The Shadow of the East | Page 9

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 happiness 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 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 whispered 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. 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 mattered. All through these
last months of wonderful happiness 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 on the verandah
rail. "Gone home to bed I expect. Time you went to bed too. I'll just
smoke this cigarette." 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 excitement as she ripped