She crossed to the door, turned, and looked, slowly from one to the other.

“Is the bargain concluded?”

“Yes!—­I’ll take yer on those terms—­but you’ll pay a ’undred per cent interest on the month, I’ve lent yer—­an’ then some I give yer my word!”

The door shut quietly as the man sank into a chair.

“Batty!” he said as he mopped his bald head, “absolutely balmy.  But it’s worth while—­it’s worth while—­let her have ’er month—­let ’er—­I shall have a whole lifetime to break ’er in.”

CHAPTER XVIII

  “Why fret about them if to-day be sweet!”—­Omar Khayyam.

The great grey breakers heaved themselves skywards, paused for half a second, split and crashed down upon the rocks the next morning as Leonie and Jan Cuxson sat on the sands under the lowering sky.

They had argued, analysed, plotted, and planned, only to find that each road they launched out upon full of hope, terminated in the blind alley of the old man’s power over the girl.

“I’ve just got to go through with it,” said Leonie, “there is simply no way out.”

The man caught both hands in his.

“Dear heaven, how I love you, child!  How I long to pick you up, as I did all those years ago, and carry you out of all this to happiness.  Leonie!  Leonie!  You must marry me, I love you so.”

And she had sat quite still, not daring to move for fear of the mighty passion which surged about her.

Yes!  Quite true!  They had only met twice; but there is a certain kind of love, exceeding rare it’s true in Europe, which from an infinitesimal seed is capable in one second of blossoming into a tree, fruit and all, in the shade of which you can sit content until your life’s end.

It simply sprouts all over the East.

Wishing to prevent a conflagration Leonie spoke quite calmly as she withdrew her hands.

“And I couldn’t marry you, even if I were free, because—­at times—­as I have just told you—­they say that I—­I—­am not responsible for my actions?  I’m—­I’m supposed to be——­”

“Be quiet!”

Cuxson pulled her fiercely into his arms, crushing her cheek against his.

“Tell me all, every detail.”

They sat there as the tide went out, and the man registered the facts of the tragic tale in his mind, eager to be out on the trail of the mystery overshadowing the girl he loved.

“Mad!” he laughed when she had finished, “mad!—­no more than I am, and I’m sane enough in all conscience except in my love for you.  I shall go to India, and wring or bribe the truth out of that ayah.  But we needn’t worry about the date of starting yet a while, and between then and now we shall have found a way out of this seeming impasse.  What is it?”

Leonie had twisted herself suddenly out of his arms, looked over her shoulders and shivered.