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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6005.O77W9 
 
 World without end. 
 
 3 1924 013 600 881 
 
New and Forthcoming Fiction. 
 
 ExTON Manor. 
 
 Archibald Marshall . . 6^. 
 
 Privy Seal. 
 
 Ford Madox Hueffer . 6^. 
 
 The Amateur Emigrants. 
 
 Thos. Cobb . . . .6s. 
 
 Kit's Woman. 
 
 Mrs Havelock Ellis . 3^. 6<i. 
 
 Arminel of the West. 
 By the Author of 
 
 " A Pixy in Petticoats " . 6s. 
 
 A Bunch of Blue Ribbons. 
 
 George Morley . . .6s. 
 
 The Leopard and the Lily. 
 
 Marjorie Bowen . . .6s. 
 
WORLD WITHOUT END 
 
"By the Same '^Author 
 
 THE VISION AT THE SAVOY 
 EMMA HAMILTON'S MINIATURE 
 WICKEDNESS IN HIGH PLACES 
 THE ZIONISTS 
 
 Etc., Etc. 
 
WORLD WITHOUT 
 END 
 
 BY 
 
 WINIFRED GRAHAM 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ALSTON RIVERS, LTD. 
 
 BROOKE ST., HOLBORN BARS, E.G. ' I . 
 
 JJzIl 
 
 1907 
 
 I I 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013600881 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 1. THE SECOND WIFE 
 
 2. WORDS OF POWER . 
 
 3. THE THEOSOPHIST AT THE WINDOW 
 
 4. YOUR BROTHER IS A BRITISHER 
 
 5. FOR A NOVEL EXPERIENCE . 
 
 6. THE ROOM OF MYSTERY 
 
 7. HANDICAPPED BY MEMORY 
 
 8. THE CITY OF DEATH 
 
 9. THE SARDAR's SERVANT 
 
 10. IN THE PRECINCTS OF THE SHRINE 
 
 11. THE MYSTIC STONE 
 
 12. THE CALL OF THE PEN. 
 
 13. IN THE SUMMER OF HER YEARS 
 
 14. THE CARVED OAK CHEST 
 
 15. THE PLAY-ACTOR 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 19 
 
 35 
 49 
 57 
 73 
 94 
 106 
 
 119 
 141 
 167 
 192 
 206 
 217 
 236 
 
VI 
 
 Contents 
 
 16. I UNDERSTAND THESE PEOPLE 
 
 17. IN mostyn's interest . 
 
 18. THE BEST THAT PERSIA CAN GIVE 
 
 19. NO SHADOW OF A DOUBT 
 
 20. GOD BK WITH HIM ! 
 
 21. PERSIA IS TOO STRONG . 
 
 255 
 269 
 284 
 290 
 298 
 304 
 
WORLD WITHOUT END 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE SECOND WIFE 
 
 Back in Piccadilly on a May morning ! To 
 the traveller from the East, the old familiar 
 roar of London traffic was like the music of 
 a mother's voice. 
 
 Major Marchmont stood at his Club 
 window, after four years' absence — years of 
 vivid colour and hot adventure. Torrid 
 climes had dried up his fresh English com- 
 plexion, but his frame was still wiry from 
 his passionate love of the chase. 
 
 He looked up and down Piccadilly 
 shrewdly ; his eyes had all the keenness of 
 a scout ; he was observing fashion in her 
 latest guise. Lost in thought, he started 
 palpably when a servant called him to the 
 telephone. There he found the voice of an 
 old friend. 
 
 "HuUoa! Is that Jim? How are you, 
 I I 
 
2 World Without End 
 
 old chap ? Glad you're safely back. Come 
 and lunch with us to-day at the Priory, I'll 
 fetch you in the car. Who's 'us'? Of 
 course I forgot; you didn't know I had 
 married again." 
 
 " By Jove ! " 
 
 Major Jim felt staggered for the moment ; 
 he hardly knew what to say. Second 
 marriages, or in fact marriages at all, were 
 somewhat incomprehensible to his bachelor 
 temperament. He felt momentarily disap- 
 pointed that Arnold Anstey had not remained 
 faithful to the memorj/^ of the dear little 
 woman who died just before the traveller 
 left England. 
 
 He stammered some words of congratu- 
 lation, and asked if he happened to know 
 the present Mrs Anstey. 
 
 " Hather ! Don't you remember Diana 
 Hastings ? " 
 
 The fair, mystical face of a girl with 
 whom he had danced, and flirted slightly, 
 four years ago, rose before his mental 
 vision. She had strange topsy-turvy ideas, 
 theories which met with good-natured toler- 
 ance from Major Jim. Even now he could 
 recall scraps of her conversation, which 
 retained a hold upon some brain cell, -and 
 refused to fade away with other trivialities. 
 
 He could hardly picture this wild, uncon- 
 
The Second Wife 3 
 
 ventional woman in the late Mrs Anstey's 
 place. They were such utterly different 
 types. The dead wife had, in Jim March- 
 mont's estimation, attained the acme of 
 feminine perfection. The living wife he 
 could think of only as the pretty, puzzling 
 girl with the queer, twisted mind and inex- 
 plicable attraction. 
 
 He accepted the invitation to lunch, with 
 a warm assurance that he certainly had not 
 forgotten the Miss Diana of former years. 
 
 Silence reigned once more. Some invisible 
 hand cut short Arnold Anstey's reply, and 
 Major Marchmont was left again to his own 
 reflections. The news he had just heard 
 set him thinking. Only a few moments ago, 
 nothing had been further from his mind than 
 a desire to see Diana Hastings, but now his 
 curiosity was aroused, and he wanted to see 
 her very much indeed. 
 
 He waited impatiently for the car. He 
 had letters to write, but his ideas strayed, 
 and he began wondering how long it would 
 take Arnold Anstey to drive from Roe- 
 hampton to Piccadilly. 
 
 In a surprisingly short time his old friend 
 drew up at the Club door. It was good to 
 clasp hands again, to see how little the years 
 had changed the familiar face. Well as 
 Major Marchmont knew Arnold, he still 
 
4 World Without End 
 
 found him difficult to understand. There 
 was a strong vein of humour in his nature, 
 sometimes mistaken for sarcasm ; he seldom 
 spoke seriously. Possibly in one of his 
 ironical moods he first contemplated marriage 
 with Diana. 
 
 " I gave you rather a shock just now on 
 the telephone," he said, with a twinkle in his 
 eye, " but it comes of going away for years 
 and leaving no address. I couldn't stand a 
 lonely life. I had to do it, and she is wonder- 
 fully good to Mostyn. He's on the best of 
 terms with his stepmother." 
 
 "Ah, my godson. I had been thinking 
 about him. How old is he now ? " 
 
 "Ten years. We have just got him back 
 from school ; an epidemic broke out, so they 
 sent him home." 
 
 The conversation was brisk with the 
 arrears of long absence. Major Marchmont 
 had seen and done so much that he carefully 
 avoided travellers' tales — they were for the 
 after-dinner hour — and both men talked 
 sketchily, discussing only the broad outlines 
 of the past few years. 
 
 Certainly Arnold Anstey looked happy 
 enough in his new life. He was prospering 
 financially, and this, he remarked, was more 
 conducive to domestic peace than any amount 
 of philosophy. He had bought the house at 
 
The Second Wife 5 
 
 Roehampton as a present to Diana. " She 
 took a fancy to the oak panelling, and the 
 mulberry tree in the garden," he said. " She 
 thought Mostyn would like to keep silk- 
 worms, so that settled the matter, and the 
 Priory became our own." 
 
 Major Marchmont's godson was waiting 
 for him in the drive. To the eyes of young 
 England the traveller was a hero, and 
 Mostyn thirsted for details of adventure and 
 sport. He was singularly like his mother ; 
 and just for a moment, as Jim Marchmont 
 caught sight of him, he could hardly believe 
 that the late Mrs Anstey would not appear, 
 shadowing her boy as of old. 
 
 The little fellow ran forward eagerly. 
 
 " So you've not forgotten me," said his 
 godfather, pleased at the welcome. 
 
 " Rather not," declared Arnold. " Mostyn 
 followed your career as well as he could 
 from the press. He cut out an account you 
 wrote of a hunting excursion with the Shah 
 in the Persian mountains. I suppose those 
 mountains are full of ibex, deer, and other 
 four-footed game." 
 
 "Yes. Immense tracts of country are 
 preserved for the royal sport ; while on the 
 plains they hunt the antelope with hounds, 
 or hawks are flown after quail, herons, 
 francolin, bustards, and partridge." 
 
6 World Without End 
 
 Mostyn had many questions to ask about 
 birds, and cinimals, and kings, all of which 
 Major Jim appeared only too ready to 
 answer ; but Arnold Anstey cut short the 
 conversation. 
 
 "That boy will give you no peace if once 
 you begin telling him about foreign places," 
 he declared. " I shouldn't mind betting that 
 some day Mostyn will be as great a traveller 
 as yourself He is always studying maps, 
 and winning prizes for geography. He has 
 the roving spirit, too ; we shall make him 
 into an explorer, if there is anything left to 
 explore by the time he's grown up." 
 
 The joking remark awoke the older man's 
 interest. He believed that any special bent 
 always made itself evident in early years. 
 He liked to think this godson of his might 
 develop the same tastes and ambitions as him- 
 self, and resolved to keep an eye on the boy. 
 
 " We'll have a real good chat later on, old 
 chap," he said, patting the curly little head. 
 " You can ask me as many questions as you 
 like. It's peculiar to travellers that they 
 never mind talking." 
 
 He followed Arnold into the house, while 
 Mostyn rode to the stables on the step of the 
 motor. His face glowed with excitement ; he 
 treasured Major Jim's promise with the keen 
 relish of youthful expectation. 
 
The Second Wife 7 
 
 "He's an intelligent child. Don't chaff 
 him out of studying maps," said the traveller, 
 sympathetically. 
 
 " But it's a perfect craze ; he's gone off on 
 the car now, because I told him I meant to 
 get a new map in town to-day. He will 
 settle on it like a wasp on jam, and he has a 
 most extraordinary bump of locality — never 
 forgets a road. I take him out with me 
 sometimes as a guide. Bother that telephone 
 bell ; it's been going all day ; we get no peace ! 
 Excuse me a moment." 
 
 Arnold darted down a passage just as a 
 door opened and Diana Anstey appeared. 
 
 Major Jim hastened forward ; their hands 
 met Diana looked into his eyes and 
 laughed. She was prettier than the girl he 
 remembered ; there was more in her face. 
 She asked him why he had stayed away so 
 long? What was his grievance against his 
 English friends? 
 
 "Travel," he said, "is a kind of disease. 
 It's taken a hold on me, and I can't shake it 
 off. I meant to come back two years ago." 
 
 " But the Ea^ called ! " she murmured. 
 " Oh, I can understand so well. You spread 
 your wings and think of us at home as caged 
 birds, with our little conventions, and the 
 bars all round." 
 
 "Your bars seem very pleasant," he 
 
8 World Without End 
 
 replied. " I am only sorry I was not at 
 your wedding, but we rolling stones never 
 do the right thing." 
 
 " I've always such an immense respect for 
 rolling stones ; they are so free ; they laugh at 
 the stationary rock, rooted in its home-grown 
 moss. I wonder what you thought when 
 you heard I had married Arnold ? " 
 
 She eyed him curiously, then answered the 
 question herself. 
 
 " I know exactly. You were very sur- 
 prised. You said to yourself, ' He is the 
 very last man I should have expected her to 
 marry.' " 
 
 She led the way as she spoke through a 
 sunny drawing-room, and out to an old- 
 fashioned garden, somewhat overgrown with 
 massive trees and luxuriant flowering shrubs. 
 
 " These trees are our only bone of con- 
 tention," she continued. "Arnold wants to 
 cut away half the boughs, and I like the wild 
 forest growth. The man who planned this 
 garden had a great imagination ; it satisfies." 
 
 The critical eyes of the wanderer travelled 
 over lawn and avenue to the thread of a 
 narrow stream, which made a streak of silver 
 light through the grass. He could hardly 
 have explained the charm of the place, or 
 why it differed so strangely from other 
 gardens, even in old-world houses of historic 
 
The Second Wife 9 
 
 fame. There was a touch of enchantment, 
 an original scheme of plantation, a joyousness 
 combined with peace, an essence of talent, 
 which made itself felt. 
 
 " The garden is like yourself," he said. 
 
 Her face broke into smiles. 
 
 " Sometimes I think it must have been 
 designed for me in another life, because it is 
 just what I should have planned. From the 
 first moment I came here it seemed familiar. 
 It appeals to me ; it speaks in a thousand 
 ways." 
 
 "Are you still a theosophist ?" he asked ; 
 "a firm believer in the reincarnation of 
 souls ? " 
 
 Mrs Anstey gave a little start. She 
 forgot that in the old days she had talked 
 of these matters to Major Jim, Now she 
 was more reticent — the outcome, perhaps, of 
 her husband's love of chaff, 
 
 "Are you laughing at me?" she asked, 
 shrewdly, 
 
 "No. I have an immense respect for every 
 form of belief There are so many theories, 
 that one cannot help feeling the road is as 
 difficult to tread as the edge of a sharp 
 razor," 
 
 " I never talk of it now to scoffers," said 
 Diana, earnestly, "It means too much to 
 me ; but I keep it here, hidden in my heart. 
 
lo World Without End 
 
 I am like the people of old who wanted a 
 sign, and I think it may be given." 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 A tender expression came to her eyes ; 
 they seemed to look beyond the enchanted 
 garden, to a future yet unfound. 
 
 "Some day," she said, "a soul will be 
 born into the world with a recollection of 
 the past : not a mere fleeting fancy such as 
 we all feel, but with definite proofs of 
 previous life." 
 
 " It may be already born," he replied, " in 
 another country, but you will never know — 
 some boy or girl, with vivid memories of 
 having once been a great theurgist of the 
 third century, or a Greek philosopher. Pos- 
 sibly the reincarnations of Pindar, Isocrates, 
 Plutarch, or Plato wander unrecognised, being 
 conscious of an existence which is of no help 
 to them to-day." 
 
 Diana shook her head. 
 
 " No," she said ; " it is not born yet." 
 
 She spoke with absolute conviction. 
 
 Arnold's voice was heard behind them. 
 
 " Don't speak of theosophy to him," she 
 whispered. "He calls it a fake religion ; I 
 think he's a little afraid of it, really." 
 
 "I've been talking to Miss Goodwin on 
 the telephone. I thought I should never get 
 away. She is coming to lunch." 
 
The Second Wife ii 
 
 Arnold drew a long face as he spoke. 
 
 " I was wrong," said Diana, "when I told 
 you the trees were our only bone of con- 
 tention," addressing Major Jim, " Ella 
 Goodwin is another bone, only Arnold can't 
 cut her, because she is a connection of 
 mine." 
 
 "A tiresome woman, and dangerous into 
 the bargain," declared Arnold. "She calls 
 herself a mystic, and fills Diana's head with 
 the most irrational ideas. If only Diana 
 would treat her as a fool, we could suffer, 
 her gladly together ; but unfortunately she 
 takes the voluble Ella as a serious and heavy 
 meal, instead of a souffle, and gets mental 
 indigestion in consequence." 
 
 Arnold took his wife's arm affectionately ; 
 it was easy to see that they were on the best 
 possible terms. 
 
 When Ella arrived she appeared to Major 
 Marchmont a most harmless and unassuming 
 individual. She spoke little at lunch, and 
 was prepared to agree with Arnold in every- 
 thing. When the men were left to their 
 coffee and smoke, Jim noticed the two women 
 passed arm-in-arm into the garden, and Ella's 
 tongue was instantly unloosed. He could 
 see them vanishing down the sloping lawn, 
 their heads together, the visitor talking 
 animatedly. 
 
12 World Without End 
 
 " I hope I was not in the way, dear," she 
 said, the moment they were alone. "I 
 didn't know you had an old friend coming. 
 I felt I must look you up some time to-day. 
 Your letter excited me intensely; you can 
 guess why." 
 
 Diana felt her hand clasped fondly. She 
 trembled slightly with emotion. 
 
 " I promised you should be the first to 
 know — I have not even told my mother yet. 
 Now my task begins. From this hour I 
 shall pray, and hope, and will, that the soul 
 I am to give to the world may have a vivid 
 and continued recollection of some former 
 incarnation. It was a great idea of yours, 
 Ella, to do this from the very first. Perhaps 
 no one has thought of it before." 
 
 "Your prayer," murmured Ella, "must be 
 a strong, energetic desire, and that desire will 
 create a form of which it is the life and 
 directing energy. If your thought is clear, 
 strong, and concentrated, you will draw to 
 yourself the kind of subtle matter best suited 
 to your purpose. It will be a deliberate 
 mental effort, a putting forth of your own 
 strength. Never for a moment doubt your 
 power ; doubt is fatal to the exercise of the 
 will." 
 
 " I have perfect confidence," replied Diana, 
 in low, soft tones, hushed by Ella's mysterious 
 
The Second Wife 13 
 
 accents. Involuntarily they spoke in whispers, 
 as if birds and bees were mindful of their 
 speech in that garden of many flowers and 
 varying scents. " I must bring myself into 
 touch with the forces of invisible worlds, 
 selecting those which can aid me, and 
 neutralising all that oppose. It will be a 
 secret process of the mind shared only with 
 you, in silent meditation, an effort to reach 
 the heights above — to set myself at one, as 
 it were, with the Divine. I must recognise 
 myself as a channel rather than a source ; 
 an agent, not an actor ; a servant working in 
 harmony with influences around me which I 
 can never fully understand." 
 
 Ella looked approvingly upon her young 
 disciple. She had originally directed 
 Diana's thoughts to the teaching of esoteric 
 Christianity, the true theosophy, according 
 to her lights. The older woman gave into 
 the hands of the younger numberless 
 volumes produced by the Theosophical 
 Society, and between them they conceived 
 the idea that memory might be implanted 
 in the mind of an unborn child, through the 
 will power of the mother. 
 
 " I must teach you some ' Words of 
 Power ' to chant daily," said Ella. " They are 
 called ' mantras,' the name given to them in 
 the East, where the science of mantras has 
 
14 World Without End 
 
 been much elaborated. The effect of chant- 
 ing is to create vibrations in the physical and 
 superphysical worlds. If our knowledge 
 were wide enough, and our hearts pure, 
 there is scarcely any limit to the powers 
 we might exercise in using these ancient 
 mantras." 
 
 She looked towards a summer-house in 
 the centre of the rose garden, built with a 
 dome-shaped roof, and covered in crimson 
 blossoms. 
 
 " That always makes me think of a 
 miniature temple. Why not use it as such, 
 at least for the next few months ? " 
 
 " Mostyn keeps his carpentering tools 
 there, and lots of lumber. It has always 
 been his special little play-house." 
 
 " What does that matter ? " Ella Goodwin 
 spoke impatiently. " Surely you are of more 
 consequence than a schoolboy, who is only 
 occasionally at home? Tell him to clear 
 them out, and make that your sanctum of 
 silence. You might redecorate the place, and 
 transform it into an ideal bower." 
 
 " I shouldn't tell Mostyn to give it up to 
 me, but I might ask him as a favour. He is 
 so kind-hearted, and we are very fond of 
 each other." 
 
 Miss Goodwin's brain was busy with plans. 
 She pictured the deep communings they 
 
The Second Wife 15 
 
 would hold in the temple, if it were con- 
 secrated to Diana's leisure hours. She took 
 out a notebook, and began putting down 
 some utterly unintelligible sentences, 
 
 "Couldn't I chant in English?" suggested 
 Diana, guessing the writing was for her 
 edification, 
 
 Ella's lips curled slightly ; she shot a glance 
 of disdain at her friend. 
 
 " If you translated a mantra," she explained, 
 "it would change from a 'Word of Power' 
 into an ordinary sentence. The sounds being 
 altered, other sound-forms would be created. 
 There are hundreds of mantras in the Sanskrit 
 tongue, made by old occultists, familiar with 
 invisible worlds and their laws. These 
 words, chanted in a definite order, have been 
 handed down from generation to generation." 
 
 Her tone implied disapproval of Diana, 
 who had betrayed ignorance of these ancient 
 rites. 
 
 To the younger woman, Ella's outward 
 appearance of plain, unassuming respectability 
 was made dazzling and attractive by the 
 mind -power she was supposed to possess. 
 Her grip of a strange and complex theme, 
 as contrasted with her outward guise of 
 commonplace nonentity, was a bewildering 
 puzzle to the sensitive, emotional Diana. She 
 had drawn comfort, inspiration, and strength 
 
i6 World Without End 
 
 from many of the theories laid before her. 
 She was quite ready to be led by Ella, and 
 trusted her with a childlike faith peculiarly 
 flattering to the spinster. 
 
 " I shall stay down here, and seclude 
 myself as much as possible," Diana said. 
 "You must be with me a great deal." 
 
 Ella promised to remain her constant com- 
 panion, adding that she wished Mr Anstey 
 were more in harmony with their views, 
 
 " That is impossible. He would always 
 ridicule our theories ; so why enlighten him, 
 why force bread on those who are not 
 hungry ? " 
 
 Diana spoke with a certain weariness. It 
 fretted her to hide anything from her husband. 
 She would have liked him to take part in the 
 great experiment she and Ella had evolved, 
 but she knew he could never accept the 
 theory that by their concentrated powers 
 the child to be born might throw light upon 
 a great question, by retaining impressions of 
 a past life in some tangible form. 
 
 When Arnold rejoined them, he found 
 Ella expatiating on the beauties of Mostyn's 
 improvised workshop. 
 
 " You might make this summer-house a 
 dream of beauty," she said. " Diana was 
 thinking of converting it into a sanctum for 
 herself," 
 
The Second Wife 17 
 
 " If Mostyn would give it up to me," 
 added his stepmother, quickly. 
 
 " Why, of course," declared Arnold, " the 
 boy could keep his tools just as well in the 
 stables. I have often thought of doing 
 something with the place, and, oddly enough, 
 the idea occurred to me again only this 
 morning. It shall be a shrine to Diana ; 
 the dome suggests Eastern decoration. I 
 should like it fitted up in Oriental style. 
 We will have tapestry on the walls, and 
 improvise a divan, with heaps of cushions. 
 Jim is here fresh from Persia ; he shall 
 advise. For the moment, however, he and 
 Mostyn are so wrapped up in each other, 
 it's impossible to get a hearing." 
 
 Ella nodded approval, and took her leave. 
 She was never quite comfortable in Arnold's 
 presence. He sighed with relief when her 
 back was turned. 
 
 " I had a hideous presentiment that the 
 white rat would stay on all the afternoon," 
 he said. 
 
 Diana winced at the name, given to 
 Ella by reason of a colourless skin and 
 two protruding teeth which pinned her 
 under lip. 
 
 " It's a pity you don't like her, as she is my 
 best friend." 
 
 " Oh, you'll grow out of that in time." 
 
 2 
 
1 8 World Without End 
 
 He spoke with breezy assurance, and 
 dismissed the subject. 
 
 Involuntarily Diana decided to keep her 
 own counsel. She would sit at Ella's feet in 
 secret ; her friendship should be the stolen 
 fruit reserved for lonely hours. 
 
 " Tired ? " he queried. 
 
 "Just a little." 
 
 He bent over her tenderly. She caught 
 in his eyes the expression of the lover, and 
 a glad knowledge woke in her heart that 
 romance was still young for them both, 
 though behind him lay that other life with 
 the one he had loved before, with the 
 mother of his firstborn. She tried to shut 
 out the picture, to forget. Men, she told 
 herself, live in the present ; the woman 
 who holds their affections for the moment 
 i holds all. 
 
 He kissed her, with a joyful sense of her 
 youth and his mastery. He fancied he read 
 her mind like an open book ; he dreamed of 
 no barrier to the communion of their lives. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 WORDS OF POWER 
 
 Diana's temple became one of the features 
 of the Priory garden at Roehampton, Arnold 
 took a delight in making it beautiful, and on 
 the foundation of what had once been a shed 
 for Mostyn's tools there now stood a mys- 
 terious place of rest. Dazzling colours met 
 the eye — warm, rich, and curiously blended. 
 The shelves held Eastern ornaments, while 
 above the door hung a magnificent sword, 
 studded with jewels, brought by Major 
 Marchmont from Japan. The small win- 
 dows in the dome were freshly filled with 
 exquisite stained glass, which threw purple 
 and crimson rays on the luxurious divan 
 and Persian carpeted floor. Nothing had 
 been omitted which made for ease and 
 harmony. This shrine, sacred to Diana's 
 solitude, meant much to the woman who had 
 no wish to mix with the busy world till her 
 mission of motherhood should be fulfilled. 
 
 19 
 
20 World Without End 
 
 When the summer days drew to autumn, 
 and the first chill warning of winter cut 
 down the weak leaves from boughs which 
 had held them strongly since the dawn of 
 spring, Diana began to realise how dear her 
 temple had grown. No change of year, she 
 told Arnold, should drive her away. The 
 place must be properly heated, that in the 
 coldest weather she might read, write, and 
 work there, finding it as warm as summer. 
 Her husband felt flattered that his efforts 
 to make her sanctum attractive were so 
 evidently appreciated, and fell in with the 
 idea readily enough. Sometimes her passion 
 for the spot mildly surprised him, but he knew 
 that Diana was a woman of moods, and felt 
 sure that, when once she took up her old 
 society life again, the temple in the garden 
 would be deserted, its glories left to bloom 
 unseen. 
 
 In Arnold's absence, Ella Goodwin, her 
 frequent companion, came stealthily through 
 a side -gate to seek Diana and meditate 
 with her upon the secret theory they had 
 evolved together. Future events, to which 
 they looked, were entirely dependent, so far 
 as their belief carried them, upon the con- 
 stant state of Diana's mind and the strength 
 of her concentration. 
 
 Ella's teaching daily took greater posses- 
 
Words of Power 21 
 
 sion of the younger woman's thoughts, 
 controlling them by an agency she in no 
 way understood, making her feel that she 
 must and would be the instrument of some 
 great experiment. It gave her a thrill of 
 pride to know she was sitting at the feet of 
 her beloved Ella, and growing daily almost 
 as wise as her instructress. They were 
 careful to conceal from Arnold the close 
 communication established between them. 
 Ella, proud in her boasted reason, standing 
 on a pedestal of her own importance, could 
 afford to pretend to this scoffing husband 
 that her visits were for the ordinary purposes 
 of feminine gossip. To her he was the 
 veriest earthworm, a Philistine of the first 
 order. Impossible to explain to him the 
 significance of their uncanny work ; such a 
 problem would altogether fog his limited 
 intelligence. His standard of possible and 
 impossible could never coincide with the 
 working of a miracle, or grasp the agencies 
 and influences at the white rat's command. 
 
 During these months of endeavour Ella 
 became even paler than of old. Not a pang 
 of Diana's but she suffered it in sympathy, 
 intensified by imagination. She followed 
 every emotion of her friend, to impress 
 upon her the vital importance of identity 
 of purpose, believing herself clairvoyante 
 
22 World Without End 
 
 for the time, and declaring that she could 
 see the soul forming, which should, on its 
 birth, throw back the wings of memory and 
 enter the world with a dual nature, to draw 
 together past and present. 
 
 It was a cold December day when, at her 
 usual hour, Ella crossed the frost-bitten 
 grass en route for the temple. She was 
 conscious of a vague sensation that some- 
 thing unusual would occur that afternoon. 
 Very prosaic she looked in her knitted 
 Tarn o' Shanter cap, drawn low over a hairless 
 forehead, her hands thrust deeply into the 
 pockets of a grey frieze coat, beneath which 
 no soft feminine lines made the fall of her 
 clothing graceful. The very last figure to 
 suspect of witchcraft or evil, a graceless 
 twentietli-century spinster cast in the mould 
 of the masculine. 
 
 Diana opened the door of her shrine. 
 There were lights rosy and golden, while the 
 warm glow of a perfectly regulated temperature 
 mingled with the scent of hothouse flowers. 
 
 " I have something new to show you," 
 she said, as she kissed Ella. " Major 
 Marchmont has sent me a deliciously weird 
 Christmas present ; it quite fascinates me." 
 
 She pointed to an image seated cross- 
 legged at the head of the divan, with long, 
 narrow eyes, and a marvellously cunning 
 
Words of Power 23 
 
 expression. Its hands were folded on its 
 breast, and parts of the body were bare. 
 
 "Why, it's an idol; and what a horrible 
 look!" exclaimed Ella. " I call it very ugly 
 and disgusting. I do hope you won't keep 
 it here to desecrate your shrine." 
 
 Diana looked disappointed at the un- 
 appreciative words. 
 
 " I thought you would admire it so much," 
 she said. " Dear Major Jim wrote that he 
 knew I loved curiosities, and he was parting 
 with one of his greatest treasures, because he 
 felt that it was odd and original enough even 
 for me. It has a story, which he promises 
 to write out for my benefit when he has 
 time. At present he is very busy with some 
 Government work. He calls the idol ' Billy,' 
 and hopes it will prove a mascot to me and 
 mine." 
 
 Ella stood contemplating Major March- 
 mont's gift with her upper lip drawn down so 
 far that for once it almost covered the two 
 sharp protruding teeth. Then she shook 
 her head with a dolefulness that dispelled 
 Diana's childlike pleasure in a new toy. 
 
 " It's bad," she said, " altogether bad. I 
 believe it has the evil eye ! All I know is, 
 I wouldn't keep it in my house." 
 
 Diana bent down and touched the smooth 
 head, tracing her finger over the glass eye, 
 
24 World Without End 
 
 and down the flat nose, to the grinning 
 mouth. 
 
 " He's so cold and clammy," she said, 
 smiling. " I know Arnold will be quite 
 delighted ; he loves these ugly, uncommon 
 things, and envies Jim Marchmont his 
 wonderful collection of curiosities. Cer- 
 tainly Billy looks as if he ought to go to 
 the British Museum, but I can't help feeling 
 he is happier here all alone with me." 
 
 Diana's levity upset Ella. She took a 
 large blue handkerchief from her pocket, 
 and threw it oyer the idol's face. 
 
 "There!" she said, "leave him covered 
 up ; it's foolish for you to stare at such an 
 unprepossessing object. I knew something 
 was going to disturb our harmony as I came 
 across the lawn, because I wanted you to be 
 in a specially good mood to-day." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I have kept back one of the most im- 
 portant mantras which I had hoped to teach 
 you this afternoon. It must be the last 
 effort, and is for use at sunset during this 
 coming month. Always chant it as the day 
 is dying, and be sure you are alone. Even 
 my presence might affect its efficiency." 
 
 Diana's interest was at once roused by 
 the absorbing subject. She left Billy with 
 the handkerchief over his face, while she 
 
Words of Power 25 
 
 listened to Ella's words of exalted confidence 
 in her own wisdom, tacitly consenting to 
 commit the new mantras to memory. Miss 
 Goodwin gave the lesson with stern, inflexible 
 insistence upon detail. The slightest falter 
 in the voice, the quavering on a note which 
 should be shrill and sharp, was met with 
 impatience, almost anger. At last Diana's 
 pure soprano caught the ring of it, with 
 strange intensity. These antiquated notions, 
 so utterly apart from the spirit of the age, 
 appealed to the mystic in her. The meaning 
 had already been explained by the zealous 
 Ella, in the full and comprehensive manner 
 which never failed to impress Diana with a 
 sense of admiration for the magnitude of her 
 friend's research. 
 
 "There!" murmured Ella at last, " I really 
 believe you are letter and tune perfect. I 
 am not going to stay, as the day is drawing 
 in, and it's most important you should be 
 absolutely undisturbed. Kneel by the win- 
 dow, and keep your eyes fixed steadfastly on 
 the setting sun. This bright frosty night is 
 the very time to begin." 
 
 She touched Diana's forehead lightly with 
 her lips, and not looking again at the idol, 
 hurried away, convinced she had done an 
 excellent afternoon's work. 
 
 The solitary woman in the warm, luxurious 
 
26 World Without End 
 
 temple drew aside the blind from a diamond- 
 shaped window, and watched the sky. Ever 
 since those early days of May she had spent 
 her time in the hard mental task of willing 
 and training her own mind upon certain lines, 
 practising a regular self-hypnotism, fatiguing 
 and restful in turns, according to the mood 
 and physical condition of the thinker. 
 
 The frosty sun shone forth in a sinking 
 ball of gold. The fiery west blazed its 
 crimson sheet upon beds of drifting amber. 
 It was a glorious scheme of good -night 
 colour, sent down by a radiant heaven to 
 cheer the wintry world. 
 
 The moment had come to send forth those 
 metallic notes of curiously un-English sound. 
 Diana threw all her soul into the musical and 
 half-delirious wail. Her eyes saw nothing 
 of the Priory garden : they looked beyond, 
 they pierced the sky. Her hands were 
 raised, and tightly locked together ; she 
 swayed slightly as she chanted. There was 
 something fearsome, almost diabolical, in her 
 manner of rendering the strain. 
 
 So far away in the land of fancy had this 
 strange practice lifted her, that she neither 
 heard nor saw Arnold Anstey approach the 
 door of the temple, open it softly, and stand 
 on the threshold transfixed by his wife's in- 
 explicable attitude. 
 
Words of Power 27 
 
 The chanting made his blood run cold. 
 
 What words were those she used, so oddly 
 unfamiliar to her native tongue? For the 
 moment he believed her mad, and quickly 
 planned a course of action. 
 
 " Good God," he thought, " and she 'was 
 here alone ! " 
 
 He advanced very softly, whispering : 
 
 "Diana!" 
 
 She started slightly, and then the old smile 
 came back. In a moment he saw she was 
 herself again, blushing slightly at having been 
 discovered in so eccentric an attitude. 
 
 Instantly his fears were replaced by a 
 sense of annoyance. 
 
 " What on earth were you doing ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She hesitated, making him repeat the 
 question. 
 
 "Well, if you really want to know," 
 throwing caution to the winds, " I was 
 chanting an Eastern mantra ; it's a sort of 
 science — to do with vibrations and things. 
 Those were ' Words of Power,' and have an 
 effect on invisible worlds." 
 
 " Words of fiddlesticks ! " muttered Arnold, 
 and for once his merry eyes wore a dark, 
 almost sinister look, " Who taught you the 
 rubbish ? Tell me at once." 
 
 "It isn't rubbish, I won't have it laughed 
 
28 World Without End 
 
 at. You turn everything into fun, and I may- 
 tell you this is not a joking matter to me." 
 
 " Quite so. I was never further from 
 making ' fun,' as you call it ; that is why I 
 demand to know who has been filling your 
 head with this damned twaddle." 
 
 Diana grew pale with sudden rage, which 
 leapt up to meet his in open combat. How 
 dared he use such language in her presence ? 
 What right had he to criticise her actions? 
 Were they not matters of belief sacred to 
 herself alone ? She asked the questions 
 inwardly, while she said aloud : 
 
 " Please don't swear." 
 
 Her cold, unemotional voice gave him no 
 warning of the tempestuous feelings surging 
 beneath her outward calm. Manlike, he 
 believed the grievance was all on his side, 
 forgetting the woman's weakness and highly- 
 strung temperament. He little knew the 
 struggle she was making to keep back the 
 tears which burnt behind those bright, defiant 
 eyes. 
 
 " I should like to know," he said, bitterly, 
 " what heathen oracles you were addressing, 
 and how you suppose these ' words ' are 
 going to affect your life ? Perhaps it may 
 surprise you to hear that both your attitude 
 and language appeared so utterly ridiculous; 
 that I feared you had gone stark, staring 
 
Words of Power 29 
 
 mad. Do you often chant these pagan 
 prayers by way of diversion ? I should have 
 thought you might employ your time better." 
 
 Never before had he spoken to her in such 
 terms of disgust. She noted the cynical 
 curl of his lip, his attitude of dignified 
 strength and belief in his own power to 
 kill with disdain any germs of superstition 
 which were not altogether to his liking. 
 
 The wild blood in Diana grew hot with 
 rebellion. She blamed herself now for con- 
 cealing Ella's frequent visits. 
 
 " Miss Goodwin taught me those sentences 
 of the ancient occultists," she said, moment- 
 arily glad to throw the name in his face. 
 " She comes here every day to instruct me. 
 We are trying a certain experiment together, 
 an exercise of will-power. Our work may 
 become manifest in your child. We are 
 striving that he or she may retain some of 
 the memories of a previous incarnation, to 
 help us in our study of theosophy." 
 
 The words were spoken in slow, calculating 
 accents, carrying a sharp sense of shock. If 
 only Arnold could have laughed ! But for 
 once he saw no humour in his wife's folly. 
 He regarded her with an open disdain, inex- 
 pressible — almost unthinkable. 
 
 "So that creature," he said at last, "has 
 been here every day against my wishes and 
 
30 World Without End 
 
 advice, cramming your head full of this 
 lamentable nonsense, and bringing you down 
 to her own level. Once and for all, under- 
 stand, I forbid you to see her, or to have any 
 further communication with her whatever." 
 
 A proud smile parted Diana's lips. 
 
 "It's too late to interfere," she said, 
 triumphantly ; " the work is done." 
 
 He did not try to fathom the meaning of 
 her words. 
 
 " I suppose you think," she continued, 
 coldly, " that Ella is an utter fool ? " 
 
 " Yes, the kind of fool that ' rageth and is 
 confident.' She has found a willing victim 
 in you, and it will take time to escape her 
 influence, to get clear. Of course I know, 
 Diana, you look upon me as a scoffer. What 
 if I told you that in reality — I am nothing of 
 the kind?" 
 
 His attitude had changed suddenly. He 
 grew calmer, while his wife revealed for the 
 first time her own tremulous excitement. 
 She took one step towards him, then 
 steadied herself with an effort. 
 
 " You— Arnold— you ! " 
 
 "Yes. If I thought it all such child's 
 play, should I have lost my temper.? It's 
 because I am half inclined to believe this 
 may be devil's play that I want you to 
 break with Ella Goodwin. Your practices 
 
Words of Power 31 
 
 are probably as innocent as the spinning of 
 a top. On the other hand, who knows you 
 are not lending yourself to a Satanic agency, 
 by a process gradual, stealthy, and subtle ? " 
 
 This was a new view. It startled Diana 
 to hear her husband speak seriously upon 
 matters he had always ridiculed. 
 
 "How do you mean ? " she gasped. 
 Already she was fearful of what she had 
 done. 
 
 "We know," he replied, "that meddling 
 with the supernatural is always dangerous 
 and unnecessary. You cannot gauge what 
 you bring upon yourself through invoking 
 mysterious powers opposed to God. In so 
 doing, you, or your child, may become 
 possessed by one of the many wandering 
 spirits at the command of the devil." 
 
 Could this be Arnold speaking? The 
 idea he propounded was so unlike him that 
 she fancied he was purposely trying to alarm 
 her. It was a clever way of severing her 
 friendship with Ella, a ruse to gain his own 
 will. Yet his suggestion filled her with 
 terror. What if some evil influence had 
 fastened on the child even before its soul 
 was given to the world, and this through the 
 machinations of its mother ? 
 
 " Arnold," she whispered, " put your arms 
 round me. Hold me, or I shall fall." 
 
32 World Without End 
 
 She clung to him faintly. In a moment 
 the sharp words were forgotten, the storm of 
 their first quarrel already drifted away, under 
 the influence of her weakness and submission. 
 
 " I wish," she faltered, " I wish, Arnold, I 
 had told you before. I believe it was wrong, 
 but we can't go back, can we ? That's the 
 awful part of life ; what is done — is done. If 
 this scheming has influenced the child, a 
 little repentance now is of no avail, or even 
 a great repentance ; the consequences will be 
 just the same." 
 
 He smoothed her hair softly ; he felt he 
 had been hard, yet he knew he was forgiven. 
 
 Diana had something of the wild uncer- 
 tainty of the elements in her nature, for 
 storm and shine came in quick succession ; 
 he often called her April, and she liked the 
 name. 
 
 "You just played about with Ella Good- 
 win because you had nothing else to do," he 
 said, leniently ; "let us hope she has worked 
 you no great harm. For the next month I 
 will stay down here, if possible, and try to 
 amuse you. I always thought you were too 
 much alone, but you said you liked it, and I 
 didn't guess- " 
 
 He broke off, not wishing to wound her 
 with further reproofs. He noticed she made 
 no movement, no reply. 
 
Words of Power 33 
 
 " You are not well," he said quickly, seeing 
 a change in her face. 
 
 She gripped him suddenly in a vice ; the 
 pressure of her fingers caused him actual 
 pain. 
 
 " No," she gasped. " Call somebody." 
 
 He laid her on the divan and piled 
 cushions beneath her head. He was too 
 startled by her ghastly pallor to notice Major 
 Marchmont's idol, with Ella's handkerchief 
 concealing its face. He took some water 
 from a vase and damped her wrists. 
 
 " Fetch somebody," she murmured again, 
 feebly. " I am not afraid to be left," 
 
 " Let me carry you back to the house." 
 
 " No — no," she entreated, " don't move 
 me. I must stay here till I am better." 
 
 He felt the wisdom of the words, and, 
 knowing his own helplessness, moved quickly 
 to the door. He glanced back, as she made 
 a sign to him to go. He started to run 
 across the lawn, shouting to a gardener in 
 the distance to fetch the doctor at once. 
 
 Diana heard his voice, though to her it 
 sounded miles away, like the distant echo of 
 a dream. She drew the handkerchief from 
 the idol's face and wiped her forehead. Then 
 she turned and stared fixedly at the grotesque 
 image, with its sly, unholy smile. 
 
 With a little cry she covered her eyes that 
 
 3 
 
34 World Without End 
 
 she might not see its saturnine expression. 
 She was losing count of time ; the light in 
 the temple burnt low. She fancied she was 
 really in the East, and that the sun blazed 
 down upon her fiercely. A few snatches of 
 the mantra rose involuntarily to her lips, but 
 she checked herself — remembering. 
 
 Arnold came breathlessly back, followed 
 by a troop of startled servants ; the first 
 sight which greeted his eyes as he opened 
 the door was the diabolical face of the idol, 
 grinning in hideous silence upon a world 
 of pain. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE THEOSOPHIST AT THE WINDOW 
 
 Ella called to inquire after Mrs Anstey and 
 the child. She had heard strange rumours 
 in connection with the sudden illness. Two 
 nurses were in attendance, one of whom she 
 met upon the doorstep of the Priory. 
 
 " All going on well ? " she inquired, trying 
 to hide her anxiety under a hardness of 
 manner which concealed from the stranger 
 that she was a woman of fantastic ima- 
 gination. 
 
 The nurse wore the usual smile befitting 
 the occasion. 
 
 " Mrs Anstey is much better this morning, 
 and the baby, though very small and weakly, 
 will live, I think. Of course, under such 
 circumstances, a boy is always more difficult 
 to rear." 
 
 " So I have heard. Do you think I might 
 see him ? I am Mrs Anstey 's greatest friend, 
 and take a deep interest in all that concerns 
 
 3S 
 
36 World Without End 
 
 her. I have been her daily companion for 
 the last eight months." 
 
 " I am afraid it is too early yet. The day 
 nurse is in charge." 
 
 " What time was he born last night ? " 
 
 " Just after sunset, before his mother 
 could be removed to the house. Not many 
 children can claim such a strange birthplace. 
 That temple, or whatever they call it, in the 
 garden, makes me feel quite uncanny ; it 
 looks like a place consecrated to some 
 heathen idol. There's an awful figure in it, 
 and a model of a Mohammedan shrine with 
 a light burning. The servants tell me it has 
 not been put out since the summer." 
 
 " Oh ! that's just a fancy of Mrs Anstey's ; 
 she is very artistic, and likes weird effects. 
 But how terrible that the child should have 
 been born there ; yet how strange, how 
 fateful ! " 
 
 Ella murmured the last words almost to 
 herself; instinctively her heart-beats quick- 
 ened, while her hopes rose high. At sunset 
 the mantra was to be sung. All their 
 desires and meditations had taken place in 
 Diana's shrine ; surely this climax was a 
 culmination which pointed to success. 
 
 " What is the child like ? " she asked. 
 
 "Well, at that age," replied the nurse, 
 " there is scarcely a pin to choose between 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 37 
 
 them, except in size, and this is perhaps the 
 smallest baby I have ever seen. All eyes it 
 looksfor the moment." She paused. "Now 
 I come to think of it, there is certainly some- 
 thing peculiar in those very large dark eyes." 
 
 " The father and mother are both fair," 
 said Ella, quickly. 
 
 " Yes, but possibly they have foreign 
 ancestors. The child looks to have an 
 Eastern strain in him." 
 
 Miss Goodwin tried to conceal the start 
 she involuntarily gave. 
 
 "You've got that in your mind, nurse, 
 because of the temple. I suppose Mr Anstey 
 is very proud of his son ? " 
 
 " He seems rather worried still, as if he 
 couldn't believe his wife was going on satis- 
 factorily. You see they had a pretty bad 
 shock, and really I believe he would like to 
 call in a dozen nurses, to make up for our 
 late arrival." 
 
 As she spoke, Arnold appeared, walking 
 slowly from the stables, with a letter in his 
 hand, which he was reading so intently that 
 he did not observe Ella or the nurse. It 
 was a long, ecstatic epistle in Mostyn's round, 
 sprawling fist, detailing the delights of a visit 
 he was paying his godfather, who, though 
 busy with Government work, had found time 
 to invite the boy for the Christmas holidays. 
 
38 World Without End 
 
 The praises of ' Uncle Jim,' as he called 
 Major Marchmont, covered three or four 
 sheets. To the boy he was still the greatest 
 hero in the world, a giant of wisdom, a living 
 example of all that was marvellous and com- 
 mendable, a person to be worshipped and, if 
 possible, imitated when time should bring 
 young Mostyn Anstey to years of discretion. 
 
 " An excellent influence," thought the 
 father, approvingly; "and, oddly enough, 
 those two are a couple of cranks together. I 
 wouldn't mind betting they talk travel — 
 morning, noon, and night. Mostyn already 
 makes me feel pretty shaky in my geography. 
 If he has startled his masters in the past, they 
 will think him a positive prodigy when he 
 goes back to school, after satisfying his thirst 
 for knowledge at the feet of good old Jim." 
 
 " Heartiest congratulations !" said a voice 
 which instantly robbed Arnold of his smile. 
 He looked up, startled out of a deep reverie, 
 to find himself face to face with Ella Good- 
 win. The nurse hurried away, eager for 
 exercise, and the two were left together by 
 the open door. 
 
 Naturally Ella expected he would ask her 
 in. Though she looked upon him as a bear, 
 he had always treated her with civility. He 
 eyed her a moment in silence, for the sight 
 of her was peculiarly distasteful to him. 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 39 
 
 She was struck by the stiffness of his 
 attitude. 
 
 " I came with the hope of seeing Diana, 
 but I suppose it would be unwise," she 
 said. 
 
 " Very unwise," he answered. " May I 
 be candid with you, Miss Goodwin ? " 
 
 "Of course," speaking a Httle nervously. 
 " I Hke candour, and always say exactly 
 what I think. It is one of my rules." 
 
 " I only discovered yesterday, to my great 
 surprise and indignation, the injurious effect 
 your society has had on Diana's mind. She 
 confessed to me that she received you daily 
 with a set purpose, one which so evidently 
 preyed upon her nerves that, in a great 
 measure, I hold you responsible for yester- 
 day's alarming situation. I firmly believe 
 everything would have gone on in the 
 ordinary course but for your being the 
 cause of a heated discussion between us. 
 I had no idea how greatly I was exciting 
 her when I ventured to suggest that these 
 ancient divinations — these thoughts, chants, 
 and beliefs — implanted by you in a pliable 
 and sensitive mind, might attract evil spirits 
 to work harm. I spoke strongly, fancying 
 you had hypnotised her, and that by fear 
 alone I might force her scattered senses back 
 into a reasonable groove." 
 
40 World Without End 
 
 Ella set her lips. 
 
 " How like a man," she said, "to be hard 
 and cruel at such a time ! " 
 
 " I regret my action, and I am not defend- 
 ing myself ; but that takes none of the blame 
 from you. I consider you have been a false 
 friend to Diana, a disturbing influence, which 
 has had a most injurious effect upon her 
 health. In the future I forbid you to hold 
 any communication with her." 
 
 The stern masculine authority was more 
 than Ella could stand. Instantly she was 
 on the defensive, bristling with the smothered 
 indignation of past and present scores. 
 
 She smiled superciliously, and thrust her 
 hands deep into the pockets of her tweed 
 coat. 
 
 "I am afraid," she said, "like all ignorant 
 persons, you put down what you cannot 
 understand to 'besotted superstitions and 
 old wives' fables.' You jump to the con- 
 clusion that because I have given up my 
 time to the intellectual development of a 
 very dear friend I am an evil genius in 
 disguise. To make clear to you the tie 
 between Diana and myself would be waste 
 of breath, and a matter entirely beyond your 
 comprehension. As you lack penetration, you 
 fall back on the easy sneer, and the bully's 
 threat : ' Thou shalt not.' Your opinions, 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 41 
 
 your standard of ideas, are far removed from 
 mine, and now — thank goodness ! — from 
 Diana's. In your estimation there are, of 
 course, no influences which may not be 
 scientifically accounted for, and explained 
 away. It is your creed to pooh-pooh 
 everything you cannot investigate. I've 
 often talked of your limitations to your 
 wife, and we have laughed about them 
 together." 
 
 The last words rang with a spiteful 
 emphasis, intended to wound, but Arnold 
 made no sign of feeling the venomous dart. 
 
 Perhaps he was steeled by the armour of 
 self-esteem, perhaps he saw through the 
 transparent attempt to sow deeper mischief 
 between husband and wife. 
 
 "In the future," he said, calmly, "these 
 opportunities for merriment won't occur. I 
 am sorry to appear a spoil-sport, but I shall 
 give very strict orders that you are not ad- 
 mitted to Diana's room ; and as soon as she 
 is well enough I shall take her away. We 
 hope to spend some months abroad." 
 
 The fact that after all her keen anticipa- 
 tion she was now to be cruelly severed from 
 her pupil and disciple, suddenly broke upon 
 Ella with the full force of realisation. She 
 clenched her fists in her pockets, and a wild 
 desire seized her to strike Arnold. She 
 
42 World Without End 
 
 stared at him with wide, extended eyes, her 
 teeth pressed hard upon her lower lip. 
 
 " Let me see her once, only once ! " she 
 muttered, fiercely. " You couldn't be so 
 revengeful as to refuse me just five minutes 
 in her society. And the child, I must look 
 at the child ; it means more to me than you 
 can guess. I know I have rather a sharp 
 tongue, and I don't mind apologising if I've 
 let my feelings run away with me. Possibly 
 we've all been at cross purposes, and it's a 
 queer time to ask a favour of you, but I do 
 ask it, as man to man." 
 
 She looked up fearlessly into his face ; for 
 the moment it was hard to believe she was 
 one of the gentler sex. She put herself upon 
 a level with him, and he accepted her at her 
 own valuation. 
 
 " I am obliged to refuse," he answered. 
 " When I make up my mind definitely, I 
 never change." 
 
 He saw the strength in Ella's face ; it told 
 how she had worked successfully upon Diana. 
 
 " Never," she said, "is a long word. Do 
 you really mean it ? " 
 
 He nodded his head abruptly. 
 
 "You will find other fields for your in- 
 fluence," he assured her, consolingly, and 
 the tone was more galling to Ella than any 
 sign of anger. "You see I shall now try to 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 43 
 
 undertake the development of Diana's mind, 
 with possibly little or no success. Once 
 she is strong again she won't need you — or 
 me — to guide her fancies. She will go her 
 own way — joyfully, I hope, and bring up her 
 child to be simple, open, and sincere." 
 
 These were words of dismissal. Ella 
 would fain have stayed and argued out 
 the matter still further, but Arnold made 
 it impossible. He turned away, with the 
 coldest salutation of farewell. 
 
 Ella felt stunned as she moved down the 
 drive. Something had literally been torn out 
 of her life. She was conscious of a certain 
 numbness, an acute sense of loss. The world 
 had grown suddenly narrow. She was 
 hedged in by circumstances, and dared not 
 make her own laws, or fight her way to 
 Diana's side. How often had they spoken 
 of t.he time when together they would scan 
 the infant face, year by year, watching, wait- 
 ing, observing, trusting to the miracle, with 
 all the confidence of enlightened savants! 
 Now the prison walls of fate shut her out-; 
 Arnold Anstey stood sentinel, guarding the 
 wife and child. 
 
 "It can't last," Ella told herself; " it will 
 be like that for a time, but things blow over, 
 and old scores are forgotten. We didn't 
 spare our words, but perhaps that is all the 
 
44 World Without End 
 
 better ; only it's so difficult to be patient, and 
 so hard to be thwarted." 
 
 She paused ; the numb feeling changed to 
 a warm glow from head to foot. She stood 
 quite still, staring at a commonplace object. 
 The article which so suddenly fascinated her 
 gaze was merely a medium-sized ladder, set 
 up against a wall, from which some over- 
 hanging ivy had been cut for Christmas 
 decorations. No gardeners were in sight, 
 and the wall simply divided a portion of the 
 drive from the rambling garden beyond. 
 
 Diana's room in the south wing would be 
 easy of access by way of the window. Ella 
 knew her muscular arms could carry the 
 ladder without difficulty. Why not take 
 one peep at her friend, if only through the 
 glass, and thus defy the mandate of an 
 irascible husband? 
 
 After all, should Arnold discover the ruse, 
 he couldn't hurt her. The thought held 
 consolation and excitement ; the desire for 
 adventure grew. In this way she might 
 catch a sight of the child's face, the baby 
 with the Eastern eyes, the outcome of Diana's 
 thoughts and deep communings in the temple. 
 
 Swift to act, she shouldered the ladder, 
 making her way boldly to the house, and 
 not allowing her mind to dwell upon risk. 
 Depression faded away ; for once Ella's 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 45 
 
 face appeared radiant. She remembered 
 the small balcony which encircled Diana's 
 window; that would serve well, and lend 
 itself to her purpose. She could almost 
 have sung for joy, so entirely had her attitude 
 changed. 
 
 The Priory appeared quite deserted. 
 Arnold's study, she knew, was the other side 
 of the house ; the thought made for security. 
 
 She placed the ladder at the side of the 
 balcony where it could not be seen from 
 the window, and glancing once more from 
 left to right, put a stealthy foot on the first 
 rung. The garden, in winter, retained much 
 of its charm, for sombre fir trees and funereal 
 yews clothed it in mystic garments. Ella had 
 an eye for the beauty of the scene even 
 while she scanned the terraces and lawns in 
 anxious search for an undesired onlooker. 
 
 As she mounted cautiously, the thought 
 that every step brought her nearer to the 
 mother and child made the moment one of 
 destiny. 
 
 The fact that she dwelt in ordinary 
 suburban surroundings, unloved and un- 
 admired by man, had first tempted this 
 imaginative woman to seek for excitement 
 in strange practices and research. At vari- 
 ance inwardly with the prosaic and orthodox, 
 she gloried in emancipation of ideas, and 
 
46 World Without End 
 
 vowed that Arnold Anstey's rule should not 
 entirely abolish her power over Diana. To 
 the very last she would defy and outrage his 
 authority. A spirit of dogged perseverance 
 overmastered her sense of justice to the 
 father of the child, to the husband of her 
 friend. 
 
 She reached the window and scrambled to 
 the balcony, when suddenly a tall masculine 
 figure threw its reflection on the pane. In a 
 moment she recognised the shadow as Arnold 
 Anstey's. He turned, conscious of her glance 
 fastened on him fearfully. Her eyes, all 
 unwillingly, had drawn upon her the Nemesis 
 she was most anxious to avoid. The 
 courage which had previously buoyed her 
 now vanished. No burglar caught house- 
 breaking could more eagerly have desired 
 escape. Arnold put up his hand to open the 
 barrier between them. He almost laughed 
 to think that this wilful woman should plot 
 such an ingenious intrusion, yet her very 
 daring touched him strangely. 
 
 Before he had time to speak, however, 
 she drew back, with one foot on the ladder. 
 
 " Look out," he whispered softly, that 
 Diana might not hear. " You will fall if you 
 don't take care ! " 
 
 Noting the clumsy movements, his own 
 knowledge of climbing warned him there 
 
The Theosophist at the Window 47 
 
 was danger. He flung the window open 
 quickly, in order to lend a hand ; but, mis- 
 taking his action for pursuit, Ella merely 
 hastened her retreat. 
 
 How it happened he never quite knew, 
 but the ladder appeared to slip backwards, 
 as if pulled by an invisible agency, and in 
 horrified silence he watched Ella Goodwin 
 falling through the air — down — down — to 
 the stone terrace below. The thud of the 
 helpless body reached his ear. A dull 
 horror gripped him. 
 
 " What is it ? What's happened ? " asked 
 a voice from the bed. 
 
 Diana woke with a start, conscious some- 
 thing was wrong. 
 
 Arnold closed the window. 
 
 " Nothing," he whispered, moving breath- 
 lessly to the door ; " only a part of the balcony 
 has given way." 
 
 Without further explanation, he beat a 
 hasty retreat. Diana's frightened question 
 roused the child, and a fitful cry broke 
 upon the air. She stretched out her hands 
 to draw him to her ; she wanted to soothe 
 his fears. The small face had something 
 unchildlike in it, which chilled her ardour, 
 a melancholy that made her silent and 
 ashamed. The wail caught an echo from 
 her own heart, and instead of the comforting 
 
48 World Without End 
 
 word, she let a hot tear fall as a baptism 
 upon his brow. She fancied he knew the 
 meaning of the tear. 
 
 The nurse pulled down the blind. Her 
 white face alone betrayed that in doing so 
 she shut out the secret of one more tragedy 
 in the outside world. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 YOUR BROTHER IS A BRITISHER 
 
 As Diana grew stronger, she began asking 
 for Ella. 
 
 " I should like her to come," she said to 
 Arnold, "though I have made up my mind 
 not to talk of the old subjects. Still, I think 
 she would be very disappointed not to see 
 the child." 
 
 Arnold replied that poor Miss Goodwin 
 was unfortunately laid up, from some slight 
 accident, he thought. The nurse had been 
 to inquire, and gathered it was a sprained 
 ankle. 
 
 "Even then," said Diana, "she might 
 have sent me a line. It isn't like Ella not 
 to write." 
 
 Every day Arnold found himself parrying 
 similar questions and remarks. 
 
 " I can't understand Ella's silence," Mrs 
 Anstey declared. " I feel sure you haven't 
 forbidden her to write to me, Arnold, because 
 
 4 
 
50 World Without End 
 
 I notice you always speak kindly of her now, 
 and perhaps look more leniently on her 
 strange ideas. Only the other day you 
 said you were sorry you had been so hard 
 on her." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "it's possible I treated 
 her follies too seriously ; and yet, Diana, they 
 have left that unpleasant effect upon me, I 
 am always thinking there is something wrong 
 with the child. So far he has no character- 
 istic of our family on either side ; but I 
 suppose it is early days to judge, and my 
 fancy may have much to do with it." 
 
 " Oh ! Then you are angry with me 
 still?" 
 
 She spoke plaintively, and he was quick 
 to contradict her. 
 
 "Angry? No, no ; how could I be?" 
 
 He kissed her reassuringly, already 
 regretting his words. 
 
 " Then may I see Ella for a few minutes ? 
 I could call on her when I take my first 
 drive, if she is unable to come to me. How 
 did she sprain her ankle ? Nurse seemed 
 very vague about it ; so much so, I really 
 wondered if she had been to the house at 
 all." 
 
 "As a matter of fact she didn't go," said 
 Arnold, drawing his chair nearer to his wife's 
 couch, and laying his hand gently on her 
 
Your Brother is a Britisher 51 
 
 shoulder. "We were afraid of upsetting 
 you while you were so weak and ill, but it is 
 better to tell you now — your poor friend 
 Ella is dead." 
 
 Diana stared at him incredulously. Just 
 for a moment she could not grasp the words. 
 Then as she repeated them slowly to herself, 
 she felt as if all along she had been familiar 
 with the news. 
 
 " Ella died quite a long time ago," she 
 said ; "very soon after the child was born." 
 
 " Yes, the following day." 
 
 Diana buried her face in the cushions, 
 and lay silent with her grief 
 
 " So often," she murmured at last, " I have 
 fancied she came into my room. I thought 
 I saw her standing by my bed that afternoon, 
 when part of the balcony broke, and startled 
 me so. That was the day of her death. 
 How did it happen ? At what time did she 
 die.?" 
 
 Arnold replied he would rather tell Diana 
 all the details later on, when she was quite 
 well, and they were away abroad. He ex- 
 pected she would protest, and ply him with 
 further questions, but instead she appeared 
 quite willing to fall in with his advice. He 
 knew that she guessed some peculiarly 
 painful circumstances were connected with 
 the event. 
 
52 World Without End 
 
 It was not till they were far from the 
 Priory and its associations that Diana 
 learned how Ella, in climbing to her window, 
 had fallen and broken her back on the 
 terrace below. For a time this knowledge 
 made all memory of the enchanted garden 
 distasteful to Diana. Those two swift 
 succeeding days in which it had been the 
 scene of birth and death haunted her. The 
 place became one of superstitious dread. 
 But as strength and vigour returned, as out- 
 side influences crowded in once more upon 
 her life, the past became dream-like, almost 
 unreal. The woman who sat at Ella's feet 
 was a different self to the one who found 
 again the happy freedom of health. 
 
 Arnold watched with supreme relief the 
 gradual return of his wife's girlish spirits. 
 He felt sure that, had Ella lived, Diana 
 would not have been the first to joke about 
 the weird practices in the temple and the 
 occult imaginings of that lonely time. 
 
 During their prolonged tour they noticed 
 that the child attracted unusual attention. 
 
 His marvellous eyes were commented 
 upon by strangers at every turn. Often the 
 nurse was questioned as to his origin, and 
 on hearing that Mr and Mrs Anstey were 
 the parents, general surprise was expressed. 
 
 They christened him Harwood, a family 
 
Your Brother is a Britisher 53 
 
 name on his mother's side, and no little 
 tender baby names were supplemented. 
 From the very first, Diana felt an instinctive 
 awe of her infant son. She dared not think 
 what the future would bring — she feared the 
 development of his character. 
 
 Would he grow up like Mostyn, a strong, 
 healthy-minded boy, typically English ? Her 
 heart told her no. She could see, despite 
 his beauty, a certain sickliness of frame ; 
 she guessed he would always be delicate, 
 and possibly peculiar. She realised that her 
 state of mind under Ella's sway must have 
 affected him. She still treasured her old 
 belief in theosophy, though she never spoke 
 of it ; she still held the theory that he would 
 remember, where others failed. 
 
 Eventually they returned to Roehampton, 
 fresh from pleasant wanderings in sunny 
 lands, with the early promise of spring just 
 softening the air. The temple, after long 
 disuse, looked less attractive than of yore. 
 The little touches which made it so home- 
 like were missing; the flower- vases stood 
 empty, for no one had thought to fill them, 
 and ' Billy ' was covered in brown paper to 
 preserve him from the damp. 
 
 " I shall be so much in town, I really 
 shan't want the place," she said. "It will 
 do for nurse and baby ; they can come and 
 
54 World Without End 
 
 sit here for a change. Harwood is always 
 happy surrounded by bright colours, and 
 this shall be his temple now, the place where 
 he was born." 
 
 So, instead of the mantras, infant lullabies 
 were sung by a young and musical nurse, 
 who told her mistress that the baby's love 
 for music rivalled his obvious joy at the sight 
 of a rich hue. 
 
 When Mostyn returned at Easter, his 
 delight in Harwood rather surprised Arnold. 
 The older boy appeared infatuated with his 
 stepbrother, and would spend hours in the 
 company of this five-months-old baby. 
 
 " You see, he isn't like other stupid babies," 
 Mostyn informed his father, by way of 
 apology. "He is such a puzzling little 
 chap ; he seems to understand what you say. 
 Perhaps Uncle Jim will be able to tell us 
 what country he really belongs to." 
 
 Arnold Anstey looked sharply up at his 
 son. The boy had spoken quite simply, 
 apparently unaware he had offended. 
 
 " You don't know what you are talking 
 about ! Of course your brother is a Britisher 
 like yourself. He can't help having those 
 large Oriental eyes. They're a great beauty, 
 I am told, and his mother is very proud 
 of them." 
 
 Still Mostyn felt sure, though he made 
 
Your Brother is a Britisher 55 
 
 no reply, that Uncle Jim would have some 
 enlightening theories on the subject of the 
 newcomer. 
 
 Diana, seeing her stepson's affection for 
 his baby brother, encouraged it at every 
 turn. Mostyn seemed older than his years, 
 made so, perhaps, by his wonderful gift of 
 observation. She often found herself talking 
 to him as if he were grown up, and already, 
 under Major Jim's guidance, he was mapping 
 out his future. 
 
 " Whatever happens," she said, " I want 
 you always to look after Harwood for me. 
 He may not be strong and big like you ; 
 perhaps he won't be so quick in making 
 friends. Of course, ten years is a great 
 difference between brothers. You will have 
 that length of experience on your side, which 
 he can profit by, if you are good enough to 
 watch over him." 
 
 Mostyn's young heart swelled with pride 
 at the tone adopted by Diana. Early she 
 was playing upon that masculine vanity 
 which, to some degree, must lurk in the 
 strongest nature. 
 
 With this boy it was but the veriest germ, 
 hidden away under a frank, engaging manner. 
 He warmly promised from that hour to give 
 the little weakling upstairs the protection of 
 his superior age. 
 
56 World Without End 
 
 "If anything should happen to Arnold or 
 me," thought Diana, " Mostyn may remember 
 my words in time to come." 
 
 She saw in her stepson the promise of a 
 full, active life, and possibly a notable career. 
 
 His teachers had marked him out as 
 peculiarly bright and intelligent, while Major 
 Marchmont spoke highly of his quick grasp 
 of facts and amazing memory. 
 
 "If Harwood follows in his steps I need 
 have little anxiety," Diana said, when talking 
 of Mostyn. " He's as courageous as a young 
 lion ; it is impossible to frighten him." 
 
 She recalled as she spoke her own child's 
 peculiar nervousness, remarkable from earliest 
 days, conscious that she had handed down 
 the highly -strung temperament which fell 
 so easily beneath the rule of the friend who 
 had loved and victimised her. Perhaps it 
 was as well for Ella Goodwin that death 
 drew her securely to the shores of peace, 
 before she read in Diana's eyes sorrowing 
 reproof and disillusionment, so bitter to the 
 children of men. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 FOR A NOVEL EXPERIENCE 
 
 Major Marchmont's days of travel were 
 over. He felt the touch of age upon him, 
 and gave in with a good grace. He laughed 
 when his friends told him he had seen every- 
 thing, aware that his appetite was still 
 unappeased. 
 
 Since Mostyn's childhood he had been far 
 afield, never forgetting his godson, and 
 corresponding regularly with the boy. He 
 watched young Anstey's growth and intel- 
 lectual development with all the interest of a 
 father, meeting none of those sharp dis- 
 appointments peculiar to paternal affection. 
 
 Arnold, successful in money-making, and 
 ever popular in society, had no pretensions 
 to any special learning. His first wife came 
 of a book - loving family, and from her 
 Mostyn inherited his thirst for wisdom, as 
 well as the private fortune which made him 
 independent. 
 
 S7 
 
58 World Without End 
 
 It was something of a puzzle to Diana and 
 her husband to observe his rapid progress in 
 natural history, languages, astronomy, politics, 
 theology, and general science. 
 
 Determined to waste no time, he joined 
 an Arctic expedition as soon as he was of 
 age, which for years kept him from the social 
 world. On his return, he confessed to his 
 godfather that exploration was in his blood, 
 and together the two started for a tour round 
 the world. The older man thus finally im- 
 pressed the breadth and scope of his own 
 ideas upon the younger, and few could guess 
 all such wanderings meant to Mostyn, in the 
 company of his enlightened and sympathetic 
 companion. 
 
 " I shall probably never leave England 
 again," declared Major Marchmont, in a 
 tone which held regret and resignation, as he 
 spoke of that last journey with his godson. 
 
 "Why?" asked an eager voice, and a 
 pair of bright, girlish eyes turned upon him 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " Because," he replied, smiling, " what 
 could a man want more than a chair under 
 these shady trees, and the companionship of 
 a charming young lady, in the undisturbed 
 atmosphere of his own free country?" 
 
 " Now you are laughing at me," cried 
 Candida Whitechurch, putting down her 
 
For a Novel Experience 59 
 
 parasol with a little snap, and poking at the 
 grass. " You know in your heart you think 
 there is nothing so ridiculous as Church 
 Parade. Only last Sunday you announced 
 that we women merely came to show off our 
 frocks and talk banalities. Quite true, 
 perhaps, but we don't like to hear it said." 
 
 "Then, if I really offended, how doubly 
 grateful I should be for your kindness this 
 morning in sitting with an old tactless fogey 
 who has forgotten his manners ! " 
 
 The blushing young face appeared sud- 
 denly concerned. 
 
 " Oh no ! I didn't mean that. I am 
 sitting here entirely to please myself, because 
 I enjoy talking to you. I got sick of walking 
 up and down. Mamma has a positive craze 
 for exercise." 
 
 He looked at the girl, who only a few 
 years ago had been a short-frocked child in 
 the schoolroom, and marvelled at the striking 
 change. Now his tomboy friend was a 
 be-chiffoned society butterfly, with just a 
 little more heart and human nature than 
 the majority of her sisters. It was right, of 
 course, that she should flourish in the midst 
 of all the season's joys, yet he felt instinc- 
 tively that she was made for something 
 better. Though old and grey-haired, Major 
 Marchmont was keenly sensitive to the 
 
6o World Without End 
 
 pleasurable influence of feminine beauty. 
 He judged her from the standard of long 
 experience, finding little lacking in the fresh 
 bloom, the indisputable grace, of ' sweet and 
 twenty.' 
 
 " Do you know," she continued, lowering 
 her voice to a confidential key, " I am rather 
 interested in those friends of yours, the 
 Ansteys. Of course the one who has 
 travelled so much is tremendously clever, 
 and well worth meeting ; I could talk to him 
 for hours " 
 
 " So I have observed, and I don't think he 
 would object either. How many dances did 
 you have together the other night ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't be unkind; our friendship is 
 entirely intellectual. If you think I am 
 flirting with him " 
 
 " I said nothing of the sort." 
 
 " But you implied " 
 
 " Those manners of mine again ! I have 
 told you more than once, Candida, I lost 
 them thirty years ago among the savages. 
 But your frequent impatience shows me it is 
 i;iecessary to remind you of the fact." 
 
 " Do you think," she said, "that travelling 
 a great deal makes people restless and 
 disinclined to settle down ? " 
 
 "Yes. A wandering life leads many a 
 man to old bachelorhood." 
 
For a Novel Experience 6i 
 
 He read her thoughts, though she little 
 dreamed how transparent she could be when 
 off her guard. She sighed as she caught 
 his answer, and traced patterns again on 
 the grass. 
 
 " It would be a pity," he continued, " if 
 Mostyn Anstey were to follow directly in my 
 steps. I can't quite recommend the ending 
 of a life in pottering about from club to club, 
 paying country-house visits, and generally 
 boring one's neighbours. To build up a 
 home in youth is the one rational thing for 
 a man to do." 
 
 Candida grew thoughtful. She was quite 
 sure Major Marchmont never bored people, 
 but at the same time she applauded his 
 sentiments, wondering if he had expressed 
 them to his godson. For fear she might be 
 suspected of any ulterior motive in approach- 
 ing such a subject, she spoke quickly of the 
 younger brother. 
 
 "You know," she said, with rather un- 
 natural emphasis, " I admire the artistic 
 one ; he is so utterly different to anybody I 
 have met before. Why do they call him 
 Haroun?" 
 
 " He was christened Harwood, but as 
 soon as he could talk he converted the name 
 into Haroun. His people took it up, and 
 somehow it has clung to him ever since." 
 
62 World Without End 
 
 " He paints so beautifully ! " continued 
 Candida, enthusiastically. "He can't be a 
 day older than I am, yet he tells me he has 
 exhibited for the last two years. He asked 
 if I would sit to him." 
 
 "So I heard. Mostyn suggested it ; he 
 is very interested in Haroun's work, and 
 believes he has a great future as an artist. 
 The boy will be lucky if he gets you for a 
 model." 
 
 " Mrs Anstey suggested I should go and 
 stay at Roehampton later on, and I could be 
 painted then. Of course it's impossible just 
 now with so many engagements." 
 
 " I wonder how you would get on with 
 Haroun. He is very different to your friend 
 Mostyn." 
 
 " So much younger." 
 
 " But not only different' in years. He is 
 such a nervy kind of chap, who was never 
 strong, and Mostyn has always made a pet 
 of him. The two brothers are devoted." 
 
 " I could see that. I thought it delightful 
 — the undisguised affection of the bronzed 
 traveller for the pale young artist ; they 
 seemed so much to each other. Have you 
 noticed how Haroun's eyes express his 
 moods ? Sometimes I think them terrible ; 
 and a moment later a change comes — they 
 look mild, beautiful, almost holy." 
 
For a Novel Experience 63 
 
 "He has been always a complex character ; 
 his mother once told me that he seemed to 
 have two selves. As a child she used to 
 detect in him some queer Eastern element, 
 and once, she declares, she heard him talk- 
 ing in his sleep in an unknown tongue. She 
 holds some wonderful theory that he recalls 
 a past life, and will give you chapter and 
 verse for the reason of her belief, only I 
 fancy Arnold Anstey objects to it being 
 mentioned." 
 
 " But how exciting and uncanny ! " gasped 
 Candida. " Did you always think him 
 peculiar — I mean when he was quite little ? " 
 
 " I remember him as a small boy drawing 
 the interior of Persian shrines entirely from 
 imagination, and he would tell us wonderful 
 stories connected with the pictures. He 
 wrote poetry, too, with the greatest ease ; I 
 have a little piece by me still, which I kept 
 because the diction was so extraordinary for 
 a child, I fancy it was about some fountains, 
 which he called ' the eyes of the earth,' and 
 below he had painted a picture entitled ' The 
 Fishpools in Heshbon.' He always sat on 
 the floor Eastern fashion, and was silent for 
 hours at a time, absorbed in meditation. 
 Very different to Mostyn, who frequently 
 stayed with me as a youngster, and was 
 never still a minute." 
 
64 World Without End 
 
 " They almost seem like your own children, 
 you have known them so long," said 
 Candida. 
 
 She was wishing that Mostyn, with his 
 bright manner and cheery smile, would 
 appear suddenly among this crowd of men 
 and women who no longer interested her. 
 
 "Will they be here to-day?" she asked, 
 a little more eagerly than she intended. 
 
 "Very likely. I told Mostyn I should 
 expect him to lunch if he were in town, and 
 he knows my special corner in the park." 
 
 Candida grew brighter again. Once more 
 the crowd became enthralling. She watched 
 the moving figures anxiously, and her con- 
 versation was just a little disjointed. 
 
 Some one stepped softly behind them on 
 the grass, pausing a moment before he spoke 
 — a tall, slim, boyish-looking figure, with a 
 sinuous grace of movement unusual in a 
 Britisher. Often he came upon his friends 
 without their observing his presence, for his 
 light footfall had in it something of the scout 
 — who sees, and is not seen. 
 
 He watched Candida critically. The light 
 just caught her hair, and showed up the 
 glints of gold which threaded their way 
 through the hazel of her curls. Wonderful 
 hair to paint, he thought, but distinctly 
 difficult. Complicated tasks appealed to 
 
For a Novel Experience 65 
 
 Haroun's nature. He caught the expectant 
 attitude of her quite unconscious pose. 
 
 "She is awaiting her own development," 
 he told himself. " Perhaps she feels it has 
 begun already ; possibly she knows it will 
 prove interesting." 
 
 Then he touched Major Marchmont lightly 
 on the shoulder, and the spell was broken. 
 
 After a word of greeting the old man 
 asked if Mostyn were in town. 
 
 "He is coming up this afternoon ; I left 
 a note at your flat as I passed. He wants 
 to see you particularly, as he is off again 
 next week." 
 
 " Next week ! " 
 
 Candida echoed the words tremulously. 
 She had dreaded to hear that Mostyn was 
 leaving England, not merely because she 
 would miss his friendship, but for other 
 reasons. Gradually she had drawn from 
 Major Marchmont the alarming intelligence 
 that Mostyn delighted in risk and danger, 
 that he courted, rather than avoided, the 
 hurtful things in life. If there was an 
 adventure to be faced, he would fling him- 
 self in the way of it with a recklessness 
 the older man censured, while he possibly 
 admired. Foolhardy was the term the time- 
 worn traveller used more than once in refer- 
 ence to his godson's most treasured records ; 
 
 5 
 
66 World Without End 
 
 and though he would not for the world 
 have watered down the high, courageous 
 spirit, he could not disguise from Candida 
 that Mostyn held his life very lightly. 
 
 " For the sake of a novel experience 
 Mostyn Anstey will some day throw away 
 the precious gift of existence," Major Jim 
 prophesied. "He has vowed to do certain 
 things before he dies which I have told 
 him are impossible." 
 
 These words flashed across Candida's 
 memory now, as she murmured " Next 
 week ! " in a startled undertone. 
 
 " He is going to Persia," said his god- 
 father, well prepared for the news. "If 
 only I could join him ! " 
 
 The longing in the voice spoke volumes, 
 and made the simple wish eloquent. 
 
 "Why not?" persisted Candida, knowing 
 that the companionship of Major Jim would 
 be invaluable as a safeguard to Mostyn's 
 wild schemes. " Surely you are strong 
 enough ; travelling never tired you." 
 
 "It is only the journey of years which 
 plays havoc with people," he replied. " You 
 may take that journey at home or abroad, 
 but it's all the same in the long-run, and 
 you can't cheat the ticket collector. I should 
 be a drag now. I couldn't rough it ; Mostyn 
 must go alone. I've handed in my papers 
 
For a Novel Experience 67 
 
 to the old man with the scythe. If Time 
 spares me a little longer, I must toady to him 
 by behaving myself properly, till it pleases 
 him to banish me altogether from his court." 
 
 Haroun was quick to notice the- girl's 
 concern. It amused him slightly, and yet 
 he liked her for not disguising her interest 
 in his brother. 
 
 "Trust Mostyn to come back safely," he 
 said, with a smile that somewhat reassured 
 her. "He is quite an old stager by this 
 time ; and, besides, he's only going sight- 
 seeing, not like that awful Arctic expedition." 
 
 " There may be very great dangers — even 
 in sightseeing," she answered mysteriously. 
 
 Major Jim looked up sharply ; he caught 
 the significance of her words, and guessed 
 she knew more of Mostyn's plans than he 
 had suspected. His expression warned her 
 to be silent. She recalled the great devotion 
 of the brothers, and the fact that Haroun 
 was not strong. Why then suggest to one 
 so highly strung and acutely sensitive that 
 Mostyn's journey held any special purpose, 
 beyond the desire to know more of a country 
 in which they were both interested? Un- 
 doubtedly it was Haroun who first inspired 
 Mostyn to make a special study of that 
 wonderfully poetical land, with its Ferdusi, 
 the Homer of Persia, its store of brilliant 
 
68 World Without End 
 
 art, its deep historical interest, its mysticism 
 and romance. 
 
 As she curbed herself, she was conscious 
 that Haroun's eyes pierced her. Did he 
 suspect she was holding anything back ? 
 Possibly the brothers shared all their con- 
 fidences, and her sudden marked reticence 
 appeared absurd to the younger man. His 
 look was one of quick analytical study. It 
 conveyed to Candida a germ of disdain ; 
 it seemed to judge and yet interrogate. 
 Instinctively she feared and mistrusted 
 those eyes. 
 
 " You must miss your brother when he is 
 away," she said, conventionally. 
 
 "Not so much as you might imagine. 
 You see, I follow him in thought. We 
 haven't quite the same ideas about space as 
 other people. I shall not miss him any 
 more when he is in Persia than if he were in 
 London and I at Roehampton. I try to feel 
 that he may come in at any moment. I never 
 dwell on time, except when I look back." 
 
 " You can't look back so very far," laughed 
 Candida, aware that he was as youthful as 
 herself. 
 
 A smile stole slowly over his face, re- 
 minding her of Major Jim's hint about 
 Diana Anstey's strange belief. Of course 
 Haroun might imagine he recalled a previous 
 
For a Novel Experience 69 
 
 existence, but it could only be a flight of 
 fancy, a stretch of vivid and encouraged 
 imagination. 
 
 "I have lived a long while," he said, 
 " the life of poets — love and tears." 
 
 He laughed as he spoke ; how low and 
 musical it sounded ! Not only was he an 
 artist with his brush ; he could write a 
 picture, he could almost convey it with a 
 smile and a few jesting words. He had no 
 wish to appear enigmatical, or to adopt a 
 pose ; he was always himself, the himself of 
 the moment. Candida wondered whether 
 he really changed, or if the two personalities 
 were a foolish invention to advertise the 
 coming artist and his work through the 
 medium of cheap sensationalism. It had 
 been written " almost the whole world are 
 players," and Candida felt convinced Diana 
 Anstey was playing upon her own vain 
 imaginings. 
 
 "Love for your art," she queried, "and 
 tears for your shortcomings ? " 
 
 " My shortcomings," he replied, " are my 
 only cause for laughter. Without them life 
 would be intolerably dull." 
 
 "Somehow," she f* said, reflectively, "I 
 cannot picture you ever having a plain or 
 ugly moment. You clothe yourself and your 
 surroundings with ideas that are so fanciful 
 
70 World Without End 
 
 and pretty, you help people to forget they 
 live in a workaday world. I dare say it's 
 very wrong, because it makes for content, 
 and of course we were never meant to be 
 contented." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! That would be the last 
 stage of hopeless self-satisfaction, and conse- 
 quent stagnation. We were made to fight 
 always, like the microbes. The moment we 
 are still — we are lost." 
 
 " Yet you can sit for hours without speak- 
 ing or moving, or wanting to do anything." 
 
 " How did you know that ? " 
 
 "Major Marchmont told me." 
 
 " But who said I was doing nothing ? 
 That, I gather, was your own supposition." 
 
 " A natural one," added Candida, in 
 defence of her hastily-formed conclusion. 
 
 " I suppose," sighed Haroun, " that the 
 twentieth - century young lady cannot be 
 expected to grasp the inner meaning of 
 meditation and absorption. She never 
 steals the keys of heaven ; she is too busy 
 playing in the recreation-ground of her little 
 earth." 
 
 " Are you two quarrelling?" asked Major 
 Jim, mildly. 
 
 "Not exactly. We always go on like this 
 when we meet," Candida assured him, 
 sweetly; "it is part of the charm of our 
 
For a Novel Experience 71 
 
 friendship. We decided it wasn't the least 
 necessary to be polite, and of course it's very 
 easy to live up to that idea." 
 
 " Better to quarrel to-day than to-morrow," 
 Haroun added, in tones of marked affability. 
 " Miss Whitechurch has drawn swords with 
 me, and I live in the delicious anticipation of 
 some day becoming reconciled. When the 
 happy hour arrives. Major Jim shall join our 
 hands." 
 
 " I want to see your brother before he 
 goes," said Candida, well concealing the 
 effort it cost her to boldly announce this 
 wish. 
 
 " Mostyn isn't likely to leave England 
 without saying au revoir to you. Don't you 
 know that you can count him among your 
 most ardent admirers? It is only because 
 I am a little jealous of him that I try 
 to impress myself on your memory by 
 being disagreeable. I would rather leave an 
 unpleasant impression than not be remem- 
 bered at all." 
 
 It struck Major Jim as he listened that 
 Haroun had something of his father in him 
 — the light wit that at times confused, the 
 satiric vein that makes for unrest. 
 
 " I have promised Mostyn that your 
 portrait shall be finished when he returns, 
 if you are willing to do your share. He is 
 
72 World Without End 
 
 convinced it will be the picture of my life ; 
 he has faith in your powers of endurance." 
 
 Candida rose. Her mother was threading 
 a slow way through the maze of chairs and 
 parasols. In her wake were several of 
 Candida's admirers, stalking Mrs White- 
 church in the hope of a word with her 
 daughter. 
 
 The world had come back in that brief 
 moment to surround the girl ; she was 
 shaking hands, talking vaguely, and wonder- 
 ing which day next week would be Mostyn's 
 last in England. So few days, so few hours ! 
 She knew her tears were near the surface, 
 and for very fear of them she laughed the 
 more. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE ROOM OF MYSTERY 
 
 MosTYN Anstey called to see Candida before 
 leaving England, but he did not find her 
 alone. There were others before him in the 
 Mayfair drawing-room who had equal claims 
 upon her attention. He might have read in 
 her eyes a certain rebellion, as she smiled 
 mechanically upon the visitors, made unwel- 
 come by his presence, had not Candida been 
 drilled too strictly in the school of society to 
 betray her feelings. Only when he rose to 
 go, instead of touching the bell, she followed 
 him to the door. 
 
 " I suppose," she said in an undertone, 
 " there is no drawing back. You are deter- 
 mined to carry out your resolve. The risk 
 does not frighten you ? " 
 
 He smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "The ordinary round of sightseeing no 
 longer interests me," he told her, "but for- 
 bidden fruit holds a terrible fascination. I 
 
74 World Without End 
 
 have bought and packed my disguise. We 
 shall have a great laugh over it when I 
 return." 
 
 " If you ever do ! " gasped Candida. 
 
 " Such worthless lives as mine are always 
 spared," he answered lightly, and the tone 
 jarred on her. 
 
 She wondered whether he would go if he 
 could read all that was in her heart ? She 
 saw that he evidently believed she held him 
 in the same scale of friendship as the crowd 
 of men who flocked around her, and an 
 inborn sense of dignity constrained Candida 
 to hide her suffering at the thought. 
 
 She remembered only too vividly the few 
 treasured hours when opportunity allowed 
 them to talk undisturbed and alone. Then 
 she caught glimpses of his true self; she 
 guessed his restless nature needed some 
 deeper tie than friendship ; she even fancied 
 he had found the woman who could satisfy 
 his needs. But the dream passed, and the 
 world, with its multitude of business and so- 
 called pleasure, forced its way between them 
 once more. 
 
 " May I write to you ? " he asked. 
 
 Her eyes brightened, and she held out a 
 rather tremulous hand. 
 
 "Oh yes," she murmured; "I shall be 
 delighted to hear how you are getting on." 
 
The Room of Mystery 75 
 
 From nervousness she spoke in the 
 little social way which chills the deeper 
 passions and puts doubt into the soul of 
 man. If Candida had been an older woman, 
 she might have sealed her fate at that 
 moment. Instead, Mostyn Anstey wished 
 her hurriedly good-bye, telling himself, as he 
 passed into the street, it was a mercy for 
 his peace of mind that he would so soon be 
 out of England, 
 
 The letters came. He wrote of his doings 
 rather than his feelings, of the amusing 
 incidents inseparable from travel, always 
 conveying, as far as possible, an atmosphere 
 of happiness, which formed his creed. 
 
 To the Anstey family Candida was essen- 
 tially ' Mostyn's friend.' They associated her 
 with him in a way that secretly flattered her 
 vanity, and soothed the sorrow she tried so 
 hard to hide. Nobody knew that Candida 
 pined. Young as she was, she had learnt 
 the art of acting a joyousness she was far 
 from feeling. It was the fashion to be 
 sparkling and bright ; dull faces and unsmil- 
 ing lips were not well received in her world, 
 and even her own kith and kin never sus- 
 pected that night and day she followed 
 Mostyn in thought and prayer. 
 
 Diana delighted in the girl's beauty and 
 charm of manner. She told her husband she 
 
76 World Without End 
 
 could wish no better wife for Mostyn, if the 
 friendship should develop into a romance. 
 Arnold was quite of her opinion, only he 
 thought Mostyn was not cut out for domes- 
 ticity, and would possibly follow old Jim 
 Marchmont's example. 
 
 Haroun remembered his promise to his 
 brother, and already the picture of Candida 
 had been commenced. She was a difificult 
 sitter, with many demands on her time, 
 giving him an occasional hour, and always 
 obliged to tear herself away for some pre- 
 vious engagement when the artist most 
 desired her presence. 
 
 At last he wrote her a letter in his quick, 
 demonstrative manner, which gave her a 
 glimpse of the real man. 
 
 " My dear Butterfly, — You are wearing 
 me to a shadow, you are glorying in my pain. 
 I cannot help feeling you have some special 
 grudge against my nervous system, which 
 hails you as an enemy to be reckoned with 
 in the battle for artistic life. May I paint 
 you in words ? Then you shall tell me can- 
 didly if I am ever to paint you on canvas. 
 Look here : you rush like a whirlwind (for 
 I have found an affinity between butterflies 
 and whirlwinds) into my studio, bursting 
 with life, to lead me on to destruction and 
 an early grave. You pose yourself — the 
 
The Room of Mystery 77 
 
 pagan gods of grace and beauty taught you 
 that pose ; and I, in the seventh heaven, 
 thank my lucky star for such a model. The 
 fever of work comes upon me with its own 
 peculiar mastery and thrall, the lust of finish- 
 ing consumes me ; for to the worker at least 
 there is no such thing as time. It is then, 
 Butterfly, that evil stirs within you. 
 Thoughts of the near future throng your 
 poor brain, converted by a hideous civilisa- 
 tion into a modern engagement book. You 
 do not merely count the hours, you count 
 the very moments, and mete them out to me 
 grudgingly, until the obligation under which 
 I am placed becomes too heavy for me to 
 bear. I stop to plead with you : lo ! and 
 behold, you are up and gone — I hear only 
 the snort of your motor car in the distance. 
 Butterfly, there must be a change. I ask 
 this favour. One week, one only, given over 
 to me. My mother is writing by this same 
 post the conventional invitation, but it does 
 not mean a visit of pleasure. I want my 
 prey. At the end of the week, if you take 
 your fair share of the bargain, we will have 
 a picture worth showing to Mostyn on his 
 return. You and he shall toss for it ; once 
 finished, the canvas is no longer mine. — 
 Yours in all sincerity, Haroun Anstey." 
 Candida answered the letter by return. 
 
78 World Without End 
 
 " My dear Haroun (he insisted she should 
 call him that), — I hardly realised I was 
 treating you so badly ; it all looks very 
 shocking in black and white. Anyway, I 
 mean to reform. I have accepted your 
 mother's kind invitation, and shall come 
 with pleasure to the Priory. It does 
 certainly mean a sacrifice of many engage- 
 ments, but between ourselves I'm tired out, 
 and the respite will be welcome. — Yours 
 utterly for one week's work, 
 
 " Candida Whitechurch." 
 
 The thought of Mostyn's home held 
 enchantment for the girl who loved him. 
 To be with his people meant more to her 
 than she dared own even to herself. The 
 hurried sittings had been equally trying to 
 Candida, schooled by an impatient parent 
 to return punctually for a series of afternoon 
 engagements. 
 
 The Priory garden was in its glory ; such 
 a blaze of blossom and flowering trees were 
 seldom given to English eyes in their native 
 land. Each year had increased the charm 
 of the grounds ; there were innovations, too, 
 around the temple. The dome and part 
 of the structure still stood, but, built on to 
 the old walls, a magnificent studio made it 
 a place of importance, a home of art, as 
 
The Room of Mystery 79 
 
 thoroughly Eastern as Haroun's original 
 birthplace. 
 
 ' Billy,' the idol, reigned in possession of 
 this revised temple, his hideous form dear to 
 the artist from early association. 
 
 " Those eyes were the first to see my 
 entry into the world," he would say, touch- 
 ing the glass orbs. "He came to us the 
 day I was born ; he is my oldest friend." 
 
 Candida liked Haroun, for he never failed 
 to surprise her, and the element of the unex- 
 pected was one she especially appreciated. 
 
 She still harboured an unspoken fear of 
 his flashing eyes, and this very terror added 
 an element of excitement to their inter- 
 course. 
 
 " The picture promises well," he said, 
 standing before his work, and reviewing it 
 dispassionately. "At first I could not make 
 it live ; I felt as if I were painting a dead 
 woman. You remember the day I almost 
 gave you up ? That was the turning-point. 
 You encouraged me by calling it an animated 
 smudge. You saw animation, and that was 
 sufficient ; I knew what to do with the 
 smudge. After that the lips began to smile 
 and the eyes to laugh. I realised the 
 chrysalis stage was over, and the butterfly's 
 wings were beginning to spread." 
 
 "I am really a good sitter," Candida 
 
8o World Without End 
 
 assured him, "though you are diiSficult to 
 satisfy. I often long to distract your mind 
 with a hundred questions which I suppress. 
 This room holds so many mysteries for me. 
 It always gives me the idea of some sacred 
 chamber in a shrine." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "the whole design was 
 intended to convey that impression." 
 
 " I have often wanted to know the mean- 
 ing of the Arabic inscriptions on the walls, 
 and why they are there." 
 
 "Just a fancy of mine." 
 
 He spoke lightly, yet she felt as if all 
 unwittingly she had trodden upon delicate 
 ground. 
 
 "This mosaic work, too, is exquisite," 
 she said. "Your mother told me you 
 had workmen from Persia to decorate your 
 studio, I suppose all these curios inspire 
 
 _ 'it 
 
 you, 
 
 "They carry me back," he murmured, 
 vaguely. 
 
 He was standing in the arched doorway, 
 by a heavy curtain of deep rich purple. His 
 shadow fell across a fretwork screen, the 
 pattern of which was reflected on a floor of 
 different -coloured tiles. Rugs of various 
 hues and several small prayer-carpets made 
 patches of warmth and vivid colour upon the 
 pale tints of the tiled ground, 
 
The Room of Mystery 8i 
 
 Candida had always noticed how extra- 
 ordinarily this place reflected shadows; she 
 fancied, too, there was a rather uncanny echo. 
 At times she caught the sound of voices in 
 the alcoves, but Haroun told her they carried 
 from a public thoroughfare which lay on 
 the left of the studio, behind the shrubbery 
 trees. 
 
 She fell into the now familiar position for 
 the picture, and Haroun moved slowly to his 
 easel. The small gold lamp in which a light 
 had burnt when he was born beneath the 
 dome, still hung in its original place. Now 
 it contained scented oil peculiar to the East ; 
 Haroun made a habit of burning it both in 
 his studio and at the Priory. 
 
 For a while he worked in silence. He 
 made no secret of his difficulty in catching 
 Candida's expression. 
 
 "You are so elusive," he said. "I see 
 you in a new light every other minute. 
 Yesterday it was a laughing, dimpled picture ; 
 to-day the butterfly seems sad, as if nearing 
 the end of her summer. I often think you 
 perplex yourself You don't know whether 
 to accept life as a tragedy or a comedy. In 
 that we are alike ; I am uncertain too." 
 
 " But surely we need not make up our 
 minds ; it will be decided for us." 
 
 She was gazing at the narrow rows of 
 
 6 
 
82 World Without End 
 
 Arabic, on a light blue enamelled ground, 
 round the base of the domed roof, on each 
 side of which the skylights were shaded by 
 half-drawn blinds. She thought she would 
 ask Haroun the meaning of the lettering. 
 Instead she said : 
 
 " I suppose you first inspired your brother 
 Mostyn with a desire to go to Mashad, 
 where the interior of the great shrine has 
 never been viewed by any eyes but those of 
 a Mohammedan." 
 
 " We have often talked of the works of 
 art in Persia. I used to dream sometimes 
 that I was a pilgrim, passing through the 
 courtyard of some vast shrine, and into 
 those great chambers of gold and mosaic. 
 I know it all by heart : my vision-house I 
 call it ; and the place is so familiar, I could 
 find my way blindfold to the tomb. I 
 sometimes repeat the Zieratnama prayers, 
 which I have never learnt." 
 
 He spoke as if relating a most ordinary 
 fact. Candida felt a little shiver creep down 
 her spine, yet his words threw light upon a 
 mystery. 
 
 " I see now," she murmured, " why your 
 brother has gone on this journey of investi- 
 gation to Persia ; he wants to find if your 
 dream-shrine really exists." 
 
 "The exterior, drawn by me from ima- 
 
The Room of Mystery 83 
 
 gination or memory, coincides with the great 
 shrine at Mashad," replied Haroun, con- 
 tinuing his work with a feverish haste unusual 
 to him. "We have photographs from a 
 reliable source ; still, Mostyn is a curious 
 chap, and likes to satisfy himself" 
 
 " Too curious," she answered. " I am not 
 so sure your dreams won't lead him to 
 disaster." 
 
 Haroun looked up quickly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he queried, then 
 fell to mixing his paints with increased energy. 
 
 "I know," continued the girl, "that what 
 he has vowed to do is not safe, or wise, or 
 right. There is danger at every turn — the 
 fear of detection, possibly the risk of his 
 life. He may be betrayed by a false friend 
 or untrustworthy servant, and delivered into 
 the hands of the Mohammedans." 
 
 Haroun was absolutely at a loss to com- 
 prehend her words, but wisdom kept him 
 from betraying his surprise. He guessed 
 at once that she knew of some plan Mostyn 
 had kept secret from him, which might come 
 to light with a little diplomacy. 
 
 " What ground have you for your fears ? " 
 he asked, quite calmly. " Mostyn is such an 
 old hand now at foreign travel, he knows 
 the ropes, and how to guard his own skin. 
 He won't walk into any trap blindly; he 
 
84 World Without End 
 
 looks all round a matter, and forms a decision 
 slowly. He is about as well able to take 
 care of himself as any man living." 
 
 "I'm glad you are not frightened ; it is 
 such a relief to talk to somebody who takes 
 the matter calmly. I know Major March- 
 mont doesn't approve, and he has been 
 daring enough in his day. I have never 
 mentioned it to your mother ; I thought 
 possibly she had not been told." 
 
 "You are quite right." 
 
 " I felt very flattered your brother made 
 me his confidante," Candida added, with 
 lowered eyes. 
 
 "Tell me exactly what he said to you, 
 then I shall know how freely we can talk 
 together." 
 
 Haroun felt rather proud of this ruse. 
 
 " Until you mentioned your dreams," she 
 answered, " I was not quite sure you were 
 in the secret, but now I see, of course, that 
 the responsibility lies at your door. He 
 will not be content with a view of the outer 
 wall : he means to enter the shrine disguised 
 as a Mohammedan, to see if your idea of the 
 interior is a correct one. He is convinced 
 he can pass himself off as a genuine pilgrim, 
 not actuated by curiosity, but fired by reli- 
 gious enthusiasm. He is a good actor, and 
 may succeed in viewing the tomb, but surely 
 
The Room of Mystery 85 
 
 you must agree with me the risk is very 
 great." 
 
 She spoke anxiously, forgetting her pose, 
 and the business of the moment. She 
 noticed that Haroun's arm seemed to stiffen, 
 then fall nerveless to his side, and the palette 
 clattered to the floor. He made no effort 
 to reclaim it, but stood like one stunned, his 
 face blanching to the very lips. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, breathlessly, " I 
 ought not to have spoken. Is it possible 
 you didn't know ? " 
 
 He turned a pair of accusing eyes upon 
 her. His voice had entirely altered as he 
 replied : 
 
 "Your fault lies in remaining silent so 
 long. Why, in the name of Imam Reza, 
 did you not speak sooner?" 
 
 The question was put so fiercely that 
 Candida's heart sank. She wondered who 
 Imam Reza could be. She did not guess he 
 was the martyr and saint of the Mashad 
 shrine. 
 
 "Then — you — didn't — know," she gasped, 
 reading the fear and horror in his eyes. 
 " You think there is danger ; you are 
 trembling " 
 
 She watched his shaking hands, and saw 
 that some awful inward struggle was distort- 
 ing his usually handsome features. Drops 
 
86 World Without End 
 
 sprang to his forehead ; they gleamed on the 
 flesh, and dripped to the eyebrow, as he 
 ruffled his thick dark hair with nervous, 
 trembling fingers. Knowing his love for 
 Mostyn, she guessed what his agony of mind 
 might be at hearing that harm threatened 
 his brother. Her heart stood still, and just 
 for a moment she pictured the bright viva- 
 cious face of the man she loved, stiff — cold — 
 still. She shrank back, trying to blot out 
 the mental picture. 
 
 "It isn't true," she added, under her breath, 
 " that if he were discovered, they would kill 
 him. It can't be true ; I won't believe it." 
 
 " Discovery," said Haroun, in slow, cal- 
 culating accents, "means certain death. I 
 suppose you know how they will kill him ? " 
 
 He spoke almost gloatingly, but still she 
 mistook the horror in his face for anxiety on 
 behalf of a loved brother. She shook her 
 head ; she could not answer. 
 
 " They will cut his throat slowly — always 
 slowly, mind you — the same with animals, the 
 same with men, and it will be done there in 
 the shrine, his blood for the offence, to 
 cleanse the sacred building from the dastardly 
 outrage of an Englishman's idle curiosity." 
 
 He raised both hands to heaven as he 
 spoke, and Candida fancied his frame grew 
 taller, gaunter, more transparent. Expres- 
 
The Room of Mystery 87 
 
 sion had so ahered his face, that before her 
 stood a stranger, in the thrall of some vital, 
 awe-inspiring passion. 
 
 "Also," he continued, speaking with re- 
 newed emphasis, " they will possibly carry 
 their vengeance further afield. His life 
 cannot suffice ; a massacre of every European 
 in the vicinity could alone wipe out such a 
 deed." 
 
 A little cry escaped Candida ; the coloured 
 walls, the brilliant dome, the Arabic inscrip- 
 tions, all seemed whirling round. She 
 clutched a chair for support; the odour of 
 the scented oil came near to stifling her. 
 
 " It is impossible to stop him now ; you 
 know yourself it is too late," she gasped. 
 " Then why say these wicked, hateful things ? 
 I won't believe they could ever come true." 
 
 She was putting away the petrifying 
 thought; she felt angry with Haroun. His 
 highly-strung, imaginative temperament must 
 not be allowed to shatter her own nervous 
 system. There was a God above, and 
 Mostyn's fate was in His hands. 
 
 "Shall I make you believe?" said 
 Haroun, drawing a step nearer. " However 
 complete his disguise, he is bound to be 
 discovered. There is a test; I could have 
 warned him." 
 
 Haroun's eyes grew glassy ; they appeared 
 
88 World Without End 
 
 to look right through Candida, at some 
 visionary object beyond. He spoke with 
 the inspiration of a fanatic. 
 
 "Yes, tell me," she urged. "What test 
 could betray him into the hands of these 
 devils?" 
 
 She remembered the story of Haroun's 
 two selves, the dual natures warring in him, 
 the alleged recollections of a past existence. 
 Was it possible that in some previous state 
 he, himself, had been one of these blood- 
 thirsty guardians of the shrine, who would 
 not hesitate to murder an intruder in the 
 hideous way described ? 
 
 " Mostyn will be taken to the sacred 
 chamber under the dome," whispered the 
 low, vibrating voice. " The floor is about six 
 feet below the level of the graveyard ; he 
 will reach it by a flight of zigzag steps." 
 
 Haroun indicated the winding stair with 
 a quick, foreign movement of the hands. 
 
 "Yes— yes " 
 
 The echo of Candida's breathless words 
 died away in the alcoves of the mysteri- 
 ous chamber. She could almost believe 
 that other voices, weaker than her own, urged 
 him on. 
 
 Haroun bent his tall body, and crouched 
 before her, acting the part of the man he 
 described. 
 
The Room of Mystery 89 
 
 "Stooping under a low doorway," he 
 continued prophetically, " Mostyn will enter 
 the Gumbaz. I can see the room, just as he 
 will see it for the last time on earth. It is 
 carpeted with fine matting, circular in shape, 
 and surmounted by a dome. The only light 
 comes from three small wax candles and an 
 oil lamp or chiragh." 
 
 He knelt on the ground as he spoke, and 
 drew patterns on a blank sheet of paper, 
 beckoning Candida to draw nearer. She 
 watched his quick design, every pulse in her 
 body throbbing, and a maddening pain raging 
 at her temples. She did not believe, but she 
 was afraid. She would like to have laughed 
 off the whole matter, and assured herself that 
 Haroun was either a great romancer, or of 
 unsound mind ; but his convincing manner 
 overruled her better judgment ; she felt riveted 
 beneath his spell. 
 
 " This is a plan of the room," he said, 
 "where Mostyn will be guided to a white 
 stone let into the wall, on which is the print 
 of a human foot, called the Nishan-i-pa-i- 
 Hazrat Ali Alai-us-Salem." 
 
 The words were written quickly ; even as 
 he pronounced them, in an accent so utterly 
 un-English, Candida could hardly reconcile 
 him with the Haroun of an hour ago. 
 
 " Mostyn, the blasphemer, will kiss this 
 
90 World Without End 
 
 footprint, and touch it reverently with fore- 
 head and eyes, little dreaming he is in his 
 chamber of death. Then I see him seated 
 at a table where some prayers are read. 
 You know, before this, he must have passed 
 through many rooms, a Syud reading the 
 Ziaratnama prayers ; the lips of the un- 
 believer will even have kissed the Koran ! 
 These prayers are the last, however, the very 
 last, before he dies." 
 
 " Why ? What makes you say that ? " 
 " Because of the test. It is in this chamber 
 he will be asked to lift the sacred stone, a 
 smooth, oblong, dark grey stone about two 
 and a half feet in length. Kneeling on both 
 knees, Eastern fashion, the weight of the 
 body resting on the heels, both arms are 
 placed beneath the stone as far as the elbow 
 joint. Then Mostyn will be told that any 
 true believer can, even though quite weak, 
 lift the stone without effort ; but if an infidel 
 attempts the task, he cannot move it, how- 
 ever powerful he be. The stone will bear 
 witness against him ; he will die, as he 
 deserves, with the knife at his throat." 
 
 Candida sprang away, and looked quickly 
 towards the door. Without a doubt Haroun 
 must be mad. His words were full of 
 gleeful satisfaction ; every shred of affection 
 for his brother appeared to have vanished. 
 
The Room of Mystery 91 
 
 " I thought you cared for Mostyn," she 
 said, looking steadily at him, with accusing 
 but pathetic eyes. " How can you speak of 
 him in that brutal tone ? I shall never like 
 you again, now I know you are his enemy. 
 I only hope and pray this may be some 
 fiendish and ill-timed joke of yours, for how 
 could you know these things ? " 
 
 He passed his hand over his forehead. 
 Slowly he was coming back to the self of the 
 man she knew of old — the artist with the 
 great talent, the sparkling wit and charm of 
 manner. Suddenly she felt as if her words 
 had been cruel, that he was like a child, 
 needing some one to guide him gently to the 
 realm of reason. 
 
 " I seem to remember," he said, and a sob 
 choked his voice, though the blazing eyes 
 were tearless. " I told you in my dreams I 
 wander — oh, so often — through the chambers 
 of the shrine. I know that stone quite well. 
 I see the pilgrims lift it. Only last night I 
 passed down the stair, and kissed the white 
 footprint on the wall. When I woke, there 
 was a veil of crimson light across my eyes ; 
 perhaps it was the red of my brother's 
 blood." 
 
 All the womanly pity in Candida came to 
 her aid. She took his thin hands, and held 
 them firmly. 
 
92 World Without End 
 
 " Haroun," she said, "you must put this 
 all away — out of your mind." 
 
 He shook his head sadly ; he was still weak 
 from his past rage. 
 
 " I ought never to have told you," she 
 continued, "but I thought you knew. Mostyn 
 was wiser than I ; he guessed it would excite 
 you to know the true object of his expedition. 
 Possibly he may change his mind, remem- 
 bering Major Marchmont's advice. Other 
 interests will fall in his way, to divert his 
 thoughts from Mashad. Forget that such 
 a wild scheme ever entered his head. You 
 must not do any more work this morning ; 
 you are unwell, unnerved. I am going to 
 leave you here alone quietly ; you might rest 
 on that divan. I have a headache ; I can't 
 sit any more this morning." 
 
 She led him to the couch, and he sank 
 upon it gratefully. She pushed a cushion 
 towards him, and as he buried his fore- 
 head in the folds she fancied his tears were 
 falling. He looked crushed, weak, help- 
 less. Without another word, Candida stole 
 away. As she passed under the arched 
 door, a brilliant ray of sunlight almost 
 blinded her. The birds were calling from 
 the trees, the enchanted garden seemed 
 miraculously alive with the hum of insects, 
 the flutter of butterfly wings, and the 
 
The Room of Mystery 93 
 
 nodding of flowers in a faint refreshing 
 breeze. 
 
 She glanced back at the studio ; the 
 startling scene, the fear within its walls, 
 were now like an ugly dream of the night, 
 already fading in the glare of the merry 
 morning, the light, the warmth, the bright- 
 ness of a God-sent day. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 HANDICAPPED BY MEMORY 
 
 As Candida hurried back to the house, she 
 met Diana in the garden. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Mrs Anstey, 
 seeing the girl looked pale and troubled. 
 " I thought you were going to spend your 
 morning in the studio." 
 
 She glanced critically at her guest. The 
 older woman was a quick reader of character, 
 and had altered little in the last twenty years. 
 She still kept her young figure ; her smile 
 was scarcely less radiant than when Major 
 Marchmont first knew her as the lively and 
 perplexing Miss Hastings. Here and there 
 a streak of silver marked a time-signal in 
 her bright hair; the smile, perhaps, came 
 less frequently, though her enthusiasms were 
 even keener, while her interest in life and 
 society had by no means slackened with the 
 march of years. 
 
 Diana treasured each experience of the 
 
 94 
 
Handicapped by Memory 95 
 
 past as a valuable possession. She knew 
 that through joy and suffering combined 
 her character had been formed. She was a 
 better woman for the life lived in the world 
 and of the world, feeling grateful to God 
 for this love of living that she possessed, 
 and knowing it was the highest compliment 
 she could pay her Creator. 
 
 " Nothing is the matter," replied Candida, 
 hastily, in a tone which scarcely convinced 
 her listener ; " only your son was rather tired, 
 and I had a little headache too, so we thought 
 a rest would do us good." 
 
 The girl had suffered so acutely within 
 the past hour that she was anxious to save 
 Haroun's mother from a similar scene. If 
 the artist were left alone, he might grow 
 calm and reasonable. She thought the 
 outburst was caused by a fit of mental 
 aberration, one which must be overlooked 
 and excused in a nature so excitable and 
 physically weak. His vivid imagination 
 doubtless accounted for the terrible pro- 
 phecy so heartlessly uttered. Mad people, 
 she knew, occasionally turned against their 
 nearest and dearest. He loved his brother, 
 yet he had spoken as if he hated him. For 
 the time being this strange genius was un- 
 doubtedly insane. 
 
 One moment Diana stood hesitating, as if 
 
96 World Without End 
 
 expecting Candida to speak again. She was 
 carrying a large bunch of clove carnations, 
 freshly gathered. It struck the visitor how 
 young and pretty she looked in her simple 
 morning gown, this woman who had brought 
 such a bewildering and complex son into the 
 world. 
 
 " I shall go to the studio and see if I can 
 do anything for him," said Diana, after a 
 pause. " Haroun isn't strong, and yet it is 
 not like him to give up a morning's work. 
 He is so interested in your picture, he must 
 be feeling very ill to own fatigue." 
 
 She turned away, but Candida caught her 
 by the arm. 
 
 " Perhaps," she gasped, " I ought to tell 
 you he is a little upset. I hapjpened to 
 mention that I knew his brother was very 
 anxious to enter one of the sacred shrines 
 in Persia. I had no idea my words would 
 have such an effect. He has really terrible 
 thoughts and ideas on the subject ; his whole 
 mind seemed outraged by the sacrilege — in 
 fact, he might have been the most strict 
 Mohammedan, in sympathy with their re- 
 ligious instincts." 
 
 Diana felt her blood run cold. Candida 
 was standing on the very spot where Ella 
 had been killed the day after Haroun's birth. 
 Was this the work of Ella's teaching, reach- 
 
Handicapped by Memory 97 
 
 ing on even to to-day ? She remembered 
 the awful truth that repentance cannot save 
 the penitent person from the effects of errors 
 already committed, Haroun was the victim 
 of those months in which she had learnt to 
 believe, with her friend, in the great and 
 relentless law of Karma. 
 
 " Did I ever tell you," said Diana, in a 
 low, agitated voice, " I once became a convert 
 to an ancient philosophy, that of reincarnation 
 or spirit-evolution ? " 
 
 '•No, you have never spoken of it ; but 
 Major Marchmont says your son remembers, 
 or att least bears impressions, of a previous 
 life." 
 
 "Only because I willed it to be so. I 
 never abated my strenuous mind-work before 
 his birth, nor was I shown my error and folly 
 until too late. He came into the world 
 handicapped by that memory I had striven 
 so hard to retain in his soul. He was never 
 like other children. It was to Eastern 
 customs and Eastern life his inclination 
 turned. Though he was reared in the 
 Christian faith, I knew from the first that 
 the seeds of some other religion troubled 
 his thoughts perpetually. I had surrounded 
 myself with symbols of the East. Un- 
 doubtedly I attracted those influences in an 
 elemental form, when the ego that passes 
 
 7 
 
98 World Without End 
 
 from one incarnation to another was preparing 
 to be born again." 
 
 Diana spoke so seriously that Candida feh 
 half inclined to believe her. 
 
 " I saw another man to-day," she said. 
 " I did not know him for your son. There 
 was nothing European in the passion and 
 the attitude of his wrath against his brother. 
 At first I thought his excitement arose from 
 a fear that Mostyn might endanger his life 
 through curiosity, but to my amazement I 
 discovered the agony of mind was caused 
 solely by the secret insult offered to the 
 Mohammedans, if the visit to the shrine were 
 carried out." 
 
 Diana placed her carnations in Candida's 
 hands. 
 
 " Take these in for me, dear," she said, 
 and the girl noticed her voice trembled. 
 " Don't follow me to the studio ; I want to 
 be alone with Haroun." 
 
 She tried to smile, but the effort was a 
 failure. Candida watched the agile form 
 pass quickly across the lawn towards the 
 dome-shaped building. She wished she could 
 have seen into Diana's heart, for her eyes 
 had held a mystery impossible to fathom. 
 They conveyed so many conflicting emotions. 
 Something of shame and humiliation, some- 
 thing of pride and the glow of success, 
 
Handicapped by Memory 99 
 
 blended so strangely, that it was impossible 
 to guess whether she were going to laugh or 
 cry. As she neared the studio, she could 
 have declared that Ella walked by her side. 
 Those silent footfalls had tracked her down 
 the years. At times they were lost in the 
 whirl of life, but in quiet moments the 
 presence reappeared, the sense of the unseen 
 companion sitting or standing at her side. 
 Now and again she felt it in a crowd. She 
 almost said aloud, "You here, Ella.?" 
 
 The door of the studio stood ajar, just 
 as Candida had left it on her flight to the 
 house. Diana peeped in unobserved. On 
 one of the small prayer-carpets, close to the 
 carved marble fretwork screen, knelt Haroun, 
 but not, as she so often saw him, kneeling in 
 motionless contemplation. The first sound 
 which caught her ears, even as she crossed 
 the threshold, was a low, bitter crying, 
 broken disjointed words, uttered in a foreign 
 tongue. She stood transfixed, knowing no 
 more of what he said than Arnold Anstey 
 when the 'Words of Power,' the Eastern 
 mantras in which Ella instructed her pupil, 
 first opened his eyes to the practices per- 
 formed in that very place. Upon the face 
 of Haroun a deathly pallor reigned, accen- 
 tuated by the light from the stained-glass 
 windows in the dome. He was beating his 
 
100 World Without End 
 
 breast, and shedding bitter tears ; impossible 
 to doubt his mental agony, as he stretched 
 out his palms in supplication. Diana noticed 
 he wore no shoes ; they had been removed, 
 and were lying in a far corner of the room. 
 She went breathlessly towards him. Even 
 then he did not appear to see her. 
 
 " Leave him ; see what he will do," she 
 fancied the shadowy form of Ella whispered, 
 with the old command. " We worked for 
 this. You have given a proof to the world, 
 yet you are cowardly, and forget." 
 
 Diana shook off the influence. She had 
 no real fear but that Ella's spirit slept peace- 
 fully enough ; it was only some brain cell of 
 her own retained the voice, and the magne- 
 tism, of a constant companion in the 
 impressionable past. Bending down, she 
 touched her son — her victim. He shivered 
 slightly, and looked up. She wanted to ask 
 him to forgive her, but she knew he would 
 not understand there was anything to forgive. 
 
 " Why are you in such trouble?" she asked. 
 
 He could not answer; he only shook his 
 head, and motioned her to be gone. Seeing 
 she paid no heed to the sign, he dashed 
 away his tears, rose languidly, and, crossing 
 the room, began putting on his shoes. 
 
 "Where is Candida?" he said at last. 
 " I want to go on working." 
 
Handicapped by Memory loi 
 
 "She told me you were tired, unwell," 
 replied his mother. 
 
 "Tired? Good heavens, I should think I 
 am tired, weary with the fatigues of a million 
 years." 
 
 He stretched his arms, and sighed deeply. 
 
 " It is my fault," Diana said. " Haroun, 
 I wish you would tell me what you 
 remember." 
 
 " I have told you again and again — the 
 Holy City and the shrine. Haven't I drawn 
 both the exterior and interior a hundred 
 times? It's those drawings which are to 
 bring a curse on my head. Don't you know 
 what they have done ? " 
 
 Diana answered, gently she was sure no 
 harm could come of such an innocent pastime. 
 
 " No harm," he muttered, with a short 
 laugh. Then laying his hand on her shoulder, 
 his blazing eyes looked deeply into her soul. 
 " They have raised the devil of curiosity in 
 Mostyn. They have given him this sinful 
 craze to penetrate into the holiest chambers, 
 merely to prove if my memory serves me 
 well. He would outrage the last resting- 
 place of the saint ; he means to visit in 
 disguise the mosque of Imam Reza." 
 
 " I think not. People often talk of deeds 
 they have no intention of performing." 
 
 "That wouldn't be Mostyn's way." 
 
102 World Without End 
 
 " Do you only remember the shrine ? " 
 she queried again. 
 
 In the past she had never put such a 
 direct question. Generally she drew her 
 information from him without betraying the 
 smallest anxiety, 
 
 "The bazaar, the crowds of people," he 
 murmured, "and the strange noises. I know 
 the city gate, surrounded by miserable 
 beggars who cling to the skirts of the 
 pilgrims — one old man in particular, with a 
 long white beard and an eye missing. I 
 can't remember his name, but I feel he was 
 my enemy, a snake in the grass. I know I 
 suffered horribly ; others have suffered, but 
 they are not shadowed by the memory of the 
 pain. I suppose you said it was your fault, 
 because you are responsible for bringing me 
 into the world." 
 
 " Yes," she faltered. 
 
 She half meant to tell him of Ella, and 
 the scheme they hatched together before 
 his birth, but prudently refrained. He was 
 too unnerved for any such confidence at 
 present. 
 
 " It seems to me," he said, pensively, " that 
 all students of theosophy must recognise the 
 continuing consciousness of the individuality 
 in each successive birth, in spite of the 
 personal memory being absent. I am un- 
 
Handicapped by Memory 103 
 
 fortunate, for the old spirit has haunted me 
 from my cradle. I didn't have a fair start like 
 you other people." 
 
 Diana, watching him closely, noticed he 
 was coming back to his usual self; her 
 presence had dispelled the frenzy to which 
 he gave vent in solitude. The colour crept 
 to his face again ; he spoke quite calmly now. 
 
 " Don't you think it would be better if you 
 tried to put the whole idea out of your 
 mind?" 
 
 She remembered, as she spoke, the earliest 
 indication he had given her of uncanny in- 
 telligence as an infant. Before he could 
 speak, he could look at her with apparently 
 steadfast attention ; and when she talked to 
 him, as mothers will, he nodded with slow 
 but repeated movements of the head, as 
 though understanding every word. 
 
 He made the same solemn motion now 
 which signified assent. Then, as if to act up 
 to her suggestion, the strange, bright smile 
 irradiated his face ; he put his arm through 
 hers, and drew her to the door. 
 
 "Come," he said, "let us find the poor 
 little butterfly. I frightened her away, and 
 perhaps she will never flutter back. Candida 
 loves Mostyn. Why, didn't you know it? 
 My dear mother, the fact is as clear as day- 
 light ; and, now that I have alarmed her about 
 
I04 World Without End 
 
 his safety and cursed him into the bargain, 
 I doubt if she will deign to be friends with 
 me again." 
 
 He closed the door of the studio, and drew 
 in a deep breath of fresh air. 
 
 " It's odd," he continued. " I don't seem to 
 mind now what Mostyn does, yet less than 
 an hour ago I felt he deserved to die. I 
 wanted the scent of this newly-cut grass and 
 the warm, damp earth in my nostrils. It's 
 better than the oil I burn. Do you know, 
 mother, I am half afraid some day one of my 
 evil fits will fasten on me — and remain. I 
 am not a rational being when those racial 
 instincts rise in me, yet I can laugh at them 
 afterwards. When over, they appear so 
 utterly apart from my real self that I can 
 even see a certain amount of humour in 
 them ; I become amused at my own fanati- 
 cism. If ever I lose my sense of humour, 
 I shall be one of the poorest devils walking 
 this earth." 
 
 Candida watched the return to the house 
 from her window. 
 
 The artist waved and flung up a flower, 
 which she leant out and caught. Could that 
 bright debonair face, with the splendid eyes 
 flashing a smile in her direction, be the same 
 as the contorted, vicious, maniacal creature 
 who pictured to her the possible form of 
 
Handicapped by Memory 105 
 
 death that might be meted out to Mostyn in 
 the mosque at Mashad ? 
 
 She felt so completely bewildered, she 
 almost doubted her own senses. 
 
 Diana came to her room with reassuring 
 words, 
 
 " Haroun is quite himself again," she told 
 Candida. " I want your promise never to 
 refer to what happened this morning. It is 
 better ignored. He told me to tell you he 
 was sorry for what he had said. He is 
 going to try and stamp out those recollec- 
 tions of the East, to live down the haunting 
 knowledge of what has been before. I have 
 promised to help him — I, who was his evil 
 genius, who am responsible." 
 
 She spoke sadly ; perhaps she knew she 
 had set herself an impossible task. She 
 dared not tell Candida how greatly she 
 feared the future, how — even with her love 
 for life — she dreaded lest she should live to 
 see the end of her experiment. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE CITY OF DEATH 
 
 Two riders were nearing Kuchan, on their 
 way to Mashad — one an Englishman, blue- 
 eyed, fresh of face, easy in his saddle, and 
 upright as a soldier ; the other his foreign 
 servant and faithful attendant, Shamsuddin. 
 The dust of travel was upon them both ; 
 Shamsuddin, riding behind his master, showed 
 signs of fatigue. 
 
 Mostyn Anstey reined in his horse, and 
 put his handkerchief quickly to his mouth, 
 to stifle a waft of air heavy with the odour 
 of rotting corpses. 
 
 Shamsuddin sniffed audibly. 
 
 " It's true, sir," he said; " I can smell it from 
 here. Twelve thousand men and eighteen 
 thousand animals all destroyed, in one night 
 — by the hand of God." 
 
 Shamsuddin muttered the words with an 
 emphasis peculiar to his diction. He had 
 extraordinary expression of voice and face, 
 
 xo6 
 
The City of Death 107 
 
 and a wonderful way of picking up accurate 
 information, of sifting unfounded gossip from 
 established fact. 
 
 Mostyn needed no assurance to confirm 
 the rumour of the recent earthquake reported 
 from Kuchan by its few survivors. The line 
 of route gave pitiful evidence of a widespread 
 devastation. Miles away from the ill-fated 
 city, prostrate walls and tumbledown villages 
 showed only too clearly that further on some- 
 thing serious had occurred. 
 
 " See, sir — riders, horsemen," whispered 
 the quick-eyed Shamsuddin. 
 
 Mostyn glanced in the direction indicated. 
 Coming towards him through a cloud of dust, 
 he perceived a couple of Europeans riding 
 across country to a village on their right, 
 followed by a few mounted Persians. Only 
 the day before he learnt that a party of 
 Russian officers had come across the frontier 
 to Kuchan, so, guessing their identity, he 
 rode up and addressed them. They gave 
 him plentiful information. The city of 
 Kuchan was completely destroyed, every 
 building had been laid in ruins, save one 
 mosque, which stood uninjured, except for 
 a long crack down the centre wall support- 
 ing the tiled dome. 
 
 "It stands to the north-west and is named 
 Ziarat-i-Imam-Zida-Sahib," they told him, 
 
io8 World Without End 
 
 " a marvel to all who see it towering above 
 the mass of hopeless ruin." 
 
 " It is the tomb," said Mostyn, " of one 
 of the descendants of the Imam Reza of 
 Mashad." 
 
 This remark held little significance for the 
 Russians, who were bent on no such mission 
 of investigation as this secret pilgrim to the 
 great shrine. There was a certain inno- 
 cence and expression of youth about Mostyn 
 which disarmed suspicion. He had the ready 
 knack of making friends, the talent of popu- 
 larity. They parted with words of good 
 comradeship, and drifted away in their differ- 
 ent directions, the Russians riding loosely, 
 and appearing less at home in their saddles 
 than the Englishman. 
 
 Mostyn, undeterred by the fetid atmos- 
 phere, made straight for what had once been 
 the prosperous trading city of Kuchan. 
 
 Now there was not a brick left standing ; 
 the walls lay flat from the very base, almost 
 level with the ground, a silent testimony to 
 the sharp, sudden quaking. 
 
 " Why should such things be ? " he 
 wondered, surveying Mother Nature's ter- 
 rific punishment. " One day a city of life 
 and movement, the next a wild, desolate 
 waste of foul horror, a few wooden posts 
 alone marking the past existence of roofs 
 
The City of Death 109 
 
 and verandas rising from clay-coloured ruins 
 of annihilated houses." 
 
 To Mostyn the strange miracle of the 
 unshattered tomb seemed like a good omen 
 for the success of his journey. He fancied 
 those unscathed walls breathed a message 
 to him as a pilgrim of research (a word he 
 preferred to curiosity). 
 
 " There is work to be done here," he 
 said to Shamsuddin, espying some small 
 search parties, vainly endeavouring to extri- 
 cate their dead from the debris. "These 
 poor crushed bodies might have been our 
 friends and relations ; at least we must 
 offer to help, though the task looks hopeless 
 enough." 
 
 He dismounted as he spoke, and climbed 
 over the ruins of the outer wall, disregarding 
 the nauseating atmosphere which came from 
 the town, and ignoring the occasional sharp 
 shocks of earthquake, which had not been 
 noticeable while in the saddle. 
 
 Shamsuddin watched his master with in- 
 creasing admiration. Never had he seen a 
 trace of fear on the Englishman's face. 
 Whatever the journey brought he met each 
 circumstance with zest and fearlessness, in- 
 voluntarily revealing to his humble com- 
 panion the strength and beauty of an 
 undaunted, adventurous and sympathetic 
 
no World Without End 
 
 nature. To the servant the master was a 
 source of inspiration, a being so perfect that 
 affection amounted almost to worship. For 
 Mostyn, Shamsuddin would have given his 
 life, and felt honoured in the giving. 
 
 Here and there weeping women chanted 
 heartrending dirges, or encouraged the 
 workers with words and gestures. Their 
 agonised faces appealed to all that was tender 
 and emotional in Mostyn. He thought of 
 his mother, of pretty Candida, surrounded by 
 every luxury, and compared these hopeless 
 mourners with the women of his memory. 
 
 In the city ditch many dead animals, 
 dragged from the ruins, were decomposing 
 in the sun ; the place was a scene of horror 
 which the light of day mocked with its 
 Eastern brightness. Those who moved in 
 this place of death appeared too absorbed 
 with their melancholy work to notice that a 
 stranger lent a hand, their brains paralysed 
 by the past catastrophe and the knowledge 
 of present danger. It was not for gratitude 
 the traveller laboured ; he gave freely his 
 meed of pity and aid, a small tribute to the 
 victims and their few remaining kinsfolk. 
 
 When at last he remounted, sick and weary 
 from the ghastly work, he pressed on to the 
 east side of the town, where some Armenian 
 merchants were camping outside the city 
 
The City of Death in 
 
 walls, on the banks of the Karez, surrounded 
 by bales of merchandise. 
 
 On hearing he was an Englishman they 
 received him hospitably, quickly producing tea 
 and kalians for the travellers' refreshment. 
 
 Their story of the earthquake was short 
 and simple, the chief Armenian relating pri- 
 vately the details of the awful night. 
 
 "It happened," he said, "about ten at night, 
 when most of the townspeople were asleep. 
 Such a shock, you might well have believed 
 the Day of Judgment was at hand. Ah! 
 and it was a judgment," he added, mys- 
 teriously, glancing round to make sure his 
 words reached Mostyn's ear alone. 
 
 " What had the people done to deserve 
 such retribution?" asked the Englishman, 
 drinking his tea with relish, as only a thirsty 
 Britisher can. 
 
 The Armenian raised a quivering finger to 
 heaven. 
 
 " I am persuaded," he answered, solemnly, 
 "that God punished the people of Kuchan 
 for their wickedness, and saved us because 
 we are Christians. Excepting one man with 
 a fractured leg, whom we have with us here, 
 all the Armenians escaped scatheless, out 
 of eighteen thousand souls crushed beneath 
 the ruins." 
 
 About the sins of the town he would say 
 
112 World Without End 
 
 little, but Mostyn determined to learn more 
 in the near future. His plans were deeply 
 laid, and much that was withheld from him 
 as an Englishman would doubtless reach 
 his ears when he adopted his disguise. 
 
 Shamsuddin had commenced unloading 
 his mules, and the Armenians were preparing 
 a place for his bivouac, when catching sight 
 bf European-looking tents by a grove of 
 trees, he remembered the Russian officers 
 telling him that some of their party were 
 camped near the scene of the disaster. He 
 had promised to call if he sighted their camp, 
 and strolled across to make himself known. 
 
 With all the courtesy of their race, they 
 welcomed him to their tent. They spoke 
 French fluently, and were surprised to find 
 that Mostyn was equally familiar with their 
 own tongue. His powers as a linguist had 
 always made travelling easy and cosmo- 
 politan friendships possible. 
 
 Seated on the ground, Mostyn was soon 
 chatting freely with his new acquaintances, 
 and sampling the coffee they brought him, 
 though he had but recently enjoyed the 
 Armenians' tea. The little company con- 
 sisted of an army surgeon, an officer of 
 engineers, and a mining engineer, with a 
 few of the army hospital corps, and some 
 orderlies. The mining engineer, apparently 
 
The City of Death 113 
 
 a very sharp and intelligent officer, explained 
 their presence. 
 
 "We hastened from Ashkhabad immedi- 
 ately on hearing of the disaster," he said, 
 " to afford what assistance we could to the 
 wounded. I, personally, am investigating 
 the earthquake in the interests of science, 
 and keeping a record of the exact time, 
 duration, and intensity of the various shocks 
 as they continue to occur." 
 
 Even as he spoke, Mostyn felt a slight 
 vibration of the earth. He rose quickly; 
 they all exchanged glances. Immediately a 
 sound like a salvo of big guns being fired in 
 a huge underground cavern, rumbled and 
 re-echoed with a deafening roar. The 
 engineer whipped out his watch and pocket- 
 book, and holding up a warning finger, 
 whispered, "It is not yet finished," 
 
 Each man held his breath. The faces of 
 the dead were still vividly clear in Mostyn's 
 mind, but his iron nerves were adamant. 
 Even in such a moment of alarm he had no 
 fear of death. Inwardly he felt sure little 
 harm could come to him until he had fulfilled 
 his mission. If he were to be wiped from 
 the face of the earth it would be by tho^ 
 knife of the Mohammedan guardians of 
 Imam Reza's shrine, not at the quaking of 
 the earth's vengeance upon the Kuchan 
 
 8 
 
114 World Without End 
 
 inhabitants. He could have given no reason 
 for his conviction, only that his desire had 
 become so strong and definite, that it seemed 
 impossible to be prevented viewing those 
 dream-rooms of Haroun's mystifying recol- 
 lections. 
 
 For fifteen seconds the little group stood 
 motionless, watching the scientist ; then the 
 earth began to tremble. Mostyn was con- 
 scious of a most unpleasant sensation, as if 
 some one unseen grasped him by the 
 shoulders and shook him violently. This 
 lasted about eight or ten seconds, when 
 once again all was still. 
 
 The engineer replaced his watch, and made 
 a note in his book. 
 
 "These shocks," he said, "vary in in- 
 tensity, and were more violent during the 
 night. They have been going on ever since 
 the original disturbance, but are now 
 diminishing in severity." 
 
 Mostyn replied that they were apparently 
 local, as he had noticed nothing of the kind 
 the night before at Shirwan, some thirty- 
 five miles away to the north-west. 
 
 The Russians were anxious that he should 
 stay the night in their camp, but Mostyn 
 excused himself, returning instead to the 
 Armenians, as he had instructions for 
 Shamsuddin, who proved a willing party to 
 
The City of Death 115 
 
 a plot the development of which must 
 commence before daybreak. 
 
 That the Englishman had any secret 
 adventure of an exciting and dangerous 
 character upon his mind seemed utterly 
 unlikely, as he shared, in his cheery 
 manner, the al-fresco meal of the friendly 
 Armenians. The thought of what was 
 before him gave a flavour to every incident 
 of travel, and he did good justice to the 
 mutton kababs, chuppaties, and excellent 
 Indian tea, before lying down to sleep. The 
 thought of the quaking earth had no power to 
 drive away slumber, and for a while Mostyn 
 might have been in his comfortable bed at 
 the Priory, so soundly did he rest. 
 
 At 3 a.m. another violent explosion below 
 and the usual shaking forced him back from 
 the peaceful land of dreams. He sat up and 
 rubbed his eyes. The Armenians had kindly 
 placed huge bales of cotton round his sleep- 
 ing place, the proximity of which became 
 unpleasant as the quaking of the earth 
 increased. He had only just time to clear 
 them at one bound, before they rolled on his 
 improvised couch. He found Shamsuddin 
 standing beside him, trembling from head to 
 foot. 
 
 Mostyn smiled at the sight of his palpable 
 terror. 
 
ii6 World Without End 
 
 " This isn't good enough, eh, Shamsuddin?" 
 he said. " I told you to call me early, but 
 the powers that be were before you for 
 once — your task was assisted by some 
 mighty underground artillery ! " 
 
 Shamsuddin drew comfort from the light 
 tone, though he could not smile himself 
 He replied that he was awaiting his 
 master's orders, and his teeth rattled as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Tell my servants to load the mules as 
 fast as possible, and start at once along the 
 high road to Mashad, making for the 
 British Consulate. I am expected there. 
 They must deliver this letter, which states 
 I am going on a shooting excursion south- 
 wards. Meanwhile, I shall profit by the 
 darkness to dress myself in the travelling 
 costume of a respectable Afghan — you know 
 the rest." 
 
 Shamsuddin bowed, and vanished in the 
 gloom. Mostyn often thought how like he 
 was to some mysterious satellite, appearing 
 at unexpected moments, without sound, as 
 if springing from the earth. 
 
 As dawn broke over the doomed city, 
 Mostyn and Shamsuddin, shaking the dust 
 of Kuchan from off their feet, were also on 
 their way to Mashad, unaccompanied, armed 
 with carbines and riding on mules, with only 
 
The City of Death 1 1 7 
 
 a few belongings in their saddle-bags, as 
 pilgrims bound for the shrine of Imam 
 Reza. But the rider whom Shamsuddin 
 followed was no longer Mostyn Anstey, the 
 dare-devil Englishman who had won such 
 deep respect from his confidential servant ; 
 he saw beside him a new master, one who 
 took great care to impress his identity upon 
 his companion. 
 
 " Shamsuddin," said the familiar voice, " tell 
 me once again who I am, that there be no 
 mistake. Mind you, I have taken to myself 
 an honoured name. I mean to receive respect 
 at Mashad." 
 
 " You are a Hyderabad Sardar on pilgrim- 
 age," came the quick reply, "a cousin of 
 Naib Nur Mohamad Khan of Kandahar." 
 
 " Good. Do I look the part ? " 
 
 " To the life, sir." 
 
 " Shamsuddin, if you are questioned, I 
 trust to your mighty powers of humbug ; 
 I rely on your tact and cleverness to assist 
 me in escaping recognition." 
 
 " Sir," he replied, solemnly, " there is much 
 risk, but you do not care for that. If you 
 have no fear of the quaking earth, you will 
 have no fear of the fools of men." 
 
 The remark amused Mostyn ; the spice of 
 danger sprinkled so largely over the enterprise 
 made it peculiarly acceptable and entertaining. 
 
ii8 World Without End 
 
 " I mean to learn in my new character," 
 he said, " much that would never be related 
 to an unbeliever. I must make the most of 
 my opportunities in the next few days. I 
 want to find out why that disastrous earth- 
 quake is regarded as a direct visitation from 
 heaven to punish the people of Kuchan. 
 The Armenians would say little, but they 
 showed a marked want of sympathy with 
 the victims," 
 
 To Shamsuddin his master's desire for 
 information was quite incomprehensible. Of 
 what interest could such things be to the 
 Englishman? Why should he appear so 
 eager to study these worthless people, as 
 he moved from place to place ? It was a 
 puzzle beyond solution. 
 
 " The English are wonderful," Shamsuddin 
 thought. " They must know everything, and 
 there is no gainsaying that ' must. 
 
 I ti 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE SARDAr's servant 
 
 The next few days were the most pleasant' 
 and interesting of Mostyn's journey. He 
 learnt much of the people and their super- 
 stitions, while the mystery of Kuchan was 
 explained in full to the supposed Mohamme- 
 dan pilgrim. 
 
 Amir Hussan Khan, Ilkaneh of Kuchan,' 
 the evil chief of a wicked people, was known 
 throughout the land as a notorious scoundrel, 
 sunk deeply in every possible vice, and drunk 
 with wine at the very moment of his death. 
 For some years he had been frequently 
 attended by Russian doctors for a painful 
 disease, but failed to repent, until a few days 
 before the earthquake, when, at the point of 
 death, he developed a sudden religious fit. 
 He sent with all speed for the Muttawalli, 
 or chief guardian of the shrine of Imam 
 Zada Sahib, receiving him with great honour, 
 and presenting him with very costly gifts. 
 
 119 
 
120 World Without End 
 
 Then he informed him that after his death 
 he desired to be buried in the same tomb 
 with Imam Zada. The guardian, on hear- 
 ing the request, grew white with rage, ex- 
 claiming: 
 
 "When did I get authority to do this 
 thing? To dig up the tomb of a saint for 
 anyone, and, merciful heavens! for a man 
 who is a blasphemer ! " 
 
 Protesting that such a proposition was not 
 to be considered for a moment, he left the 
 house of the Ilkaneh in a rage. 
 
 The following day he was again sum- 
 moned, and the subject renewed, fabulous 
 sums of money being offered him as a bribe ; 
 but still he refused to consent, and departed 
 in displeasure. 
 
 The Ilkaneh, determined not to be baulked 
 of his hope, assembled his heirs and most 
 trusted followers, and commanded, as a dying 
 order, that he must, at all hazards, be buried 
 in the Imam Zada's tomb. 
 
 "If not by force of money, then let it 
 be by force of arms," shouted 'the dying 
 man, foaming at the mouth with drunken 
 and blasphemous wrath, while the by- 
 standers swore to carry out the sacrilegious 
 wish. 
 
 A few days after the death of the sinful 
 chief, his heirs so threatened and tempted 
 
The Sardar's Servant 121 
 
 the Muttawalli that finally he relented, 
 saying : 
 
 " I cannot do it thus, that I should open 
 the tomb itself, and put him in, but there is 
 a way in which it might be accomplished. 
 Do ye dig an ordinary grave close to the 
 foot of the Imam Zada's tomb, and from this 
 excavation make a hole leading into the 
 saint's grave, then put the body of the 
 Ilkaneh through the hole. But if ye do this 
 thing, do not let it become known abroad." 
 
 Both parties being satisfied by this expedi- 
 ent, the plan was adopted, and the body 
 of the sinner deposited by the side of the 
 saint. That same night, just as they com- 
 pleted the dastardly act, the earthquake 
 occurred which levelled the whole city to 
 the ground. 
 
 The man who related the story to Mostyn 
 fully believed in the judgment. His voice 
 trembled as he gave the details, adding in a 
 whisper : 
 
 " Some declare, and I hold it is true, that 
 the saint a;ppeared to the Muttawalli that 
 night in a dream, and said to him : 
 
 " ' How now, O traitor ! Hast thou eaten 
 my salt for these many long years, and thus 
 betray thy trust? Thou shalt instantly be 
 punished, and all the people of this wicked 
 city shall share thy doom.'" 
 
122 World Without End 
 
 Having given utterance to these words, 
 the saint vanished, and immediately every 
 building, save the sacred tomb, was laid 
 low. 
 
 Mostyn feigned to credit the whole story, 
 replying that he knew such appearances 
 frequently occurred in the large shrines or 
 ziarats, such as Kerbela, Mashad, etc., where 
 saints constantly communicate with the 
 Muttawallis. 
 
 Shamsuddin watched his master's success 
 as an actor — the reception accorded him in 
 his guise of an Afghan — with mute wonder 
 and occasional fear, warning him that at any 
 moment some unforeseen event might cause 
 him to be recognised. 
 
 The words appeared prophetic, for shortly 
 after they were uttered, Mostyn met with an 
 embarrassing adventure. Halting for the 
 night after a long day's ride, still some 
 distance from Mashad, they found the cara- 
 vanserai occupied by some Afghans, and not 
 wishing for their society, Mostyn, at Sham- 
 suddin's suggestion, turned into a village 
 enclosure close by, where they managed 
 to secure a room. The place was very 
 dirty, and at first the surly owner refused 
 them shelter, but on hearing they were 
 pilgrims bound for the shrine at Mashad, 
 he grudgingly prepared a filthy stable, 
 
The Sardar's Servant 123 
 
 which he had partially swept out for their 
 use. 
 
 "The serai," he informed them, "was 
 occupied by two Afghan Sardars, refugees 
 from Kabul or Herat — Abdul Majid Khan 
 and his brother Abdul Hamid, with several 
 followers." 
 
 Mostyn, curious to know more of these 
 men, told Shamsuddin to stroll round, 
 and spy out the travellers, without, if 
 possible, getting into conversation with 
 them. 
 
 " But you will know what to say if they 
 should question you," he added, with perfect 
 faith in his confidant. 
 
 • Shamsuddin bowed assent. His master's 
 assumed name and tribe came as familiarly 
 to his tongue now as if he had never known 
 him by any other. 
 
 As he passed the serai, Abdul Hamid 
 met him face to face, and stopping, asked him 
 who he was, and whence he came. 
 
 " I am the Sardar's servant," replied 
 Shamsuddin, humbly. " I have come with 
 him from Hyderabad." 
 
 " And what is the Sardar's name ? " replied 
 the interrogator, not satisfied with such 
 meagre information. 
 
 "My master is Sardar Mozaffar Khan." 
 
 Shamsuddin relished his part of deceiver, 
 
124 World Without End 
 
 and was laughing in his sleeve to think that 
 an Englishman could so perfectly adapt the 
 dress, the personality, and the speech of an 
 Afghan. 
 
 " To. what tribe does the Sardar belong? " 
 
 The question was quite a natural one, and 
 Shamsuddin repeated readily enough the 
 words in which he had been so well schooled 
 by Mostyn. 
 
 " He is a cousin of Naib Nur Mohamad 
 Khan of Kandahar." 
 
 The thick bushy eyebrows were raised in 
 quick surprise ; a smile broke over Abdul 
 Hamid's face. 
 
 "Hallo!" he exclaimed, with evident 
 satisfaction ; "he is of my own tribe ; 
 we are both Mohamadzais. How long has 
 he been in Hyderabad? Why did he go 
 there?" 
 
 The questions were put eagerly ; evidently 
 Abdul Hamid's interest was thoroughly 
 aroused. 
 
 Shamsuddin considered a moment. They 
 were in a corner ; he knew it now. The 
 stranger had no idea of letting the matter 
 pass. He must parry the awkward remarks 
 with the best wit possible. 
 
 " I have only been a short time in the 
 Sardar 's service," he murmured, "therefore 
 I am unable to say how many years he has 
 
The Sardar's Servant 125 
 
 resided in Hyderabad, or why he chose it 
 for his home." 
 
 "All right," said Abdul Hamid, dismissing 
 Shamsuddin with a lordly wave of the hand. 
 " I shall come and see him. Tell the Sardar 
 to expect a visit from a fellow-tribesman, 
 who is anxious to greet him." 
 
 Shamsuddin hurried away, conscious his 
 heart was beating uncomfortably quickly. 
 
 Mostyn guessed at once from his face he 
 was the bearer of unpleasant news. 
 
 In gasping accents he warned his master 
 of the unfortunate occurrence. His only 
 idea was departure. They must pack up and 
 leave at once. Five minutes' conversation 
 with a supposed relation would surely be the 
 undoing of Sardar Mozaffar Khan. 
 
 Mostyn seldom took refuge in flight. 
 
 "If we are not clever enough to bam- 
 boozle this old Kalian," he said, lightly, 
 " we may as well give up our mission and 
 go home." 
 
 He concealed from Shamsuddin that the 
 thought of the interview roused in him a 
 sensation of genuine alarm. It would be 
 a difficult situation, and at any moment 
 exposure might lay his future plans low ; 
 but to run away would be the surest road 
 to suspicion and possible detection. 
 
 " The master will face it out ? " gasped 
 
126 World Without End 
 
 Shamsuddin, his eyes half starting from his 
 head. " He will receive the visitor ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; there's nothing else to be 
 done. Must we not show civility to our 
 own kinsfolk ? You are a bit of a romancer, 
 Shamsuddin ; if our curious friend meets you 
 again, and troubles you with questions, just 
 draw on that splendid imagination of yours. 
 I don't mind betting it won't fail you. 
 Prepare tea, and spread out a few carpets 
 for the reception of my guest ; and above 
 all, try not to look as if it were a funeral 
 feast." 
 
 Cheered by Mostyn's light raillery, Sham- 
 suddin went about his work with increased 
 respect for his master's sang-froid. He had 
 only just made the tea, and put the place 
 in something like order, when the Kalian 
 appeared. The trembling servant ushered 
 him in to the presence of Sardar Mozaffar 
 Khan, hovering on the threshold to hear the 
 usual greetings, and withdrawing as Abdul 
 Hamid commenced overwhelming Mostyn 
 with questions. 
 
 For fully an hour the two men remained 
 together, talking animatedly. Every now 
 and again the anxious Shamsuddin drew 
 near the door, and sighed with relief that 
 his master had not yet betrayed himself. 
 An almost superstitious awe of Mostyn 
 
The Sardar's Servant 127 
 
 entered his servant's mind. His coolness 
 and plausibility were things to be wondered 
 at, and reverenced. Who else could have 
 met such a contingency without flinching? 
 
 The listener caught scraps of the conversa- 
 tion from time to time. His master was 
 talking volubly in Persian and Pushtoo, 
 while his guest consumed a quantity of tea 
 and tobacco. No suspicion entered the 
 mind of Abdul Hamid, who attributed the 
 Sardar's imperfect accent to his prolonged 
 residence in Hyderabad, of which Mostyn 
 gave a glowing, and entirely fictitious, 
 description. 
 
 On his kinsman's departure, Mozaffar 
 Khan bade Shamsuddin escort the honoured 
 guest to the gate of the caravanserai. 
 
 On the way, Shamsuddin had causfe to 
 remember his master's words, " Draw on 
 that splendid imagination of yours." The 
 instruction conveyed a compliment, and faith 
 in the powers of a trusted servant. 
 
 For a few seconds Abdul Hamid walked 
 in silence. He seemed to be thinking deeply, 
 pondering some problem in his mind. 
 Suddenly he looked up, and remarked 
 abruptly : 
 
 " I say ! all Mohamadzais are Sunnis. How 
 comes it that your master is a Shaih ? " 
 
 Shamsuddin knew the moment had come 
 
128 World Without End 
 
 to prove his ready wit. But for the con- 
 fidence placed in his inventive genius, he 
 might have found himself tongue-tied, but 
 taking example by Mostyn's fluency, he 
 braced himself to the appetising task of 
 deception. 
 
 "I am eating his salt," he replied; "how 
 can I relate this thing to you ? " Then 
 pausing dramatically, he looked up from 
 under his eyelids. " But since you have 
 asked me, I can only say that it seems to 
 me in these days men have become women, 
 and women men." 
 
 Abdul Hamid's curiosity was arrested by 
 the words. He asked their meaning in a 
 tone which encouraged Shamsuddin to give 
 him some fresh food for thought. 
 
 " Listen ! " murmured the servant, in a low 
 voice, preparing to let his tongue run riot 
 with a quickly invented tale. " When the 
 Sardar came to Hyderabad on account of 
 some annoyance in Kandahar, the Nizam 
 took a great fancy to him. Nothing was 
 too good for the newcomer. He was made 
 a court favourite, and granted the title of 
 Sardar Bahadur, with 500 rupees a month, 
 and a jagir of twenty-four villages. In fact, 
 he was getting on very well, until he married 
 a pretty Shaih woman of eighteen summers. 
 He has been married six months, but the 
 
The Sardar's Servant 129 
 
 woman has been out of temper ever since 
 the first day, and cries every moment to the 
 Sardar : 
 
 " ' May God burn my father and my 
 mother by fire for marrying me to a Sunni ! 
 You must either divorce me or become 
 a Shaih, otherwise we shall never get on 
 together.' 
 
 " One day, in desperation, the Sardar 
 answered : ' Very well, I will accept the 
 Shaih rite ; but tell me about the rules of 
 the sect.' She did so, and the Sardar 
 accepted everything as laid down by her. 
 She has completely enchanted him, and if 
 at mid-day she says it is night, he has not 
 sufficient determination to say it is a lie, but 
 instantly replies, 'Yes, it is night.' By 
 these means that woman has gradually 
 forced the Sardar to come where we are 
 at present, saying to him that so long as he 
 has not made pilgrimage to all the Shaih 
 ziarats, she will not believe that he has 
 become a true Shaih. So here is the 
 Sardar obediently making pilgrimages, and, 
 for aught I know to the contrary, he will 
 visit every ziarat in Asia before returning 
 to Hyderabad." 
 
 Shamsuddin paused. He had recited the 
 well-conceived libel on his beloved master 
 with secret pride at the thought of the vast 
 
 9 
 
130 World Without End 
 
 amusement it would cause Mostyn, when 
 the danger of the moment had been success- 
 fully averted. 
 
 Abdul hung his head, and was silent for 
 a moment. Then he answered dolefully : 
 
 "Without doubt you say well when you 
 declare that your master is no man ; for were 
 it otherwise, he would never have acted so 
 contrary to Afghan custom." 
 
 Shamsuddin bade the visitor a respectful 
 good-bye, and hastened back to their stable 
 to repeat the conversation exactly word for 
 word, intensely pleased with himself for 
 having fooled Abdul Hamid. But though 
 Mostyn laughed heartily over the ridiculous 
 story, Shamsuddin never once smiled. He 
 was too conscious of the risk his master had 
 run to indulge in merriment just then, warn- 
 ing Mostyn that even now the danger of 
 discovery was by no means over, since 
 Abdul Hamid's brother, Abdul Majid Khan, 
 might at any moment take it into his head 
 likewise to pay a visit to the cousin of Naib 
 Nur Mohamad Khan of Kandahar. 
 
 " I shall never know how I got through 
 that hour," declared Mostyn. " I've been 
 told I have Irish blood in my veins, and 
 now I believe it. I can't think how I kept 
 the conversation going without arousing 
 his suspicions! If the brother arrives, that 
 
The Sardar's Servant 131 
 
 will be the last straw. You must tell him I 
 am asleep — or dead." 
 
 Their fears, however, proved groundless, 
 for Abdul Majid Khan, probably hearing 
 Shamsuddin's story from Abdul Hamid, had 
 no wish to visit such a contemptible creature 
 as a fellow-tribesman who had forsaken the 
 faith of his fathers. 
 
 At an early hour the following morning, 
 Mostyn had the satisfaction of seeing the 
 whole of the Afghan party filing out of the 
 caravanserai, and shortly afterwards he and 
 Shamsuddin hurried away in the opposite 
 direction. As they travelled along the road 
 to Mashad, incessant salutations greeted 
 them, and shouts of ' God-speed ' from 
 hundreds of miserable beggars, who crowded 
 round the pilgrims as they neared the Holy 
 City, clinging to their legs, or dragging at 
 their skirts. Mostyn, for all his high courage, 
 was strangely susceptible to the sight of suffer- 
 ing. The deformed and ill-clad wretches 
 filled him with a sense of nausea, while 
 they tore at his heart-strings with their 
 cries for pity. As he threw them money, 
 Shamsuddin could barely refrain from an 
 attitude of disgust. 
 
 " They are robbers ! " he exclaimed, hotly. 
 " They prey on the bird of passage ; they are 
 not worthy to receive." 
 
132 World Without End 
 
 He warned Mostyn that he was likely to 
 be stopped at the city gates by the guards, 
 assuring him it was merely a question 
 of blackmail, levied in a most systematic 
 and open manner by all Mashad people, 
 who considered the pilgrims their legitimate 
 spoil, to be cheated in every conceivable 
 way. 
 
 Mostyn was quite prepared for the inflic- 
 tion ; and satisfying the officer in command, 
 found himself free to enter the fateful city 
 of Mashad. 
 
 A strange, dream-like sensation stole over 
 him as he passed up the street leading to 
 the shrine. How often he had pictured 
 this hour, when Haroun explained to him 
 the fancies which filled his mind! Here and 
 there in the crowd he saw eyes startlingly 
 similar to those of his brother — the long, 
 narrow, slumbrous eyes, which could flash 
 and scintillate with true Eastern fire when 
 emotions were aroused. He caught the 
 familiar look in the face of a man playing 
 a guitar outside a house. He saw it again 
 in a warlike individual with black beard 
 and large head-dress of sugar-loaf shape, 
 talking animatedly to some horse - dealers, 
 just starting on their way to India with a 
 fine lot of Turkoman horses in excellent 
 condition, well fed and well groomed. 
 
The Sardar's Servant 133 
 
 They had just vacated a nice clean serai 
 in the Khiaban-i-pain, where Mostyn decided 
 to stop. 
 
 Would this be his last halting-place ? he 
 wondered, as he looked towards the domed 
 roof of the great shrine. It stood out 
 with mystical beauty, in form and shape 
 exactly similar to many a drawing and 
 brightly - coloured picture in the Priory 
 studio. 
 
 No thought of faltering, no idea of drawing 
 back, crossed Mostyn Anstey's mind as he 
 surveyed the beauteous building, entrance 
 through the doors of which meant certain 
 death to an unbeliever. The fever of ex- 
 ploration was upon him ; the awful joy of 
 adventure sent his blood coursing quicker 
 through his veins ; the thrill which heralded 
 danger, making him careless of life, had 
 never held him more firmly in the grip of 
 its deadly fascination. 
 
 The routine of English life and the quiet 
 safety of his British home seemed very far 
 away from the traveller. At that moment, 
 he almost felt as if the Priory belonged to 
 another existence. At least, those dear ones 
 in the distant land were in blissful ignorance 
 that this was the eventful evening of his 
 masquerade. With all his heart he wished 
 Major Marchmont could be with him — the 
 
134 World Without End 
 
 man who never flinched, the old warrior 
 with nerves of steel. 
 
 That Shamsuddin feared was palpable 
 from a sudden trembling which possessed 
 him when Mostyn bade him prepare for 
 the expedition and unpack the clothes to 
 be worn on this momentous occasion. 
 
 Shamsuddin had certainly his good points, 
 which lay in a fidelity not to be bought with 
 money. Mostyn knew, at least, he could 
 rely implicitly upon the honour and love of 
 his devoted servant. 
 
 With thoughts of England, the sweet face 
 of Candida came instinctively to his mind. 
 She floated goddess-like upon the plane of 
 his filmy imagination, a fair, soft, smiling 
 image of exquisite femininity. The touch 
 of her small hand, the little rippling laugh, 
 the grace and lightness of her dancing, as 
 he guided her through a crowded ballroom, 
 were good to dwell upon. Would she care 
 if some racial instinct warned the guardians 
 of the shrine that one unworthy to kiss 
 their sacred book had passed the holy portals 
 with a lie upon his lips ? 
 
 Mostyn knew well the penalty and mode 
 of death ; this very knowledge added a fear- 
 ful excitement to the enterprise. 
 
 He and Shamsuddin were the sole occu- 
 pants of the serai in the Bala Khana ; and 
 
The Sardar's Servant 135 
 
 presently the welcome news that all was 
 prepared for the making of an interesting 
 toilet banished the somewhat sentimental 
 thoughts which had temporarily filled Mostyn's 
 mind. 
 
 Under Shamsuddin's directions he clipped 
 his beard grown on the journey, shaving off 
 the upper portion above a line drawn from 
 the top of his ears to the corners of his mouth, 
 and cutting the lower part to form a semicircle 
 round his throat. This done, Shamsuddin 
 proceeded to blacken the edges of his master's 
 eyelids with surma. 
 
 " I should hardly know myself," Mostyn 
 declared, with an approving nod at the trans- 
 formed face in the glass. "It's capital ; my 
 own father would not recognise me." 
 
 He drew on, as he spoke, a pair of 
 Afghan baggy trousers of white linen, the 
 complicated folds of which took some time 
 to adjust with the smartness expected from 
 a Sardar. 
 
 "It seems I am to wear clothes enough 
 to compliment the remains of a dozen saints," 
 he continued, winding a red and yellow 
 woollen muffler round his throat, and fin- 
 ally putting over his flannel shirt a Chester- 
 field coat of rough dark serge, lined and 
 faced with black silk — a garment built in 
 Piccadilly. 
 
136 World Without End 
 
 Shamsuddin stood by, holding a neatly 
 embroidered kullah, or sugar-loaf cap, with 
 a gold fringed turban attached, to complete 
 the Sardar's costume. On his feet Mostyn 
 wore black English socks and a new pair of 
 Afghan shoes with turned-up toes. 
 
 " Am I ready ? " he asked, surveying 
 himself in a very small glass, with all the 
 anxiety of a debutante about to proceed to 
 her first Court. " Surely I have forgotten 
 something." 
 
 Shamsuddin drew from a bag on the floor 
 three articles : a rosary to be carried in the 
 hand, a grey silk handkerchief, and a small 
 cone - shaped piece of hard clay, from the 
 shrine at Kerbela, to be placed in the 
 pocket. 
 
 " These," said Mostyn, " I put on my 
 prayer-carpet, to lay my head upon while at 
 my devotions." 
 
 Shamsuddin nodded ; he was painfully 
 conscious of increasing nervousness. He 
 feared some curse might fall upon his master ; 
 he even hinted it was not yet too late to 
 draw back. 
 
 " Do you think I would travel all these 
 miles and dress myself up in a fancy costume, 
 merely to turn coward at the eleventh hour ? " 
 laughed Mostyn. " My good fellow, I assure 
 you I would not give up this evening's ex- 
 
The Sardar's Servant 137 
 
 perience for a king's ransom. By the way, 
 I must wear the signet ring which bears my 
 name ; that is the crowning feature of this 
 splendid humbug." 
 
 He looked with admiration upon a silver 
 band which he placed on the fourth finger of 
 his right hand. Upon the stone the name 
 ' Mozaffar ' was engraved. 
 
 "Was ever Sardar more perfectly equipped ? ' ' 
 cried Mostyn, still in the same light tone, a 
 marvel to Shamsuddin, when danger lurked 
 in the air, " Nothing has been overlooked, 
 and I must say my get-up does us credit. I 
 am really rather proud of my kit. It makes 
 you a bit particular about your clothes, when 
 your life hangs upon them." 
 
 With a due sense of the risk the visit 
 involved, Mostyn, followed by Shamsuddin 
 dressed as a respectable Afghan, left the 
 serai, and proceeded solemnly towards the 
 ziarat. 
 
 From the bottom of his heart Mostyn 
 wished at that moment he could have com- 
 municated with his brother, fully believing 
 no one in England would be more interested 
 and enthusiastic over this pilgrimage. 
 
 Because of Haroun's highly-strung nature, 
 Mostyn had refrained from a burning desire 
 to make a confidant of the artist, but already 
 he looked forward to the day when he could 
 
138 World Without End 
 
 give a full account to the dreamer of 
 dreams. 
 
 The hour of fulfilment was at hand, and 
 who could tell the far-reaching consequences 
 which this reckless act might sow ? Mostyn 
 saw no prospect of a harvest ripe with wrath 
 — or red with blood. He walked like a man 
 treading on air ; he had absolute confidence 
 in his own power of deception. 
 
 Dusk crept over the earth. In the distance 
 the lights from the bazaar were beginning 
 to twinkle. 
 
 Nearer he drew to the outer chain placed 
 across the gateway of the bast or sanctuary, 
 the chain he knew he must salute by taking 
 it in his right hand and placing it over his 
 face. Not only was he a traveller, but a 
 student ; in every detail he had schooled 
 himself. 
 
 Shamsuddin glanced neither to left nor 
 right ; he walked mechanically, his mind 
 paralysed with dread for his master. His 
 own life appeared as nothing in comparison 
 with the safety of that splendid specimen of a 
 man who laughed in the face of fear. He 
 remembered Mostyn's smile when the earth 
 shook beneath them. A man who could 
 make a jest at such a moment deserved to 
 live, yet these dogs would kill him — if they 
 knew. 
 
The Sardar's Servant 139 
 
 The chain was reached and passed. They 
 were now in the crowded bazaar, and the 
 lights from the shops on either side seemed 
 to Shamsuddin like hundreds of eyes spying 
 into their very souls. He scented an enemy 
 in every form. The vast throng of purchasers, 
 the story-tellers and gossips, were all so 
 many ghastly phantoms peopling a night- 
 mare. The very sound of their voices 
 seemed a storm of accusation ; at every step 
 he fancied they would shriek aloud : 
 
 "Death to the infidel!" 
 
 Mostyn passed quickly through the busy 
 scene, hastening to the sahn or courtyard by 
 the south gate, across which another heavy 
 chain was stretched. They saluted as before, 
 and moved on to the sahn-i-kuhna, or chief 
 courtyard of the shrine. To their left front 
 stood the huge aiwan or gilded porch, near 
 the sacred tomb chamber, on which the 
 longing eyes of pilgrims yearn to rest. The 
 gilded porch glistened in the reflected light 
 from the glaring, noisy bazaar. Mostyn 
 paused to view it with a sense of keen apprecia- 
 tion. He remembered Haroun had drawn 
 this porch when quite a boy, and cried, because 
 he declared to colour it was quite impossible 
 — the gold was not to be bought. 
 
 Was this the first evidence of a great 
 discovery? Mostyn's pulses quickened. He 
 
140 World Without End 
 
 almost fancied, as he asked himself the 
 question, that Shamsuddin must hear the 
 beating of his heart. But Shamsuddin could 
 only catch that awful mind-cry which re-echoed 
 in his brain : 
 
 " Death to the infidel ! " 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IN THE PRECINCTS OF THE SHRINE 
 
 Outside the gilded porch Mostyn looked 
 round critically, registering in his mind 
 every detail of the scene. He had a 
 marvellous memory, one which served him 
 in good stead on all his previous wanderings, 
 and he was anxious now to remember the 
 route exactly, making a mental note of each 
 fresh stage. 
 
 The courtyard appeared in the dusk to be 
 about a hundred yards long from east to 
 west by about seventy broad from north to 
 south. Through the centre there flowed a 
 stream of water in a deep channel, composed 
 of large blocks of dark-coloured stone. The 
 yard itself was flagged with gravestones, 
 each covering two or three bodies of the 
 faithful, whose privilege it was to be left 
 undisturbed for thirty-two years, at the end 
 of which time another departed Mohammedan 
 
 might be deposited in the same grave. The 
 
 141 
 
142 World Without End 
 
 enormous fees paid for such a holy resting- 
 place proved the chief source of revenue to 
 the shrine. 
 
 From the north, south, and east respec- 
 tively, three large aiwans or gateways gave 
 access to this courtyard, each standing sixty 
 feet high. Mostyn noticed their beautiful 
 scheme of decoration, remembering with the 
 same uncanny thrill Haroun's description 
 of these gates, and his assurance that the 
 fourth aiwan on the west, or tomb side, was 
 not used for ordinary traflfic. These details, 
 given so confidently by his brother, were 
 startlingly accurate. Mostyn noted that the 
 walls between the gateways were about forty 
 feet in height, and consisted of a double row 
 of balconies, with large single archways, and 
 richly decorated recesses at intervals, the 
 one to the left of the west aiwan being 
 completely closed by a beautifully carved 
 marble fretwork screen, in much the same 
 style as that of the Taj at Agra. Though 
 Haroun had never described these walls, the 
 fretwork screen in the studio at the Priory 
 was a miniature imitation of the one upon 
 which Mostyn now rested his astonished eyes. 
 
 It was a relief to observe that so far their 
 presence attracted no attention. Hundreds 
 of pilgrims were wandering about the court- 
 yard, while many knelt outside the fretwork 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 143 
 
 screen, close to the walls which hid the 
 tomb chamber, beating their breasts and 
 wailing pitifully, their eyes streaming with 
 tears, and their palms outstretched in the 
 exact attitude Haroun adopted in his hour 
 of agony, when Diana found him weeping 
 bitterly in the temple at Roehampton. 
 
 Inside the sahn several vendors still did 
 a good business even at so late an hour, 
 with turquoises, rubies, crystals, jade, etc. 
 Passing them by, Mostyn and Shamsuddin 
 walked solemnly to a tall recess on the right 
 of the southern aiwan, where they took off 
 their shoes, placing them in charge of the 
 Kofshbardar, who guards the footgear of 
 pilgrims and visitors. Already some sixty 
 or eighty pairs of slippers were neatly 
 arranged in rows. Mostyn noticed that the 
 guardian eyed him narrowly, as he raked 
 in the shoes of the newcomers with a long 
 rod armed with crooked iron prongs. He 
 seemed to pass over Shamsuddin, and rivet 
 his penetrating gaze especially upon the 
 English impostor in the immaculate guise 
 of a Mohammedan pilgrim. 
 
 Mostyn turned away as quickly as possible 
 without betraying any undue desire for haste. 
 Those eyes had seemed to look into his very 
 soul, to read his secret. To Shamsuddin, 
 who had also noted the expression, it ap- 
 
144 World Without End 
 
 peared as the first signal of his master's 
 doom. The old saying that conscience 
 makes cowards of us all returned to Mostyn 
 at that moment, and he started unnecessarily 
 as a small Syud boy with a black turban 
 darted up to offer himself as a guide. 
 Seeing they were strangers, he asked eagerly 
 if he should read the Ziaratnama prayers, 
 and show them the sights. 
 
 Mostyn gave a signal of dissent ; he was 
 on his dignity, and must live up to the 
 importance of his assumed rank. 
 
 Shamsuddin spoke for him, in lofty and 
 contemptuous tones. 
 
 " No ; you are too young," he told the 
 boy, with a wave of his hand. "We want 
 some full-grown man to guide us and read 
 the prayers for the Sardar." 
 
 On hearing the words, another Syud of 
 some forty years advanced respectfully, and 
 bowing low, muttered : 
 
 " Your slave is present ; my name is 
 Akhoond Syud Reza." 
 
 Mostyn accepted his services, still retaining 
 an air of calm superiority, while Shamsuddin 
 at once directed their guide to read the 
 Ziaratnama for them. He wondered what 
 his master's feelings could be under his 
 outward coolness. Surely some lurking fear 
 of possible disaster must obtrude itself in 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 145 
 
 such an hour of crisis. One false step, one 
 breath of suspicion, and his Hfe would not be 
 worth a moment's purchase. 
 
 Mostyn knew only too well the danger 
 threatening him at every turn. He was 
 human enough to be acutely alive to the 
 horror of his doom were he captured within 
 the sacred precincts. He knew the Moham- 
 medan's methods of killing, just as Haroun 
 had known them in that distant England of 
 safety and peace. The knife, with its slow 
 but deadly mission, would have been no 
 surprise to the bogus pilgrim. He came 
 reckoning the cost, willing to risk the hideous 
 consequences of this fervently desired 
 adventure. 
 
 Akhoond Syud Reza led them into a small 
 chamber behind the archway ; then turning 
 sharply to the left, entered a long, narrow 
 room, the Tanhid Khana-i-Mubaraka, paved 
 with slabs of white marble, and illuminated 
 by candelabra fixed to the walls, which, 
 catching the reflected light, revealed bunches 
 of flowers in mosaic, a decoration that some- 
 how seemed familiar to Mostyn. Possibly 
 in Haroun's numerous drawings this very 
 design may have appeared. 
 
 The Syud halted. Opening his book, and 
 raising the forefinger of his right hand, he 
 commenced reading part of the Ziaratnama 
 
 10 
 
146 World Without End 
 
 in Arabic, Mostyn and Shamsuddin standing 
 on either side of him, with their fingers also 
 raised. The mockery of their attitude 
 struck Mostyn with strange compelling force. 
 For the first time he felt a certain horror of 
 what he was doing. To these people, the 
 hallowed spot, the beautifully-worded prayer, 
 were dearer than the creed of many a lax and 
 sickly Christian in the throes of an only too 
 common spiritual paralysis. What would 
 even such a one think of a professing infidel 
 who, from curiosity, mingled his presence 
 with the worshippers at Christ's altar, and, 
 with blasphemy in his heart, violated the 
 Holy Sacrament? Perhaps it was the 
 absolute stillness, the magic of the place, 
 which first implanted the thought in Mostyn's 
 mind. He felt under a spell, controlled by 
 unseen influences, condemned by voices 
 which spoke only to his soul. A sense of 
 relief came over him when the Syud moved 
 on, leading them down the room to an exit 
 near its southern end, which formed the 
 entry to a larger chamber, with floor of 
 exquisite mosaic work and walls covered with 
 Arabic inscriptions, such as Haroun intro- 
 duced to make his studio like the famous 
 shrine of his tormenting memory. 
 
 The gold lettering in parts was identical 
 with that at Roehampton. 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 147 
 
 This room adjoined the tomb chamber, 
 and here the Syud completed his reading of 
 the prayers, before guiding them into yet 
 another apartment to the north of the 
 sepulchre. 
 
 The beauty of the place for a moment 
 took Mostyn's breath away. He forgot his 
 horror, forgot his danger, in the pure delight 
 of the ornamentation surrounding him. The 
 floor resembled the most beautiful carpet, 
 though in reality only a few rich pieces were 
 spread, on which some dozens of the Koran 
 lay, the rest of the dazzling pattern being 
 mosaic work, of a fineness Mostyn had never 
 yet seen, or contemplated could exist. The 
 copies of the Koran were all in manuscript, 
 and the Syud, taking one, kissed the book, 
 and placed it to his eyes and forehead, bid- 
 ding them follow his example. Then all 
 three knelt, the Syud holding Mostyn by the 
 wrist while he read a couple of pages. The 
 touch of his hand was peculiarly disagreeable 
 to the Englishman, but the slightest sign of 
 drawing away would have been fatal. It 
 seemed quite long, though in reality it 
 was only a few seconds, before the guide 
 released him. Laying his Koran aside, he 
 produced a pocket-book, and demanded 
 Mostyn's name, tribe, residence, etc. Sham- 
 suddin, as the Sardar's confidential follower. 
 
148 World Without End 
 
 stepped forward to give the required in- 
 formation. 
 
 His master listened, well pleased by Sham- 
 suddin's excellent acting. The servant's 
 voice had not the ghost of a tremor, though 
 in reality his knees were knocking together 
 with fear. He would have given his whole 
 life's savings to find himself safely outside 
 the shrine at that moment. 
 
 " Name ? " queried the Syud. 
 
 " Sardar Mozaffar Hussain Khan," replied 
 Shamsuddin stolidly, watching the letters as 
 they were written down, and knowing that 
 for all time this witness to a gigantic lie 
 would be kept in the records of the shrine, 
 should they escape without detection. 
 
 "Tribe?" 
 
 ' ' Afghan. Mohamadzai. " 
 
 As he uttered the last word his lips grew 
 dry. Mostyn could see that he swallowed 
 with difficulty, and his eyes were starting 
 forward, as if their owner were about to' 
 choke. He quickly recovered himself, how- 
 ever, and as the Syud was writing at the 
 time, he had no chance of seeing the change 
 of expression. 
 
 "Father.?" 
 
 The question had been expected, and 
 prepared for in advance, each answer being 
 due to Mostyn's forethought and knowledge. 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 149 
 
 " Mohamad Hosain," said Shamsuddin, 
 and his unhesitating retort brought to his 
 master's mind a mental vision of Arnold 
 Anstey, the good British parent, with little 
 love for travelling, and less for books and 
 learning. A trip made easy on the Con- 
 tinent was sufficient to appease in the easy- 
 going Arnold that ' great law of change ' 
 which every nature must satisfy at some 
 period of its career. 
 
 " Mother ? " 
 
 "Mariam." 
 
 A wondering sensation stole over Mostyn, 
 as he realised he might be near to reunion 
 with the mother he had lost so many years 
 ago. 
 
 "Rank?" 
 
 Were these questions never going to end .'* 
 
 Shamsuddin continued patiently to satisfy 
 the thirst for information. 
 
 " Sardar Bahadur of the Hyderabad 
 Army." 
 
 "Dwelling?" 
 
 "At present in Mashad." 
 
 The Akhoond, closing the book, turned 
 to Mostyn. 
 
 "The Sardar 's name," he said, "and the 
 names of his parents, are duly entered in the 
 register of the Ziarat of Imam Reza — on 
 whom be peace. You must now pay me 
 
ISO World Without End 
 
 sixty krans in order that for thirty years 
 two 'siparas' of the Koran Sharif may be 
 read each year on your behalf, and I will 
 also see that your parents are benefited in 
 the same way." 
 
 Shamsuddin, knowing the usual course 
 of action on an occasion of this kind, com- 
 menced haggling over the sum, in a manner 
 which brought the first touch of humour 
 into proceedings fraught with fear, and 
 possibly bearing the fruit of death. 
 
 Mostyn listened in silent amusement, while 
 his loyal attendant beat down the guide to 
 forty krans, which were counted over on the 
 Koran. Having finally settled the account, 
 they were free at last to enter the sepulchre 
 of Gumbaz-i-Hagrat. 
 
 Following the example of other pilgrims 
 who had already entered, Shamsuddin and 
 his master held handkerchiefs to their eyes, 
 and sobbed loudly, as they passed into the 
 sacred chamber by its golden door on the 
 north, towards which the head of the Imam 
 is said to lie. 
 
 The scene within was indeed strange, 
 weird, unearthly. Round the tomb, walking 
 slowly, or clinging to the railings in fanatical 
 fits of violent struggling and hideous con- 
 tortion, were sixty to seventy persons, some 
 openly violating the rules by fighting each 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 151 
 
 other in their frantic efforts to reach the 
 corner rails, and handle or kiss the silver 
 padlock, the chief attraction to devout 
 pilgrims. Loud were the howls of grief or 
 excitement, the only unconcerned faces being 
 those of the guards, who stood sullenly in 
 different parts of the room, a strong con- 
 tingent especially grouped round the east 
 door, which was closed. Evidently they 
 were employed to watch every movement of 
 each pilgrim. It seemed to Mostyn, as he 
 entered, that he must be the special object 
 of their scrutiny, so closely did they follow 
 him with their piercing and terrible eyes. 
 The traveller had experienced many a bad 
 moment in all four continents, but he could 
 remember no such feelings of dread since 
 the early days of childhood, when thoughtless 
 nurses told him 'bogey stories,' seeking to 
 repress his high spirits with fearsome tales 
 of spooks. 
 
 To avoid the unpleasant gaze of these 
 warlike-looking men, he turned quickly, and 
 contemplated the silver door on the west 
 side, which, like the north, was unguarded. 
 
 This must be the chamber Haroun knew 
 so well in his dreams, for it coincided strik- 
 ingly with his description. He had always 
 termed it "a chamber of fear." 
 
 "The pilgrims cry something aloud," he 
 
152 World Without End 
 
 had often told Mostyn, "but I can never 
 hear the ,words. I only see their lips moving, 
 and sometimes I feel they are cursing me." 
 
 A well-known scent pervaded the air, which 
 made the amazing chamber seem almost 
 home-like to Mostyn. He glanced upwards 
 at the cupola, some thirty-six feet high, 
 lined with gold, from the centre of which 
 hung a massive chandelier, furnished with 
 small lamps, in which burned the scented oil 
 his brother loved. The mosaic work cover- 
 ing the walls was richer in gold and inlaid 
 jewels than the previous designs, which until 
 now had seemed to the Englishman the 
 finest in the world. Here the floor of black 
 and white marble was inlaid with the same 
 delicate work in dull colours. 
 
 Moments seemed like hours, under the 
 marked scrutiny of those silent watchers, 
 the guards who dogged Mostyn's steps with 
 unconcealed attention. He wondered if the 
 Kofshbardar, who had looked at him so 
 strangely when raking in his shoes, had sent 
 some word of suspicion that the Sardar was 
 not all he appeared to be. 
 
 Anxious to pass on in as short a time as 
 possible, Mostyn moved to the centre of the 
 chamber, and surveyed the tomb, enclosed 
 by perpendicular railings seven feet in 
 height, with silver filagree and scroll work 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 153 
 
 between. He knew he must store in his 
 mind each detail for Haroun's benefit — the 
 bars at the corners, square and very massive, 
 the curtains screening the tomb inside the 
 railings, the gold and silver tablets, the large 
 old-fashioned padlock, which the pilgrims 
 were still striving to touch. As they jostled 
 against him, he thought more than once that 
 an arresting hand touched his shoulder, to claim 
 him as the legitimate prey of this palace of 
 the dead. Mostyn's nerves, strong as they 
 were, began to feel the strain. He knew 
 there was much still to be seen and done, 
 and the awful howling of the pilgrims 
 depressed him. He had once at Gash- 
 miran, a lonely village of Bashakerd in 
 south-east Persia, seen strong men weep- 
 ing bitter tears on beholding the Shibih or 
 Passion Play, but these pilgrims from far-off 
 lands impressed him more deeply with their 
 excitable display of grief, as they viewed 
 the tomb of the saint and martyr, bewailing 
 his cruel death, and loudly cursing his 
 murderer. 
 
 As Mostyn stood by the railing known as 
 the ' Zirreh,' he listened to catch the phras- 
 ing of the curse. Surely there was some 
 familiar word ringing in his ears, wafted to 
 him from varying voices in different corners 
 of the shrine. With an effort he collected 
 
154 World Without End 
 
 his scattered thoughts, and followed the 
 lament, syllable for syllable. 
 
 The cries were distinct enough, echoing 
 round the room with an uncanny significance 
 for the disguised Englishman. 
 
 " Lanat bar Haroun," shrieked a shrill 
 voice behind him. " Bar Mamoun lanat," 
 growled a gruff bass. " Lanat bar Harouna- 
 al-Rashid," cursed another. 
 
 " Haroun ! " The name his brother had 
 himself adopted in infancy was the man 
 these voices cursed, in this, the dream- 
 chamber of fear. 
 
 The sound seemed to stagger Mostyn, and 
 he forgot that a certain formula was required 
 of him, until he caught the sound of Sham- 
 suddin's prompting whisper. Quickly he 
 recalled to mind that the devout pilgrim 
 must walk three times round the railing of 
 the tomb, each round being called a 
 'zawaf The Syud accompanying them 
 recited ' Sarawat ' in Arabic from the 
 Koran each time they stopped to touch 
 the railings or the padlock, joining them in 
 the curses upon Mamoun and Haroun, which 
 they were bound to utter at an appointed 
 spot. To fail in any of these details would 
 have instantly betrayed a lack of fervour, 
 and brought upon them the immediate sus- 
 picion of spying guards. 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 155 
 
 To Mostyn the cry of " Lanat bar Haroun " 
 always seemed uppermost, bursting from the 
 throats of all sorts and conditions of men 
 and women, from well-to-do merchants in 
 small round turbans and long black cloaks 
 to miserable, palsy-stricken beggars in dirty 
 rags. There none appeared greater or less 
 than another, for the Persian saying goes : 
 " Kings and donkeys are all equal in 
 ziarat." 
 
 During their third and last round, on 
 reaching the centre of the railings, Mostyn, 
 according to custom, threw over the enclosure 
 into the tomb five silver krans, wrapped in 
 white paper, previously prepared. This he 
 knew was done by almost all respectable 
 pilgrims, the amount deposited on the grave 
 being optional. He could not make out the 
 exact place where Haroun was buried, but 
 the pilgrims cursed him on nearly reaching 
 the east side of the tomb. 
 
 Having completed their third 'zawaf,' 
 they walked out of the room backwards by 
 the silver door, and entered a small but 
 exquisitely decorated chamber adorned with 
 marvellous inscriptions, and hung with jewels, 
 amulets, and tablets encrusted with precious 
 stones. 
 
 Mostyn drew his breath more freely ; the 
 change of atmosphere was welcome. The 
 
156 World Without End 
 
 startling words still rang in his brain, though 
 he no longer heard the cursings round the 
 tomb ; he fancied it would be long before 
 he could forget those cries of " Lanat bar 
 Haroun." It was a relief to escape the close, 
 uncomfortable scrutiny of the guards and 
 enjoy the impressive magnificence of the 
 Persian art without feeling those watch- 
 ing eyes burning into his soul. There, as 
 throughout the shrine, all was on a scale of 
 grand magnificence, giving a sense of vast 
 and solid riches, no attempt at tawdry dis- 
 play, but the beauty which wealth and talent 
 could alone supply. From this room they 
 passed to a fine hall, through a large recess, 
 or shah nishin. At first it was too dark to 
 distinguish the surroundings clearly, the faint 
 lighting giving a mysterious air to the dar- 
 es-sayida, as the hall is called. Here again 
 pilgrims and others were praying aloud, or 
 kneeling in deep thought on small prayer- 
 carpets, reading and swaying their bodies 
 backwards and forwards as they told their 
 beads. To Mostyn they looked like so 
 many ghosts. He felt that he and Sham- 
 suddin might well have been disembodied 
 spirits, but for the attendance of their guide, 
 anxious to show them every sight for which 
 they had previously paid. 
 
 Leading them sharply to the left, at a few 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 157 
 
 paces from the door he stopped in front of a 
 large, round, embossed silver tray or patnus, 
 cemented into the wall some four feet from 
 the ground. 
 
 This, he explained, was the tray in which 
 Mamoun-al-Rashid (brother of Haroun) 
 placed the poisoned grapes, on eating which 
 Imam Reza died in great agony. 
 
 With the utmost veneration Mostyn and 
 his servant saluted the relic, kissing it and 
 touching it with eyes and forehead. 
 
 The Syud looked on approvingly ; he at 
 least was well satisfied with the behaviour of 
 the pilgrims, and guided their steps rever- 
 ently to an alcove in the same wall a few 
 paces beyond. It contained a smooth but 
 somewhat uneven stone, about two feet six 
 inches long, raised a couple of feet from 
 the ground. 
 
 "It is said," he murmured, " that when 
 Hagrat Imam Reza was enduring intoler- 
 able agony from the poison, he leaned 
 against this stone in the cell in which 
 Mamoun-al-Rashid confined him." 
 
 The Syud pointed as he spoke to an 
 indentation in the side of the stone. 
 
 "That," he continued, "was mercifully 
 caused by a miraculous softening of the 
 stone, in order that the aching flesh of the 
 martyr should not be bruised or cut by its 
 
158 World Without End 
 
 sharp edges and corners, now made smooth 
 by the constant rubbing and kissing of 
 pilgrims." 
 
 Mostyn also saluted this stone, making a 
 note of the hall in his memory while the 
 guide was speaking. 
 
 "About a hundred feet long," he calcu- 
 lated, " by forty feet broad, paved with slabs 
 of dark marble, and ornamented with mosaics 
 composed of different-hued tiles." 
 
 He wanted to give Haroun an absolutely 
 accurate description, should he escape alive 
 to return to England, though he knew well 
 that even there his life would not be safe if 
 he spoke too freely of his adventure. He 
 must tell the details only to those he could 
 trust, since the Mohammedans would travel 
 the world over to avenge such a deed, should 
 this masquerade come to their knowledge. 
 
 At the south and north ends of the hall 
 were two large doors, the former leading into 
 the mosque of Gauhar Shah, the latter into, 
 the south side of the sahn-i-kuhda, or principal 
 courtyard of the tomb, where they had left 
 their shoes on entering. 
 
 The route now led to a huge entrance 
 porch or shah nishin, looking into the yard 
 of Gauhar Shah's mosque. 
 
 The Akhoond led them with great rever- 
 ence to a side recess of the shah nishin. 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 159 
 
 and pointed to a flat, oblong black stone, 
 twelve feet long, six broad, and three feet 
 six inches thick, lying on the ground, 
 
 " This stone," he said, in an awed voice, 
 " is the very same upon which the body of 
 the martyr was laid out and washed." 
 
 Mostyn and Shamsuddin both feigned to 
 be deeply impressed by the sight, and follow- 
 ing the example of others, walked three times 
 round the stone, with both hands pressed 
 against the upper edge, worn by the palms 
 of generations of pilgrims. 
 
 This done, their guide appeared anxious 
 to hurry them back through the large hall 
 towards the sahn - i - kuhna ; but Mostyn 
 lingered a moment under the porch, to 
 view the magnificently decorated fagade of 
 the Masjid-i-Gauhar-Shah, on the opposite 
 side of the courtyard. 
 
 In the centre a big stone tank, some 
 forty feet square, appeared to be used indis- 
 criminately for drinking and washing by 
 the poorer pilgrims, who flocked to it either 
 before or after their gratuitous meal at the 
 kitchens hard by. 
 
 Mostyn pointed to a space near the tank, 
 enclosed by a wooden railing six feet high. 
 
 " What is that enclosure ? " he asked. 
 
 His eye had missed no detail of the many 
 bewildering scenes through which they had 
 
i6o World Without End 
 
 passed, and this mysterious piece of ground 
 puzzled him. 
 
 "It is called," replied their guide, "the 
 Masjid-i-Piraka, or Masjid-i-Pir-Zan. On 
 this spot, at the time Gauhar Shah's mosque 
 was being built, there stood the house of an 
 old woman, who refused, in spite of all offers 
 of compensation, to remove from the place. 
 ' I also,' she said, ' shall build a masjid 
 here.' When Gauhar Shah's mosque was 
 completed this piece of ground was railed in 
 to show that the old woman's wishes had 
 been respected." 
 
 Mostyn liked the little story ; determination 
 always appealed to him. He thought how 
 few Englishwomen — or men either — would, 
 for the sake of sentiment, fancy, or religion, 
 be proof against the test of gold, the fierce 
 power of the all -conquering bribe. As he 
 grew more accustomed to his surroundings, 
 his sense of uneasiness lessened. Shamsuddin 
 divined his master's state of mind, and 
 regretted that it should be so. He knew 
 too well that when peace appeared at hand 
 it was often the time to make ready for 
 battle. The strain on his mustered courage 
 grew greater every minute. He wanted the 
 affair over ; he pined secretly for a safe 
 refuge, far from these forbidden walls. More 
 than once a horrible fear seized him that 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine i6i 
 
 his reason might give way, and his voice cry- 
 out the history of their intrigue. 
 
 " An Englishman in disguise — a Christian 
 within your walls!" He could picture but 
 too well the awful consequences of such an 
 act of madness. The whole yelling multi- 
 tude of fanatical men and women, mustering 
 from every corner, with the sentence of death 
 writ boldly on their savage faces, with murder 
 blazing from their eyes, and an insatiable 
 thirst for blood. Not Mostyn alone, but 
 other victims beyond the walls of the sacred 
 building, would likewise be hurled into 
 eternity, and massacred by the flashing 
 blades of butchering knives. Yet this man, 
 committing the ghastly outrage against the 
 time-worn faith of an ancient land, could 
 linger to listen while his guide told of a 
 persistent squatter having gained for her- 
 self a victory within these hallowed precincts 
 which might prove his death-place. 
 
 Once more Shamsuddin wondered what 
 this Englishman could be made of, to 
 conceive and carry out such an idea, with 
 an audacity as amazing as it was foolhardy. 
 
 Mercifully they were moving on again. 
 Mostyn had no further questions to ask. 
 Now they came to the less important part 
 of their visit, which necessitated a return to 
 the place where they had left their shoes. 
 
 II 
 
1 62 World Without End 
 
 The thought that he must once more meet 
 the eyes of the Kofshbardar was by no 
 means agreeable to Mostyn. Those were 
 the eyes which first appeared to condemn 
 him, to read his true character. Now as 
 they viewed him afresh approaching with 
 Shamsuddin and the guide, Mostyn fancied 
 their pupils dilated, changing from ebony to 
 coals of living fire — probably a mere stretch 
 of nervous imagination, but none the less 
 terrifying to the guilty party. 
 
 As quickly as possible he handed the 
 Kofshbardar two krans, the man marking 
 his every movement as he shod himself, 
 much as a cat watches a mouse. 
 
 Perhaps he was sharp to detect the undue 
 haste of the Sardar, who dared not return 
 the penetrating stare, which fixed itself 
 upon him with mesmeric force. 
 
 Mostyn felt his throat grow hot and 
 parched ; he longed for a drop of water to 
 cool his tongue. 
 
 " No chance of a drink, I suppose ? " he 
 whispered to Shamsuddin. 
 
 The words had scarcely passed his lips 
 when they saw before them a huge pillar of 
 granite, roughly hewn into the shape of a 
 font or drinking-place. Here the sweet water 
 was offered to thirsty pilgrims in exchange 
 for a few small coins received by the man in 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 163 
 
 charge, who ladled out the cool liquid into a 
 brass cup. It certainly appeared a miraculous 
 pillar to Mostyn ; and he wondered involun- 
 tarily if Haroun could have described it, not- 
 ing its proportions for future reference when 
 talking with his brother. Six feet in height, 
 the supporting pillar resting on a broad 
 sloping base, while the desire for a cooling 
 draught had been granted by the presence 
 of a basin, filled with water from a skin. 
 
 Certainly this welcome refreshment did 
 much to fortify Mostyn against the haunting 
 memory of the Kofshbardar's eyes. 
 
 " There must be a story about that stone," 
 he thought, and tactfully drew his guide on to 
 the subject, without betraying his ignorance. 
 
 The stone, he learned, was said to have 
 fallen in a shapeless mass from heaven, and 
 notwithstanding tremendous efforts, could 
 not be removed from the sahn. One night 
 the Mutawalli, or chief guardian, received 
 orders from the Hazrat, in a dream, to leave 
 the stone on the spot where it had fallen 
 from the skies. 
 
 " Have it cut out properly for holding 
 water," said the martyr ; " but do not attempt 
 to remove it from its place." 
 
 This was accordingly done, the story being 
 passed down, in perfect sincerity and belief^ 
 to generations of grateful pilgrims. 
 
1 64 World Without End 
 
 The Syud Reza, leading the way to the 
 left of the western central gateway, showed 
 the cells of Kaid Khana, places of imprison- 
 ment for those offenders punished inside 
 the bast by the Mutawalli Bashi, who 
 holds supreme authority within the sacred 
 precincts. 
 
 Mostyn, always averse to the sight of 
 suffering, felt his heart sink as he viewed in 
 silence two long cells or rooms, barred with 
 iron, and occupied only by four miserable- 
 looking men. They shouted loudly to him 
 for alms, with imploring gestures and tear- 
 drenched eyes, proclaiming their innocence 
 the while. 
 
 He wondered for what offences they were 
 thus confined, while he, if his crime were 
 known, would not have been considered 
 worthy even to stand by such wretched 
 specimens of humanity. Yet he breathed 
 the free, fresh air, unfettered and respected, 
 while their haggard faces, tattered clothes, 
 and scarred bodies, testified to the treatment 
 received at the hands of their persecutors. 
 
 Mostyn, anxious to alleviate their sorrows, 
 told Shamsuddin to fling them some coins, 
 but the action was stopped by the Syud, who 
 said that to give alms to prisoners was 
 strictly forbidden. 
 
 " What are their crimes ? " asked Mostyn, 
 
In the Precincts of the Shrine 165 
 
 turning away that he might not read the 
 disappointment in their faces, 
 
 " They are inhabitants of Mashad, who 
 were caught in the act of stealing the shoes 
 of pilgrims left outside the various entrances 
 to the shrine." 
 
 Once more Mostyn thought of the Kofsh- 
 bardar's accusing eyes. 
 
 "They were soundly beaten," the Syud 
 continued, " and sentenced to fourteen days' 
 imprisonment by the Mutawalli Bashi. They 
 receive a beating every morning, and are fed 
 twice a day from the kitchen of the shrine." 
 
 Their haggard features gave testimony to 
 the physical suffering daily inflicted. 
 
 Even as the Syud spoke, Mostyn felt 
 Shamsuddin touch him with a finger of 
 warning. He turned sharply, and following 
 the direction of his servant's eyes, read the 
 cause of his alarm. Certainly the sight was 
 enough to shake stronger nerves than Sham- 
 suddin's, and for the first time he realised 
 that Mostyn also (fully aware of his peril, 
 and in no way underrating the risk they ran) 
 shared his sense of overwhelming fear. 
 
 The worst was upon them, for marching 
 from the south-west door, with drawn swords, 
 came a party of fifty men, under the command 
 of an officer. They were dressed in dark 
 uniforms, with Astrakan hats, in which a 
 
1 66 World Without End 
 
 special badge marked them out as guards of 
 the shrine. They were making straight for 
 the sham Sardar and his trembling follower. 
 
 Mostyn guessed at once that the Kofsh- 
 bardar with the piercing analytical eyes 
 was at the bottom of all this. If some 
 visionary powers, the occult magic of the 
 seer, had made the man suspicious, a hue 
 and cry would be the result, and the guard 
 turned out to witness the speedy destruction 
 of the infidel. 
 
 The soldiers hastened their steps as they 
 approached Mostyn, the light falling on their 
 drawn swords being the one touch of bright- 
 ness among this marching body of fierce- 
 visaged men, swooping down upon the 
 victim of a nation's wrath. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MYSTIC STONE 
 
 Shamsuddin was in danger of entirely losing 
 his presence of mind, and betraying both 
 himself and his master before the expected 
 arrest. Mostyn saw, not only the blanching 
 of his face, the nervous twitching of lips, 
 and glassy expression of fear-strained eyes, 
 but the inward desire for flight, the awful 
 temptation to run — anywhere — anywhere — 
 away from this habitation of dread. 
 
 Alcoves and corners in the dark made 
 inviting places for refuge, and Shamsuddin 
 was so quick of movement, he might possibly, 
 while attention was centred on Mostyn, have 
 mixed himself up with the crowds in the 
 bazaars, and vanished away with the cunning 
 and wit of his race. 
 
 The soldiers were almost upon them now, 
 but Mostyn spoke no word ; he just looked at 
 Shamsuddin, and that eloquent look conveyed 
 volumes. ,It braced his servant to fresh 
 
 167 
 
1 68 World Without End 
 
 loyalty — it drove completely from his mind 
 the craven thought of deserting his post. 
 To die at the side of such a master, would 
 not this be an honour ? The unhappy man 
 assured himself he was glad of a chance to 
 display the heroism in his heart ; he was 
 even curious to see how Mostyn would 
 meet death, 
 
 " Who are these men ? " 
 
 The Sardar put the question to his guide 
 without a trace of emotion. He was crush- 
 ing, under an outward calm, the regret that 
 forced him to acknowledge life — dear life — 
 was better far than the accomplishing of a 
 mission such as this. The bitterness of 
 failure already turned his pilgrimage to an 
 aimless, foolhardy, abominable proceeding, 
 productive only of Dead Sea fruit. 
 
 The Syud made answer calmly, in a tone 
 which suddenly changed the whole colour of 
 the scene, 
 
 "They form," he replied, "part of the 
 guards of the shrine, who number seven 
 hundred men in all, and of whom about 
 fifty are told off daily for guard duty in and 
 around the Ziarat." 
 
 Shamsuddin almost fell to the ground, so 
 great was his relief, while at the same time 
 he cursed himself for a dastardly coward, 
 recalling his craven fear, his half-resolve to 
 
The Mystic Stone 169 
 
 flee. He could just see that Mostyn caught 
 his breath and flushed slightly : it was the 
 only sign of an intense inward gratitude to 
 God, to whom he had lifted his heart in 
 earnest prayer for deliverance from peril. 
 The soldiers were passing close by now, 
 marching round the ' candlestick ' to the 
 western gateway. As they drifted out of 
 sight, in blissful ignorance of an intruder 
 deserving to die, by their strict Mohammedan 
 laws, Mostyn and Shamsuddin returned to 
 the 'candlestick' with their guide, and 
 paid five krans as a nazrara or offering, 
 to be expended in lighting them part of the 
 way to heaven. 
 
 This done, they turned eastwards, follow- 
 ing the central water channel, on their way 
 to an enclosure called the Sahn-i-Nau or 
 old courtyard. 
 
 To move freely, without the paralysing 
 fear of the past few moments, produced in 
 them both a sense of relief almost amounting 
 to elation. Though still in the lion's den, 
 they were happily aware that, for the time 
 at least, the lions slept. 
 
 God was on their side. Mostyn knew it 
 now ; in this folly and possible sin, a forgiv- 
 ing, all-merciful Providence watched over the 
 Christian pilgrim and his servant. 
 
 As they hurried through a number of 
 
170 World Without End 
 
 small bazaars, Mostyn wasted no time in 
 adding to his store of information, by 
 questioning the Akhoond on the subject of 
 various buildings. 
 
 The shops and caravanserais, within the 
 chained limits of the bast or sanctuary, 
 were, he learned, the exclusive property of 
 the shrine, all profits accruing to the 
 treasury of the mosque. 
 
 "And what does the property include?" 
 asked the Sardar. 
 
 Akhoond considered a moment, then made 
 answer in calculating tones : 
 
 "Seven hundred camels" — he spoke the 
 words proudly — "four thousand mules, all 
 out on hire or at work, five hundred gardens, 
 and about one hundred karezes (canals) in and 
 around Mashad and its outlying districts." 
 
 " The yearly revenue must be very large," 
 declared the Sardar, quite willing to appear 
 impressed by this record of wealth. 
 
 His informant was not slow to mention 
 the amount, an equivalent of three hundred 
 thousand rupees, or twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 " In addition to this," he continued, "the 
 burying fees must be taken into account, and 
 the offerings of the pilgrims, which are very 
 large. The whole is spent under the orders 
 of the Mutawalli Bashi, in the repair and 
 ornamentation of the shrine, in the distribu- 
 
The Mystic Stone 171 
 
 tion of food and clothing to the poor, and in 
 keeping up the large staff of officials, such as 
 guards, ferrashes, lamplighters, etc., attached 
 to the sacred precincts." 
 
 He spoke with utter confidence in the 
 absolute honesty of their chief, into whose 
 hands the handsome revenue came. A 
 great personage, this man of power, a little 
 god to his faithful followers, and reverenced 
 highly by the many doubtful characters 
 seeking refuge under his sway. 
 
 Once within the bast or sanctuary, all 
 debtors, and criminals of every kind, became 
 free from pursuit. No one could arrest them 
 without their own consent, or the order of 
 the Mutawalli Bashi, who, supported by his 
 regiment of guards, was well able to main- 
 tain the strictest discipline, both among the 
 refugees from crime and the crowds of pilgrims 
 thronging daily the courts, bazaars, and cara- 
 vanserais of the holy enclosure. 
 
 The picturesque faith of these thousands 
 of pilgrims, travelling from far-off lands to 
 visit the martyr's grave, and so obtain remis- 
 sion of all their sins committed up to the time 
 they touched the silver screen, appeared to 
 Mostyn like some fairy fable in this twentieth 
 century of scepticism. He felt transplanted 
 back thousands of years, to another age. 
 
 " Many return again and again during 
 
172 World Without End 
 
 their lifetime," said the Akhoond, solemnly. 
 " The number of their visits are only limited 
 by the distance of their homes, or their 
 inability to undergo the great privations and 
 sufferings which meet the poorer pilgrims on 
 their journey, often causing death to the 
 aged and infirm. Many have turned their 
 dying eyes to Mashad, with a last despairing 
 cry for strength. Imaz Reza, all honour to 
 his name, has many willing victims, who 
 perish yearly in their efforts to reach his 
 blessed tomb. Doubtless the sacrifice is 
 appreciated ; his glorious soul rejoices at 
 the loyalty and devotion of all true 
 Mohamadzai." 
 
 " I understand," said Mostyn, " that 
 Sunnis as well as Shaihs are welcome to 
 visit the tomb." 
 
 The Akhoond nodded assent, remarking : 
 " The associations connected with the 
 death of the Imam make the pilgrimage 
 especially attractive to those of the Imami 
 Mazhab. There are but few Shaihs who 
 do not desire to visit all the imams' tombs, 
 before they meet the imams in heaven." 
 
 The conversation ceased abruptly, as they 
 reached the door of the Ziarat-i-Ustad-Imam 
 shrine, a visit to which came second only in 
 importance to that of the resting-place of 
 Imam Reza. 
 
The Mystic Stone 173 
 
 Here again the same prayers were read 
 as at the bigger shrine, twenty krans being 
 paid for very little satisfaction, the darkness 
 concealing all objects of interest from the 
 pilgrims' view. 
 
 One solitary oil lamp gave the faintest 
 possible glimmer in the intense, overwhelming 
 gloom, revealing faintly a large square-domed 
 chamber, with an oblong tomb in the centre 
 under the dome. The shadows made the 
 scene so ghostly that Shamsuddin hesitated 
 upon the threshold, as if, indeed, he feared 
 the darkness even more than he had previ- 
 ously feared the light. 
 
 It was the last of the principal sights, and 
 their guide seemed to expect they would now 
 be satisfied, with their first day's work, and 
 return on the morrow to complete the visit. 
 
 For a moment Mostyn consulted apart 
 with Shamsuddin. 
 
 " If you value your life," whispered his 
 servant, " you will not return. Once we are 
 free, no power would bring me back, unless 
 it were to save the Sardar's throat from the 
 knife of an assassin." 
 
 "You are right," answered Mostyn, in a 
 low undertone. " It is a case of now or 
 never. I particularly want to complete the 
 pilgrimage this evening." 
 
 The cool remark staggered Shamsuddin, 
 
174 World Without End 
 
 Could it be possible his master was not going 
 to seize this opportunity of escape ? The 
 words "complete the pilgrimage," suggested 
 the misery was to be prolonged. 
 
 "You see," Mostyn added, noting that 
 Shamsuddin's face had fallen considerably, 
 " I shall never have another opportunity. 
 We've risked so much, it seems a pity to 
 miss anything now. I don't think there is 
 any great fear of detection at present." 
 
 Shamsuddin was ashamed to own he dis- 
 agreed with his master. Mostyn's courage 
 had gained such control over him, he felt he 
 must live up to it at any cost. He made a 
 gesture of humble resignation, preparing to 
 face the mental torture of this prolonged 
 suspense, this dread and anxiety, which still 
 remained ripe in his soul. 
 
 Mostyn, turning to the Syud, expressed an 
 eager desire to see the Ziarat of the Kadam 
 Mobarak, the wonders of which their guide 
 had hinted at earlier in the evening. 
 
 " It is now late, and past the hour," he 
 replied. " But if the Sardar does not mind 
 the trouble and fatigue, there is no harm in 
 visiting the Ziarat at night-time." 
 
 Mostyn showed the indefatigable energy, 
 inseparable from the born explorer, which 
 Shamsuddin had grown to expect from him. 
 After this evening, his faithful follower felt 
 
The Mystic Stone 175 
 
 that nothing his master could do would ever 
 surprise him again. 
 
 With a faint heart, the still nervous servant 
 followed Mostyn and his guide as they re- 
 traced their steps through the bazaars to the 
 Sahn-i- Kuhna, and, leaving it by the northern 
 gate, passed through a mass of poor-looking 
 houses and caravanserais. Presently they 
 reached a large burying - ground, a place 
 made uncanny by the lack of light. Sham- 
 suddin would have given much for a lantern 
 to guide his steps, but the darkness appeared 
 to Mostyn as a welcome protection from 
 spying eyes. 
 
 The Syud, evidently eager to have done 
 his work, hurried them at a rapid pace in a 
 north-easterly direction, walking so fast that 
 his followers stumbled in the dense blackness 
 over the low tombstones. 
 
 " May the spirits of these saintly dead rest 
 in peace," muttered Shamsuddin, " and leave 
 us unmolested." 
 
 He fancied he espied gaunt, transparent, 
 shrouded forms peopling the darkness. As 
 he grazed his shins and ankles, he hardly 
 noticed the physical pain, for a cold sweat 
 of ghostly fear had broken out upon his 
 forehead. 
 
 Mostyn possessed cat-like eyes in the 
 dark. He could always find his way on the 
 
176 World Without End 
 
 loneliest road, without assistance from stars 
 or moon. He avoided the tombs after the 
 first few minutes with magic skill ; even 
 when the Syud half fell and regained his 
 balance, Mostyn seemed able to pick his 
 path easily enough. This difficult route led 
 to the back wall of a brick building with a 
 dome. Passing round to the front, which 
 faced eastwards, their guide informed them 
 dolefully that all the attendants had left 
 the shrine, which stood deserted in utter 
 darkness. 
 
 Again Shamsuddin scented an opportunity 
 of escape. He urged it was too late for 
 sightseeing, that the hour of rest was at 
 hand, when all good citizens should sleep. 
 But Mostyn hated to be baulked. He had 
 set his mind on seeing all he could in this 
 one night, and with characteristic determina- 
 tion stuck to his point. 
 
 " Where do the attendants live ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "In quarters adjoiniijg the Gumbad," 
 replied Syud Reza, promptly. 
 
 " Then can you not go and call them ? " 
 
 "If the Sardar will wait a few minutes, 
 his slave is ready to obey the request." 
 
 Mostyn declared himself quite willing to 
 wait, and dismissed the Syud on his errand. 
 
 Alone in the darkness, Shamsuddin turned 
 
The Mystic Stone 177 
 
 to his master, and falling on his knees at 
 his feet, clutched the folds of the baggy 
 Afghan trousers convulsively. 
 
 "Master," he pleaded, "for the love of 
 those you love, let there be an end to this 
 useless risk of life. Hold your servant 
 presumptuous, punish him if you will, but 
 at least listen to his entreaty, before you 
 banish him for ever from your side." 
 
 " Get up, get up," said Mostyn, in a low, 
 authoritative tone. " Whatever you have to 
 say, let it be said standing, and for goodness' 
 sake, Shamsuddin, keep your head. I 
 thought you were a cool, reliable sort of 
 man. I am not often mistaken in people. 
 I expect you to keep calm, and not betray 
 your feelings. Any sign of emotion now, 
 any fear on your part, may rouse the sus- 
 picions of these fellows the Syud is bringing 
 back." 
 
 Standing thus bidden, Shamsuddin returned 
 to the subject uppermost in his mind. 
 
 " Is it such a little thing — this life," he 
 asked, " that you would treat it as a toy ? 
 Ah ! master, I read in your face that it was 
 dear to you, when those fifty men with drawn 
 swords were marching upon us — as we be- 
 lieved — to take us prisoners. You under- 
 stood then all it meant to face the end, to 
 know that soul and body must part company 
 
 12 
 
178 World Without End 
 
 — not by natural means, but at the hand of 
 violence. I am unworthy to argue ; I know 
 that I presume. I am as a dog before you, 
 yet I cannot help but plead. Your God 
 gave you, a moment since, a free passage 
 into safety. You had simply to walk straight 
 out of the jaws of death, while those who 
 would murder you, slept. The road lay 
 clear, the darkness had fallen — we were 
 delivered ! Even now you have the oppor- 
 tunity lying open before you. Go quickly, 
 and leave me here to dismiss the men. I 
 will blame the Syud for tarrying so long, 
 saying the Sardar grew weary of waiting. 
 I will pay the guards for their trouble, 
 telling them to expect my master on the 
 morrow. Then I, too, will follow with speed, 
 and overtake your steps." 
 
 Shamsuddin's tone of entreaty touched 
 Mostyn, though it failed to disturb his set 
 resolve. 
 
 " Had I known," he said, " that you would 
 suffer like this, I would willingly have spared 
 you, Shamsuddin, but since you agreed to 
 come, there is no drawing back. We have 
 sent for the guard, and I mean to see the 
 matter through. This shall be the last 
 move. I give you my word — when we leave 
 this shrine I will dismiss the Syud, and 
 return with all speed to our caravanserai." 
 
The Mystic Stone 179 
 
 Shamsuddin thanked him, with something 
 of tears in his voice. 
 
 To do him justice it was not of his own 
 hfe he was thinking. 
 
 A tramp of feet near by heralded the 
 return of their guide, accompanied by attend- 
 ants, who lost no time in lighting the 
 lamps. 
 
 The sacred chamber under the dome was 
 a small room, the floor being about six feet 
 below the level of the graveyard, reached 
 by zigzag steps, down which the pilgrims 
 were invited to descend. 
 
 The steps, though Mostyn knew it not, 
 were exactly similar to those Haroun had 
 described to Candida Whitechurch, while 
 the room below, carpeted with fine matting 
 and circular in shape, resembled the plan 
 he had drawn on the studio floor, when 
 speaking of the test which must betray 
 Mostyn. 
 
 Apparently only four persons at a time 
 could go into the chamber, so their guide 
 and one of the guards remained outside, 
 while the Sardar, Shamsuddin, and two of 
 the attendants groped their way down the 
 winding stairs. They had to stoop under 
 the low doorway to enter the Gumbaz, 
 known as the Ziarat-i-Kadam-Mobarak, the 
 Kadam - i - Hazrat, or the Kadam Sharif. 
 
i8o World Without End 
 
 Three small wax candles and an oil lamp, 
 placed on a table at the west side, illuminated 
 the room. Behind this table, let into the 
 wall at about three feet six inches from the 
 ground, was the white stone, eighteen inches 
 square, with the indented print of the human 
 foot Haroun knew so well, the very name of 
 which he could say by heart, the Nishan-i- 
 pa-i-Hazrat Ali Alai-us-Salem. 
 
 It seemed to Mostyn that his brother must 
 be near him through all this long pilgrimage ; 
 never for a moment had the young artist 
 been absent from the supposed Sardar's 
 mind. Now the thought of that strange 
 individuality at home forced itself even 
 more strongly upon the older brother, as he 
 kissed the footprint, touching it reverently 
 with forehead and eyes, in strict accordance 
 with Mohammedan ideas. He had seen 
 Haroun salute relics of art in this same 
 quaint wdy, jokingly perhaps, but with a half- 
 hidden expression of deference in his intense 
 mystical eyes. Surely his spirit drew near! 
 Perhaps now in his dreams he entered this 
 very room, hovering over the little group 
 seated in front of the table, while prayers 
 were read. 
 
 Mostyn, though he feigned to follow the 
 sacred words, was really speculating in his 
 mind the purpose of a smooth, oblong dark 
 
The Mystic Stone i8i 
 
 grey stone, some twenty inches in circumfer- 
 ence. He had formed no definite conclusion, 
 when the reading ceased, and the attendant 
 bade him and Shamsuddin kneel before the 
 stone. This they did in true Eastern 
 fashion, the weight of their bodies resting 
 on their heels, ready and willing to follow 
 further instructions, and both rather puzzled 
 by the impressive, mysterious manner of the 
 men in charge. 
 
 " Behold now," said the full, ringing voice 
 of the tall guard beside them, " I will expound 
 to you a truth, one known to all who pass 
 our way as infallible. Rejoice if ye be true 
 men, that your faith is to be put to the test ; 
 tremble if you come here with treason in 
 your hearts against the holy faith of the 
 Mohamadzai." 
 
 Shamsuddin, much as he trembled in- 
 wardly, never moved a muscle — he was too 
 petrified. Only his jaw dropped slightly, 
 and he stared at the speaker as if indeed his 
 face were carved in stone, and his eyes the 
 glassy orbs of a stuffed animal. 
 
 In a flash the warning he had spoken to 
 his master passed through his mind word 
 for word : " You were given the chance to 
 walk straight out of the jaws of death — even 
 now the opportunity lies open before you." 
 But alas ! alas ! the Sardar had not listened, 
 
1 82 World Without End 
 
 preferring to treat his life as a toy. Surely 
 the moment was at hand when his spirit 
 must be broken, when the cruel knife would 
 do its work — in the stillness of this evening 
 hour. 
 
 Instead of choosing safety, this reckless 
 masquerader had walked unheedingly into 
 the very jaws of a waiting death, whose 
 presence dogged his footsteps from the first. 
 Did he now realise the useless sacrifice, and 
 bow to the superior wisdom of a humble but 
 devoted servant? Shamsuddin's thoughts 
 grew confused ; he ceased to ask himself 
 these burning questions. 
 
 The speaker had paused, looking fixedly 
 at Mostyn, who showed a deep respectful 
 interest in the words. 
 
 "If thou art a true believer," continued 
 the voice, " place both arms under the stone. 
 Though weak or ailing, with little effort you 
 will raise it, thus proving your faith. Should 
 an infidel attempt this task (however power- 
 ful he be), no strength on earth could move 
 the stone, no power raise it heavenwards." 
 
 The man spoke with an assurance which 
 almost persuaded his listeners this miracle 
 might come to pass. 
 
 Mostyn made a sign of assent, and with 
 comparative ease raised the stone, Sham- 
 suddin joyfully following his example, though 
 
The Mystic Stone 183 
 
 he was so weak from nervousness, he won- 
 dered his arms had not become paralysed 
 before the test. As they passed up the steps 
 again, he fumbled for the money to be paid 
 in offerings from the Sardar's purse — thirty 
 krans for the most trying few minutes ever 
 spent in the service of a master with lion-like 
 courage. 
 
 " May I die without a kran to my name," 
 thought Shamsuddin, "if I ever serve any 
 but a coward in the future." 
 
 With a prudent consideration for the 
 necessities of their homeward walk, Mostyn 
 asked one of the obliging attendants to fetch 
 him some small change for ten krans, a 
 request willingly performed. 
 
 " We have still to run the gauntlet of the 
 begging crowds on our way back," he said 
 in an undertone to Shamsuddin, whose joy 
 knew no bounds that the moment had come 
 to quit the shrine. " They will expect 
 generosity from a returning Sardar. We 
 are supposed to leave with hearts too full to 
 refuse requests, for have we not been blessed 
 by sights the most sacred and enlightening 
 in all Persia ? " 
 
 He had good reason for his forethought. 
 As they entered the courtyard once more, 
 they had literally to fight their way through 
 the dense throng of beggars swarming round, 
 
1 84 World Without End 
 
 assured that the now satisfied pilgrims would 
 scatter some money in their wake, as a 
 thankoffering for privileges received. 
 
 Syud Akhoond Reza, politely anxious to 
 see the Sardar safely off the premises, tried 
 hard to clear the way by raining curses and 
 blows on the jostling multitude, with little 
 effect. 
 
 He even offered to accompany the visitors 
 to their caravanserai, but Mostyn replied he 
 he could not think of putting him to this 
 trouble. So, after many affectionate and 
 flattering speeches on both sides, the Syud 
 committed the Sardar and his companion to 
 the care of Providence, watching them as 
 they plunged into the crowded Bazaar of 
 the Bast, making their way as fast as possible 
 to the chained gate. 
 
 There a fresh crowd of importunate beggars 
 impededprogress, but at this juncture Mostyn's 
 store of small coins stood him in good stead. 
 With hand upraised, he flung the money 
 broadcast over the heads of the greedy 
 mendicants, escaping as they bounded into 
 the air with frantic leaps to catch a share of 
 the largess. 
 
 Glancing back, while hurrying along by 
 the dirty channel which bisects the Khiaban- 
 i-Pain, he saw them grovelling in the mud, 
 a mass of struggling human forms, writhing. 
 
The Mystic Stone 185 
 
 swearing, rolling over each other, in search 
 of scattered treasure. 
 
 " The only thing to do was to make a 
 bolt for it," he said, addressing Shamsuddin 
 in his own cheery tones, which differed 
 entirely from the voice he had adopted before 
 the Syud in his capacity of Sardar. 
 
 The sound of the familiar accents fell 
 pleasantly on his servant's ear, though he 
 was still fearful lest they should be followed. 
 
 "It is possible," he hinted, "that even 
 now our movements are watched." 
 
 "In which case undue hurry will not be 
 particularly conducive to safety. The spies 
 might wonder why we were so anxious to 
 be gone," replied Mostyn, cautiously. " I 
 think it would be a good plan to halt at 
 a kabab shop and get some food." 
 
 It suddenly struck Shamsuddin that half 
 his fear arose from hunger. He was weary 
 and faint ; at least he liked to imagine so, as 
 an excuse to self, for the nervous dread he 
 had endured. 
 
 He agreed willingly enough to his master's 
 suggestion, and did good justice to the freshly 
 roasted meat, and large, flat, damp Persian 
 cakes, which they ate as they strolled leisurely 
 through the smaller bazaars. Then casting 
 a final glance up and down the Khiaban, 
 assured no one observed their moverhents. 
 
1 86 World Without End 
 
 they made with all speed for their caravan- 
 serai, darting into the gateway in a state of 
 intense anxiety, prepared instantly to close 
 the postern behind them, if any sign of dis- 
 turbance threatened their retreat. 
 
 All was still. Mostyn and Shamsuddin 
 faced each other in the blissful solitude, and 
 smiled. 
 
 " Feeling better ? " queried Mostyn. 
 
 Shamsuddin grinned from ear to ear, with 
 great tears shining in his eyes. He had no 
 idea what a humorous object he looked to the 
 less emotional Englishman. 
 
 " The master has only to command," he 
 said, "and I would go again through a 
 thousand greater dangers — I would suffer a 
 thousand times as much." 
 
 The words came easily enough now, with 
 the shrine out of sight, the mission fulfilled. 
 Shamsuddin had no idea of being a humbug ; 
 for the moment he was quite genuine, entirely 
 forgetting his resolve to serve cowards for 
 ever in the future. 
 
 " Let us hope," replied the Englishman, 
 "you will never have to risk that precious 
 life of yours again, for anybody's curiosity or 
 folly. I shall try and reward you for those 
 bad hours ; but now fetch me a razor and a 
 pair of scissors out of my saddle-bag. I am 
 going to make short work of my beard." 
 
The Mystic Stone 187 
 
 In a few minutes Mostyn was clean-shaven. 
 Then throwing off his Afghan trousers and 
 dust coat, he rapidly tumbled into his English 
 travelling suit, and flinging round him a 
 thick choga, he completely concealed the 
 lower part of his face. 
 
 "Are you ready to start?" he called to 
 Shamsuddin. "You've got to shave too. 
 You won't be safe to follow me in that 
 beard." 
 
 "Yes, sir. The bags are packed, the 
 mules are ready, and my face is as hairless 
 as the day I was born." 
 
 He appeared as he spoke, transformed 
 into quite a different-looking man. 
 
 " Our lucky star was in the ascendant this 
 evening," added Mostyn, with a grateful sigh. 
 " It made our plan plain sailing, the keeper 
 of the caravanserai having to go away on 
 business, and wanting his fees in advance. 
 Don't forget to give the key back to the shop- 
 keeper next door, and pay him for looking 
 after our property during our absence, but 
 mufHe up your face, and be quick about it." 
 
 Shamsuddin, after speedily concluding this 
 small matter of business, sprang on his mule, 
 and followed his master across the Ghiaban, 
 plunging into the labyrinth of bazaars, and 
 going roughly in the direction of the British 
 Consulate, not daring to ask the way. 
 
1 88 World Without End 
 
 Soon, however, having made certain they 
 were not being foUo^V^ed, Mostyn turned into 
 a dark lane, and taking off his cap and 
 loongi, threw them to Shamsuddin, who 
 placed them in his saddle-bag. Putting on 
 a small English deer-stalking cap, he rode 
 boldly into the bright light of a large bazaar, 
 and began shouting out inquiries in true 
 British style, asking for the whereabouts of 
 the Consulate. 
 
 The men with the beardless faces looked 
 vefy different to the Afghan Sardar and his 
 attendant, who not an hour since trod the 
 sacred paths of pilgrimage. 
 
 Many voices were ready to direct him, 
 for money was scarce among those loafers of 
 the street. They had not the good fortune 
 every day to meet an Englishman requiring 
 guidance. 
 
 At the Consulate he found a warm 
 welcome, an old friend of Major March- 
 mont's being in residence there. 
 
 " We feared," said his host, " that you had 
 missed your way. Your head muleteer, who 
 arrived safely with your caravan, told us you 
 had gone shooting, but I gathered from your 
 letter I was to expect you to-night." 
 
 Mostyn replied they had been unavoidably 
 delayed, and apologised for disturbing the 
 household at so late an hour. 
 
The Mystic Stone 189 
 
 He did not realise how completely the 
 removal of his beard altered his appearance 
 until, when sending for his muleteer, he 
 discovered the honest fellow failed to 
 recognise him. 
 
 " I hoped," said the crestfallen servant, 
 " that my master had arrived. Do you bring 
 a message from him ? " 
 
 The question was put eagerly. 
 
 "He will be here very shortly," Mostyn 
 replied, concealing his amusement, " but 
 where's the hurry ? You are treated well ; 
 you have comfortable quarters." 
 
 The man acknowledged this, yet still 
 remained downcast. 
 
 Mostyn, puzzled by his attitude, questioned 
 him tactfully, to discover the reason. 
 
 " My master," he said, " one of your 
 countrymen, is as far above all other masters 
 as the heaven is high from the earth. When 
 he parted company from his caravan, to go 
 with the faithful Shamsuddin on a shooting 
 tour, we were just outside the ill-fated city 
 of Kuchan. The earth was still restless and 
 revengeful ; it seemed to thunder out a mighty 
 warning, as if dissatisfied with the number of 
 its slain. Ever since that morning I have 
 felt uneasy for my beloved master, hearing 
 the cannon roar of the hungry earth, and 
 picturing some ill to the good man I serve." 
 
IQO World Without End 
 
 "Cheer up," laughed Mostyn. " If you look 
 at me again, you may recognise the features 
 of one who certainly does not recognise him- 
 self — as a master above all other masters." 
 
 The startled muleteer stared at the speaker 
 in doubtful surprise. He was afraid to 
 believe his ears, yet the voice resembled 
 strangely the man he had served and loved. 
 While he was yet hesitating how to act, 
 Shamsuddin, also beardless, appeared, to 
 vouch for Mostyn's identity. 
 
 The worthy servant gazed with widely- 
 opened eyes at their smooth and smiling 
 faces. Evidently he thought they were both 
 ■ mad, though his joy at seeing his master 
 was flattering in the extreme. Drawing 
 close he salaamed and touched the English- 
 man's feet, remarking respectfully, that in 
 his humble opinion it was a great pity to 
 have shaved off so fine a beard. 
 
 Late into the night Mostyn sat talking 
 to Major Marchmont's friend, relating many 
 tales of distant lands, not breathing a word 
 of his recent adventure in the shrine. He 
 knew well enough that no hint of what he 
 had done must reach a living soul in Persia. 
 He doubted if this Englishman would have 
 dared to give him shelter, were he to suspect 
 that such a proceeding had even entered the 
 traveller's mind ! 
 
The Mystic Stone 191 
 
 Once alone in his own room, Mostyn re- 
 ferred to some notes he had made of 
 Haroun's fanciful descriptions. In no single 
 point did they fail to agree with the sights 
 that night had revealed to Sardar Mozaffar 
 Khan. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE CALL OF THE PEN 
 
 When Mostyn found himself in strange 
 countries, the love of adventure, and the 
 extraordinary attraction of wandering far 
 afield, made it difficult to return. Perhaps, 
 had he guessed how deeply one fond heart 
 yearned for his homecoming, he would have 
 lost interest in his tour, but somehow he 
 never suspected that the long English winter 
 would appear interminable to Candida. In 
 her desire to conceal how much she missed 
 him, she spread across her letters a guarding 
 chill, which effectively hid the burning fires 
 beneath. She knew he had visited Persia ; 
 but since he made no mention of Mashad, 
 she gradually came to the conclusion he 
 had taken Major Marchniont's advice, and 
 avoided the dangerous errand of curiosity. 
 Diana Anstey, and even Haroun, were 
 inclined to share this theory ; only Major 
 Marchmont guessed that Mostyn's very 
 
The Call of the Pen 193 
 
 silence was a proof he had carried out his 
 intention. 
 
 " He will return in the spring," said the 
 old traveller, who knew that England called 
 when the first flowers of the early year burst 
 through the earth, and the rejuvenating 
 influence of Nature's budding made even a 
 stale old world into a nursery of freshly- 
 born delights. 
 
 To the spring Candida looked with hope- 
 ful eyes, a tremulous longing, and even a 
 half-belief in a possible future of fulfilment. 
 She was quite sure, as the months dragged 
 on, that one man alone held her fate in his 
 hands. The autumn shooting parties, the 
 hunt balls, the coming and- going of society 
 life, daily taught her the lesson which may 
 early be discovered or take long years to 
 learn. There was still the old host of 
 admirers and friends, in whose society 
 pleasant hours might be passed, hours which 
 left little or no impression upon the deeper 
 feelings of her heart. She could not escape 
 the ghost of a face, the shadow of a presence, 
 behind the fleeting amusements of the hour. 
 It even made her a little heartless. She 
 found it difficult to smother the hidden im- 
 patience, which grew sometimes into an agony 
 of hope deferred. 
 
 She fancied she was less popular; her 
 
 13 
 
194 World Without End 
 
 acquaintances dimly discerned the lack of 
 that joie de vivre which society demands. 
 Girls complained that Candida was growing 
 uninteresting ; married women feared she 
 was being spoilt ; her mother preached upon 
 the sin of discontent. 
 
 "Really, Candida," she said, "you seem 
 very hard to satisfy. I suppose you get too 
 much attention ! I can't understand why 
 you don't fall in love with some of the really 
 delightful people who are only longing to fall 
 down and worship the ground you tread on." 
 
 Candida considered a moment. She was 
 in a highly critical mood, and not inclined to 
 spare herself, 
 
 "It's my own fault," she confessed, looking 
 her mother full in the face, and blushing 
 furiously at her tumultuous thoughts. " I 
 just steel myself against it all, as if my heart 
 were in armour. I often think I don't 
 deserve to win any love or affection at all." 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch studied the girl curi- 
 ously. Her reply came as a surprise to the 
 older woman. Though personally her nature 
 inclined towards frivolity, she was keenly 
 aware there was nothing' shallow in her 
 daughter, who inherited from a deep-think- 
 ing father a forcible and keenly sensitive 
 temperament. No one of any discernment 
 could look into Candida's face and think her 
 
The Call of the Pen 195 
 
 cold. She was made for love, for the best 
 and highest sentiments that romance could 
 give. The mobile mouth had unconsciously 
 betrayed a world of suffering, as the quiver- 
 ing lips passed sentence on their owner. 
 The eyes were deep and glowing ; her colour 
 came and went. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch put a question boldly 
 which, until this moment, she had not dared 
 to ask. 
 
 "Are you still thinking of Mostyn Anstey ? " 
 she said, with uncompromising candour. 
 
 She knew she could trust her daughter to 
 speak the truth, even though it pained her 
 to own that her affections were wasted upon 
 an unworthy object. 
 
 " Yes. I think of him often, as a very dear 
 friend who perhaps needs my prayers." 
 
 Candida spoke with a quiet dignity. She 
 returned her mother's scrutinising glance 
 without flinching. 
 
 " I guessed as much," murmured Mrs 
 Whitechurch, with ill-concealed disgust. " I 
 saw you were wrapt up in him before he left 
 England, and it surprised me that a girl with 
 your pride could care for a man who made it 
 so clear that the caring was quite a one-sided 
 affair. I hoped when he went away, without 
 a word, you would come to your senses, and 
 see your mistake. If he had any feeling for 
 
196 World Without End 
 
 you, is it likely he would absent himself for 
 the whole winter? I know men too well, 
 and I am certain he can have no serious 
 intentions, or he would make sure of his 
 happiness, and not leave you to be snapped 
 up by anybody else." 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch only put into words a 
 suspicion which had long haunted Candida's 
 mind. 
 
 " Because he has forgotten me," she 
 replied, slowly, " I see no reason why I 
 should forget him." 
 
 "Imbecile!" muttered Mrs Whitechurch, 
 half below her breath. 
 
 "It's like this, mother," continued the girl, 
 hurriedly, anxious to justify herself, though 
 she knew she could never be entirely in 
 harmony with her worldly and ambitious 
 parent. " I have rather fixed ideas on some 
 subjects, and I know that everything i§ sent 
 for a purpose — even suffering. I cannot 
 help caring for Mostyn Anstey, because in 
 some mysterious way, which I don't pretend 
 to understand, he appeals to me — he makes 
 me look on other men in a different light. 
 He puts them in the shade ; they seem a 
 little narrow compared with him. He is 
 such a traveller, his views of life are so 
 broad ; one sees courage in his face. I know 
 if I were persuaded that I could be happy 
 
The Call of the Pen 197 
 
 married to another, I should be afraid to 
 meet Mostyn — afraid for myself, afraid for 
 my husband. While I feel like that, I 
 intend to remain single." 
 
 The absolute resolve in Candida's tone 
 silenced Mrs Whitechurch. She shrugged 
 her shoulders, indulged in a short sarcastic 
 laugh, and resigned herself to the inevitable. 
 She had little fear that in the end Candida 
 would marry, and marry well, but she did 
 not like to see the girl wasting her best 
 days of youth in a dream which made for 
 disappointment, 
 
 " I met Major Marchmont this morning," 
 she said. " He had just heard that your 
 friend Mostyn returns early in April." 
 
 Candida caught her breath. 
 
 " The Ansteys will be very pleased," said 
 the girl. 
 
 "And you will be pleased too." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " He will just be back in time to spoil 
 your season. What will be the use of 
 entertaining in town for your benefit, if you 
 are still in this foolish frame of mind .'' " 
 
 " None at all. Why entertain ? I should 
 be quite as happy in the country." 
 
 A mischievous twinkle crept into Candida's 
 eyes. She knew her mother dearly loved 
 society, and that it was no sacrifice to her 
 
198 World Without End 
 
 to rush through the crowded months of 
 spring and summer with social obligations 
 making strenuous demands on every moment 
 of her time. Candida served as a good 
 excuse to slave perpetually at the round 
 of pleasure. 
 
 " I shall persevere, in the hope of distract- 
 ing your thoughts and making you more 
 reasonable," sighed Mrs Whitechurch, with 
 such an admirably assumed air of virtue, 
 that Candida could not refrain from laugh- 
 ing aloud. 
 
 " Dear mother," she said, " I really believe 
 you are the youngest of us two ! Sometimes 
 I envy your untiring spirit. How does it 
 feel never to grow sick and sorry in a crowd, 
 always to say, ' I am happy because I am 
 doing what is fashionable ; I am satisfied with 
 myself because the world is satisfied with 
 me ' ? I really think you might have passed 
 on your enviable disposition. I should have 
 been very grateful." 
 
 " At your age, certainly, I never found any- 
 thing a trouble. I was the life and soul of 
 my own little circle. I should have scorned 
 to fritter a thought on a man like Mostyn 
 Anstey. It seems to me that modern girls 
 lack pride, or else they are too self-willed to 
 accept fortune when it comes." 
 
 Candida had a shrewd suspicion that it 
 
The Call of the Pen 199 
 
 was just her pride and reserve which stood 
 in the way of her happiness. She was 
 beginning to wonder if in the end she would 
 let pride go to the wall, and show something 
 of her feelings. Haroun had told her that 
 Mostyn was very sensitive, and often, despite 
 his strong character, appeared inclined to 
 depreciate himself 
 
 He might be a great explorer, and yet a 
 nervous and reticent lover. If so, her every 
 action seemed, on looking back, to have 
 sealed her doom. 
 
 " After all," she said aloud, "pride is a sin. 
 The Bible condemns it ! " 
 
 She moved to a writing-table, and sat con- 
 templating a blank sheet of notepaper. She 
 owed Mostyn a letter. He had written over 
 a week ago and asked her for news of herself 
 Day by day, for some unknown reason, she 
 had postponed replying. Possibly Fate stayed 
 her hand till this melting moment, when, 
 goaded on by her mother's sarcasm, she felt 
 she would justify the suspicion of lowered 
 pride. 
 
 " Dear Mostyn," she wrote, while Mrs 
 Whitechurch, oblivious of the scratching of 
 Candida's pen, related small histories of 
 current scandal. 
 
 " So you are coming back in April ? I 
 have just heard, and you can't think how 
 
200 World Without End 
 
 glad I am. Of course you will have crowds 
 of friends to visit, but none will be waiting 
 to give you a warmer welcome than myself. 
 So please come and see me as soon as pos- 
 -sible, because I have really been anxious 
 about you, and the long winter has made me 
 old, terribly old, in heart and brain. I want 
 some travellers' tales, real rousing ones, to 
 shake me out of myself. You are so good- 
 natured, you will spare an hour, I know, even 
 in the first rush of homecoming. I ask it as 
 a favour, and especially wonder if a certain 
 adventure was attempted and achieved. I 
 dare say you will think me altered. I have 
 such a tired mind, it's like a home-sick feeling 
 — only I am at home, which is rather odd. 
 How I envy you your wonderful months ! 
 You must picture them to me in words, if it 
 won't bother you to distraction. Forgive me 
 for inflicting my thoughts and feelings, but 
 I know what a good friend you are. — Yours 
 as ever, Candida Whitechurch." 
 
 She knew if she read the letter over, she 
 would never post it, so she quickly hid it 
 from sight beneath the fold of an envelope. 
 It was so different to the usual chatty epistle 
 in which she lightly related her doings with 
 a sense of humour which was all her own. 
 She had betrayed for the first time a touch 
 of bitterness and longing. She meant the 
 
The Call of the Pen 201 
 
 words to convey more than she dared pen, 
 to carry a message of warm friendship, which 
 he could take or leave as he pleased. Should 
 he fail her, no one would be any the wiser, 
 but perhaps he would come — ^first of all — to 
 the heart which ached for a sight of him. 
 The mere idea set her picturing possibilities. 
 If other men found her desirable, why not 
 Mostyn? After all, they were such good 
 friends, and what better basis for love.-* 
 Her mind travelled rapidly with the deliri- 
 ous joy of day - dreaming. She saw him 
 at her side, with a new light in his eyes, a 
 softer note in his voice ; she could almost feel 
 the rapture of his arm stealing round her. 
 She thought of him quickly as lover and 
 then as husband, that close, mysterious union. 
 She was even away on her honeymoon, in 
 the realm of make-believe. What if it should 
 ever come to pass that their lives were 
 blended into one, and the calm bliss of a 
 union which death alone may shatter, should 
 fold its overshadowing power over Mostyn 
 and herself? She found it impossible to 
 imagine any flaw in such a future. The 
 small disappointments, the contemptible dis- 
 agreements which attacked the average 
 married couple, would be as far removed 
 from their sphere as heaven from earth. 
 It was just the dream of a happy girlish 
 
202 World Without End 
 
 hour, with perhaps little hope of future 
 realisation, yet conducive to peace. 
 
 She posted the letter to Mostyn herself, 
 without Mrs Whitechurch knowing that any 
 communication was passing between them. 
 
 It reached him on landing, and among a 
 vast pile of correspondence Candida's familiar 
 hand instantly caught his eye. All through 
 the long, self-inflicted exile he always looked 
 for her letters, with a slumbering hope that 
 in some small way, however guarded, she 
 would betray a slight show of feeling, of 
 deeper emotion than the unsatisfying friend- 
 ship, so tantalising to the warm heart of a 
 lover. 
 
 He left his other letters, and opened 
 Candida's first. His eyes raced rapidly 
 over the page ; he hardly knew whether 
 the words gave him joy or pain. 
 
 She wanted to see him, that was plain 
 enough, but why? She was sad and tired 
 of life, an unnatural state of mind for a girl 
 of her years, and he knew there must be a 
 reason for this ageing of heart and brain. 
 He could not flatter himself that his absence 
 was the reason ; he feared some recent love 
 affair had upset her, leaving her weary of 
 the pleasure-world in which she dwelt. 
 
 Never mind ! She needed him ; that was 
 enough. The call of home and parents, 
 
The Call of the Pen 203 
 
 the desire to tell Haroun all his adven- 
 tures in the shrine, the thousand demands 
 upon his time, were as nothing to Candida's 
 voice. 
 
 He sent a telegram naming the first 
 possible hour he could reach her house, 
 and dismissed all other claims as secondary 
 and unimportant. 
 
 The ready coming of the traveller, in 
 answer to her request, was the first triumph 
 to Candida's new scheme of unbending. 
 She had shut herself long enough within the 
 ice-house of pride ; she was ready now to 
 burst out into the sunshine of sympathy and 
 undisguised pleasure at his return. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch noticed the change in 
 Candida's appearance, after the receipt of 
 Mostyn's telegram. 
 
 All her recent languor vanished. She 
 blossomed again with that soft budding of 
 youth which makes grief impossible for 
 long. 
 
 The winter had passed, as a grey cloud 
 blotting out the blue of her life's sky. Once 
 more spring glowed in her veins, as it ran 
 rampant over the earth. The strange excite- 
 ment of love thrilled through her heart, 
 singing an echo to Nature's awakening. 
 
 " I am expecting Mr Anstey this after- 
 noon," Candida told her mother. " He has 
 
204 World Without End 
 
 only just arrived, and he telegraphs he is 
 coming straight to me. I can't help feeling 
 a little flattered, because he has so many 
 friends." 
 
 "A good sign," murmured Mrs White- 
 church, mollified. 
 
 Personally she admired and liked Mostyn ; 
 he was a man of means, intellectual, well- 
 born, and high-principled. She could wish 
 no better partner for her daughter ; but she 
 still mistrusted his attentions, and in no way 
 regarded him as a marrying man. 
 
 "He has been away so long," continued 
 Candida, "that I shall not be at home to 
 anyone else. I want a quiet talk, to hear 
 all his news." 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch showed continued satis- 
 faction. She was relieved to see the change 
 in Candida's appearance : the beautifying 
 sparkle of pleasure had touched, with its 
 tender magic, her whole personality. 
 
 " You had better take tea in the boudoir, 
 and give orders you do not wish to be 
 disturbed." 
 
 Her mother spoke magnanimously ; in- 
 wardly she said to herself: 
 
 "No harm to give the man his chance. 
 If he is ever likely to fall in love it will b^ 
 now, when Candida is full of enthusiasm. 
 She happens to be looking her best, too. 
 
The Call of the Pen 205 
 
 It is quite a relief to see her wake up 
 again." 
 
 As Mostyn drove through the streets of 
 London, he could hardly believe he was on 
 his way to Candida. He had little dreamed 
 he would see her so soon, or that she would 
 want him. Whatever her sorrow, he was 
 prepared to share it, if unselfishly ; the pain 
 would be all his own, and she should never 
 know. Could he soothe and comfort her, 
 could he win the affection he hardly dared 
 hope for, then the strange attraction of a 
 wandering life would be buried in an early 
 grave, and lost beneath the tender influence 
 of home. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IN THE SUMMER OF HER YEARS 
 
 Candida awaited the coming of the traveller 
 with mixed feelings of nervousness and 
 pleasure. She was a little frightened at the 
 thought of her own boldness, and wondered 
 if her letter had conveyed too much. 
 
 The moment Mostyn arrived every mis- 
 giving vanished. He came into the room 
 with a smile which seemed to envelop her, 
 with a hand outstretched to grasp the girl's 
 trembling fingers, that wanted never to let 
 them go again. Candida made no effort to 
 hide her emotion ; she looked up unflinch- 
 ingly into his face, and her eyes sparkled 
 with a joy so unmistakable, that every pulse 
 in his body beat quicker for the sight. 
 
 " I can hardly believe you are really back, 
 I have been so anxious about you," she 
 gasped, a vision of the shrine rising before 
 her like a mental mirage, " You went away 
 with a fixed idea — a foolhardy one. Major 
 
 so6 
 
In the Summer of her Years 207 
 
 Marchmont called it — but I hoped against 
 hope you would change your mind." 
 
 Mostyn shook his head. 
 
 "The idea was too firmly rooted for that," 
 he replied ; " but what does it matter, since I 
 am home again to tell the tale ? I dared not 
 write my experiences, but some day I will 
 give you a detailed account of my mas- 
 querade. It was a risk, certainly, and more 
 than once I felt sure I had betrayed myself 
 I thought the last moment had come for 
 ' Sardar Mozaffar Khan.' It was then I 
 realised the truth of Major Marchmont's 
 words, that the game was not worth the 
 candle." 
 
 Candida caught her breath. She thought of 
 that far-distant day in the studio with Haroun, 
 and his gruesome description of the Moham- 
 medan mode of murder. She could not 
 feel thankful enough that Mostyn had been 
 spared. He read a certain confusion in her 
 face, as she drew a chair near the table, and 
 begged him to be seated. 
 
 " You told no one of my proposed adven- 
 ture ? " he queried, vaguely conscious that 
 Candida had something on her mind. He 
 had never seen her in such a transparent 
 mood ; he found it peculiarly refreshing and 
 delightful. 
 
 " I thought," she faltered, lowering her 
 
2o8 World Without End 
 
 eyes, " that of course Haroun knew. He 
 led me to speak of it, and I, believing he 
 was in the secret, betrayed your confidence 
 unwittingly." 
 
 "Oh! that doesn't matter," said Mostyn, 
 in reassuring tones. " I only wanted to 
 guard against giving him any anxiety on 
 my behalf. He is so nervous and imagina- 
 tive, that one really cannot treat him quite 
 like other people. I suppose he was intensely 
 interested, because, you know, it was chiefly 
 on his account I went to explore the Mashad 
 shrine." 
 
 "He was more than interested ; he was 
 frightfully excited." 
 
 " So I can well believe. I am trying to 
 fathom some mysterious form of psychic 
 phenomenon, and I own I have not the 
 clue yet. Haroun, who has never seen the 
 shrine, knows the precincts at this moment 
 almost as well as I do, who have penetrated 
 into the holiest of holies. Doubtless he 
 could tell you many of the rites and 
 practices ; certainly he would describe the 
 chambers and their magnificent scheme of 
 decoration as accurately as an eyewitness. 
 I must confess I am at a loss to account 
 for his dreams — and his knowledge, 
 which gives plenty of food for thought 
 to believers in a previous existence. It 
 
In the Summer of her Years 209 
 
 almost seems that in a former state Haroun 
 frequented that wonderful building. The 
 very name which he adopted for himself in 
 childhood is to be found there. The brother 
 of Haroun, Mamoun al - Rashid, poisoned 
 Imam Reza, the saint of the shrine." 
 
 Candida's eyes opened wider ; her lips 
 parted slightly, showing a glimmering of 
 white teeth. She pressed both hands to 
 her heart. 
 
 " He was more than excited," she answered, 
 almost in a whisper; "he was horrified — 
 maddened ; he considered your action worthy 
 of death. The mood soon passed, and he 
 became his own reasonable self again, but 
 for a few moments it was terrible. He was 
 so transformed I hardly recognised him as 
 the same man ; he changed before my very 
 eyes into another personality. I cannot 
 forget that awful scene. I thought he was 
 possessed by devils. It really half-convinces 
 me that in another incarnation he was a 
 Mohammedan, with fierce racial instincts, 
 thirsting for the blood of an unbeliever, 
 should such a one venture to desecrate their 
 sacred place by his forbidden presence." 
 
 Mostyn listened in surprise. This was 
 something new and startling, a hitherto 
 undiscovered trait in his brother's extra- 
 ordinary character. 
 
 14 
 
2IO World Without End 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " I had better not 
 talk of my adventure. For months I have 
 been looking forward to reading him the 
 exact description of every room, which I 
 wrote down that same night. I have drawn 
 plans, too. I had intended telling him every- 
 thing." 
 
 Candida saw that Mostyn was disappointed 
 and troubled. 
 
 " Perhaps he may be different now. I 
 think you should feel your way gently, and 
 judge at the moment. If he has got over 
 his agony of spirit, and forgotten his pre- 
 judice, he will naturally question you. Mrs 
 Anstey says he has never mentioned his 
 outburst, or alluded to the shrine again, 
 though he speaks perpetually of you, and 
 longs for your return. It is very good of 
 you to come first to me, when your nearest 
 and dearest are waiting for you." 
 
 " Sometimes," said Mostyn, with a soften- 
 ing of his voice, "there is a friend who is 
 closer to one's heart than the ' old folks at 
 home,' or the most beloved brother or sister — 
 a friend whose face haunts the dreams of the 
 wanderer, and whose word of command is 
 law, simply because that law is rooted and 
 grounded in love." 
 
 He spoke quickly, and with a strength of 
 feeling which took her breath away. He 
 
In the Summer of her Years 211 
 
 bent suddenly forward, capturing her hand. 
 She felt her fingers crushed almost fiercely 
 in his palm ; she could find no words, though 
 her lips moved faintly. In the past she had 
 grown accustomed to his guarded phrases 
 and a reticence for which she was alone 
 responsible. 
 
 She knew now she must blame herself for 
 the barrier between them. Her fear of 
 betraying her secret had held him back ; she 
 realised at last he loved her all the time. 
 
 Oh ! the wasted months, the winter of 
 yearning and suspense ! How had she 
 borne it with such a fair show of outward 
 fortitude ? 
 
 "When your letter came," he said, "a 
 thousand fears made a coward of me. I 
 hardly dared hope to read such a warm 
 welcome in your eyes. I imagined you 
 were going to confide some sorrow to me — a 
 love affair, perhaps, in which I should play 
 the part of adviser and friend, occupying that 
 unenviable position of ' the one who looked 
 on.' Will you relieve my mind? Tell me 
 you are heart-whole, that I may speak. If I 
 could win you, Candida, I would be the 
 happiest man in the world, which I believe 
 is a hackneyed expression, but a very genuine 
 one, in my case, for all that." 
 
 " It seems impossible," whispered the girl. 
 
212 World Without End 
 
 "we could be so happy. Others I know 
 have had this happiness from the beginning 
 of the world, yet I had grown to think it 
 was not for me. I had schooled myself to 
 suppose the affection which would come my 
 way would be the love I could not return. 
 Have you only just begun to care for me, 
 that you stayed a\yay so long ? " 
 
 He shook his head. His arms were 
 stealing round her now, with the strength 
 of passion in their clasp, making her feel she 
 was already his own. 
 
 " I cared from the first moment I saw 
 you," he replied ; "but I stood back, vaguely 
 conscious of being out in the cold. I knew 
 if I spoke, and you refused me, that our 
 friendship must cease. I could not afford to 
 lose you as a friend, so I decided to wait, 
 until you showed some signs of unbending. 
 If you had hinted in one of your letters that 
 you wished me to return, I would have 
 hurried back, but you wrote in the casual 
 terms of an acquaintance — you told me 
 always of your gaieties, and I pictured you 
 supremely happy with your lot. It was not 
 until I traced the strong note of sadness in 
 your last letter I suspected that the butterfly 
 had known a winter. Is it true I was in 
 your thoughts all the time, that you missed 
 me — as I missed you ? " 
 
In the Summer of her Years 213 
 
 "It has seemed like a lifetime since you 
 went away," she confided to him, shyly. " I 
 can hardly realise yet that I am to find my 
 youth again ; I had grown to feel so terribly 
 old." 
 
 He laughed to see the blushing cheek, 
 with its rosebud bloom, the bright young 
 eyes, and the supple, girlish figure. Age 
 was so far removed from her whole person- 
 ality, it was difficult to credit that her soul 
 had felt an autumn blight in the very summer 
 of her years. 
 
 " We have muddled our lives," he whis- 
 pered, " but in the future we must have no 
 misunderstandings. You are the one being 
 in the world who can make life perfect for 
 me. It all lies in your hands, to give or to 
 withhold. God knows you are far dearer to 
 me than my own body or soul. If I were 
 to make you unhappy, I would not allow 
 myself to live." 
 
 She listened with wonder to the words, 
 which were spoken in slow, steady accents ; 
 no mere lover's rhapsody this, but sentiments 
 straight from the heart of a deep-thinking, 
 serious man. Here was a harbour into 
 which Candida felt she could sail her barque 
 without fear or misgivings of ills to come. 
 
 She told him very simply just how that 
 troublesome reticence, born of pride, had 
 
214 World Without End 
 
 made her appear cold and distant, for fear 
 her love for him should be one-sided. It 
 was rather a pitiful little tale, and one which 
 made him realise his own folly in not storm- 
 ing the citadel before. He recalled the 
 many dangers which he had faced without 
 fear in foreign lands, and it seemed the 
 height of irony that a faithful woman's heart 
 should have ached for him through the 
 moral cowardice of a timid lover. 
 
 The present hour of reunion burst upon 
 them both with the glory of revelation, 
 throwing the past into the shadowland of 
 quick forgetfulness. They talked already of 
 that great day when their final vows would 
 be exchanged before the altar, when side by 
 side— as bride and bridegroom — their hands 
 should join for better, for worse. 
 
 •' You won't keep me waiting long ? " he 
 pleaded. "If two people love, why should 
 they delay ? When there is nothing to wait 
 for, an engagement is like a sojourn on the 
 outskirts of heaven — the joy and the music 
 lie beyond. I would not try to rush you 
 if I doubted making you happy, but oh ! 
 Candida, I know, I know ! " 
 
 She felt the burning passion of his kiss, 
 the thrill of the twin soul sighing for its 
 union. She wished this blissful moment 
 could last for ever, without a sullying touch 
 
In the Summer of her Years 215 
 
 from the world, knowing that later on 
 mundane niatters would be discussed. The 
 conventionalities of engagement and marriage 
 must be entered into with the usual unavoid- 
 able commonplace arrangements. She longed 
 to be wafted away to some sphere where 
 giving in marriage could be established with- 
 out any preliminary form. The quiet boudoir 
 seemed like a sanctuary, in which great hopes 
 and glorious emotions had been born within 
 the last hour. 
 
 When eventually Candida emerged from 
 that sacred shrine of plighted faith and 
 solemn promise, Mrs Whitechurch had no 
 reason to ask if the meeting between the 
 friends had been a happy one. Their radiant 
 faces told the story which the ages tell and 
 re-tell with undying freshness, 
 
 Mostyn had no wish to withhold his news. 
 He went straight to the older woman, clasped 
 both her hands in his, and asked her if she 
 would accept him as a son. 
 
 All her misgivings for Candida's future 
 faded in a moment. The disappointments 
 of the winter were forgotten ; the spring had 
 come, with rich fulfilment, to thaw the snows, 
 to raise fair flowers, to gladden their hearts. 
 
 " I have never had a son, to my sorrow," 
 she informed him. " If I am really to give 
 you my daughter, I think I can part with her 
 
2i6 World Without End 
 
 to you better than to anyone else. If you 
 are all that our old friend Major Marchmont 
 says, Candida is indeed a fortunate girl. I 
 had a short but very happy married Hfe, and 
 a suitable union is the highest good, in my 
 opinion, which a man or woman can hope for 
 in this world." 
 
 " The near approach to Paradise!" added 
 Mostyn, with conviction, as his eyes shone 
 with the new gladness of a perfect trust. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE CARVED OAK CHEST 
 
 The Anstey household was in a state of 
 rejoicing, for Mostyn's engagement to 
 Candida caused genuine pleasure. Certainly 
 all looked bright for the future, though at 
 times the girl felt nervous lest the Moham- 
 medans should ever hear of Mostyn's 
 pilgrimage and deception at Mashad. 
 
 He said little at first about his Persian 
 adventure, for Haroun avoided the subject, 
 and Diana declared he had been certainly 
 brooding over it in silence, ever since his 
 strange outburst in the studio. Mostyn 
 noticed the absence of all the old drawings 
 of the shrine, which first prompted his 
 journey of discovery, Haroun would talk 
 freely enough of other places Mostyn had 
 visited, avoiding the delicate ground which 
 aroused in him such inexplicable emotions. 
 He feared his own passions, that second 
 self, with its racial instincts, that flood of 
 
 2x7 
 
2i8 World Without End 
 
 recollection which set his brain on fire, 
 when he considered the enormity of Mostyn's 
 crime against the Mohammedan faith. 
 
 He wanted to know desperately, whether 
 the deed, so iniquitous in his eyes, had been 
 attempted, but dared not trust himself to ask. 
 He guessed the affair was discussed during 
 his absence, for once or twice he noticed, 
 with his almost painfully quick perception, 
 a sudden changing of the subject as he 
 entered the room. He found himself per- 
 petually on the watch, as one who guards 
 his soul from an ever - present danger. 
 Aware of this troubled state of mind, his 
 powers as an actor were brought strongly 
 into play. He was always assuming a part ; 
 his lively conversation, his bright smile, were 
 often masks to hide the true state of his 
 turbulent thoughts. Occasionally Diana 
 suspected Haroun deceived those around 
 him ; Diana — upon whose conscience lay 
 the weight of her son's burden. The years 
 had taught her to read with a keen eye even 
 such a complicated character as Haroun's. 
 She alone held the key to his strange nature. 
 Those months of ' concentration ' before his 
 birth were never to leave her mind clear, 
 bright, and unclouded, for the shadow spread 
 its presence down the long vista of years 
 with unrelenting darkness. 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 219 
 
 Candida was at the Priory, already treated 
 as a daughter of the house, her charm and 
 beauty winning the hearts of all her future 
 relatives. Major Marchmont was also a 
 guest at the old Roehampton house, and, 
 chiefly for his benefit, Mostyn decided to 
 read, within locked doors, the chronicle he 
 had written of his visit with Shamsuddin 
 to the great shrine at Mashad, His only 
 audience, besides the Major, consisted of 
 Candida and Mr and Mrs Anstey. 
 
 Haroun, on this particular afternoon, would 
 be engaged, they knew, with a model in his 
 studio, A timeworn warrior from Chelsea, 
 dressed in the picturesque garb of a pensioner, 
 had been brought from town on the Ansteys' 
 motor car, to sit to the young artist, so it 
 seemed a favourable opportunity for Mostyn's 
 improvised 'lecture.' He was prepared to 
 give his listeners every detail, to show how 
 alike were the portraits of the exterior of the 
 shrine to the well-known sketches Haroun 
 originally exhibited on his walls. The de- 
 scription the younger brother gave before 
 Mostyn left England would be compared 
 with the traveller's authenticated notes, while 
 they knew already from Candida the amazing 
 fact of Haroun's familiarity with the test 
 believed to betray the unfaithful. Had not 
 this home-bird, who never set foot on Persian 
 
220 World Without End 
 
 soil, described accurately the lifting of the 
 sacred stone, which, it is supposed, no infidel 
 can raise, describing even the winding stairs 
 and the low doorway leading to the Gumbaz ? 
 The afternoon had grown suddenly dark. 
 A steady downpour made a rhythmical sound, 
 sweeping the shrubs and stirring the trees 
 in the Priory garden. To Candida it was 
 rather soothing music, the patter of silver 
 drops like heart-beats against the long, old- 
 fashioned windows of the library. Here the 
 little group assembled, in order to shut 
 themselves off from the rest of the house, 
 apart from casual callers, to enjoy an hour 
 of quiet enlightenment upon a subject of 
 interest to all. It seemed a pity that 
 Haroun, the central figure in this little 
 drama of an innocent adventure, should be, 
 by necessity, shut out from the confidence 
 of brother, parents, and friends. The room, 
 lined with books, and furnished with old 
 oak, looked sombre, even on the brightest 
 day. Several large carved chests and high- 
 backed throne -like chairs held legends of 
 their own. They had been brought to their 
 present abode from historical castles, with 
 stories attached of illustrious personages 
 who enjoyed restful hours on their tapestried 
 cushions, or kept treasures in the vault-like 
 depths of the age- worn receptacles. 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 221 
 
 Candida sat next Mostyn, who faced the 
 little company with more eagerness in his 
 manner than he habitually revealed, even 
 when indulging the luxury of re-living his 
 travels in the presence of sympathetic com- 
 panions. By aid of his notes he was able 
 to read, and partially to tell, every detail of 
 that thrilling time, from his journey to 
 Mashad, the humours and tragedies of the 
 road, to his actual entry into the most sacred 
 places of Mohamadzai. 
 
 The whole narrative was' one of thrilling 
 interest to Major Marchmont, who knew, 
 more than any present, the awful peril in 
 which Mostyn had willingly placed himself. 
 At the conclusion of the history he spoke 
 without reserve. 
 
 " That you are alive here to tell us of 
 your adventure is a matter for great con- 
 gratulation," he declared ; "but let me warn 
 you, my dear fellow, to keep the whole 
 matter to yourself, at least for some years. 
 It might be safe, eventually, to publish the 
 account of the shrine, if you are quite sure 
 you will never return to Persia, and at the 
 same time keep your identity secret. From 
 what I know of those people, they would 
 track you to the end of the world, if they 
 got so much as an inkling of the trick 
 played upon them. Such an outrage to 
 
222 World Without End 
 
 their religious principles could only be 
 washed out in blood. They would murder 
 you here in England, had they any idea 
 of the real identity of the bogus Hyderabad 
 Sardar." 
 
 Candida cast an anxious glance in Diana's 
 direction ; she traced an uncomfortable look 
 in the eyes of Mostyn's father and step- 
 mother. Her own heart-beats quickened with 
 a sickening fear. She seemed to know that 
 her peace and happiness were too perfect 
 for endurance. Was this to be the cup 
 of bitterness, this deadly terror of a secret 
 foe? 
 
 She laid a trembling hand on Mostyn's 
 arm ; her voice shook as she addressed 
 him. 
 
 " Promise me, dear one," she pleaded, 
 " that this episode shall never be named, 
 or noised abroad. Think what a wanton 
 risk you ran, and may still be running, unless 
 you can utterly bury the past, that it may 
 never be known, or brought up against you. 
 Your life is my life now, and I am sure 
 Major Marchmont will join his request to 
 my prayer. How could I ever have an 
 easy moment if I thought those murderers 
 were seeking to destroy you ? " 
 
 " Candida," he said, " I am eager to live 
 (I have at last so much to live for!); don't 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 223 
 
 let this worry you for a moment. I have 
 every confidence in Major Marchmont, for 
 I know he isn't an alarmist ; he would not 
 say anything to frighten us without reason. 
 I should always go by his advice." 
 
 " But you would not follow it before. He 
 tried to dissuade you from visiting the shrine ; 
 he did his best to save you from running 
 into danger," Candida replied. 
 
 " You see, I laid less value upon life in 
 those days when I belonged only to myself 
 I can trust you all to keep my prying a 
 secret, and you may be sure I have no wish 
 to boast of a most risky and foolhardy 
 action. I shall always be glad I explored 
 the shrine, as things turned out, for I am 
 exceedingly curious, and once I get an 
 idea in my mind I can't rest until I have 
 worked it off. My wandering days are 
 over now ; the Mashad adventure was a 
 good wind-up." 
 
 Major Marchmont secretly prayed it might 
 prove so. He had shown, perhaps, little 
 consideration for Mostyn's parents and future 
 wife in speaking so plainly, not because he 
 was callous of their feelings, but with a 
 desire they should treat the matter seriously, 
 and guard Mostyn from future folly. 
 
 The interest of the afternoon was trans- 
 formed for Candida into an hour of dread. 
 
224 World Without End 
 
 The gloomy room, and the fast-falling rain 
 without, lost attraction — she longed for sun- 
 light and change of scene. Diana noted 
 the girl's sudden restlessness. 
 
 " It must be time for tea," she said, cheer- 
 fully, " Let us come into the boudoir, and 
 forget our fears. If Mostyn's safety is in 
 our hands, we have little to trouble about, 
 since I understand no outsider, except Sham- 
 suddin, who has his own life at stake, knows 
 anything of the pilgrimage." 
 
 Mostyn nodded assent, as he gathered up 
 his papers and photographs. 
 
 The boudoir was essentially a feminine 
 room, and full of a natural brightness, which 
 even a dull day could not counteract. The 
 change seemed to lift a weight from Candida's 
 mind. With the spirits of youth, she deter- 
 mined not to dwell on possible disaster. 
 Since Mostyn had been saved from deadly 
 peril in the shrine, it was hardly likely that 
 now, in his own country, he would have to 
 suffer for the deed. 
 
 As the door of the library closed, an in- 
 tense stillness reigned in the room. The 
 only sound was furnished by even a fiercer 
 falling of the rain upon the windows. Not 
 until some moments after the retreating foot- 
 steps had died away did a faint movement 
 indicate the presence of a living person. 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 225 
 
 Slowly the lid of one of the carved oak 
 chests rose an inch, and a hand appeared — 
 a nervous, white, trembling hand, with a 
 strange foreign ring on the third finger. 
 
 The lid remained stationary for several 
 seconds, while the occupant of the hiding- 
 place listened intently. Then, hearing 
 nothing, the covering was flung open widely 
 with a jerk, and a cramped form .emerged in 
 kneeling posture. It was Haroun, in his 
 shirt-sleeves, the silent witness of Mostyn's 
 words, the unknown fifth in the select 
 audience to whom the story had been con- 
 fided with unreserved candour. His face 
 had much the appearance of a dead man's ; 
 he might well have posed for a waking soul 
 rising with its ghastly weight of decomposing 
 flesh. His cheeks looked shrunken and 
 thin, his eyes were fixed and glassy, his jaw 
 had dropped ; he shivered with such violence 
 that his teeth rattled. He clasped both 
 hands across his forehead, damp from ex- 
 haustion and heat. Every pulse in his body 
 beat with maddening force, like sledge- 
 hammers against their prison doors. For 
 a time a paralysing weakness made it im- 
 possible for him to stand upright. Though 
 cramped in every muscle, physical discomfort 
 was almost forgotten, in the mental anguish 
 which held him as in a vice. A streak of 
 
 IS 
 
226 World Without End 
 
 blood flowed from his lower lip, where his 
 teeth had pressed upon it with a mighty effort 
 to restrain a cry. He fancied he could hear 
 malign whispers from invisible tongues ring- 
 ing in his ears, telling him terrible truths, 
 in a foreign language, with which his 
 brain seemed quite familiar. His body 
 sank till it rested on his heels, and in this 
 posture, so natural to him from childhood, 
 he pondered upon the iniquity of Mostyn 
 Anstey. 
 
 " Death," said the voices, " death by 
 the knife — that must be the vengeance for 
 this outrage to the faith. Write, for your 
 hand alone can do it. Give information 
 against the infidel to the guardians of the 
 shrine." 
 
 He leapt from the chest, his whole frame 
 suddenly alive with energy, while his aching 
 limbs lost their stiffness, and his hands no 
 longer trembled. Every nerve in his body 
 grew taut. He was iron from head to foot : 
 he could not suffer, he could not feel ; a 
 frenzy possessed him like the madness of 
 drink ; he had no power of himself ; a new 
 being controlled his actions, a fresh motive 
 power compelled his thoughts. With noise- 
 less tread he slipped across the room, 
 reaching a writing-desk by the window. A 
 sheet of paper lay ready to hand, in the folds 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 227 
 
 of a silver blotter, on which Mostyn's initials 
 were engraved. 
 
 Haroun hardly seemed to follow the words 
 which flowed from his pen. He knew that 
 he wrote in the language which came to him 
 untaught from his cradle, the language in 
 which as a child he spoke aloud in his sleep. 
 He laid before the true believers at the 
 great shrine of Mashad every word which 
 had reached his ears in that silent, agonising- 
 watch. He told the name of his brother, 
 and as he wrote upon stamped ' Priory ' 
 paper, he laughed spasmodically^short dia- 
 bolical snatches of laughter with a strange 
 mixture of gloating triumph, of misery, 
 of storm-tossed turbulent mind-waves, like 
 the motion of restless seas at the call of 
 strong winds. The hands which could have 
 saved him from his ghastly deed of betrayal 
 were so near, yet none knew of the threat- 
 ened danger. In that fateful hour the 
 lovers were side by side in the pretty 
 boudoir, chatting over afternoon tea, with 
 Diana and her husband. 
 
 " No good to expect Haroun," said his 
 mother, glancing through the window in the 
 direction of the studio ; "he never comes in 
 for any meal if he gets interested in his work. 
 I fear he has had a bad light for painting 
 to-day, but such things affect him very little." 
 
228 World Without End 
 
 Haroun seldom followed in the footsteps of 
 others ; he despised the usual stumbling- 
 blocks, and made the best of disadvantages. 
 
 Through overhearing a chance word, he 
 first suspected that Mostyn intended reading 
 some paper while the model from London 
 would occupy the studio, and from that 
 moment he set himself to discover the place 
 and hour. He had a peculiarly noiseless 
 tread and very sharp ears ; his faculty for 
 catching distant sounds or murmured words 
 often struck Diana as uncanny. To a detec- 
 tive his talents would have proved invalu- 
 able, for he was born with strange instincts 
 and keen perception. As he wrote in the 
 library, he still listened intently for ap- 
 proaching footsteps, fully aware he was in 
 no fit state to be seen by any member of 
 his family. 
 
 Through all his apparent madness a 
 cautious cunning and calculation ran. He 
 hurriedly sealed the letter, directly the fatal 
 words were penned, addressing it to Mashad, 
 without a thought of faltering. His lips were 
 set in one. hard, unrelenting line ; he seemed 
 to see everything through a scarlet haze, a 
 red sheet of blood. 
 
 He seized his coat, which lay crumpled in 
 the oak chest, and stole out into the misty 
 dampness of the afternoon. The old Chelsea 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 229 
 
 pensioner had been paid and sent back some 
 hours since, the studio blinds were drawn. 
 Haroun made his way to the post-office with 
 speed, running under cover of the trees, and 
 welcoming the occasional drops of moisture 
 which fell from the boughs on his heated 
 forehead. He could trust no other mes- 
 senger to commit the condemning epistle to 
 the post. Every now and again he drew it 
 from his pocket, to read the direction with 
 elated eyes. He muttered to himself snatches 
 of foreign words, which sounded like curses. 
 He saw nothing but the path ahead, like a 
 crimson thread in the gloom of overshadow- 
 ing trees. As he entered the post-office he 
 became dimly aware that his appearance 
 attracted attention. The post-mistress, who 
 knew him well, cast puzzled glances at his 
 ashen face and quick, nervous gestures. 
 She thought some great calamity must have 
 occurred at the Priory, but dared not make 
 any remark, for the expression in his eyes 
 frightened her. He handed the letter to be 
 weighed, and asked for the required stamp ; 
 she noted it was addressed to a place in 
 Persia, and heavily sealed. With his own 
 hand he dropped it in the letter-box, breath- 
 ing a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 Slowly now he retraced his steps, feeling 
 some great deed had been accomplished. 
 
230 World Without End 
 
 His blood no longer boiled; he felt cool and 
 satisfied ; he was vaguely conscious of having 
 done the right thing. Those same mysterious 
 voices were whispering in his ears, but with 
 a very different note. They flattered and 
 sang sweet praises ; they rejoiced that the 
 sharp arrow had left the bow, to wing its 
 way straight to the very seat of vengeance. 
 He could see the shrine miraged in the 
 evening shadows : the gold of the gates was 
 reflected in a sudden shaft of yellow light, 
 which made a streak across the grey skies. 
 In imagination he was walking with the 
 pilgrims through the noisy bazaars, pushing 
 onward, onward, to those sacred portals. 
 Surely he must pass soon into the chambers 
 of splendour, to kneel in the old accustomed 
 way, to bend his forehead low to the earth, 
 to kiss the relics with eager lips. Such 
 dream-kisses were more fraught with emotion 
 than the earthly kissing of a woman's lips. 
 Haroun had admired feminine beauty from 
 his youth, but chiefly as an artist. The 
 ruling passion of his life turned to a faith 
 of which he had been taught nothing. 
 His guides and tutors were voices and 
 memories of the past, and reaching back to 
 a previous existence when he had known 
 all, and understood fully the religion of 
 a people far removed from the influence 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 231 
 
 of his present surroundings. Often this 
 strange persistent memory made the past a 
 true reality, while the Priory and its occu- 
 pants were but a dream, to be suffered 
 patiently until the hour of glad awakening. 
 On the other hand, there were days and 
 weeks when his British birth held pre-emin- 
 ence. He also escaped from his heritage 
 of recollection, happy for the time being in 
 his English surroundings. So the tide 
 flowed and ebbed, returned and retreated, 
 with restless uncertainty, keeping him weak 
 of frame, thin, pale, brain-weary, a soul 
 within a soul, driven by powers which the 
 mind of man could never fathom or under- 
 stand. 
 
 He entered the Priory by a side-door, and 
 went straight to his room. Reaction was 
 setting in ; he felt tired and desirous of 
 sleep. 
 
 Flinging himself down on the bed, he 
 closed his eyes, and almost immediately lost 
 eonsciousness. 
 
 For more than an hour he lay wrapt in 
 deep slumber, from which the dressing-bell 
 awoke him with a start. He sprang up, and 
 sat on the corner of his bed, — wondering. 
 He liked the touch of the cold iron post upon 
 his hand ; he felt as if he had passed through 
 some crisis in his sleep. 
 
232 World Without End 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " he said to himself. " I 
 must have slept all the afternoon. Of course 
 I remember I sent that model away, because 
 I felt too exhausted to paint — the old mental 
 excitement again. By gad ! when I feel like 
 that, I ought to ask somebody to lock me up, 
 only I haven't the nerve to own I am not 
 myself. Lucky this time I came straight to 
 my room, and spent the afternoon in bed. I 
 have had the most diabolical dreams, and 
 fancied — but no ; it's too ghastly to contem- 
 plate ! Can't think what put such hideous 
 notions into my head. I shouldn't be the 
 least surprised to hear I had been seen 
 wandering about in my sleep. I imagined 
 I caught Mostyn congratulating himself on 
 having entered the shrine at Mashad (though 
 it matters little to me whether he went there 
 or not), but I seemed frenzied. I gave him 
 away to the authorities, wrote and posted 
 a letter. Bah ! those vivid dreams are des- 
 perately tiring ; 1 ache from head to foot." 
 
 He dressed wearily, and at dinner Diana 
 remarked he did not look well. 
 
 " I expect you overworked yourself," she 
 said. " I don't suppose you left the studio 
 all the afternoon." 
 
 " As a matter of fact," he replied," I sent 
 the old pensioner back, and never touched a 
 brush." 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 233 
 
 Diana exchanged a quick glance with 
 Candida. 
 
 "What did you do with yourself?" asked 
 the girl. " You never came in to tea." 
 
 " To tell you the truth I was despicably 
 lazy. I went upstairs, and just tumbled off to 
 sleep, thereby avoiding one of my really bad 
 headaches. Sleep is a wonderful doctor, 
 and one I can generally summon at a 
 moment's notice." 
 
 A little sigh of relief escaped Candida. 
 Then Haroun had suspected nothing! She 
 felt grateful to the heavy day, which was 
 accountable probably for his lassitude. 
 
 As the evening wore on he became more 
 cheerful ; the presence of Mostyn had usually 
 an exhilarating effect upon his brother. 
 
 " I sometimes think I have quite a rival in 
 Haroun," Candida said, jokingly, to Diana ; 
 " he and Mostyn are so devoted. I must 
 say it is very delightful to see such a united 
 family. Haroun tells me he is already rack- 
 ing his brains to think of a really original 
 wedding present for us." 
 
 " Do you believe in luck?" asked Haroun, 
 joining the ladies at that moment. 
 
 Candida confessed to certain mild super- 
 stitions. 
 
 " I had an old coin, which came out of a 
 very celebrated collection, and was given to 
 
234 World Without End 
 
 me as a mascot by a friend who has since 
 died. I've always carried it in my pocket ; 
 when I change my clothes I mechanically 
 replace it from one coat to another. I have 
 never mislaid it for a moment until to-day. 
 Oddly enough it must have slipped from my 
 pocket, though there is no hole in the lining, 
 as I have looked carefully. I've a vague 
 suspicion nothing will go right with me 
 unless I find it again. I have searched my 
 room, and told the servants, that the house 
 may be swept and garnished. The gardeners, 
 too, have promised to look along the path 
 from the studio to the side entrance early 
 to-morrow morning, as I only missed my 
 precious coin just before dinner." 
 
 "It is sure to turn up," said his father, 
 "as you have not gone out of the grounds 
 all the afternoon. I should be sorry if it 
 were lost for good," 
 
 " Say for bad," laughed Haroun ; but 
 though he passed the matter off with a 
 jest, Diana knew the occurrence troubled 
 him. 
 
 " I shall make a note of the date," he 
 added; "and if nothing unfortunate occurs, 
 I will never believe in mascots again. I 
 know it is very foolish, for all superstitions 
 make one unnecessarily uncomfortable. I 
 think I shall divorce them from my scheme 
 
The Carved Oak Chest 235 
 
 of life ; it's ridiculous to believe in anything 
 of the kind." 
 
 " Yet he does believe, for all that ! " Diana 
 told Candida afterwards. " I wish the coin 
 could be found ; he is so imaginative, he will 
 see evil in everything now." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE PLAYACTOR 
 
 Candida's engagement to Mostyn was only 
 to be of a few months' duration. Their 
 April love would see its fulfilment towards 
 the end of July, and the wedding prove a 
 late event of the season, 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch was in her element 
 over the business of trousseauing. She 
 made up her mind that her daughter's equip- 
 ment should be one of almost sensational 
 beauty in the world of dress, an ambition 
 which Candida regarded as of little or no 
 importance, though she humoured her mother, 
 trying to show a keener interest than she 
 really felt. 
 
 Her time was passed alternately between 
 London and Roehampton, and as she 
 grew to know Haroun better, she found 
 herself liking him more and more. He 
 was so interested in the forthcoming cere- 
 mony, that if he himself had been the bride- 
 
 236 
 
The Playactor 237 
 
 groom he could hardly have shown keener 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Candida will make a really beautiful 
 bride," he said to his mother ; " she is quite 
 a picture- woman, and so graceful. It gives 
 me pleasure to see her move. I know just 
 how she will glide up the aisle with her 
 stately tread, which is so unusual in England. 
 Grace, to my mind, is a greater fascination 
 than beauty of feature ; luckily she has both." 
 
 "And also, which is more, beauty of 
 mind," said Diana. 
 
 " You call that more?" declared Haroun, 
 satirically, with a sake of his head. 
 
 " Don't you?" asked Diana in surprise. 
 
 "Certainly not. I could forgive her any 
 devilment for the sake of her colouring and 
 figure. I would not change it for the whitest 
 soul on earth." 
 
 He laughed at seeing how deeply his 
 words shocked Mrs Anstey. She never 
 quite knew if he were serious or not, but 
 hoped in this case he had spoken jokingly. 
 
 "I must say," she replied, "that I think 
 your brother has every chance of happiness 
 with such a thoroughly good woman. Ever 
 since their engagement he tells me he has 
 never heard her say an unkind word of a 
 living soul. She is amiable, gentle, and true. 
 I wish, Haroun, you could get such a wife. 
 
238 World Without End 
 
 I should like to see you married to a woman 
 like Candida." 
 
 "In face and form, yes ; but I shall neither 
 look for nor expect a saint. I am not sure a 
 too perfect character wouldn't pall on me 
 a little. I like a spice of the devil ; it's divert- 
 ing at times. I wouldn't mind a battle 
 occasionally, for the pleasure of making 
 peace afterwards." 
 
 " That isn't my idea of a successful 
 marriage," sighed Diana, feeling herself out 
 of touch with Haroun's theories. 
 
 As she spoke, her husband came hurriedly 
 into the room. He held a familiar object 
 between his finger and thumb. Haroun, 
 with a gasp of joy, seized upon it excitedly. 
 
 " My coin, my mascot ! " he told his 
 mother, hurrying to her side, and dropping 
 it joyfully on her lap. "I have always had 
 a feeling that some misfortune would pre- 
 vent me being at Mostyn's wedding ; perhaps 
 now I shall have a chance. Where was it 
 found?" turning to Mr Anstey with eager 
 inquiry. 
 
 "One of the maids picked it up in a 
 corner of an old oak chest in the library. She 
 was looking for a piece of Eastern drapery 
 which had been placed there some months 
 ago, and the coin fell out of one of the 
 folds." 
 
The Playactor 239 
 
 "How strange!" said Haroun, thought- 
 fully. " Perhaps it had been in my studio, 
 — the drapery I mean." 
 
 He became suddenly silent, almost de- 
 pressed. His pleasure at having the coin 
 again seemed swamped in some gloomy 
 reflection. Diana made a casual remark, 
 but he failed to answer, and left the room 
 apparently without having heard her speak. 
 
 He could remember clearly the afternoon 
 of his loss. On that day the terribly vivid 
 dream of crouching in the oaken box had 
 tormented his mind during the afternoon. 
 Now he began to wonder if it really were 
 a dream, or if indeed he had hidden himself 
 in that dark recess, to listen while Mostyn 
 related a thrilling adventure at Mashad. 
 How could the coin have been found there 
 otherwise ? He seemed to recall the dis- 
 comfort of that cramped position, even to 
 the removing of his coat, from the pocket 
 of which the coin had been lost. If that 
 were the case, might not the rest of the 
 dream be also true ? What if he had really 
 written a lettef to endanger his brother's 
 life.? The thought turned him sick and 
 cold ; he shivered from head to foot. So 
 long ago it would hardly be likely that the 
 post - mistress could remember him pur- 
 chasing foreign stamps, yet a desire to go 
 
240 World Without End 
 
 to the post - office on the chance came 
 suddenly to Haroun's mind. No sooner 
 thought of than done. He hurried to the 
 place, where it was just possible he might 
 find a clue. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, addressing the post- 
 mistress, " that neither you nor your attend- 
 ants could remember if I brought a Persian 
 letter here in April to be weighed and 
 stamped ? It seems a stupid thing to ask, 
 but I am not sure if I sent it, at this distance 
 of time." 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon the woman with 
 such a penetrating look of inquiry that she 
 fully realised her answer must mean a great 
 deal to him. 
 
 " I remember," she said ; " because, you 
 will excuse my saying so, sir, but you came 
 in looking very upset and pale, I feared 
 something must have happened. I weighed 
 the letter myself, and sold you the stamps. 
 I particularly noticed the direction. The 
 name of the place was Mashad in Persia." 
 
 The faint colour which had given Haroun's 
 cheeks an almost girlish flush faded, leaving 
 him white to the very lips. 
 
 " Thank you," he muttered, faintly. " You 
 say I looked upset? How strange! I 
 remember so little of that afternoon." 
 
 He wished her good-morning, walking 
 
The Playactor 241 
 
 away unsteadily. There was no longer any 
 doubt in his mind as to what had happened. 
 The vision had been reality, the dream a 
 truth. This paralysing discovery made his 
 head reel ; he felt like a drunken man groping 
 along the road. 
 
 "My God! What have I done?" he 
 asked himself feverishly, knowing not if the 
 letter to Mashad had been intelligible, or 
 merely some wild rubbish written by a hand 
 possessed. He still hoped it might not 
 imperil Mostyn, but the uncertainty was 
 fraught with horrible dread. 
 
 At first he decided to hasten back to his 
 brother, and tell him all, but on second 
 thoughts he resolved to keep his terrible 
 secret strictly to himself This was no time, 
 just before the wedding, to alarm the bride- 
 groom. Besides, he valued his brother's 
 affection too highly to risk losing it for 
 perhaps a groundless fear. His great love 
 for Mostyn was almost as strong, in his 
 rational moods, as his hatred for the infidel 
 who dared to penetrate the sacred shrine 
 when Mohammedan instincts were upper- 
 most. He feared that already the human 
 bloodhounds might have started upon 
 Mostyn's track. On the very day of the 
 wedding he might mysteriously disappear, 
 or be openly assassinated. 
 
 16 
 
242 World Without End 
 
 Often Haroun had thought that he was 
 born to be a detective. In another sphere 
 his art-work would have been sacrificed to 
 the absorbing profession of paid spy to the 
 British police force. Now he saw a chance 
 of exercising his natural talent, of proving 
 his ability in this particular line. Solemnly 
 he resolved to shadow his brother night and 
 day, to keep such a vigilant watch over 
 his movements, that never for a moment 
 should he be in ignorance of Mostyn's 
 whereabouts, and all if possible without 
 betraying any unusual desire for his com- 
 pany, or showing anxiety which might excite 
 suspicion. 
 
 Haroun's English instincts were uppermost 
 at present. Ever since that fearful outburst, 
 when he had given Mostyn's deed away to 
 the authorities at Mashad, the racial traits of 
 a second self slumbered contentedly. It was 
 as if that other being within him knew that 
 justice and vengeance would be done, and, 
 gratified by the knowledge, sank subservient 
 to the true nature inherited from British 
 parents. 
 
 Mostyn was glad to see the sudden change 
 which came over Haroun. The younger 
 man, instead of shutting himself up for hours 
 in the studio, laid his work aside, and fre- 
 quently accompanied his brother to town. 
 
The Playactor 243 
 
 He showed a marked preference for Candida's 
 home, though he never obtruded himself 
 upon the privacy of the engaged couple. He 
 would pay long visits to Mrs Whitechurch, 
 always while Mostyn was under her roof, 
 leaving with his brother, and amusing Mostyn 
 on the way to Barnes with stories of Candida's 
 mother. 
 
 " She is quite a good companion," Haroun 
 declared. " We have struck up a friendship 
 which amuses me, and seems to please her. 
 I rather like worldly people. I get on with 
 women older than myself. Of course she is 
 a terrible gossip, but I like drawing her out ; 
 it's diverting to see how far she will go. 
 You may be amused to hear I know a 
 good deal more than you do about Candida's 
 trousseau. I have even designed some of her 
 dresses. An artist's eye for colour is helpful 
 in the scheme of a picture frock or tea- 
 gown. I can't help laughing sometimes at 
 the mother's undisguised vanity, while dear 
 Candida cares as little for appearance as if 
 she were hopelessly plain. That may be 
 perhaps because she knows she looks lovely 
 in everything. By the way, Mostyn, you 
 will tell me directly if I am giving you too 
 much of my society ; I am always ready to 
 clear." 
 
 Mostyn warmly assured his brother he 
 
244 World Without End 
 
 was delighted to be favoured with his com- 
 pany, little guessing there was any hidden 
 motive in Haroun's presence. 
 
 The scheme of watching and guarding 
 Mostyn grew upon the younger man ; his 
 vigilance increased as the days drew nearer 
 the wedding ; he had a thousand secret ways 
 of keeping the unsuspecting bridegroom in 
 sight. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch arranged a garden party 
 in the country, to take place before the 
 wedding, at Athlone Park, her place in 
 Sussex. 
 
 " The people down there are very dis- 
 appointed that Candida is not to be married 
 in the little rural church, which is only a few 
 yards from the park gates," Mrs Whitechurch 
 told Haroun, "so I am opening out the 
 house, and giving this party to console them. 
 I want to introduce Mostyn before he is 
 actually my son-in-law. A number of the 
 county people will come up for the wedding, 
 but it is nice for them to know Candida's 
 fiancd first. A few days' rest out of town 
 will do us all good, and then there are the 
 village folk to entertain. Candida insists on 
 a parish tea and a school treat in honour 
 of the event." 
 
 " I don't think you will get much rest," 
 remarked Haroun. 
 
The Playactor 245 
 
 " Early hours, and breathing the pure air, 
 are quite sufficient to brace me up," remarked 
 the energetic widow, cheerfully. " I don't 
 mind what I do in the daytime, if I am 
 allowed the luxury of retiring at ten o'clock. 
 In London we are late every night. Of 
 course Mostyn will be staying with us, and 
 I was wondering if you would come down 
 and help to make things go? You see, 
 Haroun, I look upon you as one of the 
 family now." 
 
 She patted his hand playfully as she 
 spoke. Inwardly he heaved a sigh of 
 relief, congratulating himself on his diplo- 
 macy in making Mrs Whitechurch his 
 friend. 
 
 The thought of Mostyn spending even a 
 few days out of his sight at this critical 
 time was agony to Haroun. He knew 
 that after the ceremony his brother must 
 vanish on that journey of journeys, the 
 honeymoon, and then it would be time to 
 warn him of possible danger. Before the 
 strain of that momentous day, no hint should 
 be given to disturb the lover's peace of 
 mind. 
 
 " I shall be delighted to come to Athlone 
 Park, and am ready to throw myself body 
 and soul into all the arrangements for the 
 consolation of the disappointed ones," 
 
246 World Without End 
 
 Haroun replied, with a boyish enthusiasm 
 which he forced himself to assume in the 
 presence of Mrs Whitechurch. 
 
 He read her character shrewdly, seeing 
 she appreciated high spirits, and a certain 
 gaiety of manner which fitted her own. 
 Had he betrayed the real state of his mind, 
 the horrible tension, which kept him night 
 and day on the watch, he realised he would 
 lose her inevitably. She shunned sadness 
 or melancholy, avoiding all doleful subjects 
 or distressing truths as she would the 
 plague. 
 
 " We will have quite a good time," she 
 declared, her eyes sparkling. " I never like 
 Athlone Park so well as when I rush down 
 there from London. The charm of contrast 
 makes one forget the country can be the 
 dullest place on earth. I want you to 
 advise me about the garden party. I mean 
 to have heaps of entertainments, otherwise 
 the whole affair will be as flat as ditch- 
 water. We must have music and singing, 
 fortune-tellers in tents, and perhaps some 
 dancers performing in the open air. I 
 have engaged a few artistes already, but 
 waited to consult you about the final 
 arrangements." 
 
 She paused with an air of flattering 
 expectation for Haroun to speak. He con- 
 
The Playactor 247 
 
 sidered a moment, determined not to 
 disappoint her. 
 
 " I should have liked a pastoral play, some 
 poetic little drama of the East, done by 
 professionals. I have a piece in my mind 
 which I think would suit exactly. I could 
 arrange the correct costumes, and lend the 
 actors some of my Persian garments." 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch was charmed with the 
 suggestion; they talked long and fully on 
 the subject. 
 
 "Anything for a novelty," she said. "I 
 hope, too, that a number of London friends 
 may motor down. If you will settle about 
 the play, I shall be deeply grateful." 
 
 Haroun felt glad of this outside inter- 
 est to divert his mind a little from the 
 painful strain upon it, caused by his daily 
 anxiety. 
 
 He entered into all Mrs Whitechurch 's 
 schemes with an enthusiasm which delighted 
 her; she could not speak highly enough of 
 Haroun. 
 
 " Sometimes I think you prefer him to 
 Mostyn," said Candida, with perhaps the 
 faintest touch of jealousy, which she would 
 not have acknowledged even to herself. 
 
 "Oh, no! they are so utterly different. 
 Haroun would make an impossible husband. 
 I don't think any woman could live with him 
 
248 World Without End 
 
 for long ; he is too exacting — too jumpy, shall 
 I say ? One never knows what he is going 
 to do next. As a friend and companion he 
 is most interesting. He worships the very 
 ground Mostyn treads on; never seems 
 really happy when his brother is out of his 
 sight. The older man is a kind of hero 
 to him, for Haroun still seems a boy, though 
 he is becoming quite celebrated as an 
 artist." 
 
 The move to Athlohe Park was a welcome 
 change. Candida loved the old-world house, 
 with its beautiful gardens and wealth of 
 flowers. Here she was no longer the prey 
 of dressmakers, though the daily incoming 
 of wedding presents kept her busy with 
 her pen. 
 
 " I spend my life thanking people," she 
 declared. " I feel quite uncomfortably 
 grateful at finding I have so many friends." 
 
 The day of the garden party dawned 
 bright and fair. Athlone was en fete, and the 
 grounds had never looked lovelier. Special 
 carriages were to be reserved in an early 
 afternoon train from town, both for guests 
 and performers. Haroun felt convinced the 
 Eastern play would prove a great attraction. 
 
 Everyone for miles around looked for- 
 ward to meeting Candida's fianc6. They 
 had heard of him as a singularly clever man 
 
The Playactor 249 
 
 and a great traveller, while Candida, ever 
 since her somewhat recent d^but, had been 
 the belle of the county. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch, looking singularly young 
 for her years, was in her element. She 
 loved nothing more than playing hostess to 
 a large crowd. Her cheeks were blooming, 
 and she accepted the congratulations on her 
 daughter's forthcoming marriage with as 
 much delight as if she herself were the bride- 
 elect. 
 
 Haroun met many of his town acquaint- 
 ances, and was introduced to a large number 
 of country people. 
 
 Occupied with conversation, and interested 
 in the well-arranged entertainments, he did 
 not observe for some time a tall, dark, 
 sinewy man, of fierce Eastern countenance, 
 who moved silently among the chattering 
 throng, speaking to no one. His narrow 
 dark eyes, with their thick, black-haired 
 brows, looked searchingly from left to right, 
 as if on the track of some missing object. 
 He moved with a grace suggestive of a 
 panther hunting prey. The moment Haroun's 
 glance fell upon the stranger, he was conscious 
 of the sharp awakening of some slumbering 
 instincts. He scented danger and treachery ; 
 he knew the hour of vengeance had thrown 
 its first threatening shadow across the bride- 
 
250 World Without End 
 
 groom's sunny path. It needed no telling 
 that this unknown personage was not one 
 of the social crowd, or else why did he 
 wander friendless and aloof among the well- 
 dressed multitude ? 
 
 Quickly Haroun sought his hostess. 
 
 " Mrs Whitechurch," he said, in such a 
 low, breathless voice that it instantly arrested 
 her attention, "can you tell me who the tall 
 olive-coloured man is with the rather queerly- 
 cut clothes ? " 
 
 She followed the direction of Haroun's 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, that coffee creature with the dia- 
 bolical face ! " she murmured, indulging a 
 little rippling laugh. " He must be one of 
 the actors in your Eastern drama. I am sure 
 no friends brought him, for he has certainly 
 not been introduced to me." 
 
 "But I know all the actors; you forget I 
 attended the rehearsals," replied Haroun, 
 trying to conceal his tone of alarm. 
 
 " Then perhaps he did come with some- 
 body, and I overlooked him. He is certainly 
 being neglected. Do make a point of finding 
 out, for I can't bear to see anyone stranded. 
 Introduce him to some strong-minded natives 
 here who won't be frightened of his fearsome 
 eyes. His appearance gives me the creeps. 
 What can his nationality be ? " 
 
The Playactor 251 
 
 " Persian, I think." 
 
 "Really! Then you ought to be inter- 
 ested, for I am told you love that poetic 
 nation." 
 
 Haroun turned away without replying, for 
 temporarily a hatred of all things Persian 
 predominated. The true self, rooted in his 
 affection for Mostyn, remained uppermost, 
 ever since he realised that his recent 
 madness had sown the seeds of everlasting 
 remorse. 
 
 He made a few inquiries, and finding that 
 none of the local people were acquainted 
 with this man, determined to introduce 
 himself. 
 
 As he advanced, somebody addressed 
 Haroun in a voice which palpably reached 
 the tall, dark figure. 
 
 " Have you had your fortune told, Mr 
 Anstey ? " 
 
 The Persian, on catching the name Anstey, 
 turned quickly, and riveted his eyes on 
 Haroun. The glance held scrutiny as well 
 as inquiry ; Haroun seemed to read its 
 meaning like an open book. 
 
 "He thinks I am Mostyn," said the 
 younger brother to himself, and a sudden 
 glow turned his blood to fire, a thrill which 
 set every nerve tingling from head to foot. 
 
 The speaker who had asked him about his 
 
252 World Without End 
 
 fortune received no answer. He was stand- 
 ing quite still, staring into space, as if seeing 
 a vision. On his face a sudden light, a 
 radiance almost unearthly, spread its mystify- 
 ing touch. He appeared transformed, but 
 not as of old, for in his heart the beauty 
 of sacrifice sprang to life; some pure vital 
 resolve, some great courageous idea, took 
 possession of his mind. He saw a way to 
 save Mostyn, He looked along a winding 
 path of circumstances, the relentless road with 
 the signboards ' Cause ' and ' Effect ' pointing 
 in one direction alone. 
 
 He advanced to the swarthy Persian, who 
 appeared to draw him nearer with that cold 
 yet magnetic gaze. He spoke, without a 
 trace of emotion. 
 
 "You don't seem to know many people 
 here, and Mrs Whitechurch has asked me to 
 look after her friends. She has noticed that 
 you are alone, and forgets with whom you 
 came, as she has not the pleasure of your 
 acquaintance." 
 
 The man hesitated before replying ; just 
 for a moment he appeared to find difficulty 
 in speech. 
 
 Then he advanced with a smile which 
 might have been genuine or might have 
 been of Judas, and bowed with great respect, 
 as he made his explanation. 
 
The Playactor 253 
 
 " I am with the members of the cast for 
 the Persian play." 
 
 "How is that?" asked Haroun. "I 
 know the actors, and have spoken to them 
 all." 
 
 " Quite so. I have merely come in the 
 position of an understudy, since one member 
 of the company is feeling indisposed. He 
 suffered a touch of the sun only a few days 
 ago, and feared, if the heat were very great 
 in the garden, he might be ill at the last 
 moment. I tried to keep apart from the 
 guests, but I was told I might walk about 
 the grounds. I fancy I have the honour of 
 addressing the future husband of the beauti- 
 ful young lady of the house ? " 
 
 Haroun made quick reply, with all the 
 enthusiasm of a lover. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I am the happy man. 
 My name is Mostyn Anstey. I only re- 
 turned to England a few months ago. I 
 know your country well, for I think I 
 am right in guessing you come from 
 Persia." 
 
 He spoke cheerfully, and drew a little 
 nearer. The strong individuality of the 
 Mohammedan attracted him like a magnet, 
 with a strange mixture of fascination and 
 horrified curiosity, making for keen excite- 
 ment. The sportman's love of danger woke 
 
254 World Without End 
 
 with tenfold force in Haroun's soul ; he was 
 fearless, and even eager to suffer risk. The 
 gods, he felt, had given him a glorious gift of 
 victory. He had the whip hand over himself 
 — at last he could repay ! 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 I UNDERSTAND THESE PEOPLE 
 
 The stranger acknowledged he was Persian, 
 but appeared eager to pass over the fact and 
 speak of other matters. He did not ask 
 Haroun what part of the country he had 
 visited, but mentioned in flowery language 
 the forthcoming wedding. 
 
 " You have won a jewel," he said, " a lady 
 fair as the day, and worthy to be the wife 
 of a gentleman so highly esteemed as your- 
 self I must confess that I am deeply 
 honoured at being allowed to exchange a 
 few words with you." 
 
 Haroun tried to trace a note of mockery 
 in the tone, but it was well concealed beneath 
 the courteous veneer. 
 
 " I am always interested in meeting new 
 
 people from far-away lands," Haroun replied. 
 
 " Have you been long in England .'' " 
 
 - "No, I arrived quite shortly ; and acting is 
 
 not my usual profession. I trade in precious 
 
 255 
 
256 World Without End 
 
 stones. I have in London now some of the 
 most exquisite gems that the eye of man has 
 ever seen. I would gladly show you my col- 
 lection before disposing of them to the trade, 
 if you should wish to secure some choice and 
 original gift for the bride of your heart. 
 They are stored in the house of a friend who 
 shares with me the business of beautifying 
 fair women with the decoration befitting their 
 heaven-sent charms." 
 
 He flung up his hands and eyes as he 
 spoke with a droll expression of ecstasy, 
 hardly in keeping with his natural grave 
 countenance. Haroun felt an involuntary 
 shiver pass down his spine as he listened. 
 
 He guessed the story of the jewels was 
 a mere fabrication, a lure to get Mostyn to 
 some lonely house, where the knife might do 
 its cruel work. This man was probably one 
 of many, waiting to draw a net around their 
 victim, whence there could be no escape. If 
 one or two failed in the attempt, a hundred 
 others could fill and refill the posts of those 
 unsuccessful messengers of vengeance. 
 
 Suddenly in his own heart Haroun knew 
 and realised what it meant to these men 
 of faith, whose holy shrine the infidel had 
 desecrated. He felt in his body the racial 
 instincts which led them on, though his love 
 for Mostyn was stronger than all else, now 
 
I Understand These People 257 
 
 that he had set himself to shield and protect 
 the doer of this supposed evil. Blood alone 
 must wipe out the offence ; Haroun was con- 
 scious of the fact in every tingling nerve. 
 Were he to give up this stranger to the 
 English police, have him arrested and 
 searched as a suspicious character, it would 
 merely be stemming a drop in the ocean. 
 
 " I am looking for something original in 
 jewellery," he said. " I have a desire to 
 give my future wife a set* of ornaments quite 
 different in design to anything she has seen 
 before. A number of people are to bring me 
 specimens, but I hardly think I shall find 
 what I want in this country. If I fail, I will 
 come to you ; only let me know where you 
 are to be found." 
 
 The Persian took a card from his pocket, 
 and presented it with a stately air, bowing 
 again, this time lower than before. 
 
 "You can communicate with me at that 
 address in London, but it is not my residence. 
 You must tell me where to meet you, and 
 your humble servant will then conduct you 
 to the house of his friend, where the valu- 
 ables are stored in a safe. The sight of 
 them will make you dream that the stars 
 of heaven have been given into your pos- 
 session. We have scraps of the moon 
 and portions of the sun. They are almost 
 
 17 
 
258 World Without End 
 
 unearthly in their beauty, those lustrous 
 gems of light." 
 
 Haroun read the little piece of paste- 
 board, which might be a death-warrant in 
 disguise. 
 
 The name ' Mohamed-ed-Din ' was printed 
 in bold letters, while an address in Blooms- 
 bury had been written below in purple 
 ink. 
 
 " Thanks," said Haroun ; " you shall hear 
 from me if I am not suited." 
 
 The Persian gave vent to one more slow, 
 expressive smile, which revealed the gleam- 
 ing white of his teeth, making his skin appear 
 even darker in contrast. 
 
 "All shall be preserved for your coming 
 until the date of your marriage," he promised 
 fervently. " We sell to the trade, as I told 
 you before, and the trade can wait. To so 
 celebrated a traveller as Mr Mostyn Anstey 
 Persia should give her best. For such a 
 glorious bride, no jewel could be fair enough, 
 were it to rival the very sunbeams from 
 above. May your love be as tender as the 
 dews of morning, as lasting as the coming of 
 night and day, an endless sweetener of your 
 years." 
 
 The soft expressions were as honey and 
 music to Haroun, Just for a moment he 
 forgot his dread and horror in listening to 
 
I Understand These People 259 
 
 what seemed a familiar sound of long ago. 
 This man, whom he recognised unmistakably 
 as an enemy, had the power to lull his fears 
 and awaken some echo of past days. Haroun 
 felt an almost overwhelming desire to betray 
 his true identity, to say, " I am not the man, 
 but the hand which betrayed him. I am the 
 defender of your faith ; I have given you your 
 opportunity of vengeance." 
 
 He crushed the terrible idea. If such 
 feelings were to rise uppermost, then Mostyn 
 would be lost. 
 
 " I must apologise for detaining you from 
 your friends, and from the lady of your life," 
 said Mohamed-ed-Din. "For the favour 
 of your presence I thank you, and must 
 no longer keep you from basking in the 
 smiles of beauty. Be sure, when we meet 
 again, I will show you something worthy of 
 the regent of your existence. Should you, 
 however, be satisfied first with other orna- 
 ments, may I beg you will still inspect the 
 treasures of our journey ? We should dis- 
 play the glories of Persia for your pleasure 
 and not our profit, in the hope that you will 
 tell your honoured friends Mohamed-ed- 
 Din can produce for them the most precious 
 stones in all the world, set with a skill which 
 raises his countrymen to a high pinnacle of 
 perfection in art." 
 
26o World Without End 
 
 Haroun paused before he uttered the final 
 words of leave-taking. Somehow he knew 
 that after this conversation the man would 
 vanish from Athlone Park. Not for a 
 moment had he believed the story of the 
 understudy. The part he had come to 
 play was a drama of real life, which might 
 develop into a tragedy for the bride and 
 bridegroom, unless they were saved by the 
 strategy of a brother who had brought the 
 danger upon them, and was now prepared 
 to pay the price of his madness and his 
 shame. 
 
 " I will come," Haroun answered, firmly. 
 " It is possible I may not require your wares, 
 but still I shall not disappoint you by my 
 absence." 
 
 " We should esteem it a favour of favours 
 if your Excellence would come alone. We 
 wish to keep our store of goods a secret 
 for the first few weeks of our landing on 
 these shores. Then we will crave your 
 word of kindness to recommend us to the 
 wealthy people in your midst. The reason 
 for this request is not far to see. First we 
 must satisfy ourselves as to their value 
 with other traders, the men from your big 
 diamond houses in London. After that, we 
 shall know the price to name to the illustrious 
 persons with whom you associate." 
 
I Understand These People 261 
 
 " I understand perfectly," said Haroun, 
 with deep meaning. "You have made it 
 all so very clear to me. Be sure I appreciate 
 the invitation ; I know it will be one of 
 benefit to the bride." 
 
 He moved away, afraid to trust himself to 
 speak another word. 
 
 Mohamed-ed-Din turned also and was lost 
 to view among the trees. 
 
 Haroun went straight to the actors' tent, 
 where they waited in costume to commence 
 their performance. 
 
 " Have you brought an understudy," he 
 asked, "a Persian fellow, with very dark 
 skin and eyes ? " 
 
 "No," the answer came from several 
 mouths. 
 
 " Oh ! my mistake," added Haroun, quickly, 
 anxious not to be questioned. 
 
 He left them as abruptly as he came, 
 fearing his remark might rouse comment. 
 
 He was making his way back to Mrs 
 Whitechurch, when Candida met him, wear- 
 ing a less radiant expression than of yore. 
 
 " Mostyn asked me to find out from you 
 who the unknown man was. Several people 
 noticed him, and were remarking on his 
 strange looks. I saw you deep in conversa- 
 tion with him, but the moment you turned 
 away he hurried down the drive, evidently 
 
262 World Without End 
 
 desperately anxious to be gone. I can't tell 
 you how the sight of him frightened me. 
 I thought perhaps — oh ! I hardly like to say 
 it — that he — he might be a spy, come here 
 for some evil purpose." 
 
 " What purpose ? " 
 
 Candida dared not mention to Haroun 
 her real suspicion, believing him to be still 
 in ignorance of the adventure at Mashad. 
 
 Already she feared, in the excitement 
 of the moment, that she had said too 
 much. 
 
 "Well, burglary," she stammered, "or 
 possibly some scheme of revenge on some- 
 body he considered an enemy. His face 
 was so evil, it made one imagine all sorts of 
 terrible things." 
 
 "You were afraid," said Haroun, hardly 
 above a whisper, " that he might have come 
 from Mashad." 
 
 Candida started violently. She could 
 never forget the scene in the studio, and 
 knew well Haroun had maintained a severe 
 silence on the subject ever since, even after 
 his brother's return from Persia. To hear 
 him calmly mention ' Mashad ' took her 
 breath away. 
 
 " I don't quite understand you," she 
 faltered, and hesitated for him to proceed. 
 
 He had no wish to puzzle her, for he 
 
I Understand These People 263 
 
 felt that a deep power of control was 
 strong within him ; he was master of his 
 true self. 
 
 " You see," he murmured, kindly, " I am 
 well aware that Mostyn risked his life in 
 the shrine. It came to my ears some time 
 ago." 
 
 " Great heavens ! Then his secret is 
 known ! He must be in deadly danger." 
 
 She stared at Haroun with agonised eyes. 
 
 " You have little cause to fear. If the 
 man were a spy, he has gone away under the 
 firm impression that I am Mostyn." 
 
 " What made him think that ? " 
 
 " I told him so. He had no reason to 
 doubt my word. He heard me addressed as 
 Mr Anstey ; he congratulated me on my 
 engagement to you. I was proud to 
 acknowledge so charming a fiancee. Surely, 
 Candida, you would not have me disown 
 you, if anybody. Christian or Mohammedan, 
 paid me the compliment of supposing I was 
 your choice ? " 
 
 He spoke with his old raillery, and smiled 
 in the boyish fashion which appealed to all 
 lovers of youth. 
 
 " But don't you see," whispered the girl, 
 fearfully, "you took the danger upon 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! What would be danger to 
 
264 World Without End 
 
 Mostyn is not to me. I understand these 
 people so well, I am capable of dealing with 
 them. Believe me, I am perfectly safe, and 
 able to protect myself. I will see that 
 Mostyn is preserved unscathed — you can 
 trust me for that ; only in return for the 
 service I may be able to render, grant me 
 one small request." 
 
 "Anything in the world," she answered, 
 gratefully. 
 
 " Silence — that is all I ask. Not a word 
 to Mostyn ! Remember, if you tell him 
 anything of this, you may imperil his future 
 safety. I implore you to trust me implicitly, 
 despite a painful hour long ago, when I 
 might well have forfeited your respect or 
 regard. My brother's life is dearer to me 
 than my own. I mean to guard Mostyn, to 
 shield him if these men are on his track. I 
 have methods which will place him absolutely 
 beyond their reach. I swear by God, and 
 on my own soul." 
 
 Haroun's manner was one of such quiet 
 reverence and absolute assurance, that 
 Candida could not disbelieve him. She 
 knew the tears were welling in her eyes, 
 and, while she longed to tell him just how 
 thankful she felt for his brotherly love and 
 encouraging words, she hardly dared trust 
 herself to speak. He saw the struggle, 
 
I Understand These People 265 
 
 realising she was on the verge of breaking 
 down. 
 
 "There, there!" he said, "don't say any- 
 thing now ; you must keep a firm hold on 
 yourself, my dear child. I know my request 
 is granted already." 
 
 He became unexpectedly paternal ; his 
 boyishness had vanished. He seemed to 
 patronise her, in a soothing, elderly way, 
 which made her feel he was years her 
 senior. 
 
 "How good you are ! " she faltered. " I 
 shall be better in a moment. Of course I 
 will do anything you ask after your great 
 kindness. It's difficult to have a secret from 
 Mostyn, but perhaps you are right. If he 
 guessed my anxiety, it would make him 
 wretched, and it's better for one to suffer 
 than two." 
 
 " But you won't suffer after I have proved 
 to you that there can be no longer any 
 danger. Tell Mrs Whitechurch the Persian 
 was an understudy for the Eastern play, and 
 do not point out the fact that he has left the 
 premises. Here comes Mostyn ; try and 
 look a little more cheerful, or he will think 
 you are tired of him already, and regretting 
 your bargain." 
 
 Haroun left her with this last word of 
 advice, and went to assure himself that 
 
266 World Without End 
 
 Mohamed-ed-Din was no longer to be found. 
 He inquired at the lodge gates if a tall, dark, 
 foreign-looking man had been seen leaving 
 the grounds a short time ago. 
 
 He learned that a person answering to the 
 description recently passed out in hot haste. 
 A motor had been waiting to drive him away ; 
 the chauffeur was masked. 
 
 "It surprised me that a guest should leave 
 so early," the lodge-keeper added, " especially 
 in such an evident hurry. There are many 
 strangers from London here to-day, sir, but 
 I noticed the dark - skinned gentleman 
 especially coming in. He was above the 
 average height, you see, and his complexion 
 caught my eye. He was walking, and didn't 
 go up the drive with the rest. He branched 
 off, crossing the park towards the kitchen 
 garden. He must have gone in that way." 
 
 " To prevent being announced," thought 
 Haroun, as he felt for a coin, and trans- 
 ferred it from his pocket to the lodge-keeper's 
 hand. 
 
 "Just forget to repeat what you saw," he 
 said, confidentially. " Don't mention to Mrs 
 or Miss Whitechurch any details of that 
 fellow's arrival or departure. I have satisfied 
 myself he had no right to be at the party ; 
 he came uninvited, possibly for a bet, or 
 curiosity, one can never tell. After a few 
 
I Understand These People 267 
 
 questions from me he took a hurried 
 departure. Ladies are apt to exaggerate 
 these things, and get scared about burglars." 
 
 " Very good, and much obliged, sir, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 The sound of distant music mingled with 
 the poetry of the summer afternoon. Haroun 
 walked slowly back, meditating. 
 
 "What is danger to Mostyn, is not to me. 
 I told her that," he murmured, with rather a 
 satirical smile at a woman's credulity. " She 
 believed me, and I'm glad. I said I was 
 perfectly safe, but safety is a word of more 
 meanings than one. Safe to suffer, safe to 
 die, or safe to live, what does it matter? 
 The world was made for lovers, and I am 
 not in love." 
 
 He paused, for this last assertion was 
 perhaps untrue. He was in love with Nature, 
 with the sunlight and the moonshine, with 
 the everlasting picture above of floating cloud, 
 of blue and rose, of amber, shining at the rise 
 or fall of day. His art was his mistress, and 
 the whole world held a thousand wild delights. 
 Life was so wonderfully kind to youth, when 
 pleasures were easy of attainment, when 
 already the laurels of success crowned the 
 brow. 
 
 Haroun knew his feet had commenced to 
 climb the dizzy ladder of fame ; now it 
 
268 World Without End 
 
 seemed to totter under the weight of heavy 
 circumstance. 
 
 He drew near the gay scene. 
 
 " Why not enjoy ? " he asked himself with 
 a short, rather mirthless laugh. "To live is 
 good — if only for a day." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IN mostyn's interest 
 
 It was a week before the wedding, but 
 Haroun still kept his promised present ,to 
 the bride a secret. 
 
 " I am going to ask your acceptance of 
 a simple gift, which I venture to think you 
 will like better than anything else in the 
 world," he said. 
 
 "How mysterious ! " she replied, and her 
 eyes looked at him thoughtfully, with a half- 
 puzzled expression. " You rtiake me very 
 curious. I am sure it will be original, and 
 I am equally certain I shall like whatever 
 you choose ; but I do wish you would not 
 keep it a secret any longer, you rather 
 tantalise me." 
 
 " I am sorry. Still I fear you must contain 
 your soul in patience till the wedding-day, 
 and possibly until after the ceremony." 
 
 "Then you are having something made 
 specially ? " 
 
 269 
 
270 World Without End 
 
 "It has yet to be made." 
 
 " Perhaps you will make it yourself? " 
 
 She was thinking of a picture, though he 
 had already given Mostyn a life-sized portrait 
 of the bride. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall." 
 
 "Then you are right, and of course I 
 would rather have your own work than any 
 other present. I am so proud to think I 
 shall be sister to a celebrity. I am always 
 being asked if the young artist who has 
 made his mark is a future relation of mine. 
 The name Anstey has become already 
 familiar in the art world." 
 
 Her words, which were no flattery, ap- 
 peared to give him pain. He shrank a 
 little from the truth, and the realisation of 
 his sudden fame. 
 
 The originality of his work made it 
 popular. His pictures were hung, and found 
 ready purchasers, directly they emerged from 
 the studio at the Priory. 
 
 " You don't like talking about your 
 success ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Why ? You were never shy." 
 
 "It frightens me to realise the shortness 
 of life ; one has so little time to fulfil 
 ambition." 
 
 " You have certainly made the most of 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 271 
 
 your years, I can't see you have anything 
 to regret. Your laurels surely are coming 
 rapidly enough. To be too impatient is to 
 show weakness." 
 
 " I never boasted of being strong. My 
 character moulds itself, and my only tutor 
 is inclination. I told you from the first that 
 if you accepted me as a friend you would 
 find me a mass of weakness. Now, as a 
 sister, you must be even more lenient, 
 because, in knowing me better, you will 
 discover more faults." 
 
 "Yet," she said, "you could do so much 
 if you would. I often feel you want a firmer 
 hold upon yourself, and then you might 
 simply laugh at the world." 
 
 " But I always do. I look on it as a farce, 
 which amuses me immensely." 
 
 " I meant a different kind of laughter — the 
 laughter of triumph." 
 
 " You expect too much." 
 
 "Yet I have a shrewd suspicion I shall 
 not be disappointed." 
 
 She studied his face as she spoke. There 
 was a new expression in his eyes, one she 
 had noticed for the first time as he spoke 
 to her at the garden-party, when the fear 
 of the dark stranger made her heart stand 
 still. 
 
 " I have greater faith in you since that 
 
272 World Without End 
 
 afternoon at Athlone Park," she said. " You 
 were very kind to me then. You made me 
 believe that Mostyn was safe, and you have 
 kept up your influence ever since ; you put 
 fresh life and hope into me. Sometimes I 
 wonder if I shall ever have quite an easy 
 mind again, or if the terror will last to the 
 end of my life. I picture myself always 
 followed by a certain dread. I dream of 
 that dark face in the Athlone garden. My 
 husband misses a train, is detained perhaps 
 in quite an ordinary way, years after we 
 have been married. Instantly the old horror 
 awakes. At last they have seized him, he 
 will never return — never ! The alarm passes, 
 the memory of the shrine fades ; but, each 
 time there is a suspicion of mystery or 
 anxiety, the deed comes back — I see the 
 flash of the knife, remember the vengeance. 
 So I picture my future, which to the public 
 eye appears all roses and honey. They say 
 we ought not to regret that roses have 
 thorns ; we should rather be thankful the 
 thorns have roses." 
 
 She spoke more passionately than was 
 her wont. Haroun could see the traces of 
 deep feeling in her face. He pitied her, 
 knowing how keenly the mental eye may 
 witness scenes of misery and despair. 
 
 " Candida," he said, " you told me just 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 273 
 
 now you had greater faith in me, yet it seems 
 you do not altogether trust my powers of 
 protecting Mostyn. I dare not lay my plans 
 before you — a scheme which will make his 
 deed as if it had never been committed. I 
 told you before, I tell you again, I have 
 undertaken to see this matter through. You 
 must know how deeply I love my brother 
 to forgive him for committing what at one 
 time I considered a crime worthy of death. 
 You have not forgotten one wild, mad day, 
 when in an evil moment I told you the 
 penalty the Mohammedans would inflict for 
 such an outrage. I am only living now 
 to wipe that scene from your mind, to 
 show you I am no wild beast thirsting for 
 blood." 
 
 " Haroun, how was it you had those 
 savage feelings — you, with your great, kind 
 heart, your sympathetic nature?" 
 
 She was wondering fearfully if he might 
 not be overcome again by such a mood, and 
 just as he would save his brother, deliver 
 him instead into the hands of the destroyers. 
 She tried to conceal the terrible thought, 
 realising how quickly he defined the working 
 of her troubled brain. 
 
 "God knows, Candida — don't ask me. 
 The day may come when I shall stand 
 upon a safe pinnacle, when you will see your 
 
 18 
 
274 World Without End 
 
 husband living in security at your side, when 
 no doubt will be left in your heart of the 
 brother whose nature made him vile — whose 
 nature made him pure and true. Sometimes 
 the weakest are the strongest in the end. 
 It is love which gives them strength. Men 
 are heroes for love, and cowards through 
 hate. They are partly brute and partly 
 angel ; the duel must continue to the end." 
 
 He was alone with her in the London 
 drawing-room. Mostyn had gone to write 
 a business letter in the study below. Every 
 now and again they involuntarily lowered 
 their voices, as if some listening ear might 
 catch their words. 
 
 " I have something rather important to 
 say," he continued, after a pause; "it's 
 about the wedding day. Don't think me 
 faithless or unkind if I fail to appear at the 
 church." 
 
 Candida gave a little gasp ; her eyes opened 
 incredulously. 
 
 " Oh ! surely you will be there — Mostyn's 
 only brother. Really we can't spare you, 
 Haroun." 
 
 He smiled — a slow, strange smile which 
 irradiated his features, and lacked the cynical 
 expression that had so often made her feel 
 uncomfortable in his presence. 
 
 " You will spare me when I tell you that 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 275 
 
 it will be in Mostyn's interest I stay away. 
 For that reason I persuaded him to release 
 me from my original promise of being his 
 best man. I pretended to feel nervous of 
 the post ; and as I am always looked upon 
 as something of a crank in the family, I got 
 my way without arousing suspicion. There 
 are certain men who must be watched that 
 day, and I cannot trust hired detectives, for 
 the less known of this matter the better. 
 My work will be outside the church ; but 
 remember this, Candida, my spirit will be 
 near you, blessing you as you kneel — a poor 
 blessing, perhaps, from such as me, but at 
 your service for what it is worth." 
 
 The girl's eyes grew dim. She saw him 
 suddenly through a mist of tears, which gave 
 his face a shadowy appearance. 
 
 " You are very ready to let yourself be 
 misunderstood ; why not have the credit for 
 what you are doing ? Your absence will be 
 misconstrued both by Mostyn, my mother, 
 and your parents. Their feelings will be 
 hurt ; they will attribute your action to lack 
 of interest, even unkindness. You must 
 explain." 
 
 He shrugged - his shoulders, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 "It matters so little to me; I have never 
 made a bid for popularity. Is it not better 
 
276 World Without End 
 
 they should think my conduct somewhat 
 strange and remiss, than suffer pangs of 
 nervousness or apprehension ? You are the 
 only living soul in my confidence. I have 
 paid your sex a high compliment in believing 
 that you, a woman, in love, could keep her 
 own counsel, and even guard a secret from 
 her lover. You won't disappoint me — brave 
 little girl?" 
 
 He took her hand in his quick impulsive 
 way, and pressed it with a certain emotional 
 courtesy to his lips. As he did so, the door 
 opened, and Mohamed-ed-Din was ushered 
 into the room. As the tall, brown-faced 
 stranger stood before them, as the name was 
 announced by the English servant, Candida 
 felt her blood run cold. The colour fled 
 from her cheeks ; she retained her grip of 
 Haroun's hand, as if she dared not let 
 
 The man advanced with a graceful gliding 
 step, and bowed with a show of reverence 
 which momentarily reassured the girl. At 
 least he was not about to assassinate them, 
 though his dark, fierce eyes looked capable 
 of murder. 
 
 "What do you want?" asked Haroun, 
 with a slight show of annoyance. "Why 
 have you come here ? " 
 
 " Your humble servant craves pardon for 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 277 
 
 an act of presumption ; he desired speech 
 with you, and sought your presence far and 
 near. First he journeyed to Roehampton, 
 inquiring there for the house of Mr Mostyn 
 Anstey. Having reached the portals of your 
 fair domain, the retainers informed him that 
 you had taken your excellent presence to this 
 address, the home of your beloved. I fear 
 I thrust myself upon some sweet moments of 
 a hallowed courtship. I crave a thousand 
 pardons; I beg the forgiveness of the lady 
 who is queen of this mansion, and mistress of 
 your heart." 
 
 Haroun gave an airy wave of the hand, as 
 if to dismiss any question of forgiveness. 
 He turned to Candida with such a bright, 
 debonair manner, that it almost deceived her, 
 despite her knowledge, and inward dread of 
 the Mohammedan's presence. 
 
 " My darling," said Haroun, putting his 
 arm round her, and drawing her to the door, 
 " while I am talking to this gentleman, will 
 you go down and tell my young brother 
 that I cannot join him for a few minutes? 
 Perhaps you would keep him company below, 
 or else ask him not to wait for me. Also, 
 kindly see we are left undisturbed." 
 
 "Certainly, Mostyn," she replied, play- 
 ing into his hands by an instinct born of 
 fear. 
 
278 World Without End 
 
 He had willed her to use the name. It 
 seemed to come from her lips in answer to 
 his thought. 
 
 She paused, and looked towards Mohamed- 
 ed-Din. 
 
 " You will not keep my fianc^ long, I trust. 
 We are very busy, and have so many arrange- 
 ments to make." 
 
 "Your ladyship's word is a law before 
 which I bend," replied the Persian stranger, 
 deferentially. " Have no fear that I shall 
 detain Mr Mostyn Anstey from his pleasur- 
 able duties." 
 
 Candida passed out, her cheeks burning 
 now. She felt guilty as well as frightened. 
 Was it fair, after all, to help Haroun in a 
 deception which might work him harm? He 
 had said there was no danger to himself; 
 could she believe that? It seemed unHkely. 
 She was torn between her love for Mostyn 
 and her fear for his brother. At least 
 Mohamed-ed- Din would meet an equal in 
 wit and cunning, if he sought to entrap 
 Haroun. Candida had been often surprised 
 of late by the young artist's powers. Know- 
 ing that he watched Mostyn, it bewildered 
 her to observe his stealthy actions, and the 
 easy way in which he avoided arousing 
 suspicion. She felt herself instinctively 
 taking a lesson from him, and it was the 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 279 
 
 example now of his calm manner which gave 
 her the courage to join her lover with an air 
 of unconcern. 
 
 Meanwhile Haroun held an animated con- 
 versation with the unwelcome guest, whose 
 manner changed visibly to one of excitement 
 as the door closed upon Candida. 
 
 "We have a big yellow diamond," he 
 whispered, " the finest specimen ever seen 
 in London ; it only arrived this morning. If 
 you will come with me now, I can give it to 
 you for a ridiculous price. The reason is 
 simple enough. It was brought to London 
 by my cousin. He has just heard that his 
 father is dying, and he must return to Persia 
 immediately. He has spent much money on 
 his travels, and has not sufficient to take 
 him again across the seas until this magnifi- 
 cent jewel is disposed of He gives me this 
 one day to seek you, and we must join him 
 at his residence, if you are inclined to view 
 the treasure for your bride. To-morrow the 
 great stone will pass to a common man of 
 trade, thus enabling my cousin to quit the 
 country. Surely you could never let so 
 grand an opportunity escape." 
 
 The man's voice trembled with anxiety. 
 He found it difficult to conceal his state 
 of tension ; his eyes glittered, his fingers 
 twitched. 
 
28o World Without End 
 
 "Why should not your cousin bring the 
 diamond to me?" said Haroun, drawing 
 himself up, and looking taller as he spoke. 
 "My time is very full, and I told you I 
 cannot waste a moment until the day and 
 hour appointed. On the morning of my 
 wedding all work will be over ; I can spare a 
 short time then. If this special stone should 
 be unsold, I will be glad to inspect it and 
 make you an offer, but I shall probably 
 have to content myself with less ambitious 
 gifts. Already I have presented my bride 
 with the ornaments she will wear at the 
 ceremony." 
 
 A look of intense disappointment crossed 
 Mohamed-ed-Din's face. He seemed quite 
 dazed for the moment, and muttered to him- 
 self inaudible words of confusion. At last he 
 spoke distinctly. 
 
 " My cousin, poor fellow, he weeps for 
 his father. He lies on his couch with his 
 face to the pillows, and asks me to go 
 and do his work for him, yet he will not 
 entrust the jewel to my care. It is all very 
 foolish ; but he is young, and fears to lose 
 his prize." 
 
 Mohamed-ed-Din's eyes grew moist ; he 
 moved to the door like one who suffers 
 bereavement, and is broken in spirit. 
 
 "If you had but seen," he sighed; "a 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 281 
 
 diamond to make the fair ones of the world 
 crazy with envy towards your wife, and sold 
 at a sacrifice ! But you are young, and 
 though you have travelled far, you still let 
 the good things slip by you. It takes age 
 to realise that the golden opportunity may 
 come but once in a lifetime." 
 
 Haroun laughed lightly. 
 
 " My pocket is the gainer for my prud- 
 ence," he answered. "We have a fixed 
 time, my friend, and it is no good rushing 
 people. I shall not be surprised if the 
 diamond is still in your cousin's keeping 
 when I call. We never know our luck in 
 this world, and certainly on one's wedding 
 day good fortune should hover near." 
 
 The Mohammedan shook his head. 
 
 " A last chance lightly dismissed never 
 comes again. You have yet time to follow 
 me ; but I do not ask, I have spoken — that is 
 enough. Your own opinion will, I am sure, 
 be the most excellent, which is all I may say 
 in respect to your gracious person." 
 
 " Though you think the more," replied 
 Haroun, in a chaffing tone. " Till our next 
 meeting, when I hope I may be in a mood 
 better suited to your liking. I trust your 
 cousin's tears will be dried by an excellent 
 sale of the yellow diamond," 
 
 Thus he parted with the intruder, a smile 
 
282 World Without End 
 
 on his lips and a strange knocking at his 
 heart. 
 
 " I am not afraid," he told himself, staunchly, 
 as he watched at the window to see Mohamed- 
 ed-Din depart, "yet I wonder that devil 
 dared to call ! He had some reason for 
 entering the house. Perhaps he is sus- 
 picious, and doubts my identity. If so, 
 to-day will re-assure him. Candida was 
 splendid. She rose to the occasion with 
 astonishing promptitude ; she paved the way 
 well. Providence brought Mohamed-ed-Din 
 upon the scene at a propitious moment. It is 
 not often I kiss Candida's hand." 
 
 The tall figure of the Persian strode away 
 from the house, without looking back. His 
 teeth were set, he kept his eyes fixed rigidly 
 before him. Turning a corner sharply, he 
 joined two men of his own build and colour- 
 ing. They muttered a curse at seeing him 
 alone. 
 
 "The dog prefers to live a few days 
 longer," he muttered. " Each hour he 
 cumbers the earth is a disgrace and abom- 
 ination ; but we must have patience, my 
 brothers — the day will come." 
 
 They walked on in silence, their features 
 wearing a mask-like stillness. Mohamed-ed- 
 Din breathed hard, as if he had run a race. 
 There were signs of exhaustion in the man, 
 
In Mostyn's Interest 283 
 
 which could only be accounted for by mental 
 suffering. All three were as mourners, wait- 
 ing for some future hour when the resurrec- 
 tion of hope should be given through the 
 blotting out of a deep and feverish grievaince 
 — by prayer and blood. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BEST THAT PERSIA CAN GIVE 
 
 An old house in Chelsea had been rented for 
 a short period by a foreigner, who informed 
 the owners he might be recalled to his native 
 land at any moment. Arrangements were 
 made that a caretaker could be summoned to 
 look after the place whenever the temporary 
 household removed their presence. The new- 
 comers consisted of three men much alike in 
 appearance and age, with a retinue of Persian 
 servants, who talked in their own language, 
 and seldom left the premises. The strangers 
 brought with them a quantity of heavy rugs 
 in brilliant hues, which they spread across the 
 floors, entirely concealing the English carpets. 
 Large double curtains of rich crimson were 
 hung across the sitting-room doors, while 
 divans replaced ordinary British chairs and 
 sofas. No visitors came to the house, and 
 every face in that silent abode wore a sphinx- 
 like expression. Since their arrival, no smile 
 
 284 
 
The Best That Persia Can Give 285 
 
 had ever passed those set lips, or lightened 
 the sombre eyes of Mohamed - ed - Din's 
 retainers. 
 
 A substantial rent having been paid in 
 advance, with a lavish margin for wear and 
 tear, the proprietors of the Chelsea house 
 cared little what manner of men their tenants 
 might be, though they jokingly remarked that 
 in all- probability these men were Government 
 spies, sent over on some diplomatic errand. 
 
 It was late in the day, and a red afterglow 
 from the sun still lingered in the sky, though 
 the rich crimson had faded from the silent 
 waters of the Thames. 
 
 Mohamed-ed-Din and his two companions 
 were seated on a low couch, each with a 
 scroll of paper in their laps. For some 
 moments they remained in silence meditating 
 deeply, then Mohamed-ed-Din shook out his 
 scroll, and read aloud its contents, his listeners 
 hanging upon every word, comparing the 
 text with the writing they also held. Now 
 and again they interrupted, making some 
 comment, or altering the letters on their own 
 copies of the document. 
 
 " What think you of our detailed scheme, 
 Ferdusi?" asked the reader, when he came 
 to the conclusion of his written order. 
 
 Ferdusi, thus named after the Persian 
 poet, nodded approval. 
 
286 World Without End 
 
 " It is good," he said, "and very complete. 
 I find no weak point, no flaw in the splendid 
 working of an elaborate revenge. The child 
 of evil is wiped from the earth as easily, as 
 quietly, as if one trampled on a wasp or 
 exterminated any other worthless creature 
 adding its detestable presence to the vermin 
 of the earth." 
 
 The third figure in the little group rose 
 and stretched the palms of his hands to 
 heaven. 
 
 " So soon ! so soon ! " he gasped, feverishly, 
 his limbs trembling, and his blazing eyes 
 lighted with a fiery vengeance. " Rest in 
 peace. Imam Reza ; by your death agonies 
 we swear that his last pang shall exceed 
 tenfold the sufferings of your saintly end. 
 The fate after death of this cursed Anstey 
 will be equal to that of your murderer, the 
 abhorred Mamoun-al-Rashid. You can sleep 
 well, for your country wipes out this dog 
 of an infidel's crime in blood. Your faith- 
 ful servants fail in nothing ; their glorious 
 task is now upon the eve of success and 
 fulfilment." 
 
 Ferdusi touched a bell, and whispered to 
 his companions. 
 
 In answer to the summons, the door opened 
 silently, the scarlet curtains were drawn, and 
 the servants, each as tall and fierce-looking 
 
The Best That Persia Can Give 287 
 
 as their three masters, advanced to the centre 
 of the room. They stood in Hne, as if upon 
 parade, with soldierly smartness, awaiting the 
 word of command. 
 
 " You are aware," said Ferdusi, " that this 
 is the last night we sleep in our prison-house 
 of thwarted desire. To -morrow will see the 
 washing away of the slur upon our sacred 
 tomb at Mashad ; to-morrow we go forth as 
 conquerors, yet in secret, to take the good 
 news home to our brothers in the holy 
 faith." 
 
 The servants made obeisance. 
 
 " Let each recite his duties," muttered 
 Mohamed-ed-Din, "since equal responsibility 
 lies upon all. One false move, and we may 
 be lost." 
 
 In low, impressive voices they stated one 
 by one the allotted task which lay before 
 them on the morrow. Shortly after noon, 
 no trace would be left of the Chelsea 
 household. The keys were ready to be 
 returned ; all was in order for immediate 
 departure. 
 
 " Perhaps you may like to see the jewels 
 we are to display to-morrow morning for the 
 bridegroom's benefit," said Ferdusi, showing 
 his gleaming white teeth as he spoke. 
 
 He motioned them to a table, upon which 
 lay a long gold -box, studded with precious 
 
288 World Without End 
 
 stones. Slowly he turned the key, raising 
 the lid for the benefit of the onlookers. 
 
 As he opened it fully to their gaze, a 
 sound between a sigh of satisfaction and a 
 half-stifled growl broke from the little group. 
 Within, spread upon quilted satin, lay two 
 large, shining knives with ivory handles 
 and sharp steel blades. It was significant 
 that the rugs, completely covering the room, 
 were of scarlet hue, and heavy enough to 
 absorb the life-stream from a dying man. 
 
 The group of eager spectators surveyed 
 the weapons reverently, with clasped hands, 
 and an expression of intense excitement in 
 their eyes. 
 
 " The best that Persia can give," said 
 Mohamed-ed-Din, placing his fingers on 
 the sharp edges of these deadly -looking 
 weapons. " Let us kneel awhile in prayer, 
 brethren, and supplicate with tears that 
 to-morrow's work will be sure, that the 
 unbeliever pay the price of his great unspeak- 
 able sin, here on his native soil, among his 
 own most damnable countrymen." 
 
 Following the speaker's example, they 
 one and all fell prone upon the ground, bow- 
 ing their foreheads to the floor, and groaning 
 out sob-strangled words, beating upon their 
 breasts as they prayed. 
 
 The blinds of the Chelsea house were 
 
The Best That Persia Can Give 289 
 
 drawn ; passers-by guessed nothing of the 
 scene within. They saw only an old stone 
 house, with figures of saints carved upon the 
 roof, turning their sightless eyes towards the 
 grey river, disturbed by a breathless, bustling 
 tug bearing the picturesque brown -sailed 
 barge of commerce to the sea. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NO SHADOW OF A DOUBT 
 
 " I can't believe," said Diana Anstey, "that 
 you would be so unkind as to absent your- 
 self from your brother's wedding." 
 
 She looked reproachfully at Haroun as 
 she spoke, but he avoided meeting her eyes. 
 He was apparently quite unmoved by the 
 little tremor in her voice, the tone of sup- 
 plication, which gave force to her words. 
 
 "I fail to see what difference my pres- 
 ence would make," he answered lightly. " I 
 am not the bridegroom. I have prepared 
 Candida, and she quite understands. Mostyn 
 will have no time to think of anything but 
 his own happiness that day, and you are 
 sure to be well looked after." 
 
 " But what is your reason for wishing to 
 stay away ? " 
 
 "Have I ever a reason for anything?" 
 
 Diana sighed. She felt very unhappy 
 about her son, and half- suspected some 
 
No Shadow of a Doubt 291 
 
 secret passion might be smouldering in his 
 heart for his stepbrother's beautiful young 
 bride. 
 
 "Would the ceremony be painful to you?" 
 she asked. 
 
 He read her meaning, and laughed aloud. 
 
 " Yes ; that's it, mother. I am in love 
 with Candida. Only think what an embar- 
 rassing situation ! In books and plays two 
 brothers always fall in love with the same 
 girl. Do you blame me for dramatising my 
 life, and playing the role of disconsolate 
 lover?" 
 
 She could tell from his manner he was 
 not in earnest ; his joking words puzzled her 
 the more. 
 
 "If you do not attend the church, at least 
 you will come to the reception, and wish 
 them good luck. Mrs Whitechurch, for one, 
 will never forgive you if you stay away." 
 
 "A terrible thought — to be in the black 
 books of Mrs Whitechurch for life!" 
 
 " But really, Haroun " 
 
 "You can be expecting me, but, to tell 
 you the honest truth, I intend vanishing 
 altogether on that day. I have a holy 
 horror of a wedding. It means so much : the 
 ruin, perhaps, of two lives, the possible source 
 of other ruined souls. But for your marriage 
 with my father I. should never have been 
 
292 World Without End 
 
 planted on this earth to bring worry and 
 trouble on your head. Heaven knows what 
 miserable children Candida and Mostyn may 
 be responsible for in future years ! " 
 
 Diana covered her face with her hands ; 
 his thoughtless remark stung her. She 
 knew her own shortcomings ; every detail 
 of Haroun's birth was as clear in her mind 
 as when he was a baby. His quick sym- 
 pathies were touched at the sight of her 
 sudden distress ; he went to her side, and 
 put his arms round her tenderly. He had a 
 wonderfully affectionate touch ; his warm kiss, 
 and the way he pressed her to his heart, 
 soothed her instantly. 
 
 " You know I love you, mother," he said. 
 " You must always remember that. I want 
 you to know, too, that I love Mostyn, more 
 perhaps than you could ever guess. I 
 wronged him once, as you may remember, 
 in my thoughts. Some day I shall atone for 
 that wrong. ( We couldn't do much on this 
 little planet without love, could we ? It's the 
 height and depth and length and breadth of 
 desire, of greatness, of peace. It's so over- 
 powering, yet so humble and lowly ; it's wide 
 enough to embrace the world, yet narrow 
 enough to creep into our little human hearts,"! 
 
 Already he was charming away Diana's 
 depression. She looked up at him and smiled. 
 
No Shadow of a Doubt 293 
 
 " Haroun," she said, " I am feeling more 
 resigned now. If you do not want to go to 
 the wedding, I won't say another word, only 
 I can't imagine what you will do with yourself 
 to-morrow. At least I hope your thoughts 
 will be with us." 
 
 He loosened his hold of the frail figure 
 (Diana grew thinner as age advanced), and 
 moved to the window, where he stood gazing 
 out upon the Priory garden, towards the spot 
 where he was born. 
 
 " I shall hear the bells ringing in my brain, 
 the joy-bells for Mostyn and Candida," he 
 said slowly. " Perhaps I shall rest, and dream 
 of them in my sleep." 
 
 He opened the long French windows, and 
 stood a moment in the sunlight, gazing up 
 towards the sky. Then, without another 
 word, he passed into the garden, and walked 
 in the direction of the studio. He let him- 
 self in with a key, and drew up the blinds. 
 A small inlaid table with writing materials 
 stood by ' Billy,' the idol. Taking up a 
 pen, he wrote quickly to Candida a letter 
 to be posted early the following morning, a 
 letter which would reach her on her wedding 
 night. Without pausing, he reeled off the 
 words. His hand was firm and steady, though 
 a sudden dampness broke upon his brow. 
 
 Sealing the contents, he placed the envelope 
 
294 World Without End 
 
 in his pocket, and went quickly back to the 
 house. For the first time he had purposely 
 let Mostyn out of his sight, feeling sure his 
 brother would be safe to-day, since he had 
 taken care to send Mohamed-ed-Din a line 
 the previous night, confirming the appoint- 
 ment for the wedding morning, and remind- 
 ing him that punctuality meant everything on 
 such a day. 
 
 Seeing the coast clear, he now hurried to 
 Mostyn's room and closed the door. 
 
 "As Mostyn," he said, "my character 
 must be complete. Those devils are so 
 sharp, they would notice if my underlinen 
 were marked with the wrong initials." 
 
 Quickly he ransacked the newly-packed 
 luggage in the bridegroom's room, extracting 
 one of each garment upon which an initial 
 would be needed, even to a handkerchief, 
 leaving the boxes as tidy as if no stealthy 
 hand had purloined some of the contents. 
 A card case with Mostyn's cards he also 
 transferred to his pocket. 
 
 Later in the day he asked his mother for 
 the key of the safe, saying he wanted to find 
 a valuable scarf-pin he had put away amongst 
 her jewellery, in case he should change his 
 mind at the last moment, and go after all to 
 the wedding. 
 
 He went alone to the safe, having care- 
 
No Shadow of a Doubt 295 
 
 fully procured the key at a moment when he 
 knew she was engaged. From a leather 
 case he drew a large gold watch presented 
 to Mostyn Anstey by some members of a 
 geographical society, and inscribed fully with 
 their names and his, and an allusion to a 
 famous journey he had made for exploration 
 purposes. 
 
 " This will complete my costume to- 
 morrow," he said, as he read the writing on 
 the watch. "I do not think there will be 
 the shadow of a doubt as to the identity 
 of my body when the Mohammedans have 
 fulfilled their vengeance." 
 
 That evening Haroun put forth all his 
 powers of fascination in order to try and 
 charm his parents and those about him. 
 Diana recognised the special effort, the forced 
 spirits, the desire to please. 
 
 "Perhaps," she thought, "it is to make 
 amends for his churlish resolve about the 
 wedding." 
 
 She was also surprised that the mysterious 
 present he kept promising the bride had 
 not yet appeared. 
 
 " It isn't quite ready," he said, " Possibly 
 she will receive news of it by post to- 
 morrow." 
 
 He remembered Candida asking if it were 
 to be made specially, and his reply that 
 
296 World Without End 
 
 perhaps he would make it himself, with his 
 own hands. 
 
 What could he give her better than a 
 sacrifice, a willing gift from the heart, a 
 present of future peace, of safety for the man 
 she loved ? 
 
 When the household slept, Diana lay late 
 into the night thinking of her son. As her 
 eyes closed, she fell to dreaming of Haroun, 
 and troubled visions of his face, distorted by 
 some mysterious pain, haunted her. At 
 daybreak she woke, feeling so uneasy that 
 she rose and went noiselessly to his room. 
 
 He lay quite still, with an expression of 
 perfect serenity on his unconscious features. 
 Beside the bed she noticed a stamped letter 
 addressed to Candida at the country-house 
 a friend was to lend for the honeymoon. 
 
 A sudden temptation seized her to open 
 the letter and read. She hardly knew why, 
 but she could only restrain her hand with 
 difficulty from grasping the missive penned to 
 another. She seemed to know it held a secret, 
 the explanation of his intended absence. 
 
 " I would never pry into my son's affairs," 
 she said, turning away with a shudder at the 
 very thought. " God grant I may be forgiven 
 for the burden I brought into his life." 
 
 She stepped back and pressed a light kiss 
 on the ruffled hair. Something of the old 
 
No Shadow of a Doubt 297 
 
 tenderness which only a mother can feel to 
 the helpless babe in her arms, came back to 
 Diana now. She forgot that even in his 
 infancy she had feared Haroun. Those baby 
 eyes convicted her long ago, looking out 
 upon a strange world, with that odd absence 
 of youth, that knowledge of a past — vague, 
 shadowy, lurid — a past perchance of violence 
 and war, in the far-away childhood of civilisa- 
 tion. To-night he was her baby, her all, 
 the little thing she crushed to her heart, 
 a resurrected portion of her own soul. 
 
 She returned to her room comforted by 
 the memory of his calm breathing, by the 
 kiss she had left on the waving hair with a 
 word of blessing and a tender smile. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 GOD BE WITH HIM 
 
 Candida stood looking at herself in a long 
 gilt-edged mirror. The sight was a pleasing 
 one, and happiness sang loudly in her heart, 
 with just a faint undertone of sorrow, 
 mingling with dread. She saw reflected a 
 white - robed figure, shrouded in a veil of 
 Brussels lace, floating round her in lovely 
 folds, and a stately train drifting from her 
 shoulders across the floor, upon which a 
 sheet had been spread. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch rested her eyes with 
 pride upon her daughter. 
 
 " Perfection ! " she said. " I hope you 
 are not nervous. I ought to be getting off 
 to the church in a few minutes, and you had 
 better wait upstairs until your uncle fetches 
 you. The carriage will be here in about a 
 quarter of an hour. Kiss -me once again, 
 de^r child, and tell me you are quite 
 contented, quite sure of yourself." 
 
 298 
 
God be With Him 299 
 
 Candida lifted her veil, and raised a 
 beaming face to her mother. 
 
 "Of course I am absolutely happy. I 
 only wish the ceremony were over, because 
 I have feared from the first that it was all 
 too good to be true. Even now I feel as if 
 some cruel stroke of fortune might keep 
 Mostyn from my side." 
 
 " Oh ! that is just a morbid fancy ; you 
 have no ground for thinking so," replied Mrs 
 Whitechurch, who had heard nothing of 
 Mohamed-ed- Din's visit to their London 
 house, or Haroun's mission of watchful 
 detective. " I must say I am rather dis- 
 gusted with your future brother - in - law. 
 After all his professions of friendship for 
 me, he has failed us to-day — of all days. 
 I wrote and asked him to look after me 
 especially, escort me up the aisle and accom- 
 pany me into the vestry. I received a 
 short note from him of six words : ' I pray 
 thee have me excused.' " 
 
 " How like Haroun — no explanation ! He 
 always has been, and always will be, 
 mysterious." 
 
 Candida laughed lightly, but that ominous 
 knocking at her heart continued. She 
 wondered just how grateful she ought to 
 feel to Haroun for watching the movements 
 of Mostyn's enemies, and even taking the 
 
300 World Without End 
 
 risk upon his own shoulders by temporarily 
 assuming his brother's name. 
 
 Mrs Whitechurch, with one more satisfied 
 look at the bride, left her to meditate upon 
 her speedy entrance to that holy estate 
 from which the springs of joy and sorrow 
 flow ever in floods of honey or gall. 
 
 Only a few moments of solitude, but they 
 were precious to Candida. The uncle who 
 was to give her away had not yet completed 
 the finishing touches of a faultless toilet ; 
 her maid had gone to the church ; and she 
 stood alone, with hands clasped, and eyes 
 looking out into the future, no longer seeing 
 the white image which the mirrors flung back 
 as the sunlight danced around the room. 
 
 Her lips moved in prayer, yet she was 
 not breathing Mostyn's name. A sudden 
 fear for Haroun took possession of her mind. 
 What if he were running some risk, in that 
 lighthearted way which was apt to deceive ? 
 Those enigmatical natures were often the 
 most courageous when danger threatened. 
 He had told her his own life was safe, but 
 could she believe him? He understood the 
 Mohammedans, he said ; he knew how to 
 deal with such people. How did he know ? 
 How did he understand ? 
 
 She moved to and fro slowly, to work off 
 the agitation which lay heavily on her mind. 
 
God be With Him 301 
 
 "God be with him," she murmured, "and 
 protect him in his rash youth ! " 
 
 Something seemed to tell her Mostyn 
 was safe, and free from pursuit. Their day 
 of happiness had dawned, the hour of 
 fulfilment was at hand. 
 
 An elderly, soldier-like man came bustling 
 into the room. 
 
 " All well .-* " he queried. " Congratulations 
 on a charming effect. Your mother is a woman 
 of taste ; she tells me the bridal gown was 
 her own design." 
 
 "As a matter of fact, I think an artist 
 suggested the idea. Mother wanted me to 
 look like an old picture, not a fashion plate, 
 and Haroun Anstey set his sharp brains to 
 work out the scheme." 
 
 "Well, I'm proud to give you away. You 
 are in for it now, Candida — no escape." 
 
 He laughed cheerily as the door opened 
 and a young footman informed the bride that 
 the carriage awaited her. He gathered up 
 the train, with a certain reverence in his 
 touch for the exquisite embroideries and 
 delicate fabric. Below, the butler held a 
 magnificent bouquet, which he placed in 
 Candida's hand as she reached the hall. 
 The fragrance from the flowers almost over- 
 powered her for a moment. 
 
 Outside, a few curious pedestrians waited 
 
302 World Without End 
 
 to see the figure of romance pass from her 
 maidenhood's home to the chariot of fate 
 which should bear her to God's house, 
 where, in the face of the congregation, she 
 might make her vows, as she would answer 
 at the dreadful day of judgment. 
 
 The drive was but a short one, and 
 Candida spoke little. Her uncle under- 
 stood her silence. 
 
 The chief figure in any pageant must 
 always experience something of numbness 
 and awe — a certain halting of vivid realisa- 
 tion, a sensation that actions viewed by so 
 many eyes become mechanical. 
 
 As Candida entered the crowded church, 
 and, headed by a full -voiced choir, moved 
 slowly up the aisle with downcast eyes, she 
 thought only of the one she would meet 
 before the altar — the heart of her heart, the 
 love of her life, the twin-soul to whom she 
 had come to be joined by will and ordinance 
 of holy rite. 
 
 Safe, and unscathed by his secret foes, 
 stood Mostyn, the man of travel, still 
 bronzed by foreign suns — a bridegroom 
 worthy of the beautiful woman with her 
 pure girl's heart and stainless life. 
 
 Many were the curious eyes watching 
 the simple process of the familiar service. 
 Words spoken unfalteringly, the binding gold 
 
God be With Him 303 
 
 received as a token and pledge, the bursting 
 forth of joyful song, and then the passing 
 from sight of those two central figures, as 
 they followed the clergy who had bound 
 them fast. 
 
 " Be unto them a tower of strength," the 
 minister had said, in the words of ' common 
 prayer,' and the answer rose with little 
 thought, perchance, of its dire necessity — 
 " From the face of their enemy." 
 
 Candida fancied she saw the face. It was 
 dark and sinister, rising with a cruel smile 
 before the eye of imagination — the face of 
 Mohamed-ed-Din, as he had bowed before 
 her when she called Haroun Mostyn, when 
 she put the brother in the lover's place. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PERSIA IS TOO STRONG 
 
 The crowded reception was over ; bride and 
 bridegroom had left behind a throng of 
 smiling faces and loving hearts. 
 
 Mostyn felt glad, after all his travels, that 
 Candida had expressed a wish to spend at 
 least the first part of the honeymoon in 
 a country-house, where rest and privacy 
 ceuld be preserved. The fashionable hotel 
 or the gay seaside resort held little charm 
 for her at such a time. 
 
 Berrington Castle, the residence for 
 centuries of the lords of Berrington, looked 
 an ideal retreat for a newly-married pair, 
 as they drove up the long avenue at the 
 close of a tiring and exciting day. 
 
 All the surroundings breathed peace. 
 The deer grazing in the park, with their 
 slumbrous eyes, were already half hidden 
 by the shadows of evening. The g&,rdens. 
 
Persia is Too Strong 305 
 
 rich in flowers, gave forth a scent of roses, 
 jessamine, and honeysuckle. 
 
 In every window of the castle lights 
 glowed. The great iron-clamped door stood 
 open, and a flood of brightness illuminated 
 the old oak hall. 
 
 As Candida entered beside her husband, 
 the organ in the high carved gallery gave 
 forth a volume of sound. Once more the 
 strains of the ' Wedding March ' burst upon 
 their ears. The organist, though intent 
 upon his playing, nevertheless glanced over 
 his shoulder to try and snatch a glimpse of 
 the happy pair below. He could not see 
 the bride's face, as she paused to speak to 
 the servants, but he caught the bend of her 
 graceful figure and the tall outline of Mostyn 
 Anstey, standing close to his young wife. 
 
 On all sides a profusion of white flowers 
 gave the house an air of festivity. It almost 
 seemed to Candida that the grave pictured 
 ancestors smiled down from their massive 
 frames, as if knowing that the dawn of love 
 had entered through those open portals from 
 the soft sumifler evening without. 
 
 While they-* lingered below, Candida's 
 maid hurried upstairs to unpack a delicate 
 lace teagown for her mistress to wear at the 
 evening meal. The bride's windows looked 
 out across a glorious stretch of country. 
 
 20 
 
3o6 World Without End 
 
 The eye could travel unretarded beyond 
 stretches of green park to distant hills 
 where little homesteads would soon light 
 their twinkling lamps. The furniture had 
 an old-world air, "almost funereal," the maid 
 thought, as she surveyed the black carving 
 on the wardrobe and the elaborate decora- 
 tions of a huge four-posted bed. The canopy 
 above of heavy velvet, the weird faces on 
 the oak pillars, hardly pleased her fancy. 
 She thought of all the histories the house 
 held within its silent walls, feeling she would 
 not be sorry when Mrs Anstey appeared, to 
 bring a ray of living brightness to the solemn 
 chamber. She had not long to wait. 
 
 " What a glorious room ! " cried Candida, 
 to whom the old historical homes of England 
 were almost sacred in their beauty. She 
 loved a house with the mysterious individu- 
 ality of a past age, with legends clinging to 
 every stone. 
 
 "I was thinking, miss (I beg your 
 pardon — ma'am), that it was just a little 
 gloomy with so much of this dark carving 
 about. I would rather have seen you in a 
 nice white room with cheerful wallpaper 
 and lighjter hangings." 
 
 The maid shook out the diaphanous tea- 
 gown, as if to emphasise her words, putting 
 a touch here and there to the ribbons 
 
Persia is Too Strong 307 
 
 and laces which stamped it as essentially 
 Parisian. 
 
 " Oh ! don't worry about me, Severn. I 
 am in such very good spirits that all the 
 ghosts of the Berrington family could not 
 depress or alarm me to-night. If they walk 
 the corridors, I shall bid them welcome. 
 Poor souls ! Where they are gone, we're 
 told, there is no marrying or giving in 
 marriage." 
 
 Severn looked rather shocked at the levity 
 of Candida's remark. 
 
 "At least I hope I shall not meet them," 
 she said. 
 
 With deft fingers she rearranged the 
 bride's hair, talking of the wedding, and 
 repeating remarks she had overheard in the 
 church. 
 
 Even so short a separation from her 
 husband seemed wasted moments to Candida. 
 She thought of the peaceful evening they 
 would spend wandering in those wonderful 
 old gardens among the moonbeams. 
 
 She could see a fountain playing on the 
 lawn, and a sundial in shadow. She knew 
 where the old mulberry trees grew near 
 the disused fort, and confessed to herself 
 that alone she would hardly have cared to 
 explore them in the dark. But with Mostyn 
 beside her, every fear vanished. She no 
 
3o8 World Without End 
 
 longer thought of Mohamed-ed-Din, for had 
 not the wedding passed off smoothly ? and 
 now they were away unscathed — now she 
 could feel more confident of the future. 
 
 " Haroun watched well," she told herself. 
 " I must write to him to-morrow. He will 
 probably send me a line to-night ; he said I 
 should hear about his present." 
 
 As if in answer to her thoughts, a letter 
 was brought to the door. Severn took it in, 
 and handed it to her mistress. Candida was 
 already dressed in the easy white gown, with 
 a simple row of pearls about her neck and a 
 sprig of orange blossom from the Berrington 
 trees fastened in her hair. 
 
 She knew Haroun's writing at once, and 
 smiled as she took the envelope from the 
 tray. 
 
 "How good of him," she said, seating 
 herself at the corner of the bed, and resting 
 her head against the dark oak pillar. 
 
 She was curious to see if he would tell her 
 his movements of the day. It was as well, 
 perhaps, the letter had been brought to her 
 alone, though she intended explaining to 
 Mostyn just how anxious his brother had felt 
 on his behalf, and the pains taken by Haroun 
 for their safety at the wedding. 
 
 She broke the seal, while Severn arranged 
 the silver ornaments on the dressing-table. 
 
Persia is Too Strong 309 
 
 The white figure of the bride looked 
 strangely ethereal against the deep crimson 
 coverlet, with its old - fashioned fringe of 
 gold. 
 
 The writing was clear and plain. From 
 between the sheets of paper a familiar coin 
 fell into Candida's lap, the coin Haroun 
 called his mascot, which had been lost and 
 found at the Priory. 
 
 Candida read the words slowly at first, 
 then with increasing haste, arrested only by 
 a temporary cloud which dimmed her eyes, 
 blurring the distinct letters, and shrouding 
 the room in darkness. 
 
 "Sweet Bride." 
 
 (The opening was so like Haroun — he 
 had something of the flowery Persian in 
 him ; he loved soft words.) 
 
 " By the time this reaches your hand, you 
 will be my sister — a sister to one in a shadow- 
 world, far beyond the reach of family love or 
 earthly affection. My wedding gift is of little 
 price to me, of great price to yourself. I 
 have reason to hate this present life. Un- 
 knowingly I committed a deed which made 
 it impossible for me to carry on the daily 
 curse of my dual nature. Once you saw 
 the ugly side, and this will help you to 
 understand. In a dream, which became 
 reality, I betrayed my brother. I brought 
 
3IO World Without End 
 
 the Great Vengeance, the thirsty bloodhounds, 
 iipon his track, in hot haste from Mashad, 
 with murder in their hearts, fixed as surely 
 as there is a God in heaven. From that 
 moment Mostyn Anstey's name was written 
 in the fatal book, marked upon the list of 
 the condemned ; nothing — absolutely nothing 
 — but his death could wipe out the offence. 
 For that reason I took his name, made 
 myself known to them, and worked to com- 
 plete the end they had in view. While you 
 and Mostyn are made one, I shall be paving 
 the way for your perfect peace and safety in 
 the future. No fear need ever cross your 
 mind again, no dreaded revenge darken your 
 path, no still, small voice of warning knock 
 at the door of your fond wife's heart. I 
 imperilled my brother, how and why I cannot 
 explain, but now I give him to you with the 
 willing sacrifice of my own blood. Tell 
 them at home to make no search for me. 
 Persia is too strong ; she will bury me with 
 the secrets of her past. I have taken 
 Mostyn's place ; I am going in his stead to 
 pay the price demanded by Mohamed-ed-Din 
 and his countrymen. I go with my eyes 
 open, I go with a blessing in my heart for 
 you — I die for my own faith ! 
 
 "Your Brother Haroun." 
 Candida sprang to her feet. With one hand 
 
Persia is Too Strong 311 
 
 she supported herself against the pillar, with 
 the other she pointed to the door. 
 
 " Fetch your master! " she gasped. 
 
 Severn ran to obey. The white face of 
 the bride, the staring, terrified eyes, told her 
 that something dreadful had occurred. . 
 
 In a moment Mostyn was at Candida's 
 side. 
 
 Severn closed the door as he caught the 
 trembling figure in his arms. The letter 
 fluttered to the ground between them. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY NEILL AND CO., LTD., EDINBURGH. 
 

 
 
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