A fight for a throne

Front matter

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Chap..__ . Copyright No.

Chapter I. A Wreck, A Bit Of Color, And The Tide

Stephen Kenwood sent the prow of his boat hard upon the slanting sand of Water Island, and leaping quickly ashore, drew the light craft high and dry. The waters of Great South Bay lapped lazily along the sand, while across the dunes, beyond a stunted growth of green, the restless ocean reared its ceaseless breakers and dashed them upon the whitened beach. Kenwood made fast to a piece of heavy driftwood now buried deep in the sand ; then, with his easel, chair, and umbrella tucked under his arm, he hurried across the dunes. When he reached the wide beach he turned to the eastward, and on the firmer sand, quickened his step. Occasionally he paused, and standing upon some natural eminence, peered eagerly before him along the shore. At first he seemed to meet with disappointment, but presently the sealine curved sharply, revealing a longer stretch of beach, and

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in the distance, the object of his search, the wreck of a huge iron steamer lying, now a misshapen mass, almost within a biscuit toss of the shore. He wished to catch and transfer to his canvas the spirit, while it was upon him, of this huge thing of the sea, at rest after storm and disaster.

j Soon he reached a suitable position, and pitching his easel, fell rapidly to his work. For an hour he toiled on, not pausing; then he left his easel, and going back toward the interior, just within the line of stunted growth which skirted the beach, examined the scene in its larger view. The abandoned vessel lay almost upon even keel, though deep in the sand, her side turned toward the shore, the stern nearer. The stretch of water between the nearer part of the wreck and the shore was visibly widening as the tide advanced. At low tide it might be crossed dry shod by means of a pathway of stones and bowlders which some thoughtful visitor, with infinite pains, had placed there. The pathway or bridge led to the foot of a rough ladder which made a way up the rusty, battered side of the vessel to the broken bulwarks and the deck.

When he had finished his observations Kenwood would have returned to his easel and the sketch, but now he caught sight of a bit of color,

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moving just beyond what remained of the steamer’s deck house. As he caught sight of it it seemed to be approaching the shoreward end of the wreck, and in a moment it was clear that it constituted the ornamentation of a woman’s hat. In another moment Kenwood saw a trim figure standing at the stern of the vessel, clinging for steadiness and support to a part of the broken railing. She seemed to have observed Kenwood, and he fancied that she intended to address him, but instead she turned, and still holding to the ironwork as she proceeded, made her way carefully across to the place where the ladder stood.

She peered with evident anxiety over the side to the water below. The water now covered the stones of the bridge to a considerable depth, and even a part of the ladder was submerged. As Kenwood watched he hesitated, hardly knowing whether or not to offer assistance to her; indeed a method of rendering it did not come readily to his mind.

Meanwhile the girl was growing clearly impatient and again Kenwood fancied that she was about to appeal to him for aid. Therefore he walked to the edge of the water where the stones began.

“You could not possibly cross,” he shouted to

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her. The words sounded wretchedly inadequate, but they were the first which came to him. He now could see her face quite clearly. It was the face of a girl of twenty, dark, delicate of feature, and wonderfully beautiful. Her figure was tall and shapely, and, though slender, it gave an impression of extreme physical strength. When she answered her voice carried across the water with ['perfect clearness, though she seemed to speak quite without effort. Kenwood noted the vocal excellence with the same sense of gratification with which the perfection of her beauty had filled him.

“I seem to be trapped here,” she said, ”1 had forgotten the tide. Is there any way by which I can come ashore?”

“If you wait until the tide goes out — ” began Kenwood.

“How long will that be?”

“Well, a long time.”

“How long?” she was increasingly impatient.

Kenwood made a rapid calculation.

“Nearly seven hours,” he said.

The look of anxiety on the girl’s face now changed rapidly to one of determination.

“I cannot wait seven hours,” she said quite firmly, “I cannot wait two hours.”

She looked at Kenwood with expectant eyes.

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The determination was the woman’s, but the achievement was for the man. The expectant eyes demanded an effort.

“It is pretty deep,” Kenwood said weakly, “but if you don’t mind a wetting I think I can fetch you.’’

She seemed to consider for a moment, but not favorably.

“Do, please, think of something else,’’ she said.

Kenwood looked up and down the beach and across the island to the bay, but no cheering object met his anxious gaze. The whole island seemed to be deserted. The dunes lay white and bare to the east and to the west. Not a person was in sight except the impatient girl on the wreck. There was not even a building.

“If you cannot help me, I shall swim ashore,’’ called the girl, “do please hurry. It is — important.’’ She spoke the last word with grave emphasis. An idea now flashed across the consciousness of Kenwood and he welcomed it, although it involved an almost infinite labor.

“I will bring my boat,’* he shouted.

Relief and joy made her radiant.

“Oh!” she cried, “can you?”

“It is there on the shore of the bay,” he said. “I will have to drag it across the sand. It may take some time.”

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“And it will be bard, too; I am truly sorry, but do, please, hurry.* *

It was no slight matter, light as it was, to drag the boat over the deep sand from shore to shore, but Kenwood accomplished it. The launching of the craft in the lea of the wreck was brought about at length, despite the occasional breakers which found their way into the half-sheltered place. Kenwood rowed to the ladder, which the girl descended, and watching a favorable opportunity, he reached the shore with a few quick strokes and assisted her out upon the beach.

During this difficult and somewhat hazardous manceuvering they had exchanged hardly a word; but when they were safely ashore, and the boat had been drawn up upon the beach, the girl held out her hand quite frankly^to Kenwood.

“You have done me a great service,’ * she said simply, “and I thank you.”

If she had been impatient, almost imperious in the beginning, she was bewitchingly gracious now, and Kenwood, because he was young and she was beautiful, quite forgot his sketch and his labor and felt himself amply rewarded.

As she spoke her thanks the girl looked at him with large, serious, dark eyes. Her manner of speech and gesture was curiously direct and vigorous.

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“We will rest a minute, if you like, and then I will help you take your boat back,” she said, after Kenwood had made acknowledgment of her gratitude.

He glanced at her, but she seemed to be perfectly in earnest.

“I think I can manage it without that,” he said, laughing.

“Oh, but I mean it; I insist upon it.”

“Nonsense!”

“But I desire it; I do indeed.”

“Very well,” said Kenwood. [He threw out the long rope which was attached to the bow and together they began by means of it to drag the boat toward the bay. Halfway across they stopped to rest, and the girl seated herself in the stern. He made as if to go on, with her riding so, but she stopped him with a gesture. He came and leaned upon the side of the boat near her.

“This is a curious idea, your wanting to help drag the boat across,” he said.

“It was so ridiculous, my getting into that trap,” she answered, smiling.

“You must have been in the wreck a long time?”

“I was; I was watching — ” she checked herself suddenly.

There was a pause. Presently Kenwood said :

“I can take you across, if you think your — your friends have gone back.”

The girl rose, stepped out of the boat, and took hold of the rope.

“Come,” she said, “let us go on.”

The rest of the journey was made practically in silence. "When they reached the shore the girl turned suddenly upon her companion and spoke rapidly, almost excitedly.

“You have done me a great service,” she said, “and I thank you. I cannot help knowing that it seems strange to you, a mystery, that you found me there, alone, and that only a — stranger was near to help me, when I needed help. But I must ask of you a further service ; that you do not seek to know why I am here, and why alone; that you let me go without — question. For, believe me, it would be but a pitiful mystery, did you discover it.”

The earnestness of her manner was of such a nature that Kenwood answered her gravel}'. There had been almost appeal in her fine dark eyes.

“You need not fear that I shall intrude; I seek only to serve you,” he said.

She gave him a quick look of gratitude, and turning without another word, sped away to the westward across the sand dunes.

Kenwood watched her retreating figure until it was lost to view beyond the straggling shrubbery, and, after she had disappeared, he still stood, looking, his mind filled with the memory of her beauty and her grace.

The girl walked rapidly to the westward, and presently reached a small, rude house or hut, which stood back from the ocean just within the line of green. She went in and passed through the hallway to an inner room.

It had a single occupant, a gray-haired man, tall of stature though slightly stooping, and swarthy of skin. He straightened himself somewhat as he heard the door open, but when he saw that it was only the girl he sank back into his chair, disappointment showing plainly upon his face, and in his dark eyes.

“I have watched and watched, father/’ she said, as if she were pleading with him, “and I can see nothing. I am certain that they are not coming; not now, father. Pray, let us go home.”

But the man was paying little heed to her.

“They will come in good time,” he said cheerfully. “They will come.”

“Father, come with me ; come home with me. ”

He did not answer her, though he took her hand and stroked it gently.

“ Did you look far out, far away, over the bar?” he asked wistfully.

“Yes, yes, but I could see nothing. They will not come; oh, I am sure they will not.”

“They will come — in good time, ” repeated the man. But he went to a window and looked out across the waters, still wistfully.

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Chapter II. The House On The Dunes

Kenwood failed to complete his sketch during the afternoon, and, as he had often done before, he determined to camp for the night on the island, using his boat, half-overturned, for a shelter. He prepared himself a simple meal from the store which he carried in his locker, and after he had eaten, rolled himself up in a blanket and fell asleep. He awoke with a start, and, crawling out from the shelter of his boat, sat upright, looking about him with the bewilderment which so often accompanies a sudden awakening from a deep sleep. In his mind the impression was uppermost that he had been awakened by a voice, and that the voice was that of the girl whom he had assisted from the wreck in the morning. As his senses came to him out of the confusion he tried to rid himself of this impression, for it seemed to him quite improbable; but it continued distinct and vivid. Everything in the vicinity seemed exactly as it

IB

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had been when he lay down in the gathering darkness hours^before. The moon had risen now and was shining brightly, making a long pathway of silver out over the bay; beyond, the pathway seemed to end suddenly in a wide lake of light. The breeze had gone down and the ocean lay almost motionless across the dunes which glistened in the moonlight. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night, yet the idea that he had been awakened by the girl’s voice continued in Kenwood’s mind, and, try as he might to shake it off, it still asserted itself. He tried to go to sleep again under his boat, but his senses refused to yield, and for some moments he lay there, every nerve alert, listening. No sound rewarded his vigilance, but still he could not sleep, and with a motion of impatience he rolled out again and throwing oft the blanket, stood up, and looked about him. There was nothing to see except the bare sand lots, the stunted shrubbery, the bay, and the ocean. With the idea of quieting his nerves by a turn on the beach Kenwood crossed over to the ocean, and began walking up and down in the moonlight, listening to the washing of the ground swell and watching the play of the light upon the moving waters. There were few stars visible; one, almost on the horizon, gleamed red and distinct,

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and Kenwood fell to watching it. Suddenly he stopped short in his tracks and examined it more narrowly. He now saw that it was not a star, but the light of a passing vessel. It gave him something definite upon which to fix his attention and he welcomed it. It seemed to be growing brighter ; the vesseljsvas coming shoreward.

And now, while Kenwood was watching the approaching light thus narrowly, a single rocket was sent up from the ship. It illuminated the sky for a moment, and as it died away another rocket soared upward as if in answer. The second was not from the ship; it was from the island, from the hut which Kenwood, who had noticed it before he went to sleep, had supposed to be vacant and deserted.

The signals, for such they undoubtedly were, were understood, for they were not repeated. As Kenwood looked he saw that a single light now gleamed from a window of the hut.

The vessel continued to approach the island, and soon her dark outlines were visible in the moonlight. There was a quick movement of lights on board, followed by the launching of a small boat. Then Kenwood heard the regular swing of the oars in the locks, growing more distinct as the boat neared the shore. If he had fancied that he was witnessing the operations of smugglers, the theory was at least weakened by the rapidity with which the boat was lowered and sent shoreward. It was evident that no cargo was being brought ashore. Soon the boat was so near that its occupants could be distinguished. Besides the men who rowed there was an officer and three other persons so muffled that it was impossible to make out their appearance even as they came almost to the shore.

As the boat approached Kenwood retreated to the shelter of the low shrubbery. The three muffled figures stepped ashore when the boat grounded and the officer, who did not disembark, held a low-voiced conversation with them.

“When we want you,” said one of the men on the shore, “we will send up a rocket. Be sure that you see it, for it is bad enough to send one up.”

The three men then walked briskly in the direction of the hut. Kenwood watched them until their figures were lost in the shadows of the shrubbery; then he retraced his footsteps across the island. It was no affair of his, he told himself. It would be a mistake to suppose that he was not curious, but his training and habit did not lead him to give his curiosity free rein. Moreover, he felt bound by the assurance which he had given to the girl after his

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adventure in the morning. He therefore returned to his boat and threw himself down beneath it, determined to sleep.

"When the three men reached the hut they were admitted at once, the door being opened by a negro, who closed it quickly, as soon as they had entered. The room to which he admitted them was small and bare of all furniture, save a table which stood in a corner opposite the door. Upon this table they threw their cloaks and then waited, not without impatience, expecting direction from the negro. One of the men was an American, perhaps a Southerner. The two others were dark-skinned, with coarse, straight, raven hair and keen black eyes.

The negro disappeared for a moment, but presently he returned and with a gesture directed the three men to a door opening to the right. They advanced immediately and the American placed his hand upon the door knob.

“You first. Father/’ he said, addressing the older of his two companions.

The man bowed slightly in acknowledgment and entered, the American opening the door. The other dark-skinned one followed, and the American closed the door after them, waiting for a moment outside. In the inner room, when the two men entered, a man sat motionless in a

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heavy chair. His hair was almost white, but he sat tall and erect, and a slight dash of color showed beneath the swarthy tinge of his cheeks.

As they entered the room the two men dropped upon their knees, and approached thus, with bowed heads.

“Excellency ! ” they murmured.

He allowed them to remain so for a brief space, and then motioned to them to rise. As the ceremony concluded the door opened again and the American entered. He bowed gravely to the man who sat in the chair, but he made no other demonstration, and none other seemed to be expected of him.

The man in the chair was the first to speak. He spoke with eagerness, his eyes bright with expectation.

“Well, what news do you bring ?” he demanded.

The American turned directly toward him, and seemed to deliberate, choosing the strongest words with which to reply. When he spoke he extended his arm with a respectful, but forceful gesture.

“Peter Cajelnar,” he said impressively, “these men, your friends, our friends, have come here to tell you that everything is in readiness; all is prepared, and your people are ready to receive

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you. This is the news which we bear, which wo bear with joy.”

The gray-haired man listened with bated breath, his cheeks flushing deeper with excitement. Before he could answer, however, the door was opened softly, and the girl entered. Without noticing the visitors she went across the room and stood beside Cajelnar’s chair, throwing an arm protectingly across the headrest.

A shade of annoyance crossed the face of Cajelnar, but he took the girl’s free hand in his, and rose with grace and dignity.

“Gentlemen,” he said quietly, though there was a slight tremor in his voice, “gentlemen, this is my daughter.”

He did not notice, though the girl did, that the faces of the dark-skinned visitors grew rigid for a moment as the announcement was made. The plainer fact was that they both bowed low, murmuring words of extravagant courtesy. They then advanced toward her, the elder of the two slightly in the rear, and the American looking on with cool indifference. Cajelnar whispered to his daughter :

“Allow them to kiss your hand; it is the custom,” he said.

She did as he bade her. The first, a burly fellow, took her hand lightly in his fingers and raised it not without grace to his lips.

The elder followed and reached out his hand also to take hers. On the middle finger of the hand which he presented there was a huge ring, curiously wrought. The girl caught sight of it as she was about to give him her hand. Instead o 2 allowing the ceremony to be completed she drew back with a terrible cry. It sounded shrilly through the stillness of the night.

“Murderer 1” she said, standing before her father as if to protect him from assault.

Cajelnar started to his feet.

“What is the meaning of this?’* he demanded of the girl.

For answer the girl pointed to the hand of the elder man.

“See/” she cried, “the ring he wears. His were the people who killed my mother. See, father, you know the ring. Oh, where is Lanier, he would know it in a moment. ”

The American had moved nearer to the elder man.

“You fool, ” he said in an undertone, “what did you wear that here for. Take it off. * ’

He then approached Cajelnar and the girl and spoke with easy respectfulness.

“Your daughter has made a mistake,” he said,

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addressing Cajelnar. “The signet which Father Zanaka wears has now no significance whatever. 'It is an heirloom. The order is long since disbanded, in Yajoha as elsewhere. Surely you have had assurance enough that we come in good faith/*

Cajelnar bowed his assent, but the girl was not mollified.

“Send them away, father,” she entreated, clinging to him.

He pushed her from him gently, but with determination.

“I must talk with these gentlemen,*’ he said firmly, meanwhile leading her toward the door. “Do you leave us for a little.”

“Ah, let me stay,” she begged.

“No,” he answered, opening the door.

“Father!” she cried. But he pushed her gently before him and across the threshold, and drew the door to again. She knew that it was useless to try to resist him. She groped her way to the outer door and opening it stood in the doorway looking out into the night.

At this moment Kenwood, who had heard her cry, came rapidly across the sands. She recognized him in a moment, and closing the door softly behind her, she advanced to meet him.

“You are still here!” she cried.

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“Yes, yes. It was you who cried out, was it not? I heard you from the shore. What is it, tell me?”

“Hush!” she said, “lean tell you nothing. I — I was foolish to cry out as I did.”

“But you are in danger — in trouble ”

“My father is in danger, I can tell you no more; but if you would serve me, stay here and be ready to aid me if there is need.”

“I wish only to serve you,” Kenwood said simply. “I ask no more.”

“Then stay,” she answered.

" "Their vigil was long and silent; at last there was a sound from within and presently the three muffled figures appeared on the threshold. The signal for the small boat was given, and they disappeared in the direction of the shore.

They had scarcely departed when the two watchers saw a light approaching from out on the bay, and soon there was the sound of a boat running upon the shore. The girl gave a cry of relief and ran shoreward to meet them.

“Are we in time?” demanded Lanier, stooping to kiss her lightly upon the forehead.

“They have gone,” answered the girl, “but he is safe.”

“Thank God!” said Lanier.

“Yes, thank God,” said his companion.

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Kenwood, meanwhile, had watched the scene from a distance. Mathews, Lanier’s companion, caught sight of him now as he stood in the moonlight.

“Good heavens, Kenwood,” he said, advancing toward him with outstretched hand, “what are you doing here?”

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Chapter III. Page Or Two Of History

The girl drew near as the two men shook hands. She spoke to Mathews with her usual directness of manner.

“You know him?” she said.

“Very well indeed. He is Mr. Stephen Kenwood and a royal gentleman he waved his hand with an extravagant gesture, but his face showed that he spoke with sincerity. The girl smiled gravely.

“He has proved himself a — royal gentleman,” she said. Then she turned to Kenwood and held out her hand to him.

“I thank you for all that you have done for me,” she said softly, “and for your — consideration. These are my friends, my father’s friends, With them now we are quite safe.” She seemed to hesitate and Kenwood saw that she wished him to go.

He pressed her hand and then allowed her to withdraw it, which she did slowly.

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“I would have given my life in your service,” he said solemnly, in a low tone.

She gave him a quick glance from her wonderful eyes; it thrilled through Kenwood electrically.

Three days later as Kenwood was reading a newspaper beside a window at his club he was startled by a quick touch upon his shoulder, and looking up saw Mathews standing before him.

“I have been looking for. you, Kenwood,” he said after they had shaken hands. ”1 have a commission to execute, a most important one.”

The memory of the day and night on Water Island flashed vividly before Kenwood's vision.

“It is from — ” he said eagerly.

Mathews smiled somewhat grimly. “Yes,” he said, “it is from her. She wishes — wishes you to understand — what must have seemed to you a most curious mystery.”

“It is not necessary,” said Kenwood.

Mathews laughed. “So I told her,” he said, “but she was determined. “Come, it is a good deal of a story; let us go where we can be quiet.”

Mathews led the way. They found an unoccupied room and sat down beside a small table. While the ice melted in half-drained and neglected glasses Mathews told his story.

“Peter Cajelnar,” he began, “that is as near

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as his name can be translated into English, was king of the Yajoha Island in the southern Pacific. He was born on the island and to the kingdom, for his father was king before him, but his origin was European. Some shipwrecked traveller, I suppose, reached the island, and, as there was then little chance of getting away, married there. But that is mere conjecture. Peter Cajelnar himself does not know how his father became king. His own mother was a native.

“The old king, his father, was gifted with rare wisdom, and after awhile he built up a trade for the island. Presently they had a consul, and if the king had had his way there would have been a protectorate ; but somebody protested, and no flag waved there but the native emblem.

“If the old king was not the original European at least he had advanced ideas handed down to him, for when Peter was but a little fellow his father sent him to the Continent to be educated. The son was nearly twenty years old when he came back. You did not see him?”

“No, no; go on.”

“Well, he is worth seeing. She — Miss Cajelnar, is like him. In the later years there had grown up two pretty distinct factions on the island; those who favored the new policy of

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trade and commerce, and those who rebelled against the advances toward civilization which contact with the outside world inevitably was bringing. Naturally the first faction, having the king on its side, prospered and held sway; but the other was not weak, as it turned out later.

“When the son returned he was received with a hearty welcome by the ascendant faction, for he was one of the first fruits of the spirit of progress, and in fact the division of sentiment among the people had first shown itself when the old king had proposed to send the son, the heir to the throne, abroad.

“Since the new policy had been in vogue there had been a perpetual, and I suppose an inevitable, conflict between the growing spirit of civilization and the ancient religion of the people. Not that the old king sought to overthrow it, for he was far too wise, and besides, he probably adhered to it; it was the religion of his mother. But some of the barbarous observances he had suppressed, and, with a shrewd instinct, the opposing faction made this their rallying ground, secretly charging that the leaders, if not the king himself, were infidels.

“For two years after the return of Peter, the son, all went smoothly enough, and he grew to be so popular with the people that it was hoped

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that in time he might be able to unite the factions. He was urged to marry. The old king now was growing very old, and his counselors chose a young woman, a native, a daughter of one of the opposing leaders, and with the king’s approval, proposed her as a wife and future queen for the son.

“But Peter was not to be driven. For a time he put them off with vague excuses, and when they became insistent he married the daughter of the consul. There was much to that story, too, but I know little of it. It is the one subject in connection with the island about which none of them will talk.