THE YELLOW SPOT.

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 306, 26 December 1924, Page 10

THE YELLOW SPOT.

By LILY STACH.

CHAPTER XI. The Rev. Mr. Jenkins looked thoughtfully after Ah Sin. There was an expression of pride in his eyeß, he felt that some credit was due to him for the C'hinaboy's cleverness. "He Tias a great deal of intelligence, that boy Albert," he remarked. "I must Bee to it that he learns some of the right sort of—er—poems, now that I Bee that he can recite bo well. . . . Hmm, well, my dear Jean, truly it is said: 'In the midst of life we are in death.' Hmm. Here we are, enjoying the good things of this life, in spite of the passing over of your poor friend! Aery sad—that little service over her." The Rev. Mr. Jenkins folded his hands and sighed. There was a soft light in Jean's pretty In-own eyes. "Poor Evelyn! When I remember what a. light-hearted happy girl she was it does seem too bad that she' should have come to such an ending of; all her hopes and dreams! Oh, I know; you all think that her death was in- j tentional, but I'm sure that it wasn't!"; "Well, you can't say there was really i any proof, one way or the other, Miss Elwell. It was sure mighty rough on; you not to get a chance to see your '[ friend alive—and you right here in the town, too." ''If only she had known that I was so near, oh, I wonder if it would have been any different! I can't forgive that C'hing Lucy—-even if he was your friend, Clive," she added turning to her com- j panion. "How could he have practised that deception on poor Evelyn!" I "But I don't think that he ever meant to deceive Miss Darnay," Clive said seriously. The others stared at him in i surprise. "I know Lucy well, and I know the Chinese universal habit of procrastination." ] Turner, indignant, was quick to take up the cudgels for Jean Elwell, even' against her affianced lover. j "Are you really sticking up for a Chink who would play a low-down trick like that- on a white woman?" hej asked belligerently. "I am trying to be just—as I think Lucy would be to mc if the cases were | reversed." replied the young English-! man. At this remark the Rev. Mr. Jen-! kins, lurried a look of strong disapproval upon the speaker. Clive addressed himself earnestly to Jean. "Can't you see, Jean, that far off there in England, in the glamour of being with Evelyn, whom I believe in his own way he deeply loved, that it was easy for him to forget for the time the existence of the Chinese wife?" Jean turned her candid, truth-com-pelling eyes, upon him. "JSo, I can't see how a man can forget that he has a wife and child." "Consider that she had prohably been thrust upon him. as is the Chinese custom, and that he had never cared for her." "Say, Benton, have you been retained for the defence?" "If Miss Darnay hadn't been told of the Chinese wife when they first met, it's easy to see that later on it would have become- almost impossible to tell her." Clive spoke very earnestly. Turner suddenly remembered a talk he had with Benton in reference to the Englishman's own affairs. He became silent and listened to Clive with great interest. "But Clive," Jean answered, somewhat hurt at his attitude in the matter. "Lucy knew all the time that he wasn't really asking Evelyn to be his wife." "But can't you see that that didn't mean the same thing to him as it does to us? His ideas about a first wife and a second wife are not the same as ours are." Jeftn looked searchingly at her betrothed. "It is strange to hear you justifying Ching Lucy, Clive!" she said almost sadly. "I'm not justifying him. I'm only trying to be fair. He acted according to the customs and traditions of his race. We can judge a man's conduct only by his own standards." "I emphatically disagree with that!" interposed the Rev. Mr. Jenkins. "I object to judging a man or a people by standards, when those standards are morally wrong." "But to the Chinese they are not wrong," CBve answered. "What do you mean?" "I ■ mean, that to the Chinese, we are wrong." "My dear.sir. that is utterly absurd!" the clergyman said almost testily. "But it is nevertheless true, "whatever, they may think of our cleverness in certain mechanical ways, the Chinese think our dress indecent, our behaviour indecorous, our habits immoral." Turner's sense of humour and his desire to torment the clergyman got the better of his resolution to keep out of the discussion. "Gee!" he remarked. "They've got us sized up all right, ain't they?" The reverend gentleman "turned to him in real displeasure. "If you have no beliefs of your own, you might at least show some respect for what other people hold dear.'" "All right," said Turner meekly, "maybe you're right—l pass." 'T repeat," said Mr. Jenkins firmly, "the man, Ching Lucy had no right moral standard. Of course, if he'd been a Chinaman who'd received Christian teaching such a thing could not have happened." "Why not?" "The Chinese are a polygamous people; we are not." "Oh, come off it, rev.! Were just as polygamous as the Chinese—both in your country and mine—only we ain't honest enough to call it that." ' Turner's tone was not very reverent. At this, to him. outrageous "statement, the little clergyman fairly bristled tvith indignation. "Really," he began. "I could hardly have believed it possible that—" but Jean put' up her hand with a weary gesture. "Oh, don't let's go to arguing and quarrelling!" she said. "We'll never convince each other. It seems to mc that what matters is that out here it's all dreadfully hard on the women, whether they're white or Chinese. I feel sorry for Ching Lucy's Chinese wife though I don't suppose any of you could look at it as a woman could." 'I daresay not," Clive agreed seriously. "We can put up with ill-treatment, but somehow it's hard to forgive there having been another woman. I think it was that which must have broken poor Evelyn's heart." "Jean," said aire, "believe mc, the "hole trouble lies in the wav that the two civilisations look at the" one fact, its that wh,ch makes the eternal conflict between East and AVest"' .lfwV?? T as very Wl ' Btful - Under all her habitual gaiety-of manner tiers

was a euhstiatum of great seriousness. She sighed. '•I think I should like to spend my life in trying to bring Eiet and West closer together. Oh, some day they must understand each other." "You take it from he," 'remarked the tea buyer, "it can't be done; they just ain't meant to be, any more than they are meant to be any closer together ■ on the map." i The Key. Mr. Jenkins had not en- : joyed the tea party. He did not ap- • prove of the trend of the conversation, and he saw the futility of trying to convince his companions. He rose to [ his feet. • '•[ think I'll be getting back to the ; mission. Letitia may need me—her Chinese ie not very fluent. Good-bye, I Jean, your friends trill see you safely i home. * Good afternoon." He bowed ; coldly to the two men., and -walked • away with dignity. ' "Oh, dear!' , Jean said, looking after ' him—there was a little self-reproach in i her voice—"he docs mean so well, and the is rea.lly so consistent. I do wish he didn't jar on mc. He simply makes .mc want to disagree with him. Both I he and Mrs. Jenkins are the kind of \ people that you can admire, but never f like. > . Such an old-fashioned idea , that —that at my age someone has to 'see mc safely home. , Juet because he ' said that, I've a great mind to go home r in a sedan chair by myeelf, just to 5 see what it feels like." • , "I don't know, Jean; perhaps you'd - better not. Have you heard about the , abduction of Ching Lee"c young betrothed J" , "Really? Here in Chin Kiang?" . "Yee, a few days ago. She was sent I somewhere in a 6edan chair—she never reached lier destination, nor apparently - anywhere else. She's not been seen or I heard of since. So, my dear girl, I think I will see you home." ■- "Silly boy!" Jean smiled at him. "But I how strange about the girl. The Chinese i women do teem to be very submissive and unreasoning creatures. Do you I know that there is a little Chinese girl on a. visit to my cousine now —she does > not know in the last why ehe is there, i or anything about it." Turner pricked up hie ears. "What's l that?" he aeked quickly. ; "She's a pretty little thing, who never ; seems to have anything to say but 'Heh! Heh! , She simply accepts that : she's been sent to my cousins, and ! there she'll etop and do what β-he is • told to do until her father eends to - fetch her away." "But your cousins, of course, know I who she" is s"' asked Clive. The tea garden servants were now f clearing away the tea things. The three f continued to chat. i "Oh, yes, she'e the daughter cf some t merchant, a great friend of Cousin ! Nathaniel'e. They eaid they didn't know exactly when ghe was coming to - visit them, 'but they're delighted to ! have her." i "Do you know her fathers name: asked Turner. • "Yes," replied the girl, its—it s— - how stupid)!—l did hear it, but I can't r recall it now. And what do you think my cousine aTe doing with, that little ' Mongolian maiden?" "What?" asked the two men together, f "They're teaching that funny little - thing hymns and texts as hard ac ever 1 they can! And she is trying to cay 1 them—like a. darling little elant-eyed parrot. Isn't it too funny?" r "Sure!" said Turner. "Tbat'a juet 1 what the Key; and Mrs. Ditto would do. ' Benton, doesn't it strike you as a. little ! strange considering what tve heard t about young Lee's betrothed? How long has this girl been there, Miss ElweU?" "Really—l hadn't noticed—several • days, I think." fc "It can't be that girl, Turner. Jean says that the Jenkins know her father." : r "oh, well, you never can tell—eny- ' way with a chink. I've gotta, hunch ! that I'd better look into this little mat- ' ter. Good-bye, Miss ElweU, I'll see you later, maybe." The American thought that lover-like ! the young people would like to be together without other company. He felt sure that Benton was anxious for an T opportunity to talk to Jean alone. ' Turner lifted his hat jauntily, and • strolled away. He gave a quick searching glance around for Ah Sin, but that .. worthy was nowhere to be seen. L Jean looked smiling'.y after the departT ing tea buyer. Turner interested her, , amused her, intrigued her. and at times annoyed her. But she distinctly liked (. him. "Nice man, Mr. Turner, isn't he?" she asked of her betrothed. Clive was pac- . ing up and down the little path, restless and ill at ease. '"Isn't he, Clive ?" she » repeated after a momept, when he seemed not to have heard her. "What? Oh, yes—l beg your pardon. . . , Jean, I want to have a talk with you." , She looked at him with affectionate r eyes. "All right, Clive. But you needn't look so serious about it." , 'It is serious," he replied shortly. He , walked away, then came back to the f table where she was still sitting. "Well?" she queried serenely, meeting , his eyes. His glance travelled restlessly over the wide paddy fields that lay , below the town of Chin Kiang. She , waited for him to begin. I "Jean," he said slowly after a moment, j r "You've never asked mc any of the quea- 1 tions about my life that a woman has the right to ask of the man she expects' to marry." Jean thought she had a general idea £ of what he wanted to say to her. , "I don't know that a woman has any , such right," she said quietly. "Your , life before we met isn't mine to pry into —my past is my own, too. That makes us quits. After we marry, life will , belong to us both together, that's all." j "But that isn't all," he answered j. almost roughly. "One can't walk out of l one's past life as one would walk out of i a room and shut the door upon it, can't you see that?" The girl considered the man earnestly. She saw that he was genuinely troubled. , She felt that he was hyper-conscientious over some fact in his past life which did , not really concern her. It seemed to . her best not to take him too seriousl-r. , "Clive, if there's something in your past which you think you ought to tell [mc about—well—don't do it. Consider . that it has been said, if you like, and , forget it." , He began to walk up and down the t garden path again. One of the tea ( garden attendants looked at him curi- , ously, but got quickly out of his -way. I He came back to Jean. "You make mc feel such an unutteT- . able cad!" he said crossly. Jean assumed that the matter was closed. "Well, that's settled and done , with." : "No!" Clive stopped suddenly. The i tea garden boy hastened to another table. '"'I can't let it go at that. I've . got to thrash this thing out with you. i Jean, we've been engaged nearly two , years, haven't we?" "Yen," she said simply, but a vague feeling of trouble began to aesail her. "What sort of a life did yon think I i was leading cut iere by myself t"

She was surprised. "If I thought about it at all, Clive, of course, I believed that whatever woman had at some time —er—figured in your life, it went without question that after we became engaged you were faithful to mc." "Well, I wasn't," he burst out almost defiantly. The girl made a quick movement as if to rise from her seat. He stopped her with a gesture. "Listen to mc, Jean. Now that I've begun, you must hear the facts." She was quite still for a moment. She clasped her hands tightly together so as to keep control of herself. '"I am listening," she said in a low voice, her accusing eyes fixed upon him. "Before I met you, I had had two long years of thie lonely, hideous life of China. You can't in the least imagine what it was—l'm not poing to try to tell you. I had come out here full of ambitions, full of high ideals and enthusiasms, with the determination to study the civilisation, the religion of China. My one great thought wae that I must do something to awaken this great people, to help them with our higher civilisation and culture." "Yes, Clive. But you told mc all this before—you wrote it to mc, too." "Then there came to mc the inspiration to write a book that should awaken the West to its duty to the East. I set to work to collect the material for my book, the great book that was to do a wonderful work for East and West." "Yes, I know." "But you don"t know what it cost mc." "Co9t you—what do you mean ?" "You don't know the price I paid for that material! Yes, I got together the material for my hook. But the price 1 paid for it was the loss of my illusions, my ideals, my beliefs. The knowledge I acquired was dearly bought. . . I went home. . . I met you. . . To mc, you were something exquisite. . . We became engaged." "Yee," Jean said so softly that, he scarcely beard the word. There was a moment's silence. '"I came back here to my work." he went on. "Your face was aiways before mc. All women somehow seemed different to mc because of you. . . You will scarcely believe it, Jean, but it came about because of what I felt for you." "You haven't told mc what 'it' was." She kept her eyes averted now, her voice had lost its colour. "I will tell you." He came and took the seat opposite to her at the little table, but she did not turn her face towards him. "Jean, I don't know how I was such a coward as not to tell you before. I was living at Ichang. I was going through some wonderful scripts at the Buddhist monastery outside the town. One night I was going home, passing through a filthy little street. I heard the sounds of screams and of blows. I hurried to the spot. I came upon a foul old hag cruelly beating a little slave girl. The child—she was little more—had tried to escape from the unspeakable horrors of the old harridan's brothel—she was being mercilessly beaten. Jean, it was as if your eoul appealed to mc through that child's poor little bruised body." "I understand," Jean murmured iv a scarcely audible voice. "I could not leave her, there was only one way to save her. I bought her for a few taels from the old witch. I took her home. I found that she had been sold into slavery as an infant. She had been beaten and maltreated until the time came when the beating made her less profitable for other purposes." "How unspeakably horrible!" "Women are npt precious things in the estimate of the Asiatic. I found that she knew nothing, could do nothing. I tried to find her a job, a place for her somewhere. When she discovered that I was trying to find work for her elsewhere she was heartbroken. She felt that she had offended me—she refused to eat. . . Her gratitude to mc was touching, ehe thought of but one way to show it." Jean turned suddenly, absolutely horrified, and looked at* Benton. * "You men—oh, it's horrible! You can't mean that! A Chinese woman!" "It was the one touch of real human feeling in all the hideous life out here, can't you imagine what it might mean to a man?" "Do you expect mc to?" Clive was silent. A hungry little sparrow hopped imprudently upon the table and began to gobble up" the crumbs of cakes—expecting every moment to be driven away. The man looked at it dully; it ate until its greedy little crop was distended. "There is no excuse I can offer—if you cannot understand. You said a little while ago that I could not look at. things from a woman's viewpoint, 1 suppose it is too much to ask that you should try and imagine how a man might feel." Jean made no reply to (his. She asked in her direct way: "Why didn't you tell mc this, cleanly and honestly, when you were home on your lone holiday?" "I did try to—believe me—l (ried to— but I couldn't. Then, too, I thought it was all at an end. Months before I had arranged not to sen Ona Pao again. I had sent her to a little village to live ! with the widow of my former house ! I boy. . . But I haven't told yon all; when I got back after my holiday ] found there was a child—Ona r'ao's Bon!" : Jean rose to her feel in almost uiieon- . trollable agitation. "And—and—yours!" she stammered. He inclined his head in silence. She { kept her eyes fixed upon his face. After i a moment she said in a voice of suppressed feeling. ' "You have let mc come eight thousand , miles—to learn this." He did not reply. '"Have you nothing to say to mc?" "Jean, I have been a coward! But 1 didn't know—about the child. When I got your letter to say that you were coming, I would have cabled to you not j to come, but it was too * late— \ you had already started! Oh. my dear, my dear. can't you find it in your heart to forgive—l kiiow ; I'm asking a great deal, but—can't you try to forgive mc?" "To forgive you!" Her voice vibrated with intense feelinsr. "It is easy to talk of forgiveness! What did you imasine would be -the outcome of this—for °on and for mc?" "I don't know!" he said hopelessly, "I didn't look ahead as far as that. It was this gad affair of Miss Darnay and Ching Lucy that made mc realise what a cad I was!" "I noticed how ready you were to defend Ching Lucy!" '•I've given you reason to be bitter Jean, but you must know that what yon are saying now is unjust! . . j never meant that things should come to 1 this pass, believe mc!" "I believe you!" she said scornful]v "Jean, I've suffered, too, suffered hell! But my suffering was for what you'd feel —not for myself. J The girl's face seemed to have <rrown weary and old. Tier voice, the soft low voice that had always thrilled him with its musical cadence. Founded very hard and bitter. She her compclliS ga*e upon him: t"-"u»t "Thlvgi/i, W hAt'6 her inamer"

''Ona Pao." "I suppose you've made her love you, think herself your wife-* L'hinese wife!" , "Xothins of the sort!" he answered warmly. ''There was never any thought of marriage between us!" "The more shame to you!" .-he flamed at him. "You. who boast that you are of the superior race, who came here to try to enlighten and raise up these people! This is how you carry out your beautiful ideals! Ona Pao re your wife, you have lived with her as such, she is' the mother of your child. Now you want to east her oft because she is" of the inferior race!' "That isn't true!'' I. live-began hotly, aroused by her obvious injustice. Hut he checked his rising anger—he saw how keenly she was suffering. the girl, with her inexorable high standards was very dear to him. He realised that all his'future happiness was at stake. I is voice was full of deep tenderness as he leant toward her. •Mean—dear—can't yon he a little lenient? Have a little pity!" She held her head high and looked stoadilv at him. but there was no softening in her glance. Her eyes were hard, brilliant with unshed tears. "You've no right to expect the same standard of life' from a man as from a woman." he went oil. "it's not in human nature!" Her intense love for him—the confidence and love which she felt had been betrayed, made her bitter, almost ruthless. "Have you found any exemption because of sex in the Ten Commandments? Have you lost all moral sense':" "That's utter rot." he answered roughly. "Morals are largely a matter of geography l It would be ridiculous to expect the same standard of living in Bombay as you would in—in Surbiton!" Jean stared at him as if unable t<> .-redit her fCtiscs. "Aud you are tiic man 1 have looked up to as* the embodiment of all chivalry —all high honour! Feet of clay!" She lathered up her gloves and sun umbrella and prepared to go. She turned and said with withering emphasis: "Perhaps I ought to thank you that 1 have learnt the truth about you —in time!" He put out a detaining arm. His voice was humble and suppliant: "Forgive mc, .lean . . . .lean, you do love me—let mc atone? 1 swear I will if you will give mc the chance! Don't give mc up!" There was no sign of softening on her young face —it was drawn with pain. Even in his acute suffering it occurred to him that in her stern puritanical attitude she might almost have been the daughter of the Rev. and Mrs. Jenkins. Her words cut like a whip. "I haven't given you up; you have built up a barrier between us. There is nothing more to be said. You know the one thing you must do!" Astonishment and an-.'cr overcame him. "If you mean to make this Ona Pao my wife, i won't do it! She's content as she is! She doesn't want to marry mc!" "Have yott askctl her?" .lean asked with cold scorn. "How do you know what she feels?" Clive could neither understand nor ;ope with -lean in this mood. He was angry, repentant, and strangely confused. "What you a.-k is folly:" lie said sullenly. Jean looked at him, this man whom she loved, for whom she would have made any sacrifice, yet for whom she would not bridle her tongue. She filing restraint to the winds, anger flashed in her beautiful brown eyes. In her own acute distress and disillusionment she did not stop to think of the suffering die was causing. "Yes, it is al! folly!" she cried. "Folly on my part to have loved you—to have iclieved in you! Folly to'have dreamt )f all the wonderful t'hing-s we were to lave done together in the beautiful life hat was to have been ours!" There was anguish in her voice—in ler heart. The tears were very near low. "Evelyn Darnay and 1 have learnt he bitter meaning of marriage in the Middle Kingdom, "i know now' that her leath was intentional. 1 can understand t!" She turned i|uickly aside, she rould no longer hold back the tears. Olive started towards her. ".lean!" Ie begged. She stood for a moment, her slender )ody shaken by her sobs, then with a treat ofl'ort she got control of herself. She turned slowly away, dive hastened ifter, he touched her band. "•lean!" he said again, implorinsrlv. But the fact she turned towards hi'lii •vas like a stone—as cold and iutplacible. ' "Please—please don't!" she said, in i choked voice. "1 can't bear it!. .. . 1 don't think I ever wan! to see you igain. . . . Please leave mc!" She turned and walked wearily out if the tea garden. The Into afternoon sun was turning the azalea bushes to a :rimson glory. But she did not see it nor the beauty of the lovely wistnri-.t blooms that weighed down the pergola under which she moved. The beauty had gone out of the da v. (To be continued daily i.