More swiftly than she had fled, she turned from the cliff brink and came bounding down the path, and yet there was some joy in her heart. Whatever Beekman might feel for this woman, it was obvious that she regarded him with scorn. But it was mainly murderous resentment that filled Truda's soul. Her face was transformed. It was convulsed with passion, with anger, with savage rage. There might have been some infiltration, some slight strain of Polynesian blood in this woman. She was aflame to defend her lover, with the spirit of the lioness sacrificing her life for her cub. In fact, the passion in her face was appalling.
"Father," cried Stephanie as she approached, "don't you see?"
It was Maynard who caught the island girl in his arms. It was he who held her firmly, despite her frantic struggles, while Stephanie approached, with Harnash holding her tightly, but to protect her from assault, because now he knew why she had done it.
"I only did it to stop you," she cried. "He loves you, not me. This is the man I love. Don't you understand?"
The passion faded out of Truda's face. She did indeed understand. She had been blind, mad to have doubted her lover. A great anxiety came into her face. She stared down at Beekman in agonized contrition and alarm. Her heart almost stopped at what she saw. Mr. Maynard released her, gave her freedom. She knelt down by her lover's side. She lifted his head in her arms and laid it against her breast. She called to him passionately in every language with which she was familiar. She pressed her lips to his lips, to his face, to his bleeding forehead.
Dr. Welch now came up with the party. Fortunately, he had brought a flask with him. A few drops restored Beekman to consciousness. He opened his eyes and gazed into Truda's face.
"Truda!" he said, struggling to a sitting position. "Thank God, you came back to me!"
"And this woman?" asked Truda, looking up at Stephanie. "Do you love her?"
She would have the truth from him, not from Stephanie or any other.
He shook his head.