LEONARD AND ULAMA.
"How I should like to see this wondrous outside world that you come
from!" said Ulama dreamily. "The more you tell me of it, the more you
whet my curiosity, and the more I long to see its marvels for myself."
"And yet," was Elwood's answer, "nowhere will you find so marvellously
beautiful a scene as that which now surrounds us. I have travelled a
good deal myself; and my friend Jack much more; and Monella, where has
he not been? He seems to have visited every corner of the world! Yet
he said to me, but yesterday, that he thought this the fairest spot on
earth; and in this Jack agrees, so far as his experience extends.
"Since I first came here I have looked upon it from many points of
view; from the water, as the boat drifts from one side to the other;
from different places round the shore; from various spots on the rocky
terraces above; and these different views I have seen under all the
shifting effects of sunlight, moonlight, and in the mountain mist. Yet
do I find myself unable to decide which I like the best. Whatever I
do, wherever I happen to be, I see constantly some fresh enchantment,
some new charm, some effect at once unexpected and delightful; till I
strive in vain to make up my mind which I admire the most."
It was about a week after the arrival in the city of the three
travellers; and Ulama and Leonard were seated in a favourite boat in
which the princess was wont to spend a large portion of her time.
It was, really, a small barge, of curious but graceful design and
elaborate decoration. Over the after part was a white and light-blue
awning; the bow ran up in the shape of a bird with out-stretched wings
wrought in gold and silver, and the stern was fashioned like a fish
with scales of blue and gold, its tail being movable, and running down
below the water-line to form the rudder. Upon the sides provision was
made for several oars; but this morning Ulama and Elwood had put off
alone, content that the boat should drift wherever the slight air or
current might direct.
Truly Leonard had not over-rated the beauty of the scene around them;
scarce indeed would it be possible to do so. The water was a dazzling
blue, yet so clear and limpid that it seemed more like a film of tinted
air than water, so that the eye could pierce to great depths where
many strange creatures could be seen. The sun, high in the sky, poured
down its rays upon the buildings and the trees, in some parts lighting
up only the tops and throwing purple shadows over the rest; in other
places, touches of vivid green contrasted with the pink-white tints of
the faces of the buildings; the whole quivering in the shimmering haze
that conveys an idea of unsubstantiality in what one sees--a suggestion
that it may be only a mirage that a passing breeze may dissipate.
Ulama was leaning in contented listlessness over the boat's side,
her hand playing idly in the water. On the shapely arm, bare to the
elbow, was a plain gold band in which was set a single diamond that
even crowned heads might have envied. It flashed and sparkled in the
sunlight with dazzling fire and power. A gold fillet, set with another
matchless diamond, confined her hair, which fell loosely in wavy
tresses round her shoulders. Her dress was of finest work, its texture
thin as gossamer; pure white with here and there a silken knot of blue.
It was gathered into her waist by a golden zone whose clasp was hidden
by another and even larger diamond. No other style of dress could have
so well set off the perfect symmetry and beauty of her figure. Thus,
bending in unconscious ease over the boat's side, the young girl formed
one of the rarest models of maidenly grace and loveliness that could
that morning have been found amongst Eve's daughters.
Yet, probably, to most observers, the purity and sweetness that looked
out from her soft, wistful eyes would have seemed the chief and most
attractive charm of this radiant maiden of the 'city of the clouds.'
And her gentle, lustrous eyes were the index of the pure and loving
soul within.
No wonder, therefore, that she was, beyond compare, the best loved, the
most honoured person in the land.
She was her father's chief, almost his only, joy. Apart from her he
found but little that gave him happiness. At the same time he loved
his people and honestly desired to do his best for them; and gladly
would he have made great sacrifices to bring about their emancipation
from the priestly tyranny that oppressed them. But he shrank from the
extreme step of precipitating a civil war; yet the alternative of
allowing things to take their course and continue in the old groove
grieved him deeply; so much so that his distress had begun to take the
form of settled melancholy. His courtiers, who were devoted to him,
noticing this, themselves became a prey to anxious misgivings, fearing
in it the first symptoms of the sole incurable disease they knew--that
which they termed the 'falloa.'
Leonard's last words had started a fresh train of thought in the young
girl's mind, and presently she spoke again.
"Do you then mean that you would fain pass your life with us; you to
whom the great world beyond is known, with all its endless interest?
It seems strange that! Methinks that, were I in your place, I should
deem life here but colourless and childish. For me, certainly, it has
sufficed. I have a father who loves me dearly--dotes on me; my mother I
never knew. She died when I was very young. I have kind friends around
me whom I love, and who love me, and who seem to think far more of me
than I deserve. And, were it not for the sadness in the land, I think
I should be very happy; certainly I should be contented. Yet, now
that you have told me of a spacious world beyond, full of all sorts
of mysteries and unheard-of marvels, I confess I should like to see
something of it."
"To do so would bring you no lasting pleasure," Leonard answered. "If
we--if I--who have looked upon these things, have been brought up
amongst them, if I am weary of them, and never care to see them more,
and would spend the remainder of my life here, for you they would have
no attractions."
Ulama glanced up shyly at him from under her long lashes.
"But are you--would you?" she asked with a slight blush. "Would you
truly like to stay here all your life--never to go back to your own
land?"
"Yes! I _do_ mean that!" And there was a fervid glow in Leonard's
countenance. "All my life I have had a restlessness impelling me to
seek--I knew not what--in distant lands. All my life I have had strange
dreams and visions; not only in the stillness of the night, but also
amidst the busy hum of day, and in all these one form was ever present;
it hovered round me so that I could almost see and touch it. But--and
now comes the strange part of it--that first day I set eyes on you, the
moment you drew near, I saw in you the living image of her who had been
the central figure of my waking visions, and held sweet converse with
me while I slept. Then--when my eyes met yours--I understood it all!
I knew then what had led me hither; what it was I had unconsciously
been seeking, and wherefore I had been restless and unsatisfied at
home. I knew that in you I had discovered all I craved for--the sweet
fulfilment of my soul's desire. And then--then--I saw you in the grasp
of one who would have slain you! And my heart stood still, for I knew
that, unless my hand were steady and my eye unerring, in striving to
save your life I might destroy it. Oh, think, think what must have been
my anguish! Think, how----Ah! never will you know a tenth of what I
suffered in that brief space; or my relief and thankfulness when I saw
him fall, and you stand scatheless!"
The young girl looked shyly at him; then, noting the love-light in his
eyes, and the glowing flush upon his cheeks, the while he had poured
out all that he had felt for her, an answering blush stole over her
own fair cheek; while a coy, dainty little smile seemed to flit airily
around her mouth, setting into little dimples first here then there;
in like manner as a ray of light, reflected from a mirror, will dance
coquettishly to and fro in obedience to the hand that moves the glass.
There was silence for a space, she gazing downwards at the water, but
now and then stealing a shy glance at her companion.
Then another line of thought passed over her mind and shadowed her face
for a moment.
"I wonder," she said with touching innocence, "what people see in me to
like so much? I fear it is not always well that this should be. It was
that which led--Zelus"--she shivered at the name--"to thrust himself
upon, and at last threaten me, and has placed you in danger for having
slain him. It is very strange! To like, to love, should mean naught but
happiness and loving-kindness and innocent delight; yet here it has led
a man to attempt an awful crime, and has placed others in great peril."
"It was not _love_ on that man's part," said Leonard, savagely, between
his teeth. "At least, not the sort of love that urged _me_ on, that has
guided me--even as the unwinding of a clue leads the traveller through
the maze--to the side of her I loved and worshipped in my visions. Mine
is not the love that could ever do its object hurt; that could ever----"
He paused abruptly, seeing her glance up at him with a look of wonder
on her face.
"You love me?" she exclaimed. "But that is past believing! 'Tis but a
few days since you first saw me. You cannot know what I am really like!
How then can you _love_ me? I love my father because he has cared for
me and loved me all my life; I love Zonella--and--and--other friends,
because I have known them for so long, and they have been kind and good
to me. How can you yet tell that you will love me? Perchance when you
know me better you may even come to hate me."
"Oh! Ulama! What is that you say?" he said impetuously. "You cannot
mean it! You are playing with me! But it is cruel play! The love I mean
is not such as the slow growth of a child's affection for a parent
or a girl-friend. It is a swift, resistless passion, that centres on
one being above all others in the world, and says, 'This one only do
I love; this one possesses all my heart and soul! From this one I can
never swerve--my love will end only when my heart no longer beats; I
cannot live without it.' Such a love bursts forth spontaneously from
the heart, as does a tiny spring from the earth's bosom and that, when
once it has found vent, for ever bubbles up fresh and clear and pure,
and, commencing in a little rill, increases to a torrent whose force no
power can stem. _That_ is the love I mean; and 'tis such a love I bear
for you, Ulama. Can you not understand something of all this?"
"I know not," replied the maiden in a low voice, and glancing timidly
at him. "You frighten me a little--or you would, but that I like you
too well to feel afraid of you--but--I have no knowledge of such love
as you describe."
"But, you have _heard_ of a love that far exceeds mere friendship--far
stronger than affection?"
"Y-es. I have _heard_ of it; and--ridiculed it as fiction. Yet--if
you affirm its truth, and in your own person have experienced it--I
must fain believe you, for I know you would not say what is not true.
But"--here she sagely shook her head--"though my ears receive your
words, the time has not yet come when they have reached my heart."
Leonard seized her hand.
"But, meanwhile, I have not offended you, Ulama?" he asked
entreatingly. "You will let me love you? Indeed, I am powerless to help
it. And you will try to--to--like me--ah, you have said you _do_ like
me already. Will you not try to love me a little?"
"Nay," she frankly answered, "you would not surely have me _try_? What
sort of love would that be that we had to _try_ to bring into being--to
force upon an unresponsive heart? You have said that it should burst
forth spontaneously. I scarcely understand when you speak thus."
Leonard sighed.
"You are right, Ulama, as you ever are; and I am wrong; but my love
makes me impatient. I will not expect too much of you. I will wait with
such content as is in me to command until your gentle heart shall beat
in unison with mine; and something in me tells me that one day it will."
Just then they heard the voice of some one calling to them, and,
looking round, they saw Jack Templemore and Zonella, with several
others, coming towards them in another boat.
When they were within speaking distance, Jack said that Monella had
sent him to tell Leonard he wished to speak to him; Leonard accordingly
took up the oars and rowed the barge slowly to shore. There he left
Ulama with the party, and proceeded in search of Monella who, he had
been told, was awaiting him upon a terrace that overlooked the lake.
Here Leonard found him seated with a field-glass in his hand. Monella
turned and looked searchingly at the young man, who felt himself
colouring under the other's glance.
"I love not to seem to spy upon your acts, my son," Monella began
gravely, "but when I caught sight of you in yonder boat holding the
hand of the princess, the daughter of the king, who is our kind and
gracious host, I could not well do otherwise than seek a talk with
you. I fear you have not well considered what you do."
At this rebuke Leonard coloured up still more, albeit the words were
spoken with evident kindness. For that very reason, probably, they sank
the deeper. It was the first time anything savouring of reproof to him
had fallen from Monella's lips; and, up to that moment, its possibility
had seemed remote; and now the young man deeply felt the fact that the
other should have thought it necessary.
"I think I know what you would say," he answered in a low voice. "I
feel I have been wrong--guilty of thoughtlessness, presumption, and
seemingly of breach of confidence. I understand what is in your mind.
Yet let me say at once that so far little--practically nothing--has
been said, and nothing more shall be--unless--you can tell me I dare
hope. But oh, my good friend, you who have treated me always as a son,
and shown such sympathy and kindness towards me--who have known of my
half-formed aspirations, and the ideas that led me on and ended in my
coming here, and encouraged me in those ideas--who have learned that in
the king's daughter I have found the living embodiment of the central
figure of all my dreamings--_you_ surely will not now turn upon me and
tell me I must stifle all my feelings, and--give--up--the hopes--that
had arisen--in my heart?" And Leonard sank wearily into a seat.
Then, for the first time realising his actual position, how next
to impossible it was that the king would regard with favour his
pretensions, he placed his hands before his face and groaned aloud.
Monella rose, and, going to him, laid his hand kindly upon his
shoulder.
"I might bring all the arguments and platitudes of the 'worldly-wise'
to bear on you," he said, "but I forbear; and I know they will not
weigh with you. Moreover, it is undeniable that the circumstances are
unusual and unlooked-for. But they do not justify you in forgetting
what you owe to a kingly host and--I may add--to others; to us, your
friends, for instance. You know, also, that our position here is
critical; there is trouble brewing in the land. If the king should
have reason to believe that one of us has abused his confidence in
one matter, he may lose his trust in all, as touching other, and far
more weighty matters--matters that may affect even his own personal
security; to say nothing of our own lives, and those of many of his
subjects. Therefore----"
Leonard sprang up and looked at him imploringly.
"For pity's sake say no more," he said, "or I shall begin to hate
myself. I understand--only too well. Trust me--if you will; if you feel
you can; if you have not lost confidence. You shall not have further
reason for complaint."
Monella took Leonard's hand in his and pressed it affectionately.
"'Tis well, my son," he said. "I have full confidence, and will trust
you. And you, on your side, must trust me. I may have opportunity to
sound the king, and, if it so happen, you may count on me to say and
do all that my friendship for you may dictate--and that will not be a
little."
Leonard wrung the other's hand and tried to thank him, but a burst of
emotion overcame him, and he turned away. When he again looked round he
was alone.