted from the car the voice of Mrs. Medora Hastings, inall its excesses of tone and pitch, was tilted in a kind ofuniversal reproving. Then he was aware that Jarvo, beseeching himnot to leave the motor, had somehow got him away from all the tumultand the questioning and the crush of the other motors settingtardily off down the avenue in a kind cf majestic pursuit of theprincess. After that he remembered nothing but the grateful gloom ofthe wood and the swift flight of the car down that nebulous way, thin darkness flowing about him. 

He was to go back to join Amory in some kind of tower, he knew; andhe was infinitely resigned, for he remembered that this was in someway essential to his safety, and that it had to do with the ascentof Mount Khalak to-morrow night. For the rest St. George was certainof nothing save that he was floating once more in a sea of light, with the sweet of the world flowing in his veins; and upon his armand against his shoulder he could still feel the thrill of thepressure of Olivia's head. 

The genie had come out of the jar--and never, never would he goback. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE LINES LEAD UP

In the late hours of the next afternoon Rollo, with a sigh, uncoiledhimself from the shadow of the altar to the god Melkarth, in theIlex Temple, and stiffly rose. Vicissitudes were not for Rollo, whohad not fathomed the joys of adaptability; and the savour of thesweet herbs which, from Jarvo's wallet, he had that day served, wasforgotten in his longing for a drop of tarragan vinegar and a bulbof garlic with which to dress the herbs. His lean and shadowed facewore an expression of settled melancholy. 

"Sorrow's nothing, " he sententiously observed. "It's trouble thatdoes for a man, sir. "

St. George, who lay at full length on a mossy sill of the king'schapel counting the hours of his inaction, continued to look outover the glistening tops of the ilex trees. 

"Speaking of trouble, " he said, "what would you say, Rollo, togetting back to the yacht to-night, instead of going up the mountainwith us?"

Rollo dropped his eyes, but his face brightened under, as it were, his never-lifted mask. 

"Oh, sir, " he said humbly, "a person is always willing to dowhatever makes him the most useful. "

"Little Cawthorne and Bennietod, " went on St. George, "ten to onewill take to the trail to-night, if they haven't already. They'll becoming to Med and reorganizing the police force, or raising astanding army or starting a subway. You'd do well to drop down andgive them some idea of what's happened, and I fancy you'd better allbe somewhere about on the day after to-morrow, at noon. Not thatthere will be any wedding at that time, " explained St. Georgecarefully, "although there may be something to see, all the same. But you might tell them, you know, that Miss Holland is due to marrythe prince then. Can you get back to the yacht alone?"

Rollo hadn't thought of that, and his mask fell once more into itslines of misery. 

"I don't know, sir, " he said doubtfully, "most men can go up a steepplace all right. It's comin' down that's hard on the knees. And if Iwas to try it alone, sir--"

Jarvo made a sign of reassurance. 

"That is not well, " he said, "you would be dashed to pieces. Ulfin, one of the six, will wait for us to-night on the edge of the grove. He can conduct the way to the vessel. "

"Ah, sir, " said Rollo, not without a certain self-satisfaction, "something is always sure to turn up, sir. "

From a tour of the temple Amory came listlessly back to the king'schapel. There, where the descendants of Abibaal had worshiped untiltheir idols had been refined by Time to a kind of decoration, theAmericans and Jarvo had spent the night. They had slept stretched onbenches of beveled stone. They had waked to trace the figures in alength of tapestry representing the capture of Io on the coast ofArgolis, doubtless woven by an eye-witness. They had bathed in abrook near the entrance where stood the altar for the sacrificeround which the priests and _hierodouloi_ had been wont to dance, and where huge architraves, metopes and tryglyphs, massive as thoseat Gebeil and Tortosa and hewn from living rock, rose from thefragile green of the wood like a huge arm signaling its eternal"Alas!" They had partaken of Jarvo's fruit and sweet herbs, andRollo had served them, standing with his back to the niche whereonce had looked augustly down the image of the god. And now Amory, with a smile, leaned against a wall where old vines, grownmiraculously in crannies, spread their tendrils upon the friendlyhieroglyphic scoring of the crenelated stone, and summed up hisreflections of the night. 

"I've got it, " he announced, "I think it was up in the Adirondacks, summer before last. I think I was in a canoe when she went by in alaunch, with the Chiswicks. Why, do you know, I think I dreamedabout Miss Frothingham for weeks. "

St. George smiled suddenly and radiantly, and his smile was for thesake of both Rollo and Amory--Rollo whose sense of the commonplacenothing could overpower, Amory who talked about the Chiswicks in theAdirondacks. Why not? St. George thought happily. Here in the templecertain precious and delicate idols were believed to be hidden inalcoves walled up by mighty stone; and here, Jarvo was telling them, were secret exits to the road contrived by the priests of the templeat the time of their oppression by the worshipers of another god;but yet what special interest could he and Amory have in broodingupon these, or the ancient Phoenicians having "invited to traffic bya signal fire, " when they could sit still and remember?

"To-night, " he said aloud, feeling a sudden fellowship for bothAmory and Rollo, "to-night, when the moon rises, we shall watch itfrom the top of the mountain. "

Then he wondered, many hundred times, whether Olivia could possiblyhave recognized him. 

When the dark had fallen they set out. The ilex grove was very stillsave for a fugitive wind that carried faint spices, and they took awinding way among trunks and reached the edge of the wood withoutadventure. There Ulfin and another of the six carriers were waiting, as Jarvo had expected, and it was decided that they should bothaccompany Rollo down to the yacht. 

Rollo handed the oil-skins to St. George and Amory, and then stoodcrushing his hat in his hands, doing his best to speak. 

"Look sharp, Rollo, " St. George advised him, "don't step one footoff a precipice. And tell the people on the yacht not to worry. Weshall expect to see them day after to-morrow, somewhere about. Takecare of yourself. "

"Oh, sir, " said Rollo with difficulty, "good-by, sir. I '_ope_you'll be successful, sir. A person likes to succeed in what theyundertake. "

Then the three went on down the glimmering way where, last night, they had pursued the floating pennon of the veil. There were fewupon the highway, and these hardly regarded them. It occurred to St. George that they passed as figures in a dream will pass, in thecasual fashion of all unreality, taking all things for granted. Yet, of course, to the passers-by upon the road to Med, there was nothingremarkable in the aspect of the three companions. All that wasremarkable was the adventure upon which they were bound, and nobodycould possibly have guessed that. 

Almost a mile lay between them and the point where the ascent ofthe mountain was to be begun. The road which they were takingfollowed at the foot of the embankment which girt the island, and itled them at last to a stretch of arbourescent heath, piled withblack basaltic rocks. Here, where the light was dim like the glowfrom light reflected upon low clouds, they took their way amonggreat branching cacti and nameless plants that caught at theirankles. A strange odour rose from the earth, mineral, metallic, andthe air was thick with particles stirred by their feet and moreresembling ashes than dust. This was a waste place of the island, and if one were to lift a handful of the soil, St. George thought, it was very likely that one might detect its elements; as, here thedust of a temple, here of a book, here a tomb and here a sacrifice. He felt himself near the earth, in its making. He looked away to thesugar-loaf cone of the mountain risen against the star-lit sky. Above its fortress-like bulk with circular ramparts burned the clearbeacon of the light on the king's palace. As he saw the light, St. George knew himself not only near the earth but at one with the verycurrents of the air, partaker of now a hope, now a task, now aspell, and now a memory. It was as if love had made him one with thedust of dead cities and with their eternal spiritual effluence. 

At length they crossed the broad avenue that led from theEurychôrus to Melita, and struck into the road that skirted themountain; and where a thicket of trees flung bold branches acrossthe way, three figures rose from the ground before them, and Akkostepped forward and saluted, his white teeth gleaming. ImmediatelyJarvo led the way through a strip of underbrush at the base of themountain, and they emerged in a glade where the light hardlypenetrated. 

Here were distinguishable the palanquins in which the ascent was tobe made. These were like long baskets, upborne by a pole of greatflexibility broadening to a wider support beneath the body of thebasket and provided with rubber straps through which the arms werepassed. When St. George and Amory were seated, Jarvo spokehesitatingly:

"We must bandage your eyes, adôn, " he said. 

"Oh really, really, " protested St. George, "we don't understand halfwe do see. Do let us see what we can. "

"You must be blindfolded, adôn, " repeated Jarvo firmly. 

Amory, passing his arms reflectively through the rubber straps whichAkko held for him, spoke cheerfully:

"I'll go up blindfold, " he submitted, "if I can smoke. "

"Neither of us will, " said St. George with determination. "Seehere, Jarvo, we are both level-headed. We pledge you our word ofhonour, in addition, not to dive overboard. Now--lead on. "

"It has never been done, " said the little brown man with obstinacy, "you will lose your reason, adôn. "

"Ah well now, if we do, " said St. George, "pitch us over and leaveus. Besides, I think we have. Lead on, please. "

Against the will of the others, he prevailed. The light oil-skinswere placed in the baskets, each of which was shouldered by two men, Jarvo bearing the foremost pole of St. George's palanquin. All thecarriers had drawn on long, soft shoes which, perhaps from somepreparation in which they had been dipped, glowed with light, illuminating the ground for a little distance at every step. 

"Are you ready, adôn?" asked Jarvo and Akko at the same moment. 

"Ready!" cried St. George impatiently. 

"Ready, " said Amory languidly, and added one thought more: "I hopefor Chillingworth's sake, " he said, "that Frothingham is a notarypublic. We'll have to have somebody's seal at the bottom of all thiscopy. "

The baskets were lightly lifted. Jarvo gave a sharp command, and allfour of the men broke into a rhythmic chant. Jarvo, leading the way, sprang immediately upon the first foothold, where none seemed tobe, and without pause to the next. So perfectly were the men trainedthat it was as if but one set of muscles were inspiring themovements made to the beat of that monotonous measure. In theirstrong hands the flexible pole seemed to give as their bodies gave, and so lightly did they leap upward that the jar of their alightingwas hardly perceptible, as if, as had occurred to St. George as theyascended the lip of the island, gravity were here another matter. So, without pause, save in the rhythm of that strange march music, the remarkable progress was begun. 

St. George threw one swift glance upward and looked down, shudderingly. Beetling above them in the great starlight hung thegigantic pile, wall upon wall of rock hewn with such secret footholdthat it was a miracle how any living thing could catch and cling toits forbidding surface. Only lifelong practice of the men, who fromchildhood had been required to make the ascent and whose fathers andfathers' fathers before them had done the same, could have accountedfor that catlike ability to cling to the trail where was no trail. The sensation of the long swinging upward movement was unutterablyalien to anything in life or in dreams, and the sheer height aboveand the momently-deepening chasm below were presences contending forpossession. 

Strange fragrance stole from gum and bark of the decreasingvegetation. Dislodged stones rolled bounding from rock to rock intothe abyss. To right and left the way went. There was not even thefriendly beacon of the summit to beckon them. It seemed to St. George that their whole safety lay in motion, that a moment'scessation from the advance would hurl them all down the sides of thedeclivity. Since the ascent began he had not ceased to look down;and now as they rose free of the tree-tops that clothed the base ofthe mountain he could see across the plain, and beyond the boundingembankment of the island to the dark waste of the sea. Somewhere outthere _The Aloha_ was rocking. Somewhere, away to the northwest, thelights of New York harbour shone. _Did_ they, St. George wonderedvaguely; and, when he went back, how would they look to him? Itseemed to him in some indeterminate fashion that when he saw themagain there would be new lines and sides of beauty which he hadnever suspected, and as if all the world would be changed, includedin this new world that he had found. 

Half-way up the ascent a resting-place was contrived for thecarriers. The projection upon which the baskets were lowered washardly three feet in width. Its edge dropped into darkness. Withinreach, leaves rustled from the summit of a tree rooted somewhere inthe chasm. The blackness below was vast and to be measured only bythe memory of that upward course. Gemmed by its lighted hamlets thefair plain of the island lay, with Med and Melita glowing like lampsto the huge dusk. 

"St. George, " said Amory soberly, "if it's all true--if these peopledo understand what the world doesn't know anything about--"

"Yes, " said St. George. 

"It makes a man feel--"

"Yes, " said St. George, "it does. "

This, they afterward remembered, was all that they said on theascent. One wonders if two, being met among the "strengthless tribesof the dead, " would find much more to say. 

Then they went on, scaling that invisible way, with the twinklingfeet of the carriers drawing upward like a thread of thin gold whichthey were to climb. What, St. George thought as the way seemed tolengthen before them, what if there were no end? What if this weresome gigantic trick of Destiny to keep him for the rest of his lifein mid-air, ceaselessly toiling up, a latter-day Sisyphus, in apalanquin? He had dreamed of stairs in the darkness which menmounted and found to have no summits, and suppose this were such astair? Suppose, among these marvels that were related to his dreams, he had, as it were, tossed a ball of twine in the air and, like theIndian jugglers, climbed it? Suppose he had built a castle in theclouds and tenanted it with Olivia, and were now foolhardilyattempting to scale the air? Ah well, he settled it contentedly, better so. For this divine jugglery comes once into every life, andone must climb to the castle with madness and singing if he wouldattain to the temples that lie on the castle-plain. 

Gradually, as they approached the summit, the ascent became lessprecipitous. As they neared the cone their way lay over a kind ofnatural fosse at the cone's base; and, although the mountain did notreach the level of perpetual snow, yet an occasional cool breathfrom the dark told where in some natural cavern snow had lainundisturbed since the unremembered eruption of the sullen, volcanicpeak. Then came a breath of over-powering sweetness from some secretthicket, and something was struck from the feet of the bearers thatwas like white pumice gravel. St. George no longer looked downward;the plain and the waste of the sea were in a forgotten limbo, and hesearched eagerly on high for the first rays of the light that markedthe goal of his longing. 

Yet he was unprepared when, swerving sharply and skirting an immenseshoulder of rock, Jarvo suddenly emerged upon a broad retaining wallof stone bordering a smooth, moon-lit terrace extending by shallowflights of steps to the white doors of the king's palace itself. 

As St. George and Amory freed themselves and sprang to their feettheir eyes were drawn to a glory of light shining over the lowparapet which surrounded the terrace. 

"Look, " cried St. George victoriously, "the moon!"

From the sea the moon was momently growing, like a giant bubble, anda bright path had issued to the mountain's foot. "See, " she woulddoubtless have said if she could, "I would have shown you the wayhere all your life if only you had looked properly. " But at allevents St. George's prophecy was fulfilled: From the top of MountKhalak they were watching the moon rise. St. George, however, wasnot yet in the company whose image had pleasantly besieged him whenhe had prophesied. He turned impatiently to the palace. Jarvo, resting on the stones where he had sunk down, signaled them to goon, and the two needed no second bidding. They set off brisklyacross the plateau, Amory looking about him with eager curiosity, St. George on the crest of his divine expectancy. 

The palace was set on the west of the gentle slope to which themountain-top had been artificially leveled. The terrace led up onthree sides from the marge of the height to the great portals. Overeverything hung that imponderable essence that was clearer and purerthan any light--"better than any light that ever shone. " In itsglamourie, with that far ocean background, the palace of pale stonelooked unearthly, a sky thing, with ramparts of air. The principleof the builders seemed not to have been the ancient dictum that"mass alone is admirable, " for the great pile was shaped, withbeauty of unknown line, in three enormous cylinders, one rising fromanother, the last magnificently curved to a huge dome on whosesummit burned with inconceivable brilliance the light which had beena beacon to the longing eyes turned toward it from the deck of _TheAloha_. In the shadow of the palace rose two high towers, obelisk-shaped from the pure white stone. Scattered about the slopewere detached buildings, consisting of marble monoliths resting upondouble bases and crowned with carved cornices, or of truncatedpyramids and pyramidions. These had plinths of delicately-colouredstone over which the light diffused so that they looked luminous, and the small blocks used to fill the apertures of the courses shonelike precious things. Adjacent to one of the porches were twoconical shrines, for images and little lamps; and, near-by, a fallenpillar of immense proportions lay undisturbed upon the court ofsward across which it had some time shivered down. 

But if the palace had been discovered to be the preserved andtransported Temple of Solomon it could not have stayed St. Georgefor one moment of admiration. He was off up the slope, seeing onlythe great closed portals, and with Amory beside him he ran boldly upthe long steps. It was a part of the unreality of the place thatthere seemed absolutely no sign of life about the King's palace. Thewindows glowed with the soft light within, but there were no guards, no servants, no sign of any presence. For the first time, when theyreached the top of the steps, the two men hesitated. 

"Personally, " said Amory doubtfully, "I have never yet tapped at aking's front door. What does one do?"

St. George looked at the long stone porches, uncovered and girt by aparapet following the curve of the façade. 

"Would you mind waiting a minute?" he said. 

With that he was off along the balcony to the south--and afterwardhe wondered why, and if it is true that Fate tempts us in the waythat she would have us walk by luring us with unseen roses buddingfrom the air. 

Where the porch abruptly widened to a kind of upper terrace, like ahanging garden set with flowering trees, three high archways openedto an apartment whose bright lights streamed across the grass-plots. St. George felt something tug at his heart, something that urged himforward and caught him up in an ecstasy of triumph and hopefulfilled. He looked back at Amory, and Amory was leaning on theparapet, apparently sunk in reflections which concerned nobody. SoSt. George stepped softly on until he reached the first archway, andthere he stopped, and the moment was to him almost past belief. Within the open doorway, so near that if she had lifted her eyesthey must have met his own, was the woman whom he had come acrossthe sea to seek. 

St. George hardly knew that he spoke, for it was as if all the worldwere singing her name. 

"Olivia!" he said. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE ISLE OF HEARTS

The room in which St. George was looking was long and lofty and hungwith pale tapestries. White pillars supporting the domed whiteceiling were wound with garlands. The smoke from a little brazentripod ascended pleasantly, and about the windows stirred in thefaint wind draperies of exceeding thinness, woven in looms stilledcenturies ago. 

Olivia was crossing before the windows. She wore a white gown strewnwith roses, and she seemed as much at home on this alienmountain-top as she had been in her aunt's drawing-room at theBoris. But her face was sad, and there was not a touch of thepiquancy which it had worn the night before in the throne-room, norof its delicious daring as she had sped past him in the big Yaquetouring car. Save for her, the room was deserted; it was as if theprince had come to the castle and found the Sleeping Princess theonly one awake. 

If in that supreme moment St. George had leaped forward and takenher in his arms no one--no one, that is, in the fairy-tale of whatwas happening--would greatly have censured him. But he stood withoutfor a moment, hardly daring to believe his happiness, hardly knowingthat her name was on his lips. 

He had spoken, however, and she turned quickly, her look uncertainlyseeking the doorway, and she saw him. For a moment she stood still, her eyes upon his face; then with a little incredulous cry thatthrilled him with a sudden joyous hope that was like belief, shecame swiftly toward him. 

St. George loved to remember that she did that. There was no waitingfor assurance and no fear; only the impulse, gloriously obeyed, togo toward him. 

He stepped in the room, and took her hands in his and looked intoher eyes as if he would never turn away his own. In her face was adawning of glad certainty and welcome which he could not doubt. 

"You, " she cried softly, "you. How is it possible? But how is itpossible?"

Her voice trembled a little with something so sweet that it racedthrough his veins with magic. 

"Did you rub the lamp?" he said. "Because I couldn't help coming. "

She looked at him breathlessly. 

"Have you, " he asked her gravely, "eaten of the potatoes of Yaque?And are you going to say, 'Off with his head'? And can you tell mewhat is the population of the island?"

At that they both laughed--the merry, irrepressible laugh of youthwhich explains that the world is a very good place indeed and thatone is glad that one belongs there. And the memory of that breakfaston the other side of the world, of their happy talk about what wouldhappen if they two were impossibly to meet in Yaque came back tothem both, and set his heart beating and flooded her face withdelicate colour. In her laugh was a little catching of the breaththat was enchanting. 

"Not yet, " she said, "your head is safe till you tell me how you gothere, at all events. Now tell me--oh, tell me. I can't believe ituntil you tell me. "

She moved a little away from the door. 

"Come in, " she said shyly, "if you've come all the way from Americayou must be very tired. "

St. George shook his head. 

"Come out, " he pleaded, "I want to stand on top of a high mountainand show you the whole world. "

She went quite simply and without hesitation--because, in Yaque, themaddest things would be the truest--and when she had stepped fromthe low doorway she looked up at him in the tender light of thegarden terrace. 

"If you are quite sure, " she said, "that you will not disappear inthe dark?"

St. George laughed happily. 

"I shall not disappear, " he promised, "though the world were to turnround the other way. "

They crossed the still terrace to the parapet and stood looking outto sea with the risen moon shining across the waters. The light windstirred in the cedrine junipers, shaking out perfume; the greatfairy pile of the palace rose behind them; and before them lay themonstrous moon-lit abyss than whose depths the very stars, warm andfriendly, seemed nearer to them. To the big young American in blueserge beside the little new princess who had drawn him over seas thedream that one is always having and never quite remembering wassuddenly come true. No wonder that at that moment the patient Amorywas far enough from his mind. To St. George, looking down uponOlivia, there was only one truth and one joy in the universe, andshe was that truth and that joy. 

"I can't believe it, " he said boyishly. 

"Believe--what?" she asked, for the delight of hearing him say so. 

"This--me--most of all, you!" he answered. 

"But you must believe it, " she cried anxiously, "or maybe it willstop being. "

"I will, I will, I am now!" promised St. George in alarm. 

Whereat they both laughed again in sheer light-heartedness. Then, resting his broad shoulders against a prism of the parapet, St. George looked down at her in infinite content. 

"You found the island, " she said; "what is still more wonderful youhave come here--but _here_--to the top of the mountain. Oh, did youbring news of my father?"

St. George would have given everything save the sweet of the momentto tell her that he did. 

"But now, " he added cheerfully, and his smile disarmed this of itsover-confidence, "I've only been here two days or so. And, though itmay look easy, I've had my hands full climbing up this. I ought tobe allowed another day or two to locate your father. "

"Please tell me how you got here, " Olivia demanded then. 

St. George told her briefly, omitting the yacht's ownership, explaining merely that the paper had sent him and that Jarvo andAkko had pointed the way and, save for that journey down nebulousways in the wake of her veil the night before, sketching theincidents which had followed his arrival upon the island. 

"And one of the most agreeable hours I've had in Yaque, " hefinished, "was last night, when you were chairman of the meeting. That was magnificent. "

"You _were_ there!" cried Olivia, "I thought--"

"That you saw me?" St. George pressed eagerly. 

"I think that I thought so, " she admitted. 

"But you never looked at me, " said St. George dolefully, "and I hadon a forty-two gored dress, or something. "

"Ah, " Olivia confessed, "but I had thought so before when I knew itcouldn't be you. "

St. George's heart gave a great bound. 

"When before?" he wanted to know ecstatically. 

"Ah, before, " she explained, "and then afterward, too. "

"When afterward?" he urged. 

(Smile if you like, but this is the way the happy talk goes in Yaqueas you remember very well, if you are honest. )

"Yesterday, when I was motoring, I thought--"

"I was. You did, " St. George assured her. "I was in the prince'smotor. The procession was temporarily tied up, you remember. Did youreally think it was I?"

But this the lady passed serenely over. 

"Last night, " she said, "when that terrible thing happened, who wasit in the other motor? Who was it, there in the road when I--was ityou? Was it?" she demanded. 

"Did you think it was I?" asked St. George simply. 

"Afterward--when I was back in the palace--I thought I must havedreamed it, " she answered, "and no one seemed to know, and _I_didn't know. But I did fancy--you see, they think father has takenthe treasure, " she said, "and they thought if they could hide mesomewhere and let it be known, that he would make some sign. "

"It was monstrous, " said St. George; "you are really not safe herefor one moment. Tell me, " he asked eagerly, "the car you werein--what became of that?"

"I meant to ask you that, " she said quickly. "I couldn't tell, Ididn't know whether it turned aside from the road, or whether theydropped me out and went on. Really, it was all so quick that it wasalmost as if the motor had stopped being, and left me there. "

"Perhaps it did stop being--in this dimension, " St. George could nothelp saying. 

At this she laughed in assent. 

"Who knows, " she said, "what may be true of us--_nous autres_ in theFourth Dimension? In Yaque queer things are true. And of course younever can tell--"

At this St. George turned toward her, and his eyes compelled hers. 

"Ah, yes, you can, " he told her, "yes, you can. "

Then he folded his arms and leaned against the stone prisms again, looking down at her. Evidently the magician, whoever he was, did notmind his saying that, for the palace did not crumble or the mooncease from shining on the white walls. 

"Still, " she answered, looking toward the sea, "queer things _are_true in Yaque. It is queer that you are here. Say that it is. "

"Heaven knows that it is, " assented St. George obediently. 

Presently, realizing that the terrace did not intend to turn into acloud out-of-hand, they set themselves to talk seriously, and St. George had not known her so adorable, he was once more certain, aswhen she tried to thank him for his pursuit the night before. He hadomitted to mention that he had brought her back alone to the Palaceof the Litany, for that was too exquisite a thing, he decided, to bespoiled by leaving out the most exquisite part. Besides, there wasenough that was serious to be discussed, in all conscience, in spiteof the moon. 

"Tell me, " said St. George instead, "what has happened to you sincethat breakfast at the Boris. Remember, I have come all the way fromNew York to interview you, Mademoiselle the Princess. "

So Olivia told him the story of the passage in the submarine whichhad arrived in Yaque two days earlier than _The Aloha_; of the firsttrip up Mount Khalak in the imperial airship; of Mrs. Hastings'frantic fear and her utter refusal ever to descend; and of what sheherself had done since her arrival. This included a most practicalaccount of effort that delighted and amazed St. George. No wonderMrs. Hastings had said that she always left everything "executive"to Olivia. For Olivia had sent wireless messages all over the islandoffering an immense reward for information about the king, herfather; she had assigned forty servants of the royal household toengage in a personal search for such information and to report toher each night; she had ordered every house in Yaque, not exceptingthe House of the Litany and the king's palace itself, to be searchedfrom dungeon to tower; and, as St. George already knew, she hadbrought about a special meeting of the High Council at noon thatday. 

"It was very little, " said the American princess apologetically, "but I did what I could. "

"What about the meeting of the High Council?" asked St. Georgeeagerly; "didn't anything come of that?"

"Nothing, " she answered, "they were like adamant. I thought ofoffering to raise the Hereditary Treasure by incorporating theisland and selling the shares in America. Nobody could ever havefound what the shares stood for, but that happens every day. Halfthe corporations must be capitalized chiefly in the FourthDimension. That is all, " she added wearily, "save that day afterto-morrow I am to be married. "

"That, " St. George explained, "is as you like. For if your fatheris on the island we shall have found him by day after to-morrow, atnoon, if we have to shake all Yaque inside out, like a paper sack. And if he isn't here, we simply needn't stop. "

Olivia shook her head. 

"You don't know the prince, " she said. "I have heard enough toconvince me that it is quite as he says. He holds events in thehollow of his hand. "

"Amory proposed, " said St. George, "that we sit up here and throwpebbles at him for a time. And Amory is very practical. "

Olivia laughed--her laugh was delicious and alluring, and St. Georgecame dangerously near losing his head every time that he heard it. 

"Ah, " she cried, "if only it weren't for the prince and if we hadnews of father, what a heavenly, heavenly place this would be, wouldit not?"

"It would, it would indeed, " assented St. George, and in his hearthe said, "and so it is. "

"It's like being somewhere else, " she said, looking into the abyssof far waters, "and when you look down there--and when you look up, you nearly _know_. I don't know what, but you nearly know. Perhapsyou know that 'here' is the same as 'there, ' as all these peoplesay. But whatever it is, I think we might have come almost as nearknowing it in New York, if we had only known how to try. "

"Perhaps it isn't so much knowing, " he said, "as it is being whereyou can't help facing mystery and taking the time to be amazed. Although, " added St. George to himself, "there are things that onefinds out in New York. In a drawing-room, at the Boris, forinstance, over muffins and tea. "

"It will be delightful to take all this back to New York, " Oliviavaguely added, as if she meant the fairy palace and the fairy sea. 

"It will, " agreed St. George fervently, and he couldn't possiblyhave told whether he meant the mystery of the island or the mysteryof that hour there with her. There was so little difference. 

"Suppose, " said Olivia whimsically, "that we open our eyes in aminute, and find that we are in the prince's room in McDougleStreet, and that he has passed his hand before our faces and made usdream all this. And father is safe after all. "

"But it isn't all a dream, " St. George said softly, "it can'tpossibly all be a dream, you know. "

She met his eyes for a moment. 

"Not your coming away here, " she said, "if the rest is true Iwouldn't want that to be a dream. You don't know what courage thiswill give us all. "

She said "us all, " but that had to mean merely "us, " as well. St. George turned and looked over the terrace. What an Arabian night itwas, he was saying to himself, and then stood in a sudden amazement, with the uncertain idea that one of the Schererazade magicians hadanswered that fancy of his by appearing. 

A little shrine hung thick with vines, its ancient stone chipped anddefaced, stood on the terrace with its empty, sightless niche turnedtoward the sea. Leaning upon its base was an old man watching them. His eyes under their lowered brows were peculiarly intent, but hislook was perfectly serene and friendly. His stuff robe hung instraight folds about his singularly erect figure, and his beard andhair were not all grey. But he was very old, with incredibly brownand wrinkled flesh, and his face was vacant, as if the mind wereasleep. 

As he looked, St. George knew him. Here on the top of this mountainwas that amazing old man whom he had last seen in the banquet hallat the Palace of the Litany--that old Malakh for whom Olivia had sounexplainably interceded. 

"What is that man doing here?" St. George asked in surprise. 

[Illustration]

"He is a mad old man, they said, " Olivia told him, "down there theycall him Malakh--that means 'salt'--because they said he alwaysweeps. We had stopped to look at a metallurgist yesterday--he hadsome zinc and some metals cut out like flowers, and he was makingthem show phosphorescent colours in his little dark alcove. The oldman was watching him and trying to tell him something, but themetallurgist was rude to him and some boys came by and jostled himand pushed him about and taunted him--and the metallurgist actuallyexplained to us that every one did that way to old Malakh. So Ithought he was better off up here, " concluded Olivia tranquilly. 

St. George was silent. He knew that Olivia was like this, buteverything that proved anew her loveliness of soul caught at hisheart. 

"Tell me, " he said impulsively, "what made you let him stay lastnight, there in the banquet hall?"

She flushed, and shook her head with a deprecatory gesture. 

"I haven't an idea, " she said gravely, "I think I must have done itso the fairies wouldn't prick their feet on any new sorrow. One hasto be careful of the fairies' feet. "

St. George nodded. It was a charming reason for the left hand togive the right, and he was not deceived. 

"Look at him, " said St. George, almost reverently, "he looks like ashade of a god that has come back from the other world and found hisshrine dishonoured. "

Some echo of St. George's words reached the old man and he caughtat it, smiling. It was as if he had just been thinking what hespoke. 

"There are not enough shrines, " he said gently, "but there are fartoo many gods. You will find it so. "

Something in his words stirred St. George strangely. There was aboutthe old creature an air of such gentleness, such supreme repose anddetachment that, even in that place of quiet, his presence made akind of hush. He was old and pallid and fragile, but there lingeredwithin him, while his spirit lingered, the perfume of all fine andgentle things, all things of quietude. When he had spoken the oldman turned and moved slowly down the ways of strange light, betweenthe fallen temples builded to forgotten gods, and he seemed like thevery spirit of the ancient mountain, ignorant of itself and knowingall truth. 

"How strange, " said St. George, looking after him, "how unutterablystrange and sad. "

"That is good of you, " said Olivia. "Aunt Dora and Antoinettethought I'd gone quite off my head, and Mr. Frothingham wanted toknow why I didn't bring back some one who could have been called asa witness. "

"Witness, " St. George echoed; "but the whole place is made ofwitnesses. Which reminds me: what is the sentence?"

"The sentence?" she wondered. 

"The potatoes of Yaque, " he reminded her, "and my head?"

"Ah well, " said Olivia gravely, "inasmuch as the moon came up in theeast to-night instead of the west, I shall be generous and give youone day's reprieve. "

"Do you know, I _thought_ the moon came up in the east to-night, "cried St. George joyfully. 

 * * * * *

It was half an hour afterward that Amory's languid voice fromsomewhere in the sky broke in upon their talk. As he came towardthem across the terrace St. George saw that he was miraculously notalone. 

Afterward Amory told him what had happened and what had made himabide in patience and such wondrous self-effacement. 

When St. George had left him contemplating the far beauties of thelittle blur of light that was Med, Mr. Toby Amory set a match to oneof his jealously expended store of Habanas and added one more aromato the spiced air. To be standing on the doorstep of a king'spalace, confidently expecting within the next few hours to assist inlocating the king himself was a situation warranting, Amory thought, such fragrant celebration, and he waited in comparative content. 

The moon had climbed high enough to cast a great octagonal shadow onthe smooth court, and the Habana was two-thirds memory when, immediately back of Amory, a long window opened outward, releasingan apparition which converted the remainder of the Habana into afiery trail ending out on the terrace. It was a girl of rather morethan twenty, exquisitely petite and pretty, and wearing a ruffleyblue evening gown whose skirt was caught over her arm. She stoppedshort when she saw Amory, but without a trace of fear. To tell thetruth, Antoinette Frothingham had got so desperately boredwithindoors that if Amory had worn a black mask or a cloak of flameshe would have welcomed either. 

For the last two hours Mrs. Medora Hastings and Mr. AugustusFrothingham had sat in a white marble room of the king's palace, playing chess on Mr. Frothingham's pocket chess-board. Mr. Frothingham, who loathed chess, played it when he was tired so thathe might rest and when he was rested he played it so that he mightexercise his mind--on the principle of a cool drink on a hot day anda hot drink on a cool day. Mrs. Hastings, who knew nothing at allabout the game, had entered upon the hour with all the suavecomplacency with which she would have attacked the making of a pie. Mrs. Hastings had a secret belief that she possessed great aptitude. 

Antoinette Frothingham, the lawyer's daughter, had leaned on thehigh casement and looked over the sea. The window was narrow, anddeep in an embrasure of stone. To be twenty and to be leaning inthis palace window wearing a pale blue dinner-gown manifestlysuggested a completion of the picture; and all that evening it hadbeen impressing her as inappropriate that the maiden and the castletower and the very sea itself should all be present, with nopossibility of any knight within an altitude of many hundred feet. 

"The dear little ponies' heads!" Mrs. Hastings had kept saying. "What a poetic game chess is, Mr. Frothingham, don't you think?That's what I always said to poor dear Mr. Hastings--at least, that's what he always said to me: 'Most games are so _needless_, butchess is really up and down poetic'"

Mr. Frothingham made all ready to speak and then gave it up insilence. 

"Um, " he had responded liberally. 

"I'm sure, " Mrs. Hastings had continued plaintively, "neither he norI ever thought that I would be playing chess up on top of a volcanoin the middle of the ocean. It's this awful feeling, " Mrs. Hastingshad cried querulously, "of being neither on earth nor under thewater nor in Heaven that I object to. And nobody can get to us. "

"That's just it, Mrs. Hastings, " Antoinette had observed earnestlyat this juncture. 

"Um, " said Mr. Frothingham, then, "not at all, not at all. We haveall the advantages of the grave and none of its discomforts. "

Whereupon Antoinette, rising suddenly, had slipped out of the whitemarble room altogether and had found the knight smoking inloneliness on the very veranda. 

Amory put his cap under his arm and bowed. 

"I hope, " he said, "that I haven't frightened you. "

He was an American! Antoinette's little heart leaped. 

"I am having to wait here for a bit, " explained Amory, not withoutvagueness. 

Miss Frothingham advanced to the veranda rail and contrived a shyscrutiny of the intruder. 

"No, " she said, "you didn't frighten me in the least, of course. But--do you usually do your waiting at this altitude?"

"Ah, no, " answered Amory with engaging candour, "I don't. ButI--happened up this way. " Amory paused a little desperately. In thatsoft light he could not tell positively whether this was MissHolland or that other figure of silver and rose which he had seen inthe throne room. The blue gown was not interpretative. If she wasMiss Holland it would be very shabby of him to herald the surprise. Naturally, St. George would appreciate doing that himself. "I'mlooking about a bit, " he neatly temporized. 

Antoinette suddenly looked away over the terrace as her eyes methis, smiling behind their pince-nez. Amory was good to look at, andhe had never been more so than as he towered above her on the stepsof the king's palace. Who was he--but who was he? Antoinettewondered rapidly. Had a warship arrived? Was Yaque taken? Orhad--she turned eyes, round with sudden fear, upon Amory. 

"Did Prince Tabnit send you?" she demanded. 

Amory laughed. 

"No, indeed, " he said. Amory had once lived in the South, and heaccented the "no" very takingly. "I came myself, " he volunteered. 

"I thought, " explained Antoinette, "that maybe he opened a door inthe dark, and you walked out. It _is_ rather funny that you shouldbe here. "

"You are here, you know, " suggested Amory doubtfully. 

"But I may be a cannibal princess, " Antoinette demurely pointed out. It was not that her astonishment was decreasing; but why--modernityand the democracy spoke within her--waste the possibilities of asituation merely because it chances to be astonishing? Moments ofmystery are rare enough, in all conscience; and when they do arriveall the world misses them by trying to understand them. Which ismanifestly ungrateful and stupid. They do these things better inYaque. 

"You maybe, " agreed Amory evenly, "though I don't know that I evermet a desert island princess in a dinner frock. But then, I am abeginner in desert islands. "

"Are you an American?" inquired Antoinette earnestly. 

Amory looked up at the frowning façade of the king's palace, and hecould have found it in his heart to believe his own answer. 

"I'm the ghost, " he confessed, "of a poor beggar of a Phoenician whoused to make water-jars in Sidon. I have been condemned to plow thehigh seas and explore the tall mountains until I find the PitifulPrincess. She must be up at the very peak, in distress, and I--"

Amory stopped and looked desperately about him. Would St. Georgenever come? How was he, Amory, to be accountable for what he told ifhe were left here alone in these extraordinary circumstances?

Then Antoinette lightly clapped her hands. 

"A ghost!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "Miss Holland hoped theplace was haunted. A Phoenician ghost with an Alabama accent. "

She had said "Miss Holland hoped. "

"Aren't you--aren't you Miss Holland?" demanded Amory promptly, ajoyful note of uncertainty in his voice. 

Antoinette shook her head. 

"No, " she said, "though I don't know why I should tell you that. "

From Amory's soul rolled a burden that left him treading air onMount Khalak. She was not Miss Holland. What did he care how longSt. George stayed away?

"I am Tobias Amory, " he said, "of New York. Most people don't knowabout the Sidonian ghost part. But I've told you because I thought, perhaps, you might be the Pitiful Princess. "

Antoinette's heart was beating pleasantly. Of New York! How--oh, howdid he get here? Was there, then, a wishing-stone in that windowembrasure where she had been sitting, and had the knight comebecause she had willed it? How much did he know? How much ought sheto tell? Nothing whatever, prudently decided the lawyer's daughter. 

"I've had, I'm almost certain, the pleasure of seeing you before, "imparted Amory pleasantly, adjusting his pince-nez and looking downat her. She was so enchantingly tiny and he was such a giant. 

"In New York?" demanded Antoinette. 

"No, " said Amory, "no. Do desert island princesses get to New Yorkoccasionally, then? No, I think I saw you in Yaque. Yesterday. In asilver automobile. Did I?"

Antoinette dimpled. 

"We frightened them all to death, " she recalled. "Did we frightenyou?"

"So much, " admitted Amory, "that I took refuge up here. "

"Where were you?" Antoinette asked curiously. Really, he was veryamusing--this big courtly creature. How agreeable of Olivia to stayaway. 

"Ah, tell me how you got here, " she impetuously begged. "Desertisland people don't see people from New York every day. "

"Well then, O Pitiful Princess, " said the Shade from Sidon, "it waslike this--"

It was easy enough to fleet the time carelessly, and assuredly thathigh moon-lit world was meant to be no less merry than the golden. Whoever has chanced to meet a delightful companion on some silververanda up in the welkin knows this perfectly well; and whoever hasnot is a dull creature. But there are delightful folk who are wontto suspect the dullest of harbouring some sweet secret, some senseof "those sights which alone (says the nameless Greek) make lifeworth enduring, " and this was akin to such a sight. 

After a time, at Antoinette's conscientious suggestion, theystrolled the way that St. George had taken. And to Olivia and themissing adventurer over by the parapet came Amory's soft query:

"St George, may I express a friendly concern?"

"Ah, come here, Toby, " commanded St. George happily, "her Highnessand I have been discussing matters of state. "

"Antoinette!" cried Olivia in amazement. From time immemorialroyalty has perpetually been surprised by the behaviour of itsladies-in-waiting. 

"I've been remembering a verse, " said Amory when he had beenpresented to Olivia, "may I say it? It goes:

 "'I'll speak a story to you, Now listen while I try: I met a Queen, and she kept house A-sitting in the sky. '"

"Come in and say it to my aunt, " Olivia applauded. "Aunt Dora isdying of ennui up here. "

They crossed the terrace in the hush of the tropic night. Throughthe fairy black and silver the four figures moved, and it was as ifthe king's palace--that sky thing, with ramparts of air--had atlength found expression and knew a way to answer the ancientglamourie of the moon. 

CHAPTER XV

A VIGIL

Upon Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham, drowsing over thepocket chess-board, the sound of footsteps and men's voices in thecorridor acted with electrical effect. Then the door was opened andbehind Olivia and Antoinette appeared the two visitors who seemed tohave fallen from the neighbouring heavens. The two chess-pretenderslooked up aghast. If there were a place in the world wherechaperonage might be relaxed the uninformed observer would say thatit would be the top of Mount Khalak. 

"Mercy around us!" cried Mrs. Medora Hastings, "if it isn't thatnewspaper man! He's probably come over here to cable it all over thefront page of every paper in New York. Well, " she addedcomplacently, as if she had brought it all about, "it seems good tosee some of your own race. How _did_ you get here? Some trick, Isuppose?"

"My dear fellows, " burst out Mr. Augustus Frothingham fervently, "thank God! I'm not, ordinarily, unequal to my situations, but Iconfess to you, as I would not to a client, that I don't object tosharing this one. How did you come?"

"It's a house-party!" said Antoinette ecstatically. 

Amory looked at her in her blue gown in the light of the white room, and his spirits soared heavenward. Why should St. George have anidea that he controlled the hour?

From a tumult of questioning, none of which was fully answeredbefore Mrs. Hastings put another query, the lawyer at lengthelicited the substance of what had occurred. 

"You came up the side of the mountain, carried by four of thosefrightful natives?" shrilled Mrs. Hastings. "Olivia, think. It's awonder they didn't murder you first and throw you over afterward, isn't it, Olivia? Oh, and my poor dear brother. To think of hislying somewhere all mangled and bl--"

Emotion overcame Mrs. Hastings. Her tortoise-shell glasses fell toher lap and both her side-combs tinkled melodiously to the tiledfloor. 

"This reminds me, " said Mr. Frothingham, settling back and finding apencil with which to emphasize his story, "this reminds me very muchof a case that I had on the June calendar--"

In half an hour St. George and Amory saw that all seriousconsideration of their situation must be accomplished alone withOlivia; for in that time Mr. Frothingham had been reminded of twomore cases and Mrs. Hastings had twice been reduced to tears by thepicture of the possible fate of her brother. Moreover, therepresently appeared supper--a tray of the most savoury delicacies, toproduce which Olivia had slipped away and, St. George had no doubt, said over some spell in the kitchens. Supper in the white marbleroom of the king's palace was almost as wonderful as muffins and teaat the Boris. 

There were Olivia in her gown of roses on one side of the table andAntoinette on the other and between them the hungry and happyadventurers. Across the room under a tall silver vase that mighthave been the one proposed by Achilles at the funeral games forPatroclus ("that was the work of the 'skilful Sidonians'" St. Georgerecalled with a thrill), Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Frothingham wereconscientiously finishing their chess, since the lawyer believed incompleting whatever he undertook, if for nothing more than a warningnever to undertake it again. Manifestly the little ivory kings andqueens and castles were in league with all the other magic of thenight, for the game prolonged itself unconscionably, and the supperparty found it far from difficult to do the same. St. George lookedat Olivia in her gown of roses, and his eyes swept the high whitewalls of the room with its frescoes and inscriptions, its brokenstatues and defaced chests of stone and ancient armour, and so backto Olivia in her gown of roses, with her little ringless handstouching and lifting among the alien dishes as she ministered tohim. What a dear little gown of roses and what beautiful hands, St. George thought; and as for the broken statues and the inscriptionsand the contents of the stone chests, nobody had paid any attentionto them for so long that they could hardly have missed his regard. Nor Amory's. For Amory was in the midst of a reminiscent referenceto the Chiswicks, in the Adirondacks, and to Antionette Frothinghamin a launch. 

At last they all were aware that the chess-board was being closedand Mrs. Hastings had risen. 

"I suppose, " she was saying, "that they have an idea here, the poordeluded creatures, that it is very late. But I tell Olivia that weare so much farther east it _can't_ be very late in New York at thisminute, and I intend to go to bed by my watch as I always do, andthat is New York time. If I were in New York I wouldn't be sleepynow, and I'm no different here, am I? I don't think people are halfindependent enough. "

Mrs. Hastings stepped round a stone god, almost faceless, that stoodin a little circular depression in the floor. 

"Olivia, where, " she inquired, patting the bobbing, ticking jet onher gown, "where do you think that frightful, mad, old man is?"

"I heard him cross the corridor a little while ago, " Oliviaanswered. "I think he went to his room. "

"I must say, Olivia, " said Mrs. Hastings with a damp sigh, "that youare very selfish where I am concerned--in _this_ matter. "

"Ah, " said Olivia, "please, Aunt Dora. He is far too feeble to harmany one. And he's away there on the second floor. "

"I'm sure he's a murderer, " protested Mrs. Hastings. "He has themurderer's eye. Mr. Hastings would have said he has. We all sleep onthe ground floor here, " she continued plaintively, "because we areso high up anyway that I think the air must be just as pure as itwould be up stairs. I always leave my window up the width of myhandkerchief-box. "

As they went out to the great corridor Olivia spoke softly to St. George. 

"Look up, " she said. 

He looked, and saw that the vast circular chamber was ofincalculable height, extending up to the very dome of the palace, and shaping itself to the lines of the topmost of the three hugecones. It was a great well of light, playing over strange frescoesof gods and daemons, of constellations and of beasts, and exquisitewith all the secret colours of some other way of vision. As high asthe eye could see, the precious metals upon the skeleton of the openroof shone in the bright light that was set there--the light on thesummit of the king's palace. 

St. George turned from the glory of it and looked into her eyes. 

"'A new Heaven and a new earth, '" he said; but he did not mean thedome of light nor yet the splendour of the palace. 

 * * * * *

Manifestly, there is no use in being asleep when one can dreamrather better awake. St. George wandered aimlessly between his roomand Amory's and took the time to reflect that when a man looks theway Amory did he might as well have Cupids painted on his coat. 

"St. George, " Amory said soberly, "is this the way you've beenfeeling all the way here? Is this what you came for? Then, on mysoul, I forgive you everything. I would have climbed ten mountainsto meet Antoinette Frothingham. "

"I've been watching you, you son of Dixie, " said St. George darkly;"don't you lose your head just when you need it most. "

"I have a notion yours is gone, " defended Amory critically, "andmine is only going. "

"That's twice as dangerous, " St. George wisely opined;"besides--mine is different. "

"So is mine, " said Amory, "so is everybody's. "

St. George stepped through the long window to the terrace. Amorydidn't care whether anybody listened; he simply longed to talk, andSt. George had things to think about. He crossed the terrace to thesouth, and went back to the very spot where he and Olivia had stood;and there, because the night would have it no other way, hestretched along the broad wall among the vines, and lit his pipe, and lay looking out at sea. Here he was, liberated from the businessof "buzzing in a corner, trifling with monosyllables, " set upon afield pleasant with hazard and without paths, to move in the primalexperiences where words themselves are born. Better and moreintimate names for everything seemed now almost within his ken. 

He had longed unspeakably to go pilgriming, and he had forthwithbeen permitted to leave the world behind with its thickets andthresholds, its hesitations and confusions, its marching armies, breakfasts, friendships and the like, and to live on the edge ofwhat will be. He thought of his mother, in her black gowns and Romanmosaic pins with a touch of yellow lace at her throat, listening tothe bishop as he examined the dicta of still cloisters, and he toldhimself that he knew a heresy or two that were like belief. Hismother and the bishop at Tübingen and on the Baltic! Curiouslyenough, they did not seem very remote. He adored his mother and thebishop, and so the thought of them was a part of this fairy tale. All pleasant thoughts whether of adventure or impression boastkinship, perhaps have identity. And the name of that identity wasOlivia. So he "drove the night along" on the leafy parapet. 

He was not far from asleep, nor perhaps from the dream of the Romanemperor who believed the sea to have come to his bedside and spokenwith him, when something--he was not sure whether it was a voice ora touch--startled him awake. He rose on his elbow and lookeddrowsily out at the glorified blackness--as if black were no longerabsence cf colour but, the veil of negative definitions having beenpierced, were found to be a mystic union of colour and moreinclusive than white. The very dark seemed delicately vocal and to"fill the waste with sound" no less than the wash of the waves. St. George awoke deliciously confused by a returning sense of the sweetand the joy of the night. 

"'This was the loneliest beach between two seas, '" there flittedthrough his mind, "'and strange things had been done there in theancient ages. '" He turned among the vines, half listening. "And inthere is the king's daughter, " he told himself, "and this iscertainly 'the strangest thing that ever befell between two seas. 'And I have a great mind to look up the old woman of that tale whomust certainly be hereabout, dancing 'widdershins. '"

Then, like a bright blade unsheathed in a quiet chamber, a cry ofgreat and unmistakable fear rang out from the palace--a woman'scry, uttered but once, and giving place to a silence that was evenmore terrifying. In an instant St. George was on his feet, runningwith all his might. 

"Coming!" he called, "where are you--where are you?" And his heartpounded against his side with the certainty that the voice had beenOlivia's. 

It was unmistakably Olivia's voice that replied to him. 

"Here!" she cried clearly, and St. George followed the sound anddashed through the long open window of the room next that in whichhe had first seen her that night. 

"Here, " she repeated, "but be careful. Some one is in this room. "

"Don't be afraid, " he cried cheerily into the dark. "It's allright, " which is exactly what he would have said if there had beenabout dragons and real shades from Sidon. 

The room was now in darkness, and in the dim light cast by the highmoon he could at first discern nothing. He heard a silken rustlingand the tap of slippered feet. The next instant the apartment wasquick with light, and in the curtained entrance to an inner room, Olivia, in a brown dressing-gown, her hair vaguely bright about herflushed face, stood confronting him. 

Between them, his thin hand thrown up, palm outward, to protect hiseyes from the sudden light, was the old man whom St. George had lastseen by the shrine on the terrace. 

St. George was prepared for a mere procession of palace ghosts, butat this strange visitor he stared for an uncomprehending moment. 

"What are you doing here?" he said wonderingly to him; "what in theworld are you doing here?"

The old man looked uncertainly about him, one hand spread againstthe pillar behind him, the other fumbling at his throat. 

"I think, " he answered almost indistinguishably, "I think that Imeant to sit here--to sit in the room beyond, where the mock starsshine. "

Olivia uttered an exclamation. 

"How could he possibly know that?" she said. 

"But what does he mean?" asked St. George. 

She crossed swiftly to a portiere hanging by slender rings from thefull height of the lofty room, and at her bidding St. Georgefollowed her. She pushed aside the curtain, revealing a huge cave ofthe dark, a room whose walls were sunk in shadow. But overhead theceiling was constellated in stars, so that it seemed to St. Georgeas if he were looking into a nearer heaven, homing the far lightsthat he knew. The Pleiades, Orion, and the Southern Cross, blazingdown with inconceivable brilliance, were caught and held captive inthe cup of this nearer sky. 

"It is like this at night, " Olivia said, "but we see nothing in thedaytime, save the vague outlines of here and there a star. But howcould he have known? There is no other door save this. "

The old man had followed them and stood, his eyes fixed on theshining points. 

"It is done well, " he said softly, "it makes one feel thefirmament. "

St. George, thrilling with the strangeness of what he saw, and thestrangeness of being there with Olivia and this weird old man of themountain, turned toward him almost fearfully. How did he know, indeed?

"Ah well, " he said, striving to reassure her, "I've no doubt he haswandered in here some evening, while you were at dinner. No doubt--"

He stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on the old man's hand. For as helifted it St. George had thought that something glittered. Withouthesitation he caught the old man's arm about the wrist, and turnedhis hand in his own palm. In the thin fingers he found a smallsealed tube, filled with something that looked like particles ofnickel. 

"Do you mind telling me what that is?" asked St. George. 

Old Malakh's eyes, liquid and brown and very peaceful, met his ownwithout rebuke. 

"Do you mean the gem?" he asked gently. "It is a very beautifulruby. "

Then St. George saw upon the hand that held the sealed tube a ringof matchless workmanship, set with a great ruby that smouldered inthe shadow where they stood. Olivia looked at St. George withstartled eyes. 

"He was not wearing this when we first saw him, " she said. "Ihaven't seen him wearing it at all. "

St. George confronted the old man then and spoke with somedetermination. 

"Will you please tell us, " he said, "what there is in this tube, andhow you came by this ring?"

Old Malakh looked down reflectively at his hand, and back to St. George's face. It was wonderful, the air of courtliness and urbanityand delicate breeding which persisted through age and infirmity andthe fallow mind. 

"I wish that I might tell you, " he said humbly, "but I have onlylittle lights in my head, instead of words. And when I say them, they do not mean--what they _shine_. Do you not see? That is whyevery one laughs. But I know what the lights say. "

St. George looked at Olivia helplessly. 

"Will you tell me where his room is?" he said, "and I'll go backwith him. I don't know what to make of this, quite, but don't befrightened. It's all right. Didn't you say he is on the secondfloor?"

"Yes, but don't go alone with him, " begged Olivia suddenly, "let mecall some of the servants. We don't know what he may do. "

St. George shook his head, smiling a little in sheer boyish delightat that "we. " "We" is a very wonderful word, when it is not put tounimportant uses by kings, editors and the like. 

"I'd rather not, thank you, " he said. "I'll have a talk with him, Ithink. "

"His room is at the top of the stair, on the left, " said Oliviareluctantly, "but I wish--"

"We shall get on all right, " St. George assured her, "and don't letthis worry you, will you? I was smoking on the terrace. I'll bethere for a while yet. Good night, " he said from the doorway. 

"Good night, " said Olivia. "Good night--and, oh, I thank you. "

St. George's expectation of having a talk with the old man was, however, unfounded. Old Malakh led the way to his room--a greatplace of carven seats and a frowning bed-canopy and high windows, and doors set deep in stone; and he begged St. George to sit downand permitted him to examine the sealed tube filled with littleparticles that looked like nickel, and spoke with gentle irrelevancethe while. At the last St. George left him, feeling as if he werecommitting not so much an indignity as a social solecism when helocked the door upon the lonely creature, using for the purpose akey-like implement chained to the lock without and having a ringabout the size of the iron crown of the Lombards. 

"Good night, " old Malakh told him courteously, "good night. But yetall nights are good--save the night of the heart. "

St. George went back to the terrace. For hours he paced the paths ofthat little upper garden or lay upon the wall among the pungentvines. But now he forgot the iridescent dark and the companion-seaand the high moon and the king's palace, for it was not these thatmade the necromancy of the night. It was permitted him to watchbefore the threshold while Olivia slept, as lovers had watched inthe youth of the world. Whatever the morrow held, to-night had beenadded to yesternight. Not until the dawn of that morrow whitened thesky and drew from the vapourous plain the first far towers of Med, the King's City, did St. George say good night to her glimmeringwindows. 

CHAPTER XVI

GLAMOURIE

There is a certain poster, all stars and poppies and deep grass; andover these hangs a new moon which must surely have been cut by fairyscissors, for it looks as much like a cake or a cowslip as it lookslike a moon. But withal it sheds a light so eery and strangelysilver that the poster seems, in spite of the poppies, to have beenpainted in Spring-wind. 

"Never, " said some chance visitors vehemently, "have I seen such amoon as that!"

"But ah, sir, and ah, madame, " was the answer--it is not recordedwhether the poster spoke or whether some one spoke for it--"wouldn'tyou like to?"

Now, therefore, concerning the sweet of those hours in the king'spalace the Vehement may be tempted to exclaim that in life thingsnever happen like that. Ah--do they not so? You have only to go backto the days when young love and young life were yours to recalldistinctly that the most impossible things were every-dayoccurrences. What about the time that you went down one streetinstead of up another and _that_ changed the entire course of yourdays and brought you two together? What about the song, the June, the letter that touched the world to gold before your eyes andcaught you up in a place of clouds? Remembering that magic, it isquite impossible to assert that any charming thing whatever wouldnot have happened. Is there not some wonderland in every life? Andis not the ancient citadel of Love-upon-the-Heights that commonwonderland? One must believe in all the happiness that one can. 

But if the Most Vehement--who are as thick as butterflies--stillremain unconvinced and persist that they never heard of thingsfallen out thus, there is left this triumph:

"Ah, sir, or ah, madame, wouldn't you like to?"

 * * * * *

A fugitive wind rollicking in from sea next morning swept throughthe palace and went on around the world; and thereafter it had anhundred odourous ways of attracting attention, which were merely itsown tale of what pleasant things it had seen and heard on high. 

For example, that breakfast. A cloth had been laid at one end of thelong stone table whereat, since the days of Abibaal, brother toHiram, friend to David, kings had breakfasted and banqueted, andthis cloth had now been set with the ancient plate of thepalace--dishes that looked like helmets and urns and discs. HereOlivia and Antoinette, in charming print frocks, made a kind of teain a kind of biblical samovar and served it in vessels thatresembled individual trophies of the course. And here St. George andAmory praised the admirable English muffins which some one hadtaught the dubious cook to make; and Mr. Augustus Frothinghamtip-fingered his way about his plate among alien fruits andqueer-shaped cakes. "Are they cookies or are they manna?" Amorywondered, "for they remind me of coriander seeds. " And here Mrs. Hastings, who always awoke a thought impatient and becameultra-complacent with no interval of real sanity, wistfully askedfor a soft-boiled egg and added plaintively:

"Though I dare say the very hens in Yaque lay something besideseggs--pineapples, very likely. "

"I suppose, " speculated Amory, "that when we get perfectlyintuitionized we won't have to eat either one because we'll knowbeforehand exactly how they both taste. "

"A _reductio ad absurdum_, my young friend, " said the lawyersternly; "the real purpose of eating will remain for everunchanged. "

Later, while Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Frothingham went out on theterrace in the sun and wished for a morning paper ("I miss theweather report so, " complained Mrs. Hastings) the four young peoplewith Jarvo and Akko for guides set out to explore the palace. ForSt. George had risen from his two hours' sleep with someclearly-defined projects, and he meant first to go over every nicheand corner of the great pile where one--say a king--might be hiddenwith twenty other kings, and no one be at all the wiser. 

What a morning it was! When the rollicking wind got to that part ofthe story it must have told about it in such intimating perfumesthat even the unimaginative were constrained to sit idle, "thinkingdelicate thoughts. " There never was a fairer temple of romance, avery temple of Young Love's Plaisaunce; and since the coming of St. George and Amory all the cavernous chambers and galleries werebecome homes of hope that the king would be found and all would yetbe well. 

To the main part of the palace there were storey after storey, alloctagons and pentagons and labyrinths, so that incredulity andamazement might increase with every step. How they had ever raisedthose massive blocks of stone to that great height no one canguess unless, indeed, Amory's theory were correct and the palacehad originally been built upon level ground and had had itssurroundings blasted neatly away to make a mountain. At all eventsthere were the walls of the great airy rooms made of the nakedstone, exquisitely beveled and chiseled, and frescoed with theplanetary deities--Eloti, the Moon with her chariot drawn by whitebulls, the Sun and his four horses, with his emblem of a column inthe form of a rising flame--types taken from the heavens and fromthe abyss. There were roofs of sound fir and sweet cedar, carvencornices, cave-like window embrasures with no glass, and littlecircular rooms built about shrines in which sat broken images ofBaal the sun god, of a sandaled Astarte, and a ravening Melkarth, with the lion's skin. 

From a great upper corridor there went a stairway, each deep stepof which was placed on the back of a stone lion of increasingsize, until the tallest lion's head extended close to the paintedceiling, and there were comfortable benches cut in his giganticpaws. Many of the rooms were without furnishing, some were filledwith vague, splendid stuff mouldering away, and others with mostluxuriously-devised ministries to beauty and comfort. The palacewas curiously and wonderfully an habitation of more than twothousand years ago, furnished with a taste and luxury in advanceof this moment's civilization of the world. The heart of thatelder world beat strangely in one of the upper chambers where theycame upon a little work-shop, strewn with unknown metals and toolsand empty crucibles, and in their midst a rectangular metallicplate partly traced with a device of boughs, appearing, in onelight, slightly fluorescent. 

"It is the work of the Princess Simyra, adôn, " said Jarvo. "She wasthe daughter of King Thabion, and when she died what she had touchedin this room was left unmoved. But it was very many years ago--Ihave forgotten. Every one has forgotten. "

They went down among the very roots of the palace, three fullstoreys below the surface of the summit. Jarvo went before, lightingthe way, and they threaded vaulted corridors and winding passages, and emerged at last in a silent, haunted chamber whose stones hadbeen hewn and sunken there, before Issus. This was the chamber ofthe tombs of the kings, and its floor echoed to their footsteps, nowhollowly, now with ringing clearness. Three sides of the mighty hallwere lined with _loculi_ or niches, each as deep as the length of aman. About the floor stood stone sarcophagi and beneath the longflags kings were sleeping, each with his abandoned name graven onthe stones, washed year-long by the dark. In the room's centre was alofty cylindrical tomb, mounted by four steps, and this was theresting-place of King Abibaal, the younger son of King Abibaal ofTyre, and the brother to King Hiram, who ruled in Tyre when thePhoenicians who settled Yaque, or Arqua, first passed the Straits ofGibraltar and gained the open sea. ("Dear me, " said Mrs. Hastingswhen they told her, "I was at Mount Vernon once, and theWashingtons' tombs there impressed me very deeply, but they werenothing to these in point of age, were they?") Sunken in the wallwas a tomb of white marble hewn in a five-faced pyramidion, whereslept Queen Mitygen, who ruled in Yaque while Alexander was king ofPersia. There was said to have been buried with her a casket oflove-letters from Alexander, who may have known Yaque and probablyat one time visited it and, in that case, was entertained in thevery palace. And if this is true the story of his omission toconquer the island may one day divert the world. 

Jarvo bent before a low tomb whose stone was delicately scored withwinged circles. 

"Perhaps, " he said, "you will recall the accounts of the kidnappedEgyptian priestesses sold to the Theoprotions by Phoenicianmerchants in the heroic age of Greece? They were not all sold. Herelie the bones of four, given royal burial because of their holyoffice. "

Nothing was unbelievable--nothing had been unbelievable for so longthat these four had almost learned that everything is possible. Which, if you come to think of it, and no matter how absurdly youlearn it, is a thing immeasurably worth realizing in this world ofpossibilities. It is one of our two magics. 

"And this, " Jarvo said softly, pausing before a vacant nicheopposite the tomb of King Abibaal, "this will be the receptacle forthe present king of Yaque, his Majesty, King Otho, by the grace ofGod. "

Olivia suddenly looked up at St. George, her face pale in theghostly light. There it had been, waiting for them all the while, the sense of the vivid personal against the vague eternal. But herinvoluntary appeal to him, slight as it was, thrilled St. Georgewith tenderness as vivid as this tragic element itself. 

They went back to the sun and the sweet messengering air above, andcrossed a little vacant grassy court on the north side of themountain. Here they saw that the palace climbed down the northernslope from the summit, and literally overhung the precipice wherethe supports were made fast by gigantic girders run in the livingrock. A little observatory was built below the edge of the mountain, and this box of a place had a glass floor, and one felt like a flyon the sky as one stood there. It was said that a certain king ofYaque, sometime in the course of the Punic Wars, had thrown himselffrom this observatory in a rage because his court electrician haddied, but how true this may be it is impossible to say because solittle is known about electricity. Below the building lay quite themost wonderful part of the king's palace. 

Here in the long north rooms, hermetically quiet, was the heart ofthe treasure of the ancient island. Here, saved inexplicably fromthe wreck of the past, were a thousand testimonies to that lost andbut half-guessed art of the elder world. Beautiful things, made inthe days when King Solomon built the Temple at Jerusalem, lined thewalls, and filled the stone shelves, together with curios of thatlater day when Phoenicia stood first in knowledge of the plastic andglyptic arts. Workers in gold and ivory, in gems and talismans, inbrass and fine linen and purple had done the marvels which thosecourtier adventurers brought with them over the sea, and to these, from year to year, had been added the treasure of privatechests--necklaces and coronals and hair-loops, bottles and vases ofglass coloured with metallic oxides, and patterned aggry-beads, nowsometimes found in ancient tombs on the Ashantee coasts. Beneath analtar set with censers and basins of gold was a chest brought fromAmathus, its ogive lid carved with _bigæ_ or two-horsed chariots, and it was in this chest, Jarvo told them, that the HereditaryTreasure had been kept. The chamber walls were covered withbas-reliefs in the ill-proportioned and careful carving of thePhoenician artists not yet under Greek influence, and all about wereset the wonderful bronzes, such as Tyrian artificers made for theTemple. The other chambers gave still deeper utterance to daysremote, for it was there that the king's library had been collectedin case after case, filled with parchment rolls preserved and copiedfrom age to age. What might not be there, they wondered--annals, State documents, the Phoenician originals of histories preservedelsewhere only in fragments of translation or utterly lost, thesecrets of science and magic known to men the very forms of whosenames have perished; and not only the longed-for poems of Sido andJopas, but of who could tell how many singing hearts, lyric with joyand love and still voiceful here in these strange halls? These werechambers such as no one has ever entered, for this was the vexing ofno unviolated tomb and no buried city, but the actual return to thePast, watching lonely on the mountain. 

"Clusium, " said Amory softly. "I had actually wanted to go to thecemetery at Clusium, to see some inscriptions!"

"No, you didn't, Toby, " said St. George pleasantly, "you wanted togo somewhere and you called it Clusium. You wanted an adventure andyou thought Clusium was the name of it. "

"I know, " said Amory shamelessly, "and there are no end of names forit. But it's always the same thing. _Excepting this_. "

"Excepting this, " St. George repeated fervently as they turned togo; and if, in singing of that morning, the rollicking wind sangthat, it must have breathed and trembled with a chorus of faintvoices from every shelf in the room, --voices that of old hadthrilled with the same meaning and woke now to the eternal echo. 

Woke now to the eternal echo--an echo that touched delicatelythrough the events of that afternoon and laid strange values on allthat happened. Otherwise, if they four were not all a littleecho-mad, how was it that in the shadow of doubt, in the face ofdanger, and near the inextinguishable mystery they yet found timefor the little, wing-like moments that never hold history, becausethey hold revelation. There were, too, some events; but an event isa clumsy thing at best, unless it has something intangible about it. The delicious moments are when the intangibilities prevail andpervade and possess. In the king's palace there must have beenshrines to intangibilities--as there should be everywhere--for theyseemed to come there, and belong. 

The mere happenings included, for example, a talk that St. Georgehad with Mr. Augustus Frothingham on the terrace after luncheon, in which St. George laid before the lawyer a plan which he hadvirtually matured and of which he himself thought very well. Thought so well, because of its possibilities, that his face wasbetrayingly eager as he told about it. It was, briefly, thatinasmuch as four of the six men who could scale the mountain werenow on its summit, and inasmuch as all the airships were therealso, now, therefore, they, the guests on the island of Yaque, were in a perfectly impregnable position--counting out FifthDimension contingencies, which of course might include appearingsas well as disappearings--and why shouldn't they stay there, andlet the ominous noon of the following day slip by unmarked? Andwhen the lawyer said, "But, my dear fellow, " as he was bound tosay, St. George answered that down there in Med there would be, bynoon of the following day, two determined persons who, if Jarvowould get word to them, would with perfect certainty find Mr. OthoHolland, the king, if he were on the island. And when "Well, butmy dear fellow" occurred again, St. George replied with deferencethat he knew it, but although he never had managed an airship hefancied that perhaps he might help with one; and down there in theharbour was a yacht waiting to sail for New York, and therefore noone need even set foot on the island who didn't wish. And Mr. Frothingham laid one long hand on each coat-lapel and threw backhis head until his hair rested on his collar, and he looked at thepalace--that Titan thing of the sky with ramparts of air--andsaid, "Nothing in all my experience--" and St. George left him, deep in thought. 

On the way back he chanced upon Mrs. Hastings, seated on a bench oflapidescent wood in the portico--and a Titanic portico it looked byday--and, having sent for the palace chef, she was attempting towrite down the recipe for the salad of that day's luncheon, althoughit was composed chiefly of fowls now extinct everywhere excepting inYaque. 

"But my poultry man will get them for me, " she urged withdetermination; "I have only to tell him the name of what I want, andhe can always produce it in tins, nicely labeled. "

Later, St. George came upon old Malakh, leaning on the terrace wall, looking out to sea, and stood close beside him, marveling at thepallor and the thousand wrinkles of the man's strange face. The facewas stranger by day than it had been by night--this St. George hadfelt when he went that morning to release him, and the old manleaned from the frowning bed-hangings to bid him a gentle goodmorning. Could he be, St. George now wondered vaguely, a citizen ofthe fifteenth or twentieth dimension, and, there, did they live tohis incredible age? Then he noticed that the old man was not wearingthe ruby ring. 

"I wear it only when I wish to see it shine, sir, " old Malakhanswered, and St. George marveled at that courteous "sir, " and atother things. 

To everything that he asked him the old man returned only hisurbane, unmeaning replies, touched with their melancholy symbolism. When St. George left him it was in the hope that Olivia wouldconsent to have him sent down the mountain, although St. Georgehimself was half inclined to agree with Amory's "But, really, Iwould far rather talk with one madman with this madman's mannersthan to sup with uncouth sanity" and "After all, if he should murderus, probably no one could do it with greater delicacy. " And Oliviahad no intention of sending old Malakh back to Med. "How could onepossibly do that?" she wanted to know, and there was no oracle. 

All the while the world of intangibilities was growing, growing asonly that world can grow from the abysmal silence of life that wentbefore. St. George was saying to himself that at last the _Here_ andthe _Now_ were infinitely desirable; and as for the fear for themorrow, what was that beside the promise of the days beyond? At noonthey all climbed the Obelisk Tower with its ceiling of carved leavesabove carved leaves, and the real heavens a little farther up. Theyleaned on the broad wall, cut by mock bastions and faced the gloryof the sunny, trembling sea, starred with the dipping wings ofgulls. Blue sky, blue sea, eyes that saw looks that eyes did notknow they gave--ah, what a day it was! When the rollicking wind toldabout that, down on the dun earth, surely it echoed their youngcourage, their young belief in the future, the incorruptibility oftheir understanding that the future was theirs, under the law. Forthe wind always teaches that. The wind is the supreme believer, andone has only to take a walk in it at this moment to know the truth. Yet in spite of the wind, in spite of their high security, in spiteof the little wing-like moments that hold not history butrevelation, they were all going down the hours beneath the pendentsword of "To-morrow, at noon. "

CHAPTER XVII

BENEATH THE SURFACE

Up came the dusk to the doors of the king's palace--a hurry of greybanners flowing into the empty ways where the sun had been. Uponthis high dominion Night could not advance unheralded, and here theTwilight messengered her coming long after the dark lay thick on thelowland and on the toiling water. 

St. George, leaning from Amory's window, looked down on the shadowsrising in exquisite hesitation, as if they came curling from thelighted censer of Med. There is no doubt at all, Olivia had saidgravely, that the dusk is patterned, if only one could seeit--figured in unearthly flowers, in wandering stars, in upper-airsprites, grey-winged, grey-bodied, so that sometimes glimpsing themone fancies them to be little living goblins. He smiled, rememberingher words, and glanced over his shoulder down the long room wherethe other light was now beginning to creep about, first expressing, then embracing the chamber dusk. It seemed precisely the momentwhen something delicate should be caught passing from gloom toradiance, to be thankfully remembered. But only many-winged colourswere visible, though he could hear a sound like little murmurousspeech in the dusky roof where the air had a recurrent fashion ofwhispering knowingly. 

Indeed, the air everywhere in the palace had a fashion of whisperingknowingly, for it was a place of ghostly draughts and blastscreeping through chambers cleft by yawning courts and open corridorsand topped by that skeleton dome. And as St. George turned from thewindow he saw that the door leading into the hall, urged by somenimble gust, imaginative or prying, had swung ajar. 

St. George mechanically crossed the room to close the door, notinghow the pale light warmed the stones of that cave-like corridor. With his hand upon the latch his eyes fell on something crossing thecorridor, like a shadow dissolving from gloom to gloom. Well beyondthe open door, stealing from pillar to pillar in the dimness andmoving with that swiftness and slyness which proclaim a covertpurpose as effectually as would a bell, he saw old Malakh. 

Now St. George was in felt-soled slippers and he was coatless, because in the adjoining room Jarvo, with a heated, helmet-likeapparatus, was attempting to press his blue serge coat. In thatroom too was Amory, catching glimpses of himself in a mirror ofpolished steel, but within reach, on the divan where Jarvo had justlaid it, was Amory's coat; and St. George caught that up, slipped iton, and was off down the corridor after the old man, moving asswiftly and slyly as he. St. George had no great faith in him or inwhat he might know, but the old man puzzled him, and mystificationis the smell of a pleasant powder. 

The palace was very still. Presumably, Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Frothingham were already at chess in the drawing-room awaitingdinner. St. George heard a snatch of distant laughter, in quicklittle lilts like a song, and it occurred to him that its echo therewas as if one were to pin a ruffle of lace to the grim stones. Someone answered the laugh, and he heard the murmurous touching of softskirts entering the corridor as he dived down the ancient dark ofone of the musty passages. There the silence was resumed. In thepalace it was as though the stillness were some living sleeper, waking with protests, thankful for the death of any echo. 

No one was in the gallery. St. George, stepping softly, followed asnear as he dared to that hurrying figure, flitting down the dark. Astill narrower hallway connected the main portion of the palace witha shoulder of the south wing, and into this the old man turned andskirted familiarly the narrow sunken pool that ran the length ofthe floor, drawing the light to its glassy surface and revealing theshadows sent clustering to the indistinguishable roof. 

Midway the gallery sprang a narrow stairway, let in the wall andonce leading to the ancient armoury, but now disused and piled withrubbish. Old Malakh went up two steps of this old stairway, turnedaside, and slipped away so swiftly that his amazed pursuer caught nomore than an after-flutter of his dun-coloured garments. St. George, his softly-clad feet making no noise upon the stones, boundedforward and saw, through a triangular aperture in the stones, andset so low that a man must crouch upon the step to enter, a yawningplace of darkness. 

He might very well have been taking his life in his hands, for hecould have no idea whether the aperture led to the imperial dungeonsor to the imperial rain-water cistern; but St. George instantly bentand slipped down into that darkness, thick with the dust of theflight of the old man. With the distinctly pleasurable sensation ofbeing still alive he found himself standing upright upon an unevenfloor of masonry. He thrust out his arms and touched sides of mossyrock. Then just before him a pale flame flickered. The old man hadkindled a little taper that hardly did more than make shallowhollows in the darkness through which he moved. 

It was easy to follow now, and St. George went breathlessly onpast the rudely-hewn walls and giant pillars of that hidden way. He might have been lost with ease in any of the lower processes ofthe palace which they had that morning visited; but he could notbe deceived about the chambers which he had once seen, and thissubterranean course was new to him. Was it, he wondered, new toOlivia, and to Jarvo? Else why had it been omitted in thatmorning's search? And was this strange guide going on at random, or did he know--something? A suspicion leaped to St. George's mindthat made his heart beat. The king--might he be down hereafter all, and might this weird old man know where? His ownconsciousness became chiefly conjecture, and every nerve was alertin the pursuit; not the less because he realized that if he wereto lose this strange conductor who went on before, either insecure knowledge or in utter madness, he himself might wander forthe rest of his life in that nether world. 

Past grim latchless doors sealing, with appropriate gestures, theirforgotten secrets, past outlying passages winding into the heart ofthe mountain, past niches filled with shapeless crumbling rubbishthey hurried--the mad old man and his bewildered pursuer. Twice theway turned, gradually narrowing until two could hardly have passedthere, and at last apparently terminated in a short flight ofsteps. Old Malakh mounted with difficulty and St. George, waiting, saw him standing before a blank stone wall. Immediately and withouteffort the old man's scanty strength served to displace one of thewall's huge stones which hung upon a secret pivot and rollednoiselessly within. He stepped through the aperture, and St. Georgesprang behind him, watched his moment to cross the threshold, crouched in the leaping shadow of the displaced stone andlooked--looked with the undistinguishing amazement that a man feelsin the panorama of his dreams. 

The room was small and low and set with a circular bench, runningabout a central pillar. On the table was a confusion of thingsbrilliantly phosphorescent, emitting soft light, and mingled withbulbs, coils and crucibles lying in a litter of egg-shells, feathers, ivory and paper. But it was not these that held St. Georgeincredulous; it was the fire that glowed in their midst--a fire thatleaped and trembled and blazed inextinguishable colour, smouldering, sparkling, tossing up a spray of strange light, lambent with thosewizard hues of the pennons and streamers floating joyously from thedome of the Palace of the Litany--the fire from the subject heartsof a thousand jewels. There could be no doubting what he saw. There, flung on the table from the mouth of a carven casket and harbouringthe captive light of ages gone, glittered what St. George knewwould be the gems of the Hereditary Treasure of the kings of Yaque. 

But for old Malakh to know where the jewels were--that was asamazing as was their discovery. St. George, breathing hard in hiscorner, watched the long, fine hands of the old man trembling amongthe delicate tubes and spindles, lingering lovingly among thestones, touching among the necklaces and coronals of the dead queenswhose dust lay not far away. It was as if he were summoning anddiscarding something shining and imponderable, like words. Thecontents of the casket which all Yaque had mourned lay scattered inthis secret place of which only this strange, mad creature, a chancepensioner at the palace, had knowledge. 

Suddenly the memory of Balator's words smote St. George with newperception. "He walks the streets of Med, " Balator had told him atthe banquet, "saying 'Melek, Melek, ' which is to say 'king, ' and sohe is seeking the king. But he is mad, and he weeps; and thereforethey pretend to believe that he says, 'Malakh, ' which is to say'salt, ' and they call him that, for his tears. "

Could old Malakh possibly know something of the king? The hopereturned to St. George insistently, and he watched, spending histhought in new and extravagant conjecture, his mental visionblurring the details of that heaped-up, glistening confusion; and onthe opposite side of the table the old man lifted and laid downthat rainbow stuff of dreams, delighting in it, speaking softlyabove it. Had he been the king's friend, St. George was asking--butwhy did no one know anything of him? Or had he been an enemy who haddone the king violence--but how was that possible, in his age andfeebleness? Mystifying as the matter was, St. George exulted as muchas he marveled; for it would be his, at all events, to place thejewels in Olivia's hands and clear her father's name; he longed tostep out of the dark and confront the old man and seize the casketout of hand, and he would probably have done so and taken hischances at getting back to the upper world, had he not been chainedto his corner by the irresistible hope that the old man knewsomething more--something about the king. And while he wondered, reflecting that at any cost he must prevent the replacing of thepivotal stone, he saw old Malakh take up his taper, turn away fromthe table, and open a door which the room's central pillar had cutfrom his view. 

He was around the table in an instant. The open door revealed threestone steps which the old man was ascending, one at a time. Following him cautiously St. George heard a door grate outward atthe head of the stair, saw the taper move forward in darkness, andthe next moment found himself standing in the room of the tombs ofthe kings of Yaque. And he saw that the panel which had swunginward to admit them was set low in the monolithic tomb of KingAbibaal himself. 

Old Malakh had crossed swiftly to the wall opposite the tomb, andstood before the vacant niche which was to be occupied, as Jarvo hadannounced, by "His Majesty, King Otho, by the grace of God. " There, setting aside his taper, the old man stretched his arms upward tothe empty shelf and with a gesture of inconceivable weariness bowedhis head upon them and stood silent, the leaping candle-lightsilvering his hair. 

"Upon my soul, " thought St George with finality, "he's murdered him. Old Malakh has murdered the king, and it's driven him crazy. "

With that he did step out of the dark, and he laid his hand suddenlyupon the old man's shoulder. 

"Malakh, " he said, "what have you done with the king?"

The old man lifted his head and turned toward St. George a face ofsingular calm. It was as if so many phantoms vexed his brain that astrange reality was of little consequence. But as his eyes met thoseof St. George a sudden dimness came over them, the lids flutteredand dropped, and his lips barely formed his words:

"The king, " he said. "I did not leave the king. It was the king whosomehow went away and left me here--"

He threw out his hands blindly, tottered and swayed from the wall;and St. George received him as he fell, measuring his length uponthe stones before King Otho's future tomb. 

St. George caught down the light and knelt beside him. Death seemedto have come "pressing within his face, " and breathing hardlydisquieted his breast. St. George fumbled at the old man's robe, andbeneath his fingers the heart fluttered never so faintly. Heloosened the cloth at the withered throat, passed his hand over thestill forehead, and looked desperately about him. 

The other inmates of the palace were, he reflected, about two goodcity blocks from him; and he doubted if he could ever find hisunaided way back to them. Mechanically, though he knew that hecarried no flask, he felt conscientiously through his pockets--ahabit of the boy in perplexity which never deserts the manin crises. In the inside pocket of the coat that he waswearing--Amory's coat--his fingers suddenly closed aboutsomething made of glass. He seized it and drew it forth. 

It was a little vase of rock-crystal, ornamented with goldmedallions, covered with exquisite and precise engraving of greatbeauty and variety of design--gryphons, serpents, winged discs, mencontending with lions. St. George stared at it uncomprehendingly. Inthe press of events of the last eight-and-forty hours Amory hadquite forgotten to mention to him the prince's intended gift ofwine, almost three thousand years old, sealed in Phoenicia. 

St. George drew the stopper. In an instant an odour, spicy, penetrating, delicious, saluted him and gave life to the dead air ofthe room. For a moment he hesitated. He knew that the flask had notbeen among Amory's belongings and that he himself had never seen itbefore. But the odour was, he thought, unmistakable, and so powerfulthat already he felt as if the liquor were racing through his ownveins. He touched it to his lips; it was like a full draught of somemarvelous elixir. Sudden confidence sat upon St. George, andthanking his guiding stars for the fortunate chance, heunhesitatingly set the flask to the old man's lips. 

There was a long-drawn, shuddering breath, a fluttering of theeyelids, a movement of the limbs, and after that old Malakh layquite still upon the stones. Once more St. George thrust his handwithin the bosom of the loose robe, and the heart was beatingrapidly and regularly and with amazing force. In a moment deepbreaths succeeded one another, filling the breast of the unconsciousman; but the eyelids did not unclose, and St. George took up thetaper and bent to scan the quiet face. 

St. George looked, and sank to his knees and looked again, holdingthe light now here, now there, and peering in growing bewilderment. What he saw he was wholly unable to define. It was as if a mask wereslowly to dissolve and yet to lie upon the features which it hadcovered, revealing while it still made mock of concealing. Colourwas in the lips, colour was stealing into the changed face. The_changed_ face--changed, St. George could not tell how; and thelonger he looked, and though he rubbed his eyes and turned themtoward the dark and then looked again, moving the taper, he couldneither explain nor define what had happened. 

He set the candle on the floor and sprang away from the quietfigure, searching the dark. The great silent place, with itsshoulders of sarcophagi jutting from the gloom was black save forthe little ring of pallid light about that prostrate form. St. George sent his hand to his forehead, and shook himself a bit, andstraightened his shoulders with a smile. 

"It must be the stuff you've tasted, " he addressed himself solemnly. "Heaven knows what it was. It's the stuff you've tasted. "

Though he had barely touched his lips to the rock-crystal vase St. George's blood was pounding through his veins, and a curiousexhilaration filled him. He looked about at the rims and corners ofthe tombs caught by the light, and he laughed a little--though thiswas not in the least what he intended--because it passed throughhis mind that if King Abibaal and Queen Mitygen, for example, mightbe treated with the contents of the mysterious vase they would nodoubt come forth, Abibaal with memories of the Queen of Sheba in hiseyes, and Queen Mitygen with her casket of Alexander's letters. ThenSt. George went down on his knees again, and raised the old man'shead until it rested upon his own breast, and he passed the candlebefore his face, his hand trembling so that the light flickered andleaped up. 

This time there was no mistaking. The tissues of old Malakh's ashenface and throat and pallid hands were undergoing some subtletransfiguration. It was as if new blood had come encroaching intheir veins. It was as if the muscles were become firm and full, asif the wrinkled skin had been made smooth, the lips grown fresh, asif--the word came to St. George as he stared, spell-stricken--as if_youth_ had returned. 

St. George slipped down upon the stones and sat motionless. Therewas a little blue, forked vein on the man's forehead, and upon thishe fastened his eyes, mechanically following it downward and back. Lines had crossed it, and there had been a deep cleft between theeyes, but these had disappeared, leaving the brow almost smooth. Thecheeks were now tinged with colour, and the throat, where he hadpulled aside the robe, showed firm and white. Mechanically St. George passed his hand along the inert arm, and it was no morewithered than his own--the arm of no greybeard, but of a man in theprime of life. What did it mean--what did it mean? St. Georgewaited, the blood throbbing in his temples, a mist before his eyes. What did it mean?

The minutes dragged by and still the unconscious man did not stir orunclose his eyes. From time to time St. George pressed his hand tothe heart, and found it beating on rhythmically, powerfully. When hefound himself sitting with averted head, as if he were afraid tolook back at that changing face, a fear seized him that he had losthis reason and that what he imagined himself to see was a phase ofmadness. So he left the old man's side and sturdily tramped awayinto the huge dark of the room, resolutely explaining to himselfthat this was all very natural; the old man had been ill, improperlynourished, and the powerful stimulant of the wine had partlyrestored him. But even while he went over it St. George knew in hisheart that what had happened was nothing that could be so explained, nothing that could be explained at all by anything within his ken. 

His footsteps echoed startlingly on the stones, and the chill breathof the place smote his face as he moved. He stumbled on a displacedtile and pitched forward upon a jagged corner of sarcophagus, andreeled as if at a blow from some arm of the darkness. The taper raysstruck a length of wall before him, minting from the gloom a sheetof pale orchids clinging to the unclean rock. St. George remembereda green slope, spangled with crocuses and wild strawberries, coloured like the orchids but lying under free sky, in free air. Itseemed only a trick of Chance that he was not now lying on that farslope, wherever it was, instead of facing these ghost blooms in thisghost place. Back there, where the light glimmered beside the tombof King Abibaal, nobody could tell what awaited him. If the mancould change like this, might he not take on some shape too hideousto bear in the silence? St. George stood still, suddenlyclenching his hands, trying to reach out through the dark and tograsp--himself, the self that seemed slipping away from him. But washe mad already, he wondered angrily, and hurried back to the farflickering light, stumbling, panting, not daring to look at thefigure on the floor, not daring not to look. 

He resolutely caught up the candle and peered once more at the face. As steadily and swiftly as change in the aspect of the sky the facehad gone on changing. St. George had followed to the chamber an oldtottering man; the figure before him was a man of not more thanfifty years. 

St. George let fall the candle, which flickered down, upright in itssocket; and he turned away, his hand across his eyes. Since this wasmanifestly impossible he must be mad, something in the stuff thathe had tasted had driven him mad. He felt strong as a lion, strongenough to lift that prostrate figure and to carry it through thewinding passages into the midst of those above stairs, and to begthem in mercy to tell him how the man looked. What would _she_ say?He wondered what Olivia would say. Dinner would be over and theywould be in the drawing-room--Olivia and Amory and AntoinetteFrothingham; already the white room and the lights and Antoinette'slaughter seemed to him of another world, a world from which he hadirrevocably passed. Yet there they were above, the same roofcovering them, and they did not know that down here in this place ofthe dead he, St. George, was beyond all question going mad. 

With a cry he pulled off Amory's coat, flung it over the unconsciousman, and rushed out into the blackness of the corridor. He would nottake the light--the man must not die alone there in the dark--andbesides he had heard that the mad could see as well in the dark asin the light. Or was it the blind who could see in the dark? Nodoubt it was the blind. However, he could find his way, he thoughttriumphantly, and ran on, dragging his hand along the slipperystones of the wall--he could find his way. Only he must call out, totell them who it was that was lost. So he called himself by name, aloud and sternly, and after that he kept on quietly enough, serenein the conviction that he had regained his self-control, fighting tokeep his mind from returning to the face that changed before hiseyes, like the appearances in the puppet shows. But suddenly hebecame conscious that it was his own name that he went shoutingthrough the passages; and that was openly absurd, he reasoned, sinceif he wanted to be found he must call some one else's name. But hemust hurry--hurry--hurry; no one could tell what might be happeningback there to that face that changed. 

"Olivia!" he shouted, "Amory! Jarvo--oh, Jarvo! Rollo, youscoundrel--"

Whereat the memory that Rollo was somewhere on a yacht assailed him, and he pressed on, blindly and in silence, until glimmering beforehim he saw a light shining from an open door. Then he rushed forwardand with a groan of relief threw himself into the room. Opposite thedoor loomed the grim sarcophagus of King Abibaal, and beside it onthe floor lay the figure with the face that changed. He had gone acircle in those tortuous passages, and this was the room of thetombs of the kings. 

He dragged himself across the chamber toward the still form. He mustlook again; no one could tell what might have happened. He pulleddown the coat and looked. And there was surely nothing in thedelicate, handsome, English-looking face upturned to his to givehim new horror. It was only that he had come down here in the wakeof a tottering old creature, and that here in his place lay a manwho was not he. Which was manifestly impossible. 

Mechanically St. George's hand went to the man's heart. It wasbeating regularly and powerfully, and deep breaths were coming fromthe full, healthily-coloured lips. For a moment St. George kneltthere, his blood tingling and pricking in his veins and pulsing inhis temples. Then he swayed and fell upon the stones. 

 * * * * *

When St. George opened his eyes it was ten o'clock of the followingmorning, though he felt no interest in that. There was before him agreat rectangle of light. He lifted his head and saw that the lightappeared to flow from the interior of the tomb of King Abibaal. Thenext moment Amory's cheery voice, pitched high in consternation andrelief, made havoc among the echoes with a background of Jarvo'ssmooth thanksgiving for the return of adôn. 

St. George, coatless, stiff from the hours on the mouldy stones, dragged himself up and turned his eyes in fear upon the figurebeside him. It flashed hopefully through his mind that perhaps ithad not changed, that perhaps he had dreamed it all, that perhaps. .. 

By his first glance that hope was dispelled. From beneath Amory'scoat on the floor an arm came forth, pushing the coat aside, and aman slenderly built, with a youthful, sensitive face and somewhatcritically-drooping lids, sat up leisurely and looked about him inslow surprise, kindling to distinct amusement. 

"Upon my soul, " he said softly, "what an admission--what anadmission! I can not have made such a night of it in years. "

Upon which Jarvo dropped unhesitatingly to his knees. 

"Melek! Melek!" he cried, prostrating himself again and again. "TheKing! The King! The gods have permitted the possible. "

CHAPTER XVIII

A MORNING VISIT

In an upper room in the Palace of the Litany, fair with all theburnished devices of the early light, Prince Tabnit paced on thatmorning of mornings of his marriage day. Because of his greathappiness the whole world seemed to him like some exquisite intaglioof which this day was the design. 

The room, "walled with soft splendours of Damascus tiles, " was laidwith skins of forgotten animals and was hung with historictapestries dyed by ancient fingers in the spiral veins of the Murex. There were frescoes uniting the dream with its actuality, columnscarved with both lines and names of beauty, pilasters decorated withchain and checker-work and golden nets. A stairway led to a highshrine where hung the crucified Tyrian sphinx. The room was like asinging voice summoning one to delights which it described. Butwhatever way one looked all the lines neither pointed nor seemed tohave had beginning, but being divorced from source and directionexpressed merely beauty, like an altar "where none cometh to pray. "

Prince Tabnit, in his trailing robe of white embroidered by athousand needles, looked so akin to the room that one suspected itof having produced him, Athena-wise, from, say, the great blackshrine. When he paused before the shrine he seemed like a child cometo beseech some last word concerning the Riddle, rather than a manwho believed himself to have mastered all wisdom and to have nailedthe world-sphinx to her cross. 

 "Surely there is a vein for the silver And a place for the gold where they fine it. Iron is taken out of the earth And brass is moulton out of the stone. Man setteth an end to darkness And searcheth out all perfection: The stones of darkness and of the shadow of death, "

he was repeating softly. "So it is, " he added, "'and searcheth tothe farthest bound. ' Have I not done so? And do I not triumph?"

Then the youth who had once admitted St. George and his friends tothat far-away house in McDougle Street--with the hokey-pokey manoutside the door--entered with the poetry of deference; and if, ashe bent low, there was a lift and droop of his eyelids which tokenedutter bewilderment, not to say agitation, he was careful that theprince should not see that. 

"Her Highness, the Princess of Yaque, Mrs. Hastings, Mr. AugustusFrothingham and Miss Frothingham ask audience, your Highness, " heannounced clearly. 

Prince Tabnit turned swiftly. 

"Whom do you say, Matten?" he questioned and when the boy hadrepeated the names, meditated briefly. He was at a loss to fathomwhat this strange visit might portend; beyond doubt, he reflected(in a world which was an intaglio of his own designing) it portendednothing at all. He hastened forward to wait upon them and pausedmidway the room, for the highest tribute that a Prince of the Litanycould pay to another was to receive him in this chamber of theCrucified Sphinx. 

"Conduct them here, Matten, " he commanded, and took up his stationbeside an hundred-branched candlestick made in Curium. There hestood when, having been led down corridors of ivory and throughshining anterooms, Mrs. Hastings and Olivia and Antoinette appearedon the threshold of the chamber, followed by Mr. Frothingham. As theprince hastened forward to meet them with sweepings of his gownembroidered by a thousand needles and bent above their handsuttering gracious words, assuredly in all the history of Med and ofthe Litany the room of the Crucified Sphinx had never presented amore peculiar picture. 

Into that tranquil atmosphere, dream-pervaded, Mrs. Medora Hastingsswept with all the certainty of an opinion bludgeoning the frailsecurity of a fact. She had refused to have her belongings sent tothe apartments in the House of the Litany placed that day at herdisposal, preferring to dress for the coronation before shedescended from Mount Khalak. She was therefore in a robe of blacksamite, trimmed with the fur of a whole chapter of extinct animals, and bangles and pendants of jewels bobbed and ticked all about her. But on her head she wore the bonnet trimmed with a parrot, set, asusual, frightfully awry. Beside her, with all the timidity ofcharming reality in the presence of fantasy, came Olivia andAntoinette--Olivia in a walking frock of white broadcloth, with anauto coat of hunting pink, and a cap held down by yards of cloudyveiling; Antoinette in a blue cloth gown, and about them both--stoutlittle boots and suede gloves and smart shirt-waists--such an air ofactuality as this chamber, prince and Sphinx and tradition and all, could not approach. Mr. Augustus Frothingham had struck his usualincontestable middle-ground by appearing in the blue velvet of arobe of State, over which he had slipped his light covert top-coat, and he carried his immaculate top-hat and a silver-headed stick. 

"Prince Tabnit, " said Mrs. Medora Hastings without ceremony, "whathave they done with that poor young man? Ask him, Olivia, " shebesought, sinking down upon a chair of verd antique and extending alimp, plump hand to the niece who always did everything executive. 

Olivia was very pale. She had hardly slept, night-long. Alarm at theinexplicable disappearance of St. George at dinner-time the daybefore and at the discovery that old Malakh was nowhere about had, by morning, deepened to unreasoning fear among them all. And thenOlivia, knowing nothing of what had taken place in the room of thetombs, had resolved upon a desperate expedient, had bundled into anairship her almost prostrate aunt, Mr. Frothingham and his excitedlittle daughter, and had borne down upon the Palace of the Litanytwo hours before noon. Amory, frantic with apprehension, had stayedbehind with Jarvo, certain that St. George could not have left themountain. But now that Olivia stood before the prince it requiredbut a moment to convince her that Prince Tabnit really knew nothingof St. George's whereabouts. Indeed, since his gift of Phoenicianwine, sealed three thousand years ago, and the immediate evanishmentof the two Americans, his Highness had no longer vexed his thoughtwith them, and he was genuinely amazed to know that (in a worldwhich was an intaglio of his own designing) these two had actuallyspent yesterday at the king's palace on Mount Khalak. He perceivedthat he must give them more definite attention than his half-idledevice of the wine--intended as that had been as a mere hyperspatialpractical joke, not in the least irreconcilable with his office ofhost. 

"Mr. St. George came to Yaque to help me find my father, " Olivia wasconcluding earnestly, "and if anything has happened to him, PrinceTabnit, I alone am responsible. "

The prince reflected for a moment, his eyes fixed upon thehundred-branched candlestick. Then:

"Mr. St. George's disappearance, " he said, "has prevented a stillmore unpleasant catastrophe. "

"Catastrophe!" repeated Mrs. Hastings, quite without tucking in hervoice at the corners, "I have thought of no other word since I gotto be royalty. "

"A world experience, a world experience, dear Madame, " contributedMr. Frothingham, his hands laid trimly along his blue velvet lap. 

"But that doesn't make it any easier to bear, no matter what anybodysays, " retorted the lady. 

"Inasmuch, " pursued Prince Tabnit with infinite regret, "as theseAmericans have, as you say, assisted in the search for your father, the king, they have most unfortunately violated that ancient lawwhich provides that no State or satrapy shall receive aid, whetherof blood or of bond, from an alien. The Royal House alone isexempt. "

"And the penalty, " demanded Olivia fearfully. "Is there a penalty?What is that, Prince Tabnit?"

The voice of the prince was never more mellow. 

"Do not be alarmed, I beg, " he hastened his reassurance. "Upon thereturn of Mr. St. George, he and his friend will simply be setadrift in a rudderless airship, an offering to the great idea ofspace. "

Mrs. Hastings swayed toward the prince in her chair of verd antique, and her voice seemed to become brittle in the air. 

"Oh, is that what you call being ahead of the time, " she demandedshrilly, "getting behind science to behave like Nero? And for mypart I don't see anything whatever about the island that is ahead ofthe times. You haven't even got silk shoe-laces. I actually had touse a cloth-of-gold sandal strap to lace my oxfords, and when I losta cuff-link I was obliged to make shift with two sides of one ofQueen Agothonike's ear-rings that I found in the museum at thepalace. And that isn't all, " went on the lady, wrong kindling wrong, "what do you do for paper and envelopes? There is not a quire to befound in Med. They offered me _wireless blanks_--an ultra form thatMr. Hastings would never have considered in good taste. And howabout visiting cards? I tried to have a plate made, and they showedme a wireless apparatus for flashing from the doorstep the name ofthe visitor--an electrical entrance which Mr. Hastings would haveconsidered most inelegant. Ahead of the times, with your rudderlessairships! I have always said that the electric chair is a way to bebarbarous and good form at the same time, and that is what I thinkabout Yaque!"

Mr. Frothingham's hands worked forward convulsively on his bluevelvet knees. 

"My dear Madame, " he interposed earnestly, "the history of criminaljurisprudence, not to mention the remarkable essay of the MarquisBeccaria--proves beyond doubt that the extirpation of the offenderis the only possible safety for the State--"

Olivia rose and stood before the prince, her eyes meeting his. 

"You will permit this sentence?" she asked steadily. "As head of theHouse of the Litany, you will execute it, Prince Tabnit?"

"Alas!" said the prince humbly, "it is customary on the day of thecoronation to set adrift all offenders. I am the servant of theState. "

"Then, Prince Tabnit, I can not marry you. "

At this Mrs. Hastings looked blindly about for support, and Mr. Frothingham and Antoinette flew to her side. In that moment the ladyhad seen herself, prophetically, in black samite and her parrotbonnet, set adrift in the penitential airship with her rebelliousniece. 

For a moment Prince Tabnit hesitated: he looked at Olivia, who wasnever more beautiful than as she defied him; then he walked slowlytoward her, with sweep and fall of his garments embroidered by athousand needles. Antoinette and her father, ministering to Mrs. Hastings, heard only the new note that had crept into his voice, athrill, a tremour--

"Olivia!" he said. 

Her eyes met his in amazement but no fear. 

"In a land more alien to me than the sun, " said the prince, "I sawyou, and in that moment I loved you. I love you more than the lifebeyond life upon which I have laid hold. I brought you to thisisland to make you my wife. Do you understand what it is that Ioffer you?"

Olivia was silent. She was trembling a little at the sheer enormityof the moment. Suddenly, Prince Tabnit seemed to her like a namethat she did not know. 

"Will you not understand what I mean?" he besought with passionateearnestness. "Can I make my words mean nothing to you? Do you notsee that it is indeed as I say--that I have grasped the secret oflife within life, beyond life, transcending life, as hisunderstanding transcends the man? The wonder of the island is butthe alphabet of wisdom. The secrets of life and death and beingitself are in my grasp. The hidden things that come near to you inbeauty, in dream, in inspiration are mine and my people's. Allthese I can make yours--I offer you life of a fullness such as thepeople of the world do not dream. I will love you as the gods love, and as the gods we will live and love--it may be for ever. Nothingof high wisdom shall be unrevealed to us. We shall be what the worldwill be when it nears the close of time. Come to me--trust me--bebeside me in all the wonder that I know. But above all, love me, forI love you more than life, and wisdom, and mystery!"

Olivia understood, and she believed. The mystery of life had alwaysbeen more real to her than its commonplaces, and all her years shehad gone half-expecting to meet some one, unheralded, to whom allthings would be clear, and who should make her know by some secretsign that this was so, and should share with her. She had no doubtwhatever that Prince Tabnit spoke the truth--just as the daughter ofthe river-god Inachus knew perfectly that she was being wooed by avoice from the air. Indeed, the world over, lovers promise eachother infinite things, and are infinitely believed. 

"I do understand you, Prince Tabnit, " Olivia said simply, "I dounderstand something of what you offer me. I think that these thingswere not meant to be hidden from men always, so I can even believethat you have all that you say. But--there is something more. "

Olivia paused--and swiftly, as if some little listening spirit hadreleased the picture from the air, came the memory of that nightwhen she had stood with St. George on that airy rampart beside thewall of blossoming vines. 

"There is something more, " she repeated, "when two love each othervery much I think that they have everything that you have said, andmore. "

He looked at her in silence. The stained light from some high windowcaught her veil in meshes of rose and violet--fairy colours, witnessing the elusive, fairy, invincible truth of what she said. 

"You mean that you do not love me?" said the prince gently. 

"I do not love you, your Highness, " said Olivia, "and as for thewisdom of which you speak, that is worse than useless to you if youcan do as you say with two quite innocent men. " She hesitated, searching his face. "Is there no way, " she said, "that I, thedaughter of your king, can save them? I will appeal to the people!"

The prince met her eyes steadily, adoringly. 

"It would avail nothing, " he said, "they are at one with the law. Yet there is a way that I can help you. If Mr. St. George returns, as he must, he and his friends shall be set adrift with dueceremony--but in an imperial airship, with a man secretly incontrol. By night they can escape to their yacht. This I willdo--upon one condition. "

"Oh--what is that?" she asked, and for all the reticence of hereagerness, her voice was a betrayal. 

Prince Tabnit turned to the window. Below, in the palace grounds, and without, in the Eurychôrus, a thousand people awaited theopening of the palace doors. They filled the majestic avenue, pouredup the shadowed alleys that taught the necessity of mystery, weregrouped beneath the honey-sweet trees; and above their heads, fromevery dome and column in the fair city, flowed and streamed thejoyous, wizard, nameless colours of the pennons blown heavenwardagainst the blue. They were come, this strange, wise, elusivepeople, to her marriage. 

The prince was smiling as he met her eyes; for the world was alwaysthe exquisite intaglio, and to-day was its design. 

"They know, " he said simply, "what was to have been at noon to-day. Do you not understand my condition?"

CHAPTER XIX

IN THE HALL OF KINGS

Somewhat before noon the great doors of the Palace of the Litany andof the Hall of Kings were thrown open, and the people streamed infrom the palace grounds and the Eurychôrus. Abroad amongthem--elusive as that by which we know that a given moment belongsto dawn, not dusk--was the sense of questioning, of unrest, ofexpectancy that belongs to the dawn itself. Especially the youthsand maidens--who, besides wisdom, knew something of spells--waitedwith a certain wistfulness for what might be, for Change is a kindof god even to the immortals. But there were also those who weighedthe departures incident to the coming of the strange people fromover-seas; and there were not lacking conservatives of the oldrégime to shake wise heads and declare that a barbarian is abarbarian, the world over. 

All that rainbow multitude, clad for festival, rose with the firstlight music that stole, winged and silken, from hidden cedaralcoves, and some minutes past the sounding of the hour of noon thechamfered doors set high in the south wall of the Hall of Kings wereswung open, and at the head of the stair appeared Olivia. 

She was alone, for the custom of Yaque required that the islandprincesses should on the day of their recognition first appear alonebefore their people in token of their mutual faith. From thewardrobes at the castle Olivia had chosen the coronation gown ofQueen Mitygen herself. It was of fine lace woven in a single piece, and it lay in a foam of shining threads traced with pure lines ofshadow. On her head were a jeweled coronal and jeweled hair-loops inthe Phoenician fashion, once taken from a king's casket and sentsecretly, upon the decline of Assyrian ascendancy, to be bartered inthe marts of Coele-Syria. Chains of jewels, in a noon of colour, layabout her throat, as once they lay upon the shoulders of the deadqueens of Yaque and, before them, of the women of the elderdynasties long since recorded in indifferent dust. Girdling herwaist was a zone of rubies that burned positive in the temperedlight. With all her delicacy, Olivia was like her rubies--vivid, graphic, delineated not by light but by line. 

The members of the High Council rustled in their colour and white, and flashed their golden stars; the Golden Guards (save the apostatefew who were that day sentenced to be set adrift) were filling thestairway like a bank of buttercups; and Olivia's women, led byAntoinette in a gown of colours not to be lightly denominated, wereentering by an opposite door. In the raised seats near the HighCouncil, Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Frothingham leaned to wave asustaining greeting. Until that high moment Mrs. Medora Hastings hadbeen by no means certain that Olivia would appear at all, though sheopenly nourished the hope that "everything would go off smoothly. "("I don't care much for foreigners and never have, " she confided toMr. Frothingham, "still, I was thinking while I was at breakfast, after all, to the prince _we are_ the foreigners. There is somethingin that, don't you think? And then the dear prince--he is so verymetaphysical!")

Upon the beetling throne Olivia took her place, and her women sankabout her like tiers of sunset clouds. She was so little and sobeautiful and so unconsciously appealing that when Prince Tabnit andCassyrus and the rest of the court entered, it is doubtful if an eyeleft Olivia, to homage them. But Prince Tabnit was the last to notethat, for he saw only Olivia; and the world--the world was anintaglio of his own designing. 

With due magnificence the preliminary ceremonies of the coronationproceeded--musty necessities, like oaths and historical truths, being mingled with the most delicate observances, such as thenaming of the former princesses of the island, from Adija, daughterof King Abibaal, to Olivia, daughter of King Otho; and such ascounting the clouds for the misfortunes of the régime. This lastduty fell to the office of the lord chief-chancellor, and from anupper porch he returned quickening with the intelligence that therewas not a cloud in the sky, a state of the heavens known to nocoronation since Babylon was ruled by Assyrian viceroys. The lordchief-chancellor and Cassyrus themselves brought forth the crown--abeautiful crown, shining like dust-in-the-sun--and Cassyrus, in avoice that trumpeted, rehearsed its history: how it had been made ofjewels brought from the coffers of Amasis and Apries, when KingNebuchadnezzar wrested Phoenicia from Egypt, and, too, of all mannerof precious stones sent by Queen Atossa, wife of Darius, when theCrotoniat Democedes, with two triremes and a trading vessel, visitedYaque before they went to survey Hellenic shores, with whatdisastrous result. And Olivia, standing in the queen's gown, listened without hearing one word, and turned to have her veillifted by Antoinette and the daughter of a peer of Yaque; and sheknelt before the people while the lord chief-chancellor set thecrown on her bright hair. It was a picture that thrilled the lordchief-chancellor himself--who was a worshiper of beauty, and a mangiven to angling in the lagoon and making metric translations of theinscriptions. 

Then it was in the room as if a faint flame had been breathed uponand had upleaped in a thousand ways of expectancy, and as if asecret sign had been set in the lift and dip of the music--the musicthat was so like the great chamber with its lift and dip of carvenline. The thrill with which one knows the glad news of an unopenedletter was upon them all, and they heard that swift breath of anevent that stirs before its coming. When Olivia's women fell backfrom the dais with wonder and murmur, the murmur was caught up inthe great hall, and ran from tier to tier as amazement, asincredulity, and as thanksgiving. 

For there, beside the beetling throne, was standing a man, slenderlybuilt, with a youthful, sensitive face and critically-drooping lids, and upon them all his eyes were turned in faint amusement warmed byan idle approbation. 

"Perfect--perfect. Quite perfect, " he was saying below his breath. 

Olivia turned. The next moment she stood with outstretched armsbefore her father; and King Otho, in his long, straight robe, encrusted with purple amethysts, bent with exquisite courtesy abovehis daughter's hands. 

"My dear child, " he murmured, "the picture that you make entirelyjustifies my existence, but hardly my absence. Shall we ask hisHighness to do that?"

It mattered little who was to do that so long as it was done. For tothat people, steeped in dream, risen from the crudity of mere eventsto breathe in the rarer atmosphere of their significance, here was ahappening worthy their attention, for it had the dignity of mystery. Even Mrs. Medora Hastings, billowing toward the throne with cries, was less poignantly a challenge to be heard. Upon her the king laida tranquillizing hand and, with a droop of eyelids in recognition ofMr. Frothingham, he murmured: "Ah, Medora--Medora! Delight in themoment--but do not embrace it, " while beside him, star-eyed, Oliviastood waiting for Prince Tabnit to speak. 

To Olivia, trembling a little as she leaned upon his arm, King Othobent with some word, at which she raised to his her startled face, and turned from him uncertainly, and burned a heavenly colour frombrow to chin. Then, her father's words being insistent in her ear, and her own heart being tumultuous with what he had told her, sheturned as he bade her, and, following his glance, slipped beneath ashining curtain that cut from the audience chamber the stillseclusion of the King's Alcove, a chamber long sacred to thesovereigns of Yaque. 

Confused with her wonder and questioning, hardly daring tounderstand the import of her father's words, Olivia went down apassage set between two high white walls of the palace, opento-day to the upper blue and to the floating pennons of the dome. Here, prickly-leaved plants had shot to the cornices withuncouth contorting of angled boughs, and in their inner greenruffle-feathered birds looked down on her with the uncannyinterest of myriapods. She caught about her the lace of her skirtsand of her floating veil, and the way echoed musically to thetouch of her little sandals and was bright with the shining of herdiadem. And at the end of the passage she lifted a swaying curtainof soft dyes and entered the King's Alcove. 

The King's Alcove laid upon one the delicate demands of calm openwater--for its floor of white transparent tiles was cunningly tracedwith the reflected course of the carven roof, and one seemed to lookinto mirrored depths of disappearing line between spaces shaped likepetals and like chevrons. In the King's Alcove one stood in a worldof white and one's sight was exquisitely won, now by a niche open toa blue well of sea and space, now by silver plants lucent in highcasements. And there one was spellbound with this mirroring of theNear which thus became the Remote, until one questioned gravelywhich was "there" and which was "here, " for the real was extendedinto vision, and vision was quickened to the real, and nothing laybetween. But to Olivia, entering, none of these things was clearlyevident, for as the curtain of many dyes fell behind her she wasaware of two figures--but the one, with a murmured word which shemanaged somehow to answer without an idea what she said or what ithad said either, vanished down the way that she had come. And shestood there face to face with St. George. 

He had risen from a low divan before a small table set with figs andbread and a decanter of what would have been bordeaux if it had notbeen distilled from the vineyards of Yaque. He was very pale andhaggard, and his eyes were darkly circled and still fever-bright. But he came toward her as if he had quite forgotten that this is aworld of danger and that she was a princess and that, little morethan a week ago, her name was to him the unknown music. He cametoward her with a face of unutterable gladness, and he caught andcrushed her hands in his and looked into her eyes as if he couldlook to the distant soul of her. He led her to a great chair hewnfrom quarries of things silver and unremembered, and he sat at herfeet upon a bench that might have been a stone of the altar of someforgotten deity of dreams, at last worshiped as it should long havebeen worshiped by all the host that had passed it by. He looked upin her face, and the room was like a place of open water whereheaven is mirrored in earth, and earth reflects and answers heaven. 

St. George laughed a little for sheer, inextinguishable happiness. 

"Once, " he said, "once I breakfasted with you, on tea and--if Iremember correctly--gold and silver muffins. Won't you breakfastwith me now?"

Olivia looked down at him, her heart still clamourous with itsanxiety of the night and of the morning. 

"Tell me where you can have been, " she said only; "didn't you knowhow distressed we would be? We imagined everything--in this dreadfulplace. And we feared everything, and we--" but yet the "we" did notdeceive St. George; how could it with her eyes, for all theiravoidings, so divinely upon him?

"Did you, " he said, "ah--did you wonder? I wish I knew!"

"And my father--where did you find him?" she besought. "It was you?You found him, did you not?"

St. George looked down at a fold of her gown that was fallen acrosshis knee. How on earth was he ever to move, he wondered vaguely, ifthe slightest motion meant the withdrawing of that fold. He lookedat her hand, resting so near, so near, upon the arm of the chair;and last he looked again into her face; and it seemed wonderful andbefore all things wonderful, not that she should be here, jeweledand crowned, but that he should so unbelievably be here with her. And yet it might be but a moment, as time is measured, until thismoment would be swept away. His eyes met hers and held them. 

"Would you mind, " he said, "now--just for a little, while we waithere--not asking me that? Not asking me anything? There will be timeenough in there--when _they_ ask me. Just for now I only want tothink how wonderful this is. "

She said: "Yes, it is wonderful--unbelievable, " but he thought thatshe might have meant the white room or her queen's robe or any oneof all the things which he did not mean. 

"_Is_ it wonderful to you?" he asked, and he said again: "I wish--Iwish I knew!"

He looked at her, sitting in the moon of her laces and the stars ofher gems, and the sense of the immeasurableness of the hour cameupon him as it comes to few; the knowledge that the evanescentmoment is very potent, the world where the siren light of the Remotemay at any moment lie quenched in some ashen present. To him, heldmomentarily in this place that was like shoreless, open water, thepresent was inestimably precious and it lay upon St. George like thedelicate claim of his love itself. What the next hour held for themneither could know, and this universal uncertainty was for himcrystallized in an instant of high wisdom; over the little handlying so perilously near, his own closed suddenly and he crushed herfingers to his lips. 

"Olivia--dear heart, " he said, "we don't know what they may do--whatwill happen--oh, may I tell you _now_?"

There was no one to say that he might not, for the hand was notwithdrawn from his. And so he did tell her, told her all his heartas he had known his heart to be that last night on _The Aloha_, andin that divine twilight of his arriving on the island, and in thosehours beside the airy ramparts of the king's palace, and in thevigil that followed, and always--always, ever since he couldremember, only that he hadn't known that he was waiting for her, andnow he knew--now he knew. 

"Must you not have known, up there in the palace, " he besought her, "the night that I got there? And yesterday, all day yesterday, youmust have known--didn't you know? I love you, Olivia. I couldn'thave told you, I couldn't have let you know, only now, when we can'tknow what may come or what they may do--oh, say you forgive me. Because I love you--I love you. "

She rose swiftly, her veil floating about her, silver over the goldof her hair; and the light caught the enchantment of the gems of thestrange crown they had set upon her head, and she looked down athim in almost unearthly beauty. He stood before her, waiting for themoment when she should lift her eyes. And the eyes were lifted, andhe held out his arms, and straight to them, regardless of thecoronation laces of Queen Mitygen, went Olivia, Princess of Yaque. He put aside her shining hair, as he had put it aside in that divinemoment in the motor in the palace wood; and their lips met, in thatworld that was like the shoreless open sea where earth reflectsheaven, and heaven comes down. 

They sat upon the white-cushioned divan, and St. George half kneltbeside her as he had knelt that night in the fleeing motor, andthere were an hundred things to say and an hundred things to hear. And because this fragment of the past since they had met wasincontestably theirs, and because the future hung trembling beforethem in a mist of doubt, they turned happy, hopeful eyes to thatfuture, clinging to each other's hands. The little chamber oftranslucent white, where one looked down to a mirrored dome and upto a kind of sky, became to them a place bounded by the touch andthe look and the voice of each other, as every place in the world isbounded for every heart that beats. 

"Sweetheart, " said St. George presently, "do you remember that youare a princess, and I'm merely a kind of man?"

Was it not curious, he thought, that his lips did not speak a newlanguage of their own accord?

"I know, " corrected Olivia adorably, "that I'm a kind of princess. But what use is that when it only makes trouble for us?"

"Us"--"makes trouble for us. " St. George wondered how he could everhave thought that he even guessed what happiness might be when"trouble for us" was like this. He tried to say so, and then:

"But do you know what you are doing?" he persisted. "Don't yousee--dear, don't you see that by loving me you are giving up a worldthat you can never, never get back?"

Olivia looked down at the fair disordered hair on his temples. Itseemed incredible that she had the right to push it from hisforehead. But it was not incredible. To prove it Olivia touched itback. To prove that _that_ was not incredible, St. George turneduntil his lips brushed her wrist. 

"Don't you know, don't you, dear, " he pressed the matter, "that verypossibly these people here have really got the secret that all therest of the world is talking about and hoping about and dreamingthey will sometime know?"

Olivia heard of this likelihood with delicious imperturbability. 

"I know a secret, " she said, just above her breath, "worth two ofthat. "

"You'll never be sorry--never?" he urged wistfully, resolutelydenying himself the entire bliss of that answer. 

"Never, " said Olivia, "never. Shall you?"

That was exceptionally easy to make clear, and thereafter hewhimsically remembered something else:

"You live in the king's palace now, " he reminded her, "and this isanother palace where you might live if you chose. And you might be aqueen, with drawing-rooms and a poet laureate and all the rest. Andin New York--in New York, perhaps we shall live in a flat. "

"No, " she cried, "no, indeed! Not 'perhaps, ' I _insist_ upon aflat. " She looked about the room with its bench brought from thealtar of a forgotten deity of dreams, with its line and colourdissolving to mirrored point and light--the mystic union of sightwith dream--and she smiled at the divine incongruity and the divineresemblance. "It wouldn't be so very different--a flat, " she saidshyly. 

Wouldn't it--wouldn't it, after all, be so very different?

"Ah, if you only think so, really, " cried St. George. 

"But it will be different, just different enough to like better, "she admitted then. "You know that I think so, " she said. 

"If only you knew how much I think so, " he told her, "how I havethought so, day and night, since that first minute at the Boris. Olivia, dear heart--when did you think so first--"

She shook her head and laid her hands upon his and drew them to herface. 

"Now, now--now!" she cried, "and there never was any time but now. "

"But there will be--there will be, " he said, his lips upon her hair. 

After a time--for Time, that seems to have no boundaries in theabstract, is a very fiend for bounding the divine concrete--after atime Amory spoke hesitatingly on the other side of the curtain ofmany dyes. 

"St. George, " he said, "I'm afraid they want you. Mr. Holland--theking, he's got through playing them. He wants you to get up and give'em the truth, I think. "

"Come in--come in, Amory, " St. George said and lifted the curtain, and "I beg your pardon, " he added, as his eyes fell upon Antoinettein a gown of colours not to be lightly denominated. She had followedOlivia from the hall, and had met Amory midway the avenue of pricklytrees, and they had helpfully been keeping guard. Now they went onbefore to the Hall of Kings, and St. George, remembering what musthappen there, turned to Olivia for one crowning moment. 

"You know, " she said fearfully, "before father came the princeintended the most terrible things--to set you and Mr. Amory adriftin a rudderless airship--"

St. George laughed in amusement. The poor prince with his impossibledevices, thinking to harm him, St. George--_now_. 

"He meant to marry you, he thought, " he said, "but, thank Heaven, hehas your father to answer to--and me!" he ended jubilantly. 

And yet, after all, Heaven knew what possibilities hemmed themround. And Heaven knew what she was going to think of him when sheheard his story. He turned and caught her to him, for the crowningmoment. 

"You love me--you love me, " he said, "no matter what happens or whatthey say--no matter what?"

She met his eyes and, of her own will, she drew his face down tohers. 

"No matter what, " she answered. So they went together toward thechamber which they had both forgotten. 

When they reached the Hall of Kings they heard King Otho'svoice--suave, mellow, of perfect enunciation:

"--some one, " the king was concluding, "who can tell thisconsiderably better than I. And it seems to me singularly fittingthat the recognition of the part eternally played by the 'possible'be temporarily deferred while we listen to--I dislike to use theword, but shall I say--the facts. "

It seemed to St. George when he stood beside the dais, facing thatstrange, eager multitude with his strange unbelievable story uponhis lips--the story of the finding of the king--as if his own voicewere suddenly a part of all the gigantic incredibility. Yet thedivinely real and the fantastic had been of late so fused in hisconsciousness that he had come to look upon both as thenormal--which is perhaps the only sane view. But how could he tellto others the monstrous story of last night, and hope to bebelieved?

None the less, as simply as if he had been narrating toChillingworth the high moment of a political convention, St. Georgetold the people of Yaque what had happened in that night in the roomof the tombs with that mad old Malakh whom they all remembered. Itcame to him as he spoke that it was quite like telling to a field offlowers the real truth about the wind of which they might besupposed to know far more than he; and yet, if any one were to tellthe truth about the wind who would know how to listen? He was notamazed that, when he had done, the people of Yaque sat in a profoundsilence which might have been the silence of innocent amazement orof utter incredulity. 

But there was no mistaking the face of Prince Tabnit. Its cooltolerant amusement suddenly sent the blood pricking to St. George'sheart and filled him with a kind of madness. What he did was thelast thing that he had intended. He turned upon the prince, and hisvoice went cutting to the farthest corner of the hall:

"Men and women of Yaque, " he cried, "I accuse your prince of theknowledge that can take from and add to the years of man at will. Iaccuse him of the deliberate and criminal use of that knowledge totake King Otho from his throne!"

St. George hardly knew what effect his words had. He saw onlyOlivia, her hands locked, her lips parted, looking in his face inanguish; and he saw Prince Tabnit smile. Prince Tabnit sat upon theking's left hand, and he leaned and whispered a smiling word in theear of his sovereign and turned a smiling face to Olivia upon herfather's right. 

"I know something of your American newspapers, your Majesty, " theprince said aloud, "and these men are doing their part excellently, excellently. "

"What do you mean, your Highness?" demanded St. George curtly. 

"But is it not simple?" asked the prince, still smiling. "You havecontrived a sensation for the great American newspaper. No one candoubt. "

King Otho leaned back in the beetling throne. 

"Ah, yes, " he said, "it is true. Something has been contrived. But--is the sensation of _his_ contriving, Prince?"

Olivia stood silent. It was not possible, it was not possible, shesaid over mechanically. For St. George to have come with this storyof a potion--a drug that had restored youth to her father, hadtransformed him from that mad old Malakh--

"Father!" she cried appealingly, "don't you remember--don't youknow?"

King Otho, watching the prince, shook his head, smiling. 

"At dawn, " he said, "there are few of us to be found remaining stillat table with Socrates. I seem not to have been of that number. "

"Olivia!" cried St. George suddenly. 

She met his eyes for a moment, the eyes that had read her own, thathad given message for message, that had seen with her the glory of amystic morning willingly relinquished for a diviner dawn. Was shenot princess here in Yaque? She laid her hand upon her father'shand; the crown that they had given her glittered as she turnedtoward the multitude. 

"My people, " she said ringingly, "I believe that that man speaks thetruth. Shall the prince not answer to this charge before the HighCouncil now--here--before you all?"

At this King Otho did something nearly perceptible with hiseyebrows. "Perfect. Perfect. Quite perfect, " he said below hisbreath. The next instant the eyelids of the sovereign droopedconsiderably less than one would have supposed possible. For fromevery part of the great chamber, as if a storm long-pent had forcedthe walls of the wind, there came in a thousand murmurs--soft, tremulous, definitive--the answering voice to Olivia's question:

"Yes. Yes. Yes. .. "

CHAPTER XX

OUT OF THE HALL OF KINGS

In Prince Tabnit's face there was a curious change, as if one weresuddenly to see hieroglyphics upon a star where before there hadbeen only shining. But his calm and his magnificent way of authoritydid not desert him, as so grotesque a star would still stand lonelyand high in the heavens. He spoke, and upon the multitude fellinstant silence, not the less absolute that it harboured foreboding. 

"Whatever the people would say to me, " said the prince simply, "Iwill hear. My right hand rests in the hand of the people. In returnI decree allegiance to the law. Your princess stands before you, crowned. This most fortunate return of his Majesty, the King, cannot set at naught the sacred oath which has just left her lips. Henceforth, in council and in audience, her place shall be at hisMajesty's right hand, as was the place of that Princess Athalme, daughter of King Kab, in the dynasty of the fall of Rome. Is it not, therefore, but the more incumbent upon your princess to own herallegiance to the law of the island by keeping her troth withme--that troth witnessed and sanctioned by you yourselves? Thisceremony concluded I will answer the demands of the loyal subjectswhose interests alone I serve. For we obey that which is higher thanauthority--the law, born in the Beginning--"

Prince Tabnit's voice might almost have taken his place in hisabsence, it was so soft, so fine of texture, no more consciouslymodulated than is the going of water or the way of a wing. It wasdifficult to say whether his words or, so to say, their fine fabricof voice, begot the silence that followed. But all eyes were turnedupon Olivia. And, Prince Tabnit noting this, before she might speakhe suddenly swept his flowing robes embroidered by a thousandneedles to a posture of humility before his sovereign. 

"Your Majesty, " he besought, "I pray your consent to the bestowalupon my most unworthy self of the hand of your daughter, thePrincess Olivia. "

King Otho leaned upon the arm of his carven throne. Against itsstrange metal his hand was cameo-clear. 

"For the king, " he was remembering softly, "'the Pyrenees, or so hefancied, ceased to exist. ' For another 'the mountains of Daphne areeverywhere. ' Each of us has his impossible dream to prove that heis an impossible creature. Why not I? To be normal is the cry of allthe hobgoblins . .. And what does the princess say?" he asked aloud. 

"Her Highness has already given me the great happiness to plight meher troth, " said Prince Tabnit. 

King Otho's eyebrows flickered from their parallel of repose. 

"In Yaque or in America, " he murmured, "the Americans do as theAmericans do. None of us is mentioned in Deuteronomy, but what isthe will of the princess?" the American Sovereign asked. 

Mrs. Hastings, seated near the dais, heard; and as she turned, arhinestone side-comb slipped from her hair, tinkled over the jewelsof her corsage and shot into the lap of a member of the HighCouncil. He, never having seen a side-comb, fancied that it might bean infernal machine which he had never seen either, and, palpitating, flashed it to the guardian hand of Mr. Frothingham. Atthe same moment:

"Ah, why, Otho, " said Mrs. Hastings audibly, "we had two ancestorsat Bannockburn!"

"Bannockburn!" argued Mr. Augustus Frothingham, below the voice, "Bannockburn. But what, my dear Mrs. Hastings, is Bannockburn besidethe Midianites and the Moabites and the Hittites and the Ammonitesand the Levites?"

In this genealogical moment the prince leaned toward Olivia. 

"Choose, " he said significantly, but so softly that none might hear, "oh, my beloved, choose!"

The faces of the great assembly blurred and wavered before Olivia, and the low hum of the talk in the room was relative, like thevoices of passers-by. She looked up at the prince and away from himin mute appeal to something that ought to help her and would not. For Olivia was of those who, never having seen the face of Destinyvery near, are accustomed to look upon nothing as whollyirrevocable; and--for one of her graces--she had the feminineexpectation that, if only events can be sufficiently postponed, something will intervene; which is perhaps a heritage of thegentlest women descended from Homeric days. If the island was sohistoric, little Olivia may have said, where was the interferinggoddess? She looked unseeingly toward St. George and toward herfather, and the sense of the bitter actuality of the choice suddenlywounded her, as the Actual for ever wounds the woman and the dream. 

Then suddenly, above the stir of expectation of the people, and theassociate bustling of the High Council there came a vague confusionand trampling from outside, and the far outer doors of the hall werethrown open with a jar and a breath, vibrant as a murmur. There wasa cry, the determined resistance of some of the Golden Guard, andshouts of expostulation and warning as they were flung aside by apowerful arm. In the disorder that followed, a miraculously-familiarfigure--that familiarity and strangeness are both miracles ought toexplain certain mysteries--was beside St. George and a thankfulvoice said in his ear:

"Mr. St. George, sir, for the mercy of Heaven, sir--come back to theyacht. No person can tell what may happen ten minutes ahead, sir!"

The oracle of this universal truth was Rollo, palpitating, hisimmaculate coat stained with earth, earth-stains on his cheeks, andhis breast labouring in an excitement which only anxiety for hismaster could effect. But St. George hardly saw him. His eyes werefixed on some one who stood towering before the dais, like the oldprints of the avenging goddesses. Clad in the hideous stripes whichboards of directors consider _de rigueur_ for the soul that is to bewon back to the normal, stood the woman Elissa, who, by all countsof Prince Tabnit, should have been singing a hymn with Mrs. Mannersand Miss Bella Bliss Utter in the Bitley Reformatory, in WestchesterCounty, New York. 

"Stop!" she cried in that perfect English which is not only a rareexperience but a pleasant adventure, "what new horror is this?"

To Prince Tabnit's face, as he looked at her, came once more thatindefinable change--only this time nearer and more intimatelyexplainable, as if something ethereal, trained to delicate lines, like smoke, should suddenly shape itself to a menace. St. George sawthe woman step close to the dais, he saw Olivia's eyes questioninghim, and in the hurried rising of the peers and of the High Councilhe heard Rollo's voice in his ear:

"It's a gr'it go, sir, " observed Rollo respectfully, "the woman hasthings to tell, sir, as people generally don't know. She's flew thecoop at the place she was in--it seems she's been shut up some'eresin America, sir; an' she got 'old of the capting of a tramp boat o'some kind--one o' them boats as smells intoxicating round the'atches--an' she give 'im an' the mate a 'andful o' jewelry thatshe'd on 'er when she was took in an' 'ad someways contrived to 'angon to, an' I'm blessed hif she wasn't able fer to steer fer theisland, sir--we took 'er aboard the yacht only this mornin' with 'er'air down her back, an' we've brought 'er on here. An' she says--mencan be gr'it beasts, sir, an' no manner o' mistake, " concluded Rollofervently. 

And a little hoarse voice said in St. George's ear:

"Mr. St. George, sir--we ain't late, are we? We been flirtin' deger-avel up dat ka-liff since de car-rack o' day. "

And there was Bennietod, with an edge of an old horse pistolshowing beneath his cuff; and, round-eyed and alert as a bird newlyalighted on a stranger sill, Little Cawthorne stood; and the sightput strength into St. George, and so did Little Cawthorne's words:

"I didn't know whether they'd let us in or not, " he said, "unless wehad on a plaited décolletté, with biases down the back. "

Clearly and confidently in the silent room rang the voice of thewoman confronting Prince Tabnit, and her eyes did not leave hisface. St. George was struck with the change in her since that day inthe Reformatory chapel. Then she had been like a wild, alien thingin dumb distress; now she was unchained and native. Her first wordsexplained why, in the extreme dilemma in which St. George had lastseen her, she had yet remained mute. 

"I release myself, " she cried, "from my oath of silence, thoughuntil to-day I have spoken only to those who helped me to come backto you--my master. Have you nothing to say to me? Has the timeseemed long? Is it a weary while since I left you to do your willand murder the woman whom you were now about to make your wife?"

A cry of horror rose from the people, and then stillness came again. 

"Take the woman away, " said Prince Tabnit only, "she is speakingmadness. "

"I am speaking the truth, " said the woman clearly. "I was ofMelita--there are those here who will know my face. And it is not Ialone who have served the State. I challenge you, Tabnit--here, before them all! Where are Gerya and Ibera, Cabulla and Taura? Havenot their people, weeping, besought news of them in vain? And whatanswer have you given them?"

Murmurs and sobs rose from the assembly, stilled by the tranquilvoice of the prince. 

"Where are they?" he repeated gently, his voice vibrant in its riseand fall, its giving of delicate values. "But the people know wherethey are. They have attained to the perfect life and died theperfect death. For I have raised them to the supreme estate. "

Prince Tabnit, with uplifted face, sat motionless, looking out overthe throng from beneath lowered lids; then his eyes, confident and alittle mocking, returned to the woman. But they had for her noterror. She turned from him, confronting the pale, eager faces ofthe people; and in her beauty and distinction she was like Olivia'swomen, crowded beside the dais. 

"Men and women of Yaque, " cried Elissa, "I will tell you to what'supreme estate' these friends whom you seek have long been raised. For here in Med and in Melita you will find many of those whom youhave mourned as dead--you will find them as you yourselves have metand passed them, it may have been countless times, on your streetsof Yaque--not young and beautiful as when they left you, but men andwomen of incredible age. Withered, shaken by palsy, infirm, theycreep upon their lonely ways or go at will to drag themselvesunrecognized along your highways, as helpless as the deadthemselves. They number scores, and they are those who havedispleased your prince by some little word, some little wrong, or, more than these, by some thwarting of the way of his ambition: Oblo, who disappeared from his place as keeper at the door; Ithobal, satrap of Melita; young Prince Kaal--ay, and how many more? You donot understand my words? I say that your prince has knowledge ofsome secret, accursed drug that can call back youth or make actualage--_age_, do you understand--just as we of Yaque bring bothflowers and fruit to swift maturity!"

Olivia uttered a little cry, not at the grotesque horror of what thewoman had said but at the miracle of its unconscious support of thestory and theory of St. George. And St. George heard; and suddenly, because another had voiced his own fantastic message, itsincredibility and unreality became appalling, and yet he feltinfinitely reconciled to both because he interpreted aright thatlittle muffled exclamation from Olivia. What did it matter--oh, whatdid it matter whether or not the reality were grotesque? What seemsto be happening is always the reality, if only one understands itsufficiently. And at all events there had been that hour in theKing's Alcove. At last, as he weighed that hour against the fantasyof all the rest, St. George understood and lived the divine madnessof all great moments, the madness that realizes one star and iscontent that all the heavens shall march unintelligibly past so longas that single shining is not dimmed. 

But King Otho was riding no such griffin with sun-gold wings. KingOtho was genuinely and personally interested in the woman's words. He turned to Prince Tabnit with animation. 

"Really, Prince, " he said, "is it so? Pray do not deny it unlessthere is no other way, for I am before all things interested. It isfar more important to me that you tell me as much as you can tell, than that you deny or even disprove it. "

Prince Tabnit smiled in the eagerly interested face of hissovereign, and rose and came to the edge of the dais, his garmentsembroidered by a thousand needles touching and floating about him;and it was as if he reached those before him by a kind of spiritualmagnetism, not without sublimity. 

"My people, " he said--and his voice had all the tenderness that theyknew so well--"this is some conspiracy of those to whom we haveshown the utmost hospitality. I would have shielded your king, forhe was also my sovereign and I owed him allegiance. But now that isno longer possible, and the time is come. Know then, oh my people ofYaque, that which my loyalty has led me wrongfully to conceal: thatin the strange disappearance and return of your sovereign, KingOtho, he who will may trace the loss of that which the island hasmourned without ceasing. I accuse your king--he is no longermine--of being now in possession of the Hereditary Treasure ofYaque. "

Then St. George came back with a thrill to actuality. In the pressof the events of this morning, after his awakening in the room ofthe tombs, he had completely forgotten the soft fire of gems thathad burned beneath the hands of old Malakh in that dark chamberunder King Abibaal's tomb. He and Amory and Jarvo had, with theking, left the chamber by the upper passages, and Amory and Jarvoknew nothing of the jewels. Yet St. George was certain that he couldnot have been mistaken, and he listened breathlessly for what theking would say. 

King Otho, with a smile, nodded in perfect imperturbability. 

"That is true, " he said, "I had forgotten all about it. "

They waited for him to speak, the people in amazed silence, Mrs. Medora Hastings saying unintelligible things in whispers, for whichshe had a genius. 

"It is true, " said King Otho, "that I am responsible for thedisappearance of the Hereditary Treasure. You will find it at thismoment in a basement dungeon of the palace on Mount Khalak. On thevery day, three months ago, that I dined with your prince I had madea discovery of considerable importance to me, namely, that thelittle island of Yaque is richer in most of the radio-activesubstances than all the rest of the world. The discovery gave mekeener pleasure than I had known in years--I had suspected it forsome time after I found the noctilucous stars on the ceiling of mysitting-room at the palace. And in the work-shop of the PrincessSimyra I came upon a quantity of metallic uranium, and a great manyother things which I question the taste of taking the time todescribe. But my experiments there with the very perfect gems ofyour admirable collection had evidently been antedated by some ofyour own people, for the apparatus was intact. I shall be glad toshow some charming effects to any one who cares to see them. I havesucceeded in causing the diamonds of Darius to phosphoresce mostwonderfully. "

The phosphorescence of the diamonds of Darius was to the people farless important than the joyous fact which they were not slow tograsp, that the Hereditary Treasure was, if they might believe theking's words, restored to them, and the burden of the tax averted. They did not understand, nor did they seek to understand; becausethey knew the inefficiency of details and they also knew the valueof mere import. 

But the king, child of a social order that wreaks itself onparticularizations, returned to his quest for a certain recounting. 

"Prince Tabnit, " he said, "the High Council and the people of Yaqueare impatient for your answer to this woman's words. "

"I rejoice with them and with your Majesty, " replied Prince Tabnitsoftly, "that the treasure is safe. My own explanation is far lesssimple. If what this woman says is true, yet it is true in such wiseas, strive as I may, I can not speak; nor, strive as you may, canyou fathom. Therefore I say that the claim which she has made isidle, and not within my power to answer. "

At this St. George bounded to his feet. Amory looked up at him interror, and Little Cawthorne and Bennietod went a step or two afterhim as he sprang forward, and Rollo's lean shadowed face, obvious ashis way of speech, was wrinkled in terrified appeal. 

"An idle claim!" St. George thundered as he strode before the dais. "Is this woman's story and mine an idle claim, and one not withinyour power to answer? Then I will tell you how to answer, PrinceTabnit. I challenge you now, in the presence of your people--tastethis!"

Upon the carven arm of Prince Tabnit's throne St. George setsomething that he had taken from his pocket. It was the vase ofrock-crystal from which, the night before in the room of the tombs, the king had drunk. 

What followed was the last thing that St. George had expected. Itwas as if his defiance had unlocked flood-gates. In an instant thevast assembly was in motion. With a sound of garments that was likefar wind they were upon their feet and pressing toward the throne. With all the passion of their "Yes! Yes! Yes!" in response toOlivia's appeal they came, resistlessly demanding the answer to somedreadful question long shrouded in their hearts. Their armour wastheir silence; they made no sound save that ominous sweep of theirrobes and the conspiracy of their sandaled feet upon the tiles. 

St. George did not turn. Indeed, it did not once cross his mind thattheir hostility could possibly be toward him. Besides, his look wasfixed upon the prince's face, and what he read there was enough. Thepeers, the High Council and those nearest the throne wavered andswerved from the man, leaving him to face what was to come. 

Whatever was to come he would have met nobly. He was of thoseinfrequent folk of some upper air who exhibit a certain purity evenin error, or in worse. He stood with his exquisite pale faceuplifted, his white hair in a glory about it, his white gownembroidered by a thousand needles falling in virginal lines againstthe warm, pure colour of that room with its wraiths of hue andlight. And he opened the heart of the green jewel that burned uponhis breast. 

"Not for me the wine of youth, " he said slowly, "but the poison ofage. The poison which, without me to unlock the secret, all mankindmust drink alone. May you drink it late, my friends!" he cried. "I, who hold in my soul the secret of the passing of time and youth, drink now to those among you and among all men who have won and keptthe one thing dearer than these. "

He touched the green gem to his lips, and let it fall upon theembroidered laces on his breast. Then quietly and in another voicehe began to speak. 

With the first words there came to St. George the thrill ofsomething that had possessed him--when? In that ecstatic moment on_The Aloha_ when he had seen the light in the king's palace; in theinstant when the Isle of Yaque had first lain subject before him, "aland which no one can define or remember--only desire;" in thedivine time of his triumph in having scaled the heights to thepalace, that sky-thing, with ramparts of air; above all, in the hourof his joy in the King's Alcove, when Olivia had looked in his eyesand touched his lips. Inexplicably as the way that eternity liesbarely unrevealed in some kin-thing of its own--a shell, a duty, avista--he suddenly felt it now in what the prince was saying. Helistened, and for one poignant stab of time he knew that he touchedhands with the elemental and saw the ancient kindliness of all thosepeople naked in their faces and knew himself for what he was. 

He listened, and yet there was no making captive the words of theprince in understanding. Prince Tabnit was speaking the English, andevery word was clearly audible and, moreover, was probably dailyupon St. George's lips. But if it had been to ransom the rest of theworld from its night he could not have understood what the princewas saying. Every word was a word that belonged as much to St. George as to the prince; but in some unfathomable fashion the innersense of what he said for ever eluded, dissolving in the air ofwhich it was a part. And yet, past all doubting, St. George knewthat he was hearing the essence of that strange knowledge which theIsle of Yaque had won while all the rest of mankind struggled forit--he knew with the certainty with which we recognize strangeforces in a dozen of the every-day things of life, in electricity, in telepathy, in dreams. With the same certainty he realized thatwhat the prince was saying would, if he could understand, lift acertain veil. Here, put in words at last, was manifestly the secret, that catch of understanding without which men are groping in thedark, perhaps that mere pointing of relations which would makeclear, without blasphemy, time and the future, rebirth and oldexistence, it might be; and certainly the accident of personality. Here, crystallized, were the things that men almost know, the dreamthat has just escaped every one, the whisper in sleep that wouldhave explained if one could remember when one woke, the word thathas been thrillingly flashed to one in moments of absorption and hasfled before one might catch the sound, the far hope of science, theglimpse that comes to dying eyes and is voiced in fragments by dyinglips. Here without penetrating the great reserve or tracing anyprinciple to its beginning, was the truth about both. And St. Georgewas powerless to receive it. 

He turned fearfully to Olivia. Ah--what if she did not guessanything of the meaning of what she was hearing? For one instant heknew all the misery of one whose friend stands on another star. Butwhen he saw her uplifted face, her eager eyes and quick breath andher look divinely questioning his, he was certain that though shemight not read the figures of the veil, yet she too knew how near, how near they Stood; and to be with her on this side wasdearer--nay, was nearer the Secret--than without her to pass theveil that they touched. Then he looked at Amory; wouldn't old Amoryknow, he wondered. Wouldn't his mere understanding of news teach himwhat was happening? But old Amory, the light flashing on hispince-nez, was keeping one eye on the prince and wondering if thechair that he had just placed for Antoinette was not in the draughtof the dome; and little Antoinette was looking about her like arosebud, new to the butterflies of June; and King Otho waslistening, languid, heavy-lidded, sensitive to little values, sophisticating the moment; and Little Cawthorne stood with eyesraised in simple, tolerant wonder; and the others, Bennietod, Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham, showed faces like the poolsin which pebbles might be dropped, making no ripples--one mustsuppose that there are such pools, since there are certainly suchfaces. St. George saw how it was. Here, spoken casually by theprince, just as the Banal would speak of the visible and invisibleworlds, here was the Sesame of understanding toward which thecenturies had striven, the secret of the link between two worlds;and here, of all mankind, were only they two to hear--they two andthat motionless company who knew what the prince knew and who keptit sealed within their eyes. 

St. George looked at the multitude in swift understanding. Theywere like a Greek chorus, signifying what is. They knew what theprince was saying, they had the secret and yet--they were _nonearer, no nearer_ than he. With their ancient kindliness naked intheir faces, St. George knew that through his love he was as near tothe Source as were they. And it was suddenly as it had been thatfirst night when he had stridden buoyantly through the island; forhe could not tell which was the secret of the prince and of thesepeople and which was the blessedness of his love. 

None the less he clung desperately to the last words of PrinceTabnit in a vain effort to hold, to make clear, to sophisticate onesingle phrase, as one waking in the night says over, in a vaineffort to fix it, some phantom sentence cried to him in dreams by ashadowy band destined to be dissolved when, in bright day, he wouldreclaim it. He even managed frantically to write down a jumble ofwords of which he could make nothing, save here and there a phraselike a touch of hands from the silence: ". .. The infinite moment thatis pending" . .. "all is become a window where had been a wall" . .. "the wintry vision" . .. They were all words that beckon withoutreplying. And all the time it was curiously as if the SomethingSilent within St. George himself, that so long had striven to speak, were crying out at last in the prince's words--and he could notunderstand. Yet in spite of it all, in spite of this imminentsatisfying of the strange, dreadful curiosity which possesses allmankind, St. George, even now, was far less keen to comprehend thanhe was to burst through the throng with Olivia in his arms, gain thewaiting _Aloha_ and sail into the New York harbour with the prizethat he had won. "I drink now to those among you and among all menwho have won and kept that which is greater than these, " the princehad said, and St. George perfectly understood. He had but to look atOlivia to be triumphantly willing that the gods should keep theirsecrets about time and the link between the two worlds so long asthey had given him love. What should he care about time? He had thishour. 

When the prince ceased speaking the hall was hushed; but because ofthe tempest in the hearts of them all the silence was as if a strongwind, sweeping powerfully through a forest, were to sway no boughsand lift no leaves, only to strive noiselessly round one who walkedthere. 

Prince Tabnit wrapped his white mantle about him and sat upon histhrone. Spell-stricken, they watched him, that great multitude, andmight not turn away their eyes. Slowly, imperceptibly, as Timetouches the familiar, the face of the prince took on its change--andone could not have told wherein the change lay, but subtly as theencroachment of the dark, or the alchemy of the leaves, or thebetrayal of certain modes of death, the finger was upon him. Whilethey watched he became an effigy, the hideous face of a fantasy ofsmoke against the night sky, with a formless hand lifted from amongthe delicate laces in farewell. There was no death--the horror wasthat there was no death. Only this curse of age drying and witheringat the bones. 

A long, whining cry came from Cassyrus, who covered his face withhis mantle and fled. The spell being broken, by common consent thegreat hall was once more in motion--St. George would never forgetthat tide toward all the great portals and the shuddering backwardglances at the white heap upon the beetling throne. They fled awayinto the reassuring sunlight, leaving the echoless hall deserted, save for that breathing one upon the throne. 

There was one other. From somewhere beside the dais the woman Elissacrept and knelt, clasping the knees of the man. 

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXI

OPEN SECRETS

"Will you have tea?" asked Olivia. 

St. George brought a deck cushion and tucked it in the willowsteamer chair and said adoringly that he would have tea. Tea. In aworld where the essentials and the inessentials are so deliciouslyconfused, to think that tea, with some one else, can be a kind ofHeaven. 

"Two lumps?" pursued Olivia. 

"Three, please, " St. George directed, for the pure joy of watchingher hands. There were no tongs. 

"Aren't the rest going to have some?" Olivia absently shared herattention, tinkling delicately about among the tea things. "Doesn'tevery one want a cup of tea?" she inquired loud enough for nobody tohear. St. George, shifting his shoulder from the rail, lookedvaguely over the deck of _The Aloha_, sighed contentedly, and smiledback at her. No one else, it appeared, would have tea; and there wasnone to regret it. 

St. George's cursory inspection had revealed the others variouslyabsorbed, though they were now all agreed in breathing easily sinceBarnay, interlarding rational speech with Irishisms of thanksgiving, had announced five minutes before that the fires were up and that inhalf an hour _The Aloha_ might weigh anchor. The only thing now leftto desire was to slip clear of the shadow of the black reaches ofYaque, shouldering the blue. 

Meanwhile, Antoinette and Amory sat in the comparative seclusion ofthe bow with their backs to the forward deck, and it was definitelymanifest to every one how it would be with them, but every one wassimply glad and dismissed the matter with that. Mr. Frothingham, inhis steamer chair, looked like a soft collapsible tube of something;Bennietod, at ease upon the uncovered boards of the deck, wascircumspectly having cheese sandwiches and wastefully shooting theship's rockets into the red sunset, in general celebration; andRollo, having taken occasion respectfully to submit to whomsoever itconcerned that fact is ever stranger than fiction, had gone below. Mr. Otho Holland and Little Cawthorne--but their smiles were likedifferent names for the same thing--were toasting each other insomething light and dry and having a bouquet which Mr. Holland, whoought to know, compared favourably with certain vintages of 1000B. C. In a hammock near them reclined Mrs. Medora Hastings, holdingtwo kinds of smelling salts which invariably revived her simply byinducing the mental effort of deciding which was the better. Herhair, which was exceedingly pretty, now rippled becomingly about herflushed face and was guiltless of side-combs--she had lost them bothdown a chasm in that headlong flight from the cliff's summit, andthey irrecoverably reposed in the bed of some brook of the Mioceneperiod. And Mrs. Hastings, her hand in that of her brother, lay inutter silence, smiling up at him in serene content. 

For King Otho of Yaque was turning his back upon his island domainfor ever. In that hurried flight across the Eurychôrus among hisdistracted subjects, his resolution had been taken. Jarvo and Akko, the adieux to whom had been every one's sole regret in leaving theisland, had miraculously found their way to the king and his partyin their flight, and were despatched to Mount Khalak for such oftheir belongings as they could collect, and the island sovereign waswell content. 

"Ah well now, " he had just observed, languidly surveying thetropical horizon through a cool glass of winking amber bubbles, "onemust learn that to touch is far more delicate than to lift. It ismore wonderful to have been the king of one moment than the ruler ofmany. It is better to have stood for an instant upon a rainbow thanto have taken a morning walk through a field of clouds. Theprinciple has long been understood, but few have had--shall Isay the courage?--to practise it. Yet 'courage' is a termfrom-the-shoulder, and what I require is a word of finger-tips, over-tones, ultra-rays--a word for the few who understand that toleave a thing is more exquisite than to outwear it. It is by itsvery fineness circumscribed--a feminine virtue. Women understand itand keep it secret. I flatter myself that I have possessed the highmoment, vanished against the noon. Ah, my dear fellow--" he added, lifting his glass to St. George's smile. 

But little Cawthorne--all reality in his heliotrope outing and duckand grey curls--raised a characteristic plaint. 

"Oh, but I've done it, " he mournfully reviewed. "When'll I ever bein another island, in front of another vacated throne? Why didn't Imove into the palace, and set up a natty, up-to-date littlerepublic? I could have worn a crown as a matter of taste--what's theuse of a democracy if you aren't free to wear a crown? And what kindof American am I, anyway, with this undeveloped taste for acquiringislands? If they ever find this out at the polls my vote'll bechallenged. What?"

"Aw whee!" said Bennietod, intent upon a Roman candle, "wha' do youcare, Mr. Cawt'orne? You don't hev to go back fer to be achild-slave to Chillingwort'. Me, I've gotta good call to jumpoverboard now an' be de sonny of a sea-horse, dead to rights!"

St. George looked at them all affectionately, unconscious thatalready the experience of the last three days was slipping back intothe sheathing past, like a blade used. But he was dawningly aware, as he sat there at Olivia's feet in glorious content, that he waslooking at them all with new eyes. It was as if he had found newnames for them all; and until long afterward one does not know thatthese moments of bestowing new names mark the near breathing of thegod. 

The silence of Mrs. Hastings and her quiet devotion to her brothersomehow gave St. George a new respect for her. Over by thewheel-house something made a strange noise of crying, and St. Georgesaw that Mr. Frothingham sat holding a weird little animal, like asquirrel but for its stumpy tail and great human eyes, which he hadunwittingly stepped on among the rocks. The little thing was lickinghis hand, and the old lawyer's face was softened and glowing as henursed it and coaxed it with crumbs. As he looked, St. George warmedto them all in new fellowship and, too, in swift self-reproach; forin what had seemed to him but "broad lines and comic masks" hesuddenly saw the authority and reality of homely hearts. The betterand more intimate names for everything which seemed now within hisgrasp were more important than Yaque itself. He remembered, with athrill, how his mother had been wont to tell him that a man mustwalk through some sort of fairy-land, whether of imagination or ofthe heart, before he can put much in or take much from themarket-place. And lo! this fairy-land of his finding hadproved--must it not always prove?--the essence of all Reality. 

His eyes went to Olivia's face in a flash of understanding andbelief. 

"Don't you see?" he said, quite as if they two had been talking whathe had thought. 

She waited, smiling a little, thrilled by his certainty of hersympathy. 

"None of this happened really, " triumphantly explained St. George, "I met you at the Boris, did I not? Therefore, I think that sincethen you have graciously let me see you for the proper length oftime, and at last we've fallen in love just as every one else does. And true lovers always do have trouble, do they not? So then, Yaquehas been the usual trouble and happiness, and here we are--engaged. "

"I'm not engaged, " Olivia protested serenely, "but I see what youmean. No, none of it happened, " she gravely agreed. "It couldn't, you know. Anybody will tell you that. "

In her eyes was the sparkle of understanding which made St. Georgelove her more every time that it appeared. He noted, the white clothfrock, and the coat of hunting pink thrown across her chair, and heremembered that in the infinitesimal time that he had waited for heroutside the Palace of the Litany, she must have exchanged for thesethe coronation robe and jewels of Queen Mitygen. St. George likedthat swift practicality in the race of faery, though he wascompletely indifferent to Mrs. Hastings' and Antoinette's claims toit; and he wondered if he were to love Olivia more for everythingthat she did, how he could possibly live long enough to tell her. When one has been to Yaque the simplest gifts and graces resolvethemselves into this question. 

_The Aloha_ gently freed herself from the shallow green pocket whereshe had lain through three eventful days, and slipped out toward thewaste of water bound by the flaunting autumn of the west. An islandwind, fragrant of bark and secret berries, blew in puffs from thesteep. A gull swooped to her nest in a cranny of the basalt. Frombelow a servant came on deck, his broad American face smiling over atray of glasses and decanters and tinkling ice. It was all verytranquil and public and almost commonplace--just the high tropicseas at the moment of their unrestrained sundown, and the odour oftea-cakes about the pleasantly-littered deck. And for the moment, held by a common thought, every one kept silent. Now that _TheAloha_ was really moving toward home, the affair seemed suddenlysuch a gigantic impossibility that every one resented every oneelse's knowing what a trick had been played. It was as if thecurtain had just fallen and the lights of the auditorium had flashedup after the third act, and they had all caught one anotherbreathless or in tears, pretending that the tragedy had reallyhappened. 

"Promise me something, " begged St. George softly, in sudden alarm, born of this inevitable aspect; "promise me that when we get to NewYork you are not going to forget all about Yaque--and me--andbelieve that none of us ever happened. "

Olivia looked toward the serene mystery of the distance. 

"New York, " she said only, "think of seeing you in New York--now. "

"Was I of more account in Yaque?" demanded St. George anxiously. 

"Sometimes, " said Olivia adorably, "I shall tell you that you were. But that will be only because I shall have an idea that in Yaque youloved me more. "

"Ah, very well then. And sometimes, " said St. George contentedly, "when we are at dinner I shall look down the table at you sittingbeside some one who is expounding some baneful literary theory, andI shall think: What do I care? He doesn't know that she is reallythe Princess of Far-Away. But I do. "

"And he won't know anything about our motor ride, alone, the nightthat I was kidnapped, either--the literary-theory person, " Oliviatranquilly took away his breath by observing. 

St. George looked up at her quickly and, secretly, Olivia thoughtthat if he had been attractive when he was courageous he was doublyso with the present adorably abashed look in his eyes. 

"When--alone?" St. George asked unconvincingly. 

She laughed a little, looking down at him in a reproof that was allapprobation, and to be reproved like that is the divinest praise. 

"How did you know?" protested St. George in fine indignation. "Besides, " he explained, "I haven't an idea what you mean. "

"I guessed about that ride, " she went on, "the night before last, when you were walking up and down outside my window. I don't knowwhat made me--and I think it was very forward of me. Do you want toknow something?" she demanded, looking away. 

"More than anything, " declared St. George. "What?"

"I think--" Olivia said slowly, "that it began--then--just when Ifirst thought how wonderful that ride would have been. Except--thatit had begun a great while before, " she ended suddenly. 

And at these enigmatic words St. George sent a quick look over theforward deck. It was of no use. Mr. Frothingham was well withinrange. 

"Heavens, good heavens, how happy I am, " said St. George instead. 

"And then, " Olivia went on presently, "sometimes when there are alot of people about--literary-theory persons and all--I shall lookacross at you, differently, and that will mean that you are toremember the exact minute when you looked in the window up at thepalace, on the mountain, and I saw you. Won't it?"

"It will, " said St. George fervently. "Don't try to persuade me thatthere wasn't any such mountain, " he challenged her. "I suppose, " headded in wonder, "that lovers have been having these secret signstime out of mind--and we never knew. "

Olivia drew a little breath of content. 

"Bless everybody, " she said. 

So they made invasion of that pure, dim world before them; and theserene mystery of the distance came like a thought, drawn from astate remote and immortal, to clasp the hand of There in the hand ofHere. 

"And then sometimes, " St. George went on, his exultation provinggreater than his discretion, "we'll take the yacht and pretendwe're going back--"

He stopped abruptly with a quick indrawn breath and the hope thatshe had not noticed. He was, by several seconds, too late. 

"Whose yacht is it?" Olivia asked promptly. "I wondered. "

St. George had dreaded the question. Someway, now that it was allover and the prize was his, he was ashamed that he had not won itmore fairly and humiliated that he was not what she believed him, apillar of the _Evening Sentinel_. But Amory had miraculously heardand turned himself about. 

"It's his, " he said briefly, "I may as well confess to you, MissHolland, " he enlarged somewhat, "he's a great cheat. _The Aloha_ ishis, and so am I, busy body and idle soul, for using up his yachtand his time on a newspaper story. You were the 'story, ' you know. "

"But, " said Olivia in bewilderment, "I don't understand. Surely--"

"Nothing whatever is sure, Miss Holland, " Amory sadly assured her, but his eyes were smiling behind his pince-nez. "You would think onemight be sure of him. But it isn't so. Me, you may depend upon me, "he impressed it lightly. "I'm what I say I am--a poor beggar of anewspaper man, about to be held to account by one Chillingworth forthis whole millenial occurrence, and sent off to a politicalconvention to steady me, unless I'm fired. But St. George, he's agay dilettante. "

Then Amory resumed a better topic of his own; and Olivia, when sheunderstood, looked down at her lover as miserably as one is ablewhen one is perfectly happy. 

"Oh, " she said, "and up there--in the palace to-day--I did think fora minute that perhaps you wanted me to marry the prince sothat--they could--. "

One could smile now at the enormity of that. 

"So that I could put it in the paper?" he said. "But, you see, Inever could put it in any paper, even if I didn't love you. Whowould believe me? A thousand years from now--maybe less--the_Evening Sentinel_, if it is still in existence, can publish thestory, perhaps. Until then I'm afraid they'll have to confinethemselves to the doings of the precincts. "

Olivia waived the whole matter for one of vaster importance. 

"Then why did you come to Yaque?" she demanded. 

Mr. Frothingham had left his place by the wheel-house and wanderedforward. The steamer chair had a back that was both broad and high, and one sitting in its shadow was hermetically veiled from the restof the deck. So St. George bent forward, and told her. 

After that they sat in silence, and together they looked backtoward the island with its black rocks smitten to momentary gold bya last javelin of light. There it lay--the land locking away asrealities all the fairy-land of speculation, the land of themiracles of natural law. They had walked there, and had glimpsed theshadowy threshold of the Morning. Suppose, St. George thought, thatinstead of King Otho, with his delicate sense of the merely visible, a great man had chanced to be made sovereign of Yaque? And insteadof Mr. Frothingham, slave to the contestable, and Little Cawthornein bondage to humour, and Amory and himself swept off their feet bya heavenly romance, suppose a party of savants and economists hadarrived in Yaque, with a poet or two to bring away the fire--whatthen? St. George lost the doubt in the noon of his own certainty. There could be no greater good, he chanted to the god who hadbreathed upon him, than this that he and Amory shared now with thewise and simple world, the world of the resonant new names. He evendoubted that, save in degree, there could be a purer talisman thanthe spirit that inextinguishably shone in the face of the childlikeold lawyer as the strange little animal nestled in his coat andlicked his hand. And these were open secrets. Open secrets of theultimate attainment. 

They watched the land dissolving in the darkness like a pearl inwine of night. But at last, when momentarily they had turned happyeyes to each other's faces, they looked again and found that thedusk, taking ancient citadels with soundless tread, had received theisland. And where on the brow of the mountain had sprung the whitepillars of the king's palace glittered only the early stars. 

"Crown jewels, " said Olivia softly, "for everybody's head. "