The reception at Kahilui had long ceased to be a subject for gossip
when the clouds of destruction began to gather and settle round the
court at Honolulu. Lord and Lady Xenoav had enjoyed a brief vacation
at their island villa, Diamond Head, and then returned to assume their
duties at home. The visit, though ending only too soon, had revealed
better than hearsay the grandeur of the place and proven beyond gainsay
Kaiuolani’s more than worthiness.
Their beautiful estate, rising to the broad level of a high promontory,
had been selected and bought years ago through the influence of
none other than Sir Charles himself, and in gratitude for its first
enjoyment the bonds of friendship doubly cemented. Kaiuolani became
an idol of mutual concern, and possibly they saw in Elmsford the
attainment of lasting reward; this young aristocrat, a nephew by birth
and favorite of their own choosing, had been sent there and placed
in charge at an early day in the hope of regenerating a fallen but
cherished manhood. At heart he remained a gentleman; by nature became
an artist; it was planned that the influence of a direct responsibility
should bring to light his true nobleness of character, was intended
to redeem an erring youth from the loathsome possibility of a wasted
usefulness.
Kaiuolani was true at heart, her father grateful but sympathetic, the
throne not averse to strengthening its position: sheer fickleness
hovered over them like a moth fluttering to its doom, and the force of
circumstances drove dame fortune her destined way.
The dawn of day had not yet broken, the slumbering patriots of as fine
a land as then kissed the blue black skies lay peacefully in their
cots, the queen may have tossed restless with anticipation: a stealthy,
confident foot, approaching a dark, latticed house in the noiseless
haunts of a down-town section, paused at the side stoop and looking
around with breathless expectation, rapped once, twice, three times
with studied precision. Words were a dangerous thing now; only a faint
repeating within, essayed the answer; a bull’s-eye flashed the keyhole;
the door opened and closed, as Xane Bender stole through, accosting his
friend Harvenoiq in whispered tones:
“The Rifles: have you heard from them?”
“No; the mystery only grows the deeper,” answered Harvenoiq, leading
the way through dark halls to an inner, securely barred chamber.
“Then we must act; the patriots will be gathering before daylight--they
are sadly in earnest,” replied Bender, cold and relentless.
“But my country? I cannot betray it!” whispered the American, desperate
with contemplation.
“Never mind your duty; ambition calls you, and the world shall applaud
the deed,” answered his enticer, growing firmer in conviction and
stronger of purpose.
The American diplomat sank fearful and childlike upon a lounge at one
side. Bender followed in the dull light of a half-burned candle. The
two sat in silence, the one meditating possible failure, the other
contemplating certain victory. The motive of each lay coddling within
the secret preconception of two separate and widely divergent notions,
but their method centered in a single prospect and neither shrank from
the moral of its doing; rather, both invited the mood that baffles
sense and allures man to where only the bewitching voice of smiling
fancy would dare to lead.
“Is the plan really feasible, Xane?” queried the American, doubtful of
his own senses.
“It is. My life that we win,” replied the crafty ranger, with
characteristic brevity.
“On your oath, you will serve me true?”
“I call upon----”
“Hold! my friend; before you swear, remember that Whilom Harvenoiq has
it in his power to enforce a penalty.”
“I ask no lesser test. Hold the charge over me, I pray; let it bear
witness to my faith; but do not give me occasion to doubt your
confidence. Xane Bender never played a true friend false.”
“In case of failure: what then?”
“There is no such thing as failure. Die in the attempt, if needs be,
and success will be written indelibly upon the only crown that man
suffers men to wear.”
“I believe you are right. Why should I be bound by the laws of
conventionality? The force is at my disposal; you have revealed to me
the possibilities of higher endeavor, and I shall and ought embrace
the opportunity. Give me your hand, Xane Bender, and trust me to do my
part, and to do it well: yours need not be questioned.”
The two men remained there, in the dull glow of a burned-out light,
till the last detail of a secret coup had been planned and the
day’s requirements loomed before them. It was not long, however, and
when the scheming Bender at last departed, slipping out through the
back door and into the refreshing dark, a faint glimmer of early
twilight consciously hastened his step and quickened the thought. He
must yet lay the groundwork for an unexpected turn, and withal keep
himself safely in the background. The sleepy natives would soon be
upon the streets, and they knew him to a man; Varnum should be seen,
an organization devised, and his own retreat covered; the patriots
might directly form in line to carry forward the new constitution;
time seemed a precious thing, and raising the lapels on his coat the
hard-pressed fellow boldly walked across the lower part of town,
reaching the banker’s door at barely dawn of day.
A quick, light knock brought the excited Progressionist out in person;
he had tramped the floor nearly all night, and chose to arise long
before servants deigned awaken.
“Have you heard from the Rifles friend Varnum?” queried Bender,
patronizingly, as the former bade him enter and be seated in the
library.
“I should think you yourself the better qualified to know; I am not
so privileged as even to presume an intelligent answer. Come, my good
man, what have you done with them? I have dared do nothing but walk the
floor since their departure. It is a downright shame to keep virtuous
men in such gruesome suspense. Where are they?”
“Don’t lose your head about so trifling a matter; we have need for a
more serious occupation, just now, we have, if your humble servant
knows himself aright. Let us get to work--close that door, please, and
sit down here, at my side, like the man you are.”
“Not I, if you please; I had better call a body guard. You have turned
your back upon everything that is dear to a gentleman, and how am I to
know but you would snatch me? These are strenuous times, my dear sir,
and it behooves every one to mind his p’s and q’s.”
“That’s what it does, friend Varnum, and you, yourself, are the last to
lay down, if I mistake not.”
“Don’t call me ‘friend’; you and I have parted ways; I am for
annexation,--first last and all the time,--and oil and water don’t run
together.”
“Not necessarily; yet there are occasions when enemies had best bury
their differences, this is not, believe me, an exception to the rule,
and if you persist--well, before twelve o’clock has fairly passed, you
may dance attention even to a less delectable situation. The Patriots
will be marching upon the palace and the queen shall have promulgated
the constitution----”
“Sh-sh-sh! don’t; for heaven’s sake, don’t mention that word in my
presence; it gives me the shivers to think of it.”
“Will you listen to me?”
“Yes; let us bolt the door--the shades are down.”
“There is going to be trouble at the capital to-day. Everything
points to a storm, and nobody is prepared. There should be some sort
of organization gotten together to manage affairs till the debris is
cleared and confidence restored. Who is better prepared to effect such
than you, your very good self?”
“Do you make me out an ass?”
“No; far from it; though your past might justify a surmise.”
“Agitation has been my forte: I had not gone so far as to anticipate
the advisability of action.”
“And you have succeeded so well that I have no doubt of your ability to
focus an event.”
“I am agreed as to the necessity, but how and where am I to begin
risking my neck?”
“Now; always now. Get the boys together,--the Chamber of Commerce is a
convenient place,--and before nine o’clock have organized a committee
of safety. You know best whom to trust and how to proceed--I will then
manage to see and advise you; my connection--it is hardly necessary to
say--must not be known to another living soul. Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My word as a bond.”
“You can make undetected your escape from here? There are evil eyes all
about us--you realize that.”
“Lend me a pillow; my dress is already prepared, and this wig and face
will complete the disguise.”
“Upon my word, you might well be taken for our mutual friend,
Gutenborj. A happy thought,” said Varnum, after the change had been
made and his confederate stood ready to go.
No time was lost in the adventure, once Bender had left the house;
Varnum held himself only too ready to engage in any undertaking that
savored of opposition to established rule. He had fought against
everything Hawaiian so long that resistance became a mania with
him, and without stopping to consider the prospects or ponder the
consequences the excited banker plunged headlong into the fray,
trusting luck to a favor and an enemy for advice.
Bender sallied forth, toward home, fully confident that his make-up
sufficed to carry him thither without detection; though Varnum’s
unexpected likening him to so prominent a character left his mind a
little disturbed. It was early, however, and none likely to be upon
the streets would hardly accost a man of Gutenborj’s appearance, even
though the resemblance proved but partially adequate; and, hurrying
along, an already overburdened consciousness soon grew oblivious to any
and all surroundings.
“Good-morning,” said a husky feminine voice, at the rickety gate in
front of his own neglected premises.
“Ah--er--good-morning, madam,” replied the recalcitrant fellow,
attempting to shield his voice and sidestep past the short-skirted
individual who blocked the entrance.
“How fortunate that we should meet here, and at this time--Mr. Bender
isn’t at home: hasn’t been the many hours that I watched--have
you heard from the Rifles?” queried Miss Norton, with insinuating
modulation, as she reached out and lifted the mask from Bender’s rigid
face.
“D--n you,” retorted he, his twitching muscles hardening; “I’ll end
your ungrateful work, presently.”
“We’ll see, my very good friend,” replied Norton, turning upon her heel
and walking briskly away.
The surprised minister of finance stood stunned and overwhelmed at the
disclosure. Had he been tracked? and would this woman yet unearth his
plans? The bare thought of exposure sickened him, and dragging himself
into the house without further molestation he quickly changed his garb
and called for a decanter.
Norton tramped jauntily along until she had come to the foot of a
stairs leading to the dilapidated, helter-skelter editorial rooms
of the _Ware Wizzard Wise_. The crisp morning air inspired thoughts
transcendent in life’s bitter grind, and a voice from nature whispered
of the sweets incarnate with hope. Lou Isaacs was there, on time, with
the graft money, as agreed, and the cheery editress drank copiously
of the draught that inspired courage to meet and master one by one
the contingencies arising in the path of her advancement. Young’s
intentions upon that important occasion still remained a blank, even
to Norton; she had failed to batter down the high wall that Gutenborj
builded round their fortunes. Her editorials were directed against the
one to no purpose: a half-hearted eulogy failed to move the other; she
must as a last resort plead the privilege of doing an humble service
in the hope of resolving a means with which to capture the colonel and
serve her own better fortune.
Dismissing Isaacs, she called a cab and drove to the sugar company’s
headquarters, where Gutenborj himself proved to have been, as usual,
an early arrival. Without so much as announcing her business, having
learned of Young’s absence, the knowing woman boldly opened the door
to the merchant king’s private office and without an apology or
an explanation walked deliberately in. Bender sprang to his feet,
confronting her with a wild, threatening look. All the animal within
him revolted at her unexpected appearance, and had he had the courage
he would have torn her into shreds. Norton only smiled and said, calmly:
“You are quite as expeditious of foot, Mr. Bender, as you are in
method; I hardly expected to find you here; however, it may prove to
be a fortunate meeting: I trust that my presence does not in the least
disturb either one of you. May I sit, Mr. Gutenborj?”
“I have no objection, if it is your pleasure.”
“Please excuse me,” said Bender, angrily; “I am convinced that my being
here is not at all agreeable or necessary; this lady and myself have
nothing at all in common, and when she has finished we can, if you so
desire, resume our conversation. Good-morning.”
The already overcharged merchant’s jaws set with that determination so
easily characteristic of his temperament. The daring woman had insulted
him; he had long ago formed an opinion of her and her methods; his life
had been devoted to what he believed legitimate and wise,--the building
of private fortune,--and not once had he sought to exercise any
personal influence upon government--convert public faith into private
gain--except as stability required in the better preservation of life
and property; the woes of the people and the ambitions of publicists
concerned him little; he would rid himself of her.
Norton hided her time and when reasonably possessed addressed his
lordship fearlessly:
“Have you heard from the Rifles, Mr. Gutenborj?”
The answer that he would have made failed, and looking her squarely in
the face the big man flushed, then grew pale; suspicion had weakened
confidence, and associating Norton’s unreasonable call with Bender’s
proffered advice he did that least intended, saying sarcastically:
“Possibly you know more about them than I do?”
“I know no more than some others should know, nor would I seek
to dislodge a privileged truth. Your attitude is not convincing.
Good-morning, Mr. Gutenborj.”
Norton arose and brushed out, leaving Gutenborj puzzled to know the
meaning of her visit. The moments flew by, as he studied hard the
situation, and directly he decided to send for Bender, Young came in,
dust-covered and red in the face, closing the door behind.
“Have you heard from the Rifles?” asked Gutenborj, with suppressed
emotion.
“Yes; they are--marching,” replied Young, coldly candid.