“I cannot answer you,” said Onrai, “further than as you have suggested, it is because you are my guests. You come to us strangers; you knew not what to expect when you threw yourselves on our bounty, but you trusted us, and for that reason you are deserving of every attention which we can give you.”
“But pardon me, Onrai,” said Harry, “if I ask you a pointed question. I saw your fearful agitation as you witnessed Enola being borne away from you last night in the teeth of the storm; I saw that you suffered far more than if you had only a friendly interest in her; and I saw you to-night when you came tearing up the driveway and then up the steps of the terrace, the dead zebra testifying that you must have ridden like mad: I see you now, your face pale, your eyes bloodshot, your whole appearance displaying mental anguish. Have you not a personal interest in Enola, and is not this interest prompted by a feeling deeper than friendship?”
Onrai now stood with his arms crossed over his breast, his bearing erect and scornful, as if to give Harry the impression that he was accountable to himself alone for his actions and did not recognize Harry’s right to question him. He stood looking at Harry for some time after he had finished speaking, as if debating with himself as to whether he would answer him or not. But his just nature asserted itself, and he said:
“Your question is a strange one, but I feel that you have some right to ask it; for you have been Enola’s companion for years and must have a brotherly regard or love for her. I cannot blame you, now that I remember the difference in our lives, for this solicitation for her future. But have not my attentions to Enola been honorable? Do you think that I, the King of the Land of On, chosen by the people because they knew that I was pure of mind, do you think that I could so far forget my natural traits or early teachings, as to have any but the purest thoughts of Enola, and do you not know that the Kings of On cannot marry?”
“So I have learned,” answered Harry, “but are you not still a man, and as a man have you not human emotions and passions? Because you are a chosen King, is the ruling passion, love, driven from your heart?”
“No, I would to God that it was,” answered Onrai, and his face betrayed his fearful agony of mind. “No, this passion is still ours, but sufficient strength is given us to keep it in check. We must smother it and cast it out. We must so interest ourselves in our people as to forget all else.”
“But can you do this?” asked Harry. “Is not love all-powerful? Even among your people, who are supposed to keep it in check until after marriage? You have lived, Onrai, thirty-five years; have you not in that time felt the delightful sensations of love, and have you found it possible to smother it?”
“Yes, I have loved,” answered Onrai. “But it came over me like a dream and was so subtle in its movements that I did not realize that it had taken possession of me until a long time afterwards. But an unlooked for event opened my eyes to my sin and the knowledge of it nearly crazed me.”
“No, I would to God that it was.”—Page [154].