Chapter XXII

“_Mask more subtle, and disguise_ _Far less shallow, thou dost need, O_ _Traitor, to deceive my eyes._”

Mammy Illa and her little brown piccaninny were well known on the steamers that plied up and down the West Coast of Africa. It was nearly eighteen months since she had first appeared among the batch of native women who boarded the vessels at Sierra Leone for the purpose of disposing of various articles of local manufacture to the European passengers.

She stood now in a corner by the gangway of an outward-bound British steamer, picturesquely clad in a full, short-sleeved bodice and skirt of gaily printed blue and yellow cotton cloth. Around her were arranged carved calabashes, baskets and mats of all shapes made from crudely dyed rushes, plaited and twisted leather-work, a few pieces of carved ivory, and roughly made trinkets of gold.

In the midst of all these wares sat a solemn-eyed mite of a girl.

All the world, black and white, who passed up and down to West Africa could be seen in that first port of call on the coast. And this Yoni knew when, under an alias, she made her way there.

The town lay behind her now, a delightful little place situated at the foot, and half-way up, a mountain. It was criss-crossed with red streets where grew brightly flowering shrubs, tall grass and cocoanut palms. On the hill at the back, airy bungalows nestled among lime, lemon and orange trees, with now and again a cluster of fluttering bananas, a vivid red acacia looking like a splash of fire, or an odd patch of quaint, stiff cacti with brilliant scarlet and yellow flowers, all backed by the eternal, glowing green of West Africa, and set under a sky of blazing blue.

Yoni had no eyes for the treacherous beauty of her native land. Her gaze was on the passengers. One especially--an overdressed negro in gray flannels, scarlet tie, and panama hat with a ribbon to match, who had just emerged from the saloon.

Five months before she had seen him pass out from Africa. On that occasion she had claimed no acquaintance, knowing there were reasons that would account for his departure from his native land. But she could not reconcile herself to his return. Moreover, there was an air of triumph about him that gave her a feeling of uneasiness.

As Nanza stood by the saloon doorway, a voice speaking in a dialect probably no other person on board understood, made him turn sharply.

“What are you doing here, my brother?” it was asking.

For a moment he stared at his sister in speechless astonishment. Then a cunning look crossed his face.

“And you, Yoni?” he asked. “Why do you stand at the gate of Africa, watching?”

“I have watched these eighteen months,” she replied. “I saw you pass out, but I did not speak, knowing there would be bitterness in your heart against me, for my jealousy nearly caused your death. Now I see you return. Is it safe for you to do so?”

Nanza smiled tigerishly.

“I would stand well in the sight of our cousin, the Lord of Doomana,” he replied. “So I made a journey to England searching for the lost Star, by her recovery hoping to attain again his favor. It is not well to have a Sultan of Kallu as an enemy, and I am hungry for my own land.”

“It was you then, who found her,” Yoni said with well-feigned surprise. “She was here but a week ago, and with her was the white doctor. It was a small Star, white and frozen, who has no love for the Ruler of the Night. Nor have you, or I, Nanza. I want revenge on the Sultan, yea, and on the Star too, who stole his heart from me.”

Yoni had spoken to one of Leslie’s unofficial bodyguards. She knew Nana was in no way responsible for the girl’s return. Now she wanted to find out why her brother had returned to Africa, and what he was doing.

Yoni’s act of many months before, which had resulted in Nanza’s first appearance in any spot approaching civilization, was the proceeding of a woman scorned. Nanza’s counter-action of staying in Calabar and playing the spy had made her realize that he was likely to develop into something more than a jealous woman’s tool, a means of extracting information she had been unable to obtain from Cooper. In fact, her brother had seemed likely to develop into a menace to the Sultan. Nanza’s departure from Africa left her with a feeling of relief. But his return filled her with fears concerning the safety of her god and Sultan. All the more because she knew Nanza had lied to her concerning the reason of his visit to England.

“Was it vengeance that took you to England?” she asked. “If so, I would like to help you.”

It was news to Nanza that Leslie had been found. But he did not tell his sister so.

“If you want vengeance, why did you give evidence in favor of what our cousin said that night in Calabar?” he asked.

“I’m only a woman. I feared he might slay me if I spoke against the Star. And for the sake of vengeance I desired to live. The Lord of Doomana was deceived by my action, thinking me then, as always, his slave. So deceived that he left the Star in my keeping. Then my moment came and I let her escape. For _your_ sake, Nanza, so that you might still be the heir. Now you have brought the Star back to the Ruler of the Night! Who knows what will please a man? And I am in ill-favor all round. For it is not good to withhold from a Sultan of Kallu the woman he desires.”

“Nor is it good to withhold from the people of Kallu the blood that is their due,” Nanza answered, in a tone of savage hate.

Yoni’s face assumed an air of abject terror.

“My brother will not betray me. What I did was from love of you. And for that piece of treachery to the Lord of Doomana my life is forfeit.”

As Nanza watched his sister his suspicions died away.

“It was a bad day for you, Yoni, when our cousin went to England on the trail of vengeance, for he found the trail of love too. They were so mixed, those two, that we of Kallu could not tell one from the other until the Sultan gave us his word. And then, _of course_, we doubted no longer. But now the Star has returned, and all will be well.”

Two great tears trickled down Yoni’s face.

“It is well for you who have found her. Now you can return home in honor. I, too, am hungry for my own people, and am shut out from them forever,” she replied mournfully.

Nanza laughed.

“Who knows?” he said. “Even a sultan may die.”

With that he sauntered off.

Yoni watched him go, convinced that he knew something that might harm her god. And the knowledge made her determined to warn the Sultan.