By the World Forgot: A Double Romance of the East and West

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

"It is trouble here," she answered, laying her hand on her heart again.

"That is life," said the man, but this time she could not quite comprehend.

She appealed to him as a wild bird might have appealed to its destined mate in the forest glade ere the nest was builded. Indeed, she appealed to him as no woman on earth ever had appealed to him. Stephanie Maynard was not a girl to be disdained by any one, but there, in that idyllic oasis of the sea, his remembrance of her was as of an artificial creature, subject to conventions, hampered with clothes, fettered by circumstances. And her dark beauty faded into insignificance compared to the radiant gold of this child of nature, of innocence, of freedom.

Beekman had no idea where that island lay. That it had been unvisited, indeed avoided, by ships was obvious, and the reason was easy to discover. From the decks of a ship, if one by chance passed near it, nothing but arid rock, surrounded by dangerous reefs, could be seen. He had climbed, attended by the faithful Truda, the few other points whereby one could reach the top of the wall. There was no gulf or harbor on any other side. The walls ran down sharply to the sea, sloping here and there, but never practicable, and about all was flung the great encircling barrier reef upon which assaulting waves ever surrounded the desolate looking peak of rock with a ring of white foam and spray, as marked and as beautiful in the cobalt sea as it was dangerous to a ship. He doubted if even a great beacon fire upon the wall would attract a ship. If it were seen it might be deemed only a recrudescence of volcanic fires. It seemed to him that he might perhaps pass the rest of his life there. Certainly he would, unless he could devise some way to get off unaided. He did not reflect that perhaps he might eventually be sought if the boatswain ever got word to New York. Even if a ship were sent to find him, the chances of success would be so faint as to be negligible. The prospect was appalling, would have been insupportable but for Truda.

Why should he not take her for his own, willing or unwilling though the islanders might be, pleased or displeased though Hano might show himself? Although she could not describe it, the girl had grown passionately devoted to him in that brief but most familiar intercourse and intimacy, that was as close as could obtain. He felt sorry for Hano in a way, the only man on the island who might have aspired to this beautiful maiden, when he found himself suddenly thrust back, his place taken by this stranger; for Hano life, which had been so fair, became horrible.

With fiery energy Hano paid more direct court to Truda. He protested vehemently to Kobo. He sought to enlist the sympathies of the other men and women on the island and perhaps succeeded to some extent, but not to the point of open resistance. The islanders looked up to Hano, but they looked up much more to Truda herself, whose beauty and purity of blood particularly appealed to them, and they were mightily afraid of stern old Kobo, who seemed to have the determination of matters in hand, and who was much attracted to this new inhabitant cast up by the sea upon their shores.

As the days slipped by, as his association with the maiden revealed more and more a simplicity of mind, a tractability of soul, a brightness of spirit, a quickness of intellect, that accorded with her absolute physical perfection, Beekman became more and more in love with her. He set himself to teach her to speak English, and she learned with the facility of a child. He could not teach her to read or write. He had no material for either, but he opened to her his well-stored mind. There was little else to do, in fact, and the two sat together for hours, the woman receiving, the man giving. The fact that she soon learned to speak in English added to the awe in which most of the islanders held the girl, increased the hatred of Hano, and at last aroused the suspicion of the patriarch.

Beekman was careful of the feelings of his new friends, but when it came to a question between their feelings and the woman he loved it was not difficult to see that everything else must give way. In all these idyllic days the American had held fast to his purpose of getting into that building, which was the only spot from which he was barred, in order that he might solve the mystery of the presence of this people on the island, the key to which he was sure would be found there.

One circumstance whetted his curiosity more than any other thing. On the night of the full moon every month old Kobo disappeared. Questioning Truda, he discovered that always at that period in the month old Kobo spent the day alone in the tabooed building. Truda did not know why. She could not tell what he did there, but it was the custom, and when Kobo died the next oldest man would do the same. The rest of the people were not allowed in the building during the day, but before nightfall the door was thrown open. Kobo stood in the doorway and beckoned. The people had been waiting and they all, down to the smallest child, walked in. Truda came last, but when Beekman would have followed, Hano shut the door in his face. Whatever the rite that was being observed, it was evidently not meet that he, a stranger, should see it, much less participate in it.

They stayed in the building a long time, long after nightfall, and their supper that night was something in the nature of a feast. It was late when they retired. It seemed to Beekman that they would be heavy with sleep and that perhaps such a night would afford him an opportunity to get into that building. He bided his time. He was careful to say nothing whatever which would arouse any suspicions. He did not even ask the meaning of the strange ceremony when he bade Truda good night and went into his own house some months after his arrival at the island.