stening, he could hear it at some
point of its maddening scale--its insane assurance of the hopelessness
of jungle fever.

Skag faced the ultimatum. This was different. It had nothing to do
with his world of animal dangers. This was a slow devouring which he
could not touch nor stay. _Carlin was melting before his eyes_. . . .
The brothers had come in, one by one, from over India. (Margaret
Annesley had attended to that.) Skag met them, moved quietly about,
yet could not remember their faces one from another. He answered when
spoken to, but retained no registration as to whom he had spoken, or
what had been said. Sometimes he was alone for a few moments with
Carlin; and when her eyes were open he was appalled by the growing
sense of distance in them. Then before she spoke, he would hear what
she heard:

"Bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r!"

There were queer rifts of light in his mind, instants when he realised
that all the hard moments of the past had prepared him for this. He
saw clearly that he could not have endured, even to the present hour,
without every experience life had shown him--especially without the
difficult ones. He lived again the great moments--all the Indian
afterglows that were identified with Carlin--perfect lessons of mercy
she had taught him, through the very yearning of his own heart in her
presence to be worthy of days with her. Never useless words from
Carlin, but always the vivid meaning. He had been slow at first to see
how much more magic were their days together, because she paid for them
with a night-and-day readiness to go forth to the call of service to
others.

Yet through all, he was utterly, changelessly desolate. Not only
bitterness, but an icy bitterness, was upon all meaning and movement of
life. It was almost like a conspiracy that no part in ministration was
demanded of him by those who were now in his house. The doctors talked
to Miss Annesley or to the servants; the brothers came and went with
their fear and fidelity--but spoke to Skag of other things than the
illness. Still, in his heart a concept slowly formed--that he had
something which Carlin needed now; that this something had to do,
though it was different, with the power he used to change animals. It
seemed absurd even to think of this--with all these wise ones around
him, not perceiving it. They formed a barrier of their thoughts which
kept him from expression. He stoo