THE FALSE REPORT

Mr. Kamamura never again saw his two tall English guests.

As a matter of fact, they sought for and found a means of leaving his garden by a back way that brought them to a road which in its turn brought them to the station.

And the native gentlefolk in the train, which brought them back to Nagasaki by six o'clock, could not imagine what great grief it was that made the tall English lady so pallid, and so like the very picture of woe.

At the Nagasaki station Leslie helped his companion into a riksha.

"Don't come back with me to the hotel," she murmured; "I will drive there alone. I want to be alone, quite alone for a while. All our arrangements are made, and there is nothing more to be said. God help me!—God help us both! Good-bye, Dick, for the present."

He watched her drive off. Then he took a riksha himself, and ordered the man to take him to the House of the Clouds.

Everything was arranged. Jane was to be his for ever. But there was no triumph in the thought. The battle had been won by his own weakness, not by his strength. Jane's compassion for him had betrayed her.

They were to sail to-morrow by the Empress of Japan. He was to stay the night at the hotel, for he could not possibly remain the night at the House of the Clouds having once bidden good-bye to Campanula.

Beyond Vancouver lay the scheme traced out by him, accepted by Jane. They were to buy a farm in the Canadian North-west, and live there for ever happily. He would not touch a penny of her money; he had jewelry worth at least four hundred pounds, which would be amply sufficient to start on. His share in M'Gourley's business was to be left for Campanula.

It is true he knew little about farming, but—love can do anything.

Viewed from a natural standpoint the whole arrangement was not only natural but praiseworthy. That a woman, fond of a natural life in the open air, should leave a creature like George du Telle, and cast herself into the arms of a man like Leslie. What could be more in keeping with the grand aim of Nature, the propagation of the fit in body?

Viewed from a social standpoint the whole arrangement was wickedly absurd. And from a moral standpoint simply wicked.

Nature stood decidedly on Leslie's side; God (according to the theologians) and society stood against him.

These problems are occurring every day and every minute of the day, perplexing the thinker and confounding his belief, unless he looks upon the world as a higher thing than a breeding ground for animals. And it is generally by their side issues they are to be solved, and the side issue in Leslie's case was Campanula.

He was nearing Danjuro's shop when he saw a riksha with a disguised figure in it.

It was Mac, and Mac was disguised with whisky.

He was flushed, and his hat was on the back of his head, and he was so obviously fuddled that the gentle Japanese who passed smiled and passed on, without looking back.

"Stop!" cried Leslie to his man, then jumping out he ran to M'Gourley's riksha, which had also stopped.

"Have you heard the news?"

"News?" said Mac. "News—what news?"

"The Bombay and Benares bank is broken."

"It is not," replied the other, fumbling in his pocket. "Na, na—false report. Bombay and Ta-Lien, you mean." Then, drawing a paper from his pocket, and with ferocity: "Canna ye read?"

Leslie took the paper; it was a cablegram from Shanghai.

"False report. Bombay and Ta-Lien suspended. Bombay and Benares safe.

Jardine Matheson."

"Good Heavens!" said Leslie. "When did you get this?"

"Hoor ago. Drive on, you—wheel me awa'."

"Where are you going?"

"Mogi—to forget I was ever such a fule as to go into partnership with a man like—wheel me awa'!"

"Steady on, steady on," said Leslie.

"I'll be back the morrow morn and see y' before you're awa' to Vancouver." Then, leaning back as the riksha started: "I may be a fule, but I'm not a blind fule, and I'm not a—(hic!)."

The riksha joggled over a stone and he collapsed like a shut-down opera hat.

Leslie continued his way.