“She has told me,” replied the man.
“It is not true,” cried Mrs. Smith-Jones. “It is not true! Waldo Emerson would never stoop to love one out of his own high class. Who is she, and what proof have you that Waldo loved her?”
“I am Nadara,” said the girl proudly, answering for herself, “and this is the proof that he loved me. He told me that this was the pledge token between us until we could come to his land and be mated according to the customs there.” She held out her left hand, upon the third finger of which sparkled a great solitaire—a solitaire which Mrs. John Alden Smith-Jones recognized instantly.
“He gave you that?” she asked.
Then she turned toward her husband.
“What do you intend doing with this girl?” she asked.
“I shall take her back home,” replied he. “She should be as a daughter to us, for Waldo would have made her such had he lived. She cannot remain upon the island. All her people were killed by the earthquake that destroyed Waldo. She is in constant danger of attack by wild beasts and wilder men. We cannot leave her here, and even if we could I should not do so, for we owe a duty to our dead boy to care for her as he would have cared for her—and we owe a greater duty to her.”
“I must be alone,” was all that Mrs. Smith-Jones replied. “Please take her away, John. Give her the cabin next to this, and have Marie clothe her properly—Marie’s clothes should about fit her.” There was more of tired anguish in her voice now than of anger.
Mr. Smith-Jones led Nadara out and summoned Marie, but Nadara upset his plans by announcing that she wished to return to shore.
“She does not like me,” she said, nodding toward Mrs. Smith-Jones’s cabin, “and I will not stay.”
It took John Alden Smith-Jones a long time to persuade the girl to change her mind. He pointed out that his wife was greatly overwrought by the shock of the news of Waldo’s death. He assured Nadara that at heart she was a kindly woman, and that eventually she would regret her attitude toward the girl. And at last Nadara consented to remain aboard the Priscilla. But when Marie would have clothed her in the garments of civilization she absolutely refused—scorning the hideous and uncomfortable clothing.
It was two days before Mrs. Smith-Jones sent for her. When she entered that lady’s cabin the latter exclaimed at once against her barbarous attire.
“I gave instructions that Marie should dress you properly,” she said. “You are not decently clothed—that bear skin is shocking.”
Nadara tossed her head, and her eyes flashed fire.
“I shall never wear your silly clothes,” she cried. “This, Thandar gave me—he slew Nagoola, the black panther, with his own hands, and gave the skin to me who was to be his mate—do you think I would exchange it for such foolish garments as those?” and she waved a contemptuous gesture toward Mrs. Smith-Jones’s expensive morning gown.
The elder woman forgot her outraged dignity in the suggestion the girl had given her for an excuse to be rid of her at the first opportunity. She had mentioned a party named Thandar. She had brazenly boasted that this Thandar had killed the beast whose pelt she wore and given her the thing for a garment. She had admitted that she was to become this person’s “mate.” Mrs. Smith-Jones shuddered at the primitive word. At this moment Mr. Smith-Jones entered the cabin. He smiled pleasantly at Nadara, and then, seeing in the attitudes of the two women that he had stepped within a theater of war, he looked questioningly at his wife.
“Now what, Louisa?” he asked, somewhat sharply.
“Sufficient, John,” exclaimed that lady, “to bear out my original contention that it was a very unwise move to bring this woman with us—she has just admitted that she was the promised ‘mate’ of a person she calls Thandar. She is brazen—I refuse to permit her to enter my home; nor shall she remain upon the Priscilla longer than is necessary to land her at the first civilized port.”
Mr. Smith-Jones looked questioningly at Nadara. The girl had guessed the erroneous reasoning that had caused Mrs. Smith-Jones’s excitement. She had forgotten that they did not know that Waldo and Thandar were one. Now she could scarce repress a smile of amusement nor resist the temptation to take advantage of Mrs. Smith-Jones’s ignorance to bait her further.
“You had another lover beside Waldo?” asked Mr. Smith-Jones.
“I loved Thandar,” she replied. “Thandar was king of my people. He loved me. He slew Nagoola for me and gave me his skin. He slew Korth and Flatfoot, also. They wanted me, but Thandar slew them. And Big Fist he slew, and Sag the Killer—oh, Thandar was a mighty fighter. Can you wonder that I loved him?”
“He was a hideous murderer!” cried Mrs. Smith-Jones, “and to think that my poor Waldo; poor, timid, gentle Waldo, was condemned to live among such savage brutes. Oh, it is too terrible!”
Nadara’s eyes went wide. It was her turn to suffer a shock. “Poor, timid, gentle Waldo!” Had she heard aright? Could it be that they were describing the same man? There must be some mistake.
“Did Waldo know that you loved Thandar?” asked Mr. Smith-Jones.
“Thandar was Waldo,” she replied. “Thandar is the name I gave him—it means the Brave One. He was very brave,” she cried. “He was not ‘timid,’ and he was only ‘gentle’ with women and children.”
Mrs. Smith-Jones had never been so shocked in all her life. She sprang to her feet.
“Leave my cabin!” she cried. “I see through your shallow deception. You thoughtlessly betrayed yourself and your vulgar immoralities, and now you try to hide behind a base calumny that pictures my dear, dead boy as one with your hideous, brutal chief. You shall not deceive me longer. Leave my cabin, please!”
Mr. Smith-Jones stood as one paralyzed. He could not believe in the perfidy
