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

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

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.