and begin anew an immemorial journey by the will of the Most High.

What spectroscope is to horoscope,

 destiny is to chance. The black star Erlik

 rushed through interstellar darkness

 unseen; those born under its violent 

augury13 squalled in their cradles, or, thumb in mouth,

 slumbered15 the dreamless slumber14 of the newly born.xix

One of these, a tiny girl baby, fussed and fidgeted in her mother’s arms,

 tortured by prickly heat when the hot winds blew through Trebizond.

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Overhead vultures circled; a stein-adler, cleaving16

 the blue, looked down where the surf 

made a thin white line along the coast, then set his lofty course for China.

 Thousands of miles to the westward17, a little boy of eight gazed out

 across the ruffled18 waters of the mill pond at Neeland’s Mills, and

 wondered whether the ocean might not look that way.

 And, wondering, with the salt sea effervescence working in his

 inland-born body, he fitted a cork19 to his fishing line and flung

 the baited hook far out across the ripples20. Then he seated himself

 on the parapet of the stone bridge and

 waited for monsters of the deep to come.

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 And again, off Seraglio Point, men were rowing in a boat;

 and a corded sack lay in the stern, horridly21 and limply heavy.

 There was also a box lying in the boat, oddly bound and clamped

 with metal which glistened22 like silver under the Eastern stars 

when the waves of the Bosporus dashed high, and the flying

 scud23 rained down on box and sack and the red-capped rowers.

 In Petrograd a little girl of twelve was learning to eat other things 

than sour milk and cheese; learning to ride otherwise than like a

 demon24 on a Cossack saddle; learning deportment, too, and

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 languages, and social graces and the fine arts. And, most thoroughly25

 of all, the little girl was learning how deathless should be her 

hatred26 for the Turkish Empire and all its works; and xxhow only

 less perfect than our Lord in Paradise was the Czar on his 

throne amid that earthly paradise known as “All the Russias.”

Her little brother was learning these things, too, in the Corps27

 of Officers. Also he was already proficient28 on the balalaika.

 And again, in the mountains of a conquered province, the littl

 daughter of a gamekeeper to nobility was preparing to emigrate

 with her father to a new home in the Western world, where she

 would learn to perform miracles with rifle and revolver, and

 where the beauty of the hermit29 thrush’s song would startle 

her into comparing it to the beauty of her own untried voice.

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 But to her father, and to her, the most beautifu

l thing in all the world was love of Fatherland.

 Over these, and millions of others, brooded the spell of the Dark Star.

 Even the world itself lay under it, vaguely30 uneasy, sometimes 

startled to momentary31 seismic32 panic. Then, ere mundane33

 self-control restored terrestrial equilibrium34, a few mountains 

exploded, an island or two lay shattered by earthquake, boiling mud 

and pumice blotted35 out one city; earth

 

-shock and fire another; a tidal wave a third.

But the world settled down and balanced itself once more on the

 edge of the perpetual abyss into which it must fall some day; 

the invisible shadow of the Dark Star swept it at intervals36 when

 some far and nameless sun blazed out unseen; days dawned; 

the sun of the solar system rose furtively37 each day and hung 

around the heavens until that dusky huntress, Night, 

chased him once more beyond the earth’s horizon.xxi

 The shadow of the Dark Star was always there, though none

 saw it in sunshine or in moonlight, or

 in the silvery lustre38 of the planets.

 A boy, born under it, stood outside the fringe of willow39 and

 alder40, through which moved two English setters

 followed and controlled by the boy’s father.

 “Mark!” called the father.

 Out of the willows41 like a feathered bomb burst a big grouse42,

 and the green foliage43 that barred its flight seemed to

 explode as the strong bird sheered out into the sunshine.

 The boy’s gun, slanting44 upward at thirty degrees, glittered in

 the sun an instant, then the left barrel spoke45; and the grouse,

 as though struck by lightning in mid-air, stopped with a jerk,

 then slanted46 swiftly and struck the ground.

“Dead!” cried the boy, as a setter appeared, leading on 

straight to the heavy mass of feathers lying on the pasture grass.

 “Clean work, Jim,” said his father, strolling out of the willows.

 “But wasn’t it a bit risky47, considering the little girl yonder?”

 “Father!” exclaimed the boy, very red

. “I never even saw her. I’m ashamed.”

 They stood looking across the pasture, where a little girl in a 

pink gingham dress lingered watching them, evidently lured48

 by her curiosity from the old house at the crossroads just beyond.

 Jim Neeland, still red with mortification49, took the big cock-grouse

 from the dog which brought it—a tender-mouthed, beautifully

 trained Belton, who stood with his feathered offering in his jaws50

, very serious, very proud, awaiting praise

 from the Neelands, father and son.xxii

 Neeland senior “drew” the bird and distributed the sacrifice

 impartially51 between both dogs—it being the custom of the country.

 Neeland junior broke his gun, replaced the exploded shell, 

content indeed with his one hundred per cent performance.

“Better run over and speak to the little girl, Jim,” suggested

 old Dick Neeland, as he motioned the dogs into covert52 again.

 So Jim ran lightly across the stony53, clover-set ground to where

 the little girl roamed along the old snake fence, picking berries

 sometimes, sometimes watching the spo

rtsmen out of shy, golden-grey eyes.

 “Little girl,” he said, “I’m afraid the shot from my gun came

 rattling54 rather close to you that time. You’ll have to be careful.

 I’ve noticed you here before. It won’t do; you’ll have to 

keep out of range of those bushes, because when 

we’re inside we can’t see exactly where we’re firing.”

 The child said nothing. She looked up at the boy, smiled shyly,

 then, with much composure, began her retreat, 

not neglecting any tempting55 blackberry on the way.

 The sun hung low over the hazy56 Gayfield hills; the beeches57

 and oaks of Mohawk County burned brown and crimson58;

 silver birches supported their delicate canopies59 of burnt gold; 

and imperial white pines clothed hill and

 vale in a stately robe of green.

 Jim Neeland forgot the child—or remembered her

 only to exercise caution in the Brookhollow covert.

 The little girl Ruhannah, who had once fidgeted with prickly 

heat in her mother’s arms outside the walls of Trebizond, 

did not forget this easily smiling, tall young xxiiifellow—a

 grown man to her—who had come acr

oss the pasture lot to warn her.

 But it was many a day before they met again, though these

 two also had been born under the invisible shadow of the Dark Star.

 But the shadow of Erlik is always passing like swift lightning across

 the Phantom60 Planet which has fled

 the other way since Time was born.

 Allahou Ekber, O Tchinguiz Khagan!

 A native Mongol missionary61 said to Ruhannah’s father:

 “As the chronicles of the Eighurs have it, long ago there fell metal

 from the Black Racer of the skies; the first dagger62 was made of it;

 and the first image of the Prince of Darkness. These pass from

 Kurd to Cossack by theft, by gift, by loss; they pass 

from nation to nation by accident, which is Divine design.

 “And where they remain, war is. And lasts until image and

 dagger are carried to another land where war shall be. 

But where there is war, only the predestined suffer—

those born under Erlik—children of the Dark Star.”

 “I thought,” said the Reverend Wilbour Carew, 

“that my brother had confessed Christ.”

 “I am but repeating to you what my father believed; and Temujin

 before him,” replied the native convert, his remote gaze lost in reflection.  

His eyes were quite little and coloured like a lion’s; and sometimes,

 in deep reverie, the corners of his upper lip twitched63. 

This happened when Ruhannah lay fretting64 in 

her mother’s arms, and the hot wind blew on Trebizond. 

Under the Dark Star, too, a boy grew up in Minetta Lane, 

not less combative65 than other ragged66 boys about xxivhim,

 but he was inclined to arrange and superintend fist 

fights rather than to participate in battle, except with his wits. 

His name was Eddie Brandes; his first fortune of three dollars

 was amassed67 at craps; he became a hanger-on in ward2 politics,

 at race-tracks, stable, club, squared ring, vaudeville68, burlesque69.

 Long Acre attracted him—but always the

 gambling70 end of the operation.

 Which predilection71, with its years of ups and downs, landed him

 one day in Western Canada with an “Unknown” to match against

 an Athabasca blacksmith, and a training ca

mp as the prospect72 for the next six weeks.

 There lived there, gradually dying, one Albrecht Dumont, lately 

head gamekeeper to nobility in the mountains of a Lost Province,

 and wearing the Iron Cross of 1870 on the ruins of a 

gigantic and bony chest, now as hollow as a Gothic ruin.

 And if, like a thousand fellow patriots73, he had been ordered

 to the Western World to watch and report to his Government 

the trend and tendency of that Western, English-speaking world,

 only his Government and his daughter knew it—a child of the

 Dark Star now grown to early womanhood, with a voice like a

 hermit thrush and the skill of a sorceres

s with anything that sped a bullet.

 Before the Unknown was quite ready to

 meet the Athabasca blacksmith,

 Albrecht Dumont, dying faster now, signed his last report to the

 Government at Berlin, which his daughter Ilse had written for him

—something about Canadian canals and stupid Yankees

 and their greed, indifference74, cowardice75, and sloth76.xxv

 Dumont’s mind wandered:“After the well-born Herr Gott

 relieves me at my post,” he whispered, “do 

thou pick up my burden and stand guard, little Ilse.”

 “Yes, father.”“Thy sacred promise?”“My promise.”

 The next day Dumont felt better than he had felt for a year.

 “Ilse, who is the short and broadly constructed American

 who comes now already every day to see thee and to hear thee sing?”

 “His name is Eddie Brandes.”

 “He is of the fight gesellschaft, not?”

 “He should gain much money by the fight. A theatre in 

Chicago may he willingly control, in which light opera shall be given.”

 “Is it for that he hears so willingly thy voice?” “It is for that.... And love.”

 And what of Herr Max Venem, who has asked

 of me thy little hand in marriage?”

 The girl was silent.“Thou dost not love him?”“No.”

 Toward sunset, Dumont, lying by the window, 

opened his eyes of a dying Lämmergeier:

 “My Ilse.”“Father?”What has thou to this man said?”

 “That I will be engaged to him if thou approve.”“He has gained the fight?”

“Today.... And many thousand dollars. The xxvitheatre in 

Chicago is his when he desires. Riches, leisure,

 opportunity to study for a career upon his stage, are mine if I desire.”

 “Dost thou desire this, little Ilse?”

 “Yes.”

 “And the man Venem who has followed thee so long?”

 “I cannot be what he would have me—a Hausfrau—

to mend his linen77 for my board and lodging78.”

 “And the Fatherland which placed me here on outpost?”

 “I take thy place when God relieves thee.”

 “So ist’s recht!... Grüs Gott—Ilse––”

 Among the German settlers a five-piece brass79

 band had been organised the year before.

 It marched at the funeral of Albrecht Dumont, lately

 head gamekeeper to nobility in the mountains of a long-lost province.

 Three months later Ilse Dumont arrived in Chicago to 

marry Eddie Brandes. One Benjamin Stull was best man. 

Others present included “Captain” Quint, “Doc” Curfoot,

 “Parson” Smawley, Abe Gordon—friends of the bridegroom. 

Invited by the bride, among others were Theodor Weishelm,

 the Hon. Charles Wilson, M. P., and Herr Johann Kestner, 

a wealthy gentleman from Leipsic seeking safe and 

promising80 investments in Canada and the United States. 

A year later Ilse Dumont Brandes, assuming the stage name

 of Minna Minti, sang the rôle of Bettina in 

“The Mascotte,” at the Brandes Theatre in Chicago.

A year later, when she created the part of Kathi in “The

 White Horse,” Max Venem sent word to her that xxviishe

 would live to see her husband lying in the gutter81 

under his heel. Which made the girl unhappy in her triumph. 

But Venem hunted up Abe Grittlefeld and 

told him very coolly that he meant to ruin Brandes.

And within a month the latest public favourite, Minna Minti,

 sat in her dressing82-room, wet-eyed, enraged83, 

with the reports of Venem’s private detectives locked in

 the drawer of her dressing table, and the curtain waiting. 

So complex was life already becoming to these few among

 the million children of the Dark Star Erlik—to everyone,

 from the child that fretted84 in its mother’s arms under

 the hot wind near Trebizond, to a deposed85 Sultan, cowering86 

behind the ivory screen in his zenana, weeping tears that

 rolled like oil over his fat jowl to which still adhered

 the powdered sugar of a Turkish sweetmeat. 

Allahou Ekber, Khodja; God is great. Great also, Ande, is Ali, 

the Fourth Caliph, cousin-companion of Mahomet the Prophet.

 But, O tougtchi, be thy name Niaz and thy surname Baï,

 for Prince Erlik speeds on his Dark Star, and beneath the end

 of the argument between those two last survivors87 of

 a burnt-out world—behold! The sword

  The mother, shading the candle with her work-worn hand,

 looked down at the child in silence. The subdued1 light fell 

on a freckled2 cheek where dark lashes3 rested, on a slim 

neck and thin shoulders framed by a mass of short, curly chestnut4 hair. 

Though it was still dark, the mill whistle was blowing for six

 o’clock. Like a goblin horn it sounded ominously5 through 

Ruhannah’s dream. She stirred in her sleep; her mother stole

 across the room, closed the window, an

d went away carrying the candle with her. 

At seven the whistle blew again; the child turned over and 

unclosed her eyes. A brassy light glimmered6 between leafless

 apple branches outside her window. Through 

the frosty radiance of sunrise a blue jay screamed. 

Ruhannah cuddled deeper among the blankets and buried the 

tip of her chilly8 nose. But the grey eyes remained wide open

 and, under the faded quilt, her little ears were listening intently. 

Presently from the floor below came the expected summons:

“Ruhannah!“Oh, please, mother! 

“It’s after seven––” “I know: I’ll be ready in time!

“It’s after seven, Rue9!”

“I’m so cold, mother dear!”19

“I closed your window. You may bathe and dress down here.” 

“B-r-r-r! I can see my own breath when I breathe!” 

“Come down and dress by the kitchen range,” repeated

 her mother. “I’ve warm water all ready for you.” 

The brassy light behind the trees was becoming golden; 

slim bluish shadows already stretched from the base 

of every tree across frozen fields dusted with snow. 

As usual, the lank7 black cat came walking into the room,

 its mysterious crystal-green eyes brilliant in the glowing light. 

Listening, the child heard her father m

oving heavily about in the adjoining room. 

Then, from below again: “Ruhannah!” 

“I’m going to get up, mother!”“Rue! Obey me!” 

“I’m up! I’m on my way!” She sprang out amid a tempest

 of bedclothes, hopped11 gingerly across the chilly carpet, seized

 her garments in one hand, comb and toothbrush in 

the other, ran into the hallway and pattered downstairs.

The cat followed leisurely12, twitching13 a coal-black tail. 

“Mother, could I have my breakfast first? I’m so hungry––” 

Her mother turned from the range and kissed her as she huddled15

 close to it. The sheet of zinc16 underneath17 warmed her bare

 feet delightfully18. She sighed with satisfaction, looked wistfully

 at the coffeepot simmering, sniffed19 at the biscuits and sizzling ham. 

“Could I have one little taste before I––”20 

“Come, dear. There’s the basin. Bathe quickly, now.” 

Ruhannah frowned and cast a tragic20 glance upon the tin 

washtub on the kitchen floor. Presently she stole over, tested

 the water with her finger-tip, found it not unreasonably21 cold,

 dropped the night-dress from her frail22 shoulders, and

 stepped into the tub with a perfunctory shiver—a thin, overgrown

 child of fifteen, with pipestem limbs and every rib23 anatomically apparent. 

Her hair, which had been cropped to shoulder length, seemed

 to turn from chestnut to bronze fire, gleaming and crackling

 under the comb which she hastily passed through it before twisting it up 

“Quickly but thoroughly,” said her mother. “Hasten, Rue.” 

Ruhannah seized soap and sponge, gasped24, shut her 

grey eyes tightly, and fell to scrubbing with the fury of despair. 

“Don’t splash, dear––” 

“Did you warm my towel, mother?”—bli

ndly stretching out one thin and dripping arm. 

Her mother wrapped her in a big crash towel from head to foot.

 Later, pulling on stockings and shoes by the range, she managed

 to achieve a buttered biscuit at the same time, and was 

already betraying further designs upon another one when

 her mother sent her to set the table in the sitting-room25. 

Thither26 sauntered Ruhannah, partly dressed, still dressing27. 

By the nickel-trimmed stove she completed her toilet, then

 hastily laid the breakfast cloth and arranged the 

china and plated tableware, and filled the water pitcher28. 

Her father came in on his crutches29; she hurried from 21the table,

 syrup30 jug31 in one hand, cruet in the other, and lifted

 her face to be kissed; then she brought hot plates, coffeepot,

 and platters, and seated herself at the table 

where her father and mother were waiting in silence. 

When she was seated her father folded his large, pallid32, 

bony hands; her mother clasped hers on the edge of the table,

 bowing her head; and Ruhannah imitated them. Between 

her fingers she could see the cat under the table, and 

she watched it arch its back and gently rub against her chair.

“For what we are about to receive, make us grateful, Eternal

 Father. This day we should go hungry except for Thy bounty33.

 Without presuming to importune34 Thee, may we ask 

Thee to remember all who awake hungry on this winter day.... Amen.” 

Ruhannah instantly became very busy with her breakfast. 

The cat beside her chair purred loudly and rose at intervals35 

on its hind10 legs to twitch14 her dress; and Ruhannah

 occasionally bestowed36 alms and conversation upon it.

 “Rue,” said her mother, “you should try 

to do better with your algebra37 this week.” 

“Yes, I do really mean to.” 

“Have you had any more bad-conduct marks?”“Yes, mother.” 

Her father lifted his mild, dreamy eyes of an inv

alid38. Her mother asked:“What for?” 

“For wasting my time in study hour,” said the girl truthfully.“Yes, mother.”

 “Rue! Again! Why do you persist in drawing pictures 22in your

 copy books when you have an hour’s lesson in drawing every 

week? Besides, you may draw pictures at home whenever you wish.” 

“I don’t exactly know why,” replied the girl slowly. “It just

 happens before I notice what I am doing.... Of course,” she explained, 

“I do recollect39 that I oughtn’t to be drawing in study hour.

 But that’s after I’ve begun, and then it seems a pity not to finish.”

Her mother looked across the table at her husband: 

“Speak to her seriously, Wilbour.” 

The Reverend Mr. Carew looked solemnly at his long-legged and

 rapidly growing daughter, whose grey eyes gazed

 back into her father’s sallow visage.

“Rue,” he said in his colourless voice, “try to get all you can

 out of your school. I haven’t sufficient means to educate you

 in drawing and in similar accomplishments40. So get all you can

 out of your school. Because, some day, you will 

have to help yourself, and perhaps help us a little.”

He bent41 his head with a detached air and sat gazing mildly

 at vacancy—already, perhaps, forgetting what th

e conversation was about.“Mother?”

 “What, Rue?” 

“What am I going to do to earn my living?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you mean I must go into the mill like everybody else?” 

“There are other things. Girls work at many things in these days.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“They may learn to keep accounts, help in shops––”

“If father could afford it, couldn’t I learn to do 23something

 more interesting? What do girls work at whose

 fathers can afford to let them learn how to work?” 

“They may become teachers, learn stenography42 and

 typewriting; they can, of course, become dressmakers; they can 

nurse––”“Could I choose the business of drawing pictures? I know how!” 

“Dear, I don’t believe it is practical to––”

 “Couldn’t I draw pictures for books and magazines? Everybody

 says I draw very nicely. You say so, too. Couldn’t I earn

 enough money to live on and to take care of you and father?” 

Wilbour Carew looked up from his reverie: 

“To learn to draw correctly and with taste,” he said in his

 gentle, pedantic43 voice, “requires a special training