The Shadow of the East

“I only know that you are hesitating at what most men would jump at,” she retorted, suddenly conscious of strained nerves and feeling as if she were battering impotently against a granite rock-face. His hands clenched but he did not reply and swift contrition fell on her. She turned to him impulsively. “Forgive me, Barry. I shouldn’t have said that, but I want this thing so desperately. I am convinced that it would mean happiness for you, for you both. And when I think of Gillian—alone—fighting against the world–” She broke down completely and he gripped her hands with a strength that made her wince.

“She’ll never do that if I can help it,” he said swiftly.

Miss Craven looked up with sudden hope. “You will ask her?” she whispered expectantly. He put her from him gently. “I can promise nothing. I must think,” he said deliberately, and there was in his face a look that held her silent.

With uncertain feelings she watched him leave the room.... Inevitable re-action set in, doubts overwhelmed her. Had she done what was best or had she blundered irretrievably? She went unsteadily to a chair, extraordinarily tired, exhausted in her new weakness by the emotional strain through which she had passed. She was beginning to be a little aghast at what she had done, at the force that she had set moving. And yet she had been actuated by the highest motives. She believed implicitly that the joining of the two lives whose future was all her care would result in the ultimate happiness of both. They had grown used to each other. A closer relationship than that of guardian and ward seemed, in view of the comparatively slight difference in age, a natural outcome of the intimacy into which they had been thrown. It was not without precedent; similar events had happened before and would doubtless happen again, she argued, striving to stifle the still lingering doubt that whispered that she had gone beyond her prerogative. And what she had done was in a way inexplicable even to herself. All through she had felt that involuntary forceful impulse that had been almost fatalistic, she had urged through the prompting of an inward conviction. She had perhaps attached too much importance to it, her own wish had been magnified until it assumed the appearance of fate.

Her closed eyes quivered as she leaned back in the chair.

She had done it for the best, she kept repeating mechanically to herself, to try and bring happiness into his life; to insure the safety of the girl who had become so dear to her. Had it been his thought too, even before she spoke? His manner had been so strange. He had recoiled from her suggestion but she had been left with the impression that it was no new one to him. She had caught a fleeting look, before his face had taken on that impenetrable mask, that had given the lie to his emphatic words. He had seemed to be wrestling with himself, she had seen the moisture thick on his forehead, his set face had looked as if it could never soften again. When he had gone he had given her no definite promise and she had no possibility of guessing what his decision would be. But on reflection she found hope in his deferring reply. It was all that was left to her. She had done her utmost, the rest lay with him. She sighed deeply, she had never felt such weariness of mind and body. As she gave way to a feeling of growing lassitude drowsiness came over her which she was too tired to combat and for some time she slept heavily. She awoke with a start to find Gillian, wide-eyed with concern, kneeling beside her, the girl’s slim warm fingers clasped closely round her sleep-numbed hands. Dazed with sudden waking she looked up without speaking at the fresh young face that bent over her. Gillian rubbed the cold hands gently. “Aunt Caro, you were asleep! I’ve never caught you napping before,” she laughed, but a hint of anxiety mingled with the wonder in her voice. Miss Craven slowly smiled reassurance. Her weakness seemed to have vanished with sleep, she felt herself once more strong enough to hide from the searching affectionate eyes anything that might give pain or cause uneasiness. She sat up straighter.

“Laziness, my dear, sheer laziness,” she said sturdily. Gillian looked at her gravely. “Sure?” she asked, “you are sure that you are quite well? You looked so tired—your face was quite white.”

“Quite sure—unbeliever! And you—did you have a good time; did you remember to take your tonic, and did you keep warm?”

Gillian laughed softly and stood up, ticking off the items on her fingers. “I did have a good time, I did remember to take my tonic, and this heavenly coat has kept me as warm as pie—Nina Atherton taught me that. That nice family considerably enlarged my vocabulary,” she added with enjoyment, slipping out of a heavy fur coat and coming back to perch on the arm of Miss Craven’s chair.

“Not yours only,” was the answer, “Peter was quoting the husband this afternoon.”