Chapter XII: Book IV (10)

There was no answer. That exhausted the linguistic possibilities of the cabin. Presently the steward appeared with broth, which the doctor had ordered. The two women, social differences more or less laid aside with this new and interesting plaything, had meanwhile covered the nakedness of the poor girl, who was entirely submissive and unresisting. in their hands, with one of Stephanie's daintiest and most beautiful night robes. Save for the grass or fiber petticoat of the Polynesian, with an occasional grass mat about her shoulders, Truda had never been so completely dressed before. She was scarcely dressed in that filmy, diaphanous adornment; but by comparison it seemed to her that she was strangely and fully clothed. The lace and linen and silk had a strange feeling to her, yet she was woman enough to delight in the beauty of the garment, to marvel childishly at its color, its softness. She lifted her lovely arm and stared at the short sleeves.

A thought struck Stephanie. At a word from her Celeste brought from her toilet case a silver mirror. Without explaining, she suddenly held it before Truda's eyes. The girl stared, screamed, threw up her hands. There had not been a still pool on the whole island. She had never seen herself before. She was frightened, but Stephanie, a little repentant, reassured her. She held the glass before her own face, so that Truda could look and see the reflection. She took the girl's hand and put it upon the glassy surface and then she put the mirror back in Truda's hand.

Mindful at last of the doctor's orders that the castaway should have sleep and rest, Stephanie and Celeste left her, carefully closing the door of the cabin behind them, and, worn out, Truda fell asleep, the mirror lying by her side, reflecting a very pretty picture indeed.

Now, Beekman was in a very much worse condition than Truda. He had done the fighting. Truda had been a more or less passive instrument in his arms during that horrible struggle with the tidal wave. Not only had his been the physical strain, but the mental as well. It is true that Truda had not been without her share of that mental strain after Beekman lapsed into unconsciousness a second time and presently grew delirious. It was Truda who had held him on the wreck of the boat during the night, who had kept him from sinking, and who had repaid him in this way for her life, which she owed entirely to him. It was Truda who had seen the ship in the growing dawn, who had made the signals which Beekman could never have made. Had it not been for Truda's erect position on her knees, the watchers on the ship might never have seen the wrecked boat with its human freightage.

In addition to all that he had gone through, when Beekman had been slammed against the boat by a wave his right arm had been severely injured. It was obvious to Dr. Welch and the others that Beekman was in bad condition. The physician made a very thorough examination of him. His eyes were open, his lips muttered unintelligible things from time to time, but he was obviously not in possession of his reason. He knew none of them and could tell no coherent story. That right arm, especially, attracted the doctor's attention. The skin was scraped and torn from its upper half. There was one long bruise. But for the antiseptic effects of the salt water it probably would have been in worse condition than it was. Fortunately, the numbness and pain were caused from muscle strain and muscle bruise, for it was found that no bones were broken. Physically, so far as his bones were concerned, Beekman, like Truda, was intact.

"I don't know what happened to them," said Dr. Welch. "They must have been caught in that wave somehow. They have both had a terrible battering."

"This is Mr. Beekman," said Maynard.

"What, the man we have been seeking?"

"The same."

"Well, by Heaven!" exclaimed the physician. He recovered himself in a moment. "I think we'll have him all right in a day or two. That's a nasty scrape he got on the right arm. The flesh is torn nearly to the bone, but the salt water has helped it, and as soon as it heals he will be all right. He is suffering now from fever brought on by the exposure. I have no doubt he saved that woman, and for a man to bring himself, let alone another human being, through a tidal wave like that--well, what he wants now is food, sleep, and complete rest. If you gentlemen will turn him over to me, I'll look after him, and when he wakes up, I'll guarantee he will be able to tell you all about it."

The doctor's advice was good. There was confidence in his bearing and in his words, which carried conviction to the two men. They withdrew and sat down together in the cabin, while the doctor, summoning his mate and a steward, busied himself with his patient.

"Well," said Maynard, in anything but a joyful manner, "our cruise has been a success."

"In so far as finding Beekman," was the equally melancholy answer, "but if the yacht sinks we won't have bettered his condition appreciably."

"No, of course, not," returned Maynard, thoughtfully. "Yet, I have great confidence in Captain Weatherby. I shan't give up hope until I feel her sinking under us."

Harnash nodded.

"The only thing to be decided now is, shall we tell Stephanie?" he went on.

"Tell me what?" asked the girl, coming into the room and overhearing the last words.

"I--er--" Harnash hesitated. "About our castaways, the man we picked up--"

"Is he alive yet? Will he live?"

"Dr. Welch guarantees it," answered her father. "He has been badly buffeted, his arm is cut and bruised, and he is prostrated from physical and nervous strain."

"Is he conscious yet?"

"No, but Welch thinks he will be when he wakes up. How about your patient?"

"She's all right. She's conscious and Dr. Welch says that she only needs nourishment and rest. She's asleep now, I imagine."

"Who is she? What is she?" asked her father.

"She didn't say a word. She must be a Polynesian, although she looks strangely like a European, especially since we clothed her for the night."

"Didn't she say anything at all?"

"Not a word. She seemed frightened. On a wild venture I tried her in English, Italian, French, and even German. She made no response, yet she seemed to understand. Incidentally, she's one of the most beautiful girls I ever looked at."

The two men stared at each other.

"Didn't your man say anything at all?" asked Stephanie, no suspicion at all in her mind.

"Not a thing. He muttered continuously and more or less unintelligibly, but he is not sane yet," answered her father.

"Does he look like a South Sea islander?"

"He isn't one."

"What is he, then?"

The two men looked at each other again. Neither answered the question. Stephanie stared, greatly surprised, and not in the least understanding.

"Why don't you answer? What is the mystery?" she asked, obviously somewhat annoyed by their inexplicable hesitancy.

"He is an American," observed Maynard, slowly.

"It's Beekman," said Harnash.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*THEY COMFORT EACH OTHER*

The three seekers after Beekman were spared the necessity for immediate decision as to the telling of the story they had come so far to relate, for Dr. Welch came from the cabin on the heels of Harnash's startling revelation and reported that the patient was already quite composed and that he would soon be asleep. He guaranteed that he would awaken refreshed, in his right mind, and, save for the wound in his right arm, as well as ever. More careful examination disclosed that the wound was more superficial than otherwise. It would yield rapidly to treatment, the surgeon declared. Then having looked at his other patient, and finding her also fast asleep, Dr. Welch discreetly left the trio to their own devices.

"Of course," said Stephanie, relentlessly, "as soon as possible he will have to be told that our engagement is broken, and why."

"Yes," added Harnash, mournfully, "and as soon as he wakes up I shall tell him that I alone am responsible for his whole sorry plight."

"On the contrary," put in Maynard, sagely, "while I have no doubt that Welch is right, that Beekman will be much better when he does come to, yet he won't be completely himself. It takes more than a few hours of sleep to recover from such an experience as he must have passed through, and that torn arm is going to give him some trouble, at any rate. How he is going to receive both announcements no one can tell."

"He has a just right to be angry with me," said Stephanie.

"And much more with me," confessed Harnash.

There was a community of responsibility and blame, which, if anything were necessary, bound the two lovers more closely together than before, and, in answer to a common impulse, a human craving for sympathy, they approached each other to supplement invisible commiseration with something more tangible. Mr. Maynard looked away while George kissed Stephanie softly. When Maynard turned his head back they were standing side by side, while George was supporting Stephanie, who really needed no physical assistance whatever, by clasping her firmly about her waist.

"I never appreciated before as I do now what an infernal scoundrel I was and what a dastardly thing I did," said Harnash, in bitter self-scorn.

Stephanie was too honest and too clear eyed not to realize the truth of his words. She was too acutely conscious, however, of a certain share in his guilt, at least constructively, and too much in love to let him affect her in the least degree, except, perhaps, to fill her heart with compassion and tenderness for her lover at the terrible task imposed upon him. She patted the hand upon her waist and nestled a little closer to him, if that were possible.

"We won't go into that any more," she began, gently. "It was awful, as I have always said, but it was as much my fault as yours, and you have done everything you could to atone."

Harnash sighed deeply.

"He may not forgive me for all that," he said, doubtfully; "I don't see how he can."

"He must when he knows how you have repented and what you have done since then," continued Stephanie, firmly. "Why, if it hadn't been for you and the sailors, father and I never would have been here, would we, father?"

Mr. Maynard had his own views as to that, but he saw no reason for obtruding then upon these two lovers. With wise discretion and ready tact he nodded acquiescently.

"And there is one thing," went on Harnash, repeating himself, "that he cannot possibly condone."

"And what is that?" asked Stephanie, swiftly.

"The loss of you."

"Well, he can't blame you for that, at least. That's my fault entirely. I never should have promised to marry him in the first place. I never should have continued to let him think I would marry him in the second place. As soon as I found out I loved you I should have told him. If I had, what trouble and sorrow might have been avoided."

This time it was Harnash who attempted to comfort her, tritely enough, too.

"You acted for the best, of course," he said. "You were the soul of honor."

"Yes, I suppose so. But unless one acts in the right way, the fact that one's desires are for the best is of little moment; besides," she went on, after a little pause, which no one broke, so weighty and grave were the responsibilities and possibilities of the situation, "I don't believe he ever really cared very much for me, after all."

"It's impossible," protested Harnash, with a conviction which was a delight to her soul, "that anybody could come in close and intimate association with you without--caring."

"You say that because you love me, but lots of other men have known me very well, and--"

"It strikes me that the conversation is becoming rather purposeless," interrupted Mr. Maynard, a little impatiently. He had quite forgotten that the airy nothings of lovers true are much the most purposeful things which can engage their attention, when they are in the mood. "It is settled that we shall not tell him until he is better able to sustain the shock. For one thing, if what Captain Weatherby fears comes to pass, we shall all be so busy saving our lives that these love affairs will be of little moment." Again Mr. Maynard blinked the fact that love affairs are of infinitely greater moment to lovers even than the saving of life. "Of course," he went on, "whether he is still in love with Stephanie or not, Beekman is going to be frightfully indignant and resentful over the outrage, of which he was the victim. But we knew that when we started. We knew the engagement was broken. We knew that you and George had to face the music, Stephanie, and now that the time has come, face it, that's all. As for me, I'm going on deck." He paused at the foot of the companion ladder and looked back at the other two. "I wonder what sort of a relationship subsists between Beekman and that woman we picked up with him," he added as he ascended.

"I wonder, too," said Stephanie, turning to Harnash, a gleam of surprise in her eyes.

"It would solve everything beautifully if he had fallen in love with her," returned Harnash, optimistically.

"What, Derrick Beekman in love with a savage!"

"Well--er--not exactly in the way in which I love you."

"Do you mean to tell me he would fall in love any other way with any respectable woman?" flashed out the girl, changing her tactics to the great bewilderment of the more conventional man.

"Well, I don't wish to say anything about this island person, of course, but--"

"George," said the girl, "she's as beautiful as a dream, much more beautiful than I am."

This was a statement which Harnash could not allow to pass uncontradicted, and he denied it in the most effective way, which interrupted further speech, if only for a moment.

"Nonsense, impossible!" exclaimed he, when the kiss was finished.

"Did you get a glimpse of her?"

"I only saw a limp, drenched figure being hoisted aboard. I noticed she was whiter than the people of the islands we have visited."

"Why, her skin, save for the touch of the sun, is whiter and finer than mine. Her figure, which has obviously never known the restraints of--of--civilization is absolutely perfect. Her hair is like spun gold, and there's enough of it to cover half her beautiful little body."

"What you say is very interesting," observed Harnash, indifferently, "but it doesn't particularly concern me. The only type of woman that appeals to me is your type."

He emphasized this statement in truly appropriate, if somewhat conventional, fashion, and Stephanie received statement and emphasis alike with obvious satisfaction.

"There's another thing," she went on, when this second kiss had also run its course, "she doesn't look in any way--form or color or feature--like a South Sea islander. In these weary months of cruising and visiting island after island we have seen a great many, and not one of them has been as she."

"What does she look like?"

"A European. Our kind of people. She has white race somehow stamped all over her."

"Do you think she can be European?"

"Who knows? She didn't answer to any European language at my command. There wasn't a thing on her save the remains of a belt that seemed to have held some kind of a native skirt."

"After coming through that tidal wave the surprise is not that she had nothing on, but that they were alive at all. Beekman was in about the same case. Indeed, I don't think he had anything on, either. Probably the suit he wore when he went adrift was pretty old and could not stand much weathering. It was a happy thought of yours to have me bring some of Beekman's clothes with us in case we did find him. He couldn't have worn your father's or even mine now. He seems to have grown broader somehow. He looked as though he were a head taller than I am and he seemed in splendid bodily condition."

"The girl is shorter than I," said Stephanie, "but on a pinch she can wear my clothes."

"If she's an islander you'll find it difficult to get her into--er--many of the things civilized people wear."

"I shan't try," said Stephanie, smiling at her lover's sudden hesitancy. "I've got all sorts of negligees and kimonos that she can wear without--"

"So you can break her into the harness of civilization gradually," laughed George.

"Yes, including shoes."

"I'm sure she'd never get your dainty slippers on," went on the fatuous lover, and Stephanie, looking down with him at her small, exquisitely shod feet, agreed with him.

"Her feet, while they are not large, are larger than mine, but beautifully shaped, and I dare say they have never been bound up in a shoe."

"I feel that this is to be our last happy day," said Harnash, irrelevantly.

"We'll hope not," said Stephanie. "Indeed, I'm sure it won't be."

And so they babbled on, forgetful for the moment of all the facts of the case and the demands of the situation, not the least of which was Captain Weatherby's firm conviction that unless he got the ship ashore in a very short time, they would be adrift on whatever makeshift support they could compass.

It came into Harnash's mind, as he thought of what was laid upon him, that such a catastrophe might not be the worst thing to which to look forward. At least, he and Stephanie would die together, and if contrition, sincere repentance, and an earnest purpose of confession and amendment availed, they would be together in some future, where there might be no giving in marriage, but where there would be love and joy and the communion of soul with soul in ways scarcely to be apprehended by poor humanity.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*THE ISLAND HAVEN*

The two patients, aided thereto by the doctor's wise regimen and skillful prescription, slept quietly on through the long day. Celeste watched the maiden most of the time, but she was relieved on occasion by Stephanie, who did not tire of studying the innocent, charming, and beautiful face and figure of the girl, so quietly sleeping; the mirror which had so frightened and fascinated her lying near to the cheek that it so beautifully reflected.

Harnash and Maynard visited Beekman's cabin from time to time, but his slumber was even more profound. The doctor found that the nascent fever had been broken, and that nature, good health, splendid constitution, and the medicine were doing exactly what he had prophesied they would.

It was late in the afternoon when the yacht drew near the island. The very best charts of the South Seas were in the chart room, and Captain Weatherby had mastered all they told about this unknown, unvisited island. He was greatly surprised, when the sluggish ship drew near enough for those on deck to make things out, to find that the formidable barrier, which was reported on every chart to be continuous, was obviously broken. They could see the white water above the encircling reef on either side, but right in front, opposite what appeared to be a deep circular harbor, embayed and surrounded by enormous and towering cliffs, the sea ran smooth!

Of course, the encircling reef might continue below the surface without showing above, but after carefully studying the smooth water through the glass, Captain Weatherby did not think so. Furthermore, an inspection of the cliffs that surrounded the harbor showed wide differences of color. A part of the cliff wall was dark and weather-stained, as if it had mellowed for ages under the assaults of sun and wind and sea. Other parts were lighter and the wall sharper. Points of rock freshly jagged and serrated, as if the erosions of time had not softened them, rose on one side where a brook now tumbled down a rather gentle incline from the upland to the harbor.

"What do you make of that, sir?" asked the captain of Mr. Maynard, who was also examining the island with his own powerful glass.

"If I know anything about it," was the answer, "it is freshly broken rock. See how much lighter and sharper it is to starboard than that black towering mass to port."

"Exactly."

"What would have broken it?"

"Perhaps it was the earthquake."

"It is more than likely."

"There is still argument about these tidal waves, sir, but the consensus of the best opinion is that they are caused by subsea earthquake shocks. Such a shock may have struck the island, broken the barrier, torn down the cliff wall."

"Is this the island that has sheltered Beekman?"

"Must have been. There is no other hereabouts."

"It will be uninhabited, then."

"That's as may be," answered the old sailor, lifting his glance to take in the upland, which was now clearly visible through the enormous rift, which looked as if it might have been made by an avalanche or landslide, and down which the tumbling, dashing stream of water sparkled like silver in the light of the declining sun.

"I don't see any smoke or any evidence of life," observed Maynard, following his example.

"If the charts are true, this island hasn't been visited in the memory of man, and a ship as near as this one is would be a sight to arouse the curiosity of any native. They ought to be on the cliffs watching for us if there are any," said the captain.

"On the other hand, they might think it is some kind of god or devil and be in hiding."

"Well, we will soon know," said the captain.

"What do you mean to do?"

"I'm going straight through that dark space where the barrier is broken, and, if the way is clear, right into that harbor. Off to starboard there's a stretch of sand. I'll beach the ship there. It is high tide. We will go on easily. Then I will send a diver down and see what is to be done. Have you anything to suggest, Mr. Maynard?" he continued, turning to the owner.

"Nothing. The job is yours," answered Maynard.

"If I had a boat I'd send her in ahead to take soundings, but as it is we must depend upon ourselves. For'ard there," he shouted, "Mr. Gersey?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Let two of the best men take soundings with the hand leads."

By this time everybody on the yacht was on deck, except the castaways and their watchers. Two leadsmen on either side leaned far out from the ship and as she swept slowly through the somewhat narrow opening between the jagged jaws of the barrier on either hand, they began to heave their leads. The water shoaled rapidly, but not alarmingly. Indeed, bottom was the thing that Captain Weatherby wanted most of all to feel under his water-laden ship. The engines were stopped. The ship under its own momentum moved slowly across the lagoon into the smooth, still waters of the great cylindrical harbor. The deep silence was broken only by the rippling splash of the bow wave and by the long-drawn musical calls of the leadsmen in the chains. So she drifted through the entrance beyond the wall over which Beekman had so often clambered, and the whole wonderful harbor burst into view.

Beekman would not have known one side of it, for one side of it was gone. The rocks still rose as of old upon the other side. The heaven-kissing cliff where he had first seen Truda in the glory of the morning, still stood, and the unbroken rocks ran around the left hand, but the other side was changed. Where the brook had plunged over precipitous cliffs it now rolled down a long, easy slope, terribly broken, to be sure, but quite different from the mighty rampart of old.

The narrow beach whereon he had lain had somehow been lifted up and extended out at a very gentle angle far into the harbor. The eye of the captain took it all in. There was his resting place. His hand sought the Chadburn signal. The throb of the engines broke the silence. The man at the wheel put the helm to port. The sluggish yacht gathered additional way, swung heavily to starboard, and finally slipped through the shallow seas, glided up on the sloping sand, and came to a dead stop.

Providence had favored the sailor, as it often does and has done. The _Stephanie_ was safe, exactly in the position in which her captain desired her to be. He turned to Mr. Maynard.

"The tide is at full flood. We are fast aground. If we can't make her seaworthy now, I'll forfeit my head."

His eyes sparkled. He gave orders for carrying out anchors to moor the ship, for rigging tackle, for getting the diver's uniform ready for an under-water inspection of the hull; at the same time he directed the capable engineers, now that there was no more steam needed for the engine, to turn every ounce of power into the pumps, and, if possible, to rig others temporarily to clear the ship of water and keep it down, hoping that perhaps they could come at the leak from within as well as from without.

It was so late in the evening before the ship was safely moored that it was not practicable for any of her people to go ashore that night. Captain Weatherby thought that at low tide the next day the sandy beach would be largely uncovered and with a very little ferriage they could make most of the journey on foot.

There was not the slightest evidence below in the sumptuous cabin that night at dinner of the sorry condition of the yacht. Her fittings and appointments had not been damaged. The napery and silver and glass were shining as usual under the electric light. The service was as perfect, the food as delectable, as if the ship was not lying on a sand bank embayed in a cavernous harbor in front of a deserted island, leaking; a ship which they might or might not be able to render seaworthy.

It was characteristic of the two men and of the young woman that they all dressed for dinner as was their custom. And although Beekman and his story and theirs were uppermost in everybody's mind, because there was nothing new that could be said about either under the circumstances, they talked at dinner of other things entirely--the ship, the probabilities of Captain Weatherby's getting control of the leak and making the necessary repairs, the island they would inspect tomorrow, the wonderful adventure they had gone through. In the middle of the dinner they heard voices raised in the cabin in which Beekman had been sleeping. They recognized his own deep tones expostulating with the steward; they even caught the sound of a little struggle. In her agitation, Stephanie arose from the table as the door opened and Beekman, clad in a set of his own pajamas, stood staring at the party.

"Stephanie!" he exclaimed. "Thank God!" He made a step forward. "Just as soon as the steward told me the name of the yacht and her owner, I couldn't remain in the cabin. What happy fortune brought you here?"

"We've been searching for you. Thank God, we've found you!"

"And Truda?" asked Beekman, his eye taking in the cabin and overlooking Harnash, who sat on the opposite side, his face as white as linen, fingering the tablecloth nervously. "Truda?" he raised his voice.

Truda was awake. At the sound of the voice of the man she loved she brushed by the scandalized Celeste, and, clad only in Stephanie's nightgown of diaphanous linen, she appeared in the doorway with extended arms. Beekman, who seemed strangely oblivious to the fact that he too was not arrayed in clothes appropriate to a dinner party, instantly crossed the cabin and took her hand.

"This," he said, "is Miss Truda Van Rooy, two hundred years ago of Amsterdam, Holland, and--"

"And today?" asked Stephanie, bewildered beyond measure and scarce knowing what she asked.

"Of the island at which your yacht has sought harbor."

*CHAPTER XXX*

*REVELATIONS AND WITHHOLDINGS*

The only acknowledgment Miss Truda Van Rooy vouchsafed to this amazing introduction was to sink to her knees by the side of Beekman and press her pretty lips to his hand. The introduction and the action startled Stephanie almost beyond the power of expression, but her surprise was instantly lost in another consideration.

Miss Truda Van Rooy on her native heath, clad only in a Polynesian petticoat and her native modesty, was entirely unexceptionably clothed, and no one would give a second thought to any possible deficiency in her raiment; but Miss Truda Van Rooy in the luxurious and very up-to-date cabin of the yacht, her delicate figure clearly discernible through French lingerie, was an entirely different proposition. Everyone, even Beekman, was acutely conscious of the situation except the girl herself. If she thought about it at all, it would be with a sense of discomfort begot by unusual draperies. For the rest, she made a lovely picture.

She had rebraided her hair, and Celeste's deft fingers had given a civilized touch to the twisted locks so gloriously crowning her lovely head. Celeste, herself, more scandalized or at least less restrained in her horror, stood in the doorway of the cabin, a picture of nervous dismay. Stephanie, realizing the situation at last, was quicker to act. She drew Truda to her feet, interposed her own person between the girl and the others, and sought gently to force her back to the room whence she had come; but Truda opposed this urging with a sudden fierce vigor, despite her smaller stature and slighter build, against which the American girl was more or less helpless. An unseemly struggle was only prevented by a word from Beekman.

"Go with her; I am in no danger," he said.

"And who, may I ask, is she?" asked Mr. Maynard as the three women disappeared in the cabin.

"She is the last descendant of a shipload of Dutch soldiers, sailors, and traders who were cast away on this island two hundred and fifty years ago, together with some Polynesians they had picked up and who had lived here ever since; 'the world forgetting--by the world forgot,'" he added, the quotation being so exquisitely apt, although he was not in a poetic mood.

"And her relation to you, if I may ask?"

"I have held her in as much respect as I have held your daughter, Mr. Maynard," returned Beekman haughtily, for the question irked him exceedingly, although he could not fail to recognize that it was natural and indeed inevitable. "Until the earthquake and the tidal wave yesterday," continued Beekman, "the barrier reef completely surrounded the island. The people on it lived in a sort of cup, crater of an old volcano, I think; very fertile and beautiful, but quite hidden from the sea, access to it from the beach being extremely difficult, almost impossible. The earthquake changed all that." Beekman had noted through his cabin ports the situation of the yacht and the havoc wrought by the awful catastrophe. "Tomorrow I will show you the island and we will seek for survivors of the catastrophe. Have any been seen?"

"None," answered Maynard.

"Perhaps they have all perished," said Harnash, forcing himself to speak.

"A fitting end for an isolation of two centuries and a half," said Beekman mournfully.

"And how did you come to the island?"

"It's a long story," answered Beekman. "I'll tell it to you when we are all assembled. Meanwhile, if I could get some clothes--"

"You have only to choose from your own, Derrick," said Harnash. "At Stephanie's suggestion, when we started this search for you, we brought along some of your clothes."

"Good. And this beard--"

"My man will fix you up," said Maynard. "I'll send him to you. Are you hungry?"

"The steward has been feeding me what he thinks is proper."

"And your arm?"

"Sore and stiff, but it will be all right in a day or two. I suppose I should have stayed in the berth, but when I heard the name of the yacht and caught the sound of your voices--well, you know. I'll be back just as quickly as I can dress."

When Beekman returned to the cabin half an hour later he was completely metamorphosed. He laughed at his own fancy, but from the very complete wardrobe they had brought him he had chosen to attire himself in the same sort of a conventional dinner suit as Maynard and Harnash were wearing. The thick beard and mustache which had so worried him had disappeared under the deft manipulations of Mr. Maynard's man. Clean shaven, clothed, in his right mind, one might have thought that the adventures of the last year had passed over his head without a trace.

For a moment poor Truda was hard put to recognize in this new man the one she had loved and who had won her heart. On her part the change was even more striking, albeit in a different direction. She was now completely covered up. With exquisite taste, Stephanie and Celeste had arrayed her in a soft, rich silken garment of mandarin blue fantastically embroidered in delicate gold thread, a product of one of the most famous looms of ancient China. It was confined about her waist by a sash of cloth of gold, and fell in loose folds to her feet. The two women had got stockings on her feet, but the ordinary slipper was impossible. Soft footwear of Turkish leather met the situation. The broad mandarin sleeves of the coat, or kimono, fell back when she lifted her hands, revealing her exquisitely proportioned rounded arm. The garment was cut low at the throat and held by a brooch of pearls, and, to please her fancy, as one adorns a doll or child, Stephanie's famous pearl necklace was clasped about Truda's warm, brown neck. From this mass of blue and gold and white her lovely head with its golden crown rose magnificently. Poor Truda had been as clay in the hands of the potter. She had suffered everything silently without resistance. It had been his will and she was his property. She had possessed all the beauty of wild and lovely nature before. Without losing much of that appeal, she now exhibited it in conjunction with an ancient oriental civilization, albeit to occidental eyes half barbaric.

Looking not unlike a lamb dressed for the slaughter, Truda sat by the side of Stephanie, who seemed to the untutored eyes of the semi-savage not unlike a goddess. The table had been cleared of all save the after-dinner coffee and the decanters. Later, Beekman found himself amazed at the ease with which he took up the customs of civilization and its refinements after so long and so violent a break therewith. For the moment he could only stare at Truda, and she returned the stare with interest. Who was this radiant creature to whom the delights of color had been added? he asked himself. Who was this godlike figure of man in the awesome and yet enhancing raiment? she questioned. It was not until Beekman smiled and spoke to her, using instinctively the familiar Polynesian dialect, that she could catch her breath and feel her heart resume its beat. He used the Polynesian because somehow it was more intimate, because he could say in it what he liked to her without the others being privy to his communication; and, finally, because he instinctively divined that in her agitation, which was obvious, her birth-language, which she had used from childhood, would be more soothing and agreeable to her. Naturally, his first question was as to her condition.

"How do you feel after all we have been through?"

"Well; and you?" said the girl, and all who listened so closely never suspected that Truda knew any other language than that Beekman used, and they were amazed at the music in her voice, the soft syllables falling through her lips entrancingly.

"I'm all right, save for this bruised arm, and that be well in a day or so."

Then Truda herself struck at him with a question.

"This beautiful woman. You know her?"

"Yes."

That seemed perfectly natural to Truda. She had no idea of the size of the world. All of these godlike beings must know one another as a matter of course.

"And you love her?"

Beekman smiled.

"I did once, but not now."

"Is she the woman you told me of on the island?"

Beekman nodded.

"If you don't take me and keep me," said Truda, suddenly passionate, her face flaming, "I shall die. You might better have let me go in the waves yesterday."

Beekman crossed the cabin and stopped by her side. He laid his hand on her head and turned her face up to him.

"You're the one woman for me, Truda," he said simply. Then realizing his obligations to the rest, he turned to them. "You will be anxious to know what we were talking about. I asked her how she was, and she told me she was well and asked in her turn for my welfare."

It was obvious to Stephanie at least that his translation by no means represented the sum total of the conversation that had passed between the two, but having her own ends to serve, like a wise woman, she gave no voice to her suspicions.

"Now, if you feel like it, we should like to hear the whole story," said Maynard.

"To begin with," said Beekman, "as George has probably told you, I guess we had a glass too many on that last night in New York, although we really drank so little that I have been inclined to the belief that there must have been foul play somewhere. At any rate, all I really know is that I woke up twenty-four hours or so later in the forecastle of an old-fashioned sailing ship called the _Susquehanna_."

"We learned that much ourselves," said Mr. Maynard. He pressed an electric button on the bulkhead by his side, and to the steward who answered he directed the boatswain to be summoned. "Just a moment, Beekman," he said; "we have an old friend of yours aboard, and here he is," he added as the weather-beaten, grizzled head of James Gersey was cautiously projected around the door-jamb. "Come in, Bo's'n," he exclaimed heartily.

The next instant Beekman caught him by the hand.

"How did you come here, Gersey?" he cried, "and how are Templin and the rest of the men?"

"Templin an' some others of us shipped aboard this yacht, Mr. Maynard makin' the proposition an' Captain Weatherby bein' agreeable. We wanted to hunt you up, an' bein' as we'd seed the last of you when we set you adrift, 'twas thought we know'd more about you than anybody else an' could be the best help."

"Wonder of wonders!" exclaimed Beekman. "I guess your story comes before mine, Mr. Maynard."

"Well, to make it short," said Harnash, after a glance from Maynard, "the _Susquehanna_ caught fire and was burned at sea. Captain Fish went down with her, refusing to leave the bridge. The mate's boat was lost. Gersey's boat was picked up and brought into Honolulu, and from him we learned the whole story of your adventures on the ship. As soon as we heard them we decided to search for you, in the hope that you might have landed on some of these islands, or have been cast away, which has proved to be the case, and here we are."

"You know the unfortunate cause of my leaving the ship?" asked Beekman, his brow darkening.

"Of course; we have the log book of the _Susquehanna_."

"And I must face a charge of murder when I get back?"

"You needn't worry about that," said Maynard quickly. "Manuel made a deposition saying it was in self-defense. The testimony of the men was added. You'll never hear from it again."

"Thank God for that!" said Beekman fervently.

"Go on with your story."

Rapidly and graphically Beekman put them in possession of the wondrous romance of which he had been a part. Without reserve he told them everything that had happened, except one thing--his love for Truda. He suppressed that most carefully, and Truda, who sat silently listening, her wits sharpened by love and jealousy, understanding much more than he or anyone dreamed, noted that fact with a horrible sinking of the heart. In her simplicity she could not believe that anyone could love her after seeing Stephanie.

Now, Beekman purposely left out of the conversation that feature of his life. His relations with Stephanie were still, to all intents and purposes, what they had been. As he reflected upon it while dressing, it seemed to him that she had offered him the greatest evidence of devotion to him by coming on the cruise to search for him. That any other motive was back of her action naturally did not occur to him. He inferred that she was more in love with him than he had dreamed. He recognized that her presence added to her claim upon him. It was a situation fraught with difficulty.

It was evidence to his own heart of the depth and sincerity of his feeling for Truda that the presence of Stephanie only disquieted him, and that even her lovely perfection did not move him one bit. He could not, however, as he was a gentleman, blurt out the fact that he no longer loved her, did not want to marry her, and would not marry her. Hence the constraint and restraint with which he told the story. It was a tale sufficiently thrilling in itself, such as Sindbad the Sailor might have told to some auditory in the _Arabian Nights_, and their arrival at that very island after that tremendous, titanic convulsion of nature which had brought them together, was not the least wonderful feature of the whole situation.

When he was finished they questioned him. Especially were they interested in the history of the people of the _Good Intent_, whom they had followed into the harbor after a lapse of two hundred and fifty years.

"I have no doubt that the earthquake shock, which was sufficient to tear away one side of the island wall and this harbor, as you have seen--for, before, every side was as sheer as the side off to port yonder--has wrought terrible damage to the settlement; but we shall find that out tomorrow."

"Meanwhile," observed Maynard, "I think we have had quite enough excitement for the day."

"And our interest in your story has caused us to forget the awful strain you have sustained, to say nothing of this dear girl here," said Stephanie.

She patted Truda's hand as she spoke, and smiled at her kindly. She had hoped that in Truda lay the solution of the tangled relations between Beekman and herself, and her natural kindliness of heart was thereby intensified. And, besides, with a thought for her lover, she was glad for a postponement of the inevitable disclosure.

"We must all turn in," chimed in the wretched Harnash, thankful for a further respite of a few hours. "Captain Weatherby will want us out of the ship in the morning, anyway."

"Exactly," said Maynard, with the same thought as the others. "After another night's rest you will be in better condition to show us everything we are so anxious to see."

"Before we separate," continued Harnash, "I want to tell you, Derrick, that our business affairs are in the best condition. On your behalf and my own, I have entered into a business relation with Mr. Maynard. We have been unusually successful, and our own investments have about doubled, I think."

"That's good," said Beekman.

"I'll take you in with me and Harnash, who has already proved invaluable," said Mr. Maynard, "on the same terms, Derrick, so your future will be assured."

This was good news to Beekman, but it was bad news, too, for it added to the obligations of the engagement. He put a good face upon the matter, however, and thanked Maynard cordially.

"Now we'll bid you good-night," said Stephanie, rising, Truda following her example.

She had extended her hand to Beekman. He had made no previous effort to kiss or embrace her, of course, although their engagement would have abundantly warranted him in such affectionate greetings. Now he took her hand, however, and kissed it tenderly. Poor little Truda lifted her face up toward him in turn, but the necessities of the situation made Beekman turn away, which added to the girl's heart-break, for she could not know of the pang his refusal gave him. She could not understand why the parting that night was so different from other partings which had taken place on the island. He had always kissed her before, why not now? It must be because of this new and glorious woman. She had felt, after the terrible hazards they had survived, that nothing could possibly come between them; but that something had was obvious. She stifled her feelings with the stoicism of a savage, which is exactly paralleled by the repression of civilization, and turned and followed Stephanie to her cabin.

She refused the bed in the cabin. She even shook her head at the luxurious sofa opposite, which was offered her. She piled some cushions on the floor, divested herself of her clothing, as was her primitive habit, drew a rug over her as a concession to the civilization she was dimly beginning to comprehend, and at once feigned sleep. So also did Stephanie, and the two women lay awake a long time, waiting with anxious hearts for the day.

Of the two, Truda was the sadder, because she thought she was losing her lover; while Stephanie, in spite of her anxiety, was confident that things would work out right in the end for all of them.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*VI ET ARMIS*

The next morning Captain Weatherby was glad indeed to be rid of his passengers. His divers had already found the leak. It was now his opinion that the broken plate could be replaced and the leak made tight, or controlled, until they could get to a dry dock in some civilized port, without careening the ship. If all went well, in two days the _Stephanie_ would be ready to leave the island. Of course they would have to get her off the sand, but she had been so beached that with the numerous crew she carried the captain could improvise a cofferdam and dig her out, if necessary, although that would naturally be the last resort. It was probable that ground tackle and her own extra-powerful engines would do the trick. Meantime there was much work for all hands, and the idlers were better away.

After breakfast, which was a trying meal for Truda, since she had no knowledge whatever of the utensils and equipment of civilization, the two women and the three men, accompanied by Dr. Welch, who had pronounced both patients well on the way to recovery, but who thought best to keep them under observation while he visited and examined the island from a scientist's point of view, were ferried over on an improvised raft to the strand, whence they found it not a difficult climb to the upland.

Horrible indeed had been the destruction by the storm that had followed the earthquake. What had been a paradise was now devastated. A few of the animals were still alive, but not a single human being was seen. The little settlement was in ruins. Every house had been leveled to the ground. A deep crevice had opened in the basic rock. It ran underneath the ruin of the church. Beneath the great heaps of stone on either side of this gulf they could see the crushed bodies of the islanders. It was easy to reconstruct the scene and to realize what had happened. The storm had given them plenty of warning. It was of so unusual a character that they had had an abundance of time to choose their places of shelter. Moved by such a mental stimulus, as can easily be imagined, they had chosen to assemble in the taboo house. The taboo had been broken, anyway. The god was angry with them. This was the form of his punishment. What was more natural than that they should turn to him? Perhaps they had some idea of prayer; it may be some lingering remains of Christian faith, which would have led them to assemble in the church in time of peril, had been added to the consciousness that the taboo was broken. At any rate, the men, women, and children all of them had crowded into the church. It was the largest and most substantial of all the buildings, and the earthquake had thrown it down upon them.

The huge rift that had been opened in the island had engulfed many of them, evidently. Whatever the case, not one of them was alive. The rift had divided the ruin into two parts. Most of the people evidently had remained near the door. Old Kobe's body was found in the opening in the rail, his hand stretched out to the broken altar upon which the mouldering cross still stood. They found the two precious books without much difficulty, and that was all.

Truda had disappeared. She presently rejoined them, clad in her usual way in one of the grass or fiber petticoats which she had resurrected from one of the houses of the women which had not been completely demolished. She had laid aside the light garments which Stephanie had put on her, and she seemed a different woman. They noticed it, of course, but made no comment. And now Dr. Welch, easily realizing that the friends would rather be alone, made his excuses and wandered away, out of hearing, at any rate, while he busied himself in observation and interesting studies.

"I'll have Captain Weatherby send a party of men to clear this away and give the bodies decent burial," said Maynard, breaking the solemn pause.

"That's good," observed Beekman; "I was about to suggest it."

"Well, there's nothing further to do here," said Stephanie. "Let's go back to the yacht."

"Before we go," broke in Harnash, "I've got something to tell you, Derrick, and the best place and time is here and now."

The moment had come!

"And I also have something to tell all of you," answered Beekman, realizing that he must settle his affairs sooner or later, and his natural temperament inclining him to sooner rather than later. Stephanie knew perfectly well what Beekman had to tell. She had not seen him and Truda together without becoming entirely aware of the state of affairs, but Beekman had no idea of the communication Harnash intended to make. He looked at him as he spoke. "Good God, old man, what's the matter?" he burst out. "You're as white as the spray yonder."

"I've a confession to make, and I want to tell you before I make it that I do it of my own free will. After you know what I've done, you will hardly believe that, but Mr. Maynard and Stephanie can both testify to that."

"We can," said Maynard.

"And we do," added Stephanie.

"George, I don't know how to take this tone from you. I've always found you strictly honorable. Your word has always been your bond. And your friendship has been beyond price. You can't have anything very dreadful to confess, I imagine. It can't be money, because you just told me about the investments."

"I wish to God it were," said Harnash bitterly. "I'd rather be branded as a thief than--"

A dawning suspicion flashed into Beekman's mind. Why had he never thought of it before? His face changed.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Speak out."

"You wondered how you were shanghaied and I was not. Well, I--I did it."

"What?"

"I had it done, that is."

"Ah, and Woywod?"

"He was a boyhood friend. He would do anything for me. It was through him."

"By God!" cried Beekman passionately, forgetting everything else as his life on that hell ship came back to him, as he recalled the brutal bullying and the miseries that he and all the other men had endured, and that last terrible scene in the cabin, which had stained his hands with the blood of man; and that it was in self-defense did not make the stain any less vivid. "You--my friend--the best man--at my wedding!"