THE LANTERN ABOVE
Chase sat for hours on his porch that night, gazing down upon the
château. Lights gleamed in a hundred of its windows. He knew that
revelry held forth in what he was pleased enough to call the feudal
castle, and yet his heart warmed toward the gay people who danced and
sang while he thirsted at the gates.
The bitterness of his own isolation, the ostracism that circumstance had
forced upon him, would have been maddening on this night had not all
rancour been tempered by the glorious achievement in the market-place.
He wondered if the Princess knew what he had dared and what he had
accomplished in the early hours of the night. He wondered if they had
pointed out his solitary light to her--if, now and then, she bestowed a
casual glance upon that twinkling star of his. The porch lantern hung
almost directly above his head.
He was not fool enough to think that he had permanently pulled the wool
over the eyes of the islanders. Sooner or later they would come to know
that he had tricked them, and then--well, he could only shake his head
in dubious contemplation of the hundred things that might happen. He
smiled as he smoked, however, for he looked down upon a world that
thought only of the night at hand.
The château was indeed the home of revelry. The pent-up, struggling
spirits of those who had dwelt therein for months in solitude arose in
the wild stampede for freedom. All petty differences between Lady
Deppingham and Drusilla Browne, and they were quite common now, were
forgotten in the whirlwind of relief that came with the strangers from
the yacht. Mrs. Browne's good-looking eager husband revelled in the
prospect of this delirious night--this almost Arabian night. He was
swept off his feet by the radiant Princess--the Scheherezade of his
boyhood dreams; his blithe heart thumped as it had not done since he was
a boy. The Duchess of N---- and the handsome Marchioness of B---- came
into his tired, hungry life at a moment when it most needed the light.
It was he who fairly dragged Lady Agnes aside and proposed the banquet,
the dance, the concert--everything--and it was he who carried out the
hundred spasmodic instructions that she gave.
Late in the night, long after the dinner and the dance, the tired but
happy company flocked to the picturesque hanging garden for rest and the
last refreshment. Every man was in his ducks or flannels, every woman in
the coolest, the daintiest, the sweetest of frocks. The night was clear
and hot; the drinks were cold.
The hanging garden was a wonderfully constructed open-air plaisance
suspended between the château itself and the great cliff in whose shadow
it stood. The cliff towered at least three hundred feet above the roof
of the spreading château, a veritable stone wall that extended for a
mile or more in either direction. Its crest was covered with trees
beyond which, in all its splendour, rose the grass-covered mountain
peak. Here and there, along the face of this rocky palisade, tiny
streams of water leaked through and came down in a never-ending spray,
leaving the rocks cool and slimy from its touch.
Near the château there was a real waterfall, reminding one in no small
sense of the misty veils at Lauterbrunnen or Giesbach. The swift stream
which obtained life from these falls, big and little, ran along the base
of the cliff for some distance and was then diverted by means of a deep,
artificial channel into an almost complete circuit of the château,
forming the moat. It sped along at the foot of the upper terrace, a wide
torrent that washed between solid walls of masonry which rose to a
height of not less than ten feet on either side. There were two
drawbridges--seldom used but always practicable. One, a handsome example
of bridge building, crossed the current at the terminus of the grand
approach which led up from the park; the other opened the way to the
stables and the servants' quarters at the rear. A small, stationary
bridge crossed the vicious stream immediately below the hanging garden
and led to the ladders by which one ascended to the caverns that ran far
back into the mountain.
Two big, black, irregular holes in the face of the cliff marked the
entrance to these deep, rambling caves, wonderful caverns wrought by the
convulsions of the dead volcano, cracks made by these splintering
earthquakes when the island was new.
The garden hung high between the building and the cliff, swung by a
score of great steel cables. These cables were riveted soundly in the
solid rock of the cliff at one end and fastened as safely to the stone
walls of the château at the other. It swung staunchly from its moorings,
with the constancy of a suspension bridge, and trembled at the slightest
touch.
It was at least a hundred feet square. The floor was covered with a foot
or more of soil in which the rich grass and plants of the tropics
flourished. There were tiny flower beds in the center; baby palms,
patchouli plants and a maze of interlacing vines marked the edges of
this wonderful garden in mid-air. Cool fountains sprayed the air at
either end of the green enclosure: the illusion was complete.
The walls surrounding the garden were three feet high and were intended
to represent the typical English garden wall of brick. To gain access to
the hanging garden, one crossed a narrow bridge, which led from the
second balcony of the château. There was not an hour in the day when
protection from the sun could not be found in this little paradise.
Bobby Browne was holding forth, with his usual exuberance, on the
magnificence of the British navy. The Marquess of B----, uncle to the
Princess, swelled with pride as he sat at the table and tasted his julep
through the ever-obliging straw. The Princess, fanning herself wearily,
leaned back and looked up into the mystic night, the touch of dreamland
caressing her softly. The others--eight or ten men and half as many
women--listened to the American in twice as many moods.
"There she is now, sleeping out there in the harbour, a great, big thing
with the kindest of hearts inside of those steel ribs. Her Majesty's
ship, the _King's Own!_ Think of it! She convoys a private yacht; she
stops off at this beastly island to catch her breath and to see that all
are safe; then she charges off into the horizon like a bird that has no
home. Ah, I tell you, it's wonderful. Samrat, fill the Count's glass
again. May I offer you a cigarette, Princess? By the way, I wonder how
Chase came off with his side show?"
"Saunders tells me that he was near to being butchered, but luck was
with him," said Deppingham. "His ship came home."
"It was a daring trick. I'm glad he pulled it off. He's a man, that
fellow is," said Browne. "See, Princess, away up there in the mountain
is his home. There's a light--see it? He keeps rather late hours, you
see."
"Tell me about him," said the Princess suddenly. She arose and walked to
the vine-covered wall, followed by Bobby Browne.
"I don't know much to tell you," said he. "He's made an enemy or two and
they are trying to drive him out. I'd be rather sorry to see him go.
We've asked him down here, just because we can't bear to think of a
fellow-creature wasting his days in utter loneliness. But he has, so
far, declined with thanks. The islanders are beginning to hate him. They
distrust him, Britt says. Of course, you know why we are here, you--"
"Every one knows, Mr. Browne. You are the most interesting quartette in
the world just now. Every one is wondering how it is going to end. What
a pity you _can't_ marry Lady Agnes."
"Oh, I say!" protested Browne. She laughed merrily.
"But how dull it must be for Mr. Chase! Does he complain?"
"I can't say that he does. Britt--that's my lawyer--Britt says he's
never heard a murmur from him. He takes his medicine with a smile. I
like that sort of a fellow and I wish he'd be a little more friendly. It
couldn't interfere with his duties and I don't see where the harm would
come in for any of us."
"He has learned to know and keep his place," said she coolly. Perhaps
she was thinking of his last night in the palace garden. Away up there
in the darkness gleamed his single, lonely, pathetic little light.
"Isn't it rather odd, Mr. Browne, that his light should be burning at
two o'clock in the morning? Is it his custom to sit up--"
"I've never noticed it before, now you speak of it. I hope nothing
serious has happened to him. He may have been injured in--I say, if you
don't mind, I'll ask some one to telephone up to his place. It would be
beastly to let him lie up there alone if we can be of any service to--"
"Yes, do telephone," she broke in. "I am sure Lady Deppingham will
approve. No, thank you; I will stand here a while. It is cool and I love
the stars." He hurried off to the telephone, more eager than ever, now
that she had started the new thought in his brain. Five minutes later he
returned to her, accompanied by Lady Agnes. She was still looking
at--the stars? The little light among the trees could easily have been
mistaken for a star.
"Lady Deppingham called him up," said Bobby.
"And he answered in person," said her ladyship. "He seemed strangely
agitated for a moment or two, Genevra, and then he laughed--yes, laughed
in my face, although it was such a long way off. People can do what they
like over the telephone, my dear. I asked him if he was ill, or had been
hurt. He said he never felt better in his life and hadn't a scratch. He
laughed--I suppose to show me that he was all right. Then he said he was
much obliged to me for calling him up. He'd quite forgotten to go to
bed. He asked me to thank you for bringing a warship. You saved his
life. Really, one would think you were quite a heroine--or a Godsend or
something like that. I never heard anything sweeter than the way he said
good-night to me. There!"
The light in the bungalow bobbed mysteriously for an instant and then
went out.
"How far is it from here?" asked the Princess abruptly.
"Nearly two miles as the crow flies--only there are no crows here. Five
miles by the road, I fancy, isn't it, Bobby? I call him Bobby, you know,
when we are all on good terms. I don't see why I shouldn't if you stop
to think how near to being married to each other we are at this very
instant."
"I wonder if help could reach him quickly in the event of an attack?"
"It could, if he'd have the kindness to notify us by 'phone," said
Browne.
"But he wouldn't telephone to us," said Lady Deppingham ruefully. "He's
not so communicative as that."
"Surely he would call upon you for help if he----"
"You don't know him, Genevra."
The Princess smiled in a vague sort of way. "I've met him quite
informally, if you remember."
"I should say it was informally. It's the most delicious story I've ever
heard. You must tell it to Mr. Browne, dear. It's all about the Enemy in
Thorberg, Mr. Browne. There's your wife calling, Bobby. She wants you to
tell that story again, about the bishop who rang the door bell."
The next morning the captain of the _King's Own_ came ashore and was
taken to the château for dejeuner. Late in the afternoon, the Marquess
and his party, saying farewell to the Princess and the revived legatees,
put out to the yacht and steamed away in the wake of the great warship.
The yacht was to return in a month, to pick up the Princess.
Genevra, her maids, her men and her boxes, her poodle and her dachshund,
were left behind for the month of March. Not without misgiving, it must
be said, for the Marquess, her uncle, was not disposed to look upon the
island situation as a spot of long-continued peace, even though its
hereditary companion, Prosperity, might reign steadily. But she refused
to listen to their warnings. She smiled securely and said she had come
to visit Lady Agnes and she would not now disappoint her for the world.
All this, and much more, passed between them.
"You won't be able to get help as cleverly and as timely as that
American chap got it last night," protested the Marquess. "Warships
don't browse around like gulls, you know. Karl will never forgive me if
I leave you here----"
"Karl is of a very forgiving nature, uncle, dear," said Genevra sweetly.
"He forgave you for defending Mr. Chase, because you are such a nice
Englishman. I've induced him to forgive Mr. Chase because he's such a
nice American-although Mr. Chase doesn't seem to know it-and I'm quite
sure Karl would shake his hand if he should come upon him anywhere.
Leave Karl to me, uncle."
"And leave you to the cannibals, or whatever they are. I can't think of
it! It's out of the--"
"Take him away, Aunt Gretchen. 'And come again some other day,'" she
sang blithely.
And so they sailed away without her, just as she had intended from the
beginning. Lord Deppingham stood beside her on the pier as the shore
party waved its adieus to the yacht.
"By Jove, Genevra, I hope no harm comes to you here in this beastly
place," said he, a look of anxiety in his honest eyes. "There goes our
salvation, if any rumpus should come up. We can't call 'em out of the
sky as Chase did last night. Lucky beggar! That fellow Chase is ripping,
by Jove. That's what he is. I wish he'd open up his heart a bit and ask
us into that devilish American bar of his."
"He owes us something for the warship we delivered to him last night,"
said Bobby. "He has made good with his warship story, after all, thanks
to the _King's Own_ and Britt."
"And the fairy Princess," added Lady Deppingham.
"I am doubly glad I came, if you include me in the miracle," said
Genevra, shuddering a little as she looked at the lounging natives.
"Isn't it rather more of a miracle that I should come upon mine ancient
champion in this unheard-of corner of the globe?"
"I'd like to hear the story of Chase and his Adventures in the Queen's
Garden," reminded Bobby Browne.
"I'll tell it to you to-night, my children," said the Princess, as they
started for the palanquins.
Hollingsworth Chase dodged into the American bar just in time to escape
the charge of spying.