place in the roadstead where the American yacht had been anchored.
Only last night had he laughed and chatted with the Athertons? It
was a lifetime ago! In one night his youth had gone from him. In
one night he had piled up a debt that was beyond payment. He gave
a quick glance up at the brilliant sky and then went into the
house. In the sitting-room he started slowly to pace the floor,
his hands clasped behind him, an unlit cigarette clenched between
his teeth. The mechanical action steadied him and enabled him to
concentrate his thoughts. Monotonously he tramped up and down the
long narrow room, unconscious of time, until at last he dropped on
to a chair beside the writing table and laid his head down on his
arms with a weary sigh. The little still body seemed present with
him. O Hara San's face continually before him--piteous as he had
seen it last, joyous as she had greeted him and thoughtful as when
he had first seen it.

That first time--the memory of it rose vividly before him. He had
been in Yokohama about a month and was settled in his bungalow. He
had gone to the woods to sketch and had found her huddled at the
foot of a steep rock from which she had slipped. Her ankle was
twisted and she could not move. He had offered his assistance and
she had gazed at him, without speaking, for a few moments, with
serious grey eyes that looked oddly out of place in her little
oval face. Then she had answered him in slow carefully pronounced
English. He had laughingly insisted on carrying her home and had
just gathered her up into his arms when the old armah arrived,
voluble with excitement and alarm for her charge. But the girl had
explained to her in rapid Japanese and the woman had hurried on to
the house to prepare for them, leaving Craven to follow more
slowly with his light burden. He had stayed only a few minutes,