book, he gave himself out as a large, vaguely important person
journeying on a large, vague errand.

"But you are a griffin?" she had said, as they sat together at tea.

"Pardon?" he ventured, wary and alarmed, wondering whether he could
claim this unknown term as in character with his part.

"I mean," Miss Forrester explained, smiling, "it is your first visit to
the Far East?"

"Oh, yes," he replied eagerly, blushing. He would have given worlds to
say, "No."

"Griffins are such nice little monsters," she purred. "I like them."

Sometimes at night, waked by the snores of a fat Prussian in the upper
berth, he lay staring into the dark, while the ship throbbed in unison
with his excited thoughts. He was amazed at his happy recklessness. He
would never see her again; he was hurrying toward lonely and uncertain
shores; yet this brief voyage outvalued the rest of his life.

In time, they had left Penang,--another unheeded background for her
arch, innocent, appealing face,--and forged down the Strait of Malacca
in a flood of nebulous moonlight. It was the last night out from
Singapore. That veiled brightness, as they leaned on the rail, showed
her brown hair fluttering dimly, her face pale, half real, half magical,
her eyes dark and undefined pools of mystery. It was late; they had been
silent for a long time; and Rudolph felt that something beyond the
territory of words remained to be said, and that the one brilliant epoch