The Lady and the Pirate

Silent, unsmiling, she disappeared beyond her cabin door, nor would

she eat dinner even in her cabin, although Aunt Lucinda did; and found

the ninety-three was helping her neuralgia.

I know not if they slept, but I slept not at all. The shadows hung

black about us as we lay at anchor four miles inland, silent, and with

no lights burning to betray us. Now and again, I could hear faint

voices of the night, betimes croakings, splashings in the black water

about us. It was as though the jungle had enclosed us, deep and

secret-keeping. And in my heart the fierce fever of the jungle's

teachings burned, so that I might not sleep.

But in the morning Helena was fresh, all in white, and with no more

than a faint blue of shadow beneath her eyes. She honored us at

breakfast, and made no manner of reference to what had gone on the

evening before. This, then, I saw, was to be our modus vivendi;

convention, the social customs we all had known, the art, the gloss,

the veneer of life, as life runs on in society as we have organized

it! Ah, she fought cunningly!

"Black Bart," said L'Olonnois, after breakfast as we all stood on

deck--Helena, Auntie Lucinda and all--"what's all them things floatin'

around in the water?"

"They look like bottles, leftenant," said I; "perhaps they may have

floated in here. How do you suppose they came here, Mrs. Daniver?" I

asked.

"How should I know?" sniffed that lady.

"Well, good leftenant, go overside, you and Jean, and gather up all

those bottles, and carry them with my compliments to the ladies at

their cabin. You can have the satisfaction of throwing them all

overboard later on, Mrs. Daniver. Only, remember, that there is no

current in the bayou, and they will stay where they fall for weeks,

unless for the wind."

"And where shall we be, then?" demanded Auntie Lucinda, who had eaten

a hearty breakfast, and I must say was looking uncommon fit for one so

afflicted with neuralgia.

"Oh, very likely here, in the same place, my dear Mrs. Daniver," said

I, "unless war should break out meantime. At present we all seem to

have a very good modus vivendi, and as I have no pressing

engagements, I can conceive of nothing more charming than passing the

winter here in your society." Saying which I bowed, and turning to

Helena, "At eleven, then, if you please?"