by Zona Gale
CHAPTER XI
THE END OF THE EVENING
The Hall of Kings was very still as Olivia rose. She stood with onehand touching her veil's hem, the other resting on the low, carvedarm of the throne, and at the coming and going of her breath herjewels made the light lambent with the indeterminate colours ofthose strange, joyous banners floating far above her head.
Her voice was very sweet and a little tremulous--and it is the verygrace of a woman's courage that her voice tremble never so slightly.It seemed to St. George that he loved her a thousand times the morefor that mere persuasive wavering of her words. And, while helistened to what he felt to be the prelude of her message, it seemedto him that he loved her another thousand times the more--whatheavenly ease there is in this arithmetic of love--for the tendermeaning which, upon her lips, her father's name took on. When,speaking with simplicity and directness of the subject that layuppermost in the minds of them all, she asked their utmost endeavourin their common grief, it was clear that what she said transcendedwhatever phenomena of mere experience lay between her and those whoheard her, and they understood. The _rapport_ was like that amongthose who hear one music. But St. George listened, and though hismind applauded, it ran on ahead to the terrifying future. This wasall very well, but how was it to help her in the face of what was tohappen in three days' time?
"Therefore," Olivia's words touched tranquilly among the flying endsof his own thought, "I am come before you to make that sacrificewhich my love for my father, and my grief and my anxiety demand. Icount upon your support, as he would count upon it for me. I askthat one heart be in us all in this common sorrow. And I am comewith the unalterable determination both to renounce my thronethere"--never was anything more enchanting than the way those twowords fell from her lips--"and to postpone my marriage"--there neverwas anything more profoundly disquieting than _those_ two words insuch a connection--"until such time as, by your effort and by myown, we may have news of my father, the king; and until, by youreffort or by my own, the Hereditary Treasure shall be restored."
So, serenely and with the most ingenuous confidence, did thedaughter of the absent King Otho make disposition of the hour'sevents. Amory leaned forward and feverishly polished his pince-nez.
"What do you think of that?" he put it, beneath his breath, "what_do_ you think of that?"
St. George, watching that little figure--so adorably, almostpathetically little in its corner of the great throne--knew that hehad not counted upon her in vain. Over there on the raised seatsMrs. Medora Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham were looking onmatters as helplessly as they would look at a thunder-storm or acircus procession, and they were taking things quite as seriously.But Olivia, in spite of the tragedy that the hour held for her, wasgiving the moment its exact value, guiltless of the feminineimmorality of panic. To give a moment its due without that panic,is, St. George knew, a kind of genius, like creating beauty, anddivining another's meaning, and redeeming the spirit of a thing fromits actuality. But by that time the arithmetic of his love was byway of being in too many figures to talk about. Which is the properplight of love.
Every one had turned toward Prince Tabnit, and as St. George lookedit smote him whimsically that that impassive profile was like theprofiles upon the ancient coins which, almost any day, might be castup by a passing hoof on the island mold. Indeed, St. George thought,one might almost have spent the prince's profile at a fig-stall,and the vender would have jingled it among his silver and never havedetected the cheat. But in the next moment the joyous mounting ofhis blood running riot in audacious whimsies was checked by the evenvoice of the prince himself.
"The gratitude and love of this people," he said slowly, "are due tothe daughter of its sovereign for what she has proposed. It is,however, to be remembered that by our ancient law the State andevery satrapy therein shall receive no service, whether of blood orof bond, from an alien. The king himself could serve us only in thathe was king. To his daughter as Princess of Yaque and wife of theHead of the House of the Litany, this service in the search for thesovereign and the Hereditary Treasure will be permitted, but she mayserve us only from the throne."
"Upon my soul, then that lets _us_ out," murmured Amory.
And St. George remembered miserably how, in that dingy house inMcDougle Street, he and Olivia had listened once before to therecital of that law from the prince's lips. If they had known hownext they would hear it! If they had known then what that law wouldcome to mean to her! What could she do now--what could even Oliviado now but assent?
She could do a great deal, it appeared. She could incline her head,with a bewitching droop of eyelids, and look up to meet the eyes ofthe prince with a serenity that was like a smile.
"In my country," said Olivia gravely, "when anything special arisesthey frequently find that there is no law to cover it. It would seemto us"--it was as though the humility of that "us" took from hersuperb daring--"that this is a matter requiring the advice of theHigh Council. Therefore," asked little Olivia gently, "will you notappoint, your Highness, a special session of the High Council toconvene at noon to-morrow, to consider our proposition?"
There was a scarcely perceptible stir among the members of the HighCouncil, for even the liberals were, it would seem, taken aback by adeparture which they themselves had not instituted. Olivia, still insubmission to tradition which she could not violate, had gained thetime for which she hoped. With a grace that was like the conferringof a royal favour, Prince Tabnit appointed the meeting of the HighCouncil for noon on the following day.
"May the gods permit the possible," he added, and once more extendedhis hand to Olivia. This time, with lowered eyes, she gave him thetips of her fingers and, as the beckoning music swelled a delicateprelude, she stepped from the dais and suffered the prince to leadher toward the banquet hall.
Amory drew a long breath, and it came to St. George that if he,Amory, said anything about what he would give if he had a leasedwire to the _Sentinel_ Office, there would no longer be room on theisland for them both. But Amory said no such thing. Instead, helooked at St. George in distinct hesitation.
"I say," he brought out finally, "St. George, by Jove, do you know,it seems to me I've seen Miss Frothingham before. And how jollybeautiful she is," he added almost reverently.
"Maybe it was when you were a Phoenician galley slave and she wentby in a trireme," offered St. George, trying to keep in sight thebright hair and the floating veil beyond the press of the crowd.Would he see Olivia and would he be able to speak with her, and didshe know he was there, and would she be angry? Ah well, she couldnot possibly be angry, he thought; but with all this in his mind itwas hardly reasonable of Amory to expect him to speculate on whereMiss Frothingham might have been seen before. If it weren't for thisBalator now, St. George said to himself restlessly, and suddenlyobserved that Balator was expecting them to follow him. So, in theslow-moving throng, all soft hues and soft laughter, they made theirway toward the colonnade that cut off the banquet room. And at everystep St. George thought, "she has passed here--and here--and here,"and all the while, through the mighty open rafters in the conicalroof, were to be seen those strange banners joyously floating in thedelicate, alien light. The wine of the moment flowed in his veins,and he moved under strange banners, with a strange ecstasy in hisheart.
Therefore, suddenly to hear Rollo's voice at his shoulder came as adistinct shock.
"It's one of them little brown 'uns, sir," Rollo announced in hisbest tone of mystery. "He's settin' upstairs, sir, an' he's all fersettin' there _till_ he sees you. He says it's most important, sir."
Amory heard.
"Shall I go up?" he asked eagerly; "I'd like a whiff of a pipe,anyway. It'll be something to tie to."
"Will you go?" asked St. George in undisguised gratitude. He wasprepared to accept most risks rather than to lose sight of the starhe was following.
With a word to Balator who explained where, on his return, he couldfind them, Amory turned with Rollo, and slipped through
the crowd.Having reasons of his own for getting back to the hall below, Amorywas prepared to speed well the interview with "the little brown 'un"who, he supposed, was Jarvo.
It was Jarvo--Jarvo, in a state of excitement, profound andincredible. The little man, from the annoyingly serene mode of mindin which he had left them, was become, for him, almost agitated. Hesprang up from a divan in the great dressing-room of their apartmentand approached Amory almost without greeting.
"Adon, adon," he said earnestly, "you must leave the palace atonce--at once. But to-night!"
Amory hunted for his pipe, found and lighted it, pressing acigarette upon Jarvo who accepted, and held it, alight, in the palmof his hand.
"To-night," he repeated, as if it were a game.
"Ah well, now," said Amory reasonably, "why, Jarvo? And we socomfortable."
The little man looked at Amory beseechingly.
"I know what I know," he said earnestly, "many things will happen.There is danger about the palace to-night--danger it may be for you.I do not know all, but I come to warn you, and to warn the adon whohas been kind to us. You have brought us here when we were alone inAmerica," said Jarvo simply. "Akko and I will help you now. It wasAkko who remembered the tower."
Amory looked down at the bowl of his pipe, and shook his vestas intheir box, and turned his eyes to Rollo, listening near by with anair of the most intense abstraction. Yes, all these things werereal. They were all real, and here was he, Amory, smoking. And yetwhat was all this amazing talk about danger in the palace, and beingwarned, and remembering the tower?
"Anybody would think I was Crass, writing head-lines," he toldhimself, and blew a cloud of smoke through which to look at Jarvo.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded sternly.
Jarvo had a little key in his hand, which he shook. The key was on aslender, carved ring, and it jingled. And when he offered it to himAmory abstractedly took it.
"See, adon," said Jarvo, "see! In the ilex grove on the road that wetook last night there is a white tower--it may be that you havenoticed it to-day. That tower is empty, and this is the key. Theremay be guards, but I shall know how to pass among them. You mustcome with me there to-night, the three. Even then it may be toolate, I do not know. The gods will permit the possible. But this Iknow: the Royal Guard are of the lahnas, on whom the tax to makegood the Hereditary Treasure will fall most heavily. They are filledwith rage against your people--you and the king who is of yourpeople. I do not know what they will do, but you are not safe forone moment in the palace. I come to warn you."
Amory's pipe went out. He sat pulling at it abstractedly, trying tofit together what St. George had told him of the Hereditary Treasuresituation. And more than at any other time since his arrival on theisland his heart leaped up at the prospect of promised adventure.What if St. George's romantic apostasy were not, after all, to spoilthe flavour of the kind of adventure for which he, Amory, had beenhoping? He leaned eagerly forward.
"What would you suggest?" he said.
Jarvo's eyes brightened. At once he sprang to his feet and stoodbefore Amory, taking soft steps here and there as he talked, inmovement graceful and tenuous as the greyhound of which he hadreminded St. George.
"In the palace yard," explained the little man rapidly, "is a motorwhich came from Melita, bringing guests for the ceremony ofto-night. They will remain in the palace until after the marriage ofthe prince, two days hence. But the motor--that must go backto-night to Melita, adon. I have made for myself permission to takeit there. But you--the three--must go with me. At the tower in theilex grove I shall leave you, and I shall return. Is this good?"
"Excellent. But what afterward?" demanded Amory. "Are we all to keephouse in the tower?"
Jarvo shook his head, like a man who has thought of everything.
"Through to-morrow, yes," he said, "but to-morrow night, when thedark falls--"
He bent forward and spoke softly.
"Did not the adon wish to ascend the mountain?" he asked.
"Rather," said Amory, "but how, good heavens?"
"I and Akko wish to ascend also; the prince has sent us no message,and we fear him," said Jarvo simply. "There are on the island, adon,six carriers, trained from birth to make the ascent. They are thesons of those whose duty it was to ascend, and they the sons formany generations. The trail is very steep, very perilous. Six weretaught to go up with messages long before the knowledge of thewireless way, long before the flight of the airships. They arebecome a tradition of the island. It is with them that you mustascend--if you have no fear."
"Fear!" cried Amory. "But these men, what of them? They are in theemploy of the State. How do you know they will take us?"
Jarvo dropped his eyes.
"I and Akko," he said quietly, "we are two of these six carriers,adon."
Then Amory leaped up, scattering the ashes of his pipe over thetiles. This, then, was what was the matter with the feet of the twomen, about which they had all speculated on the deck of _The Aloha_,the feet trained from birth to make the ascent of the steep trail,feet become long, tenuous, almost prehensile--
"It's miracles, that's what it is," declared Amory solemnly. "How onearth did they come to take you to New York?" he could not forbearasking.
"The prince knew nothing of your country, adon," answered Jarvosimply. "He might have needed us to enter it."
"To climb the custom-house," said Amory abstractedly, and laughedout suddenly in sheer light-heartedness. Here was come to them anundertaking to which St. George himself must warm as he had warmedat the prospect of the voyage. To go up the mountain to thethreshold of the king's palace, where lived the daughter of theking.
Amory bent himself with a will to mastering each detail of thelittle man's proposals. Rollo, they decided, was at once to makeready a few belongings in the oil-skins. Immediately after thebanquet St. George and Amory were to mingle with the throng andleave the palace--no difficult matter in the press of thedepartures--and, on the side of the courtyard beneath the windows ofthe banquet room, Jarvo, already joined by Rollo, would be awaitingthem in the motor bound for Melita.
"It sounds as if it couldn't be done," said Amory in intenseenjoyment. "It's bully."
He paced up and down the room, talking it over. He folded his arms,and looked at the matter from all sides and wondered, as touching astory being "covered" for Chillingworth, whether he were leavinganything unthought.
"Chillingworth!" he said to himself in ecstasy. "Wouldn'tChillingworth dote to idolatry upon this sight?"
Then Amory stood still, facing something that he had not seenbefore. He had come, in his walk, upon a little table set near theroom's entrance, and bearing a decanter and some cups.
"Hello," he said, "Rollo, where did this come from?"
Rollo came forward, velvet steps, velvet pressing together of hishands, face expressionless as velvet too.
"A servant of 'is 'ighness, sir," he said--Rollo did that now andthen to let you know that his was the blood of valets--"left it sometime ago, with the compliments of the prince. It looks like a good,nitzy Burgundy, sir," added Rollo tolerantly, "though the man didsay it was bottled in something B.C., sir, and if it was it's mostlikely flat. You can't trust them vintages much farther back thanthe French Revolootion, beggin' your pardon, sir."
Amory absently lifted the decanter, and then looked at it with somecuriosity. The decanter was like a vase, ornamented with goldmedallions covered with exquisite and precise engraving of greatbeauty and variety of design. Serpents, men contending with lions,sacred trees and apes were chased in the gold, and the little cupsof sard were engraved in pomegranates and segments of fruit andpendent acorns, and were set with cones of cornelian. The cups werejoined by a long cord of thick gold.
Amory set his hand to the little golden stopper, perhapshermetically sealed, he thought idly, at about the time of theaccidental discovery of glass itself by the Phoenicians. Amory wasnot imaginative, but as he thought of the possible age of the wine,there lay upon h
im that fascination communicable from any linkbetween the present and the living past.
"Solomon and Sargon," he said to himself, "the geese in the capitol,Marathon, Alexander, Carthage, the Norman conquest, Shakespeare andMiss Frothingham!"
He smiled and twisted the carven stopper.
"And the girl is alive," he said almost wonderingly. "There has beenso much Time in the world, and yet she is alive now. Down there inthe banquet room."
The odour of the contents of the vase, spicy, penetrating,delicious, crept out, and he breathed it gratefully. It was like noodour that he remembered. This was nothing like Rollo's "good, nitzyBurgundy"--this was something infinitely more wonderful. And theodour--the odour was like a draught. And wasn't this the wine ofwines, he asked himself, to give them courage, exultation, the mostsuperb daring when they started up that delectable mountain? St.George must know; he would think so too.
"Oh, I say," said Amory to himself, "we must put some strength inJarvo's bones too--poor little brick!"
With that Amory drew the carven stopper, fitted in the little funnelthat hung about the neck of the vase, poured a half-finger of thewine in each cup, and lifted one in his hand. But the mere odour wasenough to make a man live ten lives, he thought, smiling at his ownstrange exultation. He must no more than touch it to his lips, forhe wanted a clear head for what was coming.
"Come, Jarvo," he cried gaily--was he shouting, he wondered, andwasn't that what he was trying to do--to shout to make some far-awayvoice answer him? "Come and drink to the health of the prince. Longmay he live, long may he live--without us!"
Amory had stood with his back to the little brown man while hepoured the wine. As he turned, he lifted one cup to his lips andRollo gravely presented the other to Jarvo. But with a bound thatall but upset the velvet valet, the little man cleared the spacebetween him and Amory and struck the cup from Amory's hand.
"Adon!" he cried terribly, "adon! Do not drink--do not drink!"
The precious liquid splashed to the floor with the falling cup andran red about the tiles. Instantly a powerful and delightfulfragrance rose, and the thick fumes possessed the air. Amory threwout his hands blindly, caught dizzily at Rollo, and was half draggedby Jarvo to the open window.
"Oh, I say, sir--" burst out Rollo, more upset over the loss of thewine than he was alarmed at the occurrence. If it came to losing agood, nitzy Burgundy, Rollo knew what that meant.
"Adon," cried Jarvo, shaking Amory's shoulders, "did you taste theliquor--tell me--the liquor--did you taste?"
Amory shook his head. Jarvo's face and the hovering Rollo and thewhole room were enveloped in mist, and the wine was hot on his lipswhere the cup had touched them. Yet while he stood there, with thatpermeating fragrance in the air, it came to him vaguely that he hadnever in his life known a more perfectly delightful moment. If this,he said to himself vaguely, was what they meant by wine in the olddays, then so far as his own experience went, the best "nitzy"Burgundy was no more than a flabby, _vin ordinaire_ beside it. Notthat "flabby" was what he meant to call it, but that was the wordthat came. For he felt as if no less than six men were flowing inhis veins, he summed it up to himself triumphantly.
But after all, the effect was only momentary. Almost as quickly asthose strange fumes had arisen they were dissipated. And whenpresently Amory stood up unsteadily from the seat of the window, hecould see clearly enough that Jarvo, with terrified eyes, wasturning the vase in his hands.
"It is the same," he was saying, "it must be the same. The gods havepermitted the possible. I was here to tell you."
"Tell me what?" demanded Amory with ungrateful irritation. "Is thestuff poison?" he asked, tottering in spite of himself as he crossedthe floor toward him. But Jarvo turned his face, and upon it wassuch an incongruous terror that Amory involuntarily stood still.
"There are known to be two," said Jarvo, holding the vase at arm'slength, "and the one is abundant life, if the draught is notover-measured. But the other is ten thousand times worse thandeath."
"What do you mean?" cried Amory roughly. "What are you talkingabout? If the stuff is poison can't you say so?"
Jarvo looked at him swiftly.
"These things are not spoken aloud in Yaque," he said simply, andafter that he held his peace. Amory threatened him and laughed athim, but Jarvo shook his head. At last Amory scoffed at the wholematter and stretched out his hand for the vase.
"Come," he said, "at all events I'll take it with me. It can't bevery much worse than the American liqueurs."
"My word for it, sir, beggin' your pardon," said Rollo earnestly,"it's a kind of what you might call med-i-eval Burgundy, sir."
"It is not well," said Jarvo, handing the vase with reluctance, "yettake it--but see that it touches no lips. I charge you that, adon."
Amory smiled and slipped the little vase in his coat pocket.
"It's all right," he said, "I won't let it get away from me. I canfind my legs now; I'll go back down. Look sharp, Rollo. Be downthere with the oil-skins. We put on this Tyrian purple stuff overthe whole outfit," he explained to Jarvo, "and I suppose, you know,that you can get both robes back here for us, if we escape in them?"
"Assuredly, adon," said Jarvo, "and you must escape without delay.This wine must mean that the prince, too, wishes you harm. Now letme be before you for a little, so that no one may see us together. Ishall go now, immediately, to the motor--it is waiting already bythe wall on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of thebanquet hall. I shall not fail you."
"On the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquetroom," repeated Amory. "Thanks, Jarvo. You're all kinds of a goodfellow."
"Yes, adon," gravely assented the little man from the threshold.
Ten minutes later Amory followed. Already Rollo had packed theoil-skins, and Amory, his nerves steadied and the excitement of allthat the night promised come upon him, hurried before him down thecorridor, his thoughts divided in their allegiance between thedelight of telling St. George what was toward, and the new andalluring delight of seeing Antoinette Frothingham near at hand inthe banquet room. After all, he had had only the vaguest glimpse ofa little figure in rose and silver, and he doubted if he could tellher from the princess, but for the interpreting gown.
Amory looked up with an irrepressible thrill of delight. He was justat that moment crossing the high white audience-hall, the anteroomto the Hall of Kings--he, Amory, in Tyrian purple garments. Ifanything were needed to complete the picture it would be to meetface to face, there in that big, lonely room, a little figure inrose and silver. It made his heart beat even to think of thepossibilities of that situation. He skirted the Hall of Kings, andstood in one of the archways of the colonnade, facing the banquetroom.
The banquet-table extended about three sides of the room, whosecentre the guests faced. The middle space was left pure, unvexed bycolumns or furnishing. At the room's far end Amory glimpsed theprince, at his side Olivia's white veil, and her women about her;and, nearer, St. George and Balator in the place appointed. A guardcame to conduct him, and he crossed to his seat and sank down withthe look that could be made to mean whatever Amory meant.
"I expect to be served," murmured the journalist in him, "bybeautiful tame megatheriums, in sashes. And is that glyptodonsalad?"
St. George's eyes were upon the guests, so tranquilly seated, awareof the hour.
"I fancy," he said in half-voice, "that presently we shall seelittle flames issuing from their hair, as there used from the hairof the ladies in Werner's ballets."
Then as Balator leaned toward him in his splendid leisure, fosteringhis charm, there came an amazing interruption.
The low key of the room was electrically raised by a cry, loosedfrom some other plight of being, like an odour of burningencroaching upon a garden.
"Why have you not waited?" some one called, and the voice--clear,equal, imperious--evened its way upon the air and reduced to itselfthe soft speech of the others. Silence fell upon them all, andtheir eyes were towa
rd a figure standing in the open interval of theroom--a figure whose aspect thrilled St. George with sudden,inexplicable emotion.
It was an old man, incredibly old, so that one thought first of hisage. His beard and hair were not all grey, but he had grotesquelybrown and wrinkled flesh. His stuff robe hung in straight foldsabout his singularly erect figure, and there was in his bearing thedignity of one who has understood all fine and gentle things, allthings of quietude. But his look was vacant, as if the mind wereasleep.
"Why have you not waited?" he repeated almost wonderingly. "Why haveyou not sent for me?" and his eyes questioned one and another, andrested on the face of the prince upon the dais, with Olivia by hisside. The guard, whom in some fashion the strange old man hadeluded, hurried from the borders of the room. But he broke from themand was off up half the length of the hall toward the prince's seat.
"Do you not know?" he cried as he went, "I am Malakh. Read oneanother's eyes and you will know. I am Malakh."
As the guards closed about him he tottered and would have fallensave that they caught him roughly and pressed to a door, halfcarrying him, and he did not resist. But as speech was renewedanother voice broke the murmur, and with great amazement St. Georgeknew that this was Olivia's voice.
"No," she cried--but half as if she distrusted her own strangeimpulse, "let him stay--let him stay."
St. George saw the prince's look question her. He himself was unableto account for her unexpected intercession, and so, one would havesaid, was Olivia. She looked up at the prince almost fearfully, anddown the length of the listening table, and back to the old manwhose eyes were upon her face.
"He is an old man, your Highness," St. George heard her saying, "lethim stay."
Prince Tabnit, who gave a curious impression of doing everythingthat he did in obedience to inertia rather than in its defiance,indicated some command to the puzzled guards, and they led oldMalakh to a stone bench not far from the dais, and there he sankdown, looking about him without surprise.
"It is well," he said simply, "Malakh has come."
While St. George was marveling--but not that the old man spoke theEnglish, for in Yaque it was not surprising to find the very madmenspeaking one's own tongue--Balator explained the man.
"He is a poor mad creature," Balator said. "He walks the streets ofMed saying 'Melek, Melek,' which is to say, 'king,' and so he isseeking the king. But he is mad, and they say that he always weeps,and therefore they pretend to believe that he says 'Malakh,' whichis to say 'salt.' And they call him that for his tears. Doubtlessthe princess does not understand. Her Highness has a tender heart."
St. George was silent. The incident was trivial, but Olivia hadnever seemed so near.
Sometimes in the world of commonplace there comes an extreme hourwhich one afterward remembers with "Could that have been I? Butcould it have been I who did that?" And one finds it in one's heartto be certain that it was not one's self, but some one else--someone very near, some one who is always sharing one's ownconsciousness and inexplicably mixing with one's moments. "Perhaps,"St. George would have said, "there is some such person who isnearly, but not quite, I myself. And if there is, it was he and notI who was at that banquet!" It was one of the hours which seem tohave been made with no echo. It was; and then passed into otherways, and one remembered only a brightness. For example, St. Georgelistened to what Balator said, and he heard with utmostunderstanding, and with the frequent pleasure of wonder, and was nowand then exquisitely amused as one is amused in dreams. But even ashe listened, if he tried to remember the last thing that was said,and the next to the last thing, he found that these had escaped him;and as he rose from the table he could not recall ten words that hadbeen spoken. It was as if the some one very near, who is alwayssharing one's consciousness and inexplicably mixing with one'smoments, had taken St. George's part at the banquet while he,himself, sat there in the role of his own outer consciousness. Butneither he nor that hypothetical "some one else," who was also he,lost for one instant the heavenly knowledge that Olivia was up thereat the head of the table.
Amory, in spite of diplomatic effort, had not succeeded in impartingto St. George anything of his talk with Jarvo. Balator was too near,and the place was somehow too generally attentive to permit a secretword. So, as they rose from the table, St. George was still inignorance of what was toward and knew nothing of either the IlexTower or the possibilities of the morrow. He had only one thought,and that was to speak with Olivia, to let her know that he was thereon the island, near her, ready to serve her--ah well, chiefly, hedid not disguise from himself, what he wanted was to look at her andto hear her speak to him. But Amory had depended on the confusion ofthe rising to communicate the great news, and to tell about Jarvo,waiting in a motor out there in the palace courtyard, by the wall onthe side opposite the windows of the banquet room. In an auspiciousmoment Amory looked warily about, thrilling with premonition of hisfriend's enthusiasm.
Before he could speak, St. George uttered a startled exclamation,caught at Amory's arm, sprang forward, and was off up the long room,dragging Amory with him.
About the dais there was suddenly an appalling confusion. Push offeet, murmurs, a cry and, visible over the heads between, aglistening of gold uniforms closing about the throne seats, flashingback to the long, open windows, disappearing against the night...
"What is it?" cried Amory as he ran. "What is it?"
"Quick," said St. George only, "I don't know. They've gone withher."
Amory did not understand, but he saw that Olivia's seat was empty;and when he swept the heads for her white veil, it was not there.
"Who has?" he said.
St. George swerved to the side of the room toward the windows, andold Malakh stood there, crying out and pointing.
"The guard, I think," St. George answered, and was over the low sillof a window, running headlong across the courtyard, Amory behindhim. "There they go," St. George cried. "Good God, what are we todo? There they go."
Amory looked. Down a side avenue--one of those tunnels of shadowthat taught the necessity of mystery--a great motor car wasspeeding, and in the dimness the two men could see the white ofOlivia's floating veil.
At this, Amory wheeled and searched the length of wall across theyard. If only--if only--
There on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of thebanquet room stood the motor that was that night to go back toMelita. Bolt upright on the seat was Jarvo, and climbing in thetonneau, with his neck stretched toward the confusion of the palace,was Rollo. Jarvo saw Amory, who beckoned; and in an instant the carwas beside them and the two men were over the back of the tonneau ina flash.
"That way," cried St. George, with no time to waste on the miracleof Jarvo's appearance, "that way--there. Where you see the white."
At a touch the motor plunged away into the fragrant darkness. Amorylooked back. Figures crowded the windows of the palace, and streamedfrom the banquet hall into the courtyard. Men hurried through thehall, and there was clamour of voices, and in the honey-coloured airthe great bulk of the palace towered like a faithless sentinel, thealien banners in nameless colours sending streamers into themoon-lit upper spaces.
On before, down nebulous ways, went the whiteness of the floatingveil.
