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Sri Manikanta Palakollu

Practical System Programming with C

Pragmatic Example Applications in Linux and Unix-
Based Operating Systems
1st ed.
Sri Manikanta Palakollu
freelance, Hanuman Junction, Hanuman Junction, 521105, Andhra
Pradesh, India

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.​apress.​com/​9781484263204. For more
detailed information, please visit http://​www.​apress.​com/​source-code.

ISBN 978-1-4842-6320-4 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-6321-1

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-6321-1

© Sri Manikanta Palakollu 2021

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the

Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned,
specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other
physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar
methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

Distributed to the book trade worldwide by Apress Media, LLC, 1 New

York Plaza, New York, NY 10004, U.S.A. Phone 1-800-SPRINGER, fax
(201) 348-4505, e-mail orders-ny@springer-sbm.com, or visit
www.springeronline.com. Apress Media, LLC is a California LLC and the
sole member (owner) is Springer Science + Business Media Finance Inc
(SSBM Finance Inc). SSBM Finance Inc is a Delaware corporation.
Introduction
The main goal of this book is to introduce system programming using
the C language. The topics covered in this book teach you how to
programmatically manipulate Linux and POSIX-based operating
systems. The wide variety of topics include
The basics of the Linux operating system
Multithreaded programming in C
Deadlocks
An introduction to POSIX standards
The need for processes and signals
Various IPC techniques
Developing client-server architecture using TCP and UDP protocols
The prerequisites for learning the concepts discussed in this book
are
A basic knowledge of the C programming language
A basic knowledge of operating systems
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, for giving me the
strength, knowledge, wisdom, and ability to write this book. I would
like to express my deepest gratitude to the Apress team: Steve Anglin
(Acquisition Editor), Mark Powers (Coordinating Editor), and Matthew
Moodie (Development Editor) for giving me this opportunity and
providing constant support during the entire development process.
Thanks to my technical reviewer for his efforts in reviewing this book.
Special thanks to my friends Sai Vardhan Poloju, Aravind Medamoni,
Vamsi Thanjagari, and PTS Vaishnavi for helping me during this journey.
Thanks to my spiritual parents, Rev. Amos Varma and Amrutha, for
their constant prayer support and love. I would like to thank my
parents, Basaveswara Rao and Vijaya Lakshmi, for their love and
support. I thank my brother Santhosh and my sister Sri Lakshmi for
helping me design the diagrams in this book.
—Sri Manikanta Palakollu
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Introduction to the Linux Environment
Getting Familiar with the Linux Architecture
Hardware Layer
Kernel
Shell
System Library
Linux Kernels vs.​Other OS Kernels
Introduction to Files
Text File
Program File
Binary File
Special File
Regular File
File Handling Utilities
mkdir
cd
rmdir
rm
touch
ls
cat
head
tail
nl
wc
 copy
ulimit
File Permission Commands
chmod
Process Utilities
Process
Process Commands
Network Utilities
ifconfig
hostname
netstat
nslookup
traceroute
host
ping
dig
Summary
Chapter 2:​Multithreading in C
Introduction to Threads
Thread Classification
User-Level Threads
Kernel-Level Threads
Threads vs.​Processes
New State
Ready State
Wait State
 Running State
Terminated
Introduction to Multithreading
Multitasking Architecture
Multithreading Architecture
Importance of Multithreading
Concurrency
Parallelism
Support of Multithreading in C
pthread_​create
pthread_​join
pthread_​self
pthread_​equal
pthread_​exit
pthread_​cancel
pthread_​detach
Creating Threads
Practical Examples of Multithreading
Thread Termination
Thread Equal Property
Passing a Single Argument to a Thread Function
Passing Multiple Arguments as Parameters
The Relationship Between Threads and the CPU
Multithreading Use Cases
Summary
Chapter 3:​Introduction to POSIX Standards and System-Level APIs
 Understanding POSIX Standards
POSIX.​1 Standards
POSIX.​1b Standards
POSIX.​1c Standards
POSIX.​2 Standards
POSIX Support
Introduction to APIs
User Mode
Supervisor Mode
The Importance of System-Level APIs
Built-in APIs in C
Summary
Chapter 4:​Files and Directories
File Systems
File Metadata and Inodes
System Calls and I/​O Operations for Files
creat
open
close
read
write
Append Operations in Files Using System Calls
File Permissions
chmod Function to Change Permissions
File Permissions Check
Soft and Hard Links
 Soft Links
Hard Links
System Calls for Directories
Creating a Directory
Deleting a Directory
Getting the Current Working Directory
Changing Directory
Reading a Directory
Closing a Directory
Summary
Chapter 5:​Process and Signals
Introduction to the Process Environment
Environment List
Memory Layout of a C Program
Command-Line Arguments
Process Termination Methodologies
Environment Variables
User-Level Environment Variables
System-Level Environment Variable
Environment Variable Examples
Accessing an Environment Variable
Setting a New Environment Variable
Deleting Environment Variables
Accessing Environment Variables in C
Setting a New Environment Variable Using C
Deleting an Environment Variable
 Kernel Support for Processes
Process Scheduler
Memory Manager
Virtual File System
Process Creation
Zombie Process
Orphan Process
System Calls for Process Management
Introduction to Signals
Catch the Signal
Ignore the Signal
Default Action
Types of Signals
System Calls for Signals
Summary
Chapter 6:​Interprocess Communication
Introduction to IPC
Independent Processes
Cooperating Processes
The Benefits of IPC
Modes of Communication
Simplex
Half Duplex
Full Duplex
Types of IPC
Pipes
 FIFO (Named Pipe)
Message Queues
Semaphores
Shared Memory
Sockets
Anonymous Pipes
APIs for Anonymous Pipes
Creating Anonymous Pipes
Implementation of Pipes Using Child and Parent Processes
Working with Named Pipes
mknod() System Call
mkfifo() System Call
mknod vs.​mkfifo
Creating FIFO
Using Message Queues
APIs for Message Queues
Message Queue Implementation
Introduction to Semaphores
Binary Semaphores
Counting Semaphores
Characteristics of Semaphores
The Advantages of Using a Semaphore
The Disadvantages of Using a Semaphore
Semaphore vs.​Mutex
APIs for a Semaphore
Accessing Global Data Without Semaphores
 Implementing the Data Consistent Model Using a Semaphore
and a Mutex
Summary
Chapter 7:​Shared Memory
Introduction to Shared Memory
API for Shared Memory
shmget()
shmat()
shmdt()
shmctl()
Kernel Support for Shared Memory
Implementation of Shared Memory
Shared Memory Writers Program
Shared Memory Reader Program
Summary
Chapter 8:​Socket Programming
Introduction to Sockets
Stream Sockets
Datagram Sockets
Raw Sockets
Domain Sockets
Internet Domain Sockets
IPC Over Network
Communication Style
Namespaces
Protocol
API for Socket Programming
OSI Architecture Model
Physical Layer
Data Link Layer
Network Layer
Transport Layer
Session Layer
Presentation Layer
Application Layer
Advantages of the OSI Model
Disadvantages of the OSI Model
TCP/​IP Architecture Model
Network Access Layer
Internet Layer
Transport Layer
Application Layer
Advantages of TCP/​IP
Disadvantages of TCP/​IP
Client-Server Architecture
Client
Server
Examining the Client-Server Architecture
Advantages of the Client-Server Model
Disadvantages of the Client-Server Model
System Calls for Socket Programming
socket()
 bind()
listen()
accept()
send()
recv()
sendto()
recvfrom()
close()
Implementation of Client Server Architecture
TCP Client-Server Architecture
TCP Client-Server Code
UDP Client Server Architecture
UDP Client-Server Code
Summary
Index
About the Author
Sri Manikanta Palakollu
is a programmer and software developer with experience in C, C++,
Java, and Python as well as Linux and POSIX-based systems-level
programming. He is a tech reviewer for various tech book publishers.
He has written many technical articles on data science, programming,
and cybersecurity. Sri Manikanta has won a national-level hackathon
and contributes to various open source projects.
© Sri Manikanta Palakollu 2021
S. M. Palakollu, Practical System Programming with C
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-6321-1_1

1. Introduction to the Linux

Environment
Sri Manikanta Palakollu1
(1) freelance, Hanuman Junction, Hanuman Junction, 521105, Andhra
Pradesh, India

Linux is an open source, Unix-like operating system based on the Linux

kernel. It was developed by Linus Torvalds in 1991. It is used in
personal computers, mainframe computers, supercomputers, Android
mobile devices, routers, and embedded systems. Linux is a very
lightweight and powerful kernel that effectively communicates with
software programs through any kind of hardware.
The growth of Linux is increasing with the relative growth of
technology. IoT devices like Raspberry PI use the Linux kernel with a
variety of Linux distributions. Since Linux is open source, you can
modify the source code as you require. There are more than 500 active
Linux distributions (a.k.a. distros) available on the market; most of
them are free. Some distributions require payment for advanced
features. The best examples of Linux kernel-based distros are Ubuntu,
Linux Mint, Fedora, Debian, and Arch Linux.
This chapter discusses the following topics.
The Linux architecture
Kernel types
Linux kernel vs. other OS kernels
File handling utilities
Process utilities
Backup utilities
Getting Familiar with the Linux Architecture
The Linux architecture consists of four layers (see Figure 1-1).
Hardware layer
Kernel
Shell
System library

Figure 1-1 Linux architecture

Table 1-1 File Permission Modes

Octal Binary File Mode
0 000 ---
1 001 --x
2 010 -w-
3 011 -wx
4 100 r--
5 101 r-x
6 110 rw-
7 111 rwx

Hardware Layer
This layer consists of drivers that are required to handle peripheral
devices like the mouse, keyboards, hard disks, SSD, printers, and so
forth.

Kernel
The kernel is the heart of the operating system; without kernels, you
are not able to communicate with application programs and the
operating system on hardware devices. The kernel acts as an interface
between hardware components and application programs. A kernel has
the following functionalities.
I/O management
Process management
Resource management
Device management

I/O Management
A kernel has several I/O management advantages that make a system
more intelligent.
It provides I/O scheduling with standard scheduling algorithms.
It effectively buffers the data transfer between two devices.
It caches data, which improves the performance of the system.
 It handles errors and issues when a user performs an illegal
operation.

Process Management
On an operating system, process management is important in
performing a certain task or activity requested by the user; for example,
executing a program, playing music, or editing a video or photo using a
software application. These activities are represented by tasks that
need to be executed by the CPU with the help of the processor. The
kernel properly manages the threads without any conflicts.

Resource Management
When a task is performed in an operating system, it requires system
resources. The CPU allocates the required resources to perform the
task. The kernel optimizes the resources during process
synchronization.

Device Management
A peripheral device requires a specific driver to connect to the
operating system. The kernel maintains the device drivers so that they
properly connect when needed.

Types of Kernels
There are five types of kernels. Each type has advantages and
disadvantages.
Monolithic kernel
Microkernel
Hybrid kernel
Nanokernel
Exokernel
Monolithic Kernels
In a monolithic kernel , the memory space between the user and the
kernel services is not shared. The advantage of this kernel is that
memory management, CPU scheduling, and file management is done
through system calls only. A monolithic kernel works faster because it
acts under a single memory space. The disadvantage is that creating
new services is a difficult task.

Figure 1-2 Monolithic kernel architecture

Microkernels
Before discussing microkernels, let’s talk about kernel space and user
space.
Kernel Space
The space that is allocated to run the core part of an operating system is
called kernel space . This space has access to the system hardware and
provides all the core functionalities to the system applications. A user
can access this space only with the help of system calls. Kernel space
contains the kernel code, which are data structures that are identical to
all the processes that are running on the system. In kernel space,
memory is directly mapped to the physical memory.
User Space
The space that is allocated to the running applications is called user
space . User space consists of data, process data, and memory-mapped
files. In user space, memory mapping differs from one address space to
another address space. The kernel supervises the activities that a
process needs to perform on the user space.
A kernel which has a different memory space for user services and
kernel services is called a microkernel . In microkernels, users use the
user space while the kernel uses the kernel space to perform system
activities. The advantage of a microkernel is that a new service is easily
created. The disadvantage is that it increases the execution time of the
activity due to different address spaces.
Figure 1-3 Microkernel architecture

Hybrid Kernels
A hybrid kernel is the combination of a monolithic kernel and a
microkernel to improve the performance of the operating system. It
takes the advantages of both kernels to improve the performance of the
operating system.
Nanokernels
A nanokernel works on a nanosecond clock resolution. It is a very small
and minimalistic kernel that performs an activity. It provides good
hardware abstraction, but there is a lack of system services. The
functionality of the kernel does not depend on IPC (interprocess
communication).
Exokernels
An exokernel provides direct application-level management of the
hardware resources. This kernel has limited functionality because of its
small size. It allows you to perform application-level customization
very easily. It is very interactive and efficient, but the disadvantage is its
complex architecture and design.
Figure 1-4 Exokernel architecture

Shell
A shell is a software program that executes other commands in a Unix-
based operating system. The task of the shell is that it takes input from
the user and performs the action based on the given input. By default,
all Unix/Linux-based operating systems contain a bash shell. This shell
hides the complexity of the kernel functionality from the users.

Figure 1-5 Different types of shell paths in the system

There are six types of shells.
Z shell (zsh)
POSIX shell (sh)
Bash shell (bash)
Korn shell (ksh)
CShell (csh)
TENEX C shell (tcsh)

System Library
The system library contains special functions that effectively access the
kernel’s features. It contains all the utilities and applications that are
available in a common operating system.

Linux Kernels vs. Other OS Kernels

Linux uses the monolithic kernel, whereas operating systems like
Windows and macOS use the hybrid kernel. The performance of the
Linux operating system is faster because it does not have the same
address space for the applications and kernel. Since Linux uses the
monolithic kernel, which is a core kernel that does not have any hybrid
features, it makes Linux more advantageous than other operating
systems. These monolithic kernel activities allow Linux to perform out-
of-the-box system activities that other operating systems cannot.
Linux has a good package manager that downloads and sets up
software very easily. This is not available on other operating systems.
Homebrew is the “missing” package manager available for macOS that
resolves this issue to some extent. There is no such kind of package
manager to install software and set up easily on Windows.
In Linux, you can set up device drivers more easily other than on
other operating systems. In Linux, the system calls are very fast and
interactive.
The following are some simple reasons why using Linux is
preferable to using Windows or macOS.
Open source
Flexibility
Reliability
Customization
Security
Good hardware support
Linux is open source so that developers can perform reverse
engineering on the operating system’s code, which helps developers
build custom modules and modify the operating system. Operating
systems like macOS X and Windows don’t have an open source feature,
which is why Linux is so popular among developers.

Introduction to Files
Files are commonly used to store data. The data in a file determines the
file type. In general, there are five types of files available on any
operating system.
Text files
Program files
Binary files
Special files
General files
A file type is revealed by its extension. An image is a file that
contains the most common extensions (.png, .jpg, .jpeg, .tiff, .gif, etc.).
Files are maintained and managed by the file system, which is a
hierarchical structure that stores the content in a structured format.
These file structures are discussed in upcoming chapters. For now, let’s
discuss each file type.

Text File
A text file contains data that the reader can easily read. These files are
created by the user or system-generated log files. There are many types
of text files. Log files usually have the .log extension. The README.md
file is a normal text file that uses markup language.

Program File
A program file contains a set of instructions written by the software
developer to produce the software or application. There is no common
extension for program files because there are multiple programming
languages. The program file extension is based on the programming
language in which the file content is written. The rules and syntax differ
by programming language. The most common extensions are .c, .cpp,
.java, .sh, and .bat. These program files become executable based on the
requirements and usage. You can use any type of extension to perform
the same task, but it is recommended to use the standard extension
given by the ISO.

Binary File
A binary file contains information that is a combination of 0s and 1s.
The information in a binary file is not human-readable or
understandable. It is only understood by computers. Binary files are
generally executable files. These files are generated by compiling a
program file. You can convert a program file into an executable file; for
example, when you compile a C program, it will generate an executable
file.

Special File
A special file is implicitly created by a system process, or it is explicitly
created by a programmer for a specific purpose. Examples of a special
file include pipes and message queue files. Special files are explained in
upcoming chapters.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
That was what she became aware of—and aware too that the awful
fact of actually seeing another human being might happen to one for
the first time only after years of intimacy. She averted her eyes as
from a sight not meant for her.
“It’s bad enough,” she heard him repeat.
She turned back to him and her answer caught up his unfinished
phrase. “Ah—you do realize how bad it is? That’s the reason why
you’ve given up your job? Because you see that you must go? Are
you going now—going at once?”
“Going—going?” He echoed the word in his flat sleep-walking voice.
“How on earth can I go?”
The question completely hardened whatever his appearance, the
startled beaten look of him, had begun to soften in her. She stood
gazing at him and laughed.
“How can you go? Are you mad? Why, what else on earth can you
do?”
As he stood before her she began to be aware that he had somehow
achieved the attitude of dignity for which she was still struggling. He
looked like an unhappy man, a cowed man; but not a guilty one.
“If you’d waited I should myself have asked you to let me explain—”
he began.
“Explain? What is there to explain?”
“For one thing, why I can’t go away—go for good, as you suggest.”
“Suggest? I don’t suggest! I order it.”
“Well—I must disobey your order.”
They stood facing each other while she tried to gather up the
shattered fragments of her authority. She had said to herself that
what lay before her was horrible beyond human imagining; but never
once had she imagined that, if she had the strength to speak, he
would have the strength to defy her. She opened her lips, but no
sound came.
“You seem ready to think the worst of me; I suppose that’s natural,”
he continued. “The best’s bad enough. But at any rate, before
ordering me to go, perhaps you ought to know that I did go—once.”
She echoed the word blankly. “Once?”
He smiled a little. “You didn’t suppose—or did you?—that I’d drifted
into this without a fight; a long fight? At the hospital, where I first met
her, I hadn’t any idea who she was. I’m not a New Yorker; I knew
nothing of your set of people in New York. You never spoke to me of
her—I never even knew you had a daughter.”
It was true. In that other life she had led she had never spoken to
any one of Anne. She had never been able to. From the time when
she had returned to Europe, frustrated in her final attempt to get the
child back, or even to have one last glimpse of her, to the day when
her daughter’s cable had summoned her home, that daughter’s
name had never been uttered by her except in the depths of her
heart.
A darkness was about her feet; her head swam. She looked around
her vaguely, and put out her hand for something to lean on. Chris
Fenno moved a chair forward, and she sat down on it without
knowing what she was doing.
He continued to stand in front of her. “You do believe me?” he
repeated.
“Oh, yes—I believe you.” She was beginning to feel, now, the relief
of finding him less base than he had at first appeared. She lifted her
eyes to his. “But afterward—”
“Well; afterward—” He stopped, as if hoping she would help him to
fill in the pause. But she made no sign, and he went on. “As I say, we
met first in the hospital where she nursed me. It began there.
Afterward she asked me to come and see her at her grandmother’s.
It was only then that I found out—”
“Well, and then—?”
“Then I went away; went as soon as I found out.”
“Of course—”
“Yes; of course; only—”
“Only—you came back. You knew; and yet you came back.”
She saw his lips hardening again to doggedness. He had dropped
into a chair facing hers, and sat there with lowered head, his hands
clenched on his knees.
“Naturally you’re bound to think the worst of me—”
She interrupted him. “I’m still waiting to know what to think of you.
Don’t let it be the worst!”
He made a hopeless gesture. “What is the worst?”
“The worst is that, having gone, you should ever have come back.
Why did you?”
He stood up, and this time their eyes met. “You have the right to
question me about my own feelings; but not about any one else’s.”
“Feelings? Your feelings?” She laughed again. “And my own
daughter’s—ah, but I didn’t mean to name her even!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve named her. You’ve answered your own
question.” He paused, and then added in a low voice: “You know
what she is when she cares....”
“Ah, don’t you name her—I forbid you! You say you loved her, not
knowing. I believe you.... I pity you.... I want to pity you.... But
nothing can change the facts, can change the past. There’s nothing
for you now but to go.”
He stood before her, his eyes on the ground. At last he raised them
again, but only for the length of a quick glance. “You think then ... a
past like that ... irrevocable?”
She sprang to her feet, strong now in her unmitigated scorn.
“Irrevocable? Irrevocable? And you ask me this ... with her in your
mind? Ah—but you’re abominable!”
“Am I? I don’t know ... my head reels with it. She’s terribly young;
she feels things terribly. She won’t give up—she wouldn’t before.”
“Don’t—don’t! Leave her out of this. I’m not here to discuss her with
you, I’m here to tell you to go, and to go at once.”
He made no answer, but turned and walked across the room and
back. Then he sank into his chair, and renewed his study of the
carpet. Finally he looked up again, with one of the tentative glances
she knew so well: those glances that seemed to meet one’s answer
half-way in their desire to say what one would expect of him. “Is
there any use in your taking this tone?”
Again that appeal—it was too preposterous! But suddenly, her eyes
on the huddled misery of his attitude, the weakness of his fallen
features, she understood that the cry was real; that he was in agony,
and had turned to her for help. She crossed the room and laid her
hand on his shoulder.
“No; you’re right; it’s of no use. If you’ll listen I’ll try to be calm. I want
to spare you—why shouldn’t I want to?”
She felt her hand doubtfully taken and laid for a moment against his
cheek. The cheek was wet. “I’ll listen.”
“Well, then; I won’t reproach you; I won’t argue with you. Why should
I,” she exclaimed with a flash of inspiration, “when all the power is
mine? If I came in anger, in abhorrence ... well, I feel only pity now.
Don’t reject it—don’t reject my pity. This awful thing has fallen on
both of us together; as much on me as on you. Let me help you—let
us try to help each other.”
He pressed the hand closer to his face and then dropped it. “Ah,
you’re merciful.... I think I understand the abhorrence better. I’ve
been a cad and a blackguard, and everything else you like. I’ve been
living with the thought of it day and night. Only, now—”
“Well, now,” she panted, “let me help you; let me—Chris,” she cried,
“let me make it possible for you to go. I know there may be all sorts
of difficulties—material as well as others—and those at least—”
He looked up at her sharply, as if slow to grasp her words. Then his
face hardened and grew red. “You’re bribing me? I see. I didn’t at
first. Well—you’ve the right to, I suppose; there’s hardly any indignity
you haven’t the right to lay on me. Only—it’s not so simple. I’ve
already told you—”
“Don’t name her again! Don’t make me remember.... Chris, I want to
help you as if this were ... were any other difficulty.... Can’t we look at
it together in that way?”
But she felt the speciousness of her words. How could one face the
Gorgon-image of this difficulty as if it were like any other? His silence
seemed to echo her thought. Slowly he rose again from his chair,
plunged his hands deeply into his pockets, with a gesture she
remembered when he was troubled, and went and leaned in the
jamb of the window. What was he thinking, she wondered, as he
glanced vacantly up and down the long featureless street? Smiling
inwardly, perhaps, at the crudeness of her methods, the emptiness
of her threats. For, after all—putting the case at its basest—if the
money were really what had tempted him, how, with that fortune at
his feet, could any offer of hers divert his purpose?
A clock she had not noticed began to tick insistently. It seemed to be
measuring out the last seconds before some nightmare crash that
she felt herself powerless to arrest. Powerless, at least—
She saw his expression change, and he turned and moved back
quickly into the room. “There’s my mother coming down the street.
She’s been to market—my mother does her own marketing.” He
spoke with a faint smile of irony. “But you needn’t be afraid of
meeting her. She won’t come in here; she never does at this hour.
She’ll go straight to the kitchen.”
Kate had begun to tremble again. “Afraid? Why should I be afraid of
your mother? Or she of me? It’s you who are afraid now!” she
exclaimed.
His face seemed to age as she watched it. “Well, yes, I am,” he
acknowledged. “I’ve been a good deal of a nuisance to her first and
last; and she’s old and ill. Let’s leave her out too, if we can.”
As he spoke, they heard, through the thin wall, the fumbling of a
latch-key in the outer lock. Kate moved to the door; her decision was
taken.
“You want to leave her out? Then promise me—give me your word
that you’ll go. You know you can count on me if you need help. Only
you must promise now; if not, I shall call your mother in—I shall tell
her everything.” Her hand was on the doorknob when he caught it
back.
“Don’t!”
The street door opened and closed again, a dragging step passed
through the narrow hall, and a door was opened into the region from
which the negress with the greasy apron had emerged in a waft of
cooking.
“Phemia!” they heard Mrs. Fenno call in a tired elderly voice.
“I promise,” her son said, loosening his hold on Kate’s wrist.
The two continued to stand opposite each other with lowered heads.
At length Mrs. Clephane moved away.
“I’m going now. You understand that you must leave at once ...
tomorrow?” She paused. “I’ll do all I can for you as long as you keep
your word; if you break it I won’t spare you. I’ve got the means to
beat you in the end; only don’t make me use them—don’t make me!”
He stood a few feet away from her, his eyes on the ground.
Decidedly, she had beaten him, and he understood it. If there were
any degrees left in such misery she supposed that the worst of it was
over.
 XIV.
AS Kate Clephane drove up late that night to the house in Fifth
Avenue she seemed to be reliving all her former anguished returns
there, real or imaginary, from the days when she had said to herself:
“Shall I never escape?” to those others when, from far off, she had
dreamed of the hated threshold, and yearned for it, and thought:
“Shall I never get back?”
She had said she might be late in returning, and had begged that no
one should stay up for her. Her wish, as usual, had been respected,
and she let herself into the hushed house, put out the lights, and
stole up past the door where Anne lay sleeping her last young sleep.
Ah, that thought of Anne’s awakening! The thought of seeing Anne’s
face once again in all its radiant unawareness, and then assisting
helpless at the darkening of its light! How would the blow fall?
Suddenly and directly, or gradually, circuitously? Would the girl learn
her fate on the instant, or be obliged to piece it together, bit by bit,
through all the slow agonies of conjecture? What pretext would Chris
give for the break? He was skilled enough in evasions and
subterfuges—but what if he had decided to practise them on Anne’s
mother, and not on Anne? What if the word he had given were
already forfeited? What assurance had any promise of his ever
conveyed?
Kate Clephane sat in her midnight room alone with these questions.
She had forgotten to go to bed, she had forgotten to undress. She
sat there, in her travelling dress and hat, as she had stepped from
the train: it was as if this house which people called her own were
itself no more than the waiting-room of a railway station where she
was listening for the coming of another train that was to carry her—
whither?
Ah, but she had forgotten—forgotten that she had him in her power!
She had said to him: “I’ve got the means to beat you in the end,” and
he had bowed his head to the warning and given his word. Why, the
mere threat that she would tell his mother had thrown him on her
mercy—what would it be if she were to threaten to tell Anne? She
knew him ... under all his emancipated airs, his professed contempt
for traditions and conformities, lurked an uneasy fear of being
thought less than his own romantic image of himself.... No; even if
his designs on Anne were wholly interested, it would kill him to have
her know. There was no danger there.
The bitterness of death was passed; yes—but the bitterness of what
came after? What of the time to come, when mother and daughter
were left facing each other like two ghosts in a gray world of
disenchantment? Well, the girl was young—time would help—they
would travel.... Ah, no; her tortured nerves cried out that there could
not be, in any woman’s life, another such hour as the one she had
just lived through!
Toward dawn she roused herself, undressed, and crawled into bed;
and there she lay in the darkness, sharpening her aching wits for the
continuation of the struggle.

“A telegram—” Aline always said it with the same slightly ironic

intonation, as if it were still matter of wonder and amusement to her
that any one should be in such haste to communicate with her
mistress. Mrs. Clephane, in sables and pearls, with a great house at
her orders, was evidently a more considerable person than the stray
tenant of the little third-floor room at the Hôtel de Minorque, and no
one was more competent to measure the distance between them
than Aline. But still—a telegram!
Kate opened the envelope with bloodless fingers. “I am going.” That
was all—there was not even a signature. He had kept his word; and
he wanted her to know it.
She felt the loosening of the cords about her heart; a deep breath of
relief welled up in her. He had kept his word.
There was a tap on the door, and Anne, radiant, confident, came in.
“You’ve had a telegram? Not about Aunt Janey—”
Aunt Janey? For a second Kate could not remember, could not
associate the question with anything related to the last hours. Then
she collected herself, just in time to restrain a self-betraying clutch at
the telegram. With a superhuman effort at composure she kept her
hands from moving, and left the message lying, face up, on the
coverlet between herself and Anne. Yet what if Anne were to read
the Baltimore above the unsigned words?
“No; it’s not about Aunt Janey.” She made a farther effort at
recollection. “The fact is, the aunts had a panic ... an absurd panic....
Aunt Janey’s failed a good deal, of course; it’s the beginning of the
end. But there’s no danger of anything sudden—not the least.... I’m
glad I went, though; it comforted them to see me.... And it was really
rather wrong of me not to have been before.”
Ah, now, at last she remembered, and how thankfully, that she had,
after all, been to Meridia; had, automatically, after leaving Chris,
continued her journey, surprised and flattered the aunts by her
unannounced appearance, and spent an hour with them before
taking the train back to New York. She had had the wit, at the time,
to see how useful such an alibi might be, and then, in the disorder of
her dreadful vigil, had forgotten about it till Anne’s question recalled
her to herself. The complete gap in her memory frightened her, and
made her feel more than ever unfitted to deal with what might still be
coming—what must be coming.
Anne still shed about her the reflected radiance of her bliss. “I’m so
glad it’s all right—so glad you went. And of course, dear, you didn’t
tell them anything, did you?”
“Tell them anything—?”
“About me.” The lids dropped, the lashes clasped her vision. How
could her mother have forgotten?—that flutter of the lids seemed to
say.
“Darling! But of course not.” Kate Clephane brought the words out
with dry lips. Her hand stole out to Anne’s, then drew back, affecting
to pick up the telegram. She could not put her hand in her daughter’s
just yet.
The girl sat down beside her on the bed. “I want it to be our secret,
remember—just yours and mine—till he comes next week. He can’t
get away before.”
Ah, thank God for that! The mother remembered now that Anne had
told her this during their first talk—the talk of which, at the time, no
details had remained in her shattered mind. Now, as she listened,
those details came back, bit by bit, phantasmagorically mingled.
No one was to be told of the engagement; no, not even Nollie
Tresselton; not till Chris came to New York. And that was not to be
for another week. He could not get away sooner, and Anne had
decreed that he must see her mother before their betrothal was
made public. “I suppose I’m absurdly out-of-date—but I want it to be
like that,” the girl had said; and Kate Clephane understood that it
was out of regard for her, with the desire to “situate” her again, and
once for all, as the head of the house, that her daughter had insisted
on this almost obsolete formality, had stipulated that her suitor
should ask Mrs. Clephane’s consent in the solemn old-fashioned
way.
The girl bent nearer, her radiance veiled in tenderness. “If you knew,
mother, how I want you to like him—” ah, the familiar cruel words!
—“You did, didn’t you, in old times, when you used to know him so
well? Though he says he was just a silly conceited boy then, and
wonders that anybody could endure his floods of nonsense....”
Ah, God, how long would it go on? Kate Clephane again reached out
her hand, and this time clasped her daughter’s with a silent nod of
assent. Speech was impossible. She moistened her parched lips, but
no sound came from them; and suddenly she felt everything slipping
away from her in a great gulf of oblivion.
“Mother! You’re ill—you’re over-tired....” She was just aware, through
the twilight of her faintness, that Anne’s arm was under her, that
Anne was ringing the bell and moistening her forehead.
BOOK III.
 XV.
FANTASTIC shapes of heavy leaf-shadows on blinding whiteness.
Torrents of blue and lilac and crimson foaming over the branches of
unknown trees. Azure distances, snow-peaks, silver reefs, and an
unbroken glare of dead-white sunshine merging into a moonlight
hardly whiter. Was there never any night, real, black, obliterating, in
all these dazzling latitudes in which two desperate women had
sought refuge?
They had “travelled.” It had been very interesting; and Anne was
better. Certainly she was much better. They were on their way home
now, moving at a leisurely pace—what was there to return for?—
from one scene of gorgeous unreality to another. And all the while
Anne had never spoken—never really spoken! She had simply, a
day or two after Mrs. Clephane’s furtive trip to Baltimore, told her
mother that her engagement was broken: “by mutual agreement”
were the stiff old-fashioned words she used. As no one else, even
among their nearest, had been let into the secret of that fleeting
bond, there was no one to whom explanations were due; and the
girl, her curt confidence to her mother once made, had withdrawn
instantly into the rigid reserve she had maintained ever since. Just
so, in former days, Kate Clephane had seen old Mrs. Clephane meet
calamity. After her favourite daughter’s death the old woman had
never spoken her name. And thus with Anne; her soul seemed to
freeze about its secret. Even the physical resemblance to old Mrs.
Clephane reappeared, and with it a certain asperity of speech, a
sharp intolerance of trifles, breaking every now and again upon long
intervals of smiling apathy.
During their travels the girl was more than ever attentive to her
mother; but her solicitude seemed the result of a lesson in manners
inculcated long ago (with the rest of her creed) by old Mrs.
Clephane. It was impossible for a creature so young and eager to
pass unseeingly through the scenes of their journey; but it was clear
that each momentary enthusiasm only deepened the inner pang.
And from all participation in that hidden conflict between youth and
suffering the mother continued to feel herself shut out.
Nevertheless, she began to imagine that time was working its usual
miracle. Anne’s face was certainly less drawn—Anne’s manner
perhaps a shade less guarded. Lately she had begun to sketch
again ... she had suggested one day their crossing from Rio to
Marseilles, continuing their wanderings in the Mediterranean ... had
spoken of Egypt and Crete for the winter....
Mrs. Clephane acquiesced, bought guide-books, read up furtively,
and tried to temper zeal with patience. It would not do to seem too
eager; she held her breath, waiting on her daughter’s moods, and
praying for the appearance of the “some one else” whose coming
mothers invoke in such contingencies. That very afternoon, sitting on
the hotel balcony above a sea of flowers, she had suffered herself to
wonder if Anne, who was off on a long riding excursion with a party
of young people, might not return with a different look, the clear
happy look of the last year’s Anne. The young English planter to
whose hacienda they had gone had certainly interested her more
than any one they had hitherto met.
The mother, late that evening, was still alone on the balcony when,
from behind her, Anne’s shadow fell across the moonlight. The girl
dropped into a seat. No, she wasn’t tired—wasn’t hungry—they had
supped, on the way back, at a glorious place high up over Rio. Yes,
the day had been wonderful; the beauty incredible; and the moonlit
descent through the forest.... Anne lapsed into silence, her profile
turned from her mother. Perhaps—who could tell? Her silence
seemed heavy with promise. Suddenly she put out a hand to Kate.
“Mother, I want to make over all my money to you. It would have
been yours if things had been different. It is yours, really; and I don’t
want it—I hate it!” Her hand was trembling.
Mrs. Clephane trembled too. “But, Anne—how absurd! What can it
matter? What difference can it make?”
“All the difference.” The girl lowered her voice. “It’s because I was
too rich that he wouldn’t marry me.” It broke from her in a sob. “I
can’t bear it—I can’t bear it!” She stretched her hand to the silver
splendours beneath them. “All this beauty and glory in the world—
and nothing in me but cold and darkness!”
Kate Clephane sat speechless. She remembered just such flashes
of wild revolt in her own youth, when sea and earth and sky seemed
joined in a vast conspiracy of beauty, and within her too all was
darkness. For months she had been praying for this hour of
recovered communion with her daughter; yet now that it had come,
now that the barriers were down, she felt powerless to face what was
beyond. If it had been any other man! Paralysed by the fact that it
was just that one, she continued to sit silent, her hand on Anne’s
sunken head.
“Why should you think it’s the money?” she whispered at last, to gain
time.
“I know it—I know it! He told Nollie once that nothing would induce
him to marry a girl with a fortune. He thought it an impossible
position for a poor man.”
“Did he tell you so?”
“Not in so many words. But it was easy to guess. When he wrote to
... to give me back my freedom, he said he’d been mad to think we
might marry ... that it was impossible ... there would always be an
obstacle between us....” The girl lifted her head, her agonized eyes
on her mother’s. “What obstacle could there be but my money?”
Kate Clephane had turned as cold as marble. At the word “obstacle”
she stood up, almost pushing the girl from her. In that searching
moonlight, what might not Anne read in her eyes?
“Come indoors, dear,” she said.
Anne followed her mechanically. In the high-ceilinged shadowy room
Mrs. Clephane sat down in a wooden rocking-chair and the girl stood
before her, tall and ghostly in her white linen riding-habit, the dark
hair damp on her forehead.
“Come and sit by me, Anne.”
“No. I want you to answer me first—to promise.”
“But, my dear, what you suggest is madness. How can I promise
such a thing? And why should it make any difference? Why should
any man be humiliated by the fact of marrying a girl with money?”
“Ah, but Chris is different! You don’t know him.”
The mother locked her hands about the chair-arms. She sat looking
down at the bare brick floor of the room, and at Anne’s two feet, slim
and imperious, planted just before her in an attitude of challenge, of
resistance. She did not dare to raise her eyes higher. “I don’t know
him!” she repeated to herself.
“Mother, answer me—you’ve got to answer me!” The girl’s low-
pitched voice had grown shrill; her swaying tall white presence
seemed to disengage some fiery fluid. Kate Clephane suddenly
recalled the baby Anne’s lightning-flashes of rage, and understood
what reserves of violence still underlay her daughter’s calm exterior.
“How can I answer? I know what you’re suffering—but I can’t pretend
to think that what you propose would make any difference.”
“You don’t think it was the money?”
Kate Clephane drew a deep breath, and clasped the chair-arms
tighter. “No.”
“What was it, then?” Anne had once more sunk on her knees beside
her mother. “I can’t bear not to know. I can’t bear it an hour longer,”
she gasped out.
“It’s hard, dear ... I know how hard....” Kate put her arms about the
shuddering body.
“What shall I do, mother? I’ve written, and he doesn’t answer. I’ve
written three times. And yet I know—”
“You know?”
“He did love me, mother.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And there wasn’t any one else; I know that too.”
“Yes.”
“No one else that he cared about ... or who had any claim.... I asked
him that before I promised to marry him.”
“Then, dear, there’s nothing more to say—or to do. You can only
conclude that he gave you back your freedom because he wanted
his.”
“But it was all so quick! How can anybody love one day, and not the
next?”
Kate winced. “It does happen so—sometimes.”
“I don’t believe it—not of him and me! And there was the money; I
know that. Mother, let me try; let me tell him that you’ve agreed to
take it all back; that I shall have only the allowance you choose to
make me.”
Mrs. Clephane again sat silent, with lowered head. She had not
foreseen this torture.
“Don’t you think, dear, as you’ve written three times and had no
answer, that you’d better wait? Better try to forget?”
The girl shook herself free and stood up with a tragic laugh. “You
don’t know me either, mother!”
That word was crueller than the other; the mother shrank from it as if
she had received a blow.
“I do know that, in such cases, there’s never any remedy but one. If
your courage fails you, there’s your pride.”
“My pride? What’s pride, if one cares? I’d do anything to get him
back. I only want you to do what I ask!”
Kate Clephane rose to her feet also. Her own pride seemed
suddenly to start up from its long lethargy, and she looked almost
defiantly at her defiant daughter.
“I can’t do what you ask.”
“You won’t?”
“I can’t.”
“You want me to go on suffering, then? You want to kill me?” The girl
was close to her, in a white glare of passion. “Ah, it’s true—why
should you care what happens to me? After all, we’re only strangers
to each other.”
Kate Clephane’s first thought was: “I mustn’t let her see how it hurts
—” not because of the fear of increasing her daughter’s suffering, but
to prevent her finding out how she could inflict more pain. Anne, at
that moment, looked as if the discovery would have been exquisite to
her.
The mother dared not speak; she feared her whole agony would
break from her with her first word. The two stood facing each other
for a moment; then Mrs. Clephane put her hand out blindly. But the
girl turned from it with a fierce “Don’t!” that seemed to thrust her
mother still farther from her, and swept out of the room without a
look.
 XVI.
ANNE had decreed that they should return home; and they returned.
The day after the scene at Rio the girl had faltered out an apology,
and the mother had received it with a silent kiss. After that neither
had alluded to the subject of their midnight talk. Anne was as
solicitous as ever for her mother’s comfort and enjoyment, but the
daughter had vanished in the travelling companion. Sometimes,
during those last weary weeks of travel, Kate Clephane wondered if
any closer relation would ever be possible between them. But it was
not often that she dared to look ahead. She felt like a traveller
crawling along a narrow ledge above a precipice; a glance forward or
down might plunge her into the depths.
As they drew near New York she recalled her other return there, less
than a year before, and the reckless confidence with which she had
entered on her new life. She recalled her first meeting with her
daughter, her sense of an instant understanding on the part of each,
and the way her own past had fallen from her at the girl’s embrace.
Now Anne seemed remoter than ever, and it was the mother’s past
which had divided them. She shuddered at the fatuity with which she
had listened to Enid Drover and Fred Landers when they assured
her that she had won her daughter’s heart. “She’s taken a
tremendous fancy to you—” Was it possible that that absurd phrase
had ever satisfied her? But daughters, she said to herself, don’t take
a fancy to their mothers! Mothers and daughters are part of each
other’s consciousness, in different degrees and in a different way,
but still with the mutual sense of something which has always been
there. A real mother is just a habit of thought to her children.
Well—this mother must put up with what she had, and make the
most of it. Yes; for Anne’s sake she must try to make the most of it,
to grope her own way and the girl’s through this ghastly labyrinth
without imperilling whatever affection Anne still felt for her. So a
conscientious chaperon might have reasoned—and what more had
Kate Clephane the right to call herself?
They reached New York early in October. None of the family were in
town; even Fred Landers, uninformed of the exact date of their
return, was off shooting with Horace Maclew in South Carolina. Anne
had wanted their arrival to pass unperceived; she told her mother
that they would remain in town for a day or two, and then decide
where to spend the rest of the autumn. On the steamer they
languidly discussed alternatives; but, from the girl’s inability to
decide, the mother guessed that she was waiting for something—
probably a letter. “She’s written to him after all; she expects to find
the answer when we arrive.”
They reached the house and went upstairs to their respective
apartments. Everything in Anne’s establishment was as discreetly
ordered as in a club; each lady found her correspondence in her
sitting-room, and Kate Clephane, while she glanced indifferently over
her own letters, sat with an anguished heart wondering what
message awaited Anne.
They met at dinner, and she fancied the girl looked paler and more
distant than usual. After dinner the two went to Kate’s sitting-room.
Aline had already laid out some of the presents they had brought
home: a Mexican turquoise ornament for Lilla, an exotic head-band
of kingfishers’ feathers for Nollie, an old Spanish chronicle for Fred
Landers. Mother and daughter turned them over with affected
interest; then talk languished, and Anne rose and said goodnight.
On the threshold she paused. “Mother, I was odious to you that night
at Rio.”
Kate started up with an impulsive gesture. “Oh, my darling, what
does that matter? It was all forgotten long ago.”
“I haven’t forgotten it. I’m more and more ashamed of what I said.
But I was dreadfully unhappy....”
“I know, dear, I know.”
The girl still stood by the door, clutching the knob in an unconscious
hand. “I wanted to tell you that now I’m cured—quite cured.” Her
smile was heart-breaking. “I didn’t follow your advice; I wrote to him.
I told him—I pretended—that you were going to accept my plan of
giving you back the money, and that I should have only a moderate
allowance, so that he needn’t feel any inequality ... any sense of
obligation....”
Kate listened with lowered head. “Perhaps you were right to write to
him.”
“Yes, I was right,” Anne answered with a faint touch of self-derision.
“For now I know. It was not the money; he has told me so. I’ve had a
letter.”
“Ah—”
“I’m dismissed,” said the girl with an abrupt laugh.
“What do you mean, dear, when you say I was right?”
“I mean that there was another woman.” Anne came close to her,
with the same white vehement face as she had shown during their
nocturnal talk at Rio.
Kate’s heart stood still. “Another woman?”
“Yes. And you made me feel that you’d always suspected it.”
“No, dear ... really....”
“You didn’t?” She saw the terrible flame of hope rekindling in Anne’s
eyes.
“Not—not about any one in particular. But of course, with a man ... a
man like that....” (Should she go on, or should she stop?)
Anne was upon her with a cry. “Mother, what kind of a man?”
Fool that she was, not to have foreseen the consequences of such a
slip! She sat before her daughter like a criminal under cross-
examination, feeling that whatever word she chose would fatally lead
her deeper into the slough of avowal.
Anne repeated her question with insistence. “You knew him before I
did,” she added.
“Yes; but it’s so long ago.”
“But what makes you suspect him now?”
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