Paradise
 
 A LOST PARADISE
 
 'Good Lord, Dick!" she gasped. "What do you want?'
 
 A LOST PARADISE 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 WILL GREFE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHEBS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY
 
 A LOST PARADISE 
 
 2136S05
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SUCCESS! It pulsed and vibrated throughout the 
 entire theatre, from the footlights to the outermost limits 
 of the lobby, from the orchestra seats to the eerie heights 
 of the peanut gallery, in subtle telepathic waves. 
 
 Some suggestion of it penetrated even to the grim 
 fastnesses of the box-office, where scepticism rules ram- 
 pant, and with thin-lipped cynicism watches the waver- 
 ing line at the ticket-window, until, perchance, put to 
 flight by weeks of "capacity" business. 
 
 A brilliant audience was crowding into the lobby, 
 an audience of evening clothes and automobiles, good- 
 natured, prosperous, smiling with pleased expectancy. 
 The play had been well advertised. The theatre was a 
 popular one. They looked for a success, since here 
 successes in the past had been the rule. Even the 
 name of the play, "The Winner," glowing across the 
 front of the theatre in electric brilliancy, seemed to 
 nullify any idea of failure. Success vibrated in the 
 air, elusive, yet unmistakable. 
 
 5
 
 6 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 To the tired-eyed actors in their dressing-rooms, how- 
 ever, these vibrations did not extend. Between them 
 and the front of the house hung an asbestos curtain, a 
 wall between the land of the real and the land of the 
 make-believe. These hard-working folk, whose make- 
 believe is so bitterly real as well, in its hardships and its 
 disappointments, had learned, by experience, to feel 
 no surety, no certainty of success, until it had been defi- 
 nitely won. And then, too, it is considered an evil 
 omen, in that stronghold of superstition back of the 
 footlights, for the actors to feel great confidence in a new 
 play. Too often has it presaged disaster. 
 
 The body of the house, cunningly "dressed" as is 
 usual on opening nights, presented a brilliant and viv- 
 idly interesting spectacle. Everybody, it might almost 
 be said, was there. Down front sat the implacable 
 " death watch," the habitual first-nighters, habitually 
 bored. With them might have been seen the critics, in 
 the aisle seats of the first few rows, some of them trying 
 to evolve witticisms at the expense of the title of the 
 play, and already blocking out their criticisms in ad- 
 vance; others boredly reading their programmes, won- 
 dering, the while, what the devil it was all about, this 
 time. Seeing from one to two hundred new plays a sea- 
 son has its disadvantages. One is apt to become ultra- 
 sophisticated. 
 
 Toward the centre of the house sat the manager's 
 friends, and his friends' friends, to the number of two 
 or three hundred, all, like the department-store clerks 
 and sales-ladies in the first balcony, ready to applaud 
 vociferously anything that might afford the least sem-
 
 r A LOST PAEADISE. 7 
 
 blance of an excuse for applause. A "paper" audience 
 largely, ready-handed, and, with the exception of the 
 "death watch" and the critics, an indulgent one. 
 
 Here and there were to be seen prominent actors or 
 actresses, out of an engagement for the moment, wel- 
 coming the opportunity to be, as it were, on the side- 
 lines, instead of in the game ; rival managers, eager to 
 see the latest attempt of the opposition, secretly hoping 
 for failure; magazine editors, playwrights and "near" 
 playwrights, newspaper men, friends of the various 
 members of the company, and a sprinkling of the 
 general public. 
 
 The brilliant evening gowns of the women, punc- 
 tuated more or less regularly by the sombre black and 
 white of their escorts, gave to the assemblage the appear- 
 ance of a huge and animated flower garden, in which 
 the men played the part of stakes to which the various 
 plants were affixed. 
 
 A subtle perfume, an electrical buzz of conversation, 
 a thrill of delicious, although secret, cruelty, swept 
 through the audience. Not without reason did La 
 Rochefoucauld say, "There is that in the misfortunes 
 of others which is not displeasing to us." This atti- 
 tude was by no means confined to the outsiders. Even 
 the friends of those most intimately concerned felt it, 
 although they were not conscious of it. Before them 
 grim conflict was about to be unfolded, a conflict between 
 failure and success. Much was at stake the price of 
 victory might run far into six figures. They would not 
 have been human, had they not felt an impersonal 
 interest in the outcome of the struggle, and, if the time
 
 8 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 should come for turning down the thumb, even the 
 self-interest that would prevent them from doing so 
 could not destroy the secret joy of the impulse. 
 
 There are but three people, perhaps, in this audience 
 of several hundred, in whom we are particularly in- 
 terested. One is the manager, florid of face, painfully, 
 almost unreally calm, nervously smoking his cigar in 
 the lobby. The house is nearly full. The orchestra 
 has begun the overture. In eight minutes, or possibly 
 ten, the lights will flash for the rise of the curtain. He 
 has, in all, some five thousand dollars at stake the 
 production has been a fairly costly one, for a play of 
 the type. He is wondering whether he will lose it, or 
 whether it will multiply itself a hundred-fold in the 
 sunshine of success. In a little while he will go inside, 
 and, leaning over the brass rail behind the last row of 
 seats, will watch, not the performance, but the audience. 
 
 Just at the moment, two friends of his, who have 
 seen the dress rehearsal, are telling him how impossible 
 it would be for the play not to be a tremendous hit. He 
 listens to this with ill-concealed annoyance, regarding it 
 as an unfavorable sign. 
 
 The second person with whom we are for the moment 
 concerned, is a keen-looking, middle-aged man, who 
 occupies a seat alone in the tenth row. He has pointed 
 gray mustaches, of a military flavor, and slightly gray 
 hair. From his close-lipped, rather cynical mouth, one 
 would judge him to a man whose acquaintance with 
 human nature was both varied and intimate. His 
 smile, however, although it intensifies the net-work of 
 wrinkles about his eyes, gives the lie to the cynicism of
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 9 
 
 his mouth. A man with a heart, although the road to 
 it might not be an easy one. He gazes about, nodding 
 here and there to some of the professional people in 
 the audience, from which it might appear that he is 
 of their world. This to a limited extent is true. Ed- 
 mund Taylor is the owner and also largely the editor 
 of a magazine, the keen and incisive wit of which but 
 serves to give point to the weightier matter for which 
 it is noted. A man of the world, in the best sense, Mr. 
 Taylor. We shall see more of him, hereafter. He has 
 come, to-night, because of an exceptional interest in the 
 author of the play. 
 
 The third person concerning us directly at this time is 
 also a friend of the author a friend, that is, for want 
 of a better term, since she has about made up her mind 
 to marry him. She is a handsome young woman of 
 twenty-eight, who looks twenty-two and thinks forty. 
 The first impression that reaches the casual observer is 
 one of exceptional beauty. Through the haze of it 
 presently appear two rather remarkable gray-green eyes, 
 notable both for their unsuspected flashes of sophistica- 
 tion, and for the fact that they are set perhaps a trifle 
 too close together. She is, however, very lovely and 
 charming, and that causes one to forgive her some- 
 what self-assertive manner. 
 
 Her chin is firm, excellently molded, and full of 
 character. Her hair is deep brown, with reddish high- 
 lights. Her figure is ultra-modern, of that box-like 
 variety, narrow of hip, flat of back, which robs women 
 of the purely maternal attribute, but lends them a more
 
 10 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 far-reaching sex appeal, no doubt because it is both 
 more bizarre and more elusive. 
 
 Her rather too flagrant exposure of her shoulders and 
 breast finds palliation in their ivory-like beauty, and in 
 the girlishness of their contour. Youth can so brazenly 
 defy the conventions, when it affords its own excuse. 
 Inez Gordon radiates youth, being both old enough and 
 wise enough to conceal her sophistication behind a mask 
 of girlish innocence. This is the more easy, no doubt, 
 since she is an actress. 
 
 She sits alone, with perhaps as deep an interest in 
 the play as anyone in the audience, not excepting the 
 manager and the author. This arises from the fact, 
 already mentioned, that she has made up her mind to 
 marry the latter, in case the play proves a success. It 
 must not be supposed for a moment that the object of 
 her intentions knows this. He supposes she is going to 
 marry him in any event, since they love each other, 
 and have many times agreed, between them, that love 
 is the most perfect flower of human existence, or words 
 to that effect. 
 
 And lest the foregoing do either of these young per- 
 sons an injustice, let it be said that they do love each 
 other, although no shock of adversity has yet come, to 
 prove whether that love is founded on the rock of truth, 
 or on the shifting sands of opportunity. Its strength 
 has not as yet been tested. 
 
 She sits nervously fingering her programme, and 
 wondering why the rise of the curtain is so long delayed. 
 It is but two minutes past the half-hour, yet these two 
 minutes have seemed like ages. She wonders how long
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 11 
 
 it will be before she stands on the opposite side of the 
 footlights, on such a night as this, starring in a play of 
 her famous playwright husband. The play in which 
 she is to star has, in fact, already been started. Only 
 the weeks of rehearsal incident upon the present pro- 
 duction have prevented its completion. 
 
 Inez Gordon is a native of New York, and a product 
 of it, as well. Gordon is not her name. Neither is 
 Inez. She was baptized Sophie Walsh, and her father 
 has been for many years a clerk of the Supreme Court. 
 She has drifted to the stage because of her beauty. She 
 has stayed there because of her ability. So far, ingenue 
 parts, and leads in small summer stock companies, have 
 been the limits of her success. At present, she is out of an 
 engagement, because the show in which she opened in 
 January ran but two melancholy weeks. She has 
 known the author of the present play for seven months, 
 and they have both looked forward for three to this 
 evening with high hopes. Hence her nervousness, as 
 she awaits the rise of the curtain. 
 
 Behind that curtain, a seemingly hopeless confusion 
 prevails. A half-dozen stage-hands are rushing here 
 and there, under the direction of the head carpenter, 
 adjusting a hundred tiny details of scenery. The prop- 
 erty-man is taking a final look about, consulting with 
 nervous intensity a typewritten list he holds in his 
 hand, and making sure for the twentieth time that 
 nothing, down to the box of matches on the smoking 
 table, or the broken paper-knife on the desk, has been 
 forgotten. A "scenic artist" is daubing brushfuls of 
 paint on certain scars in the scenery, which have re-
 
 12 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 suited from the wear and tear of the previous three 
 nights "on the road." The stage-director is inspecting 
 everything with an anxiety born of responsibility, for 
 upon his shoulders the burden of the production rests. 
 He has just called the electrician's attention to the fact 
 that one of his "baby spots," the purpose of which is to 
 focus itself with unvarying pertinacity upon the face 
 of the leading woman, is striking one of the set pieces, 
 thereby not only defeating its primary purpose, but 
 illuminating a box of artificial geraniums in a window 
 sill until they fairly leap across the footlights. 
 
 In a few moments, the signal will be given for the 
 rise of the curtain. The actors, garish in their make- 
 up, crowd the wings, nervously repeating to themselves 
 their opening lines. Upon the faces of all of them 
 rests a look of fear. This is an opening night. The 
 dread spectre of a missed cue, a forgotten line, a mis- 
 taken piece of "business," haunts them. They know 
 the temper of the audience beyond that protecting cur- 
 tain. They know that, for all its friendliness, it will 
 pounce upon them, and rend them to bits, if they fail. 
 They know the thin dividing line, the feather edge, 
 between tragedy and laughter. They know how fright- 
 fully easy it is to overstep that line. They feel like 
 early Christian martyrs, about to enter the arena, and 
 even the most seasoned of them perhaps particularly 
 the most seasoned of them is afraid. 
 
 There are many little tragedies behind their grease- 
 paint. Here is a man who has been without an engage- 
 ment for nearly a year, and who has gone into debt for 
 hundreds of dollars at his club, in order to live. To him
 
 A LOST PABADISE. 13 
 
 the success of this play means even more than it does 
 to the manager, for the latter can laugh at the loss of a 
 few thousands, but the former may sit in a hall bedroom 
 and think of suicide. Here is a woman, who has two 
 children to support, and looks to her thirty-five dollars 
 a week to support them. If the play fails, she may be 
 obliged to borrow money from the wolf-eyed man who 
 has been for weeks so over-ready to lend it. But these 
 little tragedies are outside our story. The public, out 
 in front, knows nothing of them. The critics may 
 know, but they are judging a play, not life. " The 
 play's the thing." Let us leave the actors to their fate. 
 
 And what of the author all this time? He is the 
 cause of all this excitement and bustle, all this hoping 
 and fearing. He has sat in his room, and written a 
 hundred and twenty pages of typewritten manuscript, 
 and as a result perhaps ten thousand people have done 
 ten thousand things, all tending toward the vibrating 
 moment when the curtain shall rise, and the audience 
 sit back with a sigh of relief, and begin to watch the 
 action of the play. 
 
 Scenery has been painted for him. Properties have 
 been bought, borrowed or manufactured. Costumes 
 have been made. All the resources of department stores, 
 antique shops, electrical manufacturers, rug-dealers, 
 furniture-makers, and what not, have been drawn upon 
 to contribute toward his success. Nearly a thousand 
 people have so ordered their lives that upon this par- 
 ticular evening they sit in this particular theatre, to 
 witness the result of his mental efforts. Taxicab 
 drivers, car conductors, have brought them. All the
 
 14 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 machinery of civilized life, in one way or another, has, 
 by his cerebration, been brought to bear, for the moment, 
 upon this thirty-foot stage, in order to win him success. 
 And yet we seem to have forgotten him. 
 
 By searching diligently through the mass of scenery 
 and properties which litter the rear of the stage, we 
 shall presently find a distressingly pale and nervous- 
 looking young man, sitting on a packing box in a corner, 
 smoking a cigarette, the while he pretends to read the 
 contents of a sheaf of congratulatory telegrams which 
 he holds in one hand. 
 
 He is in evening dress, the cut of which is a trifle 
 archaic, owing to its having been made some five years 
 before. His soft gray hat is pulled rakishly over one 
 ear. His face, handsome, clean-shaven, somewhat 
 boyish, shows deep lines of sleeplessness and overwork. 
 He has sat up for the past three nights, rewriting cer- 
 tain scenes, which on the road have developed un- 
 suspected weaknesses. His eyes have the brightness 
 due to over-stimulation. He is so nervous that he can 
 scarcely read the kindly wishes for success which the 
 telegrams have brought him. The stage door-keeper, 
 remembering several excellent cigars donated during re- 
 hearsals, comes up and hands him more telegrams. 
 
 "Hope it's a knock-out, Mr. Randall," he says 
 pleasantly. 
 
 The young man nods, smiling a rather ghastly smile, 
 and slips the telegrams into his pocket. 
 
 " Sure to be," he replies, "if the wishes of my friends 
 can make it so." He lights another cigarette, and, 
 rising, begins to pace restlessly up and down. He
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 15 
 
 wishes himself a thousand miles away, yet could not 
 be induced to stir a dozen paces from where he now 
 stands. 
 
 He is a man of good height, and would be of good 
 build, as well, were he a trifle heavier. His clothes 
 hang a little too loosely on his frame; evidently he 
 weighs less than he did when they were made for him. 
 His half-humorous, half-whimsical smile develops deep 
 lines in his face. It suggests, in a way, the tired face 
 of a gambler, and not without reason. If this play 
 fails Richard Eandall will not only be flat broke, but 
 he will be nearly two thousand dollars in debt, as well. 
 If it succeeds, he may make a hundred thousand 
 perhaps even two. It is quite as exciting as roulette, 
 or any other gambling game, and the stakes are larger. 
 Men have committed suicide, at Monte Carlo, for less. 
 And the wheel is about to begin spinning. In two hours 
 and a half indeed, in less, for the end of the third 
 act will tell the story all will be over. No wonder 
 the man is nervous. 
 
 He selects from the envelopes in his hand a single 
 one, which contains, not a telegram, but a folded sheet of 
 paper. Upon it is written, "Success for you, Dick, 
 and for us. Inez." He kisses the bit of paper, looking 
 about furtively, to see whether or not any of the 
 stage-hands have observed him. They have not, being 
 all far too busy. 
 
 Suddenly, there is a cessation of bustle upon the 
 stage. The stage-hands crowd into the wings. The 
 director gives a last look about, and whispers, "Ring !" 
 An electric button is pressed. The orchestra ceases its
 
 16 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 playing, with a flourish. The curtain rises. Kandall 
 hears a clear voice saying, "Here is the morning's mail, 
 Miss." He throws down his cigarette, and walks slowly 
 toward the stage entrance. The conflict is on. " Vae 
 victis."
 
 CHAPTEK H. 
 
 EICHAED RANDALL walked slowly toward the stage 
 door. A beautiful woman, her face blazing with rouge, 
 her eyebrows and lashes encrusted with grease paint, 
 met him as he reached the foot of the stairway leading 
 to the dressing-rooms. 
 
 " Oh, I do hope it will be a success, Mr. Kandall," 
 she said. " I wish it for you with all my heart, and I 
 believe you're going to get it." 
 
 He smiled and pressed her hand between both of his. 
 
 "You dear!" he exclaimed. "I know I shall, if it 
 rests with you. Good luck, to-night and always." 
 
 She laughed, and arranged the flowers in her corsage. 
 
 " You're not going ? " she inquired, glancing toward 
 the stage door. 
 
 " Just to get a little air. You see, I'm sort of 
 nervous I guess, and " He paused, smiling. 
 
 " So am I," she remarked, with a little moue of dis- 
 satisfaction. "I always am opening nights, but I'll get 
 over it as soon as I've spoken my first lines." She 
 paused for a moment, listening. "For heaven's sake, 
 don't let me miss that cue." 
 
 " Run along then. I'd never hear it, in my present 
 state." He patted her shoulder affectionately. " You're 
 superb, Miss Ellis. If the thing's a go, I'll owe a lot 
 
 17
 
 18 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to you." He flashed her a smile that matched in its 
 genuineness the note of feeling in his voice. " I don't 
 know where we'd have been, if anyone else had played 
 the lead." 
 
 She started suddenly. 
 
 "That's me!" she cried, and ran toward the wings. 
 "Good-by." With her very next breath she was 
 speaking the opening lines of her part, as she made 
 her entrance. 
 
 Randall paused for a moment, smiling, as he 
 listened to her clear, steady voice, then passed out into 
 the alley beside the theatre. 
 
 In the street, he debated whether to go around to 
 the front of the house, and see the first act, or to 
 walk on toward Broadway. He decided upon the lat- 
 ter. He knew the play by heart, and felt too nervously 
 excited to be able to endure hearing it again. He 
 strolled on toward the maze of electric signs that 
 marked Broadway. 
 
 A dozen reasons told him that the play would be 
 a success. It had been most favorably reviewed upon 
 the road. It was written with sincerity, with a real 
 striving toward the truth. It had been given an excel- 
 lent production, and in the main a competent cast. 
 It was not his first play. A bitter failure the pre- 
 ceding season had, he believed, taught him much. The 
 critics had been savage, on that occasion, but beneath 
 their cheap witticisms, their cynical derision, he had 
 found much that was true, much that was helpful. 
 He believed that he had profited by it. The only 
 fear in his heart arose from a knowledge that sincerity
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 19 
 
 and truth, in a play, are by no means always in its 
 favor. Sometimes people resented these things. They 
 came to the theatre to be entertained, not shown their 
 littleness, their shortcomings. 
 
 Yet such plays had succeeded. He revolved end- 
 lessly about this theme, as he made his way into the 
 cafe of a near-by hotel. 
 
 He felt strangely tired almost apathetic. He was 
 experiencing the reaction from the bitter strain of the 
 five preceding weeks. He had worked very hard had 
 built such great hopes upon the success of this play. 
 It meant more to him, indeed, than just the money 
 it might bring him. All these letters and telegrams 
 in his pocket spoke of a faith, on the part of his 
 friends, which it was necessary, now, for him to justify. 
 They had stuck by him, loyally, through one failure. 
 He could not ask them to do so through a second. 
 
 Then, there was Edmund Taylor, the editor, who 
 had proven such a splendid friend. During the past 
 eighteen months, he had lent Randall nearly two thou- 
 sand dollars, just because he believed in him and his 
 ability. What would Taylor say, what would he 
 think, if another failure were to be scored against him ? 
 
 And, above all, there was Inez Gordon. Randall 
 felt in his waistcoat pocket, and drew out a ring, a 
 heavy band of gold, curiously enameled, and contain- 
 ing a sapphire. It was not a costly ring he was in 
 no position to spend money for jewelry but he had 
 taken a small sum from the advance royalty of five 
 hundred dollars, which Harrison, the manager, had 
 paid him upon closing the contract for the play, and
 
 20 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 had bought this ring, a curious antique, for a specific 
 purpose. He meant, if the play was a success to- 
 night, to ask Inez Gordon to marry him, and this ring 
 he intended should be her engagement ring. 
 
 He slipped the ring quickly back into his pocket 
 as a man came up to him. 
 
 "Hello, Kandall!" he said. "How's the boy?" 
 
 "Pretty well. Have a drink?" He nodded to the 
 bar-tender. "What'll it be?" 
 
 "Little whiskey for me. Why aren't you at your 
 show ? You open to-night, don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I I just ran out for a moment." 
 
 "How's she going?" 
 
 "Too early to say yet." 
 
 "Well, I wish you luck." He tossed off his drink. 
 "Got great notices out of town, I hear. Say, if you've 
 got any other plays, bring 'em around. I'd be glad 
 to read 'em. So long. Got a party waiting for me 
 over at the Astor, so I can't stop." He hurried off. 
 
 Randall walked back toward the theatre, an amused 
 smile about the corners of his eyes. This man, Sle- 
 singer, was a manager whom he had been vainly trying, 
 for some months past, to get to read one of his plays. 
 The manuscript had remained in his office unread, for 
 many weeks. It was there now. How greatly even 
 the possibility of success changed the aspect of things. 
 If to-night proved his worth as a playwright, he knew 
 that to-morrow would find his wares at a premium. 
 Managers would even compete with one another, to 
 secure the output of his pen. Anything he wrote would 
 find at least an immediate reading, with excellent
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 21 
 
 chances of acceptance upon the strength of his suc- 
 cess. It was, indeed, a large stake, for which he was 
 playing. 
 
 He reached the theatre just as the curtain was rising 
 on the second act. He passed the ticket-taker with a 
 nod, and entered the darkened auditorium. As he 
 stood behind the rail, listening to the familiar words 
 of the dialogue, someone touched him on the arm. It 
 was Harrison, his manager. 
 
 "Where've you been ?" the latter whispered. 
 
 "Back." 
 
 "First act went great." 
 
 "Did it? That's good." 
 
 "Six curtains. That Ellis girl's a wonder." 
 
 "Glad you think so. I always did." There was 
 a winged dart in this latter remark. Harrison had 
 objected to Randall's choice for the lead strenuously, 
 and had only given in after many predictions of dire 
 failure. 
 
 "I know you did. I'll hand it to you." The man- 
 ager was a big-enough man to admit his mistakes when 
 he made any. 
 
 They stood in silence, watching the remainder of 
 the act. It moved smoothly, rapidly, vitally. The 
 audience was undeniably interested. There was none 
 of that rustling restlessness which so quickly becomes 
 evident whenever a scene fails to hold. Both Har- 
 rison and Randall dreaded that shifting of feet, that 
 moving of programmes, that low clearing of throats, 
 more than they would have dreaded open and condemna- 
 tory hissing. The latter might mean a sensation,
 
 22 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 which, though unpleasant, the town would crowd to see. 
 The former could only mean the dulness that spells 
 failure. 
 
 The act terminated. Randall and his companion 
 counted the calls. By clever manipulation of the cur- 
 tain they totaled twelve. And only the second act! 
 It certainly looked like a success. 
 
 "Let's get a drink," said Harrison, as they hurried 
 out to avoid the rising crowd. 
 
 Randall assented at once. He had no desire to talk 
 things over, at this stage of the game, with the many 
 acquaintances who would shortly throng into the loLby. 
 He preferred to wait, and meet them when success was 
 assured beyond all peradventure. 
 
 "I'm going back, for this act," Randall said, when 
 they had returned from the cafe at the corner. 
 
 "All right. And be in the first lower entrance, for 
 the curtain. If this is a real success, and not a false 
 alarm, you may have to go on. I'll be there." 
 
 Randall shivered. He dreaded the ordeal, much as 
 he hoped for it. He had no desire to appear and make 
 a perfunctory bow, yet he knew that failure to call 
 for him would be a distressingly bad sign. 
 
 He never knew, afterward, how he got through the 
 forty minutes of that act. It seemed longer than all 
 his previous life. He sat in a far corner of the 
 stage, unnoticed, and consumed cigarette after cigar- 
 ette, scarcely knowing what he was doing. Every few 
 moments he glanced at his watch, for he knew that the 
 curtain would be down at about ten, twenty-five; yet, 
 had he been asked the time a moment after he had
 
 'A. LOST PARADISE. 23 
 
 replaced the watch in his pocket, he could not have 
 told it. 
 
 One of the minor actors, Miss Vincent, a young 
 girl of about twenty, espied him, and, coming over, 
 sat beside him. 
 
 "It's going great," she said. "Oh, Mr. Randall, 
 I wish you'd write me a play. Or a vaudeville sketch. 
 I've got an idea about a girl that's brought up in the 
 country, and gets kidnaped by a burglar, and he finds 
 out later on that it's his own daughter, that he hasn't 
 seen for ten years. And then the girl's mother her 
 step-mother, I mean " 
 
 Randall never heard the end of this remarkable 
 plot. As the girl rambled on, suggesting that he come 
 to her apartment some afternoon to talk it over, he 
 became conscious of the clear, virile voice of Jane 
 Ellis, speaking the lines which formed the concluding 
 speech of the act. He threw down his cigarette, and 
 ground it under his heel, thrust his soft hat into the 
 pocket of the overcoat, and went toward the first 
 entrance. 
 
 The stage-director was there, and with him Mr. 
 Harrison. Several of the members of the company, 
 who did not appear in the concluding scene of the act, 
 clustered about. Randall made his way through the 
 little crowd, and stood beside Mr. Paulson, the 
 director. The curtain had just fallen. 
 
 A ghastly stillness came over the people on the 
 stage. They moved neither hand nor foot, but listened 
 for that first tumultuous burst of applause, the spoa-
 
 24 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 taneity of which their trained ears could gauge with 
 almost unvarying correctness. 
 
 In an instant it came, beating against the wall of 
 the curtain with a dull roar, like that made by breakers 
 upon a beach. 
 
 Harrison smiled, and raised his hand. The curtain 
 went up. 
 
 "King!" he called, instantly, and it fell again. Mr. 
 Paulson, the director, was calling out the prearranged 
 orders for the appearance of the various members of 
 the company. 
 
 First came the second picture, with Miss Ellis and 
 the leading man in a close embrace, then Miss Ellis 
 alone, then with her companion in the scene, then the 
 latter appeared alone, then the two of them, accom- 
 panied by the others who had figured in the act, in 
 carefully arranged groups. The applause did not 
 diminish in volume. Harrison's smile became more 
 and more broad. He knew, of course, that much of 
 the clapping came from his own cohorts, but there 
 seemed to him a genuine ring about it that indicated 
 success. 
 
 After the eighteenth curtain, Paulson turned to 
 Eandall. 
 
 "They're calling for the author," he said. "You'd 
 better show." 
 
 Harrison raised his hand. 
 
 "Don't say anything," he warned. "Just make a 
 bow and beat it." 
 
 The warning was quite unnecessary. Randall could 
 not have spoken a dozen words if his life had depended
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 25 
 
 upon it. His brain seemed utterly at a standstill, his 
 feet made of lead. 
 
 In some manner never to be explained, he presently 
 found himself walking out against a blinding glare 
 of light, beyond which rocked a sea of faces, a whirl 
 of white shirt fronts and women's gowns. He saw no 
 one individually. He felt none of the pride of achieve- 
 ment of which he had so often dreamed. All he wanted 
 to do was to get off the stage as gracefully and as 
 quickly as he could. He made a jerky nervous little 
 bow, directed toward the house in general, said, "I 
 thank you," with his lips, although no sound came forth, 
 then managed to back with more or less awkwardness, 
 into the friendly shelter of the wings. He gasped, 
 drew out a cigarette, and asked the head carpenter 
 for a match. 
 
 "Strike!" called Paulson to the stage-hands. 
 
 Harrison took Randall by the arm. 
 
 "Let's get some air," he said. "It's hot as the devil 
 in here." 
 
 They went out into the narrow alleyway which sur- 
 rounded the theatre, and started toward the street. 
 
 "Well what do you think ?" Harrison demanded. 
 
 Randall looked up suddenly. He had supposed the 
 fight over the victory won. 
 
 "Isn't it a success ?" he asked. 
 
 Harrison rolled his cigar around in his mouth, 
 several times, before replying. 
 
 "Yes," he said, presently; "I think it is. Looks 
 like it, anyway." 
 
 With a huge sigh of relief, Randall lit his cigarette.
 
 26 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 They were on the sidewalk now. A group of men was 
 headed toward Broadway. They seized upon the two at 
 once. 
 
 "Author author !" mimicked one of them, in falsetto 
 tones. "Congratulations, old chap. Hope you make 
 a barrel of money out of it." It was Harrison's press- 
 man, and his smile indicated the satisfaction he felt. 
 He introduced his companion. "Mr. Edgerton," he 
 said, "America's foremost comedian. No play is com- 
 plete without him. Say, Ed, you and Mr. Randall 
 here ought to get together. He might be able to fix you 
 up for next season." 
 
 "Under my management," remarked Harrison, dryly. 
 
 "I was just talking with Willard," the press-man went 
 on, mentioning the name of a well-known critic. 
 "Couldn't get him to say much." 
 
 "Did he knock ?" asked Harrison fearfully. 
 
 "No. Said he enjoyed the performance very much." 
 
 "H-m. Afraid to commit himself, I suppose, until 
 he finds out what Glauber and the other fellows on the 
 morning papers have to say. He's with the other side, 
 anyway. Well here we are." He entered the swing- 
 ing door of the cafe. "I guess they can't any of them 
 knock very hard. Too good a show." 
 
 "Eight you are," remarked Edgerton, heartily. "Do 
 you know, though, Mr. Randall, I think you make a 
 little mistake in playing up this socialistic stuff so 
 strong? People go to the theatre to be amused. Make 
 'em laugh. Don't try to teach 'em how to treat their 
 fellow-men. They don't want it not in the theatre, 
 at least. May go in a church."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 27 
 
 "They seemed to like it to-night," said Eandall, a 
 trifle stiffly. 
 
 "I know I know. But remember what I tell you, 
 my boy. I'm old enough to be your father, and believe 
 me don't get the idea in your head that the stage 
 is an instrument for good, a moral uplift, or anything 
 like that. They'll stand that for that sort of thing in 
 Chicago, occasionally, but not here on old Broadway. 
 Don't try to make 'em think, make 'em laugh shock 
 'em appeal to tneir primitive instincts and emotions, 
 but nix on the Ibsen stuff. You may get a niche in 
 the hall of fame, when you're dead, but I imagine it's 
 royalties you're after. Laughs, lingerie or crime. 
 That's what they want, nowadays. What are you boys 
 going to have? Buttermilk for mine." 
 
 Mr. Edgerton's remarks filled Eandall with a sud- 
 den disquietude, but he soon shook it off. !Nobody 
 could deny the evidence of those nineteen curtain calls, 
 or of that tumultuous and long-continued applause. 
 He thought of Inez Gordon, and caressed the ring in 
 his waistcoat pocket, a warm glow of happiness in his 
 heart. 
 
 The drink served to dispel some of the weariness 
 that oppressed him. He began to feel a sense of im- 
 portance, a foretaste of the intoxication of success. A 
 manager affiliated with Harrison joined the group. 
 Eegarded throughout the theatrical world as a man 
 almost glacial in manner, his greeting of Eandall was 
 comparatively warm. 
 
 "You got a good show there," he said. "Little too 
 talky, at times not quite enough action, but a good
 
 28 r A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 show. Ought to make some money. . . . Yes. I'll 
 have a glass of seltzer." 
 
 They walked back to the theatre to see the last act. 
 Eandall went around to the stage entrance he wished 
 to see Miss Ellis, and the other members of the com- 
 pany, and congratulate them, after the performance. 
 
 The last act was short. At a few minutes before 
 eleven, he found himself in the leading woman's dress- 
 ing-room. 
 
 She had already taken off her gown, and sat in a 
 kimono before the mirror of her dressing-table, chatting 
 with some women friends who had come back, after 
 the performance, to offer their felicitations. She 
 turned to Eandall with a radiant smile. 
 
 "I hope you were satisfied, Mr. Eandall," she said. 
 ".Wasn't it splendid ?" The role had offered her great 
 advantages, and she had made the most of them. 
 
 "You were splendid," he said, taking her hand. "I 
 want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I 
 don't know what would have happened, without you." 
 
 "How does it feel, to be a successful playwright ?" 
 she asked, joyously, after presenting him to her friends. 
 
 "Well," he said, deprecatingly, "I don't exactly 
 know. The only way I feel, right now, is frightfully 
 tired." 
 
 She threw a searching look into his face. 
 
 "You ought to be in bed," she remarked, laughing, 
 
 "I know it," he said. "And so I'll say good-night. 
 See you to-morrow." He bowed and was about to go. 
 
 She took a gardenia from a bunch she had worn, 
 and handed it to him.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 29 
 
 "This for luck," she said. 
 
 He put it in the lapel of his coat. 
 
 "Thanks, and good-night." 
 
 He was in a hurry to meet Inez, but still he had 
 to say a word to the leading man, and to one or two 
 of the other members of the company. It was after 
 eleven when he left the stage-entrance, and started down 
 the alleyway toward the street. 
 
 Inez was to meet him here just inside the iron 
 gate. She, impatient at his delay, had come part way 
 down toward the stage-door, and, almost before he 
 knew it, she appeared out of the darkness, and ran 
 up to him. 
 
 "Oh, Dick!" she cried, throwing her arms about his 
 neck. "Isn't it glorious ! The play is over and over 
 big. You ought to have heard what the people around 
 me said. I'm so glad !" 
 
 It was a moment or two before he recovered from the 
 shock of her unexpected appearance. Then he swept 
 her into his arms with a sudden laugh, and kissed her 
 over and over, holding her slim body close to his. The 
 relief, the joyous relief of feeling, after all these nerve- 
 racking weeks of thought, rushed over him in a flood of 
 warmth and happiness. 
 
 "Dear little girl," he said, "I'm the happiest man 
 in New York." 
 
 "You ought to be " she looked up at him proudly 
 "after your success to-night." 
 
 "It isn't only that. It's it's you! Now we can 
 be married."
 
 30 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "Married?" She pretended, playfully, that his 
 words came as a surprise. 
 
 "Yes." He drew the ring from his pocket, and, 
 taking her hand, slipped it upon her finger. "Nothing 
 shall ever separate us again. From now on we belong 
 to each other." Again he encircled her with his arms. 
 "You dear!" 
 
 "Oh, Dick! Do you want me really?" 
 
 "I love you. I love you, and I want you more than 
 anything in the world." 
 
 She looked up at him with joy and happiness in 
 her eyes. "I love you, dear," she said, "and, from 
 now on, we'll never leave each other any more." 
 
 The opening of the stage door warned them that 
 some of the members of the company were about to 
 come out into the alleyway. They drew away from 
 each other. 
 
 "Let's go to Jack's, and get something to eat," he 
 said. "I'm awfully hungry." 
 
 "Let's. And I'll tell you all about the nice things 
 the people around me said." They moved toward the 
 sidewalk. 
 
 "It's the greatest thing in the world," remarked 
 Randall, to himself, as they turned toward Sixth Ave- 
 nue. 
 
 "What?" she asked. 
 
 "Success," he replied, and, putting his arm through 
 hers, drew her close to him. "It makes everything 
 else possible."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE restaurant was only partially filled when 
 Randall and his companion entered. The night crowd 
 had not yet begun to arrive. They chose the down- 
 town side, as it was more quiet, and they had been in 
 the habit of sitting here at a certain table in the rear 
 corner. It was luckily unoccupied. As they took their 
 seats, the waiter came up with a smile. 
 
 "Wiirzburger ?" he asked, inquiringly. 
 
 Over and over they had come here, after rehearsals, 
 to discuss the play, and its progress. Randall had been 
 in the habit of drinking the imported beer; he fancied 
 it quieted his nerves, and made him sleep. 
 
 He shook his head, and smiled up at the waiter, 
 boyishly. 
 
 "We're going to have some champagne, to-night." 
 Success such success as he felt he had won, deserved 
 to be celebrated in something more fitting than beer. 
 He gave the waiter the name of the brand. "A quart, 
 please, and let me have the bill of fare." 
 
 Inez smiled joyfully at him, across the table. 
 
 "I know what you want," she said ; "and so do I." 
 
 "What ?" He laughed back at her. 
 
 "Soft clams a la Newburg." It was a favorite dish 
 of his. "And a caviar sandwich first, for an appe- 
 tizer." 
 
 31
 
 32 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 He gave the order, and, leaning across the table, 
 stroked her hand. 
 
 "Isn't it splendid, dear, to know that from now on 
 money doesn't make the least difference with us ? We 
 can have everything we want." 
 
 "How much do you expect to get out of this play, 
 Dick?" she asked, delighted at the change in him. 
 Eandall had been gloomy, preoccupied, of late. 
 
 "Oh, six or seven hundred a week at least from 
 this company alone. You see my royalties are five, 
 seven and a half, and ten. Five per cent, on weekly 
 gross receipts up to five thousand, seven and a half on 
 the next two thousand, and ten per cent, on all over 
 that. If then they do nine thousand dollars a week, 
 which would be only fair, for that house, I'll get 
 let me see." He began to make figures on the margin 
 of the menu card. "That would be six hundred a week. 
 They will probably do better. Then, if they put out 
 say two road companies, I'd get not less than five 
 hundred a week from each. Say fifteen hundred a 
 week from the three. That would be quite an income, 
 wouldn't it? I should feel as though I had suddenly 
 become possessed of Aladdin's wonderful lamp." 
 
 She looked lovingly at the ring he had placed on 
 her finger, turning it this way and that, as the light 
 of the little table lamp flashed blue fire from the 
 sapphire. 
 
 "I do love you, Dick," she said. "And, next season, 
 I'll open in my own play." 
 He frowned slightly. 
 "Why bother about that ? Wouldn't it be a lot more
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 33 
 
 fun, to take a trip to the Mediterranean Cairo and 
 all that ? You know, I'm pretty well tired out, and 
 I've always wanted to go to the East. We could have 
 a lovely time, and it would do us both lots of good to 
 get away from the cobblestones, for a while." 
 
 She considered this for some little time, busying her- 
 self with the bits of bread and butter she was eating. 
 
 "It would be splendid, Dick," she said at length. 
 "But, you know, I have ambitions, too. I'd never be 
 happy, just to do nothing. You see, I made up my 
 mind, five years ago, that some day I'd see my name 
 in electric lights, on Broadway. I suppose it's a foolish 
 ambition, but I can't give it up. You'll help me, won't 
 you, dear ?" 
 
 "I'm not sure I'd want my wife " he lingered over 
 the word lovingly "to spend her time acting, when 
 she ought to be with me. Why don't you give up 
 the idea ? There's no real happiness in it, and, in the 
 end, something always happens. You'd probably fall 
 in love with your leading man, and forget all about 
 me." He spoke playfully, but there was an under- 
 current of earnestness to what he said, that was not 
 lost upon the girl. 
 
 "Now, Dick!" She took his hand, and, pulling it 
 down upon the table, began to caress it. "You're not 
 going to be as old fashioned and silly as all that, are 
 you? You know I'd never fall in love with anybody 
 else, as long as I have you. It doesn't show much 
 confidence in my my feeling for you, I must say." 
 
 Her tone, carrying with it a suggestion of reproof, 
 reduced him to instant submission.
 
 34 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "Of course, I don't doubt your love, dear," he said. 
 "How could I, after the way you've stuck by me, 
 through all these months ? Now that I've got success, 
 I'll not forget those who were really my friends." A 
 momentary shadow crossed his face. "There were 
 a lot who weren't, you know. You, and dear old Tay- 
 lor I'll never forget all you've done for me. If you 
 want to act, dear, I'll write you a play that will make 
 you the biggest actress in the country. You know I 
 can do it. I've proved that now, I guess." 
 
 He turned and glanced about the room, as the waiter 
 arrived with the sandwiches and the wine. 
 
 "There's Paulson, over there," he said, nodding and 
 smiling to a couple at a table across the room. "He's 
 got that Vincent girl with him. She was asking me, 
 to-night, to write Tier a play. Told me a long-winded 
 plot I forget what about." 
 
 Miss Gordon scrutinized the girl critically. Then 
 she laughed. 
 
 "That little idiot ! She certainly has nerve. I don't 
 doubt though that, now you've made good, everybody 
 in the company, down to the woman who plays the 
 nursemaid, will be after you to write plays for them. 
 It's the usual thing." 
 
 "I suppose so. However, I can pick and choose, 
 now. Edgerton wants me to do something for him, 
 next season." 
 
 "What the comedian ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "H-m ! He'll want to write half of it himself, and 
 put his name on the bills as co-author. He always
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 35 
 
 iloes. You can't afford to bother with people like that. 
 Take my advice, Dick. Make yourself more import- 
 ant. You're too nice to people too agreeable. Put 
 these second-rate actors in their place. Let them run 
 after you. You've got to do that, in this game. If 
 you're nice and accommodating, they'll despise you. 
 If you take no notice of them, and let them beg you 
 for stuff, they'll think you're the greatest ever. That's 
 the game, along Broadway. Don't depreciate yourself. 
 Eemember that you're a successful author, now." She 
 raised her glass, and looked at him with glowing eyes 
 over the rim. "To the play !" she said. 
 
 "And to you!" He took a sip of the wine. "Do 
 you know, dear, it's your love the fact that we are 
 going to be married, that malkes me so happy to- 
 night ? Of course, I'm glad about the play, more glad 
 than I can tell you. But this thing between us is a 
 bigger thing. I like to feel that, even if the play had 
 not succeeded, you would have come to me, and said: 
 'Never mind. We love each other, and that is more 
 important that a hundred plays.' " 
 
 "You know I would, dear," she said, her voice very 
 low, very soft and caressing. "Didn't I love you even 
 before to-night ?" 
 
 "God bless you yes. I'm the happiest and the 
 luckiest man in the world." He began to eat hungrily. 
 "I feel better already," he said, between mouthfuls. 
 "You'll never know, Inez, how tired I've been for the 
 past five weeks. Sometimes, when I've got up in the 
 morning, I've felt as though I simply couldn't go on. 
 The terrible nervous strain of the thing the loss of
 
 36 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 sleep the irregular eating. I tell you, if it had kept 
 up for another month, I'd have been on my back in a 
 hospital." 
 
 "I know it, dear. You're terribly run down. Why 
 don't you take a rest ?" 
 
 "I mean to. I'll tell you what we'll do. I want 
 to stay around town for another week, to see that 
 everything is going smoothly, and settle up some busi- 
 ness matters, and then we'll be married, and go down 
 to Atlantic City for a month or so, just as a sort of 
 preliminary honeymoon." He looked at her eagerly. 
 "What do you say ?" 
 
 "I think it would be wonderful. You know how I 
 love the sea. And we could work together, on that play 
 for me just -a little, each day, you know, so as not 
 to tire you." 
 
 "I'd rather forget work, for a while," he said. "If 
 I have you, it will be quite enough, I guess, to occupy 
 my time." 
 
 She joined in his laugh. 
 
 "All right, dear, just as you say. But I'd be willing 
 to bet that at the end of a week you'd be wanting to 
 do something. You couldn't help it. Your brain is 
 so active ! You see, I know you better than you know 
 yourself." 
 
 As she spoke, Paulson, the stage-director, came over 
 from the opposite table. 
 
 "I don't think I had an opportunity to congratulate 
 you, Eandall," he said, extending his hand. "Looks like 
 it got over in great shape."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 37 
 
 "Thanks." He shook Paulson's hand warmly. "Let 
 me present you to Miss Gordon." 
 The two bowed. 
 
 "Miss Vincent tells me," Paulson said with a smil- 
 ing glance at his companion across the room, "that you 
 are going to do a play for her. Glad to hear it. A 
 girl with remarkable talent, Randall. I've known her 
 for some time, and I'm greatly interested in her." 
 
 Randall suddenly remembered that it was to Paul- 
 son that Miss Vincent owed her position in the cast. 
 
 "I I was talking to her about the matter to-night," 
 he stammered. "I'd be glad, to do a play for her, 
 sometime." 
 
 "Fine. I want you to. Tell you what when I 
 see you to-morrow, we'll make an appointment, and 
 go up to her apartment she lives at the Arlington, 
 you know and we'll go over an idea she has, and block 
 out a scenario. She's been telling me about it. Sounds 
 pretty good. Of course, furnishing the plot, she might 
 want a piece of the thing say twenty-five per cent., 
 but that could be adjusted later." 
 
 Randall caught a glimpse of his companion's eyes 
 through the haze of the smoke from his cigarette. There 
 was a curious glitter in them, which he had never 
 observed before. 
 
 "I'm afraid Mr. Randall is too worn out to attempt 
 any new work at present," she said, pointedly. "He 
 has just been telling me he's thinking of going away 
 for a long rest." 
 
 Paulson flashed a quick, inquiring glance at the girl,
 
 38 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 evidently wondering where her interest in the matter 
 lay. 
 
 "Time enough," he said suavely. "Couldn't do any- 
 thing, now, before next season, anyway. See you 
 later." He nodded to Randall, bowed silently to Miss 
 Gordon and recrossed the room. 
 
 Miss Vincent looked over, and gave Randall a bright 
 smile. She was a pretty girl, with very large eyes 
 and a superb complexion. 
 
 Inez frowned slightly. 
 
 "For goodness' sake, Dick," she said, "don't let 
 people like that make a fool of you. That girl's nothing 
 but a little fluff. She can't act, and never could. Paul- 
 son wants to do something for her, of course. He's 
 crazy about her. Don't let them get you tied up. 
 Twenty-five per cent, interest, indeed! Ridiculous!" 
 
 "Don't worry," said Randall, laughing. "I'm not 
 going to get tangled up in any such propositions. You 
 see, I never could work on other people's ideas, any- 
 way. Don't see why I should, in fact. I've got plenty 
 of my own. . . . Yes, you serve it," he said to the 
 waiter, who came up with the blazing chafing dish. 
 
 It was after midnight now, and the character of the 
 crowd was beginning to change. The after-the-theatre 
 parties, composed, so many of them, of out-of-town busi- 
 ness men and their wives and daughters, feeling that 
 they had spent a very riotous evening over their oysters 
 and beer, began to depart, and another element began 
 to take their place. This gradual change in the character 
 of the patrons would go on until the early hours of the
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 39 
 
 morning. The real night life had not yet begun, but 
 its advance guard began to straggle in. 
 
 The change was particularly noticeable in the women. 
 There is a striking difference in appearance between 
 those who start homeward at midnight, and those who 
 are just starting out. The men, too, were different, 
 being less staid in appearance, and younger. An hour 
 or two later, still another type of men would appear 
 keen-eyed, heavy-jawed individuals, who knew life and 
 the underworld, as neither of the two preceding types 
 would ever know it. These latter men came alone, to 
 eat with women who were no longer young or foolish. 
 And with them would come the rattle, outside, of the 
 milk wagon, and the boys selling the morning papers. 
 
 Randall eyed the changing throng without interest. 
 The night life of New York was an old story to him, 
 now. "How tired I am of it all !" he remarked as he 
 sipped his champagne. 
 
 "Tired of what ?" Inez, busy with her clams, and 
 her dreams of early stardom, had not followed his 
 train of thought. 
 
 "This sort of thing." He waved his cigarette largely 
 about the room. 
 
 "Oh!" She went on with her eating. "I rather 
 like it, Dick. I'm a terrible night-owl, you know." 
 
 "Once in a while, it's well enough, but I feel like 
 getting away to the country the sea. You love that, 
 too, don't you?" 
 
 "Of course, I do. I think Atlantic City is great. 
 But I'd never want to live anywhere except in little 
 old New York. You see, I was born here, and I
 
 40 r A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 suppose I can't get it out of my system. You weren't. 
 That makes a difference. Just the same, it's the only 
 place for a man who's doing the sort of work you're 
 doing. You've got to keep in touch with things." 
 
 Randall regarded her critically. 
 
 "I thought, when we are married," he said, slowly, 
 "that perhaps you'd like to take a house up the Sound 
 somewhere, say at New London. Somewhere where 
 we could get to town in a couple of hours, if we had 
 to, but where we could have the water, and nature." 
 
 She laughed a thin, silvery laugh. 
 
 "I'm not very strong on nature, Dick," she said. 
 "Of course, I like the country, but one can't afford to 
 bury oneself. You ought to be where you can see all 
 the new shows, and belong to the right clubs, and keep 
 in touch with life. I think too much of you, dear boy, 
 to let you lose yourself in the wilds of New London. 
 In the summer, fine; but in winter your place is right 
 here." 
 
 "I guess you're right," he said, smiling at her enthu- 
 siasm. "Perhaps we'll have enough to keep a studio in 
 town, and a bungalow at the sea-shore as well." 
 
 "Of course, we will. That's just my idea." She saw a 
 newsboy coming through the room calling a morning 
 paper. "Here's a boy with The Planet" she said. 
 "Now, you can see what a great man you've become." 
 
 He bought the paper, and opened it eagerly, turning 
 at once to the page containing the dramatic reviews. 
 
 Inez, watching him, saw a sudden shadow settle over 
 his face like a cloud, through which played lightning- 
 like flashes of astonishment and pain.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 41 
 
 "What is it, Dick ?" she exclaimed, clutching at the 
 paper. 
 
 He extended the sheet to her. The headlines seemed 
 to flame before her. A sudden sinking of the heart 
 left her speechless. They read: 
 
 'THE WINNER' BELIES ITS NAME. 
 JANE ELLIS DOES GOOD WORK IN STUPID PLAY.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INEZ GORDON allowed the newspaper to drop from her 
 trembling fingers. It fell into the plate from which she 
 had been eating, but she was too excited to notice 
 it, or to care, if she had. 
 
 "Dick!" she exclaimed, in a voice thin, wiry, tone- 
 less. "Isn't that rotten!" 
 
 For a moment, he made no reply. The shock had 
 been too great. It seemed unreal, ' unbelievable, that 
 the play, his play, which had been so flatteringly 
 received, so loudly applauded, but a few hours before, 
 should be referred to in this way. 
 
 "Let me see it again," he said, in a dull and tired 
 voice. Even now, he could scarcely believe that he 
 had read the lines aright. 
 
 He recovered the paper from his companion's plate, 
 and began, with flushed face, to read the criticism. He 
 felt an unreasoning hatred for the author of it, a man, 
 as a matter of fact, quite unknown to him. It seemed 
 to him that this man had shamefully, wantonly, 
 unjustly attacked and destroyed his work, the creature 
 of his brain, and in so doing had destroyed his hopes 
 for the future, the joyousness of his love, the very 
 fabric of his life. Yet he knew in his heart that the 
 review was entirely impersonal.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 43 
 
 "Dull and full of platitudes/' he read at random. 
 "For the last act there is no excuse whatever. The 
 writer evidently thinks that he has made a discovery 
 in social economics, when he announces gravely that 
 'all men are not born free and equal.' The love scene 
 in the second act is sentimental piffle. One wonders 
 that managers can be induced to spend money on such 
 obvious balderdash. If young -Mr. Randall, whoever 
 he may be, imagines that ISTew York is ready to listen 
 to warmed-over socialistic tracts, he is sadly mistaken. 
 The superb work of Jane Ellis saved 'The Winner' 
 from being a loser of the worst type. It is doubtful 
 if even her ability can drag it into a second week." 
 
 He could read no more. No words rose to his frozen 
 lips. He handed the paper to Inez. 
 
 "Read it," he said. 
 
 She took the paper from him, and read the criticism 
 through. An angry gleam crept into her eyes. 
 
 "It's a shame this sort of thing," she said; "a 
 crime. It ought to be stopped. Has this man anything 
 against you ?" 
 
 "I've never even met him," Randall replied, play- 
 ing nervously with a bit of bread. 
 
 "Then he must have it in for Harrison." 
 
 "I believe not. Harrison told me they were good 
 friends." 
 
 "But Dick the play could never be as bad as that. 
 Of course, there were some places some scenes I didn't 
 quite like. I'll admit the last act was a little tiresome. 
 But you could easily fix that. The rest of it was great. 
 And the audience thought so, too."
 
 44 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "It seemed to me so," he said, his voice trembling 
 a little. "There were lots of Harrison's friends there." 
 
 "Not so many; only a couple of hundred. And I 
 heard lots of people all around me saying the finish 
 of the third act was immense. Of course, that love scene 
 in the second act was a trifle long, but you could so 
 easily cut it. I wouldn't pay any attention to the thing." 
 She crushed the paper in her hands. "The Planet isn't 
 the only paper in New York. . . . Here, boy," she 
 called to one of the coat boys, who was crossing the 
 room. "See if you can get us some morning papers. 
 Not The Planet. We've got that." 
 
 They sat looking at each other, waiting for the boy 
 to return. Before them a misty gulf seemed suddenly 
 to have opened. To Randall, it meant that his plans 
 for the future had been rudely upset; in fact, so far 
 as he could see, in the first rush of his despair, there 
 was no future. He had staked everything upon this 
 turn of the wheel, and, if he lost, he lost everything 
 except Inez and her love. That still remained to 
 him. 
 
 The girl's thoughts were somewhat different. To 
 her, the yawning gulf separated them. They stood on 
 opposite sides of it. She knew of Randall's situation, his 
 financial situation, perfectly. She knew that, should 
 this play fail, he would be, for the time being at least, 
 quite unable to marry her. She herself had no means. 
 By virtue of carefully hoarded savings, she had hitherto 
 managed to bridge the long arid spaces between the 
 oases of profitable engagements. 
 
 Now, instead of a summer with Dick at Atlantic City,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 45 
 
 or in Europe, she was confronted by a certainty of 
 a wearisome stock engagement in some dull New Eng- 
 land town, with a new part to learn each week, and 
 incessant rehearsals day after day, preparing the next 
 week's bill while playing six nights and three matinees 
 during the current one. 
 
 She hated stock work. She had dreamed, with Dick 
 in her thoughts, a beautiful dream, leading along 
 golden paths to the entrancing position of a star with 
 a playwright for a husband. No position in the world, 
 she felt, could be so delightfully secure. The shock 
 that had come to her was revolutionary unbelievable. 
 She refused to permit herself to consider it. After 
 all, The Planet was but one paper out of many. With 
 a chilling heart, she awaited the boy's return. 
 
 He came back presently with two more papers. 
 Randall threw him a quarter, and seized upon one of 
 them with feverish haste. Inez took up the other. 
 
 The one was a dramatic and sporting paper, in which 
 the week-day reviews were little more than notices of 
 openings. They reserved their real criticisms for the 
 Sunday edition. Randall threw it down. 
 
 "NotKing here," he said. "Just a notice that the 
 play opened, and the cast." 
 
 Inez passed him the paper she held in her hand. 
 It was a prominent journal of the popular variety, 
 and the critic who represented it was a noted one, both 
 for the humor of his reviews, and for- the unbiased 
 nature of his opinions. No one had ever suggested, 
 no matter how they might smart under his vitriolic wit, 
 that he could be bought. His headline was character- 
 istic.
 
 46 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "THE WINNER" OBJECTS TO FILTHY LUCRE. 
 AUTHOR'S DISTASTE FOE IT LIKELY To BE GRATIFIED. 
 
 Randall laughed, in spite of himself. After all, he 
 had too often enjoyed this man's "roasts" at the expense 
 of others to object now that he himself was the victim 
 of one. No doubt this was funny, he thought, but was 
 it really criticism ? There had been a line in his play, 
 in which one of the characters, a young state senator, 
 had said : "I care nothing about money. What I want 
 is to know that I've done my duty by the men who 
 trusted me." Apart from the context and situation, 
 the line became melodramatic, lending itself readily to 
 burlesque. 
 
 The critic had pounced upon it, and utilized it as the 
 theme of his review. No other line, no other situation 
 in the play was so much as mentioned. "Money!" he 
 wrote. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I'll have none 
 of you, though me che-ild be forced to work for a 
 living. I cast it in your teeth, you sinful plutocrats. 
 I live on condensed breakfast food and peanuts. What 
 need have I for money? 'Tis trash. Away with it. 
 I am here to hand out words, words, words. I shall 
 not starve, for, if need be, I can eat them, but no 
 U. S. currency for mine. The very mention of the 
 word makes me boil with indignation, and gives me 
 a pain in my pocket-book." 
 
 So the review went on for half a column. Randall 
 felt the blood creep into his face. He felt humiliated, 
 degraded. What he had written, good or bad, he had
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 47 
 
 written sincerely. He had handled a problem of the 
 day to the best of his ability, really believing that he 
 had pictured, to some extent, the evils which follow 
 the curse of selfishness. He would not have felt so 
 bitterly hurt, had the reviewer merely denounced his 
 play as weak, tiresome, ineffective. But to deride it, 
 to burlesque it, to hold it up to scorn, to make it a 
 laughing-stock surely this was not a fair return for 
 the sincerity and honesty of his effort. 
 
 Inez was watching his face. She had hoped after 
 the unfavorable review in The Planet, that the other 
 papers might turn the tide. Now she began to lose 
 hope, although she was too plucky to show it. 
 
 "That's not criticism," she said; "it's horse-play 
 buffoonery." 
 
 Randall laid down the paper. 
 
 "Whatever it is," he replied, "it kills." 
 
 "You mean the play?" 
 
 "Yes, the play and something inside me." He 
 fingered a button of his coat. "Something that no 
 amount of ordinary criticism could touch. My self- 
 respect." 
 
 "Nonsense, Dick! Don't let this thing discourage 
 you. He always does it." 
 
 "It doesn't discourage me, dear. Nothing could do 
 that. But it makes me say, 'What's the use ?' It isn't 
 discouragement, is it, if a man refuses to pour water 
 into a sieve, when he knows he can never fill it up ? 
 I'm not discouraged. I merely think that New York 
 doesn't want the sort of plays that I can write. They 
 want other things different things, things that are
 
 48 r A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 artificial, funny, sensational, risque. Good enough, in 
 their way, but not in my line. Edgerton was right. I 
 apparently don't write box-office plays." 
 
 "Nonsense ! A good play is always a money-maker." 
 
 He interrupted her. 
 
 "That isn't true. Some of the best plays that were 
 ever produced in New York have been rank failures, 
 and some of the worst have run a season. People 
 don't want to think. Edgerton was right, but I'm not 
 going to follow his advice." 
 
 She touched his hand. 
 
 "You're not going to be a quitter," she said. 
 
 He straightened up, flushing. 
 
 "Never that," he said. "You know better than that. 
 I'm not going to stop writing. I couldn't. But I'm 
 not going to write their kind of plays. I'll find an audi- 
 ence, some time, for mine." 
 
 She realized the bitterness that gave rise to his words, 
 and knew that it was but a phase, which would pass, 
 with rest and reflection. 
 
 "Let's go home, Dick," she said. "You're tired, and 
 so am I. Never mind about the newspapers. Wait for 
 the verdict of the public. It has packed many a show 
 that the critics have damned up hill and down dale. 
 Go home and get a good night's rest. You'll feel better 
 in the morning." 
 
 Their ride up-town, in a Broadway car, was a dia- 
 mal one. Luckily it was not long. Inez lived on Fifty- 
 seventh Street. Randall conducted her to her door, 
 and kissed her good-night, with little joy in his heart, 
 in spite of the knowledge that she loved him. Hia
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 49 
 
 hurt had been too bitter, too deep, to be so lightly 
 shaken off. 
 
 "Good-night, dear," he said. I'll come up to-mor- 
 row afternoon, late, and we'll go to dinner." 
 
 She pressed his hand as she left him. 
 
 "Don't be discouraged, now," she said, "It may 
 be a go yet." 
 
 "It may be a go yet." The phrase rang in his ears 
 like the tolling of a bell. He turned toward the sub- 
 way station, at Fifty-ninth Street, then suddenly 
 decided to walk down-town. 
 
 It was nearly two miles to his boarding-house on 
 Irving Place, and the fresh air of the early spring 
 morning did him good. The grim spectres of poverty, 
 of failure, which had haunted him for the past two 
 hours, began to fade away, as the brisk walk smoothed 
 out the kinks in his jangled nerves. He began to feel 
 tired physically tired as well as mentally and nerv- 
 ously so. When he creaked up the steps to his third- 
 floor room, he felt better than he had since morning. 
 
 He threw himself into an easy chair, and looked 
 about the room. It was not very large, and by no 
 stretch of the imagination could it have been con- 
 sidered luxurious, but it was home, for the time being, 
 and he was glad to return to it. 
 
 He filled his pipe, and began to smoke. How strange 
 seemed the events of the evening ! At midnight he 
 had been planning a honeymoon abroad, a summer in' 
 Europe, a house on the Sound, and a studio in town. 
 At four in the morning, he was wondering whether or 
 not he would be able to keep even this little four-walled
 
 50 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 place on the third floor that he called home. It was 
 almost like the Arabian nights the story of the beggar, 
 for one night made the Sultan. 
 
 He laughed at the irony of the situation, and, pick- 
 ing up a picture of Inez from his dressing-table, kissed 
 it reverently. How fine she had been! How courage- 
 ous ! Not once, during the dismal ending of the eve- 
 ning which had begun to joyously, had she failed him. 
 It pleased him to think that she had been even more 
 brave than he himself had been. She was a splendid 
 girl. He would make himself worthy of her love. 
 If this play should fail, and that was by no means 
 certain, he would write another that would succeed. 
 Meanwhile, to live, he would get a position on some 
 newspaper or magazine. He had done wrong, he 
 reflected, to borrow the money from Mr. Taylor. That 
 would have to be paid back, in any event. And he 
 had felt so sure of success! 
 
 He sat smoking for a long time. It was nearly 
 dawn, when he at last crept into bed. By that time 
 his mind was a dull blank. He was so utterly tired 
 that nothing seemed to make any difference. His last 
 thought, as he put out the light, was that, if Harrison 
 would only keep the play on for two weeks, and give 
 it a chance, it would be bound to succeed, in spite 
 of any criticism, no matter how adverse.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OPTIMISM rose in the heart of Eichard Randall, that 
 April morning, as the sun rose in the east, proclaiming 
 the new day. 
 
 The clear freshness of the air, the warmth of the sun- 
 shine, the sweetness of the spring, seemed to penetrate 
 even to the dull city streets, and give them a breath of 
 new life. 
 
 Their message sang loud in the heart of Richard Ran- 
 dall, dispelling the gloom of the preceding night, and 
 all its disquieting shadows. Inez loved him. The play 
 would surely prove a success. The world seemed a 
 good place in which to be. 
 
 He had slept late. It was close to eleven o'clock 
 when he left the house, and went toward Broadway. 
 
 There was a hotel at the corner, at which he some- 
 times breakfasted. He went into the cafe, gave his 
 order, and began to look through a pile of newspapers, 
 which he had secured at the news-stand as he came 
 through the lobby. 
 
 The first of the reviews which he read was a favor- 
 able one, and it gave him a thrill of satisfaction. The 
 paper in which it appeared was solid, conservative. It 
 seemed that the tide of ill luck, which he had so greatly 
 
 51
 
 52 !A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 feared the night before, had turned. With a sigh of 
 relief he began to eat his breakfast. 
 
 There were a dozen or more papers in the pile, some 
 morning editions, some afternoon. He picked up an- 
 other with a feeling of confidence, after having cut out 
 the first review with his pocket-knife, and laid it beside 
 his plate. Inez would wish to see them all, he knew. 
 
 His confidence was short-lived. Paper after paper 
 gave the play unfavorable notices. Some of them, espe- 
 cially the afternoon papers, were particularly savage in 
 their attacks. It almost seemed to him that in daring 
 to write a play he had committed a crime, for which 
 these self-appointed judges now proceeded to arraign 
 him with relentless fury. 
 
 He felt bewildered, unable to arrive at any clear 
 understanding of wherein he had failed. Criticism, he 
 had supposed, should be something more than destruct- 
 ive. It was easy, indeed, to tear down, to destroy. Yet 
 these people offered nothing to replace that which they 
 condemned ; in fact, no two of them condemned the same 
 things. There was no unanimity of opinion, no verdict, 
 as it were. Each man had a different set of ideas, a 
 different reason for condemnation. None seemed to 
 find any for praise. The mere fact that this newcomer 
 had dared to put forward a play at all seemed sufficient 
 reason for their vituperation. 
 
 He ceased to cut out the reviews, and sat for a long 
 time staring at his uneaten breakfast. All the joyous- 
 ness, the optimism of the day, had departed. The sun no 
 longer shone. A gray mist of uncertainty, of failure, 
 closed about him, choking his hopes, dulling his enthu-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 53 
 
 siasm. Whatever the merits of his play, whatever be- 
 lief he might have in its power to hold the public, it 
 seemed impossible that it could succeed in the face of 
 such attacks. 
 
 He left the table, and staggered out to the bar, look- 
 ing about furtively as he did so, to see whether there 
 was anyone in the lobby who might know him. In the 
 raw and bleeding state of his soul, it seemed as though 
 the whole world stood ready to point the finger of scorn. 
 He did not realize that in all the vast and manifold 
 activities of this busy city, scarcely one person in a. 
 hundred thousand had enough interest in himself or his 
 play to give either five minutes' thought. 
 
 He poured out a drink with fingers trembling from 
 nervousness, and, when the bar-keeper ventured a re- 
 mark about the beauty of the morning, he started as 
 though another accusation had been launched against 
 him and his play. Over and over he revolved it in his 
 mind, scene by scene, trying to see to understand 
 wherein he had failed, if, indeed, he really had failed 
 at all. The effort only left his mind the more con- 
 fused. 
 
 At one o'clock, he was to be at Harrison's office. He 
 had made the engagement, the night before, believ- 
 ing that they would together read the favorable criti- 
 cisms he so confidently expected. Later on, perhaps, 
 Harrison might want to talk about a second company, 
 to open in Chicago. He had looked forward to the in- 
 terview, anticipating with delight the congratulations 
 of Harrison and his assistants, the probable requests
 
 54 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 for interviews from the newspapers, the admiration of 
 the many friends and acquaintances he would meet. 
 
 Now, all was changed. Smarting under the lash of 
 criticism, he would have given anything to have avoided 
 the interview altogether, yet he realized the failure on 
 his part to appear would be regarded as cowardice, as 
 an inability to "play the game." 
 
 Then, too, he knew that Harrison must face all this 
 adverse criticism Harrison, and Paulson, the director. 
 It would be an act of cowardice to let them face it 
 alone. 
 
 He hurried up Broadway, feeling as though every 
 person he passed was saying under his breath, "There 
 goes Kandall, the man who just put over the awful fail- 
 ure at The Crown." In the course of twenty blocks, he 
 met but three persons whom he knew. One was Slesin- 
 ger, the manager with whom he had been talking the 
 night before. He nodded carelessly, and passed on. 
 There may have been no intentional slight in his man- 
 ner, but Kandall, in his unstrung condition, imagined 
 one, and a flush of annoyance darkened his face. 
 
 The other two persons he knew were Edgerton, the 
 actor he had met the night before, and Vance, Harri- 
 son's press-man. The former stopped, and shook hands. 
 
 "How's everything going ?" he asked, genially. 
 
 Randall winced. 
 
 "You've seen the papers ?" he asked. 
 
 "No ; just got up. Did they knock ?" 
 
 "Yes. Something awful !" 
 
 Edgerton raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "You know what I told you about the socialistic
 
 'A LOST PAEADISE. 55 
 
 stuff last night," he said. "Remember it, next time. 
 And don't let the papers worry you. They may be 
 wrong, too." He nodded and started on. "Don't mind 
 if I hurry, old chap. Breakfast, you know. So long." 
 
 It was in the next block, near the theatre, that he 
 met Vance. The latter looked exceedingly glum. He 
 nodded to Randall, and passed on. There was no mis- 
 taking the curtness of his greeting, and Randall could 
 not refrain from comparing it with the enthusiasm of 
 his manner the evening before. All of a sudden, he 
 began to realize just what failure really meant, just how 
 many doors it closed, that success flung wide. He 
 crushed down his pride, swallowed hard, for his throat 
 seemed singularly dry, and went up the steps that led 
 to Harrison's office. 
 
 The latter's secretary met him, rather solemn of face. 
 
 "Mr. Harrison won't be down until later," he said. 
 "I just had him on the 'phone. He said you could see 
 Mr. Paulson." 
 
 The latter came out at that moment. 
 
 "Hello, Randall," he said, with an assumption of 
 cheeriness which the latter knew he did not feel. "Just 
 going to lunch. How are you standing the shock, this 
 morning ?" 
 
 "Pretty well," Randall replied, with a rather mirth- 
 less smile. Then, as Paulson seemed about to leave, he 
 added, "I'll walk along with you, if I may. We can 
 talk as we go." 
 
 "Sure. Glad to have you. I'd ask you to lunch, but 
 I've got an appointment at the club." 
 
 "Thanks. I've just had my breakfast, anyway. And
 
 56 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 then I'm not hungry. You haven't seen Harrison, of 
 course ?" 
 
 "'No. Had him on the 'phone. He won't show up 
 till about four." 
 
 "Does he want to see me, do you think ?" 
 
 Paulson glanced quickly at his companion. 
 
 "I guess not," he said. "I imagine he feels sort of 
 blue about the notices, the same as the rest of us. Of 
 course, we all pretend to pay no attention to them, but 
 when a show gets hit as hard as this, it's handicapped 
 from the start, and there's no use denying it." 
 
 "You you think he will take it off ?" Randall asked, 
 huskily. 
 
 "Not if it does any business, of course. Harrison 
 has plenty of nerve. He isn't the sort to throw up the 
 sponge after the first round. I guess he'll keep it on a 
 week or two, and see what happens." 
 
 "What do you think?" Randall's voice, thin and 
 metallic in timbre, showed very plainly the nervous 
 strain under which he was laboring. 
 
 "I ? Well, it's a pretty hard thing to say. You know 
 what the season has been. Half the so-called successes 
 in town are starving to death. Only being kept on to 
 establish a value for stock. I can't say what the public 
 will do, of course. They may come. But in a season 
 like this, when it seems as though you had to fairly 
 drag them to the theatre and chain them in their seats, 
 I doubt it. Wish I could encourage you, old chap. I'd 
 like to, God knows. As a director, it's not anything to 
 my credit to put on a failure. But I suppose you want 
 the truth, don't you, and not a lot of hot air ?"
 
 'A. LOST PAEADISE. 57 
 
 "Yes, I want the truth. But after the way the play 
 went last night, it doesn't seem as though what the 
 papers said could be the truth." 
 
 "Never trust a first-night audience, my boy. They 
 applaud, because they think they're there to applaud, 
 and then go home and knock. I thought we had a win- 
 ner, myself, I'll admit ; but they tell me at the box-office 
 there's no sale at all. May pick up, of course, but the 
 house will look like a morgue to-night unless they paper 
 it. Of course, they will, too. Harrison won't let The 
 Crown show up badly, if he has to give away every seat 
 in the house. He thinks more of that theatre than any- 
 thing in the world, except his wife Well, so 
 
 long. I'm due at the club at one-thirty. See you later." 
 He was gone almost before Eandall realized it. 
 
 In spite of the brilliant spring sunshine, the hurrying, 
 laughing crowds, the air of care-free prosperity, Broad- 
 way seemed horrible to Randall now. For nearly two 
 years he had dreamed of walking down it, some day, 
 with the knowledge that he was part of its wonderful 
 life. Now, he felt himself but a discarded bit of flot- 
 sam, a useless thing, cast aside, because he had been 
 found wanting. 
 
 He wandered over toward Sixth Avenue, wondering 
 whether or not he should go up and see Inez. True, 
 he had told her that he would not come until late, but 
 somehow his heart yearned for her. He felt that, with 
 her, he might forget the bitterness, the sickening pain 
 that held him in its grip. He determined to call her 
 up, and suggest that they have luncheon together, and 
 take a walk in the park.
 
 58 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 He stepped into a restaurant at the corner, and rang 
 up her number. The call was answered bj the boy 
 who operated the switchboard. Miss Gordon had just 
 gone out, he informed Kandall, and had left word that 
 she would not return until half-past four. 
 
 Eandall went over to a table in the corner, and or- 
 dered a drink. He could think of nothing else to do, 
 and he felt that he must have something, to drive this 
 gloom from his heart, and give him, even though but 
 temporarily, some feeling of well being. He had over 
 two long hours to kill before he could meet Inez. He 
 thought of going home, but it seemed as though the 
 mere idea of sitting alone in that little room for two 
 hours would drive him mad. Here, at least, there were 
 people j here was life the life that, cruel and heartless 
 as he sometimes felt it to be, he secretly loved. 
 
 The waiter came up with the drink, and remained 
 hovering about expectantly. Eandall ordered a chop, 
 and sent him away. He wanted to be alone with his 
 thoughts. Just at the moment he was wondering why 
 Inez had gone out. Was it to look for an engagement ? 
 He knew that before long the companies for summer 
 stock that melancholy grind! would be forming. 
 Poor little girl ! What a difference all this was going to 
 make to her! 
 
 He forced himself to eat, and, after he had done so, 
 felt once more a stirring of the old optimism within him. 
 Once more he said to himself, in spite of the evidence 
 to the contrary, that success might still come, that the 
 public might see in the play that which the critics had 
 failed to see. He started off to meet Inez, with some
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 59 
 
 measure of courage in his heart, and a grim determina- 
 tion to succeed, in spite of anything and everything 
 that opposed him. 
 
 She had come in a short time before, and was dress- 
 ing. He waited in the little parlor, separated from the 
 bedroom by a pair of tapestry curtains. Presently, 
 Inez came through them, wearing a rose-silk kimono, 
 and flung herself wearily upon a divan. 
 
 "Dick," she cried, "I'm so tired !" 
 
 He came over to her at once, and, kneeling on the 
 floor, put his arms about her, and kissed her. 
 
 "Are you, dear ?" he said. "I'm so sorry ! What 
 have you been doing all day ?" 
 
 "Looking for an engagement, of course. There 
 isn't anything else to do now." 
 
 "Inez !" His voice held a note of reproach. "Don't 
 say it that way. Things may be all right, after all." 
 
 She laughed that curious laugh which somehow al- 
 ways reminded him of thin silver wire. 
 
 "With a panning like that? Never in a thousand 
 
 He rose, and walked up and down the tiny room 
 for several moments in silence. Inez had apparently 
 lost hope ; her voice, her manner, her words, all showed 
 it. And the night before she had been so brave ! 
 
 "You said, last night, dear, that we must wait for 
 the verdict of the public." 
 
 "I know, but I never expected anything like this. It 
 wouldn't be so bad, if the critics had just condemned the 
 play, but they've made it a joke. The whole town is 
 laughing at it. I've been around, to-day, and I know."
 
 60 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 He turned away for a moment to hide the spasm of 
 pain that crossed his face. 
 
 "At least, dear," he said at length, "we have each 
 other." 
 
 The girl laughed, a bit harshly. 
 
 "It doesn't look that way," she exclaimed. "I'll prob- 
 ably spend the summer in some wretched little hole, 
 twenty miles from nowhere." 
 
 "You mean then," he asked, gazing down at her, 
 "that you're not going to marry me on account of this ?" 
 
 Inez sat up, and rested her chin upon her two hands. 
 For a long time she sat, her eyes fixed upon the ara- 
 besque pattern of the rug upon the floor. The curious 
 birds and flowers that covered it seemed to dance mer- 
 rily to some silent tune. Presently she looked up. 
 
 "Do you want me to marry you, Dick ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes you know that. I love you. How can I help 
 wanting you to marry me ?" 
 
 "You mean now ?" She searched his face. "Now ?" 
 
 "To-day, if you will." Impulsively, he sat down be- 
 side her, and took her in his arms. "In all this disap- 
 pointment, this suffering I need you more than ever." 
 
 For a moment, she yielded to his kisses. A strange 
 wave of maternity swept over her strange, because to 
 her quite foreign. Some sense of the hurt, the wounded 
 boyish pride of the man, made her want to comfort him, 
 to smooth the hard lines from his tired face. Then the 
 absurdity of the situation rose, grinning before her. She 
 knew that Randall was, for the moment at least, poorer 
 even than she herself, and how much, or little, that 
 meant, she fully realized.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 61 
 
 "Dick," she cried, drawing back, and pushing him 
 gently away, her hands on his shoulders. "Don't you 
 see that, as things are now, it's out of the question? 
 We'd starve." 
 
 He, also, knew that she was right. 
 
 "I know, dear," he replied. "I should not have said 
 to-day. But we may not have to wait very long. I'm 
 sure that Harrison will keep the play on for a month, 
 at least, and I believe, even now, that it will make good. 
 My royalties for a month ought to be a couple of thou- 
 sand, anyway, and, then, there's that other play the 
 one Slesinger has. He promised me the other night to 
 read it at once. And, if they put 'The Winner' on the 
 road, after a month in town, I'll get a good weekly in- 
 come from it plenty for us to live on. And, if the very 
 worst happens, I know I can get a position on some 
 newspaper, or magazine, which would pay me enough 
 for us to get along on, until things take a turn. Isn't 
 it better for us to face things together than to spend 
 the summer alone ?" 
 
 He pleaded well, and for a moment his arguments 
 swayed the girl. ]^o one in the world realized quite 
 how she hated the summer work in stock. 
 
 "Why not wait for a week or two, Dick ?" she tempo- 
 rized, "and see how the play does get along ?" 
 
 "Very well. Perhaps that would be better. And 
 you'll not arrange anything else for the summer ?" He 
 knew what her day at the theatrical agencies meant 
 knew that at any moment an engagement might be 
 offered her to which an immediate answer would be re- 
 quired.
 
 62 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "No, Dick ; not yet. You know how much I love you. 
 You know that I want to be with you, more than any- 
 thing in the world. But we've got to be sensible, dear. 
 If we must wait we must. I have a career so have 
 you. There are certain things, in marriage " she 
 hesitated, embarrassed "certain results, you know, that 
 would wreck everything. We can't afford to do that. 
 Let's wait a while, and be sure." 
 
 "Very well, dear," he said, and kissed her again. 
 
 There was a sharp jangling of the telephone bell. 
 Inez rose to answer it. Her replies were monosyllabic, 
 being confined to yes and no. The former occurred the 
 more often. With a gesture of impatience she hung up 
 the receiver, and turned to Randall. 
 
 "Steinfeldt just called me up," she said. "He wants 
 to see me." 
 
 "Steinfeldt? Why?" 
 
 "I I don't know exactly." She came over to him, 
 and began to play with the button of his coat, her eyes 
 ever so slightly veiled, her manner ingenuous, childish. 
 "You see, Dick, I heard, on Broadway, to-day, that he 
 was looking for a woman, for the summer show, to play 
 a straight part no songs. The thing's got a plot, it 
 seems. So, I went over and called on him. He was 
 out, but I had a little talk with his brother, Isidor. He 
 seemed to think that I might be just what they wanted 
 type, you know. Now Ray calls me up, and wants 
 me to take dinner with him, and talk the matter over." 
 
 "Rather unusual, it sees, to me, to ask you to dinner. 
 You're going?" 
 
 ".Yes. I told him I would. Don't be silly, dear. At
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 63 
 
 least I can hear what he has to say. It may be a splen- 
 did chance, and would keep me right here in town, all 
 summer. That would mean a lot, you know, because we 
 could see each other every day." 
 
 "But about our marriage ?" 
 
 "Oh, the rehearsals of this thing don't begin for two 
 or three weeks. I wouldn't sign any contract yet. If 
 things go all right with us I'd simply drop out, that's 
 all. And if they don't, I'd be sure of a hundred a week 
 or more all summer, and that would help some, dear 
 boy, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 Randall had turned, and was gazing out over the roofs 
 of the city, upon which the late afternoon sun was lay- 
 ing its fingers of gold. There seemed something sym- 
 bolic about the sunshine the golden sunshine of suc- 
 cess, which had, apparently, passed him by. How bitter 
 this sense of failure ! Even now it was taking Inez 
 away from him, driving her to dinner with a man whom 
 he at heart despised, but whose success gave him a 
 power which he, Randall, could not oppose. He turned 
 to the girl, with a tired smile. 
 
 "I'm selfish, I know," he said. "I had wanted you 
 with me, to-night, but I guess you are right. If Stein- 
 feldt can offer you a good engagement, I suppose you. 
 ought to take it at least until we see how things turn 
 out." 
 
 She flung her arms impulsively about his neck, and 
 kissed him. 
 
 "You dear!" she said. "I knew you would see 
 would understand. We'll dine together to-morrow, in- 
 stead. And, if I were you, I'd call up Taylor, and have
 
 64 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 a talk with him. He was there, last night, as you know, 
 and he'll be expecting to see you." 
 
 "I know." Mechanically he picked up his hat. "I 
 ought to have seen him, before, but somehow, I just 
 couldn't. He's been such a brick all these months 
 he's believed in me so ! I felt ashamed. I was going 
 to see him to-morrow, but I'll do it to-night, instead." 
 
 "Do. And to-morrow you can tell me all about it." 
 She put her arm through his, and drew him toward the 
 door. "You will have to run along now, sweetheart. 
 I've barely time to dress. Steinfeldt's coming up in 
 his machine, at six-thirty, and I've got to look my 
 best, you know. Good-night." She kissed him again, 
 a trifle hurriedly. "Don't worry. Everything is 
 going to turn out all right for us. I know it." 
 
 Randall groped his way to the elevator. Somehow, 
 life, for the moment, seemed singularly dull and barren.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEING a bachelor, Edmund Taylor usually dined at 
 his club. He was just on the point of leaving his office, 
 when Randall's telephone message came, and he at 
 once asked the latter to take dinner with him. 
 
 "I've been expecting to hear from you all day," he 
 said, in his big, cheery voice. "Meet me at the club, 
 and we'll have a chance to talk things over, as we eat." 
 
 Half an hour later, they were seated at one of the 
 small tables, in the club dining-room. The two long 
 tables in the middle of the room were already partially 
 filled with men prominent in the theatrical world. 
 Randall was acquainted, personally, with only a few 
 of them, but the faces of nearly all were well known 
 to him. A noted comedian, as famous for his rapid- 
 fire succession of marriages and divorces as for his 
 ability as an actor, was telling a funny story, which 
 had set the whole table in a roar. 
 
 An atmosphere of jollity, of good-fellowship, per- 
 vaded the place. Under its genial influence, Randall 
 began to feel his dejection slipping away from him. 
 
 Taylor nodded to many of the men as they entered, 
 and exchanged a word here and there, as he and 
 Randall made their way to their table. 
 
 "Bradley was just telling me he saw the show last 
 
 65
 
 66 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 night," he said, nodding toward a slim, light-haired 
 man wearing eye-glasses. "Said he thought it might 
 have a chance." 
 
 Eandall eyed the popular playwright with a slight 
 feeling of envy. "I hear he's making nearly four 
 thousand a week," he said. 
 
 Mr. Taylor closed one eye slowly in a comical wink 
 "He has a press-agent, my boy," he said. 
 
 "Well, I only wish I were making a tenth of it," 
 remarked Randall, as he attacked the bread and butter 
 with unnecessary vigor. 
 
 "You will," his companion laughed. "Don't be dis- 
 couraged, just because you've got a few hasty criti- 
 cisms." 
 
 "I'm not discouraged. It isn't the money I care 
 about. It's the not making good, after friends, like you, 
 have backed me. I tell you that hurts." 
 
 "Well, if I'm not losing confidence in your work, 
 I don't see why you should." 
 
 "And you mean to say you haven't ?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. You're bound to make good, in 
 the end. You have the dramatic instinct." 
 
 Randall crumbled a bit of bread in silence. 
 
 "That's a big thing for you to say, Mr. Taylor," 
 he exclaimed at length. "I can't tell you how much 
 I appreciate it." 
 
 "Nonsense! I understand this dramatic game back- 
 wards. It's the toughest one to go up against that 
 I know, and most people think it's as easy as rolling 
 off a log. Why, there are millions of people who 
 think they can write plays literally millions, and
 
 'A LOST PAEADISE. 67 
 
 how many are there, to-day, who are doing it writing 
 plays that succeed, I mean ? About twenty. Think of 
 it. Think of the odds against you. Yet, every day, 
 I meet people who tell me they have written a play, 
 and want my advice and help. Only the other day, 
 a woman who writes for our magazine a clever 
 woman, too sent me a manuscript to read. Will you 
 believe it, when I tell you that the first act was just 
 eight minutes long, and the whole play wouldn't 
 have run an hour ? Of course, you expect such things 
 as that, from street-car conductors, or old ladies out 
 in South Bend, Indiana, when they write plays to 
 get enough money to pay off the mortgage on the farm ; 
 but you'd think that a clever, up-to-date "New Yorker 
 would study construction sufficiently, before attempting 
 to write a play, to know at least how long to make it." 
 
 "I suppose it looks so easy," laughed Eandall, "that 
 they just dash off an act or two, over Sunday, when they 
 haven't anything else to do." 
 
 "That's precisely it. Really, somebody ought to 
 publish the truth about playwriting, just to stop some 
 of the tragedies of it. There was a woman who came 
 to see a prominent manager here not long ago, who had 
 taken a correspondence course in dramatic work had 
 a regular parchment diploma with a big red seal, to 
 prove that she really was a playwright, and not merely 
 an amateur. She'd written a play about eugenics 
 an awful thing, I heard seven acts, and characters 
 enough to bankrupt any manager with nerve enough 
 to produce it. Well, it seems her husband, a clerk in 
 a bank down in Charleston, West Virginia, had got
 
 68 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 so enthused over the thing that he'd thrown up his 
 position, drawn out his savings, and come to New 
 York with his wife to put the thing on. They expected 
 to get it all settled in a few weeks, and then sit back 
 and draw a couple of thousand a week royalties for 
 the rest of their lives. Pitiful, I think. I heard 
 afterward that, when the money gave out, the man 
 drifted from one odd job to another, until one day he 
 just jumped into the river. I don't know what became 
 of the woman." 
 
 Randall shuddered. 
 
 "Poor devil !" he said. "Moths around the flame 
 of success. I'm one myself, I guess." 
 
 "Hardly !" Taylor reached over and put his hand 
 on his companion's arm. "You've made a good fight. 
 You've tried to get an intelligent idea of what you are 
 about, and you've had something to say. You're learn- 
 ing, and some day you'll 'put one over.' But you'll 
 admit, now, won't you, that I was right, when I told 
 you, a year or more ago, that it's a hard game ?" 
 
 "Well, I should say so!" Randall laughed mirth- 
 
 "After a man has written a play," went on Taylor, 
 "and sold it, and had it properly produced, and gets, 
 by one chance or another, a competent cast, and man- 
 ages to escape damnation at the hands of the critics, 
 and has hit upon an idea that strikes the public at 
 the psychological moment, and has controlled a score 
 or more of other factors almost as important, why, then, 
 if he hasn't made a foolish contract, and gets the roy- 
 alties that are coming to him, he may, if his play
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 69 
 
 runs in New York for a season, which not one in ten 
 of even the so-called successes does nowadays he may, 
 I say, granting all these conditions, make five or six 
 hundred dollars a week for say thirty weeks that 
 would be fifteen thousand to eighteen thousand dollars, 
 from the first of October to the middle of May. In the 
 case of a phenomenal success, with second, third and 
 sometimes even fourth companies playing simultane- 
 ously, in different parts of the country, he might 
 double that, or even more. His agent's commis- 
 sions of ten per cent., provided he has employed an 
 agent and, if he hasn't, he's probably made a fool 
 contract have got to be deducted, of course. There 
 you have practically your top notch, say thirty or even 
 forty thousand during the year, and even the best of 
 them rarely manage to strike it more than once in 
 every two or three years. That leaves your yearly 
 average about ten thousand dollars. And mind you, 
 I've been talking about unusual successes. In nine 
 cases out of ten, even if you've written what's called 
 a success, and have had a run of three months in 
 New York, and the rest of the season on the road, 
 you'll be lucky to have made ten or twelve thousand 
 out of your play, and maybe you won't do it again 
 for five years possibly never. 
 
 "It doesn't look so alluring, when you come down 
 to the real facts, does it ? All these stories you read 
 in the newspapers about playwrights making a quarter 
 or half a million during a season come from the 
 imagination of press-agents. One prominent writer 
 I know did it, once, but only because the managers
 
 70 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 who took his play had so little confidence in it that 
 they refused to put up more than half the money 
 needed for the production. Made him furnish the 
 other half, and, of course, share to that extent in the 
 profits. He didn't want to do it, but he had to, in 
 order to get the play produced at all, and it happened 
 to be a big success. I understand that the author's 
 share of the profits was, during the time of the play's 
 vogue, about two hundred thousand dollars. Had he 
 received author's royalties only, instead of profits, he 
 would have received perhaps thirty-five thousand. The 
 same man, by the way, has written three successive 
 and complete failures this past season. 
 
 "The thing's a gamble, Randall, and takes a gambler's 
 nerve. When you lose, don't squeal. And, when you 
 win, don't do as most gamblers do, and spend your 
 money as though you were a millionaire. Bradley 
 over there " Taylor nodded to the fair-haired young 
 man with the glasses "is a corking good business 
 man. He doesn't dissipate, and he saves his money. 
 Been at the game ten years or more, and owns a part 
 interest in a theatre. He's an exception. The best 
 man of the lot five years ago isn't worth a dollar to-day. 
 Drink, of course drink and women. You know, by 
 this time, what a nerve-racking life it is how it gets 
 you, until you feel sometimes thaj; you'd need the con- 
 stitution of a horse to come through it safely. Any 
 gambling game is like that it saps your nerves, your 
 energy, your vitality, until you are driven to artificial 
 stimulation, and then why, you generally go to pieces 
 as a result."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 71 
 
 "You certainly don't make the picture a very attract- 
 ive one," said Randall, gravely. 
 
 "I'm not trying to make it attractive. I'm trying 
 to make it true. If, knowing it as it is, you have the 
 grit to keep at it, you deserve to succeed." 
 
 "It isn't only the grit, Mr. Taylor. It's to some 
 extent a question of health and strength, and, beyond 
 that, a question of money." He raised his hand, as 
 his companion started to speak. "Don't think I'd let 
 you lend me any more, even were you willing to do 
 so, which I doubt. I never should have borrowed what 
 I did. I never would, had I not thought that suc- 
 cess would have come a whole lot quicker than it has." 
 
 Mr. Taylor smiled, his cynical, but kindly, smile. 
 
 "I lent you the money for two reasons, Randall," 
 he said. "First, because I knew you were honest; 
 and second, because I knew you had ability. I haven't 
 changed my mind about either, so let's drop the matter. I 
 haven't a doubt you'll make enough to pay me back, 
 out of this play you've got on now; but, if you don't, 
 there's the other one the comedy you read me some 
 weeks ago. I'd be willing to invest a couple of thou- 
 sand in that, any time. By the way, what's become 
 of it?" 
 
 Randall's face brightened. 
 
 "Slesinger's got it. He told me last night he'd 
 read anything of mine right away." 
 
 "Good! Slesinger's a very capable producer. I 
 hope he takes it." He glanced at his watch. "What 
 do you say to running over to the theatre, and seeing 
 Jiow things are going?"
 
 72 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "All right. I suppose I'd better show up. I 
 called on Harrison to-day, but didn't see him. He'll 
 probably be in the box-office to-night." 
 
 It was after nine when they arrived at the theatre, 
 and the first act was nearly over. They stepped inside 
 for a moment, and glanced over the house. It seemed 
 to be well filled, and the applause at the end of the 
 act was plentiful and spontaneous. Randall felt im- 
 mensely encouraged. With Taylor, he went to the 
 box-office, and found Harrison talking with his house- 
 manager. 
 
 "How are you ?" he said, rather shortly. "Seen the 
 notices, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes. Pretty bad, weren't they ?" 
 
 "H-m !" The manager rolled his cigar about in his 
 mouth. "I don't pay much attention to those fellows." 
 
 "Pretty good house to-night," Randall ventured, 
 tentatively. 
 
 Harrison smiled, a rather grim smile. 
 
 "About two hundred dollars, I believe," he said. 
 
 "Two hundred?" 
 
 "Exactly! And our capacity is fifteen. The rest 
 is paper." 
 
 "What is your honest opinion of the show, Mr. Har- 
 rison ?" Taylor asked. He had known the manager 
 slightly for years. "I'm rather interested in the suc- 
 cess of our young friend here." 
 
 "It's a good enough show. Only question is: Will 
 the public come to see it? You know, as well as I 
 do, that it's all a gamble. Maybe they will maybe 
 they won't. I can't tell. Nobody can. The box-office
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 73 
 
 is the answer." He turned, as a youngish man with 
 glasses came up. They chatted aside for a moment. 
 Then Harrison introduced the newcomer. "Mr. 
 Peters," he said, "shake hands with Mr. Randall, the 
 author, and Mr. Taylor. You know him, I guess." 
 
 Mr. Peters laughed. 
 
 "Sure," jie said. "Say, Mr. Randall, haven't got 
 any up-to-date lyrics in your vest pocket, have you?" 
 
 "Lyrics?" 
 
 "Mr. Peters is a composer," Taylor explained. 
 "Wrote 'The Lightning Rag,' and 'The Whistling 
 Tango,' and a lot more." 
 
 "Not forgetting my latest success, 'I should worry,' " 
 Mr. Peters added, proudly. "Say, if you think up 
 any novel words drop in and see me. I'm always on 
 the lookout for something new Fitzpatrick Building, 
 Tenth floor. Find me in usually from twelve to six. 
 There's money in good songs. I'll split fifty-fifty, 
 words and music. How's the show going?" 
 
 "Pretty fair," said Randall, a trifle dazed. 
 
 "Great title, 'The Winner.' Hope it's a go. Pity 
 you haven't got any chance for a song or two in it. 
 I've got a couple of new ones I guess they'll go into 
 Steinfeldt's summer review. They tell me he's going 
 to have a great bunch of skirts in it, this year. He 
 always could pick 'em, though. Saw him dining with 
 one at the Knickerbocker to-night. A swell dame, 
 believe me. Chap I was with tells me he's nuts about 
 her going to give her one of the leads. Name's 
 Gordon, I believe. New one on me, and I thought I 
 knew them all. . . . Well, so long, fellows. I've got
 
 74 A -LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to move. Good luck I" He passed out into the lobby, 
 and disappeared down the street. 
 
 Randall scarcely heard what Harrison and Taylor 
 were saying, although he listened and replied mechan- 
 ically. He knew Peters' type well enough to know 
 that no woman's reputation meant anything to him, 
 and yet the nasty slur, the intimation, regarding Inez 
 cut deep. After all, it was no place for a woman, 
 this world of cheap and tawdry imitation. He deter- 
 mined to insist upon their immediate marriage, no mat- 
 ter how matters turned out for the moment. Inez 
 might object, but he felt that she loved him enough to 
 allow him to overrule her objections. It would be the 
 best thing for her in the end, of that he felt sure. 
 
 On the way to the subway station, after the per- 
 formance, he mentioned to Mr. Taylor a matter that 
 he had been for some time turning over in his mind. 
 It was, in effect, that the latter should use his influ- 
 ence to get him a position upon the staff of some maga- 
 zine, possibly even his own, thereby enabling him to 
 earn a living, while at the same time carrying on his 
 dramatic work. 
 
 Mr. Taylor received the suggestion in silence. For 
 a moment Randall thought that he had offended by 
 making it. Then his companion spoke. 
 
 "I'll see what I can do, Randall," he said. "We 
 have no vacancies, just at present, but I might be able 
 to arrange something elsewhere. The pay would be 
 small, and you'd have rather long hours, but if you 
 want to try it, why, I'll see what can be done. If I 
 were you, though, I'd wait, and see how this play
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 75 
 
 turns out, and what Slesinger has to say about the 
 - other one. I don't want to discourage you, but, if you 
 mean to write plays as a profession, you'll need all 
 your time for it. Working eight hours a day on the 
 staff of a magazine will leave you mighty little time 
 and energy for anything else. Think it over." 
 
 They bade each other good-night at the station. 
 Taylor went up-town, Eandall down. The latter 
 returned to his room in a singularly dissatisfied state 
 of mind. He had reached one of those crises in life, 
 when the foundations of things seem shifting sands, 
 upon which all attempts to build anything permanent 
 result in failure. 
 
 Yet, Randall was not in any way lacking in courage. 
 He was ready to face any danger, any disaster, bravely 
 enough. It was the intangible, lurking sense of help- 
 lessness which he seemed unable to combat ; the shadowy 
 presentiment of failure, which, in spite of all his 
 inherent optimism, would not down. 
 
 Then, too, the thing that he had heard about Inez 
 troubled him. He did not doubt her in the least. He 
 would rather have cut off his right hand than have 
 harbored such a thought. But he bitterly resented the 
 fact that the woman he loved should even for a moment 
 be placed in a position in which such gossip, cheap 
 and foolish as he felt it to be, was possible. He wanted 
 her all to himself, to take her away from the environ- 
 ment of money-getting which surrounded her. He was 
 convinced that, once they were married, Inez would give 
 up her ambitions as an actress, and content herself
 
 76 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 with the more permanent joys which he believed their 
 life together would bring her. 
 
 And it was just here that his powerlessness made it- 
 self most felt. No subsequent success, however great, 
 he argued, could ever compensate him for a lack of 
 money now, if that lack resulted in any separation 
 between Inez and himself. 
 
 A feeling almost superstitious in its nature filled 
 him, whereby he came to believe that the happiness 
 of Inez and himself was in some way irrevocably bound 
 up with that of his play that the failure of the one 
 would mean, inevitably, the failure of the other. 
 
 He could not sleep that night, but tossed about, rest- 
 less and troubled, until nearly dawn. A physician 
 might have told him that he was on the verge of 
 nervous prostration, and that the forebodings which 
 oppressed him were nothing more than manifestations 
 of his condition of health, but Randall would doubt- 
 less have laughed the idea to scorn, and have persisted 
 in regarding himself in a light wholly tragic.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHEN Richard Randall first came to New York, 
 some two years before the production of "The Win- 
 ner," he possessed three weapons with which he hoped 
 to achieve success. They were courage, health, and 
 ability no mean equipment, in truth, for his purpose. 
 He possessed also about five hundred dollars in money 
 and the manuscript of a play. 
 
 The mistake he made lay in his estimation of the 
 time that would be required to accomplish his pur- 
 pose, and of the difficulty of it. Like many another 
 aspirant for fame, he felt that he could say, with 
 Caesar, "I came, I saw, I conquered." It is a glorious 
 characteristic of youth, this miscalculation of the 
 obstacles that block the pathway to success; were they 
 visible in all their grimness, few, indeed, would have 
 the courage to essay the task. 
 
 So Richard Randall, with the high courage of inex- 
 perience, thought that with the aforesaid equipment 
 of health, courage and ability, plus the five hundred dol- 
 lars and the manuscript of the play, the task would 
 be a comparatively easy one. 
 
 For two years he had been learning that there is 
 no royal road to success ; that adversity may rob one of 
 
 77
 
 78 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 both health and courage, if not of ability, and that five 
 hundred dollars is a very 4 small sum, indeed, with 
 which to tempt the Fates. 
 
 He was twenty-four, when he came to the city, and 
 up to that time he had lived in his native city of 
 Cleveland. His father had been, up to the time of his 
 death, a man who dreamed of literary success while 
 teaching history in the public schools. Perhaps the 
 dream interfered with his teaching, or the teaching 
 with his dream. In any event, his "Life of Alexander 
 the Great," product of ten years of study and labor, 
 was never published, nor did he ever rise above the 
 ruck of the other automatons who daily fought with 
 half a hundred unruly specimens of young America, 
 striving to interest them in Charlemagne, or the Wars 
 of the Roses, when their minds were clogged with 
 visions of fishing holes, or the delights of base-ball or 
 coasting down Jones' hill. 
 
 Richard, as a result, grew up in an atmosphere 
 heavily laden with literary aspirations; hence it is not 
 surprising that, even as a boy, he dreamed of the 
 novels he would some day write, or the plays he would 
 some day have produced. 
 
 The latter ambition was an offshoot of the former, 
 and came about in this way: After his graduation 
 from the public schools, including the high school, he 
 managed to attach himself to the staff of a local news- 
 paper at a salary of eight dollars a week. Occasion- 
 ally, when shows came to town that the dramatic 
 editor, for one reason or another, did not care to see, 
 he would give Randall the tickets, leaving to him the
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 79 
 
 writing of the perfunctory review which the occasion 
 demanded. 
 
 Randall acquitted himself so well in this occasional 
 capacity that he attracted the attention of the editor 
 of one of the smaller afternoon papers, and was offered 
 the position of dramatic critic, to fill a vacancy made 
 by the resignation of the former incumbent of the office. 
 This position he held for over two years, and not only 
 acquired considerable local reputation as a writer who 
 could criticize both pungently and fairly as well; but, 
 in addition, gained what he supposed to be a good 
 working knowledge of plays and their construction. 
 
 It was therefore inevitable that he should himself 
 write a play ; in fact, he wrote several, before he finally 
 evolved what he secretly came to consider the great 
 American masterpiece. 
 
 No sooner had he reached this exalted mental state 
 than he resigned his position, packed his trunk, drew 
 forth from the Hank his savings, and departed amidst 
 the hopes of his family, and the pitying smiles of his 
 newspaper friends. They were older, and, knowing 
 the "game," regarded him as a lamb going forth to 
 the slaughter. Bets even were made in newspaper 
 circles as to "how long Dick Randall would last," how 
 many months would elapse before he returned, with 
 his tail, metaphorically speaking, between his legs. 
 
 The day following his arrival in New York, he 
 sallied forth, armed with his play manuscript, and 
 several letters of introduction which he had brought 
 with him from home. 
 
 Of these, but one proved of any material value, and
 
 80 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 that was the one to Edmund Taylor. The latter had 
 been a classmate of Randall's father, in college, twenty- 
 five years before, and, being a keen judge of men, he 
 concluded that he saw something in young Randall 
 that differentiated him from the usual aspirant for 
 literary honors, so he gave him more of his time than 
 he would otherwise have done, and undertook to read 
 his play. 
 
 The result of this reading confirmed his first impres- 
 sions, and, realizing that Randall was without either 
 acquaintances or experience in theatrical circles, intro- 
 duced him to a firm of play-brokers. 
 
 These wide-awake gentlemen, after also reading the 
 play, or to be exact, having it read by their critic, 
 undertook to bring it to the attention of managers upon 
 the basis of a commission of fifteen per cent. This left 
 Randall free to begin the writing of another play, 
 which he at .once did with his customary energy and 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Working away, day after day, in his third-floor bed- 
 room was not very enlivening, but the monotony was 
 varied by frequent visits to his agents, and occasional 
 dinners with Mr. Taylor. 
 
 Gradually he came to know a few actors, and once 
 or twice his head was almost turned by an introduc- 
 tion to a manager a being in his eyes at that time 
 almost supernal. 
 
 And, then, the unexpected happened. After six 
 months of waiting, his agents succeeded in making a 
 contract with a manager for the production of his 
 play. Randall never forgot the ecstasy with which he
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 81 
 
 received the news, nor the joy of the moment when he 
 affixed his signature beneath the manager's, upon the 
 important-looking document of ten typewritten pages, 
 bound in light-blue paper. 
 
 He immediately went out and bought himself a 
 new suit of clothes, upon the strength of his success, 
 for such he deemed it to be. 
 
 Later he came to find out that the signing of the 
 contract for the production of a play frequently means 
 less to a manager than it does to an author. 
 
 The contract was not a bad one, for a beginner. 
 He received two hundred and fifty dollars, in advance 
 royalties, less his agents' commission of fifteen per 
 cent. ; and the production was to be made prior to the 
 first of the following November. The contract was 
 signed in June. He had nearly five months to wait. 
 
 He spent the time in completing his new play, and 
 beginning another. The summer was very long and 
 hot. He found his five hundred dollars and the addi- 
 tional two hundred and odd dwindling away with 
 astonishing rapidity. He reduced the cost of his meals, 
 cut down on all possible expenses, and took to prepar- 
 ing his breakfast in his room. If he could but bridge 
 the gulf until November, he felt that all his trials 
 would be at an end. 
 
 He did it, and in so doing he began to draw checks 
 against the first of his assets, his health. 
 
 When September rolled around, and then October, 
 he began to feel nervous. His calls upon his agents 
 became more frequent. They, busy with larger mat- 
 ters, referred him politely to his manager. The latter
 
 82 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 was usually out, or engaged. Once Randall managed 
 to see him. It took him some little time to do this 
 nearly an entire day, to be exact; and then his inter- 
 view lasted but two minutes. Mr. Liebman remem- 
 bered him with an effort, and inquired what he 
 wanted. 
 
 Pandall, nervous and eager, explained that but three 
 weeks remained before the time set for the production 
 of the play. 
 
 The manager lit a cigar, and began signing letters. 
 
 "Well, I still got three weeks, ain't I?" he said. 
 "Anyway you're not going to kick if I run over the 
 limit, are you? I'm putting on six shows, right now. 
 Give me time, can't you?" 
 
 That was the extent of the interview. Randall went 
 back to the agents, and told them the results. They 
 were sympathetic, but failed to see what action they 
 could take now, since Liebman's contract still had 
 three weeks to run. It was good logic. Randall waited 
 the three weeks. Then his agents told him that they 
 had refused to give Liebman an extension to January 
 first, unless he paid an additional two hundred and 
 fifty dollars, which he had refused to do. They had 
 therefore taken the play away from him. 
 
 Randall went home, looked at the seven dollars and 
 forty cents remaining to him, and felt more downcast 
 than he had ever felt in his life before. Checks were 
 being drawn against his store of courage, 'as well as 
 of health. He paid them, and went to see Mr. Taylor. 
 
 The latter did not offer sympathy. He told Randall 
 that he believed in him, believed in his future, and
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 83 
 
 offered to lend him five hundred dollars. Randall 
 accepted, and wished to assign Taylor a half-interest 
 in the play, but the latter refused it. 
 
 "You will pay me back, my boy," he said. "I'm 
 doing this to help you. I don't want to rob you. If 
 your play is worth anything, and I think it is, a half- 
 interest in it is worth a lot more than five hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 Randall went back to his room and his work. In 
 six weeks, owing to the usual fall crop of failures, his 
 agents succeeded in again placing the play, this time 
 for an immediate production. Again he received 
 advance royalties of two hundred and fifty dollars, 
 less agents' commissions. He was able to repay Mr. 
 Taylor half of the loan, and still have a comfortable 
 sum on hand. At last he felt himself out of the 
 woods. Rehearsals were to begin in ten days. 
 
 The manager who had this time taken the play 
 was a minor producer, named Pollock. He had a 
 working arrangement with one of the prominent 
 managements, whereby, in the event of his bringing 
 out a success on the road, he could, by sacrificing a 
 large interest in his production, obtain a New York 
 theatre. 
 
 Unfortunately, he had under contract a young 
 woman, in whose success he was more than ordinarily 
 interested, and he had leased Randall's play to pro- 
 vide her with what, in theatrical parlance, is termed 
 a "vehicle." She was a young woman, extremely good 
 looking, but with little else to recommend her, either 
 in the way of training or ability.- The leading role
 
 84 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 in Eandall's plaj required an actress of some individu- 
 ality, not a doll, and, above all, one of considerable 
 emotional power. 
 
 Randall did not meet his leading woman until the 
 day set for beginning rehearsals. The members of 
 the company gathered at a small hall on Madison 
 Avenue, in which the play was to be rehearsed. 
 Randall was introduced by Mr. Pollock. He had never 
 met any of the cast, although one or two were known 
 to him by name. He proceeded to read the play to 
 them, in a rather nervous and halting voice. Miss 
 Carleton, the leading woman, yawned, and looked out 
 of the window. 
 
 That afternoon Randall had a talk with his agents. 
 
 "I don't know anything about this Carleton woman," 
 he said. "Can she act ?" 
 
 They assured him that there were a number of per- 
 sons, including Mr. Pollock, who said that she could. 
 They themselves had never seen her, and hence could 
 not of their own knowledge say. 
 
 The situation left Randall strangely disquieted. He 
 had dreamed of having the part, over which he had 
 so faithfully labored the part of a wife who sacri- 
 ficed ambition, even honor itself, for the sake of her 
 child played by some noted actress, some woman of 
 proven ability. Yet he knew that he was powerless, 
 for, unlike the established dramatists, he had no clause 
 in his contract giving him the right to dictate the 
 cast. He determined to do the best he could, delud- 
 ing himself with the belief that his play was suffi- 
 ciently strong to overcome whatever deficiencies Miss
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 85 
 
 Carleton might possess. He had never seen her act; 
 when he approached Pollock on the subject, the latter 
 reminded him of that. 
 
 "You don't suppose I'm fool enough to put three or 
 four thousand dollars into this thing just to lose it, 
 do you ?" he demanded, rather brusquely. Randall 
 had yet to learn that producers who do exactly that 
 thing are by no means uncommon. 
 
 The rehearsals dragged through three and a half 
 weeks, -during which time Randall worked harder than 
 he had ever worked in his life. Miss Carleton, being 
 accustomed to sleep until noon, refused to rehearse 
 before two o'clock. The rehearsals continued until 
 midnight, or later, with an interval for dinner from 
 six to eight., Randall generally got to bed about one 
 in the morning, thoroughly tired out. 
 
 At ten the next morning, accompanied by the stage- 
 director, he would sally forth to buy "props." There 
 were four acts in the play and three "sets," and hun- 
 dreds of articles, from rugs to bric-a-brac, from artifi- 
 cial flowers to tea-cups, had to be purchased, or other- 
 wise arranged for. Pollock was not niggardly about 
 the larger matters. He even permitted Randall to 
 pay thirty-five dollars for a mahogany desk, which 
 was "going some," as the stage-director expressed it, 
 for him, but in small matters he was adamant. 
 
 "A dollar a piece for tea-cups ? Ridiculous ! Get 
 'em at the five and ten-cent store." 
 
 Randall tried to point out that in the home of per- 
 sons of wealth, ten-cent cups were not used for after- 
 noon tea.
 
 86 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Pollock grunted. 
 
 "Can't tell the difference from the front," was his 
 only comment. 
 
 By dint of almost acrobatic exertions, Randall man- 
 aged to get together furniture and other properties 
 not altogether impossible, and the scenery, he found 
 by going to the studio, was at least presentable. The 
 scenic artist confided to him that Pollock was "going 
 the limit," because Miss Carleton had him "buffaloed." 
 
 The worst of Randall's struggles, however, were with 
 the cast, and especially with Miss Carleton. She knew 
 no more about acting than a child her forte was to 
 look pretty, and smile an idiotic smile which she 
 imagined to be an evidence of the aristocratic breed- 
 ing which the part demanded. Line after line Randall 
 was forced to cut out, simply because, in her mouth, 
 it sounded absurd impossible. Scene after scene was 
 changed, rewritten, and again rewritten, to suit, in 
 some measure, her microscopic abilities. It was like 
 fitting a Brobdignagian coat to a midget. Randall wept 
 inwardly, but he was new to the game, and hoped that 
 everything might still turn out well. After a time, 
 when he had heard the various acts rehearsed so often 
 that he knew them by heart, he reached a point where 
 he could tell nothing whatever about the play. His 
 perspective had become confused. Sometimes it seemed 
 to him splendid. At others, he groaned and turned 
 away, convinced that it was hopeless. 
 
 In one of the acts a child, a little girl of ten, 
 appeared in a tender and pathetic scene. They had 
 a good deal of difficulty with this part. Randall pro-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 87 
 
 tested so strenuously against the first candidate, a pert 
 miss who had been doing a turn in vaudeville, that 
 the matter was finally brought up to Pollock. Randall 
 explained his objections. Pollock spat ten feet across 
 the room, and, having hit the cuspidor at which he 
 had aimed, turned with a pleased smile. 
 
 "You don't know that kid," he said. "I saw her 
 at Proctor's last year. She's a swell little actress, and 
 the best buck-and-wing dancer in town. Why don't 
 you write in a little specialty for her, in that act? 
 It would bring down the house." 
 
 Randall thought it very likely would, but managed 
 at length to make Pollock see that a sweet and tender 
 little child, after saying good-by to her sick father, 
 would hardly burst forth into a ragtime song, or a 
 buck-and-wing dance. He returned home staggered by 
 the knowledge that such men really undertook to pro- 
 duce plays, and, in the parlance of the street, "get- 
 away with it." 
 
 At last, the dreary and nerve-racking business was 
 over, and Randall learned that the play would open 
 in Buffalo the following week. He regretted this, 
 principally because of the expense the trip would 
 involve, but he was in the fight now, and it was neces- 
 sary to make the best of it. 
 
 The opening night went far better than Randall had 
 dared to hope. The audience apparently liked the 
 play exceedingly. Pollock was busy entertaining the 
 local critics. The next day's notices were excellent. 
 Randall did not yet know that they usually are, with 
 new plays, out of town. He felt delighted, and sent
 
 88 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 a wire to Mr. Taylor, telling him that the play was 
 a "go." 
 
 A week in Albany followed the one in Buffalo. 
 Certain representatives of producing interests came up 
 from New York to see the show. There was dicker- 
 ing, arguing. A New York opening was arranged. 
 Everyone was in high glee. Pollock even bought 
 Randall a drink, and wanted to know if he had any 
 other plays to sell. 
 
 The New York production was an utter failure, as 
 it deserved to be. Miss Carleton ruined the play- The 
 metropolitan critics do not always know good acting 
 when they see it, but they do know bad acting, and 
 as Pollock was a manager of no particular note, no 
 wizard of the stage, and Randall was a new and quite 
 unknown author, they seized upon the play with shouts 
 of glee and tore it to shreds. Their reviews were 
 memorable, almost historic. The public laughed, and 
 stayed away. 
 
 Randall retired once more to his room. The two 
 weeks out of town had made a big hole in his slender 
 store of money. He had spent optimistically, believing 
 he would win success. Mr. Taylor was regretful, but 
 prophesied a brilliant future. 
 
 "Every young playwright has to go through this 
 sort of thing," he said. 
 
 Randall wondered why, but set his teeth, and went 
 back to his work. The checks against his health, his 
 nervous system, his courage were heavy, this time, but 
 he met them with the resources of youth.
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 89 
 
 During the spring, Kandall's agents almost suc- 
 ceeded in selling his second play "The Winner," half- 
 a-dozen times. Each time, after it had been read and 
 liked, after frequent interviews with actors, managers, 
 or "near" managers, the negotiations, for one reason 
 or another, fell through. One producer, a prominent 
 one, kept the play for over five months, agreeing time 
 after time to enter into a contract, but always, at the 
 last moment, offering some excuse for his failure to 
 do so. Randall dragged through the long, tiresome 
 summer, rewriting, changing, working out new plots, 
 always with success just ahead, yet never reaching it. 
 Sometimes he reminded himself of the donkey, with the 
 wisp of hay tied to its nose, which it followed up hill 
 and down dale, but never was able to grasp. 
 
 During this time, Mr. Taylor quietly made him 
 advances of money, and still predicted success. 
 
 "It's a long lane, my boy," he would say, "but it 
 will turn." He had no children of his own, and had 
 come to be very fond of his protege, as he called 
 Randall 
 
 When, therefore, during the second winter, "The 
 Winner" was taken by a prominent management, 
 Randall's hopes once more rose. This time the 
 advance royalties were five hundred dollars, and 
 Randall's agents predicted that within a twelve-month 
 he would be making twenty thousand a year. He was 
 glad of this praise. It justified him, in his own eyes, 
 for having borrowed the money from Mr. Taylor. At 
 times, he thought that it might have been better, had 
 he secured a position, and abandoned the fight, but
 
 90 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 his courage still showed a credit balance his faith 
 in himself and his work still persisted. 
 
 It was about this time that he met Inez Gordon. 
 She had been at the office of his agents, when he called 
 there one day, and they had been introduced. She 
 came looking for a one-act play, having some idea 
 of going into vaudeville. It was just after the closing 
 of a play in which she had been appearing. Randall's 
 agent laughingly introduced him as a rising young 
 playwright who might do a play for her sometime. The 
 girl, attracted by his personality, had given him her 
 address, and suggested that he call. 
 
 This he did, some days later, more to pass away a 
 dull evening than with the thought of writing any- 
 thing for her. The result had been one of those rapidly 
 formed attachments which are so characteristic of 
 theatrical life. In a week, these two young persons, 
 both struggling against heavy odds for success, had 
 told each other their troubles, and were calling each 
 other by their first names. 
 
 In another week, they were dining together at inex- 
 pensive table-d'-hotes,. and talking of the future, as 
 though they fully expected to share it. Randall per- 
 haps more than the girl needed sympathetic and under- 
 standing companionship; the sort of companionship, 
 indeed, that a man gets only from a woman usually 
 only from one who is in love with -him. 
 
 There never was any formal declaration of their feel- 
 ings for each other. Randall spoke to Inez of his love 
 for her as though it had always existed a part of 
 his life. Inez did not speak very much of her love
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 91 
 
 for Randall. She simply allowed him to take it for 
 granted. She believed in him, and waited for events 
 to prove the correctness of her belief. 
 
 It was only after the New York opening of "The 
 Winner" that she began to doubt.
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 BETWEEN Tuesday and Saturday Randall dined with 
 Inez Gordon twice. Very little was said between 
 them concerning her dinner with Steinfeldt, the man- 
 ager. The girl, doubtless anticipating some questions 
 on Randall's part, disposed of the matter in a few 
 words. 
 
 "He offered me the part," she said. "Seems to 
 .think I'm just the type he wants. I'm to let him 
 know." 
 
 "When, dear ? I imagine he won't leave the matter 
 open indefinitely. I'd rather you didn't take it. You 
 know that." 
 
 "I know." She mused over his words for a long 
 time, under pretense of listening to the music. There 
 was a blur of calculation in her eyes, which she masked 
 by turning them away and looking at the orchestra 
 leader. "Funny hair, hasn't he ?" she observed. 
 
 Randall glanced up suddenly. "Hair?" he 
 exclaimed. "Who?" 
 
 Inez nodded toward the Polish violinist. 
 
 "Just the kind women love to play with." 
 
 "Oh, yes I see. I was thinking about something 
 else." 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 92
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 93 
 
 "Why, about you, and and me, and our marriage. 
 Inez, let's drop all this for the summer, and go away 
 somewhere, and rest. Up on the Massachusetts coast 
 say Cape Cod. There are lots of cheap places up 
 there. We could have a lovely time together, and 
 next fall" 
 
 She interrupted him, placing her hand on his as it 
 rested on the table. 
 
 "Dickie, dear," she said, "where are we going to 
 get the money ?" 
 
 "It won't take much. We can easily do it for 
 twenty-five dollars a week. That would be only three 
 hundred dollars, for the whole summer. I'm sure to 
 get four weeks out of the play in town. Harrison 
 would never take it off, under that, if only to estab- 
 lish it for stock. And then he'll surely send it on 
 the road. Four weeks in town, at say only three hun- 
 dred a week royalty, will give me twelve hundred." 
 
 "Don't forget you've already had five, in advance." 
 
 "I know. But that leaves seven. We'll just take 
 the joy and sweetness of this summer together, and then 
 come back to town in the fall, ready for anything. 
 I'm tired out. I need it, and so do you. Then there's 
 my other play the one Slesinger has. I rather think 
 he'll take it, and that will give me five hundred more. 
 I'll turn that over to Mr. Taylor, of course." 
 
 "But suppose he doesn't take it ?" 
 
 "Then, when we come back in the fall, I'll take a 
 position. I can easily get thirty dollars a week on 
 some magazine, and that will be plenty for us to live 
 on, until the_ bigger success comes, I can finish up
 
 94 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 that play for you, nights. Come along, dear. Won't 
 you ?" He leaned over, urging her with his eyes, with 
 the caressing power of his voice. 
 
 Inez seemed unable to meet his gaze. 
 
 "I can't decide now, dear. Suppose we wait until 
 the end of the week. Then you'll know hetter how 
 things are going with you. I've got to act in what- 
 ever way will be best for us both, you know. Stein- 
 feldt offers me a splendid salary." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "It isn't decided yet, but I believe I can get a hun- 
 dred and fifty." 
 
 Kandall made no reply. The power of money, the 
 power to take this girl away from him, just now, when 
 he felt he needed her so much, made him a trifle bitter, 
 yet he knew that his failure, if indeed any failure 
 existed, lay at his own door. He had had his chance. 
 He was more romantic than Inez, and younger, if age 
 be measured by willingness to ignore the practical 
 side of life. She, with the note of calculation still 
 blurring her eyes, decided that Randall was somewhat 
 of a dreamer, and in this she was entirely right. 
 
 "Suppose we leave the matter until Sunday," she 
 said; and they fell to talking of other matters. 
 
 On Saturday night they again dined together. The 
 sixty-cent table-d'-hote was not greatly to Inez's liking, 
 but it was possible to average it up; so to speak, with 
 the dinner she had had the night before, with Stein- 
 feldt, which had cost twelve dollars. Randall did not 
 know of this dinner, and she saw no reason to tell 
 him of it. Mr. Steinfeldt was inclined to be rather
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 95 
 
 persistent in his efforts to secure her services. She was 
 quite sophisticated enough to realize that a deeper 
 motive lay behind his persistence, but the woman in 
 her responded to the flattery of his attentions. A con- 
 tinual process of calculation was going on, behind the 
 mask of her inscrutable eves. 
 
 "Well, Dick," she said, as they sat down at their 
 accustomed table, "how was the matinee ?" 
 
 "Excellent; the best house, in fact, that we've had 
 yet. We ought to do even better, to-night." 
 
 She seemed a bit surprised. 
 
 "I'm so glad!" she said. "Things may turn out 
 well, after all." 
 
 "I believe they will." He was all enthusiasm to- 
 night. "And we can have our European trip after all." 
 
 "Dear boy!" Her eyes took on a sudden tenderness. 
 "I do hope everything will be as you expect. You've 
 been so brave! What are the receipts, so far this 
 week?" 
 
 "I don't know yet. I'll get them, after they count 
 up to-night. Won't you come along to the theatre 
 with me ?" 
 
 "I can't, dear. I'm going to the Winter Garden." 
 She exhibited a seat-check. "Mr. Steinfeldt gave me 
 a ticket." 
 
 "Oh!" He seemed a trifle disappointed. "Then 
 we might meet, afterward, and have a bit of supper." 
 
 "No, I don't think we'd better, dear. You'll want 
 to be with Harrison, and the others, after the show. 
 Come to-morrow, at eleven, and we'll go for a walk in 
 the Park, and decide about everything. Shall we ?"
 
 96 A LOST PAKADISE. 
 
 He smothered his disappointment. 
 
 "I'd have liked it to have been with you to-night, 
 but" 
 
 "And then, dear, to tell you the truth, I've a sort 
 of a headache, and I want to turn in early." 
 
 The interjection of any question involving her health 
 or her comfort swept away all personal considera- 
 tions. 
 
 "You ought to, dear," he said. "I'm rather selfish, 
 I guess. You've been under a big strain this week. 
 Get a good night's rest, and to-morrow I'm going to 
 make you agree to marry me, and leave this town for 
 a while. We both need the country. You have no 
 idea how beautiful it is in the woods, now. I went 
 for a run up through Westchester, yesterday, in Mr. 
 Taylor's car. The dogwood is just coming into bloom, 
 and the dandelions in the grass looked like millions of 
 golden stars. I couldn't help wishing that you had 
 been with me. I've longed, all winter, to be out in the 
 country, with you. I've wanted to walk through the 
 woods, and look for arbutus, and violets, and lunch at 
 some little farm-house, and forget that such a place 
 as New York ever existed." 
 
 "But, Dick, I don't want to forget New York. I 
 love it." 
 
 "So do I, at times j but there are other times when 
 I feel I'd give my soul, almost, to' get away from the 
 bricks, and the cement, and the eternal smell of gaso- 
 line." 
 
 "You're a poet, Dickie," she laughed. "You'd prob- 
 ably find, when you got out in the country, that it
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 97 
 
 was hot, and dusty, or it would probably rain, or 
 the meal at the little farm-house wouldn't be fit 
 to eat." 
 
 "Nonsense! That just proves that you need to get 
 'away. You've lost your sense of proportion." 
 
 "Well, maybe I have, dear. But when I go into the 
 country, I prefer to go in a six-cylinder touring car, and 
 stop at a good road-house for lunch, where they know 
 how to cook. I suppose you'll think that gross mater- 
 ialism, but it isn't. It's just common-sense." 
 
 Randall did not pursue the subject. Inez sometimes 
 disappointed him terribly, but he believed that she spoke 
 as she did only because she had seen things from a 
 wrong angle. He felt quite sure that, could she once get 
 away from New York, she would enjoy the country 
 quite as much as he did. His love for her made him 
 invest her with a variety of ideal attributes that she by 
 no means possessed. Love furnishes us all with magic 
 spectacles, through which the objects of our adoration 
 appear, not as they really are, but as we wish them to 
 be. 
 
 The orchestra had just begun to play a popular dance 
 song. Inez's lithe body was swaying in unconscious 
 rhythm to the music. 
 
 "That's the 'Whistling Tango,' " she said. "One of 
 Peters'. Don't you just love it ?" 
 
 Randall laughed. 
 
 "Lot's of go to it, isn't there ? I met Peters the other 
 night. He told me he is going to have a couple of songs 
 in the summer review." 
 
 "So I hear. He's a wizard, when it comes to rag-
 
 98 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 time. Who could help wanting to dance to a tune like 
 that?" 
 
 "He said he saw you dining with Steinfeldt at the 
 Knickerbocker, Tuesday evening." 
 
 She stopped her swaying, and her eyes met his with 
 sudden apprehension. 
 
 "Certainly," she said. "I told you I was going." 
 
 "I know. It wasn't that. He oh, well it wasn't 
 anything." 
 
 "What do you mean, Dick ? I insist upon knowing. 
 What did he say ?" 
 
 "He said that Steinfeldt was crazy about you." 
 
 She laughed, and instinctively straightened her hat. 
 
 "What rot, just because he asked me to dinner! 
 Steinfeldt dines with hundreds of women. Surely, 
 you're not going to be jealous of him! Come. Get your 
 check. I don't want to be late." 
 
 They walked over to the subway at Astor Place, and 
 at Times Square he left her. 
 
 "I'll see you at eleven to-morrow, dear," he said, 
 pressing her arm lovingly. "And don't forget what I'm 
 going to do. Monday, the license, and after that just 
 you and me against the world." 
 
 When Randall reached the theatre, he stopped for 
 a moment at the box-office. 
 
 "How was the sale, to-night ?" he asked. 
 
 The box-office man shook his head. 
 
 "Eotten," he said, and gazed gloomily at the ticket 
 rack. 
 
 His manner did not invite further conversation. Ran- 
 dall stepped inside, and once more listened to the famil-
 
 'A LOST PAEADISE. 99 
 
 iar lines of the play. There was a certain listlessness, 
 an air of depression, about the members of the company, 
 that impressed him unpleasantly. The house was but 
 half-filled and this was Saturday night. All his fore- 
 bodings rushed back with redoubled force. He could 
 scarcely wait until the curtain fell on the last act. 
 
 Harrison, whom he had not seen throughout the even- 
 ing, stood in the box-office as he went out, smoking his 
 inevitable cigar. Randall went up to him. 
 
 "How was the week, Mr. Harrison ?" he asked. He 
 hoped that, even with the fairly poor houses, it might 
 not have been a losing one. Just how much "paper" the 
 house had contained each night he did not of course 
 know. 
 
 Harrison, without replying, took up a slip of paper 
 and handed it to him. Randall read it with horrified 
 eyes. The total business for the week had been two 
 thousand two hundred dollars. It should have been at 
 least eight thousand. Mentally he figured his royalties 
 five per cent, of two thousand two hundred was one 
 hundred and ten. With his agents' commissions off, it 
 would be less than a hundred dollars. And he had -al- 
 ready been advanced five hundred ! At this rate, even 
 though the play continued for five weeks, there would 
 be nothing whatever due him. His hand trembled as 
 he returned the paper to Harrison. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison," he said. "But perhaps in 
 a couple of weeks business may pick up." 
 
 Harrison revolved His cigar about, then took it from 
 his mouth. 
 
 "The show hasn't got a chance/' he said, slowly.
 
 100 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "I'm going to close it next Saturday night. The notice 
 is already posted." 
 
 Randall caught his breath, and clutched the side of 
 the door for support. 
 
 "Next Saturday night ?" he gasped, mechanically. 
 
 "Yes," Harrison nodded. 
 
 "And you're not going to try it on the road ?" 
 
 ""No use. These out-of-town audiences are wiser than 
 they used to be. They read the New York papers, and 
 the criticisms in the magazines. If I'd put this show 
 out, after only two weeks in town, with the notices it 
 got, it would lose me a thousand a week maybe two. 
 I'm sorry, but the only place for it now is the store- 
 house." 
 
 Randall stood still for a long time, gazing at the ticket 
 rack opposite him. All the red and yellow and green 
 bits of pasteboard danced before his eyes in kaleido- 
 scopic patterns, each of which ultimately resolved itself 
 into the hideous word "failure." The sounds of the 
 street swept into the hot little box-office the carriage 
 calls, the newsboys' cries, the raucous blasts of auto- 
 mobile horns, and each seemed to repeat but the single 
 word, "failure." 
 
 Harrison pulled his slouch hat over his eyes, said 
 good-night to the men in the office, and turned to the 
 lobby. 
 
 "Come and get a drink, my boy," he said. "And 
 don't lose your nerve. I've dropped over seven thou- 
 sand, on this thing, and I'm not losing any sleep. 
 You've only lost a few months' time, and gained a lot 
 of valuable experience. Brace up."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 101 
 
 Seven thousand dollars and the man was reputed 
 to be making a hundred and fifty thousand a year! 
 And he, Randall, had lost only a few months' time. He 
 thought of the ten or twelve dollars he had in his pocket, 
 which represented his sole remaining capital, of the two 
 thousand dollars he owed Taylor, of the blow to his 
 reputation as a writer, of his shattered nerves, his 
 broken hopes, and of Inez and laughed. 
 
 "You're right, Mr. Harrison," he said. "Better 
 luck next time. I'm only sorry, for your sake, that 
 things didn't turn out better, and I thank you for giving 
 me a chance." 
 
 "That's all right, my boy. Don't let this thing break 
 you up. I don't judge a man by one failure or two. 
 If you'd come to me with a play that I liked to-morrow, 
 I'd put it on. What'll you have ?" 
 
 Randall poured out a large drink of whiskey. He 
 felt reckless, almost like laughing at the blow Fate had 
 dealt him. Yet in his heart hope still remained, bidding 
 him keep up the fight. There was still the play in 
 Slesinger's hands. And there was Inez, and her love. 
 He would ask her to marry him, the next day, take the 
 position about which he had spoken to Mr. Taylor, and 
 win success in spite of all opposition. 
 
 The drink improved his spirits. He ordered another, 
 and when Harrison bade him good-night, and climbed 
 into his motor car, he felt almost cheerful again. 
 
 "I won't forget what you said about another play, 
 Mr. Harrison," he called, as the latter drove off. Even 
 the fact that Harrison made no reply did not seem to 
 him important.
 
 102 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 Suddenly he was seized with the idea of going to see 
 Inez. He would make her come out with him, and get 
 some supper. He felt too nervous, too upset, to go to his 
 room, alone. Companionship, of some sort, he must 
 have, for an hour or two at least. And, loving her as he 
 did, he felt a compelling desire to see her, to talk to her, 
 to go to her with his troubles, his bad news, as he would 
 have gone to her with good. He glanced at his watch. 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock. In a few moments he had 
 boarded a Broadway car. 
 
 Randall had called upon the girl so often, in her little 
 studio apartment, that he had no hesitation in doing so 
 now, even at this late hour. The building was tenanted 
 chiefly by professional people, whose comings and goings 
 were equally a matter of indifference to the sleepy-eyed 
 negro boy who operated the elevator and the telephone 
 switchboard. Randall entered, nodded to the boy, who 
 knew him well, and stepped into the elevator. 
 
 At the door of Inez's apartment he hesitated a mo- 
 ment, fancying that he heard voices within, then pressed 
 the button. 
 
 An appreciable interval ensued before Inez opened 
 the dodr. Her face was flushed, surprised, and she, 
 clutched her kimono closely about her breast. 
 
 "Good Lord, Dick !" she gasped. "What do you want ?" 
 
 Randall was a trifle taken aback. She had often re- 
 ceived him, at this hour in fact, they had sometimes, 
 after rehearsals and supper, sat in the little parlor and 
 talked for half the night. 
 
 "I have something important to tell you, Inez/' he 
 said, very gravely.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 103 
 
 "But you you can't come in now." 
 
 "Why not ?" His face flamed with momentary 
 chagrin. "Surely, Inez, you can see me for a few mo- 
 ments. Something has happened " 
 
 She glanced swiftly back over her shoulder, still hold- 
 ing the door nearly closed. 
 
 "But the room is all upset," she said. 
 
 "What do I care, dear ? He took one of her hands, 
 and pressed it lovingly. "I have something to tell you, 
 and I I can't sleep, until I do." 
 
 "Very well. Come in then. But only for a few mo- 
 ments. I'm frightfully tired, and I want to turn in." 
 
 "Ten minutes. It won't take longer. I couldn't wait 
 until to-morrow." He strode into the room. 
 
 Inez stood with her back to the drawn curtains which 
 partitioned off the bedroom. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, very low. "What has 
 happened ?" 
 
 "It's it's about the show," he said. "It closes next 
 Saturday night." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on his. There was an almost 
 pathetic look in them, as though she had been hunted, 
 trapped. 
 
 "I know it," she replied. 
 
 "You know it. How?" 
 
 "I heard it at the Winter Garden, to-night. Harri- 
 son's house-manager was there." 
 
 He gazed at her intently, for a moment, as she stood 
 against the curtains, her lithe form revealed by the 
 clinging kimono. He longed to sweep her into his arms. 
 A tremendous sense of loneliness came over him, a de-
 
 104 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 sire to drown the jarring bitterness of his thoughts in 
 a whirlpool of emotion; to feel passionately, deeply, 
 and to cease thinking. He held out his arms. 
 
 "Inez !" he cried. "You must marry me, anyway. I 
 love you so, dear! I can't live without you now. I 
 want you every minute. I know things look pretty 
 bad, but I'm going to win out. I will, if you will help 
 me. Don't you see that, right now, I need you more 
 than I ever have before ?" He took a step toward her, 
 his eyes searching hers hungrily. 
 
 She stopped him with a sudden gesture, which for a 
 moment puzzled him. Her two hands were at her 
 breast, and with the one she was drawing from .her finger 
 the ring he had given her. In a moment she had ex- 
 tended it to him. 
 
 "Here, Dick," she said. "I'm sorry, but it's all over. 
 I'm not going to marry you." 
 
 "Xot going to marry me ?" he gasped, scarcely under- 
 standing what she said. 
 
 "^"o. K"ot to-morrow not next fall not at all. I've 
 thought it all over. I don't believe I love you the way 
 I should. I don't believe it would make either of U3 
 happy. Here, take your ring, and good-by." There 
 was no longer a blur of calculation in her eyes; a glint 
 of determination, a depth of meaning and purpose, had 
 taken its place. 
 
 Randall saw it, and slowly took the ring. 
 
 "Good-by," he said, quite mechanically, and with no 
 realization of having spoken at all. Then he stumbled 
 toward the door. As he did so, he saw, lying on a little
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 105 
 
 table, beside the wall, a man's soft gray hat, and a pair 
 of gray gloves. 
 
 For one instant, he turned and looked at her. She 
 saw that he had seen them. A shadow swept over her 
 face, and her lips parted, as though she intended to 
 speak. 
 
 Then Randall began to laugh, a hideous, crackling 
 laugh, like the rattling of dry bones. He tossed the 
 ring which he still held in his hand, toward her, as 
 though the touch of it burnt him. 
 
 "I guess I don't want it, any more," he said, and, 
 turning, went out into the hall.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EVEET man possesses an elastic limit, beyond which 
 he cannot be tried, mentally and nervously, without 
 dangerously approaching the breaking point. Even the 
 stoutest heart must, for a time at least, give way, when 
 Fate gives the wheel of the rack its final turn. 
 
 Richard Randall had not yet reached this point, when 
 he left Inez Gordon's studio, and started aimlessly 
 down-town, but he was perilously near it. The com- 
 bined shocks of the collapse of his play, and the du- 
 plicity he felt it was that of the woman he loved, 
 had made such overwhelmingly heavy drafts against his 
 small remaining stock of courage and health, that very 
 little more was needed to reduce him to utter bank- 
 ruptcy. 
 
 He staggered toward Broadway, dazed and almost 
 hopeless. The lights of a saloon on the corner attracted 
 him. He went in and gulped down a drink of raw 
 whiskey. In his present state, it affected him no more 
 than so much water. Then, unable to remain long in 
 any one place, he boarded a car and proceeded down- 
 town. 
 
 The flaming electric lights, the garish night life of 
 Times Square, mocked him. He crouched in a corner of 
 the car, filled with the sublimity of egotism which causes 
 a man to think that the whole world is against him, that 
 
 106
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 107 
 
 every man's hand is raised to strike. He wanted to get 
 away, to put limitless distances between himself and 
 this grinning, soulless place, that had stripped him of 
 courage, of health, of hope and of love. A sense of self- 
 pity enveloped him. At times it seemed almost as 
 though the whole city had combined in a monster con- 
 spiracy to ruin him. The very lamps of the countless 
 automobiles seemed to flash derisively as they passed, 
 the electric signs winked at each other, and laughed, the 
 men and women crowding in and out of the restaurants 
 pointed mocking fingers at him, the other passengers 
 in the car raised their eyebrows, and smiled. The ab- 
 surdity of his mental attitude did not strike him even 
 the balm of a sense of humor is denied one at times. 
 
 He left the car at Twentieth Street, and walked 
 toward Irving Place. In a few moments, he had 
 reached his room. He went in, dashed his hat upon the 
 bed, and sank into a chair. 
 
 A letter lying on the table caught his eye. It had 
 evidently come late in the afternoon, and had been 
 brought to his room by the maid. He picked it up with- 
 out interest. In the corner of the envelope he saw the 
 familiar name of his play brokers. He tore it open, 
 and saw that it contained a note, transmitting an enclos- 
 ure. The enclosure was a letter from Slesinger, return- 
 ing his play to the agents, and saying that he had read 
 it, and found it unsuited to his purpose. 
 
 The last straw had been laid upon the camel's back, 
 the last turn been given to the screw by the Fates. 
 Randall crushed the letter in his hand, and sat quite 
 still for over half an hour, his eyes closed. Then he rose.
 
 108 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 A sudden energy of determination possessed him. 
 He had quite evidently made up his mind to some 
 immediate and definite course of action. He tossed 
 the letter into the waste-basket, and slowly removed the 
 contents of his pockets and placed them in a pile on 
 the table. There was some eleven dollars and twenty 
 cents in money, a knife, a pencil, a small bunch of 
 keys, and a silver watch with a leather guard. 
 
 Having done this, he took off his clothes, opened 
 the trunk that stood along the wall at one side of the 
 room, . and, taking out an old suit and a blue flannel 
 shirt, proceeded to put them on. His low black shoes 
 he exchanged for a pair of heavy and much worn 
 tan boots. Then he proceeded to pack all of his belong- 
 ings into the trunk, closed and locked it, and sat down 
 again at hi-s writing-table. 
 
 His first act was to take a bit of paper, write upon 
 it Mr. Taylor's name and address, and paste it upon 
 the top of the trunk. Then he carefully selected five 
 one-dollar bills from the little pile of money on the 
 table, and, placing them in an envelope, addressed it 
 to Mrs. Baker, his landlady. The sum represented 
 his room rent for the past week, and with it he enclosed 
 his latch-key, and a short note, telling her that he would 
 not need the room further, and that his trunk would 
 be sent for. Then he wrote a letter to Mr. Taylor. 
 
 "I know you will understand," it read, "when I 
 tell you that I am going away. You will not think 
 this cowardice on my part, for you have realized how 
 worn out I am, how greatly in need of rest. By the
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 109 
 
 time this reaches you, you will have heard of the fate 
 of 'The Winner.' It seems a pity, but no doubt Har- 
 rison is right. 
 
 "I am leaving my trunk here, with instructions to 
 have it turned over to you. It contains nothing of 
 any particular value, except the manuscripts of two 
 plays. One of these, the one you know of, Slesinger 
 has just refused. My agents also have a copy. The 
 other is a new play, which I only recently completed. 
 I herewith turn them, together with all interest in 
 'The Winner' as well as my other play, over to you, 
 do with any or all of them whatever you may 
 see fit, to secure to yourself the repayment of this 
 money. 
 
 "This is all I have to offer you, in return for your 
 great and unvarying kindness to me. I hope that the 
 stock rights of 'The Winner,' at least, may prove of 
 some value. 
 
 "Do not think hardly of me for not coming to say 
 good-by. I have received some bitter blows to-day, 
 of which you know nothing. They have hurt me very 
 deeply. My only desire is to get away from it all 
 as quickly as possible. 
 
 "I cannot tell you where I am going, for I do not 
 know, nor do I know when I shall come back, if, 
 indeed, I come back at all. Good-by, dear friend. 
 You have been very good to me. I wish I might have 
 proven more worthy of your kindness. 
 "Faithfully yours, 
 
 "RICHARD RANDALL."
 
 110 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 Kandall rose, looked about the room, crushed the 
 remaining six dollars into his trouser-pockets, and, 
 shutting off the light, went out into the hall. 
 
 The house was very dark and silent. It was long 
 after two o'clock. With the letter to Mr. Taylor in 
 his hand, he noiselessly descended the steps, and left 
 the house. 
 
 At the corner of Madison Avenue he got a stamp 
 in the drug store, posted his letter, then went over 
 to Broadway and took a car up-town. 
 
 He felt singularly hungry, and, knowing nowhere 
 to go for food at this hour of the night except Jack's, 
 he made his way there without delay. A curious 
 recklessness possessed him. He counted his money, 
 and found that there still remained six dollars and 
 thirteen cents. He took a table in an obscure corner, 
 ordered a large steak, and a drink of whiskey. 
 
 The latter he drank at once, while waiting for his 
 steak to be cooked, and supplemented it by another 
 before the meal was brought. The steak tasted very 
 good to him, indeed, as did the several mugs of ale 
 he drank with it. He purchased a Sunday paper, and 
 sat reading it, eating very slowly and deliberately. 
 
 A strange quietness had come over him. Things 
 no longer seemed to matter much, one way or another, 
 He was no longer Eichard Kandall, the playwright, 
 who had so bitterly failed, but an entirely new indi- 
 vidual, a man whose home was the world, whose heart 
 was a piece of stone, whose nerves had suddenly 
 become steel. And all this he had purchased at the 
 cost of a little food and drink. The Fates, regarding
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. Ill 
 
 him in his temporary state of exaltation, must have 
 laughed. 
 
 He finished reading his paper as the dawn rose, 
 ghostly and pale, over the house-tops. He went out 
 into the deserted streets. It was half-past five o'clock 
 Sunday morning, the most silent of all the hours 
 in the great city's week. 
 
 He began to walk, without knowing where he was 
 going. Down to Forty-second Street he went, through 
 the park in the rear of the Public Library, and out 
 into Fifth Avenue. Everywhere the same death-like 
 silence over the sleeping city, the same ghostly quality 
 of the dawn. For all the evidence of life he saw he 
 might have been in a city of the dead. 
 
 The blue-gray light was changing now to an amber 
 shot with rose, above which presently flashed the first 
 bright rays of the rising sun. He could see, down 
 the cross streets toward Long Island, the glowing 
 eastern sky, and against it the chimneys and buildings 
 on the opposite shore, towering gaunt and black against 
 the dawn. 
 
 The sunrise spoke of nature, of peace, of wide 
 stretches of sea, of the sweet, warm winds of the 
 tropics. It seemed immeasurably above and beyond 
 the sordid things for which he had so recently been 
 striving. He walked on and on, past Thirty-fourth 
 Street, past Twenty-third, and down to the very end 
 of Fifth Avenue, with its silent marble arch. The 
 Square, in its dress of tender green, welcomed him 
 with the chatter of a thousand birds. He sat down
 
 112 'A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 upon one of the benches, and drank in the peace of 
 the morning. 
 
 After a time he slept. When he awoke, with a 
 start, the sunlight was gilding the top of the arch, 
 and the streets were no longer deserted. He glanced 
 at his watch. It was half-past eight. The stimula- 
 tion of the night before had worn off. The sleep 
 had failed to rest him; on the contrary, it had but 
 accentuated his need of it. He shivered slightly, for 
 there was still a chill in the early spring air, and, 
 rising, walked toward Fifth Avenue. 
 
 He looked at the money in his pocket, and found 
 that he still had three dollars and a half, and some 
 coppers. Habit, and the chill that his nap had given 
 him, made him long 'for a cup of coffee. He made his 
 way to a French hotel and restaurant on University 
 Place, at which he had once or twice dined with Mr. 
 Taylor. 
 
 The place was just waking up. Scrub women were 
 cleaning the cafe. In the dining-room a single sleepy 
 waiter was serving an equally sleepy guest. 
 
 Randall sat down, and ordered eggs and coffee. In 
 half an hour, he had eaten, and then retired to the 
 cafe, seating himself heavily at one of the marble- 
 topped tables. He felt old and tired. The depres- 
 sion of the previous night again began to creep into 
 his brain. How characteristic it was of him, he 
 thought, that, having started out the night before to 
 abandon New York forever, he had got no further 
 than University Place. 
 
 The cafe was quite empty. The single waiter looked
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 113 
 
 at him askance, estimating him by his worn suit, his 
 flannel shirt. Eandall cursed himself beneath his 
 breath, and ordered more coffee, with brandy. 
 
 With all its evil consequences, there is this sovereign 
 power about drink: It deludes the senses, and pro- 
 duces a false sense of security. Eandall had never 
 been a drinking man, but, just now, drink seemed to 
 him his only salvation. The slow, insistent on-coming 
 of the depression of the night before terrified him. 
 He felt that he must forget, else his career, whatever 
 it might be, was likely to end in the East Eiver. 
 
 Once he tried to argue himself into a more reason- 
 able state of mind. Even though things had gone 
 badly, could he not summon up enough courage to 
 face them? It is likely that, had his nerves been in 
 a normal state, he would have done so; but they were 
 not, and the thought of Inez and her treatment of 
 him made his soul shrink. He wanted to get away 
 from his thoughts, and, in desperation, ordered more 
 brandy. 
 
 He sat in the little cafe dully, stupidly, until noon, 
 consuming drink after drink. The habitues of the 
 place, dapper-looking Frenchmen, tired-eyed Ameri- 
 cans who had not slept, came in with their morning 
 .papers. Eandall paid no attention to them. He 
 wanted to get drunk he meant to get drunk and he 
 did. 
 
 By twelve o'clock, the tables were spinning about 
 like pin-wheels, and there seemed to be innumerable- 
 waiters in every corner. Yet the liquor had not stimu-
 
 114 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 lated him. Instead, he felt an overwhelming desire 
 to sleep. 
 
 He staggered out to the desk, and asked, thickly, 
 for a room. 
 
 "The cheapest you have," he said. The clerk looked 
 at him, decided that, in spite of his clothes, he was 
 a gentleman, and calling a bell-boy, gave him a key. 
 Then he asked Eandall for a dollar and a half. 
 
 The latter drew from his pocket a single bill, and 
 a handful of change. After paying for his room, he 
 found that he still had forty cents. In a spirit of 
 bravado, he gave the boy a quarter, and, when the 
 latter had left the room, he pulled down the shades, 
 tore off his clothes, and crept into bed. 
 
 It was dark when he awoke, and a dreadful pain 
 bound his head, like a circlet of steel. He reached for 
 his watch. It was three o'clock, but whether three 
 in the afternoon, or the morning, he did not know. 
 
 He staggered to his feet, drank heavily from the 
 water-bottle which stood upon the wash-stand, then, 
 raising the shade, looked out of the window. It was 
 night, and in the velvet sky shone many stars. 
 
 He crept back into bed, hoping for sleep, but for 
 many hours found none. The shade he had left up, 
 and a faint light stole in from the night sky. For 
 what seemed to him centuries he lay, looking up at 
 the wall paper on the ceiling of the room a pattern 
 of flowers, set in a field of stars. The minutes passed 
 like whole days. He wondered whether he could 
 endure it until the dawn came. Yet, after all, what 
 would the dawn mean, to him ?
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 115 
 
 After a long time, he rose, switched on the light, 
 and went to the little table near the window. On it 
 he found writing materials, and he began to write. In 
 the course of half an hour, he had produced the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 "And so, for twice ten thousand years I lay 
 And searched the pattern on my tomb's low roof. 
 Poor futile flowers, dull, and drab, and small, 
 That 'neath my burning eyes did live, and grow 
 To passion flowers, red with life, and love. 
 Around them spread a million tiny stars, 
 That fell, like tears from some twice-broken heart, 
 To blot the flowers out, or water them 
 With sweet compassion's rain, and give them peace. 
 Anon the roof seemed coils of snakes, like whips, 
 That writhed about a cruel face of stone. 
 Fate sneering at me with white frozen lips, 
 The while she lashed in silence at my heart. 
 There was no sleep, for sleep had been too kind 
 For one so crucified." 
 
 He read the lines over, then tore the sheet of paper 
 into bits, and flung it from him. For some little 
 while he thought of death, and wondered whether, 
 should he leap from the window, the fall to the yard 
 below would be fatal. Then he crept back into bed, 
 and presently fell into an uneasy sleep. 
 
 It was broad daylight when he awoke, burning with 
 thirst. He dressed with feverish haste, and descended
 
 116 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to the ground floor. Suddenly he realized that he 
 had no more money but fifteen cents remained in 
 his pocket. He went out into the streets, hot with the 
 morning sun, and, going to the nearest saloon, spent 
 his remaining money for a glass of whiskey. 
 
 A strange and terrible peace now possessed him. 
 He felt that he no longer belonged to the world of 
 living things, but was a creature apart, a being of 
 another world, bound by no tie to the roaring city 
 about him. 
 
 The streets were filled with people. It was noon, 
 and the denizens of the sweat shops were sallying forth 
 for their lunch, and a breath of air. He looked at 
 them, and laughed. He had nothing in common with 
 these pallid creatures. 
 
 A desire for another drink came over him, with a 
 fierce and sudden intensity. He had almost entered 
 a saloon when he realized that he no longer had any 
 money. Then he bethought himself of his watch, a 
 cheap silver affair that had cost perhaps fifteen dol- 
 lars. He decided to pawn it. 
 
 He had reached Sixth Avenue by this time, and, 
 soon, the familiar sign of the three golden balls met 
 his sodden gaze. He went in, threw the watch upon 
 the counter, and asked how much he could borrow 
 upon it. 
 
 The man behind the counter looked at the watch 
 carelessly. 
 
 "Two dollars," he grunted. 
 
 "Give it to me." Kandall took the two dollars and 
 the ticket. The latter he tore up, and flung into the 
 
 I
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 117 
 
 gutter. With the former, he at once purchased another 
 drink. 
 
 Then he began to walk down Sixth Avenue for 
 a space, then over to Broadway, and then, turning by 
 some instinct toward the east, he at last found himself 
 on South Street, lined with its countless ships. 
 
 He paused here a long time, having first obtained 
 another drink, and a plate of bean soup from the 
 free-lunch counter of a dingy water-front saloon. The 
 ships attracted him. Coming as he did from the 
 middle West, he knew little of the sea, but there was 
 a touch of romance, a flavor of far-off climes, about 
 their towering masts, their black and smoke-begrimed 
 hulls, which enfolded him in a spirit of adventure, 
 of mystery. 
 
 Even the smell of the docks pleased him, with its 
 combination of paint, tar, guano, sugar, and bilge- 
 water. A cool, fresh breeze was blowing from the 
 south-east, carrying with it the salt smell of the sea. 
 He stood for a long time watching a rusty tramp 
 steamer, which, with the assistance of two fussing 
 tugs, was being warped out into the channel. Black 
 clouds of smoke were pouring from her funnels. He 
 wondered whither she was bound, and wished himself 
 aboard. 
 
 After a while, he tired of the inaction of standing 
 about the docks. The sun was becoming unpleasantly 
 hot, and the liquor he had drunk made him very dizzy. 
 He wandered across the street, and into the bar-room 
 of a sailor's hotel. Back of the bar, a dim, cool room 
 invited. He snatched up a bit of rye bread and cheese,
 
 118 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 ordered a drink of beer, and sat down at one of the 
 tables. 
 
 At another table a group of four men sat, eating 
 and drinking. One of them, a red-faced man, in his 
 shirt-sleeves, was talking earnestly to the others. 
 
 "You boys had better sign," he was saying. "It's 
 a good berth, and she sails to-night. What the devil 
 do you want, anyway? Ain't The Green Star good 
 enough for you ?" 
 
 Kandall rose, and going unsteadily over to the other 
 table, stood looking at the shirt-sleeved man, his glass 
 of beer clutched tightly in one hand. 
 
 "It's good enough for me/' he said, and sat down 
 in a vacant chair. 
 
 The men looked at him curiously. Some of them 
 laughed. 
 
 "Are you lookin' for a berth, mate?" the man with 
 the red face inquired. 
 
 "Yes." Then he called to the bar-tender. "Here, 
 Cap ! Give us a drink for the crowd." He pulled from 
 his pocket his remaining dollar bill, and flung it upon 
 the table. "There's my last cent, boys," he said. 
 "Drink it up. After that, I'll sign to go anywhere, 
 hell included, and won't kick about the wages, either. 
 All I want to do is to get away from New York." 
 
 The red-faced man smiled grimly. 
 
 "You're on, my boy," he said, then turned to the 
 bar-keeper. "Make mine a whiskey."
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 WHEN Eandall awoke, it was dark, and the place 
 in which he found himself was quite unfamiliar to 
 him. It was a long, low-ceiled, dingy-looking room, 
 faintly lighted by an oil lamp swinging from above. 
 Someone was poking him violently in the ribs. 
 
 It was a big man, with enormous square shoulders, 
 and a rusty-looking red beard. 
 
 "Turn out for your watch, you lubbers !" he roared. 
 "We're getting under way. Turn out!" The man 
 passed on, thrusting his huge hand into the next bunk 
 with many and choice objurgations. 
 
 Kandall sat up, and looked about him, somewhat 
 dazed. The fumes of the liquor he had drunk still 
 clouded his brain. 
 
 He found that he had been lying in a narrow fore- 
 castle bunk, upon a pillow composed of a greasy canvas 
 bag, which seemed to be filled with articles of clothing. 
 His hat, coat and waistcoat were gone, as were his 
 shoes, but he still wore the trousers and the blue flan- 
 nel shirt, which he had put on upon leaving his room 
 in Irving Place. 
 
 The men in the other bunks were tumbling out, 
 blear-eyed and cursing. The red-whiskered man had 
 gone. Kandall saw one of the others feel in his can- 
 
 119
 
 120 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 vas bag, and presently haul out a pair oi low deck 
 shoes. He did likewise, and found that those in his 
 bag, although heavy and clumsily made, fitted him 
 reasonably well. Having put them on, he slid to the 
 floor and stood up. 
 
 A frightful pain shot through the back of his head, 
 and for a moment he was so dizzy he could scarcely 
 stand. The other men, some seven or eight in all, 
 were crowding toward the companionway leading to 
 the deck. 
 
 Randall joined them. The man nearest him, a 
 youngish-looking fellow, with a tanned and rather 
 attractive face, turned to him and laughed. 
 
 "How're you feelin' ?" he asked. 
 
 "Pretty fair," Randall returned, with a rueful 
 smile. "What ship is this ?" 
 
 "Avalon tramp freighter." 
 
 "Where are we going ?" 
 
 His companion grinned. 
 
 "Bound for Hong Kong, by way of Suez. Ever 
 been to sea before ?" 
 
 "No," Randall replied, licking his parched and 
 blistered lips; "never." 
 
 "Hope you like it!", said the other, as they came 
 eut on deck. 
 
 It was night. The breeze from the south-east had 
 become fresher, and a short, choppy sea covered the 
 surface of the river, as the tide ran seaward against 
 it. Randall gazed about curiously for a moment, as 
 his eyes became accustomed to the half-light. 
 
 He saw before him a long sweep of deck, above
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 121 
 
 which rose amidships a square deck-house surmounted 
 by a single black funnel. Upon the latter were painted 
 two red stripes, with a broader blue one between. 
 
 The vessel was just drawing away from the pier, 
 under the influence of two tugs. It was too late to 
 turn back now, Randall realized, even had he felt any 
 desire to do so, which he did not. Over the rail, 
 he caught sight, for a moment, of the myriad lights 
 of the city; it seemed to him that they still blinked 
 in solemn derision. He hoped it would be a long time 
 before he should see them again. 
 
 A keen, nervous-looking man, with a black mustache 
 and a weather-beaten face, whom Randall judged to 
 be one of the officers, came toward them. 
 
 "Here, you men!" he called out. "Lay aft there, 
 and stow those fenders and lines. And make fast 
 those booms, before they carry something away. Lively 
 now !" 
 
 The orders were Greek to Randall, but he followed 
 the man who had given him the information about the 
 vessel's destination, and tried to look as though he 
 knew what he was about. He observed, as he ran 
 aft with his companions, that there were other men 
 upon the deck, the remainder of the crew, he concluded, 
 who were swiftly performing a variety of tasks, the 
 nature of which he did not in the least understand. 
 
 The black-must ached man and the one with the 
 red whiskers were shouting out orders with alarming 
 frequency. Randall stood beside the sailor he had 
 been following, and assisted him in hauling over the 
 rail some huge masses of rope-work,, which even hia
 
 122 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 faint knowledge of nautical matters told him were 
 fenders. Others of the men had swarmed to the booms 
 which projected like giant fingers from the short masts, 
 and were lashing them amidships, over the cargo 
 hatches. Still others began to coil up apparently end- 
 less dripping ropes, with a quickness and precision at 
 which Kandall marveled. 
 
 They were out in the stream now, and the tugs had 
 cast off, and left them. From the sudden vibration 
 of the vessel, Kandall knew that her propeller had 
 begun to move. Huge clouds of black smoke, shot 
 with red, rolled from her funnel, and streamed off 
 toward the north-west, raining a shower of cinders 
 and sparks upon the deck. Kandall winced as one 
 of them burnt his cheek. 
 
 The excitement of the moment, the cool freshness 
 of the breeze, the novelty of the situation, had all 
 combined to make Kandall forget both the immediate 
 suffering due to his aching head, and the greater pain 
 that gnawed at his heart. Now he once more began 
 to feel them. 
 
 With the other men with whom he had been work- 
 ing he had gone forward. They stood about the deck 
 and along the rail, watching the lights of the city. 
 The vessel was well under way. Already they had 
 passed beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, with its fairy- 
 like rows of lights, between which the trains and electric 
 cars crawled like lazy fire-flies. 
 
 Randall swept the New York shore with rebellious 
 eyes. The towering cliffs, with their countless lights, 
 represented majesty, power, success. He felt himself
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 123 
 
 an insignificant bit of dross, that had passed through 
 the furnace, and been cast out, along with the other 
 refuse that poured in a never-ending stream into the 
 river. 
 
 He thought of Inez, and shook his fist impotently 
 at the winking lights. This city, this octopus, that 
 had taken his strength, his courage, his hope, had 
 taken her from him as well. Even in the bitterness 
 of his despair, he did not altogether blame her. He 
 had not stopped to inquire whose hat and gloves lay 
 upon the table in her room; he knew they must be 
 Steinfeldt's ; yet even now, he did not accuse her of 
 any wrong-doing. In his heart, he strove to find 
 excuses for her. Perhaps Steinfeldt had stepped into 
 the bedroom, and drawn the curtains, merely because 
 he did not wish it to be known that he was there, in 
 Inez's rooms. Possibly he had come only to talk 
 with the girl about the engagement he wished her to 
 take. Yet however this might be, Bandall knew that 
 Inez had taken that engagement that the money and 
 power that Steinfeldt's success gave him had been 
 strong enough to take her from him. He, alas, could 
 offer her only love. 
 
 Curiously enough he did not see, at this time, that, 
 had the love she gave him been worthy of the name, 
 it could not have been purchased by a hundred Stein- 
 feldts, or a thousand theatrical engagements. He had 
 idealized Inez, and would not permit himself to see 
 that the woman he had enshrined in his heart was a 
 very different creature from the one who had handed 
 hira back his ring, two nights before.
 
 124 'A. LOST PARADISE. 
 
 He flung his impotent anathemas at the great city, 
 quite unappreciative of the fact that he somewhat 
 resembled a gnat defying Niagara Falls. Randall 
 was young, and his sense of humor was as yet insuffi- 
 ciently developed to enable him to laugh at himself. 
 
 One of the men, who stood beside him, also gazing 
 at the city, spoke up. 
 
 "What's the matter, mate?" he asked, grinning. 
 "Did your girl go back on you?" 
 
 Randall turned, and saw the young man with whom 
 he had been working a short time before. 
 
 ."Yes," he said bitterly; "she did." 
 
 The other laughed. 
 
 "Lord," he said, "that's what sent me to sea, too. 
 Ain't it funny, what a lot o' sailors women make ? 
 Well, I got over it before we struck Rio I was goin' 
 around the Horn, that trip and I been thankin' her 
 ever since. I was a sickly rat then something like 
 you. Now I got a pair o' arms on me like hams, 
 and could eat my boots if I had to. God!" He ex- 
 panded his chest, and drew in a breath of the salt 
 breeze. "Ain't that great, after them rotten streets ?" 
 
 They were passing Quarantine now, and the lights 
 of the city had grown dim. Randall spat contemptu- 
 ously over the side, and turned his back on them. 
 
 "Thank God, we're going east," he said. 
 
 His companion laughed. 
 
 "About the only way there is to go, mate, from 
 here," he said. "Leastways, you couldn't go west, very 
 well not aboard ship. Never been to Suez, I take 
 it."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 125 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, believe me, you'll see life out there real 
 life. I made this trip once before, and I'll be glad 
 when we get there again." 
 
 The man with the red whiskers, who was standing 
 amidships, came toward them, bawling out an order. 
 Randall could not make out what it was. He asked 
 his companion, as they hurried aft. 
 
 "Never mind," said the latter, "I'll show you. Just 
 you stick along with me." 
 
 Randall caught one last glimpse of the cluster of 
 lights astern, which marked the position of the city, 
 then forgot all about them in the work before him. 
 His course was set toward the east. It was not likely, 
 he thought, that he would see New York for a long 
 time to come, and in this supposition he was entirely 
 correct.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE setting sun was just gilding the summit of Vic- 
 toria Peak, as the P. & 0. liner, Batavia, drew slowly 
 out of the harbor of Hong Kong. 
 
 The flock of low-lying sampans fell slowly astern, 
 as the vessel gained headway, and the bat-winged river 
 craft tossed heavily, with a shrill creaking and groan- 
 ing of their yards, as her bow wave caught them. 
 
 Upon the sloping hillsides innumerable lights began 
 to appear from out of the gloom, like glow-worms 
 among the foliage, while in the streets along the water- 
 front people of half a hundred nationalities sought 
 the evening breeze. 
 
 There was a curious thin mist upon the face of the 
 water, so diaphanous as to be almost invisible, yet 
 sufficient to blur the circling line of the horizon, and 
 veil the lights along the shore, as the vessel drew 
 away from them, with a soft mysterious haze. 
 
 From the mouth of the river, a gentle land breeze 
 brought down the smell of moist wet earth and of 
 flowers, and with it a suggestion of the East, intan- 
 gible, yet by those who know it never to be forgotten. 
 
 A young man standing alongside the rail of the 
 vessel, far forward, gazed back at the slowly disap- 
 pearing city, and smiled whimsically to himself as 
 
 126
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 127 
 
 he hummed, "The Road to Mandalay," beneath his 
 breath. 
 
 He was a sturdy-looking young fellow, quite evi- 
 dently from his dress a sailor. His face, tanned to 
 the color of leather, looked youthful enough, in spite 
 of the brown beard that covered its lower portion. 
 His eyes, sparkling with vitality, were encircled by 
 no tell-tale wrinkles, while the smoothness of his skin, 
 the self-reliant carriage of his shoulders, the elasticity 
 of his movements, bespoke that perfection of health 
 which comes from an active life in the open air, in 
 close touch with nature. 
 
 It was a full three months since Richard Randall had 
 sailed, ill and broken-hearted, out past the Sandy 
 Hook light-ship, and in that three months he had 
 become a man. The process had been a trying one. 
 His ignorance of life aboard ship had caused him 
 much suffering at first, but he had endured it with 
 the courage of a stoic, and had thereby proven the 
 quality of the metal within him. 
 
 Ill, nervously a wreck, anxious to forget the past, 
 he had thrown himself into his new duties with the 
 courage of desperation, and found to his great sur- 
 prise that they were by no means as difficult as his 
 first impressions had led him to suppose. Having an 
 intelligent mind, he readily grasped the significance 
 of the tasks that confronted him day after day, and 
 his very anxiety to forget the events that had led up 
 to the sudden departure from New York, caused him 
 to concern himself the more deeply with the details 
 which made up his new life.
 
 128 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 The Avalon had made a rather slow outward pas- 
 sage; thirty-five days to Suez, seventy to Hong Kong. 
 Eandall had plenty of time to acquire his sea legs, 
 learn the difference between a belaying pin and a 
 capstan bar, and how to splice a three-inch hawser. 
 He also acquired a fondness for ship's biscuit and 
 salt pork, and to his astonishment his health, instead 
 of breaking down under the hard work and coarse 
 diet, improved from day to day by leaps and bounds. 
 
 In a week, he had entirely lost sight of the fact 
 that he possessed such a thing as a set of nerves. In 
 a month, he found that his muscles were as hard as 
 iron, that he had apparently gained ten to fifteen 
 pounds, and that he slept like a boy of twelve. By 
 the time he reached Hong Kong, Inez Gordon, his 
 plays, all the turmoil of the past two years, seemed 
 to have sunk beneath the horizon, along with New 
 York and its malignant lights. He felt free, gloriously 
 free, as he breathed in the wonderful life-giving sea 
 air, and existence, which had worn such a grim and 
 forbidding aspect, now smiled benignly upon him. 
 
 He had drunk deep of the great recuperative forces 
 of Nature, and they had made him whole again. He 
 came at last to laugh at himself, and at the absurd 
 terrors that had possessed him. In all its moods, from 
 its hot glassy calms to the turbulence and riot of its 
 north-west storms, the ocean was to him a source of 
 delight. He felt as though he had begun a new life, 
 a life that in itself was an end. And all of these 
 miraculous changes were wrought by that single 
 sovereign remedy, good health.
 
 'A. LOST PARADISE. 129 
 
 At times, he wondered what his future would be, 
 but these occasions were rare, and the mood lasted 
 only a short time. The very fact that he was alive, 
 and well, and free, seemed in itself sufficient to justify 
 his being. With his innate love for beauty in all 
 its forms, he had only to look at the sea, in some of 
 its countless fantastic aspects, to find recompense for 
 all the hardships he had undergone. 
 
 And these hardships were many. Over and over, 
 in the earlier weeks of the voyage, he had been made 
 to feel the depth of his ignorance on all matters per- 
 taining to life aboard ship, and, but for his unvary- 
 ing good nature and patience, his willingness to learn, 
 he would doubtless have fared hardly at the hands 
 of his superiors. They realized, however, after a time, 
 the stuff that was in him, and, contrary to the ac- 
 cepted ideas of seafaring life, helped him to grasp 
 the meaning of his duties, and how to perform them, 
 instead of knocking him senseless with a belaying pin. 
 The result was, that, when The Avalon dropped anchor 
 in the harbor of Hong Kong, Randall was a first-rate 
 deck-hand, if not an able seaman. 
 
 At Hong Kong, he learned that the vessel was to 
 charter for a cargo of silks to London ; he did not sign 
 for the voyage, but, instead, drew the pay that was 
 due him, and made his way ashore. He had no desire 
 to return so quickly to the turmoil of every-day life. 
 The East had laid its spell upon him he had the 
 smell of its spices in his nostrils, the tinkle of its 
 pagoda bells in his ears. He went ashore, found a 
 boarding-place near the water-front, and proceeded
 
 130 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to see Victoria and the hinterland to his heart's con- 
 tent, for somewhat over a month. 
 
 At the end of that period, realizing that his store 
 of money was becoming exceedingly low, he applied 
 at the offices of the Pacific and Orient Company for 
 a job as deck-hand upon one of their steamers. The 
 result, much to his surprise, had been a berth upon 
 The Batavia, then in port. Possibly his intelligent 
 appearance, his air of self-respect and cleanliness, had 
 much to do with it. At all events, he found himself, 
 within forty-eight hours after having made his appli- 
 cation, stowing his things away in The Batavia's fore- 
 castle. 
 
 It was the morning after they had left Hong Kong 
 that Randall experienced the first shock which had 
 come to him since he left New York. 
 
 It was a marvelously quiet day, and excessively 
 hot. The sun sizzled and boiled upon the freshly 
 holystoned decks, and puffed up the paint on the rails 
 in little bulbous-looking blisters. The sea was calm 
 and motionless; even the ground swell was almost 
 imperceptible. The sky, a thin, faded blue, seemed 
 permeated with the tropic heat. A dazzling, quiver- 
 ing radiance of the air arose perceptibly from the 
 decks; it seemed as though the heat were fairly visible, 
 as it was reflected from their immaculate surface. 
 
 The oily expanse of the sea was- broken only by the 
 dash of an occasional flying fish, as it hung suspended 
 in a cloud of iridescent spray. A long white fur- 
 row of foam extended to the right and left from the 
 steamer's bow, losing itself in the wake churned up
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 131 
 
 by her propellers. Beyond this, the ocean stretched, 
 limitless, to the hazy horizon. 
 
 There was no breeze, except that made by the motion 
 of the vessel. It served to carry away the thin gray 
 wisp of smoke from her funnels, until it lost itself 
 in the blue of the sky. 
 
 The passengers were mostly seated aft, under the 
 shade of an awning. Kandall, with two of his com- 
 panions, was busy on the promenade deck forward, 
 rigging a wind-shield. 
 
 He had just completed his task, and was about to 
 descend to the main deck, when he heard someone 
 behind him, speaking in a voice so vibrant and com- 
 pelling that he turned at once to observe the per- 
 sonality of its owner. 
 
 A girl of some twenty-two or three stood before him, 
 dressed in a suit of thin white pongee, and wearing 
 a Panama hat, tied about with a green veil. She 
 was a trifle over the average height for a woman, and 
 her figure was of that unusual quality which suggests 
 strength and power without carrying the suggestion of 
 size. Kandall, with his keen appreciation of the beauti- 
 ful, felt a momentary shock of pleasure, as his eyes 
 traveled from the girl's well-rounded shoulders and 
 full, deep breast to her slender waist and exquisitely 
 molded hips. She seemed to give out at once an im- 
 pression of grace and of femininity, through which 
 penetrated a suggestion of subtle and conscious power, 
 a perfection of muscular development, which could 
 have found its origin only in perfect health. 
 
 But it was her face that most strongly held his
 
 132 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 attention. He could not have told, at the moment, 
 whether her eyes were light or dark, blue or brown; 
 but he was conscious that they held his with a most 
 extraordinary and compelling power. And, even while 
 he was searching their depths, he became aware of 
 her amused smile, and heard her repeat, in a voice 
 at once musical and peremptory, the question that had 
 at first attracted his attention. 
 
 "Can you tell me, my man," she said, "whether or 
 not that is the island of Hainan ?" She indicated with 
 her parasol a hazy blue blur upon the horizon. 
 
 "I I really don't know," Randall stammered, gaz- 
 ing off to starboard. 
 
 "You don't know! That's queer." 
 
 "Not very, Miss. This is my first trip through the 
 China Sea." 
 
 "Oh, I see. Perhaps some of the others can tell 
 me." She turned her back, and started toward the 
 opposite side of the deck. 
 
 Eandall watched her as she strolled aft, and his 
 heart gave a singular and most unusual leap. The 
 girl's manner had been coolly patronizing; she spoke 
 to him quite as one speaks to an inferior; doubtless 
 she regarded him as merely an ignorant laborer, like 
 the usual run of his class. Yet he fancied he had 
 detected, behind the barriers of class, a lurking gleam 
 of responsiveness in the depths - of her cool gray 
 eyes. She impressed him as a woman bound about 
 so tightly by the bonds of convention and caste that 
 her individuality had become oppressed, almost 
 obscured by it; yet that momentary flash of her eyes,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 133 
 
 as they met his, told him that, perhaps quite unknown 
 to her, a spirit of rebellion dwelt behind the bulwarks 
 of her training, which might rise up and devastate 
 her soul, should occasion offer. 
 
 The object of his thoughts, quite unconscious of the 
 havoc her glances had made, strolled toward the awn- 
 ing aft, radiating vitality, charm, in her every move- 
 ment. Randall, oblivious of the fact that his com- 
 panions had long since descended to the forward deck, 
 busied himself with an imaginary adjusting of one of 
 the lashings of the wind-shield, while at the same time 
 keeping his eyes upon the girl. He had never met a 
 woman just like her. By some intuition he knew that 
 she was English, and realized to how much greater 
 an extent convention entered into the lives of the 
 women of that country than it did into those of his 
 own at least such of them as he had met, Inez 
 Gordon, for instance. He made the comparison invol- 
 untarily, then shuddered. This woman seemed, for 
 all the humanness of her frank and honest eyes, to 
 be remote from the commonplace affairs of the world. 
 She carried with her a suggestion of Old English 
 manor houses, of peacocks in an Italian Garden, of 
 race and breeding and ancestry that somehow placed 
 at once a barrier between her and the things of every- 
 day life. 
 
 These and many more thoughts raced through 
 Randall's brain as he completed his imaginary task, 
 and returned to the lower deck. The ship's bell told 
 him that his watch was over, and that dinner was 
 ready below. He descended the companion-way, uncon-
 
 134 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 scious of the heat, the steaming smell of cooking from 
 the galley, the loud talking of his companions. A 
 sweetness as of hawthorn hedges, or wood violets, per- 
 meated his soul. He ate listlessly, mechanically, and, 
 when the meal was over, flung himself into his ham- 
 mock, and wandered in a long vista of day-dreams. 
 
 It had seemed to him, when he left Hong Kong, 
 that health, freedom, nature, spelt life. Now he be- 
 gan to see that these things were, after all, only a 
 preparation for the realities of existence. To obtain 
 them, he had placed between himself and the people 
 of his own class a wide gulf. Unless he could in some 
 way bridge that gulf, lif would be but living as an 
 animal lives, eating, sleeping, resting in the hot tropic 
 sun. 
 
 Already the call of battle, the desire to accomplish 
 things, rang in his brain. Had he been a success as 
 a writer, a playwright, the acquaintance, even pos- 
 sibly the love, of a woman such as the one who had 
 spoken to him on deck would be within his reach. 
 Love ! He wondered why she had made him think of 
 love. Was it possible that, in one momentary glance, 
 she had caused him to care for her ? He smiled at the 
 thought, yet it persisted, and even grew in force and 
 intensity. Doubtless the romantic idea of love at first 
 sight was a dream of poets, yet, when his watch again 
 came around, he found himself searching the promenade 
 with eager and persistent eyes, wondering whether, by 
 any chance, he would again catch sight of the object 
 of his thoughts. In this, however, he was disappointed.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 135 
 
 If she came on deck at all during the evening, she 
 doubtless remained aft, where he could not see her. 
 
 That night he did not sleep well. Snatches of 
 poetry whirled through his brain. He even found 
 himself composing verses, which he regretted his 
 inability to write down. The vessel plowed along, 
 with almost uncanny steadiness, through a violet gray 
 sea, which lay so still and silent that it mirrored the 
 stars. 
 
 There was an ominous note in the way the water 
 slapped and gurgled against the ship's side. Randall, 
 with some newly developed sixth sense, felt in the close, 
 hot silence of the night the coming of a storm. 
 
 He was awake long before dawn, and, although it 
 was not yet the hour for his watch, he made his way 
 to the deck, and, standing far forward, watched the 
 rising of the sun. 
 
 The vessel was headed nearly due east, and her 
 wake was still enveloped in the ghostly shadows of the 
 night. In the eastern sky, however, there showed a 
 faint glow that dimmed the stars, and touched the 
 mist upon the surface of the sea with a marvelous 
 translucence. Apparently colorless, it yet suggested 
 faintly all the prismatic colors. 
 
 In an incredibly short time, the glow had increased 
 in intensity, and deepened in tone, until it spread in 
 a great fan of lemon and rose almost to the zenith. 
 
 The mist upon the eastern horizon vanished. Flam- 
 ing darts of red and gold shot heavenward. The flat 
 surface of the sea changed from violet to a brilliant
 
 136 A LOST PAKADISE. 
 
 mauve, which slowly turned to silver as the rim of 
 the sun arose above the horizon. 
 
 And then, almost magically, the dawn had come, 
 and the surface of the ocean danced in its radiance. 
 About the sun long streaming clouds of orange and 
 rose spread in either direction almost as far as the 
 eye could reach. It was the sort of sunrise that 
 presages rough weather, yet the sea was as quiet, as 
 motionless, as death itself. Kandall was conscious of 
 a tenseness, an electrical tingling in the air, which he 
 had never observed before. He glanced at the cloud- 
 less sky, laughed at his premonitions, and went below 
 for breakfast. His thoughts were still centered upon 
 the young English girl with the amazingly contra- 
 dictory eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IT was noon of the third day out, and Randall had 
 not yet caught sight of the object of his dreams. He 
 wondered whether she might be ill, yet realized the 
 absurdity of such supposition. Rarely had he seen 
 a woman who so radiated health. 
 
 His duties, during the forenoon, much to his regret, 
 kept him forward. It was, therefore, with something 
 of a shock that he presently saw the girl advancing 
 toward him along the main deck. She had a small 
 camera in her hand, and was taking snap-shots of the 
 various objects that attracted her attention. 
 
 Randall, at the moment, was standing beside the 
 capstan, polishing its brass-work with a bit of rag. 
 His hands were grimy, his face flushed with the heat. 
 He straightened up as the girl came toward him, and 
 rather sheepishly touched his cap. 
 
 "Oh, don't move, please," she exclaimed. "I want 
 to get you just as you were." 
 
 Randall resumed his polishing. Presently he heard 
 the click of the shutter, then again looked at the girl. 
 
 She seemed, if anything, more charming now than 
 before. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes dancing. 
 He thought, as he observed her graceful, yet muscular, 
 figure, that she must have done a great deal of out- 
 door exercise. 
 
 137
 
 138 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 She came a bit nearer, and smiled at him quizzically. 
 
 "It was Hainan," she said. "You ought to know, 
 
 don't you think? in case anybody else should ask 
 
 you." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss." He again pulled at his cap. 
 "I'll remember it, this time." 
 
 "You're not an Englishman, are you ?" she inquired. 
 
 "No, Miss. I'm an American." 
 
 "Oh, that accounts for it. I thought you seemed 
 a bit different. Do you think we are going to have a 
 storm ? Captain Farrabee tells me the barometer is 
 going down frightfully." 
 
 "It looks like it, Miss." 
 
 "I'm so glad!" she laughed. "I've always wanted 
 to see a typhoon. What is that thing you're clean- 
 ing?" 
 
 "The capstan, Miss." 
 
 "What's it for?" 
 
 "To get up the anchor, Miss, although it's only 
 used in case of emergency. They use steam, mostly." 
 
 "Thank you," she said, with a pleased look, and 
 passed on. 
 
 Eandall realized fully that he was of no more 
 importance in her eyes than the brass-work he was 
 cleaning. She had questioned him as she might have 
 questioned a deck-steward. It galled him somewhat, 
 although he knew that only the fact that she so 
 regarded him made it possible for her to speak to him 
 at all. He sighed, and went on with his work. How 
 absurd, after all, his thoughts were! He might as 
 readily concern himself with the moon.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 139 
 
 At four o'clock, Randall, who was lying in his ham- 
 mock during the watch below, felt a gentle swaying 
 movement, as the liner dipped to a long ground swell. 
 It was the first motion of the sea that he had noticed 
 since they left Hong Kong. He rose and peered out 
 through an open port-hole. A faint puff of warm 
 sultry air met him, but it ceased almost immediately, 
 and he saw that the surface of the sea still presented 
 the oily calm which had characterized it since the night 
 before. 
 
 The sun was still shining, but its rays were slightly 
 veiled, as though they came through an invisible screen 
 of gauze. He went back to his ham mock, cursing the 
 intolerable heat. 
 
 It was during his watch on deck, that evening, that 
 the first breath of the storm struck them. Away off 
 to the north-west he saw that the surface of the ocean 
 presented a darker hue, and presently a long black 
 line, like a shadow, began to move swiftly toward the 
 vessel. It was the line of ripples caused by the on- 
 coming breeze. 
 
 At first but a few gentle puffs, moist and redolent 
 with the odors of the land, swept the plume of smoke 
 from the vessel's funnels, and carried it off toward the 
 south. A low sighing, like the notes of a wind harp, 
 vibrated through the air. The rigging of the liner 
 creaked complainingly, as the breeze became stronger, 
 and the ground swell grew in size. 
 
 In half an hour, the force of the wind had increased 
 to such a point that the passengers sitting on deck 
 sought the lee side of the deck-house, and Randall
 
 140 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 felt from time to time the sting of a bit of salt spray, 
 as it spun over the rail. 
 
 The stars, which an hour earlier had been shining 
 faintly in the misty sky, were now all blotted out, 
 toward the west, by huge, towering inky clouds that 
 crept toward the zenith with astonishing rapidity. 
 Gradually the entire dome of the heavens became ob- 
 scured, and a hot, close-pressing darkness wrapped the 
 ship about. 
 
 The passengers had by this time nearly all gone 
 to their state-rooms. Randall and the other men in 
 his watch were busy stowing away the awnings and 
 wind-shields, battening down the hatch-covers which, 
 owing to the heat, had been raised, and making fast 
 with additional lashings everything movable about the 
 decks. 
 
 The wind steadily gained in strength. By midnight 
 it tore through the rigging in long, mournful cadences, 
 like the distant howling of a pack of wolves. The 
 force of the ground swell had measurably increased. 
 In great, ponderous masses, it rolled toward the ship, 
 and, sweeping under her quarter, twisted her from 
 end to end with a quivering motion that made her 
 groan in every rivet and frame. 
 
 When Randall went below, at the end of his watch, 
 the darkness was so great that he could with diffi- 
 culty make his way to the forecastle hatch, and the 
 motion of the vessel nearly threw him from his feet. 
 Accustomed as he had become to rough weather at 
 sea, he still found great difficulty in sleeping. The 
 roar of the storm increased, as the night wore on, and
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 141 
 
 the plunging of the vessel, as she wallowed through 
 the tremendous seas, made her quiver from stem to 
 stern. 
 
 By morning the full force of the typhoon, had 
 reached them. It was impossible to maintain a foot- 
 ing on the wet and slippery decks, even in the shelter 
 of the deck-house, without clinging to the rail. The 
 sky was a deep-gray black, over the face of which 
 darker masses of clouds, thin and widely spread, like 
 smoke, tore with frightful rapidity. The sea was a 
 tumult of towering waves, down the sides of which 
 swept great masses of wind-tossed foam. The course 
 of the vessel had been changed she now was headed 
 more to the south, in an effort to escape beyond the 
 limits of the storm's cyclonic whirl. It seemed ques- 
 tionable whether she would be able to hold this course ; 
 the rush of the waves against her starboard quarter 
 seemed momentarily about to engulf her. From time 
 to time the seas hurled themselves clear over the after 
 rail, and swept knee-deep along the decks. 
 
 Randall wondered if it could possibly blow ^ny 
 harder, as he crouched in the lee of the deck-house 
 forward, and watched the seething riot of the waves. 
 With the exception of the other men of his watch and 
 the officers on the bridge, the decks were deserted. 
 He wondered what the young English girl was doing. 
 He hoped that she was not seasick, like most of the 
 other passengers. 
 
 About eleven o'clock in the forenoon there came a 
 slight cessation in the force of the gale, although the 
 sea was, if anything, more tempestuous than before.
 
 142 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Eandall was glad of even a temporary relief from the 
 grinding roar of the storm. Its force had been so great 
 that he could scarcely breathe, and under no circum- 
 stances could he have spoken the wind would have 
 torn the words half -uttered from his mouth, and flung 
 them, meaningless, off to sea. 
 
 He raised himself painfully to his feet, for the long 
 crouching in one position had left him stiff and sore. 
 The rolling of the deck was tremendous. He clung 
 to the rail, and swept a look aft, toward the north-west. 
 But there was no indication of any relief. The smoky 
 clouds were tearing southward with a speed almost as 
 great as before, in an apparently endless procession. 
 
 And then, to his utter amazement, one of the doors 
 leading from the deck-house was suddenly opened, and 
 he saw the young English girl, hatless and wrapped in 
 a long water-proof coat, step out upon the tumbling 
 deck, and fall, rather than walk, toward the rail. 
 
 "I want to see the storm," she called, at the top of 
 her voice. Through the tumult of sound, Randall 
 barely managed to catch her words. He moved un- 
 steadily toward her along the rail, and, when he had 
 come up to her, roared into her ear. 
 
 "Go below. It isn't safe. Go below." 
 
 She laughed, and twisted her arm about a stanchion. 
 
 "I'm all right," she said. "It's it's glorious." 
 
 Randall was at a loss what to do. He knew that, 
 should any of the officers learn of her presence on deck, 
 they would insist upon her going below at once. The 
 storm was by no means over; on the contrary, the sud- 
 den rush of the gale, the shrieking and roaring of it, as
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 143 
 
 it again swept down upon the vessel, told him that the 
 lull had been but a temporary one. 
 
 The force of the wind evidently surprised the girl. 
 She clung to the stanchion with both arms now, and 
 her smile grew somewhat less confident. She tried to 
 say something to Randall, but the roar of the storm was 
 so great that he could not make out what it was. He 
 pointed in silence to the door through which she had 
 come, but she shook her head. 
 
 And, then, a blast of wind struck them, compared to 
 which the previous efforts of the storm seemed trivial. 
 The vessel careened as though some mighty hand had 
 struck her a blow. A mountainous roller swept over 
 her quarter, and tore down the alleyway, foaming 
 breast high along the side of the deck-house. 
 
 Randall jumped for the girl, and, throwing his arms 
 about her, clung with all his force to the stanchion. 
 For an instant, it seemed to him that his arms were 
 being torn from their sockets. He heard a cry above 
 the roar of the storm from one of the crew who saw 
 their predicament, and then, with a mighty wrench, the 
 on-rushing water flung them over the rail as though 
 they had been two bits of cork. 
 
 As he plunged down the receding face of the wave, 
 his arms still about the girl, Randall caught a moment- 
 ary glimpse of the vessel as it tore by them in a cloud of 
 spindrift and spray, and saw a round white . object, 
 which he knew to be a life-buoy, come hurtling through 
 the air toward him. 
 
 He flung himself upon it, one hand clutching his 
 companion's arm, and managed to grasp the life-buoy
 
 144 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 with the other. The girl, in spite of the shock, was still 
 conscious, and seemed to understand what he expected 
 of her. Apparently she could swim, although little 
 opportunity to do so presented itself in this boiling 
 waste of surge and foam. She managed, however, to 
 slip the water-proof from her shoulders, and clung with 
 both hands to the buoy. 
 
 There was a bit of rope attached to it. Eandall 
 succeeded in getting this about the girl's waist, and 
 making it fast. The task was no easy one, for the 
 smother of foam, the force of the gale, as they rose 
 to the top of the next wave, almost choked him. He 
 was astonished to find that they lived at all, yet he saw 
 that, when they swirled down the long sloping sides of 
 the swells, they were almost completely protected from 
 the force of the wind ; it was only when they rose to the 
 crests that they felt its fury. 
 
 The water was warm, and on this score they felt no 
 discomfort ; their greatest dangers lay in the possibility 
 that, when the crests of the waves swept over them, they 
 would be suffocated, or that they might be wrenched 
 from their hold upon the buoy. Eandall had secured 
 the girl so that this danger did not threaten her, but he 
 found his own arms already becoming sore from the 
 effort to hold on to the slippery canvas ring. At last, in 
 the momentary safety of a lull between two waves, he 
 managed to take off his belt, and by buckling it about 
 the buoy, formed a loop through which he could slip 
 one arm. 
 
 He soon found that, by turning their backs to the 
 crests of the waves as they rose, they could hold their
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 145 
 
 breaths until the welter of wind and foam swept over 
 them, and thus avoid suffocation, for a time at least. 
 
 And, after all, what was the use in prolonging the 
 agony of their death ? For that death faced them,, he 
 felt certain. The Batavia had long since disappeared 
 in a welter of foam and spray to the south-east. She 
 could not have paused in that headlong flight, even had 
 the captain been foolhardy enough to have made the 
 attempt, and to launch a boat would have been suicidal. 
 It could not have lived a moment in that boiling sea. 
 
 There remained, apparently, no possible chance for 
 them, unless, indeed, some land were near, and this, 
 Eandall felt sure, was out of the question. The Batavia 
 had driven, he knew, since leaving Hong Kong, con- 
 siderably out of her course, but whether she had passed 
 to the east or the west of the island of Luzon, he did 
 not know. The former seemed to him more likely, as 
 her general course had been toward the south-east. In 
 that event, they were in the Pacific, and probably hun- 
 dreds of miles from any land. 
 
 He looked at the white face of the girl, and shud- 
 dered. How terrible that she should die like this ! She 
 met his gaze with a courage that he admired in silence. 
 
 "We we haven't got much chance, have we?" she 
 gasped, putting her mouth close to his ear, so that her 
 words might be audible. 
 
 "While there's life, you know," he replied, and held 
 his breath as a burst of wind and foam swept over their 
 heads. 
 
 He managed to get a glimpse of the sky toward the 
 north-west, as they rose on the next wave. It seemed
 
 146 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to him that it was lighter, and that the fury of the gale 
 had appreciably diminished. This momentary encour- 
 agement, however, soon passed. Of what avail would it 
 be, for the storm to pass away, only to leave them to 
 die, without food or water, under the pitiless glare of 
 the tropic sun? Indeed, he doubted greatly whether 
 either of them could last through the night, storm or 
 no storm. 
 
 It had been close to noon when they were swept from 
 The Batavia's deck, and they had now been in the water 
 between three and four hours. Randall again made 
 an observation of the western sky, and this time the 
 greater ease with which he was able to face the rush 
 of the wind showed him beyond doubt that the storm 
 was waning. 
 
 He had no knowledge of typhoons, but he had heard 
 his companions on shipboard talking about them, the 
 preceding day, and he had got an impression that such 
 storms were not unlike cyclones, sweeping along in a 
 well-defined path, whirling furiously about a moving 
 center, and passing with tremendous rapidity. 
 
 In that case, it was not unlikely, he argued, that the 
 typhoon had swept off to the north-east, and that from 
 now on the wind would gradually die down. 
 
 In this supposition he was correct. Several hours 
 later, when it was, he judged, about nightfall, the force 
 of the wind was distinctly less, and 'they rose and fell 
 upon the enormous seas without encountering the blast 
 of foam and spray which had before threatened to suf- 
 focate them. 
 
 The waves, however, had not lessened in size or
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 147 
 
 power. Randall realized, as he had never realized be- 
 fore, the tremendous, the almost irresistible, force of 
 the ocean. He and his companion were no more than 
 two specks of dust upon its vast surface; their very 
 lightness and insignificance, indeed, were what had so 
 far preserved them. 
 
 The night fell very dark, and, as the sky was still 
 obscured by the scudding, smoking clouds, they were 
 almost unable to see each other, or realize each other's 
 presence. Randall put out his free hand he had been 
 holding on to the loop formed by his belt with each 
 arm alternately and grasped the girl's wrist. 
 
 "Do you think you can hold out till morning?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes," she gasped, rather weakly; "I I think so." 
 
 In spite of the warmth of the water, they were both 
 becoming chilled. Randall moved his arms about, striv- 
 ing to keep up the circulation. He urged the girl to 
 do likewise, but she was apparently too weak to follow 
 his advice. 
 
 Hour after hour they tossed on the black surface of 
 the sea, gradually growing weaker as the night wore 
 on. The wind had dropped to a moderate gale now, 
 but Randall had lost interest in it. He felt that their 
 position was a hopeless one, and that they might just as 
 well die now, in the darkness of the night, as prolong 
 their suffering into the coming day. 
 
 From time to time he reached over, and felt for his 
 companion's hand. The faint pressure with which she 
 returned his grasp showed him that she still lived. He 
 wished that it were in his power to die that she might
 
 148 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 be saved. Alone there, in the night, his heart went out 
 to her he felt that here was a woman whom he might, 
 indeed, have loved. 
 
 He was clutching the buoy with tired arms, scarcely 
 conscious of the passage of time, when suddenly there 
 came to his ears a far-off sullen roar. Had the storm 
 broken out again? He raised his head, but could see 
 nothing. The sound rose and fell, above the moaning 
 of the wind, the tumult of the ocean. He could not 
 understand it, yet he knew that, whatever it was, they 
 were approaching it rapidly. 
 
 In half an hour it thundered in his ears like the 
 sound of the firing of artillery. Suddenly, the water 
 about him became rougher, more broken. He felt him- 
 self raised up by some mighty force and swept irre- 
 sistibly forward. With his free hand, he grasped the 
 buoy, fearing lest he be torn away from it. And then 
 he was whirled over and over, in a smother of foam; 
 the life-buoy was wrenched furiously from him, and he 
 lost consciousness in a seething rush of waters.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHEN Richard Randall awoke to consciousness, lie 
 found himself lying on a bed of hot, coarse sand, with 
 the sun beating down so fiercely upon his upturned face 
 that he blinked with pain when he tried to open his 
 eyes. 
 
 He closed them again at once, and with his hands 
 brushed aside the sand flies that swarmed about him, 
 stinging his face, his lips. A strange and listless peace, 
 born of utter weariness, possessed him. He threw his 
 arm about his face, and once more dozed. 
 
 After a time he woke again, tortured by a burning 
 thirst. He licked his dry, salt-encrusted lips, and 
 slowly rose to a sitting position. The hot, white bril- 
 liance of the sunlight hurt his eyes. Shading them 
 with one hand, he gazed curiously about. 
 
 He was sitting upon a rough and shell-strewn beach, 
 some forty feet above the line of the breakers. Directly 
 before him spread out the ocean, dazzling blue, and 
 reaching out to the endless rim of a hot and cloudless 
 sky. 
 
 The beach swept away to right and left in long barren 
 curves of sand, along which a fringe of brown and sun- 
 dried foam, intermingled with seaweed, pebbles and 
 
 149
 
 150 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 shells, marked the furthermost limits reached by the 
 now receding breakers. 
 
 The sea, still angry and tumultuous, boiled in huge 
 masses over the flat expanse of coral reef that guarded 
 the shore, bursting into clouds of iridescent spra*y 
 twenty feet in the air along its outer edge. Further 
 in-shore, it pounded sullenly on the wet beach, as though 
 regretting its inability to destroy the fabric that re- 
 strained it. 
 
 Randall rose uncertainly to his feet, and looked about. 
 From the position of the sun, he judged it to be about 
 eleven o'clock in the morning. 
 
 His arms and shoulders ached, as did his head. His 
 tongue and throat were dry and swollen, and his breath 
 seemed made of flames. Visions of cool, shadowy 
 springs, of fresh, tumbling waters, flashed torturingly 
 through his brain. The whole world seemed made up 
 of glaring, dazzling sunlight. 
 
 As his mind became clearer, his thoughts turned to 
 the woman who had shared the night and the life-buoy 
 with him. What had become of her ? 
 
 Far off down the beach, his eyes, now becoming some- 
 what accustomed to the burning glare of the sun, fell 
 upon a smudge of white, brilliant against the yellow 
 brown of the shore. He set off toward it, staggering 
 weakly through the loose shifting sand. Some instinct 
 drove him presently to the firmer footing of the beach, 
 still wet from the receding tide. Here he walked more 
 easily, and the moisture cooled his feet. 
 
 In the course of ten or twelve minutes, he reached 
 the object that had attracted his attention. It was the 1
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 151 
 
 circular life-buoy, and beside it lay the huddled figure 
 of the woman who had been his companion during the 
 tempest-ridden night. 
 
 She rested upon one side, still bound to the buoy by 
 the knotted rope. Her lips were parted, her cheeks 
 flushed. Randall could not at first tell, as his gaze fell 
 upon her, whether she was alive or dead. Her eyes 
 were closed, and her brown hair, freed from its fasten- 
 ings, lay in a cloud about her head. 
 
 He fell upon his knees, and grasped her wrist. To his 
 joy, her heart still beat, but its pulsations were faint 
 and irregular. 
 
 The heat of the sun had burnt her face cruelly. 
 Randall loosened the rope which still fastened the girl 
 to the life-buoy, put his arms about her, and strove to 
 raise her from the sand. In the rear of the beach was 
 a fringe of low trees. He felt tnat he must get her into 
 their shade. 
 
 He soon found that, in his weakened condition, he 
 was unable to carry the girl in his arms. The mere 
 effort of raising her body from the sand exhausted him. 
 He was forced to let her slip gently back to her former 
 position. 
 
 For a moment Randall gazed about him, uncertain 
 what to do. Then he staggered up the beach, toward 
 the fringe of trees and underbrush that bordered it, 
 and presently returned with a few branches, with broad 
 fan-shaped leaves, which he stuck in the sand about the 
 girl's head. The device afforded her some shelter from 
 the sun. This done, he started off to look for water.
 
 152 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 He felt that, if he did not soon have something to allay 
 his thirst, he would go mad. 
 
 The shore ascended rather sharply toward the line 
 of underbrush. Randall made his way up the eight or 
 ten feet of declivity that separated the beach proper 
 from the grassy plateau beyond. In a few moments he 
 found himself in a sparse grove of low-drooping bushes, 
 which resembled the Japanese umbrella trees he had 
 seen occasionally at home. Beyond them stretched a 
 series of sand dunes, covered with a variety of flower- 
 ing trees and shrubs, none of which he knew. At the 
 further edge of the dunes a thick tropical forest blocked 
 his view. 
 
 He made his way as rapidly as possible over the 
 rough ground, looking everywhere for some sign of 
 water, but only the coarse grass that covered the ridges 
 of sand met his eyes. At length he reached the edge 
 of the forest. Looking back, he judged that he had 
 come nearly half a mile. 
 
 The thought of leaving the girl alone for so long 
 jp, time worried him. She was clearly very weak, and 
 in need of immediate care. He plunged boldly into the 
 thick underbrush that lined the edge of the forest. 
 
 The ground here rose abruptly for perhaps fifty 
 yards, and then sloped off into a little valley. Randall 
 forced his way through a tangle of ferns, creeping vines 
 and fallen trees, and at length reached a somewhat 
 clearer space at the top of the rise. To his delight, he 
 saw a tiny stream, meandering in a listless fashion 
 through masses of underbrush and ferns at the bottom. 
 *. He fairly tore down the slope, and flinging himself
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 153 
 
 flat on the ground, buried his face in the surface of a 
 little pool, and drank deeply. The water was sweet 
 and clear, with a faint "woody" taste, and surprisingly 
 cool. Randall prepared to take a supply to his com- 
 panion, then suddenly realized that he had no means 
 for carrying it. 
 
 He looked about, but saw nothing that suggested a 
 solution of the difficulty. He reproached himself for 
 not having brought a shell with him from the beach 
 he had noticed a number on the sand that would have 
 held a pint or more. 
 
 At length he picked a broad spear-shaped leaf, and, 
 twisting up the two ends, managed to make a sort of 
 cup, in which he could carry a quart of water. 
 
 With this he started back, careful of his steps, to 
 avoid spilling its contents. As he was about to ascend 
 the slope that led up from the stream, it suddenly oc- 
 curred to him that the latter in all probability flowed 
 toward the beach, in which event, by following it, he 
 would find a much smoother and easier road back. 
 
 He made his way slowly through the underbrush, 
 and in the course of a hundred yards reached a little 
 inlet, or cove, into which the stream emptied. 
 
 Here he regained the beach, and in ten minutes more 
 had returned along the hard wet sand to the point where 
 the girl lay. 
 
 She was still unconscious, although it seemed to Ran- 
 dall that her breathing was somewhat more regular. 
 He could not make use of either of his hands, as both 
 were needed to hold his improvised cup; there seemed 
 nothing, therefore, to do but dash the water into her
 
 154 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 face. This he did, and watched eagerly for some sign 
 of returning consciousness, but none was apparent. 
 
 Randall became alarmed. The girl was lying on her 
 side, with her face pillowed on one arm. He raised 
 her head, and was horrified to find the under side of 
 it covered with blood, which had oozed from a deep 
 cut over the temple. Her burning skin seemed to in- 
 dicate that she was suffering from a fever. 
 
 Clearly the girl must be got off the beach, and into 
 the shade. He was on the point of making another 
 attempt to carry her, when she slowly opened her eyes, 
 and gazed up at him with a half -frightened expression. 
 
 Randall smiled down at her. 
 
 "I'm so glad you've come to at last," he said. "You 
 must get out of this fearful sun at once." 
 
 She continued to gaze at him uncertainly, with a 
 puzzled frown. 
 
 "Who are you?" she asked. In her eyes there was 
 no sign of recognition. 
 
 "I was with you, last night after we were swept 
 overboard, during the typhoon. Don't you remember ?" 
 
 She shook her head, with a look of grave wonder. 
 "I don't seem to remember anything at all," she replied. 
 
 Randall concluded that she was weak and perhaps 
 a little delirious, as well, from her wound and the fever. 
 He knelt down, and, after removing the branches he 
 had placed about her head, put his arm around her. 
 
 "Do you think you can walk?" 
 
 The girl sat up, and pressed her hand to her temple. 
 
 "I'm frightfully dizzy," she said, "and my head
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 155 
 
 hurts." She took away her hand, and stared stupidly 
 at the blood that covered it. 
 
 "You must have struck against the reef, as you were 
 washed ashore, or else against a piece of driftwood. 
 Don't you remember?" 
 
 Again she shook her head. 
 
 "I don't remember anything," she repeated, with a 
 dazed look. 
 
 Randall gently assisted the girl to her feet. Then, 
 supporting her carefully, he started along the beach in 
 the direction of the little inlet, from which he had just 
 come. 
 
 "I'm so thirsty!" the girl moaned. "I'm burning." 
 
 "There's water just down there." Randall pointed to 
 the clump of trees that marked the entrance to the little 
 cove. "We'll be there in just a few minutes now." 
 
 The distance was scarcely a quarter of a mile, but it 
 seemed to Randall that they were hours in covering it. 
 At last, however, they reached the inlet, and, leaving 
 the hot glare of the beach, turned into the shade of a 
 large tree that stood just at the mouth of the stream. 
 Here Randall placed the girl upon a stretch of coarse 
 grass, with her back against the trunk of the tree, and, 
 hastily securing a shell from the beach, brought her 
 some water. 
 
 He was forced to repeat the operation several times 
 before her thirst was quenched. 
 
 "Thank you," she said at length, in a peculiarly 
 sweet contralto voice. "You are very good." 
 
 Randall tore a bit of cloth from her dress, and soaked 
 it in the stream.
 
 156 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 <r You must let me wash your cut for you," he said. 
 
 She thanked with a smile. When he had at length 
 managed to remove the sand and bits of shell, which, 
 with her hair, were matted into the wound, he saw that 
 it was not so serious as he had at first supposed. 
 
 A shallow gash some two inches long, over her left 
 temple, it appeared, both from its torn and uneven 
 edges and from the mass of bruises that surrounded it, 
 to have been made by a heavy rounded object, such as 
 a piece of floating driftwood, rather than by the sharp 
 and rigid projections of the coral reef. 
 
 When he had cleaned the wound, Randall bound the 
 wet bit of cloth about the girl's head. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" he asked. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No. I don't feel very well, yet." 
 
 He improvised a pillow with some fallen leaves. 
 
 "You lie down here, for a while," he said, "and 
 sleep, while I have a look about. We've got to have 
 something to eat, before we can go on much farther." 
 He eased her head back until it rested comfortably upon 
 the leaves. 
 
 She gave him a smile of gratitude. 
 
 "Thank you so much," she said, and closed her eyes. 
 
 Although Randall's few months on shipboard had 
 given him a working knowledge of life upon a tramp 
 steamer, it fad taught him nothing of existence in the 
 tropics. He was as much at a loss amidst this un- 
 familiar foliage as he would have been in the wilds of 
 Africa. He turned to the beach, as most likely to afford 
 some means of subsistence.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 157 
 
 In the tiny bay into which, the stream trickled, he 
 saw many bright-colored fish darting about in the hot 
 shallow water, but had no means at hand whereby he 
 could capture any of them. He walked down toward 
 the line of the breakers, and was amazed to find how 
 greatly they had receded. The tide had been falling 
 since morning, and a broad expanse of reef lay between 
 him and the surf. It was filled with shallow pools, 
 separated by stretches of sand and slime, above which 
 projected here and there brownish-yellow knobs of coral, 
 and masses of sponge and sea anemone. 
 
 He walked out over the reef, picking his way cau- 
 tiously to avoid slipping on its wet and muddy surface. 
 In some of the shallows he saw starfish, and hundreds 
 of mollusks adhering to the coral formation. Some of 
 these had the appearance of oysters. He broke one off, 
 opened it with his clasp-knife, and ate it. It was an 
 oyster of some sort, he decided, and tasted extremely 
 good. He managed to gather about two dozen, alto- 
 gether, and, removing his coarse flannel shirt, placed 
 them in it, and made his way back to land. 
 
 His companion was sleeping when he rejoined her. 
 He placed half of the oysters in a shallow pool near the 
 base of the large tree, and then proceeded to eat the 
 remainder with great gusto. Earely had any food ever 
 tasted so good to him. He felt invigorated, and with 
 his returning strength came a full realization of the 
 desperate condition that confronted them. 
 
 Whether they had been cast upon the mainland, or 
 upon one of the innumerable coral islands that dot this 
 part of the Pacific, it would be impossible to determine
 
 158 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 until the girl was sufficiently recovered to be able to 
 travel; just now, the only thing to do was to provide 
 for her welfare and comfort until she should have re- 
 gained her strength. 
 
 The most necessary thing, now that the question of 
 food and water was for the moment solved, was clearly 
 some sort of shelter. He cast about him to see what 
 he might provide. 
 
 The sole implement that he possessed was a heavy 
 clasp-knife, which he wore, sailor-fashion, upon a lan- 
 yard. To this fact, no doubt, he owed its preservation. 
 It possessed a stout blade, some four inches long, but 
 while it would serve to cut down saplings up to an inch 
 or two in diameter, he could not hope to do much with 
 it in the construction of even the rudest sort of hut. 
 
 The shore, from the head of the little bay, sloped 
 sharply upward, forming a bluff some twenty or more 
 feet high, sparsely covered with trees. A ravine, at the 
 bottom of which ran the little stream, divided the bluff 
 into two parts. 
 
 Eandall ascended the left-hand slope, and in a few 
 moments reached the top. A grove of small trees ex- 
 tended back a hundred feet or more, gradually merging 
 into the jungle. The ground beneath these trees was 
 sandy, and covered with sparse brownish-yellow grass. 
 
 In this grove, just at the edge of the bluff, he deter- 
 mined to make their camp. It was -close to the sea, so 
 that any passing vessel might readily be observed, and 
 a supply of water was near at hand. Then, too, the 
 condition of his companion made it impossible for him 
 to go very far from their present location.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 159 
 
 Two of the trees, each about a foot in diameter, stood, 
 he observed, some ten feet apart, with a clear space 
 between. Each had projecting limbs, at about the 
 height of his head from the ground. He went back 
 along the edge of the ravine, toward the forest, and 
 presently found what he was looking for a long dead 
 limb which had fallen to the ground from one of the 
 many trees. 
 
 It was fairly straight, and strong. He managed to 
 break off the smaller branches that projected from it, 
 and carried the limb itself back to the site of the camp. 
 Here he placed it in the crotches formed by the pro- 
 jecting lower limbs of the two trees he had selected. It 
 spanned the distance between them, and, being four or 
 more inches in diameter, was amply strong to form the 
 ridge-pole of his hut. 
 
 This much done, he was at a loss how to proceed fur- 
 ther. At length he decided to hunt up more fallen 
 branches, until he had secured enough of good size to 
 lean against the ridge-pole from the ground on either 
 side, in the shape of the letter A. 
 
 It was slow work. The branches were plentiful 
 enough, but they were heavy to carry, and the breaking 
 off of the smaller limbs was tedious and sometimes diffi- 
 cult. In the course of three hours' work he had secured 
 enough only to form one side. He placed them as close 
 together as they would go, and designed, when this 
 rough framework was completed, to thatch it with the 
 broad leaves of some of the many varieties of palms that 
 he saw about him. 
 
 He was hungry by this time, and, glancing over the
 
 160 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 edge of the bluff, he saw that the girl was sitting up. 
 He went down to her, and brought the oysters and a 
 shell of water. 
 
 "Do you feel better?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes ; much better." Her smile was full of gratitude, 
 yet Randall observed in her face the same puzzled ex- 
 pression that had impressed him so forcibly before. 
 "Would you mind telling me who you are ?" she asked, 
 again. 
 
 Randall informed her, explaining in a few words the 
 way in which he came to be a deck-hand on The Ba- 
 tavia. 
 
 "And you ?" he inquired. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I do not know," she said. 
 
 "You don't know? But I I don't understand?" 
 
 The girl placed her hand gently upon the bandage 
 that covered her wound. 
 
 "It must have been the blow," she said. "I can't 
 seem to remember my name, or who I am, or anything 
 at all about the past. I don't even remember the storm, 
 or being washed overboard. Everything seems to begin 
 with the moment when I woke up this morning, and 
 found you looking at me." 
 
 Randall stared at her, momentarily incredulous ; but 
 the expression of her eyes told him that she spoke the 
 truth. She seemed tired and weak. Her fever had 
 passed away, but the pain from the wound in her head 
 had increased. 
 
 "Never mind about it now," he reassured her. "No 
 doubt you will remember everything in the morning.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 161 
 
 Just now you are too ill to think about it." He began 
 to open the oysters. 
 
 She ate a few of them, but did not seem to enjoy 
 them. Randall finished the others, and wished for 
 more. A glance toward the sea, however, showed him 
 that the reef was now covered by the tide. Clearly it 
 would not do to depend upon such uncertain means of 
 subsistence. 
 
 "Have you a hairpin?" he asked the girl. 
 
 Randall took the hairpin, bent it in the form of a 
 fish-hook, sharpened the point upon a bit of stone, and 
 with the sharp blade of his knife managed to form a 
 sort of a barb, so that the hook would at least hold the 
 bait. He then cast about him for a bit of string. At 
 first he could think of nothing that he might utilize for 
 the purpose, but all at once he remembered the life- 
 buoy. How stupid of him to have forgotten it! He 
 left the girl, and ran up the beach, hoping that the 
 flood tide had not floated it away. 
 
 It was still there, and he ran back with it at once. 
 The girl, reclining against the tree, watched him, smil- 
 ing interestedly. 
 
 He removed the bit of rope, which proved to be 
 about ten feet long, and began to untwist the strands. 
 It was slow work, and the sun was close to the horizon 
 when he at last found himself in possession of a clumsy 
 line, some ten feet long, and about the thickness of a 
 match stick. He attached his hook, baited it with a 
 bit of one of the oysters that still remained in the shell, 
 and, with a sapling for a rod, cast the tackle into the 
 water of the little estuary at the mouth of the creek.
 
 162 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 His efforts were almost immediately rewarded. In 
 less than five minutes he had landed a fish of some 
 three or four pounds, which he took to be a variety of 
 sea trout. It was only by sweeping upward with his 
 rod the moment the fish seized the bait that he landed 
 him, however, and he at once flopped off the hook and 
 almost succeeded in regaining the water before Randall 
 caught him in his hands. 
 
 He was as proud of his catch as a school-boy. 
 
 "Now we shall have a feast," he cried, laughing, and 
 began to clean his prize. 
 
 "But how are you going to cook it?" the girl asked, 
 presently. 
 
 BandalPs enthusiasm suffered a momentary set-back. 
 He had quite forgotten that they had no fire. A search 
 of his pockets revealed no matches had they, indeed, 
 contained any, their soaking in the ocean for twelve or 
 more hours would have rendered them useless. 
 
 He hung the fish from a branch of the tree, and sat 
 down, hungry and disappointed. 
 
 "Perhaps to-morrow," he said, "I can find a bit of 
 flint, and strike fire with the blade of my knife. It's 
 too late, to-night. . . . See, there's the moon." 
 
 He pointed to the horizon, over which the moon, 
 nearly full, was rising like an immense red Japanese 
 lantern. 
 
 "Isn't it beautiful !" his companion remarked. "I've 
 never seen the moon look so large. And the stars ! 
 how bright and how strangely near they seem! Oh, 
 look!" A brilliant metorite flashed across the zenith. 
 "I've made a wish."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 163 
 
 "What is it ?" he laughed. 
 
 "Oh, I can't tell you. It wouldn't come true if I 
 did." 
 
 "I'm sorry I couldn't get the house done," said Ran- 
 dall, glancing ruefully at the crazy structure on the 
 bluff above. "I'll finish it to-morrow though. To-night 
 you'll have to sleep on the ground, I'm afraid." 
 
 "I sha'n't mind a bit," she said. "The sand is soft 
 and warm, and with these soft leaves for a pillow I'll 
 do nicely. But what about you ?" 
 
 "I'm going to keep watch," he replied. 
 
 "And not sleep?" 
 
 "Not just yet, anyway," he said, and rose. "You'd 
 better turn in now. I'll get you some water first." 
 
 He brought the shell of water to her, and wet the 
 bandage about her head to ease its throbbing. 
 
 "Good-night," he said, when she was comfortable. 
 "I'll sit here by the tree, and watch the moon rise." 
 
 Before the moon had climbed half-way up the sky, 
 Randall, as well as his companion, was sleeping 
 soundly. The fatigue caused by the experience of the 
 previous night and the labor of the day closed his eyes 
 in spite of his determination to keep guard. The 
 beach lay white under the moonlight, and the only 
 sound that broke the silence was the dull roar of the 
 sea as it fell in shimmering silvery cascades along the 
 reef.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE sun was just turning the surface of the sea 
 to molten gold when Randall awoke. He shivered a 
 little, in the early morning mist, and, turning, 
 glanced at his companion. 
 
 She was still sleeping soundly, and he thought that 
 she looked very lovely, as she lay with her head on 
 one arm, her lips slightly parted, breathing softly, 
 like a child. 
 
 Her hair, in tumbled masses, almost hid the bandage 
 about her head, and the clinging pongee dress out- 
 lined her graceful figure in white against the darker 
 background of the sand, in a way that suggested a 
 statue in soft-tinted marble. 
 
 Randall rose very quietly, so as not to disturb her, 
 and, going to the beach, threw off his clothes, and 
 plunged in. The water was delightfully warm, and 
 the bath freshened and invigorated him. Resuming 
 his clothes, he strolled along the beach, searching care- 
 fully for a piece of flint. 
 
 He found numbers of bits of pebble that resembled 
 it, but none of them seemed sufficiently hard to strike 
 fire from the back of his knife blade. At last, how- 
 ever, with a fragment of glossy black stone, about the 
 size of his two fingers, he succeeded in producing 
 
 164
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 165 
 
 a shower of tiny sparks. He did not know whether 
 it was flint, or not, but, whatever it was, it seemed to 
 promise a fried fish for breakfast, and in his famished 
 condition that was the most important consideration. 
 
 He came back to the "camp," as he designated their 
 friendly tree, and found that his companion had 
 already got up, and was bathing her wound in the 
 water of the little stream. 
 
 "Good-morning," he shouted, gaily. "How would 
 you like some fried fish for breakfast ?" 
 
 "I'm terribly hungry," she laughed, "but the fish 
 is gone." 
 
 Randall glanced toward the limb upon which he 
 had hung his catch of the night before. "Some early 
 bird, I suppose," he said, smiling. "I'll catch 
 another." 
 
 This was easier said than done, for he found that 
 he had no bait. He was too hungry, however, to wait 
 for the falling tide to supply them with oysters, so 
 he began to search along the sides of the stream for 
 something with which to bait his hook. 
 
 A large earth-worm finally rewarded his efforts. 
 His bait, however, refused to sink until he had tied 
 a bit of stone to the line. Again luck was with him, 
 and another fish soon lay upon the shore, larger, if 
 anything, than the one he had caught the night 
 before. 
 
 "Xow for the fire," he announced laughingly, and 
 began to collect some bits of dried moss leaves and 
 small twigs. 
 
 When Randall finally succeeded in lighting his fire,
 
 166 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 he felt a profounder respect for the past generations, 
 to whom the match was an unknown quantity, than he 
 had ever felt before. It took him over an hour. The 
 little showers of sparks fell upon the bits of moss 
 only to vanish completely; he worked until his arm 
 was sore without causing it to ignite. It was only 
 when he substituted some soft crumbling punk from 
 the interior of a decaying log that success finally 
 rewarded his efforts, and even then it looked for a 
 time as though he would be obliged to eat his break- 
 fast raw. He took the precaution, when his fire was 
 once fairly alight, to scorch the linen of a handker- 
 chief, which his companion produced from her dress, 
 thus providing a more practical tinder for future use. 
 
 Their breakfast was almost a joyous one, in spite 
 of their predicament. The girl apparently felt much 
 better, and the wound in her head was healing fast. 
 Eandall broiled the fish over the hot coals, holding it 
 upon a forked stick, and two broad green leaves served 
 them as plates. Both ate ravenously, and were sorry 
 when the last morsel had been consumed. 
 
 "No dishes to wash, anyway," he laughed, as he 
 rose and went for more water. 
 
 "What are you going to do next?" the girl asked, 
 smiling at him. 
 
 Randall glanced at the fire, and threw on some sticks 
 of wood. 
 
 "First, I think I'll fix my fish-hook," he said, "and 
 then I'm going to finish our house." 
 
 He detached the bit of bent hairpin from the line, 
 and thrust the point of it into the fire. "I'm going
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 167 
 
 to hammer the point out flat," he said, "and see if 
 I can't make some sort of a barb on it." 
 
 The girl watched him in silence as he beat the red- 
 hot end of the hairpin between two stones. 
 
 "I think I shall call you Richard," she presently 
 announced, gravely serious. 
 
 Randall looked up quickly. 
 
 "I wish you would," he said. " 'Mr. Randall' 
 would seem absurd under the circumstances. And 
 what shall I call you?" 
 
 "I I'm afraid," replied his companion, with the 
 same puzzled frown about her eyes, "that you'll have 
 to name me yourself. I can't be of any assistance 
 in the matter not so far, at least." 
 
 "You don't remember anything about the past any- 
 thing at all ?" 
 
 She shook her head with a rueful smile. 
 
 "I've tried very hard, but I can't. After all, per- 
 haps it doesn't matter so much, now. I am here, and 
 alive, and well, and it is to-day and to-morrow that I 
 must live not yesterday. I am going to try to for- 
 get all about it." 
 
 "I think," said Randall, after a time, "that I shall 
 call you Eve." 
 
 The girl blushed slightly, but met his boyish smile 
 with an answering one. 
 
 "Very well," she said. "It is a short name, and 
 I rather like it. And I want to be your companion, 
 really, now that we are here together. I mean that 
 I want to do my share of the work, and help in every
 
 168 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 way that I can. I don't intend to sit here and be 
 waited on." 
 
 Randall finished work upon his fish-hook, and cooled 
 it suddenly in the water. 
 
 "Look," he cried, extending it to her. "I've made 
 a fairly good barb, don't you think? Now I'll polish 
 it up a little." He began to sharpen the point of 
 the hook on a bit of stone. "This thing is important. 
 Without it, we might starve, you know." 
 
 "Do you think you could make me a needle?" the 
 girl asked. 
 
 "A needle?" 
 
 "Yes. I want to do a little sewing." She laughed 
 merrily and gave him the two remaining hairpins. 
 "You'd better keep these. I sha'n't need them any 
 more." She indicated the two long plaits into which 
 she had twisted her hair. 
 
 Randall broke one of the hairpins in two, flattened 
 out the end of one of the pieces, and with the point 
 of his knife managed to pierce it with a tiny hole. 
 Then he ground the other end to a sharp point, and 
 handed the improvised needle back to her. She was 
 already busy, separating some thin strands of hemp 
 from the rope that had belonged to the life-buoy. 
 
 "Do you think this will do?" 
 
 She regarded the result of his efforts with delight. 
 
 "Splendidly. Now I can fix everything." 
 
 "I'm going to work on the hut," Randall announced, 
 rising. "If I were you, I'd take a dip in the ocean. 
 I did, before breakfast. It's great." 
 
 "I'm going to," she said. "And, when I get my
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 169 
 
 clothes fixed, I'll come up and help you. Will you 
 lend me your knife for a while ?" 
 
 He handed it to her. 
 
 "If you want anything, call me. I'll be just over 
 the top of the bluff." 
 
 He went back to the building of his hut, with a 
 somewhat perturbed mind. Of all the astonishing 
 things that had happened to him, it seemed the most 
 astonishing that the girl should, by reason of the blow 
 upon her head, have lost all recollection of her 
 identity. He had often read of such cases, and knew 
 that they were by no means rare; now that he was 
 confronted by the actuality, it seemed hardly credible. 
 
 Had he himself possessed any knowledge of the girl, 
 or of her antecedents, he might have supplied the link 
 that was necessary to enable her to bridge the mental 
 hiatus caused by her wounds. As matters stood, how- 
 ever, he knew nothing at all about her, not even her 
 name. 
 
 That she was a woman of breeding, of position, 
 his brief experience with her prior to the coming of 
 the typhoon had amply demonstrated. Now, by this 
 curious stroke of Fate, all her preconceived notions 
 of caste had been swept away, leaving her but a woman, 
 as artless almost, as free from conventional barriers, 
 as Eve herself might have been. 
 
 He knew very well that, had she not received the 
 blow which had accomplished this astonishing result, 
 she would have continued, even in the present state 
 of affairs, to regard him as a common sailor, between 
 whom and herself must be drawn all the lines of
 
 170 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 social difference, which she had so strongly empha- 
 sized on shipboard. As it was, she now placed her- 
 self on a plane of equality with him, regarding her- 
 self as his comrade, his partner in their struggle for 
 existence. 
 
 In a way Randall was glad of it, yet he wondered 
 what would result, should her memory of the past 
 suddenly flash back upon her, to destroy the delight- 
 ful camaraderie which had so far distinguished their 
 relations. Up to now, their desperate situation had 
 seemed almost a pleasant adventure to him, a delight- 
 ful return to the natural out-door life which seemed 
 almost heaven-sent, after the bitter experiences of his 
 recent trials in New York. He set about the finish- 
 ing of the hut with a light heart. 
 
 Three hours of steady work sufficed to complete 
 the rough framework. From the high ridge-pole there 
 extended to the ground, on either side, a close row 
 of smaller poles, making a sort of tent, the base of 
 which was some eight feet across. Thin, strong vines, 
 which he found everywhere in the forest, served to 
 secure the tops of the poles to the ridge-pole. This 
 done, he felt that the framework, at least, was secure. 
 The greater problem of thatching it, so as to exclude 
 the rain, now presented itself. 
 
 Beneath some of the palm-like trees in the forest 
 he found great masses of dead leaves, not unlike the 
 familiar palm-leaf fans. A fallen tree, victim of 
 some tropic storm, provided a-n unlimited supply of 
 these, not more than a hundred yards from where he 
 was working. By covering the sides of the hut with
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 171 
 
 these leaves, he felt that he could make a wall which 
 would provide some shelter, at least, in case of rain. 
 He broke off and carried to the hut several hundred 
 of them, and then bethought himself of dinner. 
 
 A glance over the edge of the bluff showed him 
 that his companion was not there. Far down the 
 beach he presently espied her, coming toward the 
 camp. He descended the bluff, and once more began 
 his fishing operations. 
 
 ^"he newly barbed hook proved a great success. By 
 the time the girl arrived at the camp, he had caught 
 two fish of moderate size and of the same variety 
 as those that had before rewarded his efforts. The 
 little bay seemed swarming with them; he could see 
 their silver and gray bodies flashing everywhere over 
 the yellow sands. 
 
 He turned as his companion came up to him, and 
 the novelty of her appearance caused him to start 
 back in surprise. She seemed painfully self-conscious 
 and awkward, and faced him with a diffident smile. 
 
 "Don't you think it much more sensible ?" she said. 
 "Now I can help you work." 
 
 She had cut off the lower portion of her skirt, until 
 now it came only to her knees, and with strips taken 
 from the part she removed, she had wound her legs, 
 below the knee, as though with puttees. Her thin 
 pongee coat she had discarded altogether, and from 
 the free and graceful movements of her body Eandall 
 could see that her corsets had shared the same fate. 
 In her linen shirtwaist, short skirt and puttees, she 
 looked very trim and capable. Randall returned her
 
 172 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 inquiring smile. She seemed desirous of his approval, 
 and he gave it without stint. 
 
 "Much more sensible," he said, gravely. "The put- 
 tees will protect you from the brambles and under- 
 brush, and certainly in this weather, you don't need 
 a coat, or much of anything, in fact, to keep you warm. 
 Did you have a swim ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes it was splendid ! And I found these 
 among some rocks along the shore." She exhibited 
 proudly two .large pinkish eggs. 
 
 Eandall took them. "I wonder what they are?" 
 he remarked. "At any rate, we'll try them. How 
 would you like them cooked ?" He stirred up the 
 embers of the fire, and, adding some dried leaves and 
 twigs, soon brought it to a blaze. 
 
 "Do you think you could boil them ?" she laughed. 
 "I confess I don't see how." 
 
 Randall took up the large, thick shell which they 
 had been using as a drinking cup, placed the eggs in 
 it, filled it with water, and set it between two stones. 
 Then he poked some blazing embers under it. "I 
 guess that will do it," he remarked. "Now, if you'll 
 let me have my knife, I'll get these fish ready." 
 
 "We won't be able to live on fish forever," he 
 laughed, as he began to cook them. "There ought to 
 be fruit in the forest and I've seen a lot of birds 
 some that looked like small chickens, scampering 
 through the underbrush. They were not very wild, 
 either. I believe I could have killed one with 
 a stone."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 173 
 
 "If you will make me a bow and some arrows," 
 she remarked, "I'll see what I can do." 
 "Do you know how to use them ?" 
 "Yes I I" She trailed off, confused, as 
 though some vagrant strand of memory had eluded her. 
 Randall knew that English girls were often experts 
 at archery. 
 
 "I'll make you one, as soon as I've finished the 
 house," he said. "Do you want to come up and help ? 
 I'm trying to thatch it with palm-leaf fans." 
 She joined in his laugh. 
 
 "I fancy the eggs are done," she said. "Shall I 
 see?" 
 '"Please." 
 
 They were done, and extremely good. 
 "Eggs, oysters, fish. We are living like epicures," 
 said Randall, laughing. "Do you know I rather like 
 this? Don't you?" 
 
 "Yes; more than I can possibly tell you. I feel 
 in some queer way as though I had been suddenly 
 liberated as though I had escaped from prison." 
 She drew in a deep breath of the salt-laden air. "This 
 all seems so vital, so real! I love it. I am not at 
 all sure that I care about being rescued at least, 
 not right away." 
 
 "Neither do I," Randall returned. "I'm happier 
 than I've been in a long time." His meaning tone, 
 the look he flashed at her, brought the color to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "It is splendid, isn't it ?" she said, "to feel so well, 
 to be so hungry, to feel much a sense of peace!"
 
 174 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 They had loitered over their meal, and it was now 
 long ppst noon. Under the shelter of the tree the 
 air was pleasant, in spite of the heat. Even the 
 numberless noisy inhabitants of the jungle seemed 
 sleeping. A strange and noticeable silence wrapped 
 them about. Along the beach the tide was far out, and 
 over the white surface of the sand the heat waves 
 danced in riotous whirls. 
 
 Randall leaned back against the tree, and closed 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Peace," he exclaimed. "Sometimes, when I think 
 of how people struggle and toil, and wear themselves 
 out in the madness we call civilization, it seems almost 
 absurd, when there is so much beauty, so much peace, 
 in the heart of nature." 
 
 The girl had flung herself carelessly upon the sand, 
 her head pillowed on one arm. 
 
 "I think I shall go to sleep," she said, smiling; 
 "just for an hour. Then we'll go to work." she closed 
 her eyes, and was soon sleeping like a tired child. 
 
 Randall watched her, and a great wave of tender- 
 ness swept over him. He felt like giving thanks to 
 God for the strange accident that had placed this 
 lovely creature in his care. An emotion akin to love 
 was fast maturing in his heart, born of a sense of 
 responsibility. He left her peacefully sleeping, and 
 returned to his work upon the hut. 
 
 The problem of fixing the dried palm leaves to the 
 sides of the structure still confronted him. At last 
 he solved it. Beginning at the ground, he placed a 
 thick layer of the leaves from one end of the frame-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 175 
 
 work to the other, and then, cutting a long thin sap- 
 ling, fastened it across them, parallel to the ground, 
 by means of some of the thin, rope-like vines. Then 
 he placed a second layer, some ten inches higher up, 
 overlapping the first in the manner of shingles. A 
 second sapling served to hold these in place, in the 
 same way as before. Thus working, he managed, in 
 the course of a couple of hours, to completely thatch 
 one side of the hut. 
 
 By this time, Eve had roused herself, and come to 
 his assistance. At sunset the other side was done, 
 and a heavy layer of the leaves had been placed over 
 the ridge-pole. Randall felt sure that in case of 
 ordinary rains, at least, the hut would be water-proof. 
 He gathered a great quantity of dried grass, and 
 covered the floor on either side, thus improvising two 
 fairly comfortable beds. 
 
 "This will do, for the time being," he announced. 
 "Later on, I'll build a real house. Shall we have 
 supper ? I confess I'm hungry." 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 He took her hand, and helped her down the sandy 
 face of the bluff. She accepted his assistance naturally, 
 without coquetry or any suggestion of sex. When 
 they had disposed of the inevitable fish, Randall sug- 
 gested a stroll along the beach in the moonlight. 
 
 They walked along hand in hand, like two children. 
 The surf was breaking softly over the reef, so low as 
 to be almost imperceptible. Its presence was indi- 
 cated by a smother of creamy foam, and a sparkle 
 of spray that shone in the moonlight like silver lace.
 
 176 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 "If it is an island," Randall remarked presently, 
 "we may be here a long time." 
 
 "Then I hope it is," she replied. "I am quite 
 happy." % 
 
 "Most people wouldn't be, under the circumstances." 
 
 "No. I suppose they'd be thinking of the past 
 of the things they'd lost. Since I haven't any past, 
 I'm able to like the present very much, indeed." 
 
 He pressed her hand, and she returned the pres- 
 sure quite frankly. For a moment her response filled 
 him with misgivings. Had he any right to take 
 advantage of the position in which this girl's accident 
 had placed her memory? He felt sure that, should 
 her memory return, she would not for a moment be 
 walking with him in this natural and unreserved way, 
 along the beach in the moonlight. 
 
 "Eve," he said, gently, "do you really mean that 
 you don't want to go away?" 
 
 "Why should I ? I can't remember about about 
 all that came before, but sometimes I have a confused 
 idea of noise and ugly city streets, and rain and fog, 
 and doing the same things over and over, day after 
 day it seems like a wretched Jurmoil that I have 
 somehow escaped. Everything here is so fresh, so 
 lovely, so beautiful!" She gazed out over the moon- 
 lit sea, and a sigh of happiness escaped her. "I'm 
 happy, just being. It seems as though it was what 
 I'd wanted to do, always." 
 
 They turned back, presently, toward the hut. 
 Eandall did not speak for a long time. He, too, was 
 conscious of a thrill of joy, of vital happiness, in
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 177 
 
 their situation, which at times seemed almost unreal 
 in its idyllic perfection. As they neared the camp, 
 a new thought came to him. In the construction of 
 the little hut, it had not, until now, occurred to him 
 that he and the girl would be obliged to share it. 
 He wondered how she would view the arrangement. 
 
 As a matter of fact, she made no comment, but 
 crept into her grassy bed with little sighs of weari- 
 ness and content. 
 
 "I'm awfully tired/' she said. "Good-night." 
 
 Eandall, stalking about in the moonlight, outside, 
 presently knew from her regular breathing that she was 
 asleep. 
 
 After a time he, too, crept into the hut, and, care- 
 ful to make no noise that might disturb her, lay down 
 upon the sweet-smelling grass. 
 
 For hours he could not sleep ; his thoughts wandered 
 unceasingly to the girl beside him. Presently he 
 leaned over and kissed her hand as it lay white in 
 the moonlight that shone through the open end of 
 the hut. A sense of grave and tender responsibility 
 toward her filled his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE weeks that followed the casting up of Randall 
 and his companion from the sea passed in a haze of 
 warm and golden sunlight. The soft, yet brilliant, 
 dawns, the hot cloudless skies, the low droning of the 
 countless insects in the forest, the sharp cries of the 
 wild fowl, the sighing of the evening breeze through 
 the jungle, the radiant moon, the clear brilliance of 
 the stars in the purple night sky, all formed a won- 
 derful panorama, combining hot, passionate life with 
 a deep and infinite peace. 
 
 Xo evidence of the presence of other human beings 
 had appeared. Randall was of the opinion that they 
 had been cast upon one of the thousands of small 
 islands which are scattered throughout the western 
 part of the Pacific. Later on, he proposed to make. 
 a tour of investigation. For the present, the supply- 
 ing of their material wants occupied all his time. 
 
 Fish they were able to secure in abundance, both 
 by means of his improvised tackle, and by spearing 
 them, on the mud flats and shallows of the reef. For 
 this purpose Randall had made a spear, its shaft com- 
 posed of a stout six-foot sapling, its head of the tri- 
 angular-shaped tooth of a shark, which he had found 
 upon the beach. It was a very serviceable weapon, 
 
 178
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 179 
 
 and he felt rather proud of the skill which he began 
 to acquire in its use. 
 
 But a diet of fish soon began to pall. Eggs, large 
 and slightly pinkish in color, they found occasionally 
 in rough nests throughout the underbrush, and Eandall 
 had several times endeavored to kill one of the scurry- 
 ing brush fowl with a hastily flung stone, but without 
 success. He did however, on several occasions, manage 
 to bring down with a club some smaller birds, resem- 
 bling pigeons, which seemed, at first, to show little 
 fear at his approach. They soon became wary, how- 
 ever, and he could get them but seldom. When he 
 did, they formed, broiled over the hot coals, a deli- 
 cious addition to their bill of fare. 
 
 Several varieties of fruit he had found in the 
 forest, but the only one familiar to him was a sort of 
 stunted and undersized banana, with a slightly bitter 
 taste. These they ate freely, and with great relish. 
 Once a cocoanut, swathed in its fibrous green husk, 
 .was cast up by the sea, and they not only enjoyed 
 its contents, but found very useful the two drinking 
 cups that Randall managed to make from the shell. 
 
 They searched the adjacent jungle carefully for 
 cocoanut trees, but found none. Some greenish-brown, 
 fruit, resembling pawpaws, and a number of large 
 yellow gourds were the only results of the expedition. 
 The former had a sweetish taste, not unlike a banana. 
 The latter served to hold water and other supplies. 
 
 Along the edge of the pools formed by the little 
 stream Randall secured from time to time a number 
 of large green frogs, which he ate with gusto; his
 
 180 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 companion, however, could not be induced to touch 
 them. 
 
 She had very soon recovered from her wound, and, 
 but for the strange loss of memory that it had caused, 
 was none the worse for her experience. In fact, the 
 simple, natural life in the open air had made them 
 both feel superlatively well. The sun had browned 
 them to the point where they no longer feared expo- 
 sure to its rays, and the activities of their daily life 
 left them, by night, happily tired, and ready to sleep 
 like children on their beds of grass. 
 
 A singular and charming intimacy, a comradeship, 
 had grown up between them. In all their daily tasks, 
 Eve, as Eandall had now come to call her, worked at 
 his side. He had shown her how to clean and pre- 
 pare the fish that formed so large a part of their 
 daily fare, and even how to catch them, while he was 
 gathering wood for the fire, or plucking their very 
 occasional pigeons. 
 
 With a bow and some makeshift arrows that he had 
 manufactured, Eve tried her skill along the edge of 
 the forest. The scrub fowl were far too quick and 
 wary for her aim, but she found the pigeons easier 
 game, and was as delighted as a child when she occa- 
 sionally managed to bring one down. The light 
 bamboo arrows, tipped with a bit of sharp shell, and 
 feathered with the plumage of a pigeon's wing, were 
 by no means to be despised as weapons of offense. 
 Eandall constructed for himself a larger and stronger 
 bow, and some heavier arrows, with which he prac- 
 tised assiduously, convinced that even in a fight with
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 181 
 
 larger animals, should any such exist in the jungle, 
 they would prove by no means useless. 
 
 So far, however, nothing more dangerous than an 
 occasional lizard or snake had manifested itself. The 
 island, if island it was, seemed singularly free from 
 animal life. They made a long trip down the beach 
 one day, to where a point of rocks jutted out into the 
 sea, crowned with umbrella trees and ferns. These 
 rocks barred their further progress that day. The 
 sea prevented them from passing around, and they 
 decided to postpone the climb over the little cliff to 
 another time. 
 
 They hurried back in the late afternoon, as the rising 
 wind and the clouding sky to the west gave promise 
 of rain. Eve pointed out, with a smile, that, the two 
 ends of the tent-shaped hut being open, the one facing 
 the west would certainly, in the event of a storm, 
 admit sufficient rain to soak them thoroughly. Randall 
 proceeded to remedy the difficulty, as well as he could, 
 by piling logs, pieces of stone, and brush against the 
 opening. 
 
 "It's only a makeshift after all," he said, regarding 
 his work with a smile. "We'll have to get a better 
 shelter than this, I'm afraid, if we have many storms." 
 
 "The wind sweeps clear over this bluff, too," 
 remarked Eve. "Wouldn't it be better if we could 
 find a more sheltered place? ^There might be a sort 
 of a cave among those rocks we saw this morning. 
 Wouldn't it be nice, if we could find a big, roomy 
 one, and make a really comfortable home ?"
 
 182 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "You talk as though you expected to stay here 
 always," Randall laughed. 
 
 "I do! I don't feel in the least like going away. 
 Do you?" 
 
 "No; but " He hesitated, unable to express just 
 what he felt. The thought of not sharing his days 
 with her sent a pang of unhappiness through him ; yet, 
 caring for her as he did, he wondered how long it 
 would be possible for them to live in this intimate 
 and delightful companionship without recognizing 
 the greater and more vital issues that such intimacy 
 was certain to raise. Eve was a woman in whom, he 
 felt certain, the stream of life flowed abundantly. 
 Now that he admitted to himself his love for her, he 
 felt many times an overwhelming desire to take her 
 in his arms, to kiss her, to tell her of his emotion, 
 yet the fact that her past had been taken from her 
 restrained him, made him treat her, oftentimes, with 
 a brusqueness which he was very far from feeling. 
 
 Occasionally it seemed to him that this caused her 
 some surprise, yet he could not explain his attitude 
 without telling her the reasons for it, and therefore 
 he contented himself with saying nothing. 
 
 Once, indeed, he told her something about his 
 affair with Inez Gordon. 
 
 "I thought I loved her," he said, in conclusion; 
 "but now I know that I did not."' 
 
 "How do you know it, Dick ?" she asked, her wide, 
 honest eyes searching his deeply. 
 
 The question was a difficult one to answer; unless, 
 indeed, he were to do so by telling her the truth.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 183 
 
 "Since I have been here with you," he said, "I 
 have been very happy. I could not have been, you 
 know, had I cared for anyone else." 
 
 She looked over the sea in silence for a long time. 
 
 "I have never been in love," she remarked presently. 
 
 "How do you know ?" he asked. 
 
 "I am certain of it. I cannot remember about 
 things before I came here but I am certain that I 
 did not care for anyone. Had I done so, it would 
 have left some memory, some trace. See !" She held 
 out her left hand. "I am neither married nor engaged. 
 Isn't that lucky ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Randall, fervently; "it is." 
 
 "I'm glad you think so, Dick. Do you know, I'm 
 not half -sorry, about the past? The present seems 
 so wonderful! I'm very happy. This place seems 
 just like Paradise." 
 
 Randall pulled himself together, and put a tight 
 rein upon his emotions, else he would have declared 
 himself then and there. 
 
 "People in your world and mine would think our 
 life together here altogether too unconventional," he 
 remarked. 
 
 "I know. That is the trouble with the world, I 
 fancy. Everything must be done according to rule. 
 Even here, we practise it. We are just two children 
 in the loving arms of nature, yet we wouldn't dare 
 to take each other's hands, and go happily out into 
 the surf for our daily dip. I must watch you swim- 
 ming about from above, when I would love to be with 
 you, and must wait until you have gone after fruit,
 
 184 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 or eggs, before I dare venture in, myself. Somehow 
 it seems very silly." 
 
 Her words made Randall tremble, yet he saw that 
 she spoke with the innocence of a child. 
 
 "Perhaps we shall go, together, some day," he said 
 abruptly. 
 
 She looked at him with glowing eyes. 
 
 "Please, do not misunderstand me, Dick," she said. 
 "I know just how what I have said must sound. You 
 must not think that I do not understand. I meant 
 only that under such surroundings as these, in all 
 the loveliness and peace of our life here, the con- 
 ventions seem far away and unimportant." 
 
 "If it is a sort of Paradise, Eve," Randall remarked, 
 gravely, "we must not forget that in it there may 
 grow the tree of knowledge." 
 
 "And the tree of life, which is greater than knowl- 
 edge. Oh, please don't misunderstand me You must 
 not think me just a silly child. Perhaps you may 
 know some day why I have spoken as I have." She 
 rose, and they went toward the hut 
 
 Randall was puzzled, and for a moment strongly 
 attempted to pursue the question, and learn just what 
 she really meant; but something within him held him 
 back. 
 
 "I hope the rain doesn't come through our roof 
 to-night," he remarked, as they came up to the crazy 
 structure. 
 
 It was growing very dark, and the clouds in the 
 West were hurrying toward them, bringing with them 
 gusts of wind. The thatching of the hut, although held
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 185 
 
 in place by saplings and limbs that covered it, flapped 
 and fluttered in the breeze, and the swaying of the 
 ridge-pole caused the uprights to groan and creak 
 against it with dull notes of complaint. Eve groped 
 her way through the doorway, and curled herself up 
 on her bed of grass, and Randall at once followed. 
 It was pitch dark within the hut; only by his com- 
 panion's breathing was he conscious of her presence. 
 
 For some nights past Randall had slept across the 
 door, instead of within. It was a concession to the 
 conventions, of course, and he knew it. Even situated 
 as they were, he could not overcome a feeling of 
 strangeness, of impropriety, in lying there by her side. 
 The whole width of the hut separated them, it is 
 true, but he had many times felt like bridging it, and 
 drawing her into his arms. It was the very conscious- 
 ness of this desire that had so often driven him to 
 sleep without. 
 
 To-night, however, the threat of the storm made his 
 bed under the stars impracticable. He lay a long 
 time gazing up at the blackness and wondering whether 
 or not his Eve was awake. 
 
 Presently he heard her, softly speaking his name. 
 
 "Dick," she said, "are you asleep?" 
 
 "No, not yet." 
 
 "It's begun to rain. I hear the drops on the roof.* 
 
 "Yes. And the wind is getting stronger, I think." 
 
 After a long interval of silence she spoke again. 
 
 "Are you happy, Dick?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, dear, very happy. Are you?" 
 
 "I would be, Dick, if the rain were not dripping
 
 186 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 down my neck." She laughed, and changed her posi- 
 tion. "There it's all right now. Your roof leaks, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 He was somewhat chagrined at this, and would 
 have made her change to his side of the hut, but she 
 refused to do so. 
 
 "It's warm rain," she laughed, "and I don't feel 
 it now, anyway." 
 
 There was another long silence. Presently it was 
 broken as the storm swept down upon them. The 
 sprinkling of rain rose to a torrent, which thundered 
 upon the thatched roof and swept in fine spray through 
 the obstructions that Randall had placed against the 
 western opening. He realized that his companion was 
 likely to be drenched; he could hear the drip, drip 
 of the rain as it came through the roof on her side 
 of the hut, which faced the fury of the storm. 
 
 "You must let me change places with you," he 
 insisted. 
 
 "No, Dick. I won't do it. I see no more reason 
 why you should get wet than I. I really don't mind 
 it in the least." His protestations were of no avail. 
 
 Randall lay still for a long time, listening to the 
 roaring of the rain. Occasionally he could hear Eve 
 move restlessly about, and his conscience smote him. 
 Doubtless she was getting wet and cold. His own 
 side of the hut remained comparatively dry, but the 
 dampness and the wind made even him shiver occa- 
 sionally. 
 
 After a long time she spoke again. 
 
 "Are you asleep yet, Dick ?" she asked.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 187 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Don't you feel a little just a little cold ?" 
 
 "Yes. Do you ?" 
 
 "A trifle. I'm going to move down a little." He 
 heard her moving in the grass. "Good-night, now. 
 I won't disturb you again." 
 
 "I really wish you'd take this side. I insist upon 
 it." 
 
 "Couldn't think of it. Good-night." 
 
 An hour later Randall had fallen into a faint doze. 
 He was not really asleep, but his thoughts had car- 
 ried him far from the little hut in which he lay. 
 Suddenly he started, and half-turned, as he realized 
 that someone touched his arm. Then he heard Eve's 
 voice, close to his ear. 
 
 "I'm I'm so cold, Dick," she said; "so lonely and 
 cold ! Do you mind ?" 
 
 He swept her into his arms, and held her within 
 their shelter. 
 
 "Poor little girl!" he murmured. "You ought to 
 have come long ago." 
 
 She nestled beside him, and pressed her cheek to 
 his. He realized that it was cold and wet. Suddenly 
 a great wave of love swept through him. He drew 
 her close, and kissed her, covering her face with his 
 kisses as though to warm it. 
 
 She flung her arms about him, and pressed her 
 lips to his. 
 
 "Oh, Dick!" she whispered, and lay very still in 
 his arms for a long time. 
 
 He was first to speak.
 
 188 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "I love you, Eve," he said. "Are you glad?" 
 
 She did not answer him, but nodded her head softly 
 against his breast. 
 
 "I have tried to keep from telling you. Somehow 
 it doesn't seem just just fair, under the circumstances. 
 You might be very sorry, if if you remembered. 
 But I can't help it. I love you more than I had 
 ever dreamed of loving anyone. If you think that 
 I should not have told you " 
 
 She interrupted him by again placing her lips 
 against his. Their message seemed to him unmis- 
 takable. She loved him. He crushed her to him. 
 
 "God, I love you so !" he cried. 
 
 She gently pushed herself free. 
 
 "Don't say anything more about it to-night, dear," 
 she whispered softly. "I I want to think."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE storm roared upon the thatched roof of the 
 hut throughout the greater part of the night. Eandall 
 lay sleepless, with Eve held close in his arms. The 
 knowledge that she loved him had brought him 
 a happiness too great to be wasted in sleep. 
 
 Occasionally he moved slightly, to protect her from 
 the drops of rain, which, even on his side of the hut, 
 found their way through the roof. Once or twice he 
 kissed her, tenderly, reverently, upon the forehead. 
 One of her arms lay about his neck. In the darkness 
 he could not see her face, and did not know whether 
 she slept or not. As the night wore on, he thought, 
 from her breathing, that she did. 
 
 Toward morning the rain ceased. At the first gray 
 streaks of dawn, he gently disengaged himself from 
 his companion's arms, and went outside. 
 
 The storm had passed with the night, and the sun 
 rose clear and brilliant. He walked swiftly down to 
 the beach, and, throwing off his clothes, plunged in. 
 The warm sea, the fresh morning air, revived him. 
 In a short time he began collecting brushwood and 
 placing it in the sun to dry, preparatory to lighting 
 the fire for their breakfast. Eve had not yet appeared. 
 
 Presently he saw her, making her way slowly down 
 
 189
 
 190 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 the side of the bluff, toward the litfle pool in which 
 she made her morning ablutions. He called a cheery 
 good-morning to her, and started off through the brush, 
 to gather fruit and eggs for their breakfast. 
 
 When he returned, the fire, which he had already 
 kindled, was blazing merrily, and Eve was boiling 
 water in one of the large shells, in readiness for the 
 eggs he brought. He went up to her, and laid the 
 results of his expedition on the sand. 
 
 "How do you feel, dear ?" he asked. 
 
 She turned, with a faint flush. 
 
 "Splendid! I had a lovely bath, while you were 
 gone. Isn't everything fresh and sweet, after the 
 rain?" 
 
 He nodded, and began to prepare their meal. He 
 wondered whether or not to refer to the events of the 
 night, but in the end decided not to do so. She had 
 said that she wished to think. He would wait, and 
 let her be the first to speak. 
 
 A tender shyness seemed to possess her during their 
 breakfast. At times she seemed to fear to look at 
 him; at others, when his own gaze was turned aside, 
 Randall knew instinctively that she was devouring 
 him with her eyes. 
 
 She seemed very beautiful to him, this day. The 
 white shirtwaist and short pongee skirt, washed and 
 dried on the hot beach during her swim, were spotless. 
 Her nair, in two great plaits, she had wound about 
 her head like a crown, and fastened in pla.ce with two 
 thin splinters of bamboo, each holding a mass of red 
 blossoms. Her waist, open at the neck, disclosed the
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 191 
 
 tender curves of her throat and breast, burned a warm 
 brown by the sun. Her arms, bare to the elbow, were 
 round and smooth and satiny brown, like warm-tinted 
 ivory. A flush of health and vitality glowed through 
 the tan of her cheeks. She seemed a veritable wood 
 nymph, a dryad, crowned with forest flowers. He 
 could scarcely refrain from taking her in his arms and 
 kissing her, but first she must speak. 
 
 That day they determined to explore the rocky 
 cliff that jutted out across the beach at its eastern 
 extremity. 
 
 They set out immediately after breakfast, Randall 
 carrying his shark's tooth spear, and Eve her bow and 
 half-a-dozen arrows in a quiver which he had made 
 her from a portion of the canvas covering of the life- 
 buoy. 
 
 It was a glorious morning, and they enjoyed the 
 three-mile walk along the beach to the full. The surf 
 of the preceding night had cast up a quantity of 
 debris of various sorts, and among other things a huge 
 turtle, which they found to be dead. Randall rolled 
 its heavy carcass up safely beyond the line of the 
 breakers, intending to use its shell, later, for a recep- 
 tacle to hold water. 
 
 The tide was out when they reached the little point 
 of rocks, and Randall saw that it would be possible 
 to pass around it, by wading out over the reef; but 
 there seemed no object in doing this, so they decided 
 to clamber up its side. 
 
 This they managed to do with no great difficulty. 
 The rock was overlaid in many places with earth, and
 
 192 A" LOST PAKADISE. 
 
 a heavy growth of brush covered its face on the side 
 toward the land. 
 
 Ip a few moments they had reached the top, and 
 found themselves upon a ragged and water-worn cliff, 
 which extended in irregular lines as far as the eye 
 could reach toward the east. 
 
 The face of the cliff was much broken, as though 
 the rock had shelved away from time to time, under 
 the influence of the weather. Innumerable small holes, 
 like caves, broke its gray face, and the upper edge 
 sloped back toward the south, and was crowned with 
 a growth of coarse yellow grass, amongst which grew 
 innumerable umbrella trees, ferns, and smaller tropical 
 growths. 
 
 Several of the caves appeared to be of fair size, and 
 from all of them issued a constant stream of swift- 
 moving birds, whose noisy cries at times almost 
 deafened them. 
 
 They proceeded along the edge of the cliff for per- 
 haps a quarter of a mile, climbing over huge slabs 
 of rock, and sometimes forced to ascend to the top- 
 most edge of the plateau in order to make their way. 
 
 After a time the cliff began to dip toward the level 
 of the beach, and before long they found themselves 
 upon the edge of a deep water-course, which foamed 
 and eddied over the rocks as it plunged toward the 
 sea. 
 
 Here the rocks became almost like steps. They were 
 able to descend without difficulty to the very edge of 
 the little bay that marked the termination of the 
 stream. On the further side the cliff again rose in
 
 'A LOST PARADISE. 193 
 
 step formation, to a high, jagged point of rock, upon 
 which stood a tall dead tree. 
 
 They forded the little stream without difficulty, and 
 clambered up the opposite side of the cliff. They had 
 almost reached the top, when Randall gave a cry, and 
 pointed to a large irregular opening in the face of 
 the rock. 
 
 "There's our new home," he exclaimed. 
 
 His companion followed his glance, and smiled. 
 
 "It must have been made for us," she said. 
 
 The projecting face of the cliff, just beneath the 
 line of shrubbery that crowned its topmost summit, 
 extended outward for perhaps twenty feet, smooth 
 and level, like a shelf. In the wall at the rear lay 
 the opening that Randall had indicated. It was the 
 mouth of a large cave. 
 
 The level expanse of rock before it was reached by 
 the irregular steps from the stream below. At the 
 base of the cliff, a tiny beach lined the semi-circular 
 shores of the bay. A sloping path led to the higher 
 ground which formed the top of the plateau. The 
 mouth of the cave faced toward the north-west. 
 
 They determined to explore it at once. Randall 
 grasped his spear firmly, and led the way, with Eve 
 following. "No sign of life was to be seen, except the 
 many birds that flew in and out. 
 
 Their examination consumed but a short time. The 
 cave was some twenty feet in depth, with a fairly 
 regular floor, and its walls and roof were lined with 
 bird's nests, cemented tightly to the rocks. The floor
 
 194 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 was covered with twigs, bits of grass, egg-shells, 
 feathers and the droppings of birds. 
 
 "I'll clean this place out," Eandall cried, "and we'll 
 move in at once. We couldn't have found anything 
 better." 
 
 The remainder of the morning was spent in carrying 
 out his plans. The destruction and removal of the 
 birds' nests resulted in a chorus of disapproval from 
 the feathered occupants of the place, but Randall gave 
 scant attention to their protests. Within two hours, 
 he had made the place comparatively clean, and, leaving 
 Eve to complete the work of preparation, he mounted 
 to the top of the cliff, in search of material for their 
 beds. 
 
 An hour or more elapsed before he returned with 
 an immense bundle of dried grass, which he threw 
 down from the top of the cliff, and instructed Eve 
 to place within the cave. 
 
 "Here are some bananas," he called, as he tossed 
 her a bunch of the fruit. "That's all we'll have for 
 dinner to-day. I'm going back to the camp, and get 
 our things. You wait here." 
 
 The bringing of the various articles they had col- 
 lected during their fortnight at the other camp, con- 
 sumed the bulk of the afternoon. Eve arranged the 
 grass upon the floor of the cave, and then, during one 
 of Randall's absences, ascended to the plateau above, 
 and came back with huge bunches of flowers, which 
 she arranged in great masses about the place. 
 
 Randall appeared at intervals, carrying their mol- 
 lusk shells, cocoanut cups, his bow and arrows, the
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 195 
 
 life-buoy, the few articles of clothing which they had 
 discarded, and on his last trip a string of fish and a 
 handful of eggs. "ISTow we'll have supper," he an- 
 nounced, and proceeded to build a fire upon the flat 
 shelf of a rock in front of the cave. 
 
 The sun was just setting when they finished their 
 meal, and they sat upon their rocky porch and watched 
 the beauty of the passing day. 
 
 Beneath them stretched the quiet sea, sweeping 
 flame-colored to the far-off horizon. The western sky 
 glowed with orange and pink, above which it faded 
 to a pearly Kile green. An infinite peace lay upon 
 the surface of the ocean, blotting out the noises of the 
 day. Randall took Eve's hand in his, and sat drinking 
 in the beauty of the sunset. 
 
 Before long the colors began to fade in the evening 
 sky, and, almost before they realized it, the sunset 
 had gone, and in its place shone the deep blue of the 
 night, set with countless brilliant stars. 
 
 The soft night wind, the murmur of the surf on 
 the beach below, the radiance of the tropic sky, all 
 spoke to Randall of love. He pressed Eve's hand, and 
 wondered how long it would be before she would speak, 
 as he had spoken the night before. 
 
 "How wonderful the night seems!" he said, at 
 length, looking into her eyes. 
 
 She did not at once reply, but after a time, she 
 began to speak. 
 
 "It is the most wonderful night of our lives," she 
 said slowly. "No other night will ever be like this, 
 for it is our wedding night. I have thought over
 
 196 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 what you said, and now I am ready to answer you. 
 ... I love you. I would love you no less if this 
 thing had not come to me that makes my past a blank. 
 I love you because you reach my soul, because you 
 speak to me in a way in which only love can speak. 
 I know what it means, for me to say this to you. 
 It means not only that we love each other, but that 
 we give ourselves to each other for all time. It is 
 what the world calls marriage between you and me. 
 It is the earthly manifestation of a thing that is greater 
 than the things of the earth. I love you, and I know 
 that you love me no less. I give myself to you, because 
 the essence of love is to give. Here, beneath the stars, 
 in the sight of God, I pledge you my soul and my 
 body, and to none other shall they be given, while I 
 live." 
 
 There was a wonderful solemnity in her words, 
 which thrilled Randall's soul, and yet made him 
 afraid. It was not that he doubted his love for this 
 woman every fibre of his being responded to the 
 love and passion in her voice. Yet, when he turned 
 to her, and took her in his arms, a feeling of great 
 tenderness, of responsibility, swept over him. Love 
 the love -she gave him seemed here, in the vast 
 peace of nature, to be a thing beyond all bitterness, 
 all material considerations. He felt as though some 
 holy of holies had opened, and bathed him in the light 
 of the divine fire. 
 
 Presently Eve spoke again. 
 
 "My love has given me the peace that passeth all 
 understanding," she whispered, and offered her lips to 
 him.
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 197 
 
 They sat thus, held close in each other's arms, for 
 a long time. The moon, a brilliant crescent of silver, 
 rose in the eastern sky. Only the soft murmur of 
 the sea upon the little beach beneath them broke the 
 silence of the night. 
 
 After a time Randall spoke. 
 
 "No matter who you are no matter what may 
 come, hereafter you belong to me, until death." 
 
 She laid her cheek beside his. 
 
 "No matter what happens I am yours forever and 
 ever." 
 
 "But if you should regret?" 
 
 "Then I should regret that I had ever been born." 
 
 A sense of unreality tortured Randall's soul. He 
 knew now that he loved this woman knew that, so 
 long as he might live, no other woman could mean 
 anything to him. Yet what had he to offer her? His 
 efforts in New York had resulted in dismal failure. 
 Here on this desolate island, he might seem to this 
 girl a king; in the dreary bustle of the world, he 
 would be as nothing a failure, a man without money, 
 without position, without any of the things that go 
 to make up life. Here these things were of little 
 account, but in that great world beyond the horizon 
 they counted for very much indeed for everything 
 that constituted existence as the world knew it. And 
 what right had he to assume that they would always 
 remain here, in this far-off place? The very next 
 morning might find a trading ship anchored off shore. 
 Then this woman, who gave her soul unto his keeping 
 would perforce go back to her friends the records
 
 198 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 of The Batavia would show clearly who she was. Had 
 he the right to make her his wife, under the existing 
 circumstances ? Was it honorable, fair, on his part, 
 to take advantage of her position, her love ? 
 
 He drew away from her, and gazed out across the sea 
 in an agony of indecision. 
 
 Presently he became aware of her hand stealing about 
 his neck, of her breath upon his face. 
 
 "What is the matter, dear?" she asked, a look of 
 fright in her eyes. 
 
 "Nothing. I I was thinking. I feel, somehow, 
 afraid" 
 
 "You love me, Dick ? Tell me that you love me." 
 
 "Better than anything in the world better than my 
 life." 
 
 "Then why are you afraid ?" 
 
 "It is because I do love you that I am." 
 
 "But of what? If we love each other, isn't that 
 enough ?" 
 
 "I have nothing to give you, dear except myself." 
 
 "And do you think I want anything more ?" 
 
 "Not now, perhaps, but if we should leave here, if 
 you should go back to your people 
 
 She drew away from him, shivering slightly. 
 
 "Is that the way you love ?" she asked. 
 
 Something in her voice stung him. He turned and 
 drew her fiercely to him. 
 
 "I love with all my heart and soul, and with my very 
 breath. But I want to do what is right what is best 
 for you. I would rather die than bring you any 
 pain -any regret."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 199 
 
 She did not answer him. A strange trembling swept 
 over her. She clung to him, seeking his lips with hers. 
 
 "Oh, my love, my dearest love !" she cried. "Don't 
 spoil this night with your foolish fears. I am yours 
 yours ! If I thought that you did not love me, I should 
 feel like throwing myself over the cliff into the sea." 
 She clung to him, her arms about his neck. "Come," 
 she said, and rose. "I have brought many flowers for 
 you, and made ready our new home." 
 
 Randall rose to his feet, and put his arm about the 
 girl's waist. 
 
 "May God bless the night, and forgive me, if I do 
 you any wrong," he said, as they entered the shadow 
 of the cave. 
 
 The flowers made the place sweet with their perfume. 
 Randall drew the girl to him, and kissed her. 
 
 "My wife !" he said. "My wife, in the eyes of God." 
 
 The surf broke softly on the little beach, and the new 
 moon silvered its curling foam. The tender night wind 
 whispered through the umbrella trees upon the top of 
 the cliff, and all nature wrapped the two about with 
 the soft mantle of its purity. A single shooting star, 
 coursing toward the horizon, lit the sky with a momen- 
 tary brilliance, then plunged into the sea.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE dawn broke radiant with scarlet and gold over 
 a sapphire sea. Randall stepped out of the cave, and 
 made his way slowly down the rocks toward the beach. 
 A wonderful peace filled the air. The smell of the 
 flowers, which festooned the jungle with vivid splashes 
 of pink and red, swept softly over the edge of the cliff, 
 and mingled with the salt smell of the sea. 
 
 Randall threw his clothes upon the sand, and was 
 soon beyond the breakers, clearing the placid surface 
 of the sea with long, sweeping strokes. 
 
 The sunlight sparkled brilliantly upon the broken 
 crests of the waves, and gave warmth and color to the 
 gray tones of the rocky cliff. He headed far out over 
 the reef, in an exultation of spirit born of the freshness 
 of the morning. 
 
 After a time he turned back toward the beach. An 
 object moving toward the line of the surf, caught his 
 eye. At first he could not make out what it was then 
 he realized that it was Eve, wading slim and white 
 through the dancing foam. 
 
 He called to her, but she did not hear him. In a few 
 moments she had passed the line of breakers, and was 
 swimming toward him through the pellucid sea. 
 
 "Isn't it glorious !" she called, shaking the water in 
 
 200
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 201 
 
 diamond-like drops from her hair. "I feel like a mer- 
 maid, taking her morning sun bath." 
 
 Randall went to meet her, and together they headed 
 toward the open sea. 
 
 "I didn't know you could swim," he said presently. 
 
 "Oh, yes; I learned it years ago. Down at at " 
 She hesitated, shaking her head. "Never mind. I cant 
 remember where it was, but I haven't forgotten how, 
 have I, dear ?" She dove with the grace of a sea nymph, 
 then appeared a few yards further out, the warm green 
 water sliding from her white shoulders as she rose above 
 its surface. 
 
 "You certainly haven't," he said, admiringly, as he 
 watched her slender body flash through the water. 
 "We'd better not go out any further," he said at length. 
 "There may be sharks, you know." 
 
 "Do you think so ?" She shivered, and turned back 
 toward the beach. He swam beside her, their shoulders 
 touching. "Do you know, dear," she whispered to him, 
 "I am so happy, this morning, that it seems almost too 
 perfect to last !" 
 
 "What can stop it, little girl ?" 
 
 "I don't know. Nothing, I hope. But somehow 
 things always seem to happen " 
 
 "Come, come ! Don't be superstitious. We love each 
 other, and we are alive and together. That is all the 
 world has to offer." 
 
 "I know." She rode easily over the first of the line 
 of breakers and turned toward him as the long furrow 
 of foam swept toward the shore. "But I'm afraid 
 possibly because I'm so happy. Shall we go in now?"
 
 202 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "You go." He headed seaward again. "I'll be along 
 in a moment." 
 
 After a time he turned, and saw her, wrapped in her 
 white coat, ascending the rocks toward the cave. 
 
 He swam toward the beach, with a song in his heart. 
 God had, indeed, been good to him, he felt, in giving 
 him this woman's love. It was the affection of which 
 he had dreamed, the perfect union of two persons who 
 found in each other all the happiness that life has to 
 offer. What mattered it, after all, that they were ma- 
 rooned here on this lonely bit of sand ? Nothing that 
 civilization held could have made them any happier. 
 In fact, Randall doubted whether such perfect hap- 
 piness as he now felt would be possible in the material 
 atmosphere of a great city. He dressed with a thankful 
 heart, and, clambering up to their rocky ledge, pro- 
 ceeded to light the fire for their breakfast. 
 
 They were to have a feast to-day a wedding break- 
 fast. Eve had already begun to lay the table a slab 
 of rock, which rose somewhat above the level of the 
 remainder of the ledge. There were a bunch of 
 bananas, half-a-dozen eggs, a couple of pigeons that 
 Randall had knocked over the afternoon before, and a 
 large sea mullet that he had speared at the mouth of 
 the little creek. About the table she had placed masses 
 of pink and white flowers, and a half-dozen large palm- 
 leaves, for plates. 
 
 Randall observed ner preparations with a happy 
 smile. 
 
 "A better breakfast," he remarked, "and a better 
 appetite than all the money in the world could buy."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 203 
 
 She came over to him, and kissed him. 
 
 "What we have, Dick, is too precious to be bought, 
 at any price. I only hope it will never be taken away 
 from us." 
 
 The recurrence of her thought worried him. 
 
 "Why do you say that, dear? Nothing can ever 
 change our love." 
 
 "Who knows?" She gazed off toward the horizon. 
 "Some day, a ship will come, and then " 
 
 "And then we will refuse to be rescued," he cried, 
 gaily. "Come, sit down and eat your breakfast. We 
 are going to explore, to-day." 
 
 "Explore ?" 
 
 "Yes. I mean to find out whether this place is an 
 island, or not." 
 
 "I hope it is. Don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes and uninhabited. It would be rather unfor- 
 tunate to run into a village of head-hunters." < 
 
 "Head-hunters!" She shivered. "Do you think it 
 possible, Dick?" 
 
 "Hardly, or we should have seen evidences of their 
 presence, along shore. Come, get your bow and arrows, 
 and we'll take a look about." 
 
 They ascended the path that led to the brow of the 
 cliff, and soon stood upon its highest point. Before 
 them the sea extended northward as far as the eye could 
 reach. To right and left the beach curved away toward 
 the south. Behind them lay the jungle, thick with 
 blossoms, cool, shady and green. The hum of a myriad 
 insects sounded from its depths. The chatter of the 
 birds along the edge of the forest was incessant. Kan-
 
 204 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 dall strove to look landward, beyond the wall of green 
 that marked the southern edge of the plateau; but the 
 waving palms, the tall bloodwood trees, the thick screen 
 of the tropic foliage, blocked his view. 
 
 A tall gaunt tree, showing along its bark the rip of 
 the lightning stroke that had killed it, rose skyward not 
 far from where they stood. Randall went toward it, and 
 threw his spear upon the ground. 
 
 "I'm going to climb this, dear," he said, "and see 
 whether or not I can get a view over the tops of the 
 trees to the south." 
 
 The many gnarled branches of the tree rendered the 
 climb an easy one. In five minutes he had reached a 
 point some forty feet above the ground. Eve called to 
 him anxiously, fearing lest he might slip and fall. 
 
 "I'm all right," he called back to her. "I can see 
 the ocean on the other side. It goes all around us. We 
 are on an island." 
 
 "If we want to be rescued," he said, when he had 
 descended and rejoined her, "we could put a signal of 
 distress on the top of that tree, and it would be visible 
 for ten miles in any direction." 
 
 "Do you want to put one up ?" she asked him gravely. 
 
 "Not unless you do." 
 
 "Suppose we wait. When we get tired of it here, 
 if we ever do, we'll run up a signal of distress." 
 
 "Then we are likely to stay here for the rest of 
 our lives," he laughed. "What do you say to making 
 a trip through the jungle? The beach on the other 
 side looks interesting. I don't believe it's more than 
 three miles away."
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 205 
 
 "I'm ready. And we may find some cocoamit 
 trees." 
 
 The ground sloped downward toward the edge of 
 the forest, and in a few moments they were making 
 their way through the rough, close-growing under- 
 brush. 
 
 The passage proved anything but easy. The 
 thousands of creepers and tough interlacing vines 
 threatened to trip them at every step, while the luxuriant 
 growth of bushes, the tall and close-set forest grasses and 
 ferns rose at times above their heads, and made it 
 almost impossible to tell in what direction they were 
 going. 
 
 After some two hours of struggling they emerged 
 upon a sandy slope that led down to a long, curving 
 white beach. A grove of cocoanut trees attracted Ran- 
 dall's attention; he recognized them by the clusters of 
 great green nuts, which were visible through the thick 
 foliage. 
 
 "Isn't that lucky ?" he cried. "!NVw we will have 
 something besides bananas for dessert." 
 
 To get the nuts, however, was somewhat of a problem. 
 The tall, smooth trunks of the trees towered seventy or 
 eighty feet in the air, without a limb, except the 
 feathery cluster of branches at the top. Randall looked 
 up and laughed. 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't manage it," he said. 
 
 "Of course, you can't." Eve put her arm through 
 his, and held him close. "I'm not going to run the risk 
 of losing my husband, just for a few cocoanuts." 
 
 The fates, however, were more kind than they had an-
 
 206 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 ticipated. One of the trees, standing somewhat apart 
 from the others, had been uprooted, no doubt, by the 
 typhoon that had swept them upon the island, and it 
 lay prone amidst a thick growth of underbrush and 
 ferns. 
 
 A number of the nuts still clung to the crown of the 
 tree, while many more were scattered about the ground 
 as a result of its fall. Randall took up one of them, 
 and, after stripping off the fibrous green husk, broke it 
 open with a stone. The interior was lined with a soft 
 creamy moss, within which lay half a pint of milk. He 
 handed a portion of the nut to Eve, who declared it 
 delicious. 
 
 Two more of the nuts he carried with him. They 
 decided not to undertake again the rough journey 
 through the woods, but instead, to make their way back 
 along the beach. It was much further, he knew, but 
 the easy walking made it preferable. 
 
 It was a hot and tiresome walk, and before they were 
 half-way back, Randall found the two cocoanuts a heavy 
 burden. Eve relieved him of one of them, from time 
 to time, but he felt rather tired out when they at last 
 reached the cave. 
 
 They spent the afternoon in fitting up the interior 
 of their new home. Randall procured from the woods 
 a number of long, thin saplings, and also some shorter 
 and thicker pieces, and constructed the rough frame- 
 work of a bed, lashing the pieces together with the re- 
 mainder of a rope that the life-buoy had provided. He 
 also managed to make a rickety chair, for Eve to sit in,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 207 
 
 The slab of rock on the ledge outside the door provided 
 a thoroughly satisfactory table. 
 
 The problem of light inside the cave at night was one 
 which he sought in vain to solve. He had heard that from 
 the liver of the shark a rich oil could be obtained, but 
 so far he had been unable to obtain the shark although 
 he saw many of them skirting the outer edge of the 
 reef. To advance against them in the water, armed 
 only with his spear, would have been useless. He 
 lived in the hope that sometime the sea might cast one 
 up, the possible victim of a marine combat to the death. 
 
 Their life, after moving into the cave, was golden with 
 happiness and peace. The fierce heat of the tropic 
 sun was tempered by the cool breeze that arose every 
 afternoon, and swept in from the west, fresh with the 
 smell of the sea. Flowers surrounded them constantly. 
 Eve was extravagantly fond of them, and made the cave 
 a bower of blooms from the luxuriant growths of the 
 jungle. The majority of the blossoms was unknown to 
 them, but some they recognized, particularly great 
 orchids, deep gold in color, and others pink, like living 
 coral. 
 
 Eandall had added a number of new dishes to their 
 somewhat limited bill of fare. In the course of fre- 
 quent expeditions for cocoanuts to the grove on the 
 opposite shore of the island, he found a new fruit, which 
 he judged to be a mango, although his acquaintance 
 with this tropic delicacy had heretofore been limited 
 to seeing specimens in the windows of Broadway fruit 
 shops. Whether mangoes or not, they found in these 
 orange-colored masses, with their sweet and pungent
 
 208 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 pulp, a refreshing change from the rather tasteless 
 bananas, which had served for so long as their sole 
 delicacy. 
 
 A bed of oysters on the reef facing the cave varied 
 their diet of fish and pigeons. Eandall, eager to add to 
 their conveniences, managed, after considerable search, 
 to find a bed of yellow clay along the side of the plateau, 
 and from this, with painstaking effort, succeeded at 
 last in modeling some very serviceable earthen pots. 
 They were crooked and ill shapen, and when he had 
 dried them in the sun, and came to burn them in a 
 wood fire, three-quarters of them cracked and fell to 
 pieces, but several whole ones remained, and in these 
 they were able to stew their oysters, and fish, instead of 
 always broiling them over the coals. 
 
 During the early part of September, the long, wet 
 week of a monsoon kept them almost continuously within 
 the cave. Randall found that a fire of certain varieties 
 of hardwood could be maintained just inside the cave 
 mouth without creating much smoke, and their rocky 
 home kept them dry and comfortable during the rain. 
 Finding that Eve was fond of chess, he scratched a 
 board on the cave floor, and with bits of shell, and 
 wooden figures laboriously carved with his clasp-knife, 
 improvised a set of men, which gave them constant 
 amusement during the dreary days. 
 
 After the monsoon, another period of tropic heat 
 and calm ensued. The equatorial sun kept them indoors, 
 or among the shadows of the jungle, during the midday 
 heat ; but the long soft evenings amply repaid them for 
 these temporary seclusions.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 209 
 
 Randall had never dreamed that the stars could 
 shine so vividly, or the night sky seem so near. Often, 
 when the beach shone white and clear in the moonlight, 
 they went down to the sands, and enjoyed a night dip 
 in the surf. At other times, although there was no 
 moon, the stars enveloped them in a soft, yet brilliant, 
 radiance they sat upon their rocky portico and talked 
 of the future, and the past. 
 
 He had told Eve all about his unsuccessful efforts 
 in ~New York, and often pointed out to her the injustice 
 he felt he had done her, in making her his wife, upon 
 such faint material prospects; but at these times she 
 smiled contentedly, and kissed him with a fervor that 
 left no room for doubt as to her entire satisfaction with 
 conditions as they existed. 
 
 "If we ever do leave here, dear," she said, "and I 
 suppose that some day we shall, we will first be married, 
 of course, since the world will require that of us, and 
 then we will find out who I am." She laughed whimsi- 
 cally. "I may be a rich heiress, you know, or a princess 
 in disguise." 
 
 Randall joined in her laugh, although his mind 
 was by no means at rest. 
 
 "I'd far rather you were neither," he said. "I don't 
 want to live on you, you know. When I go back to 
 civilization, and as you say, we will probably do so, 
 sometime, I mean to again take up the work I've been 
 trying to do. I'll be well and strong then, and I'll have 
 you, dear, to help me, and I feel that under those cir- 
 cumstances I couldn't fail." 
 
 "Dick," Eve asked, after a time, "why do you say
 
 210 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 that sometime we will go back to civilization? Why 
 do I?" 
 
 "I don't know. I suppose it is something inborn, 
 some inherited call of work, achievement, ambition, 
 that we can't shake off if we would." 
 
 "Yet we are perfectly happy here, aren't we ?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "Then doesn't it seem absurd to leave it ? What, 
 after all, can the world offer us, that we haven't, here ? 
 Did all the things you had, in your other life, make you 
 happy ? Did you ever enjoy your best meal in a New 
 York restaurant half as much as you have our oysters, 
 and fish, and fruit? Would it make us a bit happier 
 to sleep in a brass bed instead of on our sweet-smelling 
 grass ? Would the sky be as bright in smoky London, or 
 the air as life-giving and fresh ? Wouldn't we miss the 
 freedom, the wonderful joy of living, that nature is 
 giving us now ?" 
 
 He nodded, gravely. 
 
 "All those things we would miss, and the things the 
 physical things that we would get in return would 
 not compensate us; but it is the mind that starves in 
 such a life as this." 
 
 She glanced at him quickly, then came over, and, 
 kneeling beside him, pressed her body against his. 
 
 "Are you tired, dear, already?" 
 
 He swept her into his arms, and kissed her. 
 
 "My girl, my precious girl, how can you ask me that ? 
 I am so happy that I scarcely dare even to think of 
 such a thing as going away, for fea.r something might 
 happen to take my happiness, from me. But we were
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 211 
 
 born with the minds of civilized people. In time, in all 
 the years to come, the mind hunger will grow and grow, 
 and even the lovely peace of nature will fail to satisfy 
 it. The people who can live forever under the con- 
 ditions, the island savages, have the minds of children. 
 Eating, sleeping, basking in the sun those things 
 satisfy them. We are not like that. Our demands are 
 greater. Sometimes people civilized people like our- 
 selves stay all their lives in the jungle ; but their minds 
 slowly die. They become more and more sensual more 
 like animals. They drug their minds with the joy of 
 the senses, and after a time they become beasts." 
 
 Eve shuddered in his arms, and seemed alrao&t 
 frightened by what he had said. 
 
 "You are becoming tired, already, dear," she 
 whispered. "I am so happy that I could go on like 
 this forever. I suppose that is because I am just a 
 woman. You are not content just to be happy. You 
 want to live, to accomplish things. I understand. Per- 
 haps I am glad, too, dear, for I love you, and wish all 
 things for you. But I am afraid afraid that the 
 world will some day take you from me, with its duties, 
 its responsibilities, its cares. Then I should feel sorry 
 that we had ever gone away that we had not remained 
 in our Paradise." 
 
 Eandall quieted her fears with his kisses. 
 
 "After all, dear," he laughed, "we are troubling our- 
 selves rather needlessly. For all we know, we may 
 wait years before a vessel ever comes near enough to 
 see our flag." He pointed to a streamer of white, the 
 long canvas covering of the life-buoy, which he had
 
 212 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 attached the day before to one of the topmost limbs of 
 the tree on the brow of the cliff. 
 
 She knelt, holding him close for a long time, her 
 eyes searching the sweeping circle of the sea. 
 
 "Somehow, dear," she said, "I feel that trouble is 
 coming to us from off there out of the sea. I can't 
 explain it. Perhaps I am just silly and nervous to- 
 night but; I am afraid afraid!" 
 
 "No trouble can come to us, sweetheart, so long as 
 we love each other. Come it is time you were in bed." 
 
 He lay for a long time that night, holding Eve close 
 to his breast, and listening to the murmur of the surf 
 along the reef. She slept, peacefully, in his arms, but to 
 him sleep would not come. The waves spoke to him, 
 gently, insistently, of other shores, of harbors thick with 
 masts and funnels of ships, of hurrying, crowded streets, 
 of brilliant lights, of life, roaring jubilantly along 
 toward the goal of success. Eve had been right. Happy, 
 supremely happy as he was, he still heard in his ears 
 the call of the world. It was because of it, the day 
 before, that he had climbed the tree, and flung the white 
 signal flag to the breeze.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 FOR many days the flag had fluttered in the breeze 
 upon the cliff top, and Randall and his companion had 
 almost forgotten that it was there. Once Eve had 
 referred to it as "the white flag of surrender." Randall 
 was very near to taking it down that day, but, when he 
 mounted the top of the bluff to do so, she ran after 
 him and stopped him. 
 
 "I know you are right," she exclaimed. "I did not 
 mean what I said as a reproach. Let it stay." 
 
 They did not speak of the matter again in fact a 
 new and interesting problem confronted them the 
 problem of clothes. 
 
 The thin and fragile things they had worn when the 
 sea cast them up to safety, had, by reason of numberless 
 washings, as well as the wear and tear of their daily 
 life, become sadly dilapidated. They looked, Eve laugh- 
 ingly said, like a pair of scarecrows, and no means 
 seemed at hand, for replenishing their wardrobe. 
 
 Randall had found, during his expeditions to the 
 cocoanut grove, the burrows of a number of robber crabs, 
 which ascended the trees, and after ripping the rough 
 fibrous husk from the nuts, punctured the soft "eyes" 
 with their claws, and devoured the contents. These 
 
 213
 
 214 A LOST PABADISE. 
 
 crabs, he soon found, lined their burrows with great 
 quantities of the shredded husk. It resembled the ravel- 
 ings of a cocoa-fibre rug, and he suggested to Eve the 
 possibility of utilizing it for the making of a rough 
 sort of cloth. 
 
 He knew nothing of even the most primitive form of 
 loom, but his natural ingenuity enabled him, after 
 numberless experiments, to construct, at last, a rough 
 wooden framework, over which Eve laboriously wove a 
 fabric of the long, pliable fibres. In this way, after 
 some weeks of work, she managed to produce enough 
 of a coarse rough material to make for herself a skirt, 
 and for Kandall a pair of clumsy knickerbockers. The 
 needle that he had made from one of her hairpins 
 enabled her to sew the cloth into shape. 
 
 During these weeks, they said no more, concerning a 
 possible return to civilization. Randall did not refer 
 to the matter, fearing that he might hurt Eve's feelings, 
 and she did not speak of it again, although she thought 
 about it continually. 
 
 Often she would observe him, in some fit of abstrac- 
 tion, gazing into the sunset, or watching the northern 
 stars, and she realized what their message to him must 
 be. At other times she would find him scratching rude 
 notes on bits of bark with a quill pen he had made, and 
 she knew that the spirit of unrest was strong within him, 
 that his work, his ambition, was calling. 
 
 She might have better understood these moods, had 
 her, own past life drawn her thoughts from the present, 
 but it still lay before her, a blank page. 
 
 And then occurred something, which, in the course
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 215 
 
 of a few moments, desolated their Paradise, and changed 
 the whole course of existence for them both. 
 
 They had gone one afternoon to the cocoanut grove, 
 for the purpose of securing an additional supply of the 
 cocoa-fibre. Randall had broken open several of the 
 burrows of the robber crabs, and collected a large 
 quantity of the lining, and they were resting after their 
 labors until the cool of the evening, before attempting the 
 long walk home. About four o'clock they noticed a 
 perceptible increase in the force of the wind, and strong 
 indications in the western sky of the coming of a 
 storm. 
 
 The clouds raced up from the north-west with as- 
 tonishing rapidity, and they decided to leave the bale 
 of cocoa-fibre behind, and make their way back to the 
 cave by means of the shorter route through the jungle, 
 before the storm broke. 
 
 They had progressed about three-quarters of the dis- 
 tance, when Randall, who was walking some fifteen 
 or twenty feet in Eve's rear, saw a dead limb, which 
 was swaying wildly in the heavy breeze, break off short, 
 and pitch across her path. 
 
 He called to her, and at the sound of his voice she 
 turned. The moment was an unfortunate one the 
 heavy branch crashed downward, tearing through the 
 surrounding foliage, and struck her a glancing blow 
 on the head. 
 
 Its weight was considerable, and the force of its 
 fall knocked the girl to the ground. 
 
 Randall sprang forward, and to his dismay found 
 tliat she was insensible. The heavy clouds that had been
 
 216 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 piling up in the western sky for the past hour promised 
 an early downpour. He lifted the girl's unconscious 
 figure in his arms, and stumbled hurriedly toward the 
 edge of the jungle. 
 
 A considerable distance still separated them from the 
 cave. Randall, strong and rugged as he was from his 
 active life, found difficulty in supporting his burden. 
 Over and over he was forced to stop and rest, lowering 
 the girl to the ground, and kneeling beside her, panting 
 from his exertions. 
 
 The falling limb had cut an ugly gash across the left 
 side of her head. He tried in vain to stanch the flow 
 of blood with bits of moss and leaves. When he at last 
 staggered down to the platform before the mouth of the 
 cave, he was thoroughly exhausted, and Eve was still 
 unconscious. 
 
 He arrived just as the rain swept down upon them 
 in a blinding swirl. He laid her upon their bed, and 
 washed the blood from her face and neck. 
 
 Her cheeks were white, her eyes closed. Randall, in 
 a frenzy of fear, thought at first that she was dead. He 
 forced some water between her lips, and then, unable to 
 do anything further, lay down beside her, and held her 
 in his arms. 
 
 The fury of the storm soon passed. In the course of 
 an hour, the skies were once more clear, and the low 
 rays of the setting sun turned to gold the pools of water 
 on the rocky floor of their porch, and illuminated 
 faintly the interior of the cave. Eve had not yet 
 returned to consciousness. 
 
 All through the night, Randall held her close to
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 217 
 
 his heart, torn with a terrible fear lest the daylight bring 
 no light to her eyes. Toward morning she became 
 restless, and moaned ceaselessly in her sleep words 
 that to Randall meant nothing. 
 
 When the light without told him that the day had 
 come, he rose, and, with some cold water from the 
 stream, washed her fevered face, and began to chafe her 
 hands. She shivered slightly in the cool of the dawn, 
 and he again lay down beside her, and, clasping her in 
 his arms, strove to warm her body with the warmth 
 of his own. 
 
 And then, just as the brilliance of the dawn began 
 to flood the interior of the cave, she opened her eyes, 
 and gazed with an uncomprehending stare into his 
 face. 
 
 Randall rose at once, and grasped a gourd filled with 
 fresh water. Coming over beside her, almost un- 
 conscious of her terrified gaze, he tried to press the 
 cup to her lips. 
 
 She pushed it aside, still staring at him, in a 
 frightened way. 
 
 "Where am I ?" she gasped, faintly. 
 
 "Here here with me, dear," he cried, kneeling 
 beside her, and attempting to take her in his arms. 
 
 She drew away, her eyes, fixed on his, filled with 
 dread. 
 
 "The typhoon !" she gasped. "I was swept overboard. 
 What has happened ?" 
 
 "We have been here ever since then, dear/' he 
 whispered. "You are my wife now. Don't you 
 remember ?"
 
 218 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 She rose in the bed as he spoke, her face convulsed 
 with terror. 
 
 "Your wife!" she screamed. "Your wife!" 
 
 Randall was unable to speak. The look in her eyes 
 the expression of disgust, of horror, which swept over 
 her face left him silent. 
 
 "We were washed overboard into the sea," the girl 
 went on. "That is all I remember. We clung to a 
 life-buoy for hours. You were one of the sailors of 
 the ship. You helped me. Oh, God you don't mean 
 " She cowered away from him. "How long have 
 we been here ?" 
 
 "Four months. We we have loved each other so 
 we have been so happy ! Don't you remember ?" 
 
 She shrank away from him back against the wall 
 of the cave. 
 
 "Your wife! God! God! You you have done 
 this to me!" She stared at him, her eyes burning 
 into his, gasping for breath. 
 
 Randall rose from his knees. His whole world 
 seemed crumbling about him. 
 
 "We have lived here together all that time. You 
 said you loved me. I do not understand." 
 
 Eve came toward him, pale with fury. 
 
 "I don't know who you are," she cried, "but I 
 hate you for what you have done to me. Go go away ! 
 I can't bear to look at you. A common sailor ! Go 
 go go!" 
 
 He staggered back toward the doorway of the cave. 
 
 "You you said you loved me. Eve listen to me 
 please"
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 219 
 
 "No I I never want to see you again. Oh, God! 
 What shall I do what shall I do ?" She covered her 
 face with her hands, and leaned heavily against the 
 wall. 
 
 "Eve, please, listen to me you you couldn't remem- 
 ber who you were but you you said you loved 
 me " 
 
 She turned on him scornfully, her eyes blazing with 
 anger. 
 
 "Loved you you a deck-hand ! God ! And you 
 took advantage of my helplessness ! You you brought 
 me me to this I Go ! I can't bear to look at you 
 you have broken my heart." 
 
 He once more attempted to approach her, whispering 
 words of love, but she repulsed him. 
 
 "If you do not leave me at once," she cried, "I will 
 throw myself into the sea."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RANDALL staggered through the door of the cave, 
 and stood upon the ledge of rock outside. The whole 
 world appeared to have turned black. The sky, the 
 sea, the vivid sunshine on the rocks, seemed sinister 
 and forbidding. 
 
 Unable to understand the blow that had come to 
 him, his mind groped toward practical things. He drew 
 together the embers of their fire of the day before, and, 
 after some difficulty, managed to set them alight. Then 
 he rushed off into the jungle, to get fruit for their 
 breakfast. 
 
 In half an hour he had returned. A glance inside 
 the cave showed hime Eve lying on the bed, sobbing, 
 her face turned toward the wall. He arranged the 
 mangoes he had brought upon the stone slab, and went 
 down to the edge of the stream. 
 
 Here he drew from a pool a pair of fish that he had 
 caught and cleaned the day before. They had been 
 suspended in the cold water, by means of a slender 
 withe. 
 
 He returned to the ledge, and broiled the two fish 
 over the coals. Then he called to her very gently. 
 
 "Won't you come out now, dear, and have your 
 breakfast?" 
 
 220
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 221 
 
 She did not reply. Presently he went to the cave 
 door, and called again. There was no answer, and, 
 glancing in, he saw her crouching against the wall, on 
 the far side of the bed, apparently praying. 
 
 Eandall uttered a groan, and turned helplessly away. 
 There seemed nothing at all that he could do. Seizing 
 his spear, which stood leaning against the face of the 
 rock, he went up the slope toward the forest. 
 
 All the morning he wandered aimlessly about, unable 
 to think coherently. Over and over he made up his 
 mind to throw himself over the side of the cliff, but 
 each time he realized that Eve was alone and helpless, 
 that without him she would be unable to exist. 
 
 Toward noon he came across a flock of pigeons, 
 clustered about some berry bushes in the underbrush. 
 He hurled a bit of broken limb at them, and managed 
 to bring down one. With this he returned to the cave. 
 
 As he descended the path from the brow of the 
 cliff, he saw Eve sitting upon one of his improvised 
 chairs, gazing helplessly out to sea. She heard him 
 stumbling down the slope, and at once rose and re- 
 treated within the cave. 
 
 Randall plucked the bird he had killed, and cooked 
 it. Then he laid it upon the slab of rock, and, finding 
 that the water gourd he had left for her breakfast was 
 nearly empty, he went down to the stream, and refilled 
 it. 
 
 Throughout all this the girl within the cave made 
 no sound. Randall called to her once, pitifully, but 
 she did not answer. Again he plunged into the forest.
 
 222 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 and roamed about the whole afternoon, a prey to the 
 bitterest thoughts. 
 
 Toward sunset he returned to the brow of the 
 cliff, and stood beneath the dead tree upon which their 
 signal of distress was flying. The evening breeze blew 
 it gently toward the south-east. He turned from it 
 impatiently, and gazed at the long, restless sea. 
 
 After a moment he started, and, rubbing his eyes, 
 looked eagerly westward. A faint smudge was visible 
 upon the horizon, but whether it was the smoke from the 
 funnels of a steamer, or merely a wisp of cloud, he 
 could not at first determine. 
 
 The tropic night fell with its bewildering suddenness, 
 a transition from twilight to deep night that always 
 seemed to him a miracle, many times as he had 
 watched it. Below him the embers of the fire glowed 
 dully among the shadows of the ledge. Far off to the 
 north-west he saw, where the wisp of smoke had been, 
 a cluster of twinkling lights, like tiny sparks against 
 the deep night sky. It was a steamer, and she was 
 headed toward the south-east. 
 
 He sprang down to the side of the cliff, and reached 
 the ledge. Eve was nowhere to be seen. Seizing a 
 handful of sticks from a pile he had made against the 
 wall of the cliff, he cast them upon the fire. More and 
 more fuel he added in a quarter of an hour the flames 
 were crackling ten feet into the air. 
 
 He heard Eve moving about within the cave, but he 
 idid not speak to her, and she made no sign. Steadily 
 he watched the tiny far-off lights of the steamer, as 
 they grew larger and larger.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 223 
 
 It was clear that, unless attracted by his fire, the 
 vessel would pass several miles or more to the north- 
 east of the island. 
 
 Eandall threw on more fuel, and, standing beside the 
 swirling flames, waved a burning brand about his 
 head in endless fiery circles. He continued to do this, 
 snatching up a fresh torch as fast as the one he was 
 waving went out, keeping an arc of fire continually 
 moving before the dark face of the cliff. 
 
 He hoped and prayed that his signals would be seen. 
 To stay here longer with Eve, under the existing 
 circumstances, would be impossible he felt sure that 
 he would go mad before the expiration of a week. 
 
 Whether or not he himself would leave the island 
 he had not yet determined ; but she must be rescued, he 
 knew, in any event. So far as he could judge from her 
 actions, the blow she had received had restored to her 
 her memory of the past, but in doing so had apparently 
 robbed her of all recollection of what had occurred- since 
 the moment, on the night of the typhoon, when she had 
 been swept ashore through the breakers. It was as 
 though the machinery of her mind, like that of a 
 watch, had been stopped, by the blow she had received 
 on that night, and had now been set going again at the 
 precise point at which it had left off, with the inter- 
 vening months a blank. Now that all memory of their 
 life together, their love, had been thus obliterated, she 
 must inevitably regard him as merely the rough, 
 bearded sailor whom she had noticed on board The 
 Batavia, and who had shared with her the perils of 
 their night in the storm.
 
 224 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 She awoke to consciousness to find herself in his 
 arms, to feel that this man this common deck-hand 
 had made her his property, his plaything. All that 
 Randall had told her of his past, of his position in life, 
 had gone from her with her love. She was quite 
 evidently horrified by the merest sight of him, unwilling 
 for an instant to listen to any explanations he might 
 have to offer, and determined, could she possibly avoid 
 doing so, never to see him again. It was a situation 
 with which he felt himself unable to cope. 
 
 The coming of the vessel at this juncture seemed 
 providential. If his signals were seen, and a boat 
 were sent ashore, Eve, at least, would be saved. He 
 did not feel so certain about himself. He was not at 
 all sure that he wanted to leave the island with her. 
 How could she bear the association, the daily inter- 
 course with him, which many days on shipboard would 
 entail ? How could he bear it ? She would avoid him 
 completely, and yet his presence would distress her, 
 cause her to suffer, as hers would cause him to suffer. 
 As he watched the on-coming lights of the steamer, he 
 could not see how either of them would be able to endure 
 it. 
 
 His fire began to burn low. He piled an armful 
 of sticks upon it, and renewed his signaling. So far he 
 was unable to determine whether it had been seen or 
 not. With smoke-begrimed face and aching arms he 
 continued to swing the fiery brands about his head, 
 praying that his efforts might not prove unavailing.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 RANDALL had continued his signals to the passing 
 steamer for over half an hour, and he had almost come 
 to the conclusion that they had not been seen, when 
 suddenly he saw that the vessel had stopped. The 
 cluster of lights that marked her progress now became 
 stationary, instead of moving steadily toward the east. 
 
 He redoubled his efforts, swinging the blazing 
 branches about his head incessantly, in spite of his 
 aching arms and scorched face. Thought of himself 
 had ceased he desired only that Eve might be saved 
 Eve, his wife, whose name, even, he did not know. 
 
 After a long time he observed, far off on the black 
 surface of the water, a single light, which crept toward 
 the shore with exasperating slowness. Presently, the 
 regular rhythmic beat of oars came to his ears. He 
 flung away his signal torch, and hurried down to the 
 shore. 
 
 The boat came steadily on, heading directly toward 
 the point where he stood. Randall saw that its oc- 
 cupants were guided by the light of his fire, which still 
 blazed feebly upon the rocky shelf above his head. He 
 called loudly, "Boat ahoy!" and an answering, "Ahoy!" 
 boomed back to him above the roar of the surf. 
 
 225
 
 226 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 In a moment the black hulk of the boat loomed 
 through the darkness, close in shore ; then it was swiftly 
 driven through the low surf, and beached upon the sand. 
 Four men sprang out, and ran the boat up on the beach, 
 beyond the line of the breakers. Then a fifth stepped 
 out, a lantern in one hand, a revolver in the other. 
 
 "What's wanted here?" he demanded, in rasping 
 tones. 
 
 Randall went up to him at once. The sound of 
 the man's voice, gruff and uncompromising as it was, 
 filled him with delight. He had heard no other, save 
 Eve's, for many months. Through this bearded figure 
 standing on the beach there seemed to speak the voice of 
 the great outside world, calling him back to his work. 
 
 His enthusiasm, however, was but momentary. He 
 had scarcely taken half-a-dozen steps, when the recollec- 
 tion of Eve's attitude toward him swept away his hopes? 
 
 "We've been cast away here, on this island, for four 
 months," he replied, dully. 
 
 "Who's we ?" asked the man. 
 
 "Myself, and a young woman. She's up there, in a 
 cave in the rocks." He indicated the ledge above them. 
 "I'll bring her down." In a moment he had turned and 
 begun to climb the rough steps that led to the shelf 
 of rock, leaving the rescue party waiting on the sands 
 below. 
 
 When he reached the ledge he found Eve standing 
 beside the remains of the fire, gazing down at the boat 
 and the men gathered about it. Her face was turned 
 away from him ; he could not see the expression upon it, 
 but he observed that she had thrown a piece of the
 
 r A LOST PARADISE. 227 
 
 cocoa-fibre cloth about her shoulders and was apparently 
 ready to descend. 
 
 Eandall held out his hand. 
 
 "Come, dear," he said. "Let me help you." 
 
 She turned and swept him with a look of bitter con- 
 tempt. The scorn which blazed in her eyes told him 
 more plainly than words could have done that even the 
 very sight of the man who, she believed, had degraded 
 her was well nigh unendurable. He shrank back into 
 the shadow, and she quickly passed him and went down 
 to the beach. 
 
 Involuntarily he began to follow. Then a fuller 
 realization of what her look had meant came over him. 
 He was an outcast so far at least as she was concerned. 
 His very presence was dreadful to her. Could he bring 
 himself to go with her, to spend days, weeks, on ship- 
 board near her, to endure her scorn, and more than all, 
 to intensify her suffering by his daily presence ? He 
 would be relegated to the forecastle ; as a deck-hand he 
 could expect nothing else. The thought that she would 
 see him there, would thus be daily reminded of the 
 shame she felt he had placed upon her, left him weak 
 and trembling. He felt that he could not bear it, and 
 in his uncertainty he sank down on the slab of rock 
 which had been their dining-table and lay there, utterly 
 wretched. 
 
 Below he heard the others talking. Eve was telling 
 them, in a few words, her story. From the exclamations 
 that came to his ears, the sudden tones of respect in 
 which the officer in charge of the landing party ad- 
 dressed her, he concluded that the story of her loss
 
 228 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 from The Batavia was known to them. Possibly the 
 vessel now lying off shore was one of the small P. & O. 
 boats plying between Hong Kong and the Australian 
 ports ; in any event, the washing overboard of a woman 
 passenger from one of the crack P. & O. liners would 
 be current gossip throughout shipping circles in Hong 
 Kong. 
 
 He listened eagerly, wondering whether Eve would 
 speak in any way of that part of her experiences which 
 concerned him so intimately. He might readily have 
 realized that she would not, had the matter of their 
 relations, their love, not been so close to his heart. Left 
 to himself, he would have shouted their love for each 
 other from the cliff-top, and requested the captain of 
 the ship to marry them as soon as they got on board. 
 
 Eve, however, referred to him only as a deck-hand, 
 who had been washed ashore with her, and had helped 
 her to exist during the period of their captivity. She 
 spoke of him quite without emotion. That which he 1 
 knew she felt, she hid beneath an assumed pride. 
 
 The way in which she mentioned him, the emphasid 
 she seemed to place upon his inferior position, told him 
 that between them had been raised the inflexible 
 barriers of caste. That any man should have taken 
 advantage of her temporary disability to rob her of her 
 virtue seemed bitter enough, but that the man who had 
 done so was little more than a common laborer made 
 her disgrace seem doubly hard to bear. All that had 
 passed between them during their months together on 
 the island had gone from her, everything, in fact, save 
 the brutal knowledge that this man had despoiled her.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 229 
 
 She wondered whether or not he would boast of it, 
 amongst his companions on shipboard. 
 
 Her thoughts in some intangible way were reflected in 
 Randall's mind. He pictured her, wretchedly pacing 
 the deck, and finding daily increasing wretchedness in 
 the sight of him, working about below. He felt that he 
 could not endure it ; he was not willing that she should 
 be obliged to endure it. Yet when he decided, broken- 
 hearted, to remain behind and let her go alone, the 
 thought that she, the woman he loved, was about to 
 pass out of his life well-nigh maddened him. He groped 
 his way to the steps in the rock and stood in hesitation, 
 looking down at the others. Should he go, and endure 
 the misery he knew would be his, or should he stay, and 
 try alone, in the solitude of their lost Paradise, to 
 bear the suffering which had come to him ? The ques- 
 tion was one he seemed unable to answer. 
 
 Presently he heard a voice from below, calling him. 
 
 "Ahoy there, my man!" it said gruffly. "Are you 
 going to stop up there all night ? We're waiting for 
 you." 
 
 - For a moment Randall could not speak. The agony 
 in his soul choked him. Then he heard a voice that hei 
 knew to be his own, although it sounded queer and un- 
 real to him. 
 
 "I'm not coming," it said. 
 
 "Not coming ! What the dev " The officer smothered 
 the exclamation out of respect for Eve's presence. 
 
 "I'm going to stay here," Randall said, steadily. He 
 wondered that he was able to speak so quietly, with 
 such a tumult of emotions raging within him.
 
 230 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 There was no response this time, but soon he heard 
 someone stumbling up the side of the cliff, and saw a 
 light bobbing in and out among the rocks. In a few 
 moments the officer in charge of the party scrambled, 
 lantern in hand, upon the ledge. 
 
 "See here, my man," he grumbled, puffing from his 
 exertions. "What's the meaning of this nonsense ? Go 
 down and get aboard at once." 
 
 Randall leaned back against the face of the rock, 
 and shook his head. His voice was very low, but there 
 was no longer any indecision in it. 
 
 "I prefer to stay here," he said. 
 
 "You you're crazy, man! Here alone on this 
 island?" 
 
 "Yes. I like it here. I mean to stay." 
 
 The officer gazed at him for a moment in silence. 
 He seemed unable to grasp Randall's meaning. 
 
 "Well," he said at length, "I suppose I can't rescue 
 you against your will, but I must say it's damned 
 peculiar." 
 
 Randall gripped his hands together behind his back 
 and strove to appear natural, unconcerned. He dared 
 not glance down toward the beach, for fear the sight of 
 Eve standing there might even now cause him to waver 
 in his purpose. 
 
 "It isn't peculiar," he said, slowly. "I'm free here. 
 I have plenty to eat and drink. Why should I go back 
 with you? I'd only have to work like a dog to keep 
 body and soul together. Go on. Let me be." 
 
 Again the officer stared as though he thought the man
 
 r & LOST PARADISE. . 231 
 
 before him a trifle mad. Then he shrugged his 
 shoulders and turned away. 
 
 "All right," he said. "It's your own affair, I suppose. 
 Is there anything you'd like me to leave you ?" 
 
 "Have you a box of matches, and some tobacco ?" 
 
 The man drew a box of wax tapers from his pocket, 
 and then a huge plug of chewing tobacco. 
 
 "Take these and welcome," he said. "Anything 
 else?" 
 
 "Yes. A lead pencil, if you have one." 
 
 Again the officer fished about in his pockets, then 
 handed Randall a stub of a pencil. 
 
 "Got a knife, I suppose ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. I don't need anything more." 
 
 The officer started to leave, then hesitated, shifting 
 uneasily from one foot to the other, as though his 
 consciencce troubled him. 
 
 "Seems like a mighty unchristian-like proceeding," 
 he muttered, "to leave a fellow-being alone on a desert 
 island like this." 
 
 Randall shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It isn't a desert island," he said, "and I want to be 
 alone." 
 
 "Very well," replied the other, holding out his hand. 
 "Good-by and good luck." 
 
 "Good-by," said Randall, his voice very husky. In 
 a moment he was watching the lantern as it bobbed 
 like some huge intoxicated fire-fly down the face of the 
 cliff. 
 
 He stood beside the embers of the fire and watched 
 the men as they launched the boat. When the craft
 
 232 A LOST PABADISE. 
 
 had passed through the line of the surf, he ran down 
 the slope and toward the beach. The darkness had 
 swallowed the departing boat up, by now, although 
 he could trace its progress by the bobbing light of the 
 lantern. It seemed incredible, that he should be left 
 here alone. He rushed into the surf until the water 
 came up to his shoulders, calling wildly to Eve to come 
 back to him, but the booming of the breakers silenced 
 the faint echoes of his voice. 
 
 For a time he raved madly, crying out curses against 
 the Fates for thus a second time robbing him of all that 
 he held dear in life. Then, as the futility of his pro- 
 tests came home to him, he dragged himself once more 
 up on the beach, and gazed hungrily at the distant 
 cluster of lights that marked the location of the steamer. 
 
 After -a time the lights began to move. Their motion 
 was almost imperceptible at first, but soon, as the vessel 
 gathered way, they drew off with increasing rapidity 
 toward the east. Randall rushed up the face of the 
 cliff to the ledge, in order to keep them in view as long 
 as possible. In half an hour they had become a faint 
 blur upon the horizon. And then, like the sudden 
 snuffing of a candle, they were blotted out altogether, 
 and he was alone with his grief and the stars.
 
 CHAPTEK XXI. 
 
 IT must have been many hours after Eve had gone 
 away before Kandall rose and groped his way toward 
 the door of the cave. 
 
 Half-blinded by the tears that sprang to his eyes, 
 he threw himself down upon the bed in an agony of 
 wretchedness and remorse. 
 
 The whole world his world, at least had been 
 swept away. All that he loved had been taken from 
 him. Even the name of the woman whom he regarded 
 as his wife the woman for whom he would gladly have 
 given his life was unknown to him. She had vanished, 
 possibly forever, into the night, and left him without 
 even hope to enable him to take up once more the broken 
 threads of life. 
 
 Toward morning he fell asleep, and dreamed that 
 Eve had come back to him, and was kneeling beside 
 the bed, her arms about his neck. He awoke to an 
 even keener realization of his loneliness. The dawn was 
 just lifting the shadows from the surface of the sea, 
 when he staggered out of the cave, and, descending to the 
 beach, plunged in for his morning swim. 
 
 The dip in the surf refreshed him; he went about 
 the business of preparing breakfast with less of the 
 black despair in his heart than had been there the night
 
 234 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 before. Yet his grief and his love for the woman who had 
 passed out of his life with the night were no less intense. 
 He might readily have thrown himself down on the sand, 
 and given himself up to utter wretchedness. That he did 
 not do so arose from a purely animal desire to live 
 the ever present instinct of self-preservation. 
 
 He went about his daily tasks mechanically, conscious 
 of the dull pain that tore at his heart, yet forgetting 
 it, from time to time, in the work that occupied him. 
 He secured some oysters for his breakfast, and stewed 
 them, brought in a fresh supply of firewood from the 
 jungle, gathered fruit, made a long expedition down 
 the beach to the little inlet on the banks of which they 
 had made their first camp, and caught some mullet for 
 his midday meal. 
 
 After this he lay on the sand, in the shade of the 
 large tree, and slept during the greater part of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 On his way back to the cave, the white flag, made 
 of the painted canvas covering of the life-buoy, caught 
 his eye as it waved in the breeze. Now its usefulness 
 was over. He had made up his mind to remain on the 
 island, for the present at least, and by no means desired 
 to attract the attention of passing vessels, in case any 
 should come his way. 
 
 He climbed the tree, and, taking down the strip of 
 canvas, brought it to the cave. 
 
 It was some two feet in width, and twelve in length, 
 and its painted white surface was still fairly smooth 
 and clean. He remembered the stub of pencil which 
 the officer in charge of the rescue party had given him,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 235 
 
 and the idea of utilizing the canvas as something upon 
 which to write crossed his mind. 
 
 Originally, when he asked for the pencil, he had 
 intended to make, if possible, some shift at writing upon 
 dried palm-leaves, to provide occupation for his lonely 
 hours. The strip of canvas now offered a more satis- 
 factory substitute. He spent the remainder of the after- 
 noon cutting it into squares, about twelve inches each 
 way, which he bound together in the form of a book. 
 
 In this he began to keep a diary of his daily life, and 
 of thoughts that came to him in his hours of suffering. 
 He began it that day, and since he knew neither the 
 day of the week, nor the date, he was forced to assign 
 to the days numbers, beginning with the first that 
 he had spent alone. 
 
 The means of self-expression thus afforded, served 
 to while away the tedium of his exile, and to some 
 extent lessened the poignancy of his grief. Month 
 after month he lived the solitary life of a hermit, con- 
 vinced that existence held for him no possible happiness, 
 no imaginable future worthy of the name. 
 
 Some of the entries that he made in his diary, during 
 the three months he spent alone on the island, indicate 
 the blank wretchedness of his earlier days of exile, 
 and the gradual rising within him of hope, the insistent 
 call of the world. 
 
 "Everything about me speaks of the sweetness of 
 your presence," he wrote, at the close of his first after- 
 noon alone. "Eve Eve how can I ever live without 
 you ? Come back to me, or I shall die." Beyond this 
 he could not write, but spent the evening in a fit of
 
 236 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 abstraction, wondering how things were with her, this 
 woman who had loved him so well, who had given her 
 heart into his keeping. 
 
 In the middle of the night, by the light of one of 
 his wax tapers, he scrawled a line- 
 
 "If much of the future is to be like this, I cannot 
 live it." 
 
 Occasionally he jotted down insignificant references 
 to the events of his daily life : 
 
 "Got two pigeons to-day. Killed a puff adder. ~No 
 more cocoanuts on the fallen tree, and I can't climb 
 the others. Tried to bring some down with a club, 
 but it was no go. To-day it rained. Stayed in the cave 
 all day making arrows. I wish I had some books." 
 
 Usually however, what he wrote referred in some way 
 to Eve. There was no incident of his daily life that 
 did not remind him of her. The thousand and one 
 little things they had been in the habit of doing together, 
 seemed useless, tiresome, now that he was forced to do 
 them alone. 
 
 "A thrush has been singing in the edge of the jungle 
 to-night," he wrote, by the light of the fire. "There 
 was one that sang like that the night we were married. 
 It seems queer, somehow, to write that word married, 
 yet, situated as we were, the only marriage possible 
 was the one made sacred by our love. It is the only 
 marriage that I shall ever have." 
 
 He wrote innumerable poems to her, some of them 
 beautiful, some halting and worthless. At times the 
 longing to see her, to hold her close against his heart,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 237 
 
 almost drove him frantic. At other times he forgot 
 her, for a brief space, in the tasks of the day. 
 
 One day he wrote this query: 
 
 "Would she have felt the same, had she known, had 
 she remembered, that I am not just the common sailor 
 she supposed, but a man of her own class ?" 
 
 The next day he wrote, under this : 
 
 "I ought to have told her have forced her to listen 
 to me." 
 
 These sentences indicated a changing mental state. 
 After the first dulness of misery, of despair, he began 
 to think that perhaps the gulf between them was not 
 so wide as he had supposed. Might it not be possible 
 for him to bridge it? Hope was beginning to assert 
 itself in his soul hope that some day' he might again 
 meet her, might find her among all the many millions 
 of women in the world. The result of this train of 
 thought was that at the expiration of the second month 
 he again hung a signal of distress in the tree this 
 time a broad square piece of the cocoa-fibre cloth, which 
 he spent two weeks in making. He also kept a fire burn- 
 ing day and night on the ledge. 
 
 In spite of these devices, however, the sea greeted 
 him morning after morning with its smooth and shin- 
 ing expanse barren of any evidence of man or his 
 works. He blamed himself bitterly at times for not 
 having left the island when Eve did. Now, for all he 
 knew, he might be obliged to remain here a prisoner 
 for years. Apparently it was outside the beaten track 
 of vessels trading among the island ports. 
 
 <f The sea mocks me, with its smiling face," he wrote.
 
 238 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 "The birds in the jungle laugh at my loneliness. Yet 
 you are always with me among the breakers in the 
 morning on the hot sands, at noon throughout the 
 long, silent evenings under the stars at night in the 
 cave. You move silently about me like a shadowy 
 presence, and bid me come to you. Sometimes I dream, 
 and feel your cheek close to mine, your breath, like 
 flowers, in my face, your breast against my breast, 
 and when I wake the suffering is almost too intense 
 to be borne." 
 
 The passing of the tobacco that had been given him 
 by the officer in charge of the landing party was 
 recorded in feeling terms. He had been smoking it 
 sparingly, in a pipe he had carved out of a bit of wood. 
 On the day upon which he smoked the last pipeful, he 
 wrote: 
 
 "Tobacco gone. Might just as well be dead." 
 
 "I must go to her," he wrote, on another day. "I 
 cannot live, unless I can see her again." 
 
 He sat for hours watching the ocean, straining his 
 eyes at every wisp of cloud that suggested the smoke 
 from a steamer, or at every flash of the white wings of 
 a sea bird, giving momentary promise of a sail. And 
 still his weary eyes beheld only the sweep of the sea, 
 the clear far-off line of the horizon. 
 
 His interest in the daily routine of life grew less 
 and less. He moved about only enough to secure fire- 
 wood, food and water. The remainder of the time 
 he spent watching the sea, or writing in his diary. 
 
 The great love he felt for this woman, whom he 
 regarded as his wife, drew him, in thought, ever
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 239 
 
 toward the north-west. Day by day his desire to see 
 her, to speak to her, to hear her voice, increased. 
 Sometimes, during the long hot days, the lonely nights, 
 he felt that if help did not come soon, he would die. 
 And still he watched the sea in vain.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THEEE months is after all not a very long time, but 
 to Randall, marooned on Paradise Island, as lie and 
 Eve had been wont to call it, it seemed well nigh in- 
 terminable. Had he known, at the outset, that his 
 captivity would be limited to that particular length 
 of time, he might have found his position an easier 
 one. Each day, represented by some entry in his diary, 
 would have brought him one step nearer to a definite 
 goal. 
 
 As it was, he quite rightly argued that he might 
 never be rescued at all. Some of the smaller of the 
 innumerable islands in that part of the Pacific were 
 never visited by trading ships, there being nothing, 
 in fact, to attract them, but the collection of the beche- 
 de-mer so highly prized by the Chinese epicures. Para- 
 dise Island, being of trifling size, afforded poor hunting 
 grounds for even this product of the sea. Randall had 
 observed numbers of the sausage-shaped, jelly-like crea- 
 tures along the reef, but being entirely ignorant of 
 either their name or the use to which they were put, 
 was unable to derive from their presence the small 
 grain of hope that they might have afforded him. 
 
 He continued to gather firewood, watch the sea from 
 the edge of the cliff, and think continuously of Eve. 
 
 240
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 241 
 
 By this time, he had made up his mind, could he but 
 once escape from his present predicament, to make his 
 way to London, secure employment of some sort, get 
 on his feet, financially speaking, and try to find her. He 
 realized the difficulties that lay in his way. Being 
 ignorant even of her name, he did not at first see any 
 way in which he could hope to discover her, but love 
 and the hope growing steadily in his breast told him 
 that, whatever the outcome, he must at least make the 
 attempt. 
 
 His rescue, when it finally came, was quite devoid of 
 dramatic features. He had thrown himself down on 
 the sands one hot afternoon, after eating his midday 
 meal, and had gone to sleep, in the shadow of some 
 water-worn rocks, at the base of the cliff. 
 
 Above him, his cocoa-fibre flag flapped lazily in the 
 hot breeze, and a thin column of smoke rose from the 
 fire on the ledge, and drifted off toward the south. 
 
 When he awoke, it was to find himself being shaken 
 roughly by the arm. 
 
 ".Wake up, can't you ?" he heard someone saying. 
 
 He stumbled sleepily to his feet, and looked about. 
 A short, rather fat man, in dirty brown khaki trousers 
 and coat, stood beside him, peering into his face with 
 an amused smile. 
 
 "You're a heavy sleeper, mate," he grinned. 
 
 "Yes I I am," Kandall stammered. "How did 
 you get here ?" 
 
 The man pointed to a small two-masted schooner 
 which lay about half a mile off shore. 
 
 "We were making for Singapore," he said, "when
 
 242 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 we saw your smoke and your flag. How'd you come 
 here?" 
 
 "Washed off the P. & O. liner Batavia, during a 
 typhoon, seven months ago." 
 
 "H-m," the man grunted, and looked about. "Any- 
 thing of value on the island ?" 
 
 "Nothing but a few cocoanut trees, on the other 
 side. A dozen or more, I should say." 
 
 Again the man grunted. 
 
 "Fresh water, of course ?" 
 
 "Plenty." Kandall pointed to the stream that made 
 its way down the narrow fissure in the side of the cliff. 
 As he spoke, two men came toward them, one of them 
 white, the other a Chinese or a Lascar, Kandall could 
 not determine which. Further down the beach he 
 saw a boat drawn up on the sand, and two more men 
 standing near it. 
 
 "Fetch the casks up here, Martin," the fat man said, 
 as the others came up, looking at Randall curiously. 
 The two returned to the boat, and Randall's com- 
 panion, sitting down on a rock, drew out a Manilla 
 cheroot, and lit it. 
 
 "Have one ?" he asked, feeling in his pocket. 
 
 "Thanks," Randall gasped, and lit the. cheroot with 
 trembling fingers. "I haven't had a smoke for seven 
 weeks." 
 
 His companion grunted again. He seemed to con- 
 verse largely in grunts, evidently considering words a 
 waste of time in so hot a climate. Presently he asked : 
 
 "How'd you live?" 
 
 Randall told him.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 243 
 
 "Pigeons, fish, oysters and fruit. I had enough to 
 eat. It was the horrible loneliness that I couldn't 
 stand." 
 
 The four men were now rolling a couple of water- 
 casks toward the little stream. Randall rose. 
 
 "Guess I'll go up and get my things," he said, and 
 ascended to the cave. 
 
 There seemed something almost sacred about the 
 place, filled as it was with memories of Eve, of their 
 wedding night, their happy months together. He 
 wrapped up his diary, one of the coarse pottery jugs 
 he had made, and three or four of the chessmen with 
 which they had been in the habit of playing, in a 
 piece of cocoa-fibre cloth, and from a niche in the rock 
 took a ring, and slipped it on his finger. He had made 
 it for Eve, the day after their wedding, laboriously 
 carving it from a bit of pink coral, and on the morn- 
 ing after her departure he had found it lying on the 
 cave floor. Since then, it had rested untouched in a 
 hollow in the rock, too sacred even to be worn. Now 
 he took it with him, hoping that, sometime, it might 
 serve for a second and more lasting union between them. 
 With a last look about, he picked up his little bundle, 
 and went out on the ledge. Below he could see the 
 four sailors filling the casks. The man in the dirty 
 khaki suit was smoking sleepily on the sands. 
 
 Now that he was about to leave the place, a feeling of 
 regret swept over him, glad as he was to go. Here he 
 had known the greatest happiness of his life, and the 
 greatest wretchedness as well. He wondered whether 
 he would ever know such happiness again.
 
 244 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 The water-casks were filled, by the time he had 
 returned to the beach. 
 
 "Let's be off," the fat man said, rising. "Hope 
 you'll be able to lend a hand aboard, mate." He ap- 
 praised Randall's stout shoulders and muscular arms 
 with an appreciative eye. "We're somewhat short- 
 handed, this trip." 
 
 "I was a deck-hand on The Batavia" Randall told 
 him. "I don't know much about sailing-vessels, but I'll 
 do what I can." 
 
 "Good. We'll make port in a couple of weeks. Won't 
 need you after that." 
 
 "Singapore, you said ?" 
 
 "Yes. Straits Settlement." 
 
 "Does the P. & 0. touch there ?" 
 
 "Well, I should say so." The man grinned. "Plenty 
 of 'em, to Hong Kong, Shanghai, Nagasaki, Colombo, 
 Port Said, London that's where you want to go, I take 
 it." 
 
 "Why do you say that ?" 
 
 "Oh, the P. & O. hands mostly come from there, and 
 want to get back. You English ?" 
 
 "No; American." 
 
 The man turned, smiling broadly. 
 
 "No ! So am I. Put it there." He extended his 
 broad flat hand. " 'Frisco's my home or used to be. 
 I ain't seen the Golden Gate now for goin' on seven 
 year. This country out here is hell, but somehow it 
 gets you, once you have a taste of it. God! What 
 wouldn't I give, for a nice juicy steak, and a cold bottle
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 245 
 
 of beer, down in a little restaurant I used to know on 
 Market Street !" 
 
 They had reached the boat by now. Fifteen minutes 
 later Randall was scrambling up the side of the tubby 
 little schooner, and by nightfall Paradise Island had 
 become a faint purple blur on the eastern horizon. 
 
 Eighteen days later, he landed in Singapore, with a 
 decent suit of sailor's clothes, and a pound in money, 
 both presents from his fellow countryman from San 
 Francisco. The work aboard the ship had been hard, 
 the fare coarse, and not always very palatable ; but the 
 thought that he was once more on his way toward civili- 
 zation, and, more than all, toward Eve, filled him with 
 an enthusiasm which made light of all minor dis- 
 comforts. 
 
 At Singapore, realizing that the small amount of 
 money in his possession would suffice to maintain him 
 for but a very few days, he went at once to the offices 
 of the agent of the P. & 0. Company in Collyer Quay. 
 
 Here he explained the circumstances surrounding 
 his loss from The Batavia, and asked that, if possible, 
 a berth be found for him on a homeward-bound steamer. 
 
 The agent, a tall, thin man, very yellow and dyspep- 
 tic-looking, smiled with an entire absence of mirth. 
 
 "You are not an Englishman, my good fellow ?" he 
 questioned, when he had heard Randall's story. 
 
 "No, sir. I'm a deck-hand, though, and if they need 
 one " 
 
 IH S ee I'll see," the agent fussed, putting Ran- 
 dall's name down on a slip of paper. "Sometimes the 
 homeward-bound vessels need a man or two. There
 
 246 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 are desertions to be reckoned with. The Simla is due 
 from Hong Kong tomorrow. Apply on board. You 
 were on The Batavia, you say ? I'll advise the captain 
 of the circumstances." 
 
 Randall was waiting at the dock, the next morning, 
 when The Simla hove in sight. His night at a small 
 second-rate hotel, together with his meals and some 
 other expenditures, had cost him seven of his twenty 
 shillings. He estimated that, at this rate, he could 
 exist in Singapore about four days. It was absolutely 
 necessary for him to get a berth on The Simla, unless, 
 indeed, he were to ask for assistance at the American 
 consulate. 
 
 Again, the fates favored him. One of The Simla's 
 crew was ill with enteric fever. Randall got in his 
 application almost before the vessel's anchor reached 
 the mud. The fact that he had been a member of The 
 Batavia's crew, and had gone overboard during a 
 typhoon in trying to save one of the company's pas- 
 sengers, helped him materially. When The Simla left 
 Singapore, Randall's name was on the roster of her 
 crew. 
 
 He turned his face to the north, and to Eve, and 
 went about his work with a growing joy in his heart. 
 Each revolution of the screw brought him that much 
 nearer to her. They had been driven out of Paradise, 
 but the world beckoned, and he had found that even 
 Paradise could be dismal and cold, when adventured 
 alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SOME six weeks after leaving Singapore, Richard 
 Randall stepped from the train at Liverpool Street 
 Station, London, with the relics of his island life in a 
 small parcel under one arm, and somewhat over twelve 
 dollars, in English money, in his pocket. 
 
 Civilization did not greet him with open arms, 
 nor with a stern and forbidding frown in fact, it 
 did not greet him at all, being quite unconcerned in the 
 matter, one way or the other. There were so many- 
 so terribly many! human midges like himself in this 
 monstrous city that the coming or going of one more or 
 less seemed of infinitesimal importance. The fact 
 came to him with something of a shock, as he stood 
 irresolute upon the sidewalk, and watched the ebb and 
 flow of the human tide. 
 
 Yet the shock was not by any means so great as 
 would have been the case, had he been suddenly trans- 
 ported, after the manner of the Arabian nights, from 
 the South Pacific to Liverpool Street, without stopping 
 by the way. To some extent the change had been 
 gradual. At Hong Kong, at Colombo, he had touched 
 once more the fringe of the garments of civilization, 
 and progressing by way of Aden, Port Said, Marseilles, 
 
 247
 
 248 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Gibraltar and Plymouth, he slowly shook off the gold and 
 azure spell of the tropics, and came once more to feel 
 himself an integral part of the great gray life of the 
 north. 
 
 The transition filled him with renewed energy, with 
 gripping desire to get back once more into the iron 
 struggle. Dreaming away the days under a tropic sun 
 no longer appealed to him. He felt his muscles harden- 
 ing, his nerves growing taut for the fight. As The 
 Simla plunged up the Channel, on a raw and bluster- 
 ing day in March, the tang of frost in his face set his 
 blood dancing to a more vital and rugged tune than 
 any that the soft tropic breezes had afforded. This, 
 indeed, was life. 
 
 At Plymouth he had been obliged to invest a portion 
 of his pay in a suit of cheap, but warm, clothes and 
 a heavy pea-jacket, yet the night air, as he left the sta- 
 tion and walked aimlessly in the direction of Cheapside, 
 made him shiver with the cold. 
 
 The streets glowed with light, and through them 
 swept the never ending crowds of the restless city. No 
 one looked at him; to none of these people was his 
 presence of the least importance; their own affairs, 
 indeed, occupied them fully. Kandall became con- 
 scious of a feeling of vast loneliness, more keen than 
 fcny he had known, during even his long solitary months 
 on the island. 
 
 London was to him a sealed book. Of its highways 
 land by-ways he knew absolutely nothing. Low, dingy- 
 looking buildings surrounded him, with, beyond, a 
 circular park, indifferently well lighted. He wandered
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 249 
 
 on, aimlessly, uncertainly, with no definite idea of 
 where to go, or what to do. 
 
 An eating-house presently attracted his attention. 
 He went in, and consumed a huge slice of roast mutton 
 and some boiled potatoes with an appetite born of 
 weeks of hard work at sea. Physically, he felt in better 
 trim than ever before in his life; the past year had 
 turned his muscles to steel, and given him the rugged 
 health of a day laborer. 
 
 After his meal, he sought a barber shop, and, having 
 at length found one, went inside, and requested the 
 astonished proprietor to trim his hair, and shave off 
 his beard and mustache. 
 
 The effect was revolutionary. When Eandall 
 glanced at himself in the mirror, he seemed to be 
 gazing at someone whom he had once known, but had not 
 seen for a long, long time. The beard had made him 
 appear at least thirty-five ; now he seemed almost boyish, 
 as of old. There were lines of experience, of self- 
 reliance in his face, however, that had not been there 
 when he left New York, nearly a year before. 
 
 He took up his little bundle, and went out. Thus 
 cleanly shaven and groomed, he seemed more a part of 
 the life about him. One might have imagined him a 
 chauffeur, or a well-to-do young farmer, or, indeed, 
 a follower of almost any calling that entailed constant, 
 exposure to the sun and wind. His face burned to a 
 ruddy brown, his eyes sparkling with vitality and 
 health, denied all acquaintance with the over-heated and 
 under-ventilated atmosphere of the city. 
 
 He had secured, from one of the petty officers of The
 
 250 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Simla, the name of a small, but decent, hotel in Fleet 
 Street. The officer had seemed surprised that a deck- 
 hand should want to go to lodgings of so pretentious 
 a sort, but Randall gave no information, beyond the 
 fact that he had friends in London, and wished to be 
 decently lodged. 
 
 His plans for the future were somewhat vague, but 
 they did not by any means contemplate continuing in 
 the stratum of life in which he had found himself for 
 the past year. His experience on shipboard had served 
 its purpose, had given him the health and energy that 
 he so sadly lacked the year before. 
 
 In a general way, he thought of applying for work to 
 some of the London newspapers, or, failing in this, 
 perhaps to secure a position with some magazine, or 
 publishing house. He believed that his standing as 
 the author of two plays, even though they had not 
 been successful ones, would enable him to get employ- 
 ment of some sort as a writer. Perhaps he did not 
 fully realize the overcrowded condition of the literary 
 field in London, or he would not have been so confident 
 of success. 
 
 Failing to secure such work, he meant to take what- 
 ever offered anything, in fact, that would enable him 
 to live, and ultimately to accomplish his two great 
 purposes : to- win success in his dramatic work, and to 
 find Eve. 
 
 Should he be obliged to take even the poorest-paying 
 sort of a position, he determined so to arrange his life 
 as to live within his income, and to complete a new
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 251 
 
 play, which had taken shape in his mind during his 
 long unoccupied hours on the island. 
 
 The problem of finding Eve would, he felt sure, 
 prove a simple one. He had only to make inquiries at 
 the London offices of the P. & O. Company, to ascertain 
 the identity of the passenger who had been swept over- 
 board from The Batavia the summer before, four days 
 out of Hong Kong, and had been subsequently rescued. 
 He would have secured this information, indeed, at Hong 
 Kong, had he been permitted shore leave during The 
 Simla's stop there, but this had been denied him. 
 
 It was not the problem of finding Eve that troubled 
 him, but of approaching her, after he had succeeded in 
 finding her. To go to her as the sailor who had shared 
 her captivity on the island was not to be thought of. 
 He meant to meet her as an equal, confident that, both 
 because of his completely changed appearance and of the 
 curious hiatus in Eve's mind concerning their life on 
 the island, she would have no idea whatever of his 
 identity. 
 
 As an equal, he meant to lay siege to her heart, be- 
 lieving that her love for him lay too deep to be de- 
 stroyed by any mental upheaval, no matter how violent. 
 But how could he hope to go to her as an equal, unless 
 he had first achieved material success ? As a writer of 
 successful plays, he knew that he might hope to do so ; 
 and, as matters were, he could see no other avenue of 
 approach. The way seemed hard, indeed, as he con- 
 templated the obstacles before him, but he laughed 
 and made light of them. With a few shillings in his 
 pocket, and an unbounded fund of confidence in himself
 
 252 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 and his ability, he once more dreamed of conquering 
 the world. 
 
 After he had deposited his very meagre luggage in his 
 hotel room, he went for a walk. His old love of life, 
 of humanity in all its forms, was beginning to assert 
 itself. He strolled along Fleet Street, toward where 
 it broadens out into the Strand, with an eager and 
 curious eye on all about him. 
 
 It was after eight o'clock, and the Strand was teeming 
 with cabs, automobiles, and men and women in evening 
 dress, hurrying toward the many theatres that front 
 upon it. Eandall glanced at the hoardings announcing 
 this or that new play, with the keenest interest. Once 
 he had lived this life ; once he had known the names of all 
 the new dramatic ventures, not only at home, but 
 abroad as well. His talk, his interests, his whole life, 
 had centered about the theatre. Now he came to it a 
 stranger. The whole kaleidoscopic picture had assumed 
 a new aspect. New plays filled the stages ; new names 
 bespoke the efforts of, to him, unknown authors. He 
 regarded them all curiously, with a grim smile, as he 
 thought of the way in which his own hopes had been 
 crushed, less than a year before. 
 
 It struck him as singular, astonishing even, that, 
 suddenly set down in London, where he was as much 
 at sea as he would have been in St. Petersburg, or 
 Peking, he had without the least intention, wandered 
 almost directly to the very heart of theatredom. Was 
 there, then, some subtle and telepathic instinct that 
 again drew him toward the life which had hitherto 
 absorbed all his energy and time ? He compared him-
 
 A LOST AKADISE. 253 
 
 self, mentally, to the night moth, so persistently at- 
 tracted by the candle. Here were the lights by the 
 flames of which he had been so cruelly burned. In all 
 their dazzling brilliance they appealed to him still. 
 On every hoarding, displaying the title of some new 
 play, he could see, in his imagination, his own name, 
 proclaiming to the world and to Eve his success. 
 There was a wonderful lure about it all. He paused 
 near the doorway of one of the theatres, and watched 
 the jostling throng making its way into the lobby. Here, 
 judging by the crowd, was a success such a success 
 as he might have had, as he, indeed, meant to have, 
 if hard work could obtain it for him. He turned to 
 the bill, fixed in a gilt frame beside the door, and idly 
 began to read the announcement of the play. 
 
 And then a queer, almost sickening sensation came 
 over him. He stood for a moment absolutely Btill 
 rigid unable to breathe, staring at the words of the 
 bill. They seemed outlined in letters of fire, and danced 
 ceaselessly around and around in blurred circles. As- 
 tounded, he rubbed his eyes in sheer bewilderment. 
 It could not be the thing was a trick of the imagina- 
 tion, a coincidence, a dream. Yet when he looked again, 
 the same miracle confronted him. There was the name 
 of the play, glaring at him, in letters that seemed six 
 feet in height : "The Long Lane." And below, in letters 
 almost equally monstrous, fantastic, grotesque, un- 
 believable, he read the words: "By Mr. Kichard 
 Kandall."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FOB the second time in a twelvemonth, Richard 
 Randall's whole world had, by a twist of fate, revolved 
 completely upon its axis with a suddenness which left 
 him gasping for breath. 
 
 On the first occasion in New York, some ten months 
 before, the revolution had whirled him from a state of 
 imaginary opulence, to the dull, drab misery of utter 
 failure. Now the process had with equal celerity been 
 reversed, and he found himself walking on air, among 
 the stars. It was too much. He refused to believe it. 
 It was clearly a mistake, and yet, one of the two plays 
 he had left with Mr. Taylor had been entitled, "The 
 Long Lane." Mechanically he groped in his pocket, 
 and drew out a handful of silver. In one way alone 
 could the matter be tested. He must see the play. 
 
 In his excitement, he had walked away from the 
 theatre perhaps half-a-hundred feet. Now he came 
 back again, and once more read the announcement at 
 the door. A line attracted his attention it had escaped 
 him before. "The Great New York Success," it read. 
 He thought of Mr. Taylor. Clearly this was the result 
 of his work. The play must have been put on in New 
 York the autumn before. It all seemed so unbelievable ! 
 His play a New York success ! It meant that, although 
 
 254
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 255 
 
 he had but a few dollars in his pocket, he was rich. 
 The knowledge that now he could find Eve Eve the 
 woman of his dreams, without the long years of struggle 
 which had but a few moments before confronted him, 
 made him feel suddenly faint. He leaned against the 
 doorway that opened into the lobby, and tried to collect 
 his vagrant senses. 
 
 A "bobby" in front of the theatre began to regard 
 him with rising suspicion. Presently Randall became 
 aware of it; he entered the lobby, and going to the 
 box-office, purchased an inexpensive seat. 
 
 It was the first time that he had been inside a theatre 
 for nearly a year. How familiar, how natural, it all 
 seemed! There was no denying it something in the 
 atmosphere of the stage held him, and, after all these 
 months, made him feel that here at last he was home 
 again, back with his people. All the rest seemed strange, 
 far away, unreal. 
 
 The curtain rose. Instantly he recognized the open- 
 ing act of the play as he had pictured it in his manu- 
 script. There was the drawing-room of the summer 
 cottage, with the veranda beyond, between the stone 
 posts of which one glimpsed the distant sea. He settled 
 back in his seat, and listened, eagerly intent. 
 
 The play seemed almost new to him, so completely 
 had it passed from his mind during his absence. He 
 found himself laughing at his own wit, or leaning for- 
 ward with half-parted lips, to catch the low-spoken 
 lines of some of the tense, yet quiet, scenes. 
 
 It was a good play a very good play. He knew that, 
 now that he was able to judge it with a fresh and UD
 
 256 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 prejudiced mind. And the audience knew it, and mani- 
 fested its enjoyment in unstinted applause. 
 
 When Randall left the theatre a little after eleven, 
 he knew not only that he had written a successful play, 
 but that its success was deserved. 
 
 He stopped at the box-office, and asked the man at 
 the window how long the play had been running in 
 London. 
 
 "Five weeks," was the reply. 
 
 "Where can I find the manager ?" 
 
 "You mean, Mr. Merryman ? He isn't here to-night. 
 He'll be in his office upstairs anytime after noon to- 
 morrow. Why ?" 
 
 "I want to see him," Randall answered, turning 
 away; "a personal matter. I'll call to-morrow." 
 
 He squandered eight shillings on a lonely supper, 
 and went to bed, convinced that the world was a very 
 good place, indeed, in which to be. His last thoughts 
 were of Eve; but this was not 'Unusual: his last 
 thoughts had been of her every night, for many months. 
 
 When he went to the theatre the following morning, 
 he was almost convinced that the events of the night 
 before had been a dream. Their reality, however, was 
 impressed upon him by a series of quite unexpected 
 happenings. 
 
 Upon presenting himself at the office of Mr. Arthur 
 Merryman, the manager of The Oberon Theatre, he of 
 course sent in his name, but, even as he did so, he 
 realized that he was likely to be confronted by a very 
 serious difficulty that of establishing his identity. No 
 Such difficulty was to hamper him, as matters turned out,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 257 
 
 for within three minutes after he had given his name 
 to the rather supercilious clerk, he heard a familiar 
 voice, and, looking up, saw Edmund Taylor coming 
 toward him, beaming welcoming smiles. 
 
 "Randall!" he exclaimed, pumping the young man's 
 arm up and down with joyous severity. "This is a sur- 
 prise !" 
 
 "Mr. Taylor !" replied Randall, laughing from sheer 
 nervousness. "I'm so glad to see you !" 
 
 "Come in. Where did you come from? And where 
 the devil have you been all this time ?" A veritable 
 volley of questions rattled about Randall's head. 
 
 "It's a long story. I've been in China, and other 
 places. I can't see that things have suffered much 
 through my absence," he added, smiling. "In fact, 
 you seem to have done very much better without me. 
 How can I ever thank you ?" 
 
 "Never mind about that," Mr. Taylor interrupted. 
 "I always told you your stuff was all right. It has 
 been a satisfaction, I assure you, to prove that I was 
 not mistaken. Come inside. I want you to meet Mr. 
 Merryman." 
 
 Randall followed him through the door, and was 
 soon shaking hands with an urbane and prosperous- 
 looking gentleman, whose twinkling gray eyes were al- 
 most lost in the ruddy fatness of his countenance. 
 
 "Mr. Randall," he said, "I am delighted to see you. 
 Everyone has been asking about you. I declare, you've 
 become quite a mystery the vanishing playwright, and 
 all that. Remarkably clever, I must say, your idea 
 of disappearing."
 
 258 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "But why?" Randall gazed from him to Mr. 
 Taylor. 
 
 "Don't you see ?" laughed the latter. "I've played 
 the story up for all it was worth, of course, just to 
 arouse interest in your work. Now you've become 
 quite a celebrity, without knowing it. Naturally it 
 didn't seem strange, before the play succeeded, but 
 afterward everybody began to wonder why you did not 
 come forward and claim your royalties. It was incon- 
 ceivable that you could have so effectually buried your- 
 self that you would not know of your success. Some 
 of the New York papers came to the conclusion that 
 you were dead. Splendid advertising, of course. I be- 
 lieve The Planet has offered a reward, to the first per- 
 son who might succeed in solving the mystery." 
 
 "Hadn't I perhaps better remain one ?" asked Ran- 
 dall, laughing. 
 
 "By no means," Mr. Merryman interrupted. "We'll 
 get a magnificent bit of press work out of this. Where 
 have you been, may I ask ?" 
 
 Randall determined to suppress, for the time being, 
 any mention of his life with Eve on the island. If his 
 disappearance was to become a matter of newspaper 
 notoriety, he preferred that she should not become in- 
 volved in it. 
 
 "I've been at sea," he remarked. "As a deck-hand, 
 mostly. Just got in, yesterday, on The Simla, from 
 Singapore." 
 
 Mr. Merryman slapped his fat knee, and wrinkled 
 his face in a delighted smile. 
 
 "Superb! It will make a story in a thousand. I
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 259 
 
 suppose you happened upon a hoarding, with your name 
 upon it, quite by accident ?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "And were penniless starving, at the time?" 
 
 "Not quite. I had a pound or two." 
 
 "A mere detail, my dear sir. We will say that you 
 were penniless, starving, ready to commit suicide 
 saw your name in front of the theatre, made yourself 
 known, and rise in one bound from poverty to affluence, 
 from obscurity to fame. Superb! It will double our 
 business." 
 
 "What's the use ?" Taylor laughed. "The house is 
 packed every night." 
 
 "Ah, my dear sir! Advertising such as this will 
 pack it for months to come. When can you see the 
 newspaper men, Mr. Randall ?" 
 
 Randall gazed at Mr. Taylor, rather helplessly. 
 
 "I'd rather like to get some other clothes," he began. 
 
 But Mr. Merryman interposed immediate and stren- 
 uous objections. 
 
 "Not to be thought of for a moment, Mr. Randall. 
 That would spoil the story completely. They would 
 become suspicious at once if you were well dressed, and 
 might think that we were trying to 'put something over 
 on them,' as you say in New York. No, sir; you look 
 the part now, perfectly. I'll venture to say you got that 
 pea-jacket, and that suit, at a real sailor's slop-shop. 
 They are unmistakable. Stay just as you are. I'll 
 arrange for an interview at four this afternoon." 
 
 "All right," Randall laughed, and turned to Taylor, 
 who had risen.
 
 260 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "Come along with me," the latter said, "and 
 get a bit of lunch. That will give us a chance to talk. 
 I'm mighty glad you came when you did," he added, 
 as they descended the stairs. "I'm leaving for home next 
 week." 
 
 "How long have you been here ?" Eandall asked. 
 
 "Ever since the play opened. I just ran over for a 
 vacation and rest and to keep an eye on your interests, 
 of course. You've made quite a lot of money, young 
 man. I have it all safely in bank, waiting for you." 
 
 "I don't see how I'm ever going to thank you for all 
 you've done. I insist that you take a share." 
 
 "Nonsense !" Taylor interrupted. "It really was no 
 trouble at all. I've enjoyed it. I think " he con- 
 sulted a memorandum book, which he drew from his 
 pocket "that you are at this moment worth about 
 thirty-five thousand dollars." 
 
 "Thirty-five thousand dollars ! I'll have to keep 
 pinching myself, to be sure I'm not dreaming." 
 
 "You're not, my boy. And you're going to make 
 more, too. Written any new plays since you left New 
 York?" 
 
 "Nat exactly I I've been doing other things, 
 though." 
 
 "What ?" They turned into a neighboring restau- 
 rant. "You can tell me all about it as we eat. Splen- 
 did chops here, and beefsteak pie; if you like it. I 
 must say, Randall your year of travel certainly has 
 done you good. You look as though you might have 
 the appetite of a longshoreman." 
 
 "I have," Randall laughed, as they seated themselves.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 261 
 
 "I never before realized just how much fresh air and 
 hard labor can do for a man. Now I'll tell you my adven- 
 tures," he concluded, when they had given their order. 
 
 The telling occupied close to two hours, and Mr. 
 Taylor almost forgot to eat his luncheon, so interested 
 did he become in the story. 
 
 "And you really mean to say," he asked, when Ran- 
 dall had concluded, "that you don't know the woman's 
 name ?" 
 
 "No, I haven't the least idea who she is; but I am 
 sure that she is an Englishwoman. Of course, I mean to 
 find out, at once. And you understand, I am sure, my 
 reasons for wishing to keep the matter out of the news- 
 papers. In spite of Mr. Merryman's desire for a press 
 story, I am going to say nothing whatever about that 
 part of my adventures. I'll tell these newspaper men 
 that I've been knocking about the Far East as a deck- 
 hand, and let it go at that." 
 
 "You are quite right. The play doesn't need any 
 artificial advertising, anyway. It's one of the biggest 
 successes in London. I don't doubt it will run here four 
 months. And that reminds me: You'll be wanting 
 some money, of course." He drew out a check-book, 
 and called for pen and ink. "I have an account at 
 Brown's. Suppose I give you five hundred now. I'll 
 arrange credit for you there in the morning, in case 
 you mean to stay in London any length of time after 
 I sail. I suppose you do," he concluded, with a mean- 
 ing smile. 
 
 Randall returned his smile. 
 
 "I'm going to stay here until I find my wife," he
 
 262 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 said, suddenly turning grave. "After that, I'll think 
 about coming back to New York." 
 
 His interview with the newspaper men was short, but 
 they seemed greatly pleased with the results. When 
 Randall saw the highly colored accounts of his adven- 
 tures in the morning papers, he laughed to himself. Even 
 Eve, he felt sure, would not recognize him in this dare- 
 devil young soldier of fortune, who had, it seemed, 
 done a little of everything, from tiger-shooting in India, 
 to beach-combing in the Philippines. He threw the 
 papers aside. There were more important matters to 
 occupy his attention. 
 
 That evening he moved to one of the better-known 
 hotels, and the following forenoon saw him dashing 
 madly about in a taxicab from haberdashers to tailor 
 shops, from bootmakers to hatters, in pursuit of a ward- 
 robe. It was not that he had become a celebrity, with 
 Mr. Taylor ready to introduce him at literary clubs and 
 the like that induced this: Randall was a man of 
 simple tastes, and bore his new honors lightly enough. 
 But he was to find Eve, and he meant to go to her as 
 befitted his quest, the very antithesis of the bearded 
 savage whose embraces had filled her with so much 
 horror. 
 
 By noon, the task was done; at least, so far as it 
 could be done without waiting for clothes to be made 
 to order. It was a very differenHooking individual, 
 indeed, who asked for his key at the hotel, at luncheon 
 time ; the clerk was at first a little dubious, but, when 
 Randall laughingly explained the circumstances, he 
 suggested changing him to a more expensive room at
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 263 
 
 once. The man of the night before in his pea-jacket 
 and cheap hand-me-down suit, had not created a very 
 favorable impression, and had been disposed of ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 Eandall was too deeply concerned with the matter in 
 hand to care greatly about his quarters. He ate a hasty 
 luncheon, and once more set out, this time to the office 
 of the P. & O. Steamship Co. 
 
 There was, it appeared, a vast deal of red tape con- 
 nected with the securing of the information he desired. 
 Under clerks gazed at him blandly before passing him 
 on to their superiors, and asked in pointed tones why 
 he desired the information. He was forced to invent a 
 plausible tale, to the effect that he had had a hand 
 in the girl's rescue, and possessed some information 
 which he wished to give to her. 
 
 His persistence at last resulted in success of a sort. 
 The passenger in question, he was informed, was a 
 Miss Jean Rutherford, and she lived at Eastbourne. 
 This was all the information they appeared willing, 
 or able, to give. 
 
 Randall returned to his hotel, tumbled his newly 
 acquired wardrobe into his newly acquired trunk, dashed 
 off a note to Mr. Taylor, and in fifteen minutes was 
 driving furiously toward Victoria Station.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IT was dark when Randall stepped from the train 
 at Eastbourne, and the drizzling March rain sent him 
 hurrying to a cab. 
 
 From a guard on the journey down, who became 
 agreeably loquacious under the influence of half a crown, 
 he had learned something of the place. 
 
 "Lively enough/' his informant had told him, "in 
 summer, but nobody much comes down this time of the 
 year. American, sir? I thought as much. You, 
 should try it in August, sir, or September, when they 
 has the tennis tournament. Afraid you won't like 
 it much now, sir. Hotels ? Plenty of them, sir, but I 
 should advise you to try The Inn, in the old town, just 
 now. I never was much for the seashore, in March, 
 sir. Gives me the creeps, somehow. Yes, sir. Thank 
 you, sir." 
 
 Even The Inn seemed dismal to Randall, although 
 his supper was well cooked and appetizing, and his 
 room contained a cheerful fire, which dispelled the 
 dampness and the fog. 
 
 He made some inquiries of the comfortable-looking 
 old woman who seemed to be the proprietress of the 
 place, and found her ready enough to talk. 
 
 "Rutherfords, sir?" she replied, in answer to his 
 
 264
 
 A LOST PABADISE. 265 
 
 > 
 
 first question. "Oh, yes, sir. Fine old family, sir. 
 Live about half a mile from here, sir, not far from 
 Compton Place that's the Duke's place, sir. Duke 
 of Devonshire, sir, though he rarely ever comes here. 
 Are you a friend of the Kutherfords, sir ?" 
 
 "No," Eandall laughed. "That is, not exactly. I I 
 think I've met Miss Eutherford." 
 
 "Miss Jean, I take it you means, sir." 
 
 Eandall nodded. 
 
 "Not a sweeter young lady in the county, sir, nor 
 a better one, as many a poor family has good cause to 
 know. Ever since she came back from abroad, last 
 winter, she's done nothing but work among the poor* 
 Seems like she's changed always sad, and low-spirited. 
 Such a pity, and she so young and pretty! Time she 
 had a good husband, I say, though I don't know as I 
 have any right to be gossiping about my betters." 
 
 Every word the old woman spoke went straight to 
 Eandall's heart. The mere fact that she knew Eve, 
 his Eve! he could not yet bring himself to think of 
 her as Jean made her seem like an old friend. 
 
 "Tell me more about her," he said, with a whimsi- 
 cal smile. "I admire Miss Eutherford more than I 
 can possibly tell you." This, indeed, was true enough. 
 
 "Not much more to tell, sir. Hawthorne Manor, 
 that's their place, sir, ain't what it used to be, when 
 old Mr. Eutherford was alive, and the young gentle- 
 men were at home. Both up in London now, sir, 
 as fine a pair of young gentlemen as you'd care to see. 
 Old Mr. Eutherford was in the East India trade 
 tea and spices, and such like. Made a deal of money,
 
 266 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 too, I hear. Miss Jean lives with her mother, but she 
 has never been the same since she came back." 
 
 Randall felt his face twitching. 
 
 "She she had an accident, I understand 2" he ven- 
 tured. 
 
 'TTes, the poor dear. You see, her brother, Charles, 
 had to go out to some heathen Chinee place Shang- 
 hai, I believe it was, though I can't say for sure to 
 look after the business, after the old gentleman dies, 
 and he took Miss Jean along, she wantin' to see some- 
 thin' of the world, though what anybody would want 
 to go to such outlandish places for, I for one can't 
 see. One day, a terrible storm comes up, and washes 
 the poor child overboard, and she has to live on a desert 
 island, like Robinson Crusoe, for months and months, 
 with nothin' to eat but bananas and cocoanuts and 
 such like. It's a wonder she lived through it, and she a 
 lady born and raised. I hear that when they found 
 her, she was just skin and bones. A terrible experience, 
 I calls it, for one so young. When she came back, she 
 seemed well enough, but all her brightness was gone. 
 I haven't never seen her smile since. I hear she just 
 prays all the time, and visits the sick and the afflicted. 
 Poor lamb ! Pity she ever went out there among those 
 heathens! . . . Will you go up to your room now, 
 sir? It's all ready." 
 
 Randall followed her, very thoughtful. He began to 
 see what their months together on the island had meant 
 to the girl. Doubtless, she had come to regard herself 
 as a fallen woman or, at least, one who, through force 
 of circumstances, could no longer consider herself a
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 267 
 
 good one. He could picture to himself the torments 
 that must constantly assail her pure soul, the bitterness 
 that she must feel toward the brute in whose arms she 
 had found herself when memory returned. It was 
 clear, painfully clear, that, if he was ever to win her 
 love, he must do so as a new interest in her life, not as 
 an old one. On the latter basis, he could bring her 
 but additional suffering. It would be useless to go to 
 her and tell her who he was. She would be overcome 
 with embarrassment, with shame, and doubtless refuse 
 to listen to him. Yet how was he to meet her, in this 
 place, in which he was entirely unknown ? The problem 
 was, indeed, a difficult one. He drew from his pocket 
 ia tiny leather-covered box, and took out the roughly 
 carved band of red coral, which had been their wedding 
 ring. Was ever a more fantastic situation? Within 
 half a mile of where he now sat was his wife the 
 woman he loved better than anything in the world, and 
 she did not know his name, would not, in fact, know 
 him, should she meet him face to face. He crawled 
 into bed, impatient for the coming of the day. What 
 to do he did not yet know, but one thing he had deter- 
 mined upon: he would see her speak to her, at the 
 very earliest opportunity. The rest was on the knees 
 of the gods. 
 
 The morning dawned bright and clear, with an elusive 
 spring freshness in the air. Eandall rose early, and 
 dawdled over his breakfast until nearly half-past 
 eight. Then, with a cheery nod from the old woman 
 who had been his informant the night before, he set off 
 in the direction of Compton Place.
 
 268 'A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 By questioning a postman making the morning 
 rounds, He found his way, without much difficulty, to 
 Hawthorne Manor. It proved to be a charming old 
 house of weather-beaten and moss-stained brick, set in 
 a tiny park, with a high brick wall about it. Through 
 the trellised green gate he saw a gravel road, leading 
 through the boxwood and rose-bushes to a porticoed door. 
 "No one was about, with the exception of an old man, 
 evidently a gardener, who was trimming the rose-bushes 
 with methodical care. He glanced carelessly toward the 
 gate, as Eandall paused before it, called to a collie 
 that was awakening the echoes with his shrill barks, and 
 went on with his work. 
 
 Randall was in desperation. He could not pause 
 longer at the gateway, without attracting attention. 
 To remain in the vicinity for any length of time would 
 probably lay him open to the charge of being a sus- 
 picious character. There was nothing to do but walk on. 
 
 He did so, with a fierce longing to see Eve in his 
 heart. All these months he had loved her with an 
 ever-increasing passion. At times it had seemed almost 
 as though he could not wait until the moment should 
 come when .he could hold her once more in his arms. 
 And now, facing that closed and silent gateway, he felt 
 himself further away than he had at any time since she 
 left him on the island. Between them stretched a gulf 
 of worldly customs and conventions, which he could 
 see no way to cross. 
 
 When he had walked some five hundred yards in the 
 direction of the new town, he turned, and began to 
 retrace his steps. It seemed incredible that, having
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 269 
 
 come so many thousands of miles to find her, he should 
 now turn away, baffled, from her very door. Once more, 
 walking alongside the ivy-covered brick wall, he ap- 
 proached the gate. He could hear the dog barking 
 within, and the sound of someone coming swiftly along 
 the gravel path. From the trees in the park came the 
 sound of birds, chattering in the morning sunshine. 
 
 And then, he heard the gate creak slowly open, and 
 his heart almost stood still. There before him, and not 
 ten paces away, was Eve, looking very sweet and lovely, 
 coming toward him with a swinging step, her splendid 
 head held high, her face paler than when he had last 
 seen her, with an indefinable expression of sadness upon 
 it, which came near to breaking his heart. 
 
 Before he realized it, he had started toward her, 
 his arms a trifle extended, as though about to take her 
 to his heart. The movement was involuntary, prompted 
 solely by the love that swept through him like a flame. 
 
 She had nearly reached him, by now, and seemed 
 suddenly to become aware of his presence. Her eyes 
 swept over him with the cool and indifferent stare of 
 the high-bred woman noting, for a brief moment, a 
 passing stranger. If anything in his manner attracted 
 her attention, she gave no evidence of it. Randall 
 realized instantly that she did not know him, that his 
 presence meant nothing to her whatever. 
 
 In a moment she had passed, sweeping by with the 
 long easy stride of the practised walker. Randall knew 
 that stride well often had it successfully matched his 
 own in a five-mile walk upon the beach. 
 
 She almost brushed his arm with hers in passing,
 
 270 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 and for an instant there came to him a sweet and tender 
 fragrance that made him tremble. Then she was gone. 
 At first he was tempted to follow, but realized the 
 futility of it. Already he feared that his actions, his 
 expression, as she passed him, had been such as to 
 attract her attention. To do so still further would be 
 but to place additional barriers between them. Taking 
 a firm grip upon his shaking nerves, Randall turned, 
 and strode frantically off in the direction of the sea. 
 He wanted to be alone to think. There must be some 
 way out of this grotesque, this unbearable, situation. 
 But what was it what was it ? Try as he would, he 
 could find no answer.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE beach at Eastbourne is more or less marred 
 by a great iron pier, projecting from the Esplanade, 
 and flanked by a theatre, a cycling track, tennis courts, 
 and various other amusement devices dear to the heart 
 of the seaside visitor. 
 
 Randall gazed at them with indifference, not un- 
 mixed with dislike, for in his present mood the things 
 of men annoyed him. He wanted to get close down 
 to the sea which he so greatly loved. 
 
 He wandered about for a time, and at last found 
 a flight of stone steps, leading down from the Espla- 
 nade to the sand. 
 
 In a few moments he had reached the beach, and 
 began to walk slowly along it, flinging pebbles into 
 the sea, the while he cudgeled his brains for some 
 means whereby he might make Miss Rutherford's 
 acquaintance. The very thought of seeking out some 
 third person, to introduce him to the woman who for 
 four months had slept with her head on his breast, 
 seemed ludicrous, and yet the element of tragedy in 
 the situation left him almost distracted. In all Eng- 
 land, he knew no one but Mr. Taylor, and Mr. Merry- 
 man, neither of whom, he felt certain, could be of the 
 least assistance to him in obtaining an introduction 
 
 271
 
 272 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 to a girl living down in Eastbourne. The situation 
 was exasperating maddening. He flung a pebble 
 viciously at the tumbling surf, and in helpless rage 
 cursed the conventions that held Eve and himself 
 apart. 
 
 As he strolled along toward the west, he saw a 
 slender pole, some five feet long, lying half-buried in 
 the sand. It appeared to be the broken end of a 
 boat-hook, and bore a faint resemblance to the shark- 
 tooth spear that he had found so useful on the island. 
 He picked it up, and began throwing it at a bit of 
 rock near the side of the cliff. 
 
 The exercise warmed him; the March day, in spite 
 of the sunshine, held more than a suspicion of chill. 
 He had become fairly proficient in throwing the spear, 
 during the island days; now, the effort to strike the 
 piece of rock served to relieve the tension of his over- 
 wrought nerves. 
 
 For half an hour he continued his efforts, smiling 
 grimly whenever he managed to plant the pole fairly 
 upon the mark. So engrossed did he become in his 
 task that he did not observe a girlish figure standing 
 on the chalk cliff above his head, watching him with 
 tense face and an expression of eager wonder. 
 
 Suddenly, by some chance, he glanced up, and saw 
 her. At once he realized that it was Eve, and that 
 her gaze was fixed upon him. He gave an exclamation 
 of surprise, and she, too, startled by his cry, stepped 
 back, dropping as she did so a walking stick that she 
 had held in her hand. 
 
 It tumbled noisily down over the rocks. Randall,
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 273 
 
 inwardly offering up thanks to the fates who had so 
 quickly solved his problem, recovered it, and holding 
 it in his hand, clambered up to where she stood. 
 
 The girl had scarcely taken her eyes from him, 
 and in them stirred some suggestion of memory that 
 seemed compounded of both joy and fear. She was 
 still regarding him with this curious stare, when he 
 came up to her, and handed her back the stick. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, and made as though to turn 
 away. Randall's heart sank, but for some reason she 
 changed her mind. "You you were throwing that 
 that stick as though you had done it often. Would 
 you mind telling me why you you did it where 
 you learned to to ?" She hesitated, stopped, and 
 gazed at him in some embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh, I used to do it, as a boy," Eandall replied, 
 forcing a laugh. "It was a bit chilly on the beach, 
 and I I thought it might warm me up." He looked 
 closely at her, fearful that in some remote way she 
 might recognize him. Doubtless, the sight of him on 
 the beach, throwing the spear, had stirred within her 
 some thread of memory that led deep into the for- 
 gotten past. 
 
 The impulse, whatever it was, that had caused her 
 to turn back and speak to him, began to pass away, 
 and the look of reserve crept once more into her eyes. 
 Eandall, afraid that she meant to pass on and leave 
 him, plunged desperately. 
 
 "I I'm an American," he said, hastily, as though 
 in some way defending himself. "I've never been at 
 Eastbourne before. You see, I am a writer a play-
 
 274 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 wright. I have a play now being performed at The 
 Oberon, in London. 'The Long Lane' it's called. Per- 
 haps you have heard of it." 
 
 She regarded him with a grave smile, apparently 
 trying to determine whether or not to resent his ad- 
 vances. 
 
 "I I don't go to theatre very often," she said. 
 "I'm afraid I must leave you now." Again she turned 
 from him. 
 
 A narrow and irregular path, wandering along the 
 edge of the chalk cliff, caught Randall's eye. It led 
 toward a bold headland, which rose against the blue 
 of the sky some three miles to the westward. So 
 many times had he and this girl walked hand in hand 
 over the rocks ! To have her leave him now seemed 
 an incredible thing, not to be borne. 
 
 "Please, let me walk along with you," he said. 
 There was a note of appeal in his voice, which the 
 girl did not fail to observe. 
 
 Her eyes searched his face, a startled look in them. 
 
 "But why ?" she began. 
 
 tc i I haven't anyone to talk to. I don't know a 
 soul in all England. It's terrible to be so lonely. 
 If you will let me just walk beside you to the end 
 of the path and back, I'll not even speak, if you don't 
 want me to." 
 
 She continued to regard him intently for a few 
 moments; then the sight of his wo-begone face caused 
 a little ripple of laughter to brush away her reserve. 
 
 "Come along then, if you like," she cried, and set 
 off down the path.
 
 'A LOST PARADISE. 275 
 
 In that moment of laughter she became transformed. 
 The spirit of Pan, the joyous freedom of untram- 
 meled nature, danced in her eyes. Once more she 
 was the happy care-free girl, who had shared his soli- 
 tude, and flooded it with the sunshine of her love. 
 Thoughts of the past held him silent; he walked be- 
 side her for many minutes without uttering a word. 
 
 "I'm a good walker," she remarked after a time, 
 without looking at him. 
 
 "Yes, I I know." He spoke absently, his mind on 
 the past. 
 
 "How do you know ?" Again her quick glance played 
 over him. 
 
 He recovered himself instantly. 
 
 "I have to step out," he said, "to keep up with 
 you. Do you walk a great deal ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes every day. Out to Beachey Head and 
 back." She pointed to the towering chalk cliff in 
 the distance. "I love the sea. It is my only happi- 
 ness almost." 
 
 "Why ?" It was a dangerous question, and he knew 
 it, but the word was out almost before he realized its 
 significance. 
 
 It was some little while before she answered him, 
 and then she spoke slowly, choosing her words with 
 care. 
 
 "I I spent some months once, on an island. I 
 remember very little about it almost nothing, in 
 fact, that is tangible. But the sight of the ocean, the 
 salt smell of it, the sunshine on the beach, the roar 
 of the surf those things always make me glad, give*
 
 276 'A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 me a curious happiness. I can't account for it, but 
 that's why I walk along here, every day. Sometimes 
 I sit on the rocks, and watch the surf for hours. I 
 love it." 
 
 Kandall wondered at her frankness, but her words 
 made him very happy. Somewhere deep in her sub- 
 conscious mind, the happiness of their hours together 
 remained, like the perfume of flowers long since 
 withered and forgotten. 
 
 "I love the sea myself," he said, carelessly, not 
 wishing to pursue the subject of her island life 
 further, for fear more unpleasant memories might be 
 stirred. "I intend to stay in Eastbourne quite a while. 
 It rests me, after the city. Do you go to London 
 often?" 
 
 ""No. I don't like it. My brothers live 
 there. Sometimes I go up and see them for a day or 
 two shopping, you know. But I'm always glad to get 
 back to my ocean." She threw a loving glance toward 
 the sea. "Look out there, where the sun strikes be- 
 yond the shadow of that cloud. Isn't it a wonderful 
 color peacock blue, shot with Nile green? I'd love 
 to paint it or write about it, as you do." 
 
 "I wish you'd come up to London sometime, and 
 see my play/' Randall ventured. 
 
 "I expect to go up on Thursday. It's at The Oberon, 
 you say ? I'll get my brother to take me." 
 
 "And might I come and speak to you? Perhaps 
 you and your brother would go to supper with me." 
 
 "I don't think that would be possible. I'm afraid 
 I've done an awful thing in speaking to you at alL
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 277 
 
 Of course, I can see that you are a gentleman, but 
 such things aren't done." The conventional woman 
 was speaking now. "What could I say to my brother ?" 
 
 "But," he argued, "I'm a sort of privileged character, 
 you know. People always like to meet actors, and 
 authors, and and dramatists. I might get the man- 
 ager of the theatre to introduce me." 
 
 She joined merrily in his laugh. "I'm afraid that 
 wouldn't do. I don't know the manager of the theatre. 
 Haven't you any friends in London, at all ?" 
 
 "Not a one." He smiled gloomily. "Can't we ar- 
 range a runaway, or an accident of some sort, so that 
 I can save your life? Then you'd have to know me, 
 if only out of gratitude." 
 
 "I might tumble off the cliff," she laughed, stepping 
 to the edge airily. 
 
 For a moment it seemed to Randall that she had 
 actually placed herself in danger. Her feet touched 
 the very edge of the rock. Impulsively he grasped 
 her arm. 
 
 "Don't," he said, and drew her back into the path. 
 
 The momentary contact thrilled them both. Ran- 
 dall could scarcely restrain himself from taking her 
 in his arms, and covering her face with his kisses. 
 
 "Eve Eve!" he said to himself. "I'm never go- 
 ing to let you go away from me, dear, as long as I 
 live." 
 
 Outwardly, he showed no evidence of his emotion. 
 
 "I have a friend a Mr. Taylor in London. He 
 is an American, but he belongs to several clubs, and
 
 278 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 knows a lot of people. Perhaps lie could get me an 
 introduction to your brother. I'll try." 
 
 "That would be better," she said. And then: 
 "Doesn't it seem queer that two people who like each 
 other should be obliged to get the consent of a third, 
 whom they may not like at all, before they can even 
 speak?" 
 
 "May I assume from that," Randall exclaimed, 
 "that you like me ?" 
 
 "At least, well enough to be walking to Beachy 
 Head with you, which is something I've never done 
 before with a perfect stranger. In some queer way, 
 you remind me of someone I have known, though for 
 the life of me I can't tell who. That was why I 
 stopped and looked at you first. I hope you won't 
 think any the less of me, for being so free. I know 
 I ought not to have done it, but " She hesitated. 
 
 "If you knew how much it has meant to me," he 
 began, with enthusiasm; and then, checking himself, 
 went on rather lamely. "You see, I was awfully 
 lonely, and I am deeply grateful to you for talking to 
 me. I've been worrying a lot about something and 
 it it isn't easy to be alone when you have something 
 on your mind." 
 
 "A girl ?" she said, laughing. 
 
 "Yes, a girl. I'm very much in love with her, and 
 I haven't seen her for a long time at least " He 
 paused, and looked at her, a great longing in his eyes. 
 
 "You'll be going back to America soon." 
 
 Again, Randall was silent, although it Was on the
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 279 
 
 point of his tongue to say that the girl in question 
 was much nearer to him than America. 
 
 "It's all over now," he said. "I don't expect to 
 go back for a long time." 
 
 When they reached the top of Beachy Head, a fine 
 view of the sea lay before them. For a long time 
 they stood in silence, watching the play of color on 
 the surface of the water, as the sunlight shifted through 
 the clouds. 
 
 "Sometimes I feel like setting out and going 'way 
 off, where everything is different, and never, never 
 coming back again," she said. 
 
 "To some tropic isle, where it is warm and golden, 
 and people are not afraid to laugh and to love," Ran- 
 dall suggested, watching her face. 
 
 She colored, and turned quickly to him. 
 "Why did you say that ?" she asked. 
 "It's a dream I've had, all my life," he returned, 
 his face impassive. "Most people have it, I think, 
 at one time or another. We are so apt to become weary 
 of the conventional things of life. Imagine living on 
 fruit and fish, and and just whatever you could get, 
 and running on the beach, like children, and bathing 
 in the warm tropic sea and the stars at night, like 
 fairy lanterns against the velvet sky, and the night 
 winds, and peace." His voice trembled ; he realized 
 that it was folly on his part to speak as he did, but 
 a vague idea possessed him that by bridging the chasm 
 in her memory the past might slowly come back to 
 her, and with it her love for him. His courage failed 
 him, however, as he saw the flash of pain that quivered
 
 280 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 across her face. "I've dreamed that so often," he 
 went on, in a lighter tone. "When I've been tired 
 out and nervous and ill. But it's only a dream. I 
 have my work to do. I fancy I'll never find my 
 dream island." 
 
 His tone apparently reassured her, but her agita- 
 tion did not at. once pass away. 
 
 "Let us go back now," she said. "I must be home 
 for luncheon at one. Do you know, I'm rather glad 
 we met to-day. You interest me curiously as though 
 you had thought the same thoughts that I have, for 
 a long time." 
 
 They parted at the Esplanade. Nothing was said by 
 either of them, beyond a conventional good-by, but 
 each knew that they would see each other again. 
 
 Eandall watched the girl as she disappeared in the 
 direction of the town, and his heart sang with joy. 
 A little later he returned to The Inn and wrote a long 
 letter to Mr. Taylor.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 IT took Mr. Taylor three days to find a man in one 
 of his clubs, who knew a man in another club of which 
 Mr. Charles Rutherford was a member. His intro- 
 duction to the latter was quite casual. During the 
 course of a ten-minute conversation, he referred to 
 Randall's curious experience. It was a matter of 
 general interest. Rutherford had read of it, in The 
 Times. 
 
 "Remarkable!" he exclaimed. "The idea of walk- 
 ing down the Strand, with a shilling of two in one's 
 pocket, and suddenly discovering that one had made 
 a fortune I You know this chap, Randall, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes, very well. Charming fellow, too. By the 
 way, have you seen the play ?" 
 
 "KTo. I've been meaning to go for some time, but 
 things came up " 
 
 "If you'd care to go to-morrow night," Mr. Taylor 
 suggested carelessly, "I happen to have a box that 
 I'm not going to use." 
 
 Rutherford raised his eyebrows. Offers of boxes 
 at The Oberon, from chance acquaintances, seemed a 
 bit out of the ordinary. 
 
 "Jolly kind of you, I must say," he remarked, "but 
 
 281
 
 282 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 I couldn't think of it, you know. Besides, my mother 
 and sister are coming up from Eastbourne to-morrow, 
 and I'll be no end busy lookin' after them." 
 
 "Why not bring them, too? I'm sure they would 
 enjoy it." Mr. Taylor knew very well that Jean and 
 her mother were coming to town the next day, having 
 been so informed by a letter from Randall that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 "I don't doubt it, but I couldn't think of imposing 
 on you." 
 
 Taylor took an envelope from his pocket, and thrust 
 it into Mr. Rutherford's by no means unwilling hand. 
 
 "Take them," he said. "I'd appreciate your com- 
 ing, and so would Mr. Randall. As a matter of fact, 
 he's a total stranger here in London, and would greatly 
 enjoy meeting a few really interesting people. I'll 
 bring him to the box, and introduce him. You'd like 
 him immensely, I know. Can tell you some remark- 
 able stories of his wanderings in the Far East. You 
 know that country yourself, I understand." 
 
 "Rather ! Been to Hong Kong and Shanghai twice. 
 Got caught in a typhoon once, and my sister was 
 washed overboard, and nearly lost her life." 
 
 "Indeed ! Then you and Randall will get along 
 famously. He's becoming quite a celebrity now, on 
 account of the success of his play. Take the seats, 
 and be sure to come. I haven't anyone else to give 
 them to, so you might as well have them as not." 
 
 It is curious how the average person regards an offer 
 of tickets to the theatre. Even men perfectly able 
 to buy out the entire house, were they so inclined,
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 283 
 
 almost invariably feel a peculiar satisfaction in 
 obtaining seats of a complimentary nature. Ruther- 
 ford was no exception to the rule. Perhaps he looked 
 upon Mr. Taylor as merely another example of the 
 eccentric and impossible-to-understand American. At 
 any rate, he took the seats, and Taylor wrote a note 
 to Randall, at Eastbourne, informing him of the suc- 
 cess of his strategy. 
 
 Randall had arrived in Eastbourne on a Friday 
 night, and Saturday saw his first meeting with Jean 
 Rutherford. The following morning, he sought for 
 her in vain. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, warmer than the preceding 
 one had been, with a soft spring-like note in the lazy 
 south wind. Randall sat upon the edge of the low, 
 chalk cliff, near the point where he and Eve had met 
 the day before, with one eye upon the sea, and the 
 other searching the winding path toward the Espla- 
 nade. His waiting, however, was in vain. 'Not until 
 the faint note of church bells sounded from the village 
 did he understand the reason for the girl's absence. 
 
 He sprang to his feet, and walked swiftly back to 
 the town. Opposite The Inn there was, he remem- 
 bered, a quaint old church of gray stone, overgrown 
 with ivy. 
 
 Many people were entering, as he approached vil- 
 lagers in their Sunday best, farmers from the neigh- 
 boring country, and a sprinkling of the gentry, who 
 drove up in their motor cars, or the more archaic 
 village carts and phaetons. There was an atmosphere 
 of peace, of old-world simplicity, about the quiet vil-
 
 284 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 lage street, which even the purring of the occasional 
 automobiles could not destroy. 
 
 He went into the church, cool and dark, save for 
 the splashes of color from the stained-glass windows, 
 and sat down in one of the rear pews, given over to 
 the use of strangers. 
 
 As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the sub- 
 dued light, he began to look for Eve, but was unable 
 to find her. 
 
 After a time he concluded that his intuition must 
 Have been at fault, or else that she had gone to some 
 other church. The thought made him restless, ill at 
 ease. It seemed impossible even to contemplate pass- 
 ing the long day without a sight of her. 
 
 And then, quite unexpectedly, he saw her advanc- 
 ing up the aisle, with an elderly woman in black, 
 whose gravely sweet face suggested in a remote way 
 that of Eve herself. Eandall knew that it was her 
 mother; he felt very happy, as he saw them take their 
 places in one of the side pews, about half-way up the 
 aisle. 
 
 From where he sat, he could see the girl's face in 
 profile, and he feasted his eyes upon her, to the exclu- 
 sion of all thoughts of the service. When his neigh- 
 bors rose, he rose likewise, and during the responses 
 and the singing he listened eagerly for the clear notes 
 of her voice. Sometimes he could distinguish them, 
 through the maze of sound, and, when he did, it gave 
 him a singular satisfaction. 
 
 The simple beauty of the service made Eandall 
 realize, as he had not done for a long time, the inher-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 285 
 
 ent power of conventional things. Not a religious man, 
 he found himself filled with the spirit of religion, 
 the desire to render justly and fairly unto others, the 
 impulse to bow in humility before some all-powerful, 
 yet beneficent, ruler of the Universe. A feeling of 
 thankfulness swept over him for the blessings he had 
 received, and above all for the fact that he had found 
 the woman who meant more to him than life itself. 
 
 When the services came to a close, he left the church 
 at once, and, crossing to the opposite side of the street, 
 watched the departing crowd. Eve and her mother 
 entered a phaeton, driven by a diminutive groom, and 
 were presently whirled away in the direction of Haw- 
 thorne Manor. So far as he was concerned, the day 
 was done. 
 
 The following morning he fared better. Jean came 
 swinging along the path at a little after ten, quite 
 evidently looking for him. 
 
 He rose from his nook among the rocks and bowed. 
 
 "Good-morning," he said. "I'm awfully glad you've 
 come." 
 
 "Oh, I always do. Every morning. I told you that." 
 Her manner was very friendly, as she swung along 
 beside him. 
 
 "You didn't yesterday." 
 
 "Neither did you. I saw you at church." 
 
 He wondered at this. He had not seen her look 
 toward him. 
 
 "Did you? I was here before, though. It didn't 
 seem the same at all, without you." 
 
 She turned, laughingly.
 
 286 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "Compliments already. You're getting on. I've 
 always heard that you Americans were rather rapid." 
 
 "I didn't mean it for a compliment. It was the 
 truth. I missed you. I feel, somehow, as though we 
 had walked beside the sea many times " 
 
 "Do you know," she interrupted him, "so do I! 
 That's the queer thing about you. Ever since Satur- 
 day I've been puzzling my poor brain, trying to find 
 out who it is that you remind me of, but it won't 
 come." A momentary frown clouded her face. 
 "Sometimes," she went on, "I feel as though it wasn't 
 anybody else at all, but just yourself. I realize the 
 absurdity of it, of course; for we couldn't possibly 
 have met. You've never been in England before, you 
 say, and I've never been in America. I'm afraid we'll 
 have to fall back upon a previous incarnation." 
 
 "When you were a princess, on that tropic isle," 
 Randall ventured, "and I was your devoted slave." 
 
 The mention of the island brought deeper lines to 
 her face, and Randall regretted his remark at once. 
 
 "You must not speak of that again," she said, 
 quickly. "I can't tell you why, but you mustn't. It 
 seems silly to you, I suppose ; but there is something 
 something I want very much to forget something 
 I dare not think about." There were tears in her eyes 
 now. "Please don't think me absurd," she went on. 
 "I I can't help it." 
 
 Randall's conscience smote him. 
 
 "I'm so sorry !" he said, his voice very gentle. "I'll 
 never speak of it again. I have hoped so much that 
 we may be friends! I can't tell you how. much. I
 
 r A LOST PAEADISE. 287 
 
 know you will think it queer for me to say that, when 
 I've only met you once, but I'm in earnest really 
 and truly in earnest. I feel about you, as you say 
 you do about me as though I'd known you all my 
 life. Those things happen in this world, and, although 
 we may not be able to explain them, they are none 
 the less real. I know what your life, your training 
 has been. It must seem very strange to you, to be 
 talking in this way to a perfect stranger; but even 
 though you try to make a stranger of me, you cannot, 
 for the other thing is stronger, and it must mean some- 
 thing, or it would not exist." 
 
 "I told my mother about meeting you," Eve said, 
 quickly. "She was terribly shocked, at first, but after- 
 ward she seemed to quite understand. Mother is a 
 dear. I wish you might know her." 
 
 "I hope to. You say you are going to London 
 on Thursday ?" 
 
 "Yes." She looked at him inquiringly. "Why ?" 
 
 "Because I've asked my friend Mr. Taylor, to hunt 
 up your brother, and, while you are in town, I mean 
 to be presented to you officially," he laughed. 
 
 "It seems almost like a plot." 
 
 "It is a plot against the conventions. Within 
 three days I expect to be able to say good-morning 
 to you without feeling that I have committed a mortal 
 sin." 
 
 They both laughed at this. 
 
 "You don't seem to be in the least repentant to-day," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "I'm not. As a matter of fact, I'm a very human
 
 288 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 sort of a being, and even the Bible tells us that it 
 natural for human beings to sin. It's forced on us, 
 in fact. Adam attended to that, I guess Adam and 
 Eve." 
 
 The word made her stop short. He had spoken 
 it, quite unconsciously, in the loving and tender way 
 in which he had always pronounced her name, in the 
 past. For a moment they looked deep into each other's 
 eyes, and she thrust out her hand toward him with 
 a quick impulsive movement. 
 
 He did not take it, but stood, looking at her with 
 hungry eyes. Her hand went to her face, and she 
 nervously thrust the strands of hair from her fore- 
 head. 
 
 "I I don't know what is the matter with me, to- 
 day," she gasped, a frightened look in her widening 
 eyes. "Please don't think me quite a fool. Something 
 that you said upset me, for a moment." 
 
 He was silent, wondering whether it was some vague 
 and shadowy memory of their days together, which 
 had been aroused by his words, or the very real recol- 
 lection of her name, as he had used it on the night 
 when she left him. He remembered now that even 
 after she had regained her memory, he had begged her 
 to listen to him, had called her by that name, only to 
 meet with the horror and disgust with which her under- 
 standing of their relative positions had filled her. He 
 made up his mind then and there to keep close watch 
 over his tongue, lest he say something that would open 
 between them a gulf he might never be able to cross. 
 
 Their conversation on the two mornings that fol-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 289 
 
 lowed was, in the main, of themselves and of their 
 hopes, and it brought them closer to each other, hour 
 by hour. Randall steered clear of any reference to 
 their past. He told the girl of his early struggles, his 
 present success, his plans for the future, but made no 
 mention of his wanderings in the Far East. It appeared 
 that she had not read the vivid interview with him, 
 which the newspapers had printed, and consequently 
 had no idea that he had ever been further east than 
 Beachey Head. He thought it wiser not to undeceive 
 her. 
 
 Perhaps, during these hours together, he talked rather 
 more of himself and his future than did she of hers. 
 Her work among the poor of the parish, to which she 
 devoted her afternoons, and often her evenings as well, 
 seemed to constitute her life. Whenever Randall at- 
 tempted to draw her out, to discover what she expected 
 the future to bring her, he was confronted by a wall of 
 reserve which he could not pass. 
 
 Her manner, which had at first been that of one 
 calmly and resignedly enduring a hidden sorrow, gradu- 
 ally changed. At times she became almost happy, almost 
 the joyous creature of their Paradise. Then she would 
 suddenly lapse into fits of depression, from which his 
 utmost efforts failed to rouse her. 
 
 "Tell me," he said, one day. "Why are you so un- 
 happy, at times? What is worrying you? I don't 
 mean to pry into your affairs, you know, but it dis- 
 tresses me, to see you suffer, and sometimes I know 
 that you do."
 
 290 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 She turned to him impulsively, then checked her- 
 self. 
 
 "I cannot tell you," she exclaimed, her eyes hold- 
 ing a beaten, frightened look that made him long to com- 
 fort her. "There are some memories that make me suffer, 
 at times, but I beg that you will never ask me about 
 them never refer to them again." 
 
 "Indeed, I shall not." In a moment of impulse 
 he took her hand, and it made him very happy, to find 
 that she did not at once withdraw it. "We all have 
 things that worry us that belong to the past. I think 
 that the wisest plan, always, is to let them stay where 
 they belong. Each day is a new day one of the days 
 of our lives. There are not so very many, that we 
 can afford to waste a single one in useless regrets." 
 
 Something in his manner brought her a sense of 
 comfort, of peace. At times she was amazed to find 
 herself speaking so frankly, so intimately, with one she 
 had known such a short time. In these moments she 
 strove to place barriers between them, to treat him 
 with coldness, with reserve, but always she found her- 
 self drawn to him by some irresistible force which she 
 was neither able to understand nor to overcome. 
 
 In moments of introspection, she concluded that she 
 was really falling in love with this man who had so 
 curiously entered her sheltered and conventional life. 
 The thought brought her no happiness, and she put it 
 aside, and tried to convince herself that the attraction 
 she felt was merely the natural outcome of meeting, in 
 her lonely state, an interesting and congenial per- 
 sonality.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 291 
 
 When they parted, on the day before her trip to 
 London, Randall took her hand, and pressed it between 
 both of his. 
 
 "You have made my days here wonderfully happy 
 ones," he said, earnestly. "I am sorry that they are 
 over. I am going to London myself, to-morrow. We 
 shall meet there." 
 
 She laughed a somewhat whimsical laugh. 
 
 "Really, there doesn't seem much use in our going 
 through the formality of being introduced now, does 
 there? We seem such old friends, already! Good- 
 by." In a moment she had gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IT was not until the curtain had fallen upon the 
 third act that Randall, accompanied by Mr. Taylor, 
 sought the box in which Eve sat with her mother and 
 brother. 
 
 Throughout the evening, his eyes had seldom left 
 the girl's face; even Mr. Taylor, standing beside him 
 in the rear of the theatre, had laughingly given him up 
 as hopeless. 
 
 "I don't blame you, my boy," he chuckled. "If 
 I'm any judge of character, you have won a prize." 
 
 "I haven't won her yet," Randall returned, with 
 a serious face. "How do you like the brother ?" 
 
 "Very much. A trifle heavy, perhaps confirmed 
 bachelor, and all that. Not much imagination, but 
 a good sort, as they say over here. Come along. The 
 curtain's down. They're expecting you." 
 
 There was something about this mock presentation 
 that made Randall feel awkward and constrained. 
 Mrs. Rutherford, who knew that Eve had met him at 
 Eastbourne, smiled upon him pleasantly enough, and 
 made him feel at home at once. Poor woman! she 
 had been glad enough to see her daughter manifest an 
 interest in anyone; the girl had been so painfully 
 gloomy and depressed for the past few months that Mrs. 
 
 292
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 293 
 
 Rutherford had become seriously alarmed about her. 
 She did not know the cause ; Eve had kept the reasons 
 for her depression to herself. But her mother could 
 not fail to see that some very real sorrow was eating 
 out her heart, and hence the change in her manner, 
 since Randall's coming, had proven a welcome one. 
 
 She even hoped, secretly, that Jean might fall in 
 love with him. It is true that she had an insular prej- 
 udice against most things American; but, after all, 
 she was, like people in general, something of a hero- 
 worshiper, and the thought that Randall was a suc- 
 cessful playwright, whose reputation and financial 
 standing were both established beyond question, aided 
 her considerably in reaching the conclusion that he 
 might not prove entirely unacceptable as a son-in-law. 
 The fact that Jean was clearly interested in him 
 proved the deciding factor. 
 
 Charles Rutherford had given Randall a hearty 
 handshake, and began to tell him how greatly they 
 were enjoying the play. Eve, too, had taken his hand 
 the gentle pressure she gave it was a real welcome 
 beneath the conventional one. Her mother was in the 
 plot to keep the fact of their having previously met 
 from Charles. After all, it was a harmless deception, 
 and to tell him would result in no good to anyone. 
 
 They chatted pleasantly for a few moments, Charles 
 monopolizing the bulk of Randall's attention. He 
 seemed to feel that the introduction had been arranged 
 solely for his benefit, and insisted upon dragging Ran- 
 dall off to the lobby, to smoke a cigarette. Randall 
 left unwillingly enough, with a helpless backward
 
 294 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 glance at Eve, and Mr. Taylor, who was making him- 
 self agreeable to the ladies, winked broadly at him, 
 and declined the invitation to smoke. 
 
 Afterward Randall was very glad that he and 
 Charles had left the others. The latter at once began 
 a series of questions about his experiences in China and 
 elsewhere, and he realized that, had Eve heard the con- 
 versation, it would have set her to thinking along lines 
 which might readily prove disastrous to his plans. 
 
 He told Rutherford, briefly enough, of his exper- 
 iences, omitting of course all reference to the island, 
 and managed after a time to turn the conversation into 
 other channels. 
 
 At Mrs. Rutherford's request, he sat in their box 
 during the remaining act of the play, and was delighted 
 when Rutherford suggested a bit of supper at a well- 
 known hotel upon the Embankment, at which his 
 mother and sister were stopping. Mr. Taylor accom- 
 panied them, and, to Randall's joy, launched into a 
 description of American ways and customs, which 
 absorbed the interest of both Mrs. Rutherford and their 
 host, thus giving him an opportunity to talk to Eve. 
 
 "It seems awfully good, to see you again," he whis- 
 pered under the cover of Taylor's conversation. "How 
 long are you to be in town ?" 
 
 "Three or four days at least possibly a week. And 
 you?" 
 
 "I shall return to Eastbourne when you do," he re- 
 plied, fervently. 
 
 The girl glanced quickly at him, the old troubled 
 look in her eyes.
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 295 
 
 "Do you like it there so much ?" she parried. "Few 
 people do, out of season." 
 
 "I don't think I'd care for it in season or out of 
 it if you were not there." 
 
 "You mustn't say such things, Mr. Randall." Her 
 voice was very earnest and trembled. "We are going 
 to be great friends, I hope, but but " 
 
 "I had hoped we were that already," he said, quickly, 
 noticing her embarrassment. "Aren't we ?" 
 
 "Yes I I think so." 
 
 "Then why shouldn't I find Eastbourne more pleas- 
 ant when I have a friend there, to talk to, and take 
 walks with, than I would if I were alone ? I've been 
 alone so long !" he added, a note of sadness in his voice. 
 
 "So have I. Perhaps that is why we are such good 
 friends. I missed you to-day " 
 
 "It seemed interminable to me. I thought the end 
 of the third act would never come." 
 
 "I didn't feel that way. I liked your play too well. 
 It must be wonderful, to see your brain creatures walk- 
 ing about and talking, just like real people. I should 
 think you would be very happy." 
 
 "That sort of thing doesn't make people happy. 
 There is a bigger thing a so much bigger thing in life. 
 Don't you think so ?" 
 
 Before she could reply, they heard Mr. Rutherford 
 asking their preference in placing the order for supper, 
 and their little tete-a-tete was for the time being broken. 
 Randall found himself obliged to answer all sorts of 
 questions about his work, his life in New York, his 
 plans for the future. Mrs. Rutherford seemed espe-
 
 296 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 cially curious to know when he proposed to return to 
 New York, and remarked quite pointedly that she and 
 her daughter had for a long time thought of visiting 
 America. 
 
 The match-making instinct possessed her a not un- 
 natural attitude, when she saw the very evident happi- 
 ness that Jean was deriving from Randall's presence. 
 Of all this by-play Charles Rutherford saw nothing. 
 He was glad that his mother and sister were having an 
 enjoyable evening; at times the problem of entertain- 
 ing them while in London had proven somewhat of a 
 task, on account of his sister's recently acquired aver- 
 sion to gaiety of all kinds. Now he was in his 
 element; he was never so pleased as when ordering a 
 meal, and prided himself greatly upon his selection of 
 special dishes and wines. 
 
 Randall and Eve ate mechanically, scarcely know- 
 ing what was set before them. The former was plan- 
 ning a formal declaration at the first opportunity that 
 might present itself. The latter was concerned with 
 deeper thoughts, and felt, in her heart, that she must 
 ido all in her power to prevent her companion from 
 declaring himself at all. 
 
 The reason for this was very clear to her, at least, 
 if not to anyone else. Even Randall, knowing as he 
 did the cause of her depression, had, curiously enough, 
 failed to realize its effect upon a sensitive and highly 
 bred woman such as Jean Rutherford. 
 
 After her return from the East, a profound melan- 
 choly had settled upon her; she regarded herself, 
 though through no fault of her own, as a woman with-
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 297 
 
 out a future. When, at last, she had sufficiently 
 shaken off her depression to go about the daily affairs 
 of existence, she made up her mind to devote herself, 
 her life, to the service of the poor and the unfortunate. 
 Marriage she felt, was not for her ; she could give her- 
 self to no man, with the blot upon her soul that had 
 been there since the moment when she had awakened 
 from her stupor to find herself in Randall's arms. 
 
 And, now, in spite of her lonely life, of her reluc- 
 tance to take part in any of her former gaieties, of her 
 absolute refusal to meet men, except as friends of the 
 most formal and distant sort, she found the rock of 
 solitude upon which she had set her feet trembling be- 
 neath her she knew that she was falling in love. 
 
 At times she put the thought from her, and gave 
 herself up to the happiness of the moment; at others, 
 it forced her into the deepest depression, and she made 
 up her mind never to see Randall again only to find 
 herself hurrying to meet him, the next day, with im- 
 patient footsteps. 
 
 Often she argued that the evil which had come to 
 her, and wrecked her life, had come through no fault 
 of her own. In these moods, she determined, should 
 Randall ever ask her to be his wife, to accept him, and 
 tell him nothing. Yet, deep within her she knew that 
 she could do nothing of the sort that to marry any 
 man with this dread secret between them, would be 
 impossible. Thus she determined that, should he 
 speak, she could give him but a cold and instant refusal. 
 It was this knowledge that tortured her at times, past 
 endurance. She realized that, if they were to remain
 
 298 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 friends, she must use every means in her power to 
 prevent him from ever asking her to become his wife. 
 The little party broke up without her and Randall 
 having had an opportunity to resume their tete-a- 
 tete. Before saying good-night, he asked permission 
 to come for her the next afternoon, and take her for 
 a walk and tea. Mrs. Rutherford graciously accepted 
 on Jean's behalf, before the girl had herself spoken. 
 Randall went off, with Taylor and Charles Ruther- 
 ford, to the latter's club, highly pleased with the out- 
 come of their evening.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THEIR walk along the Embankment the next after- 
 noon extended all the way to the Houses of Parliament, 
 and back past the hotel to "Waterloo Bridge. 
 
 When they started out, the sun had been shining 
 brightly, for London at least, through the faded blue 
 of an April sky, but now it had lost itself in a maze 
 of misty shadows, and the lights of the city began to 
 wink cheerily along the rapidly darkening streets. 
 
 For two hours, Randall had endeavored to tell Eve 
 of his love for her, and for two hours she had skilfully 
 prevented him from doing so, although the effort had 
 cost her much. 
 
 |He on his part, foolishly blind to her reasons, be- 
 came conscious of a feeling that verged upon annoy- 
 ance. Twice within the past hour she had suggested 
 returning to the hotel, for tea, and twice had he over- 
 ruled the suggestion, and begged her to continue their 
 walk. Now the approaching darkness warned him 
 that he must either say what he had made up his 
 mind to say at once, or postpone doing so until another 
 day. 
 
 "Really, I think we had better start back," Eve said, 
 for the third time. "Mother will wonder what has 
 
 299
 
 300 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 become of me. And it's awfully late for tea, you 
 know." She spoke easily, without emotion, although 
 her heart was near to breaking. She dared not let 
 him speak. 
 
 Randall could find no pretense for further detaining 
 her. Her manner had almost convinced him that she 
 felt for him no stronger emotion than that of a friend. 
 He became silent, saying but little, his mind filled 
 with doubts. 
 
 "What are you doing to-morrow ?" he presently asked. 
 
 "Mother and I are going to shop, all day. We put 
 off buying everything, you know, until we came up to 
 town. I suppose I'll spend most of the day at the 
 dressmaker's and the milliner's." 
 
 "And the evening?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment. 
 
 "If we finish everything to-morrow, we may return 
 to Eastbourne at night." 
 
 This was startling news, indeed, to Randall, and 
 spurred him to renewed effort. 
 
 "But your mother said you would probably stay a 
 week." 
 
 "I know. But, then, Mother likes London better 
 than I do." 
 
 "Then you want to go back ?" 
 
 "Yes I I think so." 
 
 "Then I shall go back to Eastbourne, too, as I told 
 you I would." 
 
 "You mustn't do that, Mr. Randall. I've enjoyed 
 meeting you very much you know that. I hope we 
 may see each other often. But I can't agree to walk
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 301 
 
 to Beachy Head with you every day for the rest of 
 my life." She laughed, but stopped at once when she 
 heard his next question. 
 
 "Why not ?" he asked. 
 
 The lights of the hotel shone not far ahead. In 
 five minutes more she felt that she would be safe. 
 
 "Isn't that rather an absurd question to ask, Mr. 
 Randall?" she said, coldly. 
 
 Her tone hurt him, but he had begun the great 
 adventure now, and was determined to conclude it, 
 whatever the results. 
 
 "Do you think it absurd," he asked, "for a man to 
 love a woman so much that he wants to be with her 
 always ?" 
 
 She felt her heart jumping frightfully. Just ahead 
 was the entrance to the hotel. She quickened her pace. 
 This then, was to be the end. 
 
 "No," she said, very slowly; "I do not think that 
 absurd. I think it very beautiful, very wonderful. 
 But we were not speaking of love. We were speaking 
 of two people, two good friends, walking to Beachey 
 Head." 
 
 A fit qf anger swept over Randall, anger with him- 
 self, for his failure to tell her of his love, and, truth 
 to tell, with her as well, for what seemed to him for the 
 moment quite unnecessary coquetry. 
 
 "Jean," he said solemnly, for the first time address- 
 ing her by her Christian name, "I made up my mind, 
 when I came to meet you to-day, that before I left you 
 I would tell you something that means more to me 
 than anything in the world."
 
 302 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 "Oh, don't please please, don't! I beg of you, 
 Mr. Randall" 
 
 He put her protestations aside. 
 
 "I must," he said gravely. "There are reasons 
 reasons that you cannot understand. I love you. I 
 have loved you since the first moment I saw you. Life 
 means nothing to me has meant nothing to me 
 since then. I cannot go on alone. I love you deeply, 
 truly. I want you to be my wife." 
 
 At last, the words were out, and they both stood 
 trembling, in the shadow of the hotel entrance. Pas- 
 sers-by regarded them curiously. Randall, unconscious 
 of the presence of anyone in the world, except that of 
 the girl beside him, took her hand. 
 
 For a moment she clutched his in frantic helpless- 
 ness, struggling to speak, yet finding no words. 
 
 "Do you love me, Jean ?" he asked, looking into her 
 pale and tortured face. 
 
 The emotions within her almost stifled her, driving 
 her lips to speak the truth, to tell him that she loved 
 him with her whole heart and soul. He must have 
 sensed this in some way, for he held her hand more 
 tightly in his, and whispered to her, again and again, 
 under his breath : 
 
 "I love you I love you!" 
 
 At last, she summoned up enpugh courage to tear 
 her hand from his, and stood facing him, her face 
 very pale, her lips like a thin thread of scarlet. She 
 could not tell him that she did not love him; even the 
 wretchedness in her soul could not make her thus lie 
 to lo.ve. And so. she told him nothing, sQarching his
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 303 
 
 face with terrified eyes, unable to find any words to 
 express what she must say. 
 
 "You love me, dear? You will marry me?" he 
 asked eagerly, not understanding her manner. 
 
 Then her words came, very slowly, very deliberately, 
 in a strange voice, so calm, so remote from the storm 
 of love and passion which raged within her that she 
 scarcely recognized it as her own. 
 
 "I cannot answer you now, Mr. Kandall. You must 
 give me time to think. To-morrow I I will tell you 
 what I have decided to do. Good-night," Almost be- 
 fore he realized it, she had thrust her hand into his 
 for a moment, bade him good-night, and entered the 
 hotel. 
 
 The manner of his dismissal left him singularly 
 disquieted. Her last words, "To-morrow I will tell you 
 what I have decided to do," rang strangely in his ears. 
 He was utterly at a loss to know whether she cared 
 for him or not. Puzzled beyond all reason, he rushed 
 off to dine with Mr. Taylor. 
 
 The latter, observing Randall's dejected manner, 
 divined that something untoward had happened, but, 
 being a man of much wisdom, he made no reference 
 to it. He was sailing for home the next day, and their 
 talk was all of New York, and of the coming theatri- 
 cal season. 
 
 Randall had tried by every means in his power, to 
 prevail on Mr. Taylor to accept an interest in his work ; 
 but the latter would not hear of it. He was a man of 
 ample means, and very fond of his protege, as he still 
 laughingly termed Randall.
 
 304 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 "Keep your money, my boy," he advised. "You'll 
 need it all, when you marry.. I'll do my best, with 
 your other manuscript, until you return yourself. And 
 get to work on this new play. There will be a de- 
 mand for your work, this coming season. Better strike 
 while the iron's hot." 
 
 "I'll begin work on it soon, I guess," Randall 
 remarked, rather gloomily. "In fact ; I rather expect 
 to be returning to New York myself, very shortly." 
 Something told him that his answer from Eve would be 
 unfavorable. He was quite ready to believe that, much 
 as she apparently liked him as a friend, her interest 
 ceased there. The thought of leaving her, of never 
 seeing her again, was agony, yet, should she refuse 
 him, what could he do ? To annoy her further would 
 be an act of'unkindness. There would be nothing left 
 for him but to leave London at once. 
 
 His suggestion that he might return at an early date 
 caused Mr. Taylor some surprise, but he did not com- 
 ment upon it, other than to say that he himself found 
 New York, in the early spring, more enjoyable than 
 London. 
 
 That night Randall slept little. All the questions 
 of the past year were to be decided, he felt, during 
 the coming day. The greatness of his love made him 
 realize how great would be his suffering, should he 
 find that Eve did not care for him. It was not as 
 though the girl held for him the charm of a temporary 
 infatuation. Over and over he found himself saying 
 that she was his wife, that their many months together 
 had bound them to each other by ties which could
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 305 
 
 never again be broken. And then, in a rush, would 
 come the terrible thought that while Eve the Eve he 
 had known might have loved him beyond all ques- 
 tion, this girl, Jean Eutherford, might not care for him 
 at all. It was maddening, a frightful situation. He 
 felt himself unable to meet it. 
 
 In the morning he determined to telephone to her, 
 as soon as he finished his breakfast, but this plan was 
 upset by a letter, which arrived just as he was leaving 
 the dining-room. 
 
 The handwriting was quite unfamiliar to him, but 
 in spite of this he knew at once that the letter was from 
 Eve. The mere fact that it was a woman's hand, 
 sufficed to tell him that. He knew no other woman in 
 London. 
 
 He took the letter to his room, and with nervous 
 haste, read the contents. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Eandall," it said, "I have thought all 
 night long, of what you asked me this evening, and 
 there can be but one answer. I cannot marry you. I 
 have decided that it is better for me to write this to 
 you rather than to attempt to tell you in person. It 
 would be hard too hard, for both of us. I cannot 
 express the grief that fills my heart as I write, but I 
 know that I am doing what is best. It would be 
 better, for us both not to see each other again. I had 
 hoped that we might be friends, but I know, and you 
 know, that after what has been said, we cannot. 
 
 "Good-by. I am very unhappy, but I can give you 
 no other answer. 
 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 "JEAN RUTHERFORD."
 
 306 'A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Kandall read this letter over several times before 
 he quite realized what it meant. In his confusion of 
 mind, the words seemed illogical, meaningless. At 
 last, he came to see that Eve had refused him, had put 
 him out of her life, without giving him any reason for 
 doing so. She had not even said that she did not love 
 him. In fact, he almost began to believe, after reading 
 the letter, that she did love him, but that some other 
 consideration had forced her to write him as she did. 
 
 Could her mother have objected, he wondered, or 
 her brother? Was the fact that he was an American 
 against him? Or was it his profession? None of 
 these things seemed in any way adequate. The real 
 reason had not yet occurred to him. 
 
 Suddenly, he made up his mind to see Jean, in 
 spite of her letter, and to find out whether her refusal 
 had arisen from the fact that she did not love him, or 
 from some other cause. He felt that he could never 
 be satisfied to have matters remain as they were now. 
 
 He hurried off to her hotel, regardless of the fact 
 that it was only a little after ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. The announcement that came in response to the 
 card he asked to have sent to her room was strangely 
 disconcerting. Miss Rutherford and her mother had 
 left the hotel, he was informed, half an hour before. 
 The clerk could not say where they. had gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IT was after luncheon when Randall took the train 
 for Eastbourne, and as he did so he felt no certainty 
 that he would find Eve there. 
 
 He had reasoned the matter out, however, during 
 the remaining hours of that ghastly morning, and it 
 seemed to him most likely that, if she wished to avoid 
 him, she would have returned home. Of course, 
 there was the possibility that she might have moved 
 to another hotel ; but, if so, she would not in any event 
 remain in the city more than a day or two longer in 
 fact, she had told him the evening before that she and 
 her mother expected to return to Eastbourne almost at 
 once. 
 
 In any event, he determined to go there himself, and 
 find out, if that were possible, the real reason for her 
 refusal of him, and her flight. If she should tell him, 
 face to face, that she did not love him, he would have 
 he knew, no other course than to leave her at once ; but, 
 if there proved to be any other obstacle and his reflec- 
 tions during the morning had brought at least a sug- 
 gestion of its nature he was determined to use every 
 effort in his power to remove it. 
 
 He arrived late in the afternoon, and after a cheery 
 
 307
 
 308 A LOST PAEADISE. 
 
 welcome at The Inn, set off at once for Hawthorne 
 Manor. 
 
 Here a trim parlor maid, to whom he was quite 
 unknown, informed him that Miss Eutherford was not 
 at home. Further questioning, however, revealed the 
 fact that she had returned from London some hours 
 earlier. 
 
 At first, he thought of asking for Mrs. Kutherford, 
 but, on second thought, decided that nothing was to 
 be gained by doing so. Doubtless the girl had gone 
 out upon one of the charitable errands that usually 
 occupied her afternoons. He turned away, restless 
 and impatient, and to rid himself of his nervousness 
 started toward the beach. 
 
 The Esplanade was practically deserted, and the 
 path along the rocks entirely so. He descended to the 
 beach, and began to walk along it with nervous strides. 
 He had no hope of finding Eve here ; he knew that she 
 never came to the rocks during the afternoon. The 
 thought left him desolate. He strode restlessly on, 
 trying to find some solace in the roar of the surf, the 
 smooth, heard beach, the beauty of the low afternoon 
 sun as it struck across the edge of the chalk cliffs, 
 casting deep warm shadows upon the yellow sands. 
 
 In a short time, he found himself near the point 
 where Eve and he had first met, on the day when she 
 had observed him casting his improvised spear. He 
 ascended the rocks here, to observe better the setting 
 sun, and continued his walk toward Beachey Head. 
 
 The sun shone in his eyes, so that he did not at first 
 observe a figure in a gray sweater coat, coming along
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 309 
 
 the path toward him.. When he finally did so, his 
 heart gave a great leap. He thought it might be Eve, 
 although the figure, black against the low-lying sun, 
 was recognizable at this distance only as that of a 
 woman. 
 
 He quickened his steps, and observed that, as he did 
 so, the person who was coming toward him hesitated, 
 stopped, seemed in fact debating how she might avoid 
 him. Then he recognized her. It was Jean Ruther- 
 ford. 
 
 A great joy sang in his heart. She had come here, 
 as he had come, because it was here that they had 
 met because something had drawn her, as it had 
 drawn him, to this place, where they had spent so 
 many happy hours together. In a few moments they 
 had come face to face. Randall eager, flushed, im- 
 patient; the girl pale and frightened, unwilling almost 
 to let her eyes meet his. 
 
 He took her hand in silence, and led her to a nook 
 in the shelving side of the cliff, where a natural seat 
 was formed by a degression in the rock. 
 
 "Sit down, Jean," he commanded. "I have some- 
 thing to say to you." 
 
 She obeyed him mechanically, almost listlessly. It 
 was as though she had reached a crisis from which 
 there was no escape, one that she would meet as bravely 
 as she could, though the prospect filled her with horror. 
 She looked at him inquiringly, but waited for him to 
 speak. 
 
 "I got your letter," he said, simply. "You did not 
 say in it whether you love me, or not. Do you ?"
 
 310 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 This was by no means the line of attack she had 
 expected. She had supposed that he would beg her to 
 reconsider her decision, and she was prepared to assure 
 him, as many times as might be necessary, that it was 
 final. But to ask whether she loved him! That, 
 indeed, was another question. She could not at first 
 reply to it. 
 
 "Tell me," he went on, his voice very deep, very 
 earnest. "Do you love me ?" 
 
 She tried to shake her head, but the tears in her 
 eyes belied her actions. She could not lie to him 
 not about that for she loved him with all the depth 
 and intensity of her nature. What she did was to 
 cover her face with her hands, and sob, softly, but 
 with long, shuddering sighs that well-nigh broke Ran- 
 dall's heart. 
 
 He took her hands gently, and tried to draw them 
 away from her face. 
 
 "Don't cry, Jean," he begged. "Please, don't. I 
 believe that you do love me. Tell me that you do." 
 
 In a moment she had regained command of herself. 
 Her sobs were gone. She threw back her head almost 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Yes I do love you !" she cried. But, when he 
 opened his arms, and would have swept her into them, 
 she put his hands aside. "No. you must not do 
 that," she said ; and he realized that she was very much 
 in earnest. 
 
 "If you love me, dear, you will marry me." 
 
 "No. I shall not marry you nor any man." 
 
 "But why why?"
 
 A LOST PARADISE. 311 
 
 "That I cannot tell you." 
 
 "You must. It is our only chance for happiness. 
 Jean Jean what difference could anything make? 
 I love you. Isn't that enough ?" 
 
 "I do not know," she replied, her voice like ice. 
 "You must be the judge of that." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I will tell you, since you force me to do so, although 
 I have tried hard enough to avoid it. But I warn 
 you that I shall not marry you, no matter what pro- 
 testations you may make. You might believe them, 
 now, but the thing between us you would never forget 
 and some day sometime " Again, she hesitated. 
 
 "You need not tell me, if you would rather not," 
 he said. 
 
 "You accept my refusal as final, then?" 
 
 "No no! But I think I know what you are go- 
 ing to say." 
 
 She laughed, a hard, biting laugh. 
 
 "You could never know," she said. "Only one 
 person in all the world knows, beside myself. But I 
 will tell you, and, since you love me, you will never 
 let there be more than three. I cannot marry you, 
 because I am not what the world calls a good woman. 
 Once I was cast ashore, on an island, in the Pacific, 
 with a sailor. I was injured. It affected my brain. 
 I could not remember my name, or who I was, or 
 anything at all about the past. He made me his mis- 
 tress. I remember nothing of it, except that I awoke 
 to consciousness in his arms. All that time, for 
 months and months, I had lived with this man.
 
 312 A LOST PARADISE. 
 
 Then I was rescued. The man remained. I do not 
 know what has become of him. I do not even know 
 his name. But I lived with him for four months. 
 That is why I can never marry not even you, whom 
 I love. Now, do you understand?" She rose, and 
 turned as though to go. 
 
 Randall placed his hand on her arm. 
 
 "Don't go yet," he said. "I have something more to 
 tell you." 
 
 "I know what you mean to say that you do not 
 care that you want me to marry you in spite of all 
 this. I can't do it. I can't I can't!" Again she 
 began to sob. "Let me go, please." 
 
 "Not yet Eve," he said softly. 
 
 She looked at him, with the old look of fright coming 
 into her eyes. 
 
 "Why why did you call me that ?" 
 
 Eandall thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew 
 out the bit of coral which he had with so much labor 
 converted into a ring. He extended it to her. 
 
 "This was our wedding ring, Eve," he said, simply. 
 "You are my wife." He took her hand, and placed 
 the ring upon her finger. "You see, it fits you exactly. 
 Don't you remember it, dear?" 
 
 The shock was almost too great for her. That this 
 man, the man out of all the men in the world, the 
 man she loved, could be the red-bearded sailor, the 
 memory of whom had filled her only with horror, was 
 unbelievable almost grotesque. 
 
 "Don't please!" she said, with a shivering laugh. 
 "I have been hurt enough."
 
 A LOST PAEADISE. 313 
 
 "Yes you have been hurt enough, my precious 
 girl," he cried, taking her in his arms. "But you 
 shall not be hurt any more. I have searched for you 
 for half a year. Do you think I shall let you go, 
 now or ever ? I would have told you all this long 
 ago but I didn't dare, until I knew that you loved 
 me me ! irrespective of the fact that you were 
 already, by force of circumstances, my wife." 
 
 Although she remembered the ring very well, since it 
 was after the return of her memory that she had taken 
 it off, she could even now scarcely believe him. It 
 seemed too preposterous, too unreal. "You were 
 that man ! How is it possible ?" 
 
 Then he sat down, and, drawing her to the seat 
 beside him, told her the whole story. When he had 
 finished, she put her arms about his neck, quite simply, 
 and kissed him. 
 
 "Thank God that you have come," she said. "I 
 think, now, that I have loved you all the time." 
 
 The twilight had come and gone, and the stars were 
 beginning to make silver points in the gray-blue sky. 
 Below them the surf rolled in, as they had seen it so 
 often on the beach below the cave. 
 
 "We have found our lost Paradise, Eve," said Kan- 
 dall, gently, drawing her closer to him. "God willing, 
 we shall never lose it again ?" 
 
 "Amen," she whispered, and began to cry, very 
 softly, and happily, her head against his breast.