what can and cannot be compromised

I imagine they are waiting for a politics with the maturity to balance idealism andrealism, to distinguish between what can and cannot be compromised, to admit thepossibility that the other side might sometimes have a point. They don’t alwaysunderstand the arguments between right and left, conservative and liberal, but theyrecognize the difference between dogma and common sense, responsibility andirresponsibility, between those things that last and those that are fleeting. 　　They are out there, waiting for Republicans and Democrats to catch up with them. Chapter 2 Values THE FIRST TIME I saw the White House was in 1984. I had just graduated fromcollege and was working as a community organizer out of the Harlem campus of theCity College of New York. President Reagan was proposing a round of student aid cutsat the time, and so I worked with a group of student leaders—most of them black,Puerto Rican, or of Eastern European descent, almost all of them the first in theirfamilies to attend college—to round up petitions opposing the cuts and then deliverthem to the New York congressional delegation. 　　It was a brief trip, spent mostly navigating the endless corridors of the RayburnBuilding, getting polite but cursory audiences with Hill staffers not much older than Iwas. But at the end of the day, the students and I took the time to walk down to the Malland the Washington Monument, and then spent a few minutes gazing at the WhiteHouse. Standing on Pennsylvania Avenue, a few feet away from the Marine guardstation at the main entrance, with pedestrians weaving along the sidewalk and trafficwhizzing behind us, I marveled not at the White House’s elegant sweep, but rather atthe fact that it was so exposed to the hustle and bustle of the city; that we were allowedto stand so close to the gate, and could later circle to the other side of the building topeer at the Rose Garden and the residence beyond. The openness of the White Housesaid something about our confidence as a democracy, I thought. It embodied the notionthat our leaders were not so different from us; that they remained subject to laws andour collective consent. 　　Twenty years later, getting close to the White House wasn’t so simple. Checkpoints,armed guards, vans, mirrors, dogs, and retractable barricades now sealed off a two-block perimeter around the White House. Unauthorized cars no longer traveledPennsylvania Avenue. On a cold January afternoon, the day before my swearing in tothe Senate, Lafayette Park was mostly empty, and as my car was waved through theWhite House gates and up the driveway, I felt a glancing sadness at what had been lost.

Others thought that I was being

I made this same argument in a letter I sent to the left-leaning blog Daily Kos inSeptember 2005, after a number of advocacy groups and activists had attacked some ofmy Democratic colleagues for voting to confirm Chief Justice John Roberts. My staffwas a little nervous about the idea; since I had voted against Roberts’s confirmation,they saw no reason for me to agitate such a vocal part of the Democratic base. But I hadcome to appreciate the give-and-take that the blogs afforded, and in the days followingthe posting of my letter, in true democratic fashion, more than six hundred peopleposted their comments. Some agreed with me. Others thought that I was being tooidealistic—that the kind of politics I was suggesting could not work in the face of theRepublican PR machine. A sizable contingent thought that I had been “sent” byWashington elites to quell dissent in the ranks, and/or had been in Washington too longand was losing touch with the American people, and/or was—as one blogger later putit—simply an “idiot.” 　　Maybe the critics are right. Maybe there’s no escaping our great political divide, anendless clash of armies, and any attempts to alter the rules of engagement are futile. Ormaybe the trivialization of politics has reached a point of no return, so that most peoplesee it as just one more diversion, a sport, with politicians our paunch-bellied gladiatorsand those who bother to pay attention just fans on the sidelines: We paint our faces redor blue and cheer our side and boo their side, and if it takes a late hit or cheap shot tobeat the other team, so be it, for winning is all that matters. 　　But I don’t think so. They are out there, I think to myself, those ordinary citizens whohave grown up in the midst of all the political and cultural battles, but who have found away—in their own lives, at least—to make peace with their neighbors, and themselves. 　　I imagine the white Southerner who growing up heard his dad talk about niggers thisand niggers that but who has struck up a friendship with the black guys at the office andis trying to teach his own son different, who thinks discrimination is wrong but doesn’tsee why the son of a black doctor should get admitted into law school ahead of his ownson. Or the former Black Panther who decided to go into real estate, bought a fewbuildings in the neighborhood, and is just as tired of the drug dealers in front of thosebuildings as he is of the bankers who won’t give him a loan to expand his business. 　　There’s the middle-aged feminist who still mourns her abortion, and the Christianwoman who paid for her teenager’s abortion, and the millions of waitresses and tempsecretaries and nurse’s assistants and Wal-Mart associates who hold their breath everysingle month in the hope that they’ll have enough money to support the children thatthey did bring into the world.

the notion that we can haveonly

Whenever we dumb down the political debate, we lose. For it’s precisely the pursuit ofideological purity, the rigid orthodoxy and the sheer predictability of our currentpolitical debate, that keeps us from finding new ways to meet the challenges we face asa country. It’s what keeps us locked in “either/or” thinking: the notion that we can haveonly big government or no government; the assumption that we must either tolerateforty-six million without health insurance or embrace “socialized medicine.” 　　It is such doctrinaire thinking and stark partisanship that have turned Americans off ofpolitics. This is not a problem for the right; a polarized electorate—or one that easilydismisses both parties because of the nasty, dishonest tone of the debate—worksperfectly well for those who seek to chip away at the very idea of government. After all,a cynical electorate is a self-centered electorate. 　　But for those of us who believe that government has a role to play in promotingopportunity and prosperity for all Americans, a polarized electorate isn’t good enough. 　　Eking out a bare Democratic majority isn’t good enough. What’s needed is a broadmajority of Americans—Democrats, Republicans, and independents of goodwill—whoare reengaged in the project of national renewal, and who see their own self-interest asinextricably linked to the interests of others. 　　I’m under no illusion that the task of building such a working majority will be easy. Butit’s what we must do, precisely because the task of solving America’s problems will behard. It will require tough choices, and it will require sacrifice. Unless political leadersare open to new ideas and not just new packaging, we won’t change enough hearts andminds to initiate a serious energy policy or tame the deficit. We won’t have the popularsupport to craft a foreign policy that meets the challenges of globalization or terrorismwithout resorting to isolationism or eroding civil liberties. We won’t have a mandate tooverhaul America’s broken health-care system. And we won’t have the broad politicalsupport or the effective strategies needed to lift large numbers of our fellow citizens outof poverty.

a constant game of defense

There are those who still champion theold-time religion, defending every New Deal and Great Society program fromRepublican encroachment, achieving ratings of 100 percent from the liberal interestgroups. But these efforts seem exhausted, a constant game of defense, bereft of theenergy and new ideas needed to address the changing circumstances of globalization ora stubbornly isolated inner city. Others pursue a more “centrist” approach, figuring thatso long as they split the difference with the conservative leadership, they must be actingreasonably—and failing to notice that with each passing year they are giving up moreand more ground. Individually, Democratic legislators and candidates propose a host ofsensible if incremental ideas, on energy and education, health care and homelandsecurity, hoping that it all adds up to something resembling a governing philosophy. 　　Mainly, though, the Democratic Party has become the party of reaction. In reaction to awar that is ill conceived, we appear suspicious of all military action. In reaction to thosewho proclaim the market can cure all ills, we resist efforts to use market principles totackle pressing problems. In reaction to religious overreach, we equate tolerance withsecularism, and forfeit the moral language that would help infuse our policies with alarger meaning. We lose elections and hope for the courts to foil Republican plans. Welose the courts and wait for a White House scandal. 　　And increasingly we feel the need to match the Republican right in stridency andhardball tactics. The accepted wisdom that drives many advocacy groups andDemocratic activists these days goes something like this: The Republican Party hasbeen able to consistently win elections not by expanding its base but by vilifyingDemocrats, driving wedges into the electorate, energizing its right wing, anddisciplining those who stray from the party line. If the Democrats ever want to get backinto power, then they will have to take up the same approach. 　　I understand the frustration of these activists. The ability of Republicans to repeatedlywin on the basis of polarizing campaigns is indeed impressive. I recognize the dangersof subtlety and nuance in the face of the conservative movement’s passionate intensity. 　　And in my mind, at least, there are a host of Bush Administration policies that justifyrighteous indignation. 　　Ultimately, though, I believe any attempt by Democrats to pursue a more sharplypartisan and ideological strategy misapprehends the moment we’re in. I am convincedthat whenever we exaggerate or demonize, oversimplify or overstate our case, we lose.

no safety net—indeed

But these Republicans are not the ones who have driven the debate over the past sixyears. Instead of the “compassionate conservatism” that George Bush promised in his2000 campaign, what has characterized the ideological core of today’s GOP isabsolutism, not conservatism. There is the absolutism of the free market, an ideology ofno taxes, no regulation, no safety net—indeed, no government beyond what’s requiredto protect private property and provide for the national defense. 　　There’s the religious absolutism of the Christian right, a movement that gained tractionon the undeniably difficult issue of abortion, but which soon flowered into somethingmuch broader; a movement that insists not only that Christianity is America’s dominantfaith, but that a particular, fundamentalist brand of that faith should drive public policy,overriding any alternative source of understanding, whether the writings of liberaltheologians, the findings of the National Academy of Sciences, or the words of ThomasJefferson. 　　And there is the absolute belief in the authority of majority will, or at least those whoclaim power in the name of the majority—a disdain for those institutional checks (thecourts, the Constitution, the press, the Geneva Conventions, the rules of the Senate, orthe traditions governing redistricting) that might slow our inexorable march toward theNew Jerusalem. 　　Of course, there are those within the Democratic Party who tend toward similarzealotry. But those who do have never come close to possessing the power of a Rove ora DeLay, the power to take over the party, fill it with loyalists, and enshrine some oftheir more radical ideas into law. The prevalence of regional, ethnic, and economicdifferences within the party, the electoral map and the structure of the Senate, the needto raise money from economic elites to finance elections—all these things tend toprevent those Democrats in office from straying too far from the center. In fact, I knowvery few elected Democrats who neatly fit the liberal caricature; the last I checked, JohnKerry believes in maintaining the superiority of the U.S. military, Hillary Clintonbelieves in the virtues of capitalism, and just about every member of the CongressionalBlack Caucus believes Jesus Christ died for his or her sins. 　　Instead, we Democrats are just, well, confused.

and gave a disdainful shrug as she

  "I am sorry you have so low an opinion of women. There was a time when you believed in them sincerely."    "I do still, upon my word I do! They haven't a more devoted admirer and slave in the world than I am. Just try me and see," cried Charlie, gallantly kissing his hand to the sex in general.    But Rose was not appeased, and gave a disdainful shrug as she answered with a look in her eyes that his lordship did not like, "Thank you. I don't want admirers or slaves, but friends and helpers. I've lived so long with a wise, good man that I am rather hard to suit, perhaps, but I don't intend to lower my standard, and anyone who cares for my regard must at least try to live up to it."    "Whew! Here's a wrathful dove! Come and smooth her ruffled plumage, Mac. I'll dodge before I do further mischief," and Charlie strolled away into the other room, privately lamenting that Uncle Alec had spoiled a fine girl by making her strong-minded.    He wished himself back again in five minutes, for Mac said something that produced a gale of laughter, and when he took a look over his shoulder the "wrathful dove" was cooing so peacefully and pleasantly he was sorely tempted to return and share the fun. But Charlie had been spoiled by too much indulgence, and it was hard for him to own himself in the wrong even when he knew it. He always got what he wanted sooner or later, and having long ago made up his mind that Rose and her fortune were to be his, he was secretly displeased at the new plans and beliefs of the young lady, but flattered himself that they would soon be changed when she saw how unfashionable and inconvenient they were.    Musing over the delightful future he had laid out, he made himself comfortable in the sofa corner near his mother till the appearance of a slight refection caused both groups to melt into one. Aunt Plenty believed in eating and drinking, so the slightest excuse for festivity delighted her hospitable soul, and on this joyful occasion she surpassed herself.    It was during this informal banquet that Rose, roaming about from one admiring relative to another, came upon the three younger lads, who were having a quiet little scuffle in a secluded corner.    "Come out here and let me have a look at you," she said enticingly, for she predicted an explosion and public disgrace if peace was not speedily restored.

it will be more blest than if

   "You are fitted for anything that is generous and good, and I'll stand by you, no matter what you've chosen," cried Mac heartily, for this was a new style of talk from a girl's lips, and he liked it immensely.    "Philanthropy is a generous, good, and beautiful profession, and I've chosen it for mine because I have much to give. I'm only the steward of the fortune Papa left me, and I think, if I use it wisely for the happiness of others, it will be more blest than if I keep it all for myself."    Very sweetly and simply was this said, but it was curious to see how differently the various hearers received it.    Charlie shot a quick look at his mother, who exclaimed, as if in spite of herself,-    "Now, Alec, are you going to let that girl squander a fine fortune on all sorts of charitable nonsense and wild schemes for the prevention of pauperism and crime?"    " 'They who give to the poor lend to the Lord,' and practical Christianity is the kind He loves the best," was all Dr. Alec answered, but it silenced the aunts and caused even prudent Uncle Mac to think with sudden satisfaction of certain secret investments he had made which paid him no interest but the thanks of the poor.    Archie and Mac looked well pleased and promised their advice and assistance with the enthusiasm of generous young hearts. Steve shook his head, but said nothing, and the lads on the rug at once proposed founding a hospital for invalid dogs and horses, white mice, and wounded heroes.    "Don't you think that will be a better way for a woman to spend her life than in dancing, dressing, and husband-hunting, Charlie?" asked Rose, observing his silence and anxious for his approval.    "Very pretty for a little while, and very effective too, for I don't know anything more captivating than a sweet girl in a meek little bonnet going on charitable errands and glorifying poor people's houses with a delightful mixture of beauty and benevolence. Fortunately, the dear souls soon tire of it, but it's heavenly while it lasts."    Charlie spoke in a tone of mingled admiration and contempt, and smiled a superior sort of smile, as if he understood all the innocent delusions as well as the artful devices of the sex and expected nothing more from them. It both surprised and grieved Rose, for it did not sound like the Charlie she had left two years ago. But she only said, with a reproachful look and a proud little gesture of head and hand, as if she put the subject aside since it was not treated with respect,-

just because I'm a rich girl

   "Ah, you needn't pretend to be shocked you will be in earnest presently, for this is only the beginning of my strong-mindedness," continued Rose, nothing daunted by the smiles of good-natured incredulity or derision on the faces of her cousins. "I have made up my mind not to be cheated out of the real things that make one good and happy and, just because I'm a rich girl, fold my hands and drift as so many do. I haven't lived with Phebe all these years in vain. I know what courage and self-reliance can do for one, and I sometimes wish I hadn't a penny in the world so that I could go and earn my bread with her, and be as brave and independent as she will be pretty soon."      It was evident that Rose was in earnest now, for as she spoke she turned to her friend with such respect as well as love in her face that the look told better than any words how heartily the rich girl appreciated the virtues hard experience had given the poor girl, and how eagerly she desired to earn what all her fortune could not buy for her.    Something in the glance exchanged between the friends impressed the young men in spite of their prejudices, and it was in a perfectly serious tone that Archie said, "I fancy you'll find your hands full, Cousin, if you want work, for I've heard people say that wealth has its troubles and trials as well as poverty."    "I know it, and I'm going to try and fill my place well. I've got some capital little plans all made, and have begun to study my profession already," answered Rose with an energetic nod.    "Could I ask what it is to be?" inquired Charlie in a tone of awe.    "Guess!" and Rose looked up at him with an expression half-earnest, half-merry.    "Well, I should say that you were fitted for a beauty and a belle, but as that is evidently not to your taste, I am afraid you are going to study medicine and be a doctor. Won't your patients have a heavenly time though? It will be easy dying with an angel to poison them."    "Now, Charlie, that's base of you, when you know how well women have succeeded in this profession and what a comfort Dr. Mary Kirk was to dear Aunt Peace. I did want to study medicine, but Uncle thought it wouldn't do to have so many M.D.'s in one family, since Mac thinks of trying it. Besides, I seem to have other work put into my hands that I am better fitted for."

to keep her heart from aching

   "I've tried, Mac, and I am both proud and happy, but with every year my anxiety seems to increase.   I've done my best to fit Rose for what may come, as far as I can foresee it, but now she must stand alone, and all my care is powerless to keep her heart from aching, her life from being saddened by mistakes, or thwarted by the acts of others. I can only stand ready to share her joy and sorrow and watch her shape her life."    "Why, Alec, what is the child going to do that you need look so solemn?" exclaimed Mrs. Clara, who seemed to have assumed a sort of right to Rose already.    "Hark! And let her tell you herself," answered Dr. Alec, as Rose's voice was heard saying very earnestly, "Now, you have all told your plans for the future, why don't you ask us ours?"    "Because we know that there is only one thing for a pretty girl to do break a dozen or so hearts before she finds one to suit, then marry and settle," answered Charlie, as if no other reply was possible.    "That may be the case with many, but not with us, for Phebe and I believe that it is as much a right and a duty for women to do something with their lives as for men, and we are not going to be satisfied with such frivolous parts as you give us," cried Rose with kindling eyes. "I mean what I say, and you cannot laugh me down. Would you be contented to be told to enjoy yourself for a little while, then marry and do nothing more till you die?" she added, turning to Archie.      "Of course not that is only a part of a man's life," he answered decidedly.    "A very precious and lovely part, but not all," continued Rose. "Neither should it be for a woman, for we've got minds and souls as well as hearts; ambition and talents as well as beauty and accomplishments; and we want to live and learn as well as love and be loved. I'm sick of being told that is all a woman is fit for! I won't have anything to do with love till I prove that I am something besides a housekeeper and baby-tender!"    "Heaven preserve us! Here's woman's rights with a vengeance!" cried Charlie, starting up with mock horror, while the others regarded Rose with mingled surprise and amusement, evidently fancying it all a girlish outbreak.

as rich in color as the carnations in

   Jamie occupied the rug, on which Will and Geordie stood at ease, showing their uniforms to the best advantage, for they were now in a great school, where military drill was the delight of their souls. Steve posed gracefully in an armchair, with Mac lounging over the back of it, while Archie leaned on one corner of the low chimneypiece, looking down at Phebe as she listened to his chat with smiling lips and cheeks almost as rich in color as the carnations in her belt.    But Charlie was particularly effective, although he sat upon a music stool, that most trying position for any man not gifted with grace in the management of his legs. Fortunately Prince was, and had fallen into an easy attitude, with one arm over the back of the sofa, his handsome head bent a little, as he monopolized Rose, with a devoted air and a very becoming expression of contentment on his face.    Aunt Clara smiled as if well pleased; Aunt Jessie looked thoughtful; Aunt Jane's keen eyes went from dapper Steve to broad-shouldered Mac with an anxious glance; Mrs. Myra murmured something about her "blessed Caroline"; and Aunt Plenty said warmly,-    "Bless the dears! Anyone might be proud of such a bonny flock of bairns as that."      "I am all ready to play chaperon as soon as you please, Alec, for I suppose the dear girl will come out at once, as she did not before you went away. My services won't be wanted long, I fancy, for with her many advantages she will be carried off in her first season or I'm much mistaken," said Mrs. Clara, with significant nods and smiles.    "You must settle all those matters with Rose. I am no longer captain, only first mate now, you know," answered Dr. Alec, adding soberly, half to himself, half to his brother, "I wonder people are in such haste to 'bring out' their daughters, as it's called. To me there is something almost pathetic in the sight of a young girl standing on the threshold of the world, so innocent and hopeful, so ignorant of all that lies before her, and usually so ill prepared to meet the ups and downs of life. We do our duty better by the boys, but the poor little women are seldom provided with any armor worth having, and sooner or later they are sure to need it, for every one must fight her own battle, and only the brave and strong can win."    "You can't reproach yourself with neglect of that sort, Alec, for you have done your duty faithfully by George's girl, and I envy you the pride and happiness of having such a daughter, for she is that to you," answered old Mac, unexpectedly betraying the paternal sort of tenderness men seldom feel for their sons.

the wind was favorable for bringing her

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Pencroft, "and that will be no small present which we shall make to our country! The colonization is already almost finished; names are given to every part of the island; there is a natural port, fresh water, roads, a telegraph, a dockyard, and manufactories; and there will be nothing to be done but to inscribe Lincoln Island on the maps!" "But if anyone seizes it in our absence?" observed Gideon Spilett. "Hang it!" cried the sailor. "I would rather remain all alone to guard it: and trust to Pencroft, they shouldn't steal it from him, like a watch from the pocket of a swell!" For an hour it was impossible to say with any certainty whether the vessel was or was not standing towards Lincoln Island. She was nearer, but in what direction was she sailing? This Pencroft could not determine. However, as the wind was blowing from the northeast, in all probability the vessel was sailing on the starboard tack. Besides, the wind was favorable for bringing her towards the island, and, the sea being calm, she would not be afraid to approach although the shallows were not marked on the chart. Towards four o'clock--an hour after he had been sent for--Ayrton arrived at Granite House. He entered the dining-room saying,-- "At your service, gentlemen." Cyrus Harding gave him his hand, as was his custom to do, and, leading him to the window,-- "Ayrton," said he, "we have begged you to come here for an important reason. A ship is in sight of the island." Ayrton at first paled slightly, and for a moment his eyes became dim; then, leaning out the window, he surveyed the horizon, but could see nothing. "Take this telescope," said Spilett, "and look carefully, Ayrton, for it is possible that this ship may be the 'Duncan' come to these seas for the purpose of taking you home again." "The 'Duncan!'" murmured Ayrton. "Already?" This last word escaped Ayrton's lips as if involuntarily, and his head drooped upon his hands. Did not twelve years' solitude on a desert island appear to him a sufficient expiation? Did not the penitent yet feel himself pardoned, either in his own eyes or in the eyes of others?

for I should be suspicious of any other vessel

"We must tell Ayrton," said Gideon Spilett, "and send for him immediately. He alone can say if it is the 'Duncan.'" This was the opinion of all, and the reporter, going to the telegraphic apparatus which placed the corral in communication with Granite House, sent this telegram:--"Come with all possible speed." In a few minutes the bell sounded. "I am coming," replied Ayrton. Then the settlers continued to watch the vessel. "If it is the 'Duncan,'" said Herbert, "Ayrton will recognize her without difficulty, since he sailed on board her for some time." "And if he recognizes her," added Pencroft, "it will agitate him exceedingly!" "Yes," answered Cyrus Harding; "but now Ayrton is worthy to return on board the 'Duncan,' and pray Heaven that it is indeed Lord Glenarvan's yacht, for I should be suspicious of any other vessel. These are ill-famed seas, and I have always feared a visit from Malay pirates to our island." "We could defend it,', cried Herbert. "No doubt, my boy," answered the engineer smiling, "but it would be better not to have to defend it." "A useless observation," said Spilett. "Lincoln Island is unknown to navigators, since it is not marked even on the most recent maps. Do you think, Cyrus, that that is a sufficient motive for a ship, finding herself unexpectedly in sight of new land, to try and visit rather than avoid it?" "Certainly," replied Pencroft. "I think so too," added the engineer. "It may even be said that it is the duty of a captain to come and survey any land or island not yet known, and Lincoln Island is in this position." "Well," said Pencroft, "suppose this vessel comes and anchors there a few cables-lengths from our island, what shall we do?" This sudden question remained at first without any reply. But Cyrus Harding, after some moments' thought, replied in the calm tone which was usual to him,-- "What we shall do, my friends? What we ought to do is this:--we will communicate with the ship, we will take our passage on board her, and we will leave our island, after having taken possession of it in the name of the United States. Then we will return with any who may wish to follow us to colonize it definitely, and endow the American Republic with a useful station in this part of the Pacific Ocean!"

the glass and rested himself at

"Impossible to say anything yet," answered Pencroft, "for her rigging alone is above the horizon, and not a bit of her hull can be seen." "What is to be done?" asked the lad. "Wait," replied Harding. And for a considerable time the settlers remained silent, given up to all the thoughts, and the emotions, all the fears, all the hopes, which were aroused by this incident--the most important which had occurred since their arrival in Lincoln Island. Certainly, the colonists were not in the situation of castaways abandoned on a sterile islet, constantly contending against a cruel nature for their miserable existence, and incessantly tormented by the longing to return to inhabited countries. Pencroft and Neb, especially, who felt themselves at once so happy and so rich, would not have left their island without regret. They were accustomed, besides, to this new life in the midst of the domain which their intelligence had as it were civilized. But at any rate this ship brought news from the world, perhaps even from their native land. It was bringing fellow-creatures to them, and it may be conceived how deeply their hearts were moved at the sight! From time to time Pencroft took the glass and rested himself at the window. From thence he very attentively examined the vessel, which was at a distance of twenty miles to the east. The colonists had as yet, therefore, no means of signalizing their presence. A flag would not have been perceived; a gun would not have been heard; a fire would not have been visible. However, it was certain that the island, overtopped by Mount Franklin, could not escape the notice of the vessel's lookout. But why was the ship coming there? Was it simple chance which brought it to that part of the Pacific, where the maps mentioned no land except Tabor Island, which itself was out of the route usually followed by vessels from the Polynesian Archipelagoes, from New Zealand, and from the American coast? To this question, which each one asked himself, a reply was suddenly made by Herbert. "Can it be the 'Duncan'?" he cried. The "Duncan," as has been said, was Lord Glenarvan's yacht, which had left Ayrton on the islet, and which was to return there someday to fetch him. Now, the islet was not so far distant from Lincoln Island, but that a vessel, standing for the one, could pass in sight of the other. A hundred and fifty miles only separated them in longitude, and seventy in latitude.

Once the reporter had attempted to

And then he had the curiosity to examine this flaw with a strong magnifier which he unscrewed from one of the telescopes. But he had scarcely looked at it, when he uttered a cry, and the glass almost fell from his hands. Immediately running to the room in which Cyrus Harding then was, he extended the negative and magnifier towards the engineer, pointing out the little spot. Harding examined it; then seizing his telescope he rushed to the window. The telescope, after having slowly swept the horizon, at last stopped on the looked-for spot, and Cyrus Harding, lowering it, pronounced one word only,-- "A vessel!" And in fact a vessel was in sight, off Lincoln Island! It was now two years and a half since the castaways from the balloon had been thrown on Lincoln Island, and during that period there had been no communication between them and their fellow-creatures. Once the reporter had attempted to communicate with the inhabited world by confiding to a bird a letter which contained the secret of their situation, but that was a chance on which it was impossible to reckon seriously. Ayrton, alone, under the circumstances which have been related, had come to join the little colony. Now, suddenly, on this day, the 17th of October, other men had unexpectedly appeared in sight of the island, on that deserted sea! There could be no doubt about it! A vessel was there! But would she pass on, or would she put into port? In a few hours the colonists would definitely know what to expect. Cyrus Harding and Herbert having immediately called Gideon Spilett, Pencroft, and Neb into the dining-room of Granite House, told them what had happened. Pencroft, seizing the telescope, rapidly swept the horizon, and stopping on the indicated point, that is to say, on that which had made the almost imperceptible spot on the photographic negative,-- "I'm blessed but it is really a vessel!" he exclaimed, in a voice which did not express any great amount of satisfaction. "Is she coming here?" asked Gideon Spilett.

The fine season was swiftly returning

The damages there were consequently of small importance, and the activity and skill of Ayrton promptly repaired them, when some time in October he returned to pass a few days in the corral. During this winter, no fresh inexplicable incident occurred. Nothing strange happened, although Pencroft and Neb were on the watch for the most insignificant facts to which they attached any mysterious cause. Top and Jup themselves no longer growled round the well or gave any signs of uneasiness. It appeared, therefore, as if the series of supernatural incidents was interrupted, although they often talked of them during the evenings in Granite House, and they remained thoroughly resolved that the island should be searched, even in those parts the most difficult to explore. But an event of the highest importance, and of which the consequences might be terrible, momentarily diverted from their projects Cyrus Harding and his companions. It was the month of October. The fine season was swiftly returning. Nature was reviving; and among the evergreen foliage of the coniferae which formed the border of the wood, already appeared the young leaves of the banksias, deodars, and other trees. It may be remembered that Gideon Spilett and Herbert had, at different times, taken photographic views of Lincoln Island. Now, on the 17th of this month of October, towards three o'clock in the afternoon, Herbert, enticed by the charms of the sky, thought of reproducing Union Bay, which was opposite to Prospect Heights, from Cape Mandible to Claw Cape. The horizon was beautifully clear, and the sea, undulating under a soft breeze, was as calm as the waters of a lake, sparkling here and there under the sun's rays. The apparatus had been placed at one of the windows of the dining-room at Granite House, and consequently overlooked the shore and the bay. Herbert proceeded as he was accustomed to do, and the negative obtained, he went away to fix it by means of the chemicals deposited in a dark nook of Granite House. Returning to the bright light, and examining it well, Herbert perceived on his negative an almost imperceptible little spot on the sea horizon. He endeavored to make it disappear by reiterated washing, but could not accomplish it. "It is a flaw in the glass," he thought.

but his face was incredibly white

It was a last effort to break the cordon, and it failed. From the little street at the rear of the guillotine appeared a priest, walking backwards, and holding a crucifix high in his right hand, and behind him came the handsome hero, his body all crossed with cords, between two warders, who pressed against him and supported him on either side. He was certainly very young. He lifted his chin gallantly, but his face was incredibly white. Sophia discerned that the priest was trying to hide the sight of the guillotine from the prisoner with his body, just as in the story which she had heard at dinner. Except the voice of the priest, indistinctly rising and falling in the prayer for the dying, there was no sound in the square or its environs. The windows were now occupied by groups turned to stone with distended eyes fixed on the little procession. Sophia had a tightening of the throat, and the hand trembled by which she held the curtain. The central figure did not seem to her to be alive; but rather a doll, a marionette wound up to imitate the action of a tragedy. She saw the priest offer the crucifix to the mouth of the marionette, which with a clumsy unhuman shoving of its corded shoulders butted the thing away. And as the procession turned and stopped she could plainly see that the marionette's nape and shoulders were bare, his shirt having been slit. It was horrible. "Why do I stay here?" she asked herself hysterically. But she did not stir. The victim had disappeared now in the midst of a group of men. Then she perceived him prone under the red column, between the grooves. The silence was now broken only by the tinkling of the horses' bits in the corners of the square. The line of gendarmes in front of the scaffold held their swords tightly and looked over their noses, ignoring the privileged groups that peered almost between their shoulders. And Sophia waited, horror-struck. She saw nothing but the gleaming triangle of metal that was suspended high above the prone, attendant victim. She felt like a lost soul, torn too soon from shelter, and exposed for ever to the worst hazards of destiny. Why was she in this strange, incomprehensible town, foreign and inimical to her, watching with agonized glance this cruel, obscene spectacle? Her sensibilities were all a bleeding mass of wounds. Why? Only yesterday, and she had been, an innocent, timid creature in Bursley, in Axe, a foolish creature who deemed the concealment of letters a supreme excitement. Either that day or this day was not real. Why was she imprisoned alone in that odious, indescribably odious hotel, with no one to soothe and comfort her, and carry her away?

and was awakened by a tremendous shrieking

"You," cried a drunken English voice from an upper floor--it was the middle-aged Englishman translating what the executioner had said--"you, you will take the head." Then a rough laugh, and the repeating voice of the Englishman's girl, still pursuing her studies in English: "You will take ze 'ead. Yess, sair." And another laugh. At length quiet reigned in the hotel. Sophia said to herself: "I won't stir from this bed till it's all over and Gerald comes back!" She dozed, under the sheet, and was awakened by a tremendous shrieking, growling, and yelling: a phenomenon of human bestiality that far surpassed Sophia's narrow experiences. Shut up though she was in a room, perfectly secure, the mad fury of that crowd, balked at the inlets to the square, thrilled and intimidated her. It sounded as if they would be capable of tearing the very horses to pieces. "I must stay where I am," she murmured. And even while saying it she rose and went to the window again and peeped out. The torture involved was extreme, but she had not sufficient force within her to resist the fascination. She stared greedily into the bright square. The first thing she saw was Gerald coming out of a house opposite, followed after a few seconds by the girl with whom he had previously been talking. Gerald glanced hastily up at the facade of the hotel, and then approached as near as he could to the red columns, in front of which were now drawn a line of gendarmes with naked swords. A second and larger waggon, with two horses, waited by the side of the other one. The racket beyond the square continued and even grew louder. But the couple of hundred persons within the cordons, and all the inhabitants of the windows, drunk and sober, gazed in a fixed and sinister enchantment at the region of the guillotine, as Sophia gazed. "I cannot stand this!" she told herself in horror, but she could not move; she could not move even her eyes. At intervals the crowd would burst out in a violent staccato-- "Le voila! Nicholas! Ah! Ah! Ah!" And the final 'Ah' was devilish. Then a gigantic passionate roar, the culmination of the mob's fierce savagery, crashed against the skies. The line of maddened horses swerved and reared, and seemed to fall on the furious multitude while the statue-like gendarmes rocked over them.

The boom of a heavy bell striking the

A door banged. But Sophia could hear the regular sound of new voices talking, and then the rattling of glasses on a tray. The conversation which came to her from the windows of the hotel now showed a great increase of excitement. She could not see the people at these neighbouring windows without showing her own head, and this she would not do. The boom of a heavy bell striking the hour vibrated over the roofs of the square; she supposed that it might be the cathedral clock. In a corner of the square she saw Gerald talking vivaciously alone with one of the two girls who had been together. She wondered vaguely how such a girl had been brought up, and what her parents thought--or knew! And she was conscious of an intense pride in herself, of a measureless haughty feeling of superiority. Her eye caught the guillotine again, and was held by it. Guarded by gendarmes, that tall and simple object did most menacingly dominate the square with its crude red columns. Tools and a large open box lay on the ground beside it. The enfeebled horse in the waggon had an air of dozing on his twisted legs. Then the first rays of the sun shot lengthwise across the square at the level of the chimneys; and Sophia noticed that nearly all the lamps and candles had been extinguished. Many people at the windows were yawning; they laughed foolishly after they had yawned. Some were eating and drinking. Some were shouting conversations from one house to another. The mounted gendarmes were still pressing back the feverish crowds that growled at all the inlets to the square. She saw Chirac walking to and fro alone. But she could not find Gerald. He could not have left the square. Perhaps he had returned to the hotel and would come up to see if she was comfortable or if she needed anything. Guiltily she sprang back into bed. When last she had surveyed the room it had been dark; now it was bright and every detail stood clear. Yet she had the sensation of having been at the window only a few minutes. She waited. But Gerald did not come. She could hear chiefly the steady hum of the voices of the executioner and his aids. She reflected that the room in which they were must be at the back. The other sounds in the hotel grew less noticeable. Then, after an age, she heard a door open, and a low voice say something commandingly in French, and then a 'Oui, monsieur,' and a general descent of the stairs. The executioner and his aids were leaving.

The crowd amassed now at the principal

Then she saw a red reflection coming from one of the side streets of which she had a vista; it was the swinging lantern of a waggon drawn by a gaunt grey horse. The vehicle stopped at the end of the square from which the besom had started, and it was immediately surrounded by the privileged, who, however, were soon persuaded to stand away. The crowd amassed now at the principal inlets of the square, gave a formidable cry and burst into the refrain-- "Le voila! Nicolas! Ah! Ah! Ah!" The clamour became furious as a group of workmen in blue blouses drew piece by piece all the components of the guillotine from the waggon and laid them carefully on the ground, under the superintendence of a man in a black frock-coat and a silk hat with broad flat brims; a little fussy man of nervous gestures. And presently the red columns had risen upright from the ground and were joined at the top by an acrobatic climber. As each part was bolted and screwed to the growing machine the man in the high hat carefully tested it. In a short time that seemed very long, the guillotine was finished save for the triangular steel blade which lay shining on the ground, a cynosure. The executioner pointed to it, and two men picked it up and slipped it into its groove, and hoisted it to the summit of the machine. The executioner peered at it interminably amid a universal silence. Then he actuated the mechanism, and the mass of metal fell with a muffled, reverberating thud. There were a few faint shrieks, blended together, and then an overpowering racket of cheers, shouts, hootings, and fragments of song. The blade was again lifted, instantly reproducing silence, and again it fell, liberating a new bedlam. The executioner made a movement of satisfaction. Many women at the windows clapped enthusiastically, and the gendarmes had to fight brutally against the fierce pressure of the crowd. The workmen doffed their blouses and put on coats, and Sophia was disturbed to see them coming in single file towards the hotel, followed by the executioner in the silk hat. Chapter 3 An Ambition Satisfied IV There was a tremendous opening of doors in the Hotel de Vezelay, and much whispering on thresholds, as the executioner and his band entered solemnly. Sophia heard them tramp upstairs; they seemed to hesitate, and then apparently went into a room on the same landing as hers.

rattlings of crockery below

Gerald had left her at the bedroom door with a self-conscious nod. She had partly undressed and lain down, and instantly the hotel had transformed itself into a kind of sounding-box. It was as if, beneath and within all the noises of the square, every movement in the hotel reached her ears through cardboard walls: distant shoutings and laughter below; rattlings of crockery below; stampings up and down stairs; stealthy creepings up and down stairs; brusque calls; fragments of song, whisperings; long sighs suddenly stifled; mysterious groans as of torture, broken by a giggle; quarrels and bickering,--she was spared nothing in the strangely resonant darkness. Then there came out of the little square a great uproar and commotion, with shrieks, and under the shrieks a confused din. In vain she pressed her face into the pillow and listened to the irregular, prodigious noise of her eyelashes as they scraped the rough linen. The thought had somehow introduced itself into her head that she must arise and go to the window and see all that was to be seen. She resisted. She said to herself that the idea was absurd, that she did not wish to go to the window. Nevertheless, while arguing with herself, she well knew that resistance to the thought was useless and that ultimately her legs would obey its command. When ultimately she yielded to the fascination and went to the window and pulled aside one of the curtains, she had a feeling of relief. The cool, grey beginnings of dawn were in the sky, and every detail of the square was visible. Without exception all the windows were wide open and filled with sightseers. In the background of many windows were burning candles or lamps that the far distant approach of the sun was already killing. In front of these, on the frontier of two mingling lights, the attentive figures of the watchers were curiously silhouetted. On the red- tiled roofs, too, was a squatted population. Below, a troop of gendarmes, mounted on caracoling horses stretched in line across the square, was gradually sweeping the entire square of a packed, gesticulating, cursing crowd. The operation of this immense besom was very slow. As the spaces of the square were cleared they began to be dotted by privileged persons, journalists or law officers or their friends, who walked to and fro in conscious pride; among them Sophia descried Gerald and Chirac, strolling arm-in-arm and talking to two elaborately clad girls, who were also arm-in-arm.

with which they filled their pockets

Their hunger was thus appeased for the time, but not their thirst, which increased after eating these naturally-spiced molluscs. They had then to find fresh water, and it was not likely that it would be wanting in such a capriciously uneven region. Pencroft and Herbert, after having taken the precaution of collecting an ample supply of lithodomes, with which they filled their pockets and handkerchiefs, regained the foot of the cliff. Two hundred paces farther they arrived at the cutting, through which, as Pencroft had guessed, ran a stream of water, whether fresh or not was to be ascertained. At this place the wall appeared to have been separated by some violent subterranean force. At its base was hollowed out a little creek, the farthest part of which formed a tolerably sharp angle. The watercourse at that part measured one hundred feet in breadth, and its two banks on each side were scarcely twenty feet high. The river became strong almost directly between the two walls of granite, which began to sink above the mouth; it then suddenly turned and disappeared beneath a wood of stunted trees half a mile off. "Here is the water, and yonder is the wood we require!" said Pencroft. "Well, Herbert, now we only want the house." The water of the river was limpid. The sailor ascertained that at this time--that is to say, at low tide, when the rising floods did not reach it --it was sweet. This important point established, Herbert looked for some cavity which would serve them as a retreat, but in vain; everywhere the wall appeared smooth, plain, and perpendicular. However, at the mouth of the watercourse and above the reach of the high tide, the convulsions of nature had formed, not a grotto, but a pile of enormous rocks, such as are often met with in granite countries and which bear the name of "Chimneys." Pencroft and Herbert penetrated quite far in among the rocks, by sandy passages in which light was not wanting, for it entered through the openings which were left between the blocks, of which some were only sustained by a miracle of equilibrium; but with the light came also air--a regular corridor-gale--and with the wind the sharp cold from the exterior. However, the sailor thought that by stopping-up some of the openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the Chimneys could be rendered habitable. Their geometrical plan represented the typographical sign "&," which signifies "et cetera" abridged, but by isolating the upper mouth of the sign, through which the south and west winds blew so strongly, they could succeed in making the lower part of use.

and especially those of the web-footed

The cliff, as has been said, rose to a height of three hundred feet, but the mass was unbroken throughout, and even at its base, scarcely washed by the sea, it did not offer the smallest fissure which would serve as a dwelling. It was a perpendicular wall of very hard granite, which even the waves had not worn away. Towards the summit fluttered myriads of sea-fowl, and especially those of the web-footed species with long, flat, pointed beaks--a clamorous tribe, bold in the presence of man, who probably for the first time thus invaded their domains. Pencroft recognized the skua and other gulls among them, the voracious little sea-mew, which in great numbers nestled in the crevices of the granite. A shot fired among this swarm would have killed a great number, but to fire a shot a gun was needed, and neither Pencroft nor Herbert had one; besides this, gulls and sea-mews are scarcely eatable, and even their eggs have a detestable taste. However, Herbert, who had gone forward a little more to the left, soon came upon rocks covered with sea-weed, which, some hours later, would be hidden by the high tide. On these rocks, in the midst of slippery wrack, abounded bivalve shell-fish, not to be despised by starving people. Herbert called Pencroft, who ran up hastily. "Here are mussels!" cried the sailor; "these will do instead of eggs!" "They are not mussels," replied Herbert, who was attentively examining the molluscs attached to the rocks; "they are lithodomes." "Are they good to eat?" asked Pencroft. "Perfectly so." "Then let us eat some lithodomes." The sailor could rely upon Herbert; the young boy was well up in natural history, and always had had quite a passion for the science. His father had encouraged him in it, by letting him attend the lectures of the best professors in Boston, who were very fond of the intelligent, industrious lad. And his turn for natural history was, more than once in the course of time, of great use, and he was not mistaken in this instance. These lithodomes were oblong shells, suspended in clusters and adhering very tightly to the rocks. They belong to that species of molluscous perforators which excavate holes in the hardest stone; their shell is rounded at both ends, a feature which is not remarked in the common mussel. Pencroft and Herbert made a good meal of the lithodomes, which were then half opened to the sun. They ate them as oysters, and as they had a strong peppery taste, they were palatable without condiments of any sort.

Between the is let and the coast there only

"There is some good and some bad, as in everything," replied the sailor. "We shall see. But now the ebb is evidently making. In three hours we will attempt the passage, and once on the other side, we will try to get out of this scrape, and I hope may find the captain." Pencroft was not wrong in his anticipations. Three hours later at low tide, the greater part of the sand forming the bed of the channel was uncovered. Between the is let and the coast there only remained a narrow channel which would no doubt be easy to cross. About ten o'clock, Gideon Spilett and his companions stripped themselves of their clothes, which they placed in bundles on their heads, and then ventured into the water, which was not more than five feet deep. Herbert, for whom it was too deep, swam like a fish, and got through capitally. All three arrived without difficulty on the opposite shore. Quickly drying themselves in the sun, they put on their clothes, which they had preserved from contact with the water, and sat down to take counsel together what to do next. All at once the reporter sprang up, and telling the sailor that he would rejoin them at that same place, he climbed the cliff in the direction which the Negro Neb had taken a few hours before. Anxiety hastened his steps, for he longed to obtain news of his friend, and he soon disappeared round an angle of the cliff. Herbert wished to accompany him. "Stop here, my boy," said the sailor; "we have to prepare an encampment, and to try and find rather better grub than these shell-fish. Our friends will want something when they come back. There is work for everybody." "I am ready," replied Herbert. "All right," said the sailor; "that will do. We must set about it regularly. We are tired, cold, and hungry; therefore we must have shelter, fire, and food. There is wood in the forest, and eggs in nests; we have only to find a house." "Very well," returned Herbert, "I will look for a cave among the rocks, and I shall be sure to discover some hole into which we can creep." "All right," said Pencroft; "go on, my boy." They both walked to the foot of the enormous wall over the beach, far from which the tide had now retreated; but instead of going towards the north, they went southward. Pencroft had remarked, several hundred feet from the place at which they landed, a narrow cutting, out of which he thought a river or stream might issue. Now, on the one hand it was important to settle themselves in the neighborhood of a good stream of water, and on the other it was possible that the current had thrown Cyrus Harding on the shore there.

This point abutted on the shore in a grotesque

Neb's companions had watched his daring attempt with painful anxiety, and when he was out of sight, they fixed their attention on the land where their hope of safety lay, while eating some shell-fish with which the sand was strewn. It was a wretched repast, but still it was better than nothing. The opposite coast formed one vast bay, terminating on the south by a very sharp point, which was destitute of all vegetation, and was of a very wild aspect. This point abutted on the shore in a grotesque outline of high granite rocks. Towards the north, on the contrary, the bay widened, and a more rounded coast appeared, trending from the southwest to the northeast, and terminating in a slender cape. The distance between these two extremities, which made the bow of the bay, was about eight miles. Half a mile from the shore rose the islet, which somewhat resembled the carcass of a gigantic whale. Its extreme breadth was not more than a quarter of a mile. Opposite the islet, the beach consisted first of sand, covered with black stones, which were now appearing little by little above the retreating tide. The second level was separated by a perpendicular granite cliff, terminated at the top by an unequal edge at a height of at least 300 feet. It continued thus for a length of three miles, ending suddenly on the right with a precipice which looked as if cut by the hand of man. On the left, above the promontory, this irregular and jagged cliff descended by a long slope of conglomerated rocks till it mingled with the ground of the southern point. On the upper plateau of the coast not a tree appeared. It was a flat tableland like that above Cape Town at the Cape of Good Hope, but of reduced proportions; at least so it appeared seen from the islet. However, verdure was not wanting to the right beyond the precipice. They could easily distinguish a confused mass of great trees, which extended beyond the limits of their view. This verdure relieved the eye, so long wearied by the continued ranges of granite. Lastly, beyond and above the plateau, in a northwesterly direction and at a distance of at least seven miles, glittered a white summit which reflected the sun's rays. It was that of a lofty mountain, capped with snow. The question could not at present be decided whether this land formed an island, or whether it belonged to a continent. But on beholding the convulsed masses heaped up on the left, no geologist would have hesitated to give them a volcanic origin, for they were unquestionably the work of subterranean convulsions. Gideon Spilett, Pencroft, and Herbert attentively examined this land, on which they might perhaps have to live many long years; on which indeed they might even die, should it be out of the usual track of vessels, as was likely to be the case. "Well," asked Herbert, "what do you say, Pencroft?"

the sea showed itself around them

" But the fog was not long in rising. it was only a fine-weather mist. A hot sun soon penetrated to the surface of the island. About half-past six, three-quarters of an hour after sunrise, the mist became more transparent. It grew thicker above, but cleared away below. Soon the isle appeared as if it had descended from a cloud, then the sea showed itself around them, spreading far away towards the east, but bounded on the west by an abrupt and precipitous coast. Yes! the land was there. Their safety was at least provisionally insured. The islet and the coast were separated by a channel about half a mile in breadth, through which rushed an extremely rapid current. However, one of the castaways, following the impulse of his heart, immediately threw himself into the current, without consulting his companions, without saying a single word. It was Neb. He was in haste to be on the other side, and to climb towards the north. It had been impossible to hold him back. Pencroft called him in vain. The reporter prepared to follow him, but Pencroft stopped him. "Do you want to cross the channel?" he asked. "Yes," replied Spilett. "All right!" said the seaman; "wait a bit; Neb is well able to carry help to his master. If we venture into the channel, we risk being carried into the open sea by the current, which is running very strong; but, if I'm not wrong, it is ebbing. See, the tide is going down over the sand. Let us have patience, and at low water it is possible we may find a fordable passage." "You are right," replied the reporter, "we will not separate more than we can help." During this time Neb was struggling vigorously against the current. He was crossing in an oblique direction. His black shoulders could be seen emerging at each stroke. He was carried down very quickly, but he also made way towards the shore. It took more than half an hour to cross from the islet to the land, and he reached the shore several hundred feet from the place which was opposite to the point from which he had started. Landing at the foot of a high wall of granite, he shook himself vigorously; and then, setting off running, soon disappeared behind a rocky point, which projected to nearly the height of the northern extremity of the islet.

positively of your own knowledge that

"Ah, you knew that would happen, too," he said after a startled pause. "I know only this: that if in times of peace it was important to my government that M'tela's friendship be gained, it is ten times as important in time of war. I must go back and do my best." "But why?" she interjected eagerly. "This savage tribe--it is in the remote hinterland; it knows nothing of the white man or the white man's quarrels. What difference can it make?" "That is not my affair. For one thing, he is on the border." "But what difference of that? The border means nothing. The fate of their colonies will be fought in Europe, not here. What happens to this country depends on who wins there below." "Can you state positively of your own knowledge that no invasion or movement of German troops is planned across M'tela's country? On your sacred word of honour?" propounded Kingozi suddenly. "On my word of honour," she repeated slowly, "no such movement." "Do you know what you are talking about?" She was silent. "It doesn't sound reasonable--an invasion from that quarter--what could they gain either on that side or on this?" Kingozi ruminated. A sudden thought struck him. "And that there is no reason whatever, from my point of view as a loyal British subject, against my going out at this time? On your word?" "Oh!" she cried distressedly, "you ask such questions! How can I answer----" He stopped her with grave finality. "That is sufficient. I go back." She did not attempt to combat him. "I have done my duty, too," she said dully. "Mine is not the Viennese conscience. My parole; I must take that back. From to-morrow I take it back." "I understand. I am sorry. To-morrow I place my guard." "Oh, why cannot you have the sense?" she cried passionately. "I cannot bear it! That you must be blind! That I must kill you if I can, once more!" Kingozi smiled quietly to himself at this confession. "So you would even kill me?" he queried curiously.

or if any man objects even one word to what

"And if any man grumbles, or if any man objects even one word to what I do or where I go, bring him to me at once. Understand?" "Yes, _bwana_." "_Bassi_." "What is it you intend to do now?" asked the Leopard Woman curiously. "Go back, of course." "Back--where?" "To M'tela." She gasped. "But you cannot do that! You have not considered; you have not thought." He shrugged his shoulders. "But it means blindness; blindness for always!" "I know my duty." "But to be blind, to be blind always; never to see the sun, the wide veldt, the beasts, and the birds! Never to read a book, to see a man's face, a woman's form; to sit always in darkness waiting--you cannot do that!" He winced at her words but did not reply. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders. "Please do not do this foolishness," she pleaded softly; "it is not worth it! See, I have given my word! If you had thought I would go ahead of you to M'tela, all that danger is past. A fresh start, you said it yourself. Do you think I would deceive you?" She was hovering very close to him; he could feel her breath on his cheek. Firmly but gently he took her two wrists and thrust her away from him. "Listen, my dear," he said gently, "this is a time for clear thinking. My country is at war with Germany; and my whole duty is to her. You are an Austrian." "My country, too, is at war," she said unexpectedly.

and walked back to his camp unassisted

"We said what has happened: that across the Serengetti came white men from the country of Taveta, and that these white men were many, and had many _askaris_ with them, and our white men from Nairobi met them, and fought so that those from Taveta were driven back and some were killed. And down the N'Gouramani River many of our white men with _Mahindi_[11] fought with strange white men on a hill below Ol Sambu, but were driven off. And many _Mahindi_ are coming in to Mombasa, all with guns, and all the _askaris_ are brought into Nairobi. And we told these safari men that the white men were making war on the white men, so they cried out at this, and beat us." [Footnote 11: Mahindi--East Indians.] Kingozi had listened attentively. "Well, Cazi Moto?" he demanded. "But this is a lie; a bad lie," said Cazi Moto, "to say that white men make war on white men!" "Nevertheless it is true," rejoined Kingozi quietly. "These other white men are the _Duyches_[12], and they make war." [Footnote 12: Duyches--Germans.] He turned and walked back to his camp unassisted. He groped for his chair and sat down. His hand encountered the letter. "You do not need to read this to me now," he told the Leopard Woman quietly. "I know what it tells." He thought a moment. "It is clear to me now. You knew, this war was to be declared." She did not reply. "You know about _when_ this war was to be declared," he pursued his thought. "Yes, it fits." Her silence continued. "You should have killed me," he thought aloud. "That alone could have accomplished your mission properly. You might have known I would make you go back, too. Or perhaps you thought you could command your own men in spite of me?" "Perhaps," she said unexpectedly. He raised his voice: "Cazi Moto!" The chastened headman came running. "To-morrow," Kingozi told him, "the men go on half _potio_. There will be plenty of meat but only half _potio_." "Yes, _bwana_."

to and fro steadily increased in

But his speech was cut short by an uproar from the camp. Cries, shrieks, shouts, yells, and the sound of running to and fro steadily increased in volume. It was a riot. In vain Kingozi called for Cazi Moto and Simba. Finally he grasped his _kiboko_ and started in the direction of the disturbance. The Leopard Woman sprang to his side, and guided him. He laid about him blindly with the _kiboko_, and in time succeeded in getting some semblance of order. "Cazi Moto! Simba!" he shouted angrily. "Bwana?" "Sah?" two panting voices answered. "What is this?" They both began to speak at once. "You, Cazi Moto," commanded Kingozi. "These men are liars," began Cazi Moto. "What men?" "These men who brought the _barua_. They tell lies, bad lies, and we beat them for it." "Since when have you beaten liars? And since when have I ceased to deal punishment? And since when has it been permitted that such a _kalele_ be raised in my camp?" pronounced Kingozi coldly. "For attending to such things you are my man; and Simba is my man; and Mali-ya-bwana is my man; and Jack is my man. Because you have done these things I fine you six rupees each one." "Yes, _bwana_," said Cazi Moto submissively. "These other men--what manner of 'lie' do they tell? Bring them here." The messengers were produced. "What is it you tell that my men beat you for telling lies? They must be bad lies, for it is not the custom of men to beat men for telling lies." "We tell no lies, _bwana_" said one of the messengers earnestly. "We tell the truth." "What is it you tell?"

the cool shadow of the earth rise across

"Take them and give them food, and see that they have a place in one of the tents." "Yes, _bwana_." "And send Bibi-ya-chui to me." The Leopard Woman sent word that she was bathing, but would come shortly. Kingozi sat fingering the letter, which he could not read. It was long and thick. He could feel the embossed frank of the Government Office. The situation was puzzling. It might contain secret orders, in which case it would be inadvisable to allow the Leopard Woman a sight of its contents. But Kingozi shook off this thought. At about the time he felt the cool shadow of the earth rise across his face as the sun slipped below the horizon, he became aware also by the faint perfume that the Leopard Woman had come. "I am in a fix," he said abruptly. "Runners have just come in with this letter. It is official, and may be secret. I am morally certain you ought not to know its contents; but I don't see how I am to know them unless you do. Will you read it to me, and will you give me your word not to use its contents for your own or your government's purposes?" She hesitated. "I cannot promise that." "Well," he amended after a moment, "you will stick to the terms of your other promise--that you will not attempt to leave my safari or send messages until we arrive." "The fresh, even start," she supplied. "That promise is given." He handed her the envelope. A crackle of paper, then a long wait. "I shall not read you this," she said finally in a strangled, suppressed voice. "Why not?" he demanded sharply. "It contains things I would not have you know." He felt the paper thrust into his hands, reached for her wrists, and pinioned them. For once his self-control had broken. His face was suffused with blood and dark with anger.

to which she listened with a half smile

She asked all these questions directly, as a man would, and listened to his replies. "I suppose you have an office picked out?" she surmised. At his mention of the Merchants' Exchange Building she raised her arched eyebrows half humorously. "You picked out an expensive place." Keith went over his reasoning, to which she listened with a half smile. "You may be right," she commented; "the reasoning is perfectly sound. But that means you must get the business in order to make it pay. What are your plans?" He confessed that as yet they were rather vague; there had not been time to do much--too busy settling. "The usual thing, I suppose," he added: "get acquainted, hang out a shingle, mix with people, sit down and starve in the traditional manner of young lawyers." He laughed lightly, but she refused to joke. "There are a good many lawyers here--and most of them poor ones," she told him. "The difficulty is to stand out above the ruck, to become noticed. You must get to know all classes, of course; but especially those of your own profession, men on the bench. Yes, especially men on the bench, they may help you more than any others--" He seemed to catch a little cynicism in her implied meaning, and experienced a sense of shock on his professional side. "You don't mean that judges are--" "Susceptible to influence?" She finished the sentence for him with an amused little laugh. She studied him for an instant with new interest, "They're human--more human here than anywhere else--like the rest of us-- they respond to kind treatment--" She laughed again, but at the sight of his face her own became grave. She checked herself. "Everything is so new out here. In older countries the precedents have all been established. Out here there are practically none. They are being made now, every day, by the present judges. Naturally personal influence might get a hearing for one point of view or the other--"

and resumed her work calmly

"You are practically invisible." she told him. "Making ourselves a habitation. Seen Mrs. Keith?" "No. I don't think she's come in." Keith hesitated, then: "I think I'll go up to the house for her." Mrs. Sherwood nodded, and resumed her work calmly, without further remark. At the house Keith found Nan, her apron on, her hair done up under a dust cap, very busy. "Noon?" she cried, astonished. "It can't be! But I can't stop now. I think I'll have Wing pick me up a lunch. There's plenty in the house. It's too much bother to clean up." Keith demurred; then wanted to stay for the pick-up lunch himself. Nan would have none of it. She was full of repressed enthusiasm and eagerness, but she wanted to get rid of him. "There's not enough. I wouldn't have you around. Go away, that's a good boy! If you'll leave Wing and me entirely alone we'll be ready to move in to-morrow." "Where's Gringo?" asked Keith by way of indirect yielding--he had really no desire for a picked-up lunch. "The little rascal! He started to chew everything in the place, so I tied him in the backyard. He pulls and flops dreadfully. Do you think he'll strangle himself?" Keith looked out the window. Gringo, all four feet planted, was determinedly straining back against his tether. The collar had pulled forward all the loose skin of his neck, so that his eyes and features were lost in wrinkles. "He doesn't yap," volunteered Nan. Keith gave it as his opinion that Gringo would stop short of suicide, commended Gringo's taciturnity and evident perseverance, and departed for the hotel. In the dining-room he saw Mrs. Sherwood in a riding habit, eating alone. Keith hesitated, then took the vacant seat opposite. She accorded this permission cordially, but without coquetry, remarking that Sherwood often did not get in at noon. Immediately she turned the conversation to Keith's affairs, inquiring in detail as to how the settling was getting on, when they expected to get in, how they liked the house, whether they had bought all the furniture. "You remember I directed you to the auctions?" she said.

on guard and beat her at her own game

They gave me a headache." Illogically rehabilitated in his own self-esteem, Keith went on dressing. He was "on" to Mrs. Morrell; her methods were pretty obvious. Wonder if she thought she had really fooled him? Next time he would be on guard and beat her at her own game. She was not a woman to his taste, anyway--he glanced admiringly at Nan's clean profile against the light--but she was full of vitality, she was keen, she was brimming with the joy of life. The long drive over the Peninsula to the sea and back, the episode of the Spanish people, the rowdy supper party, had one effect, however: it had made so decided a break in the routine that Keith found himself thrust quite outside it. He had worked feverishly all the week, at about double speed; and in ordinary course would have gone on working feverishly at double speed for another week. Now, suddenly, the thought was irksome. He did not analyze this; but, characteristically, discovered an irrefutable reason for not going on with it. They rescued Gringo from Sam's care, and drove up to the house. On the way Keith said: "Look here, Nan; do you suppose you and Wing can get on all right this morning? All the heavy work is done. I really ought to be settling the office and getting some lines laid for business." "Why, of course we can get on, silly!" she rejoined. "This isn't your job, anyway. Of course you ought to attend to your business." Keith again consulted Palmer, Cook & Co. The same clerk showed him offices. He was appalled at the rents. Even a miserable little back room in the obscurer blocks commanded a sum higher than he had anticipated paying. After looking at a dozen, he finally decided on a front room in the Merchants' Exchange Building. This was one of the most expensive, but Keith was tired of looking. The best is the greatest economy in the long run, he told himself, and with a lawyer, new-come, appearances count for much in getting clients. Must get the clients, though, to support this sort of thing! The rest of the morning he spent buying furniture. About noon he walked back to the Bella Union. His horse and buggy were not hitched to the rail, so he concluded Nan had not yet returned for lunch. Mrs. Sherwood, however, was seated in a rocker at the sunny end of the long veranda. She looked most attractive, her small smooth head bent over some sort of fancywork. Before she looked up Keith had leisure to note the poise of her head and shoulders, the fine long lines of her figure, and the arched-browed serenity of her eyes. Different type this from the full- breasted Morrell, more--more patrician! Rather absurd in view of their respective places in society, but a fact. Keith found himself swiftly speculating on Mrs. Sherwood's origin and experience. She was endowed with a new glamour because of Mrs. Morrell's enigmatic remark the evening before, and also--for Keith was very human--with a new attraction. Feeling vaguely and boyishly devilish, Keith. stopped. She nodded at him, laying her work aside.

break up some of

"Perhaps I didn't mean all of that," she said; "perhaps only half of it," she added with significance. "My personal opinion is that you are likely to be a curly haired little devil; and when you look at me like that, I'm glad we're not alone." She looked at him an enigmatic moment, then turned away from the table near which they had been standing. "Come, help me break up some of this 'twosing,'" she said. Shortly after this the party dispersed. Mrs. Morrell said good-bye to them carelessly, or not at all, according as it happened. "You must come again, come often," she told the Keiths. "It's pretty dull unless you make your own fun." She was half sleepily conventional, her lids heavy. "Perhaps we can have some music soon," she added. The words were careless, but she shot Keith an especial gleam. The Keiths walked sociably home together, almost in silence. Keith, after his habit, super-excited with all the fun, the row, and the half-guilty boyish feeling of having done a little something he ought not to have done, did not want to seem too enthusiastic. "Jolly crowd," he remarked. "They were certainly noisy enough," said Nan indifferently; then after a moment, "Where _do_ you suppose some of them get their clothes?" Keith's mind was full of the excitement of the evening. He found himself reviewing the company, appraising it, wondering about it. Was Teeny McFarlane as gay as she appeared? He had never seen women smoke before; but that dark girl with the red thing in her hair puffed a cigarette. Perhaps she was Spanish--he had not met her. And Mrs. Morrell--hanged if he quite dared make her out--it wouldn't do to jump to conclusions nor too hastily to apply Eastern standards; this was a new country, fatal to make a fool mistake; well-built creature, by gad-- Nan interrupted his thoughts. He came to with a start. "I think we'd better put the big armchair in the front room, after all," she was saying. Chapter 12 Next morning Keith allayed what little uneasiness his conscience might harbour by remarking, as he adjusted his collar: "Mrs. Morrell is an amusing type, don't you think? She's a bit vulgar, but she seems good hearted. Wonder what colour her hair used to be?" "I suppose they are all right," said Nan. "They are a little rowdy.

The company had quite frankly segregated itself

In a moment or so Mrs. Morrell rose and strolled toward the drawing-room. The others straggled after her. She rather liked thus to emphasize her lack of convention as a hostess, making a pose of never remembering the proper thing to do. Now she moved here and there, laughing her shrill rather mirthless laugh, calling everybody "dearie," uttering abrupt little platitudes. Keith found himself left behind, and rather out in the cold. The company had quite frankly segregated itself into couples. The room was well adapted to this, filled as it was with comfortable chairs arranged with apparent carelessness two by two. The men lighted cigars. Keith saw Nan's eyes widen at this. She was sitting near the fire, and Sansome had penned her in beyond the possibility of invasion by a third. At this date smoking was a more or less doubtfully considered habit, and in the best society men smoked only in certain rigidly specified circumstances. In a drawing-room such an action might be considered the fair equivalent to powdering the feminine nose. In such a condition, Keith was left rather awkwardly alone, and was fairly thrust upon a fictitious interest in a photograph album, at which he glowered for some moments. Then by a well-planned and skilfully executed flank movement he caught Mrs. Morrell. "Look here," he demanded; "what has the standing army done to deserve abandonment in a hostile country?" But she looked at him directly, without response to his playful manner. "My friend," she said, "this is a pretty free and easy town, as no doubt you have observed, and society is very mixed. But we haven't yet come to receiving women like Mrs. Sherwood, or relishing their being mentioned to us." "Why, what's the matter with her?" demanded Keith, astonished. "Is she as far from respectability as all that?" "Respectable! That word isn't understood in San Francisco." She appeared suddenly to soften. "You're a dear innocent boy, so you are, and you've got a dear innocent little wife, and I'll have to look out for you." Before the deliberate and superior mockery in her eyes as well as in her voice, Keith felt somehow like a small boy. He was stung to a momentary astonishing fury. "By God--" he began, and checked himself with difficulty. She smiled at him slowly.

her in the belly and let you

Daisy wore a cap of blood. One ear was almost completely ripped from her head and hung grotesquely by a narrow strip of skin. But her face was unmarked, and now showed an expression of pure hatred. "For what you've done to me, I should shoot her in the belly and let you watch her bleed to death, screaming in agony." Craig shook with horror. "But I need your help," Daisy went on. "If you want to save your little girlfriend's life, just do everything I tell you, instantly. Hesitate, and she dies." Craig felt she really meant it. "Get over here," she said. He had no choice. He stepped closer. "Kneel down." Craig knelt beside her. She turned her hateful eyes on Sophie. "Now, you little whore, I'm going to let go of your arm, but don't you try to move away, or I'll shoot you, and enjoy it." She took her left hand off Sophie's arm, but kept the gun pushed into the flesh of Sophie's neck. Then she put her left arm around Craig's shoulders. "Hold my wrist, lad," she said. Craig grasped Daisy's wrist as it dangled over his shoulder. "You, lassie, get under my right arm." Sophie changed her position slowly, and Daisy put her right arm over Sophie's shoulders, managing all the time to keep the gun pointed at Sophie's head. "Now, you're going to lift me up and carry me to the house. But do it gently. I think I've got a broken leg. If you jog me it might hurt, and if I flinch I might accidentally pull the trigger. So, easy does it... and lift." Craig tightened his grip on Daisy's wrist and raised himself from the kneeling position. To ease the burden on Sophie, he put his right arm around Daisy's waist and took some of her weight. The three of them slowly stood upright. Daisy was gasping with pain, and as pale as the snow on the ground all around them; but, when Craig looked sideways and caught her eye, he saw that she was watching him intently.

clean his mouth with handfuls of fresh snow

IT took Craig a long time to work up the courage to look again at the motionless form of Daisy. The sight of her mangled body, even viewed from a distance, had made him throw up. When there was nothing left in him to come out, he had tried to clean his mouth with handfuls of fresh snow. Then Sophie came to him and put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her, keeping his back to Daisy. They had stood like that until at last the nausea passed and he felt able to turn and see what he had done. Sophie said, "What are we going to do now?" Craig swallowed. It was not over yet. Daisy was only one of three thugs—and then there was Uncle Kit. "We'd better take her gun," he said. Her expression told him she hated that idea. She said, "Do you know how to use it?" "How hard can it be?" She looked unhappy, but just said, "Whatever." Craig hesitated a moment longer; then he took her hand and they walked toward the body. Daisy was lying face down, her arms beneath her. Although she had tried to kill Craig, he still found it horrible to look at a human being so mangled. The legs were the worst. Her leather trousers had been ripped to shreds. One leg was twisted unnaturally and the other was gashed and bloody. The leather jacket seemed to have protected her arms and body, but her shaved head was covered with blood. Her face was hidden, buried in the snow. They stopped six feet away. "I can't see the gun," Craig said. "It must be underneath her." They stepped closer. Sophie said, "I've never seen a dead person." "I saw Mamma Marta in the funeral parlor." "I want to see her face." Letting go of Craig's hand, Sophie went down on one knee and reached out to the bloodstained body. Quick as a snake, Daisy lifted her head, grabbed Sophie's wrist, and brought her right hand out from under her with the gun in it. Sophie screamed in terror. Craig felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He shouted: "Christ!" and jumped back. Daisy jammed the snout of the little gray pistol into the soft skin of Sophie's throat. "Stand still, laddie!" she yelled. Craig froze.

causing him to roar in pain

It was not a forceful throw, and in some part of her brain she heard her ex, Frank, say scornfully, You couldn't throw a ball if your life depended on it. Now her life did depend on it, and Frank was right—the throw was too weak. She hit the target, and there was an audible thud as the billiard ball connected with Elton's skull, causing him to roar in pain; but he did not slump unconscious. Instead he got to his knees, holding his bruised head with one hand, then struggled to his feet. Toni took out the second ball. Elton looked at the floor all around him, searching in a dazed way for his gun. Caroline had climbed halfway down the ladder, and now she leaped to the floor. She stooped and grabbed one of the rats that was hiding behind a leg of the billiard table. Turning to pick up another, she collided with Elton. He mistook her for his adversary, and punched her. It was a powerful blow that connected with the side of her head, and she fell to the floor. But it hurt him, too, for Toni saw him grimace in agony and wrap his arms around his chest, and she guessed she had broken some ribs when she jumped on him. Something had caught Toni's eye as Caroline had reached under the billiard table for a rat. Toni looked again and saw the gun, dull gray against the dark wood of the floor. Elton saw it at the same time. He dropped to his knees. As Elton reached under the table, she raised her arm high above her head and brought the ball down with all her might, squarely on the back of his head. He slumped unconscious. Toni fell to her knees, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. She closed her eyes for a moment, but there was too much to do for her to rest long. She picked up the gun. Steve had been right, it was a Browning automatic pistol of the kind issued by the British army to special forces for clandestine work. The safety catch was on the left side, behind the grip. She turned it to the locked position, then stuffed the gun in the waist of her jeans. She unplugged the television and ripped the cable out of the back of the set, then used it to tie Elton's hands behind his back. Then she searched him, looking for a phone; but, to her intense disappointment, he did not have one.

She reached forward with both arms and

She felt an ominous vibration in the floor that told her Elton had started to climb the ladder. It was now or never. She reached forward with both arms and emptied the bag of rats over the top of the ladder. She heard Elton give a roar of shock and disgust as five live rats dropped on his head. His shout woke Caroline, who let out a squeal and sat upright. There was a crash as Elton lost his footing on the ladder and fell to the floor. Toni sprang to her feet and looked down. Elton had fallen on his back. He did not seem seriously hurt, but he was yelling in panic and frantically trying to brush rats off his clothing. They were as frightened as he, and trying desperately to cling to something. Toni could not see his gun. She hesitated only a fraction of a second, then jumped off the loft. She came down with both feet on Elton's chest. He gave an agonized grunt as the air was knocked out of him. Toni landed like a gymnast, rolling forward, but still the impact hurt her legs. From above, she heard a scream: "My babies!" Looking up, she saw Caroline at the top of the ladder, wearing lavender pajamas with a pattern of yellow teddy bears. Toni felt sure she must have squashed one or two of Caroline's pets as she landed, but the rats scattered, apparently unhurt. Desperate to keep the upper hand, Toni struggled to her feet. One ankle gave her a stab of pain, but she ignored it. Where was the gun? He must have dropped it. Elton was hurt, but perhaps not immobilized. She fumbled in her jeans for a billiard ball, but it slipped through her fingers as she tried to pull it out of her pocket. She suffered a moment of pure terror, a feeling that her body would not obey her brain and she was completely helpless. Then she used both hands, one to push from outside her pocket and the other to grasp the ball as it emerged. But the momentary delay had allowed Elton to recover from the shock of the rats. As Toni raised her right hand above her head, he rolled away from her. Instead of bringing the heavy ball down on his head in the hope of knocking him senseless, she was forced to change her mind at the last instant and throw it at him.

apparently confident he would not need help

She wondered fearfully if she could hide. She looked around the barn. No hiding place suggested itself. Besides, there was no point. She had to confront the gang, she thought grimly, and the sooner the better. This one was coming for her on his own, apparently confident he would not need help dealing with a mere woman. Perhaps that would turn out to be his crucial mistake. Unfortunately, Toni had no weapons. She had a few seconds to find some. She looked hurriedly at the things around her. She considered a billiard cue, but it was too light. A blow from one would hurt like hell, but would not render a man unconscious, or even knock him down. Billiard balls were much more dangerous: heavy, solid, and hard. She stuffed two into her jeans pockets. She wished she had a gun. She glanced up at the hayloft. Height was always an advantage. She scrambled up the ladder. Caroline was fast asleep. On the floor between the two beds was an open suitcase. On top of the clothes was a plastic shopping bag. Next to the case was a cage of white rats. The barn door opened, and Toni dropped to the floor and lay flat. There was a fumbling sound, then the main lights came on. Toni could not see the ground floor from her prone position, so she did not know exactly where Elton was; but he could not see her, either, and she had the advantage of knowing he was there. She listened hard, trying to hear his footsteps over the thunder of her heart. There was an odd noise that she interpreted, after a few moments' puzzlement, as Elton overturning the camp beds in case a child was hiding underneath. Then he opened the bathroom door. There was no one inside—Toni had already checked. There was nowhere left to look but the hayloft. He would be coming up the ladder any second now. What could she do? Toni heard the unpleasant squeak of rats, and was struck by inspiration. Still lying flat, she took the shopping bag from the open suitcase and removed its contents, a gift-wrapped package labeled "To Daddy, Happy Xmas from Sophie with love." She dropped the package back in the suitcase. Then she opened the rats' cage. Gently, she picked the rats up one by one and put them in the plastic bag. There were five.

no signs directing traffic to

"You're clueless, aren't you?" "I guess." "A lot of cokeheads need a year. Even more for heroin addicts." And which is your current poison? Ray wanted to ask. But then he didn't want to. "A year?" he said. "Yep, total lockdown. And then the addict has to do it himself. I know guys who've been to prison for three years with no coke, no crack, no drugs at all, and when they were released they called a dealer before they called their wives or girlfriends." "What happens to them?" "It's not pretty." He threw the last of the peanuts into his mouth, slapped his hands together, and sent salt flying. THERE WERE no signs directing traffic to Alcorn Village. They followed Oscar's directions until they were certain they were lost deep in the hills, then saw a gate in the distance. Down a tree-lined drive, a complex spread before them. It was peaceful and secluded, and Forrest gave it good marks for first impressions. Oscar Meave arrived in the lobby of the administration building and guided them to an intake office, where he handled the initial paperwork himself. He was a counselor, an administrator, a psychologist, an ex-addict who'd cleaned himself up years ago and received two Ph.D.'s. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt, sneakers, a goatee, and two earrings, and had the wrinkles and chipped tooth of a rough prior life. But his voice was soft and friendly. He exuded the tough compassion of one who'd been where Forrest was now. The cost was $325 a day and Oscar was recommending a minimum of four weeks. "After that, we'll see where he is. I'll need to ask some pretty rough questions about what Forrest has been doing." "I don't want to hear that conversation," Ray said. "You won't," Forrest said. He was resigned to the flogging that was coming. "And we require half the money up front," Oscar said. "The other half before his treatment is complete." Ray flinched and tried to remember the balance in his checking account back in Virginia. He had plenty of cash, but this was not the time to use it. "The money is coming out of my father's estate," Forrest said. "It might take a few days." Oscar was shaking his head. "No exceptions. Our policy is half now." "No problem," said Ray. "I'll write a check for it."

She had a little dough at one point

They stopped at a country store and bought sodas. For breakfast Forrest had a bag of peanuts. "Some of these places have good food," he said when they were moving again. Forrest the tour guide for detox centers. Forrest the Michelin critic for rehab units. "I usually lose a few pounds," he said, chomping. "Do they have gyms and such?" Ray asked, aiding the conversation. He really didn't want to discuss the perks of various drug tanks. "Some do," Forrest said smugly. "Ellie sent me to this place in Florida near a beach, lots of sand and water, lots of sad rich folks. Three days of brainwashing, then they worked our asses off. Hikes, bikes, power walks, weights if we wanted. I got a great tan and dropped fifteen pounds. Stayed clean for eight months." In his sad little life, everything was measured by stints of sobriety. "Ellie sent you?" Ray asked. "Yeah, it was years ago. She had a little dough at one point, not much. I'd hit the bottom, and it was back when she cared. It was a nice place, though, and some of the counselors were those Florida chicks with short skirts and long legs." "I'll have to check it out." "Kiss my ass." 'Just kidding." "There's this place out West where all the stars go, the Hacienda, and it's the Ritz. Plush rooms, spas, daily massages, chefs who can fix great meals at one thousand calories a day. And the counselors are the best in the world. That's what I need, Bro, six months at the Hacienda." "Why six months?" "Because I need six months. I've tried two months, one month, three weeks, two weeks, it's not enough. For me, it's six months of total lockdown, total brainwashing, total therapy, plus my own masseuse." . . "What's the cost?" Forrest whistled and rolled his eyes. "Pick a number. I don't know. You gotta have a zillion bucks and two recommendations to get in. Imagine that, a letter of recommendation. 'To the Fine Folks at the Hacienda: I hereby heartily recommend my friend Doofus Smith as a patient in your wonderful facility. Doofus drinks vodka for breakfast, snorts coke for lunch, snacks on heroin, and is usually comatose by dinner. His brain is fried, his veins are lacerated, his liver is shot to hell. Doofus is your kind of person and his old man owns Idaho.' " "Do they keep people for six months?"