Angel Island

The men stared for an instant, petrified. Then panic broke. "Come back,

Lulu!" Honey yelled. "Come back!" "Julia!" Billy called hoarsely,

"Julia! Julia! Julia!" He went on calling her name as if his senses had

left him. Pete's lips moved. Words came, but no voice; he stood like a

statue, whispering. Merrill remained silent; obviously he could not even

whisper; his was the silence of paralysis. Addington, on the other hand,

was all voice. "Oh, my God!" he cried. "Don't leave me, Peachy! Don't

leave me! Peachy! Angela! Peachy! Angela!" His voice ascended on the

scale of hysteric entreaty until he screeched. "Don't leave me! Don't

leave me!" He fell to his knees and held out his arms; the tears poured

down his face.

The women heard, turned, flew back. Holding themselves above the men's

heads, they fluttered and floated. Their faces were working and the

tears flowed freely, but they kept their eyes steadily fixed on Julia,

waiting for command.

Julia was ghastly. "Shall Angela fly?" she asked. And it was as though

her voice came from an enormous distance, so thin and expressionless and

far-away had it become.

"Anything!" Addington said. "Anything! Oh, my God, don't leave us!"

Julia said something. Again this word was in their own language and

again it was a word of command. But emotion had come into her voice -

joy; it thrilled through the air like a magic fluid. The women sank

slowly to earth. In another instant the two forces were in each other's

arms.

"Billy," Julia said, as hand in hand they struck into one of the paths

that led to the jungle, "will you marry me?"

Billy did not answer. He only looked at her.

"When?" he said finally. "To-morrow?"

"To-day," Julia said.

Sunset on Angel Island.

The Honeymoon House thrilled with excitement. At intervals figures

crowded to the narrow door; at intervals faces crowded in the narrow

window. Sometimes it was Lulu, swollen and purple and broken with

weeping. Sometimes it was Chiquita, pale and blurred and sagging with

tears. Often it was Peachy, whose look, white and sodden, steadily

searched the distance. Below on the sand, Clara, shriveled, pinched,

bent over, her hands writhing in and out of each other's clasp, paced

back and forth, her eye moving always on the path. Suddenly she stopped

and listened. There came first a faint disturbance of the air, then

confusion, then the pounding of feet. Angela, white-faced, frightened,

appeared, flying above the trail. "I found him," she called. Behind came

Billy, running. He flashed past Clara.