The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. ” Sydney looked at her doubtfully. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound.
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