Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. She was the High Priestess. "What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. Pure luck! But for that bottle of whisky, nobody in the Hong-Kong Hotel would have been able to identify the photograph; and at this hour James Boyle O'Higgins would have been on the way to Yokohama, and the trail lost for ever. A constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck.
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