He was still bending above her, and she looked up dreamily into his
eyes.
"Do you think I shall ever have my garden?" she asked.
"All things good must come to you, Athalie."
She laughed, looking up into his eyes: "You meant that, didn't you?
'All things good'--yes--and other things, too.... They come to all I
suppose.... Tell me, do you think my profession disreputable?"
"You have made it otherwise, haven't you?"
"I don't know. I'm eternally tempted. My intelligence bothers me. And
where to draw the line between what I really see and what I divine by
deduction--or by intuition--I scarcely know sometimes.... I try to be
honest.... When you came in just now, were they calling an extra?"
"Yes."
"Did you hear what they were calling?"
"Something about the Empress of Borneo being reported safe."
She nodded. Then: "That is the hopeless part of it. I can sometimes
help others; never myself.... I suppose you have no idea how many,
many hours I have spent looking for you.... I never could find you. I
have never found you in my crystal, or in my clearer vision, or in my
dreams; ... never heard your voice, never had news of you except by
common report in everyday life.... Why is it, I wonder?"
His expression was inscrutable. She said, her eyes still lingering on
his: "You know it makes me indignant to see so much that neither
concerns nor interests me--so much that passes--in this!--" laying one
hand on the crystal beside the couch ... "and never, never in the dull
monotony of the drifting multitude to catch a glimpse of you.... I
wonder, were I lost somewhere in the world, if you could find me,
Clive?"
"I'd die, trying," he said unsmilingly.
"Oh! How romantic! I wasn't fishing for a pretty speech, dear. I
meant, could you find me in the crystal. Look into it, Clive."
He turned and went over to the clear, transparent sphere, and she,
resting her chin on both arms, lay gazing into it, too.
After a silence he shook his head: "I see nothing, Athalie."
"Can you not see that great yellow river, Clive? And the snow peaks on
the horizon?... Palms, tall reeds, endless forests--everything so
still--except birds flying--and a broad river rolling between
forests.... And a mud-bar, swarming with crocodiles.... And a dead
tree stranded there, on which large birds are sitting.... There is a
big cat-shaped animal on the bank; but the forest is dark and
sunless,--too dusky to see into.... I think the animal is a jaguar....
He's drinking now.... Yes, he's a jaguar--a heavy, squarely built,
spotted creature with a broad, blunt head.... He's been eating a
pheasant; there are feathers everywhere--bright feathers, brilliant as
jewels.... Hark! You didn't hear that, did you, Clive? Somebody has
shot the jaguar. They've shot him again. He's whirling 'round and
'round--and now he's down, biting at sticks and leaves.... There goes
another shot. The jaguar lies very still. His jaws are partly open. He
has big, yellow cat-teeth.... I can't seem to see who shot him....
There are some black men coming. One has a small American flag furled
around the shaft of his spear. He's waving it over the dead jaguar.
They're all dancing now.... But I can't see the man who shot him."