CHAPTER XXIX
THE BLACK PALMER
Curious things may happen when masked men hold revel under a moonlitsky.
Thus in a tropical garden of palm and fountain, of dark, shiftingshadows and a thousand softly luminous Chinese lanterns swaying in abreeze of spice, a Bedouin talked to an ancient Greek.
"He is here?" asked the Bedouin with an accent slightly foreign.
"Yes," said the Greek. "He is here and immensely relieved, I take it,to be rid of the jurisdiction of the hay-camp."
"I fancied he would not dare--"
"A man in love," commented the Greek dryly, "dares much for the sake ofhis lady. One may conceivably lack discretion without forfeiting hisclaim to courage."
"The disguise of his stained and shaven face," hinted the Bedouingrimly, "has made him over-confident. Having tested it with apparentsuccess upon you--"
"Even so. But he has forgotten that few men have such striking eyes."
"If he has taken the pains to assure himself of my whereabouts,"rumbled the Bedouin, "as he surely has, I am of course still blisteringin extreme southern Florida, hunting tarpon. I have a permanentWashington address which I have taken pains to notify of my interest intarpon and to which he writes. These incognito days," added theBedouin with a slight smile, "my cipher communications cross an oceanand return immediately by trusted hands to America, though I, ofcourse, know nothing of it. Those from my charming minstrel tome--make similar tours."
"And I?"
"You--my secretary--having spent a few days with the Sherrills on yourway to join me after months of frivoling with a hay-camp, have beenforced by telegram to depart before the _fete de nuit_ to which MissSherrill begged our attendance. Rest assured he knows that too.Therefore, to unmask unobtrusively and slip away to his room, and inthe absence of other guests to linger for a week of incognitoquiet--_voila_! he is quite safe though imprudent!"
Greek and Bedouin fell silent, watching the laughing pageant in thegarden.
Venetian lamps glowed like yellow witch-lights in the branches;fountains tossed moon-bright sprays of quicksilver aloft and tinkledwith the splash; the waters of a sunken pool, jeweled in stars,glimmered darkly green through files of cypress. All in all, anentrancing moon-mad world of mystery and dusk-moths, heavy with thescent of jasmine and orange. And the moon played brightly on curiousfolk, on spangles and jewels and masked and laughing eyes.
A gray mendicant monk with sombre, thin-lipped face beneath a grayishmask slipped furtively by with a curious air of listening intently tothe careless chatter about him; a fat and plaintive Queen Elizabethfollowed, talking to a stout courtier who was over-trusting the seamsof his satin breeches.
"I doubt if you'll believe me," puffed Queen Elizabeth dolorously, "butevery day since that time she deliberately went out and lost herselfall day in the flat-woods and stopped to look at that ridiculous cartwith the wheel of flame when I was sure a buzzard had bitten her--No!No! I don't know, Jethro; I'm sure I don't. How should I know why itwas burning? But it was. She said plainly that it was a cart wheel offire and if it was a wheel it must certainly have been on something andwhat on earth would a wheel be on but a cart? Certainly one wouldn'tbuy a bale of cart wheels to make fires in the flat-woods. Well, it'sthe strangest thing, Jethro, but nearly every day since, she's visitedthe flat-woods and wandered about with that terrible Indian girl whoisn't an Indian girl. Seems that she's a most extraordinary girl witha foster-father and she sells sand mounds--no, that's not it--thethings they find in them besides the sand--and she has a queer, wildsort of culture and her father was white. Like as not Diane will comehome some night scalped and she has such magnificent hair, Jethro. Toher knees it is and so black! And what must she and Ann do to-nightbut--there, I promised Diane faithfully to keep it a secret, forthey've been working for days and days and she is distractingly lovely.With the Sherrill topazes too. And now that she's sold all the sandmounds, or whatever it is, do you know, Jethro, she's going to driveDiane north to Jacksonville in the Indian wagon. They start to-morrowmorning. I think it's because they're both so mad about trees andthings--I can't for the life of me make it out. Jethro, Diane willdrive me mad--she will indeed. Well, all I can say, Jethro, is that ifyou don't know what I'm talking about you must be very stupid to-night.No! No! do I ever know, Jethro? He may be here and he may not. Hemay be off in Egypt shooting scarabs by now. He was at the farm whenhe wrote to me in Indiana. Well, _collecting_ scarabs, then, Jethro.Why do you fuss so about little things? Isn't it funny--strangestthing!"
Queen Elizabeth passed on with her aged dandy.
A dark figure by the cypress pool laughed and shrugged. He was asingular figure, this man by the pool, with a hint of the Orient in hisgarb. His robe was of black, with startling and unexpected flashes ofscarlet lining when he walked. Black chains clanked drearily about hiswaist and wrists. There was a cunningly concealed light in his filmyturban which gave it the singular appearance of a dark cloud lighted byan inner fire. As he wandered about with clanking chains, he playedstrange music upon a polished thing of hollow bones. Sometimes themusic laughed and wooed when eyes were kind; sometimes when eyes wereover-daring it was subtly impudent and eloquent. Sometimes it was sounspeakably weird and melancholy that along with the clanking chainsand the strangely luminous turban, many a careless stroller turned andstared. So did a slender, turbaned Seminole chief with a minstrel athis heels.
It was upon this picturesque young Seminole that the eyes of the Greekby the hibiscus lingered longest, but the eyes of the Bedouin scannedevery line of the minstrel's ragged corduroy with grim amusement.
"A romantic garb, by Allah!" said the Bedouin dryly.
"It has served its purpose," reminded the Greek sombrely. And laughedwith relish.
For the Seminole chief had fled perversely through the lantern-littrees, her soft, mocking laughter proclaiming her sex and her mood.
"And still he follows!" boomed the Bedouin. "With or without themusic-machine, he is consistently fatuous."
The man with the luminous turban spoke suddenly to a girl in trailingsatin with a muff of flowers in her hand. Shoulders and throat gleamedsuperbly above the line of golden satin; there were flashing topazes inher hair and about her throat; and the slender, arched foot in thesatin slipper was small and finely moulded.
"Tell me," he begged insistently, "who you are! You've grace and poiseenough for a dozen women. And who taught you how to walk? Few womenknow how."
The girl, with a delicate air of hauteur, flung back her headimperiously and turned away.
"And you've wonderful eyes--black and wistful and tragic andbeautiful!" persisted the man impudently. "Wonderful, sparkling ladyof gold and black, tell me who you are!"
"Who," said the girl gravely in a clear, rich contralto, "who are you?"
The man laughed but his eyes lingered on the firm, proud scarlet lipsand the small even teeth.
"Call me the 'Black Palmer,'" said he. "There's a tremendoussignificance in my rig to be sure, but it's only for one man."
"What," asked the girl seriously, "is a palmer?"
Mystified the Black Palmer stared.
"You honestly mean that you don't know?"
"I speak ever the truth," said the proud scarlet lips below the goldenmask. "When I ask, I mean that I do not know."
"And this in a world of sophistication!" murmured the man blankly, butthe girl was moving off with graceful majesty through the trees, thejewels in her hair alive in the lantern-lit dusk. The Black Palmersprang after her.
"Tell me, I beg of you," he exclaimed earnestly, "you who are so graveand beautiful and apart from this world of mine, like a fresh keen windin a scorching desert, in Heaven's name tell me who you are!"
But the girl's dark, fine eyes flashed quick rebuke.
Nothing daunted the Black Palmer impudently stripped the golden maskfrom her face. The soft yellow light of the Venetian lamp in the treeabove her fell full upon the lovel
y oval of a face so peculiar in itsstriking beauty of line and vivid coloring that he fell back staring.
"Lord, what a face!" exclaimed the Greek, too taken aback to resent thePalmer's insolence.
And the Bedouin rumbled: "Exquisite! But she is not of your land.Italian, Spanish, or some bizarre mingling of strange races, but noneof your colder lands!"
Now as the Black Palmer stared at the dark, accusing eyes of the girl,a singular thing occurred. His cloak of impudence fell suddenly fromhis shoulders and returning the golden mask, he bowed and begged herpardon with unmistakable deference.
"Let a humbled Palmer," he said quietly, "pay his sincerest homage tothe most beautiful woman he has even seen." And as the girl movedproudly away, the strain of fantastic music which followed her wassubtly deferential.
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