THE ISLAND
“IS Miriam safe?” asked Lamara.
“She is safe for the present. But Zarga herself was the traitor,” replied
Aunion.
“The fault was mine! She seemed so lovable that I left her too much to her
own unfolding. Why should she turn against us? And at such a time!”
“A spirit undisciplined—in whom impulses of nature, blameless in
themselves, are prone under temptation to unite with the evil. Torpeon, as
we now know, working on the kinship between them, long since began his
appeals to her vanity and ambition; and the coming of these two strangers
was his opportunity to strike. Miriam for him; Jack, in exchange, for her;
and the stimulus of rivalry fired the inclination which she had already
conceived for him. But for the warning given us by that singular little
being, Jim, the plot would have succeeded; we arrived barely in season;
and much mischief was wrought, not easily to be repaired.”
“Where is Jack?”
“His transgression has isolated him; Argon is searching for him, with the
more zeal because of his sister’s treason. But we must face the facts:
Torpeon’s access to Miriam is easier than it was and more difficult for us
to trace and prevent. Zarga, of course, is in hiding, and must be
henceforth regarded as Torpeon’s chief fellow conspirator.”
“The strangers have at least one safeguard—they truly love each other!”
said Lamara, after a silence.
“Else there were no hope! But the youth is prone to outbursts of lawless
passion which the enemy will ever seek to provoke. We cannot
constrain—only try to lead him. The conflict must proceed, with the odds
on the Torides’s side. Impotent though they are against us, against these
two lovers, their arts and strategy are formidable.”
“I believe Zarga can be redeemed!” said Lamara, meeting his eyes and
speaking firmly. Aunion sighed. “The constitution of our state is based on
love and faith, and for many ages past there has been no provision for
treason. Our strength is also our weakness. A thoughtless girl may sap the
corner pillar and undo the growth of centuries. ” “If the temple fall, it
is that God may build a better!”
Aunion let his gaze wander over the scene around them. They were standing
on the rocky promontory of an island near the mainland; the sea was calm
and mirrored the great arch of the ring. Groups of heavy-foliaged trees
shadowed the soft turf; the music of their leaves mingled with birdsongs;
staglike animals moved here and there in the glades, and more rarely other
shapes, swift and graceful and semihuman, peeped shyly forth from shade to
light. Beyond, above the trees, rose the dome of a summer pavilion. Over
all the island passed breathings of wild-flower perfume like fairy music.
“God indeed has enabled us to incarnate the substance of our minds,”
Aunion said musingly; “to shape them after our thought and to color them
with our emotions. Others painfully toil against the obduracy of things to
accomplish what we may do and undo with the flowing of a breath. Their
works, rude parodies of even the crude conceptions that inspired them,
crumble slowly back into unsightly dust. They have never called upon what
is above to interpret what is below; they exalt the slave into the despot,
and fight one another for monopoly of what closes life against them and
opens death. And yet these blind ones survive, while our Eden may be
blighted by the guile of a serpent and a girl’s folly!”
“But these blind ones fight toward the light!” rejoined she, with a touch
of reproof in her tone. “Their serpent is ours too, and they, grappling
with it in blood and tears, bear our burdens as well as their own. God’s
meanings are manifested according to the measure of the eye that sees; but
He never misleads! He will not punish the misstep of a child by the
banishment of a people!”
“I have perhaps lived too long,” said Aunion sadly. “The inspirations of
your heart are more trustworthy than the speculations of my brain. What do
you now intend?”
“I shall stay by Miriam and incline her toward the deeper consciousness
where Torpeon cannot penetrate. Argon will inform me here of his fortune
in the search of Jack.”
“I will hold myself in readiness to aid either of you,” said Aunion; and
with a reverent obeisance he parted from her.
Lamara took a path to the pavilion. The island, and all on it, was the
place of private retreat for the young sovereign of Saturn, and was
guarded by influences framed to repel all unauthorized intruders; only the
initiates could enter. Thither, accordingly, Miriam had been conveyed from
the scene of the conflict between Jack and the powers swayed by Torpeon.
The prompt putting forth of exceptional resources had been required to
accomplish this without injury to her; for had her trance been broken
before the lapse of its period grave harm might have resulted. The
situation, as it now stood, was perplexing; but Lamara felt confident that
time and prudence would bring a happy solution. The conspirators had
failed of their main object; and it was not to be supposed that Zarga
would venture to cooperate in any further designs. Jack, though wofully
misled, was still strong in his unalterable fidelity, and he would find
redemption at last.
It was the revelation of Zarga’s perfidy that wounded Lamara most. Some
rare quality in this girl’s soul had induced Lamara to give her her
fullest confidence; her faults had seemed trivial and superficial. A
certain adventurous independence of thought sometimes perceptible in her
had given Lamara no uneasiness; it was due, she fancied, to the abounding
in her of life too vivid to submit unquestioningly to the guidance of an
elder experience. There was in the somewhat tumultuous nature of her youth
the making of a great and noble character; and Lamara had often forborne
reproof in the belief that Zarga’s own afterthought would administer a
severer chiding. Yet now she stood convicted of an unpardonable crime.
No human soul, however, could sin beyond the limits of Lamara’s
forgiveness. She might have harbored hopes even for Torpeon. And she would
not divest herself of the belief that her favorite Zarga would yet repent
and make amends.
At the spot on which the pavilion stood a spring gushed out of the ground,
the abundant waters of which had been curiously led to run into
architectural surfaces and forms—a plastic crystal forever flowing away
with a pleasant murmur. The changing lights of day united with it to
create continually shifting hues, and the gentle coolness which always
reigned in its chambers aided to make it Lamara’s favorite place for rest
and meditation.
Here, as being beyond all likelihood of disturbance, she had caused Miriam
to be conveyed; no invader from Tor would dare to set foot on any part of
the island, still less to violate the sanctities of the pavilion itself.
The hour during which the trance prevailed was now for some time passed;
but she had wished her visitor to awake alone in the translucent solitude,
and to recollect herself under its soothing influence. She had planned
that her own approach should take place at a moment when the girl should
begin to feel anxiety as to what had befallen her.
Passing the threshold of the edifice she entered a small atrium, opening
at the other side into an enclosed court. In the center of this played a
fountain, whose upgush assumed successively various forms, treelike,
animal or human. Several chambers surrounded the court, and in the central
one of these Miriam had been laid.
Stepping lightly and smiling with pleasant anticipation, Lamara advanced
to the door of this chamber and looked within. It was empty!
She repressed her first impulse of surprise and uneasiness, telling
herself that Miriam must be somewhere in the pavilion; or might, at most,
have wandered out along the winding paths that threaded the surrounding
coppices and glades. She prosecuted her search with ever-increasing
misgiving. The pavilion was untenanted. She came out into the garden,
passing hastily through its lovely intricacies, but found no trace of the
fugitive. The birds flitted after her with their songs, the fawns gamboled
about her, and the shy little nature-people smiled and beckoned to her
from nooks and leafy recesses. All things loved Lamara, and she loved all;
but the beautiful earth-girl was nowhere to be seen.
Only initiates of the mysteries could either enter or leave the island
unaccompanied. Only Aunion and herself had been there that day with
Miriam. Yet Miriam had vanished.
What could have happened?