We went to the other side of the veranda, where the moon was shining beautifully, and took chairs side by side. I gradually succeeded in turning my companion's thoughts from the disagreeable trend into which I had brought them, and for several hours we discussed other matters. We spoke in low tones, for after a short time we were the only persons awake on the premises.

We both grew to feel the spell of the Queen of Night, nowhere more lovely than over the Caribbean. Our hands wandered together and I felt strange thrills that made me wish I were even closer to the lovely being at my side. In spite of the promises I had made--to her and to myself--I could not help talking nonsense.

"What harm would it do," I said, at 11 o'clock, "when I leave you at your door at night, if you gave me just a little--a very little--kiss?

It would sweeten my slumbers, I am sure, and it wouldn't hurt you."

"It would sweeten your slumbers--perhaps," she replied, soberly. "And it would drive mine away entirely. Do you think that a fair transaction?"

I chose to answer that I thought she was acting cruelly and added that if she was going to treat me in that way I would go to bed at once. She was evidently agitated by my manner, for when we reached her door she stopped.

"I am going to tell you something," she said, impressively. "Yes, at the risk of lowering myself in your estimation, unless you bid me pause."

"How can I, when I do not know what you are going to say?" I demanded.

"Then you wish to hear it?"

I nodded, curious to learn what was in her mind.

Looking with eyes that scintillated into mine she said, impressively, "Don, you cannot possibly want that kiss more than I want to give it!"

"Well," I answered, delighted at her communication. "What prevents you?

I promise, on my honor, not to scream--nor even to tell."

"If I leave you to decide," said Miss May, with lips that whitened at the words, "what will you advise me?"

A chilly breeze swept along the veranda. The figure of Statia Barton came across my vision, with her finger uplifted in warning. Out on the ocean I saw a wave that was transparent and beneath it a beautiful figure, cold and dead.

I raised one of her hands to my lips and breathed a sigh upon it. I was quieted so easily!

"Good night," I said, with emotion.

"Good night," she replied. "You do not--no, you do not hate me?"

I had turned away, but I faced her again.

"I am--afraid--I love you," I said. "It was not in the compact, I did not mean to do it, but I'm afraid--I love you."

She entered her door and I pa.s.sed to my room. Pulling off my clothes at haphazard I threw them on a chair and donned my pajamas. The bed was hard. I turned every way to no purpose. Sleep would not come. At last I sat up, then opened my door noiselessly and stepped barefooted upon the veranda.

Marjorie's light was still burning. The objects in her room showed with perfect distinctness through her screen door.

I paused as if petrified at the sight before me. In her white nightrobes she was kneeling by the bedside, her face buried in her hands.

It was beauty prostrate before its G.o.d, doubtless uttering a pet.i.tion that he would protect her from evil.

I paced up and down the veranda noiselessly for half an hour. When I paused again before Miss May's door, the light was extinguished and I could see nothing.

"Marjorie," I whispered.

"Yes, Don."

"Forgive me. I will not offend you again."

"Yes, Don. Would--would you like to come in and bathe my head? It aches a little."

"I cannot, Marjorie. Shall I call Mrs. Eggert?"

"Her hands are not like yours."

It was a severe struggle, but I told her I must not come in-that if she would think a minute she would see I must not. She said "Very well," and we exchanged good-nights. I went to my couch very proud of the victory I had won over myself--prouder than it seems to me now I should have been.

We must both have slept some, for I was aroused by hearing Laps barking, and Marjorie had not made her appearance when the hands of my watch pointed to half past five. She told me through the part.i.tion that she did not feel like bathing that morning, and I decided to omit the bath myself.

The barking of Laps was caused by the arrival of Mr. Wesson, whom I blamed without much reason for the headache I had awakened with. The fellow irritated me exceedingly and I made up my mind to get away from the Island without waiting for the Pretoria, if there was any feasible way to do it.

CHAPTER XVI.

IT IS FROM A GIRL.

The arrival of letters, both for myself and Miss May, the next day, made me forget everything else till mine were read and answered. I had not looked for them so soon and do not know yet what course they took to reach us. It is supposed to be a rule of the postal department to forward all mail by the most expeditious route, but previous experience in the Caribbean had taught me that the rule is reversed there in most cases.

Eggert brought the things to us, having had sense enough to inquire at the office when he knew a steamer was in. Miss May had taken the precaution to have hers addressed "Care Miss M. Carney," after I told her she would be weighted with this t.i.tle, and her friends supposed, no doubt, that the unfamiliar name represented the proprietress of a hotel or boarding house. She gave a joyful cry as I held two letters out to her, made the usual feminine inquiry if that was all, and retired to a corner by herself to read them, like a dog with a bone.

The first letter I opened was from Tom Barton, the second from his sister. Tom's was merely a recital of the latest happenings that he thought might interest me, and expressions of hope that I would derive great benefit from my cruise. Statia's was a homily on the beauty of holiness and a sermon on the alleged fact that wicked deeds are often punished nearer home than in that subterranean place of extreme heat of which most moderns have begun to doubt. She was evidently in about the same frame of mind as when I last saw her, but I was too glad to know that she cared enough about me to write at all to be severely critical.

I liked Statia. She filled a place in my heart that had been vacant before--a sort of sisterly place, as near as I can tell--and I resolved while reading to curb my tendency to joke when I answered her and take a weight off her mind if I could.

The next letter was a formal one from Uncle Dugald, reading like an official doc.u.ment. And the only remaining one was--of all things--from Miss Alice Brazier, who had adopted my suggestion and renewed her injunctions at the expense of a five cent stamp. I expected something from Harvey Hume, and when I looked over the odd packages of printed matter I detected his handwriting on several of them. Like Mary of old, he had chosen the better part, and had contributed as much to my happiness as either of the others. Six daily papers and three magazines, besides a new novel, bore his fist on their wrappers, and he had broken the laws of the postoffice by scribbling on stray corners certain "G.o.d bless you's!" for which I hope he will be forgiven.

"Do you want to read a letter I have received, warning me against you?"

I asked, laughingly, going to where Miss May sat. "Or perhaps, to state it more accurately, warning you against me; at least, warning us against each other."

She looked rather startled at my first observation and held out her hand for the missive as I finished.

I sat down beside her, prefacing an actual exhibition of the note from Miss Brazier by a reminder that I had informed her early in our acquaintance of the lady's answer to my Herald advertis.e.m.e.nt. She read the note through, as I held it in my hands, and when she had finished wore a very sober face.

"This seems to amuse you," she said, regarding me with a strange look.

"I do not see why it should. The person who wrote that is actuated by the sincerest regard for your welfare. It would have been much better for you had you taken her on this journey instead of me."

"But," I answered, lightly, "it would not have been half so well for you, which is why I did not do it. I want you to understand that I am not here for my own health, but yours. As for Alice Brazier, she wrote me, when she found I would not take her, anyway--that she was surprised at the 'nerve' of the successful applicant."

"I am surprised at it myself," said Miss May, refusing to laugh. "I grow more and more surprised at it every day."

"I suppose you wish me to believe you are sorry," I said, bridling just the least bit.