The Haunting of Low Fennel

  The Valley of the Just

  A Story of the Shan Hills

  I

  The merciless sun beat down upon the little caravan, winding its wayupward and ever upward to the hill-land. Beneath stretched a panoramalimned in feverish greens and unhealthy yellows; scarlike rocks striatedthe jungle, clothing the foothills, and through the dancing air, viewedfrom the arid heights, they had the appearance of running water. Swampsto the south-east showed like unhealing wounds upon the face of thelandscape; beyond them spread the muddy river waters, the bank of thestream proper being discernible only by reason of a greater greennessin the palm-tops: venomous green slopes beyond them again, a fringe ofdwarfed forest, and the brazen skyline.

  On the right of the path rose volcanic rock, gnarled, twisted, andcontorted as with the agonies of some mighty plague, which in aforgotten past had seized upon the very bowels of the world, and hadcontorted whole mountains, and laid waste vast forests and endlessplains. Above, the cruel sun; ahead, more plague-twisted rocks, withsandy scars dancing like running water; and, all around, the breathlessstillness, the swooning stillness of tropical midday. North, south,east, and west, that haze of heat, that silence unbroken, lay like anaccursed mantle upon Burma.

  Moreen Fayne could scarcely support herself upright in the saddle; herhead throbbed incessantly, and the veil which she wore could not protecther eyes from the maddening glare of the sun. But although at any momentduring the past hour she could have slipped insensible from her saddle,she sat stiffly upright, her dauntless eyes looking straight ahead, hersmall mouth set with masculine sternness, and her hands clenched--thephysical reflection of the mental effort whereby, alone, she was enabledto pursue the journey.

  Just in front of her paced Ramsa Lal. His stride had not varied fromthe lowlands, through the foothills, nor on the rocky mountain paths.He had looked neither right nor left, but had walked, walked, walked.At times Moreen had been hard put to it to choke down the hystericalscreams which had risen in her throat; madness had threatened her, asshe watched, in dumb misery, that silent striding man. Yet she knew thatit was only the presence of this tireless, immobile guide which hadenabled her to go on; although he never directed one glance towards her,she knew that his steady march was meant for encouragement.

  Behind, like the tail of a scorpion, trailed the native retinue, and onthe end of the tail, where the sting would be, rode her husband. Thissimile had occurred to her at once, and she allowed her mind to dwellupon the idea as an invalid will consider imaginary designs upon thewall-paper of the sick-room.

  Sometimes there was a sliding of hoofs and a sound of stumbling;sometimes her own pony lost his footing. On such occasion, there wouldbe mechanical cries of encouragement from the natives, and perhapsa growling curse from the man who brought up the rear of the littlecompany. The road wound through a frowning chasm, where lizards andother creeping things darted into holes to right and left of theirprogress. Grateful shadow ruled a while, and a stifled sigh escapedfrom Moreen's lips. Ramsa Lal paced straightly onward, the others camestumbling behind; fifty yards ahead the ravine opened out, and once morethe deathly heat poured unchecked upon their heads.

  Again Moreen all but lost control of herself; her fortitude threatenedto slip from her; so that she bit her lips until the pain filledher eyes with burning tears. The effort to control herself provedsuccessful, but left her white and quivering. She felt impelled to speakto Ramsa Lal, and constrained herself only with a second effort of whichher will was barely capable. Then she saw that speech, which would bedangerous, was unnecessary; the man's wonderful intuition had enabledhim to hear that crying of the soul, and he was answering her.

  His brown fingers were clutching and unclutching convulsively, and as heswung his arm, he would clench his right fist and beat the air. For amoment he acted thus, and then, as if he knew that she had seen, andunderstood, his fingers hung limply again, and his arm swung looselyas before.

  A sort of plateau was reached, and in a natural clearing, where giantbamboos ranged back to the tangled, creeper-laden boughs of the foresttrees, the voice of Major Fayne cried a halt. Ramsa Lal was besideMoreen's pony in a trice, and he so screened her exhausted descent fromthe saddle, setting her down upon an hospitable bank hard by, that shewas enabled to maintain her inflexible attitude, when presently herhusband came striding along to stand looking down on her, where she sat.His blackly pencilled brows were drawn together, and the pale blue eyesshone out, saturnine, from cavernous sockets. His handsome face washeavily lined, and in the appearance, in the whole attitude of the man,was something aggressive, a violence markedly repellent. Moreen lockedher hands behind her, the fingers twining and intertwining, but sheraised a pale face to his, from which by a last supreme effort of willshe had driven all traces of emotion.

  So they remained for a moment, whilst the servants busied themselveswith the baggage; he, with feet wide apart, staring down at her, andslashing at the air with a fly-whisk, and she meeting his gaze with astony calm pitiful to behold, had there been any soul capable of pityto see her. Ramsa Lal was directing operations.

  "Here," said Major Fayne, "we camp."

  His voice would have told a skilled observer that which the facial linesand a certain odd puffiness of skin more than suggested, that MajorFayne was not a temperate man.

  Moreen made no sign, but simply sat watching the speaker.

  "It's a delightful situation," continued he, "and your ambition,frequently expressed in Mandalay, to see something of Burma other thanbridge parties and polo-matches, at last is realised."

  He spoke with a seeming sincerity that had carried conviction to any,save the most sceptical. But Moreen made no sign.

  "Here," continued Major Fayne, "you may feast your eyes upon the gloriesof a Burma forest. Those flowering creepers yonder, festooned from boughto bough, are peculiar to this district, and if you care to explorefurther, you will be rewarded by the discovery of some fine orchids.Note, also, the perfume of the flowers."

  He twirled his slight moustache, and turned away to supervise the workof camping.

  Ramsa Lal already had one of the tents nearly erected, and Moreenwatched his deft fingers at work, with an anxiety none the less becauseit was masked. She knew that collapse was imminent. The cruel marchunder the pitiless sun had had due effect, but it had not broken herspirit. She knew that she had reached the end of her strength, but sheshowed no sign of weakness before her husband.

  It was done at last, and Ramsa Lal held the tent-cloth aside, and bowed.

  Moreen stood up, clenched her teeth together grimly, and staggeredforward. As the tent-flap was dropped, she sank down beside the campbedstead, and her head fell upon the covering.

  II

  Dusk fell, a quick curtain, and the lamps of night shone out withglorious brilliancy, illuminating the little plateau. The tents gleamedwhitely in the cold radiance; there was a dancing redness to show wherethe fire had been built, with figures grouped dimly around it. On ajagged rock, which started up from the very heart of a thicket, blackagainst the newly risen moon, was silhouetted the figure of Major Fayne.Night things swept the air about him, and rustled in the cane brakebelow him; the fire crackled in the neighbouring camp; sometimes amurmur came from the group of natives.

  But, heedless of these matters, Moreen's husband stood on the rockyeminence looking back upon the way they had come, looking down to thedistant river valley.

  For many minutes he remained so, but presently, clambering down, heavilyforced his way through the undergrowth to the little camp. Passing thetents, he walked back to the dip of the pathway, and paused again,watching and listening; then turned and strode to the fire, graspedRamsa Lal by the shoulder, and drew him away from the others.

  "Come here!" he directed tersely.

  At the head of the pathway he bade him halt.

  "Listen!" he directed.

  Ramsa Lal stood in an attitude of keen attention, and the Major watchedhim with feverish anxiety, which he was wholly unable to c
onceal.

  "Do you hear it?" he demanded--"hoofs on the path!"

  Ramsa Lal shook his head.

  "I hear nothing, Sahib."

  "Put your ear to the ground, and listen. I tell you that I saw figuresmoving away below there, and I heard--hoofs, stumbling hoofs."

  The man knelt down upon the ground, and, bending forward, lowered hishead. Major Fayne watched him, and with growing anxiety, so that, whatwith this and the pallid moonlight, his face appeared ghastly.

  But again Ramsa Lal stood up, shaking his head.

  "Nothing, Sahib," he repeated.

  Major Fayne suddenly grasped him by the shoulders, spinning him about,and dragging him forward, so that the dusky face was but inches removedfrom his own. He glared into the man's eyes.

  "Are you lying to me?" he demanded, "are you lying?"

  "I swear it is the truth: why should I lie to you, Sahib?"

  "You want them----"

  Major Fayne broke off abruptly and thrust the man away from him. Adifferent expression had crept into his face, an expression in whichthere was something furtive. He spun around upon his heel and steppedto the tent where Moreen was. Raising the flap slightly:

  "Good-night," he called, and turned away.

  Ramsa Lal had gone back to the fireside; and Fayne, following a momentof hesitancy, strode with his swaggering military gait to the tenterected in the furthermost corner of the clearing. He had stooped toenter, when he hesitated, remaining there bent forward--and listening.

  From the opposite side of the distant fire, Ramsa Lal, though few wouldhave suspected the fact, was watching. Evidently enough, the leaderof the little company was obsessed with his delusion that some one orsomething clambered up the steep path beneath. Suddenly shrugging hisshoulders, he stooped yet lower, and dived into the tent.

  One of the natives threw fresh fuel upon the fire, and a stream ofsparks sped up through the clear air in a widening trail ever growingfainter.

  There was a crackling, a murmur of voices, and then a new silence. Thisin turn was broken by the distant howling of dogs, and in the nearstillness one might have heard the faint shrieking of the bats, who nowwere embarked upon their nocturnal voyagings.

  A shrill, wild scream burst suddenly from the heart of the trees in theeast, rose eerily upon the night, and died away. But the group about thefire moved not at all, for this dreadful screaming but marked an animaltragedy of the Burma forests. So furred things howled and screamed andmoaned in the woodlands, feathered things piped and hooted around andabove, and the bats, uncanny creatures of the darkness, who seem to havekinship neither with fur nor feather, chirped faintly overhead.

  Once there was a distant, hollow booming like the sound of artillery,which echoed down the mountain gorges, and seemed to roll away over thelowland swamps, and die, inaudible, by the remote river-bank.

  Yet no one stirred; for this mysterious gunnery is a phenomenon met within that district, inexplicable, weird, but no novelty to one who hascamped in the Shan Hills.

  A second time later in the night the phantom guns boomed; and againtheir booming died away in the far valleys. The fire was getting low,now.

  III

  Moreen lay, sleepless, wide-eyed, staring up at the roof of the tent.She had eaten, could eat, nothing, but she was consumed by a parchingthirst. The sounds of the night had no terrors for her; indeed, shescarcely noticed them, for she had other and more dreadful things tothink of.

  Ramsa Lal had been her father's servant; him she could trust. But theothers--the others were Major Fayne's. They were no more than spies uponher; guards.

  What did it mean, this sudden dash from the bungalow into the hills?It amused her husband to pretend that it was a pleasure-trip, but theequipment was not of the sort one takes upon such occasions, and one isnot usually dragged from bed at midnight to embark upon such a journey.It was additionally improbable in view of the fact that up to the momentof departure Major Fayne had not spoken to her, except in public, forsix months. The dreadful, forced marches were breaking her down, and sheknew that her husband was drinking heavily. What, in God's name, wouldbe the end of it?

  Weakly, she raised herself into a sitting position, groping for andlighting a candle. From the bosom of her dress she took out a letter,the last she had received from home before this mad flight. There wassomething in it which had frightened her at the time, but which, viewedin the light of recent events, was unspeakably horrifying.

  During the long estrangement between her husband and herself she hadlearnt, and had paid for her knowledge with bitter tears, that there wasa side to the character of Major Fayne which he had carefully concealedfrom her before marriage; the dark, saturnine part of her husband'scharacter had dawned upon her suddenly. That had been the beginning ofher disillusionment, the disillusionment which has come to more than oneEnglish girl during the first twelve months of married life in an Indianbungalow.

  Then, perforce, the gap had widened, and six months later had become achasm quite impassable except in the interests of social propriety.Anglo-Indian society is notable for divorces, and poor Moreen very earlyin her married life fully understood the reason.

  She held the letter to the dim light and read it again attentively.Allowing a certain discount for her mother's changeless animositytowards Major Fayne, it yet remained a startling letter. Much of itconsisted in feckless condolences, characteristic but foolish; thepassage, however, which she read and re-read by the dim, flickeringlight was as follows:

  "Mr. Harringay in his last letter begged of me to come out by thenext boat to Rangoon," her mother wrote. "He has quite opened my eyesto the truth, Moreen, not in such a way as to shock me all at once,but gradually. I always distrusted Ralph Fayne and never disguisedthe fact from you. I knew that his previous life had been farfrom irreproachable, but his treatment of you surpasses even _my_expectations. I know _all_, my poor darling! and I know something whichyou do not know. His father did not die in Colombo at all; he died in amadhouse! and there are two other known dipsomaniacs in Ralph Fayne'sfamily----"

  A hand reached over Moreen's shoulder and tore the letter from her.

  She turned with a cry--and looked up into her husband's quivering face!For a moment he stood over her, his left fist clenching and unclenchingand his pale blue eyes glassy with anger. Then chokingly he spoke:

  "So you carry one of his letters about with you?"

  The veins were throbbing visibly upon his temples. Moreen clutched atthe blanket but did not speak, dared not move, for if ever she hadlooked into the face of a madman it was at this moment when she lookedinto the face of Ralph Fayne.

  He suddenly grabbed the candle and, holding it close to the letter,began to read. His hands were perfectly steady, showing the tremendousnerve tension under which he laboured. Then his expression changed, butnothing of the maniac glare left his eyes.

  "From your mother," he said hoarsely, "and full of two things--yourwrongs, _your_ wrongs! and Jack Harringay--Jack Harringay--always JackHarringay! Damn him!"

  He put down the candle and began to tear the letter into tiny fragments,pouring forth the while a stream of coarse, blasphemous language.Moreen, who felt that consciousness was slipping from her, crouchedthere with a face deathly pale.

  Fayne began to laugh softly as he threw the torn-up letter from himpiece by piece.

  "Damn him!" he said again. He turned the blazing eyes towards his wife."You lying, baby-faced hypocrite! Why don't you admit that he is----"

  He stopped; the sinister laughter died upon his lips and he stood thereshaking all over and with a sort of stark horror in his eyes dreadfulto see.

  "Why don't you?" he muttered--and looked at her almostpathetically,--"why of course you can't--no one can----"

  He reeled and clutched at the tent-flap, then stumblingly made his wayout.

  "No one can," came back in a shaky whisper--"no one can----"

  Moreen heard him staggering away, until the sound of his uncertainfootsteps grew inaudible. A distant
howling rose upon the night, and,nearer to the clearing, sounded a sort of tapping, not unlike that of awoodpecker. Some winged creature was fluttering over the tent.

  IV

  Dawn saw the dreadful march resumed. Major Fayne now exhibitedunmistakable traces of his course of heavy drinking. He brought up therear as hitherto, and often tarried far behind where some peculiarformation of the path enabled him to study the country alreadytraversed. He had altered the route of the march, and now they wereleaving the Shan Hills upon the north-east and dipping down to achasm-like valley through which ran a tributary of the Selween River.Since the dry season was commenced the entire country beneath themshowed through a haze of heat and dust.

  They had partaken of a crude and hasty breakfast as strangers havingnothing in common who by chance share a table. Moreen no longer doubtedthat her husband was mad, for he muttered to himself and was everglancing over his shoulder. This and his constant watching of the pathbehind spoke of some secret terror from which he fled.

  Towards noon, they skirted a village whose inhabitants poured forth _enbloc_ to watch the passing of this unfamiliar company. A faint hopethat some European might be there died in Moreen's breast. Her positionwas a dreadful one. Led by a madman--of this she was persuaded--andsurrounded by natives who, if not actively hostile, were certainlyunfriendly, with but one man to whom she could look for the slightestaid, she was proceeding further and further from civilisation intounknown wildernesses.

  What her husband's purpose might be she could not conceive. She wasunable to think calmly, unable to formulate any plan. In the dull miseryof a sick dream she rode forward speculating upon the awakening.

  The midday heat in the valley was so great that a halt becameimperative. They camped at the edge of a dense jungle where banks ofrotten vegetation, sun-dried upon the top, lay heaped about the bamboostems. None but a madman would have chosen to tarry in such a spot; andMajor Fayne's servants went about their work with many a furtive glanceat their master. Ramsa Lal's velvety eyes showed a great compassion, butMoreen offered no protest. She was in an unreal frame of mind and herwill was merely capable of a mute indifference: any attempt to assertherself would have meant a sudden breakdown. Something in her brain wasstrained to utmost tension; any further effort must have snapped it.

  In the hour of the greatest heat Major Fayne went out alone, offering noexplanation of his intentions and leaving no word as to the time of hisreturn. Moreen only learnt of his departure from Ramsa Lal. She receivedthe news with indifference and asked no questions. Inert she lay inthe little tent looking out at the wall of jungle, where it uprose buttwenty yards away. So the day wore on. Mechanically she partook of foodwhen Ramsa Lal placed it before her, but, although the man's attitudepalpably was one of uneasiness, she did not question him, and hedeparted in silence. It was an incredible situation.

  Throughout the afternoon nothing occurred to break this dread monotonysave that once there arose a buzz of conversation, and she became dimlyaware that some one from the native village which they had passed inthe morning had come into the camp. After a time the sounds had diedaway again, and Ramsa Lal had stepped into view, looking towards herinterrogatively; but although she recognized his wish to speak to her,the inertia which now claimed her mind and body prevailed, and sheoffered him no encouragement to intrude upon her misery.

  Thus the weary hours passed, until even to the dulled perceptions ofMoreen the sounds of unrest and uneasiness pervading the camp began topenetrate. Yet Major Fayne did not return. The insect and reptile lifeof a Burmese jungle moved around her, but she was curiously indifferentto everything. Without alarm she brushed a venomous spider, fully oneinch in girth, from the camp-bedstead, and dully watched it darting awayinto the jungle undergrowth.

  Darkness swept down and tropical night things raised their mingledvoices; then came Ramsa Lal.

  "Forgive me, Mem Sahib," he said, "but I must speak to you."

  She half reclined, looking at him as he stood, a dimly seen figure,before her.

  "The men from the village," continued he, "come to say that we maynot camp. It is holy ground from this place away"--he waved his armvaguely--"to the end of the jungle where the river is."

  "I can do nothing, Ramsa Lal."

  "I fear--for him."

  "Major Fayne?"

  "He goes into the jungle to look for something. What does he go to lookfor? Why does he not return?"

  Moreen made no reply.

  "All of them there"--he indicated the direction of the nativeservants--"know this place. They are already afraid, and, with thosefrom the village coming to warn us, they get more afraid still. This isa haunted place, Mem Sahib."

  Moreen sat up, shaking off something of the lassitude which possessedher.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "In that jungle," replied Ramsa Lal, "there is buried a temple, a veryold temple, and in the temple there is buried one who was a holy man.His spirit watches over this place, and none may rest here because ofhim----"

  "But the men of the village came here," said Moreen.

  "Before sunset, Mem Sahib. No man would come here after dark. Look! youwill see--they are frightened."

  Languidly, but with some awakening to the necessities of the situation,Moreen stepped out of the tent and looked across to where, about a greatfire, the retinue huddled in a circle. Ramsa Lal stood beside her withsomething contemptuous in the bearing of his tall figure.

  "A spell lies upon all this valley, Mem Sahib," he said. "Therefore itis called the Valley of the Just."

  "Why?"

  "Because only the just can stay within its bounds through the night."

  Moreen stared affrightedly.

  "Do you mean that they die in the night, Ramsa Lal?"

  "In the night, Mem Sahib, before the dawn."

  "By what means?"

  Ramsa Lal spread his palms eloquently.

  "Who knows?" he replied. "It is a haunted place."

  "And are you afraid?"

  "I am not afraid, for I have passed a night in the Valley of the Justmany years ago, and I live."

  "You were alone?"

  "With two others, Mem Sahib."

  "And the others?"

  "One was bitten by a snake an hour before dawn, and the other, who wasan upright man, lives to-day."

  Moreen shuddered.

  "Do you know"--she still hesitated to broach this subject with theman--"do you know where--Major Fayne has gone?"

  "It is said, Mem Sahib, that a stream runs through the jungle closebeside the old temple, a stream which bubbles up from a cavern and whichis supposed to come underground from the Ruby Mine plateau. He goesearly in the morning to look for rubies--so I think."

  Moreen tapped the ground with her foot.

  "Do you think"--again she hesitated--"that Major Fayne is afraid ofsomething? Of something--where we have come from?"

  Ramsa Lal bowed low.

  "I cannot tell," he replied, "but we shall know ere sunrise."

  For a moment Moreen scarcely grasped the significance of his words; thentheir inner meaning became apparent to her.

  "Make me some coffee, Ramsa Lal," she said; "I am cold--very cold."

  She re-entered the tent, lighting the lamp.

  The Valley of the Just! What irony, that her husband should haveselected that spot to camp in! She sat deep in thought, when presentlyRamsa Lal entered with coffee. He had just set down the tray when thesound of a distant cry brought him rigidly upright. He stood listeningintently. The sound was repeated--nearer it seemed--a sort of hoarsescream, terrible to hear--impossible to describe.

  Moreen rose to her feet and followed the man out of the tent. Someone--some one who kept crying out--was plunging heavily through thejungle towards the camp.

  The men about the fire were on their feet now. Obviously they would havefled, but the prospect of flight into the haunted darkness was one moreterrible than that of remaining where they were.

  It ceased, that strange cr
y; but whoever was approaching could be heardalternately groaning and laughing madly.

  Then out from the thicket on the west, into the red light of the fire,burst a fearful figure. It was that of Major Fayne, wild eyed, and withface which seemed to be of a dull grey. He staggered and almost fell,but kept on for a few more paces and then collapsed in a heap almost atMoreen's feet, amid the clatter of the strange loot wherewith he wasladen.

  This consisted in a number of golden vessels heavily encrusted withgems, a huge golden salver, and a dozen or more ropes of giganticrubies!

  Amid these treasures, the ransom of a Sultan, the price of a throne, helay writhing convulsively.

  Ramsa Lal was the first to recover himself. He leapt forward, seizedthe prostrate man by the shoulders and dragged him into the tent, pastMoreen. Having effected this he raised his eyes in a mute question.She nodded, and whilst Ramsa Lal seized the Major's shoulders, Moreengrasped his ankles, and together they lifted him up on to the bed.

  He lay there, rolling from side to side. His eyes were wide open, glassyand unseeing; a slight froth was upon his lips, his fists rose andfell in regular, mechanical beats, corresponding with the convulsivemovements of his knees.

  Moreen dropped down beside him.

  "Ramsa Lal! Ramsa Lal! What shall I do? What has happened to him?"

  Ramsa Lal ripped the collar from Major Fayne's neck in order to aid hisrespiration. Then, quietly signing to Moreen to hold the lamp, he beganto search the entire exposed surface of the Major's skin. Evidently hefailed to find that for which he was looking. He glanced down at theankles, but the Major wore thick putties and Ramsa Lal shook his head ina puzzled way.

  "It is like the bite of a hamadryad," he said softly, "but there is nomark."

  "What shall I do!" moaned Moreen--"what shall I do!"

  There was a frightened murmur from the entrance, where the nativeservants stood in a group, peering in. Moreen stood up.

  "Hot water, Ramsa Lal!" she said. "We must give him brandy."

  "But it is useless, Mem Sahib; he has not been bitten--there is no mark;it may be a fever from the jungle."

  Moreen beat her hands together helplessly.

  "We must do _something_!" she said; "we must do _something_."

  A sudden change took place in Major Fayne. The convulsive movementsceased and he lay quiet, and breathing quite regularly. The glassy lookbegan to fade from his eyes, and with every appearance of being in fullpossession of his senses, he stared at Moreen and spoke:

  "You shall repent of your words, Harringay," he said in a quiet voice."You have deliberately accused me of faking the cards. I care nothingfor any of you. Why should I attempt such a thing? I could buy and sellyou all!..."

  Moreen dropped slowly back upon her knees again, white to the lips,watching her husband. With the same appearance of perfect sanity, butnow addressing the empty air, he continued:

  "In my tent--my wife will tell you it is true--my wife, Harringay, doyou hear?--I have jewelled cups and strings of rubies, enough to buy upMandalay! I blundered on to them in that old ruined temple back in thejungle, not five hundred yards from your bungalow. Harringay--think ofit--a treasure-room like that within sight of your verandah! There aresnakes there, snakes, you understand, in hundreds; but it is worthrisking for a big fortune like mine."

  "He mixes time and place," murmured Ramsa Lal. "He talks to theCommissioner Sahib in Mandalay of what is here in the Valley of theJust."

  Moreen nodded, catching her breath hysterically.

  "You see," continued the delirious man, "I am as rich as Midas. Whyshould _I_ want to cheat you! Don't talk to me of what you would do formy wife's sake! Keep your favours, curse you!"

  With a contemptuous smile, Major Fayne threw his head back upon thepallet. Then came another change; the look of stark horror which Moreenhad seen once before crept into the grey face; and her husband raisedhimself in bed, glaring wildly into the shadows beyond the lamp.

  "You are a spirit!" The words came in a thrilling, eerie whisper. "OhGod! I understand. Yes! I came away from Harringay's bungalow. My wifewas asleep and I sat drinking until I had emptied the whisky decanter."

  He bent forward as if listening.

  "Yes, I went back. I went back to reason with him. No! as God is mywitness I did not plan it! I went back to reason with him."

  Again the uncanny attitude was resumed. Then:

  "I stepped in through the verandah, and there he sat with Moreen'sphotograph in his hand. Listen to me--_Listen!_" There was an agony ofentreaty in his voice; it rose to a thin scream--"My wife's photograph!Do you hear me? Do you understand? _Moreen's_ photograph--and as I stoodbehind him, he raised it to his lips--he----"

  Major Fayne stopped abruptly, as if checked by a spoken word; and withwildly beating heart Moreen found herself listening for the phantomvoice. She could hear the breathing of the natives clustered behind her;but no other sound save a distant howling in the jungle was audible,until her husband began again:

  "I struck him down--from behind, yes, from behind. His blood poured overthe picture. You understand I was mad. If you are just--and is not thiscalled the Valley of the Just?--you cannot condemn me. Why did I fly?I was not in my right mind; I had--been drinking, as I told you; Iwas mad. If I was not mad I should never have fled, never have drawnsuspicion--on myself."

  He fell back as if exhausted, then once more struggled upright and beganto peer about him. When he spoke again, his voice, though weak, wasmore like his own.

  "Moreen!" he said--"where the devil are you? why can't you give me adrink?"

  Suddenly, he seemed to perceive her, and he drew his brows together inthe old, ugly frown.

  "Curse you!" he said. "I have found you out! I am a rich man now, andwhen I have gone to England, see what Jack Harringay will do for you. Iwill paint London red! I have looted the old temple, and they are afterme, they----"

  The words merged into a frightful scream. Major Fayne threw up his handsand fell back insensible upon the bed.

  "Mem Sahib! Mem Sahib, you must be brave!" It was Ramsa Lal who spoke;he supported Moreen with his arm. "There is a spell upon this place. Nomedicine, nothing, can save him. There is only one thing----"

  Moreen controlled herself by one of those giant efforts of which she wascapable.

  "Tell me," she whispered--"what must we do?"

  Ramsa Lal removed his arm, saw that she could stand unsupported, andbent forward over the unconscious man. Following a rapid examination,he signed to her to leave the tent. They came out into the white blazeof the moonlight--and there at their feet lay the glittering loot of thehaunted temple, a dazzlement of rainbow sparks.

  "Only for such a thing as this," said Ramsa Lal, "dare I go, but not oneof us will see another dawn if we do not go." He pointed to the heap oftreasure. "Mem Sahib must come also."

  "But--my husband----"

  "He must remain," he said. "It is of his own choosing."

  V

  The temple stood in a kind of clearing. Grotesquely horrible figuresguarded the time-worn entrance. Moreen drew a deep breath of relief onemerging from the jungle path by which, amid the rustle of retreatingsnakes, they had come, but shrank back affrighted from the blacknessof the ruined doorway. Ramsa Lal stood the lantern upon the stump of abroken pillar, where its faint yellow light was paled by the moon-rays.

  "It is _you_ who must restore," he said.

  One by one he handed her the jewel-encrusted vessels and hung the ropesof rubies upon her arm.

  She nodded, and as Ramsa Lal took up the lantern and began to descendthe steps within followed him.

  "No foot save his," came back to her, "has trod these sacred steps forages, for the secret of the jungle path is known only to the few...."

  "How do you--know the way?"

  Ramsa Lal did not reply.

  They traversed a short tunnel; a heavy door was thrust open; and Moreenfound herself standing in a small pillared hall. Through a window highin one wall, overgrown with tangled veg
etation, crept a broken moonbeam.Directly before her was the carven figure of a grotesque deity. A long,heavily clamped chest stood before it like an altar step.

  She staggered forward, deposited her priceless burden upon the floor,and mechanically began to raise the lid of the chest.

  "Not that one, Mem Sahib!" The voice of Ramsa Lal rose shrilly--"notthat one!..."

  But he spoke too late. Moreen realised that there were three divisionsin the chest, each having a separate lid. As she raised the one in thecentre, a breath of fetid air greeted her nostrils, and she had a vagueimpression that this was no chest but the entrance to a deep pit. Thenall these thoughts were swept away by the crowning horror which rose outof the subterranean darkness.

  A great winged creature, clammily white, rose towards her, passedbeneath her upraised hands and sailed into the darkness on the right.She heard it flapping its great bat wings against the wall--heard thembeating upon a pillar--then saw it coming back towards her into themoonlight--and knew no more.

  VI

  "Mem Sahib!"

  Moreen opened her eyes. She lay, propped against a saddle, at the campbeside the jungle. She shuddered icily.

  "Ramsa Lal--how----"

  "I carried the Mem Sahib! the treasures of the temple I restored totheir resting-place----"

  "And the--the other----"

  "The door that the Mem Sahib opened she opened by the decree of Fate. Itwas not for Ramsa Lal to close it. That is a passage----"

  "Yes?"

  "--To the tomb of the great one who is buried in the temple!"

  "Oh! heavens! that white thing----" She raised her hands to her face."But--the camp----"

  "The camp is deserted! they all fled from----"

  Moreen sat up, rigidly.

  "From what?"

  "From something that came for what we forgot!"

  "My husband----"

  "There was a ring upon his finger. I saw it, and knew where it camefrom, but forgot to remove it."

  Moreen stood up, and turned towards the nearer tent. Ramsa Lal gentlydetained her.

  "Not that way, Mem Sahib."

  "But I must see him! I must, I _must_ tell him that he wrongs me,cruelly, wickedly! You heard his words-- Oh, God! can he have----"

  "It would be useless to tell him, Mem Sahib,--he could not hear you! Butthat what you would tell him is true I know well; for see--it is thedawn!"

  "Ramsa Lal!..."

  "The unjust cannot stay in this valley through a night and live to seethe dawn, Mem Sahib!"

  VII

  At about that same hour, Deputy-Commissioner Jack Harringay opened hiseyes and looked wonderingly at a grey-haired, white-aproned nurse whosat watching him.

  "Don't speak, Mr. Harringay," she said soothingly. "You have been veryill, but you are on the high road to recovery now."

  "Nurse!..."

  "Please don't speak; I know what you would ask. There has been noscandal. The attack upon you was ascribed to robbers. You have beendelirious, Mr. Harringay, and have told me--many things. I am oldenough, or nearly old enough, to be your mother, so you will not mind mytelling you that a love like yours deserves reward. God has spared yourlife; be sure it was with a purpose----"