Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

RONDAH;
OR,
THIRTY-THREE YEARS IN A STAR.

BY

FLORENCE CARPENTER DIEUDONNÉ.

“Rondah; or, Thirty-three Years in a Star,” by Florence Carpenter Dieudonné, is an exceedingly bright, clever and fascinating novel. It is cast in a peculiar mould, and holds the reader as much by its weird singularity as by its ingenious plot and striking incidents. The theme is mainly the strange adventures and experiences of four people, three men and one woman, who, in the midst of a storm, are cast from the Earth to a small star, which is as yet in a volcanic state and but partially cooled, Rondah, the heroine, being left behind. There they remain for over thirty-three years, during twenty of which, the winter season, they sleep, as is the habit of the inhabitants of the star, who are mostly bird people with wings. These bird people are vegetables and grow in enormous pods. The action never pauses and surprise is followed by surprise. Love and jealousy are mingled with mystery, forming a romance of decided interest and much power. The heroine is afterwards brought to the star and takes part in a number of startling episodes, notably the exploration of the wonderful Sun Island. “Rondah” is one of the best of the fanciful novels now so popular.

PHILADELPHIA:

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;

306 CHESTNUT STREET.

Copyright:

FLORENCE CARPENTER DIEUDONNÉ.

1887.

Right to Dramatize Reserved.

“Rondah; or, Thirty-three Years in a Star,” is one of the brightest, most ingenious and most absorbing of the fanciful and mysterious class of novels recently made so popular by H. Rider Haggard. It is much better than “She” or “King Solomon’s Mines,” and will give greater satisfaction. The plot is strange and weird and the incidents surprising in the highest degree. The scene is laid chiefly in a little star with subterranean volcanic fires and boiling seas. To this small planet, not yet entirely fitted for human inhabitants, some of the characters are conveyed by extraordinary means from the Earth while a tempest is in progress. Their adventures during the luxuriant summer and the icy twenty years’ winter are vividly and strikingly depicted, love, hate, jealousy and enthusiasm entering largely into their very peculiar and interesting experience. The heroine, who for a time remains on Earth, has also a strange career. She eventually reaches the star and plays a prominent part in the disclosure of the mysteries of the Sun Island, a wonderful region of marvels and magnificence. The romance is by Florence Carpenter Dieudonné, and is finely written. It will be widely read and greatly liked.

TO MY FATHER,

WHO HAD FAITH IN MY

TALENT BEFORE IT WAS PROFITABLE,

THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY

INSCRIBED.

CONTENTS.

RONDAH;

OR

THIRTY-THREE YEARS IN A STAR.

BY FLORENCE CARPENTER DIEUDONNÉ.

PART I.
ROY LEE’S JOURNAL.

CHAPTER I.
“MONARCH OF FATE.”

“Monarch of Fate is man, above all destiny. Man yet shall chain the stars; shall drive the harnessed worlds,” said Regan Farmington.

It was winter midnight in the Adirondack Mountains. Regan had brought us to the desolate hut of a hermit; we had not realized that the circumstance might be the result of design; it seemed like an accident.

We had been lost in the snow storm; the horses had failed us; even Father Renaudin, who for twenty years had not missed his smallest appointment for any hindrance, was bewildered and could not say which way to go to save us all from death.

Like a spirit of the storm itself, Regan had led us through drifted ravines and across cloudy plains until we reached safety.

The warm light of the fire fell upon a company which had never before been united under one roof.

There was Father Renaudin, the fanatical, puritanic priest of a small new sect, one which he had gathered in this wilderness. His silver hair, pale, stern face, tall, powerful form and crimson robe were vividly illuminated. Beside him sat the beautiful Isabella, with bronze hair, starry eyes, perfect face; her purple velvet robes were heavy with rich furs; her arms and hands were sparkling with jewels. A very queen of beauty was Isabella.

On the other side of the hearth was Rondah, a dull, frightened child. Her face was tear-stained and her lips were yet quivering from her recent fright. Her brown eyes were too large; her red hair was tumbling loose from its braids. Still, I must pity her—shabby, frail, in terror, but all alone among us.

Regan was there. I remember him yet as he looked then. I think I shall remember him so beyond the grave. His dark, patrician face was lighted with iniquitous triumph, which glowed beneath a mask of assumed quiet as fiery coals glow under ashes. His jet black hair clustered in rings about his brow; his wonderful, beautiful eyes scintillated scorn. It seemed to me that the life of his soul was demon-bred, but chained to certain customs of humanity, because weighted with the accident of a human body.

Regan’s name was the town’s disgrace; though so young he had no friends, accepted no truths, discarded all faiths. He talked of a Destiny, which, he claimed, blundered in ruling the universe—a creature blind and non-reasoning, of immensity itself a part; a monstrous something driven like the sun, but by some causeless motor, forever.

The storm raged on unabated. As I looked at Regan, some subtle influence seemed to stand beside me. Plain as a human friend’s, I heard its whisper:

“Duped, duped again, Roy Lee! Do you recall that this is the thirteenth of November?”

The thought chilled me—the thirteenth!

I hated Regan. He had just saved my life, but still I hated him!

Why did he listen, listen? One need not listen to hear the storm!

“Did the old hermit die here alone?” asked Isabella.

The silent form lay in another room.

“I was here. I came at the last, almost too late,” answered Regan.

As in a dream I saw that death-bed—the monomaniac lying in darkness, watched by the angel Fear, menaced by the monarch Death, waiting, waiting for such a friend of all the earth!

“When he had forgotten all else but his dream and my name, he gave me this. It is the secret of his life. Perhaps you would like to know it.”

And Regan unrolled a large scroll. It was yellow with age, mapped and covered with long lines and singular hieroglyphics.

“What does it mean?” asked Rondah.

We spread the chart upon the table to view it better.

“It contains the discovery which is the result of the observation of three generations. A circle of meteoric worlds and fragments is whirling on an elongated orbit about our sun.

“Once in thirty-three and a third years it strikes the path of the Earth. Small planets mingled with masses of chaos are brought almost to the tops of our mountains.

“Years ago the hermit devised a spiral car, which, by means of subterranean cavities, walled with cement and filled with certain explosives of his own combination, should be shot into the coming meteor. All the machinery of the contrivance is hidden and connected with a secret clock. At the precise second when the worlds strike right the clock will explode the torpedoes and the car will be launched into space!

“Twice has Gregg Dempster seen the small star, or world, come close. But he mistook his measurements, as he did not calculate for the swerving of the ball from its true orbit as it passed the giant planets out in space.

“This time he would have been successful, but he shared the great hope, which had become the nerve of his life, with another man and from the lessened tension died.”

“Right,” said Father Renaudin. “If Gregg Dempster had kept his secret, he had seen his star once more. But only then to die of disappointment. For man to migrate from star to star is an impossibility!”

Then Regan replied:

“Monarch of Fate is man, above all destiny. Man yet shall chain the stars; shall drive the harnessed worlds!”

“It is simply impossible!” repeated the priest.

From the darkness where lay the dead man came a voice:

“And I will give him the morning star!”

Then all was voiceless save the storm.

“The dead speak!” cried the pale Rondah, clasping her hands.

Isabella had been brave in all the danger. Now she rose and, with the girl as her companion, stood close to the door.

That mockery of mystery, a voice from the dead, was more terrible than anything which we were accustomed to account for by natural laws.

The rocks on which the hut stood seemed to shake and to reverberate.

“The people say the hermit spent his life in tunnelling the rocks and in watching the stars,” said Father Renaudin. “It seems as if the tunnels, if such there be, had made musical pipes of themselves to-night.”

Suddenly Regan crossed the room to where the two girls stood. Something was in his face which was terrible.

I hastily drew Isabella away from him. The other one, Rondah, looking at him, fell back from the door and cried:

“This is the day! Let us go, Regan, let us go!”

Before I could comprehend, I saw Father Renaudin move toward Regan, who, like a flash, opened the door and cast into the terrible, lurid night the girl Rondah, after which he bolted the door and steadied himself as if for a death-struggle with Father Renaudin.

Then I heard the jar of the steps of two powerful combatants, but everything was dark. There were no words until Regan cried:

“Too late! You must all go!”

A window crashed open above us. It gave us a view of a world, black with storm, ringed in by a halo of electric fire, dashing down at us—falling, falling!

The struggle ceased. We held our weak human hands above our heads to ward off the stroke of a world!

There was a smothering jar!

CHAPTER II.
WHERE?

This was death! There really was a river for souls to cross! I felt its cold! I heard its roar! Its chill waves lapped on an invisible shore! This was the darkness of the grave! Earth had not such! Where was the phantom boatman? He should be——

Where was Isabella? Where were they all? The dead could remember all they loved on Earth!

“But then,” I thought, “could the dead soul think in such an earthly fashion? Could dead hands reach out in damp, hot darkness and touch rough, jagged rocks? It seemed that spirits followed human modes!”

Then I touched a cold, still, human face, some one who moved and hoarsely whispered: “Rondah!”

“Regan, awake. We are not dead!”

I shrieked the words into a gloom so incomprehensible that I had believed it was the grave.

Regan answered in a riddle, but I thought he had not collected his senses:

“It is done! Triumph! Fate has been merciful!” He added instantly: “Don’t move! There are chasms and waters! Don’t you hear the sea surging?”

He did not think he was dead! He did not dream of a river! The meaning of his words startled me.

“Where is Isabella?” he asked.

“Pray God she may be dead!” I answered, as I realized what had probably happened.

“She is here, alive but senseless.”

The voice was Father Renaudin’s.

We found her. After a time she revived.

“Regan! Regan!” (Always his name first by everyone!) she called, in a subdued voice.

“Hush! The star is chained!” answered Regan.

Then they were both silent, both as strange to each other as if those words had had no deep meaning. But could I ever forget?—some secret they kept, something so great that a change of spheres did not affect it!

And I loved her! I, Roy Lee!

“Father Renaudin, if the cloud masses of two worlds are propitious, you can see the Holy Land soon, but you will never tread its paths! Roy Lee, look in that great moon, our lost home—Earth!—and you can locate London, where your fortunes are still, let us hope, in the ascendant! Take a farewell look, friends, for you will soon be as far from all that revolving globe contains as Heaven is removed from Earth!”

“When day comes we shall see where we are!” I answered, but I had no hope.

“’Tis very strange! This heavy air is not on mountain top! Where is the snow? This is a vast body of water, which roars so loudly and falls so heavily! I can feel these rocks, some worn smooth, some perforated, by water!” said Father Renaudin.

Can you imagine how we waited for that dawn? We scarce admitted when we knew that the darkness was paling! What were we to see? A foreign world? We consoled ourselves with the thought that in all the ages such a thing was unchronicled, and we mentally decided that it was not for a contemptible villain like Regan Farmington to solve the mystery of a universe!

No; we concluded in our consideration that there would be found some natural explanation.

Father Renaudin thought some tornado might have fallen. Time might have elapsed, which allowed rains to melt the snow. Still, even then——

Came ever dawn so suddenly!

We looked on peaked and lofty lava rocks, upon a clay-colored sea sweeping to a near horizon. Tall steepled, non-verdured isles broke the surface of the sea. The air was heavy, as if we were in a covered pit. Clouds sunk so low that we could almost touch them, dark brown and green-blue clouds, inexpressibly gloomy.

In silence we looked away from each other’s faces; each waited for some one else to say the words:

“It is a star!”

With one bound the sun rose up. Across the shimmering clouds flamed a bewildering gorgeousness surpassing description. The colors of a thousand sunsets were moving in unparalleled radiance above our heads, covering the entire field of heaven. Far, far were we from being pleased to look upon this glory! Oh! dawn of doom! Never was such a daybreak upon our own green world!

The sun rose above the banks of clouds. It sent shafts through the breaks and silvered pinnacles of rock. It marked white circles on the troubled waters. Then the day became gloomy and a storm of rain fell.

Isabella first acknowledged our situation:

“It is certainly a star! Gregg Dempster was right!”

“Poor child, I am sorry that you are here!”

It was Regan who said this, and his words were so softly spoken, so musical and gentle, that I wondered (and raged) when I heard them.

“My life’s years and toils are wasted, my creeds useless, my people lost, my mission vain! What shall I preach to stones and uncooled stars? What little good I shall do where there are only four souls in a world!”

The words were a wail of utter despair, a cry from a broken heart. It was Father Renaudin who uttered them.

“Regan, it was fiendish to doom others to share this fate with you! Why have you selected the most pious and the most beautiful for this misery? This man’s life was a holy ambition. A dull or ordinary man would have borne the change better. Isabella had all earth’s pleasures and triumphs before her; there were others who would have lost but little.

“It takes a particularly selected company to insure a great success!” answered Regan. “I have selected my people with the most special care! I could not afford to pity! If I had allowed so maudlin a sentiment to enter my soul, it would have been for Isabella!”

He laughed triumphantly. It was a most exasperating sound for a dupe to hear—the knell of my hopes, for I had much to lose. My father’s house was an honorable one, our wealth was phenomenal in the age, our ships were on all seas, our name known in the world’s marts. I had all, on Earth. Here I was a useless, helpless dupe—I, Roy Lee!

“It is all too terrible to be true!” said I.

“You who claim such faith in an infinite Jehovah are easily depressed!” sneered Regan. “Possibly your Deity has forgotten you! I prefer to trust to blind, blundering Destiny, that soul of universes! She has neither lost nor forsaken this atom of the creation, this little star islanded in space!”

Father Renaudin rose and went slowly away into the gloomy ravines. He moved as if half a century had been added to his years, leaning heavily upon his staff. His face was drawn and dreadful to look upon.

“Follow him!” said Isabella, hurriedly. “He will destroy himself!”

“Oh! no,” coolly replied Regan. “He is a fanatic. He believes that something almighty has great need of his human services. His narrow-fenced faith will hold him fast. His heart may break, but his soul will stand firm through every trial. These earthly superstitions are very comfortable possessions!”

“I am very, very sorry for him!” whispered Isabella, turning to me; but she listened to Regan as if he had authority. I wondered why! What possible regard could that wealthy, beautiful girl of high caste have for that vagabond Regan?

Then I remembered that caste was gone. We were transferred to the Age of Stone. We could select a cave, build a hearth of rocks, fry a fish and sleep. Wake, fry more fish; after years enough had passed we could die! Horrible!

I rose and walked about to wake myself. It might be all a dream. It must be all a dream!

In the sunlight above the clouds I saw Father Renaudin standing upon the summit of a peak. His white hair was blown on the wind; it looked like silver.

Isabella had not spoken one word of regret. There was no sorrow in her eyes, no apprehension in her manner. She was as composed as if the inevitable had occurred.

Father Renaudin and I blamed Regan, and we had expressed our blame in strong words. She said nothing. I went to her side and said to her:

“How can you be so quiet? Do you realize your fate, your loneliness?”

“It is worth loneliness to be the only woman in a world!” she replied.

The cold, hopeless acceptance of her tone shocked me immeasurably. Another thought! True, a world was in our possession!

The sun had passed the noon mark when Father Renaudin came down the hills. A wonderful peace was on his face; a strange delight was in his eyes.

“Earth has not all she needs. We can learn faster here!” he replied to our wondering comments.

“He thinks he has seen another vision, I believe!” whispered Isabella.

“No; he thinks nothing! Father Renaudin is of the mould of that humanity which does see visions if ever they are seen!” said Regan.

Just then we saw the great world rise up—a fiery globe, where dimly emerald and palely blue were lands and seas. The continents turned before our eyes. The light of this giant moon made it still day for us, though our sun had set.

Oh! grand, great world! I cast myself upon the rocks in agony that it was lost, lost! Something was whispering in my ear:

“Duped, duped, duped again, Roy Lee!”

“My son,” and Father Renaudin laid his hand gently upon my shoulder, “do not let sorrow overcome you. It is nothing. Only a human life lost. A sort of death has come. It is a kind death—removal from temptation, from necessity to sin; a respite for glorious work; the chance for a higher place in eternity.”

“A world unfinished; seas simmering over primeval fires. A baby world, devoid of great opportunity. It is as Regan says. God, if God there be, has forgotten us!”

“Not so, not so! Being here, God’s work for us is here. Shall we not do it? Rise up! Shake off your grief, apply your wonderful ability, your great practical knowledge, to the improvement of the sphere!”

His voice was as a song of triumph, a chant of victory!

As I rose to my feet, Regan sprung lightly past me. He took his stand upon a huge square rock; from his cloak he drew a large silken banner wrought with a showy design in red and gold. He shook its folds to the wind.

“I claim this world, with all its contents, by right of discovery! It is my just possession! Its sovereign am I! Its seas are my ways, its lands my domains, its people my subjects!”

Turning to Father Renaudin, Regan held toward him a shining band of silver, set with gems.

“Here, Father Renaudin, put this on my brow! You are the highest religious dignitary of the world in which I am!”

“Not so!” cried I. “No man’s subject am I! The people rule! Father Renaudin, you will not found a monarchy where no such absurd abomination has ever existed!”

“Have not the worlds themselves one sun supreme for ruler? Find in the universe one whirling, stupendous monarchy! Where is the denunciation in Holy Writ against a good king? God himself upholds thrones!”

“This man is a scoundrel, a fiendish monster! See how he toys with lives and souls.”

“Think, with his superhuman strength and intelligence, how brilliant shall he stand; as an archangel at that last day, when, his work done, he shall bring in his nations and their glory!”

Father Renaudin passed me by, and, in another moment, stood beside Regan. He placed the crown upon his brow. His flag fell like a radiant robe about him. His triumphant eyes were magnificent.

Close beside the rock where he stood was Isabella, gazing steadfastly. Her look was almost devotional. My heart beat slower when I beheld her. Everything seemed falling. I realized with all the rest, “Duped, duped, duped!” Regan a king—I standing mute, a subject, listening to the first prayer upon the star for blessings on his head—this man whose friendship I had despised, this vagabond whom I had at times patronized!

Dizzily I looked at him. I saw about him, over his lava throne, around his regal cloak, hovering a yellow, mysterious light, a visible, tremulous, bewildering baptism of his awful destiny, surrounding him as does the zodiac the sun! I knew I could not stop his rise! I knew there was a greater power than that of man which cut his pathway!

My path was dark. Isabella looked away. I could not see her eyes.

“Duped, duped!”

I fell senseless to the ground.

CHAPTER III.
A MONSTER.

When next I realized events, the life of the Stone Age had begun. We dwelt in a cave; a fire of drift wood was burning; a bird was frying. My head was pillowed on coarse grass, and one of Isabella’s purple wraps covered me. It was night, and rain was falling.

They had hoped for my return to health for many days. They told me that they had learned much concerning the little star. It was about three hundred miles in circumference. The lofty peaks were disproportioned to the size, according to all our standards of measurement; they served as observatories for overlooking the surface of one-half the sphere. The ball seemed belted by a continuous continent, with deeply indented shores; this made a very long coast line.

“There are fine harbors and very good locations for great towns,” said Isabella to me.

Towns! One person in a town! My brain was still dull from my illness. As a worrying remembrance, I thought of ships, people, tumult of business. Then I looked away at the great star which was our Earth. Home was there. All was there. This was a wilderness of uncooled lava!

“He must be told of our discovery,” cheeringly remarked Father Renaudin.

Thereupon he brought and arranged upon a large flat stone a little circle of smoke-blackened stones, surrounding some charred sticks, and a couple of bones.

I looked at this collection and then wonderingly at their triumphant faces, astonished at their waiting, expectant manner. What did they mean me to see in that little circle?

“Father Renaudin found it on the top of the mountain,” explained Isabella, joyfully.

“I appoint you to commence, continue and control manufactures and all the commerce of the star,” said Regan.

Still I did not see. I had been very ill. I had not, as yet, become accustomed to the chances of the planet.

“Roy,” said Isabella, “some man built this circle! Don’t you know that neither beasts nor birds could build a hearth and light a fire?”

That was it! In the childish toy before me was the promise of a world! There was commerce, manufactures, wealth, hope, life—the old life! What did I care that Regan was monarch! The wealth would be the real power! That would be mine again, all mine! I should rule the sea, I, Roy Lee!

I had been weak, but I was strong now; my lethargy was gone. There was work to be done at once.

As the course of the star was toward the sun, the heat was becoming intense, and we removed from our station in the black ravine to the edge of the forest, where it was more pleasant, and near the sea, where it was cooler.

We traveled, in moving, over the roughest way, crossing mountains and going around deep arms of the sea. The air was much more dense than that which we had been accustomed to breathe. It seemed as if we were inhaling warm water. As we ascended into the heights we found it more comfortable, except when we struck one of the chilly clouds.

The small ball with its little gravitation caused us to be so light that we were not fatigued, and as the days were only six hours long we had but a short time to labor.

Having found a site which was remarkably pleasant, we built ourselves four stone houses, and proceeded to adorn the grounds.

We called the broad, rapid river which flowed past to the sea the Styx, because its waters were so dark and because the forest on the further side was so mysterious.

The tall trees about us were of corn stalk consistency. They grew from a deep morass. The broad leaves formed so close a surface that they penned the heated air beneath them, and at noon-time we could see the atmosphere turn to a greenish hue, and vibrate as if over a heated stove.

Sometimes the roots became too heavy and, falling somewhere, pulled the tops to the ground. Sometimes the tops became too heavy and the tree toppled on one side, lodged, and, after awhile, fell with some of its fellows into a pile of green reeds and vines. These heaps of trunks and webs of vines made it possible for us to cross the river; from isle to isle there were vine bridges formed, and thus we were enabled to investigate the forest, where we were glad to find an abundance of fruit and berries.

Into this bewildering maze, a dreamland of bottomless swamps and foundationless jungle, Regan and I went often. Always in the morning, as at noon its heat became unendurable. We found many birds, which we killed with no difficulty, several different fruits, and a few harmless serpents. There was a lack of animal life in the seething woodlands of the Star.

We gathered a bark, softer and lighter than that of the birch, and this we used for paper, upon which we chronicled every important event, fact and discovery of our Earth, as fast as we could remember them. We were making wooden type and printing presses, but meantime wrote everything so as not to forget; forget and grow like the uncivilized nations of Earth before we could find those people who had built the fire.

We were late this day. The burdens of bark were heavy and hindered our progress through the vines and over the fallen trunks.

The hours, always too few, had gone before we knew it, and we were hastening to get into the cooler air, in momentary expectation of falling from the heat.

“Where does this intense heat come from?” asked Regan. “Is it all from the sun?”

“The Star itself is not cooled,” replied I. “I imagine, if the heat were from the sun wholly, the seas would boil over their entire surface rather than in spots.”

“’Tis a Planet in construction, not nearly finished,” said Regan. “Now what possible reason can there be for such a thing as that?”

He pointed to a great black surface of lava, which rose in a mud lake or very deep slough. Around were trees veiled in vines, a reed-grown width of swamp and a waste of reddish mud.

I noticed that the great reeds were matted like crushed cornstalks in many places; they were also mud-spattered and generally draggled and disturbed.

It was necessary for us to spring from one of the matted foot-holds to the ball of lava and from there reach the overhanging vines on the other side; unless we did this we must make a long, uncertain tour around the steaming slough into the vibrating heat of the forest.

“Shall we cross, or go around?” I asked.

“Let us cross, leaving our burdens of bark in this tree; we will return for them to-morrow,” said Regan.

We swung them into the low bough and sprang upon the block, wondering again that it should be there, in the bottomless morass.

It began to move! It shook, commenced to sink! From the mud rose a pillar of black flesh, surmounted by a hideous, yellow-eyed, serpent-tongued head.

With a powerful stroke the shape reached after us, and, striking Regan, cast him like a ball into the vines of the bank.

Meantime, with the sinking bulk, I was slipping, sliding into the muddy depths, clutching at the shell and shrieking at the trees. I fell under the shade of a huge paw, with fingers like those on the human hand, but at least four feet in length. As I sank into the iron-like mire, that hand fell, splashing and clawing, after me in a surge of mud. I rolled between two fingers, over the paw again uplifted, and into a mass of crushed reeds.

Dashing the mud from my face, I saw Regan spring upon the huge back, now heaving and moving like a small mountain; dodging the head, he sprang into the morass beside me; missing the reeds, he sunk into the mud to his shoulders, but, clutching some vines and reeds as he fell, he drew himself partly up, and reaching a log stood upon it.

He stretched out his hand to me and I clambered to where he stood; together we climbed up the bank, not pausing for even a moment’s rest. The sun burned down; the morass was steaming in white vapor, but the monster began to loosen its bulk from the slough bed and, partially turned, came toward us, swaying its hideous head, its tongue darting not far from us. It clawed the banks, but they fell under its feet, and it splashed into the slough. Recovering its lost ground, it clumsily climbed on. Trees crushed down like the grass as it moved. I could not breathe in the heat; even with that creature coming I did not think I could flee.

“Leave me, leave me! Escape? I cannot move!” I gasped to Regan.

“Man, have you nothing to live for?” cried Regan, with a look of rage in his face which even then I noticed. “It is a terrible death! Rouse up! There is the river! Run, Roy, run!”

I saw the blue water. I thought I might as well try. We ran a few steps and came where a bridge of vines, falling to the surface of the river, gave us the salvation of a little island.

We swung across and sank down in some shade to dash water on our hot faces and hands.

Then we glanced back. There came the awful shape, blindly and madly following us. We could see it plainly—a head like that of a hippopotamus on a huge trunk which looked like a tree bole, a great flattened body like a turtle’s, a black shell which we had thought lava, long paws ending, as I had before observed, in human-shaped hands. Devoid of instinct, although in bulk as large as twenty full-grown elephants and in strength proportioned, it did not stop when it clawed vines instead of earth, but pushed itself over the river’s edge of lava rocks and fell headlong, helpless, into the water.

“If it can swim, we are lost!” I said.

“Yes, or if the water is shallow it will crawl out!” said Regan.

“Swing back on the vines; a few farther up are left!” shouted I.

“It is gone!” said Regan. “Look!”

There was a mighty surge of the waves, a few tremendous tossings; then the water settled silently, and whatever became of the monster in the depths below we saw it no more.

“Like lead or like a leaf, all is the same in those swallowing waters!” said we, as we wearily sought a path home.

Then I could but think how brave he was, that Regan, to return from comparative safety upon the very block of his danger to drag from death one who claimed not even to be his friend!

I could not understand why so persistently Regan always befriended me to the utmost of his power when our natural hate was unconcealed from each other! I was forced to admire his courage. I could not comprehend why he should take so much unnecessary and thankless trouble, for I almost wished that I had died rather than that he had saved me.

Having learned the signs of the lairs of these beasts, we avoided them in our future visits. They were somnolent creatures and never woke but under provocation. With greater precautions we continued our investigations in the forests, for we must know the resources and productions of our world.

There was a long, long winter before us, far off, but inevitable.

We made collections of large plantain-shaped leaves, which we used for building triple platforms to serve for shades above the roofs of our houses.

CHAPTER IV.
A LIVING ISLAND.

Shortly the vines and flowers veiled our walls and hid us in temples of green, crimson and white-hued blossoms. A paradise was about us.

We turned water from the mountain springs and made silvery lakes and rippling streams through the shaded fragrance. We almost forgot that Gregg Dempster had predicted a twenty years winter!

There were trees with silver fringes, others with crimson leaves, and masses of shrubs whose leaves were the purple velvet of the pansy. The landscape became like a beautiful dream; its coloring was of a kind which paled the hues of Earth to insipidity.

Nature seemed to move by contraries; everything was a bewilderment. We were afraid the very trees would encroach upon us and wind us in their ever-extending arms.

The waters of the heavy, frothy sea scintillated with the brilliant hues of the rainbow, but not a leaf or a twig would float upon them; everything sank, even the feathers with which we experimented.

The low-hanging clouds had fantastic shapes and were constantly casting wonderful prismatic effects upon sea and rock. The shafts of light which broke through them made the star kaleidoscopic; but during storms we seemed to be in the volume of the bursting thunder-clouds.

Verdure began to bloom on those distant isles out at sea. I had given up hope of reaching them, but Regan ever looked restlessly away at those singular islands, those lonely peaks and mounds in that steaming, unbounded water. Through noon’s heat, through starlit nights, he watched and considered how to reach them.

“To be king of the isles and unable to get to the isles!” he explained to Isabella.

“Try a balloon!” suggested Father Renaudin.

“I have thought of that,” said Regan. “We have no cloth, or the possibility of manufacturing any. Then the laws of atmospheric pressure, the lack of gravitation, the too hot air above volcanoes, or some other reason on this little ball, may cause the work of months to be a failure. I cannot afford to fail!”

“Not there, certainly; failure means death in the sea!” said I.

“I suppose so,” reluctantly assented Regan.

“If by any means we could attach a rope to that central peak of rock!” said Isabella. She was always so intensely interested in anything that Regan wished to do!

In a few minutes Regan sprang to his feet.

“Isabella, I have thought how I can get there!” he said.

“How?” we asked in a breath.

“With ropes and kites!” he replied.

Then for weeks we busied ourselves in making heavy vine cables and strong, light cords. We made, also, with the utmost pains to have them exactly alike, two huge bark kites.

How like child’s play it seemed, I thought, as with diligence, day after day, we devoted our whole time to this petty work.

But why not play? What better were we than children in this land where we looked vainly for any sign of the existence of those people who had lighted the fire on the circle of stones?

I wondered if Regan had not kindled that fire to make us believe that he was king of something! No; I could not think so. I would have been glad to doubt him, but I could not. One who lived daily where he was must believe in him whether he would or not.

All was prepared. The heavy cables wound the huge basket, strung to slide on them. The light cords were attached to the kites, the heavy ones to fly them were ready. When a strong wind blew directly toward the isle we started them. The idea was to sail them above and beyond the peak. Thus they would carry the unbroken cord around the lava column; by cutting the kite strings the kites would fall, dropping the cord where we could draw it so as to bring, instead of its lightness, the great vine cables about the peak, and then we could cross with the basket. Having once drawn ourselves to the isle we could make a permanent basket ferry.

If the cables broke, even if the little cord tangled, our work must be done over again.

“As if to please the king,” Isabella said, the night breeze, strong and straight, blew to the isle.

I looked at that vine-veiled bunch of chaotic, volcanic collection; almost it seemed like some primeval mammoth of the lost ages. How mysterious a common thing becomes when we are hindered from reaching it! But for that fathomless, seething sea we had never desired to go to that particular point.

Something like horror was in my heart as we stood gazing at the flights of the kites. Father Renaudin and Isabella were to remain on shore. There were so few of us if anything should happen.

The kites flew in a gray evening twilight. A black storm slept on the near horizon; around us all things were darkening. How beautiful they were—the kites! Then I stopped my thoughts angrily. Had I, for lack of greater things to watch, reached a stage where I was interested in the flight of a kite, I who had managed great white-sailed fleets of Earth, I who had selected their silken wares, sold their immense cargoes, I, Roy Lee?

I could not shake it off—the feeling that it was of the vastest importance that the kites sail right.

They did sail right. “As if an angel guided them,” Father Renaudin said. I hoped Isabella would not say anything about their sailing to please the king, and she did not; she only breathlessly watched them.

It was a perfect success. Regan’s work again.

At the close of the following day the basket swung on the cables stretching from shore to the island.

Early the next morning we crossed to the island, which looked strange and more dangerous as we neared. We stood upon the shore and from the basket took the shovels, cords, hatchets and spears which we always carried now. There was a roll of blankets of straw cloth, which we had also brought to serve as shelter from heat.

We took each a couple, slung on our shoulders; took long, strong staves in our hands and climbed up the gashed sides of the cliffs.

Wondering more and more at every step at this strange rock, at the singular terror which we could but control with strong determination, we both felt like rushing even into the waters of the sea.

From the high cliffs we gazed into a round, deep cavity, half-dark even at noon with a haze of settling smoke.

“It looks like the throat of a beast,” said Regan, as we hesitated on the brink.

Looking closely, we saw a volcanic crater such as was common all over the continent. It was only faintly alive. The smoke was reddish above the crater’s mouth. Listening, like a giant’s breath we could hear the roar of the surging flames far below.

“What can be those two huge yellow spots in that vale?” I asked.

“They look like two great plates of gold,” answered Regan.

“Like little mirrors laid on the rock,” said I. “Shall we go down?”

“Certainly, I came for that,” responded Regan.

We began the descent. Once I paused. There was the tremor of a slight earthquake. The volcano’s breath was heavier. Under the clouds of smoke we were shaded. Cautiously we stepped from stone to stone, so much terrified that neither of us spoke.

“What are these plates?” at last said I.

They were about twelve feet in diameter, of a round, yellow and wrinkled substance, but whether vegetable, mineral or animal we could not determine.

Without a word of his intention, Regan raised his hammer of stone and struck a powerful blow upon the yellow surface by which we were standing.

The earth shuddered, the cliffs burst and cracked; the island itself leaped from the sea, and about our heads tumbled stone and pillars of rock, dust of lava, deluges of vines. An awful call of rage, a voice from the rocks, the menacing roar from the living soil sounded like the trump of doom about us. Everywhere, from all the walls of stone at once, not like thunder and not like sea—more like the bellow of the most mighty convulsion of earthquake which humanity ever knew.

Trees fell; vines entangled us. We would have fled, but there was no place to flee. The land was raging. That voice—that maddening, horrible voice!

“It’s an eye!”

Like a demon orb, great, horrifying, fusing, flashing, that eye looked at us. Those wrinkled yellow covers were the lids.

The breath was a snort of vengeance now. It was a living island! Those eyes—those awful eyes!

I shrank from their glare. I fell into the crater’s mouth. An instant I swung above a fiery depth. Regan caught my hand with mighty strength. I saw his face, defiant even then, looking up at those toppling peaks and quivering, gashed sides.

“He has only to let go. I shall be out of his way forever then!”

Even in the supreme suspense of the moment I thought I could not die and leave Isabella more happy without me.

He was going to save me. I knew he would.

But the rocks moved from him and together we rolled into the fiery crater, among sulphur and hot stones. We clung to the sides, the voice bewildering us with its roar, the breath shaking the whole surface of the volcano and of the rock. The smoke rose into a pillar above the crater. The yellow glare of the fire showed us where we were, showed us the danger on all sides.

So strange an enemy stilled our hearts and palsied our faculties. We did nothing. Entombed in a volcano, hopelessly we sank upon the sand and waited, waited for death, until the daylight had gone. It was night.

By this time the voice was still; the angry island had ceased to groan. The yellow liquid fire seethed in the cauldron; the smothering flames and smoke were often puffed into our faces.

What would it do? A mad isle had its human hate! Was all the Star alive? Had the ball a huge heart to beat in the fiery centre? Had rocks a brain and nerve to think?

“Did you believe it possible for rock and flame to look and think?” said I.

I spoke to hear my own voice. The silence of voices was as bad as the danger.

“We are not surprised to see that a sponge is vegetable in fibre with animal life,” replied Regan. “Roy, this is yellow gold; see here!”

Regan shook some cooled drops of the liquid of the volcano into my hand.

“Leave it on the ashes. Gold or dross it is all the same here. Let us cast ourselves down into this pit and end it all!” said I.

I could die well enough if Regan would die too!

Our blankets had fallen with us. Regan spread one above the flame. The hot air began to fill it. There was a hope. At once we were more cheerful. We broidered the ends of the blankets together, tied them into a balloon shape, expanding the mouths with our broken staves, leaving loops for our hands.

We held the bag inverted above the crater. It slowly inflated. It began to pull.

“That weak thing to swing above that lava! Never!” I exclaimed, and thoughtlessly, tortured by the heat, I let go the staves.

In a second’s time Regan was swung into the air; the smoke hid him; he did not return.

Then I gave way to my bitter despair and wept as I cast myself on the stones. Forever he was gone! I was alone—entombed by the rage of an island, deserted by the hate of a man!

How long it was I do not know. Day whitened the crater smoke. I heard a voice call: “Roy! Roy!” It sounded in the rocks at my side: “Roy! Roy!”

“Regan!”

“Here, at the right!”

A torch flared. There he was, with water and food; he had found another opening into the crater. After I had drunk the water and eaten the food we returned into the sunlight to life once more.

Looking about us at the strange rocks, we wondered at our unseeing blindness when we had walked on that half-animal surface of wrinkled, unnatural stone and had not thought it a mighty leviathan of unknown existence.

Still the cables were unbroken. We returned over the homeward way, a little apprehensive that the isle could remember as well as groan.

Once more we stood beside the waiting two, Father Renaudin and Isabella. They had seen. The island had half-reared from the sea. Its contour was changed; its rocks were broken. They had seen its peaks topple, had noted its awful voice.

For a time we feared the very soil on which we walked, but we discovered no signs of life in the continental cliffs.

After this we made no more investigations for some time, while the line of white at the far north became less and less. The mass of black and fire-streaked cloud at the south grew larger and redder.

The sun began to burn the whole day, instead of at noon only. When it rose it seemed as if a great furnace door opened on us. We stayed in the shelter of our vines and beside our lake of water.

One night we were sitting before our houses, watching the shimmer of the river where the firelight fell upon it. We heard the sound of wings; looking up at the moonless sky we saw floating black forms—huge birds, we thought. We saw their wings reflecting the light as they moved, saw their eyes shining like glass, saw faces looking wistfully down upon us!

What were those things, circling nearer, lower, slower?

“It is the people at last! Thank God!” cried Father Renaudin.

“It is the people!” hissed Regan. “Monsters with wings!” Then I heard him whisper: “But if there were a God he would do this! He would not people every world the same!”

I was glad that his subjects had wings, those great, strong wings! Magnificent attributes!

They came down and stood beside us, their wings hanging like folded cloaks, mottled and splotched with red, orange and silver. They looked like ambassadors in ’broidered mantles.

“If we could speak to them!” said Regan.

“We can understand all that you say!” they answered.

It was useless to try to find out where and of whom they had learned our language. They only could tell us that they had been taught from the Sun Island, a far-off land of the sea. Sometimes, they said, the tide was low and we could walk on dry rocks to the isle. Sometimes there was a “wall in the air.” Then no one could get there.

Who is there? What is there? There was no answer. We could think of no way of accounting for this; we determined to visit the place at once, but other cares prevented us.

Another strange thing occurred.