But would she ever proclaim her right to freedom? It seemed like a strange question, and yet there remained a reason still for silence. If she was indeed Eloise Beaucaire—and even as to this I was not as yet wholly convinced—she had deliberately assumed to be Rene, doing so for a specific purpose—that object being to afford the other an opportunity for escape. She, conscious of her white blood, her standing of respectability, had felt reasonably safe in this escapade; had decided that no great harm could befall her through such a masquerade for a few days. If worst came to worst she could openly proclaim her name at any moment, assured of protection at the hands of anyone present, and thus defy Kirby. I recalled to memory their conversation, which I had overheard in the library at Beaucaire; and I understood now what had easily led to all this—her belief, from Kirby's own words, that nothing further could be done until the necessary legal papers had been served on her in person. This faith, coupled with the mysterious disappearance of Rene and the quadroon mother, and her being mistaken for the absent girl, all led her inevitably to the conclusion that she must continue to act out the part assumed until those others were safe beyond pursuit. With quick wit she had grasped this chance for service; had encouraged Kirby to believe her the slave, and then, in sudden desperation, had been driven into trusting me in an effort to keep out of his hands.
This theory seemed possible enough; yet what she might decide to do now, under the stress of these new conditions, was no less a problem. She possessed no knowledge regarding the others, such as I did. She had no means of guessing that the two others had already actually escaped, and were even then beyond the power of their pursuers. Her one thought still would be the continuation of deceit, the insistence that she was Rene. To do otherwise would defeat her purpose, make her previous sacrifice useless. She must still fight silently for delay. Why, she had not so much as trusted me. From the very beginning she had encouraged me in the belief that she was a negress, never once arousing the faintest suspicion in my mind. Not by the slip of the tongue, or the glance of an eye, had she permitted either of us to forget the barrier of race between. Nothing then, I was convinced, short of death or disgrace, could ever compel her to confess the truth yet. Kirby might suspect, might fear, but he had surely never learned who she was from her lips—that she was Eloise Beaucaire.
And was she? Was the proof of her identity, as yet produced, the story of Elsie Clark, sufficiently satisfactory to my own mind? It became more so as I thought, as I remembered. Every link in the chain of evidence seemed to fall noiselessly into its place, now that I compared my own experience with the details furnished me by the mulatto girl. No other conclusion appeared possible, or probable; no other solution fully met the facts in the case. The conviction that this young woman was white, educated, refined, the daughter of good blood—no fleeing negress, cursed with the black stain of an alien race, a nameless slave—brought to me a sudden joy in discovery I made no attempt to conceal. "Eloise Beaucaire, Eloise Beaucaire"—the name repeated itself on my lips, as though it were a refrain. I knew instantly what it all meant—that some divine, mysterious hand had led from the very hour of my leaving Fort Armstrong, and would continue to lead until the will of God was done. It was not in the stars of Fate that such villainy should succeed; such sacrifice as hers fail of its reward. I might not know where to turn, or what to do; yet it was with far lighter heart, a heart stimulated by new hope, the gleam of love, that I faced the task before me.
CHAPTER XXI
THE LANDING AT YELLOW BANKS
Nevertheless, in spite of this resolve, and the fresh courage which had been awakened within me by the faith that from now on I battled for the love of Eloise Beaucaire, no immediate opportunity for service came. All that the dark girl knew of her present whereabouts was that she had been lifted on board, and, in all probability, taken below. Certainly the girl had not been cabined on the upper deck; nor was I at present in any position to seek openly the place of her confinement. I could only wait patiently, and observe.
Supper was served me in front of the boilers, in company with the rest of the crew. Later, I was assigned a sleeping space on the lower deck, barely wide enough to lie in, and was permitted to sit among the others, under the uptilt of the swinging gangway, listening to their boisterousness, and rough play, or watching the dusk of evening descend over the deserted waters, as the laboring steamer battled against the current. It was a still, black night, and the Adventurer made extremely slow progress, a leadsman at the bow calling off the depth of water, and a huge light, rather ingeniously arranged, casting a finger of radiance along the ghostly shore line. With no marks of guidance on either bank, the wheelsman felt his uncertain passage upward, advancing so cautiously progress was scarcely noticeable, and I could frequently distinguish the voice of the anxious captain from the upper deck, above the hiss of the steam, as he called some hasty warning. In all probability we should have eventually been compelled to tie up against the bank, and await daylight, but for the disappearance of the heavy masses of clouds overhead, and the welcome gleam of myriads of stars, reflected along the smooth surface of the water.
Three times, at intervals, I made an effort to explore the second deck, but each time met with failure to accomplish my object. The narrow space extending between rail and cabin never seemed entirely deserted, and my last attempt brought me face to face with Mapes, who very curtly ordered me below, accompanying his command with a profane request to remain there. To protest, and thus possibly arouse the mate's suspicion as to the purpose of my presence on board, would have resulted in greater damage to our cause than any probable peril of the coming night. So I obeyed without a word, deeming it best to lie down quietly in the space allotted, and endeavor to think out some feasible plan for the morrow, rather than be caught again prowling around blindly in the dark. To assist me in this decision Mapes hung about the lower deck, until satisfied that I had actually turned in.
But I made no effort to sleep, and my mind remained busy. Even in the course of those brief excursions I had acquired some little information of value, and of a nature to leave me more at ease. I was now convinced that Kirby, whatever might be his ultimate purpose regarding the girl, had no present intention of doing her further injury. He contemplated no immediate attempt at forcible possession, and would be well satisfied if he could only continue to hold her in strict seclusion. The thing he was guarding against now, and while they remained on board, was escape from discovery.