As It Was in the Beginning Part 24

"Why, yes, of course. Who could come to molest us here?"

"Molesters," he said, "if anyone. But perhaps they never would."

He had given no answer to her question, which she hardly cared to repeat. It was one of the times, which frequently came, when she could not prevent herself from wondering if this strong, primal man she had once called a brute could have utterly forgotten the pa.s.sionate declaration made on the steams.h.i.+p "Inca" the day before the wreck.

She wondered also, had he meant it at the time? Or had one of his many inscrutable moods possessed him, barely for the moment? She had never dared recently confess to herself what feelings might instantly invade her tingling nature should she learn he had only pretended, perhaps on some wager with Gerald, as a test of her faithfulness and love.

It was womanlike, merely, on her part, to desire to know his mind. No woman may long resent being loved by a strong and masterful man. And Elaine was delightfully typical of all her delightful s.e.x.

"Well," she presently said, "we've been here now much longer than we ever expected that day when we arrived."

His gaze, which had been averted, now swung to a meeting with her own.

She had never seemed lovelier, braver, more sweetly disposed than now.

The moonlight deepened her luminous eyes till the man fairly held his breath.

"Elaine," he said, finally, glancing once more towards the silvered sea, "what is your notion of love?"

The shock of the word threw all her wits into confusion.

"My notion?" she stammered, helplessly, feeling the hot flames leap like floods of his molten metal to her neck, her face, and her bosom.

"I don't believe--I have--any notions."

"Your convictions, then?" he amended. "Or, if you like, your principles?"

"My--my principles of--of all that--are--just about like--everyone else's, I suppose," she managed to answer, fragmentarily, "--being honest--and true--and faithful--unto death."

"To the one that you _really_ love?"

"Why--certainly--of course." The heat in her face increased, so significant had she felt his words with that low even tone of emphasis.

He stared so long at the sea after that she began to suspect he had not even heard her reply. After a time she was tempted to play, just a trifle, with the fire. She added, "Why did you ask?"

"Wanted to know." Once more he fell dumb, and again she waited, afraid he would, and more afraid he would not, continue the delicate topic.

Once again, also, she was tempted.

"And what," she inquired, "is your--notion?"

He did not turn. "Of love or crocodiles?"

"Of--of love--was what you asked me."

"I believe I did," he responded. "Oh, about the same as yours!"

Elaine had received but scanty satisfaction. After another long silence she ventured to say:

"We might have to be here a year--or even longer."

He turned to her directly. "Do you like it here, Elaine?"

She would not reply, and therefore demanded, "Do you?"

"I'm a savage," he admitted. "This sort of thing appeals to something in my blood."

"I know," she answered, understandingly, "--building up an empire with your naked hands, unaided--conquering metals and elements--wresting the island's dominion from the brutes. Naturally you love it!"

He reddened. "I can't make an apple dumpling and make it right! This island's dominion? Great Caesar's frying-pan--this is a regular picnic-ground, with everything on earth provided!"

She smiled. "And things all made and ready, including tools and powder, not to mention a tiger-skin rug.... You refuse to admit you like it for itself?"

"Like it or not," he answered, "we must get away--and home."

"Home," she repeated, oddly. "Home.... I wonder if home will ever seem---- It certainly would be wonderful, a miracle, I think, to see a steamer really coming--and to go on board and have it take us back to--everything--somewhere home---- But we'd sometimes think of this--a little?"

"Probably."

To save his life, he could not banish thoughts of Fenton.

"I'm sure we would," murmured Elaine. She gazed away, to the jungle's softened shadows. She wanted to cry out abruptly that she loved it to-night, with a love that could never die. She wanted the comfort of something, she hardly dared wonder what. After another long silence, she finally said, with eyes averted and excitement throbbing in her veins:

"I know the name of this little place--do you?"

"No," he said, wondering what she might have discovered. "What do you think it is called?"

It seemed to Elaine her heart pounded out her reply.

"The Isle of Shalimar."

If Grenville knew the Indian name for Garden, he made no sign that she could read. He made no reply whatsoever, but gazed as before at the sea.

He was turning at last when a low, but distinctly briefer, recurrence of the island's haunting wails arose to disturb the wondrous calm--as well as his peace of mind. There could be no doubt the tidal phenomenon was gradually but steadily failing.

What might occur when it altogether ceased was more than the man could divine. He felt a vague dread of that approaching hour and of what it might develop.

"It must be after midnight," he said, at last, "--time for night's ordinary dreams."

Yet, when he was finally stretched on his bed, he did not lose himself in slumber. Instead he lay thinking of the island's haunting sounds and the cave somewhere underneath the headland.

He had meant to attempt an inspection of this place, if only to gratify a natural curiosity. The thought occurred to him now that, in case of dire necessity, it might afford such a shelter as was not to be found on any other portion of the island. It was not a thing to be neglected. He made up his mind that the following day he would make an exploration.

CHAPTER XXII

A TOMB OF STONE

The ladder that Grenville constructed in the morning was not entirely new. He had found upon testing the original contrivance, made for his seance with the tiger, that, although the creepers had become quite dry, they were neither weak nor brittle.