"He was my father," she whispered almost inaudibly. But it sounded
to Craven as if she had shouted it from the housetop. Without a
word he turned from her and stumbled toward the verandah steps. He
must get away, he must be alone--alone with the night to wrestle
with this ghastly tangle.

O Hara San sprang to her feet in terror. She did not understand
what had happened. Her mother had rarely spoken of the man who
had first betrayed and then deserted her--she had loved him too
faithfully; with the girl's limited experience all western faces
seemed curiously alike and the similarity of an uncommon name
conveyed nothing to her for she did not realize that it was
uncommon. She could not comprehend this terrible change in the man
who had never been anything but gentle with her. She only knew
that he was going, that something inexplicable was taking him from
her. A wild scream burst from her lips and she sprang across the
verandah, clinging to him frantically, her upturned face
beseeching, striving to hold him.

"Bar-ree, Bar-ree! you must not go. I die without you. Bar-ree! my
love--" Her voice broke in a frightened whisper as he caught her
head in his hands and stared down at her with eyes that terrified
her.

"Your--love?" he repeated with a strange ring in his voice, and
then he laughed--a terrible laugh that echoed horribly in the
silent night and seemed to snap some tension in his brain. He tore
away her hands and fled down the steps into the garden. He ran
blindly, instinctively turning to the hillside track that led