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Updated: May 24, 2025
Upon the beetling throne Olivia took her place, and her women sank about her like tiers of sunset clouds. She was so little and so beautiful and so unconsciously appealing that when Prince Tabnit and Cassyrus and the rest of the court entered, it is doubtful if an eye left Olivia, to homage them.
It was difficult to say whether his words or, so to say, their fine fabric of voice, begot the silence that followed. But all eyes were turned upon Olivia. And, Prince Tabnit noting this, before she might speak he suddenly swept his flowing robes embroidered by a thousand needles to a posture of humility before his sovereign.
"Inasmuch," pursued Prince Tabnit with infinite regret, "as these Americans have, as you say, assisted in the search for your father, the king, they have most unfortunately violated that ancient law which provides that no State or satrapy shall receive aid, whether of blood or of bond, from an alien. The Royal House alone is exempt." "And the penalty," demanded Olivia fearfully.
It was somewhere in the South Atlantic, ten months or more ago." "Ah," St. George quietly commented. "Well, and now this frightful creature," resumed Mrs. Hastings, "do, pray, tell me what it was she wrote." St. George produced the paper. "That is it," he said. "I fancy you will not know the street. It is 19 McDougle Street, and the name is simply Tabnit." "Yes.
He was not amazed that, when he had done, the people of Yaque sat in a profound silence which might have been the silence of innocent amazement or of utter incredulity. But there was no mistaking the face of Prince Tabnit. Its cool tolerant amusement suddenly sent the blood pricking to St. George's heart and filled him with a kind of madness. What he did was the last thing that he had intended.
The inscription on the tomb of Tabnit, Esmunazar's father, found near Beyrout in 1886, is shorter, but nearly to the same effect.
Into the prince's face leaped a fire of admiration for her beauty and her daring. He bowed before her, his lowered lashes making thick shadows on his dark cheeks. "I insist upon this," cried little Olivia firmly, "and if you do not permit it, Prince Tabnit, we must publish what you have told us from one end of the city to the other." "Yes, by Jove," thought St.
George, "we have been given this address as one where we may be assisted in some inquiries of the utmost importance. The name which we have is simply 'Tabnit. Have I the honour " Their host bowed. "I am Prince Tabnit," he said quietly. St. George, filled with fresh amazement, gravely named himself and, making presentation of the others, purposely omitted the name of Miss Holland.
"I dare say that means something," he said vaguely to himself, "and I dare say all the people who are in love know what it does mean," and at this his spirit of adventure must have nodded at him, as if it understood, too. When, in a little time, Prince Tabnit appeared at the open door of the "porch of light," it was as if he had parted from St. George in McDougle Street but the night before.
None the less he clung desperately to the last words of Prince Tabnit in a vain effort to hold, to make clear, to sophisticate one single phrase, as one waking in the night says over, in a vain effort to fix it, some phantom sentence cried to him in dreams by a shadowy band destined to be dissolved when, in bright day, he would reclaim it.
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