THE MOTHS.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXIX, Issue 10765, 13 May 1911, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE MOTHS.

(By Lincoln Colcord.)

A number of Years ago 1 was bringing the old Omega from Batavia to Singapore It was carlv in September, Hie wind was uncertain, and after 1 (i run bv L.icinara Island and 1 airly entered Jjanca. I found that the south-west monsoon had already broken m that vicinitv. The second afternoon put me no farther than the Karang BromBroms Night was coining on, the wind wis '"-one and a swift current was setting me hack to southward. I decided to drop anchor and wait ior the land The placr where 1 fetched! up was some miles short of the Brom-Broms, and near a wooded point which 1 d often noticed in passing .up and down the Straits. 1 saw. now that: there was: a native village .in .the lee of the point; and my. anchor had hardly .touched bottom when several, dug-out canoes put off from the shore. A crowd oj chatter-ing-natives soon.came alongside, greatly desiring to sell fruit, vegetables, parrots, and' monkeys. . I always encourage natives to come on board. when 1 u bought out their supply of ytims and cocoanuts, they told me about thenvillage, about the Dutch officials who visited them occasionally, about the crop's—all of which I'd heard m substance many times' before. I was thinking of driving them away for the night, when my interest was suddenly;aroused. "A strange man lives on the point, one informed me, tapping his head significantly. ' „„ T , T "Malay or Dutchman?" I .asked. ' <'One of your own people," was the answer. "Neither Malay nor; Dutch. "What is his business?" I persisted. "He has none," they told me, gathering in a wide-eyed group. "By day he sleeps. By night it is said he works evil. Bold ones have watched, and beheld him invoking unseen powers. Also he speaks aloud, though the room be empty. "We have desired to kill him, fearing calamity to tho village, but we are afraid." . In a flash I formed a mental picture of the man —some poor devil, cast aside by the world, perhaps mad, at any rate, in exile cither for penance or for actual crime. It's been my fortune to stumble on-several of these marooned souls: I've never failed to derive wisdom from them. The breeze wouldn't spring up '■ for some hours, and I resolved to go, ashore. .

The natives offered me a passage in one of their canoes. I told the mate not to worry if I stayed ashore all night, for of course I didn't know what I was getting into. During tlie paddle in I -tried to learn more of the hermit, hub the natural timidity and sccretiveness of the natives had given them falso warning. This captain-man was as mad as tho other: they would say nothing! We landed at a rickety bamboo, staging,, passed through their village, turned a corner, and entered a jungle path that ran close bv the shore. Five minutes' travelling brought us to an open space in front of a tumble-down hut. There the natives left me, vanishing like shades into the growing night. A queer feeling crept down my backbone. The place was lonely and silent as the grave. On three sides stood the jungle, an unbroken wall of ebony blackness; fronting this, an arm or Banca opened on clear water beyond, where the Omega's lights hung like low stars. I felt as if dropped into an evil dream, and yearned for those lights as a man in the toils of a nightmare yearns for some indefinite safety lying beyond reach or hope. You know the sensation, dread more than actual fear, dread of an imminent shadow. So 1 stood waiting, confronting the house like Roland before his dark tower. It was nothing but a shack of bamboo, set on posts near the water's edge. Holes that had once been windows were stuffed and barricaded with a patchwork of rags and branches. They were dark; but bars of yellow light shot from chinks in the wall. Some one had a lamp burning inside. I listened, and suddenly heard rapid steps and the sound of a low cry. A voice came to me —a voice speaking J-English—a voice of-languish and despair. "Another! Another!" it wailed. "Oh God will they never stop!"

My hand was raised to knock, but I paused at the cry. The mind will speculate—though it well knows the futility of all conjecture. While I was thinking, feet scurried behind the thin wall; a souffle seemed going on inside. I felt my hair lifting as if a cold wind had blown through it.

Then something struck tho door—a soft, dull blow. I leaped away. As I did so the voice spoke again, quite close, in a sort of weary exultation: "One more —damn them! Oh, what's the use?"

It was no time to measure qualms. That voice came from the hell of human fear. I didn't reason; the instinct in me answered the tone of it, as man answered man before speech was born. I took a good grip or a stick that I'd picked up as I came through the jungle, and knocked. Absolute silence fell on the house. For a full minute nothing moved or made a sound. I knocked .again.

"Come!" cried the voice, charged with a. desperate resolution. "T am ready!"

.1 threw open the door, and stood on the threshold of a single room. A man crouched before me, hiding bis face in one bent arm. The other hung at his side, grasping a folded towel like a. weapon. Between us on the floor lay a big brown moth. I noticed it because of the quivering of its wings. "I couldn't help hearing—" I said a. little breathlessly. "What is it?" He looked up. What did he expect to see? God knows! Even yet I haven't any. conception. I don't believe that he himself had at the time. Of' course, lie expected Her; but in what form—a monstrous shape of the darkness, a ghostly mist, a glowing hall of fire, a goblin, a ghoul, or something worse than all these —lie probably didn't dare consider. He was ready—for anything! And, God bless ine, at that moment I relapsed into the criminal theory, and longed in a vague way for handcuffs and officers of the law. It crossed my mind that I must have given him a good scare. A good scare —! The face that he showed me was distorted, insane, almost inhuman. He gazed at me long, with a suspicious, wondering expression. I saw the life slowly come back into .his face and the intelligence come back into his eyes—-like the return of sunlight when a cloud passes. The next instant he threw himself forward, and lay sobbing at my feet. 1 knelt beside him and put my hand on his shoulder. "My dear fellow, what is the matter?" 1 asked again, trying to be calm.

It was some time before he spoke. "Nothing, nothing!" he finally mumbled. "Wait a minute—"

"I came from the ship," I said, for lack of something better. • "They told me about you in the village—" "Yes! Yes!" he whispered .to himself, hugging my feet like a child that bad been lost and found. li T saw the ship—" He raised his head ; his eyes were on a level with mine, and in them I seemed to fathom depth upon depth of—not exactly of vacancy, but rather of obscurity—the .kind that hides in clear blue water, or down a deep hole. "Tell me what's wrong," I demanded incautiously. " "You. wouldn't understand —" he said. Then he actually smiled: a curtain fell, and he became a man. "You must think you've struck-a- madhouse!" he exclaimed. "The fact is, no one ever comes here particularly at night.?' • - ,-■ "I gathered as much," -I remarked. "You're alone?" ' "-

Things didn't se,em to be getting anywhere. "You must pardon me for coming in on vou—" I began on a new tack. " - . r ■ .. ' < . '

"Not at all!" he interrupted. "I can't tell you how glad—" "Perhaps I ought to ask your pardon for—for disappointing you," . I went on, cruelly enough. ' He gave me a hurt, startled glance. "My God, sir," he .cried* "you don't know what you're saying!" He certainly had me there; I'd never been more at sea in my life. And, beyond this, it wasn't any t»f my confounded business.' But I was ijmnensely curions; the man had rolled at my feet in agony. I saw that I must have appeared opportunely—or inopportunely, whichever way-it was. I saw, too, that he was a gentleman. In common decency the explanation rested with him. So I said nothing, and cast my eyes about the room. A small table stood in one corner, bare pxcept for the burn-

ing lamp and a few 'lead moths like Ihe one on the Hour. The man evidently .slept in another corner of the room. Dirt lay everywhere —rinds irf fruit, decaying'vegetables, meat hones. "Why don't you sweep the place out?"I suggested", unable to contain myself. As soon as I'd spoken I regretted it. But he didn't answer. At last I turned, with an apology on my lips—and saw that he hadn't even heard. His eves were fixed on the wall with a. stare of- horror and fascination, his breath came short, his hands worked convulsively. "Look!" he whispered. " I followed the direction of. his finger, but couldn't see anything. "Where? What?" I cried. ■ '■ "The moth!"..he gasped. 'Keep it out!" He started to leap forward,-but I restrained -, him. ' ' , , Then 1 saw "what it was all about. ■Directlv in front ( of us, one of these brown moths'.was struggling in a crack : bf the bamboo walk 1 could make out the hairv, fat, body, and two pairs of the stout legs "scrambling- on the bamboo, trying to ' pull the through." My, mind moved slowly; I still had no hypothesis to build on. Why this.fuss about a moth? What quantities of them there seemed to be about the floor! It occurred to me that they we're very large moths. - The man's hand fell on my arm; his voice rose to a shriek. "Stop it! JiuL it! OGod!"

The moth,had struggled through. It swept out into the room like water overflowing from a vessel, and darted directly toward us as we stood in front of the light. " The man freed himself from me, overturning a chair as he went, and cowered— "actually cowered—against the opposite wall! The moth sailed once or twice about the room, and became lost in the shadow.,of the ceiling. Directly I saw it agaui, wheeling in narrow circles about the man s head. With a cry of a lost soul he dashed into the. open "and snatched tire towel from the floor. ' ' . m Then I beheld a strange thing. Ihey fought—the man and the moth! He struck at it with the towel—blindly, franticallv. It circled on untouched 13y Jove," that moth seemed bewitched! It rushed at the man's head between, towel-strokes; it dodged the blows; as I watched, I got an impression of evil intelligence, of diabolical intent. My friend uttered short cries as he beat the air—guttural sounds, in a language unknown to me. "The same cold creep that I'd felt outside the door ran down my back, and my heart thumped like a trip-hammer. - ..„ "Take time!" I shouted. Here, give nic the towel 1" . The next I knew I had intercepted ablow and disarmed him. He.sank moaning to the floor. I struck out—once, twice You have no idea of the weirduess of this alfair. I was beside myself, crazed, adrift—l can't explain. The thing attacked, me, beset me! It it had opened its, mouth and spoken, 1 couldn't have been more unnerved. 1 struck again, with all my strength, and caught it on the wing. It dropped: 1 fell upon it with the towel—mashed it flat Then I came to my senses, and realised the figure I'd been cutting. L "Did you get him.-'" whimpered the. man at my feet. 114.1 "Of course!" I answered shortly. "It's nothing but a common »'"th. I was afraid, by the way you acted, that it mifht be something dangerous. 1 had to justify myself, you see "Dangerous!" he repeated below Jus breath. "Oh God—" . "Look here, what does this foolishness mean ?" I growled. He lifted a drawn, bloodless race. "I'm cursed!" he said. "Fiddlesticks!" 1 rapped out bee- —" I picked up the moth, and held it toward him. "There are thousands of them." , .„ , „ "Don't bring it any closer! he yelled. "Look at the eyes!"

I looked at the moth's eyes—ami shuddered involuntarily. Have any of von fellows ever been hypnotised? lhe moth wasn't dead yet; they re tough little things, and die hard. It lay in mv hand without motion and its eyes searched me through and through, it you don't believe me. catch a big motn some night and try it, 1 tell you, a soul seemed to look out of those eyes! Thev peered keenly from the blank semblance of a face; two dark rings ot furrv stuff like eyebrows gave them a. wide*, expressive appearance, thoughts were goiiig on in that little brain; by Jove I felt that the thing hated me! The worm-like body trembled in my hand; I threw it away with an impulse of utter repugnance. . "You too!" croaked the man behind me. "Then I'm not mad!" "I think we're both mad! 1 answered, considerably amused at my own weakness. "But I caught it from you. What arc vou afraid of, anyway "Madness, for one thing, he said. "From the first, I've thought that 1 might be imagining—losing my, mind Now 1 know—and 1 feel better. It s a fact to be faced." He talked steadily for an hour oi more in a low, dispassionate voice, lhe man was wearv —mind, body, and soul. What he told me was impossible, ridiculouslv impossible! I kept assuring mvself that it was impossible. All the while the wheel of a question was revolving dizzily in my own mind: "is lie inad?--is he sane? Is he mad—is he sane?" 1 swear I. couldn't determine; sauitv is such an indefinite attribute! There were times when I almost believed him. A voice within would whisper: "What do vou really know?" I'd answer: "Only the tangible." And the voice would go on: "This is a matter beyond the touch of hands!" Then I'd como back with a shock into my restricted range of life, and realise that if I couldn't know it I had no business investigating; that to me, the Nichols-ego, it must forever be a matter utterly impossible. By that reasoning, to me my friend was mad; he believed my impossible. And yet—the wheel turned, and once more he seemed quite sane.

I'll not repeat his story in detail. You've heard a great many like it; "wherever your superior races come in contact with your inferior races the thing happens commonly-. I'll also withhold the man's name. Ho had a large acquaintance in his corner of the Bast; often since, when I've been there, I've listened to the account of his strange disappearance—and said nothing, because I knew that the page was closed. It all began with a girl, who loved him well enough to hate him when he left her.

She was a native of the place; maybo she had been bad as well, but that doesn't matter. I gathered that she really loved him. And he loved her for a while, and wanted to marry her. His family interfered; his friends rallied to the support of the convention. He was advised to pull out; finally he was persuaded to leave the vicinity. All this sounds very bald; it's easy enough to skim over in a few words the pain and the fires of hell. She wrote to him after he'd gone,- saying that she was in trouble. But by thai time the wire edge of his sympathy had worn off; no doubt there was another' girl in the place where he'd gone. J could see that he'd been that kind of a man. One day he learned that she was dead.

The news came to him in a second letter from her. He spoke of that letter with awe, with a sort of fatalistic, grim remorse; it seemed to have marked a' turning-point in the whole current of his life; it woke him up, you might say, .changed him fundamentally, stripped him of the conventions, and threw him naked into hell. I was obliged to listen closely; the man wandered, hesitated ; X felt that what he saw with his mind's eye■'was too big for words.

"Have-you ever been there?" lie asked suddenly, referring, of course, to the country where the woman had lived and died." I nodded, trying not to throw him off the track. "Then you've heard the superstition?!' he went on. with a rush..

To be truthful, I had heard it; but truth is a tactless ally. "What superstition?" I parried. "The one " about moths - ," lie said. "Everyone knows it. It's more a belief than a superstition.. Sloths are — are the souls of wronged ivonKii!" He drew a deep breath, clerched • his hands, and remained £.ilc:;t Uk- so>;ib time. - i While ho waited, a -great deal that I'd 'forgotten eame bkek to me. I remembered Low long ago in that country I'd heard a man say: "The little-ladies-are abroad to-night!" And in answer-,to, _my question, he'd pointed to''"'.a- .company v '6f... moths outside a'lighted sfeoji, .and v said

with feeling: "Woe to him who has done wrong'!" What :i graceful conception, I'd thought at the time; a new interpretation of the tragedy of}, the moth and the flame! And 1 remem- j bered how in a later year and at the j same place; I'd heard a man chaffed iin- : mercifully .because as we sat in a gar- | den one evening the- moths wouldn't j leave liim alone. .They flew about; his j head, they .crawled on; his garments; J and. so much; was said- that at last he J left'tisin a dudgeon—perhaps to spend j a had night with his conscience. - I

•All this I .'remembered before my. I. friend's voice broke in on my thoughts, j. "She wrote that she was dying," lie said. "The child had been born, and had died." His eyes.were staring; lie 1 sat rigid, gripping his knees, and went on like a man -confessing under the lash. "She said that I must suffer too j —that I'd caused—" A great sob '■ choked him; and he bowed his face in | his hands. "Then I knew how much j I'd loved her!" he cried. j The rest of the tale came calmly,! after' this paroxysm had passed. Too ' calmly, I thought; mad meii speak in j that manner of the impossible. Do you ! know what extraordinary thing this ! man believed? He believed that she j had sent moths to curse him! He be- | lieved more;'he believed that at-last i she herself would come and take' him ] away. When I heard that a sudden light dawned upon me. "Then you thought —my knock —!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, yes!" he whispered. *flt must be nearly time! The brown moths have beeii coming for three mouths —" "Do you. mean to tell rne that you've gone through this every .night for three months?"

"More!" he said. "There were grey moths, too —souls of children —" His voice, became lower, almost inaudible ; I bent forward to hear. The woman's last letter reached him in Singapore, where he'd been living in seclusion.' The night after its arrival, a great many gray moths kept flying into his room. Maybe they'd always done so, he hadn't noticed before. He told me that, they fluttered about his head like little dried rose-leaves —and all night long he sat thinking of the dead child. After that for many nights the gray moths visited him, and he got no sleep. They crept on his face and woke him.

"Why didn't you try a mosquito net?" I asked.

"I. did," lie answered. "They worked under."

"But tbey wouldn't have come at all if vou'd put out the light." He shook his head. "How do you know that?" ho demanded. "Anyway, the darkness was too much." "Couldn't you close the windows?" "My God, man," he cried, "the windows were closed!" "But those.houses!" I remonstrated. "Think how easy—" He waved my suggestion aside as unworthy of consideration. "You don't understand. There was ho escape!" he said, and -went on with the tale;

It seems that a night came when no gray moths appeared. This frightened him more than to have the room full of them; I believe he had warning of some such cessation "in his mysterious letter. By that time, I reckon, his mind had become slightly unhinged. At any rate, he sat up as usual, thinking, thinking. Nothing happened all night. At dawn he fell asleep, and slept through the day. When he awoke it was dusk in the room. Ho got up quickly and lighted his lamp. The match* had hardly touched the wick, when a big brown moth sailed into the room. "I knew what to expect," he said. "Knew what to expect!" I repeated, genuinely astonished. "Certainly!" he replied. "The others were harmless —little futile baby things. This one was altogether different. It hew straight at me—you've seen them —von know. J felt its purpose—so bad to'figlit and kill it. But more canii —" "My dear fellow, what in the devil did you conceive it to lie?" I asked. "The soul of one of her ancestors!" he explained in a tone of surpn.se. "They've come one after another — thousands of them —and tliey mean business! Thank (Hod tliey don't come in swarms!" He covered his face -it the thought. "That night they kept flying against the glass outside —tapping. I couldn't stand it —had. to go closer and watch. I could hear their feet pattering on the glass! And their eyes drew me —full of vengeance. You see, they wanted to hold, my attention, because'while I was watching, one of them got into the room some way and nearly frightened me to death! Their feet stick to you!" The man shuddered from head to foot, and bit his hand. "I left Singapore," he went oil abruptly. "It was no use —and I preferred to be alone. It didn't matter where 1 went —1 happened to come down here."

I regarded him seriously, thinking as hard as I could. "My dear fellow," 1 said at last, "this is an hallucination. You must fight thai—not the moths. You must come away." "Where?" be asked.

"There must be some place where these moths can't live," 1 answered. "At sea—in some cold climate."

He interrupted me impatiently. "Is there any place where a man can't regret?" he said. Then I saw the truth of wh-it he was really fighting. Symbolism! Ah, wise and ancient East! Was it for me to meddle? He had. decided that it wasn't for him even !

"You might caulk up the cracks," I proposed. "Make the house tight—" "I've tried," he said. "They push it in!"

"Nonsense!" I expostulated. "That's because the bamboo is so slippery.' ' "You think so?" he asked, with that same weary, doomed air. "I've watched it fall, and a moth creep in. Maybe they do it themselves—or else fingers "The natives, of course!" ] fairly shouted. "They told me that they were in the habit ot spying on you." He shook his head. "The native:; don't come now," he said. "They're afraid." I resolved to remain ashore till the morning. No one coidd have left that man alone with his fear. And, to be perfectly frank with you, 1 wouldn't have retraced that mile of jungle path in the dark for a whole fleet of Omegas! I wasn't afraid—only nervous. My soul clung to one lamp on a riokcttv table as a man outside n harbor hangs onto the light till dawn.

I persuaded the man to lie uown, and promised to keep ;i sharp watch. To pass the time, I husied myself with caulking the few open cracks in the front wall of the hut; the other three walls had heen treated thoroughly. 1 stuffed away with an old knife till I'd used all the available rags. "That'll keep the infernal moths out for liini," I growled to myself. Then 7 went hack to the table and sat down. Time dragged on slowly. I fell to examining the array of moths that had been captured. Some of them were still alive. They seemed to he quietly observing me! I moved to one side: the eyes followed. "The soul of her ancestors —■ what a notion!" I muttered. "My God', they arte uncanny things!" T glanced around and found that tim man. was sleeping. Loneliness settled on " the room. I listened? my eyes roamed about, every sense felt strangely alert. Moths, moths —in the brain ! I didn't wonder; a dozen nights like that would drive any man mad. All at once a faint breeze sighed about the house, and before my eyes a section of the window barrier fell inboard, Jeaving. a blank hole. I started up. A brown moth sailed through the opening, and came toward me. At the- same moment my common sense spoke rapidly. "The breeze blew in a loose window-plug," it said. "A -moth saw the light, and flew toward it. Sit down and .behave- yourself!" Thus spoke, mv common sense. I sat down. By Jove, yes—expe rime nt—that was the thing to do. The moth circled hi eh above my bead; it vanished among tlr> .shadows. The next instant I felt it behindmy ear. Common moved away, still talking. "Sit tight!'' it advised'me. "See what the moth will do." I kept my seat—by no small effort, let me tell voi',. The soft wings brushed my ; neck. Then is rose, wlieeled, and suddenly dashed into my f&,e.:";The. strength of the blow; was surjgrisingi Tfiei hairy feet tickled my tiglitly, as if they'd been dipped 'm glueJ , Common sense- fled. -

j Exactly what happened I don't know. I remember that J shrieked, and thrashed about considerably with ni.v arms. -When J recovered myself 1 was Standing in the middle.of the Hour, and the moth lay at my feet. I held the towel in my hand, folded once lengthwise. Beads of cold sweat ran down my forehead. '."What made you try it!" asked the man behind me hi a horror-stricken .voice;. "It might have —" I stamped, and felt tho body burst beneath my boot-sole. Common sense ■returned,-clad in sceptical indignation. I "It- might have what?" I snapped. ! "Use your reason! Simply because 1 m I dressed in white —" j "I hope .1 haven't got you.mixed up in it!" lie remarked cheerfully. "Tommyrot!" 1 cried. "If I believed what you'do, I'd tie a rock around my j neck and jump overboard!" i "I'd only find it worse-—there, he ; said.

During the remainder of my trip to Singapore, the man and his late were constantly before niy.iniiul. Every offer to take, him away was refused. And so the morning after this experience 1 left him on the-bench. "When 1 pass through Banco again I'll look you up," 1 promised in parting. "I'll be on the watch—if I'm still here," he said. In an hour's timo the point had melted into the const-lino astern. I felt as if I'd come back into another world. The more 1 thought of the case, the more 1 marvelled. The man was undoubtedly cursed. To you and mo he was cursed by his own conscience, by remorse. That's as far as we go—as far as we dare go. And we can't even define conscience or remorse. For all we know, conscience may be the actual embodiment of the wrong done. Will you affirm that it's never visible? And if not, wlivH These powers of love and | hate—what are they? They're not ol j the bodv: they're of the soul. And onlv her body died. ]My friend, it s easier to believe that moths are the I spirits of the dead than that any woman j could forget her love!

I didn't stop long in Singapore. A chance to run down to Sourabaya lor coffee came jiiv ny, not much of an offer linauciallv, hut it would take me back into the Java Sea. 1 snapped _it up. In less than a month 1 again entered Banca Straits, hound soutli tins time, and dropped anchor under the point by the Brom-Broms one afternoon about four o'clock. A canoe put oft from shore at once, paddling like mad. I half-expected to see mv friend in it, hut there were three natives instead, breathless and very much excited. "You arc to come quickly i ' they shouted alongside. "Ho wails —" "Then he's alive!" I said with inexplicable relief. "What has happened:-" Thov made gestures of dismay. "We do not know!" they cried. "To-day he came to us, and gave directions ior the digging lji a S?'' !U ' o ' W° were to go to hisTtoiiso in tlie morning. He said that we would find him dead. Then the ship was seen; and since he has waited. "We were told to bring you without fail." . . This was more than I'd bargained for! I called my mate. "Mr Hunter." I said, "I'll probably be ashore all night. Be ready to get under way early to-morrow morning."

The natives landed me in the lee ol tho point, directly in front of my friend's house. The door stood open; tlie place seemed deserted. ""Where is he: J " J demanded, the possibility of foul plav entering my head. The word hadn't passed mv lips when tho man dashed out of the jungle path and stumbled toward me. "Thank God!" he gasped, thought you'd hind at the village. 1 •'lt was such an urgent call that 1. came in here." J explained. "If ever a man prayed in his life —" he cried. "When they sighted you, 1 didn't allow myself to hope! Hut you made in —:ncl then I recognised your ve.-sel—l won't he alone!"

"Is anything wrong —anything new'-" I inquired. "The brow oi lis stopping coming ■last night!" \h- said. I took him by the arm and led him inside. He followed submissively; thai, same, unnatural calm that I'd noticed before seemed to have taken possession of his senses. Alone with me, he sat down and began snapping his teeth togthcr, breaking out now and then into fragmentary speech. By these snatches I got .an account of his last month. He'd been lighting mothsfighting moths. The night before, he'd lighted his lamp as usual and laid the folded towel beside it on the tabled —he used to damp the towel so that he could strike a harder blow. No moths came. He told me that he prayed for them to come; he opened the door wide, he uncaulked the windows. He'd got used to the brown moths, he knew what they were, he wanted them. But they'd deserted him. At last ho realised that it was a sign. "1 sat down —" he said. "My soul retreated to a pinpoint!" What was he saying : j I asked myself. Retreated where 'i Along the. dinri aisles of the imagination, through the empty, appalling caverns of the brain:-' I seemed to see it—a white, figure, terrified, lost in gloom, in the great spaces —a pin-point, far away. The dawn of that morning had found him still waiting.-still alive. "By daylight I could "think," he said. His face had grown years older since I'd last seen him. "I didn't want to lie here —so went over to the village and made preparations—'' "Now you're talking like a fool!" I broke out. "How do you know- that they haven't stopped altogether? This mav be your reward-."

-.He gave me a long; sad glance 'Did I reward her:"' he said.

Night had fallen while we talked. I started to make a light, but the man's hand fell on my arm. "No, no!" he begged. "Not yot—l can't bear it! We'll wait." lie left me to close the Boor; and all at olioo I felt afraid to be alone with him in the dusk. Hut that was silly; what he needed more than anything was sympathy. Soon he returned, took the chair beside me, and fumbled for my hand. Poor chap, how hard he grasped it when I'd made out what he- wanted!

"You've been fixing the window," J said at last, to take up his mind. "Covered it with oiled paper yesterday," he answered abstractedly. "i didn't know then —"

"Why won't you come away with me?" 1 demanded. "You'll be all riglic aboard the ship. I can put you in a room —"

He interrupted me with a decisive gesture. "You don't understand!" lie cried for the fortieth time. "There's a price to ho paid." I felt that it was useless. And now that I think of it, why did my heart sink as if all had'been lost? I can't tell; the man obsessed me —the very air of that room was charged with" irrationality, lint. I suppose I had a vague notion tltnL lie was liable at any moment to go finite in ad. To fill in the time, I talked. Now T saw that he hoard me, now ] caught him listening for something else. He was a pleasant companion! Nine o'clock pursed —ten o'clock. The'pauses grew 'more frequent. -\u awful depression settled on the room, a weird stillness, a sort of stagnation of the living world. I couldn't stand the dark any longer. He made no demur when I lit the lamp. His face seemed very white, but beyond that 1. detected no change in his appearance. Then we sat on in the suspended silence, our eyes meeting furtively from time to time.

It" must have been near midnight when my friend suddenly gripped my knee. "Listen!" he whispered. "What was that?"

I held myself rigid. Not a leaf rattled in the jungle, not a breath of Wind stirred. A tapping sound came to inv ears.

"Do you hear it?" the man asked hoarsely.

I nodded, listening, intently. The sound was rapid and uneven, like a loose branch snapping in the. breeze. I got tip, followed it, and found myself before the window. On the oiled 'paper I' could. make out a .spot, a blur, as something nosed against it outside. I heard the faint buzzing of wings. "It's only a moth trying to get in," I said, turning back toward the room.

A great transformation .came over my friend. He controlled himself,.sat bolt upright, and .tossed his head with a determined motion, as if throwing obstacles aside. I saw him clench his hands till white .spots showed on tht

knuckles. Then ho stood up stcn-liK iintl faced me across the table. ■> A stroke of asinino perception tt , vouclisat'ed mo. "The brown , lm( havo returned!" 1. cried. '

"No!" he said. "Now I hj..,,,,, '■' What:-' For God's sake, wluit;-" . exclaimed, startled by his tone. "Don't worry," lie answered. .\|| once he came around the tahlc :n] , stretched out his hand. "I've ] K weak," he said. "Please take im„ .„. count that I was in hell."

"Hold on —!'VI shouted, wii],,,,,; waiting for more." Ho gazed into my eyes as h |„.',| never stop, "Good-bye," he sni.| ; ■• V|ll| were good to come." Then, he left me standing l, v l)ip table and went to the door. y,, r ;]j price of heaven I couldn't, h.m j lliir fered. I. saw it all clearly: ai.d >,., j sometimes think Hint my hie mu : ; Uli stopped for a. short space. i |,,, U J himself da/.ed me as much a., ih,. ~M )' ordinary denouement. He was i-vjii,.,,','" ly laboring under some fearful >trai;j'" ■ Jiis nioveinents were -dclibcrat.. J.j

forced, as if controlled by an effort of the will. He grasped i|„,,],;; firmly with both hands, and i],,-,,,, .; open. Out of the framed lilacku.-. M , beautiful white ninth. I. through, the room like a sheet ~i ; blown'about bv an impalpable 1,,,,'. The man knelt, and bold out i-,i, ~,' toward it. All fear had lefi ], ii L;; .; 1 thought that he must l, :m , ;,/; handsome once. The great tn..i|, ~; clcd slowly in a narrowing spi|-;,| ~],,." his head, lie didn't try in Mri| ; ,, ,1 he had found a better wa.\. Ilj, s (> were undaunted, he stretch, d , ;!I; '] hands without a tremor h.i- t|,,, _ men. never seek. .The nnuli \\%'\j closer —shadowed his face- 1 li.-nr.~l""; sigh, a sharp intake of the hivat! L j'[ man's arms dropped: his h..dy ~|: is. ; into a shapeless heap on lb.. ||„„. " Some time must have <:<>ne ], v '..„ noticed. All at once my i-i.mjir,,],,' awoke, like a surge of l>lm..| ,„ j. head, and with it a nameless suin.-ij:,'. that was the most outrage..us s,-i; sl s;: 1 ever experienced. 31 y hand u\\\, the folded towel; with one t reiiin. P |,,.'.' blow I mashed that moth a-:iii K .j;: man's face! It tumbled n, t|„. ,|,.;; with wings still extended—,li >v .|,,,; what 1 feared. I knelt beside my friend's limb. ;„i ing for his heart. It had m,,.,,,'!: beating. I suppose the chert had C" too great: I suppose the .strain un nerves the shock —I stippus..'. 1 —oh, what do I suppose!- I tmly i,... that he had been a very bra-,> ~-,. and that he was dead.

tso I laid him on the flour in f,.,,,,. the table, and crossed his haurh „,,;

breast. Then 1 sal down in n:K the moth. Its size was ciinnii<iii >; ; i. wings measured eight inches (r,,,,, .-. to tij). They were iridescent, <l,.|j l; / altogether lovely : they Hanked ;l , r , of life wildest and most evil eyes | ,',.y looked into! Those eyes will \v. mi .. to the grave; a red, slunilvriim &■■'> lurked in them, a fluorescent <\mU ■. baleful glow. I put Die lan.j. ,„, /, floor so that I'd have pinny nf took an old shoe, and t-<nuplcti-ly jj molished that moth. Siuiii'luiiv, couldn't bear to leave the My ,!,,. with it. Later in the night 1 Mcmlii-il tM .: sulliciently to go to the villas. |'.. : all the way. There I gavi- hm.... the natives, and command* ,| ili,! l;:r : threat of a terrible cnr-e |., \mr, ■ late friend.