He turned, clenched his fist and then let his hands fall as he saw in

the shadow the familiar face and figure of Truda. She laid her finger

upon her lips, turned, took a few steps away from him, looked back and

beckoned to him. He followed her instantly. There was something so

emphatic and suggestive in her gesture and bearing that he could do

nothing else. Besides, he was never so happy as when in her presence,

and she had never looked so beautiful to him as then in the shadow, seen

wraithlike, against the bright moonlight beyond. The exploration of the

building could wait.

One remarkable thing he had noticed about Truda was the soundlessness

with which she moved. She never seemed to break a twig or rustle a leaf

as she passed. There was something fairylike in her motions. It gave

him an eery feeling to see her wavering in the moonlight before him like

the shadows of wind-blown leaves. He followed after, using the same

caution as before. He wondered whither she would lead him and what

would be the end of this adventure. He had become measurably familiar

with the island paths during his sojourn of several months upon it and

he soon realized that she was leading him to that point of vantage

whence every morning it was her duty to watch the sea. It seemed to him

an appropriate and beautiful place for a midnight tryst, and he followed

her with a beating heart, gladder for every step he took. He did not

attempt to overtake her. Indeed, he had tested her before, and for short

distances she was fleeter than he; besides, although they were now far

from the settlement, the spell of the night was upon them with all its

mystery. They must make no noise on any account. He did not possess

her power of silent motion. She put her feet down by instinct, he by

calculation. This handicapped him. Besides, he was quite content to

follow.

Meanwhile, he redoubled his care. One never knew, he thought, when Hano

might appear, and old Kobo had a habit of presenting himself suddenly at

unexpected moments. So they went on and on. He felt like the fabled

knight of old, who pursued fleeting Fortune.

They came at last out from the shadow of the trees, left the embrace of

the jungle, and mounted the rocky, narrow path, which led to the crest

of wall, and it was not until that crest was reached that he joined her.

The wall was broad, smooth, and level where they stood. It was a sort

of little amphitheater, and there were blocks of stone, which made

convenient resting places. When he had seen them before he almost come

to the conclusion that it had been artificially arranged. At any rate,

it was admirably adapted, both as a place from which to watch the sea

and as a place for lovers' meeting in a midnight-moonlight hour.

She did not offer to sit down and the two stood side by side gazing

seaward. Beneath them the cliffs fell sheer into the cuplike bay, its

bottom stygian in its blackness. The descending walls of the great

cylinder were lost in that darkness. Their upper edges cut a sharp

silhouette against the light sky. He had tried several times to get to

the points of the walls on one side or the other of the rift, but there

was no passing. The place where they stood was not only the best, but

the only place from which to survey the cup itself and through the rift

the great sea beyond. The moonlight streamed in a broad bar through the

upper part of the opening and threw the upper wall on one side into high

relief. He noticed that, were the moon in a certain position, which it

was now rapidly approaching, it would flood the whole cup with light as

the morning sun did, but it had not yet reached that place in the

heavens, and save for that one portion of the opposite wall the Egyptian

darkness still prevailed.

The effect of the light beyond the rift was tremendous. They could see

clearly a stretch of the barrier reef through the opening. Mighty waves

broke over it. Huge rollers fell upon it. They could hear faintly in

the silence of the tropic night the crash of the tumultuous silver seas

rushing through the jagged needles of the barrier. That was the only

sound that came to them, unless they could hear the beat of their own

hearts.

They stood and stared at the enchanting picture in silence. The

communion of equal appreciation, of sympathy, of love, was the tie that

bound. The same throb of passion filled the breasts of the man and the

woman. It was she who spoke.

"I cannot remember," she whispered, attuning her voice to the soft

silence of the night, "a morning on which I have not stood here, but

this is the first time that I have ever come at night."

"The first time," whispered the man, passionately, "and with me!"

He had made little secret, none at all, indeed, of his admiration for

her, but this time there was a new note of rapturous admiration in his

low whisper, to which her soul vibrated. She looked at him quickly,

shrinking away a little. His arm went swiftly toward her and caught her

slender wrist. He drew her to his breast. In his arms she felt the

heart throb, which she had before inferred. She struggled a moment and

then yielded to the quick passion with which he drew her to him. She

upturned her face and for the first time he kissed her. They had lost

the habit of kissing, these forgotten people, and no one had ever

pressed her lips before.

"What is that? What is it that you do?" she whispered when she could

command speech.

"I kiss you," he answered.

"I know not that word. What does it mean?"

"It means that I love you, that I am yours and you are mine."

"It is very sweet," said the girl, artlessly. "Once more."

She lifted her lips to his in innocent invitation, which indeed he did

not need.

"It was not for this," she murmured at last, "that I brought you here,

although it makes me very happy, and I am glad we came."

"I, too, am glad," said the man, a little unsteadily; "but why did you

bring me here?"

"It was death for you to go in that house."

"Death? Whence would it come?"

"The spirits. None goes there but the oldest man, except on the day of

the full moon, when we all come in, but we stay near the door, while

only Kobo goes to the further end."

"What does he there?"

"I know not. The spirits speak to him. Our faces are hidden. No one

goes into the building except then. It is taboo, death. I do not know

what they would do to you if they caught you there," she went on,

switching from the spirits to the living with wondrous facility.

"Truda," said the man, "I have no desire to anger your gods, but I must

go there. You do not know how you came here."

"Kobo says that many, many, many moons ago, so great in number that no

one can count them, our ancestors came from across the sea. That is

all."

"I want to find out why they came and all about them and I feel that I

can find out there. The great God I worship, who has preserved me from

all the perils of the deep, will watch over me. I must go there."

"But not tonight. It is the one night when Kobo sleeps within. The

spirits obey him. I know not what they might do."

"Tonight," answered Beekman, "I have better occupation."

"And what is that?"

"To be here with you, to love you with none by to look or listen." He

pointed to a low, broad shelf of rock. "Sit there," he said, "and I

will sit here at your feet." Throwing himself down, he leaned his elbow

on her knee and looked up at her. "Do you know," he continued, "there

is a land far across the sea, a land of brave men and beautiful women?

They speak your language. Your fathers must have come from there as

mine did. I want to find out. Some day we shall get back to the world

and that land, you and I. I want to know all about you."

"That you are here, that I love you, is enough for me to know,"

whispered the woman, caressing his head with her hand.

He kissed the pretty palm and smiled up at her as he answered.

"But that is not enough for me."

"You say there are other women in that land?"

"Many."

"How is it called?"

"Holland. It is a low country that borders the sea."

"And those women, they are beautiful?"

"Many of them."

"Would you love me if you should see others here?"

The man laughed.

"You are the most beautiful woman on this island."

"Yes," said the girl, simply.

"And in the world," he whispered. "But no matter how others might look,

they would be nothing to me."

And again he gave no thought to Stephanie Maynard nor to any other woman

in the lands far away beyond the seas. She smiled down at him.

"It is good to hear you say that."

"It is my turn now," he went on. "There are other men there, bigger,

stronger, wiser, handsomer men than I. When you shall see them--"

"I shall never see any one but you anywhere all my life," answered the

girl, simply.

"But Hano?"

"I was to marry him only because he was the best."

"And if you found one better than I?"

"There could be none."

"I shall do my best to keep you in that belief," answered Beekman. "Oh,

Truda, beautiful, innocent little Truda, when I lay starving, dying on

that barrier yonder, my hands red with the blood of men, parted

apparently forever from all that made life worth while to me, I cursed

my fortune and would fain have died, but now--"

"But now?" whispered the girl.

"Now I have passed from death unto life, for you are worth it all. I am

glad to tell you so on this very spot. Here where I saw you first.

Look," he said, rising and drawing her up close to him. They stepped to

the very brink of the cliff.

The whole great cup was now brilliantly illuminated by the moonlight,

which streamed straight through the rift and turned the black water far

beneath them into a still mirror of polished silver.

"I see."

"I lay there on the sand, half-fainting, half-dead, staring upward at

these grim, forbidding walls, when, as the sunlight broke through the

rift, I saw you for the first time. I never had seen anything so

beautiful, so dazzling to the eye. I was doubtful whether you were a

human being even. I thought you might be some vision, some spirit of the

air, some messenger from the sun."

"Do the men in that world whence you came all talk like you, Beek--man?"

queried Truda, using the only name she knew him by.

"None," answered the man, "because none of them have ever seen you."

In such sweet and passionate converse the night hours drew on unmarked

until the gray light on the horizon bespoke the coming of dawn.

"We must go back," said the girl, withdrawing herself for the last time

from the sweet embrace. "I would not have any one find us here. In the

morning I shall tell Kobo that I will have no other man but you."

"Let us wait," said the man, "until I have visited that building and

wrested from it the secrets that must be there, then we shall tell him

and you shall be my wife."

"I know not that English word yet, but you will be my man, and I will be

your woman when Kobo, without whom these things cannot rightly be, shall

have worshipped the spirits and said the words."

"It is well. You say Kobo only sleeps in the building this one night?"

"That is all."

"Tomorrow we shall try it again."

"I will come with you," said the girl, "although I am very fearful."

"And those spirits?" smiled the man.

"If they hurt you they must hurt me, too; for without you," she went on

frankly, "I cannot live upon this island."

*CHAPTER XIX*

*THE KISS THAT WAS DIFFERENT*

Now, Truda was terribly afraid to visit the mysterious house--one

doesn't get rid of a taboo inherited through two hundred years in a

night--but her timidity had been somewhat modified by the indifference

with which the man she loved and whom, she revered as a god, viewed the

whole situation, at least from a supernatural standpoint, and, as of

old, knowledge was power.

Her intercourse with Beekman had been immensely enlightening. Latent

reserves of quality, inherited capacities long dormant, had been

summoned to the surface and quickened into action by his converse, and

by their association so intimate and so sweet. Although the period of

their intimacy had not been long, yet it was not alone in matters of the

heart that Beekman had devoted himself to her enlightenment. At first he

had tried to teach her everything, but, realizing the bewilderment that

must follow such a process, he had striven to systematize his

instruction in order that she might grow in wisdom if not in stature,

and that he might introduce her gradually to the heritage of the

present. The results of the process had been wonderful.

The progressive degeneration, resultant of close inbreeding, which had

brought most of the islanders to so low a point physically and mentally,

seemed to have been reversed in her by some curiously interesting and

delightful freak of nature. It was easy to see that she possessed an

unusual mind, and that, given a chance, she could take her place in the

front rank of intelligence and capacity. Rarely had so fascinating a

task of writing what one would upon an unmarred slate been presented to

any one, and Beekman entered upon it eagerly and pursued it with zest.

He was very human; he was a man, this woman was clearly his in any way

he wished her to be. There was temptation in the knowledge. He

realized it, fought it down, wondering if he could or would strive

against it always. He could foresee that it would grow stronger as the

intimacy deepened. He feared that in the end--

To create is the supremest joy of humanity, in that effort he comes

nearest to realizing the measure of the divinity that is in him. There

are no people so happy as those who achieve things in art, science,

literature, government, business, what you will. The loveliest of

playthings, the most promising subject for experiment had been put in

Beekman's hands. She was his to make what he would. Naturally, he fell

in love with her, and not alone with her beauty of face and figure, her

transparent purity and the sweetness of her childlike innocence,

although these were enough to have bewitched any man, but with the other

qualities that he saw budding and blossoming under his touch.

So while Truda could not shake off the inherited fears of so many

decades in a moment, yet two things materially modified them; her

growing consciousness of a self in her other than the mere animal, and

her great trust and devotion to the man for whom she had conceived and

entertained an instant passion even greater than that he lavished upon

her. These made her the more willing to brave the mysterious terrors of

the tabooed hut. She had been in the building a number of times on

ceremonial occasions, and her curiosity had been sufficient to enable

her by furtive glances to master many details, which she told him

frankly, and which he declared would be of great help to them in their

investigations.

By agreement the two met early in the evening, for the people of the

island were accustomed to go to sleep with the dark, and, as a rule, an

hour after sunset the place was as quiet as at midnight. The moon had

not yet risen, which contributed to their desire for concealment.

Warned by his experience of the night before, Beekman made no effort at

the door, but, followed by his timid yet confiding companion, he boldly

entered the opening at the rear. Light, of course, was out of the

question. A torch from the fire was possible, but the risk of getting

that was too great for the attempt to be made. He had provided himself

with a long, slender staff and with this he felt about until he

satisfied himself that he was in a small, unpaved enclosure, or room.

Having assured himself that no pitfall or gulf was in the floor by means

of his staff, he laid his hand upon the wall and walked cautiously along

it.

Truda, of course, had never entered this end of the building. She had

never even peeped in as she passed by, and she could aid him not at all.

Indeed, she clung to him with terror, which, in spite of her efforts,

grew with every silent, slow-passing moment. Beekman had an idea there

must be some connection between this chamber and the main floor of the

building. He could tell that he had descended below the level of the

floor in entering and on lifting his staff he discovered that the

ceiling was just above his head.

His anticipations were realized, for at the far end he found an opening

just wide enough to admit a man. He felt the walls on either side of

the opening, and with his staff discovered steps beneath his feet,

leading upward. He stepped into the opening, cast his eyes upward and

discovered a faint light above his head. Assured, he mounted boldly,

Truda still following, and, after a short ascent, he stood on the floor

of the building at the end opposite the main door.

The moon had just risen. Indeed, he had timed his entrance with that in

mind, and although the unglazed window openings were covered with a

thick overgrowth of vines, enough light filtered through to enable him

to see sufficiently clearly.

He found himself in a stone-paved room, about twenty by forty feet.

About ten feet from where he stood a low wall, or balustrade, of the

soft, easily cut stone, with which the island abounded, ran across the

narrower axis. There was an opening in the middle of this wall. The

floor on his side of the balustrade was raised several steps above the

main floor. In the center of the end to his right, as he looked toward

the entrance door, was a pile of stones, roughly squared with a flat

top. On this pile of stones lay two dark objects, one on either end.

Between the two dark objects on the central pile something rose above

the stone table. On the further side of it blocks of stone were piled

against the wall in rude semblance of a seat.

Now, there was apparently nothing in the building to alarm any one, yet

Beekman found his heart beating rapidly as he stood there, the shrinking

girl by his side, clasping his arm with a fierce and passionate grasp

that bespoke her trepidation. It was absolutely silent within. The

gentle night wind outside slightly stirred the long palm leaves, but no

breeze penetrated within and no sound of their rustling was heard. It

was slightly cold in the building, although the night was warm, with all

the languorous, drowsy heat of tropic midsummer.

Truda was obviously in a state of panic and Beekman might have been

infected therewith, but he shook himself together, deciding that action

was the best remedy for the situation. He made a step toward the pile

of stones. Truda clutched him more tenaciously than ever. She even

threw her arms about him.

"Oh, don't go," she whispered. "It is taboo."

"Nonsense," answered Beekman, sinking his voice to meet hers, "there's

nothing here to hurt us. Have I not told you of the power of my God?"

"Yes, yes, but He is far away in the sky; our God is here."

"Wherever He is He can protect me and you," he said as one may humor a

child. He unclasped her arms and slipped his own arm about her waist,

whereat she took some comfort. "Come, we shall see," he added.

He half led, half carried the girl toward the pile of stone until he

stopped before it. The light from the moon came stronger. He saw the

tall object, the top of which had been in the shadow now fully revealed.

"Why, it is a cross!" he exclaimed, under his breath, greatly surprised

at this sacred emblem of religion.

"What is a cross?"

"The sign of my God. This is His house."

"Then your God and my God are the same," whispered the girl.

"I believe so. You see," he continued, "nothing has happened to us."

He laid his hand on the altar, "this must have been a place where your

people who came from beyond the sea worshipped God."

It was, indeed, obvious that this was the primitive church of those

first settlers upon the island where they had performed their simple

rites, the simulacrum of which in uncomprehended words of prayer had

alone survived the centuries of isolation and separation from their

kind.

Beekman marveled that he had not thought of it before; but who could

have expected to find a Christian church on an unvisited island in the

South Seas, even though it was obvious that some, at least, of the

present denizens thereof were white people, or had white blood in their

veins? That ruined tower-like structure topping the front gable, at

which he had wondered, had evidently been a belfry, and perhaps it too

had carried a cross. Well, that cross-like tower had fallen away, but

here, on what was surely a rude altar, in a fair state of preservation,

stood the rudely fashioned symbol of the faith, even though it was made

of frailer, more perishable wood.

Beekman was not a religious man, but even an atheist might have

succumbed to the influences of such a place. He felt the cross

reverently with a tender touch, confirming his eyesight; and then, where

old Kobo knelt uncomprehendingly, following the customs of the past, he

reverently knelt down. He rested his hands on that altar and bowed his

head to it. After a moment, awe-struck Truda followed his example and

knelt by his side.

What did he pray knowingly? What did the woman pray ignorantly? The

man, that he might have strength to be a clean man, still to cherish and

be faithful to high ideals in a land of no ideals; to observe the laws

of God in this place where there were no laws of man, to act honorably

toward this sweet and trusting child by his side; to take no advantage

of her ignorance, her innocence, her devotion. Yes, he prayed for

strength, and he prayed for deliverance from the island, that he might

take her back to her own kind, that he might add to the graces she

naturally enjoyed the refinements and good things of a civilization

which he alone, ragged, tattered castaway that he was, had enjoyed and

knew the meaning of. And he did not forget to pray that his hands might

be cleansed of the blood of man that was upon them.

The woman had not been taught to pray, that is, not meaningly. She knew

of few material things for which to ask in that island so bountifully

provided by nature, and the spiritual was still vague and voiceless in

her heart; but for one thing she could petition whatever power there was

above her, who somehow to her untutored mind seemed present and about

her. She prayed that the man she loved might love her and use her

well--the natural prayer of woman!

After a little time Beekman rose in better heart than he had been since

he had been cast upon the island. He drew Truda to her feet, and there

before the altar, confronting the cross, he kissed her, not with the

passion and fire of the night before, or of the warm, languorous

afternoons when they wandered amid flowers and blossoms 'neath groves of

palm. There was something sacramental in the touch of his lips. There,

that night, at that hour, in that temple so sacred to her, the girl

became a woman. With quick apprehension she felt the difference which

she could not explain.

"Your God is a very great God,", she whispered, breaking the seal of

that kiss. "He shall be my God." She laid his hand upon her heart

under the soft, sweet round of her immature, innocent breast. "I feel

here that He has spoken."

"May His blessing be upon you, and may He deal with me as I with you,"

said Beekman, deeply moved.

"We must go," said the girl at last, her heart voicing the "amen" she

knew not how to speak.

"Wait, I must examine these," returned the man, releasing her.

He bent toward the dark objects on the altar. The first touch of his

hand told him what they were--books! The light was too dim for him to

make out what books, yet as he lifted the cover and turned the leaves of

the one on the right he decided that it was a printed volume. He

examined the one on the left in the same way and decided that it was a

manuscript volume. One would be the Bible, of course; the other, longer

and thinner, less bulky, the manuscript volume that would tell the

story.

He picked them both up and tucked them under his arm. Truda had told him

that the church would not be entered until another month had passed and

the full moon came again. He could replace them in good time. He must

examine them at his leisure.

"Do you think it well to take those things from your God?" whispered the

girl.

"One," said the man, "is His story. In it He tells us of Himself."

"And do those things speak?" she asked, wonderingly.

"To him who understands, yes."

"And do you understand?"

"Yes."

"But I cannot."

"I shall teach you. Come."

Quietly as they had come, they descended to the chamber of entrance and

made their way without. They separated in the shadow of the church, and

this time Beekman did not offer to kiss her; but the maiden took no

discomfort or grief from that. She understood. He pressed her hand in

farewell, and the warm splendid vigor of his clasp she carried away with

her. Indeed, she lifted the hand that he had grasped to her cheek. She

laid her head upon that hand when she gained her hut, where she soon

fell asleep to dream of him.

He had got the precious books. He was consumed with curiosity and

interest, but there was no light by which he could read them. He would

not dare to stand out in the moonlight, which was bright enough at least

to enable him to identify the books. Someone might see him. He must

wait until the morning. He hid the books in a heap of dry fern and

rushes that made his bed, and lay awake for a long time longing for the

day.

*CHAPTER XX*

*THE MESSAGE OF THE PAST*

The next morning so soon as day broke he turned to his treasure trove.

He could do this without fear, since one of the customs of the island,

which had never been broken save the first time that he had been

summoned from slumber, was an inviolable respect for the dwelling places

of the islanders. None entered another's hut unbidden. The curtain

dropped before the door was a sign that the dweller would be alone, and

it was as strong a barrier to alien entrance as the taboo about the

temple. Was the instinctive protection of privacy a heritage of the

past, too?

The larger, more bulky book was, as he had suspected. an ancient Bible

printed in old Dutch which he could make shift to read largely because

what he was reading was more or less familiar to him. It was

leather-bound, brass-clasped, and, though it was mildewed and decayed,

the stout paper and the honest ink and the clear type had resisted the

ravages of time in a way that would not be possible even in the best

bound and printed of modern books.

He laid the Bible reverently aside after quick examination and turned to

the other volume. This also was leather-bound, its pages written over

in the same old-fashioned Dutch. It was much harder to read, but a

glance told him what it was. It was a ship's log book. There were

weather records, observations, nautical comments, and remarks; he

glanced at these and then fell to the story. In it he knew would be

found the solution of the mystery of the presence of Truda and all the

rest on the island.

It was with beating heart that he pored over the first page. In after

years Derrick Beekman made a fair translation of that wonderful volume

which he had printed upon the finest parchment paper at the most

exclusive printery in the land in a limited edition for his friends and

his descendants, and he presented some of the copies to the great

libraries of the world, where the curious can inspect them and read the

story in full. It is sufficient now to say that this was the log of the

ship _Good Intent_, which Beekman decided to be the English equivalent

of the quaint Dutch name. The _Good Intent_ had belonged to the Dutch

East India Company, and early in the seventeenth century had set sail

from Holland with a good crew commanded by Captain Adrian Harpertzoon

Van Rooy. With him, according to the enumeration, came his brother,

Jacobus Van Rooy, and a number of other sailors, with a few soldiers and

a supercargo, Hendrick Handen. The soldiers were to garrison a factory

in the East Indies, and they were accompanied by their wives; and it

further appeared that Captain Van Rooy had brought with him his wife,

Gertrude.

The long voyage to the Indian Ocean had been made without untoward

events until a storm had dismasted the ship and she had sprung a leak,

after tremendous and uncontrolled rolling. They had patched up the

leak, rigged a jury mast, and had driven before the wind--their only way

of sailing. They had picked up, near one of the islands, a native canoe

containing nearly a score of Polynesian men and women. The canoe was in

bad shape and about to founder. Captain Van Rooy had charitably

received the natives aboard his own almost wrecked ship. It was

impossible for him to land them in that storm, and they had wit enough

to see that their only chance lay in going with him or sinking.

After sailing many days, the _Good Intent_ was run into the vast cuplike

harbor. Evidently there had been an opening through the barrier reef at

that time. They had beached her and made their way to the top of the

island, which they found uninhabited, but fertile and teeming with plant

life. They had stripped the ship of her cargo and equipment, and it had

been Captain Van Rooy's intention to build a boat out of her when his

heterogeneous company had recovered from the hardships of the terrible

voyage, during the latter part of which they had suffered greatly from

the dreadful scourge of scurvy; but some catastrophe had swept the hulk

out of the harbor and had blocked up the opening in the reef. Beekman

could not gather what it was, an earthquake or a tidal wave. Whatever

it was, Captain Van Rooy had been marooned with a dozen surviving Dutch

soldiers and sailors and his brother and mate Jacobus; Handen, the

supercargo; with eight women, the wives of as many soldiers, and the

captain's own wife, together with half a dozen Polynesian men and twice

as many women.[#]

[#] There is historic parallel to this incident in a similar settlement

of Dutch and natives on the little Island of Kissa, where they were left

unvisited and forgotten for over two hundred years.--C.T.B.

The book described in detail the building of the settlement. The stone

was easily quarried. They were solid and substantial people, these

Dutchmen. They had built their houses in that way. They had built a

church, too; had endeavored to act as civilized, God-fearing Christians

should. The counting of time had soon been lost. Entries in the log

book, at first very full, grew more and more infrequent. There was,

indeed, little to note. Nothing happened. Life was as monotonously

pleasant then as now. They had saved seeds and plants, and some

European animals such as dogs and pigs--the animals multiplied; the

seeds, being planted, grew and offered a welcome supplement to the

fruits of the tropic island.

By and by the entries were confined to records of marriages, births,

deaths. The Polynesian men appeared to have died first. Captain Van

Rooy, while he lived, had acted as the schoolmaster and the spiritual

leader of the inhabitants. He had married them in due and proper form.

Their marriages were recorded in the log book. The births of their

children were entered. He had allotted to these records a section of

the book which was even yet not full. It was possible to trace the lines

of descent of different families for as many as six generations.

When he had died, others, obviously less skillful with the pen, less

well informed, but with good intent, took up the task of keeping the

records. Beekman afterwards made calculations based upon the probable

duration of lives, and found that they had managed to keep the record,

although more and more imperfectly, until the birth of old Kobo, the

present patriarch of the island, who was Truda's grandfather--descendant

of the first Jacobus, certainly. Of course all of these things did not

come to Beekman at once, but gradually. As the summary of his

investigations is alone necessary for this history, they are set down.

He discovered that old Captain Van Rooy had alone among the Dutchmen

apparently been proud of his line, and had kept his children and

grandchildren from any intermarriage with those who had Polynesian blood

in them. Evidently the custom, or his habit, had become a fetish for his

descendants; for in so far as it was possible, and Beekman noted this

with delight, in one family at least the pure Dutch blood had been

maintained. It was not possible to avoid all admixture, but there was

less of it in Jacobus and Truda than in any other dwellers upon the

island, and next to her and old Jacobus in the purity of blood was Hano

of the supercargo's line, although his strain did not compare with that

of the woman.

The records of the first fifty years on the island were fairly complete,

but after that there was only the register of marriages, births, and

deaths among these people whom the world forgot, and by whom it was soon

apparent the world itself was forgotten.

The joy which filled Beekman's heart as he disentangled the story from

the confusions of the blurred, faded, time-worn records of the past

which he had discovered, indicated to the man the depth of his feeling

for Truda. He had to the full the white man's pride in and sense of

superiority to any other race, and the unpleasant thought that the woman

who was so impregnably entrenching herself in his heart had any large

admixture of Polynesian blood had been one against which he had

struggled, with not a great deal of success. To be sure, that objection

did not bulk very large upon an unknown island in the South Seas; it

would be no bar whatever to any irregular connection, which would have

been natural enough with most men under the strange circumstances in

which he found himself. But Beekman was of a different breed. He

honestly loved the girl with a passion which was sufficiently great to

consider her future before his own gratification. Inevitably, while

pondering any real and lasting future relationship with her, he realized

that her purity of blood--white blood, that is--would be a much more

important consideration when they got back to civilization, if they ever

did. And in the case of children, if any ever came, a preponderance of

Polynesian blood might create an almost unbearable situation.

Beekman had not a particle of the spirit of the beachcomber. The good

blood of decent, God-fearing America at its best pulsed in his veins.

Nothing would have induced him to settle down in some lotus-eating,

non-moral life of _dolce far niente_ on some golden South Sea strand

with his wild, primitive goddess for a moment longer than he could help.

He wanted her for a wife, and a wife of whom he could be proud even

before the men and women of his kind.

The sudden realization that the woman he loved was a meet and fitting

mate for him, not only in beauty and intellect, but in blood as well,

was wonderfully stimulating. Naturally, he had often thought of escape

from the island, but he had never considered it before as he would

consider it hereafter. He did not see any way as yet, but he was

persuaded that a way would be opened eventually. He had confidence

enough in his own ability to devise it, he thought, as soon as it was

necessary. Meanwhile he had another task, and that was to complete, or

to continue--for the completion would be long deferred--the finely

progressing education of Truda--Gertrude Van Rooy, as she undoubtedly

was.

And he could hardly wait for the moment when he could tell her of his

discovery. It would not mean much to her then, of course. She was not

troubled with scruples as to relationships or any future complications.

In that matter she was neither moral nor immoral. That question did not

enter her mind at all. It was simply non-existent. But two facts

counted. He loved her and she loved him. Nothing else mattered. In

his own good time he would take her, and she would be glad to be

possessed. Of course, that ceremony, so meaningless to them all, but to

which as a sacred tradition from their mysterious past they all adhered,

would take place, and then they would go and live together after the

simple primitive way of the island, where the human beings mated almost

like the animals. Artlessly she longed for the day that was to be, but

she was content to await his pleasure.

He knew all this. He realized, being neither blind nor a fool, that he

need only will to have, take to enjoy. And it made his restraint the

harder. If he had resigned himself to life indefinitely on the island,

it might, it would have been different. He might not have been able to

find the strength to resist temptation so freely, so innocently, yet so

passionately presented to him. But he was always seeing her in a

different environment. He was always dreaming of another life in

another land. He wanted her for a wife and nothing else. Some day she

would thank him for this. Now she only wondered, sometimes with a touch

of disappointment.

*CHAPTER XXI*

*THE WATCHER ON THE ROCKS*

The day after their visit to the church, or temple, he had imparted the

story to her, explaining carefully, so she could grasp at least the

salient points of the narrative, how she and those who survived came to

that island. It was difficult to make her understand. She had few

abstract notions as yet. The concrete alone appealed to the primitive.

But she had developed amazingly, and by repetition and explanation over

and over again she began to appreciate the truth. When he told her that

she differed from the rest of the inhabitants of the island, she could

understand that better, for she too possessed, albeit it had been

latent, a full measure of the pride of the white race. She had gloried

that her skin was fairer, her hair brighter, her eyes bluer even than

those of Hano and Kobo, much more than those of any of the others. Now

she began to catch a glimpse of the reason why, not only for her

personal difference, but for her instinctive joy in it as well.

"Then I am like you," she said at last, "of your people."

"Yes; of my race, of my blood," answered the man, and the joy and

satisfaction she felt in his voice thrilled her, and satisfied her, too;

for what pleased him pleased her even more.

"What is to be done now?" asked the woman as they retraced their steps

from some island haunt where they loved to linger in the cool of the

evening of that day of revelations.

She spoke English. Her mind, like her body, was virgin. She was

excessively quick to respond to the stimulus of his teaching, and she

possessed a rare faculty for language, he discovered. Conversation was

easy and unrestrained; she could use Dutch words if necessary to

supplement her English, and even on occasion revert to the island

dialect, and he could easily understand both.

"I am going to teach you to understand the message of the books."

"The words of your God and mine?"

"Exactly."

"And where, and when, and how?"

"Listen; I have thought of a plan. I don't know what they would do to

us or to me if they caught me with the books."

The girl shook her head with grave foreboding.

"They might kill you," she said, "but I don't know. The things of the

God--what do you call them?--books, have never been taken from the taboo

house."

"Church," he corrected.

"The church," she repeated, endeavoring with considerable success to

form the unaccustomed sound. "I can't tell what they would do, but old

Kobo would be terribly angry and afraid. They are all afraid of that

house, as I was until you showed me a better way. And Hano hates you,

anyway."

"Of course. Personally, I don't fear the lot of them," said the man,

smiling and quite confident in his splendid vigor, "but I don't want to

have any trouble. I don't want to be the means of introducing bloodshed

and hatred into this little paradise."

He spoke unwittingly, not realizing for the moment that wherever human

passions enter, even the highest and holiest, they usually make a way

through which others that come not in the same category follow. His

arrival upon the island, the unconscious supremacy he assumed as related

to the rest, the love that had sprung up between him and this fair child

of Europe, and of the nurture of the tropic seas, had brought jealousy

and hate and envy in their train. There had been no crime committed on

that island perhaps since it had been discovered, certainly not for

generations, but now--well, he would see. He went on in natural

unconsciousness of all that while the obsessed woman hung upon his

words--

"That place overlooking the deep bay, where first I saw you, where you

go to meet the sunrising--I know now why you do it," he broke off.

"Why?"

"That is where they used to watch and hope for the ships."

"Sometimes I have seen a black cloud far away."

"The smoke of a steamer."

She nodded, not comprehending fully, but acquiescing naturally in

anything he put forth.

"But it never came near," she added as he went on.

"From there we can see not only the sea but the whole island. No trees

grow near. No one can approach without being seen for a long distance.

We will take the books and hide them there in the rocks and cover them

up carefully. There I will teach you to read the speaking leaves."

"But when old Kobo discovers they are gone?"

"We will put them back in good time. It will be as easy to put them

back as it was to take them. No one goes into the church except at that

monthly visit. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, the rest is simple."

Using one of the cocoa-fiber baskets with which the islanders were

accustomed to carry their produce from field to house, the two books

were carried to the hiding place without suspicion the next morning.

Beekman found a suitable recess, rounded it out with loose stones, and

made a dry hiding place for the volumes when they were not in use. The

natives generally avoided that spot, but once or twice Hano or Kobo or

one of the elders had visited it when the two were there. And, as they

had done before, they came again in the days that followed, but the

lovers were always found apparently idly scanning the sea and talking

about indifferent things.

Of course, some suspicion was at first aroused by their unusually long

visits to that semi-sacred spot, but it was soon dissipated in the

indifferent and inert minds of every one of them except Hano. As he was

whiter, so he was abler than the rest. He made up his mind that he

would overhear what those two, one of whom he hated as much as he loved

the other, had to say to each other in those long hours. He came in the

night, searching for a place of concealment where he could lie hidden

and whence he could overhear, but at first he found none. To hide on

the slope that went upward to form the walls of the little amphitheater

which opened upon the bay or gulf and sea at the top of the cliff was an

impossibility. In the first place, he never could get there without

traversing the only practicable path and being observed the whole way.

In the second place, if he had found a spot where he could lie hidden,

he would be so far from the lip of the wall that he could neither hear

nor see. There were no caves or crannies big enough to conceal him.

In despair, he stepped to the extreme edge and glanced down, and

instantly the solution of his problem presented itself. About six feet

below the level of the little amphitheater was a shelf of rock. Access

to it would be difficult, dangerous, but not impossible. He tried, and,

although he was not used to great heights, he made it. Such was the

stimulus of his hate. He examined the shelf of rock, discovered that it

ran inward a little, so that if necessary he could conceal himself even

from direct observation from above.

The next day he would try it. He would get up before daybreak, and when

Truda visited the place for her unfailing survey of the sea at dawn, he

would be concealed. After that visit the two invariably went back to

the village for breakfast. Then they returned and the lessons began.

She had proved an amazingly apt scholar. She could spell out many of

the words of the Dutch Bible and express most of the thought in simple

English. The written word of the log book was still a mystery to her.

He had read it to her, but had not tried to teach her from it then; but

she had made great headway with the printed word. After she had learned

enough of that, Beekman intended to devise some means to teach her to

write, but for the present printing was enough. He began with the

Gospel according to St. Luke, which he had preferred to the others for

its clear, simple, and beautiful style. Truda not only learned the

letters and the simpler words, but she also began to apprehend the great

truths of religion which Beekman had held perfunctorily and sometimes

lightly, but which on that heaven-kissed hill, on that forgotten island,

in the midst of that great sea, he too began to appreciate and realize

as he had never done before.

Sweet indeed were those hours when he sat with that old Dutch Bible open

on his knee, while she sat upon a lower rock by his side, leaning

innocently upon him, her head bent close to the pages of Holy Writ,

following eagerly his pointing finger with her glance and imbibing the

teaching that he gave her. Imbibing other things, too, for sometimes he

broke off and closed the book and laid his hand upon the girl's head or

shoulder, or turned her face up to his while she nestled closer to him.

They spoke together, without reserve, of the deeper things of love and

life. There were no conventions save such as the instinctive sweetness

and purity of the woman and the stern repression of the man imposed.

Truda had become so proficient in her English now that they no longer

used Polynesian at all; they spoke English or Dutch habitually.

Consequently, the listening Hano, his ears attuned by jealousy and

hatred and love and tumult of passion to catch the slightest meaning,

could make out but little of what was said, especially as they sometimes

whispered with the soft yet passionate cadences of lovers alone.

There was no wind that day. The long, slow silting of the waves through

the crevices in the barrier far below only came up to the top of the

island in faint murmurs. The listener could hear voices but not

understand. Indeed, the clearest sound that came to him was the

rustling caused by the turning of the stiff, thick, parchment-like

leaves of the book. He could not understand what it was. He was

greatly puzzled by it.

So the hours wore away. As it approached noontime the cooling shadow

cast upon the lovers by the rock wall of the little cup in which they

lingered, was withdrawn from them by the upward movement of the sun.

The lesson for the morning was over. Hano heard them rise, preparatory

to going back to the camp for the noon meal and the afternoon siesta.

He heard them put something away in the rocks and pile other rocks

around it. That at least was clear to him, his wits sharpened by his

desire. He waited until they had gone, calculated the time it would take

them to disappear in the clump of trees, and then climbed back to the

little amphitheater.

His first business was to search for what had been concealed. Without a

clew it never would have occurred to him to do so, nor had he wit or

experience enough, as a higher intelligence would have shown, to go

directly to the spot where the loose stones were piled artificially; but

he had the patience to leave no stone unturned, and his persistent

search under that burning sun was at last rewarded. After moving some

of the larger stones, the books were at last revealed to him. He was

struck dumb with terror. He knew very well what they were. He

recognized them instantly. He had seen them at a distance upon the

altar of the taboo house.

In his half-savage way he wondered that the blasphemers who had broken

the taboo had not been struck dead by the angry, mysterious god whom

they worshiped. He could only attribute Truda's immunity to some

powerful spell, or charm, cast over her by this mysterious visitor whom

he regarded as a devil. He did not know what to do in the emergency.

He realized that it was a matter for a wiser head than his, if such

could be found on the island. Under other circumstances, unconsciously

acknowledging Truda's superiority, he would have gone straight to her,

but that was not to be thought of now. His only recourse was Kobo.

Putting back the stones which covered the sacred volumes, he turned and

ran with all speed to the settlement. The noon meal was over. The

islanders were resting in their houses. All was quiet, still. Without

a moment's hesitation, breaking what was almost a taboo itself, Hano

dashed into Kobo's house, knelt down by him, shaking the old man

violently.

"Awake," he whispered. "The taboo has been broken."

*CHAPTER XXII*

*TWICE SAVED BY TRUDA*

Not being tropic-born, Beekman did not take naturally to the siesta.

Nor had he been long enough in the tropics to have acquired the habit.

It was his pleasant custom to lie awake during the rest period,

day-dreaming of the princess of this enchanted island. Sometimes he

never even dozed, the occupation was so entrancing. It happened on that

afternoon, however, that he had fallen asleep.

He was not left to his own devices. He was awakened to find himself

covered with something thick and heavy, and his first movement was

greeted with savage cries which came to him through a grass mat which

had apparently been thrown over his face. At his first movement he was

conscious that men had thrown themselves upon him from every side. Half

choked and weighed down by a number of heavy bodies, he yet struck out

blindly with arms and legs. He was a powerful man, but he was taken at

a disadvantage, and, although he upheaved himself mightily and strained

like a Titan, he did not succeed in getting free.

On the contrary, a rope made of cocoanut fiber was passed around his

legs. The slip-noose was tightly drawn and, almost before it could be

told, his feet were bound tightly together. He perceived that it was

useless to struggle longer. As he ceased his wild efforts the cloth was

dragged from his face and he instantly sat up. Before he had time to do

more than recognize the angry faces of the men on the island, another

rope was slipped over his shoulders. As before, the noose was drawn

tight, and before he could prevent it his arms were bound and the rope

wrapped around his body again and again.

He was as helpless as a trussed fowl. His first thought as he stared at

the passion-convulsed faces of the men was of shame that he had allowed

himself to be so easily caught; his second emotion was surprise. What

had transformed these peaceful, listless, indifferent, gentle, decadent

islanders into truculent savages? For the moment he did not connect the

violation of their sanctuary with his present plight. The whole male

population of the island had fallen on him; even the larger boys had

joined their elders. If he had been on his feet and ready and possessed

of a weapon, even his sheath knife or his boat hook, perhaps he could

have beaten them off, for there were fewer than a score of them, and the

only one who had any real vigor in him was Hano. Obviously, he had

taken the lead in the capture. Hano's determination and old Kobo's

cunning had brought about Beekman's undoing.

The American could not yet regard the situation as particularly serious.

Passion and anger and bloodshed were so far removed from any possible

association with those islanders that Beekman could only consider his

present plight as a temporary inconvenience. To be sure, Hano hated

him, but the others not only liked but almost revered him. He would not

have been human if he had not been glad to see Hano limping from a

particularly vicious kick he had received. Indeed, he laughed as he saw

him rubbing his leg, and that only infuriated the young man the more,

which was not wise on the part of the prisoner. He had yet to learn

that even perverted religion, especially when it serves as a cloak for

other passions, as in the case of Hano, could change the natures of men

and bring about the most malefic consequences to those who stood in its

way. It is always the abuse of the useful that is most dangerous.

About the only thing really strong in the lives of these islanders was

their curious mixture of Polynesian idolatry with degenerate

recollections of Christianity. Like a half-truth, their religion in

theory seemed to combine the worst elements of the savage inheritance

with debased Christianity. They did not indulge in the savage rites of

the South Seas, those hideous practices had been abandoned under the

influence of civilization, but in theory at least the worst features of

that religion persisted.

The only laws upon the island were, first, the law of ceremonial

religious observances, which was as easy as it was uncomprehended, and

which no one had any interest in violating; and, second, the law which

made a taboo of the temple, which was infinitely more important. The

more unfamiliar they were with the temple, the more dread with which

they regarded it. The mysterious taboo was the most powerful thing in

their lives. The temple was, as it should be, the house of their god,

but there was a mixture of the stern severity of the Christian--for

Christianity was held very strenuously in the days in which that Dutch

ship blew to the island--and the tremendous diabolism of the Polynesian

Tangaroa. The rule of that compounded god was fear-begotten, a rule of

consuming fire. They had by no means learned the perfect love which

would cast it out.

When Hano whispered into the ear of Kobo that the taboo had been broken,

the shrine had been violated, the sacred--he did not call them

books--objects, the property of the god, had been taken from the temple

and made a plaything of by the stranger and Truda, the old man's soul

fainted within him. So soon as he had realized the purport of Hano's

excited words, he had almost collapsed. It had needed the young man's

fiery urgency to awaken him to the obligation of doing something.

Just what should be done did not come to old Kobo. It would have to be

debated by all the worshipers of the god--the men, that is. But one

need was obvious. The blasphemer, the violator of the sanctuary, the

breaker of the taboo, must be secured before he could work further

mischief. Doubtless into these dark and degenerate minds had lodged the

idea--among the very oldest of all religious ideas--of propitiation.

They could perhaps placate the angry god and avert from themselves the

consequences of his anger by punishing the man who had dared to raise

his hand against divinity.

It is on record that One Who His enemies said sought to make Himself

equal with God was punished by man, and perhaps for the same reason.

That idea, so agreeable to the natural man, had been strengthened by the

struggle which had resulted in the binding of the criminal. Conflict

always calls for punishment of the vanquished. Without shedding of

blood is no remission. Battles are measured by butchers' bills, and the

fact that men fight makes the butcher a welcome assistant.

The women and children of the settlement, not having been summoned to

the conference of men which Hano had brought to Kobe's hut, were not

fully aware of the reason for the commotion. They clustered about the

door of Beekman's hut, peering within, but not daring to enter. Indeed,

Hano, at Kobe's direction, drove them back with the curt statement that

the men would explain to them later what was the cause of their action

and what was toward.

Beekman's glances had eagerly searched the little huddle of women at the

door, but he had not found Truda among them, for a very good reason. At

Hano's suggestion, Kobo had bade two of the sturdier women keep Truda a

close prisoner in her own hut until he should decide what was to be done

with her for her participation in the dread crime.

Speaking in Dutch-Polynesian, of which he had easily learned enough for

ordinary purposes, Beekman now demanded to know the meaning of the

extraordinary assault upon him. The men had been consulting in low

tones in the far corner of the hut. Old Kobo detached himself from the

group and came forward, Hano following and standing next to him.

"You have broken the taboo. You have taken the treasures of our god.

He will be angry with us. We have decided to kill you in order that he

may not hurt us."

The conclusion was strictly in accord with the ancient law of

self-preservation.

"If he is angry with me," said Beekman at once, perceiving the

seriousness of the situation, "he will hurt me, not you. Therefore you

have no reason to be afraid. Let the god himself kill me."

It was shrewdly suggested, but there was not wit enough, except perhaps

in Hano, to follow the reasoning. Kobo shook his head.

"You have broken the taboo. Who breaks the taboo must die. It is the

only way."

There was a simple finality about the statement of the old semi-savage

which at last struck terror to Beekman's heart. His blood ran cold. He

knew what atrocities were sometimes perpetrated under the name of

religion in the South Seas. The situation suddenly seemed to him to be

absolutely hopeless. Arguments and appeals flashed through his brain,

came to his lips, yet something withheld utterance. In the first place,

he was a white man and he would not beg his life of these mongrels. In

the second place, the only argument he could think of had been used

without effect. Then his mind flashed to Truda. Was she involved? How

did these islanders learn of the theft of the books? for of course he

knew instantly that was what Kobo meant. And did they know of her part

in the adventure? Her absence was convincing proof that she too was

suspected and in mortal peril. He must find out for sure, if possible,

before anything else.

"You say that I have taken things belonging to the god?" he began.

"Yes, and broken the taboo."

"What things?"

"Things from the taboo house, that lay on the stone at the other end. I

have seen them there every time I have gone in."

"And I also," said Hano.

"And we," chimed in the men.

"Where are they now?"

"Hidden in the rocks," answered Hano, "where Truda watches the rising

sun."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw them there. I heard you and Truda this morning."

"Impossible!" cried Beekman. "Where were you? I looked everywhere."

"I was hidden below on the face of the rocks. There is a place there."

"I see," said Beekman. "And Truda, what of her?"

"Did she go into the temple?"

"No," said Beekman, quickly and unhesitatingly, lying like a gentleman

to save her if he could. "I went alone. She was afraid. She tried to

stop me. She begged me not to."

"She should have told me," said Kobo, "but because she did not go, she

shall not die."

"Give her to me," cried Hano. "This stranger has cast a spell upon

her."

"I shall know how to free her," said Kobo.

"Meanwhile, may I ask what death is designed for me?" asked Beekman.

"You have said it," answered Kobo gravely; "the god will determine

that."

He nodded his head to the men. Six of them stepped over and picked

Beekman up. They bore him out into the open enclosure. At Kobo's

direction Hano summoned the women. Truda did not come, and neither were

her guardians present. As those women who had been detailed to watch

her were among the most prominent in the settlement, Beekman, lying on

the ground with his head and shoulders against a tree, noted their

absence. As the islanders assembled Kobo waved his hand for silence.

"This man," he said, not without a certain dignity, "was cast up by the

sea upon our shores. We received him kindly. We gave him a house to

live in. We supplied him with things to eat. He was free to come and

go. In return for our welcome he has broken the taboo." A wail of

horror came from one old woman. It was caught up by the others, and

even the men and children joined in. It was quite evident that the

crime was a real one in the eyes of the people and there would be no

hesitation in the most extreme methods. "The god will be angry with

us," continued Kobo when he could be heard again. "Perhaps we can

please him by giving him this breaker of the taboo."

"What would you do, O Kobo?" asked one of the older women.

"Lay him as he is, bound hand and foot, in the taboo house for the god

to dispose of. It wants ten days before we worship in the temple. We

will leave him there during that time, bound, alone. If he is alive

then we will know the god has pardoned him."

"But if he should get away?" asked one of the men.

"We will be the arms and eyes of the god. We will watch every moment

the taboo house."

"And food?" asked one.

"And drink?" asked another.

"If the god wishes him to live, he will provide," said the old man

simply. He signed to the bearers. "The taboo is broken, so all may

come in this time."

They picked up the absolutely helpless Beekman and bore him to the

temple. Kobo unbarred the door. He stood hesitating a moment on the

threshold. The taboo was broken indeed, or had been, yet it was a great

thing he was about to do. He could only trust to the god that he would

understand. With a muttered jargon of prayer, at which the people sank

shuddering to their knees, and which to Beekman was grotesquely and

horribly Christian, he finally entered the building, beckoning the

bearers, who followed, stepping hesitantly and fearsomely with their

heavy burden. After them crowded all the rest.

"We will lay him there," said Kobo, pointing to the opening in the

railing or balustrade.

He stepped forward to give direction, and as his eyes became accustomed

to the dim light he discovered on the altar or table the two books that

Hano had declared he had seen in the rocks. He stopped, petrified.

Hano had lied. There had been no profanation of the temple. He had

broken the taboo himself, and without cause. His veins turned to water

within him. He staggered and would have fallen but for the strong arm

of the younger man.

"There," he whispered, pointing, "the things of the gods are there. You

have lied."

It was Hano's turn to be stricken with terror. Had his eyes deceived

him? Could those objects have been duplicated? What mystery, what

magic was here? He was younger, stronger, and the sooner realized the

necessity for action.

"Out!" he cried, waving his hand.

"Shall we leave him?" asked the first bearer.

"No; bring him, and out, everybody, lest the god strike and spare not."

He suited action to word. Half carrying old Kobo, he drove the rest out

of the temple. Kobo dropped on the threshold. Hano had nerve and

courage to swing the door, and then he backed up against it, ashy with

terror. Old Kobo rose to his feet.

"People of the island," he cried shrilly, "we have broken the taboo.

Hano has spoken falsely. The things of the god are there. O Tangaroa,

pardon." He bowed his head in his hands. "Woe, woe, woe!" he cried.

For a moment the islanders stood silent, and then they joined his

lamentations.

"Perhaps you will release me now," said Beekman at last.

Old Kobo's hand went out to the lashing.

"Forgive me. This liar will take your place."

"Wait," said Hano, his courage coming back. "I saw the things of the

god in the rocks. I heard them moving in the hands of this man and

Truda. She can testify."

"Where is she?" asked Beekman.

"Let someone go for Truda. Let her be brought here," said Kobo.

One of the younger women started in the direction of Truda's hut, when,

from a clump of trees to the right of the temple, around which the path

ran, appeared the two women who had been appointed to watch Truda. The

girl herself was between them. Each one clasped an arm. She came along

the path without reluctance, her head held high. She shot a glance at

her lover which reassured him. He instantly realized the explanation of

the happy chance which had saved him, temporarily at least.

Truda had somehow escaped, had got the books, entered the church through

the rear doorway as before, and had replaced the books on the altar.

What it had cost her he could well understand. Old Kobo stared at the

three in amazement.

"How did you come here?" he cried to the two women. "I told you to keep

Truda in her house."

"While we watched the door, O Kobo, she escaped through the window.

When we found out we searched for her."

"And then?"

"We saw her--" the woman hesitated.

"Where was she?"

"At the back of the taboo house," Answered the younger woman in

awe-struck voice, "with the things of the god in her arms."

"You see," cried Hano, triumphantly, "I told you the truth. She went to

the rock to fetch them. She put them back."

"How did she get in?" asked one old man.

"There is an entrance at the other end, vine-covered and forgotten,"

answered Kobo, his eyes sparkling. It had been shown him as a boy, and

had never been used.

"What then?"

"We were afraid to follow. When she came out we seized her and brought

her here."

"What have you to say, Truda?"

"It is true," answered the girl.

"What is the use of questioning Truda?" interposed Beekman, stopping the

confession which trembled on her lips. "I took the books; I hid them in

the rocks. Through them your God, which is my God, speaks to me. I

tried to teach Truda His speech. I will teach you all if you will free

me."

"Let us put him back in the taboo house," cried one of the oldest.

"Yes, that will be best," cried a second.

"Leave him with the god," urged a third.

"I, too," cried Truda; "I also--"

"Be silent!" appealed Beekman in the language they two alone understood.

"If you love me, say nothing. Alive, you can help me. Dead, and we die

together."

"What do you say?" asked Kobo of the men.

"I have a suggestion to make," said Hano.

"What is that?"

"You thought that my tongue was doubled, that I did not speak the

truth--"

"We were wrong," said Kobo.

"Let me speak now," said Hano.

"Let us hear him," cried one after another.

"Out of the deep this man came to us. Doubtless his God brought him to

our shores. Let us commit him to the deep again. Doubtless his God can

take him away."

"What do you mean?"

"Let us cast him down from the cliff into the gulf below."

"That is well," said Kobo.

"It is," shouted one after another.

They loosened the lashings around Beekman's feet, lifted him up, and

forced him, surrounded by the men, along the path that led to the little

amphitheatre. Everybody followed. This was business of the highest

importance, and until it was settled, nothing mattered. When they got

to the little amphitheatre, in which all crowded who could possibly

enter, the lashings around Beekman's feet were drawn tight again.

"What do you mean to do?" he asked.

"Thrust you over the cliff."

It was a fall of perhaps over five hundred feet sheer down. If he were

thrown far enough he might fall into the water, but even that would kill

him. In all probability he would drop to the rocks. There was that

shelf of which Hano had spoken where he had concealed himself. By

bending forward from his place on the brink, Beekman could see it. So

could Hano.

"Not here," said the latter, "but there."

They dragged Beekman over to a spot where nothing broke the descent.

"Bring staves for all," said Kobo with obvious meaning.

All the men must join in the thrust, it seemed. It would be the only

way to avert the anger of Tangaroa-God from them all. Meanwhile they

laid Beekman carefully back against the rocks while some of the men ran

back for long pieces of stout bamboo or cane. Their intent was evident.

When the time came they would each one seize a staff and together they

would thrust him over. So all would participate, and from all the

vengeance of the gods would be turned away.

"Truda," began Beekman in that language which they alone understood,

"there is no help for it. I must die. It is not the end I expected. I

hoped to get away from the island, to take you with me, to teach you of

the things that lay beyond, to make you my wife. I love you, facing

death as I am I say it with all my heart. You can do nothing for me.

But no matter what happens to me or what happens to you, there is

another life. I have tried to tell you about it and I shall wait for

you there."

"And I love you, Beek-man," answered Truda in return just as simply as

he had spoken. "You know that. I would gladly give my life for yours,

and I shall follow very soon. You will wait for me?"

"Stop them," said Hano at last.

"Let him talk with his God, if he will, in these last moments," answered

Kobo.

"But not with Truda," persisted Hano.

"When Truda is yours you can make her forget what she had learned."

"But I will never belong to Hano," cried Truda.

With a quick movement she broke loose from the women who held her on the

outskirts of the crowd. She leaped up the wall of the amphitheatre that

wound around a little distance away from the rest, and there she stood

poised.

"Truda," cried Beekman, who was placed where he could see her every

movement, "what would you do?"

"Stop," cried the girl in the language of the island, as Hano started

for her, followed by the others coming up with the staves. "Let no one

come near me. Hano and Kobo, stand forth."

Such was her imperious emphasis that her command was at once obeyed.

The two addressed separated themselves from the crowd, which halted, but

Hano again started for the girl.

"If you come nearer, I shall leap over," she said quickly. "Stand where

you are, Hano."

He stopped in the face of this threat and stood as if rooted to the

spot.

"Beek-man has broken the taboo," said the girl in the deep silence.

"Perhaps you do right to punish him--"

"O Truda," groaned Beekman under his breath, but if the girl heard, she

made no sign.

"He came from the deep. You may return him there, but he came alive,

and you must return him alive."

"What do you mean?"

"You must send him down through the place where the water falls. You

must unbind him. You must give him what he brought, the sharp thing

that cuts and the bright thing that strikes. You must give him food."

"But he will come back," said one.

"You can watch the place."

"We can wall it up with stones," said Kobo.

"Will you give this man life?" cried Hano.

"If you do not," continued Truda, "if you do not swear by the god to do

as I say--"

"What then?"

"I will throw myself over the cliff before your eyes."

"O Truda!" exclaimed Beekman again, but in a different way, for now he

understood.

Now the most determined character of them all was Hano. There was an

assurance in the girl's words that carried conviction to his mind, at

least. If she threw herself over the cliff, she would be hopelessly

lost to him, and the fact that he could wreak vengeance on Beekman would

not bring her back.

"Let it be as she says, O Kobo."

The old man was naturally inclined to mercy. The fierce passion of the

morning had spent itself. The taboo had been broken, but nothing had

happened. The things of the god were back in their places. Truda's

suggestion might have persuaded him without the threat. But the threat

had persuaded Hano.

"It shall be as you say," answered Kobo.

"Swear it," cried Truda.

"By the broken taboo, by the god whose things you have put back, by the

great Tangaroa himself, I swear it," cried Kobo, turning to the others.

"We all swear."

Truda instantly stepped back from the verge.

"And you will marry me, Truda; you will be my woman?"

"We shall see as to that when you have disposed of Beekman," said the

girl. "You will wait for me," she said to Beekman; "not in another

life, but there." She glanced downward.

Beekman nodded. He understood.

"What do you say?" asked Hano jealously.

"I only gave him a message for his God," answered Truda.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*TRUDA COMES TO HIS PRISON*

And thus it came about that Beekman once more found himself lying on the

strand near the waterfall at the foot of the cliff in the great cup-like

harbor where he had landed on the island not many months before.

Although the lashings had not been cast off by those who had lowered him

to the strand, yet they had been loosened in the descent, and he

realized that by patient application he could presently free himself

from his bonds. That, of course, was the first thing to be done.

When he had finally cast off the loose piece of coir rope, he rose to

his feet and looked about him. The place was entirely familiar. It had

been etched upon his consciousness in those agonized days when he had

dreamed of getting to the top. There had been no change whatever.

Indeed, since the blocking up of the original opening through which the

_Good Intent_ had been hurled so many years before, there had been no

change, unless the slow disintegration of the rock had slightly altered

the face of nature.

He had been dropped by the lowering ropes to the very spot where he had

found the pineapple bedded in the sand. He had no immediate need of any

such providential happening now, for behind him lay one of the

cocoanut-fiber sacks or bags which had been packed full of food enough

to last him for a week. Truda had insisted upon that, and they had

grudgingly consented, all the women in the settlement being more or less

openly on her side. But they had failed to give him either boat-hook or

sheath-knife.

Beekman had no shelter, but he could get along very well without that.

Here were food, water, liberty, life, within the circumscribed limits of

the great cylinder. He had stepped back to the extreme edge of the

stretch of sand, the tide being low, and scanned the bed of the creek up

which he had once before climbed to the top. In the narrowest part he

could see the natives piling up huge stones, making an impassable

barricade. Of course, any considerable increase in the quantity of

water flowing down would eventually roll them away. The island must

have a rainy season, but unless or until it came, that wall of rock,

especially if it should be guarded, as he fancied it would at first,

would render ascent to the upland impossible.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Unless help came to him from

above, or from the sea, he would die of starvation eventually. He did

not fear that, however, because he believed that Truda would find some

means to get food to him. Indeed, going over the incidents of the

afternoon, he marvelled at the resourcefulness and courage she had

displayed. If it had not been for her escape from her guardians, and

her replacement of the books in the temple, he would be now lying there

bound hand and foot, slowly starving to death.

He knew how hard it must have been for Truda to have broken the taboo a

second time, and alone. That was the first bold action which had saved

him, and the second was when she had stood on the brink of the cliff and

threatened to cast herself down unless he were lowered to the beach

rather than thrown bodily over. And she would have done it, too, as he

very well knew. That was the second time that day she had saved his

life. True, she had been compelled to make some kind of a promise to

marry Hano, but he knew her well enough to realize that she would never

keep it. Love, such as had not been known upon that island for two

hundred years of quiet mating, had entered her heart, and she was made

of the stuff that would willingly die rather than profane it.

She said that she would join him on the strand, and he was confident

that somehow she would, and that her presence would bring him fortune;

yet, what would happen if she came? His own condition would be changed

for the worse immediately, since he would have no friend above to look

after his interests. It was to her influence alone that he could look

for food. If she were with him, her open defiance of Kobo, Hano, and

the others might, and probably would, result in the abandonment of them

both. Yet, illogically, but naturally, he longed for her presence as

never before. He was proud of her wit and courage, and he longed to

tell her that--and other things. He did not think any of the islanders,

unless it were Hano, would dare descend into the harbor, which he

shrewdly suspected was as taboo as the temple. If any did come, they

would have to come one by one, and he could deal with them, if

necessary.

The day was almost gone. Before nightfall he was minded to do one

thing. He clambered around the rocks to the outer edge of the island

and stared eagerly at the barrier. Yes, there on the reef, where it had

been hurled or lifted by an unusually great wave or tide coming at the

same time, lay the wreck of the whaleboat. It had been firmly fixed on

the jagged rocks of the barrier, and as it was just above the assault of

any but the highest seas coming at the full flood of the tide, it was

still in much the same condition as when he had left it some months

before.

There was no way by which he could repair the boat and make it

seaworthy. It was of no earthly use to him, yet the sight of it gave

him strange comfort. It was something which somehow tied him to his own

land and people. He waded and swam out to it and looked it over

carefully, observing before he did so that the copper tanks which he had

taken from the boat and put in the niche where he had slept the first

night on the island, were still there and apparently in good condition.

With some vague idea that it might be well if he replaced them in the

boat, he swam back across the lagoon, launched the tanks, which floated,

proving that they were air-tight; paddled across the lagoon a third time

and set them back in their compartments. In one instance, the after

end, he found this difficult as he had been compelled to break the

catches aft to get it out, but at the other end, the bow compartment, he

experienced no trouble. The boards had warped, but by exerting all his

strength he got the clamps caught and the tanks replaced. Exactly why

he did it, or what he expected from it, he could not tell, but, at any

rate, it was occupation. The boat could not take anyone anywhere, but,

unless the clamps broke, the tanks would keep it afloat, even if awash,

if it were ever washed off that reef.

He got back to the ledge when night fell with the startling suddenness

of the tropics. He had made up his mind to sleep where he had slept

before: beneath the ledge; but thought better of it. He decided that he

ought to be where he had been seen last in case Truda should make any

effort to communicate with him. He reasoned, naturally enough, that

such an effort would have to be made in the dark to avoid observation.

The air at the bottom of the great cylinder, its sides rising about him

like the walls of a tower, was cooler than he had been accustomed to.

He emptied the mat-like sack, or basket, piling its precious contents

high up on the rocks, above any possible tide, and, after he had made a

very frugal meal, although he was ravenously hungry after all he had

gone through, he ripped the mat apart, hollowed a place for himself in

the sand, drew the mat over him and lay there thinking; and, for the

first time in days, Stephanie Maynard came into his mind!

Now, there was no disloyalty to Truda in his thoughts of the other

woman. He realized that he never had loved her, and he was pretty

confident that she had never loved him. The marriage which had been

arranged had been one of convenience, purely. He was glad that he had

escaped; glad for every experience except that terrible one in the cabin

of the _Susquehanna_. He wondered if, in her heart, Stephanie would not

be glad also, and George Harnash. Little things which he had not noticed

at the time bulked larger in his imagination now, and he wondered if his

friend had not been more interested in his former betrothed than any one

had suspected. He thought whimsically that it would be a strange thing

if Stephanie and George married eventually, and then his thoughts went

further.

Suppose they could prevail upon old Maynard to consent, they might come

to search for him as a wedding trip on the great Maynard yacht, the

_Stephanie_. It would be strange, he thought, lifting his head and

peering seaward, to wake up some morning and find the yacht in the

offing. He knew that was absurd. If he were to get off that island, it

would have to be by some other means, and the possibility of escape had

grown much fainter since his present misfortune. Well, whatever had

been back of that shanghaiing process, and he was as bitterly resentful

over it as if it had not brought him happiness, it had resulted in his

meeting with the sweetest and most innocent woman on earth, whose love

for him had led her to the most amazing sacrifices and exhibitions of

courage.

It was a singular commentary on the man's mind that he was as bitter

against the men who had shanghaied him as if only misery and sorrow had

come to him. He had promised himself many a time if he ever did get

free and could find out who was responsible, it would go hard with that

man. He would not let the law take charge of his vengeance. He would

make it a personal matter. One does not live in the forecastle of a

hell-ship like the _Susquehanna_, where there is no law but that of

force, and no right but that of the strong, without getting a new view

of individual relation to individual and to the mass. Nor does one live

in a tropic island with no law at all, except the taboos of vague

superstition, without intensifying that personal element.

Presently, Beekman's thoughts turned to Truda. Lightly, he forgot

Stephanie. All his hardships, the horrors of that forecastle, the

tragedy of that cabin, even the events of the day, faded from his mind.

He saw her white-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed and passing fair. He

recalled her passionate devotion, her wit, her courage. He stared

upward to the top of the cliff, cutting a black line across the stars at

the place where he had seen her for the first time. He could shut his

eyes and see her still. He tried it again and again, and by and by his

eyes did not open. He fell sound asleep.

He was not aware that in the still watches of the night a figure bent

over him. Someone knelt beside him. A listening ear was held close to

him as if seeking for reassurance that he breathed, and then there was a

stealthy withdrawal and the figure slipped down upon the sand and sat

watching him. It was not until the sun struck through the entrance upon

his face that he opened his eyes. The first object that met his vision

was Truda. She was half seated, half reclining on the sand just out of

touch, looking at him as she had watched throughout the night.

"Truda," he cried, raising himself at once and throwing aside the mat,

"how did you come here?"

She pointed to the cliff, through which the brook plunged. He noticed a

long rope hanging down, buffeted by the leaping waters into which it

swayed back from time to time.

"Amazing," he cried, rising to his feet and stepping toward her.

"Do you think anything could keep me there when you were here?" said the

girl, stretching out her hands to him, and then he noticed, for the

first time, that her palms were cut and scratched and had been bleeding.

Her knees, her feet, were in the same sorry condition. He sank down on

his knees before her. He took the hands which she yielded to him

without question and pressed them tenderly against his cheek.

"You have hurt yourself," he said, that petty little fact bulking larger

at the moment than any other; "and for me, my poor child."

"The joy in my heart," said the girl, laying one bruised palm beneath

her tender breast, "when I saw you asleep and safe here, made me forget

this."

"Why didn't you wake me?" asked the man, looking up at her.

"You were so tired," said the girl, laying her other maimed hand on his

head.

He could feel her wince as she did so. He had opened a cocoanut the

night before. The broken shell lay at hand. He lifted her up, carried

her to the bank of the brook, set her poor, torn feet in the cool water,

and, with the shell, laved her hands and knees. It was all he could do.

He had nothing else. Then he bent and kissed her lips, her hands, her

feet. He strained her to his breast.

"You shall not walk a step or carry a thing until those precious hands

and feet are well."

"They are well now since you kissed them. See, I feel no pain."

She took him in her arms, in turn. What mattered that the white hands

left little blood marks on his shoulder?

"First, you must eat," said the man, "and then you must tell me how you

came."

He pressed upon her the cooked food and fruit which she herself had

forced the islanders to provide.

"We may not get any more when this is gone," she said.

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he quoted recklessly;

"eat now."

She did not understand, but the command was simple, and she obeyed.

Whatever her lover said was right, of course.

"Now, tell me," he said, when they had stayed their hunger, "how did you

come here?"

"They put me in the house with the two women to guard me after they had

lowered you down here. I was to be married to Hano today. I would have

died rather than that. I had told you I would join you here. I

persuaded the women. They like you, Beek-man. They don't like Hano.

They let me escape. I went to your house, and brought the bright-tipped

staff and the thing that cuts. I crept down the brook where you had come

up."

"There was no watcher?"

"Yes."

"Did he let you pass?"

"He could not help it."

"What do you mean?"

"I struck him with the staff, and--" She shuddered and hid her face in

her hands.

"Don't cry over that," said the man; "in all probability you only

stunned him. He will be all right by now."

"I hope so. He had done nothing to me, but if the whole island had

stood in my way, I was determined to come to you."

"What then?"

"I climbed over the rock wall. At first I thought I would push it down,

but it was too much for me. Besides, the stones might have fallen upon

you. I had a rope with a piece of wood at the end. I fastened the wood

in the rock and came down. The rope cut my hands."

"And the staff and the knife?"

"I threw them over. You will find them there."

"Wait." He ran and brought them back. "Arms," he said, shaking them

exultingly before her. "With these we can defy everything."

Indeed, the boat-hook and the sheath knife would be invaluable should it

come to a fight in the end.

"Yes," said Truda. "In all the days of my life there has been no anger,

no bloodshed on this island; but since you came--"

"Are you sorry I came?"

"Glad. You have taught me life, love. They are worth the price we have

paid."

"Always a price has to be paid for these things. Whether they are worth

it or not is another matter."

The sun was well above the horizon now. Truda glanced upward, stopped,

and pointed. In the ravine whence the brook fell, clustered against the

wall, stood the islanders. Their cries came faintly into the vast gulf

in which the two lovers stood. Their gestures of hatred and scorn were

unmistakable, but they made no effort to come down. The rope was still

fast. Presently, they observed it, for it was quickly drawn up, and,

after a time, the islanders went away, leaving a watcher at the wall.

"This place is like the temple," said Truda; "it is taboo. I think none

will come here."

"But you came."

"I would go anywhere for you," said the girl, simply.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*"SO FARRE, SO FAST THE EYGRE DRAVE"*

There was nothing they could do to better their condition, but if there

had been, it was not in Beekman's mind to attempt it then. Their near

touch with death, Truda's sleepless night, the condition of her hands

and feet, the nervous reaction in him, warned Beekman that no demands

upon her must be made yet. He decided that they should have one day of

complete and utter happiness, whatever the future held for them; so he

devoted himself to her.

Again and again he bathed her hands. He tore up the tattered remains of

his shirt sleeves to make bandages for her feet. He compassed her with

such sweet observances as he could achieve under such conditions. He

told her how he loved her. He pictured what their life beyond the seas

would be when they got away. He told her that they should escape,

although he had no idea how. His determination was contagious. She

thought nothing could he impossible, ultimately, to this god-like

creature who had come from across the seas to enlighten her as to what

love really was, and she believed him.

He carried her around the broken point of rock where she had never been;

he showed her the wreck of the whaleboat which had brought him there.

He made her a bed for the night in the niche of rocks, facing seaward.

He covered her over with the mat he had made for himself. He sat down

by her side, holding tenderly the bruised palm, which really appeared to

be very much better; clean flesh, such as she had, healed quickly. She

went to sleep with the trustfulness of a child, yet not with the

emotions of one. Indeed, her strange feelings matched his own as he sat

there on the sand by the woman who was his, body and soul.

Was he minded to take her? He prayed God, as he watched through the

long hours, that whether he were minded or not, he might be given

strength to treat this little child of nature as he would have treated

the proudest woman of his own world. Let no man think that he had an

easy task, or that he passed pleasant hours. When she was sound asleep

he laid her hand gently, palm upward, on the sand, and walked away,

pacing up and down the strip of beach the long night through.

It was well that he remained awake, for, just before sunrise, when the

short dawn had already come, happening to pass the jutting rocks around

which he must go to get into the harbor, he saw the outlines of a dark

figure in the gloom; seen faintly against the brighter sand, the figure

of a crouching man! Something bright and slender quivered in his hand.

He was peering forward eagerly. Beekman snatched the boat-hook and the

knife from the sand where he had laid them and ran toward the figure.

It was Hano. He rose to his feet as the American approached. He lifted

his arm. Something flew through the air and cut a gash along the side

of Beekman's face and then struck the rock behind him with a metallic

clang, later he found it was an old Dutch knife.

The next moment the American closed with him. Hano, mad with passion,

struggled desperately, but he was as a child in the hands of the white

man. Beekman broke his hold and dragged the man's arms from about him,

lifted him in the air, threw him headlong on the beach. He lay sprawled

in a heap, motionless, stunned, apparently, his head bleeding where he

had struck an outlying stone on the sand. Beekman was sorry that it had

happened. He could enter so fully into the feelings of the man that he

could not blame him.

He turned back and awakened Truda. He gave her the knife and boat-hook

and told her to watch the prostrate man until he went around the rocks

and got the ropes with which he had been bound. He did not think that

Hano was likely to recover consciousness, but, nevertheless, he had

never gone so fast as he did then. Lightly binding the feet and hands

of the man so that he could make no further mischief, he set himself to

restore him to consciousness, which he presently accomplished.

Hano would say nothing, nor would he answer questions, not even to

Truda. He turned his head away, and suddenly his eyes filled with

tears. Otherwise, he was as silent as a stoic on the beach before them.

After the two made their breakfast on the rapidly diminishing store of

food, they brought a share for Hano. Beekman unbound his hands and

stood over him while he ate and drank, then he lashed him again and drew

him up into the niche where Truda had passed the night. Then he

examined the wounded feet and hands of Truda, and found them in much

better condition, but he did not allow the girl to walk over the rough

and broken rocks. He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the

bay, that they might have the benefit of the fresh water of the brook.

Then, and not until then, did he take time to look at the sky and

observe the weather, which, if he had been a more experienced sailor, he

would not have deferred for so long a period.

He was alarmed beyond measure by what he saw. There was no sun visible,

yet the sky did not seem heavily overcast. A strange, coppery light

seemed to filter through an unusually thin but very absorbing mist that

spread over the whole heavens. The sea had been very still throughout

the night. Apparently, a calm had extended far and wide over the

waters. There was always some slight motion on the shore, and the

silken slithering of the waves on the barrier came to him very faintly.

The absence of any wind at all had aroused no attention. There was no

wind now, yet the surface of the deep was troubled.

After he had washed the girl's feet and hands and had set her down on

the sand, his attention was attracted by a sudden resounding crash on

that stretch of barrier that he could see through the entrance. It was

as if some mighty heave had raised and lowered the surface of the ocean.

As he stared seaward, he thought that the mist was thickening on the

horizon. It was growing darker there. Indeed, on the line where the

sky and sea would have met on the horizon, if he had been able to see,

it was suddenly black dark. The sun was more than an hour high, he

judged, although he could see nothing but the coppery light through the

mist, and the mist was in rapid wraith-like motion far above his head

and far beyond the reef. He could see that clearly enough, although

even yet no wind came to him.

Presently, there was another of those long, swinging undulations, which

broke with tremendous force on the barrier, sending a cloud of water and

spray twenty feet into the air. It was uncanny. There was no cause for

it. It was as if some subterranean monster had turned over in the

depths and upheaved the surface. Truda joined him.

"I never saw anything like that before, and I have seen the sea ever

since I was a child," she said. "The waves broke on the rocks, but not

like this. It is so still. Oh, look."

Another of the great undulations struck the reef, and a gust of wind

from nowhere, apparently, and gone almost as quickly as it had come,

carried the spray across the lagoon and into the still harbor. They saw

it patter upon the smooth surface. They marked the wide circles spread,

interlace, break. It was a warning to the man, at least.

"Some terrible storm is brewing," he said. "If it equals the promise of

these waves, it will flood this gulf. We must seek shelter."

Now he had marked before--indeed, in his first exploration he had

essayed to get to the top by it--a broad shelf of rock fifty or more

feet above the level of the sea. It was inconceivable that any tide or

storm could ever reach that shelf.

"We must go there and wait," he said.

The ascent was not particularly difficult for a man alone, but burdened

as he was with the girl, it was almost impossible. He carried her up in

his arms as far as he could that way and then set her down.

"You can leave me here," she urged.

"Nonsense; I'll have to take you the rest of the way on my back."

So, in the old-fashioned way by which children were carried pick-a-back,

her arms and legs tight around him to leave his hands free to help him

climb, he scrambled up to the shelf with his burden. It took some time

to get her there, and the labor was tremendous. Although there was a

strange chill in the air, sweat bedewed his brow.

"It was wonderful," said the girl. "I didn't know you were so strong.

No man on the island could have done that."

"Well, we shall be safe here," said Beekman. "Look yonder."

They were directly opposite the entrance. As he pointed seaward the

black clouds on the horizon were torn by flashes of lightning. There

was a deep sigh of wind in the air, and the next moment, with a terrific

roar, the strange and terrible storm broke. Truda shrank closer to the

man. She was still sufficiently a child of nature to be awed by this

display of its terrible force.

"It's worse than I thought it would be," said Beekman.

They were still more or less sheltered from the wind, and conversation

was not yet difficult.

"I must go down again."

"Why?"

"I forgot Hano."

"He tried to kill you."

"Yes; but he is lying there, bound hand and foot. He would have no

chance at all if the water came flooding in."

"Is that the white man's way?" asked the girl.

"It is the way of the white man's God."

"Has He told you to do this?"

"I think so."

"Go, then."

He kissed her and climbed down the declivity until he reached the sand.

It was already covered. The tide was at full flood and the wind was now

driving into the gulf with increasing force. The barrier was a mass of

white mist and spray shining eerie and ghost-like against the black

horizon, torn with lightning, fast merging into the copper-misted sky

above.

He must hurry. He scrambled over the rocky promontory with reckless

haste. Hano was lying where he had left him. The waves were sliding

over the little mound of sand into the hollow. His face was grey with

terror. As Beekman bent over him with the sheath-knife, he shrieked,

but what he feared did not occur. His lashings were cut. Beekman

dragged him to his feet. He pointed to the sea and upward to the rocks.

He took him by the hand and started to lead him, but Hano broke away and

ran in the other direction. There were ledges of rock there, and,

dumbly and dimly alive to the danger, he chose to go that way. Beekman

followed, but he could not prevail upon the islander to go with him.

His own position was becoming precarious. The wind was beating upon him

with amazing power. The waves were sweeping over the barrier as if it

were not there. He must think of Truda. She would be mad with anxiety.

He even feared she might attempt to descend if he did not return. He

waved his hand at Hano, whom he saw climbing up the rocks, and turned

back to the harbor. As he had suspected, Truda had started to come

down. She stopped when he appeared, and waited until he joined her. He

brought up what he could carry in his hands of the provisions which he

had stored in the rock.

"I was coming for you. Where is Hano?" asked the girl as he drew

himself up by her side.

"He climbed the cliff and went the other way. I tried to bring him

here, for this is the better place."

"He is in the hands of his god," said the girl.

"As we are in the hands of ours," answered Beekman.

He turned toward her, and for a moment his back was to the sea.

"Look," she cried, peering over his shoulder.

He turned his head. What had happened before was child's play to what

met them now.

"My God!" cried Beekman, staring into the white mist, appalled by what

he saw.

A wall of water thirty feet high, although, to the man, it looked to be

a hundred, was rolling in from seaward with the speed of an express

train. Its top was curling, the spray whipping from it, but it was yet

an unbroken mass. The thoughts of men take strange turns in such

emergencies. It reminded him, for a second, of the pictures in his

mother's Bible of the passage of the Red Sea, the waters a curling wall,

concave over the heads of the pursuing Egyptians, about to break.

"What is it?" screamed the girl.

"A tidal wave."

The words meant nothing to her, but the voice of the man told her that

there was death in the moving water.

"Whatever happens, don't let go of me," he shouted.

He stooped and kicked off his heavy shoes, clasped an arm around the

girl's waist. Her arms met around his neck. He was staring seaward,

ready for a plunge. Woman-like, she kissed him, and then the wave

struck the island--wall of water meeting wall of rock. For a second,

Beekman thought he could feel the massive cliff on which he stood

quivering. The next moment the great bore tore its way into the harbor.

It leaped and surged through the narrow entrance in a madly foaming,

green avalanche. Constricted by the walls, it rose and rose. He had

one glimpse of the mighty wave towering above his head where he stood

fifty feet above the sea level, and the next moment it broke, and, with

a crash like a thousand thunderbolts, fell upon them.

*CHAPTER XXV*

*THE INDOMITABLE EGO*

The crest of the wave was traveling faster than its middle section,

which had been retarded by the land. That fact, and that alone, saved

the lives of the two poor mites upon whom it fell, for, instead of being

dashed back against the rock wall by the terrific surge of the inward

sweeping sea, the wave curling above their heads struck the wall a

second in advance of the great body of water. It broke, fell upon them,

swept them from the shelf, plunged them into the depths with such force

and violence that it was the return thrust of the water which finally

caught them--the backward undertow, rather than the inward rush.

Beckman had never heard so deafening a roar in all his life. He had, on

one occasion, felt a great superdreadnaught roll and quiver under the

simultaneous discharge of her own principal batteries under actual

service conditions. It was child's play to this. Not that he had any

thought about it now. He was only conscious of the roaring in his ears,

the awful pressure upon his body, as he was driven down, down, down,

until it seemed as if the bowels of the earth had opened before him and

swallowed him up; as if he would never be lifted again out of the great

deep which had sucked him under.