I would have deterred her, for I knew not what design he might cherish. Maheera understood me, but she smiled as she had not smiled since I had seen her.
“The White Giant has no need to fear. Olotoraca knows all, and it is well. He has a great friendship for the White Giant.”
Mademoiselle started up.
“I must go, Sydney. There will be no harm, and if he wishes me I cannot leave this land without seeing him. Maheera would not give me bad counsel.”
“The Moon-Princess will take no hurt.”
I could not be satisfied to have her out of my sight, but asked Cazenove to take some men and go with her. They were gone a long time, and when they returned Mademoiselle was smiling and tranquil. Olotoraca was very weak, but would recover. He said that I, the White Giant, had parried the blow which had wounded him and so had saved his life. He wished to live fair in the memory of the White Giant,—he was glad that the Moon-Princess was safe with me.
“It is not well,” he had said at last, taking Maheera’s hand in his, “that a man should love at all unless of the people of his own race.”
Had I been able to go to him I would have clasped him heartily by the hand. But they told me I must lie quiet for fear of setting loose an artery, and so I stayed on my pallet fanned by the cool breezes of the sea and blessed by the sight of Diane, who sat near at hand with beaming eyes, ministering to me.
The capture of the Spanish Fort had in one way been a great godsend to her. For in the quarters of the women, De Brésac had found a box full of linen and silks and a few things even that had been brought to Florida by Mademoiselle herself. These the Chevalier sent to her with a gracious word as her share of the spoils. The silks were of no very recent fashion to be sure, but all the gold and silver in the world could not have contributed so much as these to Mademoiselle’s content. Nor were they of any particular kind of shape, hanging about her slender figure like lean biscuit-bags. But with ready grace and wit she made shift to fasten and tuck them, so that after all they were none so bad as they might have been. She was so sweet and graceful a sight to my eyes that I feared should I close them I would lose not only the vision but the reality, and find myself again upon the sand-spit,—at Paris,—or in the forest,—seeking her ever with new hopes which were born only to be blasted again and again.
At last I slept; and the morning sun was breaking across the narrow cabin as I wakened. When I had eaten, I felt so strong and well that I would have risen, but Diane pressed me quietly by the shoulders and would not permit it. After awhile, when all was ready, my pallet was carried up on the after-castle, in the shadow of an awning, where I lay with several others and watched the fellows upon the shore. They were busy as bees and I felt a lazy dolt to be lying there twiddling my thumbs.