The white moon turned the snow peaks into
glittering fountains from which pure light cascaded down, down into
the blackness at their base . . . one more morning . . . one more
day . . . Vancouver at night . . . a launch . . . Desire!
Meanwhile one must keep steady. The professor drew from its yellow
wrapping the little note-book which had been the second of Li Ho's
enclosures. It had belonged, if Li Ho's information were correct, to
Desire's mother--a diary, probably. "Deceased lady write as per
day." Spence hesitated. It was Desire's property. He felt a delicacy
in examining it. But so many mistakes had already been made through
want of knowledge, he dared not risk another one. And Li Ho had
probably other than sentimental reasons for sending the book.
He shut out the mountains and the moonlight, and clicking on the
berth-light, turned the dog-eared pages reverently. Only a few were
written upon. It was a diary, as he had guessed, or rather brief
bits of one. The writing was small but very clear in spite of the
fading ink. The entries began abruptly. It was plain that there had
been another book of which this was a continuation.
The first date was November 1st--no year given.
"It is raining. The Indians say the winter will be very wet. Desire
plays in the rain and thrives. She is a lovely child, high-spirited-
-not like me."
"November 10th--He was worse this month. I think he gets steadily a
little worse.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316