Harold MacGrath

“ Hallowell, a naval inventor, living in a villa out in San Miguel, on the Pasig. Blue-prints. There was sense to all those broken sentences which had come through yonder door a few days gone. Danish words—her own blood-tongue! She had not seen the man, so she could not describe him. But his companion!
She stopped before the mirror and studied her face carefully. What an incredible thing it was! Mirrors, once so pleasant to gaze into, had now become chambers of horror. She no longer saw herself—she saw a grave open and the dead arise. After eight years! ”

“ A dry little smile stirred the lips of the actress.
"Sarah," said the mother to the Breton maid, "have you taken good care of my Hilda?"
"She's been a trump, mother!" interrupted the daughter.
"But she looks as if she had been ill."
"No, madame ... the journey...." Two faces, thought the maid, so alike that only the good God Himself might distinguish one from the other!
Her mistress leaned back and closed her eyes. The train would be in the tunnel now and the box in Mathison's hands. What would be his wonder? She could only imagine. ”

“ Doubtless by this time you have formed the impression that Mathison had lost his compass, that he was drifting, that he had forgotten the vital business which had brought him all these thousands of miles. Nothing could be farther from the truth. All these little eddies, currents, whirlpools were at the sides of the stream, that flowed on, impervious, inevitable.
For a man whose soul was in haste he took his time. His movements within the theater and outside in the lobby were leisurely. ”

“ I'm a riddle to myself. But for Hilda I should have beaten you. Do you know, if Hallowell had been weak I should have gone out to your villa. I wonder what would have happened?"
"He would have been alive this day," answered Mathison, grimly; "for we both of us would have vacated the premises. Typhoon. They named you well. And yet!"
"Ah, and yet?" Berta looked up.
"Why not become a friend instead of an enemy? You say you want peace and quiet after all this stormy life. Why not melt a little? I know my wife. She would take you in her arms with half a chance." ”

“ The brass knob of one of the doors was turning with infinite slowness, a small fraction of an inch at a time. If there was any sound, it was smothered by the magnificent chords of Rachmaninoff's melancholy inspiration.
Suddenly Berta stood up, covered a yawn, and started toward the staircase. She had reached the middle of the room, when a rush of cold air caused Mathison to turn. He saw Lysgaard, his blue eyes burning with madness, his cheeks hollow and white with fury. There followed two shots, but Mathison's was a second too late. Berta's hands flew automatically to her breast ”

“ The double doors rolled back smoothly and The Yellow Typhoon stepped into the room, sending the doors shut again. She leaned with her back against one of the doors, and the crooked smile on her lips almost hid the little mole.
Mathison was on his feet immediately, his nerves singing. All along he had expected such a moment; and yet, now that it had come, it stupefied him. He stood so that he partially covered Miss Farrington. He wondered if any man had ever before been confronted by such a situation. ”

“ Even Mathison received a shock. He had forgotten Malachi. The woman sprang to her feet and whirled about, expecting to see some one behind her chair. She saw nothing. Bewildered, her gaze came back to Mathison, who pointed to the curtain-pole.
"A little parrot!" She sank back into the chair weakly. "I thought some one was behind me!"
"I had forgotten him."
"Chup! Chota Malachi!"
"What does he say?"
"That's Hindustani. He's telling me to be still and that he is a little bird."
"A Hindu parrot!" The woman gazed at the bird, frankly interested. "What a funny little bird! You have traveled far?" ”