CONTENTS

PAGE
CHAPTER I[3]
CHAPTER II[16]
CHAPTER III[21]
CHAPTER IV[30]
CHAPTER V[39]
CHAPTER VI[51]
CHAPTER VII[72]
CHAPTER VIII[94]
CHAPTER IX[110]
CHAPTER X[124]
CHAPTER XI[133]
CHAPTER XII[139]
CHAPTER XIII[154]
CHAPTER XIV[175]
CHAPTER XV[195]
CHAPTER XVI[225]
CHAPTER XVII[248]
CHAPTER XVIII[263]
CHAPTER XIX[277]
CHAPTER XX[293]
CHAPTER XXI[301]
CHAPTER XXII[301]

BROKEN BUTTERFLIES

CHAPTER I

The black bow of the Tenyo Maru cut into the broad ribbon of moonlight stretching, interminably, straight into the vast spaces of the opalescent night. Somewhere ahead, bathed in that same pale illumination, invisible, lay Japan.

Arms folded over the rail, Hugh Kent looked forward into the opaque dimness. From the main deck below the plaint of a bamboo flute came softly up to him. The following wind brought stray bits of the dance music from astern where the cabin passengers were enjoying their last night at sea. Ahead the Orient, dim, mysterious, indefinitely veiled as the flute notes—behind him the virile, strident, restless clamor of the West; ever approaching, the two, East and West, seeking to blend, even partly blending, yet each as yet too strongly individual, mutually strange, to combine in full harmony.

The vastness of space, vagueness of translucent darkness, shimmer of niveous sparkle of foam cascaded before the tall prow and glimmer of phosphorescence flickering in the dark water below, all induced to introspection, reflection, vague wonder as to what lay before him, what new revelations would life in Japan bring to him.