Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 72: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

870 are self-supporting. To many old women, and a few girl-children, they have given sanctuary.” “And the government does nothing about it?” I exclaimed. “They did—at first. Men were sent to the Virgins’ Island to get some of the old women, but the girls forcibly resisted them. And some of the girls were killed. Noth- ing much has been done since. The gov- ernment, I think, does not know what to do.” She was scornful. ‘“ Our girls are very beautiful. It would not be profitable to kill them—and our men are not murderers. Nobody wants to kill us. They don’t know what to do. It is a new situation; nothing like that ever happened before, and so it confuses them. Many wealthy men desire us—men of influence—and those men want to settle the affair, compromise perhaps. But we will not compromise!” Alice said: ‘“‘ You reach the marriage age in a year, Sonya? Have any men recorded their names for you?”’ “‘ Oh, yes,” she said. ‘“ There were eight, I think, when I last went to the records.” “ But you wouldn’t marry any of them? Or perhaps I should not ask—” “Why not? There is no secret in such things. One man whose name is recorded for me I love very dearly. Our prince—”’ She swung on me. “Oh, now you believe I do not know what has become of our Prince Atho—” A sound from Dolores interrupted her. Dolores was sitting with hands to her fore- head, and eyes closed. She murmured: “T—caught some one’s thoughts! Now they come again.” We waited through a breathless silence. Then Dolores murmured: ‘‘ The prince— you called him Atho? It is he!” Sonya gripped her. ‘ What is he think- ing? Tell me! Tell me quickly!” Then she, too, received the thoughts. She sat tense. “Oh! The princess is dead! Killed!” “ Killed!” echoed Dolores. Then her face went vague; she was getting nothing more. But evidently Sonya was still in communication. She cried involuntarily aloud: ‘“ Atho! Dearest, dearest Atho!, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Where are you? Tell Sonya! Oh, he does not know! Or he cannot tell me! He says—” It was a stark whisper of horror. “He says soon he will be killed also.” She sprang to her feet, then abruptly sat down again. ‘“ Atho! Atho! Where are your”’ The communication broke. Her face went vague, puzzled, empty. And then despairing. Beyond the window, in the street below the balcony, a sudden murmur of voices floated up to us. We went to the balcony. It was night now—a night of pale stars in a cloudless sky. Shouting people were coming up the street. They appeared in a moment at the bottom of the hill—a crowd of men—a hundred or more. They came forward, swept around the corner, and vanished. Above the babble was a single sentence. A man called it; others took it up. Sonya murmured: “‘ They say, ‘ Our king is dying! Our king is dying.’ The secret is out now. And the princess dead! Death everywhere!” Death everywhere. Again I sat at Dr. Weatherby’s bedside. The three girls were murmuring together across the room. The shell which soon would no longer be Dr. Weatherby was of no different aspect than before; the face a little grayer, perhaps, with lips a faded blue. I stared at his biue-veined hands, lying there on his breast, stirring so lightly with the breath beneath them that the movement was barely visible. Blue-veined hands! Within those veins, the blood still was moving. Soon it would pause; the ceaseless engine impelling it would be stilled forever. Awesome thoughts! Somewhere down there, behind the white mask of that face, the spirit we call life was hovering, stirring about, busy with its last duties. The windows through which it had looked for so many years upon a mortal world were already closed. It was barring them now, fastening the shutters, leaving them, moving away, withdrawing the fires of its engine; cooling the heat. Very busy, down in there! Yet I saw no sign. Busy closing its house, putting re in order, making ready to depart, per- CAME KOOKS (EO)