The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1908-11-14
and apart, from the treasure houses of
little Basse Terre.

was IN the Swathed state which denotes
repairs, and a thickness of lint was fitted
under his collar. There was, too, drawn
look about his mouth and eyes, to which
| the recuperative forces had not yet at
tended. Negley, simultaneously bandaged,
was on the bridge, in company with new
officer, secured temporarily at Dominica.
The captain was unable to walk, but sig
nified his intention of healing above decks.
Constable was regarding the sad face be-
fore him, and the beauty of it had made
him dumb for several moments.
Lara" he said finally, well make the
pilgrimage together to Saint Pierre-or
the place."
"She was very beautiful and very
proud-our mother!'' the girl whispered
unsteadily. "She told you to leave her
therein the dark, so that we would
never see-how changed she was. know
how she felt"
Lara, Peter and Crusoe made their ar
duous way up the cluttered road into the
Rue de Rivoli. A smoky charnal, Saint
Pierre, made human only by the lamenta-
tions of those who had come down for
their dead from Morne Rouge and the
hills. The wind was still and the sun
shone through silent towers of smoke, and
it was noon. No one had spoken for sew
eral minutes. The fruit shop had fallen
in part. The stone arch remained, al
though the wooden door had been levelled
and partly devoured by fire. Crusoe re-
NAMED outside with Lara, while Peter
went in to see if the place was safe. They
heard his steps upon the stones, the rat
tie of falling plaster. The waiting was
long before he appeared and beckoned.
They followed him into the little stone
shop. A breath of GOODNESS still fingered
in the dim place, and the fruity odor of
spilled wine. The ash-covered floor was
packed hard, and still was damp from the
gusts of rain through the open door and
the broken-backed roof. Steady as clock
ticking there was heard the drip, drip"
from somewhere among the merciful shad-
ows, where the old soldier of France was
sitting.
Lara, dearest I should have spared
you this. Must you go farther! Peter
whispered. "Crusoe and l will be only
moment"
Il am going, too," the girl answered.
The three climbed over the heap of
stones, which was the rear doorway, and
entered the court from whence the song
birds had flown. Across the drifts of
ash, into the dark beyond, they made their
way, Constable leading, Crusoe last.
They were sitting together-the lovers.
She had been listening, like Desdemona,
as he ''spake of most disastrous chances
battles, sieges, fortunes" Soronia had
been the first to see the sinister face of
Iago at the door! She had bent forward
and covered in her arms the face of her
soldier, her painter of pictures.
Thus they had fallen-the adventurer in
the shelter of the golden vine. Pelee
had covered them with dust-each particle
of covering dust fresh-wrought from the
fire in which the stars were forged.
Don't touch, Cfusoe!" Peter warned.
Something in the tone caused the man
who was accustomed to do as he pleased
to forbear from his investigations. After
all, his own life had been spared because
Constable had taken him captive, and the
trip had paid Crusoe did not understand
what was between the millionaire and the
revolutionist. 1t occurred to him at last
| that this something must have been great
er even than dollars; yet he was not sure.
The look upon Constables face as he led
| the woman into the sunlight was that of
| fortunes LOST Crusoe left them there,
| and made his own way back to Fort de
| France, to wait for his ship. He was
happy to be alive, but he carried crown
| ing mystery in his brain. This had to do
with a millionaires generosity on the one
hand, and a millionaires perversity on
oil ho IoIr
that he knew less of Constable than when
| he left New York.
Peter and Lara had descended nearly
| to the shore when she said: IF your
strange friend had not come into our lives,
we could never have known, each other as
| we do now. We might have loved and
gone our way, without knowing all that
| it means to be human, without knowing
| all that our hearts could make us do"
ut all worked out like a mosaic for
! you and me, Lara. Our valiants fell about
| us, but we were left. Always in our
greatest need man arose to help-Breen,
| Negley, Ernst, little Denny"
| "Was there work for Pugh to do?" she
asked.
"Ah, Pugh-the weak sister! He kept
| you IIOm SOluS IutO Iuc udTUOT LOO SOOu
| I shall pay him and let him go his way
tonight in Fort de France. The sea is
strange mistress to mother two such
sons as the lion Negley and the poor little
| jackal Pugh! Sweetest Lady.
l am in love with you and the world
Bear witness that I forgive Pugh-aye,
forgive Mondet! See, down the Rue
Victor-the wreck of Les Colonies! The
little editor was there, perhaps, writing
his paragraphs on the stanchness of Pc
| lee! Once, Lara, my mother
said, Peter, some time you will breathe
the breath of life!' I know what she
meant now. 1 wonder how she knew?
! Mothers are close to the heart of
things"
There were tears in her eyes, To the
right of them, among the ruins, wailing
woman had found her own.
| They had traversed the Morne dor
ange. The sun bathed the fields. The
wreck of the great plantation house was
hunched closer to the ground. As he
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