The Shadow of the East

to return to England without delay, but he had yielded to Sa?d's pressing entreaties to wait until they could ride to Algiers together. There had been much for the young Sh

a page in his life's history and must be content to follow, more or less, in the footsteps of his forebears. The fighting men were with 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 their hopes on Omar, were beginning to comprehend that their fears of Sa?d'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 establishment of mutual goodwill between the young Sheik and his petty Chiefs. Since his recovery he had attended several of the coun

, 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 frenzied crowd with t

wed him out in

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 Faidherbe? 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

y in his office in the Place Beauveau. Sa?d 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,

ce 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 integrity the result might easily be disastrous. B

ide across the desert. For some weeks Craven had been i

sion and new gravity that 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 wilderness, carved out of arid desert by patience and perseverance and threatened always by the devastating locust, though

is 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 wh

ungers 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

n 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 hig

he stuffy little cabin

aven 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 threat

y neared the docks, but they berthed early enough to enable Craven to catch a train tha

she be waiting for him at the station? It was scarcely probable. Their meeting could not be other than constrained, the platform 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 beat furiously even a

d 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 relationship that had been fraught with so much misery, refuse

d come to meet him. Then he made 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

not years had elapsed since they ha

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 uncomfortable embarras

m' 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,

waiting at the station entrance. As the motor started Craven turned to him

is Gi

a sidelong g

e didn't mention her health when she

ment; "isn't she at the Towers? I missed my mail at Algiers-some mistak

his views had undergone 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 explanation. 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 comprehend or to countenance

t up. Are you giving me a bed at

e ready if at any time your wife suddenly decided

houghtfully. "Isn't this the Daimler Gillian took to France with her-surely that is Phillipe driving?" he asked ab

for it," replied Peters. "I kept Phillipe on because he was a

elapsed into silence, which was unb

r wishes were faithfully 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 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 even unexpressed, she must have felt and resented. He glanced at the portrait of the beautiful sad woman in the p

his duties as host. With a murmured

y, please," he said

nderstand. 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 a

of protest. "The accounts can wait," he said shortly. "I don't know why on earth you want to bother about all this tonight, Peter. There will

ccounts are all straightforward. 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 thou

r Peters stopped speaking, and

"all her allowance! What has she been

do. I am simply telling you what is the case. It was not

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 i

do you

arm on his knee, and the knuckle

. 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 interested. 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 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

ppose." He gave a ghastly little mirthless laugh that made Peters wince and came back slowly into the room, heedless of the 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

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

y. "You made it what it is, it would go to pieces if you went. An

rty 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 l

e cloud of smoke. A look of intense relief passed over Craven's worn face. He tried to

and the fury of the storm beating against the house without were t

to her tomorrow-do you

ked up wit

ers stirred uncomfortably and made a li

he most expensive quarter of Paris," he said with reluctance

times to see her," he said, with a new trouble coming

he must have given it up almost immediately. Since then when I have run over for a day-she never seemed to want me to

ffened in

ache. 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 yourself do not know where she is?" he said fiercely. Peters shook his head. "I do not. I

denly to him impossible. He wanted to be alone to think out this new problem, though at the same time he knew that no amount of thou

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'

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 h

ust 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? What 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 multifarious 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 underl

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 w

n 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 overwhelming 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 wh

he pale light of the wintry dawn filterin

*

morning for

ill depressing outlook from the train di

n 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 s

ping the streets in the vicinity of the station. He was in no mood to go to his Club, where he would fin

t 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 en

s as they hurried on to the boat and dived below for shelter from the storm. Indifferent to the weather Craven chose to

hed Paris. Avoiding a hotel where he was known he drove to one of the smaller establis

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 absol

t, swinging along the crowded streets with his eyes fixed straight in front of him. And his great heig

hurch of Saint Augustin, until the trees in the Parc Monceau rose before him. How often in the heat of Africa had he pictured her sitting in the shade of those great spreading planes, reading or sketching the children who played about her? He had thought of

d the bank. He retraced his steps, walking directly to the Place de l'Opéra. 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 opportunity? 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 without further delay to the bureau of a firm he knew by repute. In the private room of the Chef de Bureau he detailed his requir

the hotel, not daring to go far afield lest he should lose some message or report. He had no wish either to advertise h

ife 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 t

ned 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 unmercifully, 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 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 condescended 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

d. As he passed quickly upward the unnatural calm that had come over 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 wo

t of weariness he had never heard before that sent a sudden qu

ke 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 you

things you do," came the quick retort, a

I do keep a roof over our heads," he added grimly. "

on to "hold that for a few minutes," and in the silence that ensue

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 sini

ence as husband and wife stared into each other's eyes. Then the palett

hispered fearf

oo 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 t

to animate the fragile limbs lying so cold and lifeless in his arms, and he bent low over the pallid lips he craved and ye

ed 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 mo

m and moved past to the bedside, addressing the concierge in fluent French that was marked by a pronounced

an 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

s 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 obviously loathed. His surroundings left no doubt on that score. She had plain

st 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 meaning. But as

t him to wai

he unknown artist to win recognition, her failure was both natural and intelligible. 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 l

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 t

bind her irrevocably to the life she had chosen? He turned from the pict

d 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, "

g to her, I mean. I gather there is a husband 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

Craven and his face grew grey under the deep tan. "What is the matter wi

he parried, "is rathe

o know," interrup

ask-what right?" was th

d back hotly in

glad for your wife's 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

spare my feelings," he said hoars

ed into sudden compassion but Craven did not see them. He saw nothing, for the room was spinni

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

aid, 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 temporarily 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 wi

th strangely contending emotions. "... keep her happy." The bitter irony of

ick 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 f

ve that rushed to his lips. But he dared not give way to the weakness that was tempting him. Controlling himself with

gently. "I just don't understand. I never dreamt of anything

ears crucified him and his heart was breaking as he looked at her. "Gillian, have a lit

n'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,

ght, I made it

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 ca

sobbed wildly. "I'm only

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 ha

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 u

arply, staring at her with despe

uddenly-"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

rsely, "I'm not fit to stay with you.

couldn't know when you did that dreadful thing. And if God punishes you let Him punish me too. But G

bear to come to me?" he falte

ut you is death," and lifting her face to his