Romance Island

by Zona Gale

  CHAPTER V

  OLIVIA PROPOSES

  Prince Tabnit's announcement was received by his guests in thesilence of amazement. If they had been told that Miss Holland'sfather was secretly acting as King of England they could have beenno more profoundly startled than to hear stated soberly that he hadbeen for nearly a year the king of a cannibal island. For thecannibal phase of his experience seemed a foregone conclusion. ToSt. George, profoundly startled and most incredulous, the possiblehumour of the situation made first appeal. The picture of anAmerican gentleman seated upon a gold throne in a leopard-skin coat,ordering "oysters and foes" for breakfast, was irresistible.

  "But he shaved with a shell when he chose, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man"

  floated through his mind, and he brought himself up sharply.Clearly, somebody was out of his head, but it must not be he.

  "What?" cried Mrs. Hastings in two inelegant syllables, on thesecond of which her uncontrollable voice rose. "My brother Otho, avestry-man at St. Mark's--"

  "Aunt Dora!" pleaded Olivia. "Tell us," she besought the prince.

  "King Otho I of Yaque," the prince was begining, but the title wasnot to be calmly received by Mrs. Hastings.

  "_King_ Otho!" she articulated. "Then--am I royalty?"

  "All who may possibly succeed to the throne Blackstone holds to beroyalty," said the lawyer in an edictal voice, and St. George lookedaway from Olivia.

  _The Princess Olivia_!

  "King Otho," continued the prince, "ruled wisely and well for sevenmonths, and it was at the beginning of that time that the imperialsubmarine was sent to the Azores with letters and a packet to you.The enterprise, however, was attended by so great danger ofdiscovery that it was never repeated. This is why, for so long, youhave had no word from the king. And now I come," said the princewith hesitation, "to the difficult part of my narrative."

  He paused and Mr. Frothingham rushed to his assistance.

  "As the family solicitor," said the lawyer, pursing his lips, andwaving his hands, once, from the wrists, "would you not betterdivulge to my ear alone, the--a--"

  "No--no!" flashed Olivia. "No, Mr. Frothingham--please."

  The prince inclined his head.

  "Will it surprise you, Miss Holland," he said, "to learn that I mademy voyage to this country expressly to seek you out?"

  "To seek me?" exclaimed Olivia. "But--has anything happened to myfather?"

  "We hope not," replied the prince, "but what I have to tell willnone the less occasion you anxiety. Briefly, Miss Holland, it ismore than three months since your father suddenly and mysteriouslydisappeared from Yaque, leaving absolutely no clue to hiswhereabouts."

  A little cry broke from Olivia's lips that went to St. George'sheart. Mrs. Hastings, with a gesture that was quite wild and senther bonnet hopelessly to one side, burst into a volley ofexclamations and demands.

  "Who did it?" she wailed. "Who did it? Otho is a gentleman. Hewould never have the bad taste to disappear, like all thosedreadful people's wives, if somebody hadn't--"

  "My dear Madame," interposed Mr. Frothingham, "calm--calmyourself. There are families of undisputed position whichrecord disappearances in several generations."

  "Please," pleaded Olivia. "Ah, tell us," she begged the princeagain.

  "There is, unfortunately, but little to tell, Miss Holland," saidthe prince with sympathetic regret. "I had the honour, three monthsago, to entertain the king, your father, at dinner. We parted atmidnight. His Majesty seemed--"

  "His Majesty!" repeated Mrs. Hastings, smiling up at the oppositewall as if her thought saw glories.

  "--in the best of health and spirits," continued the prince. "Ameeting of the High Council was to be held at noon on the followingday. The king did not appear. From that moment no eye in Yaque hasfallen upon him."

  "One moment, your Highness," said St. George quickly; "in theabsence of the king, who presides over the High Council?"

  "As the head of the House of the Litany, the chief administrator ofjustice, it is I," said the prince with humility.

  "Ah, yes," St. George said evenly.

  "But what have you done?" cried Olivia. "Have you had search made?Have you--"

  "Everything," the prince assured her. "The island is not large. Nota corner of it remains unvisited. The people, who were devoted tothe king, your father, have sought night and day. There is, it ishardly right to conceal from you," the prince hesitated, "acircumstance which makes the disappearance the more alarming."

  "Tell us. Keep nothing from us, I beg, Prince Tabnit," besoughtOlivia.

  "For centuries," said the prince slowly, "there has been in thekeeping of the High Council of the island a casket, containing whatis known as the Hereditary Treasure. This casket, with some of thefinest of its jewels, was left by King Abibaal himself. Since histime every king of the island has upon his death bequeathed to thecasket the finest jewel in his possession; and its contents are nowtherefore of inestimable value. The circumstance to which I refer isthat two days after the disappearance of the king, your father,which spread grief and alarm through all Yaque, it was discoveredthat the Hereditary Treasure was gone."

  "Gone!" burst from the lips of the prince's auditors.

  "As utterly as if the Fifth Dimension had received it," the princegravely assured them. "The loss, as you may imagine, is a grievousone. The High Council immediately issued a proclamation that if thetreasure be not restored by a certain date--now barely two weeksaway--a heavy tax will be levied upon the people to make good, inthe coin of the realm, this incalculable loss. Against this thepeople, though they are a people of peace, are murmurous."

  "Indeed!" cried Mrs. Hastings. "Great loyalty it is that sets up theloss of their trumpery treasure over and above the loss of theirking, my brother Otho! If," she shrilled indignantly, "we are notunwise to listen to this at all. What is it you think? What is ityour people think?"

  She raised her head until she had framed the prince intortoise-shell. Mrs. Hastings never held her head quite still. Itcontinually waved about a little, so that usually, even in peace, itintimated indignation; and when actual indignation set in, the jeton her bonnet tinkled and ticked like so many angry sparrows.

  "Madame," said the prince, "there are those among his Majesty'ssubjects who would willingly lay down their lives for him. But he isa stranger to us--come of an alien race; and the doubledisappearance is a most tragic occurrence, which the burden of thetax has emphasized. To be frank, were his Majesty to reappear inYaque without the treasure having been found--"

  "Oh!" breathed Mrs. Hastings, "they would kill him!"

  The prince shuddered and set his white teeth in his nether lip.

  "The gods forbid," he said. "Such primeval punishment is as unknownamong us as is war itself. How little you know my people; howpitifully your instincts have become--forgive me--corrupted byliving in this barbarous age of yours, fumbling as you do atcivilization. With us death is a sacred rite, the highest tributeand the last sacrifice to the Absolute. Our dying are carried to theTemple of the Worshipers of Distance, and are there consecrated.The limit of our punishment would be aerial exposure--"

  "You mean?" cried St. George.

  "I mean that in extreme cases we have, with due rite and ceremonial,given a victim to an airship, without ballast or rudder, andabundantly provisioned. Then with solemn ritual we have set himadrift--an offering to the great spirits of space--so that he maycome to know. This," the prince paused in emotion, "this is theworst that could befall your father."

  "How horrible!" cried Olivia. "Oh, how horrible."

  "Oh," Mrs. Hastings moaned, "he was born to it. He was born to it.When he was six he tied kites to his arms and jumped out the windowof the cupola and broke his collar bone--oh, Otho,--oh Heaven,--andI made him eat oatmeal gruel three times a day when he was gettingwell."

  "Prince Tabnit," said St. George, "I beg you not to jest with us.Have consideration for the two to whom this man is dear."

  "I am spea
king truth to you," said the prince earnestly. "I do notwish to alarm these ladies, but I am bound in honour to tell youwhat I know."

  "Ah then," said St. George, his narrowed eyes meeting those of theprince, "since the taking of life is unknown to you in Yaque, willyou explain how it was that your servant adopted such unerringmeans to take the life of Miss Holland? And why?"

  "My servant," said the prince readily, "belongs to the lahnas orformer serfs of the island. Upon her people, now the owners of richlands, the tax will fall heavily. Crazed by what she considers herpeople's wrongs following upon the coming of the stranger sovereign,the poor creature must have developed the primitive instincts ofyour race. Before coming to this country my servant had never heardof murder save as a superseded custom of antiquity, like thecrucifying of lions. Her discovery of your daily practice of murder,and of murder practised as a cure for crime--"

  "Sir," began the lawyer imposingly.

  "--wakened in her the primitive instincts of humanity, and herinstinct took the deplorable and fanatic form of your own courts,"finished the prince. "Her bitterness toward his Majesty she soughtto visit upon his daughter."

  Olivia sprang to her feet.

  "I must go to my father. I must go to Yaque," she cried ringingly."Prince Tabnit, will you take me to him?"

  Into the prince's face leaped a fire of admiration for her beautyand her daring. He bowed before her, his lowered lashes making thickshadows on his dark cheeks.

  "I insist upon this," cried little Olivia firmly, "and if you do notpermit it, Prince Tabnit, we must publish what you have told usfrom one end of the city to the other."

  "Yes, by Jove," thought St. George, "and one's country will have aYaque exhibit in its own department at the next world's fair."

  "Olivia! My child! Miss Holland--," began the lawyer.

  The prince spoke tranquilly.

  "It is precisely this errand," he said, "that has brought me toAmerica. Do you not see that, in the event of your father's failureto return to his people, you will eventually be Queen of Yaque?"

  St. George found himself looking fixedly at Mrs. Hastings' falsefront as the only reality in the room. If in a minute Rollo wasgoing to waken him by bringing in his coffee, he was going tothrottle Rollo--that was all. Olivia Holland, an American heiress,the hereditary princess of a cannibal island! St. George stillinsisted upon the cannibal; it somehow gave him a foothold among theactualities.

  "I!" cried Olivia.

  Mrs. Hastings, brows lifted, lips parted, winked with lightningrapidity in an effort to understand.

  St. George pulled himself together.

  "Your Highness," he said sternly, "there are several things uponwhich I must ask you to enlighten us. And the first, which I hopeyou will forgive, is whether you have any direct proof that whatyou tell us of Miss Holland's father is true."

  "That's it! That's it!" Mr. Frothingham joined him with all theimportance of having made the suggestion. "We can hardly proceed indue order without proofs, sir."

  The prince turned toward the curtain at the room's end and the youthappeared once more, this time bearing a light oval casket ofdelicate workmanship. It was of a substance resembling both glassand metal of changing, rainbow tints, and it passed through St.George's mind as he observed it that there must be, to give such adazzling and unreal effect, more than seven colours in the spectrum.

  "A spectrum of seven colours," said the prince at the same moment,"could not, of course, produce this surface. I confess that until Icame to this country I did not know that you had so few colours. Ourspectrum already consists of twelve colours visible to the nakedeye, and at least five more are distinguishable through our powerfulmagnifying glasses."

  St. George was silent. It was as if he had suddenly been permittedto look past the door that bars and threatens all knowledge.

  The prince unlocked the casket. He drew out first a quantity ofpaper of extreme thinness and lightness on which, embossed andemblazoned, was the coat of arms of the Hollands--a sheaf of wheatand an unicorn's head--and this was surmounted by a crown.

  "This," said the prince, "is now the device upon the signet ring ofthe King of Yaque, the arms of your own family. And here chances tobe a letter from your father containing some instructions to me. Itis true that writing has with us been superseded by wirelesscommunication, excepting where there is need of great secrecy. Thenwe employ the alphabet of any language we choose, these being almostdisused, as are the Cuneiform and Coptic to you."

  "And how is it," St. George could not resist asking, "that you knowand speak the English?"

  The prince smiled swiftly.

  "To you," he said, "who delve for knowledge and who do not know thatit is absolute and to be possessed at will, this can not now be madeclear. Perhaps some day..."

  Olivia had taken the paper from the prince and pressed it to herlips, her eyes filling with tears. There was no mistaking thatevidence, for this was her father's familiar hand.

  "Otho always did write a fearful scrawl," Mrs. Hastings commented,"his l's and his t's and his vowels were all the same height. I usedto tell him that I didn't know whatever people would think."

  "I may, moreover," continued the prince, "call to mind severalarticles which were included in the packet sent from the Azores byhis Majesty. You have, for example, a tapestry representing an ibishunt; you have an image in pink sutro, or soft marble, of an ancientPhoenician god--Melkarth. And you have a length of stained glassbearing the figure of the Tyrian sphinx, crucified, and surroundedby coiled asps."

  "Yes, it is true," said Olivia, "we have all these things."

  "Why, the trash must be quite expensive," observed Mrs. Hastings. "Idon't care much for so many colours myself, perhaps because I alwayswear black; though I did wear light colours a good deal when I was agirl."

  "What else, Mr. St. George?" inquired the prince pleasantly.

  "Nothing else," cried Olivia passionately. "I am satisfied. Myfather is in danger, and I believe that he is in Yaque, for he wouldnever of his own will desert a place of trust. I must go to him.And, Aunt Dora, you and Mr. Frothingham must go with me."

  "Oh, Olivia!" wailed Mrs. Hastings, a different key for everysyllable, "think--consider! Is it the necessary thing to do? Andwhat would your poor dear uncle have done? And is there a better waythan his way? For I always say that it is not really necessary to doas my poor dear husband would have done, providing only that we canfind a better way. Oh," she mourned, lifting her hands, "that thisfrightful thing should come to me at my age. Otho may be married toa cannibal princess, with his sons catching wild goats by the hairlike Tennyson and the whistling parrots--"

  "Madame," said the prince coldly, "forgets what I have been sayingof my country."

  "I do not forget," declared Mrs. Hastings sharply, "but being behindcivilization and being ahead of civilization comes to the same thingmore than once. In morals it does."

  St. George was silent. Olivia's splendid daring in her passionatedecision to go to her father stirred him powerfully; moreover, herwords outlined a possible course of his own whose magnitude startledhim, and at the same time filled him with a sudden, dazzling hope.

  "But where is your island, Prince Tabnit?" he asked. "You'venaturally no consul there and no cable, since you are not even onthe map."

  "Yaque," said the prince readily, "lies almost due southwest fromthe Azores."

  Mr. Frothingham stirred skeptically.

  "But such an island," he said pompously, "so rich in material forthe archaeologist, the anthropologist, the explorer in all fields ofantiquity--ah, it is out of the question, out of the question!"

  "It is difficult," said the prince patiently, "most difficult for meto make myself intelligible to you--as difficult, if you willforgive me, as if you were to try to explain calculus to one of thestreet boys outside. But directly your phase of civilization hasopened to you the secrets of the Fourth Dimension, much will bediscovered to you which you do not now discern or dream, and amongthese, Yaque. I do not j
est," he added wearily, "neither do I expectyou to believe me. But I have told you the truth. And it would beimpossible for you to reach Yaque save in the company of one of theislanders to whom the secret is known. I can not explain to you, anymore than I can explain harmony or colour."

  "Well, I'm sure," cried Mrs. Hastings fretfully, "I don't know whyyou all keep wandering from the subject so. Now, my brother Otho--"

  "Prince Tabnit,"--Olivia's voice never seemed to interrupt, butrather to "divide evidence finely" at the proper moment--"how longwill it take us to reach Yaque?"

  St. George thrilled at that "us."

  "My submarine," replied the prince, "is plying about outside theharbour. I arrived in four days."

  "By the way," St. George submitted, "since your wireless system isperfected, why can not we have news of your island from here?"

  "The curve of the earth," explained the prince readily, "prevents.We have conquered only those problems with which we have had todeal. The curve of the earth has of course never entered ourcalculation. We have approached the problem from anotherstandpoint."

  "We have much to do, Prince Tabnit," said Olivia; "when may weleave?"

  "Command me," said Prince Tabnit, bowing.

  "To-morrow!" cried Olivia, "to-morrow, at noon."

  "Olivia!" Mrs. Hastings' voice broke over the name like ice upon awarm promontory. Mrs. Hastings' voice was suited to say "Keziah" or"Katinka," not Olivia.

  "Can you go, Mr. Frothingham?" demanded Olivia.

  Mr. Frothingham's long hands hung down and he looked as if she hadproposed a jaunt to Mars.

  "My physician has ordered a sea-change," he mumbled doubtfully, "mydaughter Antoinette--I--really--there is nothing in all myexperience--"

  "Olivia!" Mrs. Hastings in tears was superintending the search forboth side-combs.

  "Aunt Dora," said Olivia, "you're not going to fail me now. PrinceTabnit--at noon to-morrow. Where shall we meet?"

  St. George listened, glowing.

  "May I have the honour," suggested the prince, "of waiting upon youat noon to conduct you? And I need hardly say that we undertake thejourney under oath of secrecy?"

  "Anything--anything!" cried Olivia.

  "Oh, my dear Olivia," breathed Mrs. Hastings weakly, "taking me, atmy age, into this awful place of Four Dimentias--or whatever it wasyou said."

  "We will be ready to go with you at noon," said Olivia steadily.

  St. George held his peace as they made their adieux. A great manythings remained to be thought out, but one was clear enough.

  The boy servant ran before them to the door. They made their way tothe street in the early dusk. A hurdy-gurdy on the curb was bubblingover with merry discords, and was flanked by garrulous Italians withpush-carts, lighted by flaring torches. Men were returning fromwork, children were quarreling, women were in doorways, and apoliceman was gossiping with the footman in a knot of watchingidlers. With a sigh that was like a groan, Mrs. Hastings sank backon the cushions of the brougham.

  "I feel," she said, eyes closed, "as if I had been in a pagan templewhere they worship oracles and what's-his-names. What time is it? Ihaven't an idea. Dear, dear, I want to get home and feel as if myfeet were on land and water again. I want some strong sleep and agood sound cup of coffee, and then I shall know what's actuallywhat."

  To St. George the slow drive up town was no less unreal than theirvisit. His head was whirling, a hundred plans and speculationsfilled his mind, and through these Mrs Hastings' chatter offorebodings and the lawyer's patterned utterance hardly found theirway. At his own street he was set down, with Mrs. Hastings'permission to call next day.

  Miss Holland gave him her hand.

  "I can not thank you," she said, "I can not thank you. But try toknow, won't you, what this has been to me. Until to-morrow."

  Until to-morrow. St. George stood in the brightness of the streetlooking after the vanishing carriage, his hand tingling from hertouch. Then he went up to his apartment and met Rollo--sleek,deferential, the acme of the polite barbarism in which the princehad made St. George feel that he and his world were living. Ah, hethought, as Rollo took his hat, this was no way to live, with thewhole world singing to be discovered anew.

  He sat down before the trim little white table with its pretty chinaand silver and its one rose-shaded candle, but the doubtful contentof comfort was suddenly not enough. The spirit of the road and ofthe chase was in his veins, and he was aglow with "the taste forpilgriming." He looked about on the simple luxury with which he hadsurrounded himself, and he welcomed his farewell to it. And whenRollo had gone up stairs to complain in person of the shad-roe, St.George spoke aloud:

  "If Miss Holland sails for Yaque to-morrow on the prince'ssubmarine," he said, "_The Aloha_ and I will follow her."