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