Part 28 (1/2)

”Thank you.... You, too, are trembling with weariness. It would not do, not to go to Father Fontanel--would it?”

”No, no!”

At the hotel, Charter took a few moments to put on fresh clothing. Paula waited with Peter Stock on the lower floor until he appeared. The capitalist did not fail to see that they wanted a word together, and clattered forth to see the ”pilot of his deep-sea hack.”

”You'd better go aboard to-morrow morning,” Charter said.

”Yes, to-morrow, possibly,--we shall know then. You will be here in the morning--the first thing in the morning?”

”Yes.” There was a wonder-world of emotion in his word.

”And you will not go to the wine-shop, before you see me--in the morning?”

He shook his head. His inner life was facing the East, listening to a Skylark song.

”There is much to hear and say,” she whispered unsteadily. ”But go to Father Fontanel--or I--or you will not be in time! He must not die without seeing you--and take my love and reverence----”

They were looking into each other's eyes--without words.... Peter Stock returned from the veranda. Charter s.h.i.+vered slightly with the return to common consciousness, clenched his empty left hand where hers had been.

”The times are running close here,” he whispered huskily. ”Sometimes I forget that we've only just met. Father Fontanel alone could call me from here to-night. Somehow, I dread to leave you. You'll have to forgive me for saying it.”

”Yes.... But in the morning--oh, come quickly.... Good-night.”

She turned hastily to the staircase, and Charter's remarks as he rode townward with the other, were s.h.i.+rred, indeed....

TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER

HAVING TO DO ESPECIALLY WITH THE MORNING OF THE ASCENSION, WHEN THE MONSTER, _PELeE_, GIVES BIRTH TO DEATH

The old servant met them at the door with uplifted finger. Father Fontanel was sleeping. They did not wish to disturb him but sat down to wait in the anteroom, which seemed to breathe of little tragedies of Saint Pierre. On one side of the room was the door that was never locked; on the other, the entrance to the sleeping-room of the priest.

Thus he kept his ear to the city's pulse. Peter Stock drowsed in the suffocating air. Charter's mind slowly revolved and fitted to the great concept.... The woman was drawn to him, and there had been no need of words.... Each moment she was more wonderful and radiant. There had not been a glance, a word, a movement, a moment, a breath, an aspiration, a lift of brow or shoulder or thought, that had not more dearly charmed his conception of her triune beauty.

The day had left in his brain a crowd of una.s.similated actions, and into this formless company came the thrilling mystery of his last moment with her--a s.h.i.+ning cord of happiness for the labyrinth of the late days....

There had been so much _beyond words_ between them--an overtone of singing. He had seen in her eyes all the eager treasure of br.i.m.m.i.n.g womanhood, rising to burst the bonds of repression for the first time.

Dawn was a far voyage, but he settled himself to wait with the will of a weathered voyager whose heart feels the hungry arms upon the waiting sh.o.r.e.

The volcano lost its monstrous rhythm again, and was ripping forth irregular crashes. Father Fontanel awoke and the _Rue Victor Hugo_ became alive with voices, aroused by the rattling in the throat of the mountain. Charter went into the room where the priest lay.

”Come, Father,” he said, ”We have waited long for you. I want you to go out to the s.h.i.+p for the rest of the night. You must breathe true air for an hour. Do this for me.”

”Ah, my son!” the old man murmured, drawing Charter's head down to his breast. ”My mind was clouded, and I could not see you clearly in the travail of yesterday.”

”Many of your people are in Fort de France, Father,” the young man added. ”They will be glad to see you. Then you may come back here--even to-morrow, if you are stronger. Besides, the stalwart friend who has done so much for your people, wants you one night on his s.h.i.+p.”

”Yes, my son.... I was waiting for you. I shall be glad to breathe the dawn at sea.”

Peter Stock pressed Charter's hand as they led Father Fontanel forth.