She held out her beautiful, bare arms in invitation, and as he remained quite motionless, glided ever so swiftly to him, so close that he felt the sweetness of her breath upon his cheek.

"Behold!" she cried softly in perfect Hindustani, "Behold! O my beloved!

has the Sweet One! the Gentle One! the most blessed Mother looked with graciousness upon her children! May our lips cling in worship, yea! and our bodies in worship! She looketh with soft eyes upon our love, blessed is she, O! Durga! most terrible, most fierce, most cruel!"

Jan Cuxson hesitated.

If he put his arms about her she might waken at any moment, and then the shame and horror of it all.

If he did not respond might she not hurt herself in her wrath as do those who worship the Black One, and of whom he had heard in his travels in India.

What on earth was he to do?

And where was he to find the strength to resist the overpowering appeal of the sweet pa.s.sion she offered him.

He loved her, desired her, hungered for the touch of the sweet mouth, and there she stood in her youth, her innocence, her beauty, asking to be held against his heart, touching his hands gently with her finger-tips, desirous of his mouth, his hands, his love.

And even as he hesitated wild anger swept over the beautiful face, making it terrible to behold as she raised it to the moon with a laugh that made the man shudder to his soul, and gasp as she suddenly tore her bathing suit from her and held it towards him in both hands. He unconsciously took it from her, whereupon she shook from head to foot with wild unseemly laughter, and her glorious hair swept about her, hiding her completely from the desperate eyes that watched her.

"Behold, O Parvati! who steppeth lightly upon the mountains! Behold! has he chosen my raiment, therefore shalt thou be pleased! Yea! and even shall there be blood upon it!" [1]

And swinging her arm she struck it again and again against the rocks until the flesh was torn and the blood streamed, causing the man to move hurriedly with intent to waken the girl he loved, even at the risk of her reason and his ultimate happiness. But he stopped.

Leonie was standing still with uplifted arms, dripping blood upon her face whilst her sweet, clear voice rose sonorously in the _Vega_ hymn known as the Love Spell.

Jan Cuxson had studied Hindustani in preparation for his travels in India, but he frowned as he listened, for he did not understand one syllable.

And then his eyes opened wide in astonishment as he caught the meaning of a word here and there, and "Sanskrit!" he muttered in amazement.

Pulling a piece of pale green seaweed from the rock, she twined it and whispered, "This plant is honey born; with honey we dig thee; forth from honey art thou engendered; do thou make us possessed of honey.

"At the tip of my tongue, honey; at the root of my tongue, honeyedness; mayest thou be altogether in my power, mayest thou come unto my intent.

"Honeyed is my in-stepping, honeyed my forthgoing, with my voice I speak what is honeyed, may I be of honey aspect.

"Than honey am I sweeter, than the honey plant more honeyed; of me, verily shalt thou be fond, as of a honeyed branch.

"About thee with an encompa.s.sing sugar-cane have I gone, in order to absence of mutual hatred; that thou mayest be one loving me, that thou mayest be one not going away from me!"

Leonie swayed slightly as the words pa.s.sed faintly and yet more faintly, like a moan, from her lips; her eyes were closing slowly, very slowly; and she slipped to her knees, her bleeding arms held out towards the man before whom she knelt, as the breeze blew her glistening hair this way and that, exposing for a second, then hiding the glories of the exquisite white figure from the eyes which could not help but see.

Drooping lower and lower she stretched herself, face downwards, upon the sand, closed her eyes as the moon sank suddenly behind a dense ma.s.s of clouds, and peacefully went to sleep.

[1]In one of the rites concerning the worship of Kali, women's garments are thrown in a heap, from which men choose indiscriminately. The garment he chooses gives the man a right to the woman who owns it.

CHAPTER XXI

"And wilt thou leave me thus That hath given thee my heart?--Say nay! Say nay!"--Sir T. Wyatt.

What in heaven's name was he to do now?

Touch her he would not; let her know that he had seen her in all her unhidden beauty he could not; yet the gurgling and rustling and whispering between the water and the stones told him that the tide was racing in, and that what he intended to do he must do right quickly.

All he wanted to do was to gather her up in his strong arms, and wakening her with kisses carry her to safety.

Safety from the sea, safety from the unknown spell which had been laid upon her, safety from the horrible future; a safety he felt which could only be found within the circ.u.mference of his arms folded about her in love.

But instead he looked round for the garments she must have left somewhere, and seeing them, stepped quietly across the widening pools and gathered up the soft, sweet-smelling heap of dainty raiment; clenching his hands tight upon them to prevent himself from burying his face in the perfumed delicate things which he had not the right even to touch.

A little knot of pale pink bebe ribbon came away in his hand, and he twisted it around the seaweed ring she had twined about his finger, then untwisted them both and slipped them into his pocket, and stooped to pick up something which had slipped from the garments and tinkled on the rocks.

"Oh, you beauty!" he said as he held the jewel out in his open hand, and "Oh, you brute!" he said again is the cat's-eye winked cunningly at him with the knowledge of all ages in its l.u.s.trous depths.

Then he went back, crushing his flimsy burden to his heart; and placing it upon a rock near the sleeping girl, strode off to the opening of the little connecting cove, where he stood in the shadows and called;

"Leonie! Are you there, Leonie?"

Leonie stirred, settled down again to sleep, and stirred each time the voice rang insistently.

Who knows if love would have brought her back to consciousness and the immediate necessity to rise and clothe herself, and flee for safety?

Anyway, the tide decided and sent a little wave that thoroughly drenched her and brought her to her knees shivering and bewildered.

"Tide in!"

She glanced round hurriedly and drew her hand across her eyes.

"Funny!" she said as she retreated before a wave which surged over the rocks and swirled up behind her. "But--why--I've nothing on! And my arm!--why, I'm simply cut to bits. And--and oh! I've been dreaming--and how dark it is; there must be a storm coming!"

As she spoke she hurriedly flung herself into her clothes, biting her lips as the lace and ribbons caught in the horrible gash in her arm, and was standing waiting for the water to recede before she jumped, just as a voice as from heaven itself called.

"Leonie! where are you? Leonie, the tide is coming in!"

She did not wait, she jumped clear, stumbling and falling on the other side, ripping her feet until they bled.

Then she got up and ran blindly, impelled by terror pursued by the fear of something far more terrible than death.

"Jan! Jan! help me!"

Without a word he caught her and lifted her, holding her closely.

Never a word he said as they raced through from one cove to the other, neither when the waters buffeted him nor when weeds twined about his feet, and rocks impeded him.

Swiftly he carried her up the slight incline and laid her on the gra.s.s, took off his coat, ripped out his shirt sleeve, and tearing it into strips, bound up the bleeding arm.