The Shadow of the East

Craven had not slept. He had given his berth in the waggon-lit to an invalid fellow passenger and had sat up all night

rature of the train and the raw air of the station struc

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 in Yokohama. It had been six weeks before he could get away, six interminable weeks of misery and self-loathing. He had shirked nothing and evaded nothing. Much had been saved

d hours spent tramping the lonely de

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 condition, 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 Califo

aunt in connection 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

tion. She spoiled me thoroughly when I was a nipper." And buoyed with the recollection of grim-visaged angular

huffled them all into his overcoat pocket, with the exception of one from P

and where she was waiting for him now, according to a telegram that he had received on his arrival at Marsei

en tramping the floor this hour or more, expecting yo

rug, her short plump figure clothed in a grey coat and skirt of severe masculine cut, her hands plunged deep into her

d 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 select you of all people? What fools men are!" She subsided suddenly into an easy chair and crossed one neat pump over the other. "All of 'em!" she added emphatically, flicking cigarette ash into the fir

e asked, lighti

laughed good

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 i

y, "you resemble my unhappy brother al

unaware of the appositeness of her remark Miss Craven

ns 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

t man of the fa

denly. She got up restlessly and resumed her former position be

id briskly, with an evident desire to avoid further moralising.

an 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 coac

and reserving her comments. She refrained from comment now, rocking gently b

"and there I shall want your help, Aunt Caro." He paused stamm

ubts about its success," she laughed and shrugged, with a comical grimace. Then she patted his arm affectionately-"You had much

ened per

eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch but sh

htly. "The Cravens are an old famil

the conversation hastily. She had

e air of proposing a final expedi

," he admitted with an eagern

nted and clutch

sermons under her arm-and a child out of a Paris convent! There are certainly elem

stood quite still for a long while, rolli

sh mother of doubtful morals. My po

ds," he

rrifies me!" She shrugged tragically and w

rehensive. 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 courage had restored them to endeavour a second time. If Barry failed her too! Hitherto her fears had had no definite basis. There had been no real ground for anxiety, 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 curi

nd fluttered vaguely in an easterly d

shortly, "I

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 in itself an i

k cleverly and well when she chose. And today she did choose, exerting all her wit to combat the taciturn fit that emphasized so forcibly the change in him. But though he listened with apparent attention his mind was very obviously elsewhere, and he sat staring into the fire, mechanically flicking

ll, then handed the

en," she re

ccustomed to the Japanese valet. He turned from the tel

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

t letting the grass g

his head i

he shrugged. "I will see the child at once an

ot with a grim smile that changed to

uld make your fortune as a model. You are too crim

old smile flick

haperon me,

her head l

d to deputise. She has already ransacked Au Paradis Des Enfants for suitable bribes wherewith to beguile her infantile affection. I understand that there was a lively scene over the purchase of a doll, the cost of which-clad only in its birthday dres

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 bungalow 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 stealthily 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. Environment 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 happened-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 train. It came with no kind of regularity, no warning that might prepare him. And recurrence brought no mitigation, no familiarising that could temper the acute horror it inspired. To what pitch of actuality might it attain? To what lengths might it drive him?

nch. 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 consequence was the depository of most of the secrets of the countryside. To his sympathetic ears came both grave

d 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 inactivity 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 survival 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

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 t

e 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 hi

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 was a disadvantage that counted for nothing in the present instance. If

were safeguarded 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 acros

raction, been aware of any movement. Now he saw the Mother Superior walking leisurely back from the electric switch by the door, and guessed

have no mother. But my aunt-Miss Craven-the sculpto

known to me," she said with rea

y, promised to-to co-ope

ned standing. He had no wish to prolong the interview beyond what courtesy and business demanded. He listened with a variety of feelings while the

that broke at times the tone sh

ng to become anxious. For ourselves, 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

riven. I tell you all this, Monsieur, not censoriously but that it may help you in dealing with a character that is extraordinarily complex, with a nature that both demands and repels affection, 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

of. Gillian has an unusual gift." A sentence

nce?" he asked,

t?" Then she pitied his hot

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

ryly. "For how many years has my ward l

d a prote

is hardly the wo

out a ch

g, for everything

against the rosewood panelling and, scann

. 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 t

ritten treble the a

ound herself unable to question a condition which, though manifestly generous, she deemed 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 singul

s to carry out a scheme that has long been our hope. Your generos

st, more than ever dreading the task before him. He wa

ing dimly in the windows on the opposite side of the quadrangle 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 beyon

He was in the grip of one of the revolts against restraint and civilisation that periodically attacked him. The wander-hunger was in his blood-for generations it had sent numberless ancestors into the lonely places of the world, and against it ties of home were powerless. In early days to the romantic 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 toll. 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 perished in a dust storm in the Sahara. And it was to the North African desert that his own thoughts turned most lon

e of dark brown hair. Then his gaze travelled slowly over the slender black-clad figure silhouetted against the polished panels. His fear was su

expected. A paternal attitude in connection with this self-possessed young woman was impossible, in fact ludicrous. For the moment

ian Locke,