
 
 <^v
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST
 
 THE SHADOW OF 
 THE EAST 
 
 BY E. M. HULL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "The Sheik" 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with Small, Maynard & Company 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 COPTBIQHT, 1921 
 
 BT SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 (INCOEPOBATBD) 
 
 JPrinted in the Gmted States of Amenca
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 American yacht lying off the harbour at Yoko- 
 hama was brilliantly lit from stem to stern. 
 Between it and the shore the reflection of the full moon 
 glittered on the water up to the steps of the big black 
 landing-stage. The glamour of the eastern night and the 
 moonlight combined to lend enchantment to a scene that 
 by day is blatant and tawdry, and the countless coloured 
 lamps twinkling along the sea wall and dotted over the 
 Bluff transformed the Japanese town into fairyland. 
 
 The night was warm and still, and there was barely a 
 ripple on the water. The Bay was full of craft liners, 
 tramps, and yachts swinging slowly with the tide, and 
 hurrying to and fro sampans and electric launches jostled 
 indiscriminately. 
 
 On board the yacht three men were lying in long chairs 
 on the deck. Jermyn Atherton, the millionaire owner, a 
 tall thin American whose keen, clever face looked singu- 
 larly youthful under a thick crop of iron-grey hair, sat 
 forward in his chair to light a fresh cigar, and then turned 
 to the man on his right. "I guess I've had every official 
 in Japan hunting for you these last two days, Barry. If 
 I hadn't had your wire from Tokio this morning I should 
 have gone to our Consul and churned up the whole 
 Japanese Secret Service and made an international affair 
 of it," he laughed. "Where in all creation were you? 
 
 5
 
 6 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 I should hardly have thought it possible to get out of 
 touch in this little old island. The authorities, too, knew 
 all about you, and reckoned they could lay their hands 
 on you in twelve hours. I rattled them up some," he 
 added, with evident satisfaction. 
 
 The Englishman smiled. 
 
 "You seem to have done," he said dryly. "When I 
 got into Tokio this morning I was fallen on by a 
 hysterical inspector of police who implored me with tears 
 to communicate immediately with an infuriated American 
 who was raising Cain in Yokohama over my dis- 
 appearance. As a matter of fact I was in a little village 
 twenty miles inland from Tokio quite off the beaten 
 track. There's an old Shinto temple there that I have 
 been wanting to sketch for a long time." 
 
 "Atherton's luck!" commented the American com- 
 placently. "It generally holds good. I couldn't leave 
 Japan without seeing you, and I must sail tonight. " 
 
 "What's your hurry Wall Street going to the dogs 
 without you?" 
 
 "No. I've cut out from Wall Street. I've made all 
 the money I want, and I'm only concerned with spending 
 it now. No, the fact is I er I left home rather 
 suddenly. " 
 
 A soft chuckle came from the recumbent occupant of 
 the third chair, but Atherton ignored it and hurried on, 
 twirling rapidly, as he spoke, a single eyeglass attached to 
 a thin black cord. 
 
 "Ever since Nina and I were married last year we've 
 been going the devil of a pace. We had to entertain 
 every one who had entertained us and a few more folk 
 besides. There was something doing all day and every 
 day until at last it seemed to me that I never saw my wife 
 except at the other end of a dining table with a crowd of 
 silly fools in between us. I reckoned I'd just about had
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 7 
 
 .enough of it. Came on me just like a flash sitting in my 
 office down town one morning, so I buzzed home right 
 away in the auto and told her I was sick of the whole 
 thing and that I wanted her to come away with me and 
 see what real life was like out West or anywhere else 
 on earth away from that durned society crowd. I'll 
 admit I lost my temper and did some shouting. Nina 
 couldn't see it from my point of view. 
 
 "My God, Jermyn! I should think not," drawled a 
 sleepy voice from the third chair, and a short, immensely 
 stout man struggled up into a sitting position, mopping 
 his forehead vigorously. "You've the instincts of a 
 Turk rather than of an enlightened American citizen. 
 You've not seen my sister-in-law yet, Mr. Craven," he 
 turned to the Englishman. "She's a peach! Smartest 
 little girl in N'York. Leader of society dollars no ob- 
 ject small wonder she didn't fall in with Jermyn's pre- 
 historic notions. You're a cave man, elder brother I 
 put my money on Nina every time. Hell! isn't it hot?" 
 He sank down again full length, flapping his handker- 
 chief feebly at a persistent mosquito. 
 
 "We argued for a week," resumed Jermyn Atherton 
 when his brother's sleepy drawl subsided, "and didn't 
 seem to get any further on. At last I lost my temper 
 completely and decided to clear out alone if Nina 
 wouldn't come with me. Leslie was not doing anything 
 at the time, so I persuaded him to come along too." 
 
 Leslie Atherton sat up again with a jerk. 
 
 "Persuaded!" he exploded, "A dam' queer notion 
 of persuasion. Shanghaied, I call it. Ran me to earth 
 at the club at five o'clock, and we sailed at eight. 
 If my man hadn't been fond of the sea and keen on 
 the trip himself, I should have left America for a cruise 
 round the world in the clothes I stood up in and 
 Jermyn's duds would be about as useful to me as a suit
 
 8 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 of reach-me-downs off the line. Persuasion? Shucks! 
 Jermyn thought it was kind of funny to start right off 
 on an ocean trip at a moment's notice and show Nina 
 he didn't care a durn. Crazy notion of humour." He 
 lay back languidly and covered his face with a large silk 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Barry Craven turned toward his host with amused 
 curiosity in his grey eyes. 
 
 "Well?" he asked at length. 
 
 Atherton returned his look with a slightly embarrassed 
 smile. 
 
 "It hasn't been so blamed funny after all," he said 
 quietly. "A Chinese coffin-ship from 'Frisco would be 
 hilarious compared with this trip," rapped a sarcastic 
 voice from behind the silk handkerchief. 
 
 "I've felt a brute ever since we lost sight of Sandy 
 Hook," continued Atherton, looking away toward the 
 twinkling lights on shore, "and as soon as we put in 
 here I couldn't stand it any longer, so I cabled to Nina 
 that I was returning at once. I'm quite prepared to eat 
 humble pie and all the rest of it in fact I shall relish 
 it, " with a sudden shy laugh. 
 
 His brother heaved his vast bulk clear of the deck 
 chair with a mighty effort. 
 
 "Humble pie! Huh!" he snorted contemptuously, 
 "She'll kill the fatted calf and put a halo of glory round 
 your head and invite in all the neighbours 'for this my 
 prodigal husbaDd has returned to me!'" He ducked 
 with surprising swiftness to avoid a book that Atherton 
 hurled at his head and shook a chubby forefinger at him 
 reprovingly. 
 
 "Don't assault the only guide, philosopher and friend 
 you've got who has the courage to tell you a few home 
 truths. Say, Jermyn, d'y'know why I finally consented 
 to come on this crazy cruise, anyway? Because Nina
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 9 
 
 got me on the 'phone while you were hammering away 
 at me at the club and ordered me to go right along with 
 you and see you didn't do any dam' foolishness. Oh, 
 she's got me to heel right enough. Well! I guess I'll 
 turn in and get to sleep before those fool engines start 
 chump-chumping under my pillow. You boys will want 
 a pow-wow to your two selves; there are times when 
 three is a crowd. Good-bye, Mr. Craven, pleased to have 
 met you. Hope to see you in the Adirondacks next 
 summer a bit more crowded than the Rockies, which 
 are Jermyn's Mecca, but more home comforts appeal 
 to a man of my build." He slipped away with the 
 noiseless tread that is habitual to heavy men." 
 
 Jermyn Atherton looked after his retreating figure and 
 laughed uproariously. 
 
 "Isn't he the darndest? A clam is communicative 
 compared with Leslie. Fancy him having that card up 
 his sleeve all the while. Nina's had the bulge on me 
 right straight along. " 
 
 He pushed a cigar-box across the wicker table between 
 them. 
 
 "No, thanks," said Craven, taking a case from his 
 pocket. "I'll have a cigarette, if you don't mind." 
 
 The American settled himself in his chair, his hands 
 clasped behind his head, staring at the harbour lights, 
 his thoughts very obviously some thousands of miles 
 away. Craven watched him speculatively. Atherton 
 the big game-hunter, Atherton the mine-owner, he knew 
 perfectly but Atherton the New York broker, Atherton 
 married, he was unacquainted with and he was trying 
 to adjust and consolidate the two personalities. 
 
 It was the same Atherton but more human, more 
 humble, if such a word could be applied to an American 
 millionaire. He felt a sudden curiosity to see the woman 
 who had brought that new look into his old friend's,
 
 10 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 keen blue eyes. He was conscious of an odd feeling of 
 envy. Atherton became aware at last of his attentive 
 gaze and grinned sheepishly. 
 
 "Must seem a bit of a fool to you, old man, but I 
 feel like a boy going home for the holidays and that's 
 the truth. But I've been yapping about my own affair 
 all evening. What about you staying on in Japan? 
 Been here quite a while now, haven't you?" 
 
 "Just over a year." 
 
 "Like it?" 
 
 "Yes, Japan has got into my bones." 
 
 "Lazy kind of life, isn't it?" 
 
 There was no apparent change in Atherton 's drawl, 
 but Craven turned his head quickly and looked at him 
 before answering. 
 
 "I'm a lazy kind of fellow," he replied quietly. 
 
 "You weren't lazy in the Rockies," said Atherton 
 sharply. 
 
 "Oh, yes I was. There are grades of laziness." 
 
 Atherton flung the stub of his cigar overboard and 
 selecting a fresh one, cut the end off carefully. 
 
 "Still got that Jap boy who was with you in 
 America?" 
 
 "Yoshio? Yes. I picked him up in San Francisco 
 ten years ago. He'll never leave me now." 
 
 "Saved his life, didn't you? He spun me a great 
 yarn one day in camp. " 
 
 Craven laughed and shrugged. "Yoshio has an 
 Oriental imagination and quite a flair for romance. I 
 did pull him out of a hole in 'Frisco but he was putting 
 up a very tidy little show on his own account. He's the 
 toughest little beggar I've ever come across and doesn't 
 know the meaning of fear. If I'm ever in a big scrap 
 I hope I shall have Yoshio behind me." 
 i "You seem to be pretty well known over yonder,'*
 
 11 
 
 said Atherton with a vague movement of his head toward 
 the shore. 
 
 "It is not a big town and the foreign population is 
 not vast. Besides, there are traditions. I am the second 
 Barry Craven to live in Yokohama my father lived 
 several years and finally died here. He was obsessed 
 with Japan." 
 
 "And with the Japanese?" 
 
 "And with the Japanese." 
 
 Atherton frowned at the glowing end of his cigar. 
 
 "Nina and I ran down to see Craven Towers when 
 we were on our wedding trip in England last year," he 
 said at length with seeming irrelevance. "Your agent, 
 Mr. Peters, ran us round. " 
 
 "Good old Peters," murmured Craven lazily. "The 
 place would have gone to the bow-wows long ago if it 
 hadn't been for him. He adored my mother and has 
 the worst possible opinion of me. But he's a loyal old 
 bird, he probably endowed me with all the virtues for 
 your benefit." 
 
 But Atherton ignored the comment. He polished his 
 eyeglass vigorously and screwed it firmly into position. 
 
 "If I was an Englishman with a place like Craven 
 Towers that had been in my family for generations," he 
 said soberly, "I should go home and marry a nice girl 
 and settle down on my estate. " 
 
 "That's precisely Peters' opinion," replied Craven 
 promptly with a good-tempered laugh. "I get reams 
 from him to that effect nearly every mail with detailed 
 descriptions of all the eligible debutantes whom he thinks 
 suitable. I often wonder whether he runs the estate on 
 the same lines and keeps a matrimonial agency for the 
 tenants. " 
 
 Atherton laughed with him but persisted. 
 
 "If your own countrywomen don't appeal to you.
 
 12 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 take a run out to the States and see what we can do 
 for you. " 
 
 The laugh died out of Craven's eyes and he moved 
 restlessly in his chair. 
 
 "It's no good, Jermyn. I'm not a marrying man," 
 he said shortly. 
 
 Atherton smiled grimly at the recollection of a similar 
 remark emphatically uttered by himself at their last 
 meeting. 
 
 For a time neither spoke. Each was conscious of a 
 vague difference in the other, developed during the years 
 that had elapsed since their last meeting an intangible 
 barrier checking the open confidence of earlier days. 
 
 It was growing late. The sampans had nearly all 
 disappeared and only an occasional launch skimmed 
 across the harbour. 
 
 A neighbouring yacht's band that had been silent for 
 the last hour began to play again appropriately to the 
 vicinity Puccini's well-known opera. The strains came 
 subdued but clear across the water on the scent-laden 
 .air. Craven sat forward in his chair, his heels on the 
 ground, his hands loosely clasped between his knees, 
 whistling softly the Consul's solo in the first act. From 
 behind a cloud of cigar smoke Atherton watched him 
 keenly, and as he watched he was thinking rapidly. He 
 was used to making decisions quickly he was accus- 
 tomed to accepting risks at which others shied, but the 
 risk he was now contemplating meant the taking of an 
 unwarranted liberty that might be resented and might 
 result in the loss of a friendship that he valued. But he 
 was going to take the risk as he had taken many 
 another he had known that from the first. He screwed 
 his eyeglass firmer into his eye, a characteristic gesture 
 well-known on the New York stock market. 
 
 "Ever see Madame Butterfly?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Yes."
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 13 
 
 Atherton blew another big cloud of smoke. 
 
 "Damn fool, Pinkerton," he said gruffly, "Never 
 could see the attraction myself dancing girls almond 
 eyes and all that sort of thing. " 
 
 Craven made no answer but his whistling stopped 
 suddenly and the knuckles of his clasped hands whitened. 
 Atherton looked away quickly and his eyeglass fell with 
 a little tinkle against a waistcoat button. There was 
 another long pause. Finally the music died away and 
 the stillness was broken only by the soft slap-slap of the 
 water against the ship's side. 
 
 Atherton scowled at his immaculate deck shoes and 
 then seized his eyeglass again decisively. 
 
 "Say, Barry, you saved my life in the Rockies that 
 trip and I guess a fellow whose life you've saved has a 
 pull on you no one else has. Anyhow I'll chance it, 
 and if I'm a damned interfering meddler it's up to you 
 to say so and I'll apologise handsomely. Are you in, 
 a hole?" 
 
 Craven got up, walked away to the side of the yacht 
 and leaning on the rail stared down into the water. A 
 solitary sampan was passing the broad streak of moon- 
 light and he watched it intently until it passed and 
 merged into the shadows beyond. 
 
 " I've been the usual fool, " he said at last quietly. 
 
 M Oh, hell!" came softly from behind him. "Chuck 
 it, Barry. Clear out right now with us. I'll put off 
 sailing until tomorrow." 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 Atherton rose and joined him, and for a moment his 
 hand rested on the younger man's shoulder. 
 
 "I'm sorry dashed sorry," he murmured. "Gee!" 
 he added with a half shy, half humorous glance, wiping 
 his forehead frankly, "I'd rather face a grizzly than do 
 that again. Leslie keeps telling me that my habit of
 
 14 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 butting in will land me in the family vault before my 
 time." 
 
 Craven smiled wryly. 
 
 "It's all right. I'm grateful really. But I must 
 hoe my own row." 
 
 The American swung irresolutely on his heels. 
 
 "That's so, that's so," he agreed reluctantly. "Oh 
 damn it all," he burst out, "have a drink!" and going 
 back to the table he pounded in the stopper of a soda- 
 water-bottle savagely. 
 
 Craven laughed constrainedly as he tilted the whisky 
 into a glass. 
 
 "Universal panacea," he said a little bitterly, "but 
 it's not my method of oblivion. " 
 
 He put the peg tumbler down with a smothered sigh. 
 
 "I must be off, Jermyn. It's time you were getting 
 under way. It's been like the old days to have had a 
 yarn with you again. Good luck and a quick run home 
 you lucky devil. " 
 
 Atherton walked with him to the head of the gangway 
 and watched him into the launch. 
 
 "We shall count on you for the Adirondacks in the 
 summer," he called out cheerily, leaning far over the 
 rail. 
 
 Craven looked up with a smile and waved his hand, 
 but did not answer and the motor boat shot away toward 
 the shore. 
 
 He landed on the big pier and lingered for a moment 
 to watch the launch speeding back to the yacht. Then 
 he walked slowly down the length of the stage and at 
 the entrance found his rickshaw waiting. The two men 
 who were squatting on the ground leaped up at his 
 approach and one hurriedly lit a great dragon-painted 
 paper lantern while the other held out a light dustcoat. 
 Craven tossed it into the rickshaw and silently pointing
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 15 
 
 toward the north, climbed in. He leaned -back and lit 
 a cigarette. The men sprang away in a quick dog-trot 
 along the Bund, and then started to climb the hillside 
 at the back of the town. They wound slowly up the 
 narrow tortuous roads, past numberless villas, hung with 
 lights, from which voices floated out into the quiet 
 air. 
 
 The moon was brilliant and the night wonderfully light, 
 but Craven paid no attention to the beauty of the scene 
 or to the gaily lit villas. Atherton's invitation had been 
 curiously hard to decline and even now an almost over- 
 powering desire came over him to bid his men retrace 
 their steps to the harbour. Then hard on the heels of 
 that desire came thoughts that softened the hard lines 
 that had gathered about his mouth. He pitched his 
 cigarette away as if with it he threw from him an actual 
 temptation, and resolutely put out of his mind Atherton 
 and the suggestion of flight. 
 
 Still climbing upward the rickshaw passed the last of 
 the outlying European villas and turned down a side 
 road where there were no houses. For a couple of miles 
 the men raced along a level track cut on the side of a 
 hill that rose steeply on the one hand and on the other 
 fell away precipitously down to the sea until they halted 
 with a sudden jerk beside a wooden gateway with a 
 creeper-covered roof on either side of which two matsu 
 trees stood like tall sentinels. 
 
 Waiting by the open gate was a short, powerful looking 
 Japanese dressed in European clothes. He came forward 
 as Craven alighted and gathering up the coat and hat 
 from the floor of the rickshaw, dismissed the Japanese 
 who vanished further along the road into the shadows. 
 Then he turned and waited for his master to precede 
 him through the gateway, but Craven signed to him to 
 go on, and as the man disappeared up the garden path
 
 16 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 he crossed the road and standing on the edge of the cliff 
 looked down across the harbour. The American yacht 
 was the biggest craft of her kind in the roads and easily 
 discernible in the moonlight. The brilliant deck illu- 
 mination had been shut off and only a few lights showed. 
 He gave a quick sigh. Atherton's coming had been like 
 a bar drawn suddenly across the stream down which he 
 was drifting. If Jermyn had only come last year! The 
 envy he had felt earlier in the evening increased. He 
 thought of the look he had seen in Atherton's eyes and 
 the intonation of his voice when the American spoke of 
 the wife to whom he was returning. What did love 
 like that mean to a man? What factor in Atherton's 
 strenuous and adventurous life had affected him as this 
 had done? What were the ethics of a love that rose 
 purely above physical attraction environment tem- 
 perament; a love that grew and strengthened and ab- 
 sorbed until it ceased to be a part of life and became 
 life itself the main issue, the fundamental essence? 
 
 And as Craven watched he saw the yacht steam slowly 
 down the bay. He drew a deep breath. 
 
 "You lucky, lucky devil," he whispered again and 
 swung on his heel. He paused for a moment just within 
 the gateway where on the only level part of the garden 
 lay a miniature lake, hedged round with bamboo, 
 clumps of oleander, fed by a little twisting stream that 
 came tumbling and splashing down the hillside in a series 
 of tiny waterfalls, its banks fringed with azalea bushes 
 and slender cherry trees. Then he walked slowly along 
 the path that led upward, winding to and fro through 
 clusters of pines and cedars and over mossy slopes to the 
 little house which stood in a clearing at the top of the 
 garden surrounded by fir trees and backed by a high 
 creeper-clad palisade. 
 
 From the wide verandah, built out on piles over the
 
 THE SHADOW OP THE EAST 17 
 
 terrace, there was an uninterrupted view of the harbour. 
 He climbed the four wooden stairs and on the top step 
 turned and looked again down on to the bay. The yacht 
 was now invisible, but in his mind he followed her slip- 
 ping down toward the open sea. And Atherton what 
 were his thoughts while pacing the broad deck or lying 
 in his cabin listening to the screw whose every revolution 
 was taking him nearer the centre of his earthly happi- 
 ness? Were they anything like his own, he wondered, 
 as he stood there bareheaded in the moonlight, looking 
 strangely big and incongruous on the balcony of the 
 little fairy like doll's house? 
 
 He shrugged impatiently. The comparison was an 
 insult, he thought bitterly. Again he stared out to sea, 
 straining his eyes, trying vainly to pick up the yacht's 
 lights far down the bay. It was very still, a tiny breeze 
 whispered in the pines and drifted across his face the 
 sweet perfume of a flowering shrub. A cicada chirped 
 in the grass at his feet. 
 
 Then behind him came a faint rustle of silk. He 
 heard the soft sibilant sound of a breath drawn quickly 
 in. 
 
 "Will my lord honourably be pleased to enter?" the 
 voice was very low and sweet and the English very slow 
 and careful. 
 
 Craven did not move. 
 
 "Try again, O Hara San." 
 
 A low bubble of girlish laughter rippled out. 
 
 "Please to come in, Bar-ree. " 
 
 He turned slowly, looking bigger than ever by contrast 
 with the slender little Japanese girl who faced him. She 
 was barely seventeen, dainty and fragile as ^ ^/urcelain 
 figure, wholly in keeping with her exquisite setting and 
 yet the flush on her cheeks free from the thick dis- 
 figuring white paste used by the women of her country
 
 18 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 and the vivid animation of her face were oddly oc- 
 cidental, and the eyes raised so eagerly to Craven's were 
 as grey as his own. 
 
 He held out his arms and she fluttered into them with 
 a little breathless murmur, clinging to him passionately. 
 
 "Little O Hara San," he said gently as she pressed 
 closer to him. He tilted her head, stooping to kiss the 
 tiny mouth that trembled at the touch of his lips. She 
 closed her eyes and he felt an almost convulsive shudder 
 shake her. 
 
 "Have you missed me, O Hara San?'* 
 
 "It is a thousand moons since you are gone," she 
 whispered unsteadily. 
 
 "Are you glad to see me?" 
 
 Her grey eyes opened suddenly with a look of utter 
 content and happiness. 
 
 "You know, Bar-ree. Oh, Bar-reel" 
 
 His face clouded, the teasing word that rose to his 
 lips died away unspoken and he pressed her head against 
 him almost roughly to hide the look of trusting devotion 
 that suddenly hurt him. For a few moments she lay 
 still, then slipped free of his arms and stood before him, 
 swaying slightly from side to side, her hands busily pat- 
 ting her hair into order and smiling up at him happily. 
 
 "Being very rude. Forgetting honourable hos- 
 pitality. You please forgive?" 
 
 She backed a few steps toward the doorway and her 
 pliant figure bent for an instant in the prescribed form 
 of Japanese courtesy and salutation. Then she clasped 
 both hands together with a little cry of dismay. "Oh, 
 so sorree," she murmured in contrition, "forgot honour- 
 able lord forbidding that. " 
 
 "Your honourable lord will beat you with a very big 
 stick if you forget again," said Craven laughing as he 
 followed her into the little room. O Hara San pouted
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 19 
 
 her scarlet lips at him and laughed softly as she subsided 
 on to a mat on the floor and clapped her hands. Craven 
 sat down opposite her more slowly. In spite of the 
 months he had spent in Japan he still found it difficult 
 to adapt his long legs to the national attitude. 
 
 In answer to the summons an old armah brought tea 
 and little rice cakes which O Hara San dispensed with 
 great dignity and seriousness. She drank innumerable 
 cupfuls while Craven took three or four to please her 
 and then lit a cigarette. He smoked in silence watching 
 the dainty little kneeling figure, following the quick 
 movements of her hands as she manipulated the fragile 
 china on the low stool before her, the restraint she im- 
 posed upon herself as she struggled with the excited 
 happiness that manifested itself in the rapid heaving of 
 her bosom, and the transient smile on her lips, and a 
 heavy frown gathered on his face. She looked up sud- 
 denly, the tiny cup poised in her hand midway to her 
 mouth. 
 
 "You happy in Tokio?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 It was not the answer for which she had hoped and 
 her eyes dropped at the curt monosyllable. She put the 
 cup back on the tray and folded her hands in her lap 
 with a faint little sigh of disappointment, her head 
 drooping pensively. Craven knew instinctively that he 
 had hurt her and hated himself. It was like striking a 
 child. But presently she looked up again and gazed at 
 him soberly, wrinkling her forehead in unconscious 
 imitation of his. 
 
 "O Hara San very bad selfish girl. Hoping you very 
 wnhappy in Tokio," she said contritely. 
 
 He laughed at the naive confession and the gloom 
 vanished from his face as he stood up, his long limbs 
 cramped with the uncongenial attitude.
 
 20 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "What have you been doing while I was away?" he 
 asked, crossing the room to look at a new kakemono on 
 the wall. 
 
 She flitted away silently and returned in a few mo- 
 ments carrying a small panel. She put it into his hands, 
 drawing near to him within the arm he slipped round 
 her and slanted her head against him, waiting for his 
 criticism with the innate patience of her race. 
 
 Craven looked long at the painting. It was a study 
 of a solitary fir tree, growing at the edge of a cliff 
 wind-swept, rugged. The high precipice on which it 
 stood was only suggested and far below there was a 
 hint of boundless ocean foam-crested. 
 
 It was the tree that gripped attention a lonely out- 
 post, clinging doggedly to its jutting headland, rearing 
 its head proudly in its isolation; the wind seemed to 
 rustle through its branches, its gnarled trunk showed 
 rough and weather-beaten. It was a poem of loneliness 
 and strength. 
 
 At last Craven laid it down carefully, and gathering 
 up the slender clasped hands, kissed them silently. The 
 mute homage was more to her than words. The colour 
 rushed to her cheeks and her eyes devoured his face 
 almost hungrily. 
 
 "You like it?" she whispered wistfully. 
 
 "Like it?" he echoed, "Gad! little girl, it's won- 
 derful. It's more than a fir tree- it's power, tenacity, 
 independence. I know that all your work is symbolical 
 to you. What does the tree mean Japan? " 
 
 She turned her head away, the flush deepening in her 
 cheeks, her fingers gripping his. 
 
 " It means more to me than Japan, " she murmured. 
 "More to me than life it means you," she added 
 almost inaudibly. 
 
 He swept her up into his arms and carrying her out
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 21 
 
 on to the verandah, dropped into a big cane chair that 
 was a concession to his western limbs. 
 
 "You make a god of me, O Hara San," he said huskily. 
 
 "You are my god," she answered simply, and as he 
 expostulated she laid her soft palm over his mouth and 
 nestled closer into his arms. 
 
 "I talk now," she said quaintly. "I have much to 
 tell." 
 
 But the promised news did not seem forthcoming for 
 she grew silent again, lying quietly content, rubbing her 
 head caressingly from time to time against his arm and 
 twisting his watch-chain round her tiny fingers. 
 
 The night was very quiet. No sound came from within 
 the house, and without only the soft wind murmuring 
 in the trees, cicadas chirping unceasingly and the little 
 river dashing down the hillside, splashing noisily, broke 
 the stillness. Nature, the sleepless, was awake making 
 her influence felt with the kindly natural sounds that 
 mitigate the awe of absolute silence sounds that har- 
 monized with the peacefulness of the little garden. To- 
 night the contrast between Yokohama, with its pitiful 
 western vulgarity obtruding at every turn, and the quiet 
 beauty of his surroundings struck Craven even more 
 sharply than usual. It seemed impossible that only two 
 miles away was Theatre Street blazing and rioting with 
 all its tinsel tawdriness, flaring lights and whining 
 gramophones. Here was another world and here he 
 had found more continuous contentment than he had 
 known in the last ten years. The garden was an old 
 one, planned by a master hand. By day it was lovely, 
 i but by night it took on a weird beauty that was almost 
 unreal. The light of the moon cast strong black 
 shadows, deep and impenetrable, that hovered among 
 the trees like sinister spirits lurking in the darkness.
 
 22 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 The trees themselves, contorted in the moonlight, 
 assumed strange forms vague shapes played in and out 
 among them the sombre bushes seemed alive with 
 peeping faces. It was the Garden of Enchantment, 
 peopled with a thousand djinns and demons of Old 
 Japan. The atmosphere was mysterious, the ah* was 
 saturated with sweet heavy scents. 
 
 Craven was a passionate lover of the night. The dark- 
 ness, the silence, the mystery of it appealed to him. He 
 was familiar with its every phase in many climates. It 
 enticed him for long solitary rambles in all the countries 
 he had visited during the ten years of his wanderings. 
 Nature, always fascinating, was then to him doubly 
 attractive, doubly alluring. To the night he went for 
 sympathy. To the night he went for inspiration. It 
 was during his midnight wanderings that he seemed to 
 get nearer the fundamental root of things. It was to 
 the night he turned for consolation in times of need. It 
 was then that he exorcised the demon of unrest that 
 entered into him periodically. All his life the charm of 
 the night had called to him and all his life he had re- 
 sponded obediently. As a tiny boy one of his earliest 
 recollections was of slipping out of bed and, evading 
 nurses and servants, stealing out into the park at Craven 
 Towers to seek the healing of the night for some childish 
 heartache. He had crept down the long avenue and 
 climbing the iron fence had perched on the rail and 
 watched the deer feeding by the light of the moon until 
 all the sorrow had been chased away and his baby heart 
 was singing with a kind of delirious happiness that he 
 did not understand and that gave way in its turn to a 
 natural childish enjoyment of an adventure that was 
 palpably forbidden. He had slid down from the fence 
 and retraced his steps up the avenue until he came to 
 the path that led to the rose garden and eventually to
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 2S 
 
 the terrace near the house. He had trotted along on his 
 little bare feet, shivering now and then, but more from 
 excitement than from cold, until he had come to the 
 long flight of stone steps that led to the terrace. He 
 had laboriously climbed them one foot at a time, his 
 toes curling at the contact with the chill stone, and at 
 the top he had halted suddenly, holding his breath. 
 Close to him was a tall indistinct figure wrapped in dark 
 draperies. For a moment fear gripped him and then an 
 immense curiosity swamped every other feeling and he 
 moved forward cautiously. The tall figure had turned 
 suddenly and it was his mother's sad girlish face that 
 looked down at him. She had lifted him up into her 
 arms, wrapping her warm cloak round his slightly clad 
 little body she had asked no questions and she had not 
 scolded. She had seemed to understand, even though 
 he gave no explanation, and it was the beginning of a 
 sympathy between them that had developed to an unus- 
 ual degree and lasted until her death, ten years ago. 
 She had hugged him tightly and he had always remem- 
 bered, without fully understanding in his childhood, the 
 half incredulous, half regretful whisper in his ear, "Has 
 it come to you so soon, little son?" 
 
 The hereditary instinct, born thus, had grown with 
 his own growth from boyhood to manhood until it was 
 an integral part of himself. 
 
 And the lure of the eastern nights more marvellous 
 and compelling even than in colder climates had become 
 almost an obsession. 
 
 Little O Hara San, firm believer in all devils, djinns 
 and midnight workers of mischief, had grown accustomed 
 to the eccentricities of the man who was her whole world. 
 If it pleased him to spend long hours of the night sit- 
 ting on the verandah when ordinary folk were sensibly 
 hut up in their houses she did not care so long as she
 
 4 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 might be with him. No demon in Japan could harm 
 her while she lay securely in his strong arms. And if 
 unpleasant shadows crept uncomfortably near the little 
 house she resolutely turned her head and hiding her face 
 against him shut out all disagreeable sights and slept 
 peacefully, confident in his ability to keep far from her 
 all danger. Her love was boundless and her trust abso- 
 lute. But tonight there was no thought of sleep. For 
 three long weeks she had not seen him and during 
 that time for her the sun had ceased to shine. She had 
 counted each hour until his return and she could not 
 waste the precious moments now that he had really 
 come. The djinns and devils in the garden might pre- 
 sent themselves in all their hideousness if it so pleased 
 them but tonight she was heedless of them. She had 
 eyes for nothing but the man she worshipped. Even in 
 his silent moods she was content. It was enough to feel 
 his arms about her, to hear his heart beating rhyth- 
 mically beneath her head and, lying so, to look up and 
 see the firm curve of his chin and the slight moustache 
 golden brown against his tanned cheek. 
 
 She stirred slightly in his arms with a little sigh of 
 happiness, and the faint movement woke him from his 
 abstraction. 
 
 "Sleepy?" he asked gently. 
 
 She laughed gaily at the suggestion and sat up to 
 show how wide awake she was. The light from a lantern 
 fell full on her face and Craven studied it with an inten- 
 sity of which he was hardly aware. She bore his scrutiny 
 in silence for a few moments and then looked away with 
 a little grimace. 
 
 "Thinking me very ugly?" she hazarded tentatively. 
 
 "No. Very pretty, " he replied truthfully. She leaned 
 forward and laid her cheek for a second against his, 
 then cuddled 'down into his arms again with a happy
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 25 
 
 laugh. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match over 
 the verandah rail. 
 
 "What is your news, O Hara San?" 
 
 She did not speak for a moment, and when she did it 
 was no answer to his question. She reached up her 
 hands and drawing his head down toward her, looked 
 earnestly into his eyes. 
 
 "You loving me?" she asked a little tremulously. 
 
 "You know I love you," he answered quietly. 
 
 "Very much?" 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 Her eyes flickered and her hands released their hold. 
 
 "Men not loving like women," she murmured at 
 length wistfully. And then suddenly, with her face 
 hidden against him, she told him of the fulfilling of all 
 her hope, the supreme desire of eastern women, pouring 
 out her happiness in quick passionate sentences, her 
 body shaking with emotion, her fingers gripping his 
 convulsively. 
 
 Craven sat aghast. It was a possibility of which he 
 had always been aware but which with other unpleasant 
 contingencies he had relegated to the background of his 
 mind. He had put it from him and had drifted, care- 
 less and indifferent. And now the shadowy possibility 
 had become a definite reality and he was faced with a 
 problem that horrified him. His cigarette, neglected, 
 burnt down until it reached his fingers and he flung it 
 away with a sharp exclamation. He did not speak and 
 the girl lay motionless, chilled with his silence, her hap- 
 piness slowly dying within her, vaguely conscious of a 
 dim fear that terrified her. Was the link that she had 
 craved to bind them closer together to be useless after 
 all? Was this happiness that he had given her, the 
 culminating joy of all the goodness and kindness that he 
 had lavished on her, no happiness to him? The thought
 
 26 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 stabbed poignantly. She choked back a sob and raised 
 her head, but at the sight of his face the question she 
 would have asked froze on her lips. 
 
 "Bar-ree! you are not angry with me?" she whis- 
 pered desperately. 
 
 "How could I be angry with you?" he replied 
 evasively. She shivered and clenched her teeth, but the 
 question she feared must be asked. 
 
 "Are you not glad?" it was a cry of entreaty. He 
 did not speak and with a low moan she tried to free 
 herself from him but she was powerless in his hold, and 
 soon she ceased to struggle and lay still, sobbing bitterly. 
 He drew her closer into his arms and laid his cheek on 
 her dark hair, seeking for words of comfort, and finding 
 none. She had read the dismay in his face, had in vain 
 waited for him to speak and no tardy lie would convince 
 her now. He had wounded her cruelly and he could 
 make no amends. He had failed her at the one moment 
 when she had most need of him. He cursed himself 
 bitterly. Gradually her sobs subsided and her hand 
 slipped into his clutching it tightly. She sat up at last 
 with a little sigh, pushing the heavy hair off her forehead 
 wearily, and forcing herself to meet his eyes looked at 
 him sorrowfully, with quivering lips. 
 
 "Please forgive, Bar-ree," she whispered humbly and 
 her humility hurt him more even than her distress. 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive, O Hara San," he said 
 awkwardly, and as she sought to go this time he did 
 not keep her. She walked to the edge of the verandah 
 and stared down into the garden. Problematical ghosts 
 and demons paled to insignificance before this real 
 trouble. She fought with herself gallantly, crushing 
 down her sorrow and disappointment and striving to 
 regain the control she had let slip. Her feminine code 
 was simple complete abnegation ; and self-restraint.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 27 
 
 And she had broken down under the first trial! He 
 would despise her, the daughter of a race trained from 
 childhood to conceal suffering and to suppress all signs 
 of emotion. He would never understand that it was 
 the alien blood that ran in her veins and the contact with 
 himself that had caused her to abandon the stoicism of 
 her people, that had made her reveal her sorrow. He 
 had laughed at her undemonstrativeness, demanding 
 expressions and proofs of her affection that were wholly 
 foreign to her upbringing until her Oriental reserve had 
 slipped from her whose only wish was to please him. 
 She had adopted his manners, she had made his ways 
 her ways, forgetting the bar that separated them. But 
 tonight the racial difference of temperament had risen 
 up vividly between them. Her joy was not his joy. 
 If he had been a Japanese he would have understood. 
 But he did not understand and she must hide both joy 
 and sorrow. It was his contentment not hers that mat- 
 tered. All through these last months of wonderful hap- 
 piness there had lurked deep down in her heart a fear 
 that it would not last, and she had dreaded lest any 
 unwitting act of hers might hasten the catastrophe. 
 
 She glanced back furtively over her shoulder. Craven 
 was leaning forward in the cane chair with his head in 
 his hands and she looked away hastily, blinded with 
 tears. She had troubled him distressed him. She had 
 "made a scene" the phrase, read in some English 
 book, flashed through her mind. Englishmen hated 
 scenes. She gripped herself resolutely and when he left 
 his chair and joined her she smiled at him bravely. 
 
 "See, all the djinns are gone, Bar-ree," she said with 
 a little nervous laugh. 
 
 He guessed the struggle she was making and chimed 
 in with her mood. 
 
 "Sensible fellows," he said lightly, tapping a cigarette
 
 28 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 on the verandah rail. "Gone home to bed I expect. 
 Time you went to bed too. I'll just smoke this cigar- 
 ette." But as she turned away obediently, he caught 
 her back, with a sudden exclamation: 
 
 "By Jove! I nearly forgot." 
 
 He took a tiny package from his pocket and gave it 
 to her. Girlishly eager her fingers shook with excite- 
 ment as she ripped the covering from a small gold case 
 attached to a slender chain. She pressed the spring and 
 uttered a little cry of delight. The miniature of Craven 
 had been painted by a French artist visiting Yokohama 
 and was a faithful portrait. 
 
 "Oh, Bar-ree, " she gasped with shining eyes, lifting 
 her face like a child for his kiss. She leaned against 
 him studying the painting earnestly, appreciating the 
 mastery of a fellow craftsman, ecstatically happy - - then 
 she slipped the chain over her head and closing the case 
 tucked it away inside her kimono. 
 
 "Now I have two," she murmured softly. 
 
 "Two?" said Craven pausing as he lighted his cigar- 
 ette. "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Wait, I show," she replied and vanished into the 
 house. She was back in a moment holding in her hand 
 another locket. He took it from her and moved closer 
 under the lantern to look at it. It hung from a thick 
 twisted cable of gold, and set round with pearls it was 
 bigger and heavier than the dainty case O Hara San 
 had hidden against her heart. For a moment he hesi- 
 tated, overcoming an inexplicable reluctance to open it 
 then he snapped the spring sharply. 
 
 "Good God!" he whispered slowly through dry lips. 
 And yet he had known, known intuitively before the lid 
 flew back, for it was the second time that he had handled 
 such a locket the first he had seen and left lying on 
 his dead mother's breast..
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 29 
 
 He stood as if turned to stone, staring with horror at 
 the replica of his own face lying in the hollow of his 
 hand. The thick dark hair, the golden brown mous- 
 tache, the deep grey eyes all were the same. Only the 
 chin in the picture was different for it was hidden by a 
 short pointed beard; so was it in the miniature that was 
 buried with his mother, so was it in the big portrait that 
 hung in the dining-room at Craven Towers. 
 
 "Who gave you this?" he asked thickly, and O Hara 
 San stared at him in bewilderment, frightened at the 
 strangeness of his voice. 
 
 "My mother," she said wonderingly. "He was 
 Bar-ree, too. See," she added pointing with a slender 
 forefinger to the name engraved inside the case. 
 
 A nightbird shrieked weirdly close to the house and 
 a sudden gust of wind moaned through the pine trees. 
 The sweat stood out on Craven's forehead in great drops 
 and the cigarette, fallen from his hand, lay smouldering 
 on the matting at his feet. 
 
 He pulled the girl to him and turning her face up 
 stared down into the great grey eyes, piteous now with 
 unknown fear, and cursed his blindness. Often the unrec- 
 ognised likeness had puzzled him. He dropped the 
 miniature and ground it savagely to powder with his 
 heel, heedless of O Hara San's sharp cry of distress, and 
 turned to the railing gripping it with shaking hands. 
 
 "Damn him, damn him!" 
 
 Why had instinct never warned him? Why had he, 
 knowing the girl's mixed parentage and knowing his own 
 family history, made no inquiries? A wave of sick 
 loathing swept over him. His head reeled. He turned 
 to O Hara San crouched sobbing on the matting over 
 the little heap of crushed gold and pearls. Was there 
 still fv loop-hole?
 
 SO THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "What was he to you?" he said hoarsely, and he 
 did not recognise his own voice. 
 
 She looked up fearfully, then shrank back with a cry 
 hiding her eyes to shut out the distorted face that 
 bent over her. 
 
 "He was my father," she whispered almost inaudibly. 
 But it sounded to Craven as if she had shouted it from 
 the housetop. Without a word he turned from her and 
 stumbled toward the verandah steps. He must get 
 away, he must be alone alone with the night to wrestle 
 with this ghastly tangle. 
 
 O Hara San sprang to her feet in terror. She did not 
 understand what had happened. Her mother had rarely 
 spoken of the man who had first betrayed and then 
 deserted her she had loved him too faithfully; with the 
 girl's limited experience all western faces seemed 
 curiously alike and the similarity of an uncommon name 
 conveyed nothing to her for she did not realize that it 
 was uncommon. She could not comprehend this terrible 
 change in the man who had never been anything but 
 gentle with her. She only knew that he was going, that 
 something inexplicable was taking him from her. A wild 
 scream burst from her lips and she sprang across the 
 verandah, clinging to him frantically, her upturned face 
 beseeching, striving to hold him. 
 
 "Bar-ree, Bar-reel you must not go. I die without 
 
 you. Bar-ree! my love " Her voice broke in a 
 
 frightened whisper as he caught her head in his hands 
 and stared down at her with eyes that terrified her. 
 
 "Your love?" he repeated with a strange ring 
 
 in his voice, and then he laughed a terrible laugh that 
 echoed horribly in the silent night and seemed to snap 
 some tension in his brain. He tore away her hands and 
 fled down the steps into the garden. He ran blindly, 
 instinctively turning to the hillside track that led further
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 31 
 
 into the country, climbing steadily upward, seeking the 
 solitary woods. He did not hear the girl's shriek of 
 despair, did not see her fall unconscious on the matting, 
 he did not see a lithe figure that bounded from the back 
 of the house nor hear the feet that tracked him. He 
 heard and saw nothing. His brain was dulled. His 
 only impulse was that of the wounded animal to hide 
 himself alone with nature and the night. He plunged 
 on up the hillside climbing fiercely, tirelessly, wading 
 mountain streams and forcing his way through thick 
 brushwood. He had taken off his coat earlier in the 
 evening and his silk shirt was ripped to ribbons. His 
 hair lay wet against his forehead and his cheek dripped 
 blood where a splintered bamboo had torn it, but he did 
 not feel it. He came at last to a tiny clearing in the 
 forest where the moon shone through a break in the 
 trees. There he halted, rocking unsteadily on his feet, 
 passing his hand across his face to clear the blood and 
 perspiration from his eyes, and then dropped like a log. 
 The next moment the bushes parted and his Japanese 
 servant crept noiselessly to his side. He bent down 
 over him for an instant. Craven lay motionless with 
 his face hidden in his arms, but as the Jap watched a 
 shudder shook him from head to foot and the man 
 backed cautiously, disappearing among the bushes as 
 silently as he had come. 
 
 The breeze died away and it was quite still within 
 the moonlit clearing. A broad shaft of cold white light 
 fell directly on the prone figure. He was morally 
 stunned and for a long time the agony of his mind was 
 blunted. But gradually the first shock passed and full 
 realization rushed over him. His hands dug convul- 
 sively into the soft earth and he writhed at his helpless- 
 ness. What he had done was irremediable. It was a 
 sudden thunderbolt that had flashed across his clear sky.
 
 32 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 This morning the sun had shone as usual and everything 
 had seemed serene to him whose life had always been 
 easy tonight he was wrestling in a hell of his own 
 making. Why had it come to him? He knew that his 
 life had been comparatively blameless. Why should 
 this one sin, so common throughout the world, recoil 
 on him so terribly? Why should he, among all the 
 thousands of men who had sinned similarly, be reserved 
 for such a nemesis? Why of him alone should such a 
 reckoning be demanded? Surely the fault was not his. 
 Surely it lay with the man who had wrecked his mother's 
 life and broken her heart, the man who had neglected 
 his duties and repudiated his responsibilities and who 
 had been faithful to neither wife nor mistress. He was 
 to blame. At the thought of his father an access of 
 rage passed over Craven and he cursed him in a kind 
 of dull fury. His fingers gripped the ground as if they 
 were about the throat of the man whom he hated with 
 all the strength of his being. The mystery of his father 
 had always lain like a shadow across his life. It was 
 a subject that his mother had refused to discuss. He 
 shivered now when he realized the agony his perpetual 
 boyish questions must have caused her. His petulance 
 because "other fellows' fathers" could be produced 
 when necessary and were not shrouded away in unex- 
 plained obscurity. He remembered her unfailing pa- 
 tience with him, the consistent loyalty she had shown 
 toward the husband who had failed her so utterly, the 
 courage with which she had taken the absent father's 
 place with the son whom she idolized. He understood 
 now her intolerant hatred of Japan and the Japanese, 
 an intolerance for which in his ignorance he had often 
 teased her. One memory came to him with striking 
 vividness a winter evening, in the dawn of his early
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST S3 
 
 manhood, when they had been sitting after dinner in 
 the library at Craven Towers his mother lying on the 
 sofa that had been rolled up before the fire, and himself 
 sprawled on the hearthrug at her feet. Already tall 
 and strong beyond his years and confident in the full 
 flush of his adolescence he had launched into a glowing 
 anticipation of the life that lay before him. He had 
 noticed that his mother's answers were monosyllabic and 
 vague, and then when he had broken off, hurt at her 
 seeming lack of interest, she had suddenly spoken tell- 
 ing him what she had all the evening nerved herself ta 
 say. Her voice had faltered once or twice but she had 
 steadied it bravely and gone on to the end, shirking 
 nothing, evading nothing, dealing faithfully with the 
 whole sex problem as far as she was able outraging her 
 own reserve that her son might learn the pitfalls and 
 temptations that would assuredly lie in wait for him, 
 sacrificing her own modesty that he might remain chaste. 
 He remembered the vivid flush that had risen to his face 
 and the growing sense of hot discomfort with which he 
 had listened to her low voice; his half grateful, half 
 shocked feeling. But it was not until he had glanced 
 furtively at her through his thick lashes and seen her 
 shamed scarlet cheeks and quivering downcast eyes that 
 he had realized what it cost her and the courage that 
 had made it possible for her to speak. He had mumbled 
 incoherently, his face hidden against her knee, and with 
 innate chivalry had kissed the little white hand he held 
 between his own great brown ones "Keep clean, 
 Barry," she had whispered tremulously, her hand on 
 his ruffled hair "only keep clean. " 
 
 And later on in the same evening she had spoken to 
 
 him of the woman who would one day inevitably enter 
 
 his life. "Be gentle to her, Barry-boy, you are such 
 
 ( a great strong fellow, and women, even the strongest
 
 84 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 women, are weak compared with men. We are poor 
 creatures, the best of us, we bruise so easily," she had 
 said with a laugh that was more than half a sob. And 
 for his mother's sake he had vowed to be gentle to all 
 women who might cross his path. And how had he kept 
 his vow? Tonight his egoism had swallowed his oath 
 and he had fled like a coward to be alone with his misery. 
 A great sob rose in his throat. Craven by name and 
 craven by nature he thought bitterly and he cursed 
 again the father who had bequeathed him such an inher- 
 itance, but as he did so he stopped suddenly for a 
 soft clear voice sounded close to his ear. "No man 
 need be fettered for life by an inherited weakness. Every 
 man who is worthy of the name can rise above hereditary 
 deficiencies." He lay tense and his heart gave a great 
 throb and then he remembered. The voice was inward 
 it was only another memory, an echo of the young 
 mother who had died, ten years before. Overwhelming 
 shame filled him. "Mother, Mother!" he whispered 
 chokingly, and deep tearing sobs shook his broad shoul- 
 ders. The moon had passed beyond the break in the 
 trees and it was dark now in the little clearing and to 
 the man who lay stripped of all his illusions the black- 
 ness was merciful. He saw himself as he was clearly 
 his selfishness, his arrogance, his pride, and a nausea of 
 self-hatred filled him. The eagerness with which he had 
 sought to lay on his father the blame of his own sin now 
 seemed to him despicable. He would always hate the 
 memory of the man whose neglect had killed his mother, 
 but the responsibility for this horror rested on himself. 
 He had made his own hell and the burden of it lay with 
 him only. That he had never known the manner of 
 his father's life in Japan and that during the time he 
 had himself been living in Yokohama he had cared to 
 make no inquiries was no excuse. He alone was to 
 blame.
 
 I 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 85 
 
 The air seemed suddenly stifling, his head throbbed 
 and he panted breathlessly. Then as suddenly the 
 sensation passed and he rolled over on his back with a 
 deep sigh, his limbs relaxed, too weary to move. For 
 a long time he lay until the first pale streaks of early 
 dawn showed above the tree tops, then he sat up with 
 a shiver and looked around curiously at the silent trees 
 and bamboo clumps that had witnessed his agony. His 
 head ached intolerably, his mouth was parched and the 
 cut in his cheek was stiff and sore. He staggered to his 
 feet and stood a moment holding his head in his hands 
 and the thought of O Hara San persisted urgently. He 
 shivered again as the image of the girl's distraught face 
 and pleading eyes rose before him in a few hours he 
 would have to go to her and the thought of the inter- 
 view sickened him. But he could not go now, his appear- 
 ance would terrify her, she might be asleep and he 
 could not wake her if nature had mercifully obliterated 
 her sorrow for a few hours. In his mad flight he had 
 lost all sense of distance and locality, but as the dawn 
 grew stronger he recognised his surroundings and started 
 to tramp to his own bungalow at the top of the Bluff. 
 He stumbled through the woods, hurrying wearily to 
 reach home before the full light. It was still dusk when 
 he arrived and crossing the verandah went into his bed- 
 room and flung himself, dressed as he was, on to the 
 bed. And the stealthy footsteps that had tracked him 
 through the night followed softly and stopped outside 
 the open doorway. The Jap stood for a few moments 
 listening intently.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CRAVEN woke abruptly a few hours later with a 
 spasmodic muscular contraction that jerked him 
 into a sitting position. Hah* dazed as yet with sleep 
 he swung his heels to the floor and sat on the edge of 
 the bed looking stupidly at his dusty boots and earth- 
 stained fingers. Then remembrance came and he 
 clenched his hands with a stifled groan. He drank 
 thirstily the tea that was on a table beside him and 
 tirent to the open window. As he crossed the room the 
 reflection of his blood-stained haggard face, seen hi a 
 mirror, startled him. A bath and clean clothes were 
 indispensable before he went back to the lonely little 
 house on the hillside. He lingered for a few minutes 
 by the window, glad of the cool morning breeze blowing 
 against his face, trying to pull himself together, trying to 
 brace himself to meet the consequences of his folly, trying 
 to drag his disordered thoughts into something approach- 
 ing coherence. He stared down over the bay and the 
 sunlit waters mocked him with their dancing ripples 
 sliding lightheartedly one after the other toward the 
 shore. The view that he looked upon had been until 
 this morning a never-failing source of pleasure, now it 
 moved him to nothing but the recollection of the hack- 
 neyed line in the old hymn "where only man is vile," 
 and he was vile with all power of compensation taken 
 from him. To some was given the chance of making 
 reparation. For him there was no chance. He could do 
 nothing to mitigate the injury he had done. She whom 
 
 36
 
 37 
 
 he had wronged must suffer for him and he was power- 
 less to avert that suffering. His helplessness over- 
 whelmed him. O Hara San, little O Kara San, who 
 had given unstintingly, with eager generous hands. His 
 face was set as he turned from the window and, starting 
 to pull cff his torn shirt, called for Yoshio. But no 
 Yoshio was forthcoming and at his second impatient 
 shout another Japanese servant bowed himself in, and, 
 kowtowing, intimated that Yoshio had already gone on 
 the honourable lord's errand and would there await him, 
 and that in the meantime his honourable bath was pre- 
 pared and his honourable breakfast would be ready hi 
 ten minutes. <, 
 
 Craven paused with his shirt hah* off. 
 
 "What errand?" he said, perplexed, unaware that 
 he was asking the question audibly. 
 
 The man bowed again, with hands outspread, and 
 gravely shook his head conveying his total ignorance of 
 a matter that was beyond his province, but the panto- 
 mime was lost on Craven who was wrestling with his 
 shirt and not even aware that he had spoken aloud. It 
 was the first time in ten years' service that Yoshio had 
 failed to answer a call and Craven wondered irritably what 
 could have taken him away at that time in the morning, 
 and concluded that it was some order given by himself 
 the day before, now forgotten, so dismissing Yoshio and 
 his affairs from his mind he signed to the still gently 
 explaining servant to go. 
 
 His brain felt dull and tired, his thoughts were chaotic. 
 He saw before him no clear course. Whichever way he 
 looked at it the horrible tangle grew more horrible. There 
 was a recurring sense of unreality, a visionary feeling 
 of detachment which enabled him to view the situation 
 from an impersonal standpoint, as one criticises a night- 
 mare, confident in the knowledge that it is only a dream.
 
 58 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 But in this case the confidence was based on nothing 
 tangible and the illusion faded as quickly as it rose and 
 left him confronted with the brutal truth from which 
 there was no escape. 
 
 In the dressing room everything that he needed had 
 been laid out in readiness for him, and he dressed 
 mechanically with a feverish haste that struggled ineffect- 
 ually with a refractory collar stud, and caused him 
 to execrate heartily the absent valet and his enigmatical 
 errand. Another ten minutes was lost while he hunted 
 for his watch and cigarette case which he suddenly remem- 
 bered were in the coat that he had left at the little 
 house. Or had he searched genuinely? Had he not 
 rather been perhaps unconsciously procrastinating, 
 shrinking from the task he had in hand, putting off the 
 evil moment? He swung on his heel violently and 
 passed out on to the verandah. But at the head of 
 the steps a vigilant figure rose up, bowing obsequiously, 
 announcing blandly that breakfast was waiting. 
 
 Craven frowned at him a moment until the meaning 
 of the words filtered through to his tired brain, then he 
 pushed him aside roughly. 
 
 "Oh, damn breakfast!" he cried savagely, and 
 cramming his sun helmet on his head ran down the 
 garden path to the waiting rickshaw. It never occurred 
 to him to wonder how it came to be there at an unu- 
 sual hour. He huddled in the back of the rickshaw, 
 his helmet over his eyes. His nerves were raw, his mind 
 running in uncontrollable riot. The way had never 
 seemed so long. He looked up impatiently. The rick- 
 shaw was crawling. The slow progress and the forced 
 inaction galled him and a dozen times he was on the 
 point of calling to the men to stop and jumping out, but 
 he forced himself to sit quietly, watching the play of 
 their abnormally developed muscles showing plainly ,
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 39 
 
 through the thin cotton garments that clung to their 
 sweat-drenched bodies, while they toiled up the steep 
 roads. And today the sight of the men's straining 
 limbs and heaving chests moved him more than usual. 
 He used a rickshaw of necessity, and had never over- 
 come his distaste for them. 
 
 Emerging from a grove of pines they neared the little 
 gateway and as the men flung themselves backward with 
 a deep grunt at the physical exertion of stopping, Craven 
 leaped out and dashed up the path, panic-driven. He 
 took the verandah steps in two strides and then stopped 
 abruptly, his face whitening under the deep tan. 
 
 Yoshio stood in the doorway of the outer room, his 
 arms outstretched, barring the entrance. His face had 
 gone the grey leaden hue of the frightened Oriental and 
 his eyes held a curious look of pity. His attitude put 
 the crowning touch to Craven's anxiety. He went a 
 step forward. 
 
 "Stand aside," he said hoarsely. 
 
 But Yoshio did not move. 
 
 "Master not going in," he said softly. 
 
 Craven jerked his head. 
 
 "Stand aside," he repeated monotonously. 
 
 For a moment longer the Jap stood obstinately, then 
 his eyes fell under Craven's stare and he moved reluc- 
 tantly, with a gesture of mingled acquiescence and regret. 
 Craven passed through into the room. It was empty. 
 He stood a moment hesitating indefinite anxiety giving 
 place to definite fear. 
 
 "O Hara San," he whispered, and the whisper seemed 
 to echo mockingly from the empty room. He listened 
 with straining ears for her answer, for her footstep and 
 he heard nothing but the heavy beating of his own heart. 
 Then a moan came from the inner room and he followed 
 the sound swiftly. The room was darkened and for a
 
 40 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 moment he halted in the doorway, seeing nothing in 
 the half light. The moaning grew louder and as he 
 became accustomed to the darkness he saw the old armah 
 crouching beside a pile of cushions. 
 
 In a second he was beside her and at his coming she 
 scrambled to her feet with a sharp cry, staring at him 
 wildly, then fled from the room. 
 
 He stood alone looking down on the cushions. His 
 heart seemed to stop beating and for a moment he 
 reeled, then he gripped himself and knelt down slowly. 
 
 "O Hara San " he whispered again, with shaking 
 
 lips, "little O Hara San little " the whisper died 
 
 away in a terrible gasping sob. 
 
 She lay as if asleep one arm stretched out along her 
 side, the other lying across her breast with her small 
 hand clenched and tucked under her chin, her head bent 
 slightly and nestled naturally into the cushion. The 
 attitude was habitual. A hundred times Craven had 
 seen her so asleep. It was impossible that she could 
 be dead. 
 
 He spoke to her again crying aloud in agony but 
 the heavily fringed eyelids did not open, no glad cry of 
 welcome broke from the parted lips, the little rounded 
 bosom that had always heaved tumultuously at his 
 coming was still under the silken kimono. He bent over 
 her with ashen face and laid his hand gently on her 
 breast, but the icy coldness struck into his own heart 
 and his touch seemed a profanation. He drew back with 
 a terrible shudder. 
 
 How dared he touch her? Murderer! For it was 
 murder. His work as surely as if hjfc had himself driven 
 a knife into that girlish breast or squeezed the breath 
 from that slender throat. He was under no delusion. 
 He understood the Japanese character too well and he 
 knew O Hara San too thoroughly to deceive himself.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 41 
 
 He knew the passionate love that she had given him, a 
 love that had often troubled him with its intensity. He 
 had been her god, her everything. She had worshipped 
 him blindly. And he had left her left her alone with 
 the memory of his strangeness and his harshness, alone 
 with her heart breaking, alone with her fear. And she 
 had been so curiously alone. She had had nobody but 
 him. She had trusted him and he had left her. She 
 had trusted him. Oh, God, she had trusted him! 
 
 His quick imagination visualised what must have 
 happened. Frantic with despair and desperate at the 
 seeming fulfilment of her fears she had not stopped to 
 reason nor waited for calmer reflection but with the 
 curious Oriental blending of impetuosity and stolid 
 deliberation she had killed herself, seeking release from 
 her misery with the aid of the subtle poison known to 
 every Japanese woman. He flung his arm across the 
 little still body and his head fell on the cushion beside 
 hers as his soul went down into the depths. 
 
 An hour of unspeakable bitterness passed before he 
 regained his lost control. 
 
 Then he forced himself to look at her again. The 
 poison had been swift and merciful. There was no dis- 
 tortion of the little oval face, no discoloration on the 
 fair skin. She was as beautiful as she had always been. 
 And with death the likeness had become intensified until 
 it seemed to him that he must have been blind beyond 
 belief to have failed to detect it earlier. 
 
 He looked for the last time through a blur of tears. 
 It seemed horrible to leave her to the ministrations of 
 others, he longed to gather up the slender body in his 
 arms and with his own hands lay her in the loveliest 
 corner of the garden she had loved so much. He tried
 
 42 
 
 to stammer a prayer but the words stuck in his throat. 
 No intercession from him was possible, nor did she need 
 it. She had passed into the realm of Infinite Under- 
 standing. 
 
 He rose to his feet slowly and lingered for a moment 
 looking his last round the little room that was so familiar. 
 Here were a few of her most treasured possessions, some 
 that had come to her from her mother, some that he 
 had given her. He knew them all so well, had handled 
 them so often. A spasm crossed his face. It had been 
 the home of the enchanted princess, shut off from all 
 the world until he had come. And his coming had 
 brought desolation. Near him a valuable vase, that she 
 had prized, lay smashed on the floor, overturned by the 
 old armah in the first frenzy of her grief. It was sym- 
 bolical and Craven turned from it with quivering lips 
 and went out heavily. 
 
 He winced at the strong light and shaded his eyes for 
 a moment with his hand. , 
 
 Yoshio was waiting where he had left him. Craven 
 walked to the edge of the verandah and stood for a few 
 moments in silence, steadying himself. 
 
 "Where were you last night, Yoshio?" he asked at 
 length, in a flat and tired voice. 
 
 The Jap shrugged. 
 
 "In town," he said, with American brevity learned 
 in California. 
 
 "Why did you come here this morning?" 
 
 Yoshio raised eyes of childlike surprise. 
 
 "Master's watch. Came here to find it," he said 
 nonchalantly, with an air that expressed pride at his 
 own astuteness. But it did not impress Craven. He 
 looked at him keenly, knowing that he was lying but 
 not understanding the motive and too tired to try and 
 understand. He felt giddy and his head was aching
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 43 
 
 violently for a moment everything seemed to swim 
 before his eyes and he caught blindly at the verandah rail. 
 But the sensation passed quickly and he pulled himself 
 together, to find Yoshio beside him thrusting his helmet 
 into his hands. 
 
 "Better Master going back to bungalow. I make all 
 arrangements, understanding Japanese ways," he said 
 calmly. 
 
 His words, matter-of-fact, almost brutal, brought 
 Craven abruptly to actualities. There was necessity for 
 immediate action. This was the East, where the grim 
 finalities must unavoidably be hastened. But he re- 
 sented the man's suggestion. To go back to the bun- 
 galow seemed a shirking of the responsibility that was 
 his, the last insult he could offer her. But Yoshio argued 
 vehemently, blunt to a degree, and Craven winced once 
 or twice at the irrefutable reasons he put forward. It 
 was true that he could do no real good by staying. It 
 was true that he was of no use in the present emergency, 
 that his absence would make things easier. But that it 
 was the truth made it no less hard to hear. He gave 
 in at last and agreed to all Yoshio's proposals a curious 
 compound of devotion to his master, shrewd common- 
 sense and knowledge of the laws of the country. He 
 went quickly down the winding path to the gate. The 
 garden hurt him. The careless splashing of the tiny 
 waterfall jarred poignantly laughing water caring noth- 
 ing that the hand that had planted much of the beauty 
 of its banks was stilled for ever. It had always seemed 
 a living being tumbling joyously down the hillside, it 
 seemed alive now callous, self-absorbed. 
 
 Craven had no clear impression of the run back into 
 Yokohama and he looked up with surprise when the men 
 stopped. He stood outside the gate for a moment look- 
 ing over the harbour. He stared at the place in the
 
 44 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 roadstead where the American yacht had been anchored. 
 Only last night had he laughed and chatted with the 
 Athertops? It was a lifetime ago! In one night his 
 youth had gone from him. In one night he had piled 
 up a debt that was beyond payment. He gave a quick 
 glance up at the brilliant sky and then went into the 
 house. In the sitting-room he started slowly to pace 
 the floor, his hands clasped behind him, an unlit cigarette 
 clenched between his teeth. The mechanical action 
 steadied him and enabled him to concentrate his 
 thoughts. Monotonously he tramped up and down the 
 long narrow room, unconscious of time, until at last he 
 dropped on to a chair beside the writing table and laid 
 his head down on his arms with a weary sigh. The little 
 still body seemed present with him. O Hara San's face 
 continually before him piteous as he had seen it last, 
 joyous as she had greeted him and thoughtful as when 
 he had first seen it. 
 
 That first time the memory of it rose vividly before 
 him. He had been in Yokohama about a month and 
 was settled in his bungalow. He had gone to the woods 
 to sketch and had found her huddled at the foot of a 
 steep rock from which she had slipped. Her ankle was 
 twisted and she could not move. He had offered his 
 assistance and she had gazed at him, without speaking, 
 for a few moments, with serious grey eyes that looked 
 oddly out of place in her little oval face. Then she had 
 answered him in slow carefully pronounced English. He 
 had laughingly insisted on carrying her home and had 
 just gathered her up into his arms when the old armah 
 arrived, voluble with excitement and alarm for het 
 charge. But the girl had explained to her in rapid Jap- 
 anese and the woman had hurried on to the house 
 to prepare for them, leaving Craven to follow more 
 slowly with his light burden. He had stayed only a
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 45 
 
 few minutes, drinking the ceremonial tea that was 
 offered so shyly. 
 
 The next day he had convinced himself that it was 
 only polite for him to enquire about the injured foot. 
 Then he had gone again, hoping to relieve the tedium 
 of her forced inactivity, until the going had become a 
 habit. The acquaintance had ripened quickly. From 
 the first she had trusted him, quickly losing her awe of 
 him and accepting his coming with the simplicity of a 
 child. She had early confided to him the story of her 
 short life of her solitude and friendlessness; of the 
 mother who had died five years before, bequeathing to 
 her the little house which had been the last gift of the 
 Englishman who had been O Kara San's father and who 
 had tired of her mother and left her two years after her 
 own birth; of the poverty against which they had strug- 
 gled for the Englishman had left no provision for them; 
 of the faithful old servant, who had been her mother's 
 nurse; of O Hara San's discovery of her own artistic 
 talent which had enabled her to provide for the simple 
 wants of the little household. She had grown up alone 
 apart from the world, watched over by the old woman, 
 her mind a tangle of fairy-tales and romance living 
 for her art, content with her solitude. And into her 
 secluded life had come Barry Craven and swept her off 
 her feet. Child of nature that she was she had been 
 unable to hide from him the love that quickly over- 
 whelmed her. And to Craven the incident of O Hara 
 San had come merely as a relief to the monotony of 
 lotus-eating, he had drifted into the connection from 
 sheer ennui. And then had come interest. No woman 
 had ever before interested him. He had never been able 
 to define the attraction she had had for him, the odd 
 tenderness he had felt for her. He had treated her as 
 a plaything, a fragile toy to be teased and petted. And
 
 46 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 in his hands she had developed from an innocent child 
 into a woman with a woman's capacity for devotion 
 and self-sacrifice. She had given everything, with trust 
 and gladness. And he had taken all she gave, with 
 colossal egoism, as his right accepting lightly all she 
 surrendered with no thought for the innocence he con- 
 taminated, the purity he soiled. He had stained her 
 soul before he had killed her body. His hands clenched 
 and unclenched convulsively with the agony of remorse. 
 Recollection was torture. Repentance came too late. 
 Too late! Too late! The words kept singing in his 
 head as if a demon from hell was howling them in his 
 ear. Nothing on earth could undo what he had done. 
 No power could animate that little dead body. And if 
 she had lived! He shuddered. But she had not lived, 
 she had died because of him. Because of him, Merci- 
 ful God, because of him! And he could make no resti- 
 tution. What was there left for him to do? A life of 
 expiation was not atonement enough. There seemed 
 only one solution a life for a life. And that was no 
 reparation, only justice. He put no value on his own 
 life he wished vaguely that the worth of it were greater 
 he had merely wasted it and now he had forfeited it. 
 Remained only to end it now. There was no reason 
 for delay. He had no preparations to make. His affairs 
 were all in order. His heir was his aunt, his father's 
 only sister, who would be a better guardian of the Craven 
 estates and interests than he had ever been. Peters was 
 independent and Yoshio provided for. There was noth- 
 ing to be done. He rose and opening a drawer in the 
 table took out a revolver and held it a moment in his 
 hand, looking at it dispassionately. It was not the ulti- 
 mate purpose for which it had been intended. He 
 had never imagined a time when he might end his own 
 Kfe. He had always vaguely connected suicide with
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 4T 
 
 cowardice. Was it the coward's way? Perhaps! Who 
 can say what cowardice or courage is required to take 
 the blind leap into the Great Unknown? That did not 
 trouble him. It was no question of courage or cowardice 
 but he felt convinced that his death was the only pay- 
 ment possible. 
 
 But as his finger pressed the trigger there was a slight 
 .sound beside him, his wrist and arm were caught in a 
 vice-like grip and the weapon exploded harmlessly in 
 the air as he staggered back, his arm almost broken with 
 the jiu-jitsu hold against which even his great strength 
 could do nothing. He struggled fruitlessly until he was 
 released, then reeled against the table, with teeth set, 
 clasping his wrenched wrist the sudden frustration of 
 his purpose leaving him shaking. He turned stiffly. 
 Yoshio was standing by him, phlegmatic as usual, 
 showing no signs of exertion or emotion as he proffered 
 a lacquer tray, with the usual formula: "Master's mail." 
 
 Craven's eyes changed slowly from dull suffering to 
 blazing wrath. Uncontrolled rage filled him. How 
 dared Yoshio interfere? How dared he drag him back 
 into the hell from which he had so nearly escaped? Ha 
 caught the man's shoulder savagely. 
 
 "Damn you!" he cried chokingly. "What the 
 
 devil do you mean " But the Jap's very impas- 
 
 siveness checked him and with an immense effort he 
 regained command of himself. And imperturbably 
 Yoshio advanced the tray again. 
 
 "Master's mail," he repeated, in precisely the same 
 voice as before, but this time he raised his veiled glance 
 to Craven's face. For a moment the two men stared 
 at each other, the grey eyes tortured and drawn, the 
 brown ones lit for an instant with deep devotion. Then 
 Craven took the letters mechanically and dropped
 
 48 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 heavily into a chair. The Jap picked up the revolver 
 and, quietly replacing it in the drawer from which it 
 had been taken, left the room, noiseless as he had entered 
 it. He seemed to know intuitively that it would be left 
 where he put it. 
 
 Alone, Craven leaned forward with a groan, burying 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 At last he sat up wearily and his eyes fell on the letters 
 lying unopened on the table beside him. He fingered 
 them listlessly and then threw them down again while 
 he searched his pockets absently for the missing cigarette 
 case. Remembering, he jerked himself to his feet with 
 an exclamation of pain. Was all life henceforward to be 
 a series of torturing recollections? He swore, and flung 
 his head up angrily. Coward! whining already like a 
 kicked cur! 
 
 He got a cigarette from a near table and picking up 
 the letters carried them out on to the verandah to read. 
 There were two, both registered. The handwriting on 
 one envelope was familiar and his eyes widened as he 
 looked at it. He opened it first. It was written from 
 Florence and dated three months earlier. With no formal 
 beginning it straggled up and down the sides of various 
 sheets of cheap foreign paper, the inferior violet ink 
 almost indecipherable in places. 
 
 "I wonder in what part of the globe this letter will 
 find you? I have been trying to write to you for a long 
 time and always putting it off but they tell me now 
 that if I am to write at all there must be no more manana. 
 They have cried 'wolf' so often in the last few months 
 that I had grown sceptical, but even I realise now that 
 there must be no delay. I have delayed because I have 
 procrastinated all my life and because I am ashamed 
 ashamed for the first time in all my shameless 
 career. But there is no need to tell you what I am 
 you told me candidly enough yourself in the old days
 
 -THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 49 
 
 it is sufficient to say that it is the same John Locke as 
 then drunkard and gambler, spendthrift and waster! 
 And I don't think that my worst enemy would have 
 much to add to this record, but then my worst enemy 
 has always been myself. Looking back now over my life 
 
 queer what a stimulating effect the certainty of death 
 has to the desire to find even one good action wherewith 
 to appease one's conscience it is a marvel to me that 
 Providence has allowed me to cumber the earth so long. 
 However, it's all over now they give me a few days at 
 the outside so I must write at once or never. Barry, 
 I'm in trouble, the bitterest trouble I have ever experi- 
 enced not for myself, God knows I wouldn't ask even 
 your help, but for another who is dearer to me than all 
 the world and for whose future I can do nothing. 
 You never knew that I married. I committed that indis- 
 cretion in Rome with a little Spanish dancer who ought 
 to have known better than to be attracted by my beaux 
 yeux for I had nothing else to offer her. We existed 
 in misery for a couple of years and then she left me, for 
 a more gilded position. But I had the cmld, which was 
 all I cared about. Thank God, for her sake, that I was 
 legally married to poor little Lola, she has at least no 
 stain on her birth with which to reproach me. The offi- 
 cious individual who is personally conducting me to 
 the Valley of the Shadow warns me that I must be brief 
 
 I kept the child with me as long as I could, people 
 were wonderfully kind, but it was no life for her. I've 
 come down in the social scale even since you knew me, 
 Barry, and at last I sent her away, though it broke my 
 heart. Still even that was better than seeing her day by 
 day lose all respect for me. My miserable pittance dies 
 with me and she is absolutely unprovided for. My family 
 cast off me and all my works many years ago, but I put 
 my pride in my pocket and appealed for help for Gillian 
 and they suggested a damned charitable institution ! 
 I was pretty nearly desperate until I thought of you. I 
 know no one else. For God's sake, Barry, don't fail me. 
 I can and I do trust Gillian to you. I have made you 
 her guardian, it is all legally arranged and my lawyer in 
 London has the papers. He is a well-known man and 
 emanates respectability my last claim to decency !
 
 50 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Gillian is at the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris. 
 My only consolation is that you are so rich that finan- 
 cially she will be no embarrassment to you. I realize 
 what I am asking and the enormity of it, but I am a 
 dying man and my excuse is Gillian. Oh, man, be 
 good to my little girl. I always hoped that something 
 would turn up, but it didn't! Perhaps I never went to 
 look for it, quien sabe? I shall never have the chance 
 again. ..." 
 
 The signature was barely recognisable, the final letter 
 terminating in a wandering line as if the pen had dropped 
 from nerveless fingers. 
 
 Craven stared at the loose sheets in his hands for some 
 time in horrified dismay, at first hardly comprehending, 
 then as the full significance of John Locke's dying bequest 
 dawned on him he flung them down and, walking to 
 the edge of the verandah, looked over the harbour, 
 tugging his moustache and scowling in utter perplexity. 
 A child a girl child ! How could he with his soiled 
 hands assume the guardianship of a child? He smiled 
 bitterly at the irony of it. Providence was dealing hard 
 with the child in the Paris convent, from dissolute father 
 to criminal guardian. And yet Providence had already 
 that morning intervened on her behalf two minutes 
 later and there would have been no guardian to take 
 the trust. Providence clearly held the same views as 
 John Locke on charitable institutions. 
 
 He thought of Locke as he had known him years ago, 
 in Paris, a man twenty years his senior penniless and 
 intemperate but with an irresistible charm, rolling stone 
 and waster but proud as a Spaniard; a man of the world 
 with the heart of a boy, the enemy of nobody but him- 
 self, weak but lovable; a ragged coat and the manners 
 of a prince; idealist and failure. 
 
 Craven read the letter through again. Locke had 
 forced his hand he had no option but to take up the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 51 
 
 charge entrusted to him. What a legacy! Surely if John 
 Locke had known he would have rather committed his 
 daughter to the tender mercies even of the "institu- 
 tion." But he had not known and he had trusted him. 
 The thought was a sudden spur, urging him as nothing 
 else could have done, bringing out all that was best 
 and strongest in his nature. In a few hours he had crashed 
 from the pinnacle on which he had soared in the blind- 
 ness of egoism down into depths of self-realisation that 
 seemed bottomless, and at the darkest moment when 
 his world was lying in pieces under his feet this had 
 come. Another chance had been given to him. Craven's 
 jaw set squarely as he thrust Locke's dying appeal into 
 his pocket. 
 
 He ripped open the second letter. It was, as he guessed, 
 from the lawyer and merely confirmed Locke's letter, 
 with the additional information that his client had died 
 a few hours after writing the said letter and that he had 
 forwarded the news to the Mother Superior of the Con- 
 vent School in Paris. 
 
 Craven went back into the sitting-room to write cables.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OWING to a breakdown on the line the boat-train 
 from Marseilles crawled into the Gare du Lyon a 
 couple of hours late. Craven had not slept. He had 
 given his berth in the waggon-lit to an invalid fellow 
 passenger and had sat up all night in an overcrowded, 
 overheated carriage, choked with the stifling atmosphere, 
 his long legs cramped for lack of space. 
 
 It was early March, and the difference between the 
 temperature of the train and the raw air of the station 
 struck him unpleasantly as he climbed down on to the 
 platform. 
 
 Leaving Yoshio, equally at home in Paris as in Yoko- 
 hama, to collect luggage, he signalled to a waiting taxi. 
 He had the hood opened and, pushing back his hat, let 
 the keen wind blow about his face. The cab jerked over 
 the rough streets, at this early hour crowded with people 
 working Paris going to its daily toil and he watched 
 them hurrying by with the indifference of familiarity. 
 Gradually he ceased even to look at the varied types, 
 the jostling traffic, the bizarre posters and the busy 
 newspaper kiosks. His thoughts were back hi Yoko- 
 hama. It had been six weeks before he could get 
 away, six interminable weeks of misery and self-loath- 
 ing. He had shirked nothing and evaded nothing. Much 
 had been saved him by the discreet courtesy of the 
 Japanese officials, but the ordeal had left him with 
 jangling nerves. Fortunately the ship was nearly 
 
 2
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 53 
 
 r empty and the solitude he sought obtainable. He felt 
 an outcast. To have joined as he had always previously 
 done in the light-hearted routine of a crowded ship bent 
 on amusements and gaiety would have been impossible. 
 
 He sought mental relief in action and hours spent 
 tramping the lonely decks brought, if not relief, endur- 
 ance. 
 
 And, always in the background, Yoshio, capable and 
 devoted, stood between him and the petty annoyances 
 that inevitably occur in travelling annoyances that in 
 his overwrought state would have been doubly annoying 
 with a thoughtfulness that was silently expressed hi a 
 dozen different devices for his comfort. That the Jap 
 knew a great deal more than he himself did of the tragedy 
 that had happened in the little house on the hill Craven 
 felt sure, but no information had been volunteered 
 and he had asked for none. He could not speak of it. 
 And Yoshio, the inscrutable, would continue to be 
 silent. The perpetual reminder of all that he could wish 
 to forget Yoshio became, illogically, more than ever 
 indispensable to him. At first, in his stunned condi- 
 tion, he had scarcely been sensible of the man's tact 
 and care, but gradually he had come to realize how much 
 he owed to his Japanese servant. And yet that was the 
 least of his obligation. There was a greater the matter 
 of a life; whatever it might mean to Craven, to Yoshio 
 the simple payment of a debt contracted years ago in 
 California. That more than this had underlain the Jap- 
 anese mind when it made its quick decision Craven could 
 not determine; the code of the Oriental is not that of 
 the Occidental, the demands of honour are interpreted 
 and satisfied differently. Life in itself is nothing to the 
 Japanese, the disposal of it merely the exigency of a 
 moment and withal a personal prerogative. By all the 
 accepted canons of his own national ideals Yoshio
 
 54 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 should have stood on one side but he had chosen to 
 interfere. Whatever the motive, Yoshio had paid his debt 
 in full. 
 
 The weeks at sea braced Craven as nothing else could 
 have done. As the ship neared France the perplexities 
 of the charge he was preparing to undertake increased. 
 His utter unfitness filled him with dismay. On receipt of 
 John Locke's amazing letter he had both cabled and 
 written to his aunt in London explaining his dilemma, 
 giving suitable extracts from Locke's appeal, and implor- 
 ing her help. And yet the thought of his aunt in con- 
 nection with the upbringing of a child brought a smile 
 to his lips. She was about as unsuited, in her own way, 
 as he. Caro Craven was a bachelor lady of fifty 
 spinster was a term wholly inapplicable to the strong- 
 minded little woman who had been an art student in 
 Paris in the days when insular hands were lifted in horror 
 at the mere idea, and was a designation, moreover, 
 deprecated strongly by herself as an insult to one who 
 stood at least in her own sphere on an equality 
 with the lords of creation. She was a sculptor, whose 
 work was known on both sides of the channel. When at 
 home she lived in a big house in London, but she trav- 
 elled much, accompanied by an elderly maid who had 
 been with her for thirty years. And it was of the maid 
 as much as of the mistress that Craven thought as the 
 taxi bumped over the cobbled streets. 
 
 "If we can only interest Mary." There was a gleam 
 of hope in the thought. "She will be the saving of the 
 situation. She spoiled me thoroughly when I was a 
 nipper." And buoyed with the recollection of grim- 
 visaged angular Mary, who hid a very tender heart 
 beneath a somewhat forbidding exterior, he overpaid the 
 chauffeur cheerfully. 
 
 There was an accumulation of letters waiting for him
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 55 
 
 at the hotel, but he shuffled them all into his overcoat 
 pocket, with the exception of one from Peters which he 
 tore open and read immediately, still standing in the 
 lounge. 
 
 An hour later he set out on foot for the quiet hotel 
 which had been his aunt's resort since her student days, 
 and where she was waiting for him now, according to a 
 telegram that he had received on his arrival at Mar- 
 seilles. The hall door of her private suite was opened by 
 the elderly maid, whose face lit up as she greeted him. 
 
 "Miss Craven is waiting in the salon, sir. She has 
 been tramping the floor this hour or more, expecting 
 you," she confided as she preceded him down the 
 corridor. 
 
 Miss Craven was standing in a characteristic attitude 
 before an open fireplace, her feet planted firmly on the 
 hearthrug, her short plump figure clothed in a grey coat 
 and skirt of severe masculine cut, her hands plunged 
 deep into her jacket pockets, her short curly grey hair 
 considerably ruffled. She bore down on her nephew with 
 out-stretched hands. 
 
 "My dear boy, there you are at last! I have been 
 waiting hours for you. Your train must have been very 
 late abominable railway service! Have you had any 
 breakfast? Yes? Good. Then take a cigarette they 
 are in that box at your elbow and tell me about this 
 amazing thunderbolt that you have hurled at me. What 
 a preposterous proposition for two bachelors like you 
 and me! To be sure your extraordinary friend did not 
 include me in his wild scheme though no doubt he 
 would have, had he known of my existence. Was the 
 man mad? Who was he, anyhow? John Locke of where? 
 There are dozens of Lockes. And why did he seJec* 
 you of all people? What fools men are!" She sub- 
 sided suddenly into an easy chair and crossed on*
 
 56 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 neat pump over the other. "All of 'em!" she added 
 emphatically, flicking cigarette ash into the fire with a 
 vigorous sidelong jerk. Her eyes were studying his face 
 attentively, seeking for themselves the answer to the 
 more personal inquiries that would have seemed neces- 
 sary to a less original woman meeting a much-loved 
 nephew after a lapse of years. Craven smiled at the 
 characteristically peculiar greeting and the well remem- 
 bered formula. He settled his long limbs comfortably 
 into an opposite chair. 
 
 "Even Peter?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 Miss Craven laughed good temperedly. 
 
 "Peter," she rejoined succinctly, "is the one brilliant 
 exception that proves the rule. I have an immense 
 respect for Peter." He looked at her curiously. "And 
 me, Aunt Caro?" he asked with an odd note in his 
 voice. Miss Craven glanced for a moment at the big 
 figure sprawled in the chair near her, then looked back 
 at the fire with pursed lips and wrinkled forehead, and 
 rumpled her hair more thoroughly than before. 
 
 "My dear boy," she said at last soberly, "you resemble 
 my unhappy brother altogether too much for my peace 
 of mind. " 
 
 He winced. Her words probed the still raw wound. 
 But unaware of the appositeness of her remark Miss 
 Craven continued thoughtfully, still staring into the fire: 
 
 "The Supreme Sculptor, when He made me, denied 
 me the good looks that are proverbial in our family 
 but in compensation he endowed me with a solid mind 
 to match my solid body. The Family means a great deal 
 to me, Barry more than anybody has ever realised 
 and there are times when I wonder why the solidity of 
 mind was given to the one member of the race who could 
 not perpetuate it in the direct line." She sighed, and 
 then as if ashamed of unwonted emotion, jerked her
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 57 
 
 dishevelled grey head with a . movement that was sig- 
 nularly reminiscent of her nephew. Craven flushed. 
 
 "You're the best man of the family, Aunt Caro." 
 
 " So your mother used to say poor child. " Her 
 voice softened suddenly. She got up restlessly and 
 resumed her former position before the fire, her hands 
 back in the pockets of her mannish coat. 
 
 "What about your plans, Barry? What are you going 
 to do?" she said briskly, with an evident desire to avoid 
 further moralising. He joined her on the hearthrug, 
 leaning against the mantelpiece. 
 
 "I propose to settle down at any rate for a time, at 
 the Towers," he replied. "I intend to interest myself 
 in the estates. Peter insists that I am wanted, and though 
 that is nonsense and he is infinitely more necessary than 
 I am, still I am willing to make the trial. I owe him 
 more than I can even repay we all do and if my 
 presence is really any help to him he's welcome to it. 
 I shall be about as much real use as the fifth wheel of 
 a coach a damned rotten wheel at that," he added 
 bitterly. And for some minutes he seemed to forget that 
 there was more to say, staring silently into the fire and 
 from time to time putting together the blazing logs with 
 his foot. 
 
 Miss Craven was possessed of the unfeminine attribute 
 of holding her tongue and reserving her comments. She 
 refrained from comment now, rocking gently backward 
 and forward on her heels a habit associated with mental 
 concentration. 
 
 "I shall take the child to the Towers," he continued 
 at length, "and there I shall want your help, Aunt Caro." 
 He paused stammering awkwardly "It's an infernal 
 impertinence asking you to to " 
 
 "To turn nursemaid at my time of life," she inter- 
 rupted. "It is certainly a career I never anticipated.
 
 58 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 And, candidly, I have doubts about its success," she 
 laughed and shrugged, with a comical grimace. Then 
 she patted his arm affectionately "You had much 
 better take Peter's advice and marry a nice girl who 
 would mother the child and give her some brothers and 
 sisters to play with." 
 
 He stiffened perceptibly. 
 
 "I shall never marry," he said shortly. Her eyebrows 
 rose the fraction of an inch but she bit back the answer 
 that rose to her lips. 
 
 "Never is a long day," she said lightly. "The 
 Cravens are an old family, Barry. One has one's obliga- 
 tions. " 
 
 He did not reply and she changed the conversation 
 hastily. She had a horror of forcing a confidence. 
 
 "Remains Mary," she said, with the air of propos- 
 ing a final expedient. Craven's tense face relaxed. 
 
 "Mary had also occurred to me," he admitted with 
 an eagerness that was almost pathetic. 
 
 Miss Craven grunted and clutched at her hair. 
 
 "Mary!" she repeated with a chuckle, "Mary, who 
 has gone through life with Wesley's sermons under her 
 arm and a child out of a Paris convent! There are 
 certainly elements of humour in the idea. But I must 
 have some details. Who was this Locke person?" 
 
 When Craven had told her all he knew she stood quite 
 still for a long while, rolling a cigarette tube between 
 her firm hands. 
 
 "Dissolute English father and Spanish mother of 
 doubtful morals. My poor Barry, your hands will be 
 full." 
 
 " Our hands, " he corrected. 
 
 " Our hands ! Good heavens, the bare idea terrifies me ! " 
 She shrugged tragically and was dumb until Mary came 
 to announce lunch.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 59 
 
 Across the table she studied her nephew with an atten- 
 tion that she was careful to conceal. She was used to 
 his frequent coming and going. Since the death of his 
 mother he had travelled continually and she was accus- 
 tomed to his appearing more or less unexpectedly, at 
 longer or shorter intervals. They had always been great 
 friends, and it was to her house in London that he invari- 
 ably went first on returning to England sure of his 
 welcome, sure of himself, gay, easy-going and debonair. 
 She was deeply attached to him. But, with something 
 akin to terror, she had watched the likeness to the older 
 Barry Craven growing from year to year, fearful lest 
 the moral downfall of the father might repeat itself 
 in the son. The temptation to speak frankly, to warn, 
 had been great. Natural dislike of interference, and 
 a promise given reluctantly to her dying sister-in-law, 
 had kept her silent. She had loved the tall beautiful 
 woman who had been her brother's wife and a promise 
 made to her was sacred though she had often doubted 
 the wisdom of a silence that might prove an incalculable 
 danger. She respected the fine loyalty that demanded 
 such a promise, but her own views were more compre- 
 hensive. She was strong enough to hold opinions that 
 were contrary to accepted traditions. She admitted a 
 loyalty due to the dead, she was also acutely conscious 
 of a loyalty due to the living. A few minutes before 
 when Miss Craven had, somewhat shamefacedly, owned 
 to a love of the family to which they belonged she had 
 but faintly expressed her passionate attachment thereto. 
 Pride of race was hers to an unusual degree. All that 
 was best and noblest she craved for the clan. And Barry 
 ' was the last of the Cravens. Her brother had failed 
 her and dragged her high ideals in the dust. Her cour- 
 age had restored them to endeavour a second time. If 
 Barry failed her too! Hitherto her fears had had no
 
 60 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 definite basis. There had been no real ground for anxi- 
 ety, only a developing similarity of characteristics that 
 was vaguely disquieting. But now, as she looked at 
 him, she realised that the man from whom she had 
 parted nearly two years before was not the man who now 
 faced her across the table. Something had happened 
 something that had changed him utterly. This man was 
 older by far more than the actual two years. This was a 
 man whom she hardly recognised; hard, stern, with a 
 curiously bitter ring at times in his voice, and the shadow 
 of a tragedy lying in the dark grey eyes that had changed 
 so incredibly for lack of their habitual ready smile. 
 There were lines about his mouth and a glint of grey 
 in his hair that she was quick to observe. Whatever 
 had happened he had suffered. That was written 
 plainly on his face. And unless he chose to speak she 
 was powerless to help him. She refused to intrude, unbid- 
 den, into another's private concerns. That he was an 
 adored nephew, that the intimacy between them was 
 great made no difference, the restriction remained the 
 same. But she was woman enough to be fiercely jealous 
 for him. She resented the change she saw it was not 
 the change she had desired but something far beyond ker 
 understanding that left her with the feeling that she 
 was confronting a total stranger. But she was careful 
 to hide her scrutiny, and though her mind speculated 
 widely she continued to chatter, supplementing the home 
 news her scanty letters had afforded and retailing art 
 gossip of the moment. One question only she allowed 
 herself. There had come a silence. She broke it 
 abruptly, leaning forward in her chair, watching him 
 keen-eyed. 
 
 "Have you been ill out there?" her hand fluttered 
 vaguely in an easterly direction. Craven looked up in 
 surprise.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 61 
 
 "No," he said shortly, "I never am ill." 
 
 Miss Craven's nod as she rose from the table might 
 have been taken for assent. It was in reality satisfaction 
 at her own perspicacity. She had not supposed for one 
 moment that he had been ill but in no other way could 
 she express what she wanted to know. It was hi itself 
 an innocuous and natural remark, but the sudden gloom 
 that fell on him warned her that her ingenuity was, per- 
 haps, not so great as she imagined. 
 
 "Triple idiot!" she reflected wrathfully, as she poured 
 out coffee, "you had better have held your tongue," 
 and she set herself to charm away the shadow from 
 his face and dispel any suspicion he might have formed 
 of her desire to probe into his affairs. She had an uncom- 
 mon personality and could talk cleverly and well when 
 she chose. And today she did choose, exerting all her 
 wit to combat the taciturn fit that emphasized so forci- 
 bly the change in him. But though he listened with 
 apparent attention his mind was very obviously else- 
 where, and he sat staring into the fire, mechanically flick- 
 ing ash from his cigarette. Conversation languished and 
 at length Miss Craven gave it up, with a wry face, and 
 sat also silent, drumming with her fingers on the arm 
 of the chair. Her thoughts, in quest of his, wandered 
 far away until the sudden ringing of the telephone beside 
 her made her jump violently. 
 
 She answered the call, then handed the receiver to 
 Craven. 
 
 "Your heathen," she remarked dryly. 
 
 Though the least insular of women she had never 
 grown accustomed to the Japanese valet. He turned 
 from the telephone with a look of mingled embarrass- 
 ment and relief. 
 
 "I sent a message to the convent this morning. 
 Yoshio has just given me the answer. The Mother
 
 62 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Superior will see me this afternoon." He endeavoured 
 to make his voice indifferent, pulling down his waistcoat 
 and picking a minute thread from off his coat sleeve. 
 Miss Craven's mouth twitched at the evident signs of 
 nervousness while she glanced at him narrowly. Prompt 
 action in the matter of an uncongenial duty had not 
 hitherto been a conspicuous trait in his character. 
 
 "You are certainly not letting the grass grow under 
 your feet. " 
 
 He jerked his head impatiently. 
 
 "Waiting will not make the job more pleasant," he 
 shrugged. "I will see the child at once and arrange for 
 her removal as soon as possible. " 
 
 Miss Craven eyed him from head to foot with a grim 
 smile that changed to a whole-hearted laugh of amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "It's a pity you have so much money, Barry, you 
 would make your fortune as a model. You are too crim- 
 inally good looking to go fluttering into convents." 
 
 A ghost of the old smile flickered in his eyes. 
 
 "Come and chaperon me, Aunt Caro. " 
 
 She shook her head laughingly. 
 
 "Thank you no. There are limits. I draw the line 
 at convents. Go and get it over, and if the child is pre- 
 sentable you can bring her back to tea. I gather that 
 Mary is anticipating a complete failure on our part to 
 sustain the situation and is prepared to deputise. She 
 has already ransacked An Paradis Des Enfants for suitable 
 bribes wherewith to beguile her infantile affection. I 
 understand that there was a lively scene over the pur- 
 chase of a doll, the cost of which clad only in its birth- 
 day dress was reported to me as 'a fair affront.' 
 Even after all these years Mary jibs at Continental 
 prices. It is her way of keeping up the prestige of the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 63 
 
 British Empire, bless her. An overcharge, in her opin- 
 ion, is a deliberate twist of the lion's tail." 
 
 In the taxi he looked through the correspondence he 
 had received that morning for the lawyer's letter that 
 would establish his claim to John Locke's child. Then 
 he leaned back and lit a cigarette. He had an absurd 
 feeling of nervousness and cursed Locke a dozen times 
 before he reached the convent. He was embarrassed 
 with the awkward situation in which he found himself 
 just how awkward he seemed only now fully to appre- 
 ciate. The more he thought of it, the less he liked it. 
 The coming interview with the Mother Superior was not 
 the least of his troubles. The promise of the morning 
 had not been maintained, overhead the sky was leaden, 
 and a high wind drove rain in sharp splashes against the 
 glass of the cab. The pavements were running with 
 water and the leafless trees in the avenues swayed and 
 creaked dismally. The appearance of the streets was 
 chill and depressing. Craven shivered. He thought of 
 the warmth and sunshine that he had left in Japan. 
 The dreariness of the present outlook contrasted suffi- 
 ciently with the gay smiling landscape, the riotous wealth 
 of colour, and the scent-laden air of the land of his recol- 
 lections. A feeling almost of nostalgia came to him. 
 But with the thought came also a vision a little still 
 body lying on silken cushions; a small pale face with 
 fast shut eyes, the long lashes a dusky fringe against 
 the ice-cold cheek. The vision was terribly distinct, 
 horribly real not a recollection only, as on the morning 
 that he had found her dead and he waited, with the 
 sweat pouring down his face, for the closed eyes to open 
 and reveal the agony he had read in them that night, 
 when he had torn her clinging hands away and left her. 
 The faint aroma of the perfume she had used was hi 
 his nostrils, choking him. The slender limbs seemed to
 
 C4 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 pulsate into life, the little breasts to stir perceptibly, the 
 parted lips to tremble. He could not define the actual 
 moment of the change but, as he bent forward, with 
 hands close gripped, all at once he found himself looking 
 straight into the tortured grey eyes for a second only. 
 Then the vision faded, and he was leaning back in the 
 cab wiping the moisture from his forehead. God, would 
 it never leave him! It haunted him. In the big bunga- 
 low on the Bluff; rising from the sea as he leaned on the 
 steamer rail; during the long nights on the ship as he 
 lay sleepless in the narrow brass cot; last night in the 
 crowded railway carriage then it had been so vivid 
 that he had held his breath and glanced around stealth- 
 ily with hunted eyes at his fellow passengers looking 
 for the horrified faces that would tell him that they 
 also saw what he could see. He never knew how long it 
 lasted, minutes or seconds, holding him rigid until it 
 passed to leave him bathed in perspiration. Environ- 
 ment seemed to make no difference. It came as readily 
 in a crowd as when he was alone. He lived in perpetual 
 dread of betraying his obsession. Once only it had hap- 
 pened in the bungalow, the night before he left Japan, 
 and his involuntary cry had brought the watchful valet. 
 And as he crossed the room Craven had distinctly seen 
 him pass through the little recumbent figure and, with 
 blazing eyes, had dragged him roughly to one side, 
 pointing and muttering incoherently. And Yoshio had 
 seemed to understand. Sceptical as he was about the 
 supernatural, at first Craven's doubt had been rudely 
 shaken; but with the steadying of his nerves had come 
 the conviction that the vision was inward, though at the 
 moment so real that often his confidence momentarily 
 wavered, as last night in the tram. It came with no kind 
 of regularity, no warning that might prepare him. And 
 recurrence brought no mitigation, no familiarising that
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 65 
 
 could temper the acute horror it inspired. To what pitch 
 of actuality might it attain? To what lengths might it 
 drive him? He dragged his thoughts up sharply. To 
 dwell on it was fatal, that way lay insanity. He set his 
 teeth and forced himself to think of other things. There 
 was ample material. There was primarily the salvage of 
 a wasted life. During the last few weeks he had been 
 forced to a self-examination that had been drastically 
 thorough. The verdict had been an adverse one. Per- 
 sonal criticism, once aroused, went far. The purposeless 
 life that he had led seemed now an insult to his man- 
 hood. It had been in his power to do so much he had 
 actually done disastrously little. He had loafed through 
 life without a thought beyond the passing interest of the 
 moment. And even in the greater interests of his life, 
 travel and big game, he had failed to exert himself beyond 
 a mediocre level. He had travelled far and shot a rare 
 beast or two, but so had many another and with 
 greater difficulties to contend with than he who had 
 never wrestled with the disadvantages of inferior equip- 
 ment and inadequate attendance. Muscularly and con- 
 stitutionally stronger than the average, physically he 
 could have done anything. And he had done nothing 
 nothing that others had not done as well or even better. 
 It was sufficiently humiliating. And the outcome of his 
 reflections had been a keen desire for work, hard absorb- 
 ing work, with the hope that bodily fatigue might in 
 some measure afford mental alleviation. It did not even 
 need finding. With a certain shame he admitted the 
 fact. It had waited for him any time these last ten years 
 in his own home. The responsibility of great possessions 
 was his. And he had shirked. He had evaded the duty 
 he owed to a trust he had inherited. It was a new view 
 of his position that recent thought had awakened. It 
 was still not too late. He would go back like the prodi-
 
 0C THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 gal not to eat the fatted calf, but to sit at the feet of 
 Peters and learn from him the secret of successful estate 
 management. 
 
 For thirty years Peter Peters had ruled the Craven 
 properties, and they were all his life. For the last ten 
 years he had never ceased urging his employer to assume 
 the reins of government himself. His entreaties, pro- 
 testations and threats of resignation had been unheeded. 
 Craven felt sure that he would never relinquish his post, 
 he had grown into the soil and was as firmly fixed a 
 the Towers itself. He was an institution in the county, 
 a personality on the bench. He ruled his own domains 
 with a kindly but absolute autocracy which succeeded 
 perfectly on the Craven estates and was the envy of 
 other agents, who had not his ability to do likewise. 
 Well born, original and fearless he was popular in castle 
 and in cottage, and his advice was respected by all. He 
 neither sought nor abused a, confidence, and in conse- 
 quence was the depository of most of the secrets of the 
 countryside. To his sympathetic ears came both grave 
 offences and minor indiscretions, as to a kindly safety- 
 valve who advised and helped and was subsequently 
 silent. His exoneration was considered final. "I con- 
 fessed to Peter" became a recognised formula, instituted 
 by a giddy young Marchioness at the north end of the 
 county, whose cousin he we 3. And there, invariably, 
 the matter ended. And for Craven it was the one bright 
 spot in the darkness before him. Life was going to be 
 hell but there would always be Peter. 
 
 At the Convent gates the taxi skidded badly at the 
 suddenly applied brakes, and then backed jerkily into 
 position. Craven felt an overwhelming inclination to 
 take to his heels. The portress who admitted him had 
 evidently received orders, for she silently conducted 
 him to a waiting room and left him alone. It was
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 7 
 
 parsely furnished but had on the walls some fine old 
 rosewood panelling. The narrow heavily leaded windows 
 overlooked a paved quadrangle, glistening with moisture. 
 For a few moments the rain had ceased but drops still 
 pattered sharply on to the flagstones from the branches 
 of two large chestnut trees. The outlook was melancholy 
 and he turned from the window, shivering. But the chill 
 austere room was hardly more inspiring. The atmos- 
 phere was strange to him. It was a world apart from 
 anything that had ever touched him. He marvelled 
 suddenly at the countless lives living out their allotted 
 span in the confined area of these and similar walls. 
 Surely all could not submit willingly to such a crushing 
 captivity? Some must agonize and spend their strength 
 unavailingly, like birds beating their wings against the 
 bars of a cage for freedom. To the man who had roamed 
 through all the continents of the world this forced inac- 
 tivity seemed appalling stultifying. The hampering 
 of personal freedom, the forcing of independent minds 
 into one narrow prescribed channel that admitted of no 
 individual expansion, the waste of material and the 
 fettering of intellects, that were heaven-sent gifts to be 
 put out to usury and not shrouded away in a napkin, 
 revolted him. The conventual system was to him a sur- 
 vival of medievalism, a relic of the dark ages; the last 
 refuge of the shirkers of the world. The communities 
 themselves, if he had thought of them at all, had been 
 regarded as a whole. He had never troubled to consider 
 them as composed of single individuals. Today he 
 thought of them as separate human beings and his intol- 
 erance increased. An indefinite distaste never seriously 
 considered seemed, during the few moments in the bare 
 waiting room, to have grown suddenly into active dis- 
 like. He was wholly out of sympathy with his sur- 
 roundings, impatient of the necessity that brought him
 
 68 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 into contact with what he would have chosen to avoid. 
 He looked about with eyes grown hard and contemp- 
 tuous. The very building seemed to be the embodi- 
 ment of retrogression and blind superstition. He was 
 filled with antagonism. His face was grim and his figure 
 drawn up stiffly to its full height when the door opened 
 to admit the Mother Superior. For a moment she hesi- 
 tated, a faint look of surprise coming into her face. And 
 no antagonism, however intolerant, could have braved 
 her gentle dignity. "It is Monsieur Craven?" she 
 asked, a perceptible interrogation in her soft voice. 
 
 She took the letters he gave her and read them care- 
 fully pausing once or twice as if searching for the cor- 
 rect translation of a word then handed them back to 
 him in silence. She looked at him again, frankly, with 
 no attempt to disguise her scrutiny, and the perplexity 
 in her eyes grew greater. One small white hand slid to 
 the crucifix hanging on her breast, as if seeking aid from 
 the familiar symbol, and Craven saw that her fingers 
 were trembling. A faint flush rose in her face. 
 
 "Monsieur is perhaps married, or happily he has 
 a mother?" she asked at last, and the flush deepened as 
 she looked up at the big man standing before her. She 
 made a little gesture of embarrassment but her eyes did 
 not waver. They would not, he thought with sudden 
 intuition. For he realised that it was one of his own 
 order who confronted him. It was not what he had 
 anticipated. The Mother Superior's low voice continu- 
 ing in gentle explanation broke into his thoughts. 
 
 "Monsieur will forgive that I catechise him thus but 
 I had expected one much older. " Her distress was 
 obvious. And Craven divined that as a prospective 
 guardian he fell short of expectation. And yet, his lack 
 of years was apparently to her the only drawback. His 
 lack of years Good God, and he felt so old! His youth
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 69 
 
 was a disadvantage that counted for nothing in the 
 present instance. If she could know the truth, if the 
 anxious gaze that was fixed so intently on him could 
 look into his heart with understanding, he knew that she 
 would shrink from him as from a vile contamination. 
 
 He conceived the horror dawning in her eyes, the loath- 
 ing in her attitude, and seemed to hear her passionate 
 protest against his claim to the child who had been shel- 
 tered in the safety of the community that he had despised. 
 The safety of the community that had not before 
 occurred to him. For the first time he considered it a 
 refuge to those who there sought sanctuary and who 
 were safe-guarded from such as he. He winced, but 
 did not spare himself. The sin had been only his. The 
 child who had died for love of him had been as innocent 
 of sin as the birds who loved and mated among the pine 
 trees in her Garden of Enchantment. She had had no 
 will but his. Arrogantly he had taken her and she had 
 submitted was he not her lord? Before his shadow fell 
 across her path no blameless soul within these old con- 
 vent walls had been more pure and stainless than the 
 soul of O Hara San. It was the sins of such as he that 
 drove women to this shelter that offered refuge and con- 
 solation, to escape from such as he they voluntarily 
 immured themselves; surrendering the purpose of their 
 being, seeking in bodily denial the salvation of their 
 souls. 
 
 The room had grown very dark. A sudden glare of 
 light made Craven realise that a question asked was still 
 unanswered. He had not, in his abstraction, been aware 
 of any movement. Now he saw the Mother Superior 
 walking leisurely back from the electric switch by the 
 door, and guessed from her placid face that the interval 
 had been momentary and had passed un-noticed. Some 
 answer was required now. He pulled himself together.
 
 70 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "I am not married," his voice was strained, "and I 
 have no mother. But my aunt Miss Craven the 
 
 sculptor " he paused enquiringly and she smiled 
 
 reassurance. 
 
 "Miss Craven's beautiful work is known to me," she 
 aaid with ready tact that put him more at ease. 
 
 "My aunt has, most kindly, promised to to co-oper- 
 ate," he finished lamely. 
 
 The anxiety faded from the Mother Superior's face 
 and she sat down with ail air of relief, motioning Craven 
 to a chair. But with a curt bow he remained standing. 
 He had no wish to prolong the interview beyond what 
 courtesy and business demanded. He listened with a 
 variety of feelings while the Nun spoke. Her earnest- 
 ness he could not fail to perceive, but it required a decided 
 effort to concentrate, and follow her soft well modulated 
 voice. 
 
 She spoke slowly, with feeling that broke at times the 
 tone she strove to make dispassionate. 
 
 "I am glad for Gillian's sake that at last, after all 
 these years, there has come one who will be concerned 
 with her future. She has no vocation for the conventual 
 life and I was beginning to become anxious. For our- 
 selves, we shall miss her more than it is possible to say. 
 She had been with us so long, she has become very dear 
 to us. I have dreaded that her father would one day 
 claim her. She has been spared that contamination 
 God forgive me that I should speak so. " For a moment 
 she was silent, her eyes bent on her hands lying loosely 
 clasped hi her lap. 
 
 "Gillian is not altogether friendless," she resumed, 
 "she will go to you with a little more knowledge of the 
 world than can be gained within these old walls." She 
 glanced round the panelled room with half -sad affec- 
 tion. "She is popular and has spent vacations in the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 71 
 
 homes of some of her fellow pupils. She has a very 
 decided personality, and a facility for attracting affec- 
 tion. She is sensitive and proud passionate even at 
 times. She can be led but not driven. I tell you all this, 
 Monsieur, not censoriously but that it may help you 
 in dealing with a character that is extraordinarily com- 
 plex, with a nature that both demands and repels affec- 
 tion, that longs for and yet scorns sympathy." She 
 looked at Craven anxiously. His complete attention 
 was claimed at last. A new conception of his unknown 
 ward was forcing itself upon him, so that any humour 
 there might have been in the situation died suddenly and 
 the difficulties of the undertaking soared. The Mother 
 Superior smothered a sigh. His attitude was baffling, 
 his expression inscrutable. Had her words touched him, 
 had she said what was best for the welfare of the girl 
 who was so dear to her, and whose departure she felt so 
 keenly? How would she fare at this man's hands? What 
 lay behind his stern face and sombre tragic eyes? Her 
 lips moved in silent prayer, but when she spoke her voice 
 was serene as before. 
 
 "There is yet another thing that I must speak of. 
 Gillian has an unusual gift." A sentence in Locke'* 
 letter flashed into Craven's mind. 
 
 "She doesn't dance?" he asked, in some dismay. 
 
 "Dance, Monsieur in a convent?" Then she pitied 
 his hot confusion and smiled faintly. 
 
 "Is dancing so unusual in the world? No, Gillian 
 sketches portraits. Her talent is real. She does not 
 merely draw a faithful likeness, her studies are revela- 
 tions of soul. I do not think she knows herself how her 
 effects are obtained, they grow almost unconsciously, 
 but they result always in the same strange delineation 
 of character. It was so impossible to ignore this excep- 
 tional gift that we procured for her the best teacher ia
 
 72 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Paris, and continued her lessons even after " She 
 
 stopped abruptly and Craven finished the broken 
 sentence. 
 
 "Even after the fees ceased," he said dryly. "For 
 how many years has my ward lived on your charity, 
 Reverend Mother?" 
 
 She raised a protesting hand. 
 
 "Ah charity. It is hardly the word " she 
 
 fenced. 
 
 He took out a cheque book. 
 
 "How much is owing, for everything?'* he said 
 bluntly. 
 
 She sought for a book in a bureau standing against 
 'the rosewood panelling and, scanning it, gave a sum 
 with evident reluctance. 
 
 "Gillian has never been told, but it is ten years since 
 Monsieur Locke paid anything." There was diffidence 
 in her voice. "In an institution of this kind we are com- 
 pelled to be businesslike. It is rare that we can afford 
 to make an exception, though the temptation is often 
 great. The head and the heart voyez, vous, Monsieur 
 they pull in contrary directions." And she slipped 
 the book back into a pigeon-hole as if the touch of it 
 was distasteful. She glanced perfunctorily at the cheque 
 he handed to her, then closer, and the colour rose again 
 to her sensitive face. 
 
 "But Monsieur has written treble the amount," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "Will you accept the balance," he said hurriedly, 
 "in the name of my ward, for any purpose that you 
 may think fit? There is one stipulation only I do not 
 wish her to know that there has been any monetary 
 transaction between us." His voice was almost curt, 
 and the Nun found herself unable to question a con- 
 dition which, though manifestly generous, she deemed
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 73 
 
 quixotic. She could only bend to his decision with mingled 
 thankfulness and apprehension. Despite the problem 
 of the girl's future she had it in her heart to wish that 
 this singular claimant had never presented himself. 
 
 His liberality was obvious but . She locked the slip 
 
 of paper away in the bureau with a feeling of vague uneasi- 
 ness. But for good or ill the matter was out of her hands. 
 She had said all that she could say. The rest lay with 
 God. 
 
 "I do accept it," she said, "with all gratitude. It 
 will enable us to carry out a scheme that has long been 
 our hope. Your generosity will more than pave the way. 
 I will send Gillian to you now. " 
 
 She left him, more embarrassed than he had been at 
 first, more than ever dreading the task before him. He 
 waited with a nervous impatience that irritated himself. 
 
 Turning to the window he looked out into the dusk. 
 The old trees in the courtyard were almost indistinguish- 
 able. The rain dripped again steadily, splashing the 
 creeper that framed the casement. A few lights showing 
 dimly in the windows on the opposite side of the quad- 
 rangle served only to intensify the gloom. The time 
 dragged. Fretfully he drummed with his fingers on the 
 leaded panes, his ears alert for any sound beyond the 
 closed door. The echo of a distant organ stole into the 
 room and the soft solemn notes harmonised with the 
 melancholy pattering of the raindrops and the gusts of 
 wind that moaned fitfully around the house. 
 
 In a sudden revulsion of feeling the life he had mapped 
 out for himself seemed horrible beyond thought. He 
 could not bear it. It would be tying his hands and bur- 
 dening himself with a responsibility that would curtail 
 his freedom and hamper him beyond endurance. A 
 great restlessness, a longing to escape from the irksome 
 tie, came to him. Solitude and open spaces; unpeopled ^ 
 
 J
 
 74 THE SHADOW OF THE "EAST 
 
 nature ; wild desert wastes he craved for them. The 
 want was like a physical ache. The desert he drew his 
 breath in sharply the hot shifting sand whispering 
 under foot, the fierce noontide sun blazing out of a bril- 
 liant sky, the charm of it! The fascination of its false 
 smiling surface, its treacherous beauty luring to hidden 
 perils called to him imperatively. The cu/se of Ishmael 
 that was his heritage was driving him as it had driven 
 him many times before. He was in- the grip of one of 
 the revolts against restraint and civilisation that peri- 
 odically attacked him. The wander-hunger was in his 
 blood for generations it had sent numberless ances- 
 tors into the lonely places of the world, and against it 
 ties of home were powerless. In early days to the roman- 
 tic glamour of the newly discovered Americas, later 
 to the silence of the frozen seas and to the mysterious 
 depth of unexplored lands the Cravens had paid a heavy 
 loll. A Craven had penetrated into the tangled gloom 
 of the Amazon forests, and had never returned. In the 
 previous century two Cravens had succumbed to the 
 fascination of the North West Passage, another had 
 vanished in Central Asia. Barry's grandfather had per- 
 ished in a dust storm in the Sahara. And it was to the 
 North African desert that his own thoughts turned most 
 longingly. Japan had satisfied him for a time but 
 only for a time. Western civilisation had there obtruded 
 too glaringly, and he had admitted frankly to himself 
 that it was not Japan but O Hara San that kept him 
 in Yokohama. The dark courtyard and the faintly 
 lighted windows faded. He saw instead a tiny well- 
 remembered oasis in Southern Algeria, heard the cease- 
 less chatter of Arabs, the shrill squeal of a stallion, the 
 peevish grunt of a camel, and, rising above all other 
 .sounds, the whine of the tackling above the well. And 
 the smell the cloying smell that goes with camel cara-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 75 
 
 vans, it was pungent! He flung up his head inhaling 
 deeply, then realised that the scent that filled the room 
 was not the acrid smell of the desert but the penetrating 
 odour of incense filtering in through the opened door. 
 It shut and he turned reluctantly. 
 
 He saw at first only a pair of great brown eyes, star- 
 ing almost defiantly, set in a small pale face, that looked 
 paler by contrast with the frame of dark brown hair. 
 Then his gaze travelled slowly over the slender black- 
 clad figure silhouetted against the polished panels. His 
 fear was substantiated. Not a child who could be rele- 
 gated to nurses and governesses, but a girl in the dawn 
 of womanhood. Passionately he cursed John Locke. 
 
 He felt a fool, idiotically tongue-tied. He had been 
 prepared to adopt a suitably paternal attitude towards 
 the small child he had expected. A paternal attitude in 
 connection with this self-possessed young woman was 
 impossible, in fact ludicrous. For the moment he seemed 
 unable to cope with the situation. It was the girl who 
 spoke first. She came forward slowly, across the long 
 narrow room. 
 
 "I am Gillian Locke, Monsieur."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ON the cushioned window seat in her bedroom at 
 Craven Towers Gillian Locke sat with her arms 
 wrapped round her knees waiting for the summons to 
 dinner. With Miss Craven and her guardian she had left 
 London that morning, arriving at the Towers in the 
 afternoon, and she was tired and excited with the events 
 of the day. She leant back against the panelled embras- 
 ure, her mind dwelling on the last three crowded months 
 they had spent in Paris and London waiting until the 
 house was redecorated and ready to receive them. It 
 had been for her a wonderful experience. The novelty, 
 the strangeness of it, left her breathless with the feeling 
 that years, not weeks, had rushed by. Already in the 
 realisation of the new life the convent days seemed 
 long ago, the convent itself to have receded into a far 
 off past. And yet there were times when she wondered 
 whether she was dreaming, whether waking would be 
 inevitable and she would find herself once more in the 
 old dormitory to pray passionately that she might dream 
 again. And until tonight there had scarcely been time 
 even to think, her days had been full, at night she had 
 gone to bed to sleep in happy dreamlessness. The hotel 
 bedrooms with their litter of trunks suggesting imminent 
 flight had held no restfulness. To Gillian the transitory 
 sensation had strained already over-excited nerves and 
 heightened the dreamlike feeling that made everything 
 seem unreal. But here, the visible evidences of travel 
 removed, the deep silence of a large country house pene- 
 
 76
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 77 
 
 trating her mind and conducing to peace, she could think 
 at last. The surroundings were helpful. There was 
 about the room an air of permanence which the hotel 
 bedrooms had never given, an atmosphere of abiding 
 quiet that soothed her. She was sensitive of an influence 
 that was wholly new to her and very sweet, that brought 
 with it a feeling of laughter and tears strangely mingled, 
 that made the room appear as no other room had ever 
 done. It was her room, and it had welcomed her. It 
 was like a big friendly silent person offering mute recep- 
 tion, radiating repose. In a few hours the room had 
 become intimate, dear to her. She laughed happily 
 then checked at a guilty feeling of treason against the 
 grey old walls in Paris that had so long sheltered her. 
 She was not ungrateful, all her life she would remember 
 with gratitude the love and care she had received. But 
 the convent had been prison. Since her father had left 
 her there, a tiny child, she had inwardly rebelled; the 
 life was abhorrent to her, the restraint unbearable. With 
 childish pride she had hidden her feelings, living through 
 a period of acute misery with no hint to those about her 
 of what she suffered. And the habit of suppression 
 acquired in childhood had grown with her own develop- 
 ment. As the years passed the limitations of the con- 
 vent became more perceptible. She felt its cramping 
 influence to the full, as if the walls were closing in to 
 suffocate her, to bury her alive before she had ever known 
 a fuller freer life. She had longed for expansion ideas 
 she could not formulate, desires she could not express, 
 crowded, jostled in her brain. She wanted a wider out- 
 look on life than the narrow convent windows offered. 
 Brief excursions into the world to the homes of her 
 friends had filled her with a yearning for freedom and 
 for independence, for a greater range of thought and 
 action. Her artistic studies had served to foster an un-
 
 78 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 rest she struggled against bravely and to conceal which 
 she became daily more self-contained. Her reserve was 
 like a barrier about her. She was sweet and gentle to 
 all around her, but a little aloof and very silent. To the 
 other girls she had been a heroine of romance, puzzling 
 mystery surrounded her; to the Nuns an enigma. The 
 Mother Superior, alone, had arrived at a partial under- 
 standing, more than that even she could not accomplish. 
 Gillian loved her, but her reserve was stronger than her 
 love. Sitting now in the dainty English bedroom, revel- 
 ling in the warm beauty of the exquisite landscape that, 
 mellowed in the evening light, lay spread out beneath 
 her eyes, Gillian thought a little sadly of her parting 
 with the Reverend Mother. She had tried to hide the 
 happiness that the strange feeling of freedom gave her, 
 to smother any look or word that might wound the gentle 
 sensibility of the frail robed woman whose eyes were 
 sad at the approaching separation. Her conscience smote 
 her that her own heart held no sadness. She had said 
 very little, nothing of the new life that lay ahead of her. 
 She hid her hopes of the future as jealously as she had 
 hidden her longings in the past, and she had left the 
 convent as silently as she had lived in it. She had driven 
 back to the hotel with a sense of relief predominating 
 that it was all over, breathing deeply with a sigh of 
 relaxed tension. It seemed to her then as if she had 
 learned to breathe only within the last few days, as if 
 the air itself was lighter, more exhilarating. 
 
 From the convent her mind went back to earlier days. 
 She thought of her father, the handsome dissolute man 
 whose image had grown dim with years. As a tiny child 
 she had loved him passionately, the central figure of her 
 chequered and wandering little life father and mother 
 in one, playmate and hero. Her recollection seemed to 
 be of constant travelling; of long hours spent in railway
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 79 
 
 trains; of arrivals at strange places in the dark night; of 
 departures in the early dawn, half awake but always 
 happy so long as the familiar arms held her weary little 
 body and there was the shabby old coat on which to 
 pillow her brown curls. A jumbled remembrance of 
 towns and country villages; of kind unknown women 
 who looked compassionate and murmured over her in a 
 dozen different languages. It had all been a medley of 
 impressions and experiences everything transient, noth- 
 ing lasting, but the big untidy man who was her ah. 
 And then the convent. For a few years John Locke had 
 reappeared at irregular intervals, and on the memory of 
 those brief visits she had lived until he came again. Then 
 he had ceased to come and his letters, grown short and 
 few, full of vague promises unsatisfying meagre, 
 had stopped abruptly. At first she had refused to admit 
 to herself that he had forgotten, that she could mean so 
 little to him, that he would deliberately put her out of 
 his life. She had waited, excusing, trusting, until, heart- 
 sick with deferred hope, she had come to think of him 
 as dead. She was old enough then to realise her positiop 
 and in spite of the love and consideration surrounding 
 her she had learned misery. Her popularity even was 
 a source of torment, for in the happy homes of her friends 
 she had felt more cruelly her own destitute loneliness. 
 
 When the lawyer's letter had come enclosing a few 
 scrawled lines written by her dying father she had felt 
 that life could hold no more bitterness. She had wor- 
 shipped him and he had abandoned her callously. She 
 was bone of his bone and he had made no effort even for 
 his own flesh. He had thrown her a burden on the con- 
 vent that sheltered her so willingly only for want of will 
 power to conquer the weakness that had devitalised 
 brain and body. The thought crushed her. As she read 
 his confession, full of tardy remorse, her proud heart
 
 80 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 had been sick with humiliation. She groped blindly 
 through a sea of despair, her faith broken, her trust gone. 
 She hid her sorrow and her shame, fulfilling her usual 
 tasks, following the ordinary routine a little more 
 silent, a little more reserved her eyes alone betraying 
 the storm that was overwhelming her. She had loved 
 him so dearly that was the sting. She had guarded her 
 memory of him so tenderly, weaving a thousand extrava- 
 gant tales about him, pinnacling him above all men, 
 her hero, her knight, her preux chevalier. And now she 
 realised that her memory was no memory, that she had 
 built up a fantastic figure of romance whose origin rested 
 on nothing tangible, whose elevation had been so lofty 
 that his overthrow was demolition. Her god had feet 
 of clay. Her superman was nothing. Ah 1 that she had 
 ever had, memory that was delusion, was taken from 
 her. Woken abruptly to the brutal truth she felt that 
 she had nothing left to cling to a loneliness far greater 
 than she had known before. Then gradually her own 
 honesty compelled her to admit her fantasy. The dream 
 man she had evolved had been of her own making, the 
 virtues with which she had endowed him bred of her 
 own imagination. Of the real man she knew nothing, 
 and for the real man there dawned slowly though 
 love for him had died pity. It came to her, passion- 
 ately endeavouring to understand, that in the sheltered 
 life she led she had no knowledge of the temptations 
 that beset a man outside in the great world. Dimly 
 she realised that some win out -*- and some go under. 
 He had failed. And it seemed to her that on her had 
 fallen his debt. She must take the place he had forfeited 
 in the universe, she must succeed where he had failed. 
 Her strength must rise out of his weakness. His honour 
 was hers to re-establish, given the opportunity. And the 
 opportunity had been given. She had waited for the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 81 
 
 coming of her unknown guardian with a feeling of dull 
 revolt against the degradation of being handed over 
 inexorably to the disposal and charity of a stranger. 
 Though she had not been told she had guessed, years 
 ago, that money for her maintenance was wanting. The 
 kindly deception of the Mother Superior had been ineffec- 
 tual. Gillian knew she was a pauper. The charity of 
 the convent school had been hard to bear. The charity 
 of a stranger would be harder. She writhed with the 
 humiliation of it. She was nineteen for two years 
 she must go and be and endure at the whim of an unknown. 
 And what would he be like, this man into whose hands 
 her father had thrust her! What choice would John 
 Locke be capable of making what love had he shown 
 during these last years that he should choose carefully 
 and well? From among what class of man, of the society 
 into which he had sunk, would he select one to give 
 his daughter? He had written of "my old friend, Barry 
 Craven." The name conveyed nothing the adjec- 
 tive admitted of two interpretations. Which? Day and 
 night she was haunted with visions of old men recol- 
 lections of faces seen when driving with her friends or 
 visiting their homes; old men who had interested her, 
 old men from whom she had instinctively shrunk. What 
 type of man was it that was coming for her? There were 
 times when her courage deserted her and the constantly 
 recurring question made her nearly mad with fear. She 
 was like a wild creature caught in a trap, listening to the 
 feet of the keeper nearing nearing. She had longed for 
 the time when she could leave the Convent, she clung to 
 it now with dread at the thought of the future. The 
 London lawyer had written that Mr. Craven was return- 
 ing from Japan to assume his guardianship, and she had 
 traced his route with growing fear as the days slipped by 
 the keeper's tread coming closer and closer. She had
 
 82 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 masked the terror the thought of him inspired, preserving 
 an outward apathy that seemed to imply complete indif- 
 ference. And in the end he had come sooner than she 
 expected, for they thought he would go first to London. 
 One morning she had learned he was in Paris, that very 
 afternoon she would know her fate. The day had been 
 interminable. During his interview with the Mother 
 Superior she had paced the room where she was waiting 
 as it seemed for hours, her nerves at breaking point. 
 When the Reverend Mother came back she could have 
 shrieked aloud and her desperate eyes failed to interpret 
 the expression on the Nun's face; she tried to speak, a 
 husky whisper that died away inarticulately. Faintly 
 she heard the gentle words of encouragement and with 
 an effort of pride she walked quickly to the door of the 
 visitors' room. There she paused, irresolute, and the 
 low peaceful roll of the organ echoing from the distant 
 chapel seemed to mock her. So often it had comforted, 
 giving courage to go forward today its very peaceful- 
 ness jarred; nerve-racked she was out of tune with the 
 atmosphere of calm tranquillity about her. She felt alien 
 that more than ever she stood alone. Then pride 
 flamed afresh. With head held high and lips compressed 
 she went in. As he turned from the window it was his 
 great height and broad shoulders that struck her first 
 men of his physique were rare in France and, hi the 
 thought of a moment, the well cut conventional morning 
 coat had seemed absurd, and mentally she had clothed 
 his long limbs in damascened steel. Then she had seen 
 that he was young, how young she could not guess, but 
 younger far than she had imagined. As their eyes met 
 the sombre tragedy hi his had hurt her. She divined a 
 sorrow before which her own paled to nothingness and 
 quick pity killed fear. The sadness of his face lifted her 
 suddenly into full realisation of her womanhood. Com-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 83 
 
 passion rose above self. Instinctively she knew that the 
 interview that was to her so momentous was to him only 
 an embarrassing interlude. Shyness remained but the 
 terror she had felt gave place to a feeling she had not 
 then understood. As quickly as possible he had taken 
 her to the hotel, leaving to his aunt all explanations that 
 seemed necessary. And since then he had remained con- 
 sistently in the background, delegating his authority to 
 Miss Craven. But from the first his proximity had 
 troubled her she was always conscious of his presence. 
 Hypersensitive from her convent upbringing she knew 
 intuitively when he entered a room or left it. Men were 
 to her an unknown quantity; the few she had met 
 brothers and cousins of school friends had been viewed 
 from a different standpoint. Hedged about with rigid 
 French convention there had been no chance of acquaint- 
 ance ripening into friendship she had been merely a 
 schoolgirl among other girls, touching only the fringe of 
 the most youthful of the masculine element in the houses 
 where she had stayed. She had been unprepared for 
 the change to the daily contact with a man like Barry 
 Craven. It ,/onld take time to accustom herself, to 
 become used to the continual masculine presence. 
 
 Miss Craven, to her nephew's relief, had taken the shy 
 pale-faced girl to her eccentric heart with a suddenness 
 and enthusiasm that had surprised herself. 
 
 And Gillian's reserve and pride had been unable to 
 withstand the whirlwind little lady. Miss Craven's per- 
 sonality took a strong hold on her; she loved the woman, 
 she admired the artist, and she was quick to recognise 
 the real feeling and deep kindness that lay under brusque 
 manner and quizzical speeches. She had good reason. 
 She glanced now round the big room. Everywhere were 
 evidences of lavish generosity, showered on her regard- 
 less of protest. Gillian's eyes filled slowly with tears.
 
 84 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 It was all a fairy story, too wonderful almost to be true. 
 Why were they so good to her how would she ever be 
 able to repay the kindness lavished on her? Her thoughts 
 were interrupted by the latest gift that rose out of his 
 basket with a sleepy yawn and stretching luxuriously 
 came and laid his head on her knee, looking up at her 
 with sad brown eyes. She had always loved animals, 
 the possession of some dog had been an ardent desire, and 
 she hugged the big black poodle now with a little sob. 
 
 "Mouston, you pampered person, have you ever been 
 lonely? Can you imagine what it is like to be made to 
 feel that you belong to somebody again?" She rubbed 
 her cheek against his satiny head, crooning over him, 
 the dog thrilling to her touch with jerking limbs and 
 sharp half -stifled whines. It was her first experience of 
 ownership, of responsibility for a living creature that was 
 dependent on her and for which she was answerable. 
 And it was likely to prove an arduous responsibility. He 
 was single-minded and jealous in his allegiance; Miss 
 Craven he tolerated indifferently, of Craven he was 
 openly suspicious. He followed Gillian like a shadow 
 and moped in her absence, yielding to Yoshio, who had 
 charge of him on such occasions, a resigned obedience he 
 gave to no other member of the household. Through 
 Mouston Gillian and Yoshio had become acquainted. 
 
 Mouston's affection this evening became over-enthu- 
 siastic and threatening to fragile silks and laces. Gillian 
 kissed the top of his head, shook solemnly an insistent 
 paw, and put him on one side. She moved to the dress- 
 ing table and inspected herself critically in the big 
 mirror. She looked with grave amusement. Was that 
 Gillian Locke? She wondered did a butterfly feel more 
 incongruous when it shed its dull grub skin. For so 
 many years she had worn the sombre garb of the con- 
 vent schoolgirl, the change was still new enough to
 
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 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 85 
 
 delight and the natural woman within her responded to 
 the fascination of pretty clothing. The dark draperies 
 of the convent had palled, she had craved colour with 
 an almost starved longing. 
 
 The general reflection in the long glass satisfied, a 
 more detailed personal survey raised serious doubts. 
 She had never recognised the grace of her slender figure, 
 the uncommon beauty of her pale oval face other types 
 had appealed more, other colouring attracted. She had 
 studied her face often, disapprovingly. Once or twice, 
 lacking a model, she had essayed to reproduce her own 
 features. She had failed utterly. The faithful por- 
 traiture she achieved for others was wanting. She was 
 unable to express in her own likeness the almost 
 startling exposition of character that distinguished her 
 ordinary work. She had been her own limitation. Her 
 failure had puzzled her, causing a searching mental 
 inquiry. She had no knowledge herself of how her special 
 gift took form, the work grew involuntarily under her 
 hand. She was aware of no definite impression received, 
 no attempt at soul analysis. Vaguely she supposed that 
 in some subtle mysterious way the character of her sitter 
 communicated itself, influencing her; in fact her best 
 work had often had the least care bestowed upon it. 
 Did her inability to transfer to canvas a living copy of 
 her own face argue that she herself was without charac- 
 ter had she failed because there was in truth nothing 
 to delineate? Or was it because she sought to see some- 
 thing unreal sought to control a purely inherent 
 impulse? It was a problem she had never solved. 
 
 She looked now at the mirrored figure with her usual 
 disapproval, great brown eyes scowling back at her from 
 the glass, then made a little obliterating movement with 
 her hand and shook her head. Appearance had never 
 mattered before, but now she wanted so much to please
 
 86 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 to be a credit to the interest shown, to repay the time 
 and money spent upon her. Her eyes grew wistful as 
 she leant nearer to see if there were any tell-tale traces 
 of tears, then danced with sudden amusement as she 
 picked up a powder puff and dabbed tentatively. 
 
 "Oh, Gillian Locke, what would the Reverend Mother 
 say!" she murmured, and laughed. 
 
 The poodle, jealous for attention, leaped on to a chair 
 beside her, his paws on the plate glass slab scattering 
 brushes and bottles, and still laughing she smothered his 
 damp eager nose with powder until he sneezed disgusted 
 protest. 
 
 With a conciliatory caress she left him to disarrange 
 the dressing table further, and went back to the window. 
 Beneath her lawns extended to a wide terrace, stone 
 balustraded, from the centre of which a long flight of 
 steps led down to a formal rose garden sheltered by a 
 high yew hedge and backed by a little copse beyond 
 which the heavily timbered park stretched indefinitely in 
 the evening light. The sense of space fascinated her. 
 She had always longed for unimpeded views, for the still- 
 ness of the country. On the smooth shaven lawns great 
 trees were set like sentinels about the house; fancifully 
 she thought of them as living vigilant keepers maintain- 
 ing for centuries a perpetual guard and smiled at her 
 childish imagination. Her pleasure in the prospect 
 deepened. Already the charm of the Towers had taken 
 hold of her, from the first moment she had loved it. 
 Throughout the long railway journey and during the 
 five mile drive from the station, she had anticipated, 
 and the actuality had outstripped her anticipation. The 
 beauty of the park, the herds of grazing deer, had delighted 
 her; the old grey house itself had stayed her spell- 
 bound. She had not imagined anything half so 
 lovely, so impressively enduring. She had seen nothing
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 87 
 
 to compare with its fine proportions, with the luxury of 
 its setting. It differed utterly from the French Chateaux 
 where she had visited; there toil obtruded, vineyards 
 and rich fields of crops clustered close to the very walls 
 of the seigneur's dwellings, a source of wealth simply 
 displayed; here similar activities were banished to unseen 
 regions, and scrupulously kept avenues, close cut lawns 
 and immaculate flower-beds formed evidence of con- 
 stant labour whose results charmed the eye but were 
 materially profitless. The formal grandeur appealed to 
 her. She was not altogether alien, she reflected, with a 
 curious smile despite his subsequent downfall John 
 Locke had sprung from just such stock as the owner of 
 this wonderful house. A sudden panic of lateness inter- 
 rupted her pleasure and she turned from the window, 
 calling to the dog. Her suite opened on to a circular 
 gallery from which bedrooms opened running round 
 the central portion of the house and overlooking the big 
 square hall which was lit from above by a lofty glazed 
 dome; eastward and westward stretched long rambling 
 wings, a story higher than the main block, crowned with 
 the turrets that gave the house its name. 
 
 A low murmur of men's voices came from below, and 
 leaning over the balustrade she saw Craven and his 
 agent standing talking before the empty fireplace. Sud- 
 den shyness overcame her; her guardian was still for- 
 midable, Peters she had seen for the first time only a 
 few hours ago when he had met them at the station a 
 short broad-shouldered man inclining to stoutness, with 
 thick grey hair and close-pointed beard. To go down 
 deliberately to them seemed impossible. But while she 
 hesitated in an agony of self-consciousness Mouston pre- 
 cipitated the inevitable by dashing on ahead down the 
 stairs and plunging into the bearskin hearthrug, plough- 
 ing the thick fur with his muzzle and sneezing wildly
 
 88 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 The sense of responsibility outweighed shyness and she 
 hurried after him, but Peters anticipated her and already 
 had the dog's unwilling head firmly between his hands. 
 
 "What on earth has he got on his nose, Miss Locke?" 
 he asked, in a tone of wonder, but the keen blue eyes 
 looking at her from under bushy grey eyebrows were 
 twinkling and her shyness was not proof against his 
 friendliness. 
 
 She dropped to her knees and flicked the offended 
 organ with a scrap of lace and lawn. 
 
 "Powder," she said gravely. 
 
 "You can have no idea," she added, looking np sud- 
 denly, "how delightful it is to powder your nose when 
 you have been brought up in a convent. The Nuns con- 
 sider it the height of depravity," and she laughed, a 
 ringing girlish outburst of amusement that Craven had 
 never yet heard. He looked at her as she knelt on the 
 rug soothing the poodle's outraged feelings and smiling 
 at Peters who was offering his own more adequate 
 handkerchief. That laugh was a revelation in spite of 
 her self-possession, of her reserve, she was in reality only 
 a girl, hardly more than a child, but influenced by her 
 quiet gravity he had forgotten the fact. 
 
 As he watched her a slight frown gathered on his face. 
 It seemed that Peters, in a few hours, had penetrated the 
 barrier outside which he, after months, still remained. 
 With him she was always shyly silent. On the few rare 
 occasions hi Paris and in London when he had found 
 himself alone with her she had shrunk into herself and 
 avoided addressing him; and he had wondered, irritably, 
 how much was natural diffidence and how much due to 
 convent training. But he had made no effort at further 
 understanding, for the past was always present domi- 
 nating inclinations and impulses perpetual memory, 
 jogging at his elbow. There were days when the onjy
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 89 
 
 relief was physical exhaustion and he disappeared for 
 hours to fight his devils in solitude. And in any case he 
 was not wanted, it was better in every way for him to 
 efface himself. There was nothing for him to do thanks 
 to the improvidence of John Locke no business connected 
 with the trust. Miss Craven had taken complete posses- 
 sion of Gillian and he held aloof, not attempting to 
 establish more intimate relations with his ward. But 
 tonight, with a fine inconsistency, it piqued him that she 
 should respond so readily to Peters. He knew he was a 
 fool it mattered not one particle to him Peters' 
 magnetism was proverbial but, illogically, the frown 
 persisted. 
 
 As if conscious of his scrutiny Gillian turned and met 
 his searching gaze. The colour flooded her face and she 
 pushed the dog aside and rose hastily to her feet. Shy- 
 ness supervened again and she was thankful for the 
 arrival of Miss Craven, who was breathless and apolo- 
 getic. 
 
 "Late as usual! I shall be late when the last trump 
 sounds. But this time it was really not my fault. Mrs. 
 Appleyard descended upon me ! our old housekeeper, 
 Gillian and her tongue has wagged for a solid hour by 
 the clock. I am now au fait with everything that has 
 happened at the Towers since I was here last do your 
 ears burn, Peter? metaphorically she has dragged me 
 at her heels from garrets to cellars and back to the gar- 
 rets again. She is pathetically pleased to have the house 
 open once more. " 
 
 Still talking she led the way to the dining room. It 
 was an immense room, panelled like most of the house, 
 the table an oasis on a desert of Persian carpet, a huge 
 fireplace predominating, and some of the more valuable 
 family portraits on the walls. 
 
 As Miss Craven entered she looked instinctively for the
 
 90 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 portrait of her brother, which since his death had hung 
 following a family custom in a panel over the high 
 carved mantelpiece. But it had been removed and for 
 it had been substituted a beautiful painting of Barry's 
 mother. She stopped abruptly in the middle of a sen- 
 tence. "An innovation?" she murmured to her nephew, 
 with her shrewd eyes on his face. 
 
 "A reparation," he answered shortly, as he moved to 
 his chair. And his tone made any further comment 
 impossible. She sat down thoughtfully and began her 
 soup in silence, vaguely disturbed at the departure from 
 a precedent that had held for generations. Unconven- 
 tional and ultra-modern as she was she still clung to the 
 traditions of her family, and from time immemorial the 
 portrait of the last reigning Craven had hung over the 
 fireplace in the big dining room waiting to give place to 
 its successor. It all seemed bound up somehow with the 
 terrible change that had taken place in him since his 
 return from Japan a change she was beginning more 
 and more to connect with the man whose portrait had 
 been banished, as though unworthy, from its prominence. 
 Unworthy indeed but how did Barry know? What 
 had he learned in the country that had had such a fatal 
 attraction for his father? The old shameful story she 
 had thought buried for ever seemed rising like a horrible 
 phantom from the grave where it had lain so long 
 hidden. 
 
 With a little shudder she turned resolutely from the 
 painful thoughts that came crowding in upon her and 
 entered into animated conversation with Peters. 
 
 Gillian, content to be unnoticed, looked about her with 
 appreciative interest; the big room, its sombre, rather 
 formal furniture and fine pictures, appealed to her. The 
 arrangements were in perfect harmony, nothing clashed 
 or jarred, electric lighting was carefully hidden and only
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 91 
 
 wax candles burnt in heavy silver candlesticks on the 
 table. 
 
 The fascination of the old house was growing every 
 moment more insistent, like a spell laid on her. She 
 gave herself up to it, to the odd happiness it inspired. 
 She felt it curiously familiar. A strange feeling came to 
 her it was as if from childhood she had been journeying 
 and now come home. An absurd thought, but she loved 
 it. She had never had a home, but for the next two 
 years she could pretend. To pretend was easy. All her 
 life she had lived in a land of dreams, tenanted with 
 shadowy inhabitants of her own imagining puppets who 
 moved obedient to her will through all the devious paths 
 of make-believe; a spirit world where she ranged free of 
 the narrow walls that restricted her liberty. It had been 
 easy to pretend in the convent how much easier here in 
 the solid embodiment of a dream castle and stimulated 
 by the real human affection for which her heart had 
 starved. The love she had hitherto known had been unsat- 
 isfying, too impersonal, too restrained, too interwoven 
 with ^mystical devotion. Miss Craven's affection was of 
 a hardier, more practical nature. Blunt candour and 
 sincerity personified, she did not attempt to disguise her 
 attachment. She had been attracted, had approved, and 
 had finally co-opted Gillian into the family. She had, 
 moreover, great faith in her own judgment. And to 
 justify that faith Gillian would have gone through fire 
 and water. 
 
 She looked gratefully at the solid little figure sitting 
 at the foot of the table and a gleam of amusment chased 
 the seriousness from her eyes. Miss Craven was in the 
 throes of a heated discussion with Peters which involved 
 elaborate diagrams traced on the smooth cloth with a 
 salt spoon, and as Gillian watched she completed her 
 design with a fine flourish and leant back triumphant in
 
 92 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 her chair, rumpling her hair fantastically. But the 
 agent, unconvinced, fell upon her mercilessly and in a 
 moment she was bent forward again in vigorous protest, 
 drumming impatiently on the table with her fingers as he 
 laughingly altered her drawing. They were the best of 
 friends and wrangled continually. To Gillian it was all 
 so fresh, so novel. Then her attention veered. Through- 
 out dinner Craven had been silent. When once started 
 on a discussion his aunt and Peters tore the controversy 
 amicably to tatters in complete absorption. He had not 
 joined in the argument. As always Gillian was too shy 
 to address him of her own accord, but she was acutely 
 conscious of his nearness. She deprecated her own atti- 
 tude, yet silence was better than the banal platitudes 
 which were all she had to offer. Her range was so re- 
 stricted, his who had travelled the world over must 
 be so great. With the exception of one subject her 
 knowledge was negligible. But he too was an artist 
 hopeless to attempt that topic, she concluded with swift 
 contempt for her own limitations; to offer the opinions of 
 a convent-bred amateur to one who had studied in 
 famous Paris ateliers and was acquainted with the art of 
 many countries would be an impertinence. But yet she 
 knew that sometime she must break through the wall 
 that her own diffidence had built up; in the intimacy of 
 country house life the continuance of such an attitude 
 would be both impossible and ridiculous. Contritely she 
 acknowledged that the tension between them was largely 
 her own fault, a disability due to training. But she 
 could not go through life sheltering behind that wholly 
 inadequate plea. If there was anything in her at all she 
 must rise above the conventions in which she had been 
 reared; she had done with the narro-Tness of the past, 
 now she must think broadly, expansively, in all things 
 even in the trivial matter of social intercourse. A saving
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 93 
 
 sense of humour sent a laugh bubbling into her throat 
 which nearly escaped. It was such a little thing, but she 
 had magnified it so greatly. What, after all, did it 
 amount to the awkwardness of a schoolgirl very prop- 
 erly ignored by a guardian who could not be other than 
 bored with her society. Tant pis! She could at least try 
 to be polite. She turned with the heroic intention of 
 breaking the ice and plunging into conversation, banal 
 though it might be. But her eyes did not arrive at his 
 face, they were caught and held by his hand, lying on 
 the white cloth, turning and twisting an empty wine- 
 glass between long strong fingers. Hands fascinated her. 
 They were indicative of character, testimonies of indi- 
 vidual peculiarities. She was sensitive to the impression 
 they conveyed. With the limited material available she 
 had studied them nuns' hands, priests' hands, hands of 
 the various inmates of the houses where she had stayed, 
 and the hands of the man who had taught her. From 
 him she had learned more than the mere rudiments of 
 her art; under his tuition a crude interest had developed 
 into a definite study, and as she sat looking at Barry 
 Craven's hand a sentence from one of his lectures recurred 
 to her " there are in some hands, particularly in the 
 case of men, characteristics denoting certain passions 
 and attributes that jump to the eye as forcibly as if they 
 were expressions of face. " 
 
 Engaged in present study she forgot her original pur- 
 pose, noting the salient points of a fresh type, enum- 
 erating details that formed the composite whole. A 
 strong hand that could in its strength be merciless 
 could it equally in its strength be merciful? The 
 strange thought came unexpectedly as she watched the 
 thin stem of the wineglass turning rapidly and then 
 more slowly until, with a little tinkle, it snapped as 
 the hand clenched suddenly, the knuckles showing white
 
 94 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 through the tanned skin. Gillian drew a quick breath. 
 Had she been the cause of the mishap had she stared 
 noticeably, and he been angry at an impertinence? Her 
 cheeks burned and in a misery of shyness she forced her 
 eyes to his face. Her contrition was needless. Heedless 
 of her he was looking at the splintered glass between his 
 fingers with a faint expression of surprise, as if his 
 wandering thoughts were but half recalled by the 
 accident. For a moment he stared at the shatterd 
 pieces then laid them down indifferently. 
 
 Gillian smothered an hysterical inclination to laugh. 
 He was so totally negligent of her presence that even 
 this little incident had failed to make him sensible of her 
 scrutiny. Immersed in his thoughts he was very obvi- 
 ously miles away from Craven Towers and the vicinity 
 of a troublesome ward. And suddenly it hurt. She 
 was nothing to him but a shy gauche girl whose very 
 existence was an embarrassment. The determination 
 so bravely formed died before his cold detachment. 
 More than ever was speech impossible. 
 
 She shrugged faintly with a little pout. So, confident 
 of his preoccupation, she continued to study him. Had 
 the homecoming intensified the sadness of his eyes and 
 deepened the lines about his mouth? were memories of 
 the mother he had adored sharpening tonight the look 
 of suffering on his face? Or was her imagination, over- 
 excited, exaggerating what she saw and fancying a great 
 sorrow where there was only boredom? She pondered, 
 and had almost concluded that the latter was the saner 
 explanation when watching she saw a sudden spasm 
 cross his face of such agony that she caught her lip 
 fiercely between her teeth to stifle an exclamation. In 
 the fleeting expression of a moment she had seen the 
 revelation of a soul in torment. She looked away 
 hastily, feeling dismayed at having trespassed. She
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 95 
 
 had discovered a secret wound. She sat tense, and a 
 quick fear came lest the others might have also seen. 
 She glanced at them furtively. But the argument was 
 still unsettled, the tablecloth between them scored and 
 creased with conflicting sketches. She drew a sharp 
 little sigh of relief. Only she had noticed, and she did 
 not matter. For a few moments her thoughts ran riot 
 until she pulled them up frowningly. It was no busi- 
 ness of hers she had no right even to speculate on his 
 affairs. Angry with herself she turned for distraction to 
 the portraits on the walls they at least would offer no 
 disturbing problem. But her determination to keep her 
 thoughts from her guardian met with a check at the out- 
 set for she found herself staring at Barry Craven as she 
 had visualised him in that first moment of meeting 
 steel-clad. It was the picture of a young man, dressed 
 in the style of the Elizabethan period, wearing a light 
 inlaid cuirass and leaning negligently against a stone 
 balustrade, a hooded falcon on his wrist. The resem- 
 blance to the owner of Craven Towers was remarkable 
 the same build, the same haughty carriage of the 
 head, the same features and colouring; the mouth only 
 of the painted gallant differed, for the lips were not set 
 sternly but curved in a singularly winning smile. The 
 portrait had recently been cleaned and the colours stood 
 out freshly. The pose of the figure was curiously unre- 
 strained for the period, a suggestion of energy barely 
 concealed by the indolent attitude broke through the 
 conventional treatment of the time, as if the painter 
 had responded to an influence that had overcome tradi- 
 tion. The whole body seemed to pulsate with life. 
 Gillian looked at it entranced; instinctively her eyes 
 sought the pictured hands. The one that held the falcon 
 was covered with an embroidered leather glove, but the 
 other was bare, holding a set of jesses. And even the
 
 96 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 hands were similar, the characteristics faithfully trans- 
 mitted. Peters' voice startled her. "You are looking 
 at the first Barry Craven, Miss Locke. It is a wonderful 
 picture. The resemblance is extraordinary, is it not?" 
 
 She looked up and met the agent's magnetic smile 
 across the table. 
 
 "It is extraordinary," she said slowly; "it might 
 be a costume portrait of Mr. Craven, except that in 
 treatment the picture is so different from a modern 
 painting." 
 
 Peters laughed. 
 
 "The professional eye, Miss Locke! But I am glad 
 that you admit the likeness. I should have quarrelled 
 horribly with you if you had failed to see it. The young 
 man in the picture," he went on, warming to the sub- 
 ject as he saw the girl's interest, "was one of the most 
 romantic personages of his time. He lived in the reign 
 of Elizabeth and was poet, sculptor, and musician 
 there are two volumes of his verse in the library and the 
 marble Hermes in the hall is his work. When he was 
 seventeen he left the Towers to go to court. He seems 
 to have been universally beloved, judging from various 
 letters that have come down to us. He was a close friend 
 of Sir Philip Sidney and one of Spenser's numerous 
 patrons. A special favourite with Elizabeth in fact 
 her partiality seems to have been a source of some 
 embarrassment, according to entries in his private 
 journal. She knighted him for no particular reason that 
 has ever transpired, indeed it seems to hav. been a 
 matter of surprise to himself, for he records it in his 
 journal thus : 
 
 "* dubbed knight this day by Gloriana. God He 
 
 knoweth why, but not I.' He was an idealist and vis- 
 ionary, with the power of putting his thoughts into 
 words his love poems are the most beautiful I have
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 9* 
 
 ever read, but they are quite impersonal. There is no 
 evidence that his love was ever given to any 'faire 
 ladye.' No woman's name was ever connected with 
 his, and from his detached attitude towards the tender 
 passion he earned, in a fantastical court, the euphuistic 
 appellation of L'amant d' Amour. Quite suddenly, after 
 ten years in the queen's household, he fitted out an 
 expedition to America. He gave no reason. Distaste for 
 the artificial existence prevailing at Court, sorrow at the 
 death of his friend Sidney, or a wander-hunger fed on 
 the tales brought home by the numerous merchant 
 adventurers may have been the cause of this surprising 
 step. His decision provoked dismay among his friends 
 and brought a furious tirade from Elizabeth who com- 
 manded him to remain near her. But in spite of royal 
 oaths and entreaties more of the former than the latter 
 
 he sailed to Virginia on a land expedition. Two letters 
 came from him during the next few years, but after that 
 
 silence. His fate is not known. He was the first of 
 many Cravens to vanish into oblivion searching for new 
 lands." The pleasant voice hesitated and dropped to a 
 lower, more serious note. And Gillian was puzzled at 
 the sudden anxiety that clouded the agent's smiling blue 
 eyes. She had listened with eager interest. It was his- 
 tory brought close ana made alive in its intimate con- 
 nection with the h^iise. The dream castle was more 
 wonderful even than she had thought. She smiled her 
 thanks at Peters, and drew a long breath. 
 
 "I like that," and looking at the picture again, "the 
 Lover of Love!" she repeated softly; "it's a very 
 beautiful idea." 
 
 "A very unsatisfactory one for any poor soul who 
 may have been fool enough to lose her heart to him." 
 Miss Craven's voice was caustic. 
 
 "I have often wondered if any demoiselle 'pined in
 
 98 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 a green and yellow melancholy for nis sake, ' she added^ 
 rising from the table. 
 
 "Reason enough, if he knew of it, for going to Vir- 
 ginia," said Craven, with a hard laugh. "The family 
 tradition* have never tended to undue consideration of 
 the weaker sex." 
 
 "Barry, you are horrible!'* 
 
 "Possibly, my dear aunt, but correct," he replied 
 coolly, crossing the room to open the door. "Even 
 Peter, who has the family history at his fingers' ends, 
 cannot deny it." His voice was provocative but Peters, 
 
 beyond a mildly sarcastic " thank you for the 
 
 'even,' Barry " refused to be drawn. 
 
 Her nephew's words would formerly have aroused a 
 storm of indignant protest from Miss Craven, touched in 
 a tender spot. But now some intuition warned her to 
 silence. She put her arm through Gillian's and left the 
 room without attempting to expostulate. 
 
 In the drawing room she sat down to a patience table, 
 lit a cigarette, rumpled her hair, and laid out the cards 
 frowningly. More than ever was she convinced that in 
 the two years he had been away some serious disaster 
 had occurred. His whole character appeared to have 
 undergone a change. He was totally different. The old 
 Barry had been neither hard nor cynical, the new Barry 
 was both. In the last few weeks she had had ample 
 opportunity for judging. She perceived that a heavy 
 shadow lay upon him darkening his home-coming she 
 had pictured it so very differently, and she sighed over 
 the futility of anticipation. His happiness meant to her 
 so much that she raged at her inability to help him. 
 Until he spoke she could do nothing. And she knew 
 that he would never speak. The nightly occupation lost 
 its usual zest, so she shuffled the cards absently and 
 began a fresh game.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 99 
 
 Gillian was on the hearthrug, Mouston's head in her 
 lap. She leant against Miss Craven's chair, dreaming 
 as she had dreamt in the old convent until the sudden 
 lifting of the dog's head under her hands made her 
 aware of Peters standing beside her. He looked down 
 silently on the card table for a few moments, pointed 
 with a nicotine-stained finger to a move Miss Craven 
 had missed and then wandered across the room and sat 
 down at the piano. For a while his hands moved 
 silently over the keys, then he began to play, and his 
 playing was exquisite. Gillian sat and marvelled. 
 Peters and music had seemed widely apart. He had 
 appeared so essentially a sportsman; in spite of the 
 literary tendency that his sympathetic account of the 
 Elizabethan Barry Craven had suggested she had asso- 
 ciated him with rougher, more physical pursuits. He 
 was obviously an out-door man; a gun seemed a more 
 natural complement to his hands than the sensitive keys 
 of a piano, his thick rather clumsy fingers manifestly 
 incompatible with the delicate touch that was filling the 
 room with wonderful harmony. It was a check to her 
 cherished theory which she acknowledged reluctantly. 
 But she forgot to theorise in the sheer joy of listening. 
 
 "Why did he not make music a career?" she whis- 
 pered, under cover of some crashing chords. Miss Craven, 
 smiled at her eager face. 
 
 "Can you see Peter kow-towing to concert directors, 
 and grimacing at an audience?" she replied, rescuing a 
 king from her rubbish heap. 
 
 With an answering smile Gillian subsided into her 
 former position. Music moved her deeply and her highly 
 strung artistic temperament was responding to the 
 beauty of Peters' playing. It was a Russian folk song, 
 plaintive and simple, with a curious minor refrain like 
 the sigh of n aching heart wild sad harmony witfe
 
 100 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 pain in it that gripped the throat. Swayed by the 
 sorrow-haunted music a wave of foreboding came over 
 her, a strange indefinite fear that was formless but that 
 weighed on her like a crushing burden. The happiness 
 of the last few weeks seemed suddenly swamped in the 
 recollection of the misery rampant in the world. Who, 
 if their inmost hearts were known, were truly happy? 
 And her thoughts, becoming more personal, flitted back 
 over the desolate days of her own sad girlhood and 
 then drifted to the tragedy of her father. Then, with 
 a forward leap that brought her suddenly to the pres- 
 ent, she thought of the sorrow she had seen on Craven's 
 face in that breathless moment at dinner time. Was 
 there only sadness in the world? The brooding brown 
 eyes grew misty. A passionate prayer welled up in her 
 heart that complete happiness might touch her once, 
 if only for a moment. 
 
 Then the music changed and with it the girl's mood. 
 She gave her head a little backward jerk and blinked 
 the moisture from her eyes angrily. What was the 
 matter with her? Surely she was the most ungrateful 
 .girl in the universe. If there was sorrow in the world for 
 her then it must be of her own making. She had been 
 shown almost unbelievable kindness, nothing had been 
 omitted to make her happy. The contrast of her life 
 only a few weeks ago and now was immeasurable. What 
 more did she want? Was she so selfish that she could 
 even think of the unhappiness that was over? Shame 
 filled her, and she raised her eyes to the woman beside 
 her with a sudden rush of gratitude and love. But 
 Miss Craven, interested at last in her game, was blind 
 to her surroundings, and with a little smile Gillian 
 turned her attention to the silent occupant of the chair 
 near her. Craven had come into the room a few minutes 
 brfore. He was leaning back listlessly, one hand shad-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 101 
 
 ing his face, a neglected cigarette dangling from the 
 other. She looked at him long and earnestly, wonder- 
 ing, as she always wondered, what association there had 
 been between him and such a man as her father what 
 had induced him to take upon himself the burden that 
 had been laid upon him. And her cheeks grew hot again 
 at the thought of the encumbrance she was to him. It 
 was preposterous that he should be so saddled! 
 
 She stifled a sigh and her eyes grew dreamy as she 
 fell to thinking of the future that lay before her. And 
 as she planned with eager confidence her hand moved 
 soothingly over the dog's head in measure to the lan- 
 guorous waltz that Peters was playing. 
 
 After a sudden unexpected chord the player rose from 
 the piano and joined the circle at the other end of the 
 room. Miss Craven was scuffling vigorously. "Thank 
 you, Peter," she said, with a smiling nod, "it's like old 
 times to hear you play again. Gillian thinks you have 
 missed your vocation, she would like to see you at the 
 Queen's Hall." 
 
 Peters laughed at the girl's blushing protest and sat 
 down near the card table. Miss Craven paused in a deal 
 to light a fresh cigarette. 
 
 "What's the news in the county?" she asked, adding 
 for Gillian's benefit: "He's a walking chronicle, my 
 dear." 
 
 Peters laughed. "Nothing startling, dear lady. We 
 have been a singularly well-behaved community of late. 
 Old Lacy of Holmwood is dead, Bill Lacy reigns in his 
 stead and is busy cutting down oaks to pay for youthful 
 indiscretions none of 'em very fierce when all's said 
 and done. The Hamer-Banisters have gone under at 
 last more's the pity and Hamer is let to some wealthy 
 Australians who are possessed apparently of unlimited 
 cash, a most curious phraseology, and an assurance
 
 102 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 which is beautiful to behold. They had good intro- 
 ductions and Alex has taken them up enthusiastically 
 there are kindred tastes." 
 
 "Horses, I presume. How are the Horringfords?" 
 
 "Much as usual," replied Peters. "Horringford is 
 absorbed in things Egyptian, and Alex is on the warpath 
 again," he added darkly. 
 
 Miss Craven grinned. 
 
 "What is it this time?" 
 
 Peters' eyebrows twitched quaintly. 
 
 "Socialism!" he chuckled, "a brand new, highly 
 original conception of that very elastic term. I asked 
 Alex to explain the principles of this particular organize 
 tion and she was very voluble and rather cryptic. It 
 appears to embrace the rights of man, the elevation of 
 the masses, the relations between landlord and tenant,, 
 the psychological deterioration of the idle rich '' 
 
 "Alex and psychology good heavens!" interposed 
 Miss Craven, her hands at her hair, "and the ameliora- 
 tion of the downtrodden poor," continued Peters. "It 
 doesn't sound very original, but I'm told that the propa- 
 ganda is novel in the extreme. Alex is hard at work 
 among their own people," he concluded, leaning back 
 in his chair with a laugh. 
 
 "But the downtrodden poor! I thought Horring- 
 ford was a model landlord and his estates an example 
 to the kingdom." 
 
 "Precisely. That's the humour of it. But a little 
 detail like that wouldn't deter Alex. It will be an inter- 
 est for the summer, she's always rather at a loose end 
 when there's no hunting. She had taken up this socialis- 
 tic business very thoroughly, organizing meetings and 
 lectures. A completely new scheme for the upbringing 
 of children seems to be a special sideline of the cam- 
 paign. I'm rather vague there I know I made Alex
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 103 
 
 very angry by telling her that it reminded me of inten- 
 sive market gardening. That Alex has no children of 
 her own presents no difficulty to her she is full of the 
 most beautiful theories. But theories don't seem to go 
 down very well with the village women. She was routed 
 the other day by the mother of a family who told her 
 bluntly to her face she didn't know what she was talk- 
 ing about which was doubtless perfectly true. But the 
 manner of telling seems to have been disagreeable and 
 Alex was very annoyed and complained to Thomson, 
 the new agent. He, poor chap, was between the devil 
 and the deep sea, for the tenants had also been com- 
 plaining that they were being interfered with. So he 
 had to go to Horringford and there was a royal row. 
 The upshot of it was that Alex rang me up on the 'phone 
 this morning to tell me that Horringford was behaving 
 like a bear, that he was so wrapped up in his musty 
 mummies that he hadn't a spark of philanthropy in him, 
 and that she was coming over to lunch tomorrow to tell 
 me all about it she's delighted to hear that the house 
 is open again, and will come on to you for tea, when 
 you will doubtless get a second edition of her woes. 
 Half-an-hour later Horringford rang me up to say that 
 Alex had been particularly tiresome over some new 
 crank which had set everybody by the ears, that 
 Thomson was sending in a resignation daily, altogether 
 there was the deuce to pay, and would I use my influ- 
 ence and talk sense to her. It appears he is working at 
 high pressure to finish a monograph on one of the 
 Pharaohs and was considerably ruffled at being inter- 
 rupted." 
 
 f 'If he cared a little less for the Pharaohs and a little 
 
 more for Alex " suggested Miss Craven, blowing 
 
 smoke rings thoughtfully. Peters shook his head. 
 
 "He did care that's the pity of it," he said slowly,
 
 104 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "but what can you expect? you know how it was. 
 Alex was a child married when she should have been in 
 the schoolroom, without a voice in the matter. Hor- 
 ringford was nearly twenty years her senior, always 
 reserved and absorbed in his Egyptian researches. Alex 
 hadn't an idea in the world outside the stables. Hor- 
 ringford bored her infinitely, and with Alex-like honesty 
 she did not hesitate to tell him so. They hadn't a thought 
 in common. She couldn't see the sterling worth of the 
 man, so they drifted apart and Horringford retired more 
 than ever into his shell. " 
 
 "And what do you propose to do, Peter?" Craven's 
 sudden question was startling, for he had not appeared 
 to be listening to the conversation. 
 
 Peters lit a cigarette and smoked for a few moments 
 before answering. "I shall listen to all Alex has to 
 say," he said at last, "then I shall tell her a few things 
 I think she ought to know, and I shall persuade her to 
 ask Horringford to take her with him to Egypt next 
 winter. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because Horringford in Egypt and Horringford in 
 England are two very different people. I know 
 because I have seen. It's an idea, it may work. Anyhow 
 it's worth trying. " 
 
 "But suppose her ladyship does not succumb to your 
 persuasive tongue?" 
 
 "She will before I've done with her," replied Peters 
 grimly, and then he laughed. "I guessed from what 
 she said this morning that she was a little frightened at 
 the hornet's nest she had raised. I imagine she won't be 
 sorry to run away for a while and let things settle down. 
 She can ease off gently in the meantime and give Egypt 
 as an excuse for finally withdrawing." 
 
 "You think Alex is more to blame than Herring-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 105 
 
 ford?" said Miss Craven, with a note of challenge in 
 her voice. 
 
 Peters shrugged. "I blame them both. But above 
 all I blame the system that has been responsible for the 
 trouble." 
 
 "You mean that Alex should have been allowed to 
 choose her own husband? She was such a child " 
 
 "And Horringford was such a devil of a good match," 
 interposed Craven cynically, moving from his chair to 
 the padded fireguard. Gillian was sitting on the arm of 
 Miss Craven's chair, sorting the patience cards into a 
 leather case. She looked up quickly. "I thought that 
 in England all girls choose their own husbands, that 
 they marry to please themselves, I mean, " she said in a 
 puzzled voice. 
 
 "Theoretically they do, my dear," replied Miss 
 Craven, "in practice numbers do not. The generality 
 of girls settle their own futures and choose their own 
 husbands. But there are still many old-fashioned people 
 who arrogate to themselves the right of settling their 
 daughters' lives, who have so trained them that resist- 
 ance to family wishes becomes almost an impossibility. 
 A good suitor presents himself, parental pressure is 
 brought to bear and the deed is done. Witness the 
 case of Alex. In a few years she probably would have 
 chosen for herself, wisely. As it was, marriage had 
 never entered her head." 
 
 "She couldn't have chosen a better man," said Peters 
 warmly, "if he had only been content to wait a year 
 or two " 
 
 "Alex would probably have eloped with a groom or a 
 circus rider before she reached years of discretion!" 
 laughed Miss Craven. "But it's a difficult question, 
 the problem of husband choosing, " she went on thought- 
 fully. "Being a bachelor I can discuss it with perfect
 
 106 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 equanimity. But if in a moment of madness I had mar- 
 ried and acquired a houseful of daughters, I should have 
 nervous prostration every time a strange man showed 
 his nose inside the door." 
 
 "You don't set us on a very high plane, dear lady," 
 said Peters reproachfully. 
 
 "My good soul, I set you on no plane at all know- 
 too much about you!" she smiled. Peters laughed. 
 "What's your opinion, Barry?" 
 
 Since his one interruption Craven had been silent, as if 
 the discussion had ceased to interest him. He did not 
 answer Peters' question for some time and when at last 
 he spoke his voice was curiously strained. "I don't 
 think my opinion counts for very much, but it seems to 
 me that the woman takes a big risk either way. A man 
 never knows what kind of a blackguard he may prove 
 in circumstances that may arise." 
 
 An awkward pause followed. Miss Craven kept her 
 eyes fixed on the card table with a feeling of nervous 
 apprehension that was new to her. Her nephew's words 
 and the bitterness of his tone seemed fraught with 
 hidden meaning, and she racked her brains to find a 
 topic that would lessen the tension that seemed to have 
 fallen on the room. But Peters broke the silence before 
 it became noticeable. "The one person present whom 
 it most nearly concerns has not given us her view. 
 What do you say, Miss Locke?" 
 
 Gillian flushed faintly. It was still difficult to join in 
 a general conversation, to remember that she might at 
 any moment be called upon to put forward ideas of her 
 own. 
 
 "I am afraid I am prejudiced. I was brought up in 
 a convent in France," she said hesitatingly. "Then 
 you hold with the French custom of arranged mar- 
 riages?" suggested Peters. Her dark eyes looked
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 107 
 
 seriously into his. "I think it is safer," she said 
 slowly. 
 
 "And consequently, happier?" The colour deepened 
 in her face. "Oh, I don't know. I do not understand 
 English ways. I can speak only of France. We talked 
 of it in the convent naturally, since it was forbidden, 
 quez voulez vous?" she smiled. "Some of my friends 
 were married. Their parents arranged the marriages. 
 It seems that " she stammered and went on hur- 
 riedly " that there is much to be considered in choos- 
 ing a husband, much that girls do not understand, that 
 only older people know. So it is perhaps better that 
 they should arrange a matter which is so serious and so 
 so lasting. They must know more than we do," she 
 added quietly. 
 
 "And are your friends happy?" asked Miss Craven 
 bluntly. 
 
 "They are content." 
 
 Miss Craven snorted. "Content!" she said scorn- 
 fully. "Marriage should bring more than contentment. 
 It's a meagre basis on which to found a life partnership. " 
 
 A shadow flitted across the girl's face. 
 
 "I had a friend who married for love," she said 
 slowly. "She belonged to the old noblesse, and her 
 family wished her to make a great marriage. But she 
 loved an artist and married him in spite of all opposition. 
 For six months she was the happiest girl in France 
 then she found out that her husband was unfaithful. 
 Does it shock you that I speak of it we all knew in the 
 convent. She went to Capri soon afterwards, to a villa 
 her father had given her, and one morning she went out 
 to swim it was a daily habit, she could do anything in 
 the water. But that morning she swam out to sea and 
 she did not come back." The low voice sank almost to 
 ft whisper. Miss Craven looked up incredulously. "Do
 
 108 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 you mean she deliberately drowned herself?" Gillian 
 made a little gesture of evasion. " She was very unhappy," 
 she said softly. And in the silence that followed her 
 troubled gaze turned almost unconsciously to her guard- 
 ian. He had risen and was standing with his hands 
 in his pockets staring straight in front of him, rigidly 
 still. His attitude suggested complete detachment 
 from those about him, as if his spirit was ranging far 
 afield leaving the big frame empty, impenetrable as 
 a figure of stone. She was sensitive to his lack of inter- 
 est. She regretted having expressed opinions that she 
 feared were immature and valueless. A quick sigh 
 escaped her, and Miss Craven, misunderstanding, patted 
 her shoulder gently. "It's a very sad little story, my 
 dear." 
 
 "And one that serves to confirm your opinion that a 
 girl does well to accept the husband who is chosen for 
 her, Miss Locke?" asked Peters abruptly, as he glanced 
 at his watch and rose to his feet. 
 
 Gillian joined in the general move. 
 
 "I think it is safer, " she said, as she had said before, 
 and stooped to rouse the sleeping poodle.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MISS CRAVEN was sitting alone in the library at 
 the Towers. She had been reading, but the book 
 had failed to hold her attention and lay unheeded on 
 her lap while she was plunged in a profound reverie. 
 
 She sat very still, her usually serene face clouded, and 
 once or twice a heavy sigh escaped her. 
 
 The short November day was drawing in and though 
 still early afternoon it was already growing dark. The 
 declining light was more noticeable in the library than 
 elsewhere in the house a sombre room once the morn- 
 ing sun had passed; long and narrow and panelled in 
 oak to a height of about twelve feet, above which ran 
 a gallery reached by a hammered iron stairway, it 
 housed a collection of calf and vellum bound books 
 which clothed the walls from the floor of the gallery to 
 within a few feet of the lofty ceiling. On the fourth 
 side of the room, whither the gallery did not extend, 
 three tall narrow windows overlooked the drive. The 
 furniture was scanty and severely Jacobean, having for 
 more than two hundred years remained practically 
 intact; a ponderous writing table, a couple of long low 
 cabinets, and half a dozen cavernous armchairs recush- 
 ioned to suit modern requirements of ease. Some fine 
 old bronzes stood against the panelled walls. There 
 was about the room a settled peacefulness. The old 
 furniture had a stately air of permanence. The polished 
 panels, and, above, the orderly ranks of ancient books 
 suggested durability; they remained while generations 
 of men came and passed, transient figures reflected in 
 the shining oak, handling for a few brief years the 
 
 100
 
 110 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 printed treasures that would still be read centuries aftr 
 they had returned to their dust. 
 
 The spirit of the house seemed embodied in this big 
 silent room that was spacious and yet intimate, formal 
 and yet friendly. 
 
 It was Miss Craven's favourite retreat. The atmo- 
 sphere was sympathetic. Here she seemed more par- 
 ticularly in touch with the subtle influence of family 
 that seemed to pervade the whole house. In most of 
 the rooms it was perceptible, but in the library it was 
 forceful. 
 
 The house and the family they were bound up 
 inseparably. 
 
 For hundreds of years, in an unbroken line, from 
 father to son . . . from father to son. . . . Miss 
 Craven sat bolt upright to the sound of an unmistak- 
 able sob. She looked with amazement at two tears 
 blistering the page of the open book on her knee. She had 
 not knowingly cried since childhood. It was a good thing 
 that she was alone she thought, with a startled glance 
 round the empty room. She would have to keep a firmer 
 hold over herself than that. She laughed a little shakily, 
 choked, blew her nose, vigorously, and walked to the 
 middle window. Outside was stark November. The wind 
 swept round the house in fierce gusts before which the big 
 bare- branched trees in the park swayed and bowed, and 
 trains of late fallen leaves caught in a whirlwind edded 
 skyward to scatter widely down again. 
 
 Rain lashed the window panes. Yet even when storm- 
 tossed the scene had its own peculiar charm. At all 
 seasons it was lovely. 
 
 Miss Craven looked at the massive trees, beautiful in 
 then* clean nakedness, and wondered how often she 
 would see them bud again. Frowning, she smothered
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 111 
 
 a rising sigh and' pressing closer in the window peered 
 out more attentively. Eastward and westward stretched 
 long avenues that curved and receded soon from sight. 
 The gravelled space before the house was wide; from it 
 two shorter avenues encircling a large oval paddock led 
 to the stables, built at some distance facing the house, 
 but hidden by a belt of firs. 
 
 For some time Miss Craven watched, but only a game- 
 keeper passed, a drenched setter at his heels, and with 
 a little shiver she turned back to the room. She moved 
 about restlessly, lifting books to lay them down im- 
 mediately, ransacking the cabinets for prints that at a 
 second glance failed to interest, and examining the 
 bronzes that she had known from childhood with lengthy 
 intentness as if she saw them now for the first time. 
 
 A footman came and silently replenished the fire. 
 Her thoughts, interrupted, swung into a new channel. 
 She sat down at the writing table and drawing toward 
 her a sheet of paper slowly wrote the date. Beyond 
 that she did not get. The ink dried on the pen as she 
 stared at the blank sheet, unable to express as she wished 
 the letter she had intended to write. 
 
 She laid the silver holder down at last with a hopeless 
 gesture and her eyes turned to a bronze figure that served 
 as a paper weight. It was a piece of her own work and she 
 handled it lovingly with a curiously sad smile until a 
 second hard sob broke from her and pushing it away she 
 covered her face with her hands. 
 
 "Not for myself, God knows it's not for myself," 
 she whispered, as if hi extenuation. And mastering 
 herself with an effort she made a second attempt to 
 write but at the end of half a dozen words rose im- 
 patiently, crumpled the paper in her hand and walking 
 to the fireplace threw it among the blazing logs. 
 
 She watched it curl and discolour, the writing blackly
 
 112 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 distinct, and crumble into ashes. Then from force of 
 habit she searched for a cigarette in a box on the mantel- 
 piece, but as she lit it a sudden thought arrested her and 
 after a moment's hesitation the cigarette followed the 
 half -written letter into the fire. 
 
 With an impatient shrug she went back to an arm 
 chair and again tried to read, but though her eyes 
 mechanically followed the words on the printed page 
 she did not notice what she was reading and laying the 
 book down she gave up all further endeavour to distract 
 her wandering thoughts. They were not pleasant and 
 when, a little later, the door opened she turned her head 
 expectantly with a sigh of relief. Peters came in briskly. 
 
 "I've come to inquire," he said laughing, "the family 
 pew held me in solitary state this morning. Time was 
 when I never minded, but this last year has spoiled me. 
 I was booked for lunch but I came as soon as I could. 
 Nobody ill, I hope?" 
 
 Miss Craven looked at him for a moment before 
 answering as he stood with his back to the fire, his hands 
 clasped behind him, his face ruddy with the wind and 
 rain, his keen blue eyes on hers, reliable, unchanging. 
 It was a curious chance that had brought him just 
 at that moment. The temptation to make an unusual 
 confidence rose strongly. She had known him and trusted 
 him for more years than she cared to remember. How 
 much to say? Indecision held her. 
 
 "You are always thoughtful, Peter," she temporised. 
 "I am afraid there is no excuse," with a little smile; 
 "Barry rode off somewhere quite early this morning 
 and Gillian went yesterday to the Horringfords. I expect 
 her back to-day in time for tea. For myself, I had gout 
 or rheumatism or the black dog on my back, I forget 
 which! Anyhow, I stayed at home." She laughed and 
 pointed to the cigarettes. He took one, tapping it on 
 his thumbnail.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 113 
 
 "You were alone. Why didn't you 'phone? I should 
 have been glad to escape the Australians. They are 
 enormously kind, but somewhat er overwhelming," 
 he added with a quick luagh. 
 
 "My dear man, be thankful I never thought of it. 
 I've been like a bear with a sore head all day." She 
 looked past him into the fire, and struck by a new note 
 in her voice he refrained from comment, smoking slowly 
 and luxuriating in the warmth after a cold wet drive 
 in an open motor. He never used a closed car. But 
 some words she had used struck him. "Barry is rid- 
 ing ?" with a glance at the storm raging outside. 
 
 "Yes. He had breakfast at an unearthly hour and 
 went off early. Weather seems to make no difference 
 to him, but he will be soaked to the skin. " 
 
 "He's tough," replied Peters shortly. "I thought 
 he must be out. As I came in just now Yoshio was 
 hanging about the hall, watching the drive. Waiting 
 for him, I suppose," he added, flicking a curl of ash 
 into the fire. "He's a treasure of a valet," he supple- 
 mented conversationally. But Miss Craven let the ob- 
 servation pass. She was still staring into the leaping 
 flames, drumming with her fingers on the arms of the 
 chair. Once she tried to speak but no words came. 
 Peters waited. He felt unaccountably but definitely that 
 she wished him to wait, that what was evidently on her 
 mind would come with no prompting from him. He felt 
 in her attitude a tension that was unusual to-day she 
 was totally unlike herself. Once or twice only in the 
 course of a lifelong friendship she had shown him her 
 serious side. She had turned to him for help then he 
 seemed presciently aware that she was turning to him 
 for help now. He prided himself that he knew her as 
 well as she knew herself and he understood the effort it 
 would cost her to speak. That he guessed the cause of
 
 114 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 her trouble was no short cut to getting that trouble 
 uttered. She would take her own time, he could not go 
 half-way to meet her. He must stand by and wait. 
 When had he ever done anything else at Craven Towers? 
 His eyes glistened curiously in the firelight, and he 
 rammed his hands down into his jacket pockets with 
 abrupt jerkiness. Suddenly Miss Craven broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " Peter I'm horribly worried about Barry, " the 
 words came with a rush. He understood her too well 
 to cavil. 
 
 "Dear lady, so am I," he replied with a promptness 
 that did not console. 
 
 "Peter, what is it?" she went on breathlessly. 
 "Barry is utterly changed. You see it as well as I. 
 I don't understand I'm all at sea I want your help. 
 I couldn't discuss him with anybody else, but you you 
 are one of us, you've always been one of us. Fair 
 weather or foul, you've stood by us. What we should 
 have done without you God only knows. You care for 
 Barry, he's as dear to you as he is to me, can't you do 
 something? The suffering in his face the tragedy 
 in his eyes I wake up in the night seeing them! Peter, 
 can't you do something?" She was beside him, clutch- 
 ing at the mantel-shelf, shaking with emotion. The 
 sight of her unnerved, almost incoherent, shocked him. 
 He realised the depth of the impression that had been 
 made upon her deep indeed to produce such a result. 
 But what she asked was impossible. He made a little 
 negative gesture and shook his head. 
 
 "Dear lady, I can't do anything. And I wonder 
 whether you know how it hurts to have to say so? No 
 son could be dearer to me than Barry for the sake 
 
 of his mother " his voice faltered momentarily, "but 
 
 the fact remains he is not my son. I am only his
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 115 
 
 agent. There are certain things I cannot do and say, 
 no matter how great the wish," he added with a twisted 
 smile. 
 
 Miss Craven seemed scarcely to be listening. 
 "It happened in Japan," she asserted in fierce low 
 tones. "Japan! Japan!" she continued vehemently, 
 "how much more sorrow is that country to bring to 
 our family ! It happened in Japan and whatever it was 
 Yoshio knows! You spoke of him just now. You said 
 he was hanging about waiting watching. Peter, 
 he's doing it all the time! He watches continually. 
 Barry never has to send for him he's always there, 
 waiting to be called. When Barry goes out the man is 
 restless until he comes in again haunting the hall it 
 gets on my nerves. Yet there is nothing I can actually 
 complain of. He doesn't intrude, he is as noiseless as 
 a cat and vanishes if he sees you, but you know that 
 just out of sight he's still there waiting listening. 
 Peter, what is he waiting for? I don't think that it is 
 apparent to the rest of the household, I didn't notice 
 it myself at first. But a few months ago something 
 happened and since then I don't seem able to get away 
 from it. It was in the night, about two o'clock; I was 
 wakeful and couldn't sleep. I thought if I read I might 
 read myself sleepy. I hadn't a book in my room that 
 pleased me and I remembered a half -finished novel I 
 had left in the library. I didn't take a light I know 
 every turn in the Towers blindfold. As you know, to 
 reach the staircase from my room I have to pass Barry's 
 door, and at Barry's door I fell over something hi the 
 darkness something with hands of steel that saved me 
 from an awkward tumble and hurried me down the pas- 
 sage and into the moonlit gallery before I could find a 
 word of expostulation. Yoshio of course. I was natur- 
 ally startled and angry in consequence. I demanded an
 
 116 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 explanation and after a great deal of hesitation he mut- 
 tered something about Barry wanting him which is 
 ridiculous on the face of it. If Barry had really wanted 
 him he would have been inside the room, not crouched 
 outside on the door mat. He seemed very upset and 
 kept begging me to say nothing about it. I don't re- 
 member how he put it but he certainly conveyed the 
 impression that it would not be good for Barry to know. 
 I don't understand it Barry trusts him implicitly and 
 yet this. . . . I'm afraid, and I've never been afraid 
 in my life before." The little break in her voice hurt 
 him. He felt curiously unable to cope with the situa- 
 tion. Her story disturbed him more than he cared to 
 let her see in her present condition of unwonted agita- 
 tion. Twice in the past they had stood shoulder to 
 shoulder through a crisis of sufficient magnitude and she 
 had showed then a cautious judgment, a reliability of 
 purpose that had been purely masculine in its strength 
 and sanity. She had been wholly matter-of-fact and 
 unimaginative, unswayed by petty trivialities and broad 
 in her decision. She had displayed a levelness of mind 
 which had almost excluded f eeling and which' had enabled 
 him to deal with her as with another man, confident of 
 her understanding and the unlikelihood of her succumb- 
 ing unexpectedly to ordinary womanly weaknesses. He 
 had thought that he knew her thoroughly, that no cir- 
 cumstance that might arise could alter characteristics so 
 set and inherent. But to-day her present emotion 
 which had come perilously near hysteria, showed her in 
 a new light that made her almost a stranger. He was 
 a little bewildered with the discovery. It was incredible 
 after all these years, just as if an edifice that he had 
 thought strongly built of stone had tumbled about his 
 ears like a pack of cards. He could hardly grasp it. 
 He felt that there was something behind it all some-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 117 
 
 thing more than she admitted. He was tempted to ask 
 definitely but second reflection brought the conviction 
 that it would be a mistake, that it would be taking an 
 unfair advantage. Sufficient unto the day his present 
 concern was to help her regain a normal mental poise. 
 And to do that he must ignore half of what her sug- 
 gestions seemed to imply. He felt her breakdown 
 acutely, he must say nothing that would add to her 
 distress of mind. It was better to appear obtuse than 
 to concur too heartily in fears, a recollection of which 
 in a saner moment he knew would be distasteful to her. 
 She would never forgive herself the less she had to for- 
 get the better. She trusted him or she would never 
 have spoken at all. That he knew and he was honoured 
 by her confidence. They had always been friends, but 
 in her weakness he felt nearer to her than ever before. 
 She was waiting for him to speak. He chose the line 
 that seemed the least open to argument. He spoke at 
 last, evenly, unwilling alike to seem incredulous or over- 
 anxious, his big steady hand closing warmly over her 
 twitching fingers. 
 
 " I don't think there is any cause any reason to 
 doubt Yoshio's fidelity. The man is devoted to Barry. 
 His behaviour certainly sounds curious, but can be 
 attributed I am convinced to over-zealousness. He is 
 an alien in a strange land, cut off from his own natural 
 distractions and amusements, and with time on his hands 
 his devotion to his master takes a more noticeable form 
 than is usual with an ordinary English man-servant. 
 That he designs any harm I cannot believe. He has 
 been with Barry a long time on the several occasions 
 when he stayed with him at your house in London did 
 you notice anything in his behaviour then similar to the 
 attitude you have observed recently? No? Then I take 
 it that it is due to the same anxiety that we ourselves
 
 118 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 have felt since Barry's return. Only in Yoshio's case 
 it is probably based on definite knowledge, whereas ours 
 is pure conjecture. Barry has undoubtedly been up 
 against something momentous. Between ourselves we 
 can admit the fact frankly. It is a different man who 
 has come back to us and we can only carry on and 
 notice nothing. He is trying to forget something. He 
 has worked like a nigger since he came home, slogging 
 away down at the estate office as if he had his bread to 
 earn. He does the work of two men and he hates it. 
 I see him sometimes, forgetful of his surroundings, star- 
 ing out of the window, and the look on his face brings 
 a confounded lump into my throat. Thank God he's 
 
 young perhaps in time " he shrugged and broke off 
 
 inconclusively, conscious of the futility of platitudes. 
 And they were all he had to offer. There was no sug- 
 gestion he could make, nothing he could do. It was 
 repetition of history, again he had to stand by and watch 
 suffering he was powerless to aid, powerless to relieve. 
 The mother first and now the son it would seem almost 
 as if he had failed both. The sense of helplessness was 
 bitter and his face was drawn with pain as he stared 
 dumbly at the window against which the storm was 
 beating with renewed violence. The sight of the angry 
 elements brought almost a feeling of relief; it would be 
 something that he could contend with and overcome, 
 something that would go towards mitigating the galling 
 sense of impotence that chafed him. He felt the room 
 suddenly stifling, he wanted the cold sting of the rain 
 against his face, the roar of the wind in the trees above 
 his head. Abruptly he buttoned his jacket hi prepara- 
 tion for departure. Miss Craven pulled herself together. 
 She laid a detaining hand on his arm. "Peter," she 
 said slowly, "do you think that Barry's trouble has any 
 connection with my brother? The change of pictures
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 119 
 
 in the dining-room it was so strange. He said it was 
 a reparation. Do you think Barry found out some- 
 thing in Japan?" 
 
 Peter shook his head. " God knows," he said gruffly. 
 
 For a moment there was silence, then with a sigh Miss 
 Craven moved towards a bell. 
 
 "You'll stay for tea?" 
 
 "Thanks, no. I've got a man coming over, I'll have 
 to go. Give my love to Gillian and tell her I shall not 
 forgive her soon for deserting me this morning. Has she 
 lost that nasty cough yet?" 
 
 "Almost. I didn't want her to go to the Horring- 
 fords, but she promised to be careful." Miss Craven 
 paused, then: 
 
 "What did we do without Gillian, Peter?" she said 
 with an odd little laugh. 
 
 " 'You've got me guessing,' as Atherton says. She's 
 a witch, bless her!" he replied, holding out his hands. 
 Miss Craven took them and held them for a moment. 
 
 "You're the best pal I ever had, Peter," she said 
 unsteadily, "and you've given all your life to us. 
 Cravens. " 
 
 The sudden gripping of his hands was painful, then 
 he bent his head and unexpectedly put his lips to the 
 fingers he held so closely. 
 
 " I'm always here when you want me, " he said 
 huskily, and was gone. 
 
 Miss Craven stood still looking after him with a curious 
 smile. 
 
 "Thank God for Peter," she said fervently, and went 
 back to her station by the window. It was considerably 
 darker than before, but for some distance the double 
 avenue leading to the stables was visible. As she 
 watched, playing absently with the blind-cord, her mind 
 dwelt on the long connection between Peter Peters and
 
 120 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 her family. Thirty years the best of his life. And in 
 exchange sorrow and an undying memory. The woman 
 he loved had chosen not him but handsome inconsequent 
 Barry Craven and, for her choice, had reaped misery 
 and loneliness. And because he had known that in~ 
 evitably a day would come when she would need assist' 
 ance and support he had sunk his own feelings and re- 
 tained his post. Her brief happiness had been hard to 
 watch the subsequent long years of her desertion a 
 protracted torture. He had raged at his own helpless- 
 ness. And ignorant of his love and the motive that kept 
 him at Craven Towers she had come to lean on him and 
 refer all to him. But for his care the Craven properties 
 would have been ruined, and the Craven interests 
 neglected beyond repair. 
 
 For some time before her sister-in-law's death Miss 
 Craven had known, as only a woman can know, but 
 now for the first time she had heard from his lips a 
 half -confession of the love that he had guarded jealously 
 for thirty years. 
 
 The unusual tears that to-day seemed so curiously 
 near the surface rose despite her and she blinked the 
 moisture from her eyes with a feeling of irritated shame. 
 
 Then a figure, almost indistinguishable in the gloom, 
 coming from the stables, caught her eye and she gave 
 i sharp sigh of relief. 
 
 He was walking slowly, his hands deep in his pockets, 
 his shoulders hunched against the storm of wind and rain 
 that beat on his broad back. His movements suggested 
 intense weariness, yet nearing the house his step lagged 
 even more as if, despite physical fatigue and the in- 
 clement weather, he was rather forcing himself to return 
 than showing a natural desire for shelter. 
 
 There was in his tread a heaviness that contrasted 
 forcibly with the elasticity that had formerly been 
 characteristic.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 121 
 
 As he passed close by the window where Miss Craven 
 was standing she saw that he was splashed from head to 
 foot. She thought with sudden compassion of the horse 
 that he had ridden. She had been in the stables only 
 a few weeks before when he had handed over another 
 jaded mud-caked brute trembling in every limb and 
 showing signs of merciless riding to the old head groom 
 who had maintained a stony silence as was his duty but 
 whose grim face was eloquent of all he might not say. 
 It was so unlike Barry to be inconsiderate, toward ani- 
 mals he had been always peculiarly tender-hearted. 
 
 She hurried out to the hall, almost cannoning with a 
 little dark-clad figure who gave way with a deep Oriental 
 reverence. "Master very wet," he murmured, and 
 vanished. 
 
 "There's some sense in him," she muttered grudg- 
 ingly. And quite suddenly a wholly unexpected sym- 
 pathy dawned for the inscrutable Japanese whom she 
 had hitherto disliked. But she had no time to dwell on 
 her unaccountable change of feeling for through the glass 
 of the inner door she saw Craven in the vestibule strug- 
 gling stimy to rid himself of a dripping mackintosh. It 
 had been no protection for the driving rain had pene- 
 trated freely, and as he fumbled at the buttons with 
 slow cold fingers the water ran off him in little trickling 
 streams on to the mat. 
 
 She had no wish to convey the impression that she had 
 been waiting for him. She met him as if by accident, 
 hailing him with surprise that rang genuine. 
 
 "Hallo, Barry, just in time for tea! I know you don't 
 usually indulge, but you can do an act of grace on this 
 one occasion by cheering my solitude. Peter looked in 
 for ten minutes but had to hurry away for an engagement, 
 and Gillian is not yet back. " 
 
 His face was haggard but he smiled in reply, "All
 
 122 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 right. In the library? Then in five minutes I'm a 
 little wet." 
 
 In an incredibly short time he joined her, changed 
 and immaculate. She looked up from the tea urn she 
 was manipulating, her eyes resting on him with the 
 pleasure his physical appearance always gave her. 
 "You've been quick!" "Yoshio," he replied laconi- 
 cally, handing her buttered toast. 
 
 He ate little himself but drank two cups of tea, smoking 
 the while innumerable cigarettes. Miss Craven chatted 
 easily until the tea table was taken away and Craven 
 had withdrawn to his usual position on the hearthrug, 
 lounging against the mantelshelf. 
 
 Then she fell silent, looking at him furtively from time 
 to time, her hands restless in her lap, nerving herself 
 to speak. What she had to say was even more difficult 
 to formulate than her confidence to Feters. But it had 
 to be spoken and she might never find a more favourable 
 moment. She took her courage in both hands. 
 
 "I want to speak to you of Gillian," she said hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 He looked up sharply. "What of Gillian?" The ques- 
 tion was abrupt, an accent almost of suspicion in hip 
 voice and she moved uneasily. 
 
 "Bless the boy, don't jump down my throat," she 
 parried, with a nervous little laugh; "nothing of Gillia* 
 but what is sweet and good and dear . . . and yet 
 that's not all the truth it's more than that. I find it 
 hard to say. It's something serious, Barry, about Gil- 
 lian's future," she paused, hoping that he would volun- 
 teer some remark that would make her task easier. But 
 he volunteered nothing and, stealing a glance at him 
 she saw on his face an expression of peculiar stoniness 
 to which she had lately become accustomed. The new 
 taciturnity, which she still found so strange, seemed to
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 123 
 
 have fallen on him suddenly. She stifled a sigh and 
 hurried on: 
 
 "I wonder if the matter of Gillian's future has ever 
 occurred to you? It has been in my mind often and 
 lately I have had to give it more serious attention. Time 
 has run away so quickly. It is incredible that nearly 
 two years have passed since she became your ward. She 
 will be twenty-one in March of age, and her own mis- 
 tress. The question is what is she to do?" 
 
 "Do? There is no question of her doing anything," 
 he replied shortly. "You mean that her coming of age 
 will make no difference that things will go on as they 
 are? " Miss Craven eyed him curiously. 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 "You know less of Gillian than I thought you did." 
 The old caustic tone was sharp in her voice. 
 He looked surprised. "Isn't she happy here?" 
 "Happy!" Miss Craven laughed oddly. "It's a 
 little word to mean so much. Yes, she is happy happy 
 as the day is long but that won't keep her. She loves 
 the Towers, she is adored on the estate, she has a corner 
 in that great heart of hers for all who live here but 
 still that won't keep her. In her way of thinking she 
 has a debt to pay, and all these months, studying, 
 working, hoping, she has been striving to that end. She 
 is determined to make her own way in the world, to 
 
 repay what has been expended on her " 
 
 "That's dam' nonsense," he interrupted hotly. 
 "It's not nonsense from Gillian's point of view," Miss 
 Craven answered quickly, "it's just common honesty. 
 We have argued the matter, she and I, scores of times. 
 I have told her repeatedly that in view of your guard- 
 ianship you stand in loco parentis and, therefore, as 
 long as she is your ward her maintenance and artistic 
 education are merely her just due, that there can be o
 
 124 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 question of repayment. She does not see it in that 
 light. Personally though I would not for the world 
 have her know it I understand and sympathize with 
 her entirely. Her independence, her pride, are out of 
 all proportion to her strength. I cannot condemn, I can 
 only admire though I take good care to hide my ad- 
 miration . . . and if you could persuade her to let 
 the past rest, there is still the question of her future." 
 
 "That I can provide for." 
 
 Miss Craven shook her head. 
 
 "That you can not provide for," she said gravely. 
 
 The flat contradiction stirred him. He jerked upright 
 from his former lounging attitude and stood erect, scowl- 
 ing down at her from his great height. "Why not?" 
 he demanded haughtily. 
 
 Miss Craven shrugged. "What would you propose 
 to do?" He caught the challenge in her tone and for 
 a moment was disconcerted. "There would be ways 
 
 " he said, rather vaguely. "Something could be 
 
 arranged " 
 
 "You would offer her charity?" suggested Miss 
 Craven, wilfully dense. 
 
 "Charity be damned." 
 
 "Charity generally is damnable to those who have to 
 suffer it, No, Barry, that won't do. " 
 
 He jingled the keys in his pocket and the scowl on 
 his face deepened. 
 
 "I could settle something on her, something that 
 would be adequate, and it could be represented that 
 some old investment of her father's had turned up trumps 
 unexpectedly." 
 
 But Miss Craven shook her head again. "Clever, 
 Barry, but not clever enough. Gillian is no fool. She 
 knows her father had no money, that he existed on a 
 pittance doled out to him by exasperated relatives which
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 125 
 
 ceased with his death. He told her plainly in his last 
 letter that there was nothing in the world for her ex- 
 cept your charity. Think of what Gillian is, Barry, and 
 think what she must have suffered waiting for your 
 coming from Japan, and, to a less extent, in the de- 
 pendence of these last years." 
 
 He moved uncomfortably, as if he resented the plain- 
 ness of his aunt's words, and having found a cigarette 
 lit it slowly. Then he walked to the window, which was 
 still unshuttered, and looked out into the darkness, his 
 back turned uncompromisingly to the room. His inat- 
 tentive attitude seemed almost to suggest that the mat- 
 ter was not of vital interest to him. 
 
 Miss Craven's face grew graver and she waited long 
 before she spoke again. "There is also another reason 
 why I have strenuously opposed Gillian's desire to make 
 her own way in the world, a reason of which she is 
 ignorant. She is not physically strong enough to at- 
 tempt to earn her own living, to endure the hard work, 
 the privations it would entail. You remember how 
 bronchitis pulled her down last year; I am anxious about 
 her this winter. She is constitutionally delicate, she 
 may grow out of it or she may not. Heaven knows 
 what seeds of mischief she has inherited from such parents 
 as hers. She needs the greatest care, everything in the 
 way of comfort she is not fitted for a rough and tumble 
 life. And, Barry, I can't tell her. It would break her 
 heart," 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on him intently and she waited 
 with eager breathlessness for him to speak. But when 
 at length he answered his words brought a look of swift 
 disappointment and she relaxed in her chair with an air 
 of weary despondency. He replied without moving. 
 
 ii't you arrange something, Aunt Caro? You are 
 v r !<''?'-- of Gillian, you would miss her society terribly;
 
 126 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 cannot you persuade her that she is necessary to you 
 that it would be possible for her to work and still remain 
 with you? I know that some day you will want to go 
 back to your own house in London, to take up your own 
 interests again, and to travel. I can't expect you to 
 take pity much longer on a lonely bachelor. You have 
 given up much to help me it cannot go on for ever. 
 For what you have done I can never thank you, it is 
 beyond thanks, but I must not trade on your generosity. 
 If you put it to Gillian that you, personally, do not want 
 to part with her that she is dear to you it's true, isn't 
 it?" he added with sudden eagerness. And in surprise 
 at her silence he swung on his heel and faced her. She 
 was leaning back in the big armchair in a listless manner 
 that was not usual to her. 
 
 "I am afraid you cannot count on me, Barry," she 
 said slowly. He stared in sheer amazement. 
 
 "What do you mean, Aunt Caro? you do care for 
 her, don't you?" 
 
 "Care for her?" echoed Miss Craven, with a laugh 
 that was curiously like a sob, "yes, I do care for her. 
 I care so much that I am going to venture a great deal 
 for her sake. But I cannot propose that she should 
 live permanently with me because all future permanen- 
 cies have been taken out of my hands. I hate talking 
 about myself, but you had to know some day, this only 
 accelerates it. I have not been feeling myself for some 
 time a little;* while ago I went to London for definite 
 information. The man had the grace to be honest with 
 me he bade me put my house in order. " Her tone 
 left no possibility of misunderstanding. He was across 
 the room in a couple of hasty strides, on his knees beside 
 her, his hands clasped over hers. 
 
 "Aunt Caro!" The genuine and deep concern in 
 his voice almost broke her self-control. She turned her
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 127 
 
 head, catching her lip between her teeth, then with a 
 little shrug she recovered herself and smiled at him. 
 
 " Dear boy, it must come some day it has come a 
 little sooner than I expected, that is all. I'm not 
 grumbling, I've had a wonderful life I've been able to 
 do something with it. I have not sat altogether idle 
 in the market-place. " 
 
 "But are you sure? Doctors are not infallible." 
 
 "Quite sure," she answered steadily; "the man I 
 went to was very kind, very thorough. He insisted I 
 should have other opinions. There was a council of 
 big-wigs and they all arrived at the same conclusion, 
 which was at least consoling. A diversity of opinion 
 would have torn my nerves to tatters. I couldn't tell 
 you before, it would have worried me. I hate a fuss. 
 I don't want it mentioned again. You know and 
 there's an end of it." She squeezed his hands tightly 
 for a moment, then got up abruptly and went to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 " I have only one regret Gillian, " she said as he 
 followed her. "You see now that it is impossible for 
 me to make a definite home for her, even supposing that 
 she were to agree to such a proposal. They gave me 
 two or three years at the longest it might be any time. " 
 
 Craven stood beside her miserable and tongue-tied. 
 Her news affected him deeply, he was stunned with the 
 suddenness of it and amazed at the courage she dis- 
 played. She might almost have been discoursing on the 
 probable death of a stranger. And yet, he reflected, it 
 was only in keeping with her general character. She 
 had been fearless all through life, and for her death held 
 no terrors. 
 
 He tried to speak but words failed him. And pres- 
 ently she spoke again, hurriedly, disjointedly. 
 
 "I am helpless. I can do nothing for Gillian. If I
 
 128 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 could have left her money in my will, despite her pride 
 she would have had to accept it. I can't even do that. 
 At my death all I have, as you know, goes back into 
 the estate. I have never saved anything there never 
 seemed any reason. And what I made with my work 
 I gave away. There is only you only one way Barry, 
 won't you Barry!" She was crying undisguisedly, 
 unconscious even of the unaccustomed tears. "You 
 know what I mean you must know," she whispered 
 entreatingly, struggling with emotion 
 
 He was standing rigid, to her strained fancy he seemed 
 almost to have stopped breathing and there was in his 
 attitude something that frightened her. It came to her 
 suddenly that, after all, he was to all intents and pur- 
 poses a stranger to her. Even the intimacy of these 
 last months, living in close contiguity to him in his own 
 house had not broken down the barrier that his sojourn 
 in Japan had raised. She understood him no better 
 than on the day of his arrival in Paris. He had been 
 uniformly thoughtful and affectionate but had never 
 reverted to the old Barry whom she had known so well. 
 He had, as it were, retired within himself. He lived his 
 life apart, with them but not of them, daily carrying 
 through the arduous work he set himself with a dogged 
 determination in which there was no pleasure. Yet, be- 
 yond a certain gravity, to the casual observer there was 
 in him no great change. He entertained frequently and 
 was a popular host, interesting and appearing interested. 
 Only Miss Craven and Peters, more intimate, saw the 
 effort that he made. To Miss Craven it seemed some- 
 times as if he were deliberately living through a self- 
 appointed period she had found herself wondering what 
 cataclysm would end it. She was conscious of the im- 
 pression, which she tried vainly to dismiss as absurd, 
 of living over an active ^volcano. , a What would be the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 result of the upheaval when it came? She had prayed 
 earnestly for some counter-distraction that might become 
 powerful enough to surmount the tragic memory with 
 which he lived a memory she was convinced and the 
 tragedy was present in his face. She had cherished a 
 hope, born in the early days of their return to Craven 
 Towers and maintained in the face of seeming improba- 
 bility of fulfilment, that had grown to be an ardent 
 desire. In the realization of that hope she thought she 
 saw his salvation. With the knowledge of her own pre- 
 carious hold on life she clung even more closely to what 
 had become the strongest wish she had ever known. 
 She had never deluded herself into imagining the con- 
 summation of her wish imminent, she had frankly ac- 
 knowledged to herself that his inscrutability was im- 
 penetrable, and now hope seemed almost extinguished. 
 She realized it with a feeling of helplessness. And yet she 
 had a curious impulse, an inner conviction that urged 
 with a peremptoriness that over-rode subterfuge. She 
 would speak plainly, be the consequences what they 
 were. It was for the ultimate happiness of the two 
 beings whom she loved best on earth for that surely 
 she might venture something. She had never been 
 afraid of plain speaking, it would be strange if she let 
 convention deter her now. Convention! it had wrecked 
 many a life so had interference, she thought with sud- 
 den racking indecision. What if by interference she 
 hindered now, rather than helped? What if speech did 
 more mischief than silence? Irresolutely she wavered, 
 and to her indecision there came suddenly the further 
 disturbing thought if Barry acceded to her earnest wish 
 what ground had she for pre-supposing that it would 
 result in his happiness? She had no definite knowledge, 
 no positive assurance wherewith to press her request. 
 The inmost feelings of both were hidden from her. Her
 
 ISO THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 meddling might only bring more sorrow to him who 
 seemed already weighed down under a crushing burden 
 of grief. Gratitude and an intense admiration she knew 
 existed. But between admiration and any deeper feel- 
 ing there was a wide gulf. And yet what might not be 
 hidden behind the grave seriousness of those great dark 
 eyes that looked with apparently equal frankness at 
 every member of the household? Months spent in the 
 proximity of an unusually handsome man, the romance 
 of the tie between them it was an experience that any 
 woman, least of all an unsophisticated convent-bred girl, 
 could hardly pass through unscathed. It was surely 
 enough to gamble on, she reflected with grim humour 
 that did not amuse. It was a great hazzard, the highest 
 stakes she had ever played for who had never been 
 afraid of losing. The thought spurred her. If it was 
 to be the last throw then let there be no hesitation. A 
 reputation for courage and coolness had gone with her 
 through life. 
 
 She turned to him abruptly, all indecision gone, com- 
 plete mistress of herself again. 
 
 "Barry, don't you understand?" she said with slow 
 distinctness. "I want you to ask Gillian to marry 
 you." 
 
 He started as if she had stabbed him. 
 
 "Good God," he cried violently, "you don't know 
 what you are saying!" And from his tortured face she 
 averted her eyes hastily, sick at heart. But she held 
 her ground, aware that retreat was not now possible. 
 
 She answered gently, steadying her voice with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 "Is it so extraordinary that I should wish it, should 
 hope for it? I care for you both so deeply. To know 
 that your mother's place would be filled by one who is 
 worthy to follow her how worthy only I, who have
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 131 
 
 been admitted to her high ideals, appreciate; to know 
 that there would be the happiness of home ties here for 
 you, to know that I leave Gillian safe in your hands 
 it would make my going very easy, Barry. " 
 
 His head was down on his arms on the mantelshelf, 
 his face hidden from her. " Gillian safe in my hands 
 my God!" he groaned, and shuddered like a man in 
 mortal agony. 
 
 All the deep love she had for him, all the fears she 
 entertained for him leaped up in her with sudden 
 strength, forcing utterance and breaking down the 
 reticence she had imposed upon herself. She caught 
 his arm. 
 
 "Barry, what is it for heaven's sake speak! Do 
 you think I have been blind all these months, that I 
 have seen nothing? Can't you tell me anything? " 
 her voice, quivering with emotion, was strange to him, 
 strange enough to recall him to himself. He straightened 
 slowly and drew away from her with a little shiver. 
 "There is nothing I can tell you," he replied dully, 
 " nothing that I can explain, only this 2 went through 
 hell in Japan. I don't want any sympathy it was my 
 own fault, my own doing. . . . Just now I made a fool 
 of myself, I was off my guard, your words startled me. 
 Forget it, you can do me no good by remembering. " 
 
 He made an abrupt movement as if to leave the room 
 but Miss Craven stood squarely in front of him, her 
 chin raised stubbornly. She knew now that she was 
 face to face with something even more terrible than she 
 had imagined. He had avoided a definite answer. By 
 all reasoning she should have accepted his rebuff but 
 intuition, stronger than reason, impelled her. If he 
 went now it would be the end. She knew that positively. 
 The question could never be opened up again. She could 
 not let it pass without a final effort. It was inconceivable
 
 132 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 that this shadow could always lie across his life. What- 
 ever tragical event had occurred belonged to the past 
 surely the future might hold some alleviation, some hap- 
 piness that might compensate for the sorrow that had 
 lined his face and brought the silver threads that gleamed 
 in his thick dark hair. Surely in the care for another 
 life memory might be dulled and there might dawn for 
 Mm a new hope, a new peace. Despite his broken sug- 
 gestive words her trust in him was still maintained; she 
 had no fear for Gillian with him her future would be 
 assured. And there seemed no other alternative. Her 
 confidence in herself furthermore was not shaken, she 
 had a deep unalterable conviction that the wish for the 
 union she so desired was based upon something deeper 
 than mere fancy. It was not anything that she could 
 put into words or even into concrete thought, but the 
 belief was strong. It was a vivid assurance that went 
 beyond reasoning, that made it possible for her to speak 
 again. 
 
 "Are you going to let the past dominate the rest of 
 your life," she asked slowly, "is the future to count for 
 nothing? There are, in all probability, many years ahead 
 of you cannot you, in them, obliterate what has gone 
 before?" 
 
 He turned from her with a hopeless gesture and a 
 muttered word she could not catch. But he did not go 
 as she feared he would. He lingered in the room, star- 
 ing into the heart of the glowing fire and Miss Craven 
 played her last card. 
 
 "And Gillian?" she said firmly, all the Craven ob- 
 stinacy in her voice, and waited long for his answer. 
 When it came it was flat, monotonous. 
 
 " I cannot marry her. I cannot marry anybody. " 
 
 "Are you married already?" The question escaped 
 before she could bite it back. With a quickening heart-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 158 
 
 beat she awaited an outburst, a retort that would end 
 everything. But he answered quietly, in the same tone- 
 less voice: "No, I am not married." 
 
 She caught at the loop-hole it seemed to offer. "If 
 
 there is no bar " she began eagerly, but he cut her 
 
 short. "I have done with all that sort of thing," he 
 said harshly. 
 
 "Why?" she persisted, with a doggedness that 
 matched his own. "If you have known sorrow, does 
 that necessarily mean that you can never again know 
 happiness? Must you for a a memory, turn your back 
 irrevocably on any chance that may restore your peace of 
 mind? I believe that such a chance is waiting for you. " 
 
 He looked at her with strange intentness. "For 
 me. ..." he smiled bitterly. " If you only knew ! " 
 
 "I only know that you are hesitating at what most 
 men would jump at," she retorted, suddenly conscious 
 of strained nerves and feeling as if she were battering 
 impotent ly against a granite rock-face. His handa 
 clenched but he did not reply and swift contrition fell 
 on her. She turned to him impulsively. "Forgive me, 
 Barry. I shouldn't have said that, but I want this 
 thing so desperately. I am convinced that it would 
 mean happiness for you, for you both. And when 1 
 
 think of Gillian alone fighting against the world " 
 
 She broke down completely and he gripped her hands 
 with a strength that made her wince. 
 
 "She'll never do that if I can help it," he said swiftly. 
 
 Miss Craven looked up with sudden hope. "You will 
 ask her?" she whispered expectantly. He put her from 
 him gently. "I can promise nothing. I must think," 
 he said deliberately, and there was in his face a look 
 that held her silent. 
 
 With uncertain feelings she watched him leave the 
 room.
 
 134 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Inevitable re-action set in, doubts overwhelmed her. 
 Had she done what was best or had she blundered 
 irretrievably? She went unsteadily to a chair, extraor- 
 dinarily tired, exhausted in her new weakness by the 
 emotional strain through which she had passed. She 
 was beginning to be a little aghast at what she had 
 done, at the force that she had set moving. And yet 
 she had been actuated by the highest motives. She be- 
 lieved implicitly that the joining of the two lives whose 
 future was all her care would result in the ultimate 
 happiness of both. They had grown used to each other. 
 A closer relationship than that of guardian and ward 
 seemed, in view of the comparatively slight difference in 
 age, a natural outcome of the intimacy into which they 
 had been thrown. It was not without precedent; similar 
 events had happened before and would doubtless happen 
 again, she argued, striving to stifle the still lingering 
 doubt that whispered that she had gone beyond her 
 prerogative. And what she had done was in a way in- 
 explicable even to herself. All through she had felt that 
 involuntary forceful impulse that had been almost 
 fatalistic, she had urged through the prompting of an 
 inward conviction. She had perhaps attached too much 
 importance to it, her own wish had been magnified until 
 it assumed the appearance of fate. 
 
 Her closed eyes quivered as she leaned back in the 
 chair. 
 
 She had done it for the best, she kept repeating 
 mechanically to herself, to try and bring happiness into 
 his life; to insure the safety of the girl who had become 
 so dear to her. Had it been his thought too, even before 
 she spoke? His manner had been so strange. He had 
 recoiled from her suggestion but she had been left with 
 the impression that it was no new one to him. She had 
 caught a fleeting look, before his face had taken on that
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 135 
 
 impenetrable mask, that had given the lie to his em- 
 phatic words. He had seemed to be wrestling with him- 
 self, she had seen the moisture thick on his forehead, 
 his set face had looked as if it could never soften again. 
 When he had gone he had given her no definite promise 
 and she had no possibility of guessing what his decision 
 would be. But on reflection she found hope in his de- 
 ferring reply. It was all that was left to her. She had 
 done her utmost, the rest lay with him. She sighed 
 deeply, she had never felt such weariness of mind and 
 body. As she gave way to a feeling of growing lassitude 
 drowsiness came over her which she was too tired to 
 combat and for some time she slept heavily. She awoke 
 with a start to find Gillian, wide-eyed with concern, 
 kneeling beside her, the girl's slim warm fingers clasped 
 closely round her sleep-numbed hands. Dazed with sud- 
 den walang she looked up without speaking at the fresh 
 young face that bent over her. Gillian rubbed the cold 
 hands gently. "Aunt Caro, you were asleep! I've 
 never caught you napping before," she laughed, but a 
 hint of anxiety mingled with the wonder in her voice. 
 Miss Craven slowly smiled reassurance. Her weakness 
 seemed to have vanished with sleep, she felt herself once 
 more strong enough to hide from the searching affec- 
 tionate eyes anything that might give pain or cause 
 uneasiness. She sat up straighten 
 
 "Laziness, my dear, sheer laziness," she said sturdily. 
 Gillian looked at her gravely. "Sure?" she asked, 
 "you are sure that you are quite well? You looked so 
 tired your face was quite white. " 
 
 "Quite sure unbeliever! And you did you have a 
 good time; did you remember to take your tonic, and 
 did you keep warm?" 
 
 Gillian laughed softly and stood up, ticking off the 
 items on her fingers. "I did have a good time, I did
 
 136 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 remember to take my tonic, and this heavenly coat has 
 kept me as warm as pie Nin'a Atherton taught me that. 
 That nice family considerably enlarged my vocabulary," 
 she added with enjoyment, slipping out of a heavy fur 
 coat and coming back to perch on the arm of Miss 
 Craven's chair. 
 
 "Not yours only," was the answer, "Peter was 
 quoting the husband this afternoon." 
 
 They were both silent for a moment thinking of the 
 three charming Americans who had spent a couple of 
 months at the Towers the previous summer, bringing 
 with them an adored scrap of humanity and a host of 
 nurses, valets and maids. 
 
 Then Gillian drew her arm closer around Miss Craven. 
 
 "Alex pressed me to stay until to-morrow, I had the 
 greatest trouble to get away. But I promised to come 
 back this afternoon, and, do you know, Aunt Caro, I 
 had the queerest feeling this morning. I thought you 
 wanted me, wanted me urgently. As if you could ever 
 want anybody urgently, you self-reliant wonder." She 
 gave the shoulder she was caressing an affectionate hug. 
 "But it was odd, wasn't it? I nearly telephoned, and 
 then I concluded you would think I had taken leave 
 of my senses." 
 
 Miss Craven sat very still. 
 
 "I should have," she replied, and hoped that her 
 voice appeared more natural than it sounded to herself. 
 Gillian laughed. 
 
 "Anyhow, I'm glad you had Mr. Peters to cheer your 
 solitary tea. I hated to think of you being alone. " 
 
 "He didn't. He left early. But Barry condescended 
 to take pity on me. " 
 
 "Mr. Craven!" There was the slightest pause be- 
 fore she added: "I thought he scorned le Jive o'clock. 
 He's not nearly so domesticated as David. "
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 137 
 
 "As who, my dear?" asked Miss Craven, staring. 
 Gillian gave another little laugh. 
 
 " Oh, that's my private name for Mr. Peters he 
 doesn't mind he spoils me dreadfully 'the sweet 
 singer in Israel' you know. He has got the most 
 beautiful tenor voice I have ever listened to. " 
 
 "Peter sing! I've never heard him sing," said Miss 
 Craven in wonder, and she looked up with a new 
 curiosity. "I've known him for thirty years, and in 
 less than that number of months you discover an ac- 
 complishment of which everybody else is ignorant. How 
 did you manage it, child?" 
 
 "By accident, one evening in the summer. You were 
 dining out, and Mouston and I had gone for a ramble 
 in the park it's gorgeous there in the crepuscule and 
 we were quite close to the Hermitage. I heard him and 
 I eaves-dropped is there such a word? It was so lovely 
 that I had to clap and he came out and found an un- 
 expected audience on the windowsill. Wasn't it dread- 
 ful? He was so dear about it and explained that it was 
 a very private form of amusement, but since the cat 
 was out of the bag there was an end of the matter, only 
 he positively declined to perform in public. I bullied 
 him into singing some more, and then he walked home 
 with me." 
 
 "You twist Peter round your little finger and trade 
 on his good nature shamelessly," said Miss Craven 
 severely, but her teasing held no terrors. 
 
 "He's such a dear," the girl repeated softly, and 
 slipping off the arm of the chair she went to the fire 
 and knelt down to put back a log that had fallen on 
 to the hearth and was smouldering uselessly. Miss 
 Craven looked at her as, the log replaced, she still knelt 
 on the rug and held her hands mechanically to the blaze. 
 She had an intense and wholly futile longing to speak
 
 138 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 what was in her mind and, demanding confidence for 
 confidence, penetrate the secret of the heart that had 
 confided to her all but this one thing. Little by little 
 through no pressure but by mere telepathic sympathy, 
 reserve had melted away and hopes and aspirations had 
 been submitted and discussed. But of this one thing 
 there could be no discussion. Miss Craven realised it 
 and stifled a regretful sigh. Even she, dear as she knew 
 herself to be, might not intrude so intimately. For by 
 such an intrusion she might lose all that she had gained. 
 She could not forfeit the confidence that had grown to 
 mean so much to her, it was too high a price to pay 
 even for the knowledge she sought. She must have 
 patience, she thought, as she ran her fingers with the 
 old gesture through her grey curls. But it was hard to 
 be patient when any moment might bring the summons 
 that would put her beyond the ken of earthly events. 
 To go, leaving this problem still unsolved! She set her 
 teeth and sat rigid, gripping the oak rails of the chair 
 until her fingers ached, battling with herself. She 
 looked again at the slim kneeling figure, the pale oval 
 face half turned to her, the thick dark hair piled high 
 on the small proud head glistening in the firelight. A 
 thing of grace and beauty in mind and body desirable. 
 How could he hesitate. . . . 
 
 " Barry was riding all day in this atrocious weather. 
 He came in soaked," she said abruptly, almost queru- 
 lously, unlike her usual tolerant intonation. There was 
 no immediate answer and for a moment she thought 
 she had not been heard. The girl had moved slightly, 
 turning her face away, and with a steady hand was 
 building the dying fire into a pyramid. She completed 
 the operation carefully and sat back on her heels 
 flourishing the tiny brass tongs. 
 
 "He's tough," she said lightly, unconsciously echo-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 139 
 
 ing Peters' words and apparently heedless of the interval 
 between Miss Craven's remark and her own reply. She 
 seemed more interested in the fire than in her guardian. 
 Laying the tongs away leisurely she came back to Miss 
 Craven's chair and settled down on the floor beside her, 
 her arms crossed on the elder woman's knee. She looked 
 up frankly, a faint smile lightening her serious brown 
 eyes. 
 
 "I don't think Mr. Craven wants any sympathy, 
 cherie," she said slowly, "I reserve all mine for Yoshio, 
 he fusses so dreadfully when the 'honourable master' 
 goes for those tremendous long rides or is out hunting. 
 Have you noticed that he always waits in the hall, to 
 be ready at the first moment to rush away and get dry 
 clothes and a hot bath and all the other Oriental para- 
 phernalia for checking chills and driving the ache out 
 of sore bones? I don't suppose Mr. Craven has ever had 
 sore bones he is so splendidly strong and Yoshio cer- 
 tainly seems determined he never shall. Mary thor- 
 oughly approves of him, she's a fusser by nature too; 
 she deplores his heathenism but says he has more sense 
 than many a Christian. Soon after we came here I 
 found him in the hall one day staring through the win- 
 dow, looking the picture of misery, his funny little yellow 
 face all puckered up. He saw me out of the back of 
 his head, truly he did, for he never turned, and tried to 
 slip away. But I made him stay and talk to me. I 
 sat on the stairs and he folded himself up on the mat 
 
 I can't describe it any other way and told me all 
 about Japan, and California and Algeria and all the other 
 queer places he has been to with Mr. Craven. He has 
 such a quaint dramatic way of speaking and lapses into 
 unintelligible Japanese just at the exciting moments 
 so tantalising! They seem to have been in some very 
 
 what do you say? tight corners. We got quite
 
 140 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 sociable. I was so interested in listening to his descrip- 
 tion of the wonderful gardens they make in Japan that 
 I never heard Mr. Craven come in and did not realise 
 that he was standing near us until Yoshio suddenly shot 
 up and fled, literally vanished, and left me planteela! 
 I felt so idiotic sitting on the stairs hugging my knees 
 and Mr. Craven, all splashed and muddy, waiting for 
 me to let him pass I was dreadfully frightened of him 
 in those days," the faintest colour tinged her cheeks. 
 "I longed for an earthquake to swallow me up," she 
 laughed and scrambled to her feet, gathering the heap 
 of furs into her arms and holding them dark and silky 
 against her face. "You shouldn't have encouraged in 
 me a love of beautiful furs, Aunt Caro, " she said in- 
 consequently, with sudden seriousness. "I've sense 
 enough left to know that I shouldn't indulge it and 
 I'm human enough to adore them. " 
 
 "Rubbish! furs suit you please my sense of the 
 artistic. I would not encourage you if you had a face 
 like a harvest moon and no carriage I can't bear slop- 
 piness in anything," snapped Miss Craven hi quite her 
 old style. "When do the Horringfords start for 
 Egypt?" she added by way of definitely changing the 
 subject. 
 
 Gillian rubbed her cheek against the soft sealskin with 
 an understanding smile. It was hopeless to try and 
 curb Miss Craven's generosity, hopeless to attempt to 
 argue against it. "Next week," she answered the in- 
 quiry. "Tuesday, probably. They stay hi Paris for 
 a month en route; Lord Horringford wants some data 
 from the Louvre and also to arrange some preliminaries 
 with the French Egyptologist who is joining their party. " 
 
 "'Hum! And Alex still interested in mummies?" 
 
 "More than ever, she is full of enthusiasm. She talks 
 of dynasties and tribal deities, of kings and Kas and
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 141 
 
 symbols until my head spins. Lord Horringford teases 
 her but it is easy to see that her interest pleases him. 
 He says she is the mascot of the expedition, that she 
 brought luck to the digging last year. " 
 
 "Alex has had many hobbies but never one that ran 
 for two seasons," said Miss Craven thoughtfully; "I am 
 glad she has found an interest at last that promises to 
 be permanent." 
 
 Gillian gathered the furs closer in her arms and made 
 a few steps toward the door. "She has found more 
 than that," she said softly, and the colour flamed in her 
 sensitive face. Miss Craven nodded. "You mean that 
 in unearthing the buried treasure of a dead past she 
 has found the living treasure of a man's love? Yes, 
 and not any too soon, poor silly child. Men like Hor- 
 ringford don't bear playing with. I wonder whether 
 she knows how near she has been to making shipwreck 
 of her life." 
 
 " I think she knows now, " said Gillian, with a little 
 wise smile as she left the room. 
 
 The sound of her soft contralto singing an old French 
 nursery rhyme echoed faintly back to the library: 
 "Mon pere m'a donne un petit mari, 
 
 Mon Dieu, quel horn me!" 
 
 And, listening, Miss Craven smiled half-sadly, for the 
 quaint words carried her back to the days of her own 
 childhood. But the exigencies of the present thrust 
 aside past memories. She sat on, wrapped in her 
 thoughts until the dropping temperature of the room 
 sent through her a sudden chill, so she rose with a shiver 
 and a startled glance at her watch. 
 
 "Dry bones and love," she said musingly, "it's a 
 curious combination! Peter, my man, you gave wise 
 advice there. . . . But not all your wisdom can help 
 my trouble.**
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 DECEMBER had brought a complete change of 
 weather. It was within a few days of Christmas, a 
 typical old-fashioned Yuletide with a firm white mantle 
 of snow lying thick over the country. 
 
 Underneath the ground was iron and for two weeks 
 all hunting had been stopped. 
 
 Craven was returning to the Towers after an absence 
 of ten days. The motor crawled through the park for 
 in places the frozen road was slippery as glass and the 
 chauffeur was a cautious North-countryman whose faith 
 in the chains locked round the wheels was not unlimited; 
 he was driving carefully, with a wary eye for the worst 
 patches noted on the outward run, and, beside him, 
 equally alert, sat Yoshio muffled to the ears hi an im- 
 mense overcoat, a shapeless bundle. 
 
 It was early afternoon, calm and clear, and in the air 
 the intense stillness that succeeds a heavy snowfall. 
 The pale sun, that earlier in the day had iridised the 
 snow, was now too low to affect the dead whiteness of 
 the scene against which the trees showed magnified ami 
 sharply black. Here and there across the smooth sur- 
 face stretching on either side of the road lay the curiously 
 differing tracks of animals. From the back seat of the 
 car where he sat alone Craven marked them me- 
 chanically. He knew every separate spoor and could 
 have named the owner of each; ordinarily they would 
 have claimed from him a certain interest but to-day he 
 passed them without a second thought. He did not 
 
 142
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 148 
 
 resent the slow progress of the car, he was in no hurry 
 to reach the Towers. He had come to a momentous 
 decision but shrank from the action that must necessarily 
 follow; once at the house he knew that he would permit 
 himself no further delay, he would put his purpose into 
 effect at the earliest opportunity to-day if possible; 
 here there was still time vaguely he wondered for what? 
 Not for reflection, that was done with. He had striven 
 with all his strength to arrive at a right determination; 
 he had thought until reasoning became a mere repetition 
 of fixed ideas moving hi a circle and arriving always at 
 an unvaried starting point. There seemed no conse- 
 quence that he had not weighed hi his mind, no issue 
 that he had not considered. To ponder afresh would 
 be to cover again uselessly ground that he had gone 
 over a hundred times. Three days ago he had made 
 his choice, he had no intention of departing from it. 
 For good or ill the thing must go forward now. And, 
 after all, the ultimate decision did not lie with him. 
 Admitting it his thoughts became introspective. 
 Throughout his deliberations he had put self on one 
 side, there had been no question of his own wishes; 
 now for the first time he allowed personal considerations 
 to rise unchecked. For what did he hope? He knew 
 the reason of his reluctance to reach the house he de- 
 sired success and yet he feared it, feared the conse- 
 quences that might result, feared the strength of his 
 own will to persevere in the course he had chosen. For 
 him there was no other way but, merciful God, it would 
 be hard! He set his teeth and stared at the frozen 
 landscape with unseeing eyes. Since her outburst four 
 weeks ago Miss Craven had not spoken again of the wish 
 that was nearest her heart, but he knew that she was 
 waiting for an answer, knew that that answer must be 
 given. One way or the other. Day had succeeded day
 
 144 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 in torturing indecision. He had lived, slept with the 
 problem, at no time was it out of his mind. In the 
 course of the long rides that had become more frequent, 
 obtruding during the monotonous hours spent in the 
 estate office, the problem persisted. In the sleepless 
 hours of the night he wrestled with it. If it had been 
 a matter of personal inclination, if the past had not risen 
 between them there would have been no hesitation. He 
 would have gone to her months ago, would have begged 
 the priceless gift that she alone could give. He wanted 
 her, almost above the hope of salvation, and the induce- 
 ment to ignore the past had been all but overpowering. 
 He loved and desired with all the strength of the pas- 
 sionate nature he had inherited. He craved for her with 
 an intensity that was anguish, that set him wondering 
 how far the power of endurance reached, how much a 
 man could bear. He was torn with the fierce promptings 
 of primeval forces. To take her, willing or unwilling, 
 despite honour, despite all that stood between them, to 
 make her his and hold her in the face of all the world 
 at times the temptation had been maddening. There 
 had been days when he had not dared to look on her, 
 when he had drawn himself more than ever apart from 
 the common life, fearful of himself, fearful of circum- 
 stances that seemed beyond his ordering. And the 
 thought that another could take what he might not had 
 engendered an insensate jealousy that was beyond rea- 
 son. He did not recognise himself, he had not known 
 the depths of his own nature. If there had been no bar, 
 if she could have come to him willingly, if there could 
 indeed have been for him the full ties of home the 
 thought was agony. Miss Craven's words had been a 
 sword turning in an open wound. To the burden he 
 already carried had been added this. 
 The future of his ward had been his problem as weU
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 145 
 
 as Miss Craven's. Only a little while ago a way had 
 seemed clear, not a way to his own happiness by his 
 own act he had put himself beyond all possibility of that 
 but a way that would mean security and happiness for 
 her who had come to mean more than life to him. For 
 her safety he would have given his soul. The term of 
 his guardianship was drawing to an end, in a few months 
 his legal control over her terminated. Miss Craven who 
 had surrendered her independence for two years would 
 be returning to her own home, to her old life; it had 
 seemed a foregone conclusion that Gillian would accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 But the double shock in the revelation of Miss Craven's 
 precarious state and Gillian's delicacy had been stagger- 
 ing. He had not been prepared for a contingency that 
 seemed to cut the ground from under his feet. With all 
 the will in the world his aunt was powerless to further 
 the plan he proposed, any day might bring the Great 
 Summons. And Gillian! The little persistent cough 
 rang in his ears always. Gillian and poverty by day 
 it haunted him, he woke hi the night sweating at the 
 very thought. It was intolerable. And yet there ap- 
 peared no means of escaping it save one. For a mo- 
 ment, with a fierce joy, he saw fate aiding him, forcing 
 into his hands what he yearned to gather to himself, 
 then he recoiled from even the thought of her purity 
 linked with the stain of his past. He had racked his 
 brain to discover an alternative. To force upon her an 
 adequate income that would put her beyond want and 
 the necessity of work would be easy To induce her to 
 use the money thus provided he divined would be im- 
 possible, he seemed to know intuitively that her will 
 would not give way to his. During these last weeks he 
 had looked at her with new understanding, it seemed 
 incredible that he had never before recognised the deter-
 
 146 THE SHADOW OF TffE EAST 
 
 mination that underlay her shy gentleness. Character 
 shone in the frank brown eyes, there was a firmness that 
 was unmistakable in the arched lips that were the only 
 patch of colour in her delicate face. From his wealth 
 she would accept nothing. Would she accept him all 
 that he dared offer? It was no new idea, the thought 
 had been in his mind often but always he resolutely put 
 it from him with a feeling of abhorrence. It was an 
 insult to her womanhood, an expedient that nothing 
 could justify. And yet step by step he was forced back 
 upon it there seemed no other way to save her from 
 herself. Days of harrassing indecision, his only thought 
 she, brought him no nearer to a conclusion. And time 
 was passing. He had reached a point when further de- 
 liberation was beyond his power; when all his strength 
 seemed to turn into hopeless longing that, to the ex- 
 clusion of all else, craved even the mockery of posses- 
 sion; when days were torment and nights a sleepless 
 horror. Then change of scene had aided final deter- 
 mination. The factor of the Scotch estate had written 
 of a sudden and unexpected difficulty for which he asked 
 personal advice. A telegram had stopped his proposed 
 visit to the Towers and Craven had himself gone instead 
 to Scotland. And in the solitude of his northern home 
 he had decided on the only course that seemed open to 
 him. He would go to her with his poor offer, the poorest 
 surely that ever a man made to a woman, and the rest 
 would lie with her. But how would she receive it? He 
 had a vision of the soft brown eyes blazing with scorn, 
 of the slender figure he ached to hold in his arms turn- 
 ing from him in cold disgust, and he clenched his hands 
 until the nails bit deep into his wet palms. 
 
 A bad skid that slewed the car half round broke his 
 thoughts and in a few minutes they were at the house. 
 
 Forbes, the elderly butler who had been an under
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 147 
 
 footman when Peters first came to the Towers, was 
 waiting for him in the hall, informative with the gar- 
 rulousness of an old and privileged servant. A late 
 luncheon was waiting he sighed patiently on hearing 
 that it was not required Miss Craven had gone to the 
 Vicarage for tea; Mr. Peters was expected to dinner that 
 night and he had telephoned in the morning to tell Mr. 
 Craven Craven cut him short. Peter's message could 
 wait, only one thing seemed to matter just now. 
 
 "Where is Miss Locke?" he asked curtly. "In the 
 studio, sir," replied Forbes with resignation. If Mr. 
 Barry didn't want to hear what Mr. Peters had got to 
 say he, for one, was not going to press the matter. Mr. 
 Barry had had his own way of doing things since the 
 days when he sat on the pantry table kicking his heels 
 and flourishing stolen jam under Forbes' very nose a 
 masterful one always, he was. And if it was a case of 
 Miss Gillian Forbes retired with an armful of ulster 
 and rugs into the cloakroom to hide a sympathetic grin. 
 
 Craven crossed the hall and went into the study. He 
 looked without interest through an accumulation of 
 letters lying on the writing table, then threw them down 
 indifferently. Walking to the fireplace he lit a cigarette 
 and stood staring at the cheerful blaze. At last he 
 raised his head and gazed with deliberation at himself 
 in the glass over the mantle. He scowled at the stern 
 worn face reflected in the mirror, looking curiously at 
 its deep cut lines, at the silver patches in the thick brown 
 hair. Then with a violent exclamation he swung ab- 
 ruptly on his heel, flung the cigarette into the fire and 
 left the room. He went upstairs slowly, surprised at 
 the feeling of apathy that had come over him. In the 
 face of direct action the high tension of the last few 
 weeks had snapped, leaving him dull, almost inert, and 
 a^luctance to go forward grew with every step. But at
 
 148 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 x ' t, 
 
 the head of the stairs his mood changed suddenly. All 
 that the coming interview meant to him revealed itself 
 with startling clearness. With a deep breath he caught 
 at the rail, for he was shaking uncontrollably, and 
 covered his face with his hand. 
 
 "God!" he whispered, and again: "God!" 
 
 Then he gripped himself and went quickly across the 
 gallery, turning down the corridor that led to the west 
 wing. He followed the oddly twisting passage, contorted 
 at the whim of succeeding generations where rooms had 
 been enlarged or abolished, passing rows of closed doors 
 and another staircase. The corridor terminated in the 
 room he was seeking. It had been the old playroom; at 
 the extreme end of the wing it faced northward and 
 westward and was well suited for the studio into which 
 it had been converted. It was Gillian's own domain and 
 he had never asked to visit it. As he reached the door 
 he heard from within the shrill treble of a boy's mirth 
 and then a low soft laugh that made his heart beat 
 quicker. He tapped and went in and for a moment 
 stared in amazement. He did not recognise the room, it 
 was a totally unexpected French atelier tucked away 
 in the corner of a typically English house. 
 
 The polished rug-laid floor, the fluted folds of toile-de- 
 genes clothing the walls, the litter of sketches and pic- 
 tures, casts and easels, the familiar lay-figure grotesquely 
 attitudinising in a corner, above all the atmosphere car- 
 ried him straight to Paris. It was the room of an artist, 
 and a French artist. His eyes leaped to her. She was 
 - standing before a big easel looking wonderingly over her 
 shoulder at the opening door, the brush she was using 
 poised in her hand, her eyes wide with astonishment, a 
 faint flush creeping into her cheeks. 
 
 In the picturesque painter's blouse, her brown hair 
 loosely framing her face, she seemed altogether different.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 149 
 
 He could not define wherein lay the change, he had no 
 time to discriminate, he only knew that seen thus she 
 was a thousand times more desirable than she had ever 
 been and that his heart cried out for her more fiercely 
 than before. He looked at her with hungry longing, 
 then quickly lest his eyes should betray him from her 
 to her model. A boy of ten with an intelligent small 
 brown face, a mop of black curls, and red lips parted in 
 a mischievous smile, he stood on the raised platform 
 with the easy assurance of a professional. 
 
 Craven shut the door behind him and came forward. 
 She turned to meet him and the colour rushed hi a 
 crimson wave to the roots of her hair. "Monsieur . . . 
 vous etes de retour . . . mats, soyez le bieiwenul" she 
 stammered, with surprise unconsciously lapsing into 
 the language of childhood. Then she caught herself up 
 with a little laugh of confusion and hurried on in Eng- 
 lish: "I am so sorry . . . there is nobody in but me. 
 Will you have some tea? It is only three o'clock," with 
 a glance at her wrist, "but I expect you lunched early." 
 
 "I don't want any tea," he said bluntly. "I came 
 to see you." He spoke in French, mindful of two sharp 
 ears on the platform. The colour in her face deepened 
 painfully and her eyes fell under his steady gaze. She 
 moved slowly back to the easel. 
 
 "If you could wait a few moments " she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "I don't want to interrupt," he said hastily. "Please 
 finish your work. You don't mind if I stay? I haven't 
 been here since I was a boy; you have changed the 
 room incredibly. May I look round?" 
 
 She nodded assent over a tube of colour, and returned 
 to her study. 
 
 Left to himself he wandered leisurely round the room, 
 examining the pictures and sketches that were heaped
 
 150 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 indiscriminately. He had never before displayed any 
 interest in her work, and was now amazed at what he 
 saw. There was power in it that surprised him, that 
 made him wonder what intuition had given the convent- 
 bred girl the knowledge she exhibited. The tardy recog- 
 nition of (her talent strengthened his stranger feeling 
 toward her. He went thoughtfully to the fireplace, and, 
 from the rug, surveyed the room and its occupants. 
 The atmosphere recalled old memories he had studied 
 in Paris after leaving Oxford only one thing seemed 
 lacking. 
 
 "May I smoke?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 Gillian turned with a quick smile. 
 
 "But, of course. What need to ask? After Aunt 
 Caro has been here for an hour the room is blue. " 
 
 For another ten minutes he watched her in silence, 
 free to look as he would, for her back was toward him 
 and in his position before the fire he was beyond the 
 range of the little model's inquisitive black eyes. 
 
 Then she laid palette and brushes on a near table and 
 stepped back, frowning at what she had done until a 
 smile came slowly to chase the creases from her fore- 
 head. She spoke without moving, still looking at the 
 canvas: "That is all for to-day, Danny. The light has 
 gone. " 
 
 The small boy stretched himself luxuriously, and 
 descending from the platform, joined her and gazed with 
 evident interest at his portrait. He peered in un- 
 conscious but faithful imitation of her own critical atti- 
 tude, his head slanted at the same angle as hers. "It's 
 coming on, " he announced solemnly, and Craven guessed 
 from the girl's laugh that it was a repetition of some 
 remark heard and stored up for future use. The boy 
 grinned in response, and slipping behind her went to 
 the table where she had laid her tools. "Can I cleaa
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 151 
 
 palut?" he asked hopefully, his hand already half-way 
 to the coveted mass of colour. 
 "Not to-day, thanks, Danny." 
 
 "Shall I fetch th' dog, Miss?" more hopefully. 
 Gillian turned to him quickly. 
 "He bit you last time." 
 
 Danny wriggled his feet and his small white teeth 
 flashed in a wide smile. "He won't bite I again," he 
 said confidently. "Mammy said 'twas 'cos he loved 
 you and hated to have folks near you. She said I was 
 to whisper in his ear I loved you too, 'cos then he 
 wouldn't touch me. Dad he says 'tis a damned black 
 devil," he added with candid relish and a sidelong glance 
 of mischief at his employer. 
 
 Gillian laughed and gave his shoulder a little pat. 
 "I'm afraid he is," she admitted ruefully. The boy 
 threw his head back. "I ain't afeard o' he," he said 
 stoutly. " Shall I fetch 'im? " 
 
 "I think we'll leave him where he is, Danny," she 
 said gravely, as if in confidence. "He's probably very 
 happy. Now run away and come again on Saturday." 
 She waved a paint-stained rag at him and turned again 
 to the picture. Obediently he started towards the door, 
 then hesitated, glancing irresolutely at Craven, and tip- 
 toed back to the easel. 
 
 "Them things in the drawer," he muttered sepul- 
 chrally, in a voice not intended to reach the ears of the 
 rather awe-inspiring personage on the hearthrug. 
 Gillian whipped round contritely. "Danny, I forgot 
 them!" she apologised, and tweaking a black curl went 
 to a bureau and produced a square cardboard box. 
 Danny tucked it under his arm with murmured thanks 
 and a duck of the head, and crossing the room noiselessly 
 went out, closing the door behind him softly. Craven 
 came slowly to her. She moved to give him place be-
 
 152 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 fore the easel. Craven looked at the small alert brown 
 face, the odd black eyes dancing with almost unearthly 
 merriment, the red lips curving upward to an enigmat- 
 ical smile, and his wonder and admiration grew. 
 
 "Who is he?" he asked curiously, puzzled by a like- 
 ness he seemed to recognise dimly and yet was unable 
 to place. 
 
 "Danny Major the son of one of your gamekeepers, '* 
 said Gillian; "his mother has gipsy blood in her. " 
 
 Craven whistled. "I remember," he said, interested. 
 "Old Major was head-keeper. Young Major lost his 
 heart to a gipsy lass and his father kicked him out of 
 doors. Peters, as usual, smoothed things over and kept 
 the fellow on at his job, in spite of a great deal of 
 opposition he had seen the girl and formed his own 
 opinion. I asked once or twice and he said that it had 
 turned out satisfactorily. So this is the son he's a rum- 
 looking little beggar. " 
 
 Gillian was cleaning brushes at the side table. "He's 
 the terror of the neighbourhood," she said smiling, 
 "but for some reason he is a perfect angel when he 
 comes here. It isn't the chocolates," she added hastily 
 as she saw a fleeting smile on- his face, "he just likes 
 coming. And he tells me the most wonderful things 
 about the woods and the wood beasties." 
 
 "He would," said Craven significantly, "it's in the 
 blood. What's this?" he asked, pointing to a smaller 
 board propped face inward against the big canvas. For 
 a moment she did not answer and the colour flamed into 
 her face again. She put the brushes away, and wiping 
 her fingers on a cloth, lifted the board and gave it into 
 his hands. 
 
 "It's Danny as I see him," she said in an odd voice. 
 And, looking at it, Craven realised that the cleverness 
 of the painted head on the large canvas paled to
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 153 
 
 mediocrity beside the brilliance of the sepia sketch he 
 held. It was the same head but marvellously different 
 set on the body of a faun. The dancing limbs were 
 pulsing with life, the tiny hoofs stamping the flower- 
 strewn earth in an ecstasy of movement; the head was 
 thrown forward, bent as though to catch a distant echo, 
 and among the tossing curls showed two small curving 
 horns; to the enigmatical smile of the original had been 
 added a subtle touch of mockery, and the wide eyes 
 held a look of mystical knowledge that was uncanny. 
 Craven held it silently, it seemed an incredible piece of 
 work for the girl to have conceived. And, beside him, 
 she waited nervously for his verdict, with close-locked 
 twitching fingers. He had never come before, had never 
 shown any interest in the work that meant so much to 
 her. She was hungry for his praise, fearful of his cen- 
 sure. If he saw nothing in it now but the immature 
 efforts of an amateur! Her heart tightened. She drew 
 a little nearer to him, her eyes fixed apprehensively on 
 his intent face, her breath coming quickly. At length 
 he replaced the sketch carefully. "You have a wonder- 
 ful talent, " he said slowly. A little gasp of relief escaped 
 her and her lips trembled in spite of all efforts to keep 
 them steady. "You like it?" she whispered eagerly, 
 and was terrified at the awful pallor that overspread his 
 face. For a moment he could not speak. The words, 
 the intonation! He was back again in Japan, looking 
 at the painting of a lonely fir tree clinging to a jutting 
 sea- washed cliff the faintest scent of oriental perfume 
 seemed stealing through the air. He drew his hand 
 across his eyes. "Merciful God . . . not here . . . 
 not now!" he prayed in silent agony. Then with a 
 desperate effort he mastered himself and turned to the 
 frightened girl with a forced smile. "Forgive me I've 
 a beastly headache the room went spinning round for
 
 154 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 a minute," he said jerkily, wiping the moisture from his 
 forehead. She looked at him gravely. "I think you 
 are very tired, and I don't believe you had any lunch," 
 she said with quiet decision. "I'm going to make some 
 coffee. Aunt Caro says my coffee drinking is more 
 vicious than her smoking," she went on, purposely giv- 
 ing him time to recover himself, and crossing the room 
 she collected little cups and a small brass pot. "Any 
 how it's the real article, and in spite of what she says 
 Aunt Caro doesn't scorn it. She comes regularly to 
 drink my cafe noir with her after-lunch cigarette. " 
 
 Craven dropped down heavily on the broad cushioned 
 window seat, his hands clasped over his throbbing 
 temples, fighting to regain his shaken nerve. And yet 
 there was a great hope dawning. For the first time the 
 threatening vision had failed to materialise, and the fact 
 gave him courage. If a time should come when it would 
 definitely cease to haunt him! He could never forget, 
 never cease to regret, but he would feel that in the Land 
 of Understanding the hapless victim of his crime had 
 forgiven the sin that had robbed her of her young life. 
 
 And as he grew calmer he beganlto be conscious that 
 in the room where he sat there was a restfulness that he 
 had not felt in any other part of the house since his 
 return to Craven Towers. It was acting on him 
 curiously and he wondered what it portended. And as 
 he pondered it Gillian came to him with a cup of coffee 
 Jo. either hand. 
 
 "Monsieur est servi," she said with a little laugh. 
 She seemed to have suddenly overcome shyness as if, in 
 her own domain, the first surprise of his visit over, her 
 surroundings gave her confidence. Or, perhaps, the 
 womanliness that had been called out to meet his pass- 
 ing weakness had set her on another plane. All signs of 
 giddiness had left him and, with her usual intuition, she
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 155 
 
 did not trouble him with questions. For the first time 
 she found it easy to speak to him, and talked as she 
 would have done to Peters. She spoke of his northern 
 visit and, following his lead, of her work, freely and 
 without embarrassment. Every moment the restraint 
 that had been between them seemed growing less. She 
 marvelled that she had ever found him unapproachable 
 and wondered, contritely, if her shyness had been alone 
 to blame. She had been always constrained and silent 
 with him small wonder that he had avoided her, she 
 thought humbly. Yet how could it have been other- 
 wise? The tie between them, the wonderful generosity 
 he had shown, the aloofness he had maintained, had 
 made it impossible for her to view him as an ordinary 
 human being. She owed him everything and passionate 
 recognition and a sense of her indebtedness had grown 
 with equal fervour. She had almost worshipped him. He 
 had taken her from a life that had grown unbearable, he 
 had given her the opportunity to follow the career for 
 which she longed. She could never repay him, she 
 found it difficult to put into words even to herself just 
 what she felt towards him. From the first she had 
 raised him to the empty pedestal vacated by that fallen 
 idol, her father. And out of hero-worship had grown 
 love, at first the exalted devotion of an immature girl, 
 adoration that was purely sexless and selfless a mysti- 
 cal love without passion, spiritual. He had appeared to 
 her as a being of another sphere and, mentally, she had 
 knelt at his feet as to a patron saint. But with her own 
 development love had expanded. She realised that what 
 she felt for him was no longer childish adoration, but a 
 greater, more wonderful emotion. She had grown to a 
 full understanding of her own heart, the divinity had 
 become a man for whose love she yearned. But she 
 loved hopelessly as she loved deeply, she had no thought
 
 156 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 that her love could be returned. His proximity had 
 always troubled her, and to-day as she sat on the 
 window seat beside him she was conscious of a greater 
 unrest than she had ever before felt, and her heart 
 throbbed painfully with the vague formless longings, in- 
 explicable and frightening, that stirred within her until 
 it seemed impossible that her agitation could pass un- 
 noticed. Shyness fell on her again, the ready words 
 faltered, and gradually she became silent. Craven took 
 the empty coffee cups and replaced them on the table 
 by the fire. Going back to the window he found her 
 kneeling up on the cushioned seat, her hands clasped 
 before her, looking out at the white world. The childish 
 attitude that seemed in keeping with the artist's blouse 
 and tumbled hair made her look singularly young. He 
 stood beside her, so close that he almost touched her 
 shoulder, and his eyes ranged hungrily over the whole 
 slim beauty of her, lingering on the little bent brown 
 head, the soft curve of her girlish bosom, until the yearn- 
 ing for her grew intolerable and the restraint he put 
 upon himself took all his resolution. The temptation 
 to gather her into his arms was almost more than he 
 could resist, he folded them tightly across his chest he 
 could not trust them. He could barely trust himself. 
 The unwonted intimacy, the subtle torture of her near- 
 ness set his pulses leaping madly. The blood beat in 
 his head, his body quivered with the passionate longing, 
 the fierce desire that rushed over him. In the agony of 
 the moment only the elemental man existed, and he was 
 sensible alone of the burning physical need that rose 
 above all higher purer sentiment. To hold her crushed 
 against his throbbing heart, to bury his face in the 
 fragrance of her soft hair, to kiss her lips till she should 
 beg his mercy there seemed no greater joy on earth. 
 He wanted her as he had wanted nothing in his life
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 157 
 
 before. And yet, if he gained what he had come to ask 
 he knew that what he suffered now would be as nothing 
 to what he would have to endure. To know her his 
 wife, bound in every sense to him and to turn his face 
 from the happiness that by all laws was his! Had he 
 the strength? Almost it seemed that he had not. He 
 was only human and there was a limit to human endur- 
 ance. If circumstances proved too hard. . . . The 
 sound of a little smothered cough checked his thoughts 
 abruptly. He realised that in self -commiseration he had 
 lost sight of the purpose of his visit. It was only she 
 who mattered; her health, her happiness that must be 
 considered. He cursed himself and searched vainly for 
 words to express what he must say. And the more he 
 thought the more utterly speech evaded him. Then 
 chance aided. She coughed again and with a little 
 impatient gesture rose to her feet. 
 
 "Aunt Caro has decided to go to Cimiez for the rest 
 of the winter because of my cough. She settled it while 
 you were away. I don't want to go, my cough is noth- 
 ing. I wouldn't exchange this" pointing to the snow- 
 clad park "for all the warmth and sunshine of the 
 Riviera. I want to store up all the memories I can. 
 You don't know how I have learned to love the Towers." 
 It was as if the last words had escaped unintentionally 
 for she flushed and turned again abruptly to the darken- 
 ing window. His heart gave a sudden leap but he did 
 not move. 
 
 "Then why leave it?" he asked brusquely. 
 
 She leaned her forehead on the frosting glass and her 
 eyes grew misty. 
 
 "You know," she said softly, and her voice trembled. 
 " In all the world I have only my my talent and my 
 self-respect. If I were to do what you and Aunt Caro, 
 in your wonderful generosity, propose oh, don't stop
 
 158 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 me, you must listen I should only have my talent left. 
 Can't you see, can't you understand that I must work, 
 that I must prove my self-respect? For all that you 
 have done, for all that you have given me I have tried 
 to thank you often. Always you have stopped me. 
 Do you grudge me the only way in which I can show 
 my gratitude, the only way in which I can prove myself 
 worthy of your esteem?" Her voice broke in a little 
 sob. Then she turned to him quickly, her hands out- 
 stretched and quivering. "If I could only do something 
 
 to repay " she cried, with a passionate earnestness 
 
 he had never heard in her before. He caught at the 
 opening that offered. "You can," he said quietly, 
 "but it is so big a thing it would more than swamp 
 the debt you think you owe me. " 
 
 " Tell me, " she whispered urgently as he paused. 
 
 He turned from her eager questioning face with acute 
 embarrassment. He hated himself, he hated his task, 
 only the darkness of the room seemed to make it possible. 
 
 "Gillian," he said, with constrained gravity. "I came 
 to you to-day deliberately to ask you what I believe no 
 man has any right to ask a woman. I have tried all the 
 afternoon to tell you. Something you said just now 
 makes it easier. You say you love the Towers do you 
 love it well enough to stay here as its mistress, on the 
 only terms that I can offer?" 
 
 The look of incredulous horror that leaped into her 
 startled eyes made him realise suddenly the interpreta- 
 tion that might be put upon his words. He caught her 
 hands almost roughly. "Good heavens, child, not 
 that!" he cried aghast. "What do you take me for? 
 I am asking you to marry me but not the kind of mar- 
 riage that every woman has the right to expect. If I 
 could offer you that, God knows how willingly I would. 
 But there has been that in my life which comes between
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 159 
 
 me and the happiness that other men can look forward 
 to. For me that part of life is over. I have only friend- 
 ship to offer. I know I am asking more than it seems 
 possible for you to grant, more, a thousand times more 
 than I ought to ask you but I do ask it, most earnestly. 
 If you can bring yourself to make so great a sacrifice, if 
 you can accept a marriage that will be a marriage only 
 in name " 
 
 She shuddered from him with a bitter cry. "You are 
 offering me charity," she wailed, struggling to free her 
 hands. But he held them firmer. "I am asking you 
 to take pity on a very lonely man," he said gently. "I 
 am asking you to care for a very lonely house. You 
 have brought sunshine into the Towers, you have 
 brought sunshine into the lives of many people living on 
 the estate. I am asking you to stay where you are so 
 much wanted so much loved. " 
 
 Then he let her go and she walked unsteadily to the 
 fireplace. She stood for a moment, her fingers working 
 convulsively, staring into the smouldering embers, and 
 then sank into a chair, for her limbs were shaking under 
 her. He followed slowly and stooped to stir the fire to 
 a blaze. Covertly she looked at him as the red light 
 illuminated his face and scalding tears gathered in her 
 eyes. And, curiously, it was not wholly of herself that 
 she was thinking. She was envying, with a feeling of 
 hopeless intolerable pain, that other woman whom he 
 had loved. For his words could only have meant one 
 thing, and the great sorrow she had imagined seemed 
 all at once explained. She wondered what manner of 
 woman she had been, if she had died or if she had 
 proved unworthy. And the last thought roused a sudden 
 fierce resentment how could a woman who had won 
 his love throw it back at his feet, unwanted! The 
 envious tears welled over and she brushed them fur-
 
 160 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 lively away. Then her thoughts turned in compassion 
 to him. Through death or faithlessness love had brought 
 no joy to him he suffered as she was suffering now. She 
 looked at the silver threads gleaming in his hair, at the 
 deep lines in his face and the pain in her eyes gave place 
 to a wonderful tenderness. She had prayed for a chance 
 to show her gratitude; if what he asked could bring any 
 alleviation to his life, if her presence could bring any 
 sort of comfort to his loneliness, was not even that more 
 than she had ever dared to hope? That he should turn 
 to her was understandable. He had men friends in 
 plenty, but women he openly and undisguisedly avoided. 
 He had grown used to her presence at the Towers, a mar- 
 riage such as he proposed would call for no great altera- 
 tion in the daily routine to which he had become accus- 
 tomed. If by doing this she could in any way repay. . . . 
 
 The replenished fire was filling the room with soft 
 flickering light, it cast strange shadows on the curtained 
 walls and revealed the girl's strained white face 
 pitilessly. Craven had risen and was standing looking 
 down on her. She grew aware of his scrutiny and 
 flinched, the hot blood rolling slowly, painfully over her 
 face and neck. He spoke abruptly, as if the words were 
 forced from him: 
 
 "But I want you to realise fully what this marriage 
 with me would mean, for it is a very big sacrifice I am 
 asking of you. Whatever happened, you would be 
 bound to me. If" his voice faltered momentarily - 
 " if you were sometime to meet a man and love him 
 you would be my wife, you would not be free to follow 
 your heart." 
 
 She stared straight before her, her hands clasped tight 
 around her knees, shivering slightly. "I shall never 
 want to marry in that way," she said in a strangled 
 voice.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 181 
 
 He smiled sadly. "You think that now you are 
 very young," he argued, "but we have the future to 
 think of." 
 
 She did not answer and in the silence that ensued he 
 wondered what had induced him to put forward an 
 argument that might defeat his purpose. In any other 
 case it would have been only the honourable thing to 
 do, but in this it was a risk he should not have taken. 
 He moved impatiently. Then suddenly he leaned for- 
 ward and laid his hands on her shoulders, drawing her 
 gently to her feet. 
 
 "Gillian!" 
 
 Slowly she raised her head. The touch of his hands 
 was almost more than she could bear, but she steadied 
 her trembling lips and met his gaze bravely as he spoke 
 again. 
 
 " If you will agree to this this mariage de con- 
 venance, I will do all that lies in my power to make 
 your life happy. You will be free in everything. I ask 
 nothing but that you will look on me as a friend to- 
 whom you can always come in any difficulty or any 
 trouble. You will be .. /iplete mistress of yourself, your 
 time, your inclinations. I will not interfere with you in 
 any way." 
 
 She searched his face, trying to read what lay behind 
 his inscrutable expression. His eyes were kind, but 
 there was in them a curious underlying gleam that she 
 could not understand. And his voice puzzled her. She 
 was bewildered, torn with conflicting doubts. Sensi- 
 tively she shrank from his inexplicable suggestion, she 
 could see no reason for his amazing proposal save an 
 extraordinary generosity that filled her with gratitude 
 and yet against which she revolted. 
 
 "You are doing this in pity!" she cried miserably. 
 
 " Before God I swear that I am not," he said, with
 
 162 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 unexpected fierceness that startled her, and the sudden 
 painful gripping of the strong hands on her shoulders 
 made her for the first time aware of his strength. She 
 thought of it wonderingly. If it had been otherwise, if 
 he had loved her, how gladly she would have sur- 
 rendered to it. It would have stood between her and 
 the unknown world that loomed sometimes in spite of 
 her confidence with a sinister horror on which she dared 
 not dwell. In the safety of his arms she would never 
 have known fear, his strength would have shielded her 
 through life. And, in a lesser degree, his strength might 
 still be hers to turn to, if she would. A new conception 
 of the future she had planned rushed over her, the con- 
 fidence she had felt fell suddenly away, leaving fear and 
 dread and a terror of loneliness. His touch had 
 destroyed her faith in herself. It had done more. In 
 some subtle way it seemed to her he had by his touch 
 claimed her. And with his hands still pressing her 
 shoulders she felt a strange inability to oppose him. He 
 had sworn that it was not pity that dictated his offer. 
 He had said that love did not exist for him. What then 
 could be his motive? She could ~ ' ~one. 
 
 "You wouldn't lie to me?" she whispered, tormented 
 with doubt, "you wish this this marriage truly?" 
 
 He looked at her steadily. 
 
 "I wish it, truly," he said firmly. 
 
 "You would let me go on with my work?" she faltered, 
 fighting for time. 
 
 "I have said that I would not interfere with you in 
 any way, that you would be free in everything," he 
 answered, and as if in earnest of the freedom promised 
 his hands slipped from her. 
 
 The fire had died down again, and the room was almost 
 dark, he could hardly see her where she stood. He
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 16$ 
 
 waited, hoping she would speak, then abruptly: "Can 
 you give me an answer, Gillian?" 
 
 He heard the quick intake of her breath, felt her 
 trembling beside him. 
 
 "Oh, if you would give me time," she murmured en- 
 treatingly. "I want to think. It means so much. " 
 
 "Take all the time you wish," he said, and went 
 quietly away. And his going brought a sudden desola- 
 tion. She longed to call him back, to promise what he 
 asked, to yield without further struggle. But uncer- 
 tainty held her. Motionless she stood staring through 
 the darkness at the dim outline of the door that had 
 closed behind him, her breast heaving tumultuously, 
 until tears blinded her and with a gasping sob she 
 slipped to the floor. She had never dared to hope that 
 he could love her, but the truth from his own lips was 
 bitter. And for a time the realisation of that bitterness 
 deadened all other feeling. Overwrought with the 
 emotion of the last few hours, her nerves strained to 
 breaking point, she was unable to check the tide of grief 
 that shook her to the very depths of her being. With 
 her face hidden in the soft rug, her outflung hands 
 clenching convulsively, she wept in an abandonment of 
 sorrow. 
 
 If he had never spoken, if he had never made this 
 strange proposal but had maintained until the end the 
 detached reserve that had seemed to set so wide a gulf 
 between them, it would have been easier to bear. He 
 would have passed out of her life, inscrutable as he had 
 always been. But with his change of attitude, in the 
 intimacy of the few hours they had spent alone, she had 
 seen him with new eyes. The mysterious unapproach- 
 able guardian had gone for ever, and in his place was a 
 very human man revealing characteristics she had never 
 imagined to exist, showing an interest and a gentleness
 
 164 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 she had never suspected. He had exhibited a similarity 
 of tastes and ideas that agreed extraordinarily with her 
 own, he had talked as to a comrade. The companion- 
 ship had been very sweet very sorrowful. She could 
 never think of him again as he had been, and the new 
 conception of him gave a poignant stab to her grief. In 
 the brief happiness of the afternoon she had had a fleet- 
 ing vision of what might have been "if he had loved 
 me," she moaned, and it seemed to her that she had 
 never known until now the real depth of her own love. 
 What she had felt before was not comparable with the 
 overwhelming passion that the touch of his hands had 
 quickened. It swept her like a ragbag torrent, carrying 
 her beyond the limit of her understanding, bringing with 
 it strange yearnings that, half -understood, she shuddered 
 from, ashamed. 
 
 Torn with emotion she wept until she had no tears 
 left, until the hard racking sobs died away and her tired 
 sorrow-shaken body lay still. For the moment, ex- 
 hausted, her agony of mind was dulled and time was 
 non-existent. She did not move or lift her head from 
 the tear-wet rug. A great weariness seemed to deaden 
 all faculty. The minutes passed unnoticed. Then some 
 latent consciousness stirred in her brain and she looked 
 up startled. 
 
 It was quite dark and she realised, shivering, that the 
 room had grown very cold. The calm afternoon had 
 given place to a stormy night and heavy gusts of wind 
 were sweeping round the angle of the house, shrieking 
 and whistling eerily; from the window came the soft 
 swish swish of dry hard snow beating against the panes. 
 She started to her feet. She had no idea of the hour 
 but she knew it must be late. Perhaps the dinner gong 
 had already sounded and, missed, somebody might come 
 in search of her. She shrank from being found thus.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 165 
 
 Feeling her way to a lamp she turned the switch and 
 the soft light flooding the room made her wince. A 
 glance at her watch showed that she had still a few 
 moments in which to gain her room unobserved. 
 
 She felt oddly lightheaded and her feet dragged 
 wearily. The tortuous passage had never seemed so 
 interminable, the succession of closed doors appeared un- 
 ending. Reaching her own room she collapsed on to a 
 sofa that was drawn up before the fire, her head aching, 
 her limbs shivering uncontrollably, worn out with 
 emotion. Exhausted in mind and body she seemed un- 
 able even to frame a thought logically or coherently 
 only an interrupted medley of unconnected ideas chased 
 through her tired brain until her temples throbbed 
 agonisingly. She knew that sometime she would have 
 to rouse herself, that sometime a decision would have 
 to be made, but not now. Now she could only lie still 
 and make no effort. She was angry with herself, con- 
 temptuous of her weakness. She had disdained nerves, 
 she was humiliated now by her present lack of control. 
 But even self-scorn was a passing thought from which 
 she turned wearily. 
 
 One fact only remained, clear and distinct from the 
 confusion in her mind he did not love her. He did not 
 love her. It hurt so. She hid her face in the pillows, 
 writhing with the shame the knowledge of her own love 
 brought her. The deep booming of the dinner gong 
 awoke her to the necessity of some kind of action. She 
 rang the bell that hong within reach of her hand and, 
 by the maid who answered her summons, sent her ex- 
 cuses to Miss Craven, pleading a headache for remaining 
 upstairs. 
 
 A few minutes 4 later Mary, grim-visaged and big- 
 hearted, appeared with a tray, headache remedies and 
 multifarious messages from the dining room. Sh
 
 166 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 bathed the girl's aching head, brushing the tumbled 
 brown hair and piling it afresh into a soft loose knot. 
 Grumbling gently at the long hours of work to which she 
 attributed the unusual indisposition, she took full advan- 
 tage of the rare opportunity of rendering personal atten- 
 tion and fussed to her heart's content, stripping off the 
 stained overall and substituting a loose velvet wrapper; 
 and then stood over her, a kindly martinet, until the 
 light dinner she had brought was eaten. Afterwards she 
 packed pillows, made up the fire, and administered a 
 particularly nauseous specific emanating from a homeo- 
 pathic medicine chest that was her greatest pride, and 
 then took herself away, still mildly admonishing. 
 
 Gillian leaned back against the cushions with a feeling 
 of greater ease and restfulness. Food had given her 
 strength and under Mary's ministrations her mental 
 poise had steadied. She would not let herself dwell on 
 the question that must before long be settled, Miss 
 Craven would be coming soon, and until she had been 
 and gone no definite settlement could be attempted. 
 
 She lay looking at the fire, endeavouring to keep her 
 mind a blank. It was odd to be alone, she missed the 
 familiar black form lying on the hearth-rug, but to- 
 night she could not bear even Mouston's presence, and 
 Mary had taken a request to Yoshio, to whose room the 
 <iog had been banished from the studio, that he would 
 keep him until the morning. 
 
 A tap at the door and Miss Craven appeared, anxious 
 and questioning. 
 
 "Only a headache? my dear, I don't believe it!" 
 she protested, plumping down on the side of the sofa and 
 clutching at her hair, that sure sign of perturbation. 
 "You've never had a headache like this before. You've 
 been working too hard. You were painting all the morn-c 
 ing and they tell me you worked throughout the after-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 16? 
 
 noon and had no tea. Gillian, dear, when will you learn 
 iense? I don't at all approve of you having tea sent to 
 the studio only when you ring for it. Young people 
 require regular meals and as often as not neglect 'em; 
 young artists are the worst offenders you needn't con- 
 tradict me, I know all about it. I did it myself. She 
 patted the clasped hands lying near her and scrutinised 
 the girl more closely. "You're as pale as a ghost and 
 your eyes are too bright. Did Mary take your tempera- 
 ture? No? the woman must have lost her senses. I'll 
 telephone to Doctor Harris to come and see you in the 
 morning. If you looked a fraction more feverish I'd 
 send for you to-night, storm or no storm. Peter braved 
 it, open car as usual. He sent his love. Barry turned 
 up from Scotland this afternoon. He looks very tired 
 says he had a bothering time and a wretched journey 
 Gillian!" she cried sharply as the girl slid from the 
 sofa on to her knees beside her and raised a quivering 
 piteous face. 
 
 "Aunt Caro, I'm not ill," the words came in tumbling 
 haste, "there's nothing bodily the matter with me 
 I'm only dreadfully unhappy. I know Mr. Craven is 
 back he came to me in the studio this afternoon. He 
 asked me to marry him/' the troubled voice sank to a 
 whisper, " and I I don't know what to do." 
 
 "My dear." The tenderness of Miss Craven's tone 
 sent a strangling wave of emotion into Gillian's throat. 
 "Aunt Caro, did you know? Do you wish it too?" she 
 murmured wistfully. 
 
 Unwilling to admit a previous knowledge which would 
 be difficult to explain, Miss Craven temporised. "I very 
 greatly hoped for it," she said guardedly; "you and 
 Barry are all I have to care for, and you are both so 
 alone. I know you think of a very different life, I know 
 you have dreams of making a career for yourself. But
 
 168 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 a career is not all that a woman wants in her life; it can 
 perhaps mean independence and fame, it can also mean 
 great loneliness and the loss of the full and perfect hap- 
 piness that should be every woman's. You mustn't 
 judge all cases by me. I have been happy in my own 
 way but I want a greater, richer happiness for you, dear. 
 I want for you the best that the world can give, and that 
 best I believe to be the shelter and the safety of a man's 
 love." 
 
 The brown head dropped on her knee. "You are 
 thinking of me I am thinking of him, " came a stifled 
 whisper. 
 
 Miss Craven stroked the soft hair tenderly. "Then 
 why not give him what he asks, my dear," she said 
 gently. "He has known sorrow and suffering. If 
 through you, he can forget the past in a new happiness, 
 will you not grant it him? Oh, Gillian, I have so hoped 
 that you might care for each other; that, together, you 
 might make the Towers the perfect home it should be, a 
 home of mutual trust and love. You and Barry and, 
 please God, after you your children. " She choked with 
 unexpected emotion and brushed the mist from her eyes 
 impatiently. 
 
 And at her knee Gillian knelt motionless, her lip held 
 fast between her teeth to stop the bitter cry that nearly 
 escaped her, her heart almost bursting. The picture 
 Miss Craven's words called up was an ideal of happiness 
 that might have been. The suffering that reality 
 promised seemed more than she could contemplate. 
 What happiness could come from such a travesty? The 
 strange yearnings she had experienced seemed suddenly 
 crystallised into form, and the knowledge was a greater 
 pain than she had known. What she would have gone' 
 down to the gates of death to give him he did not require 
 the unutterable joy that Miss Craven suggested would 
 never be hers.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 169 
 
 She searched for words, for an explanation of her 
 silence that must seem strange to the elder woman. 
 Miss Craven obviously knew nothing of the unusual con- 
 ditions attached to his proposal, her words proved it, 
 and Gillian could not tell her. She could not betray his 
 confidence even if she had so wished. If she could but 
 speak frankly and show all her difficulty to the friend 
 who had never yet failed in love and sympathy 
 She sought refuge in prevarication. "How can I many 
 him?" she cried miserably. "You don't know any- 
 thing about me. I'm not a fit person to be his wife my 
 antecedents " 
 
 "Bother your antecedents!" interrupted Miss 
 Craven, with a somewhat shaky laugh. "My dearest 
 girl, Barry isn't going to marry them, he's going to 
 marry you. They can have been anything you like or 
 imagine but it does not alter the fact that their daughter 
 is the one woman on earth I want for Barry's wife." 
 She stooped and gathered the girl into her arms. 
 
 "Gillian, can you give us, Barry and me, this great 
 happiness?" 
 
 Gently Gillian disengaged herself and rose slowly to 
 her feet. She made . little helpless gesture, swaying as 
 she stood. "What can I say?" she said brokenly. "Do 
 you think it means nothing to me! Don't you know 
 that what I already owe you and Mr. Craven is 
 almost more than I can bear, that I would give my life 
 for either of you? But this oh, you don't understand 
 
 I can't tell you I can't explain She dropped 
 
 back on the sofa and her voice came muffled and entreat- 
 ingly from among the silken cushions, "If you knew 
 how I long to repay you for your wonderful goodness, 
 if you knew what your love has meant to me! Oh, dearest, 
 I'd give the world to please you! But I don't know 
 what to do, I don't know what is honest and you
 
 170 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 can't help me, nobody can help me. I've got to settle it 
 myself. I've got to think " 
 
 Miss Craven guessed the crying need for solitude con- 
 veyed in the last faltering words and rose in obedience 
 to the unspoken request. She stood for a moment, look- 
 ing tenderly down on the slim prostrate figure, and a 
 fear that grew momentarily stronger came to her that in 
 her endeavour to bring happiness to these two lives she 
 had blundered fatally. She had been a fool, rushing in. 
 And with almost a feeling of dismay she realised it was 
 beyond her ability now to stay what she had put in 
 motion. She was as one who, having wantonly released 
 some complex mechanism, stands aghast and powerless 
 at the consequence of his rashness. And yet, despite the 
 seeming setback to her hopes, the conviction that had 
 urged her to this step was still strong in her; she still 
 had faith in its ultimate achievement. She touched the 
 girl's shoulder in a quick caress. "You are worn out, 
 child. Go to bed and rest now, and think to-morrow," 
 she said soothingly. 
 
 For long after she left the room Gillian lay without 
 moving. Then with a long shuddering sigh she sat up. 
 She tried to concentrate on the decision she must make 
 but her thoughts, ungovernable, dwelt persistently on 
 the unknown woman whom she had convinced herself he 
 must have loved, and the passionate envy she had felt 
 before swept her again until the pain of it sent a whis- 
 pered prayer to her lips for strength to put it from her. 
 Huddled on the side of the sofa, her head supported on 
 her hands, she stared fixedly into the fire as if seeking 
 in the leaping flames the answer to the problem that 
 confronted her. Then in her agony of mind inaction 
 became impossible and she rose and paced the room with 
 hurried nervous tread. 
 
 To do what was right to do what was honourable;
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 171 
 
 to conquer the clamorous self that cried out for accept- 
 ance of this semblance of happiness that was offered. 
 To bear his name, to have the right to be near him, to 
 care for him and for his interests as far as she might. 
 To be his wife even if only in name. Dear God, did he 
 know how he had tempted her? But she had no right. 
 The crushing burden of debt she owed rose like an un- 
 surpassable mountain between her and what she 
 longed for. Only by repayment could she keep her self- 
 respect. The dreams of independence, the place she had 
 thought to make for herself in the world, the re-establish- 
 ing of her father's name could she forego what 
 she had planned? Was it not a nobler aim than the 
 gratification of self that urged the easier way? Yet 
 would it be the easier way? Was she not really hi her 
 heart shrinking from the difficulty and sadness that this 
 loveless marriage would bring? Was it not cowardice 
 that prompted a supposed nobility of thought that now 
 appeared ignoble? She wrung her hands in desperation. 
 Had she no courage or steadfastness at all? Was the 
 weakness of purpose that had ruined her father's life to 
 be her curse as it had been his? 
 
 She felt suddenly very young, very inexperienced. 
 Her early training that had denied the exercise of indi- 
 vidual responsibility and had inculcated a passivity of 
 mind that precluded self-determination had bitten 
 deeper than she knew. Her life since leaving the con- 
 vent had been smooth and uneventful, there had been 
 no occasion to practise the new liberty of thought and 
 action that was hers. And now before a decision that 
 would be so irrevocable, that would involve her whole 
 life and not hers alone she felt to the full the dis- 
 ability of her upbringing. Alone she must make her 
 choice and she shrank from the burden of responsibility 
 that fell upon her. She had nobody to turn to for coun-
 
 172 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 ael or advice. In her loneliness she longed for the solace 
 of a mother's tenderness, the shelter of a mother's arms, 
 and bitterness came to her as she thought of the parents 
 who had each in their turn abandoned her so callously. 
 She had been robbed of her birthright of love and care. 
 She was alone in the world, alone to fight her own battles, 
 alone in the moment of her direst need. 
 
 Then all at once she seemed to see in the trend of her 
 thoughts only a supreme selfishness that had lost sight 
 of all but personal consideration. Was her love of so 
 little worth that in thought for herself she had forgotten 
 him? He had asked her to pity his loneliness and she 
 had had only pity for herself. Her lips quivered as she 
 whispered his name in an agony of self-condemnation. 
 
 Coming back slowly to the fireside she slipped to the 
 floor and leaned her head against the sofa listening to 
 the storm that beat with increasing violence against the 
 house, and the roar of the tempest without seemed in 
 strange agreement with the tumult that was raging in 
 her heart. The words he had used came back to her. 
 Did it reaHy Jie in her power to lessen the loneliness of 
 his life? To give him what he asked was not that, 
 after all, the true way to pay her debt! With a little 
 sob she bowed her head on her hands. . . . An hour 
 later she rose stiffly, cramped with long sitting, and 
 moving nearer to the fire chafed her cold hands 
 mechanically. Her face was very sad and her wide eyes 
 heavy with unshed tears. She drew a long sobbing 
 breath. "Because I love him," she murmured. "If 
 I didn't love him I couldn't do it." A thought that 
 brought new hope came to her. She loved him so 
 deeply, might not her love, she wondered wistfully, 
 perhaps some day be strong enough to heal the wound 
 he had sustained strong enough even to compel his 
 love? Then doubt seized hold on her again. Would
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 175 
 
 she, in the limited scope that she would have, find oppor- 
 tunity would he ever allow her to get near enough to 
 him? . . . She flung her hands out in passionate 
 appeal. 
 
 "Oh, God! if this thing that I am doing is wrong, if 
 it brings sorrow and unhappiness, let me be the only 
 one to pay!" 
 
 A sudden longing to make retraction impossible came 
 over her. She looked anxiously at her watch. Was it 
 too late to go to him to-night? Only when she had told 
 him would she be sure of herself. Her word once given 
 there could be no withdrawal. 
 
 It was nearly midnight but she knew he rarely left his 
 study until later. Peters would be gone, he was methodi- 
 cal in his habits and retired punctually at eleven o'clock 
 with a regularity that was unvarying. She was sure of 
 finding him alone. She dared not wait until the morn- 
 ing, she must go now while she had the courage. Delay 
 might bring new doubts, new uncertainty. Impulsively 
 she started towards the door, then paused on a sudden 
 thought that sent the warm blood in a painful wave to 
 her face. Would he misunderstand, think her un- 
 womanly, attribute her hasty decision to a sordid desire 
 for material gain, for the ease that would be hers, for 
 the position that his name would give? It was the 
 natural thought for him who offered so much to one who 
 would give nothing in return. And not for him alone 
 in the eyes of the world she would be only a little adven- 
 turess who had skilfully seized the opportunity that cir- 
 cumstance had given to advantage herself. But the 
 world did not matter, she thought with scornful curling 
 lip, it was only in his eyes that she desired to stand well. 
 Then with quick shame she knew that the sentiments 
 she had ascribed to him were unworthy, the outcome 
 only of her own strained imagination, and she put them
 
 174 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 from her. She went quickly to the gallery, dimly Kt 
 from a single lamp left alight in the hall below left for 
 Craven as she knew. Silence brooded over the great 
 house. The storm that earlier had beat tempestuously 
 against the dome as if striving to shatter the massive 
 glass plates that opposed its fury had blown itself out 
 and glancing upward Gillian saw the huge cupola 
 shrouded with snow that gleamed palely in the soft light. 
 The stillness oppressed her and odd thoughts chased 
 through her mind. She looked to right and left 
 nervously and in a sudden inexplicable panic sped down 
 the wide staircase and across the shadowy hall until she 
 reached the study door. There she halted with wildly 
 beating heart, panting and breathless. It was a room 
 which she had never before entered, and an almost 
 paralysing shyness made her shake from head to foot. 
 Nerving herself with a strong effort she tapped with 
 trembling fingers and, at the sound of an answering 
 voice, went in. 
 
 Strength seemed all at once to leave her. Physically 
 and mentally exhausted, a feeling of unreality super- 
 vened. The strange room swam before her eyes. As 
 in a dream she saw him start to his feet and come swiftly 
 to her across a seemingly unending length of carpet that 
 billowed and wavered curiously, his big frame oddly 
 magnified until he appeared a very giant towering above 
 her; as in a dream she felt him take her ice-cold hands 
 in his. But the warm strong grasp, the grave eyes bent 
 compellingly on her, dragged her back from the shud- 
 dering abyss into which she was sinking. Far away, as 
 though coming from a great distance, she heard him 
 speaking. And his voice, gentler than she had ever 
 known it, gave her courage to whisper, so low that he 
 had to bend his tall head to catch the fluttering words, 
 the promise she had come to give.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ON an afternoon in early September eighteen months 
 after her marriage Gillian was driving across the 
 park toward the little village of Craven that, old world 
 and quite unspoiled, clustered round a tiny Norman 
 church two miles distant from the Towers. She leaned 
 back in the victoria, her hands clasped in her lap, pre- 
 occupied and thoughtful. A scented heap of deep crim- 
 son roses and carnations lay at her feet; beside her, in 
 contrast to her listless attitude, Houston sat up tense 
 and watchful, his sharp muzzle thrust forward, his black 
 nose twitching eagerly at the distracting agitating smells 
 borne on the warm air tempting him from monotonous 
 inactivity to a soul satisfying scamper over the short 
 cropped grass but, conscious of the dignity of his posi- 
 tion, ignoring them with a gravity of demeanour that 
 was almost comical. Once or twice when his wrinkling 
 nostrils caught some particularly attractive odour his pads 
 kneaded the cushions vigorously and a snarly gurgle rose 
 in his throat. But no other sign of restlessness escaped 
 him it was patience bred of experience. For miles 
 around he was a well-known figure, sitting grave and 
 motionless on his accustomed side of the victoria as it 
 rolled through the country lanes. To the villagers of 
 Craven, all directly or indirectly dependent on the 
 estate, he was welcome in that he was inseparable from 
 the gentle tender-hearted girl whom they worshipped, 
 but then* welcome was a qualified one that never 
 descended to the familiar; his strange appearance and 
 
 175 ~~
 
 176 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 disdainful aloofness made him an object of curiosity to 
 be viewed with most safety from a respectful distance; 
 time had not accustomed them to him and tales of his 
 uncanny understanding filtering through, richly em- 
 broidered, to the village from the house, did not tend to 
 lessen the awe with which he was regarded. They mar- 
 velled, without comprehension, at the partiality of his 
 mistress; he was the "black French devil" to more 
 households than that of Major, the gamekeeper, an 
 "unorranary brute" to those of less gifted imagination. 
 
 To Mouston Gillian's periodical visits to tfye village 
 were a tedium endured for the sake of the coveted seat 
 beside her. 
 
 The passing of a herd of deer, feeding intently and 
 save for one or two more timid hinds who started 
 nervously too used to the carriage to heed its approach, 
 roused the poodle, as always, to a high pitch of excite- 
 ment; they were old enemies and his annoyance gave 
 vent to a sharp yelp as he sidled close to Gillian and 
 endeavoured to attract her attention with an insistent 
 paw. But for once she was heedless of the hints of her 
 dumb companion, and, whining, he slunk back into his 
 own corner, curling up on the seat with his forepaws 
 brushing the mass of scented blossom. And ignorant of 
 the pleading brown eyes fixed pathetically on her, 
 Gillian followed the train of her own troubled thoughts. 
 
 For eighteen months she had been Barry Craven's 
 wife, for eighteen months she had endeavoured to fulfill 
 her share of the contract they had made and to herself 
 she admitted failure. 
 
 The strain was becoming unendurable. 
 
 In the eyes of the world an ideal couple, in reality 
 she wondered if hi the whole universe there were two 
 more lonely souls than they. She knew now that the 
 task she had set herself that stormy December night
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 1T7 
 
 was beyond her power, that it had been the unattainable 
 dream of an immature love-sick girl. She had fought to 
 retain her high ideals, to believe that love as great, as 
 unselfish as hers must beget love, but she had come to 
 realise the utter futility of her dream and to wonder at 
 the childish ignorance that had inspired it. The sus- 
 taining hope that she might indeed be a comfort to his 
 loneliness had died hard, but surely. For he gave her 
 no opportunity. Despite unfailing kindness and over- 
 whelming generosity he maintained always a baffling 
 reserve she found impossible to penetrate. Of his inner 
 self she knew no more than she had ever done, she could 
 get no nearer to him. But in all matters that dealt with 
 their common life he was scrupulously frank and out- 
 spoken; he had insisted on her acquiring a knowledge 
 of his interests and a working idea of his affairs, from 
 which she had shrunk sensitively, but he had persisted, 
 arguing that in the event of his death Peters not being 
 immortal it was necessary that she should be able to 
 administer possessions that would be hers and the 
 thought of those possessions crushed her. It was only 
 after a long struggle, in distress that horrified him, that 
 she persuaded him to forego the big settlement he pro- 
 posed making. If she had not loved him his liberality 
 would have hurt her less, but because of her love his 
 money was a scourge. She hated the wealth to which 
 she felt she had no right, to herself she seemed an im- 
 postor, a cheat. She felt degraded. She would rather 
 he had bought her, as women have from time imme- 
 morial been bought, that she might have paid the price, 
 as they pay, and so retained the self-respect that now 
 seemed for ever lost. It would have been a means of 
 re-establishing herself in her own eyes, of easing the 
 burden of his bounty that grew daily heavier and from 
 which she could never escape. It was evident in all
 
 178 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 about her; in the greater state and ceremony observed 
 at the Towers since their marriage, which, while it pleased 
 the household, who rejoiced in the restoration of the old 
 regime, oppressed her unspeakably; in the charities 
 she dispensed his charities that brought her no sense 
 of sacrifice, no joy of self-denial; in the social duties that 
 poured in upon her. 
 
 His wealth served only to strengthen the barrier 
 between them, but for that she might have been to him 
 what she longed to be. If the talent that now seemed 
 so useless could have been used for him she would have 
 found a measure of happiness even if love had never 
 come to crown her service. In poverty she would have 
 worked for him, slaved for him, with the strength and 
 tirelessness that only love can give. But here the glad- 
 ness of giving, of serving, was denied, here there was 
 nothing she might do and the futility of her life choked 
 her. She had conscientiously endeavoured to assume the 
 responsibilities and duties of her new position, but there 
 seemed little for her to do, for the big household ran 
 smoothly on oiled wheels under the capable administra- 
 tion of Forbes and Mrs. Appleyard, with whom, both 
 honest and devoted to the interests of the family they 
 had served so long and faithfully, she knew it was un- 
 necessary and unwise to interfere. In any unusual cir- 
 cumstance they would refer to her with tactful deference 
 but for the rest she knew that, perforce, she must be 
 content to remain a figure-head. Even her work inter- 
 rupted constantly by the social duties incumbent on her 
 and performed from a sense of obligation failed to com- 
 fort and distract. It was all so utterly useless and pur- 
 poseless. The gift with which she had thought to do so 
 much was wasted. She could do nothing with it. She 
 was no longer Gillian Locke who had dreamed of inde- 
 pendence, who had hoped by toil and endeavour to clear
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 179 
 
 the stain from her father's name. She was the rich Mrs. 
 Craven who must smile to hide a breaking heart, who 
 must play the part expected of her, who must appear 
 always care-free and happy. And the constant effort 
 was almost more than she could achieve. In the cease-; 
 less watch she set upon herself, in the rigid self-suppres-i 
 sion she exercised, it seemed to her as if her true self had 
 died, and her entity faded into an automaton that moved] 
 in mechanical obedience to the driving of her will. Only 
 during the long night hours or in the safe seclusion of 
 the studio could she relax, could she be natural for a 
 little while. That Craven might never learn the misery; 
 of her life, that she might not fail him as she had failed 
 herself, was her one prayer. She welcomed eagerly the 
 advent of guests, of foreign guests more exigent in 
 their demands upon her society particularly; with the 
 house filled the time of host and hostess was fully occu- 
 pied and the difficult days passed more easily, more 
 quickly. The weeks they spent alone she dreaded; from 
 the morning greeting in the breakfast room to the 
 moment when he gave her the quiet "Good-night" that 
 might have come from an undemonstrative brother, she 
 was in terror lest an unguarded word, a chance expres- 
 sion, might tell him what she sought to keep from him. 
 But so insensible did his own constant pre-occupation 
 of mind make him appear of much that passed, that 
 she feared his intuition less than that of Peters who she 
 was convinced had a very shrewd idea of the state of 
 affairs existing between them. It was manifested in 
 diverse ways; not by any spoken word direct or in- 
 direct, but by additional fatherly tenderness of manner, 
 by unfailing tactfulness, by quick intervention that had 
 saved many awkward situations. It was practically 
 impossible in view of his almost daily association with 
 th* house and its inmates that he could be unaware of
 
 180 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 i 
 
 certain facts. But the wise kindly eyes that she had' 
 feared most were closed for ever. 
 
 The Great Summons for which Miss Craven had been 
 so calmly prepared had come more suddenly, more 
 tragically even than she had anticipated. She had passed 
 over as she would have wished, had she been given the 
 choice, not in the awful loneliness of death but one of 
 a company of heroic souls who had voluntarily and 
 
 4fe-> J **' ' '^'' ** e< ( *"H 
 
 willingly stood aside]! that others, might) have, the 
 chance to live. 
 
 A few months after the marriage on which she had set 
 her heart the family curse had seized her as suddenly 
 and as imperatively as it had ever done her nephew. 
 An exhibition of statuary in America had served as an 
 adequate excuse and she had started at comparatively 
 short notice, accompanied by the faithful Mary, after a 
 stormy interview with her doctor, whose gloomy warn- 
 ings she refuted with the undeniable truism that one 
 land was as good as another to die in. Within a few 
 hours of the American coast the tragedy, short and over- 
 whelming, had occurred. From the parent ice a 
 ) thousand miles away in the north the stupendous white 
 destruction had moved majestically down its appointed 
 course to loom out of the pitch-black night with 
 appalling consequence. A sudden crash, slight enough 
 to be unnoticed by hundreds, a convulsive shudder of the 
 great ship like the death struggle of a Titan, had been 
 followed by unquellable panic, confusion of darkness, 
 inadequate boats and jamming bulkheads. Miss Craven 
 and Mary were among the first on deck and for the short 
 space of time that remained they worked side by side 
 among the terror-stricken women and children, then* 
 own life-belts early transferred to dazed mothers who 
 clutched wild-eyed at wailing babes. Together they had 
 stood back from the overcrowded boati, smiling and
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 181 
 
 unafraid; together they had gone down into the 
 mystery of the deep, two gallant women, no longer 
 mistress and maid but sisters hi sacrifice and in the 
 knowledge of that greater love for which they cheerfully 
 laid down their lives. 
 
 And while Gillian mourned her bitterly she was yet 
 glad that Miss Craven was spared the sadness of wit- 
 nessing the complete failure of her cherished dream. 
 
 In the little Norman church toward which Gillian was 
 driving there had been added yet another memorial to 
 a Craven who had died tragically and far from home; 
 a record of disastrous calamity that, beginning four 
 hundred years before with the Elizabethan gallant, had 
 relentlessly pursued an ill-starred family. The church 
 lay on the outskirts of the village and close to the south 
 entrance of the park. 
 
 Gillian stopped the carriage for a few moments to 
 speak to the anxious-looking woman who had hurried 
 out from the creeper-covered lodge to open the gates. 
 Behind one of the casements of the cottage a child was 
 fighting for life, a cripple, with an exquisite face, whom 
 Gillian had painted. To the sorrowful mother the eager 
 tender words, the soft impulsive hand that clasped her 
 own work-roughened palm, the wide dark eyes, misty 
 with sympathy were worth infinitely more than the 
 material aid, so carefully packed by Mrs. Appleyard, 
 that the footman carried up the narrow flagged path to 
 the cottage door. 
 
 And as the impatient horses drew the carriage swiftly 
 on again Gillian leaned back in her seat with a quiver- 
 ing sigh. The woman at the lodge, despite her burden 
 of sorrow, despite her humbleness, was yet richer than 
 she and, with intolerable pain, she envied her the crown- 
 m g Joy of womanhood that would never be her own. 
 The child she longed for would never by the touch of
 
 182 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 baby hands bring consolation to her starved and lonely 
 heart. Her thoughts turned to her husband in a sudden 
 passion of hopeless love and longing. To bear him a 
 child to hold in her arms a tiny replica of the beloved 
 figure that was so dear to her, to watch and rejoice in 
 the dawning resemblance that the ardour of her love 
 would make inevitable. . . . Hastily she brushed away 
 the gathering tears as the carriage stopped abruptly with 
 a jingle of harness at the lichgate. 
 
 Coaxing the reluctant Houston from the seat where he 
 still sulked she tied him to the gate, took the armful of 
 flowers from the grave-faced footman, and dismissing 
 the carriage walked slowly up the lime-bordered avenue. 
 The orderliness and beauty of the churchyard struck her 
 as it always did a veritable garden of sleep, with level 
 close-shorn turf set thick with standard rose trees, that 
 even the clustering headstones could not make chill and 
 sombre. 
 
 From the radiant sunshine without she passed into the 
 cool dimness of the little building. With its tiny pro- 
 portions, ornate and numerous Craven memorials and 
 for its size curiously large chancel, it seemed less the 
 parish church it had become than the private chapel for 
 which it had been built. Then tie house had been close 
 by, but during the troublous years of Mary Tudor was 
 pulled down and rebuilt on the present site. 
 
 Through the quiet silence Gillian made her way up the 
 short central aisle until she reached the chancel steps. 
 For a few minutes she knelt, her face crushed against 
 the flowers she held, in silent passionate prayer that 
 knew neither form nor words a soundless supplication 
 that was an inchoate appeal to a God of infinite under- 
 standing. Then rising slowly she pushed back the iron 
 gate and went into the chancel. Directly to the left the 
 new monument gleamed cleanly white against the old
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 1 183 
 
 dark irall. Simple and bold, as she would herself have 
 designed it, the sculptor's memorial was the work of the 
 greatest genius of the day who had willingly come from 
 France at Craven's invitation to perpetuate the memory 
 of a sister artist who had also been a lifelong friend. 
 
 A rugged pedestal of green bronze with an inset 
 panel representing the tragedy rose upward in the 
 shape of billowing curling waves supporting a marble 
 Christ standing erect with outstretched pitying hand, 
 majestic and yet wholly human. 
 
 Gillian gazed upward with quivering lips at the 
 Saviour's inclined tender face, and opening her arms let 
 the scented mass of crimson blossom fall slowly to the 
 slab at her feet that bore Miss Craven's name and Mary's 
 cut side by side. 
 
 " Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down 
 his life for his friends ." 
 
 She read the words aloud, and with a stifled sob slipped 
 down among the roses and carnations that Caro Craven 
 had loved, and leaned her aching head against the cool 
 hard bronze. " Dearest," she whispered, in an agony 
 of tears, " I wonder can you hear? I wonder are you 
 allowed, where you are, to know what happens here on 
 earth? Oh, Aunt Caro, cherie, do you know that I have 
 failed failed to bring him the peace and consolation I 
 thought my love was strong enough to give, I have 
 tried so hard to understand, to help ... I have 
 prayed so earnestly that he might turn to me, that I 
 might be to him what you would have me be ... 
 but I have not been able ... I have failed him 
 . . . failed you . . . myself. Oh, dearest, do you 
 know?" 
 
 Prone among the roses, at the feet of the pitying
 
 184 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Christ, she cried aloud in her desperate loneliness to the 
 dead woman who had given her the tenderest love she 
 had ever known. The shadows lengthened widely before 
 she rose and drew the scattered flowers into a fragrant 
 heap. She stood for a while studying intently the relief 
 of the wreck; it suggested a train of thought, and with 
 a sudden impulse she traversed the chancel and sought 
 among the memorials of dead Cravens for the tablets 
 commemorating those who had disappeared or died 
 tragically. By chance at first and later by design these 
 had all been placed within the confines of the chancel 
 that formed so large a part of the tiny church. Before 
 the florid Italian monument that recorded all that was 
 known of the short life of the Elizabethan adventurer 
 she paused long, looking with quickening heart-beat at 
 the graceful kneeling figure whose face and form were 
 those of the man she loved. 
 
 Barry Craven . . . he set his eyes unto the west. 
 , Amongst the calamitous record there were four 
 more of the name then* bodies scattered widely in dis- 
 tant unknown graves, victims of the spirit of adventure 
 and unrest. She moved slowly from one to the other, 
 reading again the tragical inscriptions she knew by 
 heart, cut as deeply in her memory as on the marble slabs 
 before her. 
 
 Barry Craven Lost in the Amazon Forest. 
 Barry Craven In the silence of tJie frozen seas. 
 Barry Craven Perished in a sandstorm in the Sahara. 
 Barry Craven In Japan. 
 Barry Craven Barry Craven. 
 
 The name leaped at her from aH sides until, with a 
 shudder, she buried her face in her hands to shut out 
 the staring capitals that flamed in black and gold before 
 her eyes. The dread that was with her always seemed
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 185 
 
 suddenly closer than it had ever been, menacing, in- 
 evitable. Would the fear that haunted her day and 
 night become at some not far distant time an. actual 
 fact? Would the curse that had already led to ten years' 
 perpetual wandering lay hold of him again would 
 he, too, in quest of the peace he had never found, 
 disappear as they had done? Was it for this that he 
 had insisted on her acquiring a knowledge of his affairs? 
 With the quick intuition of love she had come to under- 
 stand the deep unrest that beset him periodically, an 
 unrest she recognised as wholly apart and separate from 
 the other shadow that lay across his life. With unfail- 
 ing patience she had learned to discriminate. Covertly 
 she had watched him, striving to fathom the varying 
 moods that swayed him, endeavouring to anticipate the 
 alternating frames of mind that made any definite com- 
 prehension of his character so difficult. The charm of 
 manner and apparent serenity that led others to think 
 of him as one endowed beyond further desire with all 
 that life could give did not deceive her. He played a 
 part, as she did, a part that was contrary to his nature, 
 contrary to his whole inclination. She guessed at the 
 strain on him, a strain it seemed impossible for him to 
 endure, which some day she felt must inevitably break. 
 His habitual self-control was extraordinary once only 
 during their married life had he lost it when some event, 
 jarring on his overstrung nerves, had evoked a blaze of 
 anger that seemed totally out of proportion to the cir- 
 cumstance, that would have given her proof, had she 
 needed one, of his state of mind. 
 
 His outburst had been a perfectly natural reaction, 
 but while she admitted the fact she felt a nervous dread 
 of its recurrence. 
 
 She feared anything that might precipitate the up- 
 heaval that loomed always before her like a threatening
 
 186 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 cloud. For sooner or later the unrest that filled him 
 would have to be satisfied. The curse of Craven would 
 claim him again and he would leave her. And she would 
 have to watch him go and wait in agony for his return 
 as other women of the race had watched and agonised. 
 And if he went would he ever return? or would she too 
 know the anguish of suspense, the long drawn horror of 
 uncertainty, the fading hope that year by year would 
 become slighter until at last it would vanish altogether 
 and the bitter waters of despair close over her head? A 
 moan, like the cry of a wounded animal, broke from her. 
 In vivid self -torturing imagination she saw among the 
 sinister record around her another tablet that would 
 mean finality. He was the last of the Cravens. Did it 
 mean nothing to him had the sorrow of that past that 
 was unknown to her but which had become woven into 
 her own life so inextricably, so terribly, killed in him 
 even the pride of race? Had he, deep down in the heart 
 that was hidden from her, no thought of parenthood, na 
 desire to perpetuate the family name, the family 
 traditions? It would seem that he had not and yet 
 she wondered. The woman he had loved of whose 
 existence she had convinced herself if she had lived, 
 or proved faithful, would he still have desired no son? 
 She shrank from the stabbing thought with a very bitter 
 sob. 
 
 A sudden horror of her environment came over her. 
 Around her were suggestions from which she shuddered, 
 evidences that raised the haunting dread with which 
 she lived to a culmination of fear. It had never seemed 
 so near, so strong. It was stronger than her will to put 
 it from her and in it, with inherent superstition, she saw 
 a premonition. The little peaceful church became all at 
 once a place of terror, a grisly charnel house of vanished 
 hopes and lives. The spirits of countless Cravens seemed
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 187 
 
 all about her, hostile, malign, triumphing in her weak- 
 ness, rejoicing in her fear spectral figures of the dead 
 crowding, hurrying, threatening. She seemed to see 
 them, a dense and awful concourse, closing round her, 
 to hear them whispering, muttering, jibing at her, a 
 thing apart, an alien soul whose presence they resented. 
 The clamorous voices rang in her ears; vague shapes, 
 illusive and shadowy, appeared to float before her eyes. 
 She shrank from what seemed the contact of actual 
 bodily forms. Unnerved and overwrought she yielded 
 to the horror of her own imagination. With a stifled 
 cry she turned and fled, her arms outstretched to fend 
 from her the invisible host that seemed so real, not 
 daring even to look again at the pitying Christ whose 
 calm serenity formed such a striking contrast to her 
 storm-tossed heart. 
 
 Blindly she sped down the chancel steps, along the 
 short central aisle, out into the timbered porch, where 
 she blundered sharply into somebody who was on the 
 point of entering. Who, it did not at the moment seem 
 to matter enough that it was a human creature, real 
 and tangible, to whom she clung trembling and inco- 
 herent. A strong arm held her, and against its strength 
 she leaned for a few moments in the weakness of re- 
 action from the nervous strain through which she had 
 passed. Then as she slowly regained control of herself 
 she realised the awkwardness of her position, and her 
 cheeks burned hotly. She drew back, her fingers un- 
 curling from the tweed coat they clutched so tightly, 
 and, trying to slip clear of the arm that still lay about 
 her shoulders, looked up shyly with murmured thanks. 
 
 Then: "David," she cried. "Oh, David " and 
 
 burst into tears. Guiding her to the bench that rested 
 against the side of the porch Peters drew her down be- 
 side him. "Just David," he said, with rather a sad
 
 188 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 little smile, "I was passing and Mouston told me you 
 were here." He spoke slowly, giving her time to recover 
 herself, thanking fate that she had collapsed into 
 his arms rather than into those of some chattering 
 village busybody. He had caught a glimpse of her face 
 as she came through the church door and knew that her 
 agitation was caused by something more than sorrow for 
 Miss Craven, great as that sorrow was. He had seen 
 fear in the hunted eyes that looked unrecognisingly into 
 his a fear that he somehow resented with a feeling of 
 helpless anger. 
 
 The affection he had for her was such as he would 
 have given the daughter that might have been his had 
 providence been kinder. And with the insight that affec- 
 tion gave he had seen, with acute uneasiness, a steadily 
 increasing change in her during the last eighteen months. 
 The marriage from which he, as well as Miss Craven, 
 had hoped so much seemed after all to have brought no 
 joy to either husband or wife. With his intimate knowl- 
 edge and close association he saw deeper than the casual 
 visitor to whom the family life at the Towers appeared 
 an ideal of domestic happiness and concord. There was 
 nothing he could actually take hold of, Craven was at 
 all times considerate and thoughtful, Gillian a model of 
 wifely attention. But there was an atmosphere that, 
 super-sensitive, he discerned, a vague underlying feeling 
 of tension that he tried to persuade himself was mere 
 imagination but which at the bottom of his heart he knew 
 existed. There had been times when he had seen them 
 both, as it were, off their guard, had read in the face of 
 each the same bitter pain, the same look of unsatisfied 
 longing. Possessing in so high a degree everything that 
 life could give they appeared to have yet missed the 
 happiness that should by all reasoning have been their* 
 Whose was the fault? Caring for them both it was f
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 189 
 
 question that he turned from in aversion, he had no 
 wish to judge between them, no desire to probe their 
 hidden affairs. Thrown constantly into their society 
 while guessing much he shut his eyes to more. But 
 anxiety remained, fostered by the memory of the tragedy 
 of Barry's father and mother. Was he fated to see just 
 such another tragedy played out before him with no 
 power to avert the ruin of two more lives? The pity of 
 it! He could do nothing and his helplessness galled him. 
 
 To-day as he sat in the little porch with Gillian's hand 
 clasped in his he felt more than ever the extreme delicacy 
 of his position. Intuitively he guessed that he was 
 nearer than he had ever been to penetrating the cloud 
 that shadowed her life and Barry's but with equal intuition 
 he knew he must convey no hint of his understanding. 
 He gauged her shy sensitive mind too accurately and 
 his own loyalty debarred him from forcing such a con- 
 fidence. Instead he spoke as though the visit to 
 Miss Craven's memorial must naturally be the cause of 
 her agitation. 
 
 "Why come, my dear, if it distresses you?" he said, 
 in quiet remonstrance; "she would not misunderstand. 
 She had the sanest, the healthiest conception of death. 
 She died nobly willingly. It would sadden her im- 
 measurably if she knew how you grieved." Her fingers 
 worked convulsively in his. "I know I know," she 
 whispered, " but, oh, David, I miss her so so inexpress- 
 ibly." "We all do," he answered; "one cannot lose 
 a friend like Caro Craven lightly. But while we mourn 
 the dead we have the living to consider and you have 
 Barry," he added, with almost cruel deliberation. She 
 faced him with steady eyes from which she had brushed 
 all trace of tears. 
 
 "Barry understands," she said with quick loyalty; 
 "he mourns her too but he doesn't need her as I do."
 
 190 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 It was an undeniable truth that reduced Peters to 
 silence and for a while Gillian also was silent. Then she 
 turned to him again with a little tremulous smile, the 
 colour flooding her delicate face. 
 
 "I'm glad it was only you, David, just now. Please 
 forget it. I don't know what's the matter with me to-day, 
 I let my nerves get the upper hand I'm tired the 
 sun was hot " 
 
 "So of course you sent the carriage away and proposed 
 walking two miles home by way of a rest cure!" he 
 interrupted, jumping up with alacrity, and taking advan- 
 tage of the turn in the conversation. "Luckily I've got 
 the car. Plenty of room for you and the pampered one. " 
 And waving aside her protests he tucked her into the 
 little two-seater, bundling Mouston unceremoniously 
 in after her. 
 
 The village school WPS near the church, and while 
 Peters steered the car carefully through groups of 
 children who were loitering in the road she sat silent 
 beside him, wondering, in miserable self-condemnation, 
 how much she had betrayed during those few moments 
 of hysterical outburst. Resolutely she determined that 
 she would be strong, strong enough to put away the 
 dread that haunted her, strong enough to meet trouble 
 only when it came. 
 
 Clear of the children and running smoothly through 
 the park Peters condescended to break the silence. 
 
 "How went Scotland?" he asked, slowing down behind 
 a frightened fawn who was straying on the carriage road 
 and cantering ahead of the car in panicky haste. "Your 
 letters were not satisfactory. " 
 
 "I wasn't taught to write letters. I never had any to 
 write," she said with a smile that made the sensitive 
 man beside her wince. "I did my best, David, dear. 
 And there wasn't much to tell. There were only men
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 191 
 
 Barry said he couldn't stand women with the guns again 
 after the bother they were last year. They were nice 
 men, shy silent creatures, big game hunters mostly, and 
 two doctors who have been doing research work in Central 
 Africa. When any of them could be induced to talk of 
 their experiences it, was a revelation to me of what men 
 will endure and yet consider enjoyment. You would 
 have liked them, David. Why didn't you come? It would 
 have done you more good than that horrid little yacht. 
 And we were alone the last two weeks we missed you, " 
 she added reproachfully. 
 
 Peters had had his own reasons for absenting himself 
 from the Scotch lodge, reasons that, connected as they 
 were with Craven and his wife, he could not enlarge 
 upon. He turned the question with a laugh. 
 
 "The yacht was better suited to a crusty old bachelor, 
 my dear," he smiled. Then he gave her a searching 
 glance. " And what did you do all day long by yourself 
 while the men were on the hills?" 
 
 She gave a little shrug. 
 
 " I sketched and oh, lots of things, " she answered, 
 rather vaguely. "There's always plenty to do wherever 
 you are if you take the trouble to look for it. " 
 
 "Which most people don't," he replied, bringing the 
 car to a standstill before the front door. 
 
 "Is Barry back from London?" 
 
 "Coming this afternoon. Thanks for the lift, David, 
 you've been a Good Samaritan this afternoon. I don't 
 think I could have walked. Goodbye and please for- 
 get," she whispered. 
 
 He smile reassuringly and waved his hand as he restarted 
 the car. 
 
 Calling to Houston, who was rolling happily on the 
 cool grass, she went slowly into the house. With the 
 poodle rushing round her she mounted thoughtfully the
 
 192 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 wide stairs and turned down the corridor leading to th 
 studio. It seemed of all rooms the one best suited tc 
 her mood. She wanted to be alone, beyond the reach 
 of any chance caller, beyond the possibility of interrup- 
 tion, and it was understood by all that in the studio she 
 must not be disturbed. 
 
 In the passage she met her maid and, giving her her 
 hat and gloves, ordered tea to be sent to her. 
 
 Mouston trotted on ahead into the room with the con- 
 fident air of a proprietor, fussily inspecting the contents 
 with the usual canine interest as if suspicious that some 
 familiar article of furniture had been removed during his 
 absence and anxious to reassure himself that all things 
 were as he had left them. Then he curled up with a 
 satisfied grunt on the chesterfield beside which he knew 
 tea would be placed. Gillian looked about her with a 
 sigh. The room, much as she loved it, had never been 
 the same to her since tLat December afternoon that 
 seemed so much longer than a bare eighteen months ago. 
 The peace it had given formerly was gone. Now there 
 was associated with it always the memory of bitter pain. 
 She had never been able to recapture the old feeling of 
 freedom and happiness it had inspired. It was her refuge 
 still, where she came to wrestle with herself in solitude, 
 where she sought forgetfulness in long hours of work 
 but it was no longer the antechamber to a castle of 
 dreams. There were no dreams left, only a crushing 
 numbling reality. She thought of her husband, and the 
 question that was always in her mind seemed to-day 
 more than ever insistent. Why had he married her? 
 The reason he had given had been disproved by his sub- 
 sequent attitude. He had asked her to take pity on a 
 lonely man and he had given her no opportunity. She 
 had tried by every means in her power to get nearer 10 
 him, to be to him what she thought he meant her to b
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 193 
 
 and all her endeavour had come to nothing. Had she 
 tried enough, done enough? Miserably she wondered 
 would another have succeeded where she had failed? 
 And had she failed because, after all, the reason he had 
 given was no true reason? And suddenly, for the first 
 time, hi a vivid flash of illuminating comprehension she 
 seemed to realise the true reason and the quixotic gen- 
 erosity that had prompted it. It was as if a veil had 
 been rudely torn from before her eyes. It explained 
 much, letting in an entirely new light upon many things 
 that had puzzled her. It placed her in a new position, 
 changing her whole mental standpoint. How could she 
 have been so stupidly blind, so dense how could she have 
 misunderstood? He had lied to her, a kindly noble 
 lie, but a lie notwithstanding he had married her out of 
 pity, to provide for her in the lack of faith he had in 
 her power to provide for herself. To him, then, her 
 dreams of independence had been only a childish 
 ambition that he judged unsubstantial, and in his 
 dilemma he had conceived it his duty to do what seemed 
 to her now a thing intolerable. A burning wave of shame 
 went through her. She was humiliated to the very dust, 
 crushed with the sense of obligation. She was only another 
 burden thrust upon him by a man who had had no claim 
 to his liberality. Her father the superman of her 
 childish dreams! How had he dared? If love for him had 
 not died years before it would have died at that moment 
 in the fierce resentment that burned in her. But to the 
 man who had so willingly accepted such an imposition her 
 heart went out in greater love and deeper gratitude than 
 she had yet known. 
 
 Yet, how, with this new knowledge searing her soul, 
 could she ever face him again? She longed to creep away 
 and hide like a stricken animal and he was coming 
 home to-day. Within a few hours she would have to
 
 194 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 meet Mm, conscious at last of the full extent of her in- 
 debtedness and conscious also of the impossibility of 
 communicating her discovery. For she knew that she 
 could never bring herself to refer to it, and she knew 
 him well enough to be aware that any such reference was 
 out of the question. The gulf between them was too 
 wide. The two days she had spent alone at the Towers 
 had seemed interminable, but with a revulsion of feeling 
 she wished now that his coming could be delayed. She 
 shrank from even the thought of seeing him. Though 
 she called herself coward she determined to postpone the 
 meeting she dreaded until dinner, when the presence of 
 Forbes and a couple of footmen would brace her to meet 
 the situation and give her time to prepare for the later 
 more difficult hours when she would be alone with him. 
 For he made a practice, rigidly adhered to, of sitting 
 with her in the evenings during the short time she re- 
 mained downstairs. He was punctilious in that courtesy 
 as in all other acts of consideration. His own bed-hour 
 was very much later and she often wondered what he 
 did, what were his thoughts, alone in the solitary study 
 that was his refuge as the studio was hers. 
 
 But she had come almost to fear the evening hours 
 they spent together, the feeling of constraint was becom- 
 ing more and more an embarrassment. The last two 
 weeks in Scotland had been more difficult than any pre- 
 ceding them. Craven's restlessness had been more 
 apparent, more pronounced. And looking back on it 
 now she wondered whether it was association with the 
 men with whom he had travelled and shot in distant 
 countries that was stirring in him more acutely the 
 wander-hunger that was in his blood. During the after 
 dinner reminiscences in the Scotch shooting lodge he had 
 himself been curiously silent, but he had sat listening 
 with a kind of fierce intentness that to her anxious
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 195 
 
 watching eyes had been like the forced calm of a caged 
 animal enduring; captivity with seeming resignation but 
 cherishing always thoughts of escape. 
 
 It was then that her vague dread leaped suddenly into 
 concrete fear. An incident that had occurred a few days 
 after the big game hunters had left them had further 
 disquieted her. On going to him for advice on some 
 domestic difficulty she had found him poring over a 
 large map. He had rolled it up at her approach and his 
 manner had made it impossible for her to express an 
 interest that would otherwise have seemed natural. 
 With the reticence to which she had schooled herself she 
 had made no comment, but the thought of that rolled 
 up hidden canvas and its possible significance remained 
 with her. It might mean only a renewed interest hi the 
 scenes of past exploits fervently she hoped it did. But 
 it might also mean the projection of new activities. . . . 
 
 The arrival of a footman bringing tea put a period to 
 her thoughts. While the man arranged the simple 
 necessaries that were more suited to the studio than the 
 elaborate display Forbes considered indispensable down- 
 stairs, she crossed the room to an easel where stood a 
 half-finished picture. She looked at it critically. Was 
 he right was there, after all, nothing in her work but 
 the mediocre endeavour of an amateur? She had been 
 so confident, so sure. And the master in Paris who had 
 taught her he also had been confident and sure. Yet 
 as she studied the uncompleted sketch before her she felt 
 her confidence waver. It had not satisfied her while she 
 was working on it, it seemed now hopelessly and utterly 
 bad. With a heavy sigh she stared at it despondently, 
 seeing in it the failure of all her hopes. Then in quick 
 recoil courage came again. One piece of bad work did 
 not constitute failure she would not admit failure- 
 She had worked on it at a time of extreme depression
 
 196 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 when all the world had seemed black and hopeless, and 
 the deplorable result was due to lack of concentration. 
 She had allowed her own disturbed thoughts to intrude 
 too vividly, and her wandering attention, her unhappi- 
 ness, had reacted disastrously on her work. It must be 
 so. Her own judgment she might have doubted, but 
 the word of her teacher no. She had to succeed, she 
 had to justify herself, to justify de Myeres. " Travaillez, 
 travaillez, et puis encore travaillez," she murmured, as 
 she had heard him say a hundred times, and tore the 
 sketch across and across, tossing the pieces into a large 
 wicker basket. With a little shrug she turned to the 
 tea table beside which Mouston was sitting up in eager 
 expectation, watching the dancing kettle lid with solemn 
 brown eyes. She made tea and then drew the dog close 
 to her, hugging him with almost passionate fervour. It 
 was not a frequent event, but there were times when her 
 starved affections, craving outlet, were expended in default 
 of other medium upon the poodle who gave in return 
 a devotion that was entirely single-minded. Yoshio 
 was still the only member of the household who 
 could touch him with impunity, and toward Craven his 
 attitude was a curious mixture of hatred and fear. To 
 Mouston her only confidant she whispered now the 
 new projects she had formed during the last two solitary 
 days for a better understanding of the obscure mind that 
 had hitherto baffled her, for a further endeavour to break 
 through the barrier existing between them. To speak, 
 if only to a dog, was relief and she was too engrossed 
 to notice the sound the poodle's quick ears caugh 
 directly. With a growl he wrenched his head free of her 
 arm and, startled, she looked up expecting to see a 
 servant. 
 
 She saw instead her husband. His unexpected appear- 
 ance in a room he habitually avoided robbed her, all un-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 197 
 
 prepared to meet him as she was, of the power of speech. 
 White-lipped she stared at him, unable to formulate even 
 a conventional greeting, her heart beating rapidly as she 
 watched him cross the room. He, too, seemed to have 
 no words, and she saw with increased nervousness that 
 his face was dark with obvious displeasure. The silence 
 that was fast becoming marked was broken by Mouston 
 who with another angry snarl leaped suddenly at Craven 
 with jealous hostility, to be caught up swiftly by a pair 
 of powerful hands and flung into a far corner, where he 
 landed heavily with a shrill yelp of surprise and pain 
 that died away in a broken whimper as, cowed by the 
 unlooked-for retribution, he crawled under a big bureau 
 that seemed to offer a safe retreat. 
 
 "Barry!" Gillian's exclamation of incredulous 
 amazement made Craven sensible that the punishment 
 he had inflicted must seem to her unnecessarily severe. 
 She could not be expected to see into his mind, could not 
 possibly know the feeling of loathing inspired by the 
 sight of the poodle hi her arms. He was jealous of a 
 dog and in no mood to curb the temper that his jealousy 
 roused. 
 
 "I am sorry," he said shortly. "I didn't mind him 
 going for me, it's perhaps natural that he should but I 
 hate to see you kiss the dam' brute," he added with a 
 sudden violence in his voice that braced her as a more 
 temperate explanation would not have done. To be de- 
 liberately cruel to an animal, no matter how great the 
 provocation, was unlike Craven; she felt convinced that 
 Mouston was not the primary cause of his irritability. 
 Something must have occurred previously to disturb 
 him the business, perhaps, for which he had waited in 
 London, and, seeking her, the scene he had surprised 
 had grated on fretted nerves. He had never before com- 
 mented on her affection for the dog who was her shadow;
 
 198 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 lie had never even remonstrated with her, as Peters had 
 many times, for spoiling him. His present attitude 
 seemed therefore the more inexplicable but she realised 
 the impossibility of remonstrance. The dog had behaved 
 badly and had suffered for his indiscretion; she could not 
 defend him had she wanted to. And she did not want 
 to. At the moment Mouston hardly seemed to matter 
 nothing mattered but the unbearable fact of Craven's 
 displeasure. If she could have known the real cause of 
 that displeasure it would have made speech easier. She 
 feared to aggravate his mood but she knew some answer 
 was expected of her. Silence might be misconstrued. 
 
 With calmness she did not feel she forced her voice to 
 steadiness. 
 
 "Most women make fools of themselves over some 
 animal, faute de mieux," she said lightly. "I only follow 
 the crowd. " 
 
 "Is it faute de mieux with you?" The sharp rejoinder 
 struck her like a physical blow. Unable to trust her- 
 self, unable to check the quivering of her lips, she 
 turned away to get another cup and saucer from a near 
 cabinet. 
 
 "Answer me, Gillian, " he said tensely. "Is it for 
 want of something better that you give so much affection 
 to that cringing beast " he pointed to the poodle who 
 was crawling abjectly on his stomach toward her from 
 the bureau where he had taken refuge "is it a child 
 that your arms are wanting not a dog? " Ilia face was 
 drawn, and he stared at her with fierce hunger smoulder- 
 ing in his eyes. He was hurting himself beyond belief 
 was he hurting her too? Could anything that he might 
 say touch her, stir her from the calm placidity that 
 sometimes, in contradiction to his own restlessness, was 
 almost more than he could tolerate? She had fulfilled 
 the terms of their bargain faithfully, apparently satisfied
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 199 
 
 with its limitation. She appeared content with this 
 damnable life they were living. But a sudden impulse 
 had come to him to assure himself that his supposition 
 was a true one, that the outward content she manifested 
 did not cover longings and desires that she sought to 
 hide. Yet how would it benefit either of them for him 
 to wring from her a secret to which he, by his own doing, 
 had no right? In winning her consent to this divided 
 marriage he had already done her injury enough he 
 need not make her life harder. And just now, in a moment 
 of ungovernable passion, he had said a brutal thing, 
 a thing beyond all forgiveness. His face grew more drawn 
 as he moved nearer to her. 
 
 "Gillian, I asked you a question," he began unsteadily. 
 She confronted him swiftly. Her eyes were steady under 
 his, though the pallor of her face was ghastly. 
 
 "You are the one person who has no right to ask me 
 that question, Barry." There was no anger in her voice, 
 there was not even reproach, but a gentle dignity that 
 almost unmanned him. He turned away with a gesture 
 of infinite regret. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said, in a strangled voice. 
 "I was a cur what I said was damnable." He faced 
 her again with sudden vehemence. "I wish to God I 
 had left you free. I had no right to marry you, to ruin 
 your life with my selfishness, to bar you from the love 
 and children that should have been yours. You might 
 have met a man who would have given you both, who 
 would have given you the full happy life you ought to 
 have. In my cursed egoism I have done you almost the 
 greatest injury a man can do a woman. My God, I 
 wonder you don't hate me ! " 
 
 She forced back the words that rushed to her lips. 
 ,ehe knew the danger of an unconsidered answer, the
 
 too THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 danger of the whole situation. The durability of their 
 future life seemed to depend on her reply, its continu- 
 ance to hang on a slender thread that, perilously strained, 
 threatened momentarily to snap. She was fearful of 
 precipitating the crisis she had long realised was pend- 
 ing and which now seemed drawing to a head. An un- 
 considered word, an intonation even, might bring about 
 the catastrophe she feared. 
 
 She sought for time, praying for inspiration to guide 
 her. The waiting tea table supplied her immediate 
 want. 
 
 Mechanically she filled the cups and cut cake with 
 deliberate precision while her mind worked feverishly. 
 
 His distress weighed with her more than her own. 
 
 Positive as she now was of the true reason that had 
 prompted him to marry her she saw in his outburst only 
 another chivalrous attempt to hide that reason from her. 
 He had purposely endeavoured to misrepresent himself, 
 and, understanding, a wave of passionate gratitude filled 
 her. 
 
 Her love was clamouring for audible expression. If 
 she could only speak! If she could only break through 
 the restrictions that hampered her, tell him all that was 
 in her heart, measure the force of her living love against 
 the phantom of that dead past that had killed in him all 
 the joy of life. But she could not speak. Pride kept 
 her silent, and the knowledge that she could not add to 
 the burden he already bore the embarrassment of an un- 
 sought love. 
 
 But something she must say, and that before he 
 noticed the hestitation that might rob her words of any 
 worth. Only by refusing to attach an undue value to 
 the significance of what he had said could she arrest the 
 dangerous trend of the conversation and bring it to a 
 safer level.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 201 
 
 She sat down slowly, re-arranging the simple tray with 
 ostentatious care. 
 
 "You didn't force me to marry you, Barry," she said 
 quietly. "I knew what I was doing, I realised the diffi- 
 culties that might arise. But you have nothing to re- 
 proach yourself with. You have been kind and con- 
 siderate in everything. I am enormously grateful to you 
 and I am very content with my life. Please believe 
 that. There is only one thing that I could wish changed; 
 you said that we were to be friends and you have let 
 me be only a fair weather friend. Won't you let me 
 sometimes share and help in the difficulties, as well as in 
 the pleasures? Your interests, your obligations are so 
 
 great " she went on hurriedly, lest he should think 
 
 she was aiming at deeper, more personal concerns **I 
 can't help knowing that there must be difficulties. If 
 
 you would only let me take my part " She looked 
 
 up, meeting his gloomy stare at last, and a faint appeal 
 crept into her eyes. " I'm not a child, Barry, to be shown 
 only the sunny side of life. " 
 
 An indescribable expression flitted across his face, 
 changing it marvellously. 
 
 "I would never have you know the dark side," he 
 said briefly, as he took the cup she held out to him. 
 
 She was conscious that the tension, though lessened 
 had not altogether disappeared. There was in his 
 manner a constraint that set her heart throbbing pain- 
 fully. She glanced furtively from time to time at his 
 stern worn face, and the weariness in his eyes brought 
 a lump into her throat. 
 
 He talked spasmodically, of friends whom he had seen 
 in London, of a hundred and one trivial matters, but of 
 the business that had kept him in town he said nothing 
 and she wondered what had been in his mind when he 
 had departed from an established rule and deliberately-
 
 202 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 sought her in a room that he never entered. Had he 
 come with any express intention, any confidence that 
 had been thwarted by Houston's stupid behaviour? She 
 stifled a sigh of disappointment. He might never again 
 be moved by the same impulse. 
 
 With growing anxiety she noticed that his restlessness 
 was greater even than usual. Refusing a second cup of 
 tea he lit a cigarette, pacing up and down as he talked, 
 jhis hands plunged deep in his pockets. 
 
 In one of the silences that punctuated his jerky periods 
 lie paused by a little table on which lay a portfolio, and 
 lifting it idly looked at the sketches it contained. With 
 a sudden look of apprehension Gillian started and made 
 a, half movement as if to rise, then with a shrug she sank 
 back on the sofa, watching him intently. It was her 
 private sketch book, and there was in it one portrait in 
 particular, his own, that she had no wish for him to see. 
 J3ut remonstrance would only call attention to what she 
 lioped might pass unnoticed. Craven turned over the 
 sketches slowly. He had seen little of his wife's work 
 since their marriage, she was shy of submitting it to him, 
 and with the policy of non-interference he had adopted 
 he had expressed no curiosity. He recognised many faces, 
 and, recognising, remembered wherein lay her special 
 skill. He found himself looking for characteristics that 
 were known to him in the portraits of the men and 
 women he was studying. There was no attempt at con- 
 cealment vices and virtues, liberality of mind, pettiness 
 of soul were set forth in naked truth. A sympathetic 
 picture of Peters arrested him, though the name written 
 beneath it puzzled. He looked at the kindly generous 
 countenance with its friendly half-sad eyes and tender 
 mouth with a feeling of envy. He would have given 
 years of his life to have possessed the p^ace of mind that 
 was manifested in the calm serenity of his agent's face.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 203 
 
 His lips tightened as he laid the sketch down. With his 
 thoughts lingering on the last portrait for a second or 
 two he looked at the next one absently. Then a stifled 
 exclamation broke from him and he peered at it closer. 
 And, watching, Gillian drew a deep breath, clenching 
 her hands convulsively. He stood quite still for what 
 seemed an eternity, then came slowly across the room 
 and stood directly in front of her. And for the first time 
 she was afraid of meeting his eyes. 
 
 "Do I look like that?" 
 
 Her head drooped lower, her fingers twining and inter- 
 twining nervously, and her dry lips almost refused their 
 office. 
 
 "I have seen you like that," very slowly and almost 
 inaudibly, but he caught the reluctant admission. 
 
 "So damnable?" 
 
 She flinched from the loathing in his voice. 
 
 "I am sorry " she murmured faintly. 
 
 "Good God!" the profanity was wrung from himv 
 but had he thought of it he would have considered it 
 justified, for the face at which he was staring was the 
 beautiful tormented face of a fallen angel. He looked 
 with a kind of horror at the hungry passionate eyes fierce 
 with unsatisfied longing, shadowed with terrible memory, 
 tortured, hopeless; at the set mouth, a straight grim line 
 under the trim golden brown moustache; at the bitter- 
 ness and revolt expressed in all the deep cut lines of the 
 tragic face. He laid it down with a feeling of repulsion. 
 She saw him like that ! The pain of it was intolerable. 
 
 He laughed with a harsh mirthlessness that made her 
 quiver. 
 
 "It is a truer estimation of my character than the 
 one you gave me a few minutes ago," he said bitterly,, 
 "and you may thank heaven I am your husband only 
 in name. God keep you from a nearer acquaintance with
 
 204 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 me." And turning on his heel he left her. Long after 
 he had gone she sat on motionless, her fingers picking 
 mechanically at the chintz cover of the sofa, staring into 
 space with wide eyes brimming with tears. She knew 
 it was a cruel sketch, but she had never meant him to 
 see it. It had taken shape unconsciously under her hand, 
 and while she hated it she had kept it because of the 
 remarkable likeness and because it was the only picture 
 she had of him. 
 
 The dreams of a better understanding seemed swept 
 away by her own thoughtlessness and folly. She had 
 hurt him and she could never explain. To refer to it, to 
 try and make him understand, would do more harm than 
 good. With a pitiful sob she covered her face with her 
 hands, and, beside her, Houston the pampered cringed 
 and whimpered unheeded and forgotten. 
 
 She had looked forward to his return with such high 
 topes and now they lay shattered at her feet. During a 
 brief hour that might have drawn them nearer together 
 they had contrived to hurt each other as it must seem to 
 both by deliberate intent. For herself she knew that 
 she was innocent of any such intention but was he? 
 He had never hurt her before, even in his most difficult 
 moods he had been to her unfailingly kind and con- 
 siderate. But to-day shudderingly she wondered did it 
 mark a new era in their relations? And in miserable 
 futile longing she wished that this afternoon had never 
 been. 
 
 After what had occurred the thought of facing him 
 across a table during an interminable dinner and sitting 
 with him alone for the long hours of a summer evening 
 drove her to a state bordering on panic. She pushed 
 the thick hair off her forhead with a little gasp. It was 
 cowardly but she could not, would not. Despising 
 herself she crossed the room to the telephone.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 205 
 
 At the Hermitage Peters was indulging in a well-earned 
 rest after a long hot day that had been both irksome and 
 tiring. Wearing an old tweed coat he lounged comfort- 
 ably in a big chair, a couple of sleepy setters at his feet, 
 a foul and ancient pipe in full blast. The room, flooded 
 with the evening sun, was filled with a heterogeneous col- 
 lection of books and music manuscript, guns, fishing 
 rods and whips. The homely room had stamped on it 
 the characteristics of its owner. It was a room to work 
 in, and equally a room in which to relax. The owner 
 was now relaxing, but the bodily rest he enjoyed did not 
 extend to his mind, which was very actively disturbed. 
 His usually genial face was furrowed and he sucked at 
 the old pipe with an energy that enveloped him in a haze 
 of blue smoke. The ringing of the telephone in the 
 opposite corner of the room came as an unwelcome inter- 
 ruption. He glared at it resentfully, disinclined to 
 move, but at the second ring rose reluctantly with a 
 grunt of annoyance, pushing the drowsy setters to one 
 side. He took down the receiver with no undue haste 
 and answered the call gruffly, but his bored expression 
 changed rapidly as he listened. The soft voice came 
 clearly but hesitatingly: 
 
 "Is that you, David? Could you come up to dinner 
 if if you're not going anywhere else I've got a tire- 
 some headache and it will be so stupid for Barry. I 
 don't want him to be dull the first evening at home. So 
 if you could please, David " 
 
 His face grew grim as he detected the quiver in the 
 faltering indecisive words, but he answered briskly. 
 
 "Of course I'll come. I'd love to," he said, with a 
 cheeriness he was far from feeling. He hung up the 
 receiver with a heavy sigh. But he had hardly moved 
 when the telephone rang again sharply. 
 
 "Damn the thing!" he muttered irritably.
 
 206 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 This time a very different voice, curt and uncom~ 
 promising: 
 
 " that you, Peter? Yes! Doing anything to- 
 night? Not? Then for God's sake come up to dinner. " 
 And then the receiver jammed down savagely. 
 
 With grimmer face Peters moved thoughtfully across 
 the room and touched a bell in the wall by the fireplace. 
 His call was answered with the usual promptness, and 
 when he had given the necessary orders and the man 
 liad gone he laid aside his pipe, tidied a few papers, and 
 went slowly to an adjoining room. 
 
 The Hermitage was properly the dower house of the 
 Towers, but for the last two generations had not been 
 required as such. The room Peters now entered had 
 originally been the drawing room, but for the thirty 
 years he had lived in the house he had kept it as a music 
 room. Panelled in oak, with polished floor and innocent 
 of hangings, the only furniture a gran.1 piano and a por- 
 trait, it was at once a sanctuary an<l a shrine. And dur- 
 ing those thirty years to only two people had he given 
 the right of entrance. To the woman whose portrait 
 hung on the wall and, latterly, to the girl who had suc- 
 ceeded her as mistress of Craven Towers. To this room, 
 to the portrait and the piano, he brought all his difficul- 
 ties; it was here he wrestled with the loneliness and sad- 
 ness that the world had never suspected. To-night he 
 felt that only the peace that room invariably brought 
 would enable him to fulfil the task he had in hand. 
 
 Craven was alone in the hall when he arrived, and it 
 was not until the gong sounded that Gillian made a 
 tardy appearance, very pale but with a feverish spot on 
 either cheek. Peters' quick eye noticed the absence of 
 the black shadow that was always at her heels. "Where 
 is the faithful Mouston? Not in disgrace, surely the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 207 
 
 paragon?" he teased, and was disconcerted at the pain- 
 ful flush that overspread her face. But she thrust her 
 arm through his and forced a little laugh. "Mouston is 
 becoming rather incorrigible, I'm afraid I've spoiled him 
 hopelessly. I'll tell him you inquired, it will cheer him 
 up, poor darling. He's doing penance with a bone up- 
 stairs. Shall we go in I'm famished. " 
 
 But as dinner progressed she did not appear to be 
 famished, for she ate scarcely anything, but talked fit- 
 fully with jerky nervousness. Craven, too, was at first 
 almost entirely silent, and on Peters fell the main burden 
 of conversation, until by a direct question he managed 
 to start his host on a topic that was of interest to both 
 and lasted until Gillian left them. 
 
 In the drawing room, after she had finished her coffee, 
 she opened the piano and then subsided wearily on to the 
 big sofa. The emotions of the day and the effort of 
 appearing at dinner had exhausted her, and in her 
 despondency the future had never seemed so black, so 
 beset with difficulties. While she was immeasurably 
 thankful for Peters' presence to-night she knew it was 
 impossible for him to act continually as a buffer between 
 them. But from the problem of to-morrow, and innum- 
 erable to-morrows, she turned with a fixed determination 
 to live for the moment. A chaque jour suffii sa peine. 
 
 She lay with relaxed muscles and closed eyes. It 
 seemed a long while before the men joined her. She 
 wondered what they were talking about whether ta 
 Peters would be imparted the information that had been 
 withheld from her. For the feeling of a nearly impend- 
 ing calamity was strong within her. When at last they 
 came she looked with covert anxiety from one to the 
 other, but then- faces told her nothing. For a few 
 minutes Peters lingered beside her chatting and then
 
 SOS THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 gravitated toward the piano, as she had hoped he would. 
 Arranging the heaped up cushions more comfortably 
 around her she gave herself up to the delight of his music 
 and it seeraed to her that she had never heard him play 
 so well. 
 
 Near her Craven was standing before the fern-filled fire- 
 place, leaning against the mantel, a cigarette drooping 
 between his lips. From where she lay she could watch 
 him unperceived, for his own gaze was directed through 
 the open French window out on to the terrace, and she 
 studied his set handsome face with sorrowful attention. 
 He appeared to be thinking deeply, and, from his detached 
 manner, heedless of the harmony of sound that filled 
 the room. But her supposition was soon rudely shaken. 
 Peters had paused in his playing. When a few moments 
 later the plaintive melody of an operatic air stole through 
 the room she saw her husband start violently, and the 
 terrible pallor she had witnessed once before sweep 
 across his face. She clenched her teeth on her lip to 
 keep back the cry that rose, and breathlessly watched 
 Jiiin stride across the room and drop an arresting hand 
 on Peters' shoulder. "For God's sake don't play that 
 damned thing!" she heard him say in a voice that was 
 almost unrecognisable. And then he passed out swiftly 
 into the garden. 
 
 A spasm of jealous agony shook her from head to foot. 
 With quick intuition she guessed that the air that was 
 unknown to her must be connected in some way with 
 the sorrow that darkened his life, and the spectre of the 
 past she tried to forget seemed to rise and grin at her 
 triumphantly. She shivered. Would its power last until 
 life ended? Would it stand between them always, rival- 
 ling her, thwarting her every effort? 
 
 For a long time she dared not look at Peters, who had 
 responded without hesitation to Craven's unceremonious
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 209 
 
 request, but when at length she summoned courage to 
 glance at him it seemed as if he had already forgotten the 
 interruption. His face wore the absent, almost spiritual 
 look that was usual when he was at the piano and his 
 playing gave no indication of either annoyance or sur- 
 prise. She breathed a quick sigh of relief and, slightly 
 altering her position, lay where she could see the solitary 
 figure on the terrace. Erect by the stone ballustrade, his 
 arms folded across his chest, staring intently into the 
 night as if his gaze went far beyond the confines of the 
 great park, he seemed to her a symbol of incarnate lone- 
 liness, and her heart contracted at the thought of the 
 suffering and solitude she might not share. If he would 
 only turn to her! If she had only the right to go to him 
 and plead her love, beg the confidence she craved, and 
 stand beside him in his sorrow! But he stood alone, 
 beyond her reach, even unaware of her longing. 
 
 The slow tears gathered thick in her eyes. 
 
 For long after the keyboard became an indistinguish- 
 able blur Peters played on untiringly. But at last he 
 rose, closed the piano and turned on an electric lamp that 
 stood near. 
 
 "Eleven o'clock," he exclaimed contritely. "Bless 
 my soul, why didn't you stop me! I forget the time 
 when I'm playing. I've tired you out. Go to bed, you 
 pale child. I'm walking home, I'll see Barry on the 
 terrace as I pass. " 
 
 She slid from the sofa and took his outstretched hands. 
 
 "Your playing never tires me!" she answered, with 
 a little upward glance. "You've magic at the ends of 
 your fingers, David dear. " 
 
 , She went to the open window to watch him go, and 
 presently saw him reappear round the angle of the house 
 and join Craven on the terrace. They stood talking for 
 a few minutes and then together descended the long flight
 
 210 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 of stone steps to the rose garden, from which, by a short 
 cut through a little copse, could be reached the path that 
 crossing the park led to the Hermitage. It was the habit 
 of Peters when he had been dining at the big house to 
 walk home thus and, as to-night, Craven almost always 
 accompanied him. 
 
 Gillian had long known her husband's propensity for 
 night rambling and she knew it might be houis before 
 he returned. Was he angry with her still that he had 
 omitted the punctilious good-night he had never before 
 forgotten? Her lips quivered like a disappointed child's 
 as she turned back slowly into the room. But as she 
 passed through the hall and climbed the long stairs she 
 knew in her heart that she had misjudged him. He was 
 not capable of petty retaliation. He had only forgotten 
 why indeed should he remember? It was a small 
 matter to him, he could not know what it meant to her. 
 In her bedroom she dismissed her maid and went to an 
 open window. She was very tired, but restless, and dis- 
 inclined for bed. Dropping down on the low seat she 
 stared out over the moonlit landscape. The repentant 
 Mouston, abject at her continued neglect, crawled from 
 his basket and crept tentatively to her, and as absently 
 her hand went out to him gained courage and climbed up 
 beside her. Inch by inch he sidled nearer, and unre- 
 pulsed grew bolder until he finally subsided with his head 
 across her knees, whining his satisfaction. Mechanically 
 she caressed him until his shivering starting body lay 
 quiet under her soothing touch. The night was close and 
 very silent. No breath of wind came to stir the heavily 
 leafed trees, no sound broke the stillness. She listened 
 vainly for the cry of an owl, for the sharp alarm note of 
 a pheasant to pierce the brooding hush that seemed to 
 have fallen even over nature. A coppery moon hung like 
 a ball of fire in the sky. At the far end of the terrace a
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 211 
 
 group of tall trees cast inky black shadows across the 
 short smooth lawn and the white tracery of the stone 
 balustrade. The faint scent of jasmine drifted in 
 through the open window and she leaned forward eagerly 
 to catch the sweet intermittent perfume that brought 
 back memories of the peaceful courtyard of the convent 
 school. A night of intense beauty, mysterious, disturb- 
 ing, called her compellingly. The restlessness that had 
 assailed her grew suddenly intolerable, and she glanced 
 back into the spacious room with a feeling of suffocation. 
 
 The four walls seemed closing in about her. She knew 
 that the big white bed would bring no rest, that she 
 would toss in feverish misery until the morning, and she 
 turned with dread from the thought of the long weary 
 hours. Night after night she lay awake in loneliness and 
 longing until exhaustion brought fitful sleep that, dream- 
 haunted, gave no refreshment. 
 
 Sleep was impossible the room that witnessed her 
 nightly vigil a prison house of dark sad thoughts. Her 
 head throbbed with the heat; she craved the space, the 
 freshness of the moonlit garden. 
 
 Rousing the slumbering dog she went out on to the 
 gallery and down the staircase she had climbed so 
 wearily an hour before. By the solitary light still burn- 
 ing in the hall she knew that Craven had not yet returned. 
 Through the darkness of the drawing room she groped 
 her way until her otstretched hands touched shutters. 
 Slipping the bar softly and unlatching the window she 
 passed out. For a moment she stood still, breathing 
 deeply, drinking in the beauty of the scene, exhilarated 
 with the sudden feeling of freedom that came to her. 
 The silent garden, beautiful always but more beautiful 
 still in the mystery of the night, appealed to her as 
 never before. It was the same, yet wonderfully, curiously 
 unlike, A glamour hung over it, a certain settled peace
 
 12 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 that soothed the tumult of her mind and calmed 
 her nerves. Surrendering to the charm of its almost 
 unearthly loveliness she slowly paced the long length 
 of the terrace, the wondering Mouston pressing close 
 beside her. 
 
 Then when her tired limbs could go no further she 
 halted by the steps and leant her arms on the coping of 
 the balustrade. Cupping her chin in her hands she 
 looked down at the rose garden beneath her and smiled 
 at its quaint formality. Running parallel with the ter- 
 race on the one side the three remaining sides were 
 enclosed by a high yew hedge through which a door, facing 
 the terrace steps, led to a path that gave access to the 
 copse that was Peters' short cut. The shadow of the 
 high dense yew stretched far across the garden and she 
 gazed dreamily into its dusky depths, conjuring up the 
 past, peopling the solitude about her with forgotten 
 ghosts who in the silks and satins of a bygone age had 
 walked those same flagged paths and talked and 
 laughed and wept among the roses. Poor lonely ghosts 
 were they lonelier than she? 
 
 The silence broke at last. Far off from the trees in the 
 park an owl called softly to its mate and the swift answer- 
 ing note seemed to mock her desolation. Her whole 
 being shuddered into one great soundless cry of utter 
 longing : " Barry ! Oh, Barry, Barry ! " 
 
 And as if in answer to her prayer she heard a sound 
 that sent the quick blood leaping to her heart. 
 
 In the deep shadow of the yew hedge the door that 
 had opened shut with a sudden clang. Her hands crept 
 to her breast as she strained her eyes into the darkness. 
 Then the echo of a firm tread, and Craven's tall figure 
 emerged from the surrounding gloom. With fluttering 
 breath she watched him slowly cross the bright strip of 
 moonlight lying athwart the rose garden and mount the
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 213 
 
 steps. Only when he reached the terrace did he seem 
 aware of her presence, and joined her with an exclama- 
 tion of surprise, "You Gillian?" 
 
 "I couldn't sleep it was so hot the garden tempted 
 me," she faltered, in sudden fear lest he might think she 
 spied on him. But the fascination of the night was to 
 Craven too natural to evoke comment. He lit a 
 cigarette and smoked in a silence she did not know how 
 to break, and a cold wave of chill foreboding passed over 
 her as she waited with nervous constraint for him to 
 speak. He turned to her at last with a certain delibera- 
 tion and spoke with blunt directness. 
 
 "I have been asked to lead an expedition in Central 
 Africa. It is partly a hunting trip, partly a scientific 
 mission. They have approached me because I know the 
 country, and because I am interested in tropical diseases 
 and am willing to defray a proportion of the expense 
 which will be necessarily heavy I should gladly have 
 done so in any case whether I went with the party or 
 not. The question of leading the expedition I deferred 
 as long as I could for obvious reasons I had not only 
 myself to consider. But I have been pressed to give a 
 definite answer and have agreed to go. There are plenty 
 of other men who would do the job better than myself 
 but, as I said, I happen to know the locality and speak 
 several of the dialects, so my going may make things 
 easier for them. But that is not what has weighed with 
 me most, it is you. Do you think I don't know how 
 completely I have failed you how difficult your life is? 
 I do know. And because I know I am going. For I see 
 no other way of making your life even bearable for you. 
 It has become impossible for us to go on as we are and 
 the fault is mine, only mine. You have been an angel 
 of goodness and patience, you have done all that was 
 humanly possible for any woman to do, but circum-.
 
 214 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 stances were against us. I had no right to ask you to 
 make such a marriage. I cannot undo it. I cannot 
 give you your freedom, but I can by my absence make 
 your life easier than it has been. I have arranged every- 
 thing with the lawyers in London and with Peters, here 
 to-night. If I do not return, for there are of course 
 risks, everything is left in your control it is the only 
 satisfaction in my power. If I do return God give me 
 grace to be kinder to you than I have been in the past. " 
 The blow she had been waiting for had fallen at last, 
 in fulfilment of her premonition. In her heart she had 
 always known it would come, but its suddenness 
 paralysed. She had nothing to say. Silently she stood 
 beside him, her hands tight-locked, numbed with a 
 desperate fear. He would go and he would never 
 return. It hammered in her brain, making her want to 
 shriek. She felt to the full her own powerlessness, noth- 
 ing she could say would turn him from his purpose. It 
 was the end she had always foreseen, the end of all her 
 dreams, the end of everything but sorrow and pain and 
 loneliness unspeakable. And for him danger and pos- 
 sibly death. He had admitted risk, he had set his house 
 in order. From Craven it meant much. She had 
 learned his complete disregard for danger from the men 
 who had stayed with them in Scotland; his recklessness 
 in the hunting field, which was a by-word in the county, 
 was already known to her. He set no value on his own 
 life what reason was there to suppose that, in the mys- 
 terious land of sudden and terrible death, he would take 
 even ordinary precautions? Was he going with a pre- 
 conceived determination to end a life that had become 
 unbearable? In agony that seemed to rive her heart 
 she closed her eyes lest he might see in them the anguish 
 she knew was there. How long a time was left to her 
 before the parting that would leave her desolate?
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 215 
 
 "When do you go?" The question burst from her, 
 and Craven glanced at her keenly, trying to read the 
 colourless face that was like a still white mask. He 
 fancied he had caught a tremor in her voice, then he 
 called himself a fool as he noted the composure that 
 seemed to argue indifference. Her calmness stung while 
 it strengthened him. Why should she care, he asked 
 himself bitterly. His going could mean to her only 
 relief. And disappointment made his own voice ring 
 cold and distant. "Within the next few weeks. The 
 exact date is not yet fixed," he said evasively. Again 
 she was silent while he wondered what were her thoughts. 
 Suddenly she turned to him, words pouring out in stam- 
 mering haste, " W T hile you are away may I go to 
 France to Paris to work? This life of idleness is kill- 
 ing me!" 
 
 He looked at her in amazement, startled at her 
 passionate utterance, dismayed at a suggestion he had 
 never contemplated. To think of her at the Towers, in 
 the position he would have her fill, watched over by 
 Peters, was fhe only comfort he could take away with 
 him. For a second he meditated a refusal that seemed 
 within his right, arbitrary though it might be. But the 
 promise he had made to leave her free stayed him. He 
 could not break that promise now. "As you please," 
 he said, with forced unconcern, "you are your own 
 mistress. You can do whatever you wish." And with 
 a slight shrug he turned toward the house. She walked 
 beside him in a tumult of emotion. He would now never 
 -know the love she bore him, the aching passion that 
 throbbed like a living thing within her. She could not 
 speak, the gulf between them was too wide to bridge, 
 and he would leave her, thinking her indifferent, callous! 
 Tears blinded her as she stumbled through the 'dark 
 drawing room.
 
 816 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 In the dimly lit hall, standing at the foot of the stair- 
 case with his hand clenched on the oaken rail, Craven 
 watched with tortured eyes the slender drooping figure 
 move slowly upward, battling with himself, praying for 
 strength to let her go for he knew that if she even 
 turned her head his self-control would shatter. It was 
 weakening now and the sweat broke out hi heavy drops 
 on his forehead as he strove to crush an insidious inward 
 voice that bade him forget the past and take what was 
 his. "Only one life," it seemed to shout in mocking 
 derision, "live while you can, take what you can! What 
 is done, is done; only the present matters. Of what use 
 is regret, x of what use an abstinence that mortifies yet 
 feeds desire? Fool, fool to set aside the chance of 
 happiness ! " 
 
 With a deep breath that was almost a groan he sprang 
 forward. Then, in deadly fear, he checked himself, and 
 wrenching his eyes away from the woman he craved fled 
 out into the night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN a little tent pitched in the midst of an Arab camp 
 in the extreme south of Southern Algeria Craven 
 sat writing. A day of intense heat had been succeeded 
 by a night airless and suffocating, and he was wet with 
 perspiration that dripped from his forehead and formed 
 in sticky pools under his hand, making writing laborious 
 and difficult, impossible indeed except for the sheet of 
 blotting paper on which his fingers rested. His thin silk 
 shirt, widely open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up 
 above his elbows, clung limply to his broad shoulders. 
 A multitude of tiny flies attracted by the light circled 
 round the lamp eddying in the heat of the flame, immo- 
 lating themselves, and falling thickly on the closely 
 written sheets of paper that strewed the camp table, 
 smeared the still wet ink and clogged his pen. He swept 
 them away impatiently from time to tune. Squatting 
 on his heels in a corner, his inscrutable yellow face damp 
 and glistening, Yoshio was cleaning a revolver with his 
 usual thoroughness and precision. A ragged square of 
 canvas beside him held the implements necessary to his 
 Work, set out in methodical order, and as he cleaned and 
 oiled and polished assiduously without raising his eyes 
 his deft fingers selected unerringly the tool he required. 
 The weapon appeared already speckless, but for some 
 time he continued to rub vigorously, handling it with 
 almost affectionate care as if loth to put it down; at 
 last with a grunt of demur he reluctantly laid aside the 
 cloth he was using and wrapping the revolver in a silk 
 
 217
 
 218 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 handkerchief slid it slowly into a leathern holster which 
 his care had kept soft and pliable. Placing it noiselessly 
 on the ground before him he turned his oblique gaze on 
 Craven and watched him for a moment or two intently. 
 Assured at length that his master was too absorbed in 
 his own task to notice the doings of his servant he 
 reached his hand behind him and produced a second 
 revolver, which he began to clean more hurriedly, more 
 superficially than the first, keeping the while a wary eye 
 on the stooping figure at the table. When that too was 
 finished to his satisfaction and restored to his hip pocket, 
 a flicker of almost childlike amusement crossed his 
 usually immobile features and he started operations with 
 an air of fine unconsciousness upon one of a couple of 
 rifles that stood propped against the tent wall near him. 
 Two years of hardships and danger had left no mark 
 upon him, the deadly climate of the region through 
 which he had passed had not impaired his powerful 
 physique, and disease that had ravaged the scientific 
 mission had left him, like Craven, unscathed. With no 
 care beyond his master's comfort, indifferent to fatigue 
 and perils, the months spent in Central Africa had been 
 far more to his taste than the dull monotony of the life 
 at Craven Towers. But with his face turned, though 
 indirectly, toward home the home of his adoption 
 Yoshio was still cheerful. For him life held only one 
 incentive the man who had years before saved his life 
 in California. Where Craven was Yoshio was content. 
 Outside, the Arab camp was in an uproar. Groups of 
 tribesmen passed the tent continually, conversing 
 eagerly, their raucous voices rising shrill, shouting, argu- 
 ing, in noisy excitement. The neighing of horses came 
 from near by and once a screaming stallion backed 
 heavily against the canvas wall where Yoshio was sitting, 
 rousing the phlegmatic Japanese to an unwonted ejacu-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 219 
 
 lation of wrath as he ducked and grabbed into safety 
 the remaining rifle before the animal was hauled clear 
 with a wealth of detailed Arabic expletives, and he 
 grinned broadly when an authoritative voice broke into 
 the Arabs' clamour and a subsequent sudden silence fell 
 in the vicinity of the stranger's tent. 
 
 Regardless of the disturbance resounding from all 
 quarters of the camp Craven wrote on steadily for some 
 time longer. Then with a short sigh he shuffled the 
 scattered sheets together, brushed clear the clinging 
 accumulation of scorched wings and tiny shrivelled 
 bodies, and without re-reading the closely written pages 
 stuffed them into an envelope, and having closed and 
 directed it, leaned back with an exclamation of relief. 
 
 The letter to Peters was finished but there remained 
 still the more difficult letter he had yet to address to his 
 wife a letter he dreaded and yet longed to write. A 
 letter which, reaching her after the death he confidently 
 expected and earnestly prayed for, would reveal to her 
 fully the secret of his past and the passion that had 
 driven him, unworthy, from her. For never during the 
 two years of adventure and peril had death seemed more 
 imminent than now, and before he died he would give 
 himself this one satisfaction he would break the silence 
 of years that had eaten like a canker into his soul. At 
 last she would know all he had never dared to tell her, 
 all his hopeless love, all his remorse and shame, all his 
 passionate desire for her happiness. 
 
 Scores of times during the last two years he had 
 attempted to write such a letter and had as of ten refrained, 
 but to-night his need was imperative. It was his 
 last chance. In the early hours of the dawn he 
 would ride with his Arab hosts on a punitive expedition 
 from which he had no intention of returning alive. 
 Death that he had courted openly since leaving England
 
 220 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 would surely be easy to find amid the warring tribes 
 with whom he had thrown in his lot. A curious smile 
 lit his face for an instant, then passed abruptly at the 
 doubt that shook his confidence. Would fate again 
 refuse him release from a life that had become more than 
 ever intolerable? 
 
 Haunted as he was with the memory of O Hara San, 
 tortured with longing for the woman he had made his 
 wife, the double burden had become too heavy to bear. 
 He had grasped at the opportunity offered by the scien- 
 tific mission. The dangerous nature of the country, the 
 fever that saturated its swamps and forests, was known 
 to him and he had gone to Africa courting a death that 
 would free him and yet leave no stain on the name borne 
 by his wife. And the death that would free him would 
 free her too! The bitter justice of it made him set his 
 teeth. For he had left her his fortune and his great 
 possessions unrestrictedly to deal with as she would. 
 Young, rich and free! Who would claim what he had 
 surrendered? Even now, after months of mental struggle, 
 the thought was torment. 
 
 But death that had laid a heavy toll on his companions 
 had turned away from him. Disease and disaster had 
 dogged the mission from the outset. The medical and 
 scientific researches had proved satisfactory beyond 
 expectation, but the attendant loss of life had been 
 terrible, and himself utterly reckless and heedless of all 
 precautions Craven had watched tragedy after tragedy 
 with envy he had been hardly able to hide. Immune 
 from the sudden and deadly fevers that had swept the 
 camps periodically with fatal results he had worked fear- 
 lessly and untiringly among the stricken members of 
 the mission and the fast dwindling army of demoralised 
 porters who had succumbed with alarming rapidity. 
 With the stolid Japanese always beside him he had
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 221 
 
 wrestled entire nights and days to save the expedition 
 from extermination. And in the intervals of nursing, 
 and shepherding the unwilling carriers, he had ranged 
 far and wide in search of fresh food to supply the 
 wants of the camp. The danger he deliberately sought, 
 with a rashness that had provoked open comment, had 
 miraculously evaded him. He had borne a charmed life. 
 He had snatched at every hazardous enterprise, he had 
 exposed himself consistently to risk until one evening 
 shortly before the expedition was due to start on the 
 return march to civilization, when a chance word spoken 
 by the camp fire had brought home to him abruptly the 
 dependence of the remnant of the mission on him to 
 bring them to the coast in safety. By some strange 
 dealing of fate it had been among the non-scientific mem- 
 bers of the expedition that mortality had ranged highest; 
 the big game hunters, though hardier and physically 
 better equipped than the students of the party for hard- 
 ship and endurance had, with the exception of Craven 
 himself, been wiped out to a man. It had been an unpre- 
 meditated remark uttered in all good faith with no ulterior 
 motive by a shuddering fever-stricken scientist writing 
 up his notes and diary by the light of the fire with tremb- 
 ling fingers that could scarcely hold the fountain pen 
 that moved laboriously driven by an indomitable will. 
 A grim jest, horrible in its significance, had followed 
 the startling utterance and Craven had looked with 
 perplexity at the shivering figure with its drawn yellow 
 face from which a pair of glittering eyes burned with 
 an almost uncanny brilliance until the meaning of the 
 man's words slowly penetrated. But the true impor- 
 tance of the suggestion once realised had aroused in him 
 a full understanding of the duty he owed to the men he 
 had undertaken to lead. Of those who could have con- 
 voyed the expedition on its homeward march only he
 
 222 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 remained. Without him the survivors of the once large 
 party might eventually reach safety but it was made 
 clear to him that night how completely his com- 
 panions relied on him for a quick return and for the 
 management of the train of porters whose frequent 
 mutinies only Craven seemed able to quell. He had sat 
 far into the night, staring gloomily into the blazing fire, 
 smoking pipe after pipe, listening to the multifarious 
 noises of the forest the sudden distant crash of falb'ng 
 trees, the incessant hum of insect life, the long-drawn 
 howl of beasts of prey hovering on the outskirts of the 
 camp, the soft whoo-whoo of an owl whose cry brought 
 vividly to his mind the cool fragrance of the garden at 
 Craven Towers and the nearer more ominous sounds of 
 muffled agony that came from a tent close beside him 
 where yet another victim of science was gasping his life 
 away. 
 
 Hour after hour he sat thinking. There was no get- 
 ting away from it it was only despicable that he had 
 not himself recognised it earlier. The narrow path of 
 duty lay before him from which he might not turn aside 
 to ease the burden of a private grief. He was bound to 
 the men who trusted him. Honour demanded that he 
 should forego the project he had formed until his 
 obligation had been discharged. Loyalty to his com- 
 panions must come before every selfish consideration. 
 After all it was only a postponement, he reflected with a 
 kind of grim satisfaction. The residue of the mission 
 once safely conducted to the coast his responsibility 
 would end and he would be free to pursue the course 
 that would liberate the woman he loved. 
 
 In the chill silence of the hour that precedes the dawn 
 he had risen cramped and shivering from his seat by the 
 dying fire and too late then to take the rest he had 
 neglected, had roused Yoshio and started on the usuaj
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 223 
 
 foraging expedition that was his daily occupation. And 
 from that time he had been careful of a life which, 
 though valueless to him, was invaluable to his com- 
 panions. From that time, too, the ill-luck that had pur- 
 sued them ceased. There had been no more deaths, no 
 more desertions from the already depleted train of car- 
 riers. The work had gone forward with continuing suc- 
 cess and, six months ago, after a hazardous march through 
 a hostile country, Craven had led the remnant of 
 the expedition safely to the coast. He had waited for 
 some weeks at the African port after the mission had 
 returned to England, and then embarking on a small 
 trading steamer, had made his way northward to an 
 obscure station on the Moroccan seaboard, when by a 
 leisurely and indirect route he had slowly crossed the 
 desert to the district where he now was and which he 
 had reached only a week ago. Twice before he had 
 visited the tribe as the guest of the Sheik Mukair Ibn 
 Zarrarah's younger son, an officer of Spahis whom he 
 had met in Paris, and the warm hospitality shown him 
 had left a deep impression. A sudden unaccountable 
 impulse had led him to revisit a locality where he had 
 spent some of the happiest months of his life. He had 
 conceived an intense admiration and liking for the stern 
 old Arab Chief and his two utterly dissimilar sons; the 
 elder a grave habitually silent man, who clung to the 
 old traditions with the rigid tenacity of the orthodox 
 Mohammedan, disdainful of the French jurisdiction under 
 which he was compelled to live, and occupied solely with 
 the affairs of the tribe and his beautiful and adored wife 
 who reigned alone in his harem, despite the fact that she 
 had given him no child; the younger in total contrast to 
 his brother, a dashing ultra-modern young Arab as 
 deeply imbued with French tendencies as the conserva- 
 tive Omar was opposed to them. The wealthy and
 
 224 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 powerful old Sheik, whose friendship had been assidu- 
 ously sought by the French Administration to ensure the 
 co-operation of a tribe that with its far reaching influence 
 might have proved a dangerous element in an unsettled 
 district, shared in his inmost heart the sentiments of his 
 heir, but with a larger and more discriminating wisdom 
 saw the desirability of associating at least one of his 
 family with the Government he was obliged, though 
 grudgingly and half contemptuously, to acknowledge. 
 He had hovered long between prejudice and policy 
 before he reluctantly gave his consent for Said to be placed 
 on the roll of the regiment of Spahis. And the unusual 
 love existing between the two brothers had survived a 
 test that might have proved too strong for its continu- 
 ance; Omar, bowing to the decision of the autocratic old 
 Chief, had refrained even from comment, and Said, 
 despite his enthusiasm, had carefully avoided inflaming 
 his brother's deeply rooted hatred of the nation the 
 younger man was proud to serve. His easy-going nature 
 adapted itself readily to the two wholly separate lives he 
 lived, and though secretly preferring the months spent 
 with his regiment he contrived to extract every possible 
 enjoyment from the periods of leave for which he returned 
 to the tribe where, laying aside the picturesque uniform 
 his afrdent soul rejoiced in and scrupulously suppressing 
 every indication of his Francophile inclinations he 
 resumed with consummate tact the somewhat invidious 
 position of younger son of the house. 
 
 The meeting of the young Spahi with Craven in Paris 
 had led to the discovery of similar tastes and ultimately 
 to an intimate friendship. Together in Algeria they had 
 shot panther and Barbary sheep and eventually Craven 
 had been induced to visit the tribe, where he had seen 
 the true life of the desert that appealed strongly to his 
 unconventional wandering disposition. The heartinea*
 
 THE SHADOW OP THE EAST 225 
 
 of his reception had been unqualified, even the taciturn 
 Omar had unbent to the representative of a nation he 
 lelt he could respect with no loss of prestige. To Craven 
 the weeks passed in the Arab camp had been a time of 
 uninterrupted enjoyment and a second visit had 
 strengthened mutual esteem. Situated on the extreme 
 fringe of the Algerian frontier, in the heart of a per- 
 petually disturbed country, the element of danger pre- 
 vailing in the district was to Craven not the least of its 
 attractions. It had been a source of keen disappoint- 
 ment that during both his visits there had been a ces- 
 sation of the intertribal warfare that was carried on in 
 spite of the Government's endeavours to preserve peace 
 among the great desert families. For generations the 
 tribe of Mukair Ibn Zarrarah had been at feud with 
 another powerful tribe which, living further to the south 
 and virtually beyond the suzerainty of the nominal 
 rulers of the country, harried the border continually. 
 But, aware of the growing power and resources of Mukair 
 Ibn Zarrarah, for many years the marauders had avoided 
 collision with him and confined their attention to less 
 dangerous adversaries. The apparent neglect of his 
 hereditary enemies had not, however, lessened the old 
 Sheik's precautions. With characteristic oriental dis- 
 trust he maintained a continual watch upon them and a 
 well organized system of espionage kept him conversant 
 with all their movements. Often during his visits 
 Craven had listened to the stories of past encounters and 
 in the fierce eager faces around him he had read the deep 
 longing for renewed hostilities that animated the younger 
 members of the tribe in particular and had wondered 
 what spark would eventually set ablaze the smouldering 
 fires of hatred and rivalry that had so long lain dormant. 
 And it had been really a subconscious presage of such 
 an outbreak that had brought Him back to the camp of
 
 26 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Mukair Ibn Zarrarah. His presentiment, the outcome of 
 earnest desire, had been fulfilled, and in its fulfilment 
 attended with horrible details which, had it not been 
 already his intention, would have driven him to beg a 
 place in the ranks of the punitive force that was pre- 
 paring to avenge an outrage that involved the honour of 
 the tribe. A week ago he had arrived to find the camp 
 seething with an infuriated and passion-swayed people 
 who bore no kind of resemblance to the orderly well- 
 disciplined tribesmen he had seen on his former visits, 
 and the daily arrival of reinforcements from outlying dis- 
 tricts had kept the tension strained and swelled the 
 excitement that rioted day and night. 
 
 In the barbaric sumptuousness of his big tent and with 
 a calm dignity that even tragedy could not shake the old 
 Sheik had received him alone, for the unhappy Omar 
 was hidden in the desolate solitude of his ravished harem. 
 To the Englishman, before whom he could speak openly 
 the old man had revealed the whole terrible story with 
 vivid dramatic force and all the flowery eloquence of 
 which he was master. It was a tale of misplaced con- 
 fidence and faithlessness that, detected and punished 
 with oriental severity, had led to swift and dastardly 
 revenge. A headman of the tribe whom both the Sheik 
 and his elder son trusted implicitly had proved guilty of 
 grave indiscretion that undetected might have seriously 
 impaired the prestige of the ruling house. Deposed from 
 his headmanship, and deserted with characteristic vacil- 
 lation by the adherents on whom he counted, the delin- 
 quent had fled to the camp of the rival tribe, with whom 
 he had already been in secret negotiation. This much 
 Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's spies had ascertained, but 
 not in time to prevent the catastrophe that followed. 
 Plans thought to be known only to the Sheik and his son 
 had been disclosed to the marauding Chief, who had long
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 sought an opportunity of aiming an effectual blow at his 
 hated rival, and on one of Omar's periodical tours of 
 inspection to the more remote encampments of the large 
 and scattered tribe, the little caravan had been sur- 
 rounded by an overwhelmingly superior force led by the 
 hereditary enemy and the renegade tribesman. Hemmed 
 in around the litter of the dearly loved young wife, from 
 whom he rarely parted, Omar and his small bodyguard 
 had fought desperately, but the outcome had been 
 .inevitable from the first. Outnumbered they had fallen 
 one by one under the vigorous onslaughts of the attack- 
 ing party who, victorious, had retired southward as 
 quickly as they had come, carrying with them the 
 beautiful Safiya the price of the traitor's treachery. 
 Covered with wounds and left for dead under a heap of 
 dying followers Omar and two others had alone survived* 
 and with death in his heart the young man had lived only 
 for the hour when he might avenge his honour. 
 Animated by the one fierce desire that sustained him he 
 had struggled back to life to superintend the preparations 
 for retaliation that should be both decisive and final. 
 To old injuries had been added this crowning insult, and 
 the tribe of Mukair Ibn Zarrarah, roused to the highest 
 pitch of fury, were resolved to a man to exterminate or 
 be exterminated. The preparations had been almost 
 completed when Craven arrived at the camp, and tonight, 
 for the first time, at a final war council of all the principal 
 headmen held in the Sheik's tent, he had seen the 
 stricken man and had hardly recognized in the gaunt 
 attenuated figure that only an inflexible will seemed to 
 keep upright, the handsome stalwart Arab who of all the 
 tribe had most nearly approached his own powerful 
 physique. The frenzied despair in the dark flashing eyes 
 that met his struck an answering chord in his own heart 
 and the silent handclasp that passed between them
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 .seemed to ratify a common desire. Here, too, was a 
 man who for love of a woman sought death that he 
 might escape a life of terrible memory. A sudden sym- 
 pathy born of tacit understanding seemed to leap from 
 one to the other, an affinity of purpose that drew them 
 .strangely close together and brought to Craven an odd 
 'sense of kinship that dispelled the difference he had felt 
 iand enabled him to enter reservedly into the discus- 
 'sions that followed. After this meeting he had gone 
 back to his tent to make his own final preparations with 
 a feeling almost of exhilaration. To Yoshio, more than 
 usually stolid, he had given all necessary instructions for 
 the conveyance of his belongings to England. 
 
 Remained only the letter to his wife a letter that 
 
 seemed curiously hard to begin. Pushing the writing 
 
 materials from him he leant back further in his chair, 
 
 and searching in his pockets found and filled a pipe with 
 
 slow almost meticulous deliberation. Another search 
 
 failed to produce the match he required, and rising with 
 
 a prolonged stretch he bent over the table and lit his 
 
 pipe at the lamp. Crossing the tent he stood for a few 
 
 moments in the doorway, but movements did not seem to 
 
 produce inspiration, and with an impatient shrug he 
 
 returned to his seat and sat staring gloomily at the blank 
 
 sheet of paper before him. The flaring light of the lamp 
 
 illuminated his deeply tanned face and lean muscular 
 
 figure. In perfect physical condition and bronzed with 
 
 the African sun, he looked younger than when he had 
 
 left England. At that moment death and Barry Craven 
 
 seemed very widely separated and yet in a few hours, 
 
 he reflected with a curiosity that was oddly impersonal, 
 
 the vultures might be congregating round the body that 
 
 was now so strong and virile. "Handsome Barry 
 
 Craven. " He had heard a woman say it in Lagos with a 
 
 feeling of contemptuous amusement a cynical smile
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 229 
 
 crossed his face as the remark recurred to him and he 
 pictured the loathing that would succeed admiration in 
 the same woman's eyes if she could see what would 
 remain of him after the scavengers of the desert had done 
 their work. The thought gave him personally no feeling 
 of disgust. He had lived always too near to Nature to 
 shrink from contemplation of her merciless laws. 
 
 He filled another pipe and strove to collect his wander- 
 ing thoughts, but the power of definite expression seemed 
 beyond him as there rose in him with almost overwhelm- 
 ing force the terrible longing that never left him the 
 craving to see her, to hear her voice. Of his own free 
 will he was putting away all that life could mean or hold 
 for him, and in the flood of natural reaction that set in 
 he called himself a fool and revolted at his self-imposed 
 sentence. The old struggle recommenced, the old temp- 
 tation gripped him in all its bitterness, and never so 
 bitterly as to-night. In the revulsion of feeling that 
 beset him it was not death he shrank from but the thought 
 of eternity alone. Neither in this world nor in the life 
 everlasting would she be his, and in an agony of longing 
 his soul cried out in anguished loneliness. The yearning 
 for her grew intolerable, a burning physical ache that 
 was torture; but stronger far rose the finer nobler desire 
 for the perfect spiritual companionship that he would 
 never know. By his own act it would be denied him. 
 By his own act he had made this hell in which he lived, 
 of his own making would be the hell of the hereafter. 
 Always he had recognised the justice of it, he did not 
 attempt to deny the justice of it now. But if it had 
 been otherwise if he had been free to woo her, free to 
 win her to his arms! It was not the least of his punish- 
 ment that, deep down in his heart, he had the firm con- 
 viction that despite her assertions to the contrary, love 
 was lying dormant in her. And that love might have
 
 30 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 been his, would have been his, for the strength and 
 tenderness of his own passion would have compelled it. 
 She must have turned to him at last and in his love found 
 happiness. And to him her love would have been the 
 crown of life a life of exquisite joy and beauty, a union 
 of perfect and undivided sympathy. Together they 
 might have made the Towers a paradise on earth; together 
 they might have broken the curse of Craven; together 
 they might have brought happiness into the lives of 
 many. And in the dream of what might have been there 
 came to him for the first time the longing for parent- 
 hood, the desire for a child born of the woman he adored, 
 a child who joining in his tiny personality the essentials 
 of each would be a tangible proof of their mutual love, 
 a child who would perpetuate the race he sprang from. 
 Craven's breath came fast with a new and tremendous 
 emotion. Then with terrible suddenness came a lightning 
 flash of recollection, a stabbing remembrance that 
 laid his dream in pieces at his feet. He heard again 
 the low soft sobbing voice, "Are you not glad?" He 
 saw again O Hara San's pleading tear-filled eyes, felt 
 again her slender sorrow-shaken body trembling in 
 his arms, and he bowed his head on his hands in shudder- 
 ing horror. . . . 
 
 Numbed with the pain of memory and self-loathing he 
 was unaware of the renewal of noisy demonstration in the 
 camp that to Yoshio's attentive and interested ears 
 pointed to the arrival of yet another adherent of Mukair 
 Ibn Zarrarah, an adherent of some special standing, 
 judging from the warmth of his reception. Moved by 
 curiosity the Jap rose noiselessly and passing unnoticed 
 by his master vanished silently into the night. 
 
 Some little while later the sound of a clear tenor voice 
 calling to him loudly by name sent Craven stumbling to 
 his feet. He turned quickly with outstretched hands to
 
 231 
 
 meet the tall young Arab, who burst unceremoniously 
 into the tent and flung himself upon him in boisterous 
 greeting. Gripped by a pair of muscular arms Craven 
 submitted with an Englishman's diffidence to the fervid 
 oriental embrace that was succeeded to his greater liking 
 by a hearty and prolonged English handshake and a 
 storm of welcoming excited and almost incoherent speech. 
 "C'est bien toi, mon vieux! You are more welcome 
 than you have ever been though I could wish you a 
 thousand miles away, mon ami, but of that, more, later. 
 Dame, but I have ridden! As though the hosts of Eblis 
 were behind me. I was on leave when the messenger 
 came for me he seems to have been peremptory in 
 his demands, that same Selim. Telegrams despatched 
 to every likely place one caught me fortunately at 
 Marseilles. Yes, I had been in Paris. I hastened to 
 headquarters and asked for long and indefinite leave on 
 urgent private affairs, all the lies I thought mon colonel 
 would swallow, but no word of war, bien entendu! Praise 
 be to Allah they put no obstacle in my way and I left 
 at once. Since then I have ridden almost without stop- 
 ping, night and day. Two horses I have killed, the last 
 lies dead of a broken heart before my father's tent 
 you remember her? my little Mimi, a chestnut with a 
 white star on her forehead, dear to me as the core of my 
 heart. For none but Omar would I have driven so, for 
 I loved her, look you, mon ami, as I could never love a 
 woman. A woman! Bah! No woman in the world 
 was worth a toss of my Mimi's head. And I killed her, 
 Craven. Killed her who loved and trusted me, who 
 never failed me. My little Mimi! For the love of Allah 
 give me a whisky." And laughing and crying together 
 he collapsed with a groan on to Craven's bed but sat up 
 again immediately to gulp down the prohibited drink 
 that was almost the last in a nearly depleted flask.
 
 832 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "The Prophet never tasted whisky or he would not 
 have forbidden it to the true believer," he said with a 
 boyish grin, as he handed back the empty cup. 
 
 "Which you are not," commented Craven with a faint 
 smile. " In the sense you mean, no," replied Said, 
 swinging his heels to the ground and searching in the 
 folds of his burnous for a cigarette, which he lit and 
 smoked for a few minutes thoughtfully. Then with all 
 trace of his former excitement gone he began to discuss 
 soberly the exigency of the moment, revealing a sound 
 judgment and levelness of mind that appeared incom- 
 patible with his seemingly careless and easy-going dis- 
 position. It was a deeper studiously hidden side of his 
 character that Craven had guessed very early hi then- 
 acquaintance. 
 
 He talked now with unconcealed seriousness of the 
 gravity of the situation. In the short time he had been 
 with his father before seeking his friend he had mastered 
 the particulars of the projected expedition and, with his 
 European knowledge, had suggested and even with a 
 force of personality he had never before displayed in the 
 old Sheik's presence insisted on certain alterations 
 which he detailed now for Craven's benefit, who con- 
 curred heartily, for they were identical with suggestions 
 put forward by himself which had been rejected as im- 
 possible innovations by the conservative headmen, and 
 conscious of his position as guest he had not pressed 
 them. Then with a sudden change of tone the young 
 Arab turned to Craven in frowning inquiry. 
 
 "But you, mon cher, what are you doing in this 
 affair? It was that I meant when I said I wished you a 
 thousand miles away. You are my friend, the friend of 
 all of us, but friendship does not demand that you ride 
 with us to-night. That you would offer yes it was 
 only to be expected. But that we should accept your
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 233 
 
 offer no! a hundred times no! you are an English- 
 man, a big man in your own country, what have you to 
 do with the tribal warfare of minor Arab Chiefs voyez 
 vous, I have my moments of modesty! If anything 
 should happen as happen it very likely will what will 
 your paternal British Government say? It will only add 
 to my father's difficulties with our own over-lords.'* 
 There was a laugh in his eyes though his voice was serious. 
 Craven brushed his objection aside with an indifferent 
 hand. 
 
 "The British Government will not distress itself about 
 me," he said dryly. " I am not of sufficient impor- 
 tance. " 
 
 For a few moments the Arab sat silent, smoking 
 rapidly, then he raised his dark eyes tentatively to 
 Craven's face. 
 
 "In Paris they told me you were married," he said 
 slowly, and the remark was in itself ample indication of 
 his European tendencies. 
 
 Craven turned away with an abrupt movement and 
 bent over the lamp to light his pipe. "They told you 
 the truth," he said, with a certain reluctance, his face 
 hidden by a cloud of smoke. "Pourtant, I ride with 
 you to-night." There was a note of brusque finality in 
 his voice that Said recognised, and he shrugged 
 acquiescence as he lit another cigarette. "It is almost 
 certain death," he said, with nonchalant oriental calm. 
 But Craven did not answer and Said relapsed into a 
 silence that was protracted. From the midst of the blue 
 haze surrounding him, his earnest scrutiny hidden by 
 the thick lashes that curved downwards to his swarthy 
 cheek, he gazed intently through half-closed eyes at the 
 friend whose presence he found for the first time embarrass- 
 ing. Fatalist though he was in all things that con- 
 cerned himself, western influence had bitten deep enough
 
 234 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 to make him realise that the same doctrine did hot 
 extend to Craven. He recognised that self-determina- 
 tion came more largely into the Englishman's creed than 
 into his own. Whether he himself lived or died was 
 a matter of no great moment. But with Craven it was 
 otherwise and he had no liking for the thought that 
 should the morrow's venture go against them his friend's 
 blood would, virtually, be upon his hands! So far had 
 his Francophile tendencies taken him. And the more 
 he dwelt upon the uncomfortable fact the less he liked it. 
 He turned his attention more directly upon the man him- 
 self and he noted changes that surprised and disturbed 
 him. The stern weary looking face was not the careless 
 smiling one he remembered. The man he had known 
 had been vividly alive, care-free and animated; one who 
 had jested alike at life and death with an indifferent 
 laugh, but one who though careless of danger even to 
 the extent of foolhardiness had never given any indica- 
 tion of a desire to quit a life that was obviously easy and 
 attractive. But this man was different, grave and abrupt 
 of speech, with an air of tired suffering, and a grim pur- 
 posefulness in his determination to ignore his friend's 
 warning that conveyed an impression of underlying 
 sinister intent that set the Arab wondering what sting 
 had poisoned his life even to the desire to sacrifice it. 
 For the look on Craven's face was not new to him, he 
 had seen it before on the face of a French officer in 
 Algiers who had subsequently taken his own life, and 
 again this very evening on the face of his brother Omar. 
 The personalities of the three men were widely different, 
 but the expression of each was identical. The deduction 
 was simple and yet to him wholly inexplicable. A 
 woman without doubt a woman ! In the first two cases 
 it was certainly so, he seemed to know instinctively that 
 here, too, he was not mistaken in his supposition. A
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 235 
 
 puzzled look crept into his fine dark eyes and a cynical 
 smile hovered round his mouth as he viewed these three 
 dissimilar men from the height of his own contemptuous 
 indifference towards any and every woman. It was a 
 weakness he did not understand, a phase of life that 
 held no meaning for him at all. He had never bestowed 
 a second glance on any woman of his own race, the atten- 
 tions of European women in Paris and Algiers had been 
 met with cold scorn that he masked with racial gravity 
 of demeanour or frank insolence according to circum- 
 stances. For him women did not exist; he lived for his 
 horses, for his regiment and for sport. To his strangely 
 cold nature the influence that women exercised over 
 other men was a thing inconceivable the houris of the 
 paradise of his fathers' creed were to him no incentive to 
 enter the realms of the blessed. A character apart, 
 incomprehensible alike to the warm-blooded Frenchmen 
 with whom he associated and to his own passionate 
 countrymen, he maintained his peculiarity tranquilly, 
 undisturbed by the banter of his friends and the admoni- 
 tions of his father, who in view of his heir's childlessness 
 regarded his younger son's temperament with growing 
 uneasiness as the years advanced. 
 
 The action of the French officer in Algiers had pro- 
 voked in Said only intolerant contempt but, as he realised 
 tonight, contempt was not possible in the cases of Craven 
 and his brother. He pondered it with a curious feeling 
 of irritation. What was it after all, this emotion of which 
 he was ignorant this compelling impulse that entered 
 into a man driving him beyond the power of endurance? 
 tt was past his comprehension. And he wondered suddenly 
 for the first time why he had been made so different 
 to the generality of men. But introspection was foreign 
 to him, he had not been in the habit of dissecting his 
 own personality and his thoughts turned quickly with
 
 36 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 greater interest to the man who sat near him plunged 
 like himself into silent reverie. And as he looked he 
 scowled with angry irritation. The Frenchman in Algiers 
 had not mattered, but Omar and Craven mattered very 
 much. He resented the suffering he did not understand 
 the termination of a friendship he valued, for it was 
 almost inevitable should Craven persist in his decision 
 and the loss of a brother who was dearer to him than 
 he would admit and whose death would mean a greater 
 change in his own life than he cared to contemplate. 
 That through a woman this should be possible! With 
 hearty thoroughness and picturesque attention to detail 
 he silently cursed all women in general and two women 
 in particular. For the seriousness of the venture lay, 
 at the moment, heavily upon him. He was tired and 
 his enthusiasm temporarily damped by the unexpected 
 and incomprehensible attitude of the two men by whom 
 alone he permitted himself to be influenced. But gradu- 
 ally his natural buoyancy reasserted itself, and abandon- 
 ing as insoluble the perplexing problem, he spoke again 
 eagerly of the impending meeting with his hereditary 
 foes. For hah 5 an hour they talked earnestly and then 
 Said rose, announcing his intention of getting a few 
 hours sleep before the early start. But he deferred his 
 going, making one pretext after another for remaining, 
 walking about the little tent in undecided hesitation, 
 plainly embarrassed. Finally he swung toward Craven 
 with a characteristic gesture of his long arms. 
 
 "Can I say nothing to deter you from this expedi- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Nothing," replied Craven; "y u always promised 
 me a fight some day do you want to do me out of it 
 now, you selfish devil?" he added with a laugh, to which 
 Sai'd did not respond. With an inarticulate grunt he 
 moved toward the door, pausing as he went out to fling
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 237 
 
 ovr his shoulder: "I'll send you a burnous and the 
 rest of the kit." 
 
 "A burnous what for?" 
 
 "What for?" echoed Sa'id, coining back into the 
 tent, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Allah! to 
 wear, of course, mon cher. You can't go as you are.'* 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The Arab rolled his eyes heavenward and waved his 
 hands in protest as he burst out vehemently: "Because 
 they will take you for a Frenchman, a spy, an agent of 
 the Government, and they will finish you off even before 
 they turn their attention to us. They hate us, by the 
 Koran! but they hate a Frenchman worse. You wouldn't 
 have the shadow of a chance. " 
 
 Craven looked at him curiously for a few moments, 
 and then he smiled. "You're a good fellow, Said," he 
 said quietly, taking the cigarette the other offered, "but 
 I'll go as I am, all the same. I'm not used to your 
 picturesque togs, they would only hamper me." 
 
 For a little while longer Said remained arguing and 
 entreating by turns and then went away suddenly in the 
 middle of a sentence, and for a few minutes Craven stood 
 in the door of the tent watching his retreating figure by 
 the light of the newly risen moon with a smile that softened 
 his face incredibly. 
 
 Then he turned back into the tent and once more drew 
 toward him the writing materials. 
 
 The difficulty he had before felt had passed away. It 
 seemed suddenly quite easy to write and he wondered 
 why it had appeared so impossible earlier in the evening. 
 Words, phrases, leaped to his mind, sentences seemed to 
 form themselves, and, with rapidly moving pen, he 
 wrote without faltering for the best part of an hour all 
 he had never dared to say, more almost than he had ever 
 dared to think. He did not spare himself. The tragic
 
 238 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 history of O Hara San he gave in all its pitifulness with- 
 out attempting to extenuate or shield himself in any 
 way; he sketched frankly the girl's loneliness and childish 
 ignorance, his own casual and selfish acceptance of the 
 sacrifice she made and the terrible catastrophe that had 
 brought him to abrupt and horrible conviction of him- 
 self, and his subsequent determination to end the life he 
 had marred and wasted. He wrote of the coming of 
 John Locke's letter at the moment of his deepest abase- 
 ment, and of the chance it had seemed to offer; of her 
 own entry into his life and the love for her that almost 
 from the first moment had sprung up withir him. 
 
 In its entirety he laid bare the burning hopeless passion 
 that consumed him, the torturing longing that possessed 
 him, and the knowledge of his own unworthiness that 
 had driven him from her that she might be free with 
 a freedom that would be at last absolute. But even in 
 this letter which tore down so completely the barrier 
 between them he did not admit to her the true reason 
 of his marriage, he preferred to leave it obscure as it had 
 always been, even should the motive she might attribute 
 to him be the wrong one. He must chance that and 
 the impression it might leave with her. Her future life 
 he alluded to very briefly not caring to dwell on business 
 that was already cut and dried, but referring her to 
 Peters who was fully instructed and on whose advice 
 and help she could count. He expressed no wish with 
 regard to Craven Towers and his other properties, leaving 
 her free to dispose of or retain them as she pleased. He 
 shrank from suggesting in any way that she benefited by 
 his death. 
 
 He saw her before him as he wrote. It seemed almost 
 as if the ardent passionate words were spoken to present 
 listening ears, and as with Peters' letter he did not reread 
 the many closely written sheets. What use? He
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 239 
 
 did not wish to alter or amend anything he had said. 
 He had done, and a deeper peace came to him than he 
 had known since those far away days in Japan. 
 
 He called to Yoshio. Almost before the words had 
 left his lips the man was beside him. And as the Jap 
 listened to the minute instructions given him the light 
 that had sprung to his eyes died out of them and his 
 face became if possible more than usually stolid and 
 inscrutable. 
 
 "You quite understand?" said Craven hi conclusion. 
 "You will wait here until it becomes evident that further 
 waiting is useless. Then you are to go straight back 
 to England and give those letters into Mrs. Craven's own 
 hand." 
 
 With marked reluctance Yoshio slowly took up the 
 two heavy packets and fingered them for a time silently. 
 Then with a sudden exclamation in his own language he 
 shook his head and pushed them back across the table. 
 "Going with master," he announced phlegmatically, 
 and raised his eyes with a glance that was at once provoc- 
 ative and stubborn. Craven met his direct stare with 
 a feeling of surprise. Only once before had the docile 
 Japanese asserted himself definitely and the memory of 
 it made anger now impossible. He pointed to the letters 
 lying on the table between them. "You have your 
 orders," he said quietly, and cut short further protests 
 with a quick gesture of authority. "Do as you're told, 
 you obstinate little devil," he added, with a short laugh. 
 And like a chidden child Yoshio pocketed the letters 
 sullenly. Stifling a yawn Craven kicked off his boots 
 and moved over to the bed with a glance at his watch. 
 He flung himself down, dressed as he was. 
 
 "Two hours, Yoshio not a minute longer," he mur- 
 mured drowsily, and slept almost before his head touched 
 the pillow.
 
 40 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 For an hour or more, squatting motionless on his heels 
 in the middle of the tent, Yoshio watched him, his mask- 
 like face expressionless, his eyes fixed in an unwavering 
 stare. Then he rose cautiously and glided from the tent. 
 
 During the last two years Craven had become accus- 
 tomed to snatching a few hours of sleep when and how 
 he could. He slept now deeply and dreamlessly. And 
 when the two hours were passed and Yoshio woke him 
 he sprang up, wide awake on the instant, refreshed by 
 the short rest. In silence that was no longer sullen the 
 valet indicated a complete Arab outfit he had brought 
 back with him to the tent, but Craven waved it aside 
 with a smile at the thought of Said's pertinacity and 
 finished his dressing quickly. As he concluded his hasty 
 preparations he found time to wonder at his own frame 
 of mind. He had an odd feeling of aloofness that pre- 
 cluded even excitement. It was as if his spirit, already 
 freed, looked down from some immeasurable height with 
 scant interest upon the doings of a being who wore the 
 earthly semblance of himself but who mattered not at 
 all. He seemed to be above and beyond actualities. He 
 heard himself repeating the instructions he had given 
 earlier to Yoshio, he found himself taking leave of the 
 faithful little Jap and wondering slightly at the man's 
 apparent unconcern. But outside the little tent the 
 strange feeling left him suddenly as it had come. The 
 cool wind that an hour later would usher in the dawn 
 blew about his face dispelling the visionary sensation 
 that had taken hold of him. He drew a deep breath 
 looking eagerly at the beauty of the moon-lit night, feel- 
 ing himself once more keenly alive, keenly excited at the 
 prospect of the coming venture. 
 
 Excitement was rife also in the camp and he made his 
 way with difficulty through the jostling throng of men 
 and horses towards the rallying point before the old
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 241 
 
 Sheik's tent. The noise was deafening, and trampling 
 screaming horses wheeled and backed among the crowd 
 pressing around them. With shouts of acclamation a 
 way was made for the Englishman and he passed through 
 the dense ranks to the open space where Mukair Ibn 
 Zarrarah with his two sons and a little group of head- 
 men were standing. They welcomed him with charac- 
 teristic gravity and Said proffered the inevitable 
 cigarette with a reproachful glance at his khaki clothing. 
 For a few moments they conversed and then the Sheik 
 stepped forward with uplifted hand. The clamour of 
 the people gave way to a deep silence. In a short im- 
 passioned speech the old man bade his tribe go forward 
 ir the name of the one God, Merciful and Beneficent. 
 And as his arm dropped to his side again a mighty shout 
 broke from the assembled multitude. Allah! Allah! the 
 fierce exultant cry rose in a swelling volume of sound as 
 the fighting men leaped to their maddened horses 
 dragging them back into orderly ranks from among the 
 press of onlookers and tossing their long guns in the ak- 
 in frenzied excitement. A magnificent black stallion 
 was led up to Craven, and the Sheik soothed the beauti- 
 ful quivering creature, caressing his shapely head with 
 trembling nervy fingers. "He is my favourite, he will 
 carry you well," he murmured with a proud smile as he 
 watched Craven handling the spirited animal. Mounted 
 Craven bent down and wrung Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's 
 hand and in another moment he found himself riding 
 between Omar and Said at the head of the troop as it 
 moved off followed by the ringing shouts of those who 
 were left behind. He had a last momentary glimpse of 
 the old Sheik, a solitary upright figure of pathetic dignity, 
 standing before his tent, and then the camp seemed 
 to slide away behind them as the pace increased and 
 they reached the edge of the oasis and emerged on to
 
 242 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 the open desert. A few minutes more and the fretting 
 horses settled down into a steady gallop. The dense 
 ranks of tribesmen were silent at last, and only the 
 rythmical thud of hoofs sounded with a muffled beat 
 against the soft shifting sand. 
 
 Craven felt himself in strange accordance with the men 
 with whom he rode. The love of hazardous adventure 
 that was in his blood leaped into activity and a keen 
 fierce pleasure swept him at the thought of the coming 
 conflict. The death he sought was the death he had 
 always hoped for the crashing clamour of the battle- 
 field, the wild tumultuous impact of contending forces, 
 with the whining scream of flying bullets in his ears. To 
 die and, dying, to atone ! 
 
 "Come to Me all ye who . . . are heavy laden 
 and I will give you rest. " . 
 
 Might that ineffable rest that was promised be even for 
 him? Would his deep repentance, the agony of spirit 
 he had endured, be payment enough? Eternal death 
 the everlasting hell of the Jehovah of the ancients! Not 
 that, merciful God, but the compassion of Christ 
 
 "He that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out." 
 
 On that terrible day in Yokohama that seemed so 
 many weary years ago Craven had laid his sin-stained 
 soul in all sincerity and humbleness at the feet of the 
 Divine Redeemer, but with no thought or hope of for- 
 giveness. Always the necessity of personal atonement 
 had remained with him, without which by his reasoning 
 there could be no salvation. That offered, but not until 
 then, he would trust in the compassion that passed man's 
 understanding. And to-night to-day he seemed 
 nearer than he had ever been to the fulfilment of his
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 243 
 
 desire. The mental burden that had lain like an actual 
 crushing weight upon him seemed to slip away into 
 nothingness. A long deep sigh of wonderful relief 
 escaped him and he drew himself straighter in the saddle, 
 a new peace dawning in his eyes as he raised them to the 
 starlit sky. Out of the past there flashed into his mind 
 the picture forgotten since the days of childhood of 
 Christian freed of his burden at the foot of the Cross, as 
 represented in the old copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress" 
 over which he had pored as a boy, enthralled by the 
 quaint text which he had known nearly by heart and 
 fascinated by the curious illustrations that had appealed 
 to his young imagination. 
 
 The years rolled back, he saw himself again a little lad 
 stretched on the rug before the fire in the library at 
 Craven Towers, the big book propped open before him, 
 studying with a child's love of the grotesque the grisly 
 picture of Apollyon whose hideous black-winged form 
 had to his boyish mind been the actual image of the 
 devil, a tangible demon whom he had longed to conquer 
 like Christian armed with sword and shield. The childish 
 idea, a bodily adversary to contend with it would have 
 been simpler. But the devil in a man's own heart, the 
 insidious inward prompting to sin that unrepelled grows 
 imperceptibly stronger and greater until the realisation 
 of sin committed comes with horrible suddenness! To 
 Craven, as to many others, came the futile longing to 
 have his life to live again, to start afresh from the days 
 of innoceiicy when he had hung, enraptured, over tlie 
 woodcuts of the "Pilgrim's Progress." He forced his 
 thoughts back to the present. Death, not life, lay before 
 him. Instinctively he glanced at the man who rode at 
 his right hand. In the cold white moonlight the Arab's 
 face was like a piece of beautiful carved bronze, still 
 and terrible in its fixed intentness. Sitting his hors
 
 244 'THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 ~^*,'y V 
 
 with evident difficulty, animated by mere strength of 
 will, his wasted frame rigidly upright, his sombre tragic 
 eyes peering steadfastly ahead, he seemed in his grim 
 purposefulness the very incarnation of avenging justice. 
 And as Craven looked at him covertly he wondered what 
 lay hidden behind those set features, what of hope, what 
 of fear, what of despair was seething in the fierce heart 
 of the desert man. Of the dearly loved -wife who had 
 been ravished from him there had come no further word, 
 her fate was unknown. Had she died, or did she still 
 live in shameful captivity, the slave of the renegade 
 who had made her the price of his treachery? What 
 additional horror still awaited the unhappy husband who 
 rode to avenge her? With a slight shudder Craven 
 turned from the contemplation of a sorrow that seemed 
 to him even greater than his own and sought his left 
 hand neighbour. With a quick smile Said's eyes met 
 his. With an easy swing of his graceful body he drew 
 his horse nearer to the spirited stallion Craven was 
 riding but did not speak. The ready flow of conversa- 
 tion that was habitual had apparently forsaken him. 
 
 The young Arab's silence was welcome, Craven had 
 himself no desire to speak. The dawn wind was blow- 
 ing cool against his forehead, soothing him. The easy 
 gallop of the horse between his knees, tractable and 
 steady now he was allowed free rein, was to him the 
 height of physical enjoyment. He would get from it 
 what he could, he thought with a swift smile of self 
 mockery the flesh still urged in contradiction to his 
 firm resolve. It was a blind country through which they 
 were riding, though seemingly level the ground rose and 
 fell in a succession of long undulating sweeps that made 
 a wide outlook impossible. A regiment could lie hidden 
 in the hollows among the twisting deviating sandy 
 hillocks and be passed unnoticed. And as he topped
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 245 
 
 each rise at the head of the Arab troop Craven looked 
 forward eagerly with unfailing interest. He hardly 
 knew for what he looked for their destination lay many 
 miles further southward and the possibility of unexpected 
 attack had been foreseen by Mukair Ibn Zarrarah, whose 
 scouts had ranged the district for weeks past, but the 
 impression once aroused of an impending something 
 lingered persistently and fixed his attention. 
 
 From time to time the waiting scouts joined them, 
 solitary horsemen riding with reckless speed over the 
 broken ground or slipping silently from the shadow of a 
 side track to make a brief report and then take their 
 place among the ranks of tribesmen. So far they told 
 no more than was already known. The wind blew 
 keener as the dawn approached. Far in the east the first 
 faint pinky streaks were spreading across the sky, over- 
 head the twinkling stars paled one by one and vanished. 
 The atmosphere grew suddenly chill. The surrounding 
 desert had before been strangely silent, not so much as 
 the wailing cry of a jackal had broken the intense still- 
 ness, but now an even deeper hush, mysterious and 
 pregnant, closed down over the land. For the time all 
 nature seemed to hang in suspense, waiting, watching. 
 To Craven the wonder of the dawn was not new, he had 
 seen if often in many countries, but it was a marvel of 
 which he never tired. And there was about this sunrise 
 a significance that had been attached to no other he had 
 ever witnessed. Eagerly he watched the faint flush 
 brighten and intensify, the pale streaks spread and widen 
 into far flung bars of flaming gold and crimson. Day- 
 light came with startling suddenness and as the glow- 
 ing disc of the sun rose red above the horizon a horseman 
 broke from the galloping ranks, and spurring in advance 
 of the troop, wheeled his horse and dragged him to an 
 abrupt standstill. Rising in his stirrups he flung his
 
 246 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 arms in fervid ecstasy toward the heavens. Craven 
 recognised in him a young Mullah of fanatical tendencies 
 who had been particularly active in the camp during the 
 preceding week. That the opposing tribe was of a dif- 
 ferent sect, abhorred by the followers of Mukair Ibn 
 Zarrarah, had been an original cause of dissent between 
 them, and the priests had made good use of the oppor- 
 tunity of fanning religious zeal. 
 
 The cavalcade came to a sudden halt, and as Craven 
 with difficulty reined in his own horse the sustained and 
 penetrating cry of the muezzin rose weirdly high and clear 
 on the morning air, " al-ilah-i lah-ilah. " The arresting and 
 solemn invocation had always had for Craven a peculiar 
 fascination, and as the last lingering notes died away it 
 was not purely from a motive of expediency that he fol- 
 lowed the common impulse and knelt among the pros- 
 trate Arabs. His creed differed from theirs but he wor- 
 shipped the same God as they, and in his heart he respected 
 their overt profession of faith. 
 
 As he rose from his knees he caught Said's eyes bent 
 on him with a curious look in them of interrogation that 
 was at once faintly mocking and yet sad. But the expres- 
 sion passed quickly into a boyish grin as he waved an 
 unlit cigarette toward the fiery young priest who had 
 seized the chance to embark on a passionate harangue. 
 
 "When prayer is ended disperse yourselves through 
 the land as ye list," he murmured, with a flippant laugh 
 at the perverted quotation. "The holy man will preach 
 till our tongues blacken with thirst." And he turned to 
 his brother to urge him to give the order to remount. 
 Omar was leaning against his horse, his tall figure 
 sagging with fatigue. He started violently as Said 
 spoke to him, and, staggering, would have fallen but 
 for the strong arm slipped round him. And, watching 
 Craven saw with dismay a dark stain mar the whiteness
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 247 
 
 of his robes where a wound had broken out afresh, and 
 he wondered whether the weakened body would be able 
 to respond to the urging of the resolute will that drove it 
 mercilessly, or, when almost within view, the fiercely 
 longed for revenge would yet be snatched from him. 
 
 But with an effort the Arab pulled himself together 
 and, mounting, painfully cut short the Mullah's 
 eloquence and gave in a firm tone the desired order. 
 
 The swift gallop southward was resumed. 
 
 The breeze dropped gradually and finally died away, 
 but for an hour or more the refreshing coolness lingered. 
 Then as the sun rose higher and gained in strength the 
 air grew steadily warmer until the heat became intense 
 and Craven began to look eagerly for the oasis that was 
 to be their first halting place. In full daylight the land- 
 scape that by night had seemed to possess an eerie charm 
 developed a dull monotony. The successive rise and 
 fall of the land, always with its limited outlook, became 
 tedious, and the labyrinthine hillocks with their 
 intricate windings seemed to enclose them inextricably. 
 But on reaching the summit of a longer steeper incline 
 that had perceptibly slowed the galloping horses, he saw 
 spread out before him a level tract of country stretching 
 far into the distance, with a faint blue smudge beyond 
 of the chain of hills that Said told him marked the 
 boundary of the territory that Mukair Ibn Zarrarah 
 regarded as his own, the boundary, too, of French juris- 
 diction. Through a defile in the hills lay the enemy 
 country. 
 
 The change was welcome to men and horses alike, the 
 latter aware with unerring instinct of the nearness of 
 water of their own accord increased their pace and 
 thundering down the last long shifting slope pressed 
 forward eagerly toward the oasis that Craven judged to 
 be between two and three miles away. In the. clear
 
 848 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 deceptive atmosphere it appeared much nearer, and yet 
 as they raced onward it seemed to come no closer but 
 rather to recede as though some malevolent demon of the 
 desert in wanton sport was conjuring it tantalizingly 
 further and further from them. The tall feathery palms, 
 seen through the shimmering heat haze, took an exagger- 
 ated height towering fantastically above the scrub of 
 bushy thorn trees. 
 
 Craven had even a moment's doubt whether the 
 mirage-like oasis actually existed or was merely a delusion 
 bred of fancy and desire. But the absurdity of the doubt 
 came home to him as he looked again at the outline 
 of the distant hills too conspicuous a landmark to 
 allow of any error on the part of his companions to whom 
 the country was familiar. 
 
 The prospect of the welcome shade made him more 
 sensitive to the scorching strength of the sun that up till 
 now he had endured without more than a passing sensa- 
 tion of discomfort. He was inured to heat, but to-day's 
 heat was extraordinary, and even the Arabs were begin- 
 ning to show signs of distress. It was many hours since 
 they started and the pace had been killing. His mouth 
 was parched and his eyeballs smarted with the blinding 
 glare. With the thirst that increased each moment the 
 last half mile seemed longer than all the preceding ride, 
 and when the oasis was at length reached he slipped from 
 his sweating horse with an exclamation of relief. 
 
 The Arabs crowded round the well and in a moment 
 the little peaceful spot was the scene of noisy confusion; 
 men shouting, scrambling and gesticulating, horses 
 squealing, and above all the creaking whine of the tack- 
 ling over the well droning mournfully as the bucket rose 
 and fell. Said swung himself easily to the ground and 
 held his brother's plunging horse while he dismounted. 
 For a few moments they conversed together in a rapid
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 249 
 
 undertone, and then the younger man turned to Craven, 
 a cloud on his handsome face. "Our communication 
 has broken down. Two scouts should have met us here, " 
 he said, with a hint of anxiety in his voice. "It dis- 
 concerts our scheme for we counted on their report. 
 They may be late it is hardly likely. They had ample 
 time. More probably they have been ambushed the 
 country is filled with spies in which event the advan- 
 tage lies with the other side. They will know that we 
 have started, while we shall have no further information. 
 The two men who are missing were the only ones operating 
 beyond the border. The last scout who reported himself 
 was in touch with them last night. From them he learned 
 that two days ago the enemy were forty miles south of 
 the hills yonder. We had hoped to catch them unawares, 
 but they may have got wind of our intentions and be 
 nearer than we expect. The curse of Allah on them!" he 
 added impatiently. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" asked Craven with a 
 backward glance at the dismounted tribesmen clustering 
 round the well and busily employed in making prepara- 
 tions for rest and food. Said beckoned to a passing Arab 
 and dispatched him with a hurried order. Then he 
 turned again to Craven. "The horses must rest though 
 the men would go forward at a word. I am sending two 
 scouts to reconnoitre the defile and bring back what 
 information they can, " he said. And as he spoke the two 
 men he had sent for appeared with disciplined prompt- 
 ness and reined in beside him. Having received their 
 brief instructions they started off in a cloud of dust and 
 sand at the usual headlong gallop. Said turned away 
 immediately and disappeared among the jostling crowd, 
 but Craven lingered at the edge of the oasis looking after 
 the fast receding horsemen who, crouched low in their 
 saddles, their long white cloaks swelling round them-
 
 250 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 were very literally carrying out their orders to ride 
 "swift as the messengers of Azrael." He had known 
 them both on his previous visits, though he had not 
 recognised them in the dark hours of the dawn when they 
 joined the troop, and remembered them as two of the 
 most dare-devil and intrepid of Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's 
 followers. A moment since they had grinned at him in 
 cheery greeting, exhibiting almost childlike pleasure 
 when he had called them by name, and had set off with 
 an obeisance as deep to him as to their leader. 
 
 Incidents of those earlier visits flashed through his 
 mind as he watched them speeding across the glaring 
 plain and a feeling almost of regret came to him that it 
 should be these two particular men who had been selected 
 for the hazardous mission. For he guessed that their 
 chance of return was slight. And yet hardly slighter 
 than for the rest of them ! With a shrug he moved away 
 slowly and sought the shadow of a camel thorn. He lay 
 on his back in the welcome patch of shade, his helmet 
 tilted over his eyes, drawing vigorously at a cigarette 
 in the vain hope of lessening the attentions of the 
 swarms of tormenting flies that buzzed about him, 
 and waiting patiently for the desired water before he 
 swallowed the dark brown unsavoury mass of crushed 
 dates which, warm from his pocket and gritty with the 
 sand that penetrated everything, was the only food avail- 
 able. Said was still busy among the throng of men and 
 horses, but near him Omar sat plunged in gloomy silence, 
 his melancholy eyes fixed on the distant hills. He had 
 re-adjusted his robes, screening the ominous stain that 
 revealed what he wished to hide. His hands, which 
 alone might have betrayed the emotion surging under his 
 outward passivity, were concealed in the folds of his 
 enveloping burnous. When the immediate wants of men 
 and horses were assuaged the prevailing clamour gave
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 251 
 
 place to sudden quiet as the Arabs lay down and, muffling 
 their heads in their cloaks, seemed to fall instantly 
 asleep. His supervision ended, Said reappeared, 
 and following the example of his men was soon snoring 
 peacefully. Craven rolled over on his side, and lighting 
 another cigarette settled himself more comfortably on 
 the warm ground. For a time he watched the solitary 
 sentinel sitting motionless on his horse at no great dis- 
 tance from the oasis. Then a vulture winging its slow 
 heavy way across the heavens claimed his attention and 
 he followed it with his eyes until it passed beyond his 
 vision. He was too lazy and too comfortable to turn 
 his head. He lay listening to the shrill hum of countless 
 insect life, smoking cigarette after cigarette till the 
 ground around him was littered with stubs and match 
 ends. The hours passed slowly. When he looked at the 
 guard again the Arab was varying the monotony by 
 walking his horse to and fro, but he had not moved 
 further into the desert. And suddenly as Craven 
 watched him he wheeled and galloped back toward the 
 camp. Craven started up on his arm, screening his eyes 
 from the sun and staring intently in the direction of the 
 hills. But there was nothing to be seen in the wide 
 empty plain, and he sank down again with a smile at 
 his own impatience as the reason of the man's return 
 occurred to him. Reaching the oasis the Arab led his 
 horse among the prostrate sleepers and kicked a comrade 
 into wakefulness to take his place. From time to time 
 the intense stillness was broken by a movement among 
 the horses, and once or twice a vicious scream came from 
 a stallion resenting the attentions of a restless neighbour. 
 The slumbering Arabs lay like sheeted figures of the 
 dead save when some uneasy dreamer rolled over with a 
 smothered grunt into a different position. Craven had 
 begun to wonder how much longer the siesta would be
 
 252 THE SHADOW OF THE 
 
 protracted when Omar rose stiffly, and going to his 
 brother's side awoke him with a hand on his shoulder. 
 Said sat up blinking sleepily and then leaped alertly to 
 his feet. In a few minutes the oasis was once more filled 
 with noisy activity. But this time there was no confusion. 
 The men mounted quickly and the troop was reformed 
 with the utmost dispatch. The horses broke almost 
 immediately into the long swinging gallop that seemed 
 to eat up the miles under their feet. 
 
 The fiercest heat of the day was passed. The haze 
 that had hung shimmering over the plain had cleared 
 away and the hills they were steadily nearing grew more 
 clearly defined. Soon the conformation of the range 
 was easily discernible, the rocky surface breaking up into 
 innumerable gullies and ravines, the jagged ridges stand- 
 ing out clean against the deep blue of the sky. Another 
 mile and Said turned to him with outstretched hand, 
 pointing eagerly. "See, to the right, there, by that 
 shaft of rock that looks like a minaret, is the entrance 
 to the defile. It is well masked. It comes upon one 
 suddenly. A stranger would hardly find the opening 
 until he was close upon it. In the dawn when the 
 shadows are black I have ridden past it myself once or 
 twice and had to Allah! Selim and alone!" he cried 
 suddenly, and shot ahead of his companions. The troop 
 halted at Omar's shouted command, but Craven galloped 
 after his friend. He had caught sight of the horseman 
 emerging from the pass a moment after Said had seen 
 him and the same thought had leaped to the mind of 
 each the news on which so much depended might still 
 never reach them. The spy came on toward them 
 slowly, his horse reeling under him, and man and beast 
 alike were nearly shot to pieces. As Said drew along- 
 side of them the wounded horse collapsed and the dying 
 man fell with him, unable to extricate himself. In a
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 253 
 
 flash the Arab Chief was on his feet, and with a tre- 
 mendous effort pulled the dead animal clear of his 
 follower's crushed and quivering limbs. Slipping an arm 
 about him he raised him gently, and bending low to 
 catch the faint words he could scarcely hear, held him 
 until the fluttering whisper trailed into silence, and with 
 a convulsive shudder the man died in his arms. 
 
 Laying the corpse back on the sand he wiped his 
 blood-stained hands on the folds of his cloak, then swung 
 into the saddle again and turned to Craven, his eyes 
 blazing with anger and excitement. "They were 
 trapped in the defile ten against two but Selim got 
 through somehow to make his reconnaisance, and they 
 finished him off on the way back though I don't think 
 he left many behind him! Either our plans have been 
 betrayed or it may be merely a coincidence. Which- 
 ever it is they are waiting for us yonder, on the other 
 side of the hills. They have saved us a day's journey 
 at the very least, " he added with a short laugh that was 
 full of eager anticipation. 
 
 They waited until Omar and the troop joined them, 
 and after a short consultation with the headmen it was 
 . decided to press forward without delay. Aware that but 
 few hours of daylight remained, Craven deemed it a fool- 
 hardy decision, but Omar was deeply stirred at the near- 
 ness of the man who had wronged him for Selim had 
 managed to extract that information from one of his 
 opponents before killing him and the tribesmen were 
 eager for immediate action. The horses, too, were fresh 
 enough, thanks to the mid-day rest. The troop moved 
 on again, a guard of fifty picked men slightly in advance 
 of the main body. 
 
 At the foot of the hills they drew rein to reform for the 
 defile only admitted of three horses walking abreast, and 
 as Craven waited for his own turn to come to enter the
 
 254 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 narrow pass he looked curiously at the bare rock face 
 that rose almost perpendicularly out of the sand and 
 towered starkly above him. But he had no time for a 
 lengthy inspection, and in a few minutes, with Omar 
 and Said on either hand, he guided his horse round the 
 jutting spur of rock that masked the opening and rode 
 into the sombre shade of the defile. The change was 
 startling, and he shivered with the sudden chill that 
 seemed so much cooler by contrast with the heat of the 
 plain. Hemmed in by sheer sinister looking cliffs, which 
 were broken at intervals by lateral ravines, the tor- 
 tuous track led over rough slippery ground sprinkled 
 with huge boulders that made any pace beyond a walk 
 impossible. The horses stumbled continually and the 
 necessity of keeping a sharp look-out for each succeeding 
 obstacle drove from Craven's mind everything but the 
 matter in hand. He forgot to wonder how near or how 
 far from the other side of the hills lay the oposing force, 
 or whether they would have time to reform before being 
 attacked or be picked off by waiting marksmen as they 
 emerged from the pass without any possibility of putting 
 up a fight. For himself it didn't after all very much 
 matter one way or the other, but it would be hard luck, 
 he reflected, if Omar did not get a chance at the renegado 
 and Said was shot before the encounter he was aching 
 for and broke off to swear at his horse, which had 
 stumbled badly for the sixth time. 
 
 Omar was riding a pace or two in advance, bending 
 forward in the saddle and occasionally swaying as if from 
 weakness, his burning eyes filled with an almost mysti- 
 cal h'ght as if he saw some vision that, hidden from the 
 others, was revealed to him alone. The dark stain on 
 his robe had spread beyond concealment and he had not 
 spoken since they entered the defile. To Craven, who 
 had never before traversed it, the pass was baffling. He
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 55 
 
 did not know its extent and he had no idea of the depth 
 of the hills. But soon a growing excitement on the part 
 of Said made him aware that the exit must be near and 
 the continued silence argued that the vanguard had got 
 through unmolested. He slipped the button of his 
 holster and freed his revolver from the silk handkerchief 
 in which Yoshio had wrapped it. 
 
 A sharp turn to the right revealed the scene of the 
 ambuscade, where in one of the lateral openings Selim 
 and his companion had been trapped. The bodies of 
 men and horses had been pulled clear of the track by the 
 advance guard as they went by a few minutes earlier. 
 The old sheik's horse showed the utmost repugnance to 
 the grim pile of corpses, snorting and rearing danger- 
 ously, and Craven wrestled with him for some moments 
 before he bounded suddenly past them with a clatter of 
 hoofs that sent the loose stones flying in all directions. 
 
 Another turn to the right, an equally sharp bend to 
 the left, where the track widened considerably, and they 
 debouched abruptly into open desert. 
 
 The vanguard was drawn up hi order and their leader 
 spurred to Omar's side in eager haste to communicate 
 what was patent to the eyes of all. A little ripple of 
 excitement went through Craven as he saw the dense 
 body of horsemen, still about two miles away, who were 
 galloping steadily towards them. It had come then. 
 With a curious smile he bent forward and patted the 
 neck of his fretting horse, which was fidgeting badly. The 
 opposing force appeared to outnumber them consider- 
 ably, but he knew from Said that Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's 
 men were better equipped and better trained. It would 
 be skill against brute force, though it yet remained to 
 be seen how far Omar's men would respond to their 
 training when put to the test. Would they be able to 
 control their own headstrong inclinations or would their
 
 256 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 zeal carry them away in defiance of carefully rehearsed 
 orders? 
 
 Word of the near presence of the enemy had been sent 
 back to those who were still moving up the pass, and so 
 far discipline was holding good. The men were pouring 
 out from the yawning mouth of the file in a steady stream, 
 the horses crowded together as closely as possible, and 
 as each detachment arrived it reformed smartly under 
 its own headman. 
 
 Watching the rapid approach of the hostile tribe, 
 Craven wondered whether there would be time for their 
 own force to reassemble to enable them to carry out the 
 agreed tactics. 
 
 Already they were within half a mile. He had reined 
 back to speak to Omar, when a shout of exultation from 
 Said, taken up by his followers till the rocks above them 
 echoed with the ringing cry, heralded the arrival of the 
 last party. There was no time to recapitulate orders or 
 to urge steadiness among the men. With almost no sign 
 from Omar, or so it seemed to Craven, with another 
 deafening shout that drowned the yelling of the enemy 
 the whole force leaped forward simultaneously. Craven's 
 teeth clenched on his lip in sudden fear for Omar's plan 
 of attack, but a quick glance assured him that the madly 
 galloping horses were being kept in good formation, and 
 that fast as was the pace the right and left wing were, 
 according to instructions, steadily opening out and draw- 
 ing forward in an extended line. The feeling of excite- 
 ment had left him, and, revolver hi hand, he sat down 
 firmer in the saddle with no more emotion than if he 
 were in the hunting field at home. 
 
 They were now close enough to distinguish faces it 
 would be an almighty crash when it did come! It waa 
 surprising that up till now there had been no shooting. 
 Accustomed to the Arabs' usually reckless expenditure
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 257 
 
 of ammunition he had been prepared minutes ago for a 
 hail of bullets. And with the thought came a solitary 
 whining scream past his ear, and Said, close on his left, 
 flung him a look of reproach and shouted something of 
 which he only caught the words," Frenchman . 
 burnous. " 
 
 But there was no time left to reply. Following 
 rapidly on the single shot a volley was poured in among 
 them, but the shooting was inaccurate and did very 
 little damage. That it had been intended to break the 
 charge and cause confusion in the orderly ranks was 
 apparent from the further repeated volleys that, nearer, 
 did more deadly execution than the first one. But, 
 bending low in their saddles, Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's men 
 swept on in obedience to Omar's command. His pur- 
 pose was, by the sheer strength of his onset, to cut through 
 the opposing force with his centre while the wings closed 
 in on either side. To effect this he had bidden his 
 men ride as they had never ridden before and reserve 
 their fire till the last moment, when it would be 
 most effectual. And the swift silent onslaught seemed 
 to be other than the enemy had expected, for there were 
 among them signs of hesitation, their advance was 
 checked, and the firing became wilder and more erratic. 
 Omar and his immediate companions appeared to bear 
 charmed lives, bullets sang past them, over and around 
 them, and though here and there a man fell from the 
 saddle or a horse dropped suddenly, the main body 
 raced on unscathed, or with wounds they did not heed in 
 the frenzy of the moment. 
 
 The pace was terrific, and when at last Omar gave the 
 signal for which his men were waiting, the crackling 
 reverberation of their rules had not died away when the 
 impact came. But the shattering crash that Craven had 
 expected did not occur. Giving ^way before them and
 
 <U8 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 scattering to right and left a break came in the ranks of 
 the opposing force, through which they drove like a 
 living wedge. Then with fierce yells of execration the 
 enemy rallied and the next moment Craven found him- 
 self in the midst of a confused melee where friends and 
 foes were almost indistinguishable. The thundering of 
 horses' hoofs, the raucous shouting of the Arabs, the 
 rattle of musketry, combined in deafening uproar. The 
 air was dense with clouds of sand and smoke, heavy 
 with the reek of powder. He had lost sight of Omar, 
 he tried to keep near to Said, but in the throng of struggling 
 men he was carried away, cut off from his own party, 
 hemmed in on every side, fighting alone. He had 
 forgotten his desire for death, his heart was leaping 
 with a kind of delirious happiness that found nothing 
 but fierce enjoyment in the scene around him. The 
 stench in his nostrils of blood and sulphur seemed to 
 awaken memories of another existence when he had 
 fought for his life as he was doing now, unafraid, and 
 caring little for the outcome. He was shooting steadily, 
 exulting in his markmanship with no thought in his 
 mind but the passionate wish to kill and kill, and he 
 laughed with almost horrible pleasure as he emptied his 
 revolver at the raving Arabs who surrounded him. 
 Drunk with the blood lust of an unremembered past for 
 the moment he was only a savage like them. And to the 
 superstitious desert men he seemed possessed, and with 
 sudden awe they had begun to draw away from him 
 when a further party galloped up to reinforce them. 
 Craven swung his horse to meet the newcomers and at 
 the same moment realised that he had no cartridges left. 
 With another reckless laugh he dashed his empty revolver 
 in the face of the nearest Arab and, wheeling, spurred 
 forward in an attempt to break through the circle round 
 him. But he found retreat cut off. Three mea bore
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 250 
 
 down upon him simultaneously with levelled rifles. 
 He saw them fire, felt a sharp searing as of a red hot wire 
 through his side, and, reeling in the saddle, heard dimly 
 their howl of triumph as they raced toward him heard 
 also another yell that rose above the Arabs' clamour, 
 a piercing yell that sounded strangely different to the 
 Arabic intonation ringing in his ears. And as he gripped 
 himself and raised his head he had a vision of another 
 horseman mounted on a frenzied trampling roan that, 
 apparently out of control and mad with excitement, was 
 charging down upon them, a horseman whose fluttering 
 close-drawn headgear shaded features that were curiously 
 Mongolian and then he went down in a welter of men 
 and horses. A flying hoof touched the back of his head 
 and consciousness ceased.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 RAVEN woke to a burning pain in his side, a rack- 
 ing headache and an intolerable thirst. It was 
 not a sudden waking but a gradual dawning conscious- 
 ness in which time and place as yet meant nothing, and 
 only bodily suffering obtruded on a still partially clouded 
 mind. Fragmentary waves of thought, disconnected 
 and transitory, passed through his brain, leaving no per- 
 manent impression, and he made no effort to unravel 
 them. Effort of any kind, mental or physical, seemed 
 for the moment beyond him. He was too tired even to 
 open his eyes, and lay with them closed, wondering 
 feebly at the pain and discomfort of his whole body. 
 He had the sensation of having been battered, he felt 
 bruised from head to foot. Suffering was new to him. 
 He had never been ill in his life, and in all his years of 
 travel and hazardous adventure he had sustained only 
 trivial injuries which had healed readily and been regarded 
 as merely part of the day's work. 
 
 But now, as his mind grew clearer, he realised that 
 some accident must have occurred to induce this pain 
 and lassitude that made him lie like a log with throbbing 
 head and powerless limbs. He pondered it, trying to 
 pierce the fog that dulled his intellect. He had a sub- 
 conscious impression of some strenuous adventure 
 through which he had passed, but knowledge still 
 hovered on the borderland of fancy and actuality. He 
 had no recollection of the fight or of events preceding 
 it. That he was Barry Craven he knew; but of where he 
 
 260
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 261 
 
 had no idea nor what his life had been. Of his per- 
 sonality there remained only his name, he was quite sure 
 about that. And out of the past emerged only one clear 
 memory a woman's face. And yet as he dwelt on it 
 the image of another woman's face rose beside it, 
 mingling with and absorbing it until the two faces seemed 
 strangely merged the one into the other, alike and yet 
 wholly different. And the effort to disentangle them and 
 keep them separate was greater than his tired brain 
 could achieve, and made his head ache more violently. 
 Confused, and with a sudden feeling of aversion, he 
 stirred impatiently, and the sharp pain that shot through 
 him brought him abruptly to a sense of his physical state 
 and forced utterance of his greatest need. It had not 
 hitherto occurred to him to wonder whether he were 
 alone, or even where he was. But as he spoke an arm 
 was slipped under him raising him slightly and a cup held 
 to his lips. He drank eagerly and, as he was again 
 lowered gently to the pillow, raised his eyes to the face 
 of the man who bent over him, a puckered yellow face 
 whose imperturbability for once had given place to 
 patent anxiety. Craven stared at it for a few moments 
 in perplexity. Where had he seen it before? Struggling 
 to recall what had happened prior to this curiously 
 obscured awakening there dawned a dim recollection of 
 shattering noise and tumult, of blood and death and 
 fierce unbridled human passion, of a horde of wild-eyed 
 dark-skinned men who surged and struggled round him 
 and of a yelling Arab on a fiery roan. Memory came in 
 a flash. He gave a weak little croaking laugh. "You 
 damned insubordinate little devil," he murmured, and 
 drifted once more into unconsciousness. When he woke 
 again it was with complete remembrance of everything 
 that had passed. He felt ridiculously weak, but his head 
 did not ache so badly and his mind was perfectly clear
 
 262 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 Only of the time that had elapsed between the moment 
 when he had gone down under the Arabs' charge and his 
 awakening a little while ago he had no recollection. 
 How long had he been unconscious? He found himself 
 mildly puzzled, but without any great interest as yet. 
 Plenty of time to find out about that and what had 
 befallen Omar and Said. It was not that he did not care, 
 but that, for the moment, he was too tired and listless 
 to do more than lie still and endure his own discomfort. 
 His side throbbed painfully and there was something 
 curious about his left arm, a dead feeling of numbness 
 that made him wonder whether it was there at all. He 
 glanced down at it with sudden apprehension he had 
 no fancy for a maimed existence and was relieved to 
 find it still in place but bent stiffly across his chest 
 wrapped in a multitude of bandages broken, pre- 
 sumably. His eyes wandered with growing interest 
 round the little tent where he lay. It was his own, from 
 which he inferred that the fight must have gone in favour 
 of Mukair Ibn Zarrarah's forces or he would never have 
 been brought back here to it. He glanced from one 
 familiar object to another with a drowsy feeling of con- 
 tentment. 
 
 Presently he became aware that somebody had entered 
 and turning his head he found Yoshio beside him eye- 
 ing him with a look in which solicitude, satisfaction, and 
 a faint diffidence struggled for supremacy. Craven 
 guessed the reason of his embarrassment, but he had no 
 mind to refer to an order given, and disobeyed through 
 overzealousness. That, too, could wait or be forgotten. 
 He contented himself with a single question. "How 
 long?" he asked laconically. With equal brevity the 
 Jap replied : " Two days, " and postponed further inquiries 
 by slipping a clinical thermometer into his master's 
 mouth. He had always been useful hi attending on
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 263 
 
 minor camp accidents, and during the last two years 
 in Central Africa he had picked up a certain amount of 
 rough surgical knowledge which now stood him in good 
 stead, and which he proceeded to put into practice with a 
 gravity of demeanour that made Craven, in his weakened 
 state, want to giggle hysterically. But he suppressed 
 the inclination and held on to the thermometer until 
 Yoshio solemnly removed it, studied it intently, and 
 nodded approval. With the exact attention to detail 
 that was his ruling passion he carefully rinsed the tiny 
 glass instrument and returned it to its case before leaving 
 the tent. He was back again in a few minutes with a 
 bowl of steaming soup, and handling Craven as if he 
 were a child, fed him with the gentleness of a woman. 
 Then he busied himself about the room, tidying it and 
 reducing its confusion to order. 
 
 Craven watched him at first idly and then with a more 
 definite desire to know what had occurred. But to the 
 questions he put Yoshio returned evasive answers, and, 
 resuming his professional manner, spoke gravely of the 
 loss of blood Craven had sustained, of the kick on the 
 head from which he had lain two days insensible, and 
 his consequent need of rest and sleep, finally departing 
 as if to remove temptation from him. Craven chafed at 
 the little Jap's caution and swore at his obstinacy, but a 
 pleasant drowsiness was stealing over him and he sur- 
 rendered to it without further struggle. 
 
 It was more than twelve hours before he opened his 
 eyes again, to find the morning sunlight streaming into 
 the tent. 
 
 Yoshio hovered about him, deft-handed and noiseless 
 of tread, feeding him and redressing the wounds in his 
 side where the bullet had entered and passed out. After 
 which he relaxed the faintly superior tone he had adopted 
 and condescended to consult with his patient as to which
 
 264 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 of the scanty drugs in the tiny medicine chest would be 
 the best to administer. He was disappointed but 
 acquiescent in Craven's decision to trust to his own hardy 
 constitution as long as the wounds appeared healthy and 
 leave nature to do her own work. And again recom- 
 mending sleep he glided away. 
 
 But Craven had no desire or even inclination to sleep. 
 He was tremendously wide awake, his whole being in 
 revolt, facing once more the problem he had thought 
 done with for ever. Again fate had intervened to thwart 
 his determination. For the third time death, for which 
 he longed, had been withheld, and life that was so bitter, 
 so valueless, restored. To what end? Why had the 
 peace he craved for been torn from him why had he 
 been forced to begin again an existence of hideous 
 struggle? Had he not repented, suffered as few men 
 suffer, and striven to atone? What more was required 
 of him, he wondered bitterly. A galling sense of impo- 
 tence swept him and he raged at his own nothingness. 
 Self-determination seemed to have been taken from him 
 and with fierce resentment he saw himself as merely a 
 pawn in the game of life; a puppet to fulfil, not his own 
 will, but the will of a greater power than his. In the 
 black despair that came over him he cursed that greater 
 power until, shuddering, he realised his own blasphemy, 
 and a broken prayer burst from his lips. He had come 
 to the end of all things, he was fighting through abysmal 
 darkness. His need was overwhelming alone he could 
 not go forward, and desperately, he turned to the Divine 
 Mercy and prayed for strength and guidance. 
 
 Too weary in spirit to mark the slow passing of the 
 hours he fought his last fight. And gradually he grew 
 calmer, calm enough to accept if not to understand 
 the inscrutable rulings of Providence. He had arrogated 
 to himself the disposal of his life, but it was made clear
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 265 
 
 to him that a higher wisdom had decreed otherwise. He 
 did not attempt to seek the purpose of his preservation, 
 enough that for some unfathomable reason it was once 
 more plainly indicated that there was to be no shirking. 
 He had to live, and to do what was possible with the life 
 left him. Gillian! the thought of her was torment. He 
 had tried to free her, and she was still bound. It would 
 be part of his punishment that, suffering, he would have 
 to watch her suffer too. With a groan he flung his unin- 
 jured arm across his eyes and lay very still. The day 
 wore on. He roused himself to take the food that Yoshio 
 brought at regular intervals but feigned a drowsiness 
 he did not feel to secure the solitude his mood demanded. 
 And Yoshio, enjoying to the full his state of tempo- 
 rary authority, sat outside the door of the tent and kept 
 away inquirers. Listlessly Craven watched the evening 
 shadows deepen aud darken. For hours he had thought, 
 not of himself but of the woman he loved, until his 
 bruised head ached intolerably. And all his delibera- 
 tion had taken him no further than where he had begun. 
 He was to take up anew the difficult life he had fled from 
 for that was what it amounted to. He had deserted 
 her who had in all the world no one but him. It had 
 an ugly sound and he flinched from the naked truth of 
 it, but he had done with subterfuges and evasions. He 
 had made her his wife and he had left her nothing could 
 alter the fact or mitigate the shame. Past experience 
 had taught him nothing; once again he had left a woman 
 in her need to fend for herself. She was his wife, his to 
 shield and to protect, doubly so in her equivocal position 
 that subjected her to much that would not affect one 
 happily married. During the few months they had lived 
 at Craven Towers after their marriage she had shown by 
 every means in her power her desire to be to him the 
 comrade he had asked her to be. And he had repelled
 
 266 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 her. He had feared himself and the strength of his reso- 
 lution. Now, as he thought of it with bitter self-reproach, 
 he realised how much more he could have done to make 
 her life easier, to smooth the difficulties of their 
 relationship. Instead he had added to them, and under 
 the strain he had broken down, not she. The egoism 
 he had thought conquered had triumphed over him again 
 to his undoing. Crushing shame filled him, but regrets 
 were useless. The past was past what of the future? 
 He was going back to her. He was to have the torturing 
 happiness of seeing her again but what would his 
 re-entry into her life mean to her? What had these two 
 years of which he knew nothing done for her? There 
 had been an accumulated mail waiting for him at Lagos. 
 She had written regularly but she had told him noth- 
 ing. Her short letters had been filled with inquiries for 
 the mission, references to Peters' occasional visits to 
 Paris, trivialities of the weather stilted laborious com- 
 munications in which he read effort and constraint. How 
 would she receive him would she even receive him at 
 all? It seemed incredible that she should. He knew 
 her innate gentleness, the selflessness of her disposition, 
 but he knew also that there was a limit to all things. 
 Would she not see in his return the reappearance of a 
 master, a jailer who would curb even that small measure 
 of freedom that had been hers? For bound to him the 
 freedom he had promised her was a mockery. And how 
 was he to explain his prolonged absence? She could not 
 have failed to see some mention of the return of the 
 medical mission, to have wondered why he still lingered 
 in Africa. The letter he had written and entrusted to 
 Yoshio could never now be delivered. She must not 
 learn what he had meant her to know only after his 
 death. He could not explain, he must leave her to put 
 whatever interpretation she would upon it. And wha*
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 267 
 
 but the most obvious could she put? He writhed in 
 sudden agony of mind, and the physical pain the abrupt 
 movement caused was easiei to bear than the thought of 
 her scorn. It was all so hopetess, so complicated. He 
 turned from it with a weary sigh and fell to dreaming of 
 the woman herself. 
 
 The tent had grown quite dark. Outside the camp 
 noises were dying away. The sound of subdued voices 
 reached him occasionally, and once or twice he heard 
 Yoshio speak to some passer by. 
 
 Then, not far away, the mournful chant of a singer 
 rose clearly out of the evening stillness, penetrating and 
 yet curiously soft a plaintive little desert air of haunt- 
 ing melancholy, vibrant with passion. It stopped 
 abruptly as it had begun and Craven was glad when it 
 ended. It chimed too intimately with his own sad 
 thoughts and longings. He was relieved when Yoshio 
 came presently to light the lamp and attend to his wants. 
 The Jap chatted with unusual animation as he went 
 about his duties and Craven let him talk uninterrupted. 
 The functions of nurse and valet were quickly carried 
 through and in a short time preparations for the night 
 were finished and Yoshio, wrapped in a blanket, asleep 
 at the foot of Craven's bed. He had scarcely closed his 
 eyes since the day before the punitive force set out, but 
 tonight, conscious that his vigilance might be relaxed* 
 he slept heavily. 
 
 Craven himself could not sleep. He lay listening to 
 his servant's even breathing, looking at the tiny flame of 
 the little lamp, which was small enough not to add to 
 the heat of the tent and too weak to illuminate it more 
 than partially, thinking deeply. He strove to stem the 
 current of his thoughts, to keep his mind a blank, or to 
 concentrate on trivialities he followed with exaggerated 
 interest the swift erratic course of a bat that had flown
 
 *68 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 in through the open door flap, counted the familiar 
 objects around him showing dimly in the flickering light, 
 counted innumerable sheep passing through the tra- 
 ditional gate, counted the seconds represented in the 
 periodical silences that punctuated a cicada's monotonous 
 shrilling. But always he found himself harking back to 
 the problem of the future that he could not banish from 
 his mind. His mental distress reacted on his body. He 
 grew restless, but every movement was still attended by 
 pain and he compelled himself to lie still, though his 
 limbs twitched almost uncontrollably. He was infinitely 
 weary of the forced posture that was not habitual with 
 him, infinitely weary of himself. 
 
 The moon rose late, but when it came its clear white 
 light filled the tent with a cold brilliance that killed the 
 feeble efforts of the little lamp and intensified the shadows 
 where its rays did not penetrate. Craven looked at 
 the silvery beam streaming across the room, and quite 
 suddenly he thought of the moonlight in Japan the 
 moonlight filtering through the tall dark fir trees in the 
 garden of enchantment; he heard the night wind sighing 
 softly round the tiny screen-built house; the air became 
 heavy with the cloying smell of pines and languorous 
 scented flowers, redolent with the well-remembered 
 dreaded fragrance of the perfume she had used. Bathed 
 in perspiration, shuddering with terrible prescience, he 
 stared wild-eyed at the moonlit strip where a nebulous 
 form was rising and gathering into definite shape. An 
 icy chill ran through him. Suffocated with the rapid 
 pounding of his heart, sick with horror at the impending 
 vision he knew to be inevitable, he watched the shadowy 
 figure slowly substantiate into the semblance of a living, 
 breathing body. Not intangible as she had always 
 appeared before, but material as she had been in life, 
 she stood erect in the brilliant pathway of light, facing
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 269 
 
 him. He could see the outline of her slender limbs, 
 solid against the shimmering background; he could mark 
 the rise and fall of the bosom on which her delicate hands 
 lay clasped; he recognised the very obi that she wore 
 his last gift, sent from Tokio during his three weeks* 
 absence. The little oval face was placid and serene, but 
 he waited, with fearful apprehension, for the fast closed 
 eyes to open and reveal the agony he knew that he would 
 see in them. He prayed that they might open soon, that 
 his torture might be brief, but the terrible reality of her 
 presence seemed to paralyse him. He could not turn 
 his eyes away, could not move a muscle of his throbbing, 
 shivering body. She seemed to sway, gently, almost 
 imperceptibly, from side to side as though she waited 
 for some sign or impellent force to guide her. Then with 
 horrible dread he became aware that she was coming 
 slowly, glidingly, toward him and the spell that had 
 kept him motionless broke and he shrank back among 
 the pillows, his sound hand clenched upon the covering 
 over him, his parched lips moving in dumb supplication. 
 Nearer she came and nearer till at last she stood beside 
 him and he wondered, in the freezing coldness that 
 settled round his heart, did her coming presage death 
 had her soul been sent to claim his that had brought 
 upon her such fearful destruction? A muffled cry that 
 was scarcely human broke from him, his eyes dilated and 
 the clammy sweat poured down his face as she bent 
 toward him and he saw the dusky lashes tremble on her 
 dead white cheek and knew that in a second the anguished 
 eyes would open to him in all their accusing awful- 
 ness. The bed shook with the spasm that passed 
 through him. Slowly the heavy lids were raised and 
 Craven looked once more into the misty depths of the 
 great grey eyes that were the facsimile of his own. Then 
 a tearing sob of wonderful and almost unbelievable relief
 
 270 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 escaped him, for the agony he dreaded was not visible 
 the face so close to his was the face of the happy girl 
 who had loved him before the knowledge of despair had 
 touched her, the tender luminous eyes fixed on him 
 were alight with trust and adoration. Lower and lower 
 she bent and he saw the parted lips curve in a smile of 
 exquisite welcome or was it farewell? For as he waited, 
 scarcely breathing and tense with a new wild hope, the 
 definite outline of her figure seemed to fade and tremble; 
 a cold breath like the impress of a ghostly kiss lay for 
 an instant on his forehead, he seemed to hear the faint 
 thin echo of a whispered word and she was gone. Had 
 she ever been at all? Exhausted, he had no strength to 
 probe what had passed, he was only conscious of a firm 
 conviction that he would never see again the dreaded 
 vision that had haunted him. His rigid limbs relaxed, 
 and with a gasping prayer of unutterable thankfulness 
 he turned his face to the darkness and broke down com- 
 pletely, crying like a child, burying his head in the pillow 
 lest Yoshio should be awakened by the sound of his ter- 
 rible sobs. And, presently, worn out, he fell asleep. 
 
 It was nearly mid-day when he woke again, in less pain 
 and feeling stronger than the day before. 
 
 The vision of the previous night was vivid in his recol- 
 lection, but he would not let himself ponder it. It was 
 to him. a message from the dead, an almost sacred sign 
 that the spirit of the woman he had wronged was at rest 
 and had vouchsafed the forgiveness for which he had 
 never hoped. He would rather have it so. He shrank 
 from brutally dissecting impressions that might after all 
 be only the result of remorse working on a fevered imag- 
 ination. The peace that had come to him was too precious 
 to be lightly let go. She had forgiven him though he 
 could never forgive himself. 
 
 But despite the tranquillizing sense of pardon he felt
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 271 
 
 he knew that the penalty of his fault was not yet paid, 
 that it would never be paid. The tragic memory of little 
 O Hara San still rose between him and happiness. He 
 was still bound, still trapped in the pit he had himself 
 dug. He was unclean, unfit, debarred by his sin from 
 following the dictates of his heart. A deep sadness and 
 an overwhelming sense of loss filled him as he thought of 
 the woman he had married. She was his wife, he loved 
 her passionately, longed for her with all the strength of 
 his ardent nature, but, sin-stained, he dared not claim 
 her. In her spotless purity she was beyond his desire. 
 And because of him she must go through life robbed of 
 her woman's heritage. In marrying her he had wronged 
 her irreparably. He had always known it, but at the 
 time there had seemed no other course open to him. 
 Yet surely there must have been some alternative if he 
 had set himself seriously to find it. But had he? Dog- 
 gedly he argued that he had that personal consideration 
 had not swayed him in his decision. But even as he 
 persisted in his assertion accusing conscience rose up and 
 stripped from him the last shred of personal deception 
 that had blinded him, and he acknowledged to himself 
 that he had married her that she might not become the 
 wife of any other man. He had been the meanest kind 
 of dog in the manger. At the time he had not realised 
 it he had thought himself influenced solely by her need, 
 Dot his. But his selfishness seemed very patent to him 
 now. And what was to be the end of it? How was he 
 ever to compensate for the wrong done her? 
 
 Yoshio's entry put a stop to introspection that was 
 both bitter and painful. And when he left him an hour 
 later Craven was in no mood to resume speculation that 
 was futile and led nowhere. He had touched bedrock 
 he could not think worse of himself than he did. The 
 less he thought of himself the better. His immediate
 
 272 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 business seemed to be to get well as quickly as possible 
 and return to England beyond that he could not see. 
 The sound of Said's voice outside was a welcome relief. 
 He appeared to be arguing with Yoshio, who was 
 obstinately refusing him entrance. Craven cut short the 
 discussion. 
 
 "Let the Sheik come in, Yoshio!" he called, and 
 laughed at the weakness of his own voice. But it was 
 strong enough to carry as far as the tent door, and, with 
 a flutter of draperies, the Arab Chief strode in. He 
 grasped Craven's outstretched hand and stood looking 
 down on him for a moment with a broad smile on his 
 handsome face. "Enfin, mon brave, I thought I should 
 never see you! Always you were asleep, or so it was 
 reported to me," he said with a laugh, dropping to his 
 heels on the mat and lighting a cigarette. Then he gave 
 a. quick searching glance at the bandaged figure on the 
 .bed and laughed again. 
 
 "You ought to be dead, you know, would have been 
 'dead if it hadn't been for that man of yours," with a 
 backward jerk of his head toward the door. "You owe 
 him your life, my friend. You know he came with us 
 that night, borrowed a horse and the burnous you 
 wouldn't wear, and kept out of sight till the last minute. 
 He was close behind you when we charged, lost you in 
 the melee, and found you again just in the nick of time. 
 I was cut off from you myself for the moment, but I saw 
 you wounded, saw him break a way through to you and 
 then saw you both go down. I thought you were done 
 for. It was just then the tide turned in our favour and 
 I managed to reach you, with no hope of finding you 
 aliv. I was never more astonished in my life than when 
 I saw that little devil of a Japanese crawl out from under 
 a heap of men and horses dragging you after him. He 
 was bruised and dazed, he didn't know friend from foe,
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 273 
 
 but he had enough sense left to know that you were alive 
 and he meant to keep you so. He laid you out on the 
 sand and he sat on you you can laugh, but it's true 
 and blazed away with his revolver at everybody who 
 came near, howling his national war cry till I wept with 
 laughter. And after it was all over he snarled like a 
 panther when I tried to touch you, and, refusing any 
 assistance, carried you back here on the saddle in front 
 of him and you were no light weight. A man, by 
 Allah!" he concluded enthusiastically. Craven smiled 
 at the Arab's graphic description, but he found it in his 
 heart to wish that Yoshio's zeal had not been so forward 
 and so successful. But there were other lives than his 
 that had been involved. 
 
 "Omar?" he asked anxiously. The laughter died 
 abruptly from Said's eyes and his face grew grave. 
 
 "Dead," he said briefly; "he did not try to live. 
 Life held nothing for him without Safiya," he added, 
 with an expressive shrug that was eloquent of his inability 
 to understand such an attitude. 
 
 "And she ?" 
 
 "Killed herself the night she was taken. Her abduc- 
 tor got no pleasure of her and Omar's honour was un- 
 smirched though he never knew it, poor devil. He 
 killed his man," added Said, with a smile of grim satis- 
 faction. "It made no difference, he was renegade, a 
 traitor, ripe for death. The Chief fell to my lot. It was 
 from him I learned about Safiya he talked before he 
 died." The short hard laugh that followed the meaning 
 words was pure Arab. He lit another cigarette and for 
 some time sat smoking silently, while Craven lay looking 
 into space trying not to envy the dead man who had 
 found the rest that he himself had been denied. 
 
 To curb the trend of his thoughts he turned again to 
 Said. Animation had vanished from the Arab's face,
 
 274 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 and he was staring gloomily at the strip of carpet on 
 which he squatted. His dejected bearing did not betoken 
 the conqueror he undoubtedly was. That his brother's 
 death was a deep grief to him Craven knew without 
 telling, but he guessed that something more than regret 
 for Omar was at the bottom of his depression. 
 
 "It was decisive, I suppose," he said, rather vaguely, 
 thinking of the action of four days ago. Said nodded. 
 "It was a rout," he said with a hint of contempt in his 
 voice. "Dogs who could plunder and kill when no 
 resistance was offered, but when it came to a fight they 
 had no stomach for it. Yet they were men once, and, 
 like fools, we thought they were men still. They had 
 talked enough, bragged enough, by Allah! and it is true 
 there were a few who rallied round their Chief. But the 
 rank and file bah ! " He spat his cigarette on to the 
 floor with an air of scorn. "It promised well enough at 
 first," he grumbled. "I thought we were going to have 
 an opportunity of seeing what stuff my men were made 
 of. But they had no organisation. After the first half 
 hour we did what we liked with them. It was a walk 
 over," he added in English, about the only words he 
 knew. 
 
 Craven laughed at his disgusted tone. 
 
 "And you, who were spoiling for a fight! No luck, 
 Sheik." 
 
 Said looked up with a grin, but it passed quickly, 
 leaving his face melancholy as before. Craven made a 
 guess at the trouble. 
 
 "It will make a difference to you Omar's death, I 
 mean," he suggsted. 
 
 Said gave a little harsh laugh. 
 
 "Difference!" he echoed bitterly. "It is the end 
 of everything," and he made a violent gesture with his 
 hands. "I must give up my regiment," he went on
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 275 
 
 drearily, "my comrades, my racing stable in France 
 all I care for and that makes life pleasant to me. For 
 what? To rule a tribe who have become too powerful 
 to have enemies; to listen to interminable tales of theft 
 and disputed inheritances and administer justice to 
 people who swear by the Koran and then lie in your 
 face; to marry a wife and beget sons that the tribe of 
 Mukair Ibn Zarrarah may not die out. Grand Dieu, 
 what a life!" The tragic misery of his voice left no 
 doubt as to his sincerity. And Craven, who knew him, 
 was not inclined to doubt. The expedient that had been 
 adopted in Said's case was justifiable while he remained 
 a younger son with no immediate prospect of succeeding 
 to the leadership of the tribe there had always been the 
 hope that Omar's wife would eventually provide an heir 
 but as events had turned out it had been a mistake, 
 totally unfitting him for the part he was now called 
 upon to play. His innate European tendencies, inex- 
 plicable both to himself and to his family, had been 
 developed and strengthened by association with the French 
 officers among whom he had been thrown, and who had 
 welcomed him primarily as the representative of a power- 
 ful desert tribe and then, very shortly afterwards, for 
 himself. His personal charm had won their affections 
 and he had very easily become the most popular native 
 officer in the regiment. Courted and feted, shown off, 
 and extolled for his liberality of mind and purse, his own 
 good sense had alone prevented him from becoming com- 
 pletely spoiled. To the impecunious Frenchmen his 
 wealth was a distinct asset in his favour, for racing was 
 the ruling passion in the regiment, and the fine horses 
 he was able to provide insured to them the preservation 
 of the inter-regimental trophy that had for some years 
 past graced their mess table. He had thrown himself 
 into the life whole-heartedly, becoming more and more
 
 276 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 influenced by western thought and culture, but without 
 losing his own individuality. He had assimilated the 
 best of civilization without acquiring its vices. But the 
 experience was not likely to conduce to his future hap- 
 piness. Craven thought of the life led by the Spahi in 
 Algiers, and during periods of leave in Paris, and con- 
 trasted it with the life that was lying before him, a 
 changed and very different existence. He foresaw the 
 difficulties that would have to be met, the problems that 
 would arise, and above all he understood Said's chief 
 objection the marriage from which his misogynous sou] 
 recoiled. Like himself the Arab was facing a crisis that 
 was momentous. Two widely different cases but 
 analogous nevertheless. While he was working out his 
 salvation in England Said would be doing the same in 
 his desert fastness. The thought strengthened his 
 friendship for the despondent young Arab. He would 
 have given much to be able to help him but his natural 
 reserve kept him silent. He had made a sufficient 
 failure of his own life. He did not feel himself com- 
 petent to offer advice to another. 
 
 "It's a funny world," he said with a hah 5 sigh, 
 "though I suppose it isn't the world that's at fault but 
 the people who live in it," and in his abstraction he 
 spoke in his own language. 
 
 "Plait-tt?" Said's puzzled face recalled him to him- 
 self and he translated, adding: "It's rotten luck for 
 you, Sheik, but it's kismet. All things are ordained," 
 he concluded almost shyly, feeling himself the worst kind 
 of Job's comforter. The Arab shrugged. "To those 
 who believe," he repeated gloomily, "and I, my friend, 
 have no beliefs. What would you? All my life I have 
 doubted, I have never been an orthodox Mohammedan 
 though I have had to keep my ideas to myself bien 
 entmdul And the last few years I have lived among
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 277 
 
 men who have no faith, no god, no thought beyond the 
 world and its pleasures. Islam is nothing to me. 'The 
 will of Allah the peace of Allah,' what are they but 
 words, empty meaningless words! What peace did 
 Allah give to Omar, who was a strict believer? What 
 peace has Allah given to my father, who sits all day hi 
 his tent mourning for his first-born? I swear myself by 
 Allah and by the Prophet, but it is from custom, not from 
 any feeling I attach to the terms. I have read a French 
 translation of a life of Mohammed written by an Ameri- 
 can. I was not impressed. It did not tend to make me 
 look with any more favour on his doctrine. I have my 
 own religion I do not lie, I do not steal, I do not break 
 my word. Does the devout follower of the Prophet invari- 
 ably do as much? You know, and I know, that he does 
 not. Wherein then is he a better man than I? And if 
 there be a future life, which I am quite open to admit, 
 I am inclined to think that my qualifications will be as 
 good as any true son of the faith," he laughed unmirth- 
 f ully, and swung to his feet. 
 
 "There are other religions," said Craven awkwardly. 
 He had no desire to proselytise and avoided religious dis- 
 cussions as much as possible, but Said's confidence had 
 touched him. He was aware that to no one else would 
 the Arab have spoken so frankly. But Said shook his 
 head. 
 
 "I will keep my own religion. It will serve," he said 
 shortly. Then he shrugged again as if throwing aside 
 the troubles that perplexed him and looked down on 
 Craven with a quick laugh. "And you, my poor friend, 
 who had so much better have taken the burnous I offered 
 you, you will stay and watch the metamorphosis of the 
 Spahi, hein?" 
 
 "I wish I could,'* said Craven with an answering 
 smile, "but I have my own work waiting for me in Eng-
 
 278 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 land. I'll have to go as soon as I'm sufficiently patched 
 up." 
 
 Said nodded gravely. He was perfectly well aware 
 of the fact that Craven had deliberately sought death 
 when he had ridden with the tribe against their enemies. 
 That a change had come over him since the night of the 
 raid was plainly visible even to one less astute than the 
 sharp-eyed Arab, and his expressed intention of return- 
 ing to England confirmed the fact. What had caused 
 the change did not seem to matter, enough that, to Said, 
 it marked a return to sanity. For it had been a fit of 
 madness, of course in no other light could he fregard it. 
 But since it had passed and his English friend was once 
 more in full possession of his senses he could only acquiesce 
 in a decision that personally he regretted. He would 
 like to have kept him with him indefinitely. Craven 
 stood for the past, he was a link with the life the Franco- 
 phile Arab was reluctantly surrendering. But it was 
 not the moment to argue. Craven looked suddenly 
 exhausted, and Yoshio who had stolen in noiselessly, 
 was standing at the head of the bed beyond the 
 range of his master's eyes making urgent signals to the 
 visitor to go. 
 
 With a jest and a cheery word Said obediently removed 
 his picturesque person.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was nearly four months before Craven left the camp 
 of Mukair Ibn Zarrarah. His injuries had healed 
 quickly and he had rapidly regained his former strength. 
 He was anxious to return to England without delay, but 
 he had yielded to Said's pressing entreaties to wait until 
 they could ride to Algiers together. There had been 
 much for the young Sheik to do. He was already virtual 
 leader of the tribe. Mukair Ibn Zarrarah, elderly when 
 his sons had been born, had aged with startling sudden- 
 ness since the death of Omar. He had all at once become 
 an old man, unable to rally from the shock of his bereave- 
 ment, bewailing the fate of his elder and favourite son, 
 and trembling for the future of his beloved tribe left 
 to the tender mercies of a man he now recognised to 
 be more Frenchman than Arab. He exaggerated every 
 Francophile tendency he saw in Said and cursed the 
 French as heartily as ever Omar had done, forgetting 
 that he himself was largely responsible for the inclina- 
 tions he objected to. And his terrors were mainly 
 imaginary. A few innovations Said certainly instituted 
 but he was too astute to make any material changes in 
 the management of his people. They were loyal and 
 attached to the ruling house and he was clever enough to 
 leave well alone; broad-minded enough to know that he 
 could not run a large and scattered tribe on the same 
 plan as a regiment of Spahis; philosophical enough to 
 realise that he had turned down a page in his life's his- 
 tory and must be content to follow, more or less, in the 
 footsteps of his forebears. The fighting men were with 
 
 279
 
 880 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 him solidly, even those who had been inclined to object 
 to his European tactics had, in view of his brilliant 
 generalship, been obliged to concede him the honour that 
 was his due. For his victory had not been altogether 
 the walkover he had airily described to Craven. The 
 older men the headmen in particular more prejudiced 
 still, who, like Mukair Ibn Zarrarah, had centred all then* 
 hopes on Omar, were beginning to comprehend that their 
 fears of Said's rule were unfounded and that his long 
 sojourn among the hated dominant race had neither 
 impaired his courage nor fostered practices abhorrent to 
 them. Craven watched with interest the gradual estab- 
 lishment of mutual goodwill between the young Sheik 
 and his petty Chiefs. Since his recovery he had attended 
 several of the councils called in consequence of the old 
 Sheik's retirement from active leadership of the tribe, 
 and he had been struck by Said's restrained and con- 
 ciliatory attitude toward his headmen. He had met 
 them half-way, sinking his own inclinations and disarm- 
 ing their suspicions of him. At the same time he had 
 let it be clearly understood that he meant to be absolute 
 as his father had been. In spite of the civilisation that 
 had bitten so deeply he was still too much an Arab, too 
 much the son of Mukair Abn Zarrarah, to be anything 
 but an autocrat at heart. And his assumption of power 
 had been favourably looked upon by the minor Chiefs. 
 They were used to being ruled by an iron hand and would 
 have despised a weak leader. They had feared the effects 
 of foreign influence, dreaded a regime that might have 
 lessened the prestige of the tribe. Their doubts set at rest 
 they had rallied with enthusiasm round their new Chief. 
 As soon as he had been able to get about again Craven 
 had visited Mukair Ibn Zarrarah in his darkened tent 
 and been shocked at his changed appearance. He could 
 hardly believe that the bowed stricken figure who barely
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 281 
 
 heeded his entrance, but, absorbed in grief, continued to 
 sway monotonously to and fro murmuring passages from 
 the Koran alternately with the name of his dead son, was 
 the vigorous alert old man he had seen only a few weeks 
 before dominating a frensaed crowd with the strength of 
 his personality and addressing them in tones that had 
 carried to the furthest extent of the listening multitude. 
 Crushing sorrow and the weight of years suddenly felt had 
 changed him into a wreck that was fast falling to pieces. 
 
 Said had followed him out into the sunshine. 
 
 "You see how it is with him," he said. "I cannot 
 leave him now. As soon as possible I will go to Algiers 
 to give in my resignation and smooth matters with the 
 Government. We shall not be in very good odour over 
 this affair. We have kept the peace so long in this quar- 
 ter of the country that deliberate action on our part will 
 take a lot of explaining. They will admit provocation 
 but will blame our mode of retaliation. They may 
 blame!" he laughed and shrugged. "I shall be called 
 hasty, ill-advised. The Governor will haul me over the 
 coals unmercifully you know him, that fat old Faid- 
 herbe? He is always trembling for his position, seeing 
 an organized revolt in the petty squabbles of every little 
 tribe, and fearful of an outbreak that might lead to his 
 recall. A mountain of flesh with the heart of a chicken! 
 He will rave and shout and talk a great deal about the 
 beneficent French administration and the ingratitude of 
 Chiefs like myself who add to the Government's difficul- 
 ties. But my Colonel will back me up, unofficially of 
 course, and his word goes with the Governor. A very 
 different man, by Allah! It would be a good thing for 
 this country if he were where Faidherbe is. But he is 
 only a soldier and no politician, so he is likely to end his 
 days a simple Colonel of Spahis. " 
 
 As they moved away from the tent they discussed the
 
 282 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 French methods of administration as carried out in 
 Algeria, and Craven learned a great deal that astonished 
 him and would also have considerably astonished the 
 Minister of the Interior sitting quietly in his office in the 
 Place Beauveau. Said had seen and heard much. His 
 known sympathies had made him the recipient of many 
 confidences and even his Francophile tendencies had not 
 blinded him to evils that were rampant, corruption and 
 double dealing, bribes freely offered and accepted by 
 highly placed officials, fortunes amassed in crooked 
 speculations with Government money the faults of 
 individuals who had abused their official positions and 
 exploited the country they had been sent to administer. 
 
 As Craven listened to these frank revelations from the 
 only honest Arab he had ever met he wondered what 
 effect Said's intimate knowledge would have upon his 
 life, how far it would influence him, and what were likely 
 to be his future relations with the masters of the country. 
 With a Chief less broadminded and of less innate integ- 
 rity the result might easily be disastrous. But Said 
 had had larger experience than most Arab Chiefs and his 
 adherence to the French was due to what he had seen in 
 France rather than to what had been brought to his 
 notice in Algeria. 
 
 It was early in January when they started on the long 
 ride across the desert. For some weeks Craven had been 
 impatient to get away, only his promise to Said kept him. 
 
 It was a large cavalcade that left the oasis, for the new 
 Chief required a bigger escort to support his dignity than 
 the Captain of Spahis had done. The days passed with- 
 out incident. Despite Craven's desire to reach England 
 the journey was in every way enjoyable. When he had 
 actually started his restlessness decreased, for each suc- 
 cessive sunrise meant a day nearer home. And Said, 
 too, had thrown off the depression and new gravity that
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 283 
 
 had come to him and talked more hopefully of the future. 
 As they travelled northward they reached a region of 
 greater cultivation and in their route passed some of the 
 big fruit /farms that were becoming more and more a 
 feature of the country. Spots of beauty in the wilder- 
 ness, carved out of arid desert by patience and perse- 
 verance and threatened always by the devastating locust, 
 though no longer subjected to the Arab raids that had 
 been a daily menace twenty or thirty years before. The 
 motley gangs of European and native workers toiling 
 more or less diligently in the vineyards and among the 
 groves of fruit trees invariably collected to watch the 
 passing of the Sheik's troop, a welcome break in the 
 monotony of their existence, and once or twice Said 
 accepted the hospitality of farmers he knew. 
 
 Craven stayed only one night in Algiers. When writ- 
 ing home from Lagos he had given, without expecting to 
 make use of it, an address in Algiers to which letters 
 might be sent, but when he called at the office the morn- 
 ing after his arrival he found that owing to the mistake 
 of a clerk his mail had been returned to England. The 
 lack of news made him uneasy. He was gripped by a 
 sudden fear that something might have happened to 
 Gillian, and he wondered whether he should go first to 
 Paris, to the flat he had taken for her. But second 
 thoughts decided him to adhere to his original intention 
 of proceeding straight to Craven surely she must by this 
 time have returned to the Towers. 
 
 There was nothing to do but telegraph to Peters that 
 he was on his way home and make arrangements for 
 leaving Africa at the earliest opportunity. He found 
 there was no steamer leaving for Marseilles for nearly a 
 week but he was able to secure berths for himself and 
 Yoshio on a coasting boat crossing that night to 
 Gibraltar, and at sunset he was on board waving fare-
 
 284 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 well to Said, who had come down to the quay to see the 
 last of him, and was standing a distinctive figure among 
 the rabble of loafers and water-side loungers of all 
 nationalities who congregated night and morning to 
 watch the arrival and departure of steamers. The tide 
 was out and the littered fore-shore was lined with fishing- 
 boats drawn up in picturesque confusion, and in the 
 shallow water out among the rocks bare-legged native 
 women were collecting shell fish and seaweed into great 
 baskets fastened to their backs, while naked children 
 splashed about them or stood with their knuckles to their 
 teeth to watch the thrashing paddle wheels of the little 
 steamer as she churned slowly away from the quay. 
 Craven leant on the rail of the ship, a pipe between his 
 teeth he had existed for the last four months on Said's 
 cigarettes and waved a response to the young Sheik's 
 final salute, then watched him stalk through the 
 heterogeneous crowd to where two of his mounted fol- 
 lowers were waiting for him holding his own impatient 
 horse. He saw him mount and the passers-by scatter as 
 the three riders set off with the usual Arab impetuosity, 
 and then a group of buildings hid him from sight. 
 
 The idlers by the waterside held no interest for Craven, 
 he was too used to them, too familiar with the riff-raff of 
 foreign ports even to glance at them. But he lingered 
 for a moment to look up at the church of Notre Dame 
 d'Afrique that, set high above the harbour and standing 
 out sharply against the skyline, was glowing warmly in 
 the golden rays of the setting sun. 
 
 Then he went below to the stuffy little cabin where 
 dinner was waiting. 
 
 The next four days he kicked his heels impatiently in 
 Gibraltar waiting to pick up a passage on a home bound 
 Indian boat. When it came it was half empty, as was 
 to be expected at that time of year, and the gale they
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 285 
 
 ran into immediately drove the majority of the pas- 
 sengers into the saloons, and Craven was able to tramp 
 the deck in comparative solitude without having to listen 
 to the grumbles of shivering Anglo-Indians returning 
 home at an unpropitious season. In a borrowed oilskin 
 he spent hours watching the storm, looking at the white 
 topped waves that piled up against the ship and 
 threatened to engulf her, then slid astern in a welter of 
 spray. The savage beauty of the sea fascinated him, 
 and the heavy lowering clouds that drove rapidly across 
 a leaden sky, and the stinging whip of the wind formed 
 a welcome change after more than two years of pitiless 
 African sun and intense heat. 
 
 They passed up the Thames dead slow in a dense fog 
 that grew thicker and murkier as they neared the docks, 
 but they berthed early enough to enable Craven to catch 
 a train that would bring him home in time for dinner. 
 It was better than wasting a night in London. 
 
 He had a compartment to himself and spent the time 
 staring out of the misty rain-spattered windows, a prey 
 to violent anxiety and impatience. The five-hour journey 
 had never seemed so long. He had bought a number of 
 papers and periodicals but they lay unheeded on the seat 
 beside him. He was out of touch with current events, 
 and had stopped at the bookstall more from force of 
 habit than from any real interest. He had wired to Peters 
 again from the docks. Would she be waiting for 
 him at the station? It was scarcely probable. Their 
 meeting could not be other than constrained, the plat- 
 form of a wayside railway station was hardly a suitable 
 place. And why in heaven's name should she do him so 
 much honour? He had no right to expect it, no right 
 to expect anything. That she should be even civil to 
 him was more than he deserved. Would she be changed 
 in any way? God, how he longed to see her! His heart
 
 286 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 beat furiously even at the thought. With his coat collar 
 turned up about his ears and his cap pulled down over 
 his eyes he shivered in a corner of the cold carriage and 
 dreamed of her as the hours drew out in maddening slow- 
 ness. Outside it was growing dusk and the window 
 panes had become too steamy for him to recognise familiar 
 landmarks. The train seemed to crawl. There had been 
 an unaccountable wait at the last stopping place, and 
 they did not appear to be making up the lost time. 
 
 It was a strange homecoming, he thought suddenly. 
 Stranger even than when, rather more than six years 
 ago, he had travelled down to Craven with his aunt and 
 the shy silent girl whom fate and John Locke had made 
 his ward. Was she also thinking of that time and wish- 
 ing that a kinder future had been reserved for her? Was 
 she shrinking from his coming, deploring the day he had 
 ever crossed her path? It was unlikely that she could 
 feel otherwise toward him. He had done nothing to 
 make her happy, everything to make her unhappy. 
 With a stifled groan he leant forward and buried his face 
 in his hands, loathing himself. How would she meet 
 him? Suppose she refused to resume the equivocal rela- 
 tionship that had been fraught with so much misery, 
 refused to surrender the greater freedom she had enjoyed 
 during his absence, claimed the right to live her own life 
 apart from him. It would be only natural for her to do 
 so. And morally he would have no right to refuse her. 
 He had forfeited that. And in any case it was not a 
 question of his allowing or refusing anything, it was a 
 question solely of her happiness and her wishes. 
 
 Darkness had fallen when the train drew up with a jerk 
 and he stepped out on to the little platform. It was a 
 cheerless night and the wind tore at him as he peered 
 through the gloom and the driving rain, wondering 
 whether anybody had come to meet him. Then he made
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 287 
 
 out Peters' sturdy familiar figure standing under the 
 feeble light of a flickering lamp. Craven hurried 
 toward him with a smile softening his face. His life had 
 been made up of journeys, it seemed to him suddenly, 
 and always at the end of them was Peters waiting for 
 him, Peters who stuck to the job he himself shirked, 
 Peters who stood loyally by an employer he must in his 
 heart despise, Peters whose boots he was not fit to clean. 
 
 The two men met quietly, as if weeks not years had 
 elapsed since they had parted on the same little platform. 
 
 "Beastly night," grumbled the agent, though his 
 indifference to bad weather was notorious, "must feel it 
 cold after the tropics. I brought a man to help Yoshio 
 with your kit. Wait a minute while I see that it's all 
 right." He started off briskly, and with the uncomfort- 
 able embarrassment he always felt when Peters chose to 
 emphasise their relative positions, Craven strode after 
 him and grabbed him back with an iron hand. 
 
 "There isn't any need," he said gruffly. "I wish 
 you wouldn't always behave as if you were a kind of 
 upper servant, Peter. It's dam' nonsense. Yoshio is 
 quite capable of looking after the kit, there's very little 
 in any case. I left the bulk of it in Algiers, it wasn't 
 worth bringing along. There are only the gun cases 
 and a couple of bags. We haven't much more than 
 what we stand up in." 
 
 Peters acquiesced good-temperedly and led the way to 
 the closed car that was waiting at the station entrance. 
 As the motor started Craven turned to him eagerly, with 
 the question that had been on his lips for the last ten 
 minutes. 
 
 "How is Gillian?" 
 
 Peters shot a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 "Couldn't say," he said shortly; "she didn't mention 
 her health when she wrote last but then she never 
 does."
 
 288 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "When she wrote " echoed Craven, and his voice 
 
 was dull with disappointment; "isn't she at the Towers? 
 I missed my mail at Algiers some mistake of a fool of a 
 clerk. I haven't had any home news for nearly a year." 
 
 "She is still hi Paris," replied Peters dryly, and to 
 Craven his tone sounded faintly accusing. He frowned 
 and stared out into the darkness for a few minutes with- 
 out speaking, wondering how much Peters knew. He 
 had disapproved of the African expedition, stating his 
 opinion frankly when Craven had discussed it with him, 
 and it was obvious that since then his views had under- 
 gone no change. Craven understood perfectly what 
 those views were and in what light he must appear to 
 him. He could not excuse himself, could give no explana- 
 tion. He doubted very much whether Peters would 
 understand if he did explain his moral code was too 
 simple, his sense of right and wrong too fine to compre- 
 hend or to countenance suicide. Craven also felt sure 
 that had he been aware of the circumstances Peters would 
 not have hesitated to oppose his marriage. Why hadn't 
 he told Peters the whole beastly story when he returned 
 from Japan? Peters had never failed a Craven, he 
 would not have failed him then. He stifled a bitter sigh 
 of useless regret and turned again to his companion. 
 
 "Then I take it the Towers is shut up. Are you giving 
 me a bed at the Hermitage?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "No. I have kept the house open so that it might be 
 ready if at any time your wife suddenly decided to come 
 home. I imagined that would be your wish. " 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course," said Craven hurriedly, "you 
 did quite right. " Then he glanced about him and frowned 
 again thoughtfully. "Isn't this the Daimler Gillian 
 took to France with her surely that is Phillipe driving?" 
 he asked abruptly, peering through the window at the 
 chauffeur's back illuminated by the electric lamp hi the 
 roof of the car.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 289> 
 
 " She sent it back a few months afterwards said she 
 had no need for it," replied Peters. "I kept Phillipe 
 on because he was a better mechanic than the other 
 man. There was no need for two. " 
 
 Craven refrained from comment and relapsed into 
 silence, which was unbroken until they reached the 
 house. 
 
 During dinner the conversation was mainly of Africa 
 and the scientific success of the mission, and of local 
 events, topics that could safely be discussed in the hear- 
 ing of Forbes and the footmen. From time to time 
 Craven glanced about the big room with tightened lips. 
 It seemed chill and empty for lack of the slight girlish 
 figure whose presence had brought sunshine into the 
 great house. If she chose never to return ! It was unthink- 
 able that he could live in it alone, it would be haunted 
 by memories, he would see her in every room. And 
 yet the thought of leaving it again hurt him. He had 
 never known until he had gone to Africa with no intention 
 of returning how dear the place was to him. He had 
 suddenly realised that he was a Craven of Craven, and 
 all that it meant. But without Gillian it was value- 
 less. A shrine without a treasure. An empty symbol 
 that would stand for nothing. Her personality had 
 stamped itself on the house, even yet her influence_lingered 
 in the huge formal dining room where he sat. It had 
 been her whim when they were alone to banish the 
 large table that seemed so preposterously big for two- 
 people and substitute a small round one which was more 
 intimate, and across which it was possible to talk with 
 greater ease. Forbes was a man of fixed ideas and devoted 
 to his mistress. Though absent her wishes were faith- 
 fully carried out. Mrs. Craven had decreed that for less 
 than four people the family board was an archaic and 
 cumbersome piece of furniture, consequently tonight
 
 290 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 the little round table was there, and brought home to 
 Craven even more vividly the sense of her absence. 
 It seemed almost a desecration to see Peters sitting 
 opposite in her place. He grew impatient of the lengthy 
 and ceremonious meal the old butler was superintending 
 with such evident enjoyment, and gradually he became 
 more silent and heedless, responding mechanically and 
 often inaptly to Peters' flow of conversation. He wished 
 now he had obeyed the impulse that had come to him 
 in Algiers to go straight to Paris. By now he would 
 have seen her, have learned his fate, and the whole 
 miserable business would have been settled one way or 
 the other. He could not wonder that she had elected to 
 remain abroad. He had put her in a horrible position. 
 By lingering in Africa after the return of the rest of the 
 mission he had made her an object of idle curiosity and 
 speculation. He had left her as the elder Barry Craven 
 had left his mother, to the mercy of gossip-mongers and 
 to the pity and compassion of her friends which, though 
 ven unexpressed, she must have felt and resented. He 
 glanced at the portrait of the beautiful sad woman in 
 the panel over the mantelpiece and a dull red crept over 
 his face. It was well that his mother had died before 
 ,she realised how completely the idolised son was to 
 follow in the footsteps of the husband who had broken 
 her heart. It was a tradition in the family. From one 
 motive or another the Cravens had consistently been piti- 
 less to their womenkind. And he, the last of them, had 
 gone the way of all the others. A greater shame and 
 bitterness than he had yet felt came to him, and a 
 passionate longing to undo what he had done. And 
 what was left for him to do was so pitifully little. But 
 he would do it without further delay, he would start for 
 Paris the next day. Even the few hours of waiting seemed 
 almost unbearable. The thought occurred to him to
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 291 
 
 motor to London that night to catch the morning boat 
 train from Victoria, but a glance at his watch convinced 
 him of the impossibility of the idea. Owing to the delay 
 of the train it had been nine o'clock before he reached the 
 Towers. It was ten now. Another hour would be wasted 
 before Phillipe and the car would be ready for the long 
 run. And it was a wicked night to take a man out, the 
 strain of driving under such conditions at top speed 
 through the darkness would be tremendous. Reluctantly 
 he abandoned the project. There was nothing for it but 
 to wait until the morning. 
 
 Forbes at his elbow recalled him to his duties as host. 
 With a murmured apology to Peters he rose to his feet. 
 
 "Coffee in the study, please," he said, and left the 
 room. 
 
 In the study, in chairs drawn up to the blazing fire, 
 the two men smoked for some time in silence. Though 
 consumed ~ ! th anxiety to hear more of his wife Craven 
 felt a certain diffidenc? in mentioning her name, and 
 Peters volunteered nothing. After a time the agent 
 began to speak of the estate. "I want to give an 
 account of my stewardship," he said, with an odd ring 
 in his voice that Craven did not understand. And for 
 the best part of an hour he talked of farms and leases, of 
 cottage property and timber, of improvements and 
 alterations carried out during Craven's absence or in 
 progress, of the conditions under which certain of the 
 bigger houses scattered about the property were let a 
 complete history of the working and management of the 
 estate extending back many years until Craven grew 
 more and more bewildered as to the reason of this 
 detailed revelation that seemed to him somewhat unneces- 
 sary and certainly ill-timed. He did not want to be 
 bothered with business the very moment of his arrival. 
 Peters was punctilious of course, always had been, but
 
 292 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 his stewardship had never been called in question and 
 there was surely no need for this complicated and lengthy 
 narrative of affairs tonight. 
 
 "And then there are the accounts," concluded the 
 agent, in the dry curiously formal voice he had adopted 
 all the evening. Craven made a gesture of protest. 
 "The accounts can wait," he said shortly. "I don't 
 know why on earth you want to bother about all thig 
 tonight, Peter. There will be plenty of time later. Have 
 I ever criticised anything you did? I'm not such a fool. 
 You've forgotten more than I ever knew about the 
 estate. " 
 
 "I should like you to see them," persisted Peters, 
 drawing a big bundle of papers from his pocket and pro- 
 ceeding to remove and roll up with his usual precise neat- 
 ness the tape that confined them. He pushed the typed 
 sheets across the little table. " r Jon't think you will 
 find any error. The estate accounts are all straightfor- 
 ward. But there is an item in the personal accounts 
 that I must ask you to consider. It is a sum of eight 
 thousand pounds standing to your credit that I do not 
 know what to do with. You will remember that when 
 you went to Africa you instructed me to pay your wife 
 four thousand a year during your absence. I have sent 
 her the money every quarter, which she has acknowl- 
 edged. Three months ago the London bank advised me 
 that eight thousand pounds had been paid into your 
 account by Mrs. Craven, the total amount of her allow- 
 ance, in fact, during the time you have been away." 
 
 There was a lengthy pause after Peters stopped speak- 
 ing, and then Craven looked up slowly. 
 
 "I don't understand," he said thickly; "all her allow- 
 ance ! What has she been living on what the devil does 
 it mean?" 
 
 Peters shrugged. "I don't know any more about it
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 293 
 
 than you do. I am simply telling you what is the case. 
 It was not for me to question her on such a matter," he 
 said coldly. 
 
 "But, Good Heavens, man/' began Craven hotly, and 
 then checked himself. He felt stunned by Peters' bald 
 statement of fact, unable, quite, for the moment, to 
 grasp it. Heavens above, how she must hate him! To 
 decline to touch the money he had assured her was hers, 
 not his! On what or on whom had she been living? 
 His face became suddenly congested. Then he put the 
 hateful thought from him. It was not possible to con- 
 nect such a thing with Gillian. Only his own foul mind 
 could have imagined it. And yet, if she had been other 
 than she was, if it had been so, if in her loneliness and 
 misery she had found Love and protection she had been 
 unable to withstand the fault would be his, not hers. 
 He would have driven her to it. He would be responsible. 
 For a moment the room went black. Then, he pulled 
 himself together. Putting the bundle of accounts back 
 on to the table he met steadily Peters' intent gaze. "My 
 wife is quite at liberty to do what she chooses with her 
 own money," he said slowly, "though I admit I don't 
 understand her action. Doubtless she will explain it 
 in due course. Until then the money can continue to 
 lie idle. It is not such a large sum that you need be in 
 such a fierce hurry about it. In any case I am going 
 to Paris tomorrow. I can let you know further when 
 I have seen her." His voice was harsh with the effort 
 it cost him to steady it. "And having seen her what 
 are you going to do to her?" The question, and the 
 manner of asking it, made Craven look at Peters in 
 sudden amazement. The agent's face was stern and 
 curiously pale, high up on his cheek a little pulse was 
 beating visibly and his eyes were blazing direct challenge. 
 Craven's brows drew together slowly.
 
 294 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 Peters leant forward, resting one arm on his knee, and 
 the knuckles of his clenched hand shone white. 
 
 "I asked you in so many words what you were going 
 to do to her," he said, in a voice vibrant with emotion. 
 "You will say it is no business of mine. But I am going 
 to make it my business. Good God, Barry, do you think 
 I've seen nothing all these years? Do you think I can 
 sit down and watch history repeat itself and make no 
 effort to avert it for lack of moral courage? I can't. 
 When you were a boy I had to stand aside and see your 
 mother's heart broken, and I'm damned if I'm going to 
 keep silent while you break Gillian's heart. I loved your 
 mother, the light went out for me when she died. For 
 her sake I carried on here, hoping I might be of use to 
 you because you were her son. And then Gillian came 
 and helped to fill the blank she had left. She honoured 
 me with her friendship, she brought brightness into my 
 life until gradually she has become as dear to me as if 
 she were my own daughter. All I care about is her hap- 
 piness and yours. But she comes first, poor lonely 
 child. Why did you marry her if it was only to leave 
 her desolate again? Wasn't her past history sad enough? 
 She was happy here at first, before your marriage. But 
 afterwards were you blind to the change that came 
 over her? Couldn't you see that she was unhappy? I 
 could. . And I tell you I was hard put to it sometimes to 
 hold my tongue. It wasn't my place to interfere, it 
 wasn't my place to see anything, but I couldn't help seeing 
 what was patent to the eye of anybody who was inter- 
 ested. You left her, and you have come back. For what? 
 You are her husband, in name at any rate oh, yes, 
 I know all about that, I know a great deal more than 
 I am supposed to know, and do you think I am the only 
 one? legally she is bound to you, though I do not doubt
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 295 
 
 she could easily procure her freedom if she so wished, 
 so I ask you again what are you going to do? She 
 is wholly in your power, utterly at your mercy. What 
 more is she to endure at your hands? I am speaking 
 plainly because it seems to me to be a time for plain 
 speaking. I can't help what you think, I am afraid I 
 don't care. You've been like a son to me. I promised 
 your mother on her death-bed that I would never fail 
 you, I could have forgiven you any mortal thing on 
 earth but Gillian. It's Gillian and me, Barry. And if 
 it's a case of fighting for her happiness by God, I'll 
 fight! And now you know why I have told you all that 
 I have tonight, why I have rendered an account of my 
 stewardship. If you want me to go I shall quite under- 
 stand. I know I have exceeded my prerogative but I 
 can't help it. I've left everything in order, easy for 
 
 anybody to take over " Craven's head had sunk 
 
 into his hands, now he sprang to his feet unable to con- 
 trol himself any longer. "Peter for God's sake " 
 
 he cried chokingly, and stumbling to the window he 
 wrenched back the curtain and flung up the sash, lifting 
 his face to the storm of wind and rain that beat in about 
 him, his chest heaving, his arms held rigid to his sides. 
 "Do you think I don't care?" he said at last, 
 brokenly. "Do you think it hasn't nearly killed me to 
 see her unhappiness to be able to do nothing. You 
 don't know I wasn't fit to be near her, to touch her. 
 I hoped by going to Africa to set her free. But I couldn't 
 die. I tried, God knows I tried, by every means in my 
 power short of deliberately blowing my brains out 
 a suicide's widow I couldn't brand her like that. When 
 men were dying around me like flies death passed me 
 by I wasn't fit even for that, I suppose. " He gave 
 a ghastly little mirthless laugh that made Peters wince 
 and came back slowly into the room, heedless of the
 
 296 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 window he had left open, and walked to the fireplace 
 dropping his head on his arm on the mantel. "You 
 asked me just now what I meant to do to her it is not 
 a question of me at all but what Gillian elects to do. I 
 am going to her tomorrow. The future rests with her. 
 If she turns me down and you turn me down I shall 
 go to the devil the quickest way possible. It's not a 
 threat, I'm not trying to make bargains, it's just that 
 I'm at the end of my tether. I've made a damnable 
 mess of my life, I've brought misery to the woman I 
 love. For I do love her, God help me. I married her 
 because I loved her, because I couldn't bear to lose her. 
 I was mad with jealousy. And heaven knows I've been 
 punished for it. My life's been hell. But it doesn't 
 matter about me it's only Gillian who matters, only 
 Gillian who counts for anything." His voice sank into 
 a whisper and a long shudder passed over him. 
 
 The anger had died out of Peters' face and the old 
 tenderness crept back into his eyes as they rested on the 
 tall bowed figure by the fireplace. He rose and went to 
 the window, shutting it and drawing the curtain back 
 neatly into position. Then he crossed the room slowly 
 and laid his hand for an instant on Craven's shoulder 
 with a quick firm pressure that conveyed more than 
 words. "Sit down," he said gruffly, and going back to 
 the little table splashed some whisky into a glass and 
 held it under the syphon. Craven took the drink from 
 him mechanically but set it down barely tasted as he 
 dropped again into the chair he had left a few minutes 
 before. He lit a cigarette, and Peters, as he filled his 
 own pipe, noticed that his hands were shaking. He was 
 silent for a long time, the cigarette, neglected, smoulder- 
 ing between his fingers, his face hidden by his other 
 hand. At last he looked up, his grey eyes filled with an 
 almost desperate appeal.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 297 
 
 "You'll stay, Peter for the sake of the place?" he 
 said unsteadily. "You made it what it is, it would go 
 to pieces if you went. And I can't go without you if 
 you chuck me it will about finish me." 
 
 Peters drew vigorously at his pipe and a momentary 
 moisture dimmed his vision. He was remembering 
 another appeal made to him in thi s very room thirty 
 years before when, after a stormy interview with his 
 employer, the woman he had loved had begged him to 
 remain and save the property for the little son who was 
 her only hold on life. It was the mother's face not the 
 son's he saw before him, the mother's voice that was 
 ringing in his ears. 
 
 " I'll stay, Barry as long as you want me, " he said 
 at length huskily from behind a dense cloud of smoke. 
 A look of intense relief passed over Craven's worn face. 
 He tried to speak and, failing, gripped Peters' hand with 
 a force that left the agent's fingers numb. 
 
 There was another long pause. The blaze of the cheer- 
 ful fire within and the fury of the storm beating against 
 the house without were the only sounds that broke the 
 silence. Peters was the first to speak. 
 
 "You say you are going to her tomorrow do you 
 know where to find her?" 
 
 Craven looked up with a start. 
 
 "Has she moved?" he asked uneasily. Peters stirred 
 uncomfortably and made a little deprecating gesture with 
 his hand. 
 
 "It was a tallish rent, you know. The flat you took 
 was in the most expensive quarter of Paris," he said 
 with reluctance. Craven winced and his hands gripped 
 the arms of his chair. 
 
 "But you you write to her, you have been over 
 several times to see her," he said, with a new trouble 
 coming into his eyes, and Peters turned from his steady 
 stare.
 
 98 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 "Her letters, by her own request, are sent to the 
 bank. I was only once in the flat, shortly after you left. 
 I think she must have given it up almost immediately. 
 Since then when I have run over for a day she never 
 seemed to want me to stay longer we have met in the 
 Louvre or in the gardens of the Tuileries, according to 
 weather, " he said hesitatingly. 
 
 Craven stiffened in his chair. 
 
 "The Louvre the gardens of the Tuileries," he 
 
 gasped, "but what on earth " he broke off with a 
 
 smothered word Peters did not catch, and springing up 
 began to pace the room with his hands plunged deep in 
 his pockets. His face was set and his lips compressed 
 under the neat moustache. His mind was in a ferment, 
 he could hardly trust himself to speak. He halted at 
 last in front of Peters, his eyes narrowing as he gazed 
 down at him. "Do you mean to tell me that you your- 
 self do not know where she is?" he said fiercely. Peters 
 shook his head. "I do not. I wisk to heaven I did. 
 But what could I do? I couldn't question her. She 
 made it plain she had no wish to discuss the subject. 
 The little I did say she put aside. It was not for me to 
 spy on your wife, or employ a detective to shadow her 
 movements, no matter how anxious I felt. " 
 
 "No, you couldn't have done that," said Craven 
 drearily, and turned away. To pursue the matter 
 further, even with Peters, seemed suddenly to him im- 
 possible. He wanted to be alone to think out this new 
 problem, though at the same time he knew that no 
 amount of thought would solve it. He would have to 
 wait with what patience he could until the morning when 
 he would be able to act instead of think. 
 
 His face was expressionless when he turned to Peters 
 again and sat down quietly to discuss business. Hah* 
 an hour later the agent rose to go. "I'll bring up a,
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 299 
 
 checque book and some money in the morning before 
 you start. You won't have time to go to the bank in 
 London. Wire me your address in Paris and bring her 
 back with you, Barry. The whole place misses her," he 
 said with a catch in his voice, stuffing the bundle of 
 papers into his pocket. Craven's reply was inaudible 
 but Peters' heart was lighter than it had been for years 
 as he went out into the hall to get his coat. "Yes, I'm 
 walking," he replied in response to an inquiry, "bit of 
 rain won't hurt me, I'm too seasoned," and he laughed 
 for the first time that evening. 
 
 Going back to the study Craven threw a fresh log on 
 the fire, filled a pipe, and drew a chair close to the 
 hearth. It was past one but he was disinclined for bed. 
 Peters' revelations had staggered him. His brain was 
 on fire. He felt that not until he had found her and 
 got to the bottom of all this mystery would he be able 
 to sleep again. And perhaps not even then, he thought 
 with a quickening heart-beat and a sick fear of what his 
 investigations in Paris might lead to. 
 
 Before leaving England he had snatched time from 
 his African preparations to superintend personally the 
 arrangements for her stay in Paris. He had himself 
 selected the flat and installed her with every comfort and 
 luxury that was befitting his wife. She had demurred 
 once or twice on the score of extravagance, particularly 
 in the case of the car he had insisted on sending over 
 for her use, but he had laughed at her protests and she 
 had ceased to make any further objection, accepting his 
 wishes with the shy gentleness that marked her usual 
 attitude toward him. And she must have hated it all! 
 Why? She was his wife, what was his was hers. He 
 had consistently impressed that on her from the first. 
 But it was obvious that she had never seen it in that 
 light. He remembered her passionate refusal ending
 
 300 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 in tears that had horrified him of the big settlement he 
 had wished to make at the time of their marriage, her 
 distress in taking the allowance he had had to force upon 
 her. Was it only his money she hated, or was it him- 
 self as well? And to what had her hatred driven her? 
 A fiercer gust of wind shrieked round the house, driving 
 the rain in torrents against the window, and as he 
 listened to it splashing sharply on the glass Craven 
 shivered. Where was she tonight? W T hat shelter had 
 she found in the pitiless city of contrasts? Fragile and 
 alone and penniless? His hand clenched until the 
 stem of the pipe he was holding snapped between his 
 fingers and he flung the fragments into the fire, leaning 
 forward and staring into the dying embers with haggard 
 eyes picturing, remembering. He was intimately 
 acquainted with Paris, with two at least of its multi- 
 farious aspects the brilliant Paris of the rich, and the 
 cruel Paris of the struggling student. And yet, after 
 all, what did his knowledge of the latter amount to? It 
 had amused him for a time to live in the Latin quarter 
 it was in a disreputable cabaret on the south side of 
 the river that he had first come across John Locke he 
 had mixed there with all and sundry, rubbing shoulders 
 with the riff-raff of nations; he had seen its vice and 
 destitution, had mingled with its feverish surface gaiety 
 and known its underlying squalor and ugliness, but 
 always as a disinterested spectator, a transient passer 
 by. Always he had had money in his pocket. He had 
 never known the deadly ever present fear that lies coldly 
 at the heart of even the wildest of the greater number 
 of its inhabitants. He had seen but never felt starva- 
 tion. He had never sold his soul for bread. But he 
 had witnessed such a sale, not once or twice but many 
 times. In his carelessness he had accepted it as inevi- 
 table. But the recollection stabbed him now with sudden
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 301 
 
 poignancy. Merciful God, toward what were his thoughts 
 tending! He brushed his hand across his eyes as though 
 to clear away some hideous vision and rose slowly to 
 his feet. The expiring fire fell together with a little 
 crash, flared for an instant and then died down in a 
 smouldering red mass that grew quickly grey and cold. 
 With a deep sigh Craven turned and went heavily from 
 the room. He lingered for a moment in the hall, dimly 
 lit by the single lamp left burning above, listening to 
 the solemn ticking of the clock, that at that moment 
 chimed with unnatural loudness. 
 
 Mechanically he took out his watch and wound it, and 
 then went slowly up the wide staircase. At the head of 
 the stairs he paused again. The great house had never 
 seemed so silent, so empty, so purposeless. The rows of 
 closed doors opening from the gallery seemed like the 
 portals of some huge mausoleum, vacant and chill. A 
 house of desolation that cried to him to fill its emptiness 
 with life and love. With lagging steps he walked half 
 way along the gallery, passing two of the closed doors 
 with averted head, but at the third he stopped abruptly, 
 yielding to an impulse that had come to him. For a 
 moment he hesitated, as though before some holy place 
 he feared to desecrate, then with a quick drawn breath 
 he turned the handle and went in. 
 
 In the darkness his hand sought and found the electric 
 switch by the door, and pressing it the room was flooded 
 with soft shaded light. Peters had spoken only the 
 truth when he said that the house was kept in immediate 
 readiness for its mistress's return. Craven had never 
 crossed the threshold of this room before, and seeing it 
 thus for the first time he could hardly believe that for 
 two years it had been tenantless. She might have gone 
 from it ten minutes before. It was redolent of her 
 presence. The little intimate details were as she had
 
 302 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 left them. A bowl of bronze chrysanthemums stood on 
 the dressing table where lay the tortoise-shell toilet 
 articles given her by Miss Craven. A tiny clock ticked 
 companionably on the mantelpiece. The pain in his 
 eyes deepened as they swept the room with hungry 
 eagerness to take in every particular. Her room! The 
 room from which his unworthiness had barred him. All 
 that he had forfeited rose up before him, and in over- 
 whelming shame and misery a wave of burning colour 
 rolled slowly over his face. Never had the distance 
 between them seemed so wide. Never had her purity 
 and innocence been brought home to him so forcibly as 
 in this spotless white chamber. Its simplicity and fresh 
 almost austere beauty seemed the reflection of her own 
 stainless soul and the fierce passion that was consuming 
 him seemed by contrast hideous and brutal. It was as 
 if he had violated the sanctuary of a cloistered Nun. 
 And yet might not even passion be beautiful if love 
 hallowed it? His arms stretched out in hopeless long- 
 ing, her name burst from his lips in a cry of desperate 
 loneliness, and he fell on his knees beside the bed, bury- 
 ing his face in the thick soft quilt, his strong brown 
 hands outflung, gripping and twisting its silken cover 
 in his agony. 
 
 Hours later he raised his tired eyes to the pale light 
 of the wintry dawn filtering feebly through the close 
 drawn curtains. 
 
 He left that morning for Paris, alone. 
 
 It was still raining steadily and the chill depressing 
 outlook from the train did not tend to lighten his gloomy 
 thoughts. 
 
 In London the rain poured down incessantly. The 
 roads were greasy and slippery with mud, the pave- 
 ments filled with hurrying jostling crowds, whose drip- 
 ping umbrellas glistened under the flaring shop lights.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 303 
 
 Craven peered at the cheerless prospect as he drove from 
 one station to the other and shivered at the gloom and 
 wretchedness through which he was passing. The mean 
 streets and dreary squalid houses took on a greater 
 significance for him than they had ever done. The sight 
 of a passing woman, ill-clad and rain-drenched, sent 
 through him a stab of horrible pain. Paris could be as 
 cruel, as pitiless, as this vaster, wealthier city. 
 
 He left his bag in the cloakroom at Charing Cross and 
 spent the hours of waiting for the boat train tramping 
 the streets in the vicinity of the station. He was in no 
 mood to go to his Club, where he would find a host of 
 acquaintances eager for an account of his wanderings 
 and curious concerning his tardy return. 
 
 The time dragged heavily. He turned into a quiet 
 restaurant to get a meal and ate without noticing what 
 was put before him. At the earliest opportunity he 
 sought the train and buried himself in the corner of a 
 compartment praying that the wretched night might 
 lessen the number of travellers. Behind an evening 
 paper which he did not attempt to read he smoked in 
 silence, which the two other men in the carriage did not 
 break. Foreigners both, they huddled in great coats in 
 opposite corners and were asleep almost before the train 
 pulled out of the station. Laying down the paper that 
 had no interest for him Craven surveyed them for a 
 moment with a feeling of envy, and tilting his hat over 
 his eyes, endeavoured to emulate their good example. 
 But, despite his weariness, sleep would not come to him. 
 He sat listening to the rattle of the train and to the 
 peaceful snoring of his companions until his mind ceased 
 to be diverted by immediate distractions and centred 
 wholly on the task before him. 
 
 At Dover the weather had not improved and the sea 
 was breaking high over the landing stage, drenching the
 
 *304 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 few passengers as they hurried on to the boat and dived 
 below for shelter from the storm. Indifferent to the 
 weather Craven chose to stay on deck and stood through- 
 out the crossing under lea of the deckhouse where it was 
 possible to keep a pipe alight. 
 
 Contrary to his expectation he managed to sleep in the 
 train and slept until they reached Paris. Avoiding a 
 hotel where he was known he drove to one of the smaller 
 establishments, and engaging a room ordered breakfast 
 and sat down to think out his next move. 
 
 There were two possible sources of information, the 
 flat, where she might have left an address when she 
 vacated it, and the bank where Peters had told him she 
 called for letters. He would try them before resorting 
 to the expedient of employing a detective, which he was 
 loth to do until all other means failed. He hated the 
 idea, but there was no alternative except the police, 
 whose aid he had determined not to invoke unless it 
 became absolutely necessary. It was imperative that 
 , his search should be conducted as quietly and as secretly 
 as possible. He decided to visit the flat first, and, hav- 
 ing wired to Peters in accordance with his promise, set 
 out on foot. 
 
 It was not actually raining but the clouds hung low 
 and threatening and the air was raw. He walked fast, 
 swinging along the crowded streets with his eyes fixed 
 straight in front of him. And his great height and deeply 
 tanned face made him a conspicuous figure that excited 
 attention of which he was ignorant. 
 
 Leaving the narrow street where was his hotel he 
 emerged into the Place de la Madeleine, and threading 
 his way through the stream of traffic turned into the 
 Boulevard de Malesherbes, which he followed, cutting 
 across the Boulevard Haussmann and passing the Church 
 of Saint Augustin, until the trees in the Pare Monceau
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 305 
 
 rose before him. How often in the heat of Africa had 
 he pictured her sitting in the shade of those great spread- 
 ing planes, reading or sketching the children who played 
 about her? He had thought of her every hour of the 
 day and night, seeing her in his mind moving about the 
 flat he had taken and furnished with such care. How 
 utterly futile had been all his dreams about her. His 
 lips tightened as he passed up the steps of the house he 
 remembered so well. 
 
 But to his inquiries the concierge, who was a new- 
 comer, could give no reply. He had no knowledge of 
 any Madame Craven who had lived there, and was 
 plainly uninterested in a tenant who had left before his 
 time. It was past history with which he had nothing 
 to do, and with which he made it clear he did not care 
 to be involved. He was curt and decisive but, with an 
 eye to Craven's powerful proportions, refrained from the 
 insolence that is customary among his kind. It was the 
 first check, but as he walked away Craven admitted to 
 himself that he had not counted overmuch on obtaining 
 any information from that quarter, taking into account 
 the short time she had lived there. Remained the bank. 
 He retraced his steps, walking directly to the Place de 
 1'Opera. But the bank, which was also a tourists' agency, 
 could give him no assistance. The lady called for her 
 letters at infrequent intervals, they had no idea where 
 she might be found. Would the gentleman care to leave 
 a card, which would be given to her at the first oppor- 
 tunity? But Craven shook his head the chance of her 
 calling was too vague and passed out again into the 
 busy streets. There was nothing for it now but a detective 
 agency, and with his face grown grimmer he went with- 
 out further delay to the bureau of a firm he knew by 
 repute. In the private room of the Chef de Bureau he 
 detailed his requirements with national brevity and con-
 
 306 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 ciseness. His knowledge of the language stood him in 
 good stead and the painfulness of the interview was 
 mitigated by the businesslike and tactful manner in 
 which his commission was received. The keen-eyed man 
 who sat tapping a gold pencil case on his thumbnail in 
 the intervals of taking notes had a reputation to main- 
 tain which he was not unwilling to increase; foreign 
 clients were by no means rare, but they did not come 
 every day, nor were they always so apparently full of 
 wealth as this stern-faced Englishman, who spoke author- 
 itatively as one accustomed to being obeyed and yet 
 with a turn of phrase and politesse unusual in his 
 countrymen. 
 
 Followed two days of interminable waiting and sus- 
 pense, two days that to Craven seemed like two life- 
 times. He hung about the hotel, not daring to go far 
 afield lest he should lose some message or report. He 
 had no wish either to advertise his presence in Paris, he 
 had too many friends there, too many acquaintances 
 whose questions would be difficult to parry. 
 
 But on the morning of the third day, about eleven 
 o'clock, he was called to the telephone. A feeling of 
 dread ran through him and he was conscious of a curious 
 sensation of weakness as he lifted the receiver. But the 
 voice that hailed him was reassuring and complacently 
 expressive of a neat piece of work well done. The wife 
 of Monsieur had been traced, they had taken time oh, 
 yes, but they had followed Monsieur's instructions au 
 pied de la lettre and had acted with a discretion that was 
 above criticism. Then followed an address given 
 minutely. For a moment he leaned against the side of 
 the telephone box shaking uncontrollably. Only at this 
 moment did he realise completely how great his fear 
 had been. There had been times when the recurring 
 thought of the Morgue and its pitiful occupants had been
 
 THE SHADOW OP THE EAST 307 
 
 a foretaste of hell. The feeling of weakness passed quickly 
 and he went out to the entrance of the hotel and leaped 
 into a taxi which had just set down a fare. 
 
 He knew well the locality toward which he was driv- 
 ing. Years ago he could almost have walked to it blind- 
 fold, but today time was precious. And as he sat for- 
 ward in the jolting cab, his hands locked tightly together, 
 it seemed to him as if every possible hindrance had 
 combined to bar his progress. The traffic had never 
 appeared so congested, the efforts of the agents on point 
 duty so hopelessly futile. Omnibuses and motors, unwieldy 
 meat carts and fiacres, inextricably jammed, met them 
 at every turn, until at last swinging round by the corner 
 of the Louvre the streets became clearer and the car 
 turned sharply to cross the river. As they approached 
 the address the detective had given him Craven was 
 conscious of no sensation of any kind. A deadly calm 
 seemed to have taken possession of him. He had ceased 
 even to speculate on what lay before him. The house 
 at which they stopped at last was typical of its kind; 
 in his student days he had rented a studio in a precisely 
 similar building, and the concierge to whom he applied 
 might have been the twin sister of the voluble amply 
 proportioned citoyenne of long ago who had kept a 
 maternal eye on his socks and shirts and a soft spot in 
 her heart for the bel Anglais who chaffed her unmerci- 
 fully, but paid his rent with commendable promptitude. 
 A huge woman, with a shrewd not unkindly face, she 
 sat in a rocking chair with a diminutive kitten on her 
 shoulder and a mass of knitting in her lap. As she 
 listened to Craven's inquiry she tossed the kitten into a 
 basket and bundled the shawl she was making under 
 her arm, while she rose ponderously to her feet and 
 favoured the stranger with a stare that was frankly and 
 undisguisedly inquisitive. A pair of twinkling eyes 
 encased in rolls of fat swept him from head to foot in
 
 308; THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 v 
 
 leisurely survey, and he felt that there was no detail 
 about him that escaped attention, that even the texture 
 of his clothing and the very price of the boots he was 
 wearing were gauged with accuracy and ease. She con- 
 descended to speak at last in a voice that was curiously 
 soft, and warmed into something almost approaching 
 enthusiasm. Madame Craven? but certainly, au 
 quatrieme. Monsieur was perhaps a patron of the arts, 
 he desired to buy a picture? It was well, painters were 
 many but buyers were few. Madame was assuredly at 
 home, she was in fact engaged at that moment with a 
 model. A model Sapristi! he called himself such, but 
 for herself she would have called him un vrai apache! of 
 a countenance, mon Dieu! She paused to wave her 
 hands in horror and jerk her head toward the staircase, 
 continuing her confidences in a lowered tone. The door 
 of the studio was open, it was wiser when such gentry 
 presented themselves, and also did she not herself always 
 sit in the hall that she might be within call, one never 
 knew and Madame was an angel with the heart of 
 a child. A face to study and she thought of nothing 
 else. But there were those who thought for her, the 
 blessed innocent. It was doubtless because she was 
 English Monsieur was also English, she observed with 
 another shrewd glance and a wide smile. Madame would 
 be glad to see a compatriot. If Monsieur would do 
 himself the trouble of ascending the stairs he could 
 not mistake the door, it was at the top, and, as she had 
 said, it was open. 
 
 She beamed on him graciously as with a murmur of 
 thanks Craven turned to mount the stone staircase. A 
 feeling of relief came to him at the thought of the warm 
 hearted self-appointed guardian sitting in kindly vigi- 
 lance in the big armchair below. Here, too, it would 
 appear, Gillian had made herself beloved. As he passed 
 quickly upward the unnatural calm that had come over
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 309 
 
 him gave place to a very different feeling. It was brought 
 home to him all at once that what he had longed and 
 prayed for was on the point of taking effect. He realised 
 that the ghastly waiting time was over, that in a few 
 moments he would see her, and his heart began to throb 
 violently. Every second that still separated them seemed 
 an age and he took the last remaining flight two steps 
 at a time. But he stopped abruptly as he reached the 
 level of the landing. The open door was within a few 
 feet of him but screened from where he stood. 
 
 It was her voice that had arrested him, speaking with 
 an accent of weariness he had never heard before that 
 sent a sudden quiver to his lips. His fingers clenched 
 on the soft hat he held. 
 
 "But it does not do at all," she was saying, and the 
 racking cough that accompanied her words struck 
 through Craven's heart like a knife, "it is the expression 
 that is wrong. If you look like that I can never believe 
 that you are what you say you are. Think of some of 
 the horrible things you have told me try and imagine 
 that you are still tracking down that brute who took 
 your little Colette from you " A husky voice inter- 
 rupted her. "No use, Madame, when I remember that 
 I can only think of you and the American doctor who 
 gave her back to me, and our happiness. " 
 
 "You don't deserve her, and she hates the things 
 you do," came the quick retort, and the man who had 
 been speaking laughed. 
 
 "But not me," he answered promptly, "and the 
 things I do keep a roof over our heads, " he added grimly. 
 "But, see, I will try again does that satisfy Madame?"- 
 
 Craven moved forward as he heard her eager assent 
 and her injunction to "hold that for a few minutes," 
 and in the silence that ensued he reached the door. For 
 a moment his entrance passed unobserved. 
 
 The stark bareness of the room was revealed to him
 
 310 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 in a single comprehensive glance and the chill of it sent 
 a sudden feeling of anger surging through him. His 
 face was drawn and his eyes almost menacing with pain 
 as they rested on the slight figure bending forward in 
 unconscious absorption over the easel propped in the 
 middle of the rugless floor. Then his gaze travelled 
 slowly beyond her to the model who stood on the little 
 dais, and he understood in a flash the reason of the old 
 concierge's vigilance as he saw the manner of man she 
 was painting. The slender darkly clad youth with head 
 thrust forward and sunk deep on his shoulders, with 
 close fitting peaked cap pulled low over his eyes shading 
 his pale sinister face was a typical representative of the 
 class of criminal who had come to be known in Paris as 
 les apaches; no artist's model masquerading as one of 
 the dreaded assassins, but the genuine article. Of that 
 Craven was convinced. The risk she had taken, the 
 quick resentment he felt at the thought of such a presence 
 near her forced from him an exclamation. 
 
 Artist and model turned simultaneously. There was 
 a moment of tense silence as husband and wife stared 
 into each other's eyes. Then the palette and brushes 
 she was holding dropped with a little chatter to the floor. 
 
 "Barry," she whispered fearfully, "Barry ! 
 
 Both men sprang forward, but it was Craven who 
 caught her as she fell. She lay like a featherweight in 
 his strong clasp, and as he gazed at the delicate face 
 crushed against his breast a deadly fear was knocking 
 at his heart that he had come too late. Convulsively 
 his arms tightened round the pitifully light little body 
 and he spoke abruptly to the man who was scowling 
 beside him. " A doctor as quick as you can and tell 
 the concierge to come up." Anxiety roughened his 
 voice and he turned away without waiting to see his 
 orders carried out. For a second the apache glowered 
 at him under narrowing lids, his sullen face working
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 311 
 
 strangely, then he jerked the black cap further over his 
 eyes and slipped away with noiseless tread. 
 
 With a broken whisper Craven caught his frail burden 
 closer, as though seeking by the strength and warmth 
 of his own body to animate the fragile limbs lying so 
 cold and lifeless in his arms, and he bent low over the 
 pallid lips he craved and yet did not dare to kiss. They 
 were not for him to take, he reflected bitterly, and in her 
 unconsciousness they were sacred. 
 
 His eyes were dark with misery as he raised his head 
 and looked about quickly for some couch on which to 
 lay her. But the bare studio was devoid of any such 
 luxury, and with his face set rigidly he carried her across 
 the room and pushed open a door leading to an inner 
 sleeping apartment. Barer it was and colder even than 
 the studio, and its bleak poverty formed a horrible con- 
 trast to the big white bedroom at Craven Towers. He 
 laid her on the narrow comfortless bed with a smothered 
 groan that seemed to tear his heart to pieces. And as 
 he knelt beside her chafing her icy hands in helpless 
 agony there burst in on him a tempestuous fury who 
 raved and stormed and called on heaven to witness the 
 iniquity of men. "Bete! animal!" she raged, "what 
 have you done to her you and that rat-faced devil!" 
 and she thrust her bulky figure between him and the 
 bed. Then with a sudden change of manner, her voice 
 grown soft and caressing, she bent over the fainting girl 
 and slipped a plump arm under her, crooning over her 
 and endeavouring to restore her to consciousness. She 
 snapped an enquiry at Craven and he explained as best 
 he could, and his explanation brought down on him a 
 wealth of biting sarcasm. The husband of cet ange la! 
 In the name of heaven! was there no limit to the 
 blundering stupidity of men had he no more sense than 
 to present himself with such unexpectedness, after so 
 long an absence? Small wonder la pauvre petite had
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 fainted. What folly! And lashing him with her tongue 
 she renewed her fruitless efforts. But Craven scarcely 
 heeded her. His eyes were fixed on the little white face 
 on the pillow, and he was praying desperately that she 
 might be spared to him, that his punishment might not 
 take so terrible a form. For the change in her appalled 
 him. Slight and delicate always, she was now a mere 
 shadow of what she had been. If she died ! he 
 clenched his teeth to keep silent must he be twice a 
 murderer? O Hara San's blood was on his hands, would 
 hers also - 
 
 He turned quickly as a tall, loosely made man swung 
 into the room. The newcomer shot a swift glance at 
 him and moved past to the bedside, addressing the con- 
 cierge in fluent French that was marked by a pronounced 
 American accent. He cut short her eager communica- 
 tion as he bent over the bed and made a rapid 
 examination. 
 
 "Light a fire in the stove, bring all the blankets you 
 can find, and make some strong coffee. I have been 
 waiting for this, the marvel is it hasn't happened 
 before," he said brusquely. And as the woman hurried 
 away with surprising meekness to do his bidding he 
 turned again to Craven. "Friend of Mrs. Craven's?" 
 he asked with blunt directness. "Pity her friends 
 haven't looked her up sooner. Guess you can wait in 
 the other room until I'm through here that is if you 
 are sufficiently interested. It will probably be a long 
 job and the fewer people she sees about her when she 
 comes to, the better. " 
 
 The blood flamed into Craven's face and an angry 
 protest rose to his lips, but his better judgment checked 
 it. It was not the time for explanations or to press the 
 claim he had to remain in the room. And had he a claim 
 at all, he wondered with a dull feeling of pain. "I'll 
 wait," te Baid quietly, fighting an intolerable jealousy/
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 313 
 
 as he watched the doctor's skilful hands busy about 
 her. Strangers might tend her, but the husband she 
 had evidently never spoken of, was banished to an outer 
 room to wait "if sufficiently interested." He winced 
 and passed slowly into the studio. And yet he had 
 brought it on himself. She could have had little wish 
 to mention him situated as she was, the bare garret 
 he was pacing monotonously was evidence in itself that 
 she had determined to cut adrift from everything that 
 was connected with the life and the man she had obvi- 
 ously loathed. His surroundings left no doubt on that 
 score. She had plainly preferred to struggle independ- 
 ently for existence rather than be beholden to him who 
 was her natural protector. He recalled with an aching 
 heart the swift look of fear that had leapt into her eyes 
 during that long moment before she had lost conscious- 
 ness, and the memory of it went with him, searing cru- 
 elly, as he tramped up and down in restless anxiety 
 that would not allow him to keep still. To see that 
 look in her eyes again would be more than he could 
 endure. 
 
 From time to time the concierge passed through the 
 room bearing the various necessaries the doctor had 
 demanded, but her mouth was grimly shut and he did not 
 ask for information that she did not seem inclined to 
 vouchsafe. She did unbend so far at last as to light a 
 fire in the stove, but she let it be clearly understood that 
 it was not for his benefit. "It will help to warm the 
 other room, and it has been empty long enough," she 
 said, with a glance and a shrug that were full of mean- 
 ing. But as she saw the misery of his face her manner 
 softened and she spoke confidently of the skill of the 
 American doctor, who from motives of pure philanthropy 
 had practised for some years in a quarter that offered 
 much experience but little pecuniary profit. 
 
 Then she left him to wait again alone.
 
 314 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 He could not bring himself to look at the canvases 
 propped against the bare walls, they were witnesses of 
 her toil, witnesses perhaps of a failure that hurt him 
 even more than it must have hurt her. And to him who 
 knew the spirit-crushing efforts of the unknown artist to 
 win recognition, her failure was both natural and intel- 
 ligible. He guessed at a pride that scorning patronage 
 had not sought assistance but had striven to succeed by 
 merit alone, only to learn the bitter lesson that falls to 
 the lot of those who fight against established convention. 
 She had pitted her strength against a system and the 
 system had broken her. Her studies might be they 
 were marked with genius, but genius without advertise- 
 ment had gone unrecognised and unrewarded. 
 
 But before the portrait of the strange model he had 
 found with her he paused for a long time. Still unfin- 
 ished it was brilliantly clever. The lower part of the 
 face had evidently not satisfied her, for it was wiped out, 
 but the upper part was completed, and Craven looked at 
 the deep-set eyes of the apache staring back at him with 
 almost the fire of life melancholy sinister eyes that 
 haunted and wondered again what circumstance had 
 brought such a man across her path. He remembered 
 the fragmentary conversation he had heard, remem- 
 bered too that mention had been made of the man who 
 was even now with her in the adjoining room, and he 
 sighed as he realised how utterly ignorant he was of the 
 life she had led during his absence. 
 
 Had she meditated a complete severance from him, 
 formed ties that would bind bind her irrevocably to the life 
 she had chosen? He turned from the picture wearily. It 
 was all a tangle. He could only wait, and waiting, suffer. 
 
 He went to the window and leant his arms unseeingly 
 on the high narrow sill that looked out over the neigh- 
 bouring housetops, straining to hear the faintest sound 
 from the inner room. It seemed to him that he must
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 315 
 
 have waited hours when at last the door opened and shut 
 quietly and the American came leisurely toward him. 
 He faced him with swift unspoken inquiry. The doctor 
 nodded, moving toward the stove. "She's all right 
 now," he said dryly, "but I don't mind telling you she 
 gave me the fright of my life. I have been wondering 
 when this was going to happen, I've seen it coming for 
 a long time." He paused, and looked at Craven frown- 
 ingly while he warmed his hands. 
 
 "May I ask if you are an intimate friend of Mrs. 
 Craven's if you know her people? Can you put me in 
 communication with them? She is not in a fit state to 
 be alone. She should have somebody with her some- 
 body belonging to her, I mean. I gather there is a hus- 
 band somewhere abroad though frankly I have always 
 doubted his existence but that is no good. I want 
 somebody here, on the spot, now. Mrs. Craven doesn't 
 see the necessity. I do. I'm not trying to shunt respon- 
 sibility. I've shouldered a good deal in my time and 
 I'm not shirking now but this is a case that calls 
 for more than a doctor. I should appreciate any assist- 
 ance you could give me." 
 
 The fear he had felt when he held her in his arms was 
 clutching anew at Craven and his face grew grey under 
 the deep tan. "What is the matter with her?" Some- 
 thing in his voice made the doctor look at him more 
 closely. "That, my dear sir," he parried, "is rather 
 a leading question." "I have a right to know," inter- 
 rupted Craven quickly. "You will pardon me if I ask 
 -what right?" was the equally quick rejoinder. 
 
 The blood surged back hotly into Craven's face. 
 
 "The right of the man whose existence you very justly 
 doubted," he said heavily. The doctor straightened 
 himself with a jerk. "You are Mrs. Craven's husband! 
 Then you will forgive me if I say that you have not 
 come back any too soon. I am glad for your wife's
 
 316 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 sake that the myth is a reality," he said gravely. 
 Craven stood rigidly still, and it seemed to him that his 
 heart stopped beating. "I know my wife is delicate, 
 that her lungs are not strong, but what is the cause of 
 this sudden collapse? " he said slowly, his voice shak- 
 ing painfully. For a moment the other hesitated and 
 shrugged in evident embarrassment. "There are a 
 variety of causes I find it somewhat difficult to say 
 you couldn't know, of course " 
 
 Craven cut him short. "You needn't spare my feel- 
 ings," he said hoarsely. "For God's sake speak 
 plainly. 
 
 " In a word then though I hate to have to say it 
 starvation." The keen eyes fixed on him softened into 
 sudden compassion but Craven did not see them. He 
 saw nothing, for the room was spinning madly round 
 him and he staggered back against the window catching 
 at the woodwork behind him. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" he whispered, and wiped the blind- 
 ing moisture from his eyes. If it had been possible for 
 her gentle nature to contemplate revenge she could have 
 planned no more terrible one than this. But in his 
 heart he knew that it was not revenge. For a moment 
 he could not speak, then with an effort he mastered him- 
 self. He could give no explanation to this stranger, 
 that lay between him and her alone. 
 
 "There was no need," he said at last dully, forcing 
 the words with difficulty; "she misunderstood I can't 
 explain. Only tell me what I can do anything that 
 will cure her. There isn't any permanent injury, is 
 there I haven't really come too late?" he gasped, 
 with an agony of appeal in his voice. The American 
 shook his head. "You ran it very fine," he said, with 
 a quick smile, "but I guess you've come in time, right 
 enough. There isn't anything here that money can't 
 cure. Her lungs are not over strong, her heart is tern-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 317 
 
 porarily strained, and her nerves are in tatters. But if 
 you can take her to the south or better still, Egypt 
 
 ?" he hesitated with a look of enquiry, and as 
 
 Craven nodded, continued with more assurance, "Good! 
 then there's no reason why she shouldn't be a well 
 woman in time. She's constitutionally delicate but 
 there's nothing organically wrong. Take her away as 
 soon as possible, feed her up and keep her happy. 
 That's all she wants. I'll look in again this evening." 
 And with another reassuring smile and a firm handclasp 
 he was gone. 
 
 As his footsteps died away Craven turned slowly 
 toward the adjoining room with strangely contending 
 emotions. "... keep her happy." The bitter irony 
 of the words bit into him as he crossed to the door and, 
 tapping softly, went in. 
 
 She was waiting for him, lying high on the pillows 
 that were no whiter than her face, toying nervously with 
 the curling ends of the thick plait of soft brown hair 
 that reached almost to her waist. Her eyes were fixed 
 on Him appealingly, and as he came toward her her face 
 quivered suddenly and again he saw the look of fear 
 that had tortured him before. " Oh, Barry, " she moaned, 
 "don't be angry with me." 
 
 It was all that he could do to keep his hungry arms 
 from closing round her, to keep back the passionate 
 torrent of love that rushed to his lips. But he dared 
 not give way to the weakness that was tempting him. 
 Controlling himself with an effort of will he sat down on 
 the edge of the bed and covered her twitching fingers 
 with his lean muscular hands. 
 
 "I'm not angry, dear. God knows I've no right to 
 be," he said gently. "I just don't understand. I 
 never dreamt of anything like this. Can't you tell me 
 explain help me to understand?" 
 
 She dragged her hands from his, and covering her 
 face gave way to bitter weeping. Her tears crucified
 
 318 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 him and his heart was breaking as he looked at her. 
 "Gillian, have a little pity on me," he pleaded. "Do 
 you think I'm a stone that I can bear to see you cry?" 
 
 "What can I say?" she whispered sobbingly. "You 
 wouldn't understand. You have never understood. 
 How should you? You were too generous. You gave 
 me your name, your wealth, you sacrificed your free- 
 dom to save me from a knowledge of the callousness 
 and cruelty of the world. You saw further than I did. 
 You knew that I would fail as I have failed. And 
 because of that you married me in pity. Did you think I 
 would never guess? I didn't at first. I was a stupid 
 ignorant child, I didn't realise what a marriage like ours 
 would mean. But when I did oh, so soon and when I 
 knew that I could never repay you I think I nearly 
 died with shame. When I asked you to let me come to 
 Paris it was not to lead the life you purposed for me but 
 because my burden of debt had grown intolerable. I 
 thought that if I worked here, paid my own way, got 
 back my lost self-respect, that it would be easier to bear. 
 When you took the flat I tried to make you understand 
 but you wouldn't listen and I couldn't trouble you when 
 you were going away. And then later when they told 
 me at the convent what you had done, when I learned 
 how much greater was my debt than I had ever dreamt, 
 and when I heard of the money you gave them the 
 money you still give them every year the money they 
 call the Gillian Craven Fund " 
 
 "They had no right, I made it a stipulation 
 
 "They didn't realise, they thought because we were 
 married that I must surely know. I couldn't go on liv-> 
 ing in the flat, taking the allowance you heaped on me. 
 All you gave, all you did your generosity I couldn't 
 bear it ! Oh, can't you see your money choked me ! " 
 she wailed, with a paroxysm of tears that frightened him,. 
 He caught her hands again, holding them firmly. "Your 
 money as much as mine, Gillian. I have always tried
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 319 
 
 to make you realise it. What is mine is yours. You're 
 my wife " 
 
 "I'm not, I'm not," she sobbed wildly. "I'm only 
 a burden thrust on you." 
 
 A cry burst from his lips. "A burden, my God, a 
 burden!" he groaned. And suddenly he reached the 
 end of his endurance. With the agony of death in his 
 eyes he swept her into his arms, holding her to him with 
 passionate strength, his lips buried in the fragrance of 
 her hair. "Oh, my dear, my dear," he murmured 
 brokenly, "I'm not fit to touch you, but I've loved you 
 always, worshipped you, longed for you until the long- 
 ing grew too great to bear, and I left you because I knew 
 that if I stayed I should not have the strength to leave 
 you free. I married you because I loved you, because 
 even this damnable mockery of a marriage was better 
 than losing you out of my life I was cur enough to keep 
 you when I knew I might not take you. And I've wanted 
 you, God knows how I've wanted you, all these ghastly 
 years. I want you now, I'd give my hope of heaven 
 to have your love, to hold you in my arms as my wife, 
 to be a husband to you not only in name but I'm 
 not fit. You don't know what I've done what I've 
 been. I had no right to marry you, to stain your purity 
 with my sin, to link you with one who is fouled as I am. 
 If you knew you'd never look at me again." With a 
 terrible sob he laid her back on the pillows and dropped 
 on his knees beside her. Into her tear-wet eyes there 
 came suddenly a light that was almost divine, her quiver- 
 ing face became glorious in its pitiful love. Trembling, 
 she leant towards him, and her slender hands went out 
 in swift compassion, drawing the bowed shamed head 
 close to her tender breast. 
 
 "Tell me," she whispered. And with her soft arms 
 round him he told her, waiting in despair for the moment 
 when she would shrink from him, repel him with the 
 and disgust he dreaded. But she lay quite still
 
 ' 320 THE SHADOW OF THE EAST 
 
 until he finished, though once or twice she shuddered and 
 he felt the quickened beating of her heart. And for long 
 after his muffled voice had died away she remained 
 silent. Then her thin hand crept quiveringly up to his 
 hair, touching it shyly, and two great tears rolled down 
 her face. "Barry, I've been so lonely" it was the cry 
 of a frightened desolate child "if you have no pity on 
 yourself, will you have no pity on me?" 
 
 "Gillian!" he raised his head sharply, staring at her 
 with desperate unbelieving eyes, " You care? " 
 
 "Care?" she gave a tremulous little sobbing laugh. 
 "How could I help but care! I've loved you since the 
 day you came to me in the convent parlour. You're 
 all I have, and if you leave me now" she clung to him 
 suddenly " Barry, Barry, I can't bear any more. I 
 haven't any strength or courage left. I'm afraid! I 
 can't face the world alone it's cruel pitiless. I love 
 you, I want you, I can't live without you," and with a 
 piteous sob she strained him to her, hiding her face 
 against his breast, beseeching and distraught. His lip* 
 were trembling as he gathered the shuddering little body 
 closely in his amis, but still he hesitated. 
 
 "Think, dear, think," he muttered hoarsely, "I'm 
 not fit to stay with you. I've done that which is un- 
 forgivable. " 
 
 "I'm your wife, I've the right to share your burden," 
 she cried passionately. "You didn't know, you couldn't 
 know when you did that dreadful thing. And if God 
 punishes you let Him punish me too. But God is love, 
 He knows how you have suffered, and for those who 
 repent His punishment is forgiveness. " 
 
 "But can you forgive can you bear to come to me?" 
 he faltered, still only half believing. 
 
 "I love you," she said simply, "and life without you 
 is death, " and lifting her face to his she gave him the lip* 
 he had not dared to take.
 
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