haunted him. In the big bungalow on the Bluff; rising from the sea
as he leaned on the steamer rail; during the long nights on the ship
as he lay sleepless in the narrow brass cot; last night in the crowded
railway carriage--then it had been so vivid that he had held his breath
and glanced around stealthily with hunted eyes at his fellow passengers
looking for the horrified faces that would tell him that they also saw
what he could see. He never knew how long it lasted, minutes or seconds,
holding him rigid until it passed to leave him bathed in perspiration.
Environment seemed to make no difference. It came as readily in a crowd
as when he was alone. He lived in perpetual dread of betraying his
obsession. Once only it had happened--in the bungalow, the night
before he left Japan, and his involuntary cry had brought the watchful
valet. And as he crossed the room Craven had distinctly seen him pass
through the little recumbent figure and, with blazing eyes, had dragged
him roughly to one side, pointing and muttering incoherently. And Yoshio
had seemed to understand. Sceptical as he was about the supernatural,
at first Craven's doubt had been rudely shaken; but with the steadying
of his nerves had come the conviction that the vision was inward,
though at the moment so real that often his confidence momentarily
wavered, as last night in the train. It came with no kind of regularity,
no warning that might prepare him. And recurrence brought no mitigation,
no familiarising that could temper the acute horror it inspired. To what
pitch of actuality might it attain? To what lengths might it drive him?
He dragged his thoughts up sharply. To dwell on it was fatal, that way
lay insanity. He set his teeth and forced himself to think of other
things. There was ample material. There was primarily the salvage of
a wasted life. During the last few weeks he had been forced to a
self-examination that had been drastically thorough. The verdict
had been an adverse one. Personal criticism, once aroused, went far.
The purposeless life that he had led seemed now an insult to his