_A Chapter of Startling Surprises. The Fate of the Black Face. A Story
of Two Girls. Wanted--a Coadjutor to the Crown. Beela Comes Back at
Last._
Here was something portentously solemn in Christopher’s manner when he
came one brilliant morning with a summons from the queen to lunch with
her and Annabel. I was aware of Captain Mason’s notice to her Majesty
that in two hours the colony, which had been royally entertained in the
palace and its adjunct buildings since the great catastrophe, would file
past to bid her farewell. My absorbing duties in directing the stowing
of the _Hope’s_ cargo had kept me away from the queen and Annabel,
who had become devoted friends; but a more potent barrier had been her
Majesty’s cold reserve under her assumption of her queenly duties, which
had been exceedingly severe. The destruction of the Black Face by the
eruption had been joyously accepted as heaven’s endorsement of her
accession to the throne, and the natives idolized her.
Nothing seemed clearer than her wish that I do my part to make as smooth
as possible her determination to forget what had passed between us.
Confident, therefore, that she would carry off the parting pleasantly,
and appreciating her kindness in inviting me, and her tact in providing
for Annabel’s presence, I went with as stout a heart as I could command.
Christopher and I had long ago laid aside our disguise. He led me in
silence to the private room where Lentala had dreamed of a bright life
far away. A table was set daintily for three; and as there were no
native attendants, I knew that Christopher was to serve. Rangan was
near the end of his days, and Rawley gave constant attendance on deeply
stricken Mr. Vancouver.
As I entered, I heard the queen and Annabel chatting with astonishing
gaiety in an adjoining room, the doorway into which was closed with a
curtain. Whatever they were discussing was interrupted by my entrance.
“Choseph!” came challengingly from beyond the curtain. It was Beela’s
voice, though every trace of her had disappeared since the eruption.
“Your Majesty,” I responded.
“Nonsense! Aren’t you going to behave?” It was Beela’s scold and
the impatient stamp of her foot. “I’m not quite ready. Annabel will
entertain you.”
Annabel came out. The sparkle in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks
showed that she was excited, despite her effort to appear at ease.
Christopher’s strange manner had already made me watchful, and I caught
the knowing look that Annabel gave him. My heart bounded. Could it be
that the queen had decided to renounce her kingdom and go with us? It so
deluged me that for a moment I did not heed the chatter proceeding from
the other room.
“Choseph!” came thence; “have you neither ears nor a tongue?” The voice
rang with a cheer that even Beela’s had never known. “Here I’ve been
trying to make you guess why I’m so happy, and you don’t show the
slightest interest.”
“I’d be glad to know,” I returned.
“Annabel and her father and Mr. Rawley have decided not to go away,
and Annabel and Mr. Rawley are going to be married!” She hurled it
breathlessly, as a child in a hurry to tell important news.
So that was the great secret. But why had they kept it from me? An acute
silence within accompanied my own. I was smiling at Annabel, who blushed
deliciously.
“Christopher!”
“Your Majesty.”
“Don’t say that. I hate it. Do you love me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But you are going to leave me.” She said it dolorously.
“No, I ain’t, ma’am.”
Something was dropped clattering to the floor within, and then came a
sudden hush.
There was the queerest, brightest twinkle in Annabel’s eyes as she
studied me. In astonishment I glanced at Christopher. The look with
which he met mine was one of benevolent kindness.
“Dear old Christopher!” came softly from the other room; then, after a
pause, “How can Mr. Tudor manage without you?”
“He can’t, ma’am.” He made the audacious answer while calmly regarding
me.
Can it be believed that I dared not see Lentala’s challenge, and that
something which I could not master held me a silent fool in the chair?
Surely there must be men besides me whom love makes humble and timid. I
have seen men love with a different measure; I have seen love make them
bold and reckless.
Christopher had adroitly seated me with my back to the curtain. Hence
I did not see a signal that Annabel, who was facing it, must have
received, for with some excuse she withdrew, taking Christopher.
The queen’s voice was close to the curtain as she called in a
breathless, frightened way, “Choseph!”
“Your Majesty.”
Before I could rise she was on me like a whirlwind, clapping her hands
over my eyes from behind and pressing me down into the seat. Her cheek
rested on my head. I thought the beating of my heart would suffocate me.
During the silence I sat in a trance. One soft hand held my eyes closed;
the other slipped down and was pressed on my lips. I knew that Beela had
come back, and I would submit to any outrage from her.
“Choseph,” she said in her sweet, coaxing voice, “sit still and don’t
try to speak. You are much more interesting when you don’t talk. And
then, I don’t want to be interrupted, for I’m going to tell you a story.
It is about two girls and a man. Nod if you want to hear it.”
I nodded.
“The girls are named Beela and Lentala. The man imagines he is or _was_
in love with one of those girls.” The voice above my head became very
impressive. “Now, sir, you are the Man.”
Nod.
“We’ll easily agree that Lentala is much more dignified and reserved
than Beela.”
Nod.
“And never so erratic and unconventional.”
Nod.
“And that Beela is rude and bold, wears outlandish clothes, and adopts
scandalous disguises.”
My head was still for a time, so happy was I in her delicious fooling;
then I nodded enthusiastically.
I knew she was trying to suppress a laugh; she ostentatiously sighed,
and said: “You agree to that. It isn’t all. She tells fibs, and is
heartless and cruel.” I was motionless for a breathless space, and then
nodded viciously. There came a long, still pause. I could bear it no
longer.
“Choseph! Stop! You hurt my wrist,” and again she held me prisoned.
“There. Be quiet. Well,” with a resigned sigh, “I suppose the foolish
man will keep on loving Beela and hating Lentala, and end by breaking
poor Lentala’s heart.”
I am not positive that I entirely succeeded in suppressing my laugh.
“It has to be Beela, then,” the sweet voice went on. “But, Choseph,
suppose the madcap should really be very different from what she ever
appeared to you, and you should discover that she had deceived you
about an important matter,--you can’t be certain that you know all her
disguises,--wouldn’t you think her unworthy of your trust and love?”
A very decided shake, and above me a soft laugh and a little squeeze of
my head.
“Choseph, you know you had suspicions about her skill in staining you
and Christopher.”
I had nearly forgotten it; but as her father had been a white man
and her mother a native, her skin would require some staining to look
exactly like a native’s. I made no response to her speech.
“Choseph, suppose a very little girl born in some other country had
been wrecked with her father on this island. She might have been yellow,
or--or almost anything. As she grew, it might have become necessary that
she be given the color of the natives.” There was a pause, and then came
the hurried question, “She’d still be the same girl, wouldn’t she?”
I nodded, simply to please her, for her chatter meant no more to me than
that Beela was playing and teasing.
“Think, Joseph.” She was really serious. “Once, when Lentala dressed
like Annabel, you were shocked, and said some strange things that made
her very unhappy and uneasy, and she was afraid to tell you the
whole truth. And for other reasons she thought it best to keep up the
deception. Could _anything_ new that you might learn about her change
your regard?”
I shook my head, but was puzzled and uneasy.
“Then,” she gently said, pressing her sweet cheek to my temple, “it
could make no difference at all what her real color is?”
Of course I shook my head. It was impossible for me to accept the absurd
suggestion, and my simple lie could do no harm in her pretty play.
She straightened, drawing a deep breath. “That is a promise,” she said.
“There’s something else. Now, no matter if, in showing her love and pity
for the poor grown children who need her, she permits these islanders
the harmless play of calling her their queen when they mean their
leader, their teacher, their mother,--wouldn’t she still be only Beela,
and none the worse for accepting that love and trust and duty?”
My nod was reverential.
“But, Joseph, she would know her utter inability to discharge that task.
She would stumble; she would fall many a time. There would come dark
hours when she yearned in bitter loneliness for the help of a wise head
and sure hand; for there is a people to civilize as well as govern.
Joseph, the heart of a woman is a woman-heart under either a toy crown
or a real one.”
I gave no sign. There came a long pause, a deep breath, and a sudden
change of tone.
“Joseph, suppose that some day a big, fine cavalier, with a tender heart
and a strong hand, should drift to the poor little kingdom and find its
queen torturing her soul over problems that would look so large to her
and so small to him. It seems to me that he would be moved to offer her
his services. She might make him her Prime Minister.”
I tore myself loose, rose, and confronted her. Gazing at me was a
beautiful young white woman, frightened and blushing, a thousand
startled imps dancing in her eyes as she backed away. I was profoundly
shocked.
“Forgive me, Joseph.” It came tenderly, wistfully, from the perfect lips
of Beela and in her dear voice. And those were her eyes; that was
her delicate, high-bred nose, and that her light hair. And she was as
daintily dressed as ever Annabel had been.
“Choseph!” she cried, stamping in a passion as I gazed in silence.
So overcoming a weakness assailed me that I had to catch the top of a
chair.
“Of course I understand,” I said, unevenly, and floundered on, with
pauses: “I might have guessed, but... a cherished ideal is very real to
me. When I lost Beela and found Lentala, I lost what I had come to love.
No, not lost,--I am very foolish and blundering.”
“No, Joseph.” Her smile was dazzling.
“It never could be lost while I lived, and would live had she died. It
was Lentala, not Beela, who put Beela away, and then me.”
“You know what I thought, Joseph. I meant to be kind. And I never had
the least idea until today that Annabel cared for Mr. Rawley. I thought
she loved you, and that you had been very fond of her till Beela came. I
reasoned that it would be best for you to go to your own country, marry
Annabel, and forget Beela.”
That sweet speech explained everything, but it was not possible for me
to feel the ease in the presence of her radiant loveliness that I had
felt toward Beela, the child-woman, the sprite, who could flutter into a
man’s heart and abide forever. I managed to say bluntly:
“I understand. And now that all is clear, may I stay and do whatever
lies in my power and devotion to help you?”
She was regarding me curiously, and with a touch of uneasiness. “Simply
because I’ve asked you?” she demanded.
“It is my dearest wish.”
Still the strange look was in her eyes. I dared not interpret it as my
heart commanded; I had never loved a woman before, and needed time to
gather my courage. Of a sudden an impulse moved me to step forward, take
her hands, and look deep into her eyes.
“Let me stay,” I begged.
“I’d be glad and proud if you would, Joseph. You know Captain Mason is
to return with the _Hope_ as soon as he can, and will bring teachers
and a clergyman from America, and Annabel and Mr. Rawley will be married
then.”
I do not know what it was that she saw--or that her sensitive pride made
her see--in my face that made her quickly withdraw her hands and step
back as her eyes flashed and her cheeks crimsoned.
“Joseph! I never dreamed that you could think I meant--_that!_”
“It was my love, my joy, dear heart. When the clergyman comes----”
Annabel and Christopher entered. The queen flew at her, embraced her and
kissed her, and then, standing off in front of Christopher, cried in a
teasing voice:
“Christopher, you _do_ love me, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he placidly answered as he set the chairs for luncheon.