CHAPTER XXIV.—The Parting Hour.
A Chapter of Startling Surprises. The Fate of the Black Face. A Story of Two Girls. Wanted—a Coadjutor to the Crown. Beela Comes Back at Last.
Here was something portentously solemn in Christopher’s manner when he came one brilliant morning with a summons from the queen to lunch with her and Annabel. I was aware of Captain Mason’s notice to her Majesty that in two hours the colony, which had been royally entertained in the palace and its adjunct buildings since the great catastrophe, would file past to bid her farewell. My absorbing duties in directing the stowing of the Hope’s cargo had kept me away from the queen and Annabel, who had become devoted friends; but a more potent barrier had been her Majesty’s cold reserve under her assumption of her queenly duties, which had been exceedingly severe. The destruction of the Black Face by the eruption had been joyously accepted as heaven’s endorsement of her accession to the throne, and the natives idolized her.
Nothing seemed clearer than her wish that I do my part to make as smooth as possible her determination to forget what had passed between us.
Confident, therefore, that she would carry off the parting pleasantly, and appreciating her kindness in inviting me, and her tact in providing for Annabel’s presence, I went with as stout a heart as I could command. Christopher and I had long ago laid aside our disguise. He led me in silence to the private room where Lentala had dreamed of a bright life far away. A table was set daintily for three; and as there were no native attendants, I knew that Christopher was to serve. Rangan was near the end of his days, and Rawley gave constant attendance on deeply stricken Mr. Vancouver.
As I entered, I heard the queen and Annabel chatting with astonishing gaiety in an adjoining room, the doorway into which was closed with a curtain. Whatever they were discussing was interrupted by my entrance.
“Choseph!” came challengingly from beyond the curtain. It was Beela’s voice, though every trace of her had disappeared since the eruption.
“Your Majesty,” I responded.
“Nonsense! Aren’t you going to behave?” It was Beela’s scold and the impatient stamp of her foot. “I’m not quite ready. Annabel will entertain you.”
Annabel came out. The sparkle in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks showed that she was excited, despite her effort to appear at ease. Christopher’s strange manner had already made me watchful, and I caught the knowing look that Annabel gave him. My heart bounded. Could it be that the queen had decided to renounce her kingdom and go with us? It so deluged me that for a moment I did not heed the chatter proceeding from the other room.
“Choseph!” came thence; “have you neither ears nor a tongue?” The voice rang with a cheer that even Beela’s had never known. “Here I’ve been trying to make you guess why I’m so happy, and you don’t show the slightest interest.”
“I’d be glad to know,” I returned.
“Annabel and her father and Mr. Rawley have decided not to go away, and Annabel and Mr. Rawley are going to be married!” She hurled it breathlessly, as a child in a hurry to tell important news.
So that was the great secret. But why had they kept it from me? An acute silence within accompanied my own. I was smiling at Annabel, who blushed deliciously.
“Christopher!”
“Your Majesty.”
“Don’t say that. I hate it. Do you love me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But you are going to leave me.” She said it dolorously.
“No, I ain’t, ma’am.”
Something was dropped clattering to the floor within, and then came a sudden hush.
There was the queerest, brightest twinkle in Annabel’s eyes as she studied me. In astonishment I glanced at Christopher. The look with which he met mine was one of benevolent kindness.
“Dear old Christopher!” came softly from the other room; then, after a pause, “How can Mr. Tudor manage without you?”
“He can’t, ma’am.” He made the audacious answer while calmly regarding me.
Can it be believed that I dared not see Lentala’s challenge, and that something which I could not master held me a silent fool in the chair? Surely there must be men besides me whom love makes humble and timid. I have seen men love with a different measure; I have seen love make them bold and reckless.
Christopher had adroitly seated me with my back to the curtain. Hence I did not see a signal that Annabel, who was facing it, must have received, for with some excuse she withdrew, taking Christopher.
The queen’s voice was close to the curtain as she called in a breathless, frightened way, “Choseph!”
“Your Majesty.”
Before I could rise she was on me like a whirlwind, clapping her hands over my eyes from behind and pressing me down into the seat. Her cheek rested on my head. I thought the beating of my heart would suffocate me.
During the silence I sat in a trance. One soft hand held my eyes closed; the other slipped down and was pressed on my lips. I knew that Beela had come back, and I would submit to any outrage from her.
“Choseph,” she said in her sweet, coaxing voice, “sit still and don’t try to speak. You are much more interesting when you don’t talk. And then, I don’t want to be interrupted, for I’m going to tell you a story. It is about two girls and a man. Nod if you want to hear it.”
I nodded.
“The girls are named Beela and Lentala. The man imagines he is or was in love with one of those girls.” The voice above my head became very impressive. “Now, sir, you are the Man.”
Nod.
“We’ll easily agree that Lentala is much more dignified and reserved than Beela.”
Nod.
“And never so erratic and unconventional.”
Nod.
“And that Beela is rude and bold, wears outlandish clothes, and adopts scandalous disguises.”
My head was still for a time, so happy was I in her delicious fooling; then I nodded enthusiastically.
I knew she was trying to suppress a laugh; she ostentatiously sighed, and said: “You agree to that. It isn’t all. She tells fibs, and is heartless and cruel.” I was motionless for a breathless space, and then nodded viciously. There came a long, still pause. I could bear it no longer.
“Choseph! Stop! You hurt my wrist,” and again she held me prisoned. “There. Be quiet. Well,” with a resigned sigh, “I suppose the foolish man will keep on loving Beela and hating Lentala, and end by breaking poor Lentala’s heart.”
I am not positive that I entirely succeeded in suppressing my laugh.
“It has to be Beela, then,” the sweet voice went on. “But, Choseph, suppose the madcap should really be very different from what she ever appeared to you, and you should discover that she had deceived you about an important matter,—you can’t be certain that you know all her disguises,—wouldn’t you think her unworthy of your trust and love?”
A very decided shake, and above me a soft laugh and a little squeeze of my head.
“Choseph, you know you had suspicions about her skill in staining you and Christopher.”
I had nearly forgotten it; but as her father had been a white man and her mother a native, her skin would require some staining to look exactly like a native’s. I made no response to her speech.
“Choseph, suppose a very little girl born in some other country had been wrecked with her father on this island. She might have been yellow, or—or almost anything. As she grew, it might have become necessary that she be given the color of the natives.” There was a pause, and then came the hurried question, “She’d still be the same girl, wouldn’t she?”
I nodded, simply to please her, for her chatter meant no more to me than that Beela was playing and teasing.
“Think, Joseph.” She was really serious. “Once, when Lentala dressed like Annabel, you were shocked, and said some strange things that made her very unhappy and uneasy, and she was afraid to tell you the whole truth. And for other reasons she thought it best to keep up the deception. Could anything new that you might learn about her change your regard?”
I shook my head, but was puzzled and uneasy.
“Then,” she gently said, pressing her sweet cheek to my temple, “it could make no difference at all what her real color is?”
Of course I shook my head. It was impossible for me to accept the absurd suggestion, and my simple lie could do no harm in her pretty play.
She straightened, drawing a deep breath. “That is a promise,” she said. “There’s something else. Now, no matter if, in showing her love and pity for the poor grown children who need her, she permits these islanders the harmless play of calling her their queen when they mean their leader, their teacher, their mother,—wouldn’t she still be only Beela, and none the worse for accepting that love and trust and duty?”
My nod was reverential.
“But, Joseph, she would know her utter inability to discharge that task. She would stumble; she would fall many a time. There would come dark hours when she yearned in bitter loneliness for the help of a wise head and sure hand; for there is a people to civilize as well as govern. Joseph, the heart of a woman is a woman-heart under either a toy crown or a real one.”
I gave no sign. There came a long pause, a deep breath, and a sudden change of tone.
“Joseph, suppose that some day a big, fine cavalier, with a tender heart and a strong hand, should drift to the poor little kingdom and find its queen torturing her soul over problems that would look so large to her and so small to him. It seems to me that he would be moved to offer her his services. She might make him her Prime Minister.”
I tore myself loose, rose, and confronted her. Gazing at me was a beautiful young white woman, frightened and blushing, a thousand startled imps dancing in her eyes as she backed away. I was profoundly shocked.
“Forgive me, Joseph.” It came tenderly, wistfully, from the perfect lips of Beela and in her dear voice. And those were her eyes; that was her delicate, high-bred nose, and that her light hair. And she was as daintily dressed as ever Annabel had been.
“Choseph!” she cried, stamping in a passion as I gazed in silence.
So overcoming a weakness assailed me that I had to catch the top of a chair.
“Of course I understand,” I said, unevenly, and floundered on, with pauses: “I might have guessed, but... a cherished ideal is very real to me. When I lost Beela and found Lentala, I lost what I had come to love. No, not lost,—I am very foolish and blundering.”
“No, Joseph.” Her smile was dazzling.
“It never could be lost while I lived, and would live had she died. It was Lentala, not Beela, who put Beela away, and then me.”
“You know what I thought, Joseph. I meant to be kind. And I never had the least idea until today that Annabel cared for Mr. Rawley. I thought she loved you, and that you had been very fond of her till Beela came. I reasoned that it would be best for you to go to your own country, marry Annabel, and forget Beela.”
That sweet speech explained everything, but it was not possible for me to feel the ease in the presence of her radiant loveliness that I had felt toward Beela, the child-woman, the sprite, who could flutter into a man’s heart and abide forever. I managed to say bluntly:
“I understand. And now that all is clear, may I stay and do whatever lies in my power and devotion to help you?”
She was regarding me curiously, and with a touch of uneasiness. “Simply because I’ve asked you?” she demanded.
“It is my dearest wish.”
Still the strange look was in her eyes. I dared not interpret it as my heart commanded; I had never loved a woman before, and needed time to gather my courage. Of a sudden an impulse moved me to step forward, take her hands, and look deep into her eyes.
“Let me stay,” I begged.
“I’d be glad and proud if you would, Joseph. You know Captain Mason is to return with the Hope as soon as he can, and will bring teachers and a clergyman from America, and Annabel and Mr. Rawley will be married then.”
I do not know what it was that she saw—or that her sensitive pride made her see—in my face that made her quickly withdraw her hands and step back as her eyes flashed and her cheeks crimsoned.
“Joseph! I never dreamed that you could think I meant—that!”
“It was my love, my joy, dear heart. When the clergyman comes——”
Annabel and Christopher entered. The queen flew at her, embraced her and kissed her, and then, standing off in front of Christopher, cried in a teasing voice:
“Christopher, you do love me, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he placidly answered as he set the chairs for luncheon.