to say nothing of little luxuries; and what I had saved up from former engagements is steadily getting less and less, and will shortly disappear. I do wish with all my heart I could get anything else, almost, rather than this wild-goose affair of Leonard’s. Yet nothing has offered itself; so what am I to do? For your sake, for the hope of being able one day to provide a home for you – ”
“Nay, Jack,” Maud interposed, with a deep flush, “do not say for my sake. I would not have you set out on an enterprise of danger and difficulty for my sake. But I see clearly enough you must do it, if it be again offered, for your mother’s sake. Yes, for hers, you must.” The girl hesitated, and it was easy to see she found it hard to say the words, but she went on bravely, “So, I repeat, if it be again offered, you must accept it, Jack. And be sure I will look after your mother, and comfort her while you are away.”
“That is spoken like my own dear girl,” Templemore answered with emotion. “Yes, I cannot well refuse; and I know I may look to you to console my mother. You will comfort each other.”
Just then they heard Leonard’s voice calling out in excited tones for Templemore. A moment or two later he came rushing out of the house.
“Jack, Jack!” he cried. “Such a strange thing! Here is our opportunity! Matava has brought some extraordinary news!”
Leonard was so incoherent in his excitement, that it was some time before his hearers grasped his meaning.
His news amounted, in effect, to this. A white man had been staying for some time near the Indian village at which Carenna and her son Matava lived; and he had had many talks with both about a project for ascending the mountain of Roraima. It being an arduous undertaking, he sought the co-operation of one or two other white men; and Leonard’s old nurse had urged him to communicate with her young master, who would shortly be in Georgetown, assuring him that he would be the very one – from the interest and enthusiasm he would feel – to join him and help him to achieve success if success were possible. Matava, who knew of Dr. Lorien’s presence in the district, had suggested to the stranger to go to see him, and a meeting had thus been brought about. The doctor would tell him the result; but the main thing was that the stranger had sent an invitation to Leonard to join him and to bring, if he pleased, one other white man, but no more. The doctor was now at the Settlement, near the mouth of the Essequibo, transferring to the steamer, from the Indian canoes in which they had been brought down the river, his botanical treasures and other trophies of his journey. If Leonard wished to go back with the canoes and the Indians who were with them, he would have to let them know at once, and they would wait. Otherwise they would be on their way back in a day or two; which would involve the organising of a fresh expedition – a matter of great trouble – should Leonard make up his mind to proceed later.
The enthusiastic Leonard needed no time to make up his mind.
“I shall go,” said he. “If you will come too, Jack, I shall be only too glad. But, if not, I may be able to find some one else; or I shall go alone. So I shall send word at once to keep the boats and the Indians.”
“But,” objected Maud Kingsford, “consider! You know nothing of this stranger; he may be a blackleg, an escaped murderer or desperado, or all sorts of things.”
“No, no! Carenna knows. She has sent word that I can trust this man, and she knows. She is too fond of me to let me get mixed up with any doubtful character. Dr. Lorien, too, and Harry have seen him, and talked with him, and think well of him; so Matava says. I shall know more when I see them in a day or two. Meantime, I shall keep the canoes and Indians, and risk it.”
Then he rushed off to have a further talk with Matava, and, as he said, see about getting the Indian “some grub.”
Jack and Maud, left alone, looked at each other in dismay. It had been one thing to talk vaguely of what they would do in case Leonard should take what at the time seemed a very unlikely step. It was quite another to be thus suddenly brought face to face with it.
Maud turned very pale and seemed about to faint. She felt keenly how hard it would be to see her lover depart upon an adventure of this uncertain character, the end or duration of which no one could even guess at. But she recovered her self-possession with an effort and, looking steadily at Templemore, said,
“What you said you would do for our sakes is to be very quickly put to the test, it seems. You – will – go, Jack?”
“Yes,” he answered firmly; “since it is your wish.”
“You must,” she answered. “It is hard to lose you; it will be hard for us both. But go – and go with a good heart. Be sure I will be a daughter to your mother while you are away.”
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips.
“For your sake, dear Maud, I shall go,” he said. “For your sake and for my mother’s; in the hope that some success may result; but not – Heaven knows – for the mere sordid hope of gain.”
CHAPTER II
MONELLA
Two days later Dr. Lorien and his son arrived in Georgetown and, after taking rooms at the Kaieteur Hotel, went at once to call upon the Kingsfords. This haste was, in reality, prompted by Harry, whose thoughts were bent upon his hopes of once more seeing the pretty Stella; but the ostensible reason that he urged upon his father was somewhat different, and had to do with the message of which they were the bearers from the white stranger they had met in their travels.
At the evening dinner the matter was discussed, Mr. Kingsford and his son Robert and the others being present.
The two travellers had much to tell of their adventures, which had been full of both interest and danger, apart from the matter of the stranger’s message.
“And yet, I think,” observed the doctor, thoughtfully, “our meeting with this stranger, and his behaviour, impressed me more than almost all else that happened to us.”
“How so? What is he like?” asked Mr. Kingsford.
“In figure he is very tall; of a most commanding stature and appearance. I am not short.”
“Why, you are over six feet!” put in Harry.
“And yet I almost think, if he had held his arm straight out, I could have walked under it with my hat on, and without stooping.”
“I’m sure you could, dad,” Harry corroborated.
“As to age – there I confess myself at sea. As a doctor I am accustomed to judge of age; yet he thoroughly puzzled me. If I could believe in the possibility of a man’s being a hundred and fifty years old and yet remaining strong and hale and vigorous, I should not be surprised if he had claimed that age. On the other hand, if one could believe in a young, stalwart, muscular man of thirty with the face and white hair of an old-looking, but not very old man, then I could have believed it if I had been told he was no more than thirty. In fact, he was a complete puzzle to me; a mystery. But the most remarkable thing about him was the expression of his eyes; they were the most extraordinary I have ever seen in my life.”
“Wild – mad-looking?” Templemore asked.
“Oh no, by no means; quite the reverse. Very steady and piercing; but wonderfully fascinating. Mild and kind-looking to a fault; and yet changing to a look of quiet, almost stern resolution that had in it nothing hard, or cruel, or disagreeable. In fact, I hardly know how to describe that look, or convey an idea of it, except by saying that it was something between the gaze of a lion and that of a Newfoundland dog. It had all the majesty, the magnanimity, the conscious power of the one, with the benevolence and wistful kindness and affection of the other. Never have I seen such an expression. I really did not know the human countenance could express the mingled characteristics one seemed to read so plainly in his – all kindly, all noble, all suggestive of sincerity and integrity.”
“You are enthusiastic!” said Robert, laughing.
The old doctor coloured up a little; then took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
“I know it sounds strange to hear an old man of the world like