Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-08-02
XIV.
Hamil.


with blue and crimson and gold. small
black speck crawled over the horizon and
moved slowly toward the oasis by the
sea.
Sir Richard Gaunt. seated on hum
mock of sand. watched the approach OF
the caravan with hungry eyes. and when
the darkness blotted out everything but
the stars. he still waited and stared
across the hidden plain.
Behind him in the settlement there was
a faint stir Of excitement. On ordinary
nights every one would have been asleep
an hour after sunset, but tonight the men
talked together in low measured voices,
and the women twittered like sparrows.
High up on one of the palms f1ared rude
Tampa piece of twisted cotton rag
planted in a bowl of fish oil. It flickered
and smoked as the faint night breeze
came up from the sea, but 1t gave enough
light to serve its purpose. 1t was set as
a beacon to guide the caravan across the
desert.
He had much to occupy his thoughts as
he watched there on the border of the
great sand ocean. He had not yet decided
whether to stay in the desert or whether
he ought to return to civilization. He
realized all that he owed to his present
life. If it had not effected a radical
change in his morals, 1t had at any rate
given him a sound mind and healthy
body. And these ought to lay the foun-
dalton for a better life. But was he yet
strong enough to resist temptation? Here
in the desert. with hard work to do from
morning to night. he had no time for
pleasures. and even If he had the time.
there was no means of indulging In them.
He knew that any attempt to make love
to the wives of his companions would re-
suit in the death Of himself and the
woman. He had lived pure life. but he
was sensible enough to see that he could
not have we'll done otherwise.
But the return to civilization. the CLAM
our Of the old life, the sight Of beautiful
he be strong enough to stand it? Six
months in London might reduce him to
the old level. His brain and body would
deteriorate. He would revel in the joy of
the first few months, but after that-he
shuddered as he recalled what he had
been before he had left England. He re-
membered the razor at his throat. the re-
volver at his forehead. In that former
life of his there had lurked the terror
that he could not understand. Here, at
any rate, there was peace and safety.
He seemed to have passed beyond the
reach of George Crawshay.
After a long mental struggle he decided
that he was not yet strong enough to re-
the pleasures Of his old life. and the mere
fact that he desired them indicated the
danger Of returning while he was In this
state Of mind. 1t was true that to a GER
and every month they grew fainter and
more indefinite. But they had not been
finally conquered. and he resolved to re-
main in the desert for another year.
And then he came to the question of
Lady Betty Drake. The change in his
mental attitude toward all the world had
naturally included a very marked change
I'm his feelings toward the woman who
loved him. She had once been merely a
possible income for the future, but he had
now come to regard her with almost
superstitious reverence, and he could not
make I'D his mind whether it would be
better to let her think of him as dead.
or whether he ought to let her know the
truth.
The solution of this problem would
have been simple If he had loved her. But
his feelings were only those Of regard
for q noble woman. 1t said much for the
thoughts were now for her happiness and
that he had no intention OF marrying her
for her money.
Yet this view Of the matter only intro
duced fresh complications. It would be
easy enough to return and marry her and
try to lead a new life. But II he did not
intend to marry her. would 1t be better
to let her think Of him as dead, or to let
her know the truth?
The question Of sending this message
by the caravan involved several other
considerations. If he was to be counted
as dead his brother Henry would take his
place at Gaunt Royal. His appreciation
Of virtues which had hitherto only bored
him. had not included an admiration for
Henry's particular merits. and the pros
pect Of suddenly rising from the dead and
turning. him out Of his inheritance was
not altogether an unpleasant one.
n,,% - ,,NI~ A>&~ II
thoughts from his mind. There. In the
great solitudes Of the wilderness 1t was
impossible to plan tricks like a spitefu.
schoolboy. He knew that he had to do
that which was right: This much. at any
rate. had he learnt In his adversely.
He decided to write to Lady Betty and
send the letter by the caravan. And then.
in a years time. he would return himself
and play a mans part in the busy world.
which now seemed as far away from him
a the moon itself