"Home again," said Mark sardonically. "Our honeymoon is over,"
ROBBERY!
"This won't do," said Mark to himself. "This won't do at all! I'm beginning to think Loring is right about me, that I'm in love with the girl after all—and that's bad! That's very bad!"
He pictured the situation in his always vivid imagination
(I'll say) I want you to meet my fiancee (or my wife, perhaps). A very charming girl, Mother; I'm sure you'll be fond of her. Yes, I met her in a waterfront dive on the Tonga islands! Of course, the surroundings were not of the most aristocratic, but what of that? Yes, she danced and sang there with the others, but she's different. A lily blooming in a swamp; surely you've seen lilies blooming in swamps, Mother. I know swamp lilies smell bad—but this lily of mine isn't really a swamp lily; she's just transplanted. Don't you see, mother?—Bah!" He was pacing up and down in his room late in the hot tropical night. The heat oppressed him, he felt dull and weary.
"The devil with it!" he concluded. "This habit of spending all night fighting with my morals is getting to be unwholesome. Let's to bed."
He swung one booted leg over the other, preparatory to the considerable job of unlacing, when suddenly a loud scream sounded from the corridor—a feminine scream! He dashed into the hall. It seemed deserted; the usual oil-lamp, turned very low, glowed at the stairway end. In its dim rays, the entire length of the narrow corridor was visibly empty.
But a movement drew him. Vanya's door was open, and he caught a glimpse of her figure. He hurried toward her.
She stood covered in her flowered robe; her face, in the dim light, was not so much frightened as angry. The look she turned on him was tinged with suspicion.
"Was that you?" asked Mark. "Did you scream?"
"Don't you know?" she responded sharply.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, padded, soft. Shene appeared, wrapped in a bulging robe, felt bed-room slippers on his ample feet.
"What's up?" he growled. "Can't you two honeymooners do without rousing the whole place?"
"Some one was in my room!" said Vanya, ignoring his implied meaning."
Well?" said Shene with a sneer.
"Some one tried to rob me!" the girl snapped.
"Rob you?" Shene laughed. "Rob you of what?"
Vanya bit her lip nervously; she did not reply.
"If you got a nightmare or fighting to work off," advised Shene, "do it quiet!"
He padded off down the stairs. The door of one of Vanya's sister entertainers closed with a very audible click, leaving Mark and the girl face to face in the gloom. She looked at Mark silently.
"What happened?" he asked in a lowered voice, moving closer.
"Don't you really know?" asked Vanya.
"Of course not."
"I misjudged you, then. Naturally, it couldn't have been you; you don't have to descend to theft."
"But what happened?"
"I can't tell you here." She stepped back into her room; Mark followed. She seated herself on the bed, and Mark occupied the single chair.
"Don't think I do this willingly," she said. "Not after the treatment you dealt me this afternoon on the Porpoise! It's only that I must trust somebody, and who else is there? At least, I think you're honest. You're mean, cold, heartless, bitter —but I think you're honest."
"And if I am?" queried Mark. "Let's hear what happened."
"Well, I was asleep. I'd spent a long time in miserable thoughts, but I finally fell asleep. I don't know how long after that I awakened; suddenly I was aware that someone was in the room. I was lying with my eyes closed, but I heard soft footfalls. Of course, I thought it was you!"
"Why me?"
"I thought you were—you were anticipating the sailing of the mail packet," she explained. "It seemed reasonable—like you! And I wasn't going to scream; I was just going to remind you quietly of your bargain. I knew that would be sufficient," She paused.
"Well?" queried Mark.
"I opened my eyes, and there was a dark figure—I couldn't see who it was—and just then a hand fumbled at my throat! So I screamed and—that's all."
"You don't seem particularly frightened."
"I've lived in Singapore," the girl said.
CHAPTER XXIII
"Didn't you see anything? Nothing to identify the man?"
"When he ran through the door, I saw bare feet. He was fully clothed, with bare feet—that's all I know."
"And you suspected me." He indicated the knee-boots he wore. "I suppose you think ran back to my room and laced these up between the time you screamed and I responded."
"I was excited," she said. "I don't suspect you now. I know now who it was."
"Who was it? And are you quite positive it wasn't, as Shone suggested, a dream?"
"Of course I'm positive! And as to my suspicion—to whom do the facts of being fully-clothed, yet barefoot, point?"
"You mean — Loring?" Mark asked.
"Who else?"
"I don't believe it was Loring. He's not a thief. He has a multitude of faults, and perhaps very few virtues, but I'll swear honesty's one of them."
"You'd naturally defend him," the girl declared.
"Besides," continued Mark, "what could he want? The little money he might expect to find? The moment he tried to spend a shilling we'd all know where it came from."
Vanya looked at him earnestly.
"It wasn't money," she said.
"What else could he want?"
She slipped a cord over her head, and drew out of her gown the tan chamois bag that had fallen to the deck of the Porpoise.
"It was this," she replied, handing it to Mark. "You must have noticed it when I dropped it this afternoon."
Mark loosened the slip cord, and tilted the bag's contents into hand—about a dozen small but perfect pearls. They might have brought forty or fifty pounds—say two hundred dollars—at Suva.
"What are these?" he asked. "The remains of your family jewels?"
"You're cruel!" said Vanya, flushing. "They were given to me by a friend, by old Bill Torkas. He liked me; he was the only friend I've had since—since I've been in the islands. He gave them to me one or two at a time, each time he visited the Cove. There were more of them."
"More, eh?"
"Yes. I sold some in Taulanga to pay my passage to the States. And that," she declared defiantly, "is the answer to the question you flung at me on the point two or three nights ago. That's how I got my passage money."
It was Mark's turn to flush.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Loring mentioned old Bill Torkas."
"That's why I came back to the Cove after being turned away from the States. I had at least one friend here, I thought. But he had died—and even that refuge was gone."
Mark poured the glowing little gems back into their bag.
"To return to the question," he said. "How would Loring know of these?"
"You saw the bag drop; I thought you might have mentioned it."
"But I didn't," protested Mark grimly. "I hardly noticed it, in fact. And there were others on deck, too—the black boys, for instance!"
"The feet were a white man's feet," objected Vanya. "I'm sure of that."
"Shone might have seen, or even Orris."
"Orris was at the wheel," said the girl. "But he might have seen. Or Shene, too. But I think it was Loring."
"And I don't!" exploded Mark. "I've a mind to ask him."
"Don't dare!" cried the girl. "Can't you see? Now that even one person at the Cove knows of these, I can't keep them. That's why I'm telling you of them—I want you to keep them for me."
"To keep them?" echoed Mark. "Why, of course, if you're sure you want to trust me with them."
"They're nothing to you. You spend more on whims than they'd bring. To me, they're everything —my means of living in the States until I can find other means." Mark drew his wallet from his pocket, and carefully placed the diminutive bag in a clasped compartment.
"I promise
that no one will get these," he assured the girl as he rose to leave.
He drew her into his arms, kissing her on her lips, her closed eyes. "Mark.” she murmured, "I hate you because a single kiss of yours erases the memory of all your cruelty."
"Do you know what I think?" he whispered as he opened the door. "I think you love me!"
IRON AND FIRE
"I can't walk in this," objected Vanya, staring down at her brief white wash dress and bare legs, and then at the pile of laundry beside her. "I shouldn't anyway, with this washing to do."
"Oh, come on," urged Mark. "For once it's cool enough for a stroll. And what's wrong with that outfit?"
"Snakes!" shuddered the girl. "Ankle socks are de trop in the Friendly Islands, and not modest, besides, for climbing coral hillocks and windfalls."
"Then change," he suggested. "I've not been a hundred yards from the Cove, save that once to the native village."
She acquiesced, and disappeared with her armful of clothes. Mark strolled over to Loring's tree, whence that individual regarded him pleasantly from his comfortable sprawl.
"What does today?" he called as Mark approached. "You've been slighting me of late."
"Unintentional," smiled Mark. "I'm taking Vanya for a stroll on the beach."
"Then I'll not go," remarked Loring. "But you're sure to get into trouble of some nature."
"I can do that here," conceded Mark.
"True words! By the way, do you owe me a quart?"
"I do not, but I'll stand for one, since I'm denying you my pleasant company today."
"No," said Loring regretfully. "I'll find a way to earn it; you'll be in some dilemma before long."
"That's a good gamble. Apropos of nothing; what do you do during the rainy months?"
"Just what I do now. Think, and try not to. Drink, and try to do more of it. Eat, and wonder that I waste the time at it. Sleep, and wish that I could do nothing but it."
"I mean, how do you keep dry ?"
"Oh," said Loring. "Generally I don't. When the rains are too troublesome, I throw together a palm leaf lean-to. Dry as you'd wish, and it soon disappears completely, and then you can forget the rains and pretend the sun always shines. A real house is a perpetual reminder of ill weather; mine's better."
"That bit of philosophy's worth a drink," laughed Mark. “Put it on your tally."
"I don't forget things of importance," grinned the beachcomber. "Has last night's scream anything to do with your high good humor this morning?"
"So you heard it," muttered Mark. "Where were you?"
"Within two inches of where I am now. Don't tell me you suspect me as the cause!"
"Frankly, I don't," said Mark. "I can't picture you as being involved in this particular matter. Which is saying that I think rather more highly of you than certain others do."
"And thanks for your good opinion," observed Loring. "Here comes one who doesn't share it!"
Mark turned to see Vanya approaching; she had changed her garb to the breeches and boots she had worn in the native village. He nodded to Loring, and strolled over to meet her; she passed the beachcomber without a single glance.
"Which way?" asked Mark.
"That way is almost out of the question," the girl replied, gesturing toward the end of the cove bounded by the reef. "The shore overhangs, and there's practically no beach at all. So it must be this way."
They moved along the wide, white beach. Mark noticed Vanya's tiny footprints beside his own ample ones in the firm sand as, just beyond the bend of the bay, they mounted a great fallen sandalwood tree, with a bole as thick as the span of Mark's extended arms.
"Did you mean that statement about the modesty of your dress?" he asked as they sprang again to the sand.
"Why, of course. Wasn't it obvious?'"
"Yes, but how do you reconcile that attitude with your dancing? Don't you realize that your body was pretty thoroughly exposed in those costumes of yours? Your dress couldn't do any worse—or better!"
Vanya flushed.
CHAPTER XXIV
"Well, if I must say it, I'd rather not dance in public, but I find it necessary to eat. And besides, I don't believe that a dancing costume argues any immodesty."
"How do you figure that out?" "Simply enough. If my dancing is at all successful, my audience is interested in the rhythm, the posture, and the story of my dance— they're watching the dance, not me. If they aren't, the dance is a failure."
"Good arguments," conceded Mark, "but do you believe that bunch of hard-tack sailors from the Ellice was watching the rhythm, the beauty, and all that, of your dance?"
"I do," said Vanya defiantly. "Didn't they applaud?"
"Yes, and you'd have earned still more applause if you'd taken off the rest of your clothes."
"They applauded the dance!"
"They applauded your legs, which are worth it, and the rest of your figure, which is equally worth it!"
'Mark," said Vanya, stopping and facing him, "do you have to find these subtle and devilish means of tormenting me? I love dancing; it's the one bright spot in this dismal livelihood I earn. Do you have to spoil it for me?"
"I'm sorry," apologized Mark, feeling really contrite: “I was echoing Loring's sentiments."
"Loring!" exclaimed Vanya. "I'd prefer him not to discuss me! There's no one in Tonga who'd give you a more prejudiced opinion."
"And yet," observed Mark, "his opinion of you is rather higher than you seem to believe. He has said many things I'd interpret as compliments."
"I don't want his compliments."
"Do you know," asked Mark, "that you're very pretty when you, flare up like that?"
"Is that the reason you persist in those hateful attempts to anger me?"
"I wonder," he replied. "You haven't flared wholeheartedly for a week, at least. You've changed of late—very suddenly. You've been meek, miserable, down-trodden, and obviously unhappy, since—since—"
"Since when?” queried Vanya.
"Since the night I burst into your room and kissed you by force," he answered.
Vanya turned quickly away, gazing with averted face at the wall of jungle that grew quite close to the beach. She took a few steps along the sand.
"Let's walk," she said.
Mark followed her. She looked, he thought, adorable in the white breeched outfit; her jet black hair curled in wisps under the brim of her sun-helmet, seeming even , blacker than usual in the brilliant equatorial daylight.
"Despite Loring," he said as he swung beside her, "you'd have an easy career on the American stage. You're beautiful."
"I thought you said Luring complimented me," Vanya said flushing.
"It was a compliment. He said your features were too fine, too small and delicate, to appear to advantage across the footlights."
"And you think they're coarse enough to get across!"
"Not at all! But I do think you're more than beautiful enough for the Follies or the Scandals."
"The follies or the scandals?" The girl stared at him amazed. "Are those things honored in America? One always hears the strangest things about American customs, but follies and scandals—!"
"No," laughed Mark. "Not the follies and scandals you mean! You wouldn't know, of course, that those are the names of two of the famous musical revues. Their choruses happen to be famous for beauty, so it is quite an honor—my opinion."
"Oh!" said Vanya, walking steadily on.
"Good Lord!" said Mark. "Don't you like to be told you're beautiful? Hasn't anybody ever made that remark to you?"
"Yes," she said soberly, "but neither the men nor their subsequent remarks have left a very pleasant impression. That's always the opening gun in a hateful campaign."
Poor little Vanya! He had been cruel enough to her, but now somehow his attitude was softening. He was doubting his own grim New England morals.
"Tropic decay," he thought. "At least, that's what Loring's confounded cleverness would say. Iron and fire—cold hard iron softens
in heat. And Vanya—am I just a means of escape to her? Or does she really care for me?
They passed a long coral outcropping. Mark drew the girl over to it; they sat side by side on the limey rock. Mark slipped his arms about Vanya's waist and drew her to him; she yielded willingly.
"Vanya," he said, looking down at her, "May I kiss you?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Why do you ask—now?"
"I want you to say whether or not you want me to."
"Of course, you may."
"But say you want me to."
"I do—now!"
Mark pressed a kiss on the full red lips; he was surprised by the tenderness of his own caress, and the eagerness of her response.
"Do you love me, Vanya?"
"I don't know—I don't, truly!"
He kissed her again, a fiercer, more passionate caress. She clung to him gasping.
"That means you love me, Vanya! It does, doesn't it?"
"I think so! Yes! Oh, yes!" She tore herself suddenly away, sprang up.
"This is foolhardy, Mark! I want to walk."
It was full darkness when they returned to the Cove. Vanya went to her room, and Mark, after a meal of Hong's beans, to his, to a mingled medley of thoughts. He was happy, yet puzzled. Vanya was beautiful, and she loved him. Need anything else matter?
In his hard Yankee soul, he knew it did. Vanya, an honorable, marriageable Vanya, did not exist for him and his stern morality. Life had destroyed that Vanya, if she had existed, and he could not in honor bring her into the home of his sister and mother. His thoughts lost their happiness; only when the off-season rain became a thundering torrent that shook the roof did he hear it.
Then he realized that some one had been rapping at his door for some time. He opened it to find Vanya there!
FLAME AND WATER
"What's the matter?" demanded Mark, startled by the girl's appearance. "Has some one again—?"
"No," said Vanya with a faint smile. "It's just the rain—I couldn't sleep."
"So that's all," said Mark, relieved. "Come in."
"These downpours!" said his visitor, slipping diffidently into the room. They sound as if they'd wash the house away."
The Lost Master - The Collected Works Page 99
