Kaiuolani

The sudden revelation momentarily overcame the anxious Patriot, but looking Kaiuolani in the face he read afresh the lesson of traditional loyalty. The young princess may have been fickle with her love, but the conscious glance of a Mau had laid bare the unwarranted trickery of a foe.

“Go, Aokahameha,” said she, with energy; “you have need for a better occupation than the entertainment of a friend. The armory, the bulwark of our homes, has been rifled of its stores; the troops divided, and the half stolen away: you must call to arms a friendlier keep, and for its equipment my fortune is at your command. Use it. Arouse them. And by the spirit of our fathers save the nation’s glory.”

Kaiuolani rode alone and without fear toward Castle Banyan, her home in the mountain gorge, just outside the city limits. With each stride a new inspiration possessed her and from every thought a myriad aspects arose: before Ipo, steaming and blowing, had carried her beneath the historic arch at the old ancestral estates a deep-set consciousness of her own shame burned hard the blush and conjured a hatred of that whence it had sprung. She would give her life to reclaim a passion, and sacrifice a fortune to establish her worth.

Thus the two most ardent Patriots in the land lost faith in the Royalists, whom they charged not only with insubordination but with trickery as well. To Aokahameha’s mind none except Young could have spirited away the half of their little force without immediate detection. Kaiuolani charged Gutenborj with the incentive, and saw in his interests the colonel’s motive unfold. The ready defenders of questionably gotten gain had deceived alike the Progressionists and the Patriots, and though shocked at the audacity of so flagrant a move as this, both the prince and the princess entertained no doubt as to the final outcome.

A government founded upon all that they had evolved must be sustained, and the queen upheld at any hazard—though she at that moment was paying heed to the tongues that would do her destruction.

Norton had spent the afternoon gaining an audience, not in an official capacity, but as a representative of the press, and upon eliciting finally the information that Young’s command had not been taken away from him hastened to carry thither the intelligence. This she had not succeeded in doing, however, without attracting the attention of Bender; who, no longer possessing the influence to coerce his former accomplice, went forthwith to the queen for information.

“I would not question your majesty’s choice of attendants,—not in the least,—but I doubt seriously the motive in this woman Norton. She will bear watching,” said he, in answer to the queen’s assurance that no other interest than a friendly care for Young had been expressed.

“She is not of my selection—you may remember that; though, I am free to say, as yet, I have no consequential reason to regret the appointment,” replied she, to his further importuning, fully conscious of her apparent helplessness.

“Your majesty’s minister of finance would not in any manner abuse that sensibility,—far from it,—but should anything occur to arouse suspicion please allow him the credit for having advised you in due time. Neither Young nor Norton can longer be of service; their usefulness has passed,” answered Bender, knowingly and with good intentions, though personally anxious for Young’s dismissal.

“Aokahameha will attend to Young’s proper disposition; I shall have at court all I can manage, before the new constitution is proclaimed. Pardon me for declining to discuss the circumstance further at this time,” said the queen, moved with the fellow’s impertinence, but dignified in her response.

At his departure Liliuokolani resolved to investigate on her own account the mysterious intelligence, at least so far as Norton was concerned. She entertained no doubt about Aokahameha’s ability to cope with Young, should occasion arise; therefore, resigning herself to what appeared to be no more than an unpleasant household duty, sent hurriedly for Ihoas.

Her trusted lady in waiting came quickly, and nervously crossing the room stood waiting her majesty’s pleasure. Until then, courage did not desert her; now, that she confronted the queen, whom she loved with a life, her face whitened in despair. The power to speak had gone.

“What is it, Ihoas?” asked the queen, conscious that some great burden overwrought her attendant.

“I have news for your majesty,” answered she, hesitatingly.

“Is it bad?”

“Yes!”

“Then, pray, don’t tell me. I had hoped to hear no more,” replied Liliuokolani, heavily.

“It is from Aokahameha—and concerns us all, your majesty,” ventured Ihoas, adroitly.

“Then I should hear it. You may speak, Ihoas; I can trust you.”

“The Rifles have disappeared!”

The queen fell back in her chair, powerless to speak. Disloyalty was a thing Liliuokolani could not, did not comprehend. Her opponents might wrangle for preference—even contend for recognition; that any within her jurisdiction might strike at government, tamper with the army, she must not, would not believe.

Ihoas kneeled at her side, secretly offering a prayer for deliverance, and after a little the queen said, composedly:

“Send Miss Norton to me.”

Dispatching a messenger as directed, Ihoas begged her own excuse and went in search of Elmsford,—whom she found, together with Sir Charles, seriously engaged at the British consulate,—while the queen awaited patiently the arrival of Norton; who came, directly, not at all advised of the circumstance or purpose for which she had been called.

“Possibly you can tell me what the withdrawal of the Rifles at this most trying time means?” demanded the queen, candidly.

“I do not understand you?” replied Norton, perfectly innocent of the unexpected coup.

“Do you mean to tell me that you know nothing about this treacherous move?” queried her majesty, half doubtful.

“I certainly do not. It is the first intimation I have had of anything’s having gone wrong.”

“Then you have ceased to be of usefulness—I discharge you from any further connection with the household. Please govern yourself accordingly.”

The sudden falling from grace affected the witless aspirant more than any danger that might arise from treason in the ranks. How could she gain the colonel’s hand if socially dethroned? The queen had but done her duty. Someone must have quietly tattled: the most likely of all appeared to be Bender. She should first prove his unworthiness, then seek a reconciliation. Her conscience grated cold upon the hard bars of disappointment and ambition conjured an overwhelming desire for a speedy reinstatement.

Wayntro was gone; he, a captain in the Rifles, had been hastily assigned to their immediate command, in the absence of Young; everybody had disappeared as if by magic; the queen had been left to sorrow, and Norton sat alone in her sanctum: the Ware Wizzard Wise should contain an editorial, in the morning, that would right a discredited lady and consign Bender to his deserved doom.

The lone journalist did her work well; for long before the last sheet had dried from the press that morning, a wave of discontent had spread and swept, the like of which they had never until then experienced. Little knots of Progressionists gathered here and there, in dark corners and secluded byways, while the Patriots flocked with renewed zeal to Aokahameha’s call. Royalists were roused, from the workshop to the drawing room, and everywhere upon the street or in the house the significant cry arose:

“Down with Bender! Up with the queen!”

The storm lowered and centered round Gutenborj. It was he who had weathered the stress of other uprisings and by the force of his logic snatched the crest of state from the seething tide of unrest. He alone could save them again, should wrest the queen from the hands of pilfering concessionists and gambling vagabonds: would he answer?

They cajoled, threatened, even implored—he remained stolid, and replied sharply:

“Call upon the queen.”

Young, in the excitement, became no less confused than they were ardent, and quietly approaching his employer and supporter cautiously ventured:

“What had we best do?”

The old philosopher leaned back in his chair, and with a twinkling in the eyes said, kindly:

“My boy, I understand you,—know your feelings,—but as a friend would advise: never swap horses in the middle of a stream.”

The ladies gathered in numbers: among them were ex-queens and disappointed royalty; leaders of the missions, and the wives of magnates: they were determined, and failing to impress the great financier, made their way toward the palace. It was a cheerless, somber afternoon, and when they had gained audience and made known their opposition to the bills and stated their reasons, requesting that she withhold her signature and serve their wish, the queen looked from one to another, around the assemblage, and, in the absence of the only woman she had dared to heed, kindly but firmly referred them to Gutenborj.