“But when I tell you that only a wild animal or a snake or a bird could move in that jungle! The bog is one vast black quicksand. There’s death in those depths.” “Victor.” “Yes?” He looked around at her. She was pale. He came up and took her hand inquiringly. “I don’t feel—well,” she murmured. “I’m not ill, you understand——” “What’s the matter, Tressa?” She shook her head drearily: “I don’t know.... I wonder whether I should have tried to amuse you this morning——” “You don’t think you’ve stirred up any of those Yezidee beasts, do you?” he asked sharply. And as she did not answer, he asked again whether she was afraid that what she had done that morning might have had any occult consequences. And he reminded her that she had hesitated to venture anything on that account. His voice, in spite of him, betrayed great nervousness now, and he saw apprehension in her eyes, also. “Why should that man in white have followed us, keeping out of sight in the woods?” he went on. “Did you notice about him anything to disturb you, Tressa?” “Not at the time. But—it’s odd—I can’t put him out of my mind. Since we passed him and left him apparently hunting a lost ball, I have not been able to put him out of my mind.” “He seemed civil and well bred. He was perfectly good-humoured—all courtesy and smiles.” “I think—perhaps—it was the way he smiled at us,” murmured the girl. “Everybody in the East smiles when they draw a knife....” He placed his arm through hers. “Aren’t you a trifle morbid?” he said pleasantly. She stooped for her golf ball, retaining a hold on his arm. He picked up his ball, too, put away her clubs and his, and they started back together in silence, evidently with no desire to make it eighteen holes. “It’s a confounded shame,” he muttered, “just as you were becoming so rested and so delightfully well, to have anything—any unpleasant flash of memory cut in to upset you——” “I brought it on myself. I should not have risked stirring up the sinister minds that were asleep.” “Hang it all!—and I asked you to amuse me.” “It was not wise in me,” she said under her breath. “It is easy to disturb the unknown currents which enmesh the globe. I ought not to have shown you Yian. I ought not to have shown you Yulun. It was my fault for doing that. I was a little lonely, and I wanted to see Yulun.” They came down the river back to the canoe, threw in their golf bags, and embarked on the glassy stream. Over the calm flood, stained deep with crimson, the canoe glided in the sanguine evening light. But Tressa sang no more and her head was bent sideways as though listening—always listening—to something inaudible to Cleves—something very, very far away which she seemed to hear through the still drip of the paddles. They were not yet in sight of their landing when she spoke to him, partly turning: “I think some of your men have arrived.” “Where?” he asked, astonished. “At the house.” “Why do you think so?” “I think so.”