girl a bit. You have the field all to yourself, now that Maurice is out of the way.”
To this I made no other answer than to leave him abruptly, for aside from the coarseness of the insinuation, the Doctor’s remark grated upon my nerves horribly, for a reason which I must now explain.
I no longer loved Walla—that is if I had ever loved her.
Rather should I say that the girl’s face no longer produced those singular sensations with which I had for days been tormented.
Why was this?
I did not know.
The fact is I had been a puzzle to myself since the first day I met the man Mirrikh.
The change came with the return to consciousness after the real, or imaginary, trip made with Maurice and Mirrikh through the spheres. From that moment the face of Walla Benjow seemed to grow absolutely repulsive to me. I wondered how I ever could have thought it beautiful, I saw it now as I had never seen it, and could see in it nothing more than in the faces of thousands of native women upon whom I had looked since I came to Farther India. I was disgusted with myself beyond measure for having looked at it in any other light.
Was this jealousy?
Was it because Walla in that last awful moment before Maurice took the fatal step declared her love for my friend?
Then I was foolish enough, ignorant enough of the heart’s most holy affection, to believe this?
Ah! I do not think so now.
But a sense of duty prompted me to seek the girl and give her such hopeful assurances as I could. I sought her in vain, however, nor did I see Walla again until after breakfast, which was served to the Doctor and myself alone, as usual, Padma having come for me in the vault to which I had returned, insisting by signs in his gentle way that I must eat.
During the meal I controlled my anxiety as best I could, and we discussed the situation in all its bearings.
We could see no hope outside of Padma.
After breakfast we ascended to the top of the tower again.
The water was now approaching the lamasery walls, with
