Chapter 9: A Woman Scorned

Jane afterward told us just what happened in that compartment of the carrier, and I think that for the continuity of my narration I had best relate it now.

The cubby room was small, not much over six feet wide, and twelve feet long. There was a single small door to the corridor, and two small windows. A couch stood by them; there were two low chairs, and a small bench-like table.

Tolla made Jane as comfortable as possible. Food was at hand; Tolla, after an hour or two served it at the little table, eating the meal with Jane, and sitting with her on the couch where they could gaze through the windows.

To Jane this girl of another world was at once interesting, surprising and baffling. Jane could only look upon her as an enemy. In Jane’s mind there was no thought save that we must escape, and frustrate Tako’s attack upon New York; and she was impulsive, youthful enough to think something might be contrived.

At all events, she saw Tolla in the light of an enemy who might be tricked into giving information.

Jane admits that her ideas were quite as vague as our own when it came to planning anything definite.

She at first studied Tolla, who seemed as young as herself and perhaps in her own world, was as beautiful. And within an hour or two she was surprised at Tolla’s friendliness. They had dined together, gazed through the windows at the speeding shadows of the strange world sliding past; they had dozed together on the couch. During all this they could have been schoolgirl friends. Not captor and captive upon these strange weird circumstances of actuality, but friends of one world. And in outward aspect Tolla could fairly well have been a cultured girl of our Orient.

Then Jane got a shock. She tried careful questions. And Tolla skillfully avoided everything that touched in any way upon Tako’s future plans. Yet her apparent friendliness, and a certain girlish volubility continued.

And then, at one point, Tolla asked:

“Are you beautiful in Bermuda?”

“Why, yes,” said Jane. “I guess so.”

“I am beautiful in my world. Tako has said so.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Jane said abruptly.

“Yes. That is true.” There was no hint of embarrassment. Her pale blue eyes stared at Jane, and she smiled a little quizzically. “Does it show so quickly upon my face that you saw it at once? I am called Tolla because I am pledged soon to enter Tako’s harem.”

Upon impulse Jane put her arm around the other girl as they sat on the couch. “I think he is very nice.”

But she saw it was an error. The shadow of a frown came upon Tolla’s face; a glint of fire clouded her pale, serene eyes.

“He will be the greatest man of his world,” she said quietly.

There was an awkward silence. “The harem, I am told,” Jane said presently, “is one of your customs.” She took a plunge. “And Tako told us why they want our Earth girls. There was one of my friends stolen from Bermuda--”

“And yet you call him very nice,” Tolla interrupted with sudden irony. “Girls are frank in our world. But you are not. What did you mean by that?”

“I was trying to be friendly,” said Jane calmly. “You had just said you loved him.”

“But you do not love him?”

It took Jane wholly back. “Good Heavens, no!”

“But he--might readily love you?”

“I hope not!” Jane tried to laugh, but the idea itself was so frightening to her that the laugh sounded hollow. She gathered her wits. This girl was jealous. Could she play upon that jealousy? Would Tolla perhaps soon want her to escape? The idea grew. Tolla might even some time soon come to the point of helping her escape.

Jane said carefully, “I suppose I was captured with the idea of going into someone’s harem. Was that the idea?”

“I am no judge of men’s motives,” said Tolla curtly.

“Tako said as much as that,” Jane persisted. “But not necessarily into his harem. But if it should be his, why would you care? Your men divide their love--”

“I would care because Tako may give up his harem,” Tolla interrupted vehemently. “He goes into this conquest for power--for wealth--because soon he expects to rule all our world and band it together into a nation. He has always told me that I might be his only wife--some day--”

She checked herself abruptly and fell into a stolid silence. It made Jane realize that under the lash of emotion Tolla would talk freely. But Jane could create no further opportunity then, for Tako suddenly appeared at their door. The girls had been together now some hours. Don and I were at this time asleep.

He stood now at the girl’s door. “Tolla, will you go outside a moment? I want to talk to this prisoner alone.” And, interpreting the look which both girls flung at him, he added, “The door remains open. If she wants you back, Tolla, she will call.”

Without a word Tolla left the compartment. But Jane saw on her face again a flood of jealousy.

Tako seated himself amiably. “She has made you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“I am glad.”

He passed a moment of silence. “Have you been interested in the scene outside the window?” he added.

“Yes. Very.”

“A strange sight. It must seem very strange to you. This traveling through my world--”

“Did you come to tell me that?” she interrupted.

He smiled. “I came for nothing in particular. Let us say I came to get acquainted with you. My little prisoner--you do not like me, do you?”

She tried to meet his gaze calmly. This was the first time Jane had had opportunity to regard Tako closely. She saw now the aspect of power which was upon him. His gigantic stature was not clumsy, for there was a lean, lithe grace in his movements. His face was handsome in a strange foreign fashion. He was smiling now; but in the set of his jaw, his wide mouth, there was an undeniable cruelty, a ruthless dominance of purpose. And suddenly she saw the animal-like aspect of him; a thinking, reasoning, but ruthless, animal.

“You do not like me, do you?” he repeated.

She forced herself to reply calmly, “Why should I? You abduct my friends. There is a girl named Eunice Arton whom you have stolen. Where is she?”[7]

[7] Neither Eunice Arton, nor any of the stolen girls, have

ever been heard from since. Like the thousands of men, women

and children who met their death in the attack upon New

York, Eunice Arton was a victim of these tragic events.

He shrugged. “You could call that the fortunes of war. This is war--”

“And you,” she said, “are my enemy.”

“Oh, I would not go so far as to say that. Rather would I call myself your friend.”