ed bowed and passed out. A moment later he was in his room.

In a corner was a trunk. In another a shirt-box. Tancred gathered his
traps together, and tossed some into the one, some into the other, a
proceeding at which Zut yelped and fawned with delight. Evidently on him
at least the attractions of the bungalow had begun to pall.

"Yes, Zut, we are going."

And at this the dog yelped again and curveted sheer across the room.

"But you must be quiet," Tancred added. "There, be still."

He was thinking of Mrs. Lyeth, and wondering whether he should see her
before he went. If he could exchange but one word with her, surely, he
told himself, she would understand. He lounged to the window and leaned
on the sill.

It was one of those afternoons, brutal and terrible in beauty, which
only the equator provides. The sky was like the curtain of an alcove,
the sun a vomiter of living glare. Beyond was a riot of color such as
Delacroix never dreamed, a combination more insolent than the Quetzal
possesses, all the primaries interstriated, a rainbow of insolent hues.
And there, in white, a parasol over her head, a basket dangling from her
wrist, Liance appeared, emerging, as her father had, from the coppice
beyond.

Instinctively he drew back: he had no wish to see her eyes charged with
hate again. She was not one to forgive, he knew; the beauty of the
equator was in her, and its pitilessness as well. And yet, he reflected,
if I could but tell her not alone how she and I have erred, but how
sorry I am for it all. But no; manifestly an explanation was impossible.
Did he attempt one it might inculpate another. He was not alone solely
to blame, he was blockaded in his own disgrace. He told himself this; he
repeated it even in varying keys; but beneath it all he felt that some
redress should be. The idea that the house he had entered as an honored
guest would see him depart in shame had already brought the blood to his
cheeks. And that blood now was leaving a stain that years would not
efface. "I must write," he decided; "I must write some word." And he was
about to seat himself at the table, when Atcheh appeared.

"Tuan," he murmured, in the soft vocables of his tongue. "The gharry
waits your lordship."

At this Zut, who was surprisingly polyglot of ear, yelped with renewed
delight. Tancred pointed to his effects, and waited until they had been
removed. It was possible, he reflected, that he might meet Liance or
Mrs. Lyeth in