The Shadow of the East

hin a few days of Christmas, a typical old-fashioned Yuletide

iron and for two weeks all

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 e

e 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 desired success and yet he feared it, feared the consequences 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 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 incl

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 le

ovided he divined would be impossible, 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 determination 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

round broke his thoughts and in a

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 expe

ot 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 For

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 abruptly 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 tensi

ispered, and

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

dinising in a corner, above all the atmosphere carried 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 bi

s 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-f

mais, soyez le bienvenu!" she stammered, with surprise unconsciously lapsing into the language of childhood. Then she caught herself up with a little laugh of confusion and hurr

mindful of two sharp ears on the platform. The colour in her face deepened painf

it a few moments

r work. You don't mind if I stay? I haven't been here since I wa

a tube of colour, and

. 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 recognition of her talent strengthened his stranger feeling tow

e?" he aske

ned with a

sk? After Aunt Caro has been he

would, for her back was toward him and in his position before the fire

ad done until a smile came slowly to chase the creases from her forehead. She spoke withou

l attitude, 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 fut

ay, thank

iss?" more hopefully. Gil

you la

d '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 woul

nd gave his shoul

he boy threw his head back. "I ain't afeard

w run away and come again on Saturday." She waved a paint-stained rag at him and turned again to the picture. Obed

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

led by a likeness he seemed to recogn

ur gamekeepers," said Gillian; "h

ut 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

reason he is a perfect angel when he comes here. It isn't the chocolates," she added hastily as she saw a fleeting smi

propped face inward against the big canvas. For a moment she did not answer and the colour flamed into her face

rs. 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 censure. 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 wonderful 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 th

ning. 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

ad not felt in any other part of the house since his return to Craven Towers. It was acting on him curiously a

exalted devotion of an immature girl, adoration that was purely sexless and selfless-a mystical 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 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, inexplicable and frightening, that stirred within her until it seemed impossible that her agitation could pass unnoticed. 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 yearning for her grew intolerable and the restraint he put upon himsel

nge 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 T

ve it?" he as

on the frosting glass

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 tur

whispered urgen

mbarrassment. He hated himself, he hated his task, onl

any right to ask a woman. I have tried all the afternoon to tell you. Something you said just now makes it easier. You

not the kind of marriage 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 me and the happiness that other men can look forward to. For me that part of life is over. I have only frie

ing 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 Towe

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 furtively 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 g

he girl's strained white face pitilessly. Craven had risen and was standing looking down on her. She grew aware of his scrutiny and

m asking of you. Whatever happened, you would be bound to me. If"-his voice faltered momentarily-"if you w

y. "I shall never-want to marry-in that way," she said in a strangled voice. He smiled sadl

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

lli

almost more than she could bear, but she steadied her t

e 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

t she could not understand. And his voice puzzled her. She was bewildered, torn with conflicting doubts. Sensitively she shrank from his inexplicable sugg

his in pity!" sh

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 confidence she had felt fell suddenly away, leaving fear and dread

spered, tormented with doubt, "yo

d at her

truly," he

with my work?" she fal

that you would be free in everything," he answered, and as if

could hardly see her where she stood. He waited, hoping she w

ke of her breath, felt

she murmured entreatingly. "I w

hat 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 feeli

ace was a very human man revealing characteristics she had never imagined to exist, showing an interest and a gentleness 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 companionship 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 aft

moment, exhausted, 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 wear

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 sear

out with emotion. Exhausted in mind and body she seemed unable 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

rithing 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

ours of work to which she attributed the unusual indisposition, she took full advantage of the rare opportunity of rendering personal attention and fussed to her heart's content, stripping off the stained overall and substituting a loose velvet wrapper; and then stood over her, a kindl

der Mary's ministrations her mental poise had steadied. She would not let herself dwell on the question that must before lo

black form lying on the hearth-rug, but tonight she could not bear even Mouston's presence, and Mary had taken a r

Miss Craven appeared,

e 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 contradict 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 temperature? No?-the woman must have lost her senses. I'll telepho

me-I'm only dreadfully unhappy. I know Mr. Craven is back-he came to me in the studio this afterno

angling wave of emotion into Gillian's throat. "Aunt Caro,

life, I know you have dreams of making a career for yourself. But 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 happiness that should be

"You are thinking of me-I am think

st 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 sho

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. 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 conditions attached to h

o marry them, he's going to marry you. They can have been anything you like or imagine but it does not alter the fact

e us, Barry and me, t

an 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 entreatingly from among the silken cushions, "If you knew how I long to repay you

o 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.

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 whispered prayer to her lips for strength to put it from her. Huddled on the side of the sofa, her head supporte

she owed rose like an unsurpassable 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-establishing 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

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 disability 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 counsel or advice. In her lone

al consideration. Was her love of so little worth that in thought for herself she had forgotten him? He had asked her to pity hi

-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

is wrong, if it brings sorrow and unha

ly at her watch. Was it too late to go to him to-night? Only when she had told h

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 adventuress who had skilfully seized the opportunity that circumstance 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 from her. She went quickly to the gallery, dimly lit 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 a

nd 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 shuddering abyss into w