Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1909-08-03
CHAPTER XVI.
Contains a Clean Of Light.

Doubt grows up with knowledge, and
the god of vengeance acts in silence. The
earthly paradise and hell lie in the one
word Woman
had fallen beneath the spell Of wom-
ans beauty-why, l cannot tell. Elfrida
possessed me body and soul. / thought OF
her daily-nay. hourly. AS l sat In my
room in the Pera Palace, strolled about
the greasy streets Of the city, with their
hordes of gray dogs so sacred to the
Turks, sailed the blue Bosphorus, or
walked beside the Sweet Waters. her
troubled countenance ever rose before me.
And yet the grim irony OF 1t! Granny
had expressed profound regret al my con-
fession of affection for her.
Once when shutting in big overslippers
through the great Mosque Of ST. Sophia,
which 1 had not visited for some years
he turned back to me. and in an under
| tone said, with grim smile:
'This is the way / must go through life
| in future-unable to lift my feet
Then when we were outside again, pass
| ing the big FLASHING fountain In the after
noon sunshine he suddenly exclaimed:
you are very silent today, Phil Re-
membranes of your enchantress are upon
you. I do believe. For heavens sake,
| take my warning-put them aside!
''Why do you warn me SO mysteri-
ousiy?"
because you and I are friends. I will
not stand by ana see you betrayed as l
have BEEN
Your words are homogeneous, Granny"
| I declared. DO you not love Myra, and
are you not ever thinking of herr
He sighed heavily, shadow of pain
fitting across his large. open features.
Yes" he admitted: but I've grown to
see the folly of it all-the utter fmpossi,
| bility. I've lost Myra-lost her forever!
NO" I declared cheerily. why say
| that? She still loves you and believes In
you
But she must know the truth some
day. / shall be arrested. What them?
IF you are. you must prove your lnno-
cence-prove an alibi." said
when there is an actual witness?" he said
hoarsely.
l made no comment. knew to whom
| he referred-Elfrida Maynard. the girl
toward him. and yet against whom he
was so strangely antagontstic.
/ had taken good care that my dlsap-
pearance'' from England should be COM
| friends knew of my whereabouts. | knew
| many people in Constantinople, 1t was
| true, but they were not likely to be in
communication with Scotland Yard.
Through that blazing August heat ! re-
| manned, we having both moved down
from Pera to Therapia. that pleasant re-
sort on the Bosphorus. about twelve
| miles from the capital. The money | had
| drawn from the bank on the afternoon OF
my departure from London was. how
| ever, now running very low, and in order
not to betray our whereabouts / saw
! that / must return and send my friend
| further supplies
| AS each day passed. until we were we'll
| into September. 1 felt an increased de-
| sire to return to England. for. truth to
| tell, l seemed impeled toward the girl
| whose brown eyes held me in such fasci-
nation. Granny, however, dreaded being
| left alone again.
Exile here. without you. Phil, is UNI
| bearable,' he declared bitterly I'm
| cosmopolitan, as you know. and L m USED
| to being alone in unfamiliar places, but
| then England was free to me to return
whenever l became seized by that most
| extraordinary of all maladies we call
nostalgia. Only those who've suffered
| from 1t know the awful world WEAKNESS
! 1t produces-how Gods beautiful sky and
| sunshine pail upon one, and how the
| fairest scene on earth becomes ugly and
| embarrassing when one recollects the
humble home in rural England. or the
| smoke-blackened lions of Trafalgar
| Square. Ah!' he went on. you may
laugh at me. Phil. l see 1t in your face.
But some day, when you experience it, as
/, alas. have done-when you long for
you will know what inconsistencies really
| meansr'
Il hope my departure will not bring on
| an attack" ! said in seriousness.
l
by the Orient express tomorrow has al
| ready created a yearning to return"
BE patient. old fellow. Remain here
| in safety" l urged. las long as Myra' S
faith in you is mistaken. why need you
| fear? Leave matters to me.
IF l were innocent l would have no
dread of the future, he said between his
/ teeth, his hands clenched in desperation.
"Ah! Phil; You don't know! haven't
told you all!'
"No-that's just where you are unfair
with me- declared in a voice Of COM
plant I'm trying to do all can to
assist you and yet you refuse to tell me
the whole truth
Because can't, Raiston!" he declared
| breathlessly.
"You can," I responded, rather harsh
| ly.
But l can't tell you what don't know;
and I don't know the whole truth" he
protested.