Her voice was very sweet and a little tremulous—and it is the very grace of a woman's courage that her voice tremble never so slightly. It seemed to St. George that he loved her a thousand times the more for that mere5 persuasive6 wavering of her words. And, while he listened to what he felt to be the prelude7 of her message, it seemed to him that he loved her another thousand times the more—what heavenly ease there is in this arithmetic of love—for the tender meaning which, upon her lips, her father's name took on. When, speaking with simplicity8 and directness of the subject that lay uppermost in the minds of them all, she asked their utmost endeavour in their common grief, it was clear that what she said transcended9 whatever phenomena10 of mere experience lay between her and those who heard her, and they understood. The rapport11 was like that among those who hear one music. But St. George listened, and though his mind applauded, it ran on ahead to the terrifying future. This was all very well, but how was it to help her in the face of what was to happen in three days' time?
"Therefore," Olivia's words touched tranquilly12 among the flying ends of his own thought, "I am come before you to make that sacrifice which my love for my father, and my grief and my anxiety demand. I count upon your support, as he would count upon it for me. I ask that one heart be in us all in this common sorrow. And I am come with the unalterable determination both to renounce13 my throne there"—never was anything more enchanting14 than the way those two words fell from her lips—"and to postpone15 my marriage"—there never was anything more profoundly disquieting16 than those two words in such a connection—"until such time as, by your effort and by my own, we may have news of my father, the king; and until, by your effort or by my own, the Hereditary17 Treasure shall be restored."
So, serenely18 and with the most ingenuous20 confidence, did the daughter of the absent King Otho make disposition21 of the hour's events. Amory leaned forward and feverishly22 polished his pince-nez.
"What do you think of that?" he put it, beneath his breath, "what do you think of that?"
St. George, watching that little figure—so adorably, almost pathetically little in its corner of the great throne—knew that he had not counted upon her in vain. Over there on the raised seats Mrs. Medora Hastings and Mr. Augustus Frothingham were looking on matters as helplessly as they would look at a thunder-storm or a circus procession, and they were taking things quite as seriously. But Olivia, in spite of the tragedy that the hour held for her, was giving the moment its exact value, guiltless of the feminine immorality23 of panic. To give a moment its due without that panic, is, St. George knew, a kind of genius, like creating beauty, and divining another's meaning, and redeeming24 the spirit of a thing from its actuality. But by that time the arithmetic of his love was by way of being in too many figures to talk about. Which is the proper plight25 of love.
Every one had turned toward Prince Tabnit, and as St. George looked it smote26 him whimsically that that impassive profile was like the profiles upon the ancient coins which, almost any day, might be cast up by a passing hoof27 on the island mold. Indeed, St. George thought, one might almost have spent the prince's profile at a fig-stall, and the vender28 would have jingled29 it among his silver and never have detected the cheat. But in the next moment the joyous mounting of his blood running riot in audacious whimsies30 was checked by the even voice of the prince himself.
"The gratitude31 and love of this people," he said slowly, "are due to the daughter of its sovereign for what she has proposed. It is, however, to be remembered that by our ancient law the State and every satrapy therein shall receive no service, whether of blood or of bond, from an alien. The king himself could serve us only in that he was king. To his daughter as Princess of Yaque and wife of the Head of the House of the Litany, this service in the search for the sovereign and the Hereditary Treasure will be permitted, but she may serve us only from the throne."
"Upon my soul, then that lets us out," murmured Amory.
And St. George remembered miserably33 how, in that dingy34 house in McDougle Street, he and Olivia had listened once before to the recital35 of that law from the prince's lips. If they had known how next they would hear it! If they had known then what that law would come to mean to her! What could she do now—what could even Olivia do now but assent36?
She could do a great deal, it appeared. She could incline her head, with a bewitching droop37 of eyelids38, and look up to meet the eyes of the prince with a serenity39 that was like a smile.
"In my country," said Olivia gravely, "when anything special arises they frequently find that there is no law to cover it. It would seem to us"—it was as though the humility40 of that "us" took from her superb daring—"that this is a matter requiring the advice of the High Council. Therefore," asked little Olivia gently, "will you not appoint, your Highness, a special session of the High Council to convene41 at noon to-morrow, to consider our proposition?"
There was a scarcely perceptible stir among the members of the High Council, for even the liberals were, it would seem, taken aback by a departure which they themselves had not instituted. Olivia, still in submission42 to tradition which she could not violate, had gained the time for which she hoped. With a grace that was like the conferring of a royal favour, Prince Tabnit appointed the meeting of the High Council for noon on the following day.
"May the gods permit the possible," he added, and once more extended his hand to Olivia. This time, with lowered eyes, she gave him the tips of her fingers and, as the beckoning43 music swelled44 a delicate prelude, she stepped from the dais and suffered the prince to lead her toward the banquet hall.
Amory drew a long breath, and it came to St. George that if he, Amory, said anything about what he would give if he had a leased wire to the Sentinel Office, there would no longer be room on the island for them both. But Amory said no such thing. Instead, he looked at St. George in distinct hesitation45.
"I say," he brought out finally, "St. George, by Jove, do you know, it seems to me I've seen Miss Frothingham before. And how jolly beautiful she is," he added almost reverently46.
"Maybe it was when you were a Phœnician galley47 slave and she went by in a trireme," offered St. George, trying to keep in sight the bright hair and the floating veil beyond the press of the crowd. Would he see Olivia and would he be able to speak with her, and did she know he was there, and would she be angry? Ah well, she could not possibly be angry, he thought; but with all this in his mind it was hardly reasonable of Amory to expect him to speculate on where Miss Frothingham might have been seen before. If it weren't for this Balator now, St. George said to himself restlessly, and suddenly observed that Balator was expecting them to follow him. So, in the slow-moving throng48, all soft hues49 and soft laughter, they made their way toward the colonnade50 that cut off the banquet room. And at every step St. George thought, "she has passed here—and here—and here," and all the while, through the mighty51 open rafters in the conical roof, were to be seen those strange banners joyously52 floating in the delicate, alien light. The wine of the moment flowed in his veins53, and he moved under strange banners, with a strange ecstasy54 in his heart.
Therefore, suddenly to hear Rollo's voice at his shoulder came as a distinct shock.
"It's one of them little brown 'uns, sir," Rollo announced in his best tone of mystery. "He's settin' upstairs, sir, an' he's all fer settin' there till he sees you. He says it's most important, sir."
Amory heard.
"Shall I go up?" he asked eagerly; "I'd like a whiff of a pipe, anyway. It'll be something to tie to."
"Will you go?" asked St. George in undisguised gratitude. He was prepared to accept most risks rather than to lose sight of the star he was following.
With a word to Balator who explained where, on his return, he could find them, Amory turned with Rollo, and slipped through the crowd. Having reasons of his own for getting back to the hall below, Amory was prepared to speed well the interview with "the little brown 'un" who, he supposed, was Jarvo.
It was Jarvo—Jarvo, in a state of excitement, profound and incredible. The little man, from the annoyingly serene19 mode of mind in which he had left them, was become, for him, almost agitated55. He sprang up from a divan56 in the great dressing-room of their apartment and approached Amory almost without greeting.
"Adôn, adôn," he said earnestly, "you must leave the palace at once—at once. But to-night!"
Amory hunted for his pipe, found and lighted it, pressing a cigarette upon Jarvo who accepted, and held it, alight, in the palm of his hand.
"To-night," he repeated, as if it were a game.
"Ah well, now," said Amory reasonably, "why, Jarvo? And we so comfortable."
The little man looked at Amory beseechingly57.
"I know what I know," he said earnestly, "many things will happen. There is danger about the palace to-night—danger it may be for you. I do not know all, but I come to warn you, and to warn the adôn who has been kind to us. You have brought us here when we were alone in America," said Jarvo simply. "Akko and I will help you now. It was Akko who remembered the tower."
Amory looked down at the bowl of his pipe, and shook his vestas in their box, and turned his eyes to Rollo, listening near by with an air of the most intense abstraction. Yes, all these things were real. They were all real, and here was he, Amory, smoking. And yet what was all this amazing talk about danger in the palace, and being warned, and remembering the tower?
"Anybody would think I was Crass58, writing head-lines," he told himself, and blew a cloud of smoke through which to look at Jarvo.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded sternly.
Jarvo had a little key in his hand, which he shook. The key was on a slender, carved ring, and it jingled. And when he offered it to him Amory abstractedly took it.
"See, adôn," said Jarvo, "see! In the ilex grove59 on the road that we took last night there is a white tower—it may be that you have noticed it to-day. That tower is empty, and this is the key. There may be guards, but I shall know how to pass among them. You must come with me there to-night, the three. Even then it may be too late, I do not know. The gods will permit the possible. But this I know: the Royal Guard are of the lahnas, on whom the tax to make good the Hereditary Treasure will fall most heavily. They are filled with rage against your people—you and the king who is of your people. I do not know what they will do, but you are not safe for one moment in the palace. I come to warn you."
Amory's pipe went out. He sat pulling at it abstractedly, trying to fit together what St. George had told him of the Hereditary Treasure situation. And more than at any other time since his arrival on the island his heart leaped up at the prospect60 of promised adventure. What if St. George's romantic apostasy61 were not, after all, to spoil the flavour of the kind of adventure for which he, Amory, had been hoping? He leaned eagerly forward.
"What would you suggest?" he said.
Jarvo's eyes brightened. At once he sprang to his feet and stood before Amory, taking soft steps here and there as he talked, in movement graceful62 and tenuous63 as the greyhound of which he had reminded St. George.
"In the palace yard," explained the little man rapidly, "is a motor which came from Melita, bringing guests for the ceremony of to-night. They will remain in the palace until after the marriage of the prince, two days hence. But the motor—that must go back to-night to Melita, adôn. I have made for myself permission to take it there. But you—the three—must go with me. At the tower in the ilex grove I shall leave you, and I shall return. Is this good?"
Jarvo shook his head, like a man who has thought of everything.
"Through to-morrow, yes," he said, "but to-morrow night, when the dark falls—"
"Rather," said Amory, "but how, good heavens?"
"I and Akko wish to ascend also; the prince has sent us no message, and we fear him," said Jarvo simply. "There are on the island, adôn, six carriers, trained from birth to make the ascent67. They are the sons of those whose duty it was to ascend, and they the sons for many generations. The trail is very steep, very perilous68. Six were taught to go up with messages long before the knowledge of the wireless69 way, long before the flight of the airships. They are become a tradition of the island. It is with them that you must ascend—if you have no fear."
"Fear!" cried Amory. "But these men, what of them? They are in the employ of the State. How do you know they will take us?"
Jarvo dropped his eyes.
"I and Akko," he said quietly, "we are two of these six carriers, adôn."
Then Amory leaped up, scattering70 the ashes of his pipe over the tiles. This, then, was what was the matter with the feet of the two men, about which they had all speculated on the deck of The Aloha, the feet trained from birth to make the ascent of the steep trail, feet become long, tenuous, almost prehensile—
"It's miracles, that's what it is," declared Amory solemnly. "How on earth did they come to take you to New York?" he could not forbear asking.
"The prince knew nothing of your country, adôn," answered Jarvo simply. "He might have needed us to enter it."
"To climb the custom-house," said Amory abstractedly, and laughed out suddenly in sheer light-heartedness. Here was come to them an undertaking71 to which St. George himself must warm as he had warmed at the prospect of the voyage. To go up the mountain to the threshold of the king's palace, where lived the daughter of the king.
Amory bent himself with a will to mastering each detail of the little man's proposals. Rollo, they decided72, was at once to make ready a few belongings73 in the oil-skins. Immediately after the banquet St. George and Amory were to mingle74 with the throng and leave the palace—no difficult matter in the press of the departures—and, on the side of the courtyard beneath the windows of the banquet room, Jarvo, already joined by Rollo, would be awaiting them in the motor bound for Melita.
He paced up and down the room, talking it over. He folded his arms, and looked at the matter from all sides and wondered, as touching a story being "covered" for Chillingworth, whether he were leaving anything unthought.
"Chillingworth!" he said to himself in ecstasy. "Wouldn't Chillingworth dote to idolatry upon this sight?"
Then Amory stood still, facing something that he had not seen before. He had come, in his walk, upon a little table set near the room's entrance, and bearing a decanter and some cups.
"Hello," he said, "Rollo, where did this come from?"
Rollo came forward, velvet77 steps, velvet pressing together of his hands, face expressionless as velvet too.
"A servant of 'is 'ighness, sir," he said—Rollo did that now and then to let you know that his was the blood of valets—"left it some time ago, with the compliments of the prince. It looks like a good, nitzy Burgundy, sir," added Rollo tolerantly, "though the man did say it was bottled in something B.C., sir, and if it was it's most likely flat. You can't trust them vintages much farther back than the French Revolootion, beggin' your pardon, sir."
Amory absently lifted the decanter, and then looked at it with some curiosity. The decanter was like a vase, ornamented78 with gold medallions covered with exquisite79 and precise engraving80 of great beauty and variety of design. Serpents, men contending with lions, sacred trees and apes were chased in the gold, and the little cups of sard were engraved81 in pomegranates and segments of fruit and pendent acorns82, and were set with cones83 of cornelian. The cups were joined by a long cord of thick gold.
Amory set his hand to the little golden stopper, perhaps hermetically sealed, he thought idly, at about the time of the accidental discovery of glass itself by the Phœnicians. Amory was not imaginative, but as he thought of the possible age of the wine, there lay upon him that fascination84 communicable from any link between the present and the living past.
"Solomon and Sargon," he said to himself, "the geese in the capitol, Marathon, Alexander, Carthage, the Norman conquest, Shakespeare and Miss Frothingham!"
He smiled and twisted the carven stopper.
"And the girl is alive," he said almost wonderingly. "There has been so much Time in the world, and yet she is alive now. Down there in the banquet room."
The odour of the contents of the vase, spicy85, penetrating86, delicious, crept out, and he breathed it gratefully. It was like no odour that he remembered. This was nothing like Rollo's "good, nitzy Burgundy"—this was something infinitely87 more wonderful. And the odour—the odour was like a draught88. And wasn't this the wine of wines, he asked himself, to give them courage, exultation89, the most superb daring when they started up that delectable90 mountain? St. George must know; he would think so too.
"Oh, I say," said Amory to himself, "we must put some strength in Jarvo's bones too—poor little brick!"
With that Amory drew the carven stopper, fitted in the little funnel91 that hung about the neck of the vase, poured a half-finger of the wine in each cup, and lifted one in his hand. But the mere odour was enough to make a man live ten lives, he thought, smiling at his own strange exultation. He must no more than touch it to his lips, for he wanted a clear head for what was coming.
"Come, Jarvo," he cried gaily—was he shouting, he wondered, and wasn't that what he was trying to do—to shout to make some far-away voice answer him? "Come and drink to the health of the prince. Long may he live, long may he live—without us!"
Amory had stood with his back to the little brown man while he poured the wine. As he turned, he lifted one cup to his lips and Rollo gravely presented the other to Jarvo. But with a bound that all but upset the velvet valet, the little man cleared the space between him and Amory and struck the cup from Amory's hand.
"Adôn!" he cried terribly, "adôn! Do not drink—do not drink!"
The precious liquid splashed to the floor with the falling cup and ran red about the tiles. Instantly a powerful and delightful92 fragrance93 rose, and the thick fumes94 possessed95 the air. Amory threw out his hands blindly, caught dizzily at Rollo, and was half dragged by Jarvo to the open window.
"Oh, I say, sir—" burst out Rollo, more upset over the loss of the wine than he was alarmed at the occurrence. If it came to losing a good, nitzy Burgundy, Rollo knew what that meant.
"Adôn," cried Jarvo, shaking Amory's shoulders, "did you taste the liquor—tell me—the liquor—did you taste?"
Amory shook his head. Jarvo's face and the hovering96 Rollo and the whole room were enveloped97 in mist, and the wine was hot on his lips where the cup had touched them. Yet while he stood there, with that permeating98 fragrance in the air, it came to him vaguely99 that he had never in his life known a more perfectly100 delightful moment. If this, he said to himself vaguely, was what they meant by wine in the old days, then so far as his own experience went, the best "nitzy" Burgundy was no more than a flabby, vin ordinaire beside it. Not that "flabby" was what he meant to call it, but that was the word that came. For he felt as if no less than six men were flowing in his veins, he summed it up to himself triumphantly101.
But after all, the effect was only momentary102. Almost as quickly as those strange fumes had arisen they were dissipated. And when presently Amory stood up unsteadily from the seat of the window, he could see clearly enough that Jarvo, with terrified eyes, was turning the vase in his hands.
"It is the same," he was saying, "it must be the same. The gods have permitted the possible. I was here to tell you."
"Tell me what?" demanded Amory with ungrateful irritation103. "Is the stuff poison?" he asked, tottering104 in spite of himself as he crossed the floor toward him. But Jarvo turned his face, and upon it was such an incongruous terror that Amory involuntarily stood still.
"There are known to be two," said Jarvo, holding the vase at arm's length, "and the one is abundant life, if the draught is not over-measured. But the other is ten thousand times worse than death."
"What do you mean?" cried Amory roughly. "What are you talking about? If the stuff is poison can't you say so?"
Jarvo looked at him swiftly.
"These things are not spoken aloud in Yaque," he said simply, and after that he held his peace. Amory threatened him and laughed at him, but Jarvo shook his head. At last Amory scoffed105 at the whole matter and stretched out his hand for the vase.
"Come," he said, "at all events I'll take it with me. It can't be very much worse than the American liqueurs."
"My word for it, sir, beggin' your pardon," said Rollo earnestly, "it's a kind of what you might call med-i-eval Burgundy, sir."
"It is not well," said Jarvo, handing the vase with reluctance106, "yet take it—but see that it touches no lips. I charge you that, adôn."
Amory smiled and slipped the little vase in his coat pocket.
"It's all right," he said, "I won't let it get away from me. I can find my legs now; I'll go back down. Look sharp, Rollo. Be down there with the oil-skins. We put on this Tyrian purple stuff over the whole outfit," he explained to Jarvo, "and I suppose, you know, that you can get both robes back here for us, if we escape in them?"
"Assuredly, adôn," said Jarvo, "and you must escape without delay. This wine must mean that the prince, too, wishes you harm. Now let me be before you for a little, so that no one may see us together. I shall go now, immediately, to the motor—it is waiting already by the wall on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquet hall. I shall not fail you."
"On the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquet room," repeated Amory. "Thanks, Jarvo. You're all kinds of a good fellow."
Ten minutes later Amory followed. Already Rollo had packed the oil-skins, and Amory, his nerves steadied and the excitement of all that the night promised come upon him, hurried before him down the corridor, his thoughts divided in their allegiance between the delight of telling St. George what was toward, and the new and alluring108 delight of seeing Antoinette Frothingham near at hand in the banquet room. After all, he had had only the vaguest glimpse of a little figure in rose and silver, and he doubted if he could tell her from the princess, but for the interpreting gown.
Amory looked up with an irrepressible thrill of delight. He was just at that moment crossing the high white audience-hall, the anteroom to the Hall of Kings—he, Amory, in Tyrian purple garments. If anything were needed to complete the picture it would be to meet face to face, there in that big, lonely room, a little figure in rose and silver. It made his heart beat even to think of the possibilities of that situation. He skirted the Hall of Kings, and stood in one of the archways of the colonnade, facing the banquet room.
The banquet-table extended about three sides of the room, whose centre the guests faced. The middle space was left pure, unvexed by columns or furnishing. At the room's far end Amory glimpsed the prince, at his side Olivia's white veil, and her women about her; and, nearer, St. George and Balator in the place appointed. A guard came to conduct him, and he crossed to his seat and sank down with the look that could be made to mean whatever Amory meant.
"I expect to be served," murmured the journalist in him, "by beautiful tame megatheriums, in sashes. And is that glyptodon salad?"
St. George's eyes were upon the guests, so tranquilly seated, aware of the hour.
"I fancy," he said in half-voice, "that presently we shall see little flames issuing from their hair, as there used from the hair of the ladies in Werner's ballets."
Then as Balator leaned toward him in his splendid leisure, fostering his charm, there came an amazing interruption.
The low key of the room was electrically raised by a cry, loosed from some other plight of being, like an odour of burning encroaching upon a garden.
"Why have you not waited?" some one called, and the voice—clear, equal, imperious—evened its way upon the air and reduced to itself the soft speech of the others. Silence fell upon them all, and their eyes were toward a figure standing109 in the open interval110 of the room—a figure whose aspect thrilled St. George with sudden, inexplicable111 emotion.
It was an old man, incredibly old, so that one thought first of his age. His beard and hair were not all grey, but he had grotesquely112 brown and wrinkled flesh. His stuff robe hung in straight folds about his singularly erect113 figure, and there was in his bearing the dignity of one who has understood all fine and gentle things, all things of quietude. But his look was vacant, as if the mind were asleep.
"Why have you not waited?" he repeated almost wonderingly. "Why have you not sent for me?" and his eyes questioned one and another, and rested on the face of the prince upon the dais, with Olivia by his side. The guard, whom in some fashion the strange old man had eluded114, hurried from the borders of the room. But he broke from them and was off up half the length of the hall toward the prince's seat.
"Do you not know?" he cried as he went, "I am Malakh. Read one another's eyes and you will know. I am Malakh."
As the guards closed about him he tottered115 and would have fallen save that they caught him roughly and pressed to a door, half carrying him, and he did not resist. But as speech was renewed another voice broke the murmur32, and with great amazement116 St. George knew that this was Olivia's voice.
"No," she cried—but half as if she distrusted her own strange impulse, "let him stay—let him stay."
St. George saw the prince's look question her. He himself was unable to account for her unexpected intercession, and so, one would have said, was Olivia. She looked up at the prince almost fearfully, and down the length of the listening table, and back to the old man whose eyes were upon her face.
"He is an old man, your Highness," St. George heard her saying, "let him stay."
Prince Tabnit, who gave a curious impression of doing everything that he did in obedience117 to inertia118 rather than in its defiance119, indicated some command to the puzzled guards, and they led old Malakh to a stone bench not far from the dais, and there he sank down, looking about him without surprise.
"It is well," he said simply, "Malakh has come."
While St. George was marveling—but not that the old man spoke the English, for in Yaque it was not surprising to find the very madmen speaking one's own tongue—Balator explained the man.
"He is a poor mad creature," Balator said. "He walks the streets of Med saying 'Melek, Melek,' which is to say, 'king,' and so he is seeking the king. But he is mad, and they say that he always weeps, and therefore they pretend to believe that he says 'Malakh,' which is to say 'salt.' And they call him that for his tears. Doubtless the princess does not understand. Her Highness has a tender heart."
St. George was silent. The incident was trivial, but Olivia had never seemed so near.
Sometimes in the world of commonplace there comes an extreme hour which one afterward remembers with "Could that have been I? But could it have been I who did that?" And one finds it in one's heart to be certain that it was not one's self, but some one else—some one very near, some one who is always sharing one's own consciousness and inexplicably120 mixing with one's moments. "Perhaps," St. George would have said, "there is some such person who is nearly, but not quite, I myself. And if there is, it was he and not I who was at that banquet!" It was one of the hours which seem to have been made with no echo. It was; and then passed into other ways, and one remembered only a brightness. For example, St. George listened to what Balator said, and he heard with utmost understanding, and with the frequent pleasure of wonder, and was now and then exquisitely121 amused as one is amused in dreams. But even as he listened, if he tried to remember the last thing that was said, and the next to the last thing, he found that these had escaped him; and as he rose from the table he could not recall ten words that had been spoken. It was as if the some one very near, who is always sharing one's consciousness and inexplicably mixing with one's moments, had taken St. George's part at the banquet while he, himself, sat there in the rôle of his own outer consciousness. But neither he nor that hypothetical "some one else," who was also he, lost for one instant the heavenly knowledge that Olivia was up there at the head of the table.
Amory, in spite of diplomatic effort, had not succeeded in imparting to St. George anything of his talk with Jarvo. Balator was too near, and the place was somehow too generally attentive122 to permit a secret word. So, as they rose from the table, St. George was still in ignorance of what was toward and knew nothing of either the Ilex Tower or the possibilities of the morrow. He had only one thought, and that was to speak with Olivia, to let her know that he was there on the island, near her, ready to serve her—ah well, chiefly, he did not disguise from himself, what he wanted was to look at her and to hear her speak to him. But Amory had depended on the confusion of the rising to communicate the great news, and to tell about Jarvo, waiting in a motor out there in the palace courtyard, by the wall on the side opposite the windows of the banquet room. In an auspicious123 moment Amory looked warily124 about, thrilling with premonition of his friend's enthusiasm.
Before he could speak, St. George uttered a startled exclamation125, caught at Amory's arm, sprang forward, and was off up the long room, dragging Amory with him.
About the dais there was suddenly an appalling126 confusion. Push of feet, murmurs127, a cry and, visible over the heads between, a glistening128 of gold uniforms closing about the throne seats, flashing back to the long, open windows, disappearing against the night...
"What is it?" cried Amory as he ran. "What is it?"
"Quick," said St. George only, "I don't know. They've gone with her."
Amory did not understand, but he saw that Olivia's seat was empty; and when he swept the heads for her white veil, it was not there.
"Who has?" he said.
St. George swerved129 to the side of the room toward the windows, and old Malakh stood there, crying out and pointing.
"The guard, I think," St. George answered, and was over the low sill of a window, running headlong across the courtyard, Amory behind him. "There they go," St. George cried. "Good God, what are we to do? There they go."
Amory looked. Down a side avenue—one of those tunnels of shadow that taught the necessity of mystery—a great motor car was speeding, and in the dimness the two men could see the white of Olivia's floating veil.
At this, Amory wheeled and searched the length of wall across the yard. If only—if only—
There on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquet room stood the motor that was that night to go back to Melita. Bolt upright on the seat was Jarvo, and climbing in the tonneau, with his neck stretched toward the confusion of the palace, was Rollo. Jarvo saw Amory, who beckoned130; and in an instant the car was beside them and the two men were over the back of the tonneau in a flash.
"That way," cried St. George, with no time to waste on the miracle of Jarvo's appearance, "that way—there. Where you see the white."
At a touch the motor plunged131 away into the fragrant132 darkness. Amory looked back. Figures crowded the windows of the palace, and streamed from the banquet hall into the courtyard. Men hurried through the hall, and there was clamour of voices, and in the honey-coloured air the great bulk of the palace towered like a faithless sentinel, the alien banners in nameless colours sending streamers into the moon-lit upper spaces.
On before, down nebulous ways, went the whiteness of the floating veil.
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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3
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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4
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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5
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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6
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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7
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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8
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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9
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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10
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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11
rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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12
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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13
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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14
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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15
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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16
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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17
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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18
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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19
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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20
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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21
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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22
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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23
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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24
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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25
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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26
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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27
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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28
vender
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| n.小贩 | |
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29
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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30
whimsies
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| n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 )；异想天开；怪脾气；与众不同的幽默感 | |
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31
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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32
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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33
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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34
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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35
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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36
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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37
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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38
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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39
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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40
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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41
convene
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| v.集合，召集，召唤，聚集，集合 | |
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42
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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43
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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44
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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45
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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46
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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47
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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48
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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49
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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50
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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51
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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52
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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53
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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54
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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55
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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56
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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57
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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58
crass
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| adj.愚钝的，粗糙的；彻底的 | |
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59
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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60
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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61
apostasy
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| n.背教，脱党 | |
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62
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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63
tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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64
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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65
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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66
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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67
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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68
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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69
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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70
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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71
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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72
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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73
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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74
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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75
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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76
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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77
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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78
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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80
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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81
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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82
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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83
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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84
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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85
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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86
penetrating
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|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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87
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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88
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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89
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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90
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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91
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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92
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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93
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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94
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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95
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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96
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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97
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
permeating
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| 弥漫( permeate的现在分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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99
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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100
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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101
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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102
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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103
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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104
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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105
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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107
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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109
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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110
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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111
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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112
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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113
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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114
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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115
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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116
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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117
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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118
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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119
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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120
inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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121
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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122
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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123
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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124
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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125
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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126
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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127
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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128
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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129
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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132
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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