r," said the little man. "Now my job begins; and I
guess it's as ticklish as yours. You may need the skill, but I need the
gall."

"The daring of the leopard when it leaps from the bush where it
crouches, the daring which is half cunning, eh, my friend?" said the
Swami comfortably. "Here, take the package and go thy way. There will be
more in the future. These I brought with me from India, and even the
eagle customs found them not. Many night-hours have I spent in preparing
them, and mine eyes have been robbed of sleep. It is no slight task to
produce a masterpiece."

"Well, you certainly are a dandy," said the man, examining the contents
of his package. "I never seen anything like it. And those big hands,
too."

"My hands obey the skill of my mind. And here, under the shadow of the
Early, I can work with purer courage. This is the perfection of a place.
It was the idea of genius to come here. Hold, let me examine the way
before thou goest."

"Aw, there won't be any body in the garden at this time o' night, and at
this time o' year."

"Nay, but it is the wise man who leaves no loophole for mistake," said
the Hindu, with practical caution.

He blew out the light and stepped in darkness to the entrance with the
air of one who would refresh his soul by gazing at the stars and wiping
out the trivialities of the day. After he had looked at the heavens, his
eyes fell with piercing swiftness upon the shadows of the garden, its
bushes, manlike or animal-like in the night.

It was as complete a piece of acting as though a large audience had been
there to see, but all thrown away on silence and solitude.

"Coast clear?" said a voice behind him.

"All is well," said the Swami. "Go forth to fortune."

The door closed softly, and Ram Juna sought the repose he had earned.

CHAPTER XV

THE HONEYMOON

The first months of winter were full of excitement to Lena. She
frequently assured herself that she was rapturously happy, but, while
intellectually she accepted the fact, no genial warmth pervaded her
consciousness. The entrance to her new life was too brier-sprinkled for
bliss. Daily to face her mother's mingling of complaisance, self-pity
and fault-finding; to meet Dick's friends, whom Lena, in her suspicions,
regarded as thinly-disguised enemies; to scrimp together some little
show of bridal finery for her quiet wedding; all this filled her with
mingled irritation and gratification.

Most aggravating of all