Caravans By Night Part 28

(And it would not have improved his mental estate had he seen the manner in which the snake-charmer's afflicted eye watched him leave the steerage.)

The sun sank. Its sullen crimson bled upon cirrus clouds; faded with dusk; was absorbed as night bound the sky with gauzy blue and stars came forth to cool the fevered pulse of day.

Trent had just taken his seat in the dining-salon when Dana Charteris entered. White shoulders rose above the silver-cloth and flame-blue tulle of an evening frock. The startling shade of blue challenged out the deeper tints of her eyes; her pallor was made more l.u.s.trous by red lips and russet-gold hair. At sight of her he felt the blood throb in his throat.

"I hope you haven't been ill," he said as he placed her chair.

She smiled in a rather strained manner, he thought.

"I've been a poor sailor to-day."

A pause; then he plunged. "I should like to have a word with you--alone."

She met his gaze unsmilingly. For a moment he thought she would refuse.

"There's to be a dance to-night--you knew it?" He shook his head.

"Suppose I give you--the third?"

"I'd prefer not to dance," he returned solemnly.

"Then we'll go on deck."

8

The night was blue and moonless; no ordinary blue, but the clear, rich shade found in the depths of a sapphire, and it poured out as from an invisible fountain, blending the sky and sea; it caught a thousand stars in its flood and they, like diamonds cast into an unstirred pool, pulsed with lazy insolence above the oily swells.

Trent, leaning on the port rail, pipe between his teeth, heard the throbbing violins cease. He straightened up sharply. There was a patter of applause from the main salon; an encore. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and sauntered nearer the doorway; there he waited impatiently for the encore to end.

Once more the violins ceased; a ripple of applause. But the music did not resume. Several couples emerged from the salon. Dana Charteris appeared as Trent was within several paces of the door; paused a moment in the frame, her hair glimmering in the brazen light. Then she saw him; joined him.

"Shall we walk?" she asked. He thought there was a tremor in her voice.

"Yes."

Their mutual inclination led them toward the fore-deck. In the bow, beyond a monster coil of rope, they halted as with one accord. He stood looking out over the blue-black sea; she backward, across decks, at the huge funnels where smoke piled upward into darkness.

"Miss Charteris," he began, quite calmly, "I daresay you know why I asked for a word with you."

She was still watching the smoke. "I daresay I do," she replied, not so calmly.

He went on.

"I'm going to be frank--even abrupt. Will you tell me what you threw overboard last night?"

Silence followed. The big ship throbbed, but it seemed far away, part of another world; in his sphere there was but the girl, himself and the stars. He thought he saw her shiver--although it was not chilly.

Finally she spoke.

"Before I answer, there's something I must say. You are frank; I, too, will be frank." Her eyes shifted to his face. "I feel sure you're aware that I am not so stupid as to believe your name is Tavernake--or that you are a--a jeweller. Furthermore, you know I saw you in uniform in Benares. Your story about the brother was--rather flat." She smiled faintly. "I'm no child, Mr.--yes, I'll continue to call you Tavernake. I have imagination; I have guessed you are engaged in some sort of important work--work that you must not be distracted from. At first, I didn't care--particularly--or perhaps I was weak. So I let myself drift along. It's so easy to drift, isn't it?"

A new tone had come into her voice; a softer, more poignant quality. It carried to him a lofty exhilaration. He knew it was dangerous, yet, for the while, it thrilled him. The looming masts beyond the coil of rope were transformed, in his eyes, into the enchanted rigging of a dream ship.

"... So I took the easiest course--because I found you interesting. Then it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I was interfering with your duty. I knew I must stop. I resolved to--to end our friendship as easily as possible, without hurting you--or me. I hoped, after my outburst last night, you wouldn't try to see me again; that you'd be angry."

She smiled; let her hand rest lightly, he knew unconsciously, upon his arm.

"You understand? To-day I was--well, afraid of you and of myself. I had my meals served in my state-room. But I realized I had acted in a way that would seem strange to you; so I came out to-night to explain. If I give you my word that what I did last night is of no consequence to you, will you spare me the embarra.s.sment of explaining? It _will_ be embarra.s.sing, Mr. Tavernake, very. Yet it was such a small incident!"

Her hand slipped from his arm; she lowered her eyes. Trent, watching her, felt that at last he had explored to the inner shrine of that arcanum in her eyes. He saw altar-flames there.

"Don't you think it wise," she resumed, looking up, "that we discontinue our a.s.sociation--not our friendship--now, to-night? To-morrow, in Rangoon...."

Her voice died out in silence. They were quite alone, there in the bow, lifted, so it seemed, into a realm of blue starlight. Her face swam in the shadow, very close to his own. He obeyed an impulse. He took her in his arms; kissed her. Her eyes were closed, but an instant later the lids lifted. What he saw was not rebuke, but surprise, astonishment.

Vaguely, from that other world, came the strains of music. It seemed an endless period before she spoke.

"I--I have this dance...."

She turned; paused, as if to speak; disappeared behind the coil of rope.

Trent did not stir for some time. Then it was to draw out his pipe. He lighted it calmly; inhaled the smoke. For at least a half hour he stood there, the wind in his face, smoking steadily. When he left the bow and moved aft to walk, to accelerate his brain, a figure emerged from the door of the smoking-room and joined him. A figure that limped, that fell in with Trent.

"I have been looking for you," the Mongol announced.

Trent smiled an amiable contradiction of his real feelings.

"Shall we sit down?" He halted.

"No. I merely wish a moment of your time to explain my actions of last night, and to ask a question."

The orchestra was playing, and the music came as a bitter-sweet reminder to Trent.

"Well?" and the word was almost abrupt.

"I presume you think me very inquisitive"--Hsien Sgam's eyes were upon him, watching him closely--"and I have been. But I had a purpose. I wished to sound you, as they say in America; to find out if your business connections were permanent, and--well, other things, too."

Silence followed.

"Suppose," the Mongol resumed, "I were to say that plans for such a--you recall what we discussed the other evening? Well, suppose I were to say I spoke the truth: that there is a possibility of my dream crystallizing into reality; also that we need men who have had military experience, who can command. Soldiers of fortune, as it were, to cast their lots with a worthy cause...."

Trent's eyes evenly met his. He smiled, very slightly.

"Are you--making an offer?" he asked quietly.

Another silence. Then Hsien Sgam laughed.

"Perhaps I am; perhaps I am not. But if you are interested, go to the House of the Golden Joss, in Rangoon, to-morrow night. I will be there."

And with that he limped off and vanished in the door of the smoking-room.