On the candid light of the eyes flitted shadows; shadows of doubt, of suspicion, the ready suspicion of an unquenchable antagonism, the pitiless mistrust of an eternal instinct of defence; the hate, the profound, frightened hate of an incomprehensible--of an abominable emotion intruding its coarse materialism upon the spiritual and tragic contest of her feelings. “Alvan . . . I won’t bear this . . .” She began to pant suddenly, “I’ve a right--a right to--to--myself . . .” He lifted one arm, and appeared so menacing that she stopped in a fright and shrank back a little. He stood with uplifted hand . . . The years would pass--and he would have to live with that unfathomable candour where flit shadows of suspicions and hate . . . The years would pass--and he would never know--never trust . . . The years would pass without faith and love. . . . “Can you stand it?” he shouted, as though she could have heard all his thoughts. He looked menacing. She thought of violence, of danger--and, just for an instant, she doubted whether there were splendours enough on earth to pay the price of such a brutal experience. He cried again: “Can you stand it?” and glared as if insane. Her eyes blazed, too. She could not hear the appalling clamour of his thoughts. She suspected in him a sudden regret, a fresh fit of jealousy, a dishonest desire of evasion. She shouted back angrily-- “Yes!” He was shaken where he stood as if by a struggle to break out of invisible bonds. She trembled from head to foot. “Well, I can’t!” He flung both his arms out, as if to push her away, and strode from the room. The door swung to with a click. She made three quick steps towards it and stood still, looking at the white and gold panels. No sound came from beyond, not a whisper, not a sigh; not even a footstep was heard outside on the thick carpet. It was as though no sooner gone he had suddenly expired--as though he had died there and his body had vanished on the instant together with his soul. She listened, with parted lips and irresolute eyes. Then below, far below her, as if in the entrails of the earth, a door slammed heavily; and the quiet house vibrated to it from roof to foundations, more than to a clap of thunder. He never returned. THE LAGOON The white man, leaning with both arms over the roof of the little house in the stern of the boat, said to the steersman-- “We will pass the night in Arsat’s clearing. It is late.”