Part 39

Bulan was about to laugh away any such fears when the gravity and importance of the possibility impressed him quite as fully as it had Virginia. He saw that it was not at all unlikely that he was already a married man; and he saw too what the girl now acknowledged, that they might never wed until the mystery of his past had been cleared away.

“There is something that gives weight to my fear,” continued Virginia, “something that I had almost forgotten in the rush and excitement of events during the past few days. During your delirium your ravings were, for the most part, quite incoherent, but there was one name that you repeated many times—a woman’s name, preceded by a number. It was ‘Nine ninety nine Priscilla.’ Maybe she—”

But Virginia got no further. With a low exclamation of delight Bulan caught her in his arms.

“It is all right, dear,” he cried. “It is all right. Everything has come back to me now. You have given me the clue. Nine ninety nine Priscilla is my father’s address—Nine ninety nine Priscilla Avenue.

“I am Townsend J. Harper, Jr. You have heard of my father. Every one has since he commenced consolidating interurban traction companies. And I’m not married, Virginia, and never have been; but I shall be if this miserable old mud scow ever reaches Singapore.”

“Oh, Bulan,” cried the girl, “how in the world did you ever happen to come to that terrible island of ours?”

“I came for you, dear,” he replied. “It is a long story. After dinner I will tell you all of it that I can recall. For the present it must suffice you to know that I followed you from the railway station at Ithaca half around the world for a love that had been born from a single glance at your sweet face as you passed me to enter your Pullman.

“On my father’s yacht I reached your island after trailing you to Singapore. It was a long and tedious hunt and we followed many blind leads, but at last we came off an island upon which natives had told us such a party as yours was living. Five of us put off in a boat to explore—that is the last that I can recall. Sing says he found me alone in a row boat, a ‘dummy.’”

Virginia sighed, and crept closer to him.

“You may be the son of the great Townsend J. Harper, you have been the soulless Number Thirteen; but to me you will always be Bulan, for it was Bulan whom I learned to love.”