The Maids of Paradise

A little after sunrise on the day set for our first performance, Speed

sauntered into my dressing-room in excellent humor, saying that not

only had the village of Paradise already filled up with the peasantry

of Finistère and Morbihan, but every outlying hamlet from St. Julien

to Pont Aven was overflowing; that many had even camped last night

along the roadside; in short, that the country was unmistakably

aroused to the importance of the Anti-Prussian Republican circus and

the Flying Mermaid of Ker-Ys.

I listened to him almost indifferently, saying that I was very glad

for the governor's sake, and continued to wash a deep scratch on my

left arm, using salt water to allay the irritation left by Aïcha's

closely pared claws--the vixen.

But the scratch had not poisoned me; I was in fine physical condition;

rehearsals had kept us all in trim; our animals, too, were in good

shape; and the machinery started without a creak when, an hour later,

Byram himself opened the box-office at the tent-door and began to sell

tickets to an immense crowd for the first performance, which was set

for two o'clock that afternoon.

I had had an unpleasant hour's work with the lions, during which

Marghouz, a beast hitherto lazy and docile, had attempted to creep

behind me. Again I had betrayed irritation; again the lions saw it,

understood it, and remembered. Aïcha tore my sleeve; when I dragged

Timour Melek's huge jaws apart he endured the operation patiently, but

as soon as I gave the signal to retire he sprang snarling to the

floor, mane on end, and held his ground, just long enough to defy me.

Poor devils! Who but I knew that they were right and I was wrong! Who

but I understood what lack of freedom meant to the strong--meant to

caged creatures, unrighteously deprived of liberty! Though born in

captivity, wild things change nothing; they sleep by day, walk by

night, follow as well as they can the instincts which a caged life

cannot crush in them, nor a miserable, artificial existence

obliterate.

They are right to resist.

I mentioned something of this to Speed as I was putting on my coat to

go out, but he only scowled at me, saying: "Your usefulness as a

lion-tamer is ended, my friend; you are a fool to enter that cage

again, and I'm going to tell Byram."

"Don't spoil the governor's pleasure now," I said, irritably; "the

old man is out there selling tickets with both hands, while little

Griggs counts receipts in a stage whisper. Let him alone, Speed; I'm

going to give it up soon, anyway--not now--not while the governor has

a chance to make a little money; but soon--very soon. You are right; I

can't control anything now--not even myself. I must give up my lions,

after all."

"When?" said Speed.

"Soon--I don't know. I'm tired--really tired. I want to go home."

"Home! Have you one?" he asked, with a faint sneer of surprise.

"Yes; a rather extensive lodging, bounded east and west by two

oceans, north by the lakes, south by the gulf. Landlord's a

relation--my Uncle Sam."

"Are you really going home, Scarlett?" he asked, curiously.

"I have nothing to keep me here, have I?"

"Not unless you choose to settle down and ... marry."

I looked at him; presently my face began to redden; and, "What do you

mean?" I asked, angrily.

He replied, in a very mild voice, that he did not mean anything that

might irritate me.

I said, "Speed, don't mind my temper; I can't seem to help it any

more; something has changed me, something has gone wrong."

"Perhaps something has gone right," he mused, looking up at the

flying trapeze, where Jacqueline swung dangling above the tank,

watching us with sea-blue eyes.

After a moment's thought I said: "Speed, what the devil do you mean

by that remark?"

"Now you're angry again," he said, wearily.

"No, I'm not. Tell me what you mean."

"Oh, what do you imagine I mean?" he retorted. "Do you think I'm

blind? Do you suppose I've watched you all these years and don't know

you? Am I an ass, Scarlett? Be fair; am I?"

"No; not an ass," I said.

"Then let me alone--unless you want plain speaking instead of a

bray."

"I do want it."

"Which?"

"You know; go on."

"Am I to tell you the truth?"

"As you interpret it--yes."

"Very well, my friend; then, at your respectful request, I beg to

inform you that you are in love with Madame de Vassart--and have been

for months."

I did not pretend surprise; I knew he was going to say it. Yet it

enraged me that he should think it and say it.

"You are wrong," I said, steadily.

"No, Scarlett; I am right."

"You are wrong," I repeated.

"Don't say that again," he retorted. "If you do not know it, you

ought to. Don't be unfair; don't be cowardly. Face it, man! By Heaven,

you've got to face it some time--here, yonder, abroad, on the ocean,

at home--no matter where, you've got to face it some day and tell

yourself the truth!"

His words hurt me for a moment; then, as I listened, that strange

apathy once more began to creep over me. Was it really the truth he

had told me? Was it? Well--and then? What meaning had it to me?... Of

what help was it?... of what portent?... of what use?... What door did

it unlock? Surely not the door I had closed upon myself so many years

ago!

Something of my thoughts he may have divined as I stood brooding in

the sunny tent, staring listlessly at my own shadow on the floor, for

he laid his hand on my shoulder and said: "Surely, Scarlett, if

happiness can be reborn in Paradise, it can be reborn here. I know

you; I have known you for many years. And in all that time you have

never fallen below my ideal!"

"What are you saying, Speed?" I asked, rousing from my lethargy to

shake his hand from my shoulder.

"The truth. In all these years of intimacy, familiarity has never

bred contempt in me; I am not your equal in anything; it does not hurt

me to say so. I have watched you as a younger brother watches,

lovingly, jealous yet proud of you, alert for a failing or a weakness

which I never found--or, if I thought I found a flaw in you, knowing

that it was but part of a character too strong, too generous for me to

criticise."

"Speed," I said, astonished, "are you talking about me--about

me--a mountebank--and a failure at that? You know I'm a failure--a

nobody--" I hesitated, touched by his kindness. "Your loyalty to me

is all I have. I wish it were true that I am such a man as you believe

me to be."

"It is true," he said, almost sullenly. "If it were not, no man

would say it of you--though a woman might. Listen to me, Scarlett. I

tell you that a man shipwrecked on the world's outer rocks--if he does

not perish--makes the better pilot afterwards."

"But ... I perished, Speed."

"It is not true," he said, violently; "but you will if you don't

steer a truer course than you have. Scarlett, answer me!"

"Answer you? What?"

"Are you in love?"

"Yes," I said.

He waited, looked up at me, then dropped his hands in his pockets and

turned away toward the interior of the tent where Jacqueline, having

descended from the rigging, stood, drawing her slim fingers across the

surface of the water in the tank.

I walked out through the tent door, threading my way among the curious

crowds gathered not only at the box-office, but even around the great

tent as far as I could see. Byram hailed me with jovial abandon,

perspiring in his shirt-sleeves, silk hat on the back of his head;

little Grigg made one of his most admired grimaces and shook the heavy

money-box at me; Horan waved his hat above his head and pointed at the

throng with a huge thumb. I smiled at them all and walked on.

Cloud and sunshine alternated on that capricious November morning; the

sea-wind was warm; the tincture of winter had gone. On that day,

however, I saw wavering strings of wild ducks flying south; and the

little hedge-birds of different kinds were already flocking amiably

together in twittering bands that filled the leafless blackthorns on

the cliffs;--true prophets, all, of that distant cold, gathering

somewhere in the violet north.

I walked fast across the moors, as though I had a destination. And I

had; yet when I understood it I sheered off, only to turn again and

stare fascinated in the direction of the object that frightened me.

There it rose against the seaward cliffs, the little tower of Trécourt

farm, sea-smitten and crusted, wind-worn, stained, gray as the

lichened rocks scattered across the moorland. Over it the white gulls

pitched and tossed in a windy sky; beyond crawled the ancient and

wrinkled sea.

"It is a strange thing," I said aloud, "to find love at the world's

edge." I looked blindly across the gray waste. "But I have found it

too late."

The wind blew furiously; I heard the gulls squealing in the sky, the

far thunder of the surf.

Then, looking seaward again, for the first time I noticed that the

black cruiser was gone, that nothing now lay between the cliffs and

the hazy headland of Groix save a sheet of lonely water spreading

league on league to meet a flat, gray sky.

Why had the cruiser sailed? As I stood there, brooding, to my numbed

ears the moor-winds bore a sound coming from a great distance--the

sound of cannon--little, soft reports, all but inaudible in the wind

and the humming undertone of the breakers. Yet I knew the sound, and

turned my unquiet eyes to the sea, where nothing moved save the far

crests of waves.

For a while I stood listening, searching the sea, until a voice hailed

me, and I turned to find Kelly Eyre almost at my elbow.

"There is a man in the village haranguing the people," he said,

abruptly. "We thought you ought to know."

"A man haranguing the people," I repeated. "What of it?"

"Speed thinks the man is Buckhurst."

"What!" I cried.

"There's something else, too," he said, soberly, and drew a telegram

from his pocket.

I seized it, and studied the fluttering sheet:

"The governor of Lorient, on complaint of the mayor of

Paradise, forbids the American exhibition, and orders

the individual Byram to travel immediately to Lorient

with his so-called circus, where a British steamship

will transport the personnel, baggage, and animals to

British territory. The mayor of Paradise will see that

this order of expulsion is promptly executed.

"(Signed) Breteuil.

"Chief of Police."

"Where did you get that telegram?" I asked.

"It's a copy; the mayor came with it. Byram does not know about it."

"Don't let him know it!" I said, quickly; "this thing will kill him,

I believe. Where is that fool of a mayor? Come on, Kelly! Stay close

beside me." And I set off at a swinging pace, down the hollow, out

across the left bank of the little river, straight to the bridge,

which we reached almost on a run.

"Look there!" cried my companion, as we came in sight of the square.

The square was packed with Breton peasants; near the fountain two

cider barrels had been placed, a plank thrown across them, and on this

plank stood a man holding a red flag.

The man was John Buckhurst.

When I came nearer I could see that he wore a red scarf across his

breast; a little nearer and I could hear his passionless voice

sounding; nearer still, I could distinguish every clear-cut word:

"Men of the sea, men of that ancient Armorica which, for a thousand

years, has suffered serfdom, I come to you bearing no sword. You need

none; you are free under this red flag I raise above you."

He lifted the banner, shaking out the red folds.

"Yet if I come to you bearing no sword, I come with something better,

something more powerful, something so resistless that, using it as

your battle-cry, the world is yours!

"I come bearing the watchword of world-brotherhood--Peace, Love,

Equality! I bear it from your battle-driven brothers, scourged to the

battlements of Paris by the demons of a wicked government! I bear it

from the devastated towns of the provinces, from your homeless

brothers of Alsace and Lorraine.

"Peace, Love, Equality! All this is yours for the asking. The commune

will be proclaimed throughout France; Paris is aroused, Lyons is

ready, Bordeaux watches, Marseilles waits!

"You call your village Paradise--yet you starve here. Let this little

Breton village be a paradise in truth--a shrine for future happy

pilgrims who shall say: 'Here first were sewn the seeds of the world's

liberty! Here first bloomed the perfect flower of universal

brotherhood!"

He bent his sleek, gray head meekly, pausing as though in profound

meditation. Suddenly he raised his head; his tone changed; a faint

ring of defiance sounded under the smooth flow of words.

He began with a blasphemous comparison, alluding to the money-changers

in the temple--a subtle appeal to righteous violence.

"It rests with us to cleanse the broad temple of our country and

drive from it the thieves and traitors who enslave us! How can we do

it? They are strong; we are weak. Ah, but are they truly strong?

You say they have armies? Armies are composed of men. These men are

your brothers, whipped forth to die--for what? For the pleasure of a

few aristocrats. Who was it dragged your husbands and sons away from

your arms, leaving you to starve? The governor of Lorient. Who is he?

An aristocrat, paid to scourge your husbands and children to

battle--paid, perhaps, by Prussia to betray them, too!"

A low murmur rose from the people. Buckhurst swept the throng with

colorless eyes.

"Under the commune we will have peace. Why? Because there can be no

hunger, no distress, no homeless ones where the wealth of all is

distributed equally. We will have no wars, because there will be

nothing to fight for. We will have no aristocrats where all must labor

for the common good; where all land is equally divided; where love,

equality, and brotherhood are the only laws--"

"Where's the mayor?" I whispered to Eyre.

"In his house; Speed is with him."

"Come on, then," I said, pushing my way around the outskirts of the

crowd to the mayor's house.

The door was shut and the blinds drawn, but a knock brought Speed to

the door, revolver in hand.

"Oh," he said, grimly, "it's time you arrived. Come in."

The mayor was lying in his arm-chair, frightened, sulky, obstinate,

his fat form swathed in a red sash.

"O-ho!" I said, sharply, "so you already wear the colors of the

revolution, do you?"

"Dame, they tied it over my waistcoat," he said, "and there are no

gendarmes to help me arrest them--"

"Never mind that just now," I interrupted; "what I want to know is

why you wrote the governor of Lorient to expel our circus."

"That's my own affair," he snapped; "besides, who said I wrote?"

"Idiot," I said, "somebody paid you to do it. Who was it?"

The mayor, hunched up in his chair, shut his mouth obstinately.

"Somebody paid you," I repeated; "you would never have complained of

us unless somebody paid you, because our circus is bringing money into

your village. Come, my friend, that was easy to guess. Now let me

guess again that Buckhurst paid you to complain of us."

The mayor looked slyly at me out of the corner of his mottled eyes,

but he remained mute.

"Very well," said I; "when the troops from Lorient hear of this

revolution in Paradise, they'll come and chase these communards into

the sea. And after that they'll stand you up against a convenient wall

and give you thirty seconds for absolution--"

"Stop!" burst out the mayor, struggling to his feet. "What am I to

do? This gentleman, Monsieur Buckhurst, will slay me if I disobey him!

Besides," he added, with cowardly cunning, "they are going to do the

same thing in Lorient, too--and everywhere--in Paris, in Bordeaux, in

Marseilles--even in Quimperlé! And when all these cities are flying

the red flag it won't be comfortable for cities that fly the

tricolor." He began to bluster. "I'm mayor of Paradise, and I won't

be bullied! You get out of here with your circus and your foolish

elephants! I haven't any gendarmes just now to drive you out, but you

had better start, all the same--before night."

"Oh," I said, "before night? Why before night?"

"Wait and see then," he muttered. "Anyway, get out of my house--d'

ye hear?"

"We are going to give that performance at two o'clock this

afternoon," I said. "After that, another to-morrow at the same hour,

and on every day at the same hour, as long as it pays. Do you

understand?"

"Perfectly," sneered the mayor.

"And," I continued, "if the governor of Lorient sends gendarmes to

conduct us to the steamship in Lorient harbor, they'll take with them

somebody besides the circus folk."

"You mean me?" he inquired.

"I do."

"What do I care?" he bawled in a fury. "You had better go to

Lorient, I tell you. What do you know about the commune? What do you

know about universal brotherhood? Everybody's everybody's brother,

whether you like it or not! I'm your brother, and if it doesn't suit

you you may go to the devil!"

Watching the infuriated magistrate, I said in English to Speed: "This

is interesting. Buckhurst has learned we are here, and has paid this

fellow heavily to have us expelled. What sense do you make of all

this?--for I can make none."

"Nor can I," muttered Speed; "there's a link gone; we'll find it

soon, I fancy. Without that link there's no logic in this matter."

"Look here," I said, sharply, to the mayor, who had waddled toward

the door, which was guarded by Kelly Eyre.

"Well, I'm looking," he snarled.

Then I patiently pointed out to him his folly, and he listened with

ill-grace, obstinate, mute, dull cunning gleaming from his half-closed

eyes.

Then I asked him what he would do if the cruiser began dropping shells

into Paradise; he deliberately winked at me and thrust his tongue into

his cheek.

"So you know that the cruiser has gone?" I asked.

He grinned.

"Do you suppose Buckhurst's men hold the semaphore? If they do, they

sent that cruiser on a fool's errand," whispered Speed.

Here was a nice plot! I stepped to the window. Outside in the square

Buckhurst was still speaking to a spellbound, gaping throng. A few men

cheered him. They were strangers in Paradise.

"What's he doing it for?" I asked, utterly at a loss to account for

proceedings which seemed to me the acme of folly. "He must know that

the commune cannot be started here in Brittany! Speed, what is that

man up to?"

Behind us the mayor was angrily demanding that we leave his house; and

after a while we did so, skirting the crowd once more to where, in a

cleared space near the fountain, Buckhurst stood, red flag in hand,

ranging a dozen peasants in line. The peasants were not Paradise men;

they wore the costumes of the interior, and somebody had already armed

them with scythes, rusty boarding-pikes, stable-forks, and one or two

flintlock muskets. An evil-looking crew, if ever I saw one; wild-eyed,

long-haired, bare of knee and ankle, loutish faces turned toward the

slim, gray, pale-faced orator who confronted them, flag in hand. They

were the scum of Morbihan.

He told them that they were his guard of honor, the glory of their

race--a sacred battalion whose names should shine high on the

imperishable battlements of freedom.

Around them the calm-eyed peasants stared at them stupidly; women

gazed fascinated when Buckhurst, raising his flag, pointed in silence

to the mayor's house, where that official stood in his doorway,

observing the scene:

"Forward!" said Buckhurst, and the grotesque escort started with a

clatter of heavy sabots and a rattle of scythes. The crowd fell back

to give them way, then closed in behind like a herd of sheep,

following to the mayor's house, where Buckhurst set his sentinels and

then entered, closing the door behind him.

"Well!" muttered Speed, in amazement.

After a long silence, Kelly Eyre looked at his watch. "It's time we

were in the tent," he observed, dryly; and we turned away without a

word. At the bridge we stopped and looked back. The red flag was

flying from the mayor's house.

"Speed," I said, "there's one thing certain: Byram can't stay if

there's going to be fighting here. I heard guns at sea this morning; I

don't know what that may indicate. And here's this idiotic revolution

started in Paradise! That means the troops from Lorient, and a

wretched lot of bushwhacking and guerrilla work. Those Faöuet Bretons

that Buckhurst has recruited are a bad lot; there is going to be

trouble, I tell you."

Eyre suggested that we arm our circus people, and Speed promised to

attend to it and to post them at the tent doors, ready to resist any

interference with the performance on the part of Buckhurst's

recruits.

It was already nearly one o'clock as we threaded our way through the

crowds at the entrance, where our band was playing gayly and thousands

of white head-dresses fluttered in the sparkling sunshine that poured

intermittently from a sky where great white clouds were sailing

seaward.

"Walk right up, messoors! Entry done, mesdames, see voo play!"

shouted Byram, waving a handful of red and blue tickets. "Animals all

on view before the performance begins! Walk right into the corridor of

livin' marvels and defunct curiosities! Bring the little ones to see

the elephant an' the camuel--the fleet ship of the Sairy! Don't miss

nothing! Don't fail to contemplate le ploo magnifique spectacle in

all Europe! Don't let nobody say you died an' never saw the only

Flyin' Mermaid! An' don't forget the prize--ten thousand francs to the

man, woman, or che-ild who can prove that this here Flyin' Mermaid

ain't a fictious bein' straight from Paradise!"

Speed and I made our way slowly through the crush to the stables, then

around to the dressing-rooms, where little Grigg, in his spotted

clown's costume, was putting the last touches of vermilion to his

white cheeks, and Horan, draped in a mangy leopard-skin to imitate

Hercules, sat on his two-thousand-pound dumbbell, curling his shiny

black mustache with Mrs. Grigg's iron.

"Jacqueline's dressed," cried Miss Crystal, parting the curtain of

her dressing-room, just enough to show her pretty, excited eyes and

nose.

"All right; I won't be long," replied Speed, who was to act as

ring-master. And he turned and looked at me as I raised the canvas

flap which screened my dressing-room.

"I think," I said, "that we had better ride over to Trécourt after

the show--not that there's any immediate danger--"

"There is no immediate danger," said Speed, "because she is here."

My face began to burn; I looked at him miserably. "How do you know?"

"She is there in the tent. I saw her."

He came up and held his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I told you,"

he said.

"Why?" I asked. "She knows what I am. Is there any reason why she

should not be amused? I promise you she shall be!"

"Then why do you speak so bitterly? Don't misconstrue her presence.

Don't be a contemptible fool. If I have read her face--and I have

never spoken to her, as you know--I tell you, Scarlett, that young

girl is going through an ordeal! Do women of that kind come to shows

like this to be amused?"

"What do you mean?" I said, angrily.

"I mean that she could not keep away! And I tell you to be careful

with your lions, to spare her any recklessness on your part, to finish

as soon as you can, and get out of that cursed cage. If you don't

you're a coward, and a selfish one at that!"

His words were like a blow in the face; I stared at him, too confused

even for anger.

"Oh, you fool, you fool!" he said, in a low voice. "She cares for

you; can't you understand?"

And he turned on his heel, leaving me speechless.

I do not remember dressing. When I came out into the passageway Byram

beckoned me, and pointed at a crack in the canvas through which one

could see the interior of the amphitheatre. A mellow light flooded the

great tent; spots of sunshine fell on the fresh tan-bark, where long,

luminous, dusty beams slanted from the ridge-pole athwart the golden

gloom.

Tier on tier the wooden benches rose, packed with women in brilliant

holiday dress, with men gorgeous in silver and velvet, with children

decked in lace and gilt chains. The air was filled with the starched

rustle of white coiffes and stiff collarettes; a low, incessant

clatter of sabots sounded from gallery to arena; gusts of breathless

whispering passed like capricious breezes blowing, then died out in

the hush which fell as our band-master, McCadger, raised his wand and

the band burst into "Dixie."

At that the great canvas flaps over the stable entrance slowly parted

and the scarlet-draped head of Djebe, the elephant, appeared. On he

came, amid a rising roar of approval, Speed in gorgeous robes perched

on high, ankus raised. After him came the camel, all over tassels and

gold net, bestridden by Kelly Eyre, wearing a costume seldom seen

anywhere, and never in the Sahara. White horses, piebald horses, and

cream-colored horses pranced in the camel's wake, dragging assorted

chariots tenanted by gentlemen in togas; pretty little Mrs. Grigg, in

habit and scarlet jacket, followed on Briza, the white mare; Horan

came next, driving more horses; the dens of ferocious beasts creaked

after, guarded by a phalanx of stalwart stablemen in plumes and armor;

then Miss Crystal, driving zebras to a gilt chariot; then more men in

togas, leading monkeys mounted on ponies; and finally Mrs. Horan

seated on a huge egg drawn by ostriches.

Once only they circled the sawdust ring; then the band stopped, the

last of the procession disappeared, the clown came shrieking and

tumbling out into the arena with his "Here we are again!"

And the show was on.

I stood in the shadow of the stable-tent, dressed in my frock-coat,

white stock, white cords, and hunting-boots, sullen, imbittered, red

with a false shame that better men than I have weakened under, almost

desperate in my humiliation, almost ready to end it all there among

those tawny, restless brutes pacing behind the bars at my elbow,

watching me stealthily with luminous eyes.

She knew what I was--but that she could come to see with her own eyes

I could not understand, I could not forgive. Speed's senseless words

rang in my ears--"She cares for you!" But I knew they were

meaningless, I knew she could not care for me. What fools' paradise

would he have me enter? What did he know of this woman whom I knew and

understood--whom I honored for her tenderness and pity to all who

suffered--who I knew counted me as one among a multitude of unhappy

failures whom her kindness and sympathy might aid.

Because she had, in her gracious ignorance, given me a young girl's

impulsive friendship, was I to mistake her? What could Speed know of

her--of her creed, her ideals, her calm, passionless desire to help

where help was needed--anywhere--in the palace, in the faubourgs, in

the wretched chaumières, in the slums? It was all one to her--to this

young girl whose tender heart, bruised by her own sad life, opened to

all on whom the evil days had dawned.

And yet she had come here--and that was cruel; and she was not cruel.

Could she know that I had a shred of pride left--one little, ragged

thread of pride left in me--that she should come to see me do my

mountebank tricks to the applause of a greasy throng?

No, she had not thought of that, else she would have stayed away; for

she was kind, above all else--generous and kind.

Speed passed me in ring-master's dress; there came the hollow thud of

hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into the ring on her white mare, gauze

skirts fluttering, whip raised; and, "Hoop-la!" squealed the clown as

his pretty little wife went careering around and around the tan-bark,

leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, while the band played

frantically and the Bretons shouted in an ecstasy of excitement.

Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars of laughter greeted

his discomfiture when Tim, the donkey, pitched him headlong and

cantered off with a hee-haw of triumph.

Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights to hold the

audience spellbound with her jugglery, and spin plates and throw

glittering knives until the satiated people turned to welcome Horan

and his "cogged" dumbbells and clubs.

"Have you seen her?" whispered Speed, coming up to me, long whip

trailing.

I shook my head.

He looked at me in disgust. "Here's something for you," he said,

shortly, and thrust an envelope into my hand.

In the envelope was a little card on which was written: "I ask you to

be careful, for a friend's sake." On the other side of the card was

engraved her name.

I raised my head and looked at Speed, who began to laugh nervously.

"That's better," he said; "you don't look like a surly brute any

more."

"Where is she?" I said, steadying my voice, which my leaping heart

almost stifled.

He drew me by the elbow and looked toward the right of the

amphitheatre. Following the direction of his eyes, I saw her leaning

forward, pale-faced, grave, small, gloved hands interlocked. Beside

her sat Sylvia Elven, apparently amused at the antics of the clown.

Shame filled me. Not the false shame I had felt--that vanished--but

shame that I could have misunderstood the presence of this brave

friend of mine, this brave, generous, tender-hearted girl, who had

given me her friendship, who was true enough to care what might happen

to me--and brave enough to say so.

"I will be careful," I said to Speed, in a low voice. "If it were

not for Byram I would not go on to-day--but that is a matter of honor.

Oh, Speed," I broke out, "is she not worth dying for?"

"Why not live for her?" he observed, dryly.

"I will--don't misunderstand me--I know she could never even think of

me--as I do--of her--yes, as I dare to, Speed. I dare to love her with

all this wretched heart and soul of mine! It's all right--I think I am

crazy to talk like this--but you are kind, Speed--you will forget

what I said--you have forgotten it already--bless your heart--"

"No, I haven't," he retorted, obstinately. "You must win her--you

must! Shame on you for a coward if you do not speak that word which

means life to you both!"

"Speed!" I began, angrily.

"Oh, go to the devil!" he snapped, and walked off to where Jacqueline

stood glittering, her slim limbs striking fire from every silver

scale.

"All ready, little sweetheart!" he cried, reassuringly, as she raised

her blue eyes to his and shook her elf-locks around her flushed face.

"It's our turn now; they're uncovering the tank, and Miss Crystal is

on her trapeze. Are you nervous?"

"Not when you are by me," said Jacqueline.

"I'll be there," he said, smiling. "You will see me when you are

ready. Look! There's the governor! It's your call! Quick, my child!"

"Good-bye," said Jacqueline, catching his hand in both of hers, and

she was off and in the middle of the ring before I could get to a

place of vantage to watch.

Up into the rigging she swung, higher, higher, hanging like a

brilliant fly in all that net-work of wire and rope, turning,

twisting, climbing, dropping to her knees, until the people's cheers

rose to a sustained shriek.

"Ready!" quavered Miss Crystal, hanging from her own trapeze across

the gulf.

It was the first signal. Jacqueline set her trapeze swinging and hung

by her knees, face downward.

"Ready!" called Miss Crystal again, as Jacqueline's trapeze swung

higher and higher.

"Ready!" said Jacqueline, calmly.

"Go!"

Like a meteor the child flashed across the space between the two

trapezes; Miss Crystal caught her by her ankles.

"Ready?" called Speed, from the ground below. He had turned quite

pale. I saw Jacqueline, hanging head down, smile at him from her dizzy

height.

"Ready," she said, calmly.

"Go!"

Down, down, like a falling star, flashed Jacqueline into the shallow

pool, then shot to the surface, shimmering like a leaping mullet,

where she played and dived and darted, while the people screamed

themselves hoarse, and Speed came out, ghastly and trembling,

colliding with me like a blind man.

"I wish I had never let her do it; I wish I had never brought her

here--never seen her," he stammered. "She'll miss it some day--like

Miss Claridge--and it will be murder--and I'll have done it! Anybody

but that child, Scarlett, anybody else--but I can't bear to have her

die that way--the pretty little thing!"

He let go of my arm and stood back as my lion-cages came rolling out,

drawn by four horses.

"It's your turn," he said, in a dazed way. "Look out for that

lioness."

As I walked out into the arena I saw only one face. She tried to

smile, and so did I; but a terrible, helpless sensation was already

creeping over me--the knowledge that I was causing her distress--the

knowledge that I was no longer sure of myself--that, with my love for

her, my authority over these caged things had gone, never to return. I

knew it, I recognized it, and admitted it now. Speed's words rang

true--horribly true.

I entered the cage, afraid.

Almost instantly I was the centre of a snarling mass of lions; I saw

nothing; my whip rose and fell mechanically. I stood like one

stunned, while the tawny forms leaped right and left.

Suddenly I heard a keeper say, "Look out for Empress Khatoun, sir!"

And a moment later a cry, "Look out, sir!"

Something went wrong with another lion, too, for the people were

standing up and shouting, and the sleeve of my coat hung from the

elbow, showing my bare shoulder. I staggered up against the bars of

the sliding door as a lioness struck me heavily and I returned the

blow. I remember saying, aloud: "I must keep my feet; I must not

fall!" Then daylight grew red, and I was on my knees, with the foul

breath of a lion in my face. A hot iron bar shot across the cage. The

roaring of beasts and people died out in my ears; then, with a shock,

my soul seemed to be dashed out of me into a terrific darkness.