The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1911-02-15

the rain. Without a word Bersonin
locked the door, wheeled an arm chair
before the blaze, pushed him into it
and mixed him glass of spirits. Then
he stood looking at him.
tits all right" said Phil. "The tri-
pod fitted to hair. 1t can't be seen
from either side, and I've sent the
boy away and locked the house,
Good" said Bersonin. "All is ready,
then. The mechanism is set for the
moment of daybreak. Our gains will
be enormous, for in spite of the sell
ing the market is up. There has been
a little distrust of the situation here
and there, though the optimists have
had their way. And this latent distrust
will add to the debacle when it comes.
We are just in time, for the squadron
has it's sailing orders for tomorrow.
Strange how near we were to failure!
Who could have foreseen the death of
the king? And the rains, too. They
say it is doubtful if the trains will
run tomorrow"
Phirs hand, holding the drink, shook
and wavered.
''The damned clock work in the
thing" he said. II could hear it all
the way-I thought every one would
hear it. can't get the ticking out of
my brain!" He set down the glass
and turned a glittering gaze on the
other.
''It's worth all that comes from it"
he said. you'll play me fair! Do you
understand? You'll play me fair, or
I'll settle with you!"
The doctor smiled, smile of hor-
rible cunning.
'As you settled with your brother?"
he said.
Phil shrank into the chair speech
less, looking at him with trepidation
in his eyes. The shot had gone home.
"Pshaw!" said Bersonin. do you
take me for fool not to guess? Come,
we needn't quarrel. Our interests are
the same. Go home, now, to your
Japanese butterfly-and watt"
CHAPTER XIII.
The chapel was but sparsely filed.
From where she sat, Baraba, through
the open door, could see the willows
along the disconsolate roadway whip
ping in the fleering dashes of wind. A
woman trudged by, barelegged, her
kimono tucked knee high, the newt
able, swaddled baby on her back. The
hot, fibrous song of the semi had died
to a thin humming, like bees in an old
orchard. Across the bishops voice she
heard the plaintive call of the buck
ster, swinging by in slow dog trot with
paIier pole on shoulder and the chirp
of a singing frog under the hedge.
The service was in the vernacular,
and though she tried to follow it in her
Romaji prayer book-whose words
were printed in Roman letters instead
of the Japenese ideograph-the lines
were meaningless, and she could not
fasten her mind on them.
She had reached a point in these
few tragical days where her mind,
overweight with it's own pain, had
acquired a kind of benumbing lassi-
tude that was not apathy and yet was
far removed from spontaneous feeling.
Daunt's presence that dreadful night
on the hillside-his confusion-his
bleeding hand-his roundabout re-
turn to the hotel--all this, at the sight
of the Damascene crop in the bushes,
had flashed to her mind in damnable
sequence. And yet something deep
and unfathomed within her had driv-
en- her to the obliteration of that
mute evidence. Austen Ware had
slipped and fallen-such was the uni
versal verdict. The truth was sealed
forever in the urn now bound over
seas to it's last. resting place. She
alone, she thought, knew the secret
of that Nikko tragedy.
With the next daylight the storm
had broken and the ensuing gloomy
weather had formed dismal setting
for gloomier scenes, through which
she had moved duly and mechanical
ly. When all was over, to Patricia's
sorrow, she had not returned to the
embassy, but had gone Immediately to
her uncle's. The pity offered her
though not openly expressed, since
her engagement had not been formal
ly announced-hurth her like physical
blows, and the quiet Of Ts'kiji rectory
was some solace. Tonight an I'M
welcome task lay before her. She was
to visit the yacht-now, by q satiric
freak of chance, legally her own!-to
- -,