VIRGINIA'S GREAT MOMENT
She went up on deck, moving dazedly, with a strange sense of unreality
upon her, as if she had somehow wandered into a cold, dim world of
dreams.
The firing had ceased, and the yacht was no longer in motion. The
confused whirlwind of brain-shaking events which revolved in her memory
might now have been a part of the dream in which she was still entangled.
The Countess de Mattos's beautiful eyes swept the moon-drenched scene for
enlightenment, but none came.
They were not now in the harbour, that alone was clear; but land was
close, and black horns of rock stood up out of the shining water as if
they had broken through a great sheet of looking-glass. Across this
bright, mirror-like surface a small boat was being quickly rowed toward
the yacht. It was very near now, and several dark figures could be
distinguished in it besides those of the four rowers. Another boat, much
larger, with more than twice the number of oars, swiftly rising and
falling, was hurrying away in the direction of a high, rocky point on the
island itself.
A chill premonition of evil fell upon the woman's soul. It was like a
heavy nightmare weight that might only be felt, not seen, and could not
be shaken off. But the Countess de Mattos had experienced this
undefinable misery before, when the reaction came after taking too large
a dose of chlorodyne with her "solace." She hoped that it was merely this
now--that it was no real warning of trouble or threatening danger.
Virginia stood talking to Dr. Grayle and gazing eagerly toward the
advancing boat. The Countess de Mattos glanced at the two wistfully,
longing to go to them and ask questions. Yet something seemed to hold her
back. It was as if a whisper in her ear advised that there were things it
was better not to know. This was ridiculous, of course. It was always
more prudent to know about disagreeable things before they could happen,
and then sometimes they could be prevented, or at least staved off till
one was more prepared to grapple with them. But all the beautiful woman's
prudence was in abeyance to-night. The quality had not been born in her,
but acquired; which can never be the same.
She felt weak and unnerved, with a great longing to cling to some one
stronger and wiser than herself. But there was no such person at hand for
her. These others had their own interests. If they really cared for her
at all it was because she was ornamental, a thing of beauty which it is
pleasant to have within sight; and usually it was very convenient to the
Countess de Mattos to be considered thus. Indeed, most of the luxuries
which she loved so much more dearly than the necessities of life came
through her distinct value as an ornament. But now what was ordinarily
enough for her failed to satisfy. She felt horribly alone in the world,
as if she had slipped upon some terrible ledge of rock overhanging a
sheer precipice, and there was no one--no one on earth to help her back
to safety. Tears of self-pity rose hot in her eyes as she stood, not far
from Virginia and the doctor, hesitating what to do.
They were so absorbed in watching the approach of the boat that they were
unconscious of her presence, and suddenly it began to fascinate the
Countess de Mattos also, as if it were one of the discs which hypnotists
give to their patients. She, too, bent over the rail and gazed at the
boat as the rowers brought it nearer and nearer, but she could not see
the faces of its occupants. For three or four minutes she stood thus, and
then the boat was under the yacht's side and the men were coming up the
ladder.
The Countess moved nearer to Virginia and Dr. Grayle. She no longer
intended--for the moment at least--to catechize them, but it occurred to
her that, by merely standing within earshot while the others exchanged
questions and answers, the mystery of this night's alarming work would be
explained to her. Without being seen by her hostess or the little doctor,
she was so close now that the trailing silk and lace of her _robe de
chambre_ was blown by the light breeze against Virginia's white dress.
"Thank heaven--thank heaven!" she heard the girl exclaim as some one came
on board. The pair in front of her crowded so closely toward this person
that she could not see who it was, and could only suppose that it must be
Sir Roger Broom or George Trent returning from some strange adventure.
Then, suddenly, she saw the newcomer's face, with the moon shining full
upon it, chiselling it into the perfection of a marble masterpiece of
old, thrown up by the sea from some long engulfed palace.
She stared, incredulous, her breath in abeyance, her heart stopped like a
jarred clock. Then, over Virginia's shoulder, a pair of dark eyes found
hers--eyes darkened with tragedy while youth and joy should still have
shone in their untroubled depths.
Ah, the awfulness of that instant, the ghastly horror of it! Something in
the woman's brain seemed to snap, and, with a loud shriek that cut the
new-fallen silence as a jagged knife-blade of lightning cuts the sky, she
threw out her hands to shut away the sight and fell backward, fainting.
Virginia turned, and knew that her great moment had come.
* * * * *
When the Countess de Mattos came to herself she awoke gazing straight
upward at the stars, which danced a strange, whirling measure as the
horizon rose and dipped with the swift forging of the yacht. She was
lying on the deck, her head supported on something low and soft, and Dr.
Grayle bent over her, kneeling on one knee.
"All right again?" he inquired cheerfully, in his blunt way.
She did not answer, for with desperate haste she was collecting her
thoughts, linking together broken impressions. An awful thing had
happened. What? she asked herself. Then suddenly the vision flashed back
to her, and she shuddered. Lowering her lids, so that the thick, black
fringe of lashes veiled her eyes, she glanced anxiously about. Had it
been a vision and no more, or was it real, and should she have to meet
those accusing eyes again? As she debated thus Virginia stepped forward.
"I think, Countess, that you will do now," said Dr. Grayle. "There is a
wounded man below who needs my services, but refused them until you
should have recovered."
"Oh, go--go!" murmured his patient in irritable weakness.
The little doctor got up, and as he walked quickly away Virginia took his
place.
"Can I do anything for you?" she asked.
The Countess shook her head. Her face looked lined and haggard, despite
its beauty, in the bleaching light of the moon, and Virginia was almost
sorry for her. She could afford to pity the woman now, she thought, for
she had triumphed. Her case was proved beyond all doubt, and even Roger,
who had heard the scream of recognition and witnessed the fainting fit,
could no longer deny that the Countess de Mattos and Liane Devereux were
one. Virginia would not strike a blow at a fallen enemy, and, holding
this woman in the hollow of her hand, as she believed she did, she was
ready to give such help as could be given without injuring the cause she
served.
"Wouldn't you like to go back to your stateroom?" she went on. "You have
had a great shock, and----"
The Countess sat up quickly, pushing her disordered hair away from her
eyes. "I don't know what you mean by a shock," she said, "unless you
refer to the terrible cannonading. That was enough, I should think, to
frighten the bravest. No wonder I fainted. And then, seeing that ghastly
man, dressed like a _forçat_, all dripping wet, and stained red with
blood, was the last drop in the cup of fear. I cannot think what horrors
have been happening to-night."
All Virginia's pity was swept away. Her heart hardened toward this
tiger-woman.
"Cannot you think?" she echoed bitterly. "Then I will tell you. We have
been rescuing an innocent man, who for years has suffered untold miseries
for a crime never committed. Thank heaven that his sufferings are ended
at last, for we have him on board this yacht, which is carrying him away
from New Caledonia at about twenty knots an hour, and we have the proof
with us which will establish his innocence before many days have passed."
"It is a crime for a _forçat_ to evade his prison--a crime to aid him,"
cried the Countess.
"We are not afraid of the punishment," said Virginia, hot, indignant
blood springing to her cheeks. "_We_ are ready to face the consequences
of our own actions."
The emphasis was an accusation, but the Countess de Mattos did not wince
under the lash. Even a coward may be brave in a hand-to-hand fight for
life; and it was only physically that she was a coward.
"You are courageous," she said, almost wholly mistress of herself now,
"and, of course, you know your own affairs best, dear girl. But I am not
so brave. This awful night has tried me severely, and has come near to
spoiling our so pleasant trip. It has sickened me of the sea and of
yachting. I shall beg to be landed as soon as convenient to you."
"It will be convenient to us when you have confessed everything in
writing," Virginia flung at her, stung into mercilessness by the woman's
brazen defiance. "Then, and not before, you may leave this yacht."
The Countess de Mattos arose from her lowly place as gracefully and with
as much dignity as such an act could be performed. While she sat on the
floor and Virginia towered over her, the enemy had too much advantage of
position. The two were of one height, and, standing, they faced each
other like contending goddesses.
"You speak in riddles," said the elder woman.
"Riddles to which you have the key."
"I do not know what you mean, except that it seems to me it is your
intention to be insolent."
"In your code, perhaps, honesty is insolence. But I do not wish to forget
that, in a way, you are my guest. I asked you to come for a purpose, I
admit; yet----"
"Ah! you admit that. Possibly you will condescend to inform me what your
purpose was?"
"My purpose was to make assurance doubly sure. To-night I have done
this."
"Evidently you do not wish me to understand you."
"Say, rather, you do not wish to understand me. I think you must do so,
in spite of yourself; but lest you should not, I will tell you. I
suspected that you were the woman whom Maxime Dalahaide was accused of
murdering. Now I _know_ that you are not the Countess de Mattos, but
Liane Devereux!"
The woman's green-gray eyes were like steel in the moonlight. "Maxime
Dalahaide; Liane Devereux," she slowly repeated. "I never heard these
names."
Virginia was struck dumb by the other's effrontery, almost frightened by
it. If this terrible creature withdrew into a brazen fortress of lies,
who could tell how long a siege she might be able to withstand? The girl
had been astonished and dismayed in the morning, when the first sally of
the attack had failed; but then her strongest forces, her most deadly
weapons, had been still in reserve. Now they had been brought against the
enemy's defenses and--the walls had not fallen; there was no sign of
capitulation. A cold misgiving began to stir in Virginia's mind. Would it
mean failure if the Countess de Mattos obstinately refused to tell the
truth?
After all, she was only a girl, opposed to a woman whose varied
experience of thirty years or more had endowed her with infinite
resource. Virginia's stricken silence gave the other a new advantage.
"As you have said yourself," icily began the Countess once more, "you are
my hostess. You flattered me; you made me think that you were my friend;
you asked me on board your yacht, and I came, trustingly, ignorant that,
under some wild mistake which even now I do not comprehend, you plotted
my betrayal. Why, it was a Judas act!"
"If I did evil, I did it that good might come," said poor Virginia. "And
it _shall_ come. You are Liane Devereux. _You_ were guilty of the 'Judas
act.' Maxime Dalahaide loved you; and with what motive I don't yet know,
but mean to know, you betrayed him to a fate worse than death. For that
you deserve anything. Yes, I kidnapped you. That's what Roger called it,
and I don't repent now. You are here on this yacht with Maxime Dalahaide,
and we are on the open sea. Unless you jump overboard, you cannot get
away from your atonement. Atonement--that is the word. Oh, woman,
woman--if you _are_ a woman and not a stone, think what atonement would
mean for you! You must have had terrible moments, living with
remembrances like yours--a man who loved you sent to a living grave. Now
it is in your power to make up to him--ever so little, perhaps, but a
thousand times better than nothing--for the wrong you did. Do this--do
it, and be thankful all the rest of your life for the blessed chance
which heaven has sent you."
The Countess laughed. "You change your tone suddenly--from threats to an
appeal. You would make quite a good preacher, but your eloquence can have
no effect on my conscience, as I have not the remotest idea what you are
talking about. I had let myself grow fond of you, and I was grateful for
all these lazy, pleasant weeks, and for the money you lent me; but now
that I know what was underneath your seeming kindness I am no more
grateful, and I shall do my best to punish you for the wicked trick you
have played upon me. As for attempting to prove that I am--what name did
you give the woman?--well, anybody except myself, you will find it
impossible. I have powerful friends who would travel far to save me from
any trouble. You cannot keep me a prisoner on board this yacht. You must
touch again at land before long, and then I shall go away and tell every
one what has happened on your _Bella Cuba_."
"We shall see," said Virginia.
"We _shall_ see," echoed the Countess. "And now I am going to my
stateroom. Perhaps I may hope to be free from persecution there."
She swept away, looking gorgeously beautiful, and as proud as a queen
bent on holding her crown against the people's will.
Virginia stood still, watching her; and when the tall, stately figure had
disappeared, a crushing sense of defeat fell upon the girl.
Only a few moments ago, as time counted, she had felt that, with Maxime
Dalahaide's rescue, she had every wish of her heart fulfilled. But now
she saw the position of affairs with changed eyes. It was as different as
a flower-decked ballroom seen by the light of a thousand glittering
candles, and again by sunrise when the candles had burnt down and the
flowers faded.
Maxime was out of prison; there was that, at all events, to be thankful
for, and there was nothing at New Caledonia which could even attempt to
give chase to the wicked little _Bella Cuba_. Nevertheless, the French
Government had a long arm, and would not quietly let a convict sentenced
for life be snatched away without making a grab to get him back again.
Virginia had known this from the first, but when Roger had pointed the
fact out to her as one of the difficulties to be encountered, she had
said in the beginning: "If we have the luck to rescue him we shall have
the luck to hide him," and afterward, when she had seen the Countess de
Mattos at Cairo, she had amended the prophecy by saying: "If they catch
us we shall be able to prove his innocence."
It had all seemed very simple, and she had been impatient with Roger for
bringing up so many discouraging objections to her impulsively formed
plans. He had gone in with them at last, without, however, pretending to
be convinced, and she had bribed him with a virtual promise of marriage.
He had done all that she had asked of him, and more; and she would have
to keep her promise, but--had she accomplished enough that was good for
Maxime, to pay for the sacrifice? It would be a sacrifice--a greater one
than she had known at first, greater than, somehow, she had realized
until to-day. She must pay the price; and Maxime--what of him?
If his innocence could not be proved, through the dead woman miraculously
come alive, he could never, at best, go back to France; and as the crime
of which he was accused came under the extradition treaty, he would be
safe nowhere. He must--as he himself had said--lead "a hunted life,"
wherever he might be. Neither money, nor influence, nor yearning
sister-love, nor--the love of friends who would give their heart's blood
to save him, could shield Maxime Dalahaide from the sword of Damocles,
ever suspended, ever ready to fall.
* * * * *
When the Marchese Loria received Lady Gardiner's telegram from Sydney, he
was stunned. "Leaving here to-morrow," the message ran; "destination
unknown."
Unknown to her the destination might be, but it was not unknown to him.
He was almost as sure that the _Bella Cuba_ was bound for New Caledonia,
as if Dr. Grayle had allowed Kate Gardiner to send her desired word from
prison-land; and although he had constantly assured himself that if
Virginia did go there it could do no harm, now that he was morally
certain she would go, he quivered with vague apprehension.
At first, he could not force his mind to concentrate itself upon the
intricacies of the situation. He walked up and down his room, like a
caged animal, trying to think how, if it were by moving heaven and earth,
he could prevent Virginia Beverly and the convict Max Dalahaide from
coming together. Then, with the thought that they might meet seething in
his head, he would stop abruptly and say to himself, as he had said so
often before: "Nonsense; you are a fool. They cannot come together. There
is everything against it." Still, the root of fear was there, and grew
again as soon as burned away.
If he chose, he might send a warning to the prison authorities at New
Caledonia. He could say that the _Bella Cuba_ was a suspicious craft, and
ought not to be allowed in the harbour for a single hour. But to do this,
he would be obliged either to proceed to Paris and give satisfactory
reasons why such proceedings should be taken, or wire the warning message
himself, signing his own name. No other method would be of any avail, as
the governor of the prison would pay no attention to an anonymous
telegram, and there was now no time to write a letter. He would be
obliged also to assert positively that he knew the _Bella Cuba's_ errand
to be treacherous; and, whether he went to Paris, or telegraphed, through
Sydney, to New Caledonia, in either case Virginia was certain to find
out, later, what he had done. Such secrets could not be successfully
hidden, and she would hate him for his interference. If there was little
hope for him now, there would be none then.
When his wits began to work he regarded the situation from all points of
view. He admitted the remote--extremely remote--possibility that the
party on the _Bella Cuba_ might actually contemplate a rescue. He would
almost have been ready to stake his life that, if such an attempt were
made, it would fail ignominiously, with disaster to all
concerned--perhaps death to more than one. But--it _might_ succeed. If it
did, what would happen?
They would not dare to put back to Sydney Heads. The yacht must be coaled
and provisioned somewhere. He consulted maps, and saw that the most
likely place for the _Bella Cuba_ to proceed on leaving New Caledonia was
Samoa. It seemed to him that she must go there, in any case.
Loria did not wish to appear as an active enemy of Maxime Dalahaide's. It
was largely owing to his efforts on the prisoner's behalf that Max had
been saved from the guillotine, and all the Dalahaides must have known
that. Virginia, no doubt, knew it too. But what was to be done, if he
were not to fling aside the cloak of his reputation as a friend of that
unfortunate family? The spirit of high romance ran in Virginia Beverly's
blood. She was capable of marrying an escaped prisoner, and sharing his
miserable, hunted existence. Such a thing must not be. Loria felt that it
would be less bearable to lose her through Max Dalahaide than through any
other man. He would rather see her Roger Broom's wife than Maxime's, but
he had not yet given up all hope of having her for his own.
He would have just time to go to Samoa and meet the _Bella Cuba_ there,
if he started at once. The yacht would not leave Sydney Heads till next
day, according to the news in the telegram. Then it would take her ten
days more to reach New Caledonia. There she was sure to remain for some
hours, at the very least. If he, Loria, caught a certain "greyhound of
the sea" which was sailing from Cherbourg for New York the following
morning, took a fast express from New York for San Francisco, and then
sailed immediately for Samoa, he could not fail to be in time for the
_Bella Cuba_. But the important thing was to find an excuse to account
for his being there when the _Bella Cuba_ arrived.
He was not, luckily for his present plan, supposed to know for what parts
the yacht had been bound; therefore, if he went to Samoa to visit his
friend the French Consul, who had once really invited him to do so, even
Virginia need not suspect his motive. His opportune appearance might pass
merely as a rather odd coincidence.
If the _Bella Cuba_ took away a fugitive on board, the authorities at New
Caledonia would not remain idle. They would at once wire to Sydney of a
convict's escape, and the telegram would be sent on to Samoa from there.
A description of the yacht would be given, and inquiries would be made.
But those inquiries! It was because of them that Loria was ready to make
so strong an effort to be there in time. Without him, the fugitive from
justice might be allowed to escape, despite the extradition treaty. With
him, Loria thought that he saw a way to make the detention of the
prisoner sure, and that without showing the hand he played.
He had not lost many hours in indecision. As soon as he had made up his
mind what to do, he wired to find out if there were still a berth to be
had on board the New York bound ship sailing from Cherbourg next day.
Even if he had been forced to travel in the steerage he would have gone,
though he keenly disliked physical hardships; but he was fortunate, and
obtained a good cabin for himself. As soon as this matter was arranged he
left for Cherbourg; and next day, on board his ship, gazing across the
tumbled gray expanse of sea, he thought of Virginia on her little yacht,
and smiled. About this time, perhaps, the _Bella Cuba_ was steaming
boldly from Sydney Heads, bound for New Caledonia--on what strange,
desperate errand, who could tell? The girl's heart was beating high with
hope, no doubt. How little she guessed that, half across the world, a man
was setting forth to defeat her plans, even if they attained success!