“Had she been the woman of your choice,” I said, “I should have been even more pleased to have had a part in her rescue than had she been the daughter of a dozen jongs.”
“That is nice of you,” he replied, “but do not let other Vepajans hear you say such things. You have told me of the divinities of that strange world from which you come; the persons of the jong and his children are similarly sacred to us.”
“Then, of course, they shall be sacred to me,” I assured him.
“By the way, I have word for you that should please you—a Vepajan would consider it a high honor. Duare desires to see you, that she may thank you personally. It is irregular, of course; but then circumstances have rendered strict adherence to the etiquette and customs of our country impracticable, if not impossible. Several hundred men already have looked upon her, many have spoken to her, and nearly all of them were enemies; so it can do no harm if she sees and speaks with her defenders and her friends.”
I did not understand what he was driving at, but I assented to what he had said and told him that I would pay my respects to the princess before the day was over.
I was very busy; and, if the truth must be told, I was not particularly excited about visiting the princess. In fact, I rather dreaded it, for I am not particularly keen about fawning and kotowing to royalty or anything else; but I decided that out of respect for Kamlot’s feelings I must get the thing over as soon as possible, and after he had left to attend to some duty, I made my way to the quarters allotted to Duare on the second deck.
The Amtorians do not knock on a door—they whistle. It is rather an improvement, I think, upon our custom. One has one’s own distinctive whistle. Some of them are quite elaborate airs. One soon learns to recognize the signals of one’s friends. A knock merely informs you that someone wishes to enter; a whistle tells you the same thing and also reveals the identity of your caller.
My signal, which is very simple, consists of two short low notes followed by a higher longer note; and as I stood before the door of Duare and sounded this, my mind was not upon the princess within but upon another girl far away in the tree city of Kooaad, in Vepaja. She was often in my mind—the girl whom I had glimpsed but twice, to whom I had spoken but once and that time to avow a love that had enveloped me as completely, spontaneously, and irrevocably as would death upon some future day.
In response to my signal a soft, feminine voice bade me enter. I stepped into the room and faced Duare. At sight of me her eyes went wide and a quick flush mounted her cheeks. “You!” she exclaimed.
I was equally dumbfounded—she was the girl from the garden of the jong!
XII
“A Ship!”
What a strange contretemps! Its suddenness left me temporarily speechless; the embarrassment of Duare was only too obvious. Yet it was that unusual paradox, a happy contretemps—for me at least.
I advanced toward her, and there must have been a great deal more in my eyes than I realized, for she shrank back, flushing even more deeply than before.
“Don’t touch me!” she whispered. “Don’t dare!”
“Have I ever harmed you?” I asked.
That question seemed to bring her confidence. She shook her head. “No,” she admitted, “you never have—physically. I sent for you to thank you for the service you have already rendered me; but I did not know it was you. I did not know that the Carson they spoke of was the man who—” She stopped there and looked at me appealingly.
“The man who told you in the garden of the jong that he loved you,” I prompted her.
“Don’t!” she cried. “Can it be that you do not realize the offensiveness, the criminality of such a declaration?”
“Is it a crime to love you?” I asked.
“It is a crime to tell me so,” she replied with something of haughtiness.
“Then I am a confirmed criminal,” I replied, “for I cannot help telling you that I love you, whenever I see you.”
“If that is the case, you must not see me again, for you must never again speak those words to me,” she said decisively. “Because of the service you have rendered me, I forgive you your past offenses; but do not repeat them.”
“What if I can’t help it?” I inquired.
“You must help it,” she stated seriously; “it is a matter of life and death to you.”
Her words puzzled me. “I do not understand what you mean,” I admitted.
“Kamlot, Honan, any of the Vepajans aboard this ship would kill you if they knew,” she replied. “The jong, my father, would have you destroyed upon our return to Vepaja—it would all depend upon whom I told first.”
I came a little closer to her and looked straight into her eyes. “You would never tell,” I whispered.
“Why not? What makes you think that?” she demanded, but her voice quavered a little.
“Because you want me to love you,” I challenged her.
She stamped her foot angrily. “You are beyond reason or forbearance or decency!” she exclaimed. “Leave my cabin at once; I do not wish ever to see you again.”
Her bosom was heaving, her beautiful eyes were flashing, she was very close to me, and an impulse seized me to take her in my arms. I wanted to crush her body to mine, I wanted to cover her lips with kisses; but more than all else I wanted her love, and so I restrained myself, for fear that I might go too far and
