But Tsuda’s look was full of brooding discontent, though, to be sure, this extreme ritual of respect was but a piece of his own passionate handiwork. As he had just faintly hinted to Stella, the Japanese would have been a priest—only there was a clash with the Emperor’s police in his youth, resulting in his deportation in irons to Yezo. “I never learned for what,” the Captain once admitted to King. “Murder most likely. The essential fact remains that he managed to escape—h’m? And fancy my snatching him, years later—h’m?—out of a brawl over a geisha girl!” The Captain always had a humorous, twitching look at such times—and especially when he had occasion to refer to Tsuda’s manipulation of the Ainu—“religion—h’m?—that is, religion and saké....” It had called for patience and cleverness on Tsuda’s part; at length the thrall was complete. But as he watched King now reaping this vicarious homage, and mused upon the exalted niche King filled in Captain Utterbourne’s scheme, Tsuda resented what more and more struck him as an intrusion—yes, more and more, while the Star of Troy steamed steadily day and night into realms of new adventure and prowess.
II
King drew out a little revolver and emptied its contents rapidly into the atmosphere. Stella would know by this token he was at hand, and would be on the lookout for him. Mr. King liked to have his wife at the door or half way down the path to meet him. It went nicely with his conception of married life. Also this fusillade, in the nature of a virile salute, proved an agreeable way now and then of dispersing the shroud of silence that seemed always to hover like an invisible fog over island and sea, beneath a mocking sky.
Stella did, indeed, come out a little way to meet her husband. He waved to her with one of his fine flourishes, dismounted, and when they met, bent and kissed her, and kept his arm about her in a posture of comfortable possession as they strolled toward the house.
“You ought to be thankful you can stay in the shade!” he explained. “What wouldn’t I give for a little ice!”
She made no reply, but walked along as though musing, her head downcast.
“I must say you don’t strike a very hilarious welcome!” he assured her after a short silence. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes,” she faltered.
“What’s the matter? Look up here!” He raised her chin with an uncompromising hand. Then she smiled faintly and told him: “There’s nothing the matter—I just don’t feel very lively. Has it been a hard day?”
“So-so. Look here, little girl, your eyes are red. Crying?”