, and it had a
melancholy note. It was like a cry for help. Davidson took no notice. He
was in the middle of a long anecdote and without change of expression
went on. The gramophone continued. Miss Thompson put on one reel after
another. It looked as though the silence of the night were getting on
her nerves. It was breathless and sultry. When the Macphails went to bed
they could not sleep. They lay side by side with their eyes wide open,
listening to the cruel singing of the mosquitoes outside their curtain.

"What's that?" whispered Mrs Macphail at last.

They heard a voice, Davidson's voice, through the wooden partition. It
went on with a monotonous, earnest insistence. He was praying aloud. He
was praying for the soul of Miss Thompson.

Two or three days went by. Now when they passed Miss Thompson on the
road she did not greet them with ironic cordiality or smile; she passed
with her nose in the air, a sulky look on her painted face, frowning, as
though she did not see them. The trader told Macphail that she had tried
to get lodging elsewhere, but had failed. In the evening she played
through the various reels of her gramophone, but the pretence of mirth
was obvious now. The ragtime had a cracked, heart-broken rhythm as
though it were a one-step of despair. When she began to play on Sunday
Davidson sent Horn to beg her to stop at once since it was the Lord's
day. The reel was taken off and the house was silent except for the
steady pattering of the rain on the iron roof.

"I think she's getting a bit worked up," said the trader next day to
Macphail. "She don't know what Mr Davidson's up to and it makes her
scared."

Macphail had caught a glimpse of her that morning and it struck him that
her arrogant expression had changed. There was in her face a hunted
look. The half-caste gave him a sidelong glance.

"I suppose you don't know what Mr Davidson is doing about it?" he
hazarded.

"No, I don't."

It was singular that Horn should ask him that question, for he also had
the idea that the missionary was mysteriously at work. He had an
impression that he was weaving a net around the woman, carefully,
systematically, and suddenly, when everything was ready would pull the
strings tight.

"He told me to tell her," said the trader, "that if at any time she
wanted him she only had to send and he'd come."

"What did she say when you told her that?"

"She didn't say nothing. I didn't stop. I just said what he said I