A Queen of Atlantis ebook

Contents

I. DREAMS AND FANCIES

II. LEFT TO DIE IN THE SARGASSO SEA

III. A MARINE GRAVEYARD

IV. THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND

V. A DESERTED CITY

VI. THE VAMPIRE

VII. MONELLA

VIII. A GAME OF BLUFF

IX. “QUEEN OF ATLANTIS!”

X. “A LAND OF STRANGE ROMANCE!”

XI. PRINCESS IDELIA

XII. PRINCE ROKTA

XIII. THE GROTTOES OF A THOUSAND LIGHTS

XIV. MONELLA FIGHTS THE VAMPIRE

XV. VANINA’S RESCUE

XVI. A NIGHT SURPRISE

XVII. “ALARMS AND EXCURSIONS”

XVIII. A GREAT NAVAL BATTLE

XIX. KING KARA

XX. PRINCESS MORVEENA

XXI. THE LAST OF THE GREAT CUTTLES

XXII. “THE WOOD OF A HUNDRED DEATHS.”

XXIII. IN THE LAND OF THE FLOWER-DWELLERS

XXIV. SOME SECRETS OF THE WOODS AND FLOWERS

XXV. “VANINA DEAD!”

XXVI. MORVEENA AND WYDALE

XXVII. IN THE CATACOMBS OF THE LIVING-DEAD

XXVIII. VANINA AND WYDALE

XXIX. IN “THE GOLDEN DEATH-CAGE.”

XXX. THE END

I. DREAMS AND FANCIES

“DEAR little boat! Gallant, saucy, little ship! Splendid, dashing, Saucy Fan! Isn’t this glorious?”

The words were spoken in tones of high enthusiasm by a girl of nineteen or twenty years of age, who stood on the high stern of the brig, Saucy Fan, which was reeling and tossing on the Atlantic rollers nearly half-way out on her voyage from Liverpool to Rio de Janeiro.

“This boat, to-day,” the speaker went on, with a hand on the rail, and swaying easily with the tumbling vessel, “puts me, somehow, in mind of a little thoroughbred mare I used to have in our home in the Argentine. I called her ‘Romping Chit.’ She was such a lovely creature! Without whip or spur she would carry you till she dropped, and she seemed to glory in it all the while. And the Saucy Fanis just the same. She keeps on her way unceasingly, untiringly, struggling up and down the swirling waves just as Romping Chit would canter all day long over the green, rolling pampas. She never showed a sign of fatigue, and was just as full of fun, just as ready to break into a romping gallop at the end, as at the beginning, of the day’s work Don’t you enjoy a day like this, Mr. Wydale?”

Owen Wydale, the person thus addressed, was a well-built, fine-looking young fellow of some twenty-five years. He had a handsome, bronzed face, with dark hair, eyebrows, and moustache; and very clear, steady, grey eyes. His sturdy, well-set figure betokened somewhat of a military training; while the manner in which he managed to keep his balance, with hands quietly clasped behind him, showed that he was not unaccustomed to the sea.

“Just my feeling, Miss Dareville,” he replied. “This sort of thing has always had a great fascination for me.”

Since, however, he looked, while speaking, at his companion, it was not quite clear which “sort of thing” he referred to–the blue sky, the rocking vessel, and the white-crested waves, on the one hand, or the dainty, captivating face and form beside him, on the other.

Nor could it be much wondered at if he thought just then most of the latter, for Vanina Dareville was one of those who seem to have been born to tantalise and drive to distraction the soul of any male mortal upon whom they turn their glance.

She had a rather tall, but exquisitely-moulded figure, such as a sculptor would have chosen as a model for Diana; and a face and head that had a charm, a witchery that were unique. It was not merely, however, that she was beautiful; it was not only that she possessed lustrous brown eyes, and delicately chiselled features; all these gifts, charming and attractive as they are, were immeasurably enchanced by a most unusual, captivating expression; rather, it should be said, expressions. These came and went upon her face, each in turn seeming more seductive, more irresistible than the other. In the pouting lips, round which, as they curled one from the other, dainty little dimples played about, there was a coquettish roguishness that was inexpressibly bewitching.

Yet, with all these was sometimes mingled a suggestion of queenly pride and dignity that conveyed a warning; it would not be well, it seemed to intimate, to incur the look of contempt and scorn with which those same lips could curl, and those large eyes could flash, on those who should be rash enough to merit it. To-day, the eyes were flashing only with innocent mirth; and, with her glowing colour, and the little white teeth that the lips at times disclosed, and that wondrous, inimitable smile that was all her own, made up a startling picture. And it was a picture that held Owen Wydale captive, bound in chains more hard to break than ever were fetters of hardened steel.

She was standing upon a piece of board that raised her just high enough from the deck to keep her feet out of the water which washed it every now and then, and with one hand on the rail she swayed freely to and fro with the motion of the brig; every turn, every pose, replete with rare and exquisite grace.

And her companion, noting all her winsomeness, found it no easy matter to turn his glance away from her to look upon the scene around them which had called forth her expressions of delight; while, she on her side, remained all unconscious of the admiration she inspired, her thoughts and interest being entirely given up to the enjoyment of the moment.

“Look, Mr. Wydale! Look at the water and see how daintily the Saucy Fandips into one wave and then glides up gracefully over another. Oh! if every day at sea were such as this, I should never wish to go ashore again!”

For some minutes the two stood silently watching the great white-crested billows as they darted past, hissing, and seething, and dashing, and surging against the vessel’s sides, and finally following one another into the line of foam that marked her wake. The strong, warm, invigorating breeze that whistled through the rigging, and whirled the particles of spray into the face, seemed to bear with it a feeling of exhilaration and elation. At intervals, as though in very sport and mischief, and bent upon justifying her name, the Saucy Fanwould bury her head in the snowy crest of some soaring, foam-crowned billow, sending up a shower of spray that reflected all the colours of the rainbow, and sparkled in the sunlight before it fell with a crash upon the fore-deck. Then, poising for a moment on the summit of the wave, she would give a coquettish shake, a sort of tremor, before taking the great plunge into the hollow below, mounting the side of the succeeding wave with one of those swinging leaps that all true lovers of the sea know so well, and so delight in. Indeed, the pretty brig, to-day, seemed bent upon a game of romps with the great Atlantic rollers that came sweeping up to her; almost, one might think, in imitation of a school of porpoises that were indulging in fantastic antics not far away. Some distance astern a solitary ship could be discerned, that rose and fell, and bobbed and nodded as though making friendly signs and salutes to its sister-bark in front. Otherwise, there was nothing to be seen on any side but the blue sky and glaring sun above, and the palpitating, heaving bosom of the marine expanse below.

On deck there were only the man at the wheel amidships, the burly skipper who walked to and fro beside him, and a man in oilskins, who lounged in the bow. While the vessel lurched and pitched and the sails strained at their fastenings, the cordage creaked and grated in a wild kind of harmony with the wind that whistled shrilly through the rigging, and, every now and then came the dull, hollow “boom” when a wave struck the bow, followed by the sound of the salt shower that fell pattering upon the deck.

Suddenly Vanina cried, “Look out!” and, with a merry laugh, dexterously ducked under a small canvas awning, just in time to escape a mass of water from a larger wave than usual. It had leaped up suddenly and unexpectedly, just where they were standing, and came rattling on the deck with the patter of a hail-storm. The squall carried away Wydale’s hat, which disappeared over the bulwarks.

A moment afterwards a young boy, clad in waterproofs, emerged from the head of the companion that led down into the main cabin, and came towards them. He was a bright-eyed, curly-headed, good-looking youngster of about thirteen or fourteen years of age, and he looked at the two with a bright smile as he approached. Vanina extended a hand to him, and pushed him well under the shelter of the scanty awning.

“You had better keep close there, Georgy,” she remarked; “we have just had a sea break over us.”

“I know, sister,” the boy replied. “We heard it down in the cabin, and Sydney sent me up to say he thinks the wind is freshening, and that you should come down.”

“I, too, fancy it is getting rougher,” put in Wydale. “Don’t you think we should all do well to seek some better shelter, Miss Dareville?”

“Not I,” the lady answered, with vivacity. “I love it! I think I was born with a love for the sea. But, as for you,” she went on to Wydale, with another merry laugh, “you’ll never make a sailor if you don’t learn to keep a better look-out. You were fairly caught that time, and, if I hadn’t called out, you would have been thrown upon the deck and been wet through. You should keep a sharper eye to windward. You had better go and find another hat.”

“I’ve got one,” Wydale answered, pulling a waterproof cap out of his pocket, and composedly putting it on his head. “The fact is,” he went on, “I was too much engaged–after what you said just now about your little mare–in thinking of you–of how you would look–”

“Well–what?” she asked archly, when he hesitated.

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