V.A Complex Question.

There were a half-dozen or more good riders in Tangier that winter, but Bob Travers was the acknowledged leader. At every annual race-meeting he proved to his backers that their confidence in him was not misplaced, for, brave fellows as they were, none of them rode so hard, or cared to take the risks which Bob cheerfully ran.

Robert MacNeil Travers, familiarly known as “Bob,” was spending his second season in Africa. The first time he had run across from “Gib” to look up something in the way of horseflesh, and once there he had easily fallen in with a set of menwhose society he enjoyed extremely. They were dashing fellows, several of them young English noblemen, who found the free, bold life they could lead in this lawless place too fascinating to leave. It was very agreeable in that delicious winter climate to dash off over the wild country on a surefooted Barb horse, or to join some caravan for a few weeks’ excursion in the interior, while in England everyone was freezing, or at least imbedded in fog.

They had their little glimpses of civilization—the Tangerines—for the few resident Europeans were very glad to entertain any interesting visitors from the outside world. Bob Travers was as much liked by the wives and sisters of his friends as any gallant, well-bred Englishman deserves to be, and every one was pleased when his engagement was announced to pretty Mabel Burke,the sister of Boardman Burke, the artist, whose Eastern scenes, painted under the clear skies of Morocco, have won for him the reputation of being one of the foremost exponents in the new “Impressionist School.”

The occasions were rare when Bob Travers was not included, whether it was for a boar hunt, a day with the fox hounds, or a little dance, at any one of the half-dozen hospitable European houses.

One night he was late in arriving at a dinner-party given in honour of some Americans, whose yacht had appeared in Tangier Bay that day; they were already seated at the table when Bob slipped quietly in, and, at a little nod from Miss Burke, found his place beside her. He was conscious that his other neighbour was a woman—a young and attractive one. He had time to observe that, when his obliging hostess, in reply to his apologies,said, “You are punished enough, for you have lost at least ten minutes of Miss Schuyler’s society.” This, with a knowing little look at Miss Burke, which seemed to say, “To be sure he is your property, but if you are engaged to the most presentable man in Tangier, you must pay the penalty, and give him up to occasional and fastidious visitors.”

Modest little Mabel Burke, who simply basked in “Bob’s” smiles, and wondered at her own good luck in ever winning his love, gave her hostess a proud, happy glance that spoke volumes for her sense of security.

A closer look at Miss Schuyler convinced Mr. Travers that he had never met anyone at all like her; she was so self-possessed and clever that they were soon talking as freely as if they had been old acquaintances. She was not so pretty as hisfiancée, but she was very fascinating (a charmthat even Bob had not attributed to Miss Burke), and her versatility amazed him. It did not seem to matter whether they discussed horses, religion, or politics—Miss Schuyler had her opinions, and she expressed them without conceit or aggressiveness. During the fortnight that the smart little yachtLibertywas anchored in the waters of Tangier Bay, and its merry party were devoting their days to long country rides, excursions to Cape Spartel, or cantering along the sandy beach, Travers found Miss Schuyler the most interesting of companions; he seemed to have become her acknowledged escort, and (since one night, when he had nearly killed his best horse by galloping several miles for a doctor to come to the rescue of one of the ladies who had broken her arm while the party were making an excursion) Miss Schuyler had singled him out for all sorts ofdelicate favours. He, on the other hand, discovered that this woman, with her grace and culture, was just such a woman as he had pictured he should eventually take to Travers Towers as its mistress. For in less than a fortnight he realized that in his happy-go-lucky way he had drifted into that engagement with the pretty sister of his dearest friend. What could be more natural? All the conditions had favoured his courtship, and until he saw Miss Schuyler it had seemed very agreeable to possess the affections of the nicest girl in Tangier.

He knew she was not the wife he had dreamt of, but then, he reasoned, one never marries one’s ideal. Mabel Burke was sweet and good, and loved him; so one delicious, star-lit night, after a cosy dinner, he found himself alone with her in the quiet little Moorish court of the Burkes’ villa, and as Mabel gave him hissecond cup of coffee he looked at her approvingly, and on the impulse of the moment told her he should like to have her always with him. He meant it then; and after that it was all easy sailing, for Boardman Burke was delighted to give his sister to a man whom he already loved as a brother. The gossip of the town had not reached the visitors in the yacht, and Miss Schuyler only heard accidentally that Mr. Travers was engaged to Miss Burke, for Bob had felt a reluctance to tell her—had supposed someone else would—and, finally, seeing she believed him to be free, he haddreadedto tell her. And so their relations progressed undisturbed, and, like all things under an Oriental sun, developed rapidly.

They had been taking tea at Mr. Boardman Burkes and looking at his pictures, when suddenly the artist said:

“I must show you the one I am doing for Travers’ wedding present.”

And when someone remarked that he could take his time to finish the painting, Boardman Burke had said very distinctly:

“Oh, no! I expect to have to give my sister, as well as that best picture of mine, to Travers before the year is out.”

It is just possible that Mr. Burke thought it wise to make this statement, for occupied though he was in his work, he had observed that his sister looked troubled. Although Travers dropped in every day, he, too, seemed pre-occupied, or was in a hurry, and he was seen constantly riding with Miss Schuyler. Little Mabel was too seriously in love with him, and believed in him too deeply, to admit that he had been the least remiss in his attentions to her, but she felt relieved, all the same, to hear that theLibertywould hoist anchor and go over to Gibraltar the next morning, and from there continue her course along the coast of Spain and the Riviera. Even when she heard Travers and the American Consul accept an invitation to go to Gibraltar with the party, she felt no uneasiness, for he would return the following noon by the regular steamer. So she let her accepted lover stroll off with Miss Schuyler, only saying a quiet “good-bye.”

When she looked out from her window the next morning the pretty little yacht had disappeared, and all day she fancied Bob buying up supplies, which he said he wanted for an expedition into the interior.

In reality, when Mr. Travers had glanced at Miss Schuyler, after the announcement made by Mr. Burke of his engagement, he thought she looked a trifle pale, but then there is such apeculiar light when the African sun comes down into a Moorish garden through the waving palms that one gets strange impressions.

Miss Schuyler was very silent on her way to the beach, and Travers did not see her again till morning, when he crossed on the yacht to Gibraltar. During the night a sense of all he had lost flashed upon him; he could see no way out of it. He was a man who prided himself upon keeping his word; that word was given to Miss Burke, whom he liked and respected, but whom he now knew he did not love. And he had allowed himself to drift on through two happy weeks, devoting himself to this stranger, who in return must certainly despise him for his cowardice. Distinctly, it was an awkward position. He felt confident that, given his freedom, he might win the woman of his choice, for she was the kind of woman to inspire him todo his best, and Bob Travers’ best was very good indeed, but his freedom was just what he could not ask for, so he finally decided to tell Miss Schuyler the exact truth, and thus at least feel he had her respect.

On the yacht he told her his story, and she listened, as a woman listens who has had many disillusionments, and accepts them as necessities.

He thought her very cold when she only said:

“We have been very good friends, Mr. Travers. It will be enough to tell you first that I should have preferred to hear of your plans from your own lips. It all seemed so natural in Tangier, so far from the conventional outside world, that I allowed myself to give way to impulses which I thought under perfect discipline.”

“But you must know, youshallknow, that my heart is yours, that youare myidealwoman, the one I should have married,” Travers earnestly pleaded.

“If that is so, let it encourage you to be strong. Go back, marry your little girl, and forget one who has suffered too much to judge anyone.” Then Travers went down the side of the yacht into a small boat, and could only say “God bless you” over her extended hand before the steps were pulled up, and the yacht steamed out on her way to Malaga.

A few days after at Marseilles the papers were brought on board, and an article in them instantly attracted their attention. It graphically described a fatal accident that had befallen Robert MacNeil Travers, who had just landed from a yacht at Gibraltar evidently in perfect health. He had gone up to the summit of the rock, and stood at the edge of its dangerous eastern face. His companion, theAmerican Consul at Tangier, had stopped a moment to look out to sea with his glass, and when he turned round poor Travers had disappeared, “probably seized with vertigo,” the paper said; for Mr. Travers was heir to a large estate, and about to be married to the sister of the celebrated artist, Boardman Burke, so no idea of suicide was entertained.

Who shall say whether Miss Schuyler believed this newspaper version? Perhaps she remembered Travers’ last impassioned word, “Youshallknow my heart is yours,” and he had taken this way, the only possible way, to show her his devotion without being dishonourable.

Poor little Mabel Burke wept grievously, but she is again engaged, this time to a man who is far more domestic than poor Travers.

And Miss Schuyler? She continues to be Miss Schuyler, although she is as fascinating as ever. A woman who has tested one man’s affection to the death and not found it wanting, is not easily won!

PLYMOUTH:WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON,PRINTERS.

PLYMOUTH:

WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON,

PRINTERS.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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