The Popular Magazine/Volume 25/Number 6/Corrigan the Tempered

by Henry C. Rowland

Corrigan the Tempered

By Henry C. Rowland
Author of “Corrigan the Raw, “To Windward,” Etc.

In Henry C. Rowland's former novel, which appeared in the first August POPULAR, we hinted that Corrigan was too interesting a character to dispose of in one story. Doctor Rowland thought so too, and here you have a second glimpse of the high-strung youth from the Bowery whose discovery of treasure in the Philippines you haven't forgotten. He was Corrigan the Raw when he stumbled upon the ingots of gold; now he is Corrigan the Tempered, a little more sane since his marriage with Concha, the pretty mestiza, a little less anxious to “mix it” with an opponent, but just as eager to reclaim the treasure which he was forced to turn his back upon.

(A Complete Novel)

Chapter I.

It was during the summer vacation of the university where I occupy a modest position as tutor that Corrigan told me the remarkable story^[1] of how, while serving in the Philippines he had stumbled upon a fortune in gold ingots and jewels, half of which he had hidden on a small island in the China Sea, and half in the ancient temple where he made his find.

Now he had engaged my services to teach his pretty mestiza wife, Concha, English, and himself navigation.

Corrigan had obtained his discharge from the army owing to a fractured wrist which had become ankylosed, or rigid, and now he was eager to return for the ingots and jewels.

He knew just where the island lay, where the half of his treasure was buried, for the priest who had united him with Concha had given him the bearings; also, he could go straight to the temple where he had left the other half. His object in wishing to learn navigation was to enable him to go to Manila, charter a small vessel, and go after his treasure himself, thus to obviate the necessity of dividing with some outsider. But when he told me this I shook my head.

“Even a first-class navigator would need a local pilot to work down through those islands,” said I. “A friend of mine in the U. S. medical corps who made several cruises through the archipelago on the hospital ship Relief told me that the place was full of uncharted rocks and nasty currents. They always had a pilot when they went around to the different islands after sick and wounded. If you tackle it alone you stand to lose your treasure, and maybe your lives as well. You'd do much better to hunt up some reliable skipper and pay him a good price, with the understanding that he's to expect nothing more.”

Corrigan wrinkled his low forehead. He was not a bad-looking youngster, although his face bore the marks of hard usage. But he had a pair of keen, steady gray eyes, and a mouth that showed kindness and humor.

“Look here, perfessor,” said he presently. “I guess yours is de right dope. Say, what I need is some guy dat's on de square to go along o' me to keep his eye on tings. Say——” He turned to me abruptly. “How would dat job strike youse?”

I laughed. “Nothing I'd like better, if I was free,” I answered; “but I'm not. College opens in another month. Besides, my sister is to be married to an Eastern chap in a few weeks, and I've got to see her off.”

Corrigan studied me intently for a moment, then he said:

“Say, perfessor, I'm a man o' few woids. Dere's tree o' dem gold bricks fer you if you'll help me pull off dis job. Dey're woit' somet'in' over five t'ousand plunks apiece. And all your expenses paid. T'ink it over, huh?”

That night I talked over the proposition with my sister, who generously told me to go. Fifteen thousand dollars meant a good deal to me, as the pay of a tutor is not a princely revenue. But there was one serious factor to consider. My sister and I had a stepsister who was a semi-invalid, and had been for two years in the Miraflores Sanitarium. Although no blood relation, we were the poor girl's nearest kinsfolk, except for some relatives in the East, who appeared to take no interest in her, and who were pleased to consider that her mother had made a mésalliance in marrying my father, a fruit commission agent.

This half sister, Alfrithe Halstead, had passed through a terrible experience only two years before. In a railroad accident she had seen her stepfather killed outright, and her own mother pinned under a mass of wreckage, and slowly burned to death before her eyes.

Alfrithe, herself unhurt, had passed through this fearful ordeal without faltering and returned to us quiet, tearless, and unemotional. But from that hour the life spirit seemed to fade, leaving its lovely earthly habitation scarcely altered. She ate, slept, and went about her usual occupations much the same, and yet we saw plainly enough that the soul was slowly withdrawing itself from the body.

Then, as if realizing our distress, she decided to go to the sanitarium, and there she had remained for the last two years. Doctor Heppel, the kindly old German, who was the head of the institution, had informed me that in his opinion the fortnightly visits of my sister and myself were all that kept his patient alive.

As my sister was shortly to be married, and to live afterward in the East, my own departure for several months meant a very serious turn of affairs for poor Alfrithe, whom we both loved devotedly. But it occurred to me that perhaps the girl's interest in my adventurous voyage might take the place of my presence, and furnish a focus for her thought. She had always loved anything touching on the picturesque side of life, and I hoped that my letters and the expectation of hearing the tale might serve as an excellent mental tonic.

To learn for myself how the plan would affect Alfrithe, I took the train for Miraflores the following day; and on arriving at the sanitarium found Doctor Heppel walking about the grounds, examining his fruit trees. He took me at once into his consulting room.

“Miss Halstead iss no better,” said he. “In fact, she iss vorse, for ven cases like hers show no sign of improvement, then they are vorse. Vould you like some beer?”

Without waiting for my answer, he touched a bell, and gave the order.

“Then the recent examinations show nothing?” I asked, for I privately feared tuberculosis.

“Absolutely nodding—do microbes, nodding pathogenic. Yet she iss getting more and more transparent. Der light shines through her ven she sits by der window. She has lost her Life Desire.”

“Do you think her shock and sorrow enough to account for it?” I asked.

“No. Der shock vas terrible, und she lofed her mudder. But a yoong girl so str-rong as she does not die of shock. Der iss someding else. Vas she effer in lofe?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I answered, then went on to tell him of the object of my visit. The old fellow looked very much disturbed.

“She vould die,” he said. “It iss only ven you come that she seems to know that she iss still alive. She vould be better at your house den here. I t'ink she iss also bored.”

“But she won't come. She has a silly idea that she makes us unhappy,” I answered, whereat he shook his bushy head and sighed.

I found Alfrithe in a wicker chair on the veranda, and as she looked up there came the faintest color through her translucent skin.

To form an idea of Alfrithe it is necessary to think of some lovely visitant from another world, which is not material. She suggested a nymph, vanishing before the eyes of a mortal. Even her hair lent itself to this illusion, being of a fineness and shade which gave the sense of a color tone quite intangible.

Alfrithe was a tall girl, and by no means emaciated, in spite of which she impressed one as of the spirit rather than the flesh. It was as though all the material part of her had been dissolved in some reagent which had left her original form held in a structure of gossamer and moon mist. Color was not lacking in this impression, but it was of a faintly luminous, diaphanous quality such as the color tones of the stained-glass figure of an angel, projected dimly on the pillar of an old cathedral as the winter sun strikes through.

Alfrithe lifted a hand, which I was almost afraid to take, then offered me her cheek. Her limpid, hazel eyes rested on me inquiringly, for my visit was not on the usual day.

“Jim,” she murmured, “there's nothing wrong at home?”

“No—everything is fine,” I answered. “I only ran down to tell you of a new scheme of mine.”

So I drew up a chair and told her all about Corrigan and Concha and our proposed expedition. I talked slowly, laying stress on the romance and adventure of the proposed voyage, and saying that she might expect lengthy bulletins every time the chance of correspondence offered. Alfrithe did not interrupt, but as I talked on I could see that her breath was coming faster, while a tinge of such color as one sees on a damask cloth as the lamps strike through a glass of port began to glow in either cheek. It deepened and faded like an ember in the draft.

When I had finished, she sat for a moment looking straight in front of her.

“Jim,” said she abruptly, “I want to go with you.”

“What!” I cried. “Go with us? But, my dear girl——”

“If you would take me with you,” said Alfrithe quietly, “I am sure that I should get well. I am not really ill, Jim—that is, physically. It is simply this: On that awful day—in that terrible hour—it seemed to me that I was dead; that the life had gone out of me. Ever since, it has been exactly as though I were a shell. I've tried hard to get alive again, Jim. I'm not a coward, and I suppose I can keep myself alive, and I've tried very hard, because I felt that it was my duty. But I don't seem to be able to do it—especially here, where everybody is trying to do it for me. Do you believe that it's possible for a person to be—to be what you might call 'desouled'—while the body goes on pretty much the same as always? One day I overheard a patient tell the nurse that I was like a pressed flower.”

“You've got the shape and substance,” I answered, “and all of the fragrance, my dear.”

“I've been here long enough,” she declared.

“Too long,” said I. “Sanitariums don't get people well. They are institutions for catering to the weaknesses of the weak. If you want to go with me I'll see what can be done about it. If it can't be managed, I'll not go myself.”

So I said good-by to Alfrithe, and went out with a number of new ideas in regard to the treatment of cases of her sort.

Before leaving the institution I looked up Doctor Heppel, and told him of what had occurred. His florid face brightened.

“Dot iss fine!” said he. “If you take her mit you she vill be all r-right in a few weeks. Dot iss excellent.”

So back I went to town, and, called immediately on Corrigan, whom I found in his apartments, sitting in his shirt sleeves, smoking a cigarette, and listening to Concha, who was singing some little Spanish air to the accompaniment of her guitar. To these oddly mated lovers I told Alfrithe's story, and of her wish to be a member of the expedition.

“Say, perfessor,” said Corrigan, when I had finished, “dat's just de cheese. I bin tellin' Concha dat she'd have to stay in de convent at Manila while you and me goes after de bank fat. Dem punky little boats dey have out dere ain't no place fer a loidy. You bring your stepsister along of us, see? And you just tell her fr'm me and Conchca dat she's to c'nsider herself our comp'ny, see? Den de loidies can be togedder at de convent while we're on de wet hike, see? What's de matter wit' dat—huh?”

Chapter II.

Nothing could have been more delightful than our voyage out across the Pacific; especially for me, as I could see how each passing day was bringing its tithe of health to Alfrithe. It seemed impossible that the wraithlike creature of the Miraflores Sanitarium could be this fresh-cheeked, bright-eyed girl, who was soon taking her daily promenades on the breezy deck, or chatting animatedly with Concha and Corrigan.

There was no doubt but that Alfrithe possessed some subtle magnetism quite apart from her physical loveliness, for although by nature quiet and reserved, and inclined to avoid personalities, people whom she met could scarcely wait for more than a mere acquaintanceship before opening their hearts to her, and the girl was soon the most sought-after person on the ship.

At first people looked with a good deal of curiosity at our little party—Concha, sweet, soft, and languishing as some hibiscus-scented tropic night; Alfrithe, tall, exquisite, with her wonderful hair, which in some lights looked almost silvery, and her long, clear, understanding eyes; Corrigan, the typical “tough,” with his battered face, and square, hunched shoulders, scrupulously clean, and dressed in his loud but well-made clothes, talking his slangy vernacular of the streets; last of all, myself, big, heavy, and, I am afraid, slightly pedantic of manner. It was a curious quartet, and to allay the curiosity of our fellow passengers I told one of them that Corrigan was a promoter and I an engineer, and that we were on our way to the Philippines to look into a business scheme.

At Hongkong we transhipped for the run across the China Sea to Manila, and four days later disembarked at the mouth of the Pasig.

As we were drawing in to our berth I noticed lying behind the breakwater a very stanch and able-looking vessel of about ninety or one hundred tons. She was ketch-rigged, with high bulwarks, and from her smart appearance and the fact that a group of hands forward appeared to be in white uniforms I judged her to be a yacht. I noticed, also, that she was under the Russian flag.

“If we could only get something of that sort,” I said, pointing her out to Corrigan, “we could take the ladies with us.”

He looked at her longingly. “Say,” he answered, “dat'd be all right, wouldn't it, huh? Say, dat's de woist o' dis business, leavin' Concha and Miss Halstead. Ye see, perfessor”—he dropped his voice to a confidential tone—“Concha's just de best little goil in all de woild, and none straighter, see? But say, she c'n no more help makin' eyes at de boys dan a boid c'n help singin'. She don't mean no harm, o' course; it's on'y dat she don't understand, havin' been cooped up in a convent all her life. You wouldn't believe how often I've had to poke some guy what tried to give her de high sign. Dat's what I hate about leavin' her behind—and all dese fly officers and de like—not dat dere's any danger so fur's she's concoined,” he added hastily.

I smiled inwardly, for I could well understand his state of mind. There was no doubt of Concha's devotion to her husband, but she was a born little flirt, and her mixture of Spanish and Filipino blood made a dangerous compound. Few men could keep their eyes off her when she was about, nor did it ever occur to the casual observer that this lovely, patrician-looking girl could possibly be the wife of her hard-faced little companion. To make matters worse, Concha was apparently unable to distinguish between respectful admiration and an offensive attempt to attract her attention. I suppose that to the mind of the Oriental woman any overture on the part of a man is to be considered as a compliment.

But Corrigan certainly regarded such overtures from quite a different point of view. He was naturally of a jealous nature, madly in love with his wife, and perhaps the sense of his own social inferiority to many who tried to attract Concha's attention made him all the more bitter.

Another complication was that the would-be “masher” was not apt to realize the forces latent under Corrigan's flashy and badly carried clothes. Before enlisting as a private in the hospital corps, U. S. army, Corrigan had been the “punching bag” of prize fighters, and sparring partner of one or two middleweight champions, and was, in fact, about as ugly a little customer as one could hope to pick out.

“You needn't worry,” said I. “Miss Halstead will keep an eye on Concha while we're gone. But I wish that we could manage some way to take them with us. It would be so much jollier, and they'd enjoy it.”

On landing we went immediately to the hotel. I had secured some letters of introduction to several influential people in Manila, and these we planned to deliver the next day. Our object was to charter some little vessel such as the small brigs and schooners trading around the archipelago, and with a properly recommended skipper and a native crew proceed first to the island of Samar, secure the part of Corrigan's treasure which was hidden there, then run down to the Luconia Shoals, collect the ingots of gold hidden there by Corrigan and Concha, then return directly to Manila. We could clear from the port as a scientific expedition for archæological research, and on bringing in our treasure declare it as the fruits of the expedition, and pay whatever duty the government saw fit to impose.

We lunched at the hotel, then went out to look about the city. The ladies did some shopping on the Escolta, and as I observed the eagerness of Concha to get rid of all the money in her purse, I began to understand Corrigan's impatience to get the rest of his buried treasure.

Later we drove on the Luneta, and while listening to the regimental band concert I happened to notice that Alfrithe was very much interested in the occupant of a carriage on her right.

Following her eyes, I saw an extremely good-looking young chap of perhaps twenty-five, whose profile was presented to us. He was leaning back in his seat, a cigarette between his fingers, listening to the band. Beside him on the seat were two little Japanese spaniels,

“What dear little dogs!” said Alfrithe.

But I doubted that it was the dogs which held her attention. I do not think that I have ever seen a finer masculine profile than that presented by the man. There was also about him an unmistakable air of birth; a certain noble elegance which found itself in every detail of feature, bearing, and costume.

His carriage was not more than ten feet from ours, and had been standing there as we drew up abreast.

I noticed that the hand which held his gold-tipped cigarette was beautifully shaped, the third finger wearing a great seal ring of chased gold. His skin was very clear, though tanned, and there was a rich flush on his cheek bone, which was rather high, and sufficiently prominent to give a becoming leanness to the lower part of his face. Under his creamy panama his thick but rather closely trimmed hair shone almost blue-black, slightly wavy, and he wore a short, black mustache waxed trimly upward at the tips.

“A good-looking chap,” I murmured in Alfrithe's ear. He could not possibly have heard me, for the band was rendering the “Poet and Peasant” overture, but as if by some sixth sense the young man turned with precisely the inquiring look that he might have worn if I had directly addressed him.

Our carriage was abreast of the band stand, just outside of his. Alfrithe and Concha were sitting with their backs to the driver, to avoid the glare from the bay, Alfrithe herself on the inside. As the young man's eyes rested on her a sudden expression which was almost that of recognition swept across his startlingly handsome face. His long, black lashes seemed to quiver, and I saw him catch his breath. His look was so brief that one could scarcely call it a stare; then he turned his head away again. The cigarette dropped from his fingers and fell to the ground.

Glancing at Alfrithe, I saw that the blood was pouring into her face. She slightly lowered her parasol. I looked back at the man, whose profile was again turned to us; and as I studied him curiously the red glow on his cheek bone seemed to spread slowly, until his whole face was a deep, swarthy red.

As if conscious of himself, he turned his head toward the band, then reached out his left hand, and caressed one of the little dogs, which crawled into his lap.

It was a singular performance, and, very much puzzled, I leaned forward, shoving my head under Alfrithe's parasol.

“Do you know him?” I whispered.

She shook her head. The color was still in her face.

“I never saw him before,” she murmured, with a little shrug. “Why, Jim?”

“He looked as if he knew you,” said I.

Again she shook her head, looking annoyed. I drew back, then turned, in answer to some question of Corrigan, who was sitting next me.

Two or three times during the concert our neighbor glanced about him, as people will at a crowd, and although his eyes rested each time for a brief instant on Alfrithe, there was no repetition of that first look of almost startled intensity. But I noticed that his high color remained, and that he continued to fondle his little Japanese dogs with a manner that was preoccupied and nervous.

The military band, which, by the way, was excellent, paused for the intermission, and some of the audience began to stroll about. It was to me an interesting gathering; officers and enlisted men, local residents in smart traps, pretty mestizas in the coquettish native costumes of piño and jusi cloth, or rich, homespun silks, the camisa dropping over one bare, round shoulder, soft as satin and the color of old ivory; rich native merchants with their families; pretty American women, the wives and daughters of the army; tourists; adventurers and adventuresses, the latter not difficult to distinguish; a brightly colored crowd weaving in and out under the late, golden sunshine, the charming tropical costumes of the women a-flutter in the strong draft from the bay like flowers in a summer breeze.

I was admiring the spectacle when I saw coming toward us two distinguished-looking men, one in the uniform of a lieutenant of the British navy, and the other a captain in our own army. Both were handsome, well-set fellows; the Englishman tall, high-featured, with a fresh, ruddy skin, and the American lithe and sinewy, tanned to a saddle color by the tropic sun, keen-eyed, lean-faced, with a blond, wiry mustache half hiding his straight-lipped mouth.

The two were talking and laughing as they made their way through the press, responding promptly but automatically to the salutes of the enlisted men, and had almost passed us when they caught sight of our neighbor. Both stopped, then passed behind our carriage, and stepped over to greet him.

“Hello, old chap!” said the Englishman. “What! All alone?”

“That doesn't speak well for the hospitality of our little city,” said the American, with a laugh.

The young man in the carriage swung about sharply, then smiled.

“Hello, you fellows,” said he, and his accent marked him at once for an Englishman of the upper class, but what struck me most was the singularly winning expression of his face as he smiled and stepped down from the little native victoria. “I say,” he remarked to the American, “this is a ripping good band of yours.”

“Coming down to the club, later?” asked the captain.

“I'll look in for a few minutes on my way back. Rather want to hear this next number. It's a favorite of mine.”

“Good! The colonel wants to see you. He says that the next time he goes to one of your parties he'll wear a uniform that was made at home. More room for expansion.”

“Oh, you Yankees are all for expansion nowadays.”

“Well,” said the American, “it struck me last night that there were certain of our European friends just as keen for annexation!”

They all laughed, then drew closer and dropped their voices. The lieutenant chuckled. There were a few minutes of what sounded like good-natured chaff, and the two officers moved off.

“See you a little later,” said the captain.

Our interesting neighbor answered their parting salute, then turned, shot a swift look at Alfrithe, and stepped back into his carriage. Alfrithe leaned forward, and touched me on the knee.

“Don't you think we might go back, Jim?” she asked. “Concha and I find it rather hot.”

“Certainly,” I answered, and spoke to the driver, a Filipino boy in maroon livery, a top hat, and bare legs and feet. He turned his horses, and we moved out of the throng.

We had gone perhaps two hundred yards when I happened to look back, curious to see the effect of the gathering from the distance.

Just behind us came another vehicle, which I was rather surprised to recognize, from one of the native ponies, which was piebald, as that of our neighbor. Apparently he had changed his mind about his favorite number on the program.

Concha was the first to break the silence as we drove away.

“What a very handsome señor that was in the carriage next to ours!” she said, in her prettily accented English. “I was looking at him from behind my fan. But he would not look back and——” she pushed her lips poutingly against her chiffon sun veil.

Corrigan hunched his shoulders, and drew down the corners of his mouth.

“Hully gee—dere she goes again!” said he, with a sort of hopeless resignation. Suddenly he leaned forward, and tapped his wife's plump arm with one thick, stubby finger. “Say, kid,” said he, “listen! Dat handsome guy looked our way, all right, all right, but he looked at Miss Halstead, see? And d'ye know what she done? She acted like she was sore, and toined her head de ot'er way, see? Now, dat's de way a real loidy acts when some strange guy tries to rubber. Listen here; you don't want all dese swells to t'ink fer a minute. dat you're de sort o' goil to mix wiv strange mutts, no matter who dey are. Just keep your lamps toined on Miss Halstead and git wise.”

It was gently said, but the angry color flamed in Concha's pretty face.

“I am now a señora,” she said, “and with my husband. I do not care if a strange señor looks at me. Besides, you are here to protect me. Miss Halstead is a young girl; I am a married woman.”

Corrigan looked at me helplessly, then at Alfrithe. Seeing no particular support on the faces of either of us, he gave his shoulders another hunch, and said dryly:

“Sure—I know dat. On'y you don't look it, and dere's no use in startin' somet'in' fer nuttin'.”

Concha accepted this in silence, but with an angry face. She really loved her husband, as indeed she had every reason to, for Corrigan had taken her as a dowerless, half-caste girl of doubtful parentage, and given her all that he had to give. The boy was invariably kind and gentle with her, and I had sometimes thought that if he had leaned a little more toward the Oriental idea of managing a wife it might have been better for both.

In the present case, neither Alfrithe nor I offered any remark, and we drove on in silence. Glancing at Alfrithe, I noticed that her face was rather pale, and for the first time since leaving home wore a troubled look. Her eyes rested for an instant on Corrigan, then traveled on to the shore of the bay, and a little line appeared between her pretty brows.

I guessed at what was passing in her mind. Alfrithe was no snob, and she was taking herself to task for feeling the least ashamed of being seen in company with such a person as Corrigan. Just as well as though she had told me, I knew that this emotion was entirely a new one, and had been awakened by the proximity of our distinguished-looking neighbor and his officer friends.

We reached our hotel, and went immediately up to our rooms for a bath and change. I was about to slip off my flannels when, a sudden idea seizing me, I went to the window and looked down.

Standing in front of the door was a little victoria, on the seat of which were two little Japanese dogs.

Chapter III.

Corrigan and I went out the following morning to present our letters of introduction. I had decided to say in answer to any inquiries as to our need of a small vessel that the object of our expedition was a scientific one, and might take us as far as the west coast of Borneo.

One of our addresses being near by on the Escolta, we decided to walk, both my conscience and my comfort rebelling at the cramming of my two hundred pounds into a little native carriage. We were proceeding in a leisurely manner down the busy street when Corrigan suddenly stopped short in his tracks, gripping me by the arm.

I glanced around in surprise. He was staring straight in front of him, his jaw hanging, and his eyes sticking out of his head. Following his gaze I saw coming toward us a broad-shouldered man of medium height, whose manner of carrying himself suggested the seafaring person. He was neatly dressed in the usual white duck, with a small pith helmet, and carried a light, bamboo stick. Loitering along as he was, glancing into the shop windows, he did not notice us until within a few paces, when he suddenly looked up, then stopped short, with an oath.

“Captain Watkins—fer de love o' Mike!” gasped Corrigan.

And Captain Watkins it was—the Australian skipper about whom Corrigan had told me. Owner of a brig, he had helped Corrigan to remove the gold, but the brig had been shipwrecked. While the treasure was being transferred to the dinghy, José, the Spanish mate, who was in the small boat with Concha and a frail old padre, had traitorously cut the painter. Corrigan had dived from the rail, reached the boat, and knocked the mate overboard; but the boat had been swept away, leaving Watkins on the foundering brig.

Corrigan never expected to see the doughty Watkins again, and he hesitated to believe the evidence of his eyes.

But the hesitation of the other man was brief. He stepped forward briskly, and I noticed that the color had faded under his tan, and that his pale-blue eyes looked hard and dangerous.

“So it's you, is it?” said he, in a harsh, strident voice, and glared at Corrigan, who sprang forward with outstretched hand.

“Hully gee, cap,” cried Corrigan, “but I'm glad to see you. I never tought you'd——”

He paused, struck for the first time by the ominous manner of the other. Watkins was staring at him through narrowed lids, nor did he appear to see Corrigan's outstretched hand.

“You blarsted little cur,” he growled. “You never thought to see me again, I jolly well know. But I've been 'opin' to see you again, matey mine!” and he licked his lips under his heavy brown mustache.

Corrigan's arm dropped to his side, and he stepped back.

“Say, what's eatin' youse?” he demanded, and then suddenly his voice rose so shrilly that passers-by stopped to look. “Say,” he cried, “you don't t'ink it was me cut dat rope?”

“You got off in the boat, didn't ye?” snarled Watkins.

Corrigan seemed suddenly beside himself. He sprang forward, and caught Watkins by the arm. I thought for the second that the sailor was going to strike him, but Corrigan's look of appeal must have prevented the act, for instead he shook himself free, and growled:

“Keep aw'y from me, blarst ye. Who cut it then—José? And what were you doin' to stand by and see it done? You were on deck when I went below——”

Corrigan interrupted him passionately:

“Say, cap, listen! Let me tell you. I was waitin' dere, and I heard Concha scream. I looked around, and seen de boat was gone. Concha screamed again, close to, and I took a dive overboard and come up alongside de boat. Say, I was inside her, and on me feet afore dat Spaniel knew what'd happened. Just two pokes he got—de foist on de chin and de second in de neck, and den de drink fer his'n. Aw, gee, cap, you'd otta know I wasn't de sorta mutt to leave a bloke to drown, speshully arter all you done fer me. Gee, but dat's a tough ting to swaller!”

He stepped back, and glancing at his face I saw that his eyes were brimming. Watkins saw it, too, and his manner underwent a sudden change.

“'Old 'ard, matey,” said he, in his cockney-Australian accent, “maybe I been 'asty. I didn't want to think it of ye, but 'ow was I to know what 'appened? You was to wait to pass down the duffle and the last o' the gold, and when I got on deck 'ere was all 'ands gone, and I left to go down with the brig. Well, if that's 'ow it come about I'm sorry, and 'ere's my 'and on it. So you settled José, did ye? And 'ow about the padre and Concha?”

Corrigan stammered out briefly the story of how they had reached the island where they had buried the treasure, and of the good padre's death after making Corrigan and Concha man and wife.

Watkins listened intently. “Then the gold is still on the island?” he asked.

“Sure! Dere's a bunch of us come out t' git it. Me and Concha and Miss Halstead and my fr'en' here, Perfessor Metcalf.” And, as if recalling me for the first time since the emotional meeting, he added: “Perfessor, shake hands with Cap'n Watkins.”

“How did you get out of the fix?” I asked, after giving Watkins a grip. “Corrigan told me that the brig was almost awash when your skunk of a mate cut the boat adrift.”

“Come inside, and 'ave a glass o' beer, and I'll tell you all about it,” said Watkins. “It's 'ot 'ere.”

We had stopped directly in front of a big café, so at Watkins' suggestion we entered, took our seats at a table, and ordered some beer.

“I'm sorry to 'ave 'arbored such ideas about you, Corrigan,” said the sailor. “Of course, I see it all now.” He turned to me. “With that wind and sea no two men could 'ave pulled the dinghy back alongside. Proper bread bowl, she was. Well, when I cyme on deck, and found the boat gone, and Corrigan with 'er, I was a bit 'ot. But there was no time for tykin' on, or leastwise, I didn't think there was, seein' that the brig was almost awash, so I turned to and rigged up a litter of stuff to float me when she went down. Then, d'ylight cyme, and 'ere she was, still afloat, the water not 'aving yet worked into the 'emp, I suppose. Then the weather cleared, and 'ere was a dhow workin' up my w'y. They sighted my signal, and took me off, and I found she was carrying sago from Sarawak to Manila, and 'ad got blown offshore in the gyle. Luckily for me there was a good crowd aboard 'er; mission nytives mostly. They brought me to Manila, and I landed all right-o with my two ingots, worth about one thousand pounds each.”

“Wasn't your vessel insured?” I asked.

“Yes, I 'ad a little on 'er, but 'ere's the trouble, sir. The cargo was only insured for the run stryte to Manila, and seein' as 'ow I lost the brig w'y down in the South China Sea the shippers couldn't 'ave collected, so I turned over my settlement to them. Only fair; and, besides, I'd rather lose the money than the tryde. You see, I figured on starting fresh with what the ingots fetched. But of course——” His face clouded, and he looked rather anxiously at Corrigan. “That money doesn't really belong to me, the understanding bein' that I was to get my share when the gold was safely banked. So if Corrigan sees fit to clyme it——” He paused, and took a swallow of his beer.

Corrigan did not immediately reply. His elbow was on the table, his chin on his knuckles, and from the many horizontal lines which crossed his low forehead it was evident that he was thinking deeply. Knowing the boy's free, generous nature, I was rather surprised, and a bit disappointed. Personally, I felt very sorry for Watkins, and it seemed to me that he was quite entitled to the two ingots which he had managed to save from his foundering brig.

As if feeling my unspoken sympathy, the sailor turned to me, and said:

“It's a bit 'ard on me, perfessor. 'Ere was I, doin' a decent little business with my brig, and arskin' no odds of anybody nor——”

His self-pitying monologue was interrupted by Corrigan, who suddenly raised his head, and tapped impatiently on the table with his heavy knuckles.

“Hop on, cap,” said he gruffly. “Let's git dis t'ing straight. Listen. Here was you, just like you say, doin' your little trade, an' all dat. Den I come buttin' in, and you, t'inkin' me no more'n a little mutt lost from his comp'ny, treat me white, blow me to a good feed, and offer me a passage to Manila. So fur so good. Den what? I tell you all about de treasure, and you agree to carry it to Manila, me to git two shares and you one, makin' seven o' dem gold bricks fer youse. Am I right?”

Watkins. nodded moodily.

“Well, den what? You say you gotta go to Iloilo fer grub. Dat's all right, and we go. Den, leavin' Iloilo, you say: 'Singapore fer our'n.' Well, and what den? You git soused to de guards, and stay soused. Say, d'youse call dat sort o' foolishness holdin' up your end o” de contrac'? Huh?”

Corrigan's habitually good-natured voice was harsh and challenging. His keen, gray eyes seemed to bore into Watkins, whose tanned face grew a swarthy red as he looked down at the table.

“Oh, I don't pretend to s'y that I'm entitled——” he began, when Corrigan rapped the polished teak again with his knuckles.

“Me neither,” said he gruffly. “You ain't entitled to a nickel—five cents—de twentiet' part of a dollar, as de fakers say. Now, listen!” Corrigan's voice raised slightly in pitch, and he leaned forward. “Dat's all I want—to hear you say it. Now dere's somet'ing else to remember. You was fixin' to marry Concha when I butted in and offered you all de bank fat dat was comin' to me if you'd give up de goil. What did you say? Huh? You says: 'If you want her as bad as all dat, she's yours, and I won't take de gold, needer.' Remember dat, cap?”

Watkins nodded.

“So do I,” said Corrigan dryly. “Now, cap, I'm a man o' few woids. Dat gold's in a safe place on a little island near where we got wrecked. All you gotta do is to git hold of a little vessel, and take us down dere to git it, and five o' dem bricks 'r fer you—which, wiv de two you got, makes seven, which was de share you was to git in de foist place.”

He leaned back in his chair, and reached in his pocket for a cigarette. I looked at Watkins. The man was sitting like a person in a trance. The color faded from his face, leaving it a yellowish brown. Then suddenly the blood came pouring back, and he sprang up, holding out his hand.

“I s'y—I s'y——” he began chokingly.

Corrigan reached out, and gave the Australian's hand a grip which made the sailor wince.

“Dat's all right, cappy,” said he gruffly. “And let me tell you somet'ing else. I aint' standin' to lose much on dis deal. You might not t'ink it from my mug, but I'm one o' dem wise guys dat know better'n to put all der eggs in one basket. What we had on de brig was on'y half o' dat treasure.”

“What's that?” cried Watkins.

“Jus' like I'm tellin' youse. De odder half's back dere not far from de old temple. We'll go after dat de same time—on'y we don't share up on dat because I'm married now, and need de money.”

Watkins' rugged face was an interesting study in expression of which the resultant was a sort of envious admiration. For some minutes he sat in silence, digesting this new piece of information. Finally, he shook his head, and remarked:

“Well, I never would 'a' thought you 'ad it in you. So you 'ad it 'idden up there all the time. But why didn't you tyke it all out at once?”

Corrigan inhaled his cigarette, then looked at the Australian with a little twinkle at the corners of his gray eyes.

“Maybe I had a sorta hunch dat you might git drunk and wreck de brig,” said he.

Watkins winced a little, then laughed.

“You're a caution, Corrigan,” said he. “Well, I must s'y, you 'aven't left me any cause to complyne. My eye—seven thousand pounds! I can get my little steamer with that, and 'ave enough left to buy a coffee plantation, besides.”

And with glistening eyes he reached for Corrigan's hand again, then sank back into his chair, and grew suddenly grave.

“Look ere,” said he suddenly. “I'm in a bit of a 'ole.” He looked at me with an expression of perplexity. “It is jolly awkward, though.”

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Maybe when you were coming in,” said Watkins, “you might 'ave noticed that 'ere ketch-rigged yacht lying be'ind the breakwater?”

“The Russian?”

“That's 'er. Well, it was only yesterday I promised to go as pilot aboard 'er for a month's cruise around the islands. She belongs to a Russian gentleman; Count Rodonoff, and a very, nice, fair-spoken young chap 'e is, too. A bit of a naturalist 'e is; fond of 'untin' orchids and birds and insects and the like. 'E brought 'er out 'imself, but they told 'im 'ere it was unsyfe to go down through the islands without a local pilot. The collector of customs gyve 'im my nyme, and I agreed to go, seeing as 'ow 'e offered me forty pounds for the job.”

“Well,” said Corrigan, “forty pounds ain't twenty-five thousand dollars, when it comes to dat.”

“Ra-ther not,” said Watkins. “I'll go and tell 'im that a charnce 'as just turned up for me to myke some big money, and arsk 'im to let me off. It's a bit awkward, all the syme, as I like to keep my word.” He glanced at his watch. “I'd better go right aw'y and catch 'im before he comes ashore,” said he. “At the syme time I'll look about a bit to see what I can find in the w'y of a vessel.”

“All right,” said Corrigan; “and look here, cap; dere's two loidies in our party—Concha and Miss Halstead, de perfessor's stepsister. If we c'n manage to git a hooker dat's all right inside, we'd like to take 'em along of us.”

Watkins looked rather dubious. “That won't be so easy,” said he. “Anything we're likely to get 'ere would be pretty bad below decks. We'd 'ave to scrape and clean and repaint, and even then 'twould be cramped and uncomfortable. But I'll do my best.”

He arose to go, when I said:

“If the count is sore about letting you go, just tell him how the case stands. It's really no secret, as we're not going to try to smuggle the stuff in. Only don't say anything about the cache on Samar. Let him think it's an expedition to some of the islands in the South China Sea.”

“Right-o. By the bye”—he looked sharply at Corrigan. “'Ow do you know where the island lies?”

“De priest worked out her bearin's wiv your instruments,” Corrigan answered. “Say, dat priest was a wonder. He told me dat it was him made most of de maps around Mindinao.”

“And 'e gyve you the bearings?”

“Sure!” grinned Corrigan. “Dey're on Concha's marriage certif'cate.”

Chapter IV.

We did not present our letters of introduction, these being merely for the purpose of aiding us in our project. Instead, we returned directly to the hotel, where we found Concha buying tortoise shell, lace, embroideries—everything, in fact, which the sleek Oriental trader held up to her eyes, while Alfrithe stood by, vainly attempting to control her.

“Vamoose!” said Corrigan, with such a note of finality that the merchant decided it was not worth while to argue the point, and promptly betook himself off, and none too soon.

Concha frowned at her husband's brief methods, but when Corrigan told her of our meeting with Watkins she forgot her pique in her astonishment and delight. I was pleased at this, for although given to understand that Concha had never fancied Watkins in the rôle of lover or husband, he had nevertheless proved himself a good friend in a purely disinterested way.

We lunched rather early, and afterward Corrigan and I went in to play billiards, leaving word that if Captain Watkins called he was to be shown in immediately. I was watching Corrigan's skillful exposition of the game, when there came a heavy step behind me, and I looked around, to see the Australian standing in the doorway. Corrigan saw him at the same time, and laid down his cue.

“Hello,” said he. “What luck?”

“Well,” answered Watkins heartily, “'ere's a bit of all right. Everything's all arrynged, and we can start to-morrow, if you like.”

“Sit down and tell us about it,” said I.

We drew our chairs.together, and Watkins said:

“Arfter leaving you this morning I went down, and got a banca, and went right out aboard the 'Alcyon, Count Rodonoff's yacht. I found 'im over 'is fruit and coffee, and told 'im that something 'ad come up that would prevent my filling my engagement with 'im. Well, 'e didn't like it a bit, and wanted to know if I was a man of my word, or wasn't I. So I up and told 'im the whole story, arsking only that he treat it as a confidence. 'E was mighty interested, and when I'd finished 'e thought for a few minutes, and then arsked if you were the party of two gentlemen and two lydies, one of them tall and blond, stopping at the Oriental. I said that I 'adn't met the blond lydy, but that the other was rather—eh—dark and very pretty.” He gave Corrigan a deprecating look.

“Dat's right,” said Corrigan dryly. “What den?”

“'E said 'e thought 'e 'ad seen you driving. Then, says 'e: 'Look 'ere, captain; of course I wouldn't think of arsking you to miss a chance like this—not that you would, anyw'y. But it's beastly annoying for me,' says 'e. 'I'm sick of this 'ole, and want to get to sea. But you're the only man I'd trust to tyke the yacht down through these islands, and I certainly don't mean to 'ang around 'ere for a month or six weeks until you get back. I'll tell you what I'll do,' says 'e. 'You see your people, and tell them that I'd be very glad to 'ave them myke use of the yacht, if they like it——”

“What?” I cried, in astonishment.

“That's what 'e said, sir. I was all tyken aback, myself. But let me explyn. It's not 'ard to understand. 'Ere's the count, who is tired of Manila, and you carn't blyme 'im, but unwilling to trust 'is vessel to anybody but myself.”

“And you can't blame him fer dat, needer,” said Corrigan, with a faint touch of irony

Watkins flushed a little. “Well,” he retorted, “if I do s'y it myself, there's nobody knows these 'ere waterw'ys better than I do, 'avin' rammed around 'ere 'unting cargoes as I 'ave.”

“Just the same,” said I, “it's odd that he should be so ready to offer the use of his yacht to strangers.”

“'Ear me out, sir,” said Watkins. “'E planned to go with us, of course, and 'e says that if you should feel unwilling to accept the 'orspitality of a strynger you can stand the running expenses for the time were gone. The 'Alcyon is a roomy vessel below, and the lydies would be as comfortable——”

“He offered to take the ladies, too?”

“Why, of course, sir. There's no reason for breaking up the party. As 'e said, it would be no end of a lark. As a matter of fact, sir, I don't see 'ow we could do better. Strikes me as downright providential. It's not easy to find a proper vessel for the purpose, and 'ere's a gentleman that arsks nothing better than a little cruise in pleasant company. 'E told me that 'e always went alone for a long sea voyage, and that coming out 'e'd got rather bored with himself. Mind you, professor, 'e's not myking the offer out of sheer orspitality. It's because 'e doesn't want to stick on 'ere, nor does 'e want to leave the Philippines without seeing something of the archipelago, and looking around a bit for orchids and the like.”

“What sort o' guy is dis count man, anyhow?” Corrigan asked.

Watkins' manner became enthusiastic. “'Es the real thing,” said he warmly. “I've knocked around a bit, and I 'ope I know the difference between a gentleman and a cad. Count Rodonoff ain't like most o' these furrin' titled folk. More like an Englishman, 'e is. Speaks English as well as you or me, and French and Spanish, and 'e's written several books on natural 'istory. You're sure to like 'im. 'E told me to explyn the situation to you, and said that if you were inclined to favor the idea 'e'd do 'imself the honor to call at the 'otel, and myke your acquyntance.”

Corrigan and I looked at each other. The offer seemed too good to be true, and yet it had its drawbacks. Corrigan voiced these with his usual blunt practicality.

“Well,” said he, “all dis sounds like a cinch, on'y we don't want to be under no obligations to some strange guy we never seen.” And as if struck by an afterthought, he added quickly: “Course he don't expect no share nor nuttin' like dat?”

“Not a bit of it,” said Watkins warmly. “All 'e wants is the fun o' the thing.”

“Say,” said Corrigan, turning to me, “let's see what de loidies t'ink about it.”

I clapped my hands, and when the muchacho came sent him up to say that Captain Watkins was here, and would the ladies come down immediately. This they did, and very charming they looked in their pretty tropical costumes. Concha greeted Watkins warmly, and very prettily expressed her happiness in seeing him safe and sound again. It was evident that the Australian was very much impressed at the change from the little mestiza convent girl to this comme-il-faut, self-possessed young person for Alfrithe had taken Concha in hand as to the matter of dress and conduct, and this, backed by the lovely mestiza's quick intelligence, had wrought wonders.

But after the first greetings it was Alfrithe herself who caught and held the sailor's eyes, which was not surprising, for the sea voyage and its interesting objective had made of a very lonely and interesting invalid a girl that was simply radiant.

Alfrithe was only twenty-two, but her lithe, beautifully rounded figure was mature for this age, while her face and some expression about the eyes held that elusive, mysterious quality only to be seen in those who have passed through the furnace of a great spiritual ordeal. The seal of some fearful soul conflict was set strangely on those charming and girlish features, and one felt instinctively that nothing could ever again dismay the clear, understanding eyes. Yet her cheeks were rosy, her lips red, and the frequent smile showed a ravishing little dimple at one corner of her sweet, sensitive mouth.

Having watched Alfrithe grow up from a child of twelve, I doubt if I ever properly appreciated the full extent of her loveliness, and was often surprised and rather annoyed because people stared at her. Unlike Concha, whose more sensuous beauty made its appeal principally to men, Alfrithe was equally admired by women, while children invariably surrendered at the first glance.

Acting as spokesman, I explained the situation in detail. Concha clapped her hands with a sort of childish delight, appearing to take the whole matter as settled, and finding nothing strange in the fact that an entire stranger should place his yacht at our disposal. But Alfrithe looked rather troubled.

It was not hard for me to guess what was in her mind. As Corrigan's guest—for he had insisted that she was to consider herself as such—she was scarcely at liberty to make an objection where his interests were so vitally concerned, while on the other hand she instinctively disliked accepting hospitality from a stranger. Even supposing that Corrigan paid all of the running expenses of the yacht, the obligation was still there, and it was from this that Alfrithe shrank.

On the other hand, however, she was wild to accompany us on our expedition, while Concha flatly refused to be left behind. So when Watkins assured us that it would be practically impossible to secure a vessel in Manila suitable to our purpose and aboard which the ladies could live even decently, let alone comfortably, without a very great expense, Alfrithe scarcely knew what to say.

We were in the midst of our discussion when the Chino doorboy slithered in with a card on a tray. He offered it to me, and as I glanced at it I saw the inscription:

COUNT CONSTANTINE RODONOFF

“Here is our friend himself,” said I. “If you ladies will excuse us for a few minutes we will at least thank him for his kind offer.”

Alfrithe rose quickly, but Concha lingered.

“May we not thank the señor, also?” she asked.

“Not now,” I answered. “Perhaps you can do so later,”

“Run along, kid,” said Corrigan curtly, and Conchca got on her small, slippered feet.

“Ask the señor if he will be so good as to come in here,” I said to the doorboy, for there was nobody but ourselves in the room. He glided out, and Corrigan gave me a questioning look.

“What's, de verdic', perfessor?” he asked.

“Lets wait and see,” I answered. “Maybe he's come over to say that he's reconsidered his invitation.”

Watkins, who seemed rather ill at ease, pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his florid face.

“Well,” he remarked, “all I can s'y is that if he saw those two lydies driving it wouldn't surprise me if he offered to myke them a present of the yacht and all aboard.”

I was sitting with my face to the main entrance, and as Watkins spoke I heard the doorboy say: “Thees way, sar, if you please.”

Alfrithe and Concha had almost reached the door, and as I looked up I saw a man in white clothes whom I recognized with a sudden shock of surprise as the young fellow whose carriage had been next to ours at the band concert the day before. As my eyes fell on him he paused, with a slight inclination of his head, to let the ladies pass. The next instant he had entered the room, and I rose to my feet, Watkins and Corrigan following my example.

Count Rodonoff came forward with a careless but well-bred ease, which was rather that of the English gentleman than the Continental. He gave Watkins a pleasant nod, then said, without waiting for the introduction which the captain, with a very red face, was preparing to make:

“I hope you don't mind the informality of my running in on you this way, but I've got an engagement later, and I just wanted to make sure that you understood my proposition, and what prompted it.”

He looked from me to Corrigan, and Watkins said:

“Let me introduce Professor Metcalf, sir, and Mr. Corrigan,” indicating us each in turn.

Rodonoff smiled, shook the hand which Corrigan rather awkwardly thrust out at him, then offered his hand to me.

“I say,” he said, “I hope you don't consider my offer a bit of cheek, but you see, your grabbing Watkins has upset all my plans.”

“Won't you sit down?” I answered, and added, as we took our chairs: “It's awfully kind of you, I'm sure, and we've just been debating as to whether or not we ought to accept.”

“But why not?” he asked. “It would be a purely mutual advantage. Halcyon's a roomy tub, and we can make the ladies thoroughly comfortable aboard. There are four staterooms beside my own, and a berth in the chart room for Captain Watkins. I say, I do wish you'd come. As I told the skipper, if you feel that you'd rather not be under obligations to a stranger, you can pay your share of the running expenses, though I'd a lot rather have you for my guests. But that's just as you like. Since I've heard your story”—he turned to Corrigan—“I haven't been able to think of anything else. What a perfectly ripping adventure!”

And as if forgetting the object of his call, he began to ply Corrigan with questions which the latter answered, at first with a bit of that gruffness which in people of his class goes with embarrassment, but gradually warming under Rodonoff's interest and sympathetic personality.

As they talked I studied the young Russian carefully. Certainly I have never seen a handsomer man, or one to whom I felt more drawn at first sight. In my professional capacity I have had a great deal to do with young men, both in lecturing before classes, and in private instruction, and it has always been a study of the deepest interest to me to examine personal traits, and then to compare them with later developments of character and ability.

Rodonoff impressed me as being an individual of the highest type so far as concerned mental and physical attainments. The contour and planes of his face and the arrangement and proportion of his features indicated virility of mind, imagination, and a swift, warm, sympathetic nature. Talking, his face lighted up wonderfully, and it was easy to see that here was a man of most uncommon personal magnetism. It was a strong, passionate, virile face, of which the greatest charm lay in the absence of any of those fugitive hints of selfishness or sensuality so frequently to be found associated with these higher qualities.

Physically, he was a little above the middle height, large of frame but lean, with a clear skin and strong, nervous hands. His eyes were of an indescribable color, and looked at different times to be brown, black, or a soft, slaty gray. They were rather deeply set, and the general shape of his features was markedly Slavic, as I have already said, the cheek bones being high, and the angles of the jaws rather wide and prominent. His chin, also, was more pointed than would be consistent with our Western ideas of beauty, and his teeth were white and strong and even.

And yet, despite all of his charm, there was about him a certain quality which inclined to put one on guard. It is hard to say in just what this consisted. Certainly there was not the slightest suggestion of treachery or guile, for one got the impression of a frankness which could be quite brutal, should the need arise.

Perhaps it was this very thing. One felt that here was a dominant nature that would brook no opposition; one which would go about its ends honestly enough, and with fair words and persuasion so far as was possible, but which would get what it wanted when it wanted it, and without so much as stopping to figure the cost.

Rodonoff impressed me as the atavism of some early Russian ancestor who might have carried off the fair chatelaine of his neighbor, held her by force of arms as long as he was able—a month, a week, or only for a day—and then, with his castle in ruins about him, and the avenger clamoring at his last defense, have touched a match to the magazine, and carried all with him to destruction.

If Rodonoff was conscious of my examination he made no sign of it. Indeed, I believe that his whole attention was centered on Corrigan's narrative, for he suddenly burst out with an enthusiasm that certainly was not assumed:

“And so you were married right there on the island? My word, what a romance!” He looked at Watkins and myself with glistening eyes. “There's a proper sort of wedding—what? No fuss nor bother nor sham, with a lot of gaping spectators digging into your bride with their profane eyes. That's how it should be. That's the way I should like to be married myself when the fatal day comes.” He turned to Corrigan again. “And then the poor Jesuit died, and left you two all alone with the island and the sea! George, what a honeymoon!”

Corrigan's hard little face shone with pleasure. Counts, lords, dukes, kings, emperors, all sounded alike to him, and the flood of human sympathy pouring from Rodonoff dazed while it delighted him.

Unlike Concha, his change of circumstance had never for a moment turned the boy's head. He had seen enough of life to know precisely his own place in the social scheme, and while, like many of his class, he often affected a flippant attitude toward those of higher caste, especially when they happened to be foreigners, yet the respect was there. Thus, to be hobnobbing with a foreign nobleman who lent a keenly interested ear to the great adventure of his life went to his head a little, and the first that I knew he was inviting Rodonoff to dine with us that night and meet the heroine of his tale.

“I'd be delighted, I'm sure,” said the Russian. “Perhaps between us we may be able to persuade the ladies to overlook my being a stranger.”

I could not but admire the deft way in which he took it for granted that our own agreement was already assured, thus making allies of us before we had the chance to decline. But so far as Corrigan was concerned, the conquest was already assured. The boy was ready to wade through blood for his new friend. Yet, though Corrigan may have been raw soil, the seeds of courtesy were planted in his nature, and he promptly asked Watkins also to be of the party. But the sailor's sense of proportion may have been keener than that of Corrigan, for he declined on the ground of some engagement, obviously fictitious.

“I'll call here to-morrow morning to learn what's been decided,” said he, rising, “and if you all 'it it off together, the sooner we syle the better. One can never tell what may 'appen to 'idden treasure.”

Rodonoff excused himself soon afterward, promising to return at eight. When he had gone, Corrigan turned to me, his hard little face aglow with admiration.

“Say, perfessor,” said he, “dere's de real t'ing. I seen a lot o gentleman sports, and would-be swells in my time, but dis Roosian count person leaves 'em so far you couldn't hear 'em on de long-distance telephone. T'ink of a swell guy like him sittin' here and talkin' to a little mick like me jus' like we was old fr'en's. Say, me fer him!”

But I merely nodded, for I was thinking of that thrilling first glance which had passed between Alfrithe and the Russian the day before, and of his carriage, which I had seen later standing in front of the hotel.

Chapter V.

When we went out we found Alfrithe alone in the reading room, Concha having gone to lie down, for it was excessively hot. Corrigan went up to tell his wife of our, or rather his talk with Rodonoff, and I drew Alfrithe into a secluded corner under the draft from the punkahs.

“Rodonof is coming to dine,” said I. “Corrigan invited him.”

Her face changed a little, I thought, and she gave me a curious look.

“What have you decided about his offer of the yacht?” she asked.

“I think that we will accept,” I answered. “Corrigan is completely under the spell of his magnetism—which is not surprising, for I never met a more charming personality.”

Alfrithe was silent for a moment, then asked:

“Frankly, Jim, why do you suppose that Count Rodonoff made this offer? Doesn't it strike you as rather extraordinary that a man of his class should put his yacht at the disposal of a party of utter strangers?”

“You know his reasons,” I answered. “He says that he doesn't want to cruise about the islands without Watkins to pilot him, and on the other hand he doesn't want to wait here until we get back.”

Alfrithe gave me a searching look, then asked:

“Do you approve of this arrangement, Jim?”

“Not particularly,'” I answered. “How do you feel about it?”

“I think it is horrid,” she answered, with such vehemence that I was a little startled. “And I don't believe that Count Rodonoff suggested it for the reasons he gave you.”

“Then what do you think he's after?” I asked.

Alfrithe was silent a moment, her lips pressed together and a red spot in either cheek. Presently she said:

“It's rather hard for me to say what I have in mind,” said she, “and it may sound silly and vain. But I've heard of rich idlers, Europeans generally, and Russians in particular, who take a fancy to some woman they see, and then get the idea of some silly adventure. Of course, you recognized Count Rodonoff as the man in the carriage next to ours, at the band concert, yesterday?”

“Of course. What about it?”

Alfrithe flushed. “You noticed the—odd look he gave me,” said she defensively. “You leaned over and asked me if I knew him. Jim, I was never so upset. There was something so queer in his eyes——” she paused.

“Then it was entirely mutual,” I answered, “for he was red as a beet for ten minutes or so.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Positive fact. And after that first glance he seemed to lose all interest.”

“Then,” Alfrithe burst out; “why did he follow us back, when he had just told his friends that he was going to wait for the next number, which he said was a favorite of his?”

“How did you know he did?” I demanded, for Alfrithe had changed seats with me on leaving the band stand, and had ridden back facing the horses.

“I felt him there. And why did he stop here at the hotel instead of at the Army and Navy Club, as he had agreed?”

“But how do you know that he came here?” I demanded.

“I looked out of my window, and saw his carriage with the two little dogs. I am sure that he came in to inquire who we were.”

“Indeed?” I exclaimed dryly. “I must say, Alfrithe, that it strikes me as though Rodonoff were not the only one to have had his interest aroused.”

She blushed scarlet at this, and bit her lip.

“Now, tell the truth,” said I. “Did you go down afterward and ask them at the desk who it was that had inquired about our party?”

This was purely a shot in the dark, and as I looked at Alfrithe I repented having fired it. She seemed on the point of tears. Her breath was coming quickly, and her face crimson.

“Never mind,” I answered. “We'll strike out that question. But even supposing that Rodonoff was so much interested by the one or two glimpses which he caught of your face that he followed our carriage back in order to find out who you might be, that doesn't say that he is a villain, or was influenced by any unworthy motive. Men of his race are impulsive, my dear, especially where women are concerned.”

Alfrithe's smooth forehead gathered in a frown.

“I would call it rather more than impulse when, after learning who we were at the desk, and being told what our errand was by Captain Watkins, he promptly puts his yacht at our disposal, and comes over here in person to urge us to accept his offer,” said she.

I considered this for a moment, then observed soothingly:

“After all, when I come to think of it he looked much more often at Concha than he did at you. In fact, I was rather afraid that Corrigan might notice it and get restive. You didn't see because you lowered your parasol; but she was flirting with him outrageously.”

Alfrithe's amber-colored eyes fairly flashed.

“She ought to be ashamed of herself,” said she. “I noticed the way she was behaving. Fancy, and, after all, she is merely a little half-caste thing, and married, too!”

“Hold on, my dear!” said I warningly. “Remember, they are your host and hostess.”

Again the angry color rose, and again she bit her lip.

“I know it, Jim. It's horrid of me. But they do get on my nerves sometimes, especially Concha. She seems to take it so for granted that everybody should admire her, and that she should have everything she wanted, as though she were 'to the manner born.' And really, she's half native. I don't want to be ungrateful, Jim, nor snobbish, but sometimes I wish I hadn't come. But I do like Corrigan, in spite of his tough way of talking. He knows just where he stands, and tries to do the best he can, and is always kind and thoughtful and polite. But it's going to be rather awful to have to sit through dinner with—with——” She hesitated.

“With Corrigan on one side, and Rodonoff on the other?” I asked, with a smile. “Never mind, my dear. Rodonoff is a man of the world, and it won't take him long to get our social status straightened out. Then you'll have a chance of making up your mind about him, and if the verdict isn't satisfactory, you really don't need to go, even if Corrigan decides to accept his offer.”

Alfrithe did not look particularly pleased at this suggestion.

“You would have to tie Concha to keep her from going,” said she. “Before she went upstairs she confided in me that she was sure that Count Rodonoff had arranged the whole thing because he had fallen in love with her. That's what comes of reading French novels all the time.”

I smothered a smile. “Well,” said I, “lets wait until we see how Rodonoff develops on acquaintance. I'll put Corrigan up to saying that the ladies have decided to remain in Manila, and we'll see how that affects his hospitality. Now, if you'll excuse me I'll write a few letters.”

 

I do not think that Alfrithe was particularly charmed with this interview. If she was, her face did not show it as she passed me a few minutes later to go up to her room. Secretly, however, I was mean enough to be delighted, for this was the first time that I had seen her piqued at anything since we had left home, and while a calm and unruffled exterior may indicate a certain amount of contentment and tranquillity of mind, such emotions as Alfrithe had just displayed told of a healthy return of what Doctor Heppel would have called her “Life Desire.”

I had finished my last letter, and was addressing the envelope when Corrigan came into the room, and the first glance at his troubled face told me that something was wrong.

“Say, perfessor,” said he, seating himself on the corner of the table, and swinging one leg nervously, “Concha's just been singin' me a dope I t'ought I'd better put you wise to.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“W'y, it's about dis here Roosian. Say, if anybody'd said a woid to me against him when he went out o' here, dat party would 'a' got hoit. Den Concha, just to git a rise outa me becus I chased dat Mulberry Bend guy dat was sellin' her fake toitle shell dis mornin', hands me a jolt dat gits me goin' some. I dunno what's got into Concha; she's gettin' woise every day,” and a look of gloom settled on his habitually cheerful face.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She ain't said nuttin' much, but she sorta knocked it into my nut dat dis here count has got a mash on her, and dat's de reason he's so slick and fine, and wants us to use de yacht. Say, d'you t'ink dere's anyt'ing in dat, perfessor? It makes me sore all t'rough, and me t'inkin' he was such a high-life sport. Listen—if I t'ought he was givin' me all dat bunk 'long o' Concha, I'd hand him a——”

“Nonsense, Corrigan,” I interrupted. “Your wife's been trying to tease you, that's all. But see here; just to satisfy ourselves that Rodonoff is not making this offer for the sake of the company of either of the ladies, let's tell him after dinner that we've decided to leave them in Manila, and see what he says. If he looks the least bit sore, we'll call the whole thing off.”

Corrigan's eyes snapped.

“Gee, perfessor,” said he, “dat's de cheese. You got a head like a hammer, it's dat long. Say, you put it up to him, and I'll do de watchin'.”

 

Rodonoff arrived that evening sharply on the stroke of eight, and the chimes were still clamoring from the belfry of the Binondo church as he came into the drawing-room where we were waiting to receive him. He wore a yachting evening costume of creamy white serge, cut something in the style of a Tuxedo, and with four white braid brands on the sleeves. I noticed in his button-hole the little round, red insignia of an officer of the Legion of Honor, which decoration, as I afterward learned, had been conferred in recognition of certain contributions of a geographical character.

With his strong, graceful figure, handsome face, and distinguished bearing, Rodonoff was the target for every pair of eyes in the place as he came into the room.

In striking contrast was Corrigan, who, in the character of host, I had insisted must receive his guest, and present him to the ladies. Yet the boy did not do badly, and I have seen many persons who have had all the social advantages act far more awkwardly.

Corrigan could never be anything but utterly natural, and he merely shook hands with his guest, wished him good evening, and then, turning to his wife, said simply: “Concha, I wanta interdooce Count Rodonoff; Count Rodonoff, Mrs. Corrigan.” Then to Alfrithe: “Miss Halstead, Count Rodonoff; Count Rodonoff, Miss Halstead, my friend Perfessor Metcalf's stepsister,” and it was done.

While the introduction was being thus easily performed, I watched Rodonoff keenly. He bowed rather low, first to Concha, then to Alfrithe, and his fine face, aside from its pleasant and winning smile, showed absolutely no emotion of any character. Turning to Concha, he said:

“I'm so glad to meet the heroine of such an adventure as your husband described to me this afternoon. Really, Mrs. Corrigan, you've no idea how tremendously I was impressed by the story. The dying priest, the grotto under the cliffs, and you two alone with the elements—and each other. It is like a poem.”

His resonant voice, which was rather low in pitch, held a note of enthusiasm, almost of passion, to which Concha's warm blood was quick to respond. Her long lashes swept down, half veiling her velvety eyes.

Rodonoff turned to Alfrithe. “Don't you think that it was ideal, Miss Halstead?” he asked.

“Wonderfully so,” she answered, but her voice impressed me as unemotional to the point of coldness. Concha darted her a swift look.

“O' course,” said Corrigan, “we couldn't help t'inkin' o' poor old Watkins. Den, dere was de fader, but it was different about him——”

“Of course,” said Rodonoff quickly. “He was probably close to you in spirit, and helping you from a higher place, just as he had helped you here below.”

There was a reverent tone to his voice which made me glance at him in surprise. It is not often in these profane days that one hears the expression of a religious sentiment upon the lips of a young man, But there could doubt of the Russian's sincerity, and I think that it warmed us all to him.

We went in to dinner immediately after, Rodonoff being placed between Concha and Alfrithe. Concha promptly began to prattle to him in French, which I thought rather bad taste, as none of the rest of us spoke that language colloquially, but I noticed that Rodonoff seized every opportunity to relapse into English, and make the conversation general. His talk was very simple, and entirely impersonal, nor did he once allude to our proposed expedition, speaking principally about Manila and its lack of interesting things to see.

“I've been here a week,” said he, “and I'm frightfully bored already.” He looked across at me. “You have an awfully good crowd of fellows out here,” he said, “but they are all taken up more or less with their duties, and it's only in the late afternoons and evenings that I see anything of anybody. But I don't want to leave the archipelago until I've done a bit of orchid hunting,” and he went on to tell us that the Philippines were the richest in their variety of these epiphytes of any place in the world.

Alfrithe was very quiet during dinner, saying little, and looking, I thought, rather pale. But this pallor was very becoming, and her eyes, which continually and as if involuntarily returned to Rodonoff, glowed like great jewels. Concha, after a few vain efforts to engage Rodonoff in a tête-à-tête in French, grew a little sulky, and sipped glass after glass of the really excellent champagne, which was, I thought, the only really first-class thing about the dinner, unless it was the curry, which is, I believe, invariably good throughout the Orient. Rodonoff himself drank very little.

After dinner we adjourned to the palm room for coffee and cigars. Concha was by this time decidedly exhilarated, to put it kindly, and there was a seductive note to her low, rippling laugh, and a light in the low-lidded glances which she repeatedly shot at Rodonoff scarcely becoming in a young matron. She grew even playful, asking him if he liked the Filipino girls, and occasionally tapping his sleeve with her fan.

Poor Corrigan's face turned a bricky red, and I could see that he was very much worried over the behavior of his wife, even while much attracted to Rodonoff, whose good-humored indifference met and parried Concha's coquettish advances, as if unconsciously. Rodonoff even joked a little with Concha, but as one might with a pretty and amusing child, turning immediately afterward to Alfrithe, who, as though to shield Concha, grew more communicative.

I must not be too hard on Concha, who was, after all, only about eighteen, and in whose veins flowed a mixture of the purest Castilian blood, diluted or fortified, as the case may be, with Visayan. Up to this time all that she had seen of the world had been inside the walls of a Filipino convent, which existence had been abruptly changed for such phases of life as Corrigan had shown her, while her theories in regard to stylish deportment were principally culled from risqué French novels. At heart she was a good girl, with a naturally sweet if rather hot-blooded nature, and at just this time she might have been likened to a bright, multicolored moth, trying its wings in the sunshine for the first flight.

At half past ten Rodonoff rose, and begged to be excused, saying the usual polite things about a pleasant evening.

“I say,” he asked, “won't you all lunch with me aboard the yacht to-morrow?”

I looked at Corrigan, then at Alfrithe.

“W'y, coitainly; dat would be fine!” said Corrigan, whose first esteem for Rodonoff had entirely returned.

“We'd be delighted, I'm sure,” said I, failing to read any dissent in Alfrithe's eyes.

“Well, then, I'll have a boat waiting for you at the captain of the port's landing at twelve.” He glanced at me. “Don't you and Mr. Corrigan feel like a bit of a stroll?” he asked. “Come, walk down with me. I'm going aboard.”

“Sure!” Corrigan assented.

We got our hats, and went out into the soft tropic night. When we had gone a few paces, Rodonoff asked:

“Have you thought any more about my suggestion?”

Corrigan gave me a nudge, and I answered slowly:

“Yes; we talked it all over this afternoon, and finally came to the conclusion that while Mr. Corrigan and I would be delighted to accept your offer, the ladies had better remain in Manila.”

Rodonoff nodded. “Perhaps that would be preferable,” he said, without the slightest hesitation. “Personally I should be delighted to have them with us, but, after all, I doubt if they would be as comfortable aboard my little vessel as they would ashore. By the way, I don't suppose you'd mind stopping now and then at some suitable place to let me look around a bit for orchids?”

“On the contrary,” I answered, “nothing would suit us better, I'm sure.”

“Sure!” echoed Corrigan. “And say, count, o' course I insist on payin' all de running expenses while were gone. Dat's understood—huh?”

“Oh, just as you like about that,” said Rodonoff indifferently. “It's not much of an item. We live simply aboard, and I suppose my packet carries the smallest crew on record for a yacht of her size. Five foremast hands and a mate, all Russians, and a couple of Chinese as cook and steward. Then there's Watkins, of course——”

“Watkins is on'y gettin' about twenty-five t'ousand dollars for his part o' de job,” said Corrigan dryly.

Rodonoff laughed. “That's so; I forgot.”

“You see, count,” said I, “Miss Halstead left a sanitarium to come on this tour,” and in a few brief words I gave him Alfrithe's history. He listened with the deepest interest and frequent exclamations of sympathy.

“That accounts for an expression about her eyes that rather puzzled me,” he said, when I had finished. “Poor girl—how awful! But she seems quite recovered now. Well, of course, you must do as you think best. If you should decide at the last minute to bring them along, and I must say it would be awfully jolly to have them, I think that we can manage to make them fairly comfortable, though of course the yacht is not a liner. Well, here we are. Good night, you chaps.”

We had reached the landing, and saw below us a yacht's dinghy and the bulky figure of a sailor in white working clothes. At sight of Rodonoff he touched his cap, and started to cast off the painter.

“Good night!” we called, and turned back toward the hotel.

Chapter VI.

“Say, perfessor,' Corrigan observed as we walked back toward the bridge in the bright moonlight, “I t'ink I'll go 'round to de quartermaster's corral fer a few minutes.”

“What for?” I demanded,

“T'get a good kick fr'm one o' dem big artillery mules we seen dis mornin'. I sort o' feel like I had it comin' to me—huh?”

“Well,” I answered, “you're not the only one. I had an idea myself that Rodonoff wasn't offering us his schooner on account of our good looks, or because he was so stuck on Watkins.”

“What d'ye t'ink, now?” Corrigan asked.

“I think,” I answered, “that he's a very nice fellow, a thorough gentleman, and that he made his offer because it seemed to him to be to the mutual advantage of all hands. No doubt he hoped that the ladies would go along and liven things up, but now that he finds we prefer to leave them behind he's quite willing to make the best of it.”

“And dat bein' de case,” said Corrigan, “dere's no reason in de woild why dey shouldn't go. Huh?”

I nodded, and we walked for a way in silence. Presently Corrigan said:

“Say, wouldn't de fly way Concha acted to-night jolt ye? I don't know what's come over dat goil. She never used to be dat way. I wonder what de count t'ought?”

There was an anxious note in his voice that made me sorry for him, and I hastened to say:

“If Rodonoff never saw any of the women in his own set behave worse than Concha did, then he must have gone mighty little in society.”

“Well,” said Corrigan, “and dat's all right, too. On'y you gotta remember dat Concha ain't 'xactly in his set. He's Count Rodonoff, and she's Mrs. Corrigan, and dat makes all de difference in de woild.”

Here was a sample of Corrigan's sound sense, with very little to say in answer to it. So I merely remarked:

“Concha's very young and inexperienced, and hasn't quite got things straightened out in her mind as yet. But her instincts are good, and you needn't worry about her. Whatever she does she does before you, and more from high spirits. than anything else.”

Corrigan's voice was a little husky as he answered:

“Say, perfessor, you're de most comfortin' guy dat ever I knew. It's just like dat I says to myself, but it's mighty good to hear you say it, too.”

When we got back to the hotel, Concha had already gone to bed. Alfrithe was waiting to see me, and when Corrigan had said good night she led me to a secluded corner.

“How did you like Rodonoff?” I asked.

“He is very attractive,” she answered, and gave a little shiver. It was not a shudder, but a peculiar little ripple, which seemed to run from the top of her light, snugly coiffed hair to the toe of her satin slipper. “He—he is quite different from what I expected to find him; more boyish and natural.”

“He is certainly as easy as an old friend,” I agreed.

She was silent for a moment, then hesitatingly:

“Did you say anything more about our using his yacht?”

“Yes. He asked if we had come to any conclusion, and I told him that Corrigan and I would be very glad to take advantage of his kind offer, but that we had decided to leave the ladies here in Manila.”

Alfrithe threw me a veiled look. “What did he say to that?”

“He said that no doubt you would be more comfortable ashore, then went on to talk about orchids, and asked if we would mind stopping here and there to give him a chance to do a little collecting.”

Alfrithe tapped the polished teak parquet with the toe of her slipper.

“Of course, you said all that just to see what he would say,” she observed.

“Not a bit of it,” I retorted.

“What!” she exclaimed sharply.

“You see, my dear, Corrigan and I had decided that it would be better, on the whole, to leave you and Concha here in Manila. We can find some nice place for you to stop—a convent pension, or something of that sort.”

“All right,” Alfrithe answered, a little snappishly.

“You see, it wouldn't do for a couple of girls as young and attractive as you and Concha to stop on alone at the hotel. You know, my dear, that was the original arrangement, to which you both agreed, and I think it better to stick to it. Rodonoff's yacht is rather small, and it would be a bit cramped for so many.”

Alfrithe drew herself up with a flushed, angry face.

“It's all that little Concha's fault,” she declared heatedly. “I don't wonder that Corrigan doesn't want to take her, after the way she behaved to-night. She was drunk, Jim; positively drunk. And she tried to carry on outrageously with Count Rodonoff. She ought to be spanked. I wish that you would put her in a convent; one with a strict mother superior and a big high wall—and let me go with you.'

With some difficulty I smothered the grin that was struggling for expression, then frowned.

“Now, here's a nice way to talk!” said I sternly. “Only this afternoon you were kicking and slamming because you were afraid that Corrigan might take Rodonoff up——”

“I wasn't kicking and slamming; and, besides, I hadn't met Count Rodonoff then, and—and didn't know—how—how nice he was.” The rich color flooded her face, and again that peculiar little shiver ran through her lithe body.

“What's the matter?” I asked. “Are you getting a chill?”

“No—why?”

“I thought I saw you shiver.”

“I'm tired, and I'm going to bed.” She rose to her feet, and stood for a moment, surveying me with disapproval. “Really, Jim, I don't think it was very—very kind of you to make this decision without telling me.”

“My dear girl, I had nothing to do with it,” I answered untruthfully. “Corrigan came down this afternoon, all upset, and told me that Concha had led him to think that Rodonoff was asking us from some ulterior design on herself.”

“She ought to be shaken,” interrupted Alfrithe, with a little stamp of her small foot. “That girl needs a lesson, Jim; a good strong lesson that will teach her that the world and all the people in it were not created especially for her entertainment. Some day she'll get it, too. I never saw a person change so much as she has on this trip. She's not the same girl.”

“I hope you are good friends,” I remarked.

“Of course we are,” said Alfrithe impatiently. “When she is alone with me she is as sweet and dear as she can be. I have to grab her hands to keep her from buying me things, and she is always trying to wait on me. But when other people are about, men especially, she seems to lose her head. Corrigan had better watch her pretty closely until she grows up. If I were he I would think twice before leaving her ashore—and I'm going to tell him so, too.”

“You are going to do nothing of the sort,” said I severely. “It would break him all up. Besides, if you really want to go, there's nothing to prevent. Rodonoff said that if you cared to change your mind at the last minute—or, at least, if we changed our minds, he could quickly arrange for you.”

Again the little ripple, for I can call it nothing else. This time it was followed by a burning flush, which made Alfrithe's very blond hair look positively silvery. She turned abruptly on her heel.

“Good night, Jim,” said she. “I'm going up.”

“Good night,” I answered, then stood and watched her as she swept gracefully to the stair.

Said I to myself: “Alfrithe has certainly found her 'Life Desire.'”

And a sudden sadness which I could not explain swept over me. I lighted a cigar, and strolled into the billiard room.

 

We were a very gay party as we went down to the landing the following day at twelve; possibly barring Concha, who had a slight headache, and whose gayety was a little forced. Also she complained of the heat and the glare, which struck me as odd, she being a native of the Philippines. She had, in fact, complained of the heat ever since we had been in Manila, but I have since learned that foreigners appear to be more resistant to the climate than many of the natives.

A long, rakish-looking whaleboat, with a crew of four men and a coxswain, was waiting for us, the sailors spick and span in clean whites, but with wild, swarthy faces which yet held a sort of bovine expression, like range cattle. We disposed ourselves on the cushions in the stern; the big coxswain gave an order in some weird tongue, and the boat shot out into. the swift current which was coming down in turbid eddies bearing on its surface a queer water plant which looked like a head of lettuce.

Cutting diagonally across the stream we headed for a little cut-off which led from the Pasig into the breakwater, and a moment later shot out into still water, and saw the Halcyon no great distance ahead of us.

She was certainly an able-looking little vessel, but one would scarcely have taken her for a yacht had it not been for the smart way in which she was kept, as she was very heavy in build, with straight, bluff bows, and scarcely any overhang to her stern. Also, she impressed me as rather undersparred for a vessel of her bulk, this being due to the fact, as I afterward learned, that her ballast was all inside, as it should be in a good sea boat, and there was comparatively little of it, her great beam giving her the required stability.

As we rounded up alongside, Rodonoff came to the rail, a quartermaster with a boat hook at his elbow.

“Welcome aboard,” he called gayly.

The coxswain and bow oar tilted the awning of the whaleboat, and we scrambled out and up the ladder. Rodonoff shook hands with us in turn, and led the way to the shade of the quarter-deck, chatting with Concha and Alfrithe.

I took in the sweep of the decks with some surprise, for the ketch looked so much larger aboard than from a distance.

Bright work there was none, its place being supplied by galvanized iron and aluminum paint. Also, glancing about with the eye of a yachtsman of some experience, I was able to understand how Rodonoff could run a vessel of that size with so few hands. On every side were labor-saving devices; hand winches by which two men could trim a sheet or hoist sails and boats. The rails and other fittings were neatly parceled with canvas, and the deck planking was of some tough wood which resembled teak, and made constant holystoning unnecessary.

The yacht carried three boats—the long whaleboat in which we had come off, a small cutter, and a dinghy. She had a low deck house, merely a cabin trunk well furnished with skylights, and forward a similar structure apparently to cool the galley, for a stovepipe projected from one end. Her bulwarks were high, very solid, with a heavy rail and big freeing ports, but judging from her beam and buoyancy I doubted that she ever shipped a green sea or heeled at much of an angle. Altogether, she was about as serviceable-looking a cruising boat as I had ever seen, but I was inclined to believe that she would prove rather a dull sailer, especially in light airs.

“What do you think of her?” said a voice at my elbow, and I turned to see Rodonoff looking at me with his pleasant smile.

“She ought never to drown you,” I answered.

“I hope not. But she's a fair sailer. I've done my twelve knots with a reaching breeze. You see, while she looks bulky, topsides, there's not a lot of her under water, though what there is manages to hold her pretty well, on the wind. I don't agree with the British idea of deep draft for seawork. But come aft; we're waiting for you.”

Under the pale-green awning which shielded the quarter-deck a table was spread, and I thought that we were to lunch there. But it proved to be merely a buffet Russe, and contained in itself a spread of hors d'œuvres which might have furnished a hearty meal for the whole party—caviar, smoked salmon, oefs farcies, salads, avocado pears with iced mayonnaise—a host of relishes, with many Chinese appetizers, such as pickled shark's fin, thin slices of spiced raw fish, a peculiar glutenous dish which Rodonoff told us was the root of some plant which grew on the edge of a glacier and came from the Himalayas, and goodness knows what besides.

As drink there was served gorailka, a sort of vodka, and, what struck my inexperience as very odd, hot tea, this beverage distilled from the green stalk, with the leaves attached, looking like mint, and served in curious little cups, the one inverted on the other.

If Rodonoff had been charming as a guest, then there is scarcely a word to describe his personality as a host. I think that the quality which inspired us the most was the absolutely natural and unaffected ease of everything. In some subtle way, and without the slightest accent of familiarity, he managed to instill the sentiment that we were all old friends, forgathering quite casually, and with no hint of formality,

There was also the utter absence of any evidence of the machinery of entertainment. Aside from a few terse and quietly given commands on the part of the whaleboat's coxswain, not a single order had been uttered by anybody, and when finally the luncheon was served, it was not even announced. Rodonoff suggested that we go below, which we did, our host leading, then the ladies, then Corrigan and myself.

In the main saloon another surprise awaited us, for instead of descending into a stuffy interior, as I had rather expected, the place was as cool and fresh as a glade in the forest. In fact, it was so much cooler than any place which we had found in Manila that I knew the double awnings rigged out over the skylights were not enough to account for it, and I was greatly puzzled.

Afterward I learned that Rodonoff carried a small ice machine, which he had secured more for the purpose of having cold water with which to develop his photographs than for his table, and from this he had led a pipe from the expansion chamber through the bulkhead into the saloon.

Below decks, as above, everything seemed the height of comfortable simplicity. The bulkheads were of white enamel paint with lockers, comfortably upholstered in corduroy, running the width of the room on either side, these piled deep with cushions, and just above them a double row of well-filled book-shelves. Brass lamps set in gimbals were placed in the four corners, making them comfortable nooks in which to read at night, and in the after starboard corner was a round gravity table, for use in heavy weather. Directly over the table was a telltale compass, and in the port after corner a little upright piano. The roominess of the place was surprising, thanks to the broad beam of the vessel.

What caught our eyes immediately was the profusion of growing orchids, which were seized along bamboo withes with here and there a bit of damp sponge. attached to the stems, these plants entirely encircling the saloon where the bulkheads joined the deck above.

Alfrithe, who was passionately fond of flowers of every kind, cried out with pleasure.

“They are really growing?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Rodonoff answered. “You see, all they require is air and water, so they are really the easiest plants in the world to keep—when one knows how.”

But the luncheon table was the masterpiece. The rosewood surface was bare, except for doilies of Oriental drawnwork, the service being of Russian silver, rather massive, and bearing Rodonoff's arms. The china was simple but exquisite, marked with the pennant of the Royal Yacht Squadron, and Rodonoff's private burgee, with the name “Halcyon” beneath. At the side of each plate as a favor was a small, black, pearl oyster shell, in the concavity of which was a charming little sketch in sepia, and beneath it the name and date. My own represented the yacht itself, flying before a gale.

“Did you do these?” I asked, as we were admiring them.

“Yes,” answered Rodonoff, smiling. “They are rather banal in idea; the sort of things that one sees in the booths at Brighton and Yarmouth; but they will serve as souvenirs of my pleasure in having you aboard my little boat.”

“The Señor Count is a very good artist,” murmured Concha, with a languishing glance from her low-lidded eyes. “I shall have mine set in a velvet case, and place it where I can look at it always.”

We seated ourselves, Concha on Rodonoff's right, Alfrithe on his left, with Corrigan on her other side.

The luncheon was the most delicious that I have ever tasted, and was rather Chinese in its great variety of dishes, each being scarcely more than a mouthful, yet the aggregate representing rather more hearty a meal than one should eat in the tropics.

There was iced consommé, a fry of little fish which suggested whitebait, a curry of chicken served in the Oriental way, with a vast platter containing countless little receptacles for every imaginable condiment, cold venison with a mastic, cold asparagus which Rodonoff said had been sent him by the depot quartermaster from a refrigerator ship, then an entrée consisting of the thinly sliced brisket of a young, well-roasted duck, and other dishes which I cannot recall. A macedoine of iced fruit was the principal dessert, with that queen of tropical fruits, the mangosteen.

Champagne formed the principal beverage, although we were also served a wonderful Rhine wine and a red wine which Rodonoff told us came from a family estate in Hungary, and which in flavor rather suggested an old Beaume. Our party was an abstemious one, however, and Concha, the wiser for her morning's headache, drank only a glass or two of champagne.

The conversation was chiefly on the topic of Rodonoff's voyages, and we were surprised to learn that it was over two years since he had sailed from Southampton, where the Halcyon had been built to his order. He told us, also, that his crew was composed of Baltic fishermen who were tenants on his father's estate.

“It's a great advantage,” said he, “and simplifies things wonderfully. I've known every man jack of my crew from childhood, and old Serge, the coxswain who brought you off, taught me to swim and fish and handle a boat when I was a little nipper of six or eight. Most of the hands are relatives, and they are all very religious. One of them—Boris, the quartermaster—is said to have second-sight, and perhaps he may have, for he came to me one morning all of a shake, and said that while he was at the wheel during the midwatch he had seen the face of his old mother looking at him from the belly of the mainsail. 'She is dead, master,' said he, 'and my sister will be all alone in the cottage. I ought to go home.' Sure enough, when we called at Colombo a few days later, I got a cable saying that the old woman was dead.”

“I suppose,” said Alfrithe, “that they are absolutely devoted to you.”

“Just as dogs are to their master,” Rodonoff€ answered. “But that does not prevent the older ones, like Serge and Boris, from dressing me down occasionally when I do something which they don't approve. Last Sunday morning some naval chaps, junior officers, came up from Cavite with some gamecocks, and we had a little main on deck. I wasn't very keen for it myself, and afterward old Serge came to me and said: 'Constantine Rodonoff, what would his excellency your father say if he knew that you had defiled the Sabbath day with profane and ungodly entertainments? Such pastimes are unworthy of you,' and a lot more in the same strain. I hadn't a word to say.”

Alfrithe listened intently, a little smile on her mouth, and a soft flush in her cheeks. There was about Rodonoff a sort of childish simplicity which never fails in its appeal to women.

Our luncheon finished, Rodonoff took us about the yacht. Abaft the main companionway there was a large, comfortable room almost luxurious in its appointments—the owner's cabin.

“That is where I was going to put Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan,” said Rodonoff, and flung open a door in the forward bulkhead to show a neat bathroom. “Watkins will bunk in the chart room at the foot of the companionway, and there is a nice room on the starboard side, next to the saloon, which Miss Halstead could have occupied,” and he led us forward to show the cabin in question. There were two other staterooms, besides.

I turned to look at Corrigan, and caught Concha in the act of whispering eagerly in his ear. Catching my eye, she looked rather confused, and the color came into her face. Corrigan hunched his square shoulders, then looked at Rodonoff and me with a rather foolish smile. Rodonoff was surveying him questioningly.

“Aw, what's de use?” said Corrigan, drawing down the corners of his mouth. “De loidies say dey're goin' along of us, and if we don't like it we c'n do de ot'er t'ing.”

I glanced at Alfrithe, and she, catching my eye, colored and looked down.

“We do not wish to stay in Manila,” said Concha. “I have had enough of convents, and I did not marry to be treated like a little girl. Alfrithe does not wish to go to the convent, either. Convents are very tiresome.”

Alfrithe said nothing, but as 1 glanced at her face she gave me a look as if to indicate that she would leave the matter with me. A little shrug and gesture of indifference. But as I turned to Rodonoff it seemed to me that his face wore a flash of triumph, and again I wondered if by any chance this decision might not be precisely what he had counted on.

As if realizing that his face was too expressive, he smiled, and turned inquiringly to Concha, who said:

“Alfrithe and I have decided to go with you. There is no use to make the objections, because if you try to put us in the convent we will run away. So it is all decided.”

Rodonoff burst into a laugh, and slapped his thigh.

“Good!” said he. “That is the way to talk.”

He turned suddenly to the companionway. But in that brief instant I had caught the flame that blazed from his wonderful eyes.

Chapter VII.

It was all settled then that the ladies were to accompany us, and I could see that Corrigan was infinitely relieved. Rodonoff, aside from the swift, involuntary gleam of satisfaction which I had caught on his handsome face, and which furnished me food for thought, appeared politely gratified, and observed that he had hoped the ladies might change their minds, or ours, on seeing that the accommodations were really not so bad. He then went about his plans for our entertainment aboard with an almost military dispatch, summoning his Chinese steward, and ordering such extra stores as he considered necessary with a promptness which came of long experience.

“Captain Watkins is to come aboard a little later,” said he, “and there is no reason why we should not sail to-morrow morning. However, as the breeze does not usually get in here before noon, there is no desperate hurry. I will look for you at the captain of the port's landing at eleven. Is that convenient?”

We assured him that it was, and shortly afterward returned ashore. Concha was in the highest spirits, but I thought that Alfrithe looked rather disturbed, and gave the impression of a person under strong, suppressed excitement. So far as that was concerned, however, we were all rather keyed up at the prospect ahead of us.

Eleven o'clock of the following morning found us embarking with such luggage as we decided to take, some of our things having been left at the hotel. Rodonoff greeted us with warm hospitality, and scarcely had we got aboard than he gave a few brisk orders, and even while we were stowing our effects in the lockers of our several staterooms there came from above the whine of the sheaves and the scuffle of feet as the crew made sail. The cable was already hove short, and in a wonderfully short time we were under way, and beating out toward Corregidor on a light, southwest breeze.

Watkins had come aboard while I was below, and on going on deck I found him standing by the wheel with a look of infinite satisfaction on his rugged, weather-beaten face.

“I s'y, professor,” said he, “this beats some pot-bellied little Filipino junk—hey, what? Look at 'er slide through the water. She don't care whether there's any breeze or not.”

I must say, the Halcyon certainly slipped along easily in the light air. Watkins, accustomed to his sluggish little brig, was charmed. Also, he was much impressed by the quick and quiet efficiency of the Finnish crew.

“It's so long since I been shipmytes with real s'ilormen,” said he, “that I'd forgot how they act. Now, these jokers are worth, every man jack o' them, 'arf a dozen nytives, and at least three o' the ordinary lubbers that are rated A. B.'s these d'ys. A bit odd about 'em, too; seem to know before'and like, what you're goin' to s'y.”

Luncheon was served as we were talking, and I was pleased to see that it was a very simple, unpretentious meal, though excellently well cooked. Rodonoff made not the slightest effort to entertain us in conversation, as he had done the day before, apparently contenting himself by listening to the prattle of Concha, who, proud of her recent English, rippled along like a precocious child, talking a great deal, and saying practically nothing. Yet her little monologues were amusing, and seemed to afford Rodonoff great entertainment, while Corrigan's ruddy face fairly glowed with pride and a sort of paternal tenderness. I gathered that Rodonoff had quietly relapsed into his habitual seagoing routine, and meant to pay us the sincere compliment of treating us like old friends rather than impromptu guests.

Luncheon finished, we went on deck, when Rodonoff relieved Watkins, who went below for his luncheon. As the yacht was on the wind, the heat was not disagreeable, especially as there was a rim of shade where one caught the spill of the mainsail. And it was under these pleasant and easy conditions that our cruise began.

The breeze freshened in the afternoon, though it kept ahead, drawing directly into the bay; and shortly after sunset we came to anchor under the lee of the island of Lubang. I was rather surprised, having thought that with so able a pilot as Watkins we should keep under way, day and night. When I questioned him about it he shook his head.

“A man could 'ang up a vessel every night in the year on a different uncharted reef down 'ere,” said he. “Seein' 'as 'ow were not pressed, w'y not tyke it easy and comfortable?”

Certainly there seemed no reason for objecting to this. One could Scarcely conceive better conditions of well-being than aboard the Halcyon. Scarcely had the anchor splashed over the bow than the sails were down, the awnings rigged out, and we were sipping iced sherbert in the swiftly fading tropic afterglow.

Never shall I forget the beauty of those exquisite waters. Manila Bay itself is a flat, shallow, and rather stagnant pool, but between the islands, which are semisubmerged mountains of volcanic origin, one may carry deep water almost to the beach, the water wonderfully clear and limpid, the color of indigo in the depths, and of a pale topaz where the sun strikes up, reflected from the silvery sand carpeting a lagoon or shoal.

Sunsets and sunrises were a source of never-failing delight in these enchanted isles. As we anchored every night our decks were always astir with the first pale glimmer of the dawn. Weather conditions varied but little from day to day, yet one might witness those sunrises for a lifetime, and never miss that thrill of rapture which has in it qualities that are both emotional and devout. The still, flat water, as yet scarcely ruffled by the faint draft which springs up with the sun; the surrounding islets, vague and mysterious in the half light, fantastic of shape, and clothed in a depth of color felt rather than seen, sleeping often half shrouded in a filmy tulle of mist, and breathing, as it were, in soft, sweet respirations that wafted across the water, ruffling back the surface like a brush passed over satin to reach one faintly scented with perfumes of hibiscus, stephanotis, and other exhalations,

Then, over all, a glow at first so faint as to be scarcely perceptible, having its source not in the east, but from all about, coming as one might almost believe up through the limpid water as though the earth were a crystal globe holding a softly diffused light at its core. Swiftly it grows, not gradually, but in luminous waves; vibrations of rose and amethyst and saffron, edging hitherto invisible wisps of fleece in the high vault overhead with delicate traceries of brightening shades until gaining in strength and substance it concentrates in a mad, glowing riot of color which bursts like a great bomb on the eastern horizon, when the sun leaps up joyously and it is broad day.

Mauve, mysterious mountains flash forth in dazzling costumes of green and yellow, with purple shadows in their deeper folds. The water takes its ultramarine, and as we glide from our moorings begins to swarm with life. Translucent flying fish spatter away on their wings of gauze. Banded and gruesome shapes undulate from beneath the keel, and deep in the translucent shadows formless hydrozoa with pendulous streamers pulsate and reflect the lights from above.

Sometimes the mist hangs a little after the day begins, and one can look into a distance of sea broken by jutting peaks and tumbling mountains, elusive, unreal, yet familiar, and suggesting the ancient interpretations which most of us remember from childhood as pictured in biblical engravings to stir the imagination, and cause us to people them with gnomes and giants and dragons and other images of childish fantasy.

All of us but Concha got up to see the start, after which Alfrithe would go below while we men took our bucket baths, then came aft, briny and refreshed, for fruit and coffee.

It was on the second morning out, when Rodonoff and I were alone, that he looked up from the mango which he was splitting, and said to me abruptly:

“Professor Metcalf, I wish to ask a permission of you.”

“What is that?” I answered, not taking him seriously.

“I have the honor,” said Rodonoff, “to request your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Halstead. Although I understand that you and she have no blood relationship, I presume that she is under your government.”

If he had asked me if he might scuttle the yacht with all on board could not have been more startled. The mangosteen from which I was picking the fragrant, pulpy seeds slipped from my hand, and rolled across the deck.

“My dear fellow——” I began, then paused, scarcely knowing what to say. Rodonoff looked at me with a smile on his lips and a gleam in his expressive eyes, which were of a soft, slaty gray that deepened to a hazel brown next the pupils.

“I want to marry your stepsister,” said he frankly, “and I would like to have your permission to try to win her.”

His voice was quiet enough, but held a deep, vibrant quality. I saw at once that he was very much in earnest, and felt myself for some inexpressible reason filled with a sudden, hot resentment. And yet I realized that the Russian was acting from a perfectly sincere and honorable motive.

“But, my dear count,” I protested, “you scarcely know each other.”

“Perhaps I know her better than you think,” he answered. “I knew her the minute my eyes fell upon her at the band concert on the Luneta. Don't you think it possible, professor, that there may be such a thing as instinct about these matters?”

I do not think that I have ever been so much upset, though just why it would have been impossible for me to have said. But my thirty-five years felt suddenly like eighty-five, and I was conscious of a sudden bitter envy of Rodonoff's youth and wealth and attractiveness. Here he was, asking as lightly and with as much confidence in his ability to succeed in his ambition for the right to woo and marry Alfrithe, that loveliest of girls, as though he were requesting my permission to give a dinner in her honor.

And yet, I told myself, why shouldn't he? Rodonoff's rank was not so high as to place him above Alfrithe, whose family was as good as any in America. He appeared to have fallen deeply in love at first sight, and it had already struck me that Alfrithe was strongly alive to the charm of his distinguished personality. Still, in spite of this, I was conscious of a sharp sense of inward pain as I answered slowly:

“No doubt such swift, instinctive sympathy exists. But one should be guided by reason, also. To tell the truth, count, it is rather hard for me to grapple the idea of a marriage between you and Miss Halstead. You are a Russian nobleman, with all sorts of family affiliations——”

“I am quite independent of my family,” he interrupted. “But so far as that goes, my father would be jolly well satisfied to see me safely married to so charming and lovely a girl.”

“Then there's the question of marriage settlement,” I objected. “Alfrithe's little income would scarcely pay your wine bills.”

Rodonoff waved his hand. “The European idea of the necessity of a dot has always been disagreeable to me,” he answered. “Besides, I've got as much as we're ever apt to need. This is not a blind infatuation, professor. I'll admit it's a bit abrupt, but you know we Slavs are rather impetuous where our emotions are concerned. However, you must remember that I'm asking only for permission to try to make Miss Halstead care for me. Very likely I may not succeed.”

“Tell me,” said I. “Was it on this account that you asked us to use your yacht?”

He met my look, and colored a little as he answered:

“I was determined to meet her, in some way or other. That one look at the concert did my business. Then, when Watkins came and told me of your situation, it seemed like a Heaven-sent opportunity. Anybody would have acted as I did, don't you think? And for the life of me I can't see anything underhand about it. I merely wanted to know Miss Halstead, and now that I've had a chance to see more of her I want to marry her—awfully,” he added, with his characteristic boyish frankness.

I was silent for a moment, then said, as cheerfully as I could:

“Well, it seems to me that you ought to succeed. The Lord knows you have about everything in your favor, and Alfrithe is heart whole and fancy free. If I have seemed ungracious, it is only because——” I hesitated.

“Because—only you really haven't, you know,” answered Rodonoff, smiling, “but I'd like to hear that 'because.'” And he shot me a swift, intent look.

“Because I'm a sort of matrimonial conservative, I suppose,” I answered, “and hold ideas which would no doubt seem to you rather middle-class and provincial, and are to the effect that marriages, to be happy, should be contracted between persons of similar habits and tastes and conditions of life, and—and all that sort of thing,” I finished, rather helplessly.

Rodonoff's face flashed in his winning smile.

“Precisely my idea,” he answered. “But don't you see, professor, that is just our case? Miss Halstead tells me that she loves art and music and literature and science and travel, with a spice of romance and adventure. She loves the sea, and can't stand being cooped up in one place any more than I can. I'm sure that I could make her happy.” His handsome face glowed, and his expressive eyes seemed to darken.

Again I was conscious of that heavy, hopeless feeling of despondency. It made me rather ashamed of myself, for I could not help but realize that the marriage would be a brilliant one for Alfrithe, and opened the way for all sorts of promise for a happy and interesting life. So I answered, with an honest attempt at heartiness:

“No doubt you are right. I am personally rather a pedantic old bookworm, Rodonoff. Go ahead, then, and my blessing go with you. And let me say that I appreciate the compliment which you have paid me in asking my consent.”

We shook hands, and at this moment Corrigan came on deck, and I went below to shave and dress. After all, I thought drearily, why not? Rodonoff was really less Russian than cosmopolitan, and instead of shutting Alfrithe up among people of foreign ideas would show her the wide and interesting world. He had told me the day before that his family was an old and simple one of the lesser nobility, whose estates lay along the shores of the Baltic, and comprised a modest holding which included two or three fishing villages. He himself had been educated in England, taken a degree in natural sciences at Oxford, and had spent most of his time since then in study and travel.

I felt but little doubt of his success with Alfrithe. It seemed to me that with the return of her health and interest in life the girl must be ripe for romance, and I could not imagine a more attractive suitor than Rodonoff. In fact, despite my lukewarm approval, they seemed to be a most excellently mated pair—and I thought of that first exchange of glances at the band concert, and of what had seemed to me afterward to be Alfrithe's instinctive, maidenly struggle against what could be nothing else than the awakening of a new and compelling force.

Wherefore, I quietly withdrew from active interference in the affair, and awaited further developments with what, I told myself, was the anxious interest of a parent. I rather expected that Rodonoff, now that his intentions had been officially declared and approved, would set himself to the wooing of Alfrithe with that dominant impetuosity which I had always understood to be characteristic of his race.

Consequently, I was rather surprised to see his attitude toward the girl grow if anything more subdued. In fact, the only hint which I ever got of his inner state of heart was in the occasional glow in his fine eyes as they rested on her for a moment.

 

But there was other engrossing business afoot as the end of our fourth day from Manila saw us drawing in on the north coast of Samar heading for the mouth of the little estuary where was situated the ruined temple in which Corrigan had found his treasure, more than half of the hoard being still secreted there, or so we hoped.

We came to anchor off the place about sunset, and promptly received a visit from the local presidente; a genial old fellow who told us that it was the first time that his port had been honored by the visit of a yacht. Rodonoff received him hospitably, asking him to dinner, and telling him that he was a collector of orchids.

“I would not go too far,” said the old fellow. “There are still a few roving bands of robbers, and while I do not believe that there is any danger, it is not worth while to take chances. Not long ago there were some American soldiers here, but they have gone away, and some of the rascally ladrones may have returned to their former haunts. However, I will accompany you with a few armed servants.”

As there seemed no way of declining this offer, we decided after the presidente had gone that Rodonoff should accept the invitation, leaving at daylight the following morning, shortly after which, Corrigan, Watkins, and I, with old Serge and one of the sailors, could go to the temple to get the treasure. Of this there were twenty-one gold ingots, weighing approximately twenty pounds apiece, with a quantity of jeweled ornaments and weapons, and as the temple was only about half a mile up the ravine from the place where we should leave the boat, it need not take but a single trip. Serge and myself, being both two-hundred pounders, might load ourselves with five of the ingots each, while the others transported the rest. The ladies were to remain aboard in the care of Boris.

This plan we accordingly carried out, and an hour after the departure of Rodonoff we five, with an extra hand as boat keeper, provided ourselves with canvas sacks which Watkins had made for the purpose, got aboard the cutter, and pulled up into the mouth of a creek where the mangoes grew to the water's edge on either side.

Coming to a bamboo bridge where a native trail crossed the stream, almost a cascade from this point on, we left the boat and clambered up the ravine, following the course of the torrent, until presently the vine-covered ruins of an ancient wall reared itself through the jungle at our right.

We passed around this wall, and climbed up through a breach to find ourselves upon a sort of terrace above which appeared to be another of the same sort.

Scaling the crumbling wall we mounted to this upper terrace, which was broader and more free of undergrowth than the first. At its rear, hewn as it were from the living rock of the mountainside, were the ruins of the ancient temple.

It was an interesting relic, with pillars of carved stone, and dated back, I thought from the character of the decorations, to some ancient Chinese occupation, perhaps to the time of the Tartar invasion under Khoubilai Khan, when there was a general exodus from the east coast of China; an exodus, by the way, which may account for the Chinese blood in many of the islands across the China Sea, possibly also the Aleutian Islands and our own American Indians. A friend who served in the Philippines and China had once told me that in his company there was an Indian who was able to talk with the Igorrotes and certain Chinese.

Corrigan, trembling with excitement, led the way to the end of the terrace, and here, tearing aside the vines and creepers, we pried up one of the flagstones with which the place was paved, and the treasure lay revealed beneath. First a litter of ancient arms and ornaments, richly decorated with jewels, and of undoubted Asiatic origin, and underneath this the gold; rough, yellow ingots, stacked like bricks, and I must say that a sudden wave of emotion rippled through us all at the sight of this gleaming hoard. Watkins' pale eyes held a positive glare; his face was quite colorless, and as he hauled out the heavy ingots a sigh broke from his chest.

“And to think that if I'd only pl'yed the gyme I might have shared up my third of this,” said he sadly. “Well, 'ere's a temperance lecture that 'ad ought to keep a chum stryte and sober.”

Least moved of all, so far as one could see, were the stolid Finns, who proceeded to charge themselves with the treasure as though it were so much slag. We lingered to search the inside of the temple, going over the solid walls and stone-paved floor with hammers, but all to no purpose. The only loose slab was that which had been jarred down by the earthquake on the night when Corrigan had taken refuge in the place. So we burdened ourselves with our loads, and staggered down over the slippery stones of the ravine, to arrive hot and panting at the boat.

Rodonoff came off for luncheon, bringing with him the presidente, to whom of course we told nothing of the real object of our quest. Rodonoff was happy at having found an orchid of rare variety, in which he appeared to take more interest than in the treasure, for after the presidente had gone, and we went below to inspect the hoard, he stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments, then remarked:

“Odd that men should barter their immortal souls for stuff like that. Concrete wealth never made much of an appeal to me. There are so many other things such a lot more worth while science, the free air, and—the one woman,” he muttered under his breath, and his eyes went to Alfrithe.

Chapter VIII.

So here was the first part of our quest affected with an ease which might have aroused my superstitious fear had it not been for a certain ill-defined sense of impending ill, the more remarkable from the fact that such a feeling seemed so utterly groundless.

We had before us a run of only about a thousand miles to the South Luconia Shoals; a simple enough undertaking for so able and well found a vessel as the Halcyon. The weather was settled, as the season was now advanced beyond the breaking up of the monsoon, the crew was trained to the efficiency of a perfectly adjusted machine, and our navigators were men of ripe experience, and, in the case of Watkins, thorough local knowledge.

In spite of all this, I was far from being easy in my mind, although I could not have said why. Certainly conditions aboard were quiet and peaceful enough, everybody appearing cheerful and contented—that is, everybody but Rodonoff, who was not getting on in his suit as fast as one might have expected from his talents and attractions. In fact, it seemed to me that he was making leeway, if anything, for Alfrithe appeared to have overcome the first emotion with which he had so evidently inspired her, and now accepted him on an easy, friendly footing which held no trace of self-consciousness.

Rodonoff himself felt the difference, I think, for occasionally a flash which looked almost like desperation would cross his handsome, clean-cut face, and several times I saw him grow suddenly pale when talking to her, and turn away his head, as if afraid that she might see something to startle her.

I will admit that I was selfish enough to be glad. There was no denying that Rodonoff would be a brilliant match for Alfrithe, but the prospect of having her marry a man who would take her far away from us, so that years might pass without our seeing her was quite unsupportable.

I had never before realized how dear she was to me, and I thought that if marry she must, why could she not marry some good, stalwart American, who might be able to give her as much as Rodonoff, without dragging her to the ends of the earth?

Wherefore I watched the Russian's lack of progress with a sort of inward exultation, knowing that with such a nature as his not to go ahead, and go ahead rapidly, was equivalent to falling behind.

Yet I could not but admire his patience and self-restraint, for I was beginning thoroughly to understand the depth of his passion, and that he regarded the rest of us as mere pawns in his game for the conquest of Alfrithe. Indeed, I began to feel that he would be quite ready to sacrifice the lot of us, in any way or manner, if it would gain him half an inch in Alfrithe's favor.

The man was in love with the girl to the point of a complete obsession; and being a concentrated nature, he was playing his game to win, ruthless to all beside. While striving always to be outwardly polite, he several times failed utterly to pay the slightest heed to a question which I addressed directly to him. In fact, I doubt if he heard it. His mind was so full of this new emotion that it seemed to have room for scarcely anything else, and there was about his utter absorption something romantically medieval. But he took infinite care to do nothing which might startle and frighten Alfrithe, realizing that she was still a very young girl, and unusually sensitive to any rude impulse.

I fancy that Rodonoff, like most of his race, would be a terrific gambler for the sake of getting what he wanted, staking all on one throw, and that now, for the first time, he was in the face of such a desire that he shrank from the slightest risk of losing. Even his eyes were veiled when he looked at her; too veiled, I thought, and wondered what might be the ultimate result of such suppression in a nature unaccustomed to it.

Plainly enough he was delaying our voyage as much as he decently could, for we came to anchor early, and seldom got under way again until the sun was fairly high. Even when out in the open waters of the Sulu Sea, where we might safely have continued under way throughout the night, we always ran in under the land to anchor.

Skirting the coast of Panay, we stopped over twenty-four hours, and went in to hunt for orchids, the ladies accompanying us. We stopped again on Negros, these expeditions being little more than picnics, and a really pleasant break in our voyage.

Then Rodonoff suggested that we make a little detour, and run down to the island of Basilan, as a German collector had told Watkins that the forest on this island was particularly rich in epiphytes. So we put into Port Isabella, a charming spot, and the next morning at an early hour shouldered our knapsacks and climbed up across the stretch of meadow to where the forest grew out to the rim of the slope.

There were Alfrithe, Concha, Corrigan, Rodonoff, and myself, with two sailors to carry the luncheon hampers, for we were to spend the day in the cool of the forest.

The sun was already hot when we reached the plateau, and we entered the shady depths with the sensation of plunging into a delicious woodland pool. The great trees arched high overhead, their upper branches interlaced and so snugly woven with creepers and lianas that scarcely a ray of sunlight filtered through. Of undergrowth there was little, this consisting of mammoth ferns, fan palms, and many varieties of flowering shrubs and bushes.

Great flamboyants blazed out like living flame against the somber green; there were tree ferns and many orchids, most of the latter growing high and difficult of access because of the gum exuding from the bark of the trees and the many ants and insects which had their thoroughfares the length of the mighty boles.

From dark, mysterious glades came the raucous voices of strange birds, and high above the leafy roof was populous with a life which was noisy and disputatious, these quarrelsome colonies screened from our sight by intervening boughs.

We made our camp on the edge of the forest, where the mighty trunks rose in a way that suggested a great basilica.

Concha, hot and tired from her short climb, for the girl lacked the Northern endurance of Alfrithe, declined to go farther, so Corrigan remained with her. Rodonoff, Alfrithe, and I set out to explore, and presently, being interested in trying to learn more of the busy animal life invisible as we approached, I loitered to look about and listen.

Sitting on a rotten log, I waited for the forest folk to show themselves, and my last glimpse of Alfrithe and Rodonoff was as they moved slowly side by side straight down a glade which suggested the nave of a cathedral, and I could not help but wonder sadly if the tableau were prophetic.

Alfrithe had not discovered my desertion, as I had been following a few paces in their rear, while Rodonoff pointed out to her the different growths in that wonderful botanical garden, and telling her their names and characters.

For perhaps an hour I sat there in silence. An endless file of umbrella ants crossed the trail at my feet, each little soldier carrying its square of leaf above its head. The tolling note of a bell bird came elusively, baffling in distance and direction. From overhead rose a sudden angry chattering, and down came a shower of hard, green nuts. A toucan barked, and the monkey band made fun of him. A great green lizard scuttled past, pausing to snap at an iridescent fly.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself when from the distance I heard a sudden, confused clamor of human voices. Though far away, the sound reached me with fair distinctness, carried telephonic under the leafy canopy. I was unable to catch the words, but something in their tone brought me quickly to my feet, for there were the notes of passionate anger and protest, and a sort of fierce insistence. Then came a smothered scream, a confused, impassioned dialogue, followed by a moment of silence.

For an instant I stood listening; then, as I was about to call, there came the crashing of underbrush, and the sound of some one dashing through the stiff, crackling foliage. Alfrithe's voice rang out wildly:

“Jim—Jim—where are you—Jim?”

Chapter IX.

“Hello!” I shouted.

The crashing increased, and moving in that direction I saw presently the flash of Alfrithe's white gown, off to the left of the woodcutter's path which we had followed. I called again, and she turned toward me, plunging headlong, and with no regard to the sawlike edges of the rank vegetation and the dangers which might lurk in the tangle under her feet. She burst out upon the trail ahead of me, breathless, her very blond hair tumbled about her ears, cheeks blazing, but pale about the mouth.

I hurried to meet her, and as I drew near she stopped, swayed slightly, then dropped down upon a big, serpentine root, covered her face with her hands, and burst into a silent storm of sobbing.

“Alfrithe—my dear girl—what is it?” I demanded.

“Oh, Jim—Jim!” she cried. “Why did you leave me with him? Why did you? Why did you?”

“What's the matter?” I asked harshly. “What's happened? Where's Rodonoff?”

Alfrithe caught her breath, and looked up at me. I had never seen such an expression on her lovely face. She looked positively dangerous, and instead of the tears which I had expected her eyes were hot and dry, and so dark that I was actually startled. Here was an Alfrithe that I had never known.

“He is over there in the woods, I suppose. He is a brute. He's a savage. Take me back, Jim. Take me away from here. Don't let me see him again. I hate him. I loathe him. I shouldn't have come——”

So here the bomb had exploded. I looked at Alfrithe's furious face and scratched hands.

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He—he——” Alfrithe grew crimson, and began to stammer. It was a flush of pure rage, as I could tell from the way in which she set her even little teeth and clenched her fists. The stammering was rage also. “He caught me in his arms, and nearly smothered me. He kissed me—and nearly strangled me. I think he's gone crazy. Maybe it's the heat?” She looked up at me questioningly.

“Maybe,” I answered. “What then?”

Alfrithe's color flamed out again, Perhaps the dryness of my tone was not what she expected.

“I fought and struggled, and finally managed to tear myself free, and screamed for you. Oh, Jim—Jim—I want never to see him again. get away from this place without going back aboard that horrid yacht?”

“Tell me, Alfrithe,” said I sternly, “did Rodonoff treat you this way without a word of warning?”

“Of course.” She shot me an angry look. “Do you think that if I'd guessed at the sort of man he was I'd let myself be alone with him?”

“Forgive me,” I muttered. “But how did it all come about? He didn't turn suddenly and grab you, did he?”

“That's exactly what he did,” she cried. “There was a great bell-shaped orchid high up over our heads, and hanging by a long, curved stem, like an artificial lamp. I never saw anything like it, and as I was watching it—the sun struck it, and I was sure it had a light inside—and it made me dizzy—so that I may have swayed a little on my feet. Maybe I brushed his shoulder—anyway, the next instant he was crushing the life out of me——”

“Listen, Alfrithe,” said I, as quietly as I could, for my heart was going like a trip hammer, and my mouth felt hot and dry. “Rodonoff is madly in love with you. He told me so the second day that we were aboard the yacht. He asked my consent to try to win you for his wife.”

Alfrithe lifted her chin and stared at me. The flush left her cheeks.

“And you gave it?” she cried, exactly a though I had said something to hurt her.

“Yes,” I answered. “Why not?”

She continued to stare at me for a moment. It was a curious look, and the sort that I have seen in the eyes of some wild thing that I had shot, and was about to kill. It went through me like a knife, yet puzzled me. I began to stammer explanations.

“Rodonoff was very honest and manly about it,” I said. “He told me about himself, and his family, and met all of my objections——”

“Then you really offered some objections?” she asked, in a clear, almost ironical, voice. “Why was that?”

“Don't be silly, Alfrithe,” I answered, almost roughly. “You know perfectly well what I mean. I saw plainly enough in Manila that you were attracted to Rodonoff——”

“Oh, did you?” she interrupted.

“I did. I'm not altogether blind, though a bit dense. Your happiness means an awful lot to me, so when Rodonoff asked for my permission, in loco parentis, as one might say——”

“Yes, one might,” this in scarcely more than a murmur.

“I naturally wanted to make sure,” I went on, disregarding her interjection.

She grew silent then, and I continued, like the pedagogue which some years of teaching had made me. “I gave my consent to his trying to win you, and supposed that he would go about the business as a gentleman should. To tell the truth, my dear, I really believe that Rodonoff simply lost his head. His Slavic nature got away with him——”

“He is a beast!” she interrupted, in a hard voice.

“He is more fool than beast, and he has acted very badly. To be frank, Alfrithe, I thought that you were beginning to care for him.”

“I hate him!”

“Where is he now?”

“I don't know. I struck him in the face, and tore myself away. Oh, Jim—must we go back to the yacht?”

“I don't know what else there is to do; and, besides, Alfrithe, it is not so very terrible, when you stop to think. Rodonoff at this moment is probably wild with remorse. Now, listen to me. Calm yourself, and go back to the others. Say that it was too hot and tangled, and that you left Rodonoff and myself hunting for orchids. Follow this trail straight down to the edge of the woods. Let me talk to Rodonoff.”

Alfrithe jumped up and stood looking at me with hot cheeks and bright, angry eyes.

“Very well,” she answered. “I'll go back, but I'm going straight to the yacht, since there is no other place to go. I don't want to see him—and I couldn't stand listening to Concha's silly prattle.”

“Then I'll take you back myself.”

Alfrithe did not answer, and we moved off together. Presently we came out where we had left the others, and found the two sailors setting out the luncheon things, while Corrigan, a cigarette between his lips, was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, with Concha's head in his lap.

“Alfrithe seems to have a touch of sun,” I said, “and I think that she'd better go back aboard the yacht before it gets any hotter.”

They were full of solicitude in an instant, Concha wanting to go back with Alfrithe, who declined, saying that she wished merely to lie down and be quiet.

“Where is Count Rodonoff?” asked Concha, with a curious and questioning look at Alfrithe.

“He is still looking for orchids,” I answered. “Come, Alfrithe, before the stun gets any higher.”

So back down the slope we went, and out to the beach, where I managed to attract the attention of the quartermaster, who sent in the boat.

“I'm going back,” I said to Alfrithe. “I want to talk to Rodonoff.”

She gave me a curious look, which I didn't understand, but took to mean that she hoped I wouldn't start a row.

“There's no use in making any more of a fuss than can be helped,” said I, to reassure her.

She did not answer, so I put her in the boat, and she returned aboard, and I climbed up through the hot meadow, where the tinderlike grass scorched my thighs, and on arriving at our place of bivouac found that Rodonoff had not yet appeared. I was rather relieved at this, so, telling Corrigan that I would go and look for him, I returned to where I had met Alfrithe.

Under the impression that he had probably remained where Alfrithe had left him, I called.

“Rodonoff!” I shouted.

There was no answer. I called again, when from no great distance there came a brief, answering “Hello!”

Following the direction of the voice, I waded through the jungle, presently to come upon him. He was sitting on a damp log, a cigarette between his lips, and his collecting case lying at his feet. As I approached he looked up with an expression which was half sulky, half defiant, and I noticed that his face was very pale.

“Well,” said he sullenly, “what is it?”

His manner. was the very last which he should have indulged. Being myself an easy-going person, with a desire for peace at almost any price, I had been prepared to do my best to patch up the unpleasant situation, wishing to close the incident with as much dignity as possible. I had expected to find him brimming over with shame and remorse, fully realizing how badly he had behaved, and eager to make any amends within his power. But the hard, ruthless expression of his eyes, and the cold anger of his face aroused in me a sudden, fierce resentment.

“I want to tell you what I think of you,” I said, suddenly forgetting my olive branch. “You may be a nobleman by birth, but you are certainly a cad by nature.”

His face darkened, and his teeth gleamed between his drawn lips.

“Be careful what you say,” he growled.

“Careful nothing,” I retorted roughly. “For just about one word from you I'd knock your sneering head off. It's a pity we're not more nearly of a size.”

For a moment I was certain that he was going to tackle me, but he thought better of it, which was a good thing for us both, as I was angry enough to have shown no mercy to his lesser frame.

“If you want satisfaction you can always have it,” he muttered.

“If I wanted satisfaction,” I said, “I'd take it here and now, with my two hands. Now, all that we ask of you is to take us to the nearest place where we can get a vessel for Manila. Jolo will do. That's only a day's sail.”

Rodonoff seemed on the point of flashing out an ugly answer, then checked himself.

“Look here, professor,” said he, in a bored voice, which was plainly artificial, “what's the use of all this row?”

“You are not the person to ask that question,” I told him hotly. “I confide an innocent girl to your care for a few minutes, and your mask of gentlemanliness drops from you, and you behave like a cad and a scoundrel!”

The blood poured into his face, and I noticed for the first time a contusion on his cheek bone. He did not answer.

“Yet you told me that you loved and respected her!” I went on. “And I was silly ass enough to believe you. Now, stir your stumps, you swine, and get us out of this. I've had enough of you and your fake hospitality.”

Rodonoff seemed scarcely to have heard the last part of what I said. In fact, I doubt if he was thinking of me at all.

“But I do love her,” he said pleadingly, “and I respect her. I want to marry her—and now I've jolly well gone and spoiled it all!” and he looked at me as if he expected me to make it right for him.

For the first time it struck me that I was dealing with a child.

“It got the best of me,” he went on, seeing that I had nothing to say, “and then she struck me in the face!”

One would have thought from his tone that I was a nurse, listening to a dispute between children.

“Well, Rodonoff,” I said, rather less angrily, “you brought it on yourself. Now, jump—get us out of here, and let's have an end of it. You've insulted your guest, and there isn't much more for you to say.”

“I haven't insulted my guest,” he snapped, staring at me.

“It doesn't matter. Let's get out of here.”

And then, to my immense surprise, he suddenly dropped his face in his hands, and began to cry—to cry like a baby.

“I love her!” he sobbed. “I tell you I love her! I couldn't stand it any longer. I'm mad about her—the darling!” and he cried like a child.

It was so unexpected that for the moment I was all at a loss. I felt foolish and ashamed, as if I had been the one to break down, instead of Rodonoff. In fact, instead of being angry with him, I had a silly wish to make it easier for him—why, I'm sure I don't know.

“Well,” I said moderately, “all I can say is that you've made an awful mess of it. One would have expected a little more self-control in a man of the world like yourself.”

Rodonoff turned on me with a sort of desperation.

“See here, can't we—can't you put me right?”

“I don't see how,” I said. “It's all your own doing. You seem to think that because you are Count Rodonoff, and we are simple, unassuming Americans, you can play the grand seigneur.”

“I don't think anything of the sort,” he answered impatiently. “I have acted honorably from the start, telling you that I wanted to marry your stepsister, and getting your permission to try. Then, just because I lose my head for a second—oh, come, where's the harm, anyhow? She was looking up at an orchid, and swayed a bit, and I thought she'd lost her balance, and threw out my arm to steady her. Then the touch of her, and her face close to mine, was too much of a temptation. I'm not made of wood. But I'm sorry. I'll go straight back aboard, and tell her how cut up I am about it.”

“You'll do nothing of the sort,” I answered curtly, for although Rodonoff's words were apologetic, his manner was anything but that, and expressed neither sorrow nor repentance, but a sort of savage, sneering impatience. All of my absurd desire to straighten out his difficulty fled on the instant, and I wanted no more than to get Alfrithe and myself well rid of him. “I hardly suppose you intend to keep us prisoners aboard, do you? Because if that's your scheme you'll find that you've got your hands full.”

He appeared to consider this for a moment, then said gloomily:

“Look here, professor, don't go and take it so hard. I'm really awfully sorry. To tell the honest truth, I didn't think she'd mind. I thought that she was beginning to care a little.”

“Well,” I answered, “even if she was, you've gone and spoiled it all by your Russian bear methods.”

“Don't say that,” he growled sulkily. “Give a chap another chance. Then, besides, there's Corrigan to consider. He's an awfully decent little cad. I've undertaken to do this thing for him, and I want to carry it out. If you and Miss Halstead were to leave the yacht he wouldn't stop aboard a minute.”

I reflected. It was certainly an awkward situation. Here was Corrigan, who was paying me liberally for my help, and who had insisted that Alfrithe accompany us as his guest. He was now in danger of having the whole undertaking spoiled merely because Rodonoff had lost his head, and Alfrithe had taken it so bitterly.

It struck me for the first time that it would have been a lot better if Alfrithe had merely freed herself, and then stopped and talked to Rodonoff in a way that would have made him thoroughly ashamed of himself. Instead, she had hit him in the face, and torn off in a furious rage, insisting that we quit the yacht at the first opportunity—and for some peculiar reason that I could not have explained to myself I was exultant at her having done so, even while my reason told me that it was no such terrible thing for a girl to be grabbed and kissed by the man who was eager to make her his wife.

But the thing had happened, and I knew that Corrigan would be the very first to commend her act, and would not hesitate an instant to put aside his own interest, in a chivalric protection of his guest. I had learned a good deal about the boy's unselfish nature, and I could not bear to let him suffer from what was no fault of his. So, after turning the situation in my mind, while Rodonoff stood sullenly inhaling his cigarette, I said more quietly:

“Perhaps you are right, Rodonoff. It's not a pleasant situation, but I don't think that Corrigan ought to suffer for it. For my part, I'm willing to consider the incident as closed. Suppose we go back to the others, and I'll go aboard and talk to Miss Halstead.”

“Whatever you say,” answered Rodonoff peevishly.

I turned on my heel, and we walked back, neither of us speaking until we were nearly to our place of bivouac, when I observed:

“We'd better say nothing about this to the others. Let's have lunch quietly, and then I'll go out and try to make your peace with Miss Halstead.”

Rodonoff merely nodded.

Chapter X.

As we were walking back to join the others, it had occurred to me that I might have been unduly severe with Rodonoff. After all, I thought, he was scarcely more than a thoroughly spoiled boy, for all of his talents and attainments. Aside from his scientific abilities, he seemed immature and childish.

I could not help but wonder what his next move would be; whether he would try to gloss the whole thing over, make his peace with Alfrithe, and continue his suit, or whether he would show enough decency and manliness to be frankly sorry for what had happened, and try to make all honest amends.

To tell the truth, I was inclined to give him credit for this latter course—first, because I naturally prefer to think the best of people, and secondly because Rodonoff was really a manly sort of chap, and now, having had his lesson, would no doubt be intelligent enough to realize his mistake.

Up to this time it was probable that Rodonoff had never experienced a real rebuff. He had been made much of by all with whom he came in contact, and he was naturally of a hot, impetuous nature, I thought, but clean of life, far from self-indulgent, and a person of considerable intellectuality.

But it shortly appeared that I had still a good deal to learn about the different phases of the Russian's character. I had thought it possible that he might sulk for a while, and make our afternoon rather strained and disagreeable, and consequently I was surprised to see that on joining Corrigan and Concha he flung aside his unpleasant manner as one would throw off a wet coat.

Without so much as a glance in my direction, he remarked that he was sorry that Miss Halstead should have found the climb up the hot hillside overfatiguing, and that he trusted she would feel no ill effects. He then proceeded to serve our luncheon precisely as though nothing unusual had occurred.

But his behavior was feverish and excited, and presently he was chatting with Concha in a spirit of gayety which struck me as unnatural. For the first time since our acquaintance he drank freely, taking several glasses of vodka before commencing our meal. Concha, always quick to respond, met him rather more than halfway. I think that she was secretly rather glad to have a clear field, and presently shifted the conversation into French, which language she spoke more fluently than she did English, leaving Corrigan entirely out of the talk, and quite ignoring the fact that I was a member of the party.

Indeed, I think that she took a mischievous delight in misbehaving under the nose of the pedagogue.

Corrigan's expression grew more and more distressed, for it seemed to him that Rodonoff was merely fulfilling his duties as a host, and responding to Concha's advances. Once or twice he threw me an appealing look, as if asking for help in his dilemma.

Altogether, I don't know when I have passed a more trying hour. The air seemed charged with the high tension which precedes trouble, and a little later, more than half suspecting that Rodonoff's manner might be prompted by a spirit of schoolboy defiance directed against myself, I got up and said that I would go aboard to see how Alfrithe was feeling. Corrigan and Concha decided to go with me, when Rodonoff said that he would come down a little later, as he still wished to look about a bit for more orchids.

Corrigan was silent on the way back, but Concha prattled along, tremendously pleased with herself for what she believed to have been her success with Rodonoff. Going out to the yacht she grew silent, however, as if it had just occurred to her that she might have thought a little more of her guest. She wanted to go down to see Alfrithe, but I sent her away, and went down alone. I found Alfrithe very quiet, but showing traces of tears.

I sat down beside her, and told her of my interview with Rodonoff, omitting the unpleasant features. She agreed with me that it would not be fair to Corrigan to break up the expedition at this point. In fact, it struck me that she had experienced a revulsion of feeling, and was a little ashamed of herself for the way she had acted.

“I'm a silly fool, Jim,” said she. “But I did like him, and I was so disappointed.”

“How much did you like him?” I asked. “Enough to marry him?”

She shook her head, and her face flamed.

“Enough to forgive him?”

Alfrithe nodded. “It was my own fault,” said she, and added, almost spitefully, “and yours.”

“I know,” said I repentantly. “I shouldn't have hung back.”

“I wasn't thinking of that,” said Alfrithe sharply, then got up and told me to go out, as she was going to change her gown.

Rodonoff came aboard late, dripping perspiration, and laden with orchids, which he said were “ordinary species, like most things which are easy to get.” I was beginning to hate orchids. In fact, these flowers have always impressed me as poisonous, unwholesome things, beautiful, but rotten at core, like all parasites, although I understand that they are not scientifically regarded as such. At any rate, the search appeared to have had a good effect on Rodonoff, for his nasty humor had disappeared, and one could scarcely have believed that we had just passed through a very disagreeable scene.

Alfrithe had pulled herself together as easily as Rodonoff, and came to dinner wearing a cool and quiet manner, which aroused my admiration. We sailed at daybreak, and then began a quiet but tenacious duel, which would have interested a student of psychology.

Rodonoff was determined to draw Alfrithe apart, if only for five minutes' talk, and she was equally determined never to find herself alone with him. At times there would come an expression in Rodonoff's eyes that was almost ferocious, for, as might have been expected in a man of his type, Alfrithe's resistance simply whetted his passion.

To further complicate matters he began to flirt recklessly with Concha, not, I am sure, with any idea of arousing Alfrithe's jealousy, but out of sheer perversity and as a nervous outlet. In fact; he conducted himself like a spoiled child, with the result that Concha made a silly little fool of herself, and Corrigan's face began to wear an ominous expression.

For my part, I sat stolidly and smoked, praying that our voyage might finish as quickly as possible.

Sailing only by day, we worked down through the Balabac Strait and out into the South China Sea, everything running smoothly, so far as the yacht was concerned. The breezes were light and baffling, with periods of dead calm lasting for hours at a stretch. It was the day before we counted on sighting the South Luconia Shoals that Alfrithe came up to me while I was alone on deck, and said:

“Jim, how much longer is this horrid voyage going to last?”

“It won't be long, dear,” I answered. “The prevailing winds are fair for the return trip.”

She was silent a moment, then said:

“Rodonoff asked me last night to marry him as soon as we get back to Manila.”

“Indeed! And what did you say?”

“What do you think?” She looked at me curiously.

“You haven't precisely the air of a radiant fiancée,” I said, with a smile.

“Don't joke, Jim. I'm horribly uneasy. There is something in his manner that frightens me, and I have the feeling that his quietness is not natural. He seems to be watching us all from behind a mask.”

I grew rather serious at this, for Alfrithe was voicing my own thought. There was something ominous about Rodonoff's extreme suavity, and at times I had caught an expression in his eyes which impressed me as being not quite sane. But it would not do to let Alfrithe become frightened, so I replied:

“He is evidently very much in love with you, my dear, and having a pretty bad time with himself. No doubt he is desperate at the thought that he may have ruined his chances by his behavior of the other day. I thought myself that you were beginning to care for him a little.”

“Would it have pleased you if I had, Jim?”

“Not altogether. I have no desire to lose my little sister.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Alfrithe shortly, “I am no more your sister than I am Rodonoff's.” She dropped her pretty chin on her knuckles, and stared out across the blue water. “Just because my mother happened to marry your father gives me no real sisterly claim, and I have often wondered why you were always so sweet to me.”

“Nonsense, Alfrithe!” I answered, rather hurt at this quite unnecessary disclaimer to any actual blood tie. “No sister could be dearer to her brother than you have always been to me.”

She turned to me quickly, and her eyes filled.

“I know it, Jim. I'm a cat. Will you forgive me?” She looked at me for a moment with rather moist eyes, then smiled. “The situation has its ridiculous side as well,” said she. “That silly little Concha is convinced that Rodonoff is eating his heart out through a hopeless passion for her. Only this morning she told me about it, and wanted to know if I didn't think it terribly sad. Such a little goose!”

 

The morning of the day we expected to reach the island I heard as I was dressing what sounded like an altercation forward. The voices were not raised; in fact, they were lowered, and perhaps it was the fierce, sibilant quality that brought them so distinctly to my ears, for over every stateroom there was a small hatch trunk with a skylight.

I recognized distinctly Rodonoff's vibrant voice speaking rapidly and with a savage intensity, in his own tongue, which of course I was unable to understand. It was old Serge who answered him, and his tone was certainly not one of respect. Then a harsher voice, which I thought to be that of Boris, chimed in.

There was apparently some heated discussion going on, and one in which Rodonoff was opposed to his elderly servitors, and although I do not believe in eavesdropping I would have given a good deal to have been able to understand their words.

Rodonoff's usually modulated speech carried a fierce impatience, which suggested a straining self-control, while the other voices were stubbornly and almost angrily protesting. This struck me as singular, for Rodonoff's men had always shown the perfection of quick and silent obedience to such few and quiet orders as were issued.

But at this moment old Serge was certainly answering his master far from respectfully, considering their relative positions. In fact, the old sailor's heavy bass suggested not only protest, but sorrow and remonstrance, and a sort of outraged astonishment. I stood perfectly still, listening to the discussion, and wondering what it could possibly be about, and finally the voices of the two old sailors grew short and sullen, then ceased altogether. Rodonoff's tones promptly changed in key and accent, growing conciliatory, like those of a man who, having gained his point, wishes to conclude the argument amicably.

I finished my toilet and went on deck. As I came up through the hatch I saw Rodonoff standing with one hand on the main rigging, facing forward, while opposite him stood Serge and Boris. The shoulders of the two big Finns were bowed, and their faces dark and sullen. At sight of me each raised his hand in a brief salute, but I noticed that their eyes avoided mine, and that they turned away immediately. Rodonoff swung on his heel, and, seeing me standing by the companionway, came walking slowly aft. His face was rather pale, and there was a red patch on either of his lean cheeks.

“Good morning, professor,” said he, pleasantly enough, and with an obvious effort to assume an agreeable expression.

I gave him “Good morning,” and asked if he thought we would make the island that day.

“I hope so,” he answered. “We've done about seventy-five since sunset.” We had kept under way since the passage of the Balabac Strait. “If this breeze freshens, as I expect, we ought to raise the island at about one o'clock.”

This estimate proved fairly correct, for although the breeze freshened but little it hauled around abeam, and by the middle of the forenoon we were booming along on a broad reach over a sea that was fairly smooth, and with everything drawing.

The prospect of having reached our turning point, with every probability of a successful conclusion to our quest, had a stimulating effect upon the whole party, and the morning passed pleasantly.

Rodonoff seemed in a state of nervous exhilaration, and if it had not been for his abstemious habits I would have thought that he had been drinking. As if seeking an outlet for his high spirits, he chatted continually with Concha, who as usual responded vivaciously. Alfrithe had come on deck, and was sitting near the two, and I could not but notice Concha's repeated glances in her direction, as if to say: “You see I am right. The poor fellow cannot leave me for a second.”

Our noon observation showed the island to be close aboard, and while we were at luncheon a hail from aloft announced that it had been sighted. Abandoning our dessert, we all hurried on deck, although it was then several. minutes before the pale-blue speck on the horizon ahead rose to form a faint tracery against the white sky.

We were making good time, however, and presently we could see the long, snowy line which marked the shoal stretching away to the northward.

Watkins told us that it was there that he had lost his little brig. Giving the shoal a wide berth, we approached the island cautiously, with the lead going steadily, and at a distance of about a mile and a half let go our anchor in twenty fathoms of water. The whale-boat was smartly got over, and Rodonoff looked at us with a smile.

“Well,” said he, “here we are at last. I suppose you would all like to go in. For my part, I am more anxious to see the setting of Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan's romance than to dig up the gold.”

Concha was of course eager to go, but rather to my surprise Alfrithe said that she would remain aboard.

“Don't you want to go?” I asked her, as Rodonoff was helping Concha into the boat.

“I'd rather not,” she answered.

“Why?”

“Rodonoff said to me this morning: 'I hope that when we all land on the island you will be generous enough to give me the opportunity to say a few words to you alone.' So you see, Jim, if I were to go in and then refuse his request it would only make him angry. I will say that I have a headache, and am afraid of the glare.”

She had barely spoken when Rodonoff turned and called cheerfully:

“Come on, Miss Halstead.”

“Miss Halstead has decided to remain aboard,” I told him. “She has a headache, and doesn't want to risk the glare.”

Rodonoff's face had an expression impossible to describe as he answered smoothly:

“That's too bad! Are you coming with us, professor?”

The “with us” decided me. Since Rodonoff was going there seemed no necessity for my remaining aboard, and I was really curious to see the place. So we got into the boat, Rodonoff taking the steering oar, as the glass showed a line of surf through which it was necessary for us to pass to get into the little bight. The crew gave way strongly, and before long we had shot through the low combers and found ourselves under the shelter of a little promontory which shut off the yacht from our view.

Our boat's bow grounded on a little beach of white, coral sand. Watkins, who was in the bow, leaped out and gave his hand to Concha. Corrigan followed him, and I followed Corrigan. As we stepped onto the beach Corrigan took off his hat in a reverent manner, and pointed to a rough cairn of stones on the other side of the little cove.

“Dere's de priest's grave,” said he.

“And where's the grotto?” asked Rodonoff.

“Up here,” answered Concha. “We will go there first, and then I wish to visit the grave of his reverence. I have brought a little offering—a crucifix,” and she motioned to a package which Corrigan was carrying under his arm.

Corrigan led the way, and we crossed the beach and climbed over the broken stones until we came to the grotto, a sort of cave in the low cliffs, directly over a deep, quiet pool. It was a charming spot, and as we entered it I saw Corrigan reach out and take Concha's hand in his.

“I s'y, gentlemen,” said Watkins. “Let's myke sure o' the gold, first off.”

Corrigan stepped forward, and began to scuffle with his feet at the fine, soft sand which covered the floor of the grotto. Watkins dropped down, pawing with his hands, while Concha and I, unable to resist the excitement of uncovering the hidden treasure, followed his example. We were like a pack of terriers, scratching for moles, and suddenly Watkins gave a low, exultant cry.

“'Ere she is,” said he triumphantly, and we saw a dull, yellow gleam under his eager hands.

It was an emotional instant, and, as if moved by the same thought, Concha and I looked back over our shoulders to witness the effect on Rodonoff. But the Russian was not there.

“Count Rodonoff!” I cried.

“Hey—what?” said Watkins sharply, and looked around.

“Where's de count?” snapped Corrigan, and scrambled to his feet.

I followed him, and at the same moment I heard the grind of oars against the tholepins. We rushed to the mouth of the grotto, and there, fifty yards away, was the whaleboat, backing out from the beach, and Rodonoff in the act of swinging her stern with his steering oar.

For a second we stared in silence. Then, as if moved by the same impulse, we hurried across the loose stones, and down to the water's edge. By the time that we got there the boat was thirty or forty yards offshore, and the crew resting on their oars.

“Where are you going?” I called.

Rodonoff turned and stared at us. His face was pale. Not a man of the crew looked our way.

“I am going back to the yacht,” answered Rodonoff, in a hard, sullen voice.

“But—what for?” I demanded. “Can't you wait for us?”

He moistened his lips.

“You can stay where you are,” he said.

There was a moment of utter silence. I was conscious of a sick, sinking feeling in the diaphragm. Then Corrigan's voice at my elbow growled huskily:

“Say, what's all dis bunk? What're you up to—huh?”

Rodonoff seemed to hesitate for an instant, then said sullenly:

“I've had enough of this foolery. If Miss Halstead agrees to marry me, we will run across to Brunei, have the ceremony performed, and come back after you.”

There was another long silence. Then I shouted hoarsely, for my mouth felt hot and dry:

“Miss Halstead won't marry you!” and I swore with vehemence.

“Then you will have to get off the best way you can,” Rodonoff retorted.

Corrigan was panting like a hot dog. Watkins mumbled curses under his breath. For my part, I could scarcely speak. The boat was drifting slowly out from the beach, the crew like wooden men, and Rodonoff standing motionless.

Suddenly Concha screamed, and we all started.

“You fool!” I roared at Rodonoff. “Don't you know that what you are doing is rank piracy, and enough to get you a life sentence under the laws of any civilized country of the globe? We will be off this island, and have a fleet of cruisers searching the seven seas after you before you're a month older.”

“That is my lookout,” he said coolly.

But Corrigan's hoarse pantings had found vent in speech.

“Say, count, are you dat low you'd steal one woman, and leave anudder here to starve?”

“You won't starve. I'll give Miss Halstead until sunset to come to her senses. If she chooses to be stubborn I'll send in a boat to leave you stores enough to last until I can send a vessel for you. If she chooses to be reasonable, I'll leave you enough for the next few days.”

He turned to his crew, and gave a curt command, and the oars took the water unwillingly, as it seemed to me. The boat forged ahead, gained way, and was soon a small object of flashing white upon the blue surface of the sea.

Chapter XI.

What the others may have been thinking as the boat dwindled into the distance I don't know, for nobody said a word. For my part, the thought of Alfrithe alone and unprotected on the yacht with an insane brute like Rodonoff, for I really believed the man to be off his head, gave me a feeling more like seasickness than anything else that I have ever experienced.

Standing there like a dummy on the edge of the beach, I watched the boat until it disappeared behind the little promontory that cut off the yacht from our view. Then I turned and looked at the others. Watkins was leaning against a bowlder, his jaw shoved out and his eyes the color of jade. Concha had sunk to the sand, and was sobbing against the shoulder of Corrigan, who had dropped down beside her, but was staring straight out across the water, as if oblivious of the weeping girl. He looked up at me and nodded.

“Say, perfessor,” said he, “what d'ye t'ink o' dat fer a highlife guy—huh? Say, our first bunk on dis Roosian was de right dope, all right—huh?”

Watkins turned, and gave us an owlish glare.

“'E's cryzy,” said he. “I never saw a Finn yet that wasn't 'arf mad. 'Ow long does 'e think it'll be before 'e finds himself all snug-o in the brig of a man-o'-war?”

I scarcely heard him. I was thinking of Alfrithe, and wondering what she would do. Alfrithe was one of those unfortunate persons who are cursed with a tremendous sense of obligation to others; the martyr type, so frequent in American women when they have really suffered, but rare until.

My meager imagination was hard at work in a blind effort to solve the ethics of Alfrithe's position, as she might see it. Rodonoff would be clever enough to leave the wretchedness of our condition to her imagination, and she had already heard from Corrigan how he and Concha had lived on their scant provisions and a few stringy mollusks while waiting for the proper weather to attempt the passage to the next island.

I was working hard at the problem of Alfrithe's probable behavior when Watkins' voice cut into my reflections.

“We've seen the larst of 'im,” said he. “There's no good ever comes o' treasure 'untin'. I've tried it before. It isn't Miss 'Alstead that's in any dynger. That's all a bluff to blind our eyes, like. What 'e's arfter is the gold.”

“Rubbish!” I growled.

“Not a bit of it, professor,” Watkins retorted. “I won't presume to s'y that 'e's not much tyken with the young lydy, but it's the treasure 'e's arfter. And the worst of it is 'e can pull it off, too. The chances are 'e'll slip aw'y to some unknown corner of the earth, where yeou might 'unt for years, and all in vyne. I've known chaps like 'im that did the syme thing.”

Corrigan looked up with a snort. His hair and eyebrows were almost together, and his mouth was drawn down at the corners,

“Aw, g'wan!” he growled. “You're talkin' like a cheese. It's all a bluff. You leave it to Miss Halstead; she'll make dat Roosian mutt wish he'd died when he was a baby.”

Conchca had been sobbing steadily, but at this she roused herself, and burst into a torrent of what sounded to me like very bad Spanish talk. In fact, she was so violent that I could not follow what she said; but Watkins, who spoke Spanish far better than he did English, listened with a gradually darkening face. Concha presently paused for breath, whereat Watkins, whose face had been growing gradually harder, and his eyes paler, began to speak slowly and emphatically, directly at the girl.

My own knowledge of Spanish was sufficient to enable me to follow his discourse, for he spoke with a quiet, clean-cut emphasis, which made every word distinct. Roughly translated, his homily was something like this:

“You silly little half-caste wench, you've got only yourself to thank for this. Miss Halstead was willing to stop in Manila, but nothing would do but you must tag along, you thinking that you had made a flirt with this Russian, and the more shame to you, being as you are a married woman. When anybody with half an eye could have seen that he had about as much use for you as any man might for a cheap, silly, half-caste girl! You've needed a lesson badly that would teach you what you are and where you belong, and now you've got it, and got it thoroughly—and let's hope you'll profit by it. Rodonoff chucks you onto the beach as he'd chuck a piece of dunnage he had no more use for, and you haven't even the decency to be sorry for the real lady out there aboard the yacht, but go ahead and use language you certainly never learned in a convent.

“Here you've got a fine husband,” Watkins continued, warming to his work; “the best-hearted man in the world, and the squarest chum that ever I met, who offered me the half of his treasure for you, you having been promised to me. A lucky thing for you, my beauty, that you got Corrigan instead of Harry Watkins—and you'd better turn to and appreciate him. He's given you a wedding ring, and all that he's got in the world, and that's saying something, too. I'd have given you a South Sea wedding, and the green end of a bamboo shoot when you got fresh!”

Such were the gallant and chivalrous words which the plain sailorman addressed to the pampered Concha. While gently disposed toward womankind, and having the typical American toleration for feminine egoism, I must admit that Watkins' commentaries were not displeasing. Fortunately, Corrigan was unable to understand a word of what was being said. Otherwise our unpleasant situation might have been further complicated by an immediate fight.

Even as it was, Corrigan's ready suspicion was aroused by the sailor's voice, and he turned suddenly, his brows drawn down, and his eyes pugnacious.

“What's all dis guff?” he demanded harshly, and as Watkins merely compressed his lips and set his jaw he looked at me. Conchca had become suddenly silent and subdued.

“Nothing much,” I answered wearily. “Concha was using bad language, and cussing Rodonoff because she thought that he was in love with her, and he hasn't acted that way noticeably. Watkins was giving her the right of the thing.”

Concha gave me a veiled look, which was not conspicuous for any great amount of affection. However, it was plain that Watkins' diatribe had done her good. The girl was intelligent enough to appreciate it.

Still, there was nothing very manly about heaping the blame for what had happened on the one unfortunate woman of the party, so as a sort of corrective to Watkins' harsh words I spoke comfortingly to Concha, and observed that I did not really believe that Rodonoff would dare carry out his highhanded project. Also, I mentioned the altercation which I had heard while dressing that morning, and expressed my belief that it was then that Rodonoff had told Serge and Boris of his intentions, and that the two honest old sailors had done their utmost to oppose it, and might yet succeed in doing so.

Watkins said that he also had heard the row.

“Trouble is, professor,” said he, “these 'ere Russians ain't like us Anglo-Saxons. A Russian servant might treat 'is master to a bit o' cheek, but when it came right down to brass tacks 'e's sure to obey orders,”

I felt the truth of this, especially as I knew Russians to be the most autocratic of all people.

We fell into a silence which lasted for several minutes. Then Watkins said:

“In my opinion Miss 'Alstead is in no real dynger with Rodonoff. 'E's young and 'ot-'eaded, but the chances are that arfter a d'y or two, when 'e finds she won't give in and marry 'im, 'e'll put back 'ere and take us off.”

“What's worrying me,” I answered, “is the fear that she may feel that she owes it to us to let him have his way.”

Watkins shook his head.

“No dynger of that,” he answered positively. “Miss 'Alstead is too 'igh-spirited a lydy to let 'erself be bullied by Rodonoff or anybody like 'im. I know good blood when I see it, and I'll tell you right now, professor, that she will prove 'erself more than a match for Rodonoff and 'is whole bloomin' crew. She'll soon put the fear o' the Lord in 'is 'eart, or my nyme's not Watkins. She's quiet and gentle, and no sweeter lydy ever breathed; but she's a fighter, too.”

“Dat's right,” said Corrigan quickly. “Now, listen, perfessor. Rodonoff says he's comin' in here dis afternoon t' bring us some chuck. De chances are he'll shoo me and Watkins back off de beach before he dares to land, t'inkin' de t'ree of us might rush de boat. Now, don't you let him jolly you into no message tellin' Miss Halstead to give into him fer de sake o' dis bunch. Say, I' raver see dis hull treasure at de bottom o' de sea dan back de play o' dis mutt.”

“So would I,” agreed Watkins heartily. “You tell 'im from all 'ands to up stick and aw'y and see how far he gets before 'e's snug in chokey.”

Their words touched me deeply. Here were these two honest chaps ready to make any sacrifice rather than that Alfrithe should be coerced. I found it difficult to speak.

There came another long silence. We had dropped down on the sand, forgetful of the sun, and were staring out across the sparkling water to where the low, lazy surf was crumbling across the distant shoal. My own mind was too full of Alfrithe and her distressful situation to dwell upon our own. Watkins was whistling softly through his teeth in the unconscious way of one thinking deeply, while Corrigan, sitting with one arm thrown over Concha's shoulders, was stabbing at the sand with a shell, and as I glanced at his hard little face I saw that it was puckered like a winter apple.

Suddenly he freed Concha, and rose to his feet, as if something had startled him; and as we glanced inquiringly in his direction, I observed that his face had cleared, and that his gray eyes were bright and intent.

“Say,” said he, in a suppressed voice, “what's 'been hoitin' me is to tink of a slick-spoken dude like dis here Roosian puttin' de double cross on t'ree guys like us, and we never gittin' wise. Say, we must ha' looked like t'ree goops, all right—huh?”

Neither of us answered, and Corrigan proceeded, drawing down the corners of his mouth:

“Listen? it wouldn't jolt me none if he was to come in here dis afternoon, and try to fake us out o' de rest o' de treasure, we must look dat soft. Gee, to t'ink o' two lads dat's knocked around and been up against de bunks me and Watkins have, and a highbrow gent like de perfessor bein' flimflammed by such a geezer as dis Rodonoff man! It makes me sick in my stummick.”

“Well,” I said, a little sharply, “that may be all true enough, but what are you going to do about it?”

Corrigan gave me a tantalizing look.

“He's comin' in later on to bring us de chow, ain't he?”

“Yes. I hardly think he'd leave us here to starve. But you can bet that he'll take good care not to let us get within striking distance of the boat.”

“Right-o!” muttered Watkins.

“Listen,” said Corrigan. “Where's he goin' to land—huh? Right here, ain't he, becuz de beach is wide enough so's we couldn't make a rush before de boat had time to shove clear. Besides, it's handier fer settin' de stuff ashore.”

“Well,” said Watkins, “and what bally good will that do us?”

“I been t'inkin dat if de t'ree of us was to bury ourselves here in de sand, lettin' Concha drop a handful o' dis seaweed on our faces, we might give dis Roosian a surprise party when he comes in on his errand o' mercy.'

Watkins and I stared for a moment at Corrigan, then at each other.

“Bly-me!” cried the sailor. “Why not? How's the tide?” He glanced at the rocks. “'Bout two hours on the ebb, I should s'y.”

“I noticed dat,” said Corrigan. “Now listen. Here's my dope: We woim down in de wet sand right on de water's edge, and de wash will smooth it like. Concha c'n see we're all covered up nice, and drop a bunch o' seaweed on our faces, like I say. Den she waits here fer de boat, and tells Rodonoff we won't have nuttin' to say to him. She keeps him talkin' like, and when he ain't noticin' she gives us de come-on, and up we come on de jump. You two gents, bein' big guys, hops de crew, and I”—he licked his lips—“do a song and dance wiv de Roosian—see?”

Watkins made a dash for the boy, and grabbed him in his muscular arms. Corrigan shifted his hold, caught a wrestling grip, and the two rolled over on the beach, scuffling and laughing like a pair of schoolboys.

“Ain't 'e the livin' wonder, though, professor?” cried Watkins, sitting up. “Ain't 'e, though? W'y, it's easy as a dive overboard. Now, I don't want to brag, but when I was myte on the old Glencoe Castle I orften laid out 'arf a dozen worse larrikens than these jokers, single-'anded, too. Oh, crickey!” and he stared at the little street boy with an admiration too deep for words.

Corrigan's plan sounded good to me. It was almost certain that Rodonoff would land at the middle of the beach, and seeing Concha seated there alone and disconsolate would never expect so bizarre an ambush. There were not apt to be more than four hands at the oars, especially as Rodonoff would probably leave Serge and Boris to get the yacht ready for sea.

Certainly three active and athletic men in our position ought to have no great difficulty in handling Rodonoff and his four sluggish Finns, and as I glanced at Corrigan I was inclined to think that our late host had a very bad quarter of an hour ahead of him. But I amended the plan by suggesting that Concha be stationed as lookout on the top of the low cliffs, to give us a wave when the whaleboat left the yacht. As the distance from where the ketch was lying to our little cove was rather more than a mile and a half, we would have plenty of time to burrow into the sand as near the water's edge as possible.

The situation as it stood developed what was to me quite a new and unexpected phase of Concha's character, although neither Corrigan nor Watkins seemed to find anything odd about it. But instead of showing herself to be nervous and apprehensive, Concha clapped her little hands with delight, and the look which she gave her husband had in it a quality of fond pride and admiration such as I had never seen before.

I began to realize that the girl was only about half civilized, from the viewpoint of our Western conventions. In fact, Corrigan had already told me that Concha loved a fight, and that she had several times involved him in a row merely for the fun of seeing him in action. But in the present case she was also influenced by the desire for revenge on Rodonoff.

Taking it altogether, it struck me suddenly that here was a series of rich lessons being served out to the lot of us: Concha in her conceit; Corrigan in his unfounded jealousy; Watkins in his greed, though that is perhaps unjust, considering the loss of his brig, which was really his lesson; Alfrithe in her lack of diplomacy; myself in my unsophisticated confidence, and Rodonoff, I hoped, in his high-handedness. Certainly the tension of human emotions was rather high just then in the neighborhood of that small and practically Dopa island in the South China Sea.

So we sent Concha to go on lookout at the top of the cliff, and then, as the shadows were lengthening, we three men stripped to the waist, hid our clothes behind a ledge, and, flopping down at the water's edge, proceeded to work our bodies into the warm, wet sand.

The wash of the waves smoothed the sand over us as we worked deeper, and physically the sensation was like a gentle massage, the temperature being about that of the body.

Finding that it did not take long to conceal ourselves, we crawled out again, and sat there like three aborigines, waiting for Concha to signal us when the whaleboat left the side of the yacht.

We were combating the tension of our wait with cigarettes, when suddenly Concha's clear voice rang out from the low cliff above our heads, and a moment later she came scrambling down through a fissure in the ligneous rocks.

“They are coming!” she cried breathlessly.

There was something funny in the way in which we scurried down to the water's edge and wormed into the sand. Concha tore seaweed from the rocks, and distributed it artistically, assuring us that we were quite invisible.

So there we waited in silence. The sun was low by this time, and through the interstices of the seaweed which covered my face I could look up and watch the changing reflections in the high, cirrus clouds. The murmur of the surf was loud, booming into our ears, but presently I caught another sound; the rhythmic thump of oars working against their tholepins. Concha started up.

“Here is the boat,” she whispered.

Chapter XII.

The thud of the oars grew more distinct, for the wind had dropped as the sun fell on the horizon and the air was almost breathless.

“They are coming straight for me,” said Concha. “They are five, like before—Rodonoff and the four sailors.”

Corrigan's voice sounded in my ear. We were lying in a row, like three corpses.

“Say,” he muttered, “dere ain't no use to really hoit nobody. We'll put 'em to sleep like, wiv a paste on de jaw, 't a straight jab between de blinkers—huh?”

A moment later we could hear the ripple of the boat, aside from the thrash of the oars, and Rodonoff's voice, apparently giving the order to hold water.

“They are stopping,” Concha whispered.

It was impossible for us to see a thing, for we were lying flat on our backs, our faces covered with the wet kelp. To this day the odor of a beach at low tide, with the strong, briny odor of iodine recalls that moment as vividly as though it had happened yesterday.

Concha had apparently sunk down on the beach; playing her part of the deserted like the little actress that she was. Rodonoff's voice came sharply:

“Where are the others? I want to speak to Professor Metcalf.”

“Professor Metcalf does not wish to see you,” said Concha, and added, with a theatrical catch in her voice: “Mon ami, are you really, really going to leave us on this desolate island?”

“That depends,” Rodonoff answered, indifferently and in English, for Concha had spoken in French. “Miss Halstead will do precisely what Professor Metcalf tells her to do.”

From the sound of his voice I judged that the boat must be several yards from the beach, and I began to be afraid that he might insist on seeing me before landing. His next words seemed to indicate that I was right, for he said, with the same curt tone that one would use in giving an order to a servant:

“Go and find Mr. Metcalf, and tell him that I want to speak to him. Hurry!”

I was near bursting with the desire to dictate Concha's answer to this command, but did not dare, for although the girl was only a yard away the boat appeared to have approached, and I was afraid of being overheard. But there was no need for me to interfere, for, while Concha may have been silly and rattlebrained about many things, she had plenty of quick wit, for she answered in a proud, hurt tone:

“Nobody wishes to speak to you. You are a bad man and a coward. They have all said so. You had better go away. We do not want your food. We would rather starve than take it from such a dog as you have proved yourself to be.”

Rodonoff snarled back something in Russian. It was plain enough that Concha had led his mind from the main issue by the personal character of her remarks. I could have hugged her for her next flight.

“You are a coward and a most contemptible liar,” she went on pleasantly. “It is very possible that your father may have been a Russian nobleman. My own father was a grandee of Spain, which is much better. But my mother was a Visayan washerwoman, and I do not believe that yours was nearly so honest. Also, I think that you inherit entirely from her. Even your sailors are ashamed of you. I suppose a great many ladies have told you that you are very pretty. It is too bad that you were not born a woman, for you certainly are not a man. At this very moment you do not dare to come to the beach in your boat, because you are afraid that the others might rush on you from behind some rocks. You need not be alarmed. They would as soon rush at a dead pig left for two days in the sun as at you.”

All of this prattled off in a perfectly clear and monotonous voice was very funny to hear, and I was conscious of a sudden, almost irrepressible desire to laugh. The situation certainly had its humorous as well as its serious side; we three planted in a row just under the surface of the wet sand, and only waiting for the boat to ground to spring forth like fish fried in crumbs leaping from the pan; then Concha, like a little stool pigeon, abusing Rodonoff with all the ingenuity of her bright, mischievous mind, and the candid frankness of a contemptuous child or a native.

Rodonoff himself, for all that he was a man of the world, was still enough of a boy to lose his temper at Concha's biting remarks. He gave an angry snarl which sounded like a Russian oath, and answered heatedly:

“Be still, you impudent little fool! I've a jolly good mind to go back aboard and leave you all here to eat limpets.”

“We don't care if you do,” Concha answered contemptuously. “For my part, I would rather eat limpets than to take anything from you. And you needn't think that Miss Halstead will have anything to do with you, either. She would rather marry a Tagal boy or a Chino porter, than you. She told me so herself.”

This was obviously untrue, but apparently did not fail of its effect, for there came another growl from Rodonoff. I felt a peculiar jar in the wet sand, and guessed that it came from a convulsive movement of Watkins' diaphragm, for he was lying close beside me. Despite the tension of the moment there was something very laughable about Concha's airy impudence.

“Look here,” said Rodonoff impatiently. “Suppose you drop all that, and go after Metcalf. I want to speak to him, and I'm not going to stop here the rest of the afternoon.”

“Then turn and go back where you came from,” retorted Concha. “No doubt you think your face very handsome, but people who know you find the look of your back much more agreeable.”

Came a short, angry order, and the sound of oars taking the water. For a moment I was afraid that Concha might have overplayed her part, and that Rodonoff was about to return to the yacht without landing the stores. But the next instant there was a slight grinding sound in the sand almost at my feet.

“Señores!” cried Concha sharply.

What immediately followed was swift, savage, and fantastic, and from Rodonoff's point of view must have been fearful and grotesque. With a snarl and a sputter the wet beach spewed up three furious and desperate figures, naked to the waist, their bodies caked with damp sand. From the actual weight of the stuff and the suction under us it was impossible to rise with anything approaching a bound, but we broke out in a heavy, wallowing fashion, like three loathsome gnomes bursting through the earth's crust. Yet up we came, and our appearance must have been frightfully horrid, the kelp still streaming across our wild faces, and the loose sand flying from our chests and arms.

Concha screamed wildly, and a yell of startled terror burst from Rodonoff. The men at the oars twisted about on their thwarts, their wild, shaggy faces contorted with horror, and the next instant we were among them. They dropped their oars, flinging up their arms as though to defend themselves as we fell upon them. They had no time to reach for any weapons, whether knives or even the oak stretchers under their feet, and for a moment there was only the sound of hard, thudding blows, mingled with howls of pain and fright.

Watkins and I found them easy victims, planting our blows with precision and dispatch, and the first clear consciousness I had of the mêlée was of standing with feet planted in the middle of the boat glaring down at the huddled forms, while Watkins, who had torn an oar from the trail line, had swung the butt in air, and was poised ready to strike down the first man that dared move.

I looked around for Corrigan. Both he and Rodonoff had disappeared. Grabbing up a stretcher, I leaped over the gunwale and swashed through the water to the stern, and here was Corrigan in the act of drowning our late host a good deal as one would drown a dog.

I grabbed him by the shoulder, and hauled him to his feet, when up came the limp body of Rodonoff, Corrigan's two muscular hands gripping him by the throat. The Russian's eyes were closed, and for an instant I thought that he was dead.

“Hold on!” said I. “You don't need to drown the fellow.”

“Aw, why not?” growled Corrigan. “Drownin's too good fer dis purp. Did you hear de way he spoke to Concha?”

“Give him here,” said I sternly, “and stand by to lam the first man of the crew that dares to move.”

But there was no fight left in the crew after the way in which we had laid them out. One man was, in fact, unconscious, and lay in a huddled heap in the bottom, breathing stertorously. The other three were peering up fearsomely at Watkins, who was brandishing his oar, the sand flying in showers from his muscular torso, giving out a steady patter of threats and curses. He looked like some prehistoric cave man.

I dragged the limp form of Rodonoff up onto the beach, and started to drain the water out of him. Presently his body heaved convulsively, aiding my efforts to rid it of the brine. I rolled him onto his back, and examined his face. It was very pale, and there was a gash at the side of his temple, made no doubt by Corrigan's heavy seal ring. He began to gasp for breath, then opened his eyes.

“Well,” said I, “you're a nice sort of a host, aren't you?”

He stared at me for an instant, then groaned.

“Serves me right,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.

“There's no mistake about that,” said I. “Now you lie there, and try to behave yourself. If you make one shady move I'll smash your head in.”

Glancing at the boat, I saw that Corrigan had relieved Watkins, oar, curses, and all, while the sailor was deftly binding the disgusted crew. Not the slightest protest did they make, either by voice or action, in which they were wise. But I fancied that aside from their fear the stolid but honest fellows had no heart to resist. They had no doubt hated the business from the start, and were perhaps content to escape a compulsory act of piracy.

The most cheerful member of our party was Concha, who was skipping about like a delighted child. I had, in fact, caught a glimpse of her during the scrimmage, hopping up and down, and clapping her hands like a child at a pantomime. I am afraid that Concha was not an ultra-civilized product of our new possessions.

Glancing back at Rodonoff I saw that he had raised himself on one elbow, and as his eyes met mine he actually grinned, in a shamefaced way.

“Well,” said I, “and what do you think of yourself now?”

“I fancy I lose,” he replied, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Will Serge and Boris make trouble for us when we go aboard?” I asked, for I had already observed that the two old chaps were not in the boat's crew.

“No blooming fear. They refused point-blank to have any hand in the business—and I imagine they were right.”

“Will you give me your word not to make any more of a row? Or shall I have to tie you up, like the others?”

“I'll be good. I know when I have got enough.”

“You don't appear as much ashamed of yourself as you might be,” I said, looking at him doubtfully.

“Oh, there's nothing to complain of on that score,” he answered quietly. “What are you up to now?”

“We are going back aboard the yacht,” I told him. “How is Miss Halstead?”

For the first time a look of real shame and remorse crossed his pallid face. He dropped his gaze.

“Furious—as well she might be,” he said. “Aside from that, she's none the worse. I haven't seen her since I went back aboard and told her my plan. She went below and locked herself in her room. Wouldn't answer me. I say, professor—I think I must have been off my head.”

“Sure of it,” said I.

Concha had gone to fetch our outer garments. We all looked at each other rather foolishly, and Watkins broke suddenly into a roar of laughter. Then we washed off the sand, and struggled into our shirts.

“What now?” Watkins asked.

Rodonoff had pulled himself together, and was standing, none too steadily, on his feet.

“See here, you chaps,” said he, “I've been a bit balmy, but Doctor Corrigan seems to have brought back my reason with his hydropathic cure. It served me jolly well right, and I don't bear any malice. Now, let's make the best of a bad business, and carry out our first plan. When we get back to Manila, if you want to have me up for piracy and abduction you are free to do so. To tell the honest truth, I'm jolly glad this business has turned out as it has. I couldn't have pulled it off, anyhow. My crowd has been in a state bordering on mutiny all day, and I doubt that they would have sailed off and left you here. I'm downright sorry, and ashamed of the whole silly business, and I really believe that I was off my chump.”

“Let's let bygones be bygones,” said Watkins; “that's why I s'y. Count Rodonoff 'ad a touch of sun—eh, what?”

“That seems the best way to look at it,” said I. “Come, let's got out of this; it's growing late.”

Rodonoff walked with us to the grotto, and we four men carried down the rest of the ingots, and stowed them in the boat. At the last moment I missed Concha, and, looking across the little cove, saw her on her knees beside the lonely grave. Corrigan ran around to join her, and presently the two returned hand in hand under the purpling cliffs. As they joined us I noticed that Concha's eyes were still wet, and there was an expression on her face such as I had never seen there before.

“I have been making some vows,” said she, then turned to Corrigan, put her arms about his neck, and stood for a moment with her forehead resting against his shoulder. He lifted her chin and kissed her.

We got into the boat, when Watkins, at a sign from me, drew the edge of his knife across the lashings which bound the sailors. Not a man was hurt, though all showed bruises. Rodonoff gave a brief order when we shoved off, and headed away from the little island which had been the scene of such primitive passions.

As we rounded up alongside of the yacht, old Serge, with a gloomy but expressionless face, came to the side with his boat hook. We went up the ladder in silence, when the boat was hooked on, hoisted, and secured for sea.

I went immediately below, and tapped on the door of Alfrithe's stateroom.

“It is Jim,” I said. “Everything is all right, dear. Rodonoff has come to his senses.”

There came from inside a sudden rustle, a low, gasping breath, and the door was opened. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Alfrithe, with a pale face and bright eyes, looked at me eagerly. I dropped my two hands on her shoulders, and drew her to me, shocked at the haggard lines about her eyes.

And then a wonderful thing happened, for all at once I felt her arms about my neck, and her sweet face crushed to mine, and instead of the comforting, brotherly kiss which I had often given her I felt a pair of hot, quivering lips against my own, and my face wet with her tears. Tighter and tighter she clung, her lithe body quivering in my arms—until suddenly, as though some opaque curtain had been raised, I found myself looking with awe and rapture straight into such a heaven world as I had never been able to imagine. It was overpowering, and for an instant or two I was like a person in a trance.

Yet, in that moment, I realized fully that I had loved Alfrithe from our first meeting, when she came to us as a shy and timorous little stranger of twelve years, sensitive, self-suppressed, and suffering an anguish of dread of possible rebuffs from the sister and the big, new brother whose blood was not of hers.

In this brief second, when I was in my trance state, as one might say, tableaux of our past flitted before my eyes with a swift distinctness such as my rather heavy nature had never experienced, even in dreams and moments of danger.

I am absolutely truthful when I say that I had never thought of Alfrithe as a mate; she seemed always to me as one destined for some brilliant future such as it was impossible to include in the life scheme of a pedantic tutor of mathematics and assistant professor of engineering science.

Presently she dropped her hands on my chest, and pushed herself gently away, as if to look into my face. She must have been content with what she found, for she whispered softly:

“Jim—is it true? Are you awake at last?”

My answer must have been convincing, for a flood of what old Heppel might have called “Life Desire” flooded Alfrithe's face, and she returned to the place which was destined to become her permanent abode.

 

“If I had known,” said Rodonoff, with his charming smile, “that you and Miss Halstead were in love with each other, I would not have acted such a fool,”

“I did not know it myself,” I answered. “I have you to thank for having opened my eyes.”

He looked at me with a peculiar smile, “You owe me a lot really. I suspected, but I was not sure.”

“Of two masculine fools,” said I, “it seems to me that I win the palms.”

“I could debate that,” he retorted, “but it's hardly worth while.” He got up and turned to go on deck. “Serge and Boris have asked permission to speak with you privately,” said he, and turned his back.

There came a shuffling outside, and the two big sailors stood on the threshold, their caps in their hands, and their eyes on the deck.

“Come in!” said I. “Count Rodonoff says that you wish to speak to me.”

They came into the saloon with an air of sturdy self-respect, which I could not help but admire.

“Sir,” said old Serge, “we are very sorry.”

I did not answer.

“The honor of our master's house has suffered,” he went on, in excellent English. “We are all very sorry.”

“My friends,” said I, “there are moments in the lives of all of us when for a short time we are not masters of ourselves. The devil is always on watch, and ready to profit by a moment of weakness.”

“That is what Boris and I told each other,” said Serge, “and the gentleman is very generous to see this matter as we do.”

“I think,' I answered, “that everybody sees it in the same way. Your master is still very young, and his blood is hot and quick. At any rate, and I speak for my friends as well as for myself, there is no longer any ill will. What has happened had better be forgotten, like some bad dream.”

“We thank you, sir,” said Boris. I shook hands with them both, and they went out.

 

The rest of the tale scarcely needs to be told, as it is obvious. Nothing further happened which seems necessary to chronicle. Rodonoff is off for Borneo; Corrigan and Concha have returned to the Eastern States. Watkins is, I believe, about to form a little trading company.

As for Alfrithe, she has found her Life Desire.

1. See “Corrigan, the Raw.” First August Popular