It was getting late and the night was very hot, but Nares was still busy in his palm-thatched hut. The creed he taught was not regarded with any great favor by the authorities, and, perhaps, was also by virtue of its very simplicity a little beyond the comprehension of the negro, who not unnaturally finds it a good deal easier to believe in a pantheon of mostly malevolent deities, but if his precepts produced no very visible result, there were, at least, many sick who flocked to him. It was significant that the door of his hut stood wide open, as it always did, though there were men in that forest who had little love for him. The priests of the heathen also practice the art of healing, and it is not in human nature to be very tolerant towards a rival who works without a fee.
He sat with the perspiration trickling down his worn face beside a little silver reading lamp, a gift from somebody in the land he came from. Now and then there was a faint stirring of the muggy air, and the light flickered a little, while the blue flame of a spirit lamp that burned beneath a test tube was deflected a trifle, but the weary man scarcely noticed it as he pored over a medical treatise. Nor did he notice the crackling that unseen creatures made in the thatchabove his head, the steamy dampness that soaked his thin duck jacket, or the sickly smell of lilies that now and then flowed into the room. He was too intent upon the symbols of certain equations, letters and figures, and crosses of materialistic significance, with the aid of which he could, at least, mitigate bodily suffering and fight disease. They were always present, and it was a valiant fight he made in a land where the white man's courage melts and his faith grows dim.
At last there were voices and footsteps in the compound, which he heard but scarcely heeded, and he only looked up when a man stood in the doorway smiling at him.
"Ah," he said, "I scarcely expected to see you, Father. What has become of your hammock boys, and where have you sprung from?"
Father Tiebout waved his hand, and dropped into the nearest chair. "The boys are already in the guest hut," he said. "I have come from San Roque, but not directly. In fact, I found it advisable to make a little detour."
"In your case that is not a very unusual thing," and Nares laughed. "Still, you appear to get there, arrive, as you express it, at least as frequently as I do."
The priest made a little gesture. "When one finds a wall he can not get over across his path it is generally wiser to go round. Why should one waste his strength and bruise his hands endeavoring to tear it down? It may be a misfortune, but I think we were not all intended to be battering rams. The metaphor,however, is not a very excellent one, since it is in this case a lion that stands in the path of our friend Ormsgill. For a minute or two you will give me your attention."
Nares listened with wrinkled forehead, leaning forward with both arms on the table, and then there was a faint twinkle in his eyes as he looked at his companion. It was, after all, not very astonishing that he should smile, for he was accustomed to disconcerting news.
"I wonder if one could ask how you learned so much?" he said. "It is scarcely likely that the Chefe or his Lieutenant would tell it you."
"For one thing, I heard a few words that were not exactly meant for me; for another, I laid unauthorized hands upon a certain letter. One, as I have pointed out, must use the means available."
"The results justify it—when he is successful, which is, no doubt, why you so seldom fail? Under the circumstances you can not afford to. There may be something to say for that point of view, but our fathers were not so liberal in Geneva."
Father Tiebout smiled good-humoredly. "We will not discuss the point just now. The question is what must be done? We have a friend who will walk straight into the jaws of the lion unless—some one—warns him."
"It is not impossible that he will do so then."
The priest spread his hands out. "Ah," he said, "how can one teach the men who delight in stone walls and lions a little sense? Still, perhaps, it wouldbe a pity if one could. It is possible that folly was the greatest thing bestowed on them when they were sent into this world. That, however, is not quite the question."
"It is—who shall go?" and Nares, who closed one hand, thrust his chair back noisily. "There are you and I alone available, padre, and we know that the one of us who ventures to do this thing will be laid under the ban of Authority, openly proscribed or, at least, quietly thwarted here and there until he is driven from his work and out of the country. There are many ways in which those who hold power in these forests can trouble us."
Father Tiebout said nothing, but he made a gesture of concurrence, with his eyes fixed steadily on his companion, and Nares, who could not help it, smiled a trifle bitterly.
"Well," he said, "you have your adherents—a band of them—and what you teach them must be a higher thing than their own idolatry. If they lost their shepherd they would fall away again. I, as you know, have none. My call, it seems, is never listened to—and it is plain that circumstances point to me. Well, I am ready."
His companion nodded gravely. "It is a hard thing I have to say, but you are right in this," he said. "I have a flock, and some of them would perish if I left them. For their sake I can not go. It is not for me to take my part in a splendid folly, but"—and he spread his thin hands out—"because it is so I am sorry."
It was clear that Nares believed him, though he said nothing. He knew what the thing he was about to do would in all probability cost him, but he also realized that had circumstances permitted it the little fever-wasted priest would have gladly undertaken it in place of him. Father Tiebout was one who recognized his duty, but there was also the Latin fire in him, and Nares did not think it was merely because he liked it he submitted to Authority and walked circumspectly, contenting himself with quietly accomplishing a little here and there.
Then Father Tiebout made a gesture which seemed to imply that there was nothing further to be said on that subject, as he pointed through the open door to the steamy bush.
"You and I have, perhaps, another duty," he said. "We know what is going on up yonder, and, as usual, those in authority seem a trifle blind. If nothing is done there will be bloodshed when the men with the spears come down."
Nares was by no means perfect, and his face grew suddenly hard. "That," he said, "is the business of those who rule. They would not believe my warning, and I should not offer it if they would. There are wrongs which can only be set right by the shedding of blood, and I would not raise a hand if those who have suffered long enough swept the whole land clean."
Father Tiebout smiled curiously. "There is, I think, one man who would have justice done. It is possible there are also others behind him, but that I do not know. He is not a man who takes many into hisconfidence or explains his intentions beforehand. I will venture to send him Herrero's letter—and a warning."
He rose with a soft chuckle. "I almost think he will do—something by and by, but in the meanwhile it is late, and you start to-morrow."
"No," said Nares simply. "I am starting as soon as the hammock boys are ready."
He extinguished the spirit lamp, and lighting a lantern went out into the darkness which shrouded the compound. He spent a few minutes in a big whitened hut where two or three sick men lay and a half-naked negro sat half-asleep. There was, as he realized, not much that he could do for any of them, and after all, his most strenuous efforts were of very slight avail against the pestilence that swept those forests. He had not spared himself, and had done what he could, but that night he recognized the uselessness of the struggle, as other men have done in the land of unlifting shadow. Still, he gave the negro a few simple instructions, and then went out and stood still a few moments in the compound before he roused the hammock boys.
There was black darkness about him, and the thicker obscurity of the steamy forest that shut him in seemed to emphasize the desolation of the little station. He had borne many sorrows there, and had fought for weeks together, with the black, pessimistic dejection the fever breeds, but now it hurt him to leave it, for he knew that in all probability he would never come back again. He sighed a little as he moved towardsone of the huts, and standing in the entrance called until a drowsy voice answered him.
"Get the hammock ready with all the provisions the boys can carry. We start on a long journey in half an hour," he said.
Then he went back to his hut, and set out food for himself and his guest. They had scarcely finished eating when there was a patter of feet in the compound and a shadowy figure appeared in the dim light that streamed out from the door.
"The boys wait," it said. "The hammock is ready."
Nares rose and shook hands with his companion. "If I do not come back," he said, "you know what I would wish done."
The priest was stirred, but he merely nodded. "In that case I will see to it," he said.
Then Nares climbed into the hammock, and once more turned to his companion.
"I have," he said, "failed here as a teacher. At first it hurt a little to admit it, but the thing is plain. I may have wasted time in wondering where my duty lay, but I think I was waiting for a sign. Now, when the life of the man you and I brought back here is in peril I think it has been given me."
"Ah," said the little priest quietly, "when one has faith enough the sign is sometimes given. There are, I think, other men waiting on the coast yonder, and one of them is a man who moves surely when the time is ripe."
Nares called to the hammock boys, who slipped awayinto the darkness with a soft patter of naked feet, while Father Tiebout stood still in the doorway with a curious look in his eyes. He remembered how Nares had first walked out of that forest and unobtrusively set about the building of his station several years ago. Now he had as quietly gone away again, and in a few more months the encroaching forest would spread across the compound and enfold the crumbling huts, but for all that, the man he had left behind could not believe that what he had done there would be wholly thrown away.
It was a long and hasty march the woolly-haired bearers made, and they did not spare themselves. It is believed in some quarters that the African will only exert himself when he is driven with the stick, and there are certainly white men in whose case the belief is more or less warranted, but Nares, like Ormsgill, used none, and the boys plodded onwards uncomplainingly under burning heat and through sour white steam. They hewed a way through tangled creepers, and plunged knee and sometimes waist deep in foul morasses. The sweat of tense effort dripped from them, and thorns rent their skin, but they would have done more had he asked it for the man who lay in the hammock that lurched above them.
Nares on his part knew that Ormsgill was well in front of him, and Ormsgill as a rule traveled fast, but it was evident that he must have made a long journey already, and the Mission boys were fresh. That, at least, was clear by the pace they made, but it did not greatly slacken when weariness laid hold on them.They pushed on without flagging through the unlifting shade, and the ashes of their cooking fires marked their track across leagues of forest, until late one night they stopped suddenly in a more open glade, and Nares, flung forward in his hammock, seized the pole and swung himself down.
He alighted in black shadow, but he could dimly see one of the boys in front of him leaning forward as though listening. A blaze of moonlight fell upon the trail some forty yards away, and two great trunks rose athwart it in towering columns, but there was nothing else visible. Still, the boy, who now crouched a trifle, was clearly intent and apprehensive. He stood rigid and motionless, gazing at the bush, until he slowly turned his head.
Nares, who could hear no sound, felt his heart beat, for the man's attitude was unpleasantly suggestive. It seemed that he was following something that moved behind the festooned creepers with eyes which could see more than those of a white man, and Nares felt the tension becoming unendurable as he watched him until the negro flung out a pointing hand. Then a voice rose sharply.
"Move forward a few paces out of the shadow," it said in a native tongue.
Nares laughed from sheer relief, for the voice was familiar.
"We'll move as far as you wish, but we're quite harmless," he said.
There was a crackle of undergrowth, and a white-clad figure stepped out of the bush with something thatcaught the moonlight and glinted in its hand. Nares moved forward, and in another moment or two stopped by Ormsgill's side.
"I might have expected something of the kind, but I scarcely fancied you were so near," he said. "Anyway, I should not have supposed a white man could have crept up on us as you have done."
Ormsgill's smile was a trifle grim. "Most white men have not been hunted for their life," he said. "As a rule it's prudent to take precautions in the bush. It was not you I expected to see."
"Still, I have come a long way after you."
"Then we'll go back to camp," said Ormsgill. "Bring your boys along."
He sent a hoarse call ringing through the shadows of the bush, and then turned to his companion as if in explanation.
"One or two of the boys have Sniders, and their nerves might be a trifle unsteady," he said, "I can't get them to keep their finger off the trigger."
"Sniders?" said Nares.
Ormsgill laughed. "There are, it seems, a few of them in the country. I have now and then come across American rifles, too. I don't know how they got here, and it's not my business, but it is generally believed that officials now and then acquire a competence by keeping a hand open and their eyes shut."
Nares, who asked no more questions, followed him through the creepers and undergrowth until he turned and pointed to a stalwart negro standing close against a mighty trunk, who lowered his heavy rifle with agrin. Then the faint glow of a smoldering fire became visible, and Ormsgill stopped where the moonlight streamed down upon the ground sheet spread outside a little tent.
"Your boys can camp among my carriers," he said. "You will probably have fed them, but I can offer you a few biscuits and some coffee. It's Liberian."
The coffee was made and brought them by a splendid grinning negro with blue-striped forehead, who hailed from the land where it was grown, and while they drank it Nares made his errand clear. When he had done this Ormsgill laid down his cup and looked at him.
"There is one thing you have to do, and that is to go back to the Mission as fast as you can," he said. "Our friends in authority will make things singularly uncomfortable for you if they hear that you have taken the trouble to spoil their plan by warning me."
Nares smiled and shook his head. "You ought to be acquainted with the customs of this country by now," he said. "I couldn't keep clear of all the villages on my way up, and, if I had, news of what I have done would have reached San Roque already."
"Ah," said Ormsgill quietly, "that is probably correct. It is unfortunate. I won't attempt to thank you—under the circumstances it would be a trifle difficult to do it efficiently. Well, since you can't go back to the Mission, you must come on with me."
Nares looked at him in some astonishment. "After what I told you, you are going on?"
"Of course!" and Ormsgill laughed softly. "Ihave been trailing Domingo for a long while, and he is, as you know, in the village a few days' march in front of us with most of the boys. It is scarcely likely that I shall have a more favorable opportunity."
"Haven't I made it clear to you that the Headman is a friend of his, and they are supposed to have arms there? Can't you understand yet that Domingo will embroil you with him, and arrange that you will have to fight your way out? Even if you manage it Dom Luiz is close behind with several files of infantry, and will certainly lay hands on you. You will have fired upon natives under official protection, and taken a labor purveyor's boys away from him. It would not be difficult to make out that you were inciting the natives to rebellion. Do you expect a fair hearing at San Roque?"
"I don't," and Ormsgill smiled. "In fact, I don't purpose to go there at all. I expect to be clear again with the boys before Dom Luiz arrives. From what I know of his habits on the march I should be able to manage it."
"But it is likely that Domingo, who knows he is expected to keep you here until Dom Luiz turns up, will sell the boys?"
Ormsgill smiled again. "I don't purpose to afford him the opportunity. He stole the boys, and I am merely going to make him give them up again. With a little resolution I believe it can be done. Still, I am sorry to drag you into the thing."
Nares said nothing for a moment or two. He felt that it would be useless, and his companion's quietcold-blooded daring had its effect on him. After all, check it as he would, there was in him a vague pride and belief in the white man's destiny, and in the land he came from the term white man does not include the Latins. This world, it seems, was made for Americans and Englishmen to rule. A little gleam crept into his eyes.
"Well," he said, "I don't think I'm going to blame you now I am in."
The glare was almost intolerable when Ormsgill and his carriers walked into the space of trampled dust round which straggled the heavily thatched huts of the native village. The afternoon sun flooded it with a pitiless heat and dazzling brilliancy, and there was not a movement in the stagnant atmosphere. Beyond the clustering huts the forest rose impressively still, and there was a deep silence for a few moments after the line of weary men appeared. Then as they came on with a soft patter of naked feet a murmur rose from the groups of half-naked negroes squatting in the dust under the shadow flung by a great tree. It was not articulate, but there was a hint of anger in it, for white men were not regarded with any great favor in that village, which was not astonishing.
They moved quietly forward across the glaring dust, with a guard of dusky men in white cotton marching rifle on shoulder behind them. Indeed, the carriers only stopped when they reached the shadow of the tree under which the Headman and the elders of the village had assembled. Then as Ormsgill raised his hand the men with rifles swung out to left and right, and stood fast, an inconsequent handful of motionless figures with the unarmed carriers clustering behindthem. Their white cotton draperies, which they had put on half an hour ago, gleamed in the sun glare dazzlingly.
Ormsgill was quite aware that a good deal depended on his composure and steadiness of bearing, but he had just come out of the shadow of the forest and he blinked as he looked about him. Close in front of him the fat village Headman sat on a carved stool, but there was another older man of somewhat lighter color and dignified presence who was seated a little higher, and this promised to complicate the affair, since Ormsgill recognized him as a man of some importance in those forests, and one who claimed a certain domination over the villages in them. It was known that he bore the white men little good will, but his presence there suggested that he had some complaint against the villagers, or was disposed as their suzerain to listen to their grievances, and Ormsgill realized that he had arrived at a somewhat unfortunate time. Then his eyes rested on another man he had expected to see. He stood among the elders, big and brown-skinned, with loose robes of white and blue flowing about him, smiling maliciously, though Ormsgill fancied that for some not very evident reason he was not quite at ease. Nares, who now stood beside his comrade, recognized him as Domingo, the labor purveyor.
"I'm 'most afraid you are going to find it difficult to get those boys," he said. "One could fancy these people had affairs of their own to discuss, and it's by no means certain that they'll even listen to us in the meanwhile."
Ormsgill, who did not answer him, glanced round at his boys. He fancied that none of them felt exactly comfortable, but they, at least, kept still, and he sent forward two of them with the presents he had brought before he turned to the Headman.
"I have come here to justice," he said in a bush tongue, and Nares who had a closer acquaintance with it amplified his observations. "That man," and he pointed to Domingo, "has with him boys who belonged to my friend the trader Lamartine. He stole them, and I have made a long journey to get them back again."
"If they belonged to Lamartine, who is dead, they can not be yours," said the Headman shrewdly. "You do not say you bought them from him."
"In one sense it's almost a pity you hadn't. He has made a point," Nares said quietly.
It was evident that the rest of the assembly recognized the fact, for there was laughter and a murmur of concurrence. Ormsgill, who did not expect to be believed, flung a hand up.
"If you will listen you shall hear why I claim them," he said, and he spoke for some minutes tersely while Nares now and then flung in a word or two.
Another laugh rang along the rows of squatting men, and there was blank incredulity in the dusky faces. This was, however, by no means astonishing, since the motives he professed to have been actuated by were distinctly unusual in that part of Africa. It was inconceivable to those who heard him that a man should trouble himself greatly about a promise he neednot have kept, as this one said he had done. They were too well acquainted with the white men's habits to believe a thing of that kind could be possible. The fat Headman looked round and grinned.
"I think," he observed, "we should now hear what Domingo has to say."
Domingo had a good deal to say, and framed it cunningly, playing upon the dislike of the white men that was in those who heard him, but as Ormsgill noticed, it was the old man of lighter color he chiefly watched. The latter sat silent and motionless, regarding him with expressionless eyes, until he ceased, and Ormsgill realized that if it depended upon the opinion of the assembly Domingo had won his case. Still, though he was by no means sure what he would do, he was, at least, determined it should not depend on that, and there was a trace of grimness in his smile when Nares turned to him.
"I'm afraid it has gone against us," he said.
"Against me, you mean," said Ormsgill dryly.
"No," and Nares's gesture was expressive, "what I said stands without the correction."
Before Ormsgill could answer, the old man made a sign, and there was no mistaking his tone of authority.
"Bring the boys," he said.
They were led in some minutes later, eight of them, and three or four ran towards Ormsgill with eager cries. He waved them back, and there was silence for a moment or two until the old man rose up slowly with a curious smile in his eyes.
"It seems that this man has not beaten them toooften," he said. "You have seen that they would sooner be his men than Domingo's. Let one of them speak."
One of them did so, and what he said bore out some, at least, of Ormsgill's assertions. Then the grave figure in the plain white robe raised a hand, and there was a sudden silence of attention.
"After all," he said, "this is my village, and it is by my permission your Headman rules here. Now, this stranger has told us a thing which appears impossible. We have not heard anything like it from a white man before, but when a man would deceive you he is careful to tell you what you can believe."
There was a little murmur which suggested that the listeners grasped the point of this, and the old man went on.
"I know that Lamartine was an honest man, for I have bought trade goods from him. They were what I bought them for, and I got the weight and count in full. Lamartine was honest, and it is likely that this man is honest, too, or he would not have been his friend."
He stopped a moment, and smiled a trifle dryly. "Now, we know that Domingo is a thief, for he has often cheated you, and it is certain that he is a friend of the white men. I have told you at other times that you are fools to trade with him. If a man is in debt or has done some wrong you part with him for this trader's goods. The rum is drunk, the cloth wears out, but the man lives on, and every day's work he does on the white men's plantations makes them richer andstronger. As they grow richer they grow greedier, and by and by they will not be satisfied with a man or two from among you. You will have made them strong enough to take you all. That, however, is not the question in the meanwhile. I think it may have happened, as this stranger says, that Domingo stole these boys from Lamartine, but even in that case there is a difficulty. The boys are with him, and in this country what a man holds in his hand is his. Perhaps the white man will offer him goods for them. I do not think he would ask too much, at least, if he is wise."
He looked at Ormsgill, who shook his head.
"Not a piece of cloth or a bottle of gin," he said.
There was a little murmur of resentment from the assembly, but Ormsgill saw that his boldness had the effect he had expected upon the man whose suggestion he had disregarded, and he had not acted inadvisedly when he dismissed all idea of compromise. Domingo had influential friends in that village, while, save for the handful of carriers, he and his companion stood alone. He also knew that if misfortune befell them no troublesome questions would be asked by the authorities. The whole enterprise was in one sense a folly, and that being so it was only by a continuance of the rashness he could expect to carry it through. Half measures were, as he realized, generally useless, and often perilous, in an affair of the kind, for there are occasions when one must face disastrous failure or bid boldly for success. Nares also seemed to recognize that fact, for he smiled as he turned to his companion.
"I think you were right," he said.
Then the Headman said something to his Suzerain who made a sign that the audience was over.
"It is a thing that must be talked over," he announced. "We shall, perhaps, know what must be done to-morrow."
Ormsgill acknowledged his gesture, swinging off his shapeless hat, and then led his boys away to the hut one of the Headman's servants pointed out to him. It was old, and had apparently been built for a person of importance for, though this was more usual further east among the dusky Moslem, there was a tall mud wall about it, and a smaller building probably intended for the occupation of the women inside the latter. It was dusty and empty save for the rats and certain great spiders, and during the rest of the hot afternoon Ormsgill sat with Nares in the little enclosed space under the lengthening shadow of the wall. The boys had curled themselves up amidst the dust and quietly gone to sleep.
There was nothing they could see but the ridge of forest beyond the huts, and though now and then a clamor of voices reached them from outside, it supplied them with no clue to what was going on. Ormsgill smoked his pipe out several times before he said anything, and then he glanced at the wall meditatively.
"It seems thick, and there's only one entrance," he observed. "I almost fancy we could hold the place, though I don't anticipate the necessity. Still, Domingo, who does a good trade here, has a certain following, and it might be an advantage if I knew a little more about our friends' affair. Their Suzerain seemsto have some notion of fair play. I wonder what he is doing here."
"I have been asking myself the same question," said Nares. "It seems to me these folks have been a little slack in recognizing his authority, and he has been making them a visitation. In one respect they're somewhat unfortunately fixed. The Portuguese consider they belong to them though they have made no attempt to occupy the country, and it's a little rough on the Headman who has to keep the peace with both."
Ormsgill made a little gesture of concurrence. "No doubt you're correct. The question is who the Headman would sooner not offend, and it's rather an important one because we are somewhat awkwardly circumstanced if it's the Portuguese. Our friend from the Interior naturally doesn't like them, but it's uncertain how far we could count on him, and Dom Luiz will probably turn up to-morrow night or the next day, and then there would be fresh complications."
"In that case we should never get the boys."
The lines grew a trifle deeper in Ormsgill's forehead, but he smiled. "I wouldn't go quite so far, though if Domingo still had the boys it might delay things. As it is, I don't think he will have them. How I'm going to take them from him I don't quite know, but I expect to make an attempt of some kind to-morrow. You see, these folks have no particular fondness for the Portuguese, and that will probably count for a little."
Nares said nothing further on that subject, and Ormsgill talked about other matters while the shadowscrept across the little dusty enclosure and the forest cut more darkly against the dazzling glare. Then it stood out for a brief few minutes fretted hard and sharp in ebony against a blaze of transcendent splendor, and vanished with an almost bewildering suddenness as darkness swept down. The smell of wood smoke crept into the stagnant air, and a cheerful hum of voices rose from the huts beyond the wall, through which odd bursts of laughter broke. It would not have been astonishing if it had jarred upon the susceptibilities of the two men who heard it, but, as it happened, they listened tranquilly. They had both faced too many perils in the shadowy land to concern themselves greatly as to what might befall them. In one was the sure belief that all he was to bear was appointed for him, and the other thought of little but the task in hand. They were simple men, impatient often, and now and then driven into folly by human bitterness, but there is, perhaps, nothing taught in all the creeds and philosophies greater than their desire to do a little good. The formulas change, and lose their authority, but the down-trodden and those who groan beneath a heavy burden always remain.
By and by one of the Headman's retainers brought in food and a native lamp. He had nothing to tell the white men, and they, recognizing it, judiciously refrained from useless questions. When they had eaten they sat awhile talking of matters that did not greatly interest them until Ormsgill, who had already stationed his sentries, extinguished the light.
"Whether the boys can be depended on to watch Idon't know, and it's probably very doubtful," he said. "Anyway, I think we shall be safe until to-morrow, and I'm going to sleep. After all, I fancy we could leave the thing to the Headman. He's a cunning rascal, and it's to some extent his business to find a way out of the difficulty. As you suggest, he stands between his Suzerain and the Portuguese, and can't afford to offend either of them."
He stretched himself out on his hard native couch, and apparently sank into tranquil slumber, but it was some time before Nares' eyes closed. He was of different temperament, and, though he was not unduly anxious, the surroundings had their effect on him. There was, as usual, no door to the hut, and he could see the soft blue darkness beyond the entrance. The figure of a big, half-naked man who carried a heavy rifle cut against it shadowily now and then. The village was silent, and he could hear a little hot breeze sweep through it and stir the invisible trees. At last, however, he sank into sleep, and was awakened suddenly some time later. He did not know what had roused him, but as he raised himself he dimly saw Ormsgill slip across the room. Then there was a footfall outside, and he made out the sentry half-crouching in the entrance.
He rose, and stood still, quivering a little, while, perhaps, a quarter of a minute slipped by. The stillness was very impressive, and seemed emphasized by the footsteps outside. They were soft and cautious, and it was evident that the man who made them was desirous of slipping into the hut unseen. Then therewas a thud in the entrance, and a scuffle during which Ormsgill hurled himself upon the pair of struggling men.
"Let him go," he said in a bush tone. "Take your hand off his neck. Now get up."
A man who gasped heavily staggered to his feet, and Ormsgill laughed as he turned to Nares.
"I believe he's a messenger, but he can hardly blame us for welcoming him as we did," he said. "Now if you have anything to say go on with it."
Nares could only just see the negro, who was probably attempting to recover his senses, for he said nothing.
"Who sent you?" asked Ormsgill, who gripped his arm tightly, in the native tongue.
"It is a thing I am not to tell," said the man. "I have a message. Domingo left our village with the boys an hour ago. He heads for the west."
Nares turned to Ormsgill. "Well," he said, "I am not altogether astonished, and the Headman's hint is plain enough. Of course, the thing may be a trap, but it is quite possible he is not unnaturally anxious to get rid of us and Domingo."
Ormsgill looked at the negro. "If he has gone an hour ago how are we to come up with him?"
"The road twists across the high land," said the man. "There is a shorter path through a swamp."
"Then if you will lead us across the swamp so we can reach firm ground in front of Domingo you shall have as much cloth as you can carry."
It was a tempting offer, and though the negro appeared to have misgivings he profited by it, and in another few minutes Ormsgill had roused the boys in the compound.
"If we have no trouble in getting out I think we can feel reasonably sure that the Headman doesn't care whether we worry Domingo or not," he said.
"Well," said Nares reflectively, "I almost think you're right. Still, he may, after all, have something different in his mind. As you said, we could probably hold the hut, and we are not out of the village yet."
Ormsgill seemed to smile. "In that case," he said, "he may have reason to be sorry he ever entertained a notion of that kind."
A thin crescent moon hung low in the western sky when they slipped out into the sleeping village, and shadowy huts and encircling forest were dimly distinguishable. The place was very silent, and though the negro as a rule sleeps lightly no one appeared in a doorway, and no voice was raised to challenge them. In fact, Nares, who walked beside his comrade with his heart beating a good deal faster than usual, felt the silence almost oppressive, for he was conscious that it might at any moment be rudely broken. He had very little confidence in the dusky Headman, and knew that if treachery was intended they were affording him the opportunity he probably desired.
Now and then there was a faint clatter and jingle of arms, and at times the soft patter of naked feet in the trampled dust was flung back with what appeared to be a startling distinctness by the huts they passed, but there was no other sound, and the boys flitted steadily on, a line of vague, shadowy figures, in front of him. Then he drew a deep breath of relief as they left the village behind them and plunged into the gloom of the forest. He looked back a moment towards the clustering huts which rose faintly black against the dim bush, and wondered how the Headman would explain matters to his Suzerain on the morrow. That, however, was the Headman's affair, and Nares fancied he would be equal to the occasion, since the negro is usually a very shrewd diplomatist.
By and by the darkness beneath the trees grew a little less intense, and they came out on the brink of a morass. It stretched away before them smeared with drifting wisps of sour white steam, and it was not astonishing that they halted and looked at it apprehensively. An African swamp is not, as a rule, considered impassable so long as one does not sink beyond the hips in it, and there are places where British forest officers flounder through them more or less cheerfully for days together, but it is, for all that, a thing the average white man has a natural shrinking from. Ormsgill significantly tapped the rifle he now carried before he exchanged a few words with their guide.
"He says we can get through, but I'll take the precaution of walking close beside him," he said to Nares. "It's an excellent rule in this country not to let your guide get too far in front of you."
They went in, and the tall grass near the verge crackled about them as they sank in the plastic mire out of which they could scarcely drag their feet. It was a little easier where there was only foul slime and water, and in places there were signs of a path, that is, they could see where somebody else had floundered through the quaggy waste of corruption. The smell was a thing to shudder at, but they were all of them more or less used to that, and the emanations of such places do not invariably prostrate the white man whois accustomed to the country. In some cases, at least, the results of inhaling them only appear some time afterwards, but there are very few white men who escape them altogether.
In due time they came out, bemired from head to foot, with scum and slimy water draining from them, and they diffused sour odors as they once more plunged into the forest which just there was permeated with the sickly scent of lilies. Still, it was a consolation to Ormsgill that they had, at least, left nobody behind, and he acquired a certain confidence in their guide. They pushed on for most of the night, smashing and hacking a way through creepers, and stumbling in loose white sand, and at last came out upon a well beaten trail. The negro who crawled up and down it said that Domingo had not reached that spot yet, but Ormsgill did not content himself with his assurance. With difficulty, he made a little fire and while it flickered feebly stooped over the loose sand. Then he stamped it out before he turned to Nares.
"I almost think he is right, and as the Headman doesn't expect us to compromise him we'll let him go," he said.
The man, it was evident, had no desire to stay, and when he went away content with his load of cotton cloth Ormsgill made the most of his forces. Two men with Sniders whom he fancied he could to some extent depend upon were sent back to crouch beside the trail; a few more took up their stations a little distance ahead; and the white men lay down with the carriers between the two parties, and a few yards back fromthe path. It was now a trifle cooler, for the night was wearing through, and the mysterious voices of the forest had died away and left a deep silence intensified by the splash of moisture on the leaves. Nares shivered a little as the all pervading damp crept through his thin garments, though the lower half of them was still foul with the mire of the swamp.
"I suppose we shall meet Domingo if we wait long enough?" he said. "After all, we have only the Headman's word to warrant us believing it."
Ormsgill laughed. "It depends a good deal upon the kind of bargains Domingo has made with him lately. The thing will probably work out just as we would like it if he hasn't been quite satisfied with them. It's an arrangement that would commend itself to the average African. Still, as I said already, I'm a trifle sorry that you are mixed up in it."
Nares sat silent a moment or two. He had borne a good deal, perhaps rather more than could have been expected of him, from those whom he considered with some reason as workers of iniquity, and, after all, excessive meekness has seldom been a characteristic of the Puritan.
"Well," he said slowly, "I'm not sure that I am. It is very probable that I have been proscribed already, and, perhaps, it was not patience but cowardice that made me submit so long. After all, patience accomplishes very little in Africa."
"I'm afraid it was never one of my strong points," and Ormsgill smiled. "In fact, if Domingo made any kind of fight it would be a certain relief to me, althoughbecause one can't always afford to be guided by his personal likes I've taken every precaution against it. Now, suppose we get the boys back, what do you propose to do?"
"Go back to my station," said Nares quietly.
"And if you hear that Dom Luiz is there with several files of infantry to arrest you?"
"In that case I will go down to the coast with you."
Ormsgill dropped a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "I shall be glad to have you wherever I go, though I'm not sure that you wouldn't be safer if you pushed on alone. You don't mention what it has cost you to warn me, but I think I can understand."
Nares slowly shook his head. "I don't think I have much to regret," he said without a trace of bitterness. "I was sent here to save men's souls, and it seems that I have failed. Still, I think I should have stayed and healed their bodies—had it been permitted—but there is, perhaps, work I can do elsewhere since that is not the case." He stopped a moment with the faintest sigh. "We will not mention this again."
Ormsgill said nothing, probably because he was more than a trifle stirred. He knew that it requires self-restraint and courage to face the fact that one's efforts have been thrown away, but there are men like him who now and then shrink from expressing their sympathy. Leaning forward a little with the rifle across his knees he set himself to listen.
It was almost an hour before he heard anything at all, and in the meanwhile the faint coolness increased,and the tops of the trees above him became dimly visible. They cut with a growing sharpness against the eastern sky, and here and there a massy trunk grew out of the obscurity. Then there was a faint pearly flush beyond them, and in the cold of the sudden dawn he heard the men he was waiting for. A soft patter of footsteps and a murmur of voices came up the winding trail. He knew the boys had also heard, for the undergrowth behind him crackled and then was still again.
In another few minutes there was dim light in the forest, and he could see indistinct figures moving towards him through the narrow gap in the leaves. They became more visible, and he could make out the uncovered ebony skin of some and the fluttering cotton that flowed about the others' limbs. There were burdens upon most of their heads, but a few carried what seemed to be long flintlock guns. Then, for dawn comes with startling swiftness in that land, the shadowy trunks became sharp and clear, and the men who plodded among them seemed to emerge from a blurring obscurity. Black limbs, impassive faces, raw white draperies, and gray gun barrels were forced up in the sudden light, but Ormsgill raising himself a trifle fixed his eyes upon the man of lighter color who walked a little apart from the others. His voice rang harshly as he flung menaces in a native tongue at one or two of those who lagged under their burdens, and perhaps he was, in one respect, warranted in this, since, for economic reasons, the negro whose labor somebody else has sold for him is seldom loaded beyond his strength on his march to the coast, at least, so long as provisions are plentiful.
They had almost reached the spot where the white men lay when Ormsgill quietly walked out into the trail, and stood there with left foot forward and the rifle at his hip. He had left his shapeless hat behind, and his thin, thorn-rent garments clung about him damp with dew and foul with mire. Still, he looked curiously resolute, and the men with the burdens stopped and recoiled at the sight of him, until one group of them flung down what they carried and ran towards him clamoring. Then there was a harsh cry from the rear of the line, and swinging round they scattered into the underbrush as the tall man of lighter color sprang forward with something that glinted in his hand.
Ormsgill's rifle went up and came in to the shoulder. With the same motion his cheek dropped upon the stock. He said nothing, but the labor purveyor stopped. Ormsgill swung down the rifle.
"Look behind you," he said in Portuguese.
Domingo turned, and saw two half-naked men with Sniders standing in the trail. Then looking round again he saw several more ahead, while other dusky figures had risen here and there among the undergrowth. They appeared resolute, and it was evident that he could get no further without their permission. He was credited with being a daring as well as an unscrupulous man, but he knew when the odds were too heavy against him, and he made a sign to Ormsgill.
"You want something from me?" he said.
"I do," said Ormsgill. "The boys you stole from Lamartine. It will save you trouble if you give them up."
Domingo glanced once more at the men with the rifles, who stood still, one or two of them regarding him with a sardonic grin. Then he glanced at his startled carriers, who had thrown down their burdens and huddled together. There was, of course, nothing to be expected from them, and his few armed retainers were evidently not to be relied upon. In fact, they were gazing longingly at the bush, and it was clear that they were ready to make a dash for its shelter. They had done his bidding truculently when it was a question of overawing down-trodden bushmen and keeping defenseless carriers on the march, but to face resolute men with rifles was a different matter, and their courage was not equal to the task. Domingo seemed to recognize it, for he made a little scornful gesture.
"If I had a few men who could be depended on I would fight you for the boys," he said. "As it is they are yours."
"I see eight," said Ormsgill. "Where are the others?"
Domingo smiled maliciously. "In the hands of the Ugalla Headman. I am afraid it will be a little difficult to induce him to part with them: Lamartine, it seems, had taught them enough to make them useful to a Headman who is copying the white men's habits."
"In that case he no doubt gave you something worth while for them, and since you stole them it doesnot belong to you. Are you willing to tell me what he offered you?"
"No," said Domingo resolutely.
"It wouldn't be difficult to estimate it at the usual figure, and you will understand that the Headman will ask me, at least, as much as he gave for them, but I will be reasonable. If you will let me have the arms your boys carry I shall be satisfied."
"How can I drive these men to the coast if we have no arms?"
"I don't know," said Ormsgill with a little laugh. "It is your affair, but, perhaps, I can simplify the thing for you. I will take the arms in exchange for the boys in the Headman's possession, and hand you over what trade goods I have and paper bills for the rest of the men, except the eight boys, for whom you will get nothing. I think I can calculate what they cost you, and the fact that the transaction is probably illegal does not trouble me."
There was still silence for a moment or two, and a dazzling ray of sunlight beat down into the bush. It made a sudden brightness, and showed the malice in Domingo's dusky face. Then it touched the huddled carriers' naked skin, and Nares glanced from them to the group of Lamartine's boys who had appeared again. It seemed they understood a little of what was going on, and were watching Ormsgill expectantly. He stood quietly in the middle of the trail, with a rifle at his hip and a little grim smile in his eyes. All round rose the forest, impressive in its stillness, dim and shadowy, and the scene had a curious effect on Nares.He felt it had its symbolism, and its motive was that of all the old world legends and dramas, the triumph of the right over evil which man has from forgotten times vaguely believed in. It is, perhaps, especially difficult to be an optimist in Africa, but Nares who had borne a good deal in its steamy shadow held fast to his faith, and it did not matter greatly to him that the latter day champion of the oppressed was a most unknightly figure in burst shoes and tattered garments and carried an American rifle. At last, however, Domingo made a little gesture.
"I am in your hands," he said. "You shall have them."
They were not long in making the bargain, and when the arms and all the boys except the few who had carried the long guns had been handed over Ormsgill turned once more to Domingo.
"Now," he said, "you can go where you please, but I scarcely think it will be back towards the interior. Your friends up yonder would probably profit by the opportunity if you appeared among them with a few unarmed men."
Domingo called to his few remaining followers, who took up some of the loads the men released had carried for them. Then there was a soft patter of feet and one by one the dusky figures flitted by and vanished into the gloom. Ormsgill armed Lamartine's boys, and afterwards drew Nares aside.
"In the first case I have to make sure of these men, and it is a question if I can reach the coast before Domingo's friends head me off," he said. "Considering everything it seems to me that haste is distinctly advisable."
They started in another half-hour, and pushed on through the forest for a week or two. Then Ormsgill made a traverse which cost him several days to reach the vicinity of Nares' station. He stopped at a bush village, and was told there that the station was occupied by black soldiers from San Roque. When they heard it Ormsgill quietly looked at Nares.
"You can't go back," he said. "The Chefe holds summary authority, and no doubt has his views concerning you. It's scarcely worth while pointing out what they would probably be, but if you succeed in getting out of his hands you would be a discredited man who had only met with his deserts."
Nares made a little gesture, for that was a very bitter moment, but his face was tranquil.
"It's a thing I was prepared for. We'll push on," he said.
They stayed an hour or two in the village, and then started once more on their long journey to the coast. It was clear that they could afford no delay in reaching it, but there was no road to the Bahia Santiago, and day by day they floundered through swamp and forest under an intolerable heat, with garments rent to tatters, worn out, gasping now and then, but always pushing on. They drank putrid water, and when provisions commenced to run out lived on a few daily handfuls of equally divided food. Nature was also against them, and barred their path with fallen trees and thorny creepers, and the march they made was atest of what man could bear. Still, there was no discord, and no negro raised his voice in protest. The boys recognized that haste was advisable, and they had confidence in the white man with the quiet lined face who marched at the head of them.
A little breeze blew in between the slender pillars delightfully fresh and cool, and Dom Clemente Figuera, who had taken off his heavy kepi, lay in a cane chair with a smile in his half-closed eyes. The ten o'clock breakfast had just been cleared away, but two cups of bitter black coffee still stood upon the table beside a bundle of cigars and a flask of light red wine. He was, as he now and then laughingly admitted, usually in an excellent humor after breakfast, and one could have fancied just then that he had not a care in the world. There were, however, men who said that in the case of Dom Clemente tranquillity was not always a favorable sign.
Opposite him sat the trader Herrero, who was not quite so much at ease as he desired to be. His manners were usually characterized by a certain truculence, which as a rule served him well in the bush, but he had sense enough to realize that it was not likely to have much effect upon his companion. There was something about the little smiling gentleman in the immaculate white uniform on the other side of the table which would have made it difficult for one to adopt an aggressive attitude towards him, even if he had not been one who held authority. Herrero had thereforelaid a somewhat unusual restraint upon himself while he expressed his views, and now sat watching his companion anxiously. Dom Clemente lighted a cigar before he answered him.
"This Englishman," he said, "is apparently a turbulent person. I have just received a letter concerning him from the Chefe at San Roque, as you are, no doubt, aware."
There was a question in his glance which Herrero could not ignore, though he would have liked to do so. He felt it was unfortunate that he did not know exactly what was in the letter.
"I addressed my complaint to the Chefe in the first case," he said. "Since Ormsgill is believed to have traveled towards the coast it was to be expected that Dom Erminio should communicate with you."
"Exactly!" and Dom Clemente smiled. "The complaint, it seems, is a double one. The Englishman Ormsgill has, I am informed, abducted a native girl who was in your company, but one can not quite understand how he has offended in this, since it appears that she was content to go with him. In one case only you have a remedy. If you have any record of a marriage with this woman the affair shall be looked into."
"I have none," and Herrero made a little gesture. "There are, you understand, certain customs in the bush."
Dom Clemente reproachfully shook his head. "They are," he said, "not recognized by the law, and that being so your grievance against the Englishmanis a purely personal one. It is no doubt exasperating that the woman should prefer him, and she is probably unwise in this, but it is not a matter that concerns any one else."
"It is not alleged that she preferred him," and the trader's face flushed a trifle.
"Still," said his companion, "she went with him. Now you do not wish to tell me that you had laid any restraint upon her to keep her with you, or that there was anything to warrant you doing so. For instance, you do not wish me to believe that you had bought her?"
Herrero did not, at least, consider it prudent. The law, as he was aware, did not countenance such transactions, and while he sat silent his companion smiled at him.
"Then," he said, "I am afraid I can only offer you my sympathy, and we will proceed to the next complaint. This Englishman, it is alleged, has also stolen certain boys from Domingo. Now the law allows a native to bind himself to labor for a specified time, and while the engagement lasts he is in a sense the property of the man he makes it with. The engagement, of course, can only be made in due form on the coast, but the man who brings the boys down and feeds them on the strength of their promise may be considered to have some claim on them. It seems to me that person was Domingo. Why did he not make the complaint himself?"
"He is busy, and it would necessitate a long journey. Besides, I have a share in his business ventures."
"That," said Dom Clemente reflectively, "is a sufficient reason. This Domingo seems to be an enterprising man. One wonders if he has many business associates up yonder."
Again Herrero did not answer. He did not like the little shrewd smile in his companion's eyes, for, as he was aware, the only white men in the forests Domingo frequented were missionaries and administrators, who were, at least, not supposed to participate in purely commercial ventures. He could not understand Dom Clemente at all, for it was very natural that it should not occur to him that he was an honest man, as well as an astute one who had been entrusted with a difficult task. He would, in fact, have been startled had he known what was in his companion's mind. Seeing he did not speak, Dom Clemente waved his hand.
"It seems," he said, "that Ormsgill will make for the coast with the boys in question, and you have come to warn me, partly because it is to your interest, and partly from the sense of duty. Well, with this knowledge in my possession it should be difficult for him to get them away."
He stopped a moment, but Herrero saw nothing significant in the fact that he glanced languidly towards thePalestrina. She lay gleaming white like ivory on the glittering stretch of water he could see across the roofs of the city, and, as it happened, he was going off that evening to a function which Desmond, who had brought her in the day before, had arranged.
"Steps will be taken to intercept him when wehave news of his whereabouts, and in the meanwhile I have another question," he said. "There is discontent up yonder among the bushmen?"
His manner was indifferent, but Herrero was on his guard. "A little," he said. "If it becomes more serious it will be due to this Ormsgill, and, perhaps, to the missionaries. He and the American are teaching the bushmen to be mutinous."
Dom Clemente took up a letter which had, as it happened, been sent him by Father Tiebout, from the table, and read it meditatively. Then he rose with a little smile.
"The affair shall be looked into," he said.
Herrero withdrew, not altogether satisfied. Dom Clemente had been uniformly courteous, but now and then a just perceptible hardness had crept into his eyes. The latter, however, smiled as he poured himself out another glass of wine, and then turned quietly, as his daughter appeared in the doorway. She came nearer, and stood looking down at him.
"That man has gone away?" she said. "He is an infamous person."
Dom Clemente glanced at the little green lattice on the white wall behind her with a faint twinkle in his eyes. It was not very far away, and he remembered that Herrero had spoken distinctly.
"One would admit that he is not a particularly estimable man, but he has, like most of us, his little rôle to play," he said. "He does not, however, play it brilliantly."
Benicia made a gesture of impatience. "TheEnglishman is on his way to the coast. You are going to arrest him?"
"When we know where he is. What would you have me do? A man in authority has his duty."
"Is it a duty to bring trouble on a man who has done no wrong?"
Dom Clemente leaned forward with his arms on the table, and looked at her with a curious little smile.
"I almost think," he said reflectively, "if I was a great friend of this Englishman's I would prefer him to fall into the hands of—such a man as I am. In that case, he would, at least, be prevented from going back to the bush, which is just now unsafe for him."
Benicia felt her face grow hot under his steady gaze. "The difficulty is that there are men without scruples who would blame him for whatever trouble may be going on up yonder in the forest," she said. "You would have to listen to them. If their complaints were serious what would you do?"
"Ah," said Dom Clemente, "that is rather more than I can tell. When one is young one feels that he is always expected to do something. Afterwards, however, one becomes content to leave it to the others now and then. It is sometimes wiser to—look on. That may be my attitude in this case, but I am not sure that the affair is one that concerns you."
He made a little deprecatory gesture as he turned to the papers in front of him, and Benicia went out quietly. It was an affair that concerned her very much indeed, but she knew that Dom Clemente could be reticent, and she fancied that he had something inhis mind. As it happened, this was the case with her. In the meanwhile he sat still, gazing thoughtfully at the sun-scorched town while he smoked another cigar. Then he rose with a little jerk of his shoulders, and buckling on his big sword went down the stairway.
When evening came he went off to thePalestrinawith his daughter, her attendant Señora Castro, and one or two officials and their wives, and enjoyed an excellent dinner on board the yacht. He fancied Benicia was rather silent during part of it, and glanced at her once or twice, which she naturally noticed, and as the result of it roused herself to join in the conversation. Still, she was a trifle relieved when the dinner was over and Desmond led them up on deck. Clear moonlight streamed in between the awnings, and, as it happened, Desmond seated himself beside the rail at some distance from her Madeira chair. Twice she ventured to make him a little sign, which he apparently disregarded, but at last he rose and walked forward, and she turned to the black-robed Señora Castro, who had clung persistently to her side.
"The dew is rather heavy. I brought a wrap or two, but I think I left them in the saloon," she said.
The little portly lady waddled away, and a minute or two later Benicia rose languidly, and moved towards the companion door through which she had disappeared. Instead of descending the stairway, the girl slipped out by the other door, and flitted forward in the shadow of the deckhouse until she came upon Desmond standing beneath the bridge.
"You do not seem to notice things to-night. I signed to you twice," she said.
Desmond smiled. "I saw you," he said. "Still, I wasn't quite sure that another of my guests did not do so, too. You have something to say to me."
Benicia turned and glanced down the long deck. There was nobody visible on that part of it.
"Yes," she said a trifle breathlessly. "But nobody must know that I have talked to you alone."
Desmond opened the door of the little room beneath the bridge. A lamp burned in it, and he flung a shade across the port before he drew the girl in, and then closing the door, leaned with his back against it.
"I do not think we shall be disturbed," he said.
Benicia stood still a moment looking at him. It was in the case of a young woman from The Peninsula a very unusual thing she had done, but there was inconsequent courage in her, and a certain quiet imperiousness in her manner.
"You have coal and water on board?" she said.
"I have," said Desmond. "I have also clearance papers for British Nigeria, but we haven't steam up. You see, I expected to stay here at least a day or two."
"Then you must raise it. You must sail for the Bahia Santiago before to-morrow."
"You have word of Ormsgill?" and Desmond became suddenly intent. "He is a man who is never late, but on this occasion he is a week or two before his time. Well, I dare say we can sail to-morrow. You will tell me what you know?"
He leaned against the door with a quiet thoughtful face while she did so, and then the Celtic temperament revealed itself in the flash in his eyes.
"It will evidently be a tight fit, but we'll get him if I have to arm every man on board and bring him off," he said. "That there may be complications afterwards doesn't in the least matter."
"Ah," said Benicia, "you are one who would do a good deal for a friend."
Desmond looked at her with a little wry smile. "Miss Figuera," he said slowly, "I think I would gladly do a very great deal for you."
A just perceptible flicker of color crept into the girl's face. "But what you are about to do now is for your friend Ormsgill."
"Yes," said Desmond, still with the curious little smile. "In one way, at least, I suppose it is."
Benicia turned and faced him, with the color growing plainer in her cheeks, and for a moment there was hot anger in her, for she knew what he meant. Then the fierce resentment vanished suddenly, as she once more met his eyes. There was something that suggested a deep regret in them, and his manner was wholly deferential.
"I only wish you to understand that if I fail it will not be because I have not done all I can," he said. "You see, I would, at least, like to keep your good opinion, and in spite of every effort one can't always be successful. Still, if it is possible, I will bring Ormsgill safely off. As you say, he is my friend."
There was silence for, perhaps, half a minute, and during it each knew what the other was thinking. Then Benicia made this clear.
"Ah," she said, "you are a very generous man." She stopped a moment, and there was a faint tremble in her voice when she turned to him again. "You have come from Las Palmas?"
"I have," said Desmond. "I saw Miss Ratcliffe there. I think I may venture to tell you that Ormsgill will never marry her."
Benicia's face flamed, but the color died out of it again, and she looked at him quietly. "To no one else could I have forgiven that. Still, one can forgive everything to one who has your courage—and devotion."
Desmond made a little gesture. "Well," he said simply, "we sail before to-morrow, and I will do what I can. There is this in my favor—your friends probably don't know where Ormsgill is heading for."
Then the girl started suddenly with consternation in her eyes, for there was a tapping at the door, but Desmond's hand fell on her shoulder and she felt that he would do what was most advisable. Next moment he leaned forward and turned the lamp out before he threw the door open.
"Well," he said, "what do you want? I am, as you see, just coming out."
There was moonlight outside, though the awnings dimmed it, and just there the bridge flung a shadow on the deck, and he recognized with the first glance that it was one of his guests who had tapped uponthe door which he flung carelessly to behind him.
"One wondered where you had gone to," said the man.