A LOTUS BLOSSOM
It was still very early in the morning when Grenville finally
discovered, afar out northward on the sea, two Dyak boats making
swiftly away from the island.
He feared for a moment, when the sails were first discerned, they were
new craft about to arrive. He could not have known that his mines sunk
the third of the boats formerly at anchor in the inlet, and was in no
way enabled to determine how many of the enemy had perished at the cave.
It was almost too much to credit, this apparent retreat of the fiends
so bent upon his capture. He made no positive report to Elaine of the
fact he felt he must verify, lest he find himself obliged to retract it
later.
She had quickly responded to his ministrations, having fainted as much
from lack of food and rest as from shock in that final moment.
Concerning the final effect of her shot, she was destined never to
know. Grenville was far too wise to let her believe she had taken the
life even of a fiend in human semblance.
He told her the Dyaks had fled from the place, which flight he had
personally witnessed. He was certain, moreover, they would hardly
return again that day, if they did not quit the island. Assured of the
safety of the adventure, he descended to the jungle and returned with
an armful of fruit. He proceeded later to the spring for a fresh
supply of water.
Estimating the final fighting force of the Dyaks at ten, and conceding
that five, at the least, must have perished at the cave, since one or
two must have guarded the boats while three were searching the chamber,
he concluded that no more than four at the most could still remain
uninjured.
He had gone to the edge of the ruin, above the obliterated cave, and,
having discovered no boat either near or far, had arrived at a fairly
accurate conjecture respecting the fate of the craft the Dyaks had
employed. One more calculation, respecting the number of able seamen
required to navigate the retreating vessels, convinced him the island
was deserted to the uses of Elaine and himself.
It was not, however, till that afternoon that he cautiously explored
their former possessions and confirmed the hope in his breast. There
was ample evidence about the spring, and in the jungle, of the methods
of living the Dyaks had employed, but neither at the western inlet,
back of the central hill of rock, nor at the friendly estuary, was
anything boatlike to be found. His catamaran had vanished, along with
the larger craft, and its fate he could readily surmise.
He lost no time in arranging a number of his snares and traps for the
meat of which they were in need. Their camp was made as before on the
terrace proper, despite the heat of the sun.
It was not until many of these essential comforts had been once more
established that Sidney explored the gallery to determine what
destruction had been wrought by his double mine.
Everything stored in the lower depths had been hopelessly buried by the
rock. The passage was open for no more than half its former length.
His bamboo raft was among the possessions sacrificed to the ruse that
had finally succeeded beyond even his wildest dreams. Not ten feet
back of his basket-load of treasure the last of the caving had been
halted.
When Elaine's robe and couch, their water-jugs, and his last remaining
bomb had been once more returned to the earlier camp, practically
nothing but the gold and precious stones remained in the gallery.
Elaine was aware the trinkets were lying there on view, but so vast was
her relief at the vanishment of danger--though it might be temporarily
only--she had no desire for gauds and baubles, and no particular
curiosity respecting their worth or appearance.
Indeed, these two had endured too much to dwell upon jewels and gold.
They were free from menace for a time, but--the future still loomed
before them, inimical and obscure. Their life in this tropic exile was
still to be faced, day after day.
That morning and long sweet afternoon, however, they passed in restful
inactivity, possessed by ineffable thankfulness and a sense of relief
that was utterly relaxing to their racked and exhausted nerves. It
seemed a strange, impossible state, this peacefulness, security, and
freedom to move about once more, alone in their Shalimar. And
Grenville knew it was far too good to last.
Yet for several days it seemed as if the propitiating Fates made every
possible endeavor to erase from the tablets of their memory all records
of the agonies and apprehensions they had recently undergone.
They were wonderful days, for sheer inspiriting beauty. A cool, spicy
breeze was wafted, with the sunshine, across the smiling ocean. The
jungle was redolent of fragrances of intoxicating sweetness. Down on
the beach her leafy bower once more found Elaine idly resting in her
hammock, or busily preparing a tempting repast from the once more
generous larder.
The girdle of gold she continued to wear in happiness that stole
unbidden to her heart--a happiness as subtle and welcome as the
perfumes that stole to her senses on the breeze. And when she finally
found and plucked a solitary lotus blossom, floating near the estuary's
edge, it seemed as if the ecstasy possessing all her nature must bring
about some miracle of untold joy and bliss.
Grenville was hardly less transported by the hourly pleasures that day
and night alike seemed bearing to this island world, like argosies from
Eden. Subconsciously, beneath it all, he knew the boats that had
sailed away would one day return, perhaps with more of their species,
and better prepared for a swift and merciless revenge. Yet even then
he was slow to employ his wits and energies to prepare for another
siege, his disinclination for more revolting ordeals casting a lethargy
on all his fighting attributes, while days like these, voluptuously
serene and toxicant, suggested vast contentment to his spirit.
Indeed, his spirit as well as his body needed rest. To this he was
constantly urged by Elaine, who understood, far better than himself,
how unsparingly he had drained the vital essences of his being through
all these uncounted weeks.
She, too, was aware they were only secure for a moment, that untold
dangers must be lurking just beyond the rim of their purple horizon.
She had finally learned from Sidney's lips how the vessels had sailed
away. She had, however, seen this sign of security previously
fail--and felt it would fail again.
The future her soul avoided. Darkness and tragedy were only too
readily imagined. At best it was all uncertain, rife with shadows,
peopled with ghosts of doubt and haunting dreads. Meantime, their own
green Shalimar was once more fresh with sunny smiles that enticed her
spirit to song.
She sang to herself through many hours of joyous "household" duties.
The songs she chose were happy little fragments wherein she imagined
Grenville set, with herself always traipsing at his side. She sang her
songs to and of him, watching him shyly when he was near, and sending
her thoughts to seek him out when he hunted or wandered in the jungle.
It was not until one of those incomparable mornings, with the tropic
greenery fresh as a breath over clover, that he finally heard the notes
she had prisoned in her bosom break forth in clear, sweet utterance, as
crystal bright as the sun.
He paused in the screen of ferns and palms to partake of her wild,
sweet rapture. And how lightly and gladly she sang!
"_Come out, come out, my dearest dear,
Come out and greet the sun!
The birds awake on tree and brake,
The merry May's begun!_
"_Come out and drink the diamond dew,
Come out and tread the lea!
The world is all awake, and you
Are all the world to me!_"
All that was starved in his nature stirred in response to the song.
His blood leaped faster, its glow like that of rich and
sense-delighting wine. A vivid memory of the one lawless kiss he had
dared to snatch from Elaine's red lips inflamed a sweet desire.
He had called her his sweetheart, called her his mate, for the frenzy
of joy, the ecstasy, her nature had wrought upon his own. He felt
to-day his claim had been proved, by their life alone with God. They
had worked and fought and planned the days away together, like a mated
pair fresh created and cast to an Eden of the sea. They belonged to
one another.
Love had come at last to Elaine--a love to match the strength and
purpose of his own--a love overwhelming, natural, unabashed--was their
rightful heritage. Its holiness gave it sanction; its rightness made
it as pure as fire that makes hard metal molten.
He started slowly towards the hill whereon Elaine was busied. He
halted, however, hidden from view by a new banana foliage, wondrously
unrolling. Another song was floating on the air.
"_Pale hands I loved, upon the Shalimar,
Where are you now? Who lies beneath thy spell?
Whom do you lead on rapture's roadway jar
Before you agonize them, in farewell?_
"_Pale hands I loved, upon the Shalimar,
Where are you now? Where are you now?_"
The mad intoxication of his senses rocked him strangely, there in the
thicket. He saw the gleam of the jeweled girdle that spanned Elaine's
lithe figure, as she moved about on the brink of the terrace above.
Once again his heart struck mightily against its walls, as it had the
first day she had worn this gold, by way of a maid's confession.
He knew at last her Shalimar was a wild little garden of love, to be
sacredly shared between them. Excited to trembling he started again to
join her at the cavern. Before he could come to the foot of the trail
she suddenly ran to the terrace-edge, looking down like a vision of
despair.
"Sidney!" she cried, "another Dyak boat! I've just this minute seen
the sail!"
Ready to curse the merciless Fates, as well as his own recent laziness,
which had made calamity possible, Grenville ran swiftly up the mended
trail and followed Elaine to the tree.
The sail was certainly plain enough to see, far out in the purple
waters. It was, to all appearances, bearing directly down upon the
island. But, as Grenville watched, it altered shape. His face showed
a sign of relaxing.
"I don't believe it's a Dyak craft," he told her, hoarsely. "It looks
like---- I think it's a yacht."