The men stared for an instant, petrified. Then panic broke. "Come back,
Lulu!" Honey yelled. "Come back!" "Julia!" Billy called hoarsely,
"Julia! Julia! Julia!" He went on calling her name as if his senses had
left him. Pete's lips moved. Words came, but no voice; he stood like a
statue, whispering. Merrill remained silent; obviously he could not even
whisper; his was the silence of paralysis. Addington, on the other hand,
was all voice. "Oh, my God!" he cried. "Don't leave me, Peachy! Don't
leave me! Peachy! Angela! Peachy! Angela!" His voice ascended on the
scale of hysteric entreaty until he screeched. "Don't leave me! Don't
leave me!" He fell to his knees and held out his arms; the tears poured
down his face.
The women heard, turned, flew back. Holding themselves above the men's
heads, they fluttered and floated. Their faces were working and the
tears flowed freely, but they kept their eyes steadily fixed on Julia,
waiting for command.
Julia was ghastly. "Shall Angela fly?" she asked. And it was as though
her voice came from an enormous distance, so thin and expressionless and
far-away had it become.
"Anything!" Addington said. "Anything! Oh, my God, don't leave us!"
Julia said something. Again this word was in their own language and
again it was a word of command. But emotion had come into her voice -
joy; it thrilled through the air like a magic fluid. The women sank
slowly to earth. In another instant the two forces were in each other's
arms.
"Billy," Julia said, as hand in hand they struck into one of the paths
that led to the jungle, "will you marry me?"
Billy did not answer. He only looked at her.
"When?" he said finally. "To-morrow?"
"To-day," Julia said.
Sunset on Angel Island.
The Honeymoon House thrilled with excitement. At intervals figures
crowded to the narrow door; at intervals faces crowded in the narrow
window. Sometimes it was Lulu, swollen and purple and broken with
weeping. Sometimes it was Chiquita, pale and blurred and sagging with
tears. Often it was Peachy, whose look, white and sodden, steadily
searched the distance. Below on the sand, Clara, shriveled, pinched,
bent over, her hands writhing in and out of each other's clasp, paced
back and forth, her eye moving always on the path. Suddenly she stopped
and listened. There came first a faint disturbance of the air, then
confusion, then the pounding of feet. Angela, white-faced, frightened,
appeared, flying above the trail. "I found him," she called. Behind came
Billy, running. He flashed past Clara.