The White Queen
By Francis Hard
A chess game was played in the heart of the Arabian desert,
with human beings for pieces and life and death as stakes
It was Bishop Fergus who suggested that his daughter's future should be staked on the hazard of a chess game.
"But that is gambling!" cried Fenworth, appalled. "Why not let Constance decide the matter herself? She is the one most vitally concerned."
Bishop Fergus looked over the side of Granby's yacht and stared meditatively into the Persian Gulf. His massive, nobly molded face and chiseled forehead, aureoled with an ample crop of snowy hair, looked like the carved bust of a Roman senator. Apparently he was lost in contemplation of the sand riffles on the bar that held the yacht fast a hundred yards from the Arabian shore, but in reality he was deep in thought. He twirled his spectacles absently by the black ribbon that held them. With his left hand he rubbed his smoothly shaven chin.
Suddenly he whirled around and faced his daughter, who was gazing at him with a world of entreaty in her eyes. He glanced from her to Fenworth, back to the girl, and looked at Fenworth again.
"Constance is only nineteen," he said. "She can not possibly know her own mind, and she is altogether too young to marry."
"But Father" Constance interrupted.
The bishop raised his hand and continued hastily:
"No, no, do not break in. Hear me out, for, after all, I am your father and whatever I do will be with your best interests in mind.—Fenworth, you loved Constance before ever you came on board. If I had known that before we left San Francisco, then you never would have started. When old Granby placed his yacht at my disposal for a trip to the Holy Land, and you asked to go as my secretary, you kept to yourself your love for Constance. That was dishonest. Oh yes it was, Fenworth! You knew I never would take you along if I had suspected such a thing. But we had not been on the ocean two hours before I saw how matters stood.
"I like you, Fenworth, in every capacity except that of son-in-law. Now that you have come to me and asked for my consent, I could refuse to give it, but I must have your acquiescence. I must not be opposed in this matter. That is why I am putting it to the test of a game of chess. You have boasted of your prowess. I, too, am a chess-player, although I have not touched a piece in twenty years. There is a chessboard in Granby's cabin. I will play you one game. If you lose, you must break off this foolish love affair at once."
"And if I win?" Fenworth faltered, disquieted.
The bishop shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"If you win I shall cease to oppose you, but I can't promise to co-operate."
Fenworth scanned the bishop's face, without answering. The bishop averted his eyes, and continued nervously twirling his glasses.
