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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Within the Tides, by Joseph Conrad
+(#14 in our series by Joseph Conrad)
+
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+
+Title: Within the Tides
+
+Author: Joseph Conrad
+
+Release Date: September, 1997  [EBook #1053]
+[This file was first posted on August 29, 1997]
+[Most recently updated: June 24, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, WITHIN THE TIDES ***
+
+
+
+
+Scanned and proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+Within the Tides
+
+
+
+
+Contents:
+
+The Planter of Malata
+The Partner
+The Inn of the Two Witches
+Because of the Dollars
+
+
+
+
+THE PLANTER OF MALATA
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+
+In the private editorial office of the principal newspaper in a
+great colonial city two men were talking.  They were both young.
+The stouter of the two, fair, and with more of an urban look about
+him, was the editor and part-owner of the important newspaper.
+
+The other's name was Renouard.  That he was exercised in his mind
+about something was evident on his fine bronzed face.  He was a
+lean, lounging, active man.  The journalist continued the
+conversation.
+
+"And so you were dining yesterday at old Dunster's."
+
+He used the word old not in the endearing sense in which it is
+sometimes applied to intimates, but as a matter of sober fact.  The
+Dunster in question was old.  He had been an eminent colonial
+statesman, but had now retired from active politics after a tour in
+Europe and a lengthy stay in England, during which he had had a
+very good press indeed.  The colony was proud of him.
+
+"Yes.  I dined there," said Renouard.  "Young Dunster asked me just
+as I was going out of his office.  It seemed to be like a sudden
+thought.  And yet I can't help suspecting some purpose behind it.
+He was very pressing.  He swore that his uncle would be very
+pleased to see me.  Said his uncle had mentioned lately that the
+granting to me of the Malata concession was the last act of his
+official life."
+
+"Very touching.  The old boy sentimentalises over the past now and
+then."
+
+"I really don't know why I accepted," continued the other.
+"Sentiment does not move me very easily.  Old Dunster was civil to
+me of course, but he did not even inquire how I was getting on with
+my silk plants.  Forgot there was such a thing probably.  I must
+say there were more people there than I expected to meet.  Quite a
+big party."
+
+"I was asked," remarked the newspaper man.  "Only I couldn't go.
+But when did you arrive from Malata?"
+
+"I arrived yesterday at daylight.  I am anchored out there in the
+bay--off Garden Point.  I was in Dunster's office before he had
+finished reading his letters.  Have you ever seen young Dunster
+reading his letters?  I had a glimpse of him through the open door.
+He holds the paper in both hands, hunches his shoulders up to his
+ugly ears, and brings his long nose and his thick lips on to it
+like a sucking apparatus.  A commercial monster."
+
+"Here we don't consider him a monster," said the newspaper man
+looking at his visitor thoughtfully.
+
+"Probably not.  You are used to see his face and to see other
+faces.  I don't know how it is that, when I come to town, the
+appearance of the people in the street strike me with such force.
+They seem so awfully expressive."
+
+"And not charming."
+
+"Well--no.  Not as a rule.  The effect is forcible without being
+clear. . . . I know that you think it's because of my solitary
+manner of life away there."
+
+"Yes.  I do think so.  It is demoralising.  You don't see any one
+for months at a stretch.  You're leading an unhealthy life."
+
+The other hardly smiled and murmured the admission that true enough
+it was a good eleven months since he had been in town last.
+
+"You see," insisted the other.  "Solitude works like a sort of
+poison.  And then you perceive suggestions in faces--mysterious and
+forcible, that no sound man would be bothered with.  Of course you
+do."
+
+Geoffrey Renouard did not tell his journalist friend that the
+suggestions of his own face, the face of a friend, bothered him as
+much as the others.  He detected a degrading quality in the touches
+of age which every day adds to a human countenance.  They moved and
+disturbed him, like the signs of a horrible inward travail which
+was frightfully apparent to the fresh eye he had brought from his
+isolation in Malata, where he had settled after five strenuous
+years of adventure and exploration.
+
+"It's a fact," he said, "that when I am at home in Malata I see no
+one consciously.  I take the plantation boys for granted."
+
+"Well, and we here take the people in the streets for granted.  And
+that's sanity."
+
+The visitor said nothing to this for fear of engaging a discussion.
+What he had come to seek in the editorial office was not
+controversy, but information.  Yet somehow he hesitated to approach
+the subject.  Solitary life makes a man reticent in respect of
+anything in the nature of gossip, which those to whom chatting
+about their kind is an everyday exercise regard as the commonest
+use of speech.
+
+"You very busy?" he asked.
+
+The Editor making red marks on a long slip of printed paper threw
+the pencil down.
+
+"No.  I am done.  Social paragraphs.  This office is the place
+where everything is known about everybody--including even a great
+deal of nobodies.  Queer fellows drift in and out of this room.
+Waifs and strays from home, from up-country, from the Pacific.
+And, by the way, last time you were here you picked up one of that
+sort for your assistant--didn't you?"
+
+"I engaged an assistant only to stop your preaching about the evils
+of solitude," said Renouard hastily; and the pressman laughed at
+the half-resentful tone.  His laugh was not very loud, but his
+plump person shook all over.  He was aware that his younger
+friend's deference to his advice was based only on an imperfect
+belief in his wisdom--or his sagacity.  But it was he who had first
+helped Renouard in his plans of exploration:  the five-years'
+programme of scientific adventure, of work, of danger and
+endurance, carried out with such distinction and rewarded modestly
+with the lease of Malata island by the frugal colonial government.
+And this reward, too, had been due to the journalist's advocacy
+with word and pen--for he was an influential man in the community.
+Doubting very much if Renouard really liked him, he was himself
+without great sympathy for a certain side of that man which he
+could not quite make out.  He only felt it obscurely to be his real
+personality--the true--and, perhaps, the absurd.  As, for instance,
+in that case of the assistant.  Renouard had given way to the
+arguments of his friend and backer--the argument against the
+unwholesome effect of solitude, the argument for the safety of
+companionship even if quarrelsome.  Very well.  In this docility he
+was sensible and even likeable.  But what did he do next?  Instead
+of taking counsel as to the choice with his old backer and friend,
+and a man, besides, knowing everybody employed and unemployed on
+the pavements of the town, this extraordinary Renouard suddenly and
+almost surreptitiously picked up a fellow--God knows who--and
+sailed away with him back to Malata in a hurry; a proceeding
+obviously rash and at the same time not quite straight.  That was
+the sort of thing.  The secretly unforgiving journalist laughed a
+little longer and then ceased to shake all over.
+
+"Oh, yes.  About that assistant of yours. . . ."
+
+"What about him," said Renouard, after waiting a while, with a
+shadow of uneasiness on his face.
+
+"Have you nothing to tell me of him?"
+
+"Nothing except. . . ."  Incipient grimness vanished out of
+Renouard's aspect and his voice, while he hesitated as if
+reflecting seriously before he changed his mind.  "No.  Nothing
+whatever."
+
+"You haven't brought him along with you by chance--for a change."
+
+The Planter of Malata stared, then shook his head, and finally
+murmured carelessly:  "I think he's very well where he is.  But I
+wish you could tell me why young Dunster insisted so much on my
+dining with his uncle last night.  Everybody knows I am not a
+society man."
+
+The Editor exclaimed at so much modesty.  Didn't his friend know
+that he was their one and only explorer--that he was the man
+experimenting with the silk plant. . . .
+
+"Still, that doesn't tell me why I was invited yesterday.  For
+young Dunster never thought of this civility before. . . ."
+
+"Our Willie," said the popular journalist, "never does anything
+without a purpose, that's a fact."
+
+"And to his uncle's house too!"
+
+"He lives there."
+
+"Yes.  But he might have given me a feed somewhere else.  The
+extraordinary part is that the old man did not seem to have
+anything special to say.  He smiled kindly on me once or twice, and
+that was all.  It was quite a party, sixteen people."
+
+The Editor then, after expressing his regret that he had not been
+able to come, wanted to know if the party had been entertaining.
+
+Renouard regretted that his friend had not been there.  Being a man
+whose business or at least whose profession was to know everything
+that went on in this part of the globe, he could probably have told
+him something of some people lately arrived from home, who were
+amongst the guests.  Young Dunster (Willie), with his large shirt-
+front and streaks of white skin shining unpleasantly through the
+thin black hair plastered over the top of his head, bore down on
+him and introduced him to that party, as if he had been a trained
+dog or a child phenomenon.  Decidedly, he said, he disliked Willie-
+-one of these large oppressive men. . . .
+
+A silence fell, and it was as if Renouard were not going to say
+anything more when, suddenly, he came out with the real object of
+his visit to the editorial room.
+
+"They looked to me like people under a spell."
+
+The Editor gazed at him appreciatively, thinking that, whether the
+effect of solitude or not, this was a proof of a sensitive
+perception of the expression of faces.
+
+"You omitted to tell me their name, but I can make a guess.  You
+mean Professor Moorsom, his daughter and sister--don't you?"
+
+Renouard assented.  Yes, a white-haired lady.  But from his
+silence, with his eyes fixed, yet avoiding his friend, it was easy
+to guess that it was not in the white-haired lady that he was
+interested.
+
+"Upon my word," he said, recovering his usual bearing.  "It looks
+to me as if I had been asked there only for the daughter to talk to
+me."
+
+He did not conceal that he had been greatly struck by her
+appearance.  Nobody could have helped being impressed.  She was
+different from everybody else in that house, and it was not only
+the effect of her London clothes.  He did not take her down to
+dinner.  Willie did that.  It was afterwards, on the terrace. . . .
+
+The evening was delightfully calm.  He was sitting apart and alone,
+and wishing himself somewhere else--on board the schooner for
+choice, with the dinner-harness off.  He hadn't exchanged forty
+words altogether during the evening with the other guests.  He saw
+her suddenly all by herself coming towards him along the dimly
+lighted terrace, quite from a distance.
+
+She was tall and supple, carrying nobly on her straight body a head
+of a character which to him appeared peculiar, something--well--
+pagan, crowned with a great wealth of hair.  He had been about to
+rise, but her decided approach caused him to remain on the seat.
+He had not looked much at her that evening.  He had not that
+freedom of gaze acquired by the habit of society and the frequent
+meetings with strangers.  It was not shyness, but the reserve of a
+man not used to the world and to the practice of covert staring,
+with careless curiosity.  All he had captured by his first, keen,
+instantly lowered, glance was the impression that her hair was
+magnificently red and her eyes very black.  It was a troubling
+effect, but it had been evanescent; he had forgotten it almost till
+very unexpectedly he saw her coming down the terrace slow and
+eager, as if she were restraining herself, and with a rhythmic
+upward undulation of her whole figure.  The light from an open
+window fell across her path, and suddenly all that mass of arranged
+hair appeared incandescent, chiselled and fluid, with the daring
+suggestion of a helmet of burnished copper and the flowing lines of
+molten metal.  It kindled in him an astonished admiration.  But he
+said nothing of it to his friend the Editor.  Neither did he tell
+him that her approach woke up in his brain the image of love's
+infinite grace and the sense of the inexhaustible joy that lives in
+beauty.  No!  What he imparted to the Editor were no emotions, but
+mere facts conveyed in a deliberate voice and in uninspired words.
+
+"That young lady came and sat down by me.  She said:  'Are you
+French, Mr. Renouard?'"
+
+He had breathed a whiff of perfume of which he said nothing either-
+-of some perfume he did not know.  Her voice was low and distinct.
+Her shoulders and her bare arms gleamed with an extraordinary
+splendour, and when she advanced her head into the light he saw the
+admirable contour of the face, the straight fine nose with delicate
+nostrils, the exquisite crimson brushstroke of the lips on this
+oval without colour.  The expression of the eyes was lost in a
+shadowy mysterious play of jet and silver, stirring under the red
+coppery gold of the hair as though she had been a being made of
+ivory and precious metals changed into living tissue.
+
+". . . I told her my people were living in Canada, but that I was
+brought up in England before coming out here.  I can't imagine what
+interest she could have in my history."
+
+"And you complain of her interest?"
+
+The accent of the all-knowing journalist seemed to jar on the
+Planter of Malata.
+
+"No!" he said, in a deadened voice that was almost sullen.  But
+after a short silence he went on.  "Very extraordinary.  I told her
+I came out to wander at large in the world when I was nineteen,
+almost directly after I left school.  It seems that her late
+brother was in the same school a couple of years before me.  She
+wanted me to tell her what I did at first when I came out here;
+what other men found to do when they came out--where they went,
+what was likely to happen to them--as if I could guess and foretell
+from my experience the fates of men who come out here with a
+hundred different projects, for hundreds of different reasons--for
+no reason but restlessness--who come, and go, and disappear!
+Preposterous.  She seemed to want to hear their histories.  I told
+her that most of them were not worth telling."
+
+The distinguished journalist leaning on his elbow, his head resting
+against the knuckles of his left hand, listened with great
+attention, but gave no sign of that surprise which Renouard,
+pausing, seemed to expect.
+
+"You know something," the latter said brusquely.  The all-knowing
+man moved his head slightly and said, "Yes.  But go on."
+
+"It's just this.  There is no more to it.  I found myself talking
+to her of my adventures, of my early days.  It couldn't possibly
+have interested her.  Really," he cried, "this is most
+extraordinary.  Those people have something on their minds.  We sat
+in the light of the window, and her father prowled about the
+terrace, with his hands behind his back and his head drooping.  The
+white-haired lady came to the dining-room window twice--to look at
+us I am certain.  The other guests began to go away--and still we
+sat there.  Apparently these people are staying with the Dunsters.
+It was old Mrs. Dunster who put an end to the thing.  The father
+and the aunt circled about as if they were afraid of interfering
+with the girl.  Then she got up all at once, gave me her hand, and
+said she hoped she would see me again."
+
+While he was speaking Renouard saw again the sway of her figure in
+a movement of grace and strength--felt the pressure of her hand--
+heard the last accents of the deep murmur that came from her throat
+so white in the light of the window, and remembered the black rays
+of her steady eyes passing off his face when she turned away.  He
+remembered all this visually, and it was not exactly pleasurable.
+It was rather startling like the discovery of a new faculty in
+himself.  There are faculties one would rather do without--such,
+for instance, as seeing through a stone wall or remembering a
+person with this uncanny vividness.  And what about those two
+people belonging to her with their air of expectant solicitude!
+Really, those figures from home got in front of one.  In fact,
+their persistence in getting between him and the solid forms of the
+everyday material world had driven Renouard to call on his friend
+at the office.  He hoped that a little common, gossipy information
+would lay the ghost of that unexpected dinner-party.  Of course the
+proper person to go to would have been young Dunster, but, he
+couldn't stand Willie Dunster--not at any price.
+
+In the pause the Editor had changed his attitude, faced his desk,
+and smiled a faint knowing smile.
+
+"Striking girl--eh?" he said.
+
+The incongruity of the word was enough to make one jump out of the
+chair.  Striking!  That girl striking!  Stri . . .!  But Renouard
+restrained his feelings.  His friend was not a person to give
+oneself away to.  And, after all, this sort of speech was what he
+had come there to hear.  As, however, he had made a movement he re-
+settled himself comfortably and said, with very creditable
+indifference, that yes--she was, rather.  Especially amongst a lot
+of over-dressed frumps.  There wasn't one woman under forty there.
+
+"Is that the way to speak of the cream of our society; the 'top of
+the basket,' as the French say," the Editor remonstrated with mock
+indignation.  "You aren't moderate in your expressions--you know."
+
+"I express myself very little," interjected Renouard seriously.
+
+"I will tell you what you are.  You are a fellow that doesn't count
+the cost.  Of course you are safe with me, but will you never
+learn. . . ."
+
+"What struck me most," interrupted the other, "is that she should
+pick me out for such a long conversation."
+
+"That's perhaps because you were the most remarkable of the men
+there."
+
+Renouard shook his head.
+
+"This shot doesn't seem to me to hit the mark," he said calmly.
+"Try again."
+
+ "Don't you believe me?  Oh, you modest creature.  Well, let me
+assure you that under ordinary circumstances it would have been a
+good shot.  You are sufficiently remarkable.  But you seem a pretty
+acute customer too.  The circumstances are extraordinary.  By Jove
+they are!"
+
+He mused.  After a time the Planter of Malata dropped a negligent -
+
+"And you know them."
+
+"And I know them," assented the all-knowing Editor, soberly, as
+though the occasion were too special for a display of professional
+vanity; a vanity so well known to Renouard that its absence
+augmented his wonder and almost made him uneasy as if portending
+bad news of some sort.
+
+"You have met those people?" he asked.
+
+"No.  I was to have met them last night, but I had to send an
+apology to Willie in the morning.  It was then that he had the
+bright idea to invite you to fill the place, from a muddled notion
+that you could be of use.  Willie is stupid sometimes.  For it is
+clear that you are the last man able to help."
+
+"How on earth do I come to be mixed up in this--whatever it is?"
+Renouard's voice was slightly altered by nervous irritation.  "I
+only arrived here yesterday morning."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+
+His friend the Editor turned to him squarely.  "Willie took me into
+consultation, and since he seems to have let you in I may just as
+well tell you what is up.  I shall try to be as short as I can.
+But in confidence--mind!"
+
+He waited.  Renouard, his uneasiness growing on him unreasonably,
+assented by a nod, and the other lost no time in beginning.
+Professor Moorsom--physicist and philosopher--fine head of white
+hair, to judge from the photographs--plenty of brains in the head
+too--all these famous books--surely even Renouard would know. . . .
+
+Renouard muttered moodily that it wasn't his sort of reading, and
+his friend hastened to assure him earnestly that neither was it his
+sort--except as a matter of business and duty, for the literary
+page of that newspaper which was his property (and the pride of his
+life).  The only literary newspaper in the Antipodes could not
+ignore the fashionable philosopher of the age.  Not that anybody
+read Moorsom at the Antipodes, but everybody had heard of him--
+women, children, dock labourers, cabmen.  The only person (besides
+himself) who had read Moorsom, as far as he knew, was old Dunster,
+who used to call himself a Moorsomian (or was it Moorsomite) years
+and years ago, long before Moorsom had worked himself up into the
+great swell he was now, in every way. . . Socially too.  Quite the
+fashion in the highest world.
+
+Renouard listened with profoundly concealed attention.  "A
+charlatan," he muttered languidly.
+
+"Well--no.  I should say not.  I shouldn't wonder though if most of
+his writing had been done with his tongue in his cheek.  Of course.
+That's to be expected.  I tell you what:  the only really honest
+writing is to be found in newspapers and nowhere else--and don't
+you forget it."
+
+The Editor paused with a basilisk stare till Renouard had conceded
+a casual:  "I dare say," and only then went on to explain that old
+Dunster, during his European tour, had been made rather a lion of
+in London, where he stayed with the Moorsoms--he meant the father
+and the girl.  The professor had been a widower for a long time.
+
+"She doesn't look just a girl," muttered Renouard.  The other
+agreed.  Very likely not.  Had been playing the London hostess to
+tip-top people ever since she put her hair up, probably.
+
+"I don't expect to see any girlish bloom on her when I do have the
+privilege," he continued.  "Those people are staying with the
+Dunster's incog., in a manner, you understand--something like
+royalties.  They don't deceive anybody, but they want to be left to
+themselves.  We have even kept them out of the paper--to oblige old
+Dunster.  But we shall put your arrival in--our local celebrity."
+
+"Heavens!"
+
+"Yes.  Mr. G. Renouard, the explorer, whose indomitable energy,
+etc., and who is now working for the prosperity of our country in
+another way on his Malata plantation . . . And, by the by, how's
+the silk plant--flourishing?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you bring any fibre?"
+
+"Schooner-full."
+
+"I see.  To be transhipped to Liverpool for experimental
+manufacture, eh?  Eminent capitalists at home very much interested,
+aren't they?"
+
+"They are."
+
+A silence fell.  Then the Editor uttered slowly--"You will be a
+rich man some day."
+
+Renouard's face did not betray his opinion of that confident
+prophecy.  He didn't say anything till his friend suggested in the
+same meditative voice -
+
+"You ought to interest Moorsom in the affair too--since Willie has
+let you in."
+
+"A philosopher!"
+
+"I suppose he isn't above making a bit of money.  And he may be
+clever at it for all you know.  I have a notion that he's a fairly
+practical old cove. . . . Anyhow," and here the tone of the speaker
+took on a tinge of respect, "he has made philosophy pay."
+
+Renouard raised his eyes, repressed an impulse to jump up, and got
+out of the arm-chair slowly.  "It isn't perhaps a bad idea," he
+said.  "I'll have to call there in any case."
+
+He wondered whether he had managed to keep his voice steady, its
+tone unconcerned enough; for his emotion was strong though it had
+nothing to do with the business aspect of this suggestion.  He
+moved in the room in vague preparation for departure, when he heard
+a soft laugh.  He spun about quickly with a frown, but the Editor
+was not laughing at him.  He was chuckling across the big desk at
+the wall:  a preliminary of some speech for which Renouard,
+recalled to himself, waited silent and mistrustful.
+
+"No!  You would never guess!  No one would ever guess what these
+people are after.  Willie's eyes bulged out when he came to me with
+the tale."
+
+"They always do," remarked Renouard with disgust.  "He's stupid."
+
+"He was startled.  And so was I after he told me.  It's a search
+party.  They are out looking for a man.  Willie's soft heart's
+enlisted in the cause."
+
+Renouard repeated:  "Looking for a man."
+
+He sat down suddenly as if on purpose to stare.  "Did Willie come
+to you to borrow the lantern," he asked sarcastically, and got up
+again for no apparent reason.
+
+"What lantern?" snapped the puzzled Editor, and his face darkened
+with suspicion.  "You, Renouard, are always alluding to things that
+aren't clear to me.  If you were in politics, I, as a party
+journalist, wouldn't trust you further than I could see you.  Not
+an inch further.  You are such a sophisticated beggar.  Listen:
+the man is the man Miss Moorsom was engaged to for a year.  He
+couldn't have been a nobody, anyhow.  But he doesn't seem to have
+been very wise.  Hard luck for the young lady."
+
+He spoke with feeling.  It was clear that what he had to tell
+appealed to his sentiment.  Yet, as an experienced man of the
+world, he marked his amused wonder.  Young man of good family and
+connections, going everywhere, yet not merely a man about town, but
+with a foot in the two big F's.
+
+Renouard lounging aimlessly in the room turned round:  "And what
+the devil's that?" he asked faintly.
+
+"Why Fashion and Finance," explained the Editor.  "That's how I
+call it.  There are the three R's at the bottom of the social
+edifice and the two F's on the top.  See?"
+
+"Ha! Ha!  Excellent!  Ha! Ha!" Renouard laughed with stony eyes.
+
+"And you proceed from one set to the other in this democratic age,"
+the Editor went on with unperturbed complacency.  "That is if you
+are clever enough.  The only danger is in being too clever.  And I
+think something of the sort happened here.  That swell I am
+speaking of got himself into a mess.  Apparently a very ugly mess
+of a financial character.  You will understand that Willie did not
+go into details with me.  They were not imparted to him with very
+great abundance either.  But a bad mess--something of the criminal
+order.  Of course he was innocent.  But he had to quit all the
+same."
+
+"Ha! Ha!" Renouard laughed again abruptly, staring as before.  "So
+there's one more big F in the tale."
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired the Editor quickly, with an air as if
+his patent were being infringed.
+
+"I mean--Fool."
+
+"No.  I wouldn't say that.  I wouldn't say that."
+
+"Well--let him be a scoundrel then.  What the devil do I care."
+
+"But hold on!  You haven't heard the end of the story."
+
+Renouard, his hat on his head already, sat down with the disdainful
+smile of a man who had discounted the moral of the story.  Still he
+sat down and the Editor swung his revolving chair right round.  He
+was full of unction.
+
+"Imprudent, I should say.  In many ways money is as dangerous to
+handle as gunpowder.  You can't be too careful either as to who you
+are working with.  Anyhow there was a mighty flashy burst up, a
+sensation, and--his familiar haunts knew him no more.  But before
+he vanished he went to see Miss Moorsom.  That very fact argues for
+his innocence--don't it?  What was said between them no man knows--
+unless the professor had the confidence from his daughter.  There
+couldn't have been much to say.  There was nothing for it but to
+let him go--was there?--for the affair had got into the papers.
+And perhaps the kindest thing would have been to forget him.
+Anyway the easiest.  Forgiveness would have been more difficult, I
+fancy, for a young lady of spirit and position drawn into an ugly
+affair like that.  Any ordinary young lady, I mean.  Well, the
+fellow asked nothing better than to be forgotten, only he didn't
+find it easy to do so himself, because he would write home now and
+then.  Not to any of his friends though.  He had no near relations.
+The professor had been his guardian.  No, the poor devil wrote now
+and then to an old retired butler of his late father, somewhere in
+the country, forbidding him at the same time to let any one know of
+his whereabouts.  So that worthy old ass would go up and dodge
+about the Moorsom's town house, perhaps waylay Miss Moorsom's maid,
+and then would write to 'Master Arthur' that the young lady looked
+well and happy, or some such cheerful intelligence.  I dare say he
+wanted to be forgotten, but I shouldn't think he was much cheered
+by the news.  What would you say?"
+
+Renouard, his legs stretched out and his chin on his breast, said
+nothing.  A sensation which was not curiosity, but rather a vague
+nervous anxiety, distinctly unpleasant, like a mysterious symptom
+of some malady, prevented him from getting up and going away.
+
+"Mixed feelings," the Editor opined.  "Many fellows out here
+receive news from home with mixed feelings.  But what will his
+feelings be when he hears what I am going to tell you now?  For we
+know he has not heard yet.  Six months ago a city clerk, just a
+common drudge of finance, gets himself convicted of a common
+embezzlement or something of that kind.  Then seeing he's in for a
+long sentence he thinks of making his conscience comfortable, and
+makes a clean breast of an old story of tampered with, or else
+suppressed, documents, a story which clears altogether the honesty
+of our ruined gentleman.  That embezzling fellow was in a position
+to know, having been employed by the firm before the smash.  There
+was no doubt about the character being cleared--but where the
+cleared man was nobody could tell.  Another sensation in society.
+And then Miss Moorsom says:  'He will come back to claim me, and
+I'll marry him.'  But he didn't come back.  Between you and me I
+don't think he was much wanted--except by Miss Moorsom.  I imagine
+she's used to have her own way.  She grew impatient, and declared
+that if she knew where the man was she would go to him.  But all
+that could be got out of the old butler was that the last envelope
+bore the postmark of our beautiful city; and that this was the only
+address of 'Master Arthur' that he ever had.  That and no more.  In
+fact the fellow was at his last gasp--with a bad heart.  Miss
+Moorsom wasn't allowed to see him.  She had gone herself into the
+country to learn what she could, but she had to stay downstairs
+while the old chap's wife went up to the invalid.  She brought down
+the scrap of intelligence I've told you of.  He was already too far
+gone to be cross-examined on it, and that very night he died.  He
+didn't leave behind him much to go by, did he?  Our Willie hinted
+to me that there had been pretty stormy days in the professor's
+house, but--here they are.  I have a notion she isn't the kind of
+everyday young lady who may be permitted to gallop about the world
+all by herself--eh?  Well, I think it rather fine of her, but I
+quite understand that the professor needed all his philosophy under
+the circumstances.  She is his only child now--and brilliant--what?
+Willie positively spluttered trying to describe her to me; and I
+could see directly you came in that you had an uncommon
+experience."
+
+Renouard, with an irritated gesture, tilted his hat more forward on
+his eyes, as though he were bored.  The Editor went on with the
+remark that to be sure neither he (Renouard) nor yet Willie were
+much used to meet girls of that remarkable superiority.  Willie
+when learning business with a firm in London, years before, had
+seen none but boarding-house society, he guessed.  As to himself in
+the good old days, when he trod the glorious flags of Fleet Street,
+he neither had access to, nor yet would have cared for the swells.
+Nothing interested him then but parliamentary politics and the
+oratory of the House of Commons.
+
+He paid to this not very distant past the tribute of a tender,
+reminiscent smile, and returned to his first idea that for a
+society girl her action was rather fine.  All the same the
+professor could not be very pleased.  The fellow if he was as pure
+as a lily now was just about as devoid of the goods of the earth.
+And there were misfortunes, however undeserved, which damaged a
+man's standing permanently.  On the other hand, it was difficult to
+oppose cynically a noble impulse--not to speak of the great love at
+the root of it.  Ah!  Love!  And then the lady was quite capable of
+going off by herself.  She was of age, she had money of her own,
+plenty of pluck too.  Moorsom must have concluded that it was more
+truly paternal, more prudent too, and generally safer all round to
+let himself be dragged into this chase.  The aunt came along for
+the same reasons.  It was given out at home as a trip round the
+world of the usual kind.
+
+Renouard had risen and remained standing with his heart beating,
+and strangely affected by this tale, robbed as it was of all
+glamour by the prosaic personality of the narrator.  The Editor
+added:  "I've been asked to help in the search--you know."
+
+Renouard muttered something about an appointment and went out into
+the street.  His inborn sanity could not defend him from a misty
+creeping jealousy.  He thought that obviously no man of that sort
+could be worthy of such a woman's devoted fidelity.  Renouard,
+however, had lived long enough to reflect that a man's activities,
+his views, and even his ideas may be very inferior to his
+character; and moved by a delicate consideration for that splendid
+girl he tried to think out for the man a character of inward
+excellence and outward gifts--some extraordinary seduction.  But in
+vain.  Fresh from months of solitude and from days at sea, her
+splendour presented itself to him absolutely unconquerable in its
+perfection, unless by her own folly.  It was easier to suspect her
+of this than to imagine in the man qualities which would be worthy
+of her.  Easier and less degrading.  Because folly may be generous-
+-could be nothing else but generosity in her; whereas to imagine
+her subjugated by something common was intolerable.
+
+Because of the force of the physical impression he had received
+from her personality (and such impressions are the real origins of
+the deepest movements of our soul) this conception of her was even
+inconceivable.  But no Prince Charming has ever lived out of a
+fairy tale.  He doesn't walk the worlds of Fashion and Finance--and
+with a stumbling gait at that.  Generosity.  Yes.  It was her
+generosity.  But this generosity was altogether regal in its
+splendour, almost absurd in its lavishness--or, perhaps, divine.
+
+In the evening, on board his schooner, sitting on the rail, his
+arms folded on his breast and his eyes fixed on the deck, he let
+the darkness catch him unawares in the midst of a meditation on the
+mechanism of sentiment and the springs of passion.  And all the
+time he had an abiding consciousness of her bodily presence.  The
+effect on his senses had been so penetrating that in the middle of
+the night, rousing up suddenly, wide-eyed in the darkness of his
+cabin, he did not create a faint mental vision of her person for
+himself, but, more intimately affected, he scented distinctly the
+faint perfume she used, and could almost have sworn that he had
+been awakened by the soft rustle of her dress.  He even sat up
+listening in the dark for a time, then sighed and lay down again,
+not agitated but, on the contrary, oppressed by the sensation of
+something that had happened to him and could not be undone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+
+In the afternoon he lounged into the editorial office, carrying
+with affected nonchalance that weight of the irremediable he had
+felt laid on him suddenly in the small hours of the night--that
+consciousness of something that could no longer be helped.  His
+patronising friend informed him at once that he had made the
+acquaintance of the Moorsom party last night.  At the Dunsters, of
+course.  Dinner.
+
+"Very quiet.  Nobody there.  It was much better for the business.
+I say . . ."
+
+Renouard, his hand grasping the back of a chair, stared down at him
+dumbly.
+
+"Phew!  That's a stunning girl. . . Why do you want to sit on that
+chair?  It's uncomfortable!"
+
+"I wasn't going to sit on it."  Renouard walked slowly to the
+window, glad to find in himself enough self-control to let go the
+chair instead of raising it on high and bringing it down on the
+Editor's head.
+
+"Willie kept on gazing at her with tears in his boiled eyes.  You
+should have seen him bending sentimentally over her at dinner."
+
+"Don't," said Renouard in such an anguished tone that the Editor
+turned right round to look at his back.
+
+"You push your dislike of young Dunster too far.  It's positively
+morbid," he disapproved mildly.  "We can't be all beautiful after
+thirty. . . . I talked a little, about you mostly, to the
+professor.  He appeared to be interested in the silk plant--if only
+as a change from the great subject.  Miss Moorsom didn't seem to
+mind when I confessed to her that I had taken you into the
+confidence of the thing.  Our Willie approved too.  Old Dunster
+with his white beard seemed to give me his blessing.  All those
+people have a great opinion of you, simply because I told them that
+you've led every sort of life one can think of before you got
+struck on exploration.  They want you to make suggestions.  What do
+you think 'Master Arthur' is likely to have taken to?"
+
+"Something easy," muttered Renouard without unclenching his teeth.
+
+"Hunting man.  Athlete.  Don't be hard on the chap.  He may be
+riding boundaries, or droving cattle, or humping his swag about the
+back-blocks away to the devil--somewhere.  He may be even
+prospecting at the back of beyond--this very moment."
+
+"Or lying dead drunk in a roadside pub.  It's late enough in the
+day for that."
+
+The Editor looked up instinctively.  The clock was pointing at a
+quarter to five.  "Yes, it is," he admitted.  "But it needn't be.
+And he may have lit out into the Western Pacific all of a sudden--
+say in a trading schooner.  Though I really don't see in what
+capacity.  Still . . . "
+
+"Or he may be passing at this very moment under this very window."
+
+"Not he . . . and I wish you would get away from it to where one
+can see your face.  I hate talking to a man's back.  You stand
+there like a hermit on a sea-shore growling to yourself.  I tell
+you what it is, Geoffrey, you don't like mankind."
+
+"I don't make my living by talking about mankind's affairs,"
+Renouard defended himself.  But he came away obediently and sat
+down in the armchair.  "How can you be so certain that your man
+isn't down there in the street?" he asked.  "It's neither more nor
+less probable than every single one of your other suppositions."
+
+Placated by Renouard's docility the Editor gazed at him for a
+while.  "Aha!  I'll tell you how.  Learn then that we have begun
+the campaign.  We have telegraphed his description to the police of
+every township up and down the land.  And what's more we've
+ascertained definitely that he hasn't been in this town for the
+last three months at least.  How much longer he's been away we
+can't tell."
+
+"That's very curious."
+
+"It's very simple.  Miss Moorsom wrote to him, to the post office
+here directly she returned to London after her excursion into the
+country to see the old butler.  Well--her letter is still lying
+there.  It has not been called for.  Ergo, this town is not his
+usual abode.  Personally, I never thought it was.  But he cannot
+fail to turn up some time or other.  Our main hope lies just in the
+certitude that he must come to town sooner or later.  Remember he
+doesn't know that the butler is dead, and he will want to inquire
+for a letter.  Well, he'll find a note from Miss Moorsom."
+
+Renouard, silent, thought that it was likely enough.  His profound
+distaste for this conversation was betrayed by an air of weariness
+darkening his energetic sun-tanned features, and by the augmented
+dreaminess of his eyes.  The Editor noted it as a further proof of
+that immoral detachment from mankind, of that callousness of
+sentiment fostered by the unhealthy conditions of solitude--
+according to his own favourite theory.  Aloud he observed that as
+long as a man had not given up correspondence he could not be
+looked upon as lost.  Fugitive criminals had been tracked in that
+way by justice, he reminded his friend; then suddenly changed the
+bearing of the subject somewhat by asking if Renouard had heard
+from his people lately, and if every member of his large tribe was
+well and happy.
+
+"Yes, thanks."
+
+The tone was curt, as if repelling a liberty.  Renouard did not
+like being asked about his people, for whom he had a profound and
+remorseful affection.  He had not seen a single human being to whom
+he was related, for many years, and he was extremely different from
+them all.
+
+On the very morning of his arrival from his island he had gone to a
+set of pigeon-holes in Willie Dunster's outer office and had taken
+out from a compartment labelled "Malata" a very small accumulation
+of envelopes, a few addressed to himself, and one addressed to his
+assistant, all to the care of the firm, W. Dunster and Co.  As
+opportunity offered, the firm used to send them on to Malata either
+by a man-of-war schooner going on a cruise, or by some trading
+craft proceeding that way.  But for the last four months there had
+been no opportunity.
+
+"You going to stay here some time?" asked the Editor, after a
+longish silence.
+
+Renouard, perfunctorily, did see no reason why he should make a
+long stay.
+
+"For health, for your mental health, my boy," rejoined the
+newspaper man.  "To get used to human faces so that they don't hit
+you in the eye so hard when you walk about the streets.  To get
+friendly with your kind.  I suppose that assistant of yours can be
+trusted to look after things?"
+
+"There's the half-caste too.  The Portuguese.  He knows what's to
+be done."
+
+"Aha!"  The Editor looked sharply at his friend.  "What's his
+name?"
+
+"Who's name?"
+
+"The assistant's you picked up on the sly behind my back."
+
+Renouard made a slight movement of impatience.
+
+"I met him unexpectedly one evening.  I thought he would do as well
+as another.  He had come from up country and didn't seem happy in a
+town.  He told me his name was Walter.  I did not ask him for
+proofs, you know."
+
+"I don't think you get on very well with him."
+
+"Why?  What makes you think so."
+
+"I don't know.  Something reluctant in your manner when he's in
+question."
+
+"Really.  My manner!  I don't think he's a great subject for
+conversation, perhaps.  Why not drop him?"
+
+"Of course!  You wouldn't confess to a mistake.  Not you.
+Nevertheless I have my suspicions about it."
+
+Renouard got up to go, but hesitated, looking down at the seated
+Editor.
+
+"How funny," he said at last with the utmost seriousness, and was
+making for the door, when the voice of his friend stopped him.
+
+"You know what has been said of you?  That you couldn't get on with
+anybody you couldn't kick.  Now, confess--is there any truth in the
+soft impeachment?"
+
+"No," said Renouard.  "Did you print that in your paper."
+
+"No.  I didn't quite believe it.  But I will tell you what I
+believe.  I believe that when your heart is set on some object you
+are a man that doesn't count the cost to yourself or others.  And
+this shall get printed some day."
+
+"Obituary notice?" Renouard dropped negligently.
+
+"Certain--some day."
+
+"Do you then regard yourself as immortal?"
+
+"No, my boy.  I am not immortal.  But the voice of the press goes
+on for ever. . . . And it will say that this was the secret of your
+great success in a task where better men than you--meaning no
+offence--did fail repeatedly."
+
+"Success," muttered Renouard, pulling-to the office door after him
+with considerable energy.  And the letters of the word PRIVATE like
+a row of white eyes seemed to stare after his back sinking down the
+staircase of that temple of publicity.
+
+Renouard had no doubt that all the means of publicity would be put
+at the service of love and used for the discovery of the loved man.
+He did not wish him dead.  He did not wish him any harm.  We are
+all equipped with a fund of humanity which is not exhausted without
+many and repeated provocations--and this man had done him no evil.
+But before Renouard had left old Dunster's house, at the conclusion
+of the call he made there that very afternoon, he had discovered in
+himself the desire that the search might last long.  He never
+really flattered himself that it might fail.  It seemed to him that
+there was no other course in this world for himself, for all
+mankind, but resignation.  And he could not help thinking that
+Professor Moorsom had arrived at the same conclusion too.
+
+Professor Moorsom, slight frame of middle height, a thoughtful keen
+head under the thick wavy hair, veiled dark eyes under straight
+eyebrows, and with an inward gaze which when disengaged and
+arriving at one seemed to issue from an obscure dream of books,
+from the limbo of meditation, showed himself extremely gracious to
+him.  Renouard guessed in him a man whom an incurable habit of
+investigation and analysis had made gentle and indulgent; inapt for
+action, and more sensitive to the thoughts than to the events of
+existence.  Withal not crushed, sub-ironic without a trace of
+acidity, and with a simple manner which put people at ease quickly.
+They had a long conversation on the terrace commanding an extended
+view of the town and the harbour.
+
+The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze, with its
+grey spurs and shining indentations, helped Renouard to regain his
+self-possession, which he had felt shaken, in coming out on the
+terrace, into the setting of the most powerful emotion of his life,
+when he had sat within a foot of Miss Moorsom with fire in his
+breast, a humming in his ears, and in a complete disorder of his
+mind.  There was the very garden seat on which he had been
+enveloped in the radiant spell.  And presently he was sitting on it
+again with the professor talking of her.  Near by the patriarchal
+Dunster leaned forward in a wicker arm-chair, benign and a little
+deaf, his big hand to his ear with the innocent eagerness of his
+advanced age remembering the fires of life.
+
+It was with a sort of apprehension that Renouard looked forward to
+seeing Miss Moorsom.  And strangely enough it resembled the state
+of mind of a man who fears disenchantment more than sortilege.  But
+he need not have been afraid.  Directly he saw her in a distance at
+the other end of the terrace he shuddered to the roots of his hair.
+With her approach the power of speech left him for a time.  Mrs.
+Dunster and her aunt were accompanying her.  All these people sat
+down; it was an intimate circle into which Renouard felt himself
+cordially admitted; and the talk was of the great search which
+occupied all their minds.  Discretion was expected by these people,
+but of reticence as to the object of the journey there could be no
+question.  Nothing but ways and means and arrangements could be
+talked about.
+
+By fixing his eyes obstinately on the ground, which gave him an air
+of reflective sadness, Renouard managed to recover his self-
+possession.  He used it to keep his voice in a low key and to
+measure his words on the great subject.  And he took care with a
+great inward effort to make them reasonable without giving them a
+discouraging complexion.  For he did not want the quest to be given
+up, since it would mean her going away with her two attendant grey-
+heads to the other side of the world.
+
+He was asked to come again, to come often and take part in the
+counsels of all these people captivated by the sentimental
+enterprise of a declared love.  On taking Miss Moorsom's hand he
+looked up, would have liked to say something, but found himself
+voiceless, with his lips suddenly sealed.  She returned the
+pressure of his fingers, and he left her with her eyes vaguely
+staring beyond him, an air of listening for an expected sound, and
+the faintest possible smile on her lips.  A smile not for him,
+evidently, but the reflection of some deep and inscrutable thought.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+
+He went on board his schooner.  She lay white, and as if suspended,
+in the crepuscular atmosphere of sunset mingling with the ashy
+gleam of the vast anchorage.  He tried to keep his thoughts as
+sober, as reasonable, as measured as his words had been, lest they
+should get away from him and cause some sort of moral disaster.
+What he was afraid of in the coming night was sleeplessness and the
+endless strain of that wearisome task.  It had to be faced however.
+He lay on his back, sighing profoundly in the dark, and suddenly
+beheld his very own self, carrying a small bizarre lamp, reflected
+in a long mirror inside a room in an empty and unfurnished palace.
+In this startling image of himself he recognised somebody he had to
+follow--the frightened guide of his dream.  He traversed endless
+galleries, no end of lofty halls, innumerable doors.  He lost
+himself utterly--he found his way again.  Room succeeded room.  At
+last the lamp went out, and he stumbled against some object which,
+when he stooped for it, he found to be very cold and heavy to lift.
+The sickly white light of dawn showed him the head of a statue.
+Its marble hair was done in the bold lines of a helmet, on its lips
+the chisel had left a faint smile, and it resembled Miss Moorsom.
+While he was staring at it fixedly, the head began to grow light in
+his fingers, to diminish and crumble to pieces, and at last turned
+into a handful of dust, which was blown away by a puff of wind so
+chilly that he woke up with a desperate shiver and leaped headlong
+out of his bed-place.  The day had really come.  He sat down by the
+cabin table, and taking his head between his hands, did not stir
+for a very long time.
+
+Very quiet, he set himself to review this dream.  The lamp, of
+course, he connected with the search for a man.  But on closer
+examination he perceived that the reflection of himself in the
+mirror was not really the true Renouard, but somebody else whose
+face he could not remember.  In the deserted palace he recognised a
+sinister adaptation by his brain of the long corridors with many
+doors, in the great building in which his friend's newspaper was
+lodged on the first floor.  The marble head with Miss Moorsom's
+face!  Well!  What other face could he have dreamed of?  And her
+complexion was fairer than Parian marble, than the heads of angels.
+The wind at the end was the morning breeze entering through the
+open porthole and touching his face before the schooner could swing
+to the chilly gust.
+
+Yes!  And all this rational explanation of the fantastic made it
+only more mysterious and weird.  There was something daemonic in
+that dream.  It was one of those experiences which throw a man out
+of conformity with the established order of his kind and make him a
+creature of obscure suggestions.
+
+Henceforth, without ever trying to resist, he went every afternoon
+to the house where she lived.  He went there as passively as if in
+a dream.  He could never make out how he had attained the footing
+of intimacy in the Dunster mansion above the bay--whether on the
+ground of personal merit or as the pioneer of the vegetable silk
+industry.  It must have been the last, because he remembered
+distinctly, as distinctly as in a dream, hearing old Dunster once
+telling him that his next public task would be a careful survey of
+the Northern Districts to discover tracts suitable for the
+cultivation of the silk plant.  The old man wagged his beard at him
+sagely.  It was indeed as absurd as a dream.
+
+Willie of course would be there in the evening.  But he was more of
+a figure out of a nightmare, hovering about the circle of chairs in
+his dress-clothes like a gigantic, repulsive, and sentimental bat.
+"Do away with the beastly cocoons all over the world," he buzzed in
+his blurred, water-logged voice.  He affected a great horror of
+insects of all kinds.  One evening he appeared with a red flower in
+his button-hole.  Nothing could have been more disgustingly
+fantastic.  And he would also say to Renouard:  "You may yet change
+the history of our country.  For economic conditions do shape the
+history of nations.  Eh?  What?"  And he would turn to Miss Moorsom
+for approval, lowering protectingly his spatulous nose and looking
+up with feeling from under his absurd eyebrows, which grew thin, in
+the manner of canebrakes, out of his spongy skin.  For this large,
+bilious creature was an economist and a sentimentalist, facile to
+tears, and a member of the Cobden Club.
+
+In order to see as little of him as possible Renouard began coming
+earlier so as to get away before his arrival, without curtailing
+too much the hours of secret contemplation for which he lived.  He
+had given up trying to deceive himself.  His resignation was
+without bounds.  He accepted the immense misfortune of being in
+love with a woman who was in search of another man only to throw
+herself into his arms.  With such desperate precision he defined in
+his thoughts the situation, the consciousness of which traversed
+like a sharp arrow the sudden silences of general conversation.
+The only thought before which he quailed was the thought that this
+could not last; that it must come to an end.  He feared it
+instinctively as a sick man may fear death.  For it seemed to him
+that it must be the death of him followed by a lightless,
+bottomless pit.  But his resignation was not spared the torments of
+jealousy:  the cruel, insensate, poignant, and imbecile jealousy,
+when it seems that a woman betrays us simply by this that she
+exists, that she breathes--and when the deep movements of her
+nerves or her soul become a matter of distracting suspicion, of
+killing doubt, of mortal anxiety.
+
+In the peculiar condition of their sojourn Miss Moorsom went out
+very little.  She accepted this seclusion at the Dunsters' mansion
+as in a hermitage, and lived there, watched over by a group of old
+people, with the lofty endurance of a condescending and strong-
+headed goddess.  It was impossible to say if she suffered from
+anything in the world, and whether this was the insensibility of a
+great passion concentrated on itself, or a perfect restraint of
+manner, or the indifference of superiority so complete as to be
+sufficient to itself.  But it was visible to Renouard that she took
+some pleasure in talking to him at times.  Was it because he was
+the only person near her age?  Was this, then, the secret of his
+admission to the circle?
+
+He admired her voice as well poised as her movements, as her
+attitudes.  He himself had always been a man of tranquil tones.
+But the power of fascination had torn him out of his very nature so
+completely that to preserve his habitual calmness from going to
+pieces had become a terrible effort.
+
+He used to go from her on board the schooner exhausted, broken,
+shaken up, as though he had been put to the most exquisite torture.
+When he saw her approaching he always had a moment of
+hallucination.  She was a misty and fair creature, fitted for
+invisible music, for the shadows of love, for the murmurs of
+waters.  After a time (he could not be always staring at the
+ground) he would summon up all his resolution and look at her.
+There was a sparkle in the clear obscurity of her eyes; and when
+she turned them on him they seemed to give a new meaning to life.
+He would say to himself that another man would have found long
+before the happy release of madness, his wits burnt to cinders in
+that radiance.  But no such luck for him.  His wits had come
+unscathed through the furnaces of hot suns, of blazing deserts, of
+flaming angers against the weaknesses of men and the obstinate
+cruelties of hostile nature.
+
+Being sane he had to be constantly on his guard against falling
+into adoring silences or breaking out into wild speeches.  He had
+to keep watch on his eyes, his limbs, on the muscles of his face.
+Their conversations were such as they could be between these two
+people:  she a young lady fresh from the thick twilight of four
+million people and the artificiality of several London seasons; he
+the man of definite conquering tasks, the familiar of wide
+horizons, and in his very repose holding aloof from these
+agglomerations of units in which one loses one's importance even to
+oneself.  They had no common conversational small change.  They had
+to use the great pieces of general ideas, but they exchanged them
+trivially.  It was no serious commerce.  Perhaps she had not much
+of that coin.  Nothing significant came from her.  It could not be
+said that she had received from the contacts of the external world
+impressions of a personal kind, different from other women.  What
+was ravishing in her was her quietness and, in her grave attitudes,
+the unfailing brilliance of her femininity.  He did not know what
+there was under that ivory forehead so splendidly shaped, so
+gloriously crowned.  He could not tell what were her thoughts, her
+feelings.  Her replies were reflective, always preceded by a short
+silence, while he hung on her lips anxiously.  He felt himself in
+the presence of a mysterious being in whom spoke an unknown voice,
+like the voice of oracles, bringing everlasting unrest to the
+heart.
+
+He was thankful enough to sit in silence with secretly clenched
+teeth, devoured by jealousy--and nobody could have guessed that his
+quiet deferential bearing to all these grey-heads was the supreme
+effort of stoicism, that the man was engaged in keeping a sinister
+watch on his tortures lest his strength should fail him.  As
+before, when grappling with other forces of nature, he could find
+in himself all sorts of courage except the courage to run away.
+
+It was perhaps from the lack of subjects they could have in common
+that Miss Moorsom made him so often speak of his own life.  He did
+not shrink from talking about himself, for he was free from that
+exacerbated, timid vanity which seals so many vain-glorious lips.
+He talked to her in his restrained voice, gazing at the tip of her
+shoe, and thinking that the time was bound to come soon when her
+very inattention would get weary of him.  And indeed on stealing a
+glance he would see her dazzling and perfect, her eyes vague,
+staring in mournful immobility, with a drooping head that made him
+think of a tragic Venus arising before him, not from the foam of
+the sea, but from a distant, still more formless, mysterious, and
+potent immensity of mankind.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+
+One afternoon Renouard stepping out on the terrace found nobody
+there.  It was for him, at the same time, a melancholy
+disappointment and a poignant relief.
+
+The heat was great, the air was still, all the long windows of the
+house stood wide open.  At the further end, grouped round a lady's
+work-table, several chairs disposed sociably suggested invisible
+occupants, a company of conversing shades.  Renouard looked towards
+them with a sort of dread.  A most elusive, faint sound of ghostly
+talk issuing from one of the rooms added to the illusion and
+stopped his already hesitating footsteps.  He leaned over the
+balustrade of stone near a squat vase holding a tropical plant of a
+bizarre shape.  Professor Moorsom coming up from the garden with a
+book under his arm and a white parasol held over his bare head,
+found him there and, closing the parasol, leaned over by his side
+with a remark on the increasing heat of the season.  Renouard
+assented and changed his position a little; the other, after a
+short silence, administered unexpectedly a question which, like the
+blow of a club on the head, deprived Renouard of the power of
+speech and even thought, but, more cruel, left him quivering with
+apprehension, not of death but of everlasting torment.  Yet the
+words were extremely simple.
+
+"Something will have to be done soon.  We can't remain in a state
+of suspended expectation for ever.  Tell me what do you think of
+our chances?"
+
+Renouard, speechless, produced a faint smile.  The professor
+confessed in a jocular tone his impatience to complete the circuit
+of the globe and be done with it.  It was impossible to remain
+quartered on the dear excellent Dunsters for an indefinite time.
+And then there were the lectures he had arranged to deliver in
+Paris.  A serious matter.
+
+That lectures by Professor Moorsom were a European event and that
+brilliant audiences would gather to hear them Renouard did not
+know.  All he was aware of was the shock of this hint of departure.
+The menace of separation fell on his head like a thunderbolt.  And
+he saw the absurdity of his emotion, for hadn't he lived all these
+days under the very cloud?  The professor, his elbows spread out,
+looked down into the garden and went on unburdening his mind.  Yes.
+The department of sentiment was directed by his daughter, and she
+had plenty of volunteered moral support; but he had to look after
+the practical side of life without assistance.
+
+"I have the less hesitation in speaking to you about my anxiety,
+because I feel you are friendly to us and at the same time you are
+detached from all these sublimities--confound them."
+
+"What do you mean?" murmured Renouard.
+
+"I mean that you are capable of calm judgment.  Here the atmosphere
+is simply detestable.  Everybody has knuckled under to sentiment.
+Perhaps your deliberate opinion could influence . . ."
+
+"You want Miss Moorsom to give it up?"  The professor turned to the
+young man dismally.
+
+"Heaven only knows what I want."
+
+Renouard leaning his back against the balustrade folded his arms on
+his breast, appeared to meditate profoundly.  His face, shaded
+softly by the broad brim of a planter's Panama hat, with the
+straight line of the nose level with the forehead, the eyes lost in
+the depth of the setting, and the chin well forward, had such a
+profile as may be seen amongst the bronzes of classical museums,
+pure under a crested helmet--recalled vaguely a Minerva's head.
+
+"This is the most troublesome time I ever had in my life,"
+exclaimed the professor testily.
+
+"Surely the man must be worth it," muttered Renouard with a pang of
+jealousy traversing his breast like a self-inflicted stab.
+
+Whether enervated by the heat or giving way to pent up irritation
+the professor surrendered himself to the mood of sincerity.
+
+"He began by being a pleasantly dull boy.  He developed into a
+pointlessly clever young man, without, I suspect, ever trying to
+understand anything.  My daughter knew him from childhood.  I am a
+busy man, and I confess that their engagement was a complete
+surprise to me.  I wish their reasons for that step had been more
+naive.  But simplicity was out of fashion in their set.  From a
+worldly point of view he seems to have been a mere baby.  Of
+course, now, I am assured that he is the victim of his noble
+confidence in the rectitude of his kind.  But that's mere
+idealising of a sad reality.  For my part I will tell you that from
+the very beginning I had the gravest doubts of his dishonesty.
+Unfortunately my clever daughter hadn't.  And now we behold the
+reaction.  No.  To be earnestly dishonest one must be really poor.
+This was only a manifestation of his extremely refined cleverness.
+The complicated simpleton.  He had an awful awakening though."
+
+In such words did Professor Moorsom give his "young friend" to
+understand the state of his feelings toward the lost man.  It was
+evident that the father of Miss Moorsom wished him to remain lost.
+Perhaps the unprecedented heat of the season made him long for the
+cool spaces of the Pacific, the sweep of the ocean's free wind
+along the promenade decks, cumbered with long chairs, of a ship
+steaming towards the Californian coast.  To Renouard the
+philosopher appeared simply the most treacherous of fathers.  He
+was amazed.  But he was not at the end of his discoveries.
+
+"He may be dead," the professor murmured.
+
+"Why?  People don't die here sooner than in Europe.  If he had gone
+to hide in Italy, for instance, you wouldn't think of saying that."
+
+"Well!  And suppose he has become morally disintegrated.  You know
+he was not a strong personality," the professor suggested moodily.
+"My daughter's future is in question here."
+
+Renouard thought that the love of such a woman was enough to pull
+any broken man together--to drag a man out of his grave.  And he
+thought this with inward despair, which kept him silent as much
+almost as his astonishment.  At last he managed to stammer out a
+generous -
+
+"Oh!  Don't let us even suppose. . ."
+
+The professor struck in with a sadder accent than before -
+
+"It's good to be young.  And then you have been a man of action,
+and necessarily a believer in success.  But I have been looking too
+long at life not to distrust its surprises.  Age!  Age!  Here I
+stand before you a man full of doubts and hesitation--spe lentus,
+timidus futuri."
+
+He made a sign to Renouard not to interrupt, and in a lowered
+voice, as if afraid of being overheard, even there, in the solitude
+of the terrace -
+
+"And the worst is that I am not even sure how far this sentimental
+pilgrimage is genuine.  Yes.  I doubt my own child.  It's true that
+she's a woman. . . . "
+
+Renouard detected with horror a tone of resentment, as if the
+professor had never forgiven his daughter for not dying instead of
+his son.  The latter noticed the young man's stony stare.
+
+"Ah! you don't understand.  Yes, she's clever, open-minded,
+popular, and--well, charming.  But you don't know what it is to
+have moved, breathed, existed, and even triumphed in the mere
+smother and froth of life--the brilliant froth.  There thoughts,
+sentiments, opinions, feelings, actions too, are nothing but
+agitation in empty space--to amuse life--a sort of superior
+debauchery, exciting and fatiguing, meaning nothing, leading
+nowhere.  She is the creature of that circle.  And I ask myself if
+she is obeying the uneasiness of an instinct seeking its
+satisfaction, or is it a revulsion of feeling, or is she merely
+deceiving her own heart by this dangerous trifling with romantic
+images.  And everything is possible--except sincerity, such as only
+stark, struggling humanity can know.  No woman can stand that mode
+of life in which women rule, and remain a perfectly genuine, simple
+human being.  Ah!  There's some people coming out."
+
+He moved off a pace, then turning his head:  "Upon my word!  I
+would be infinitely obliged to you if you could throw a little cold
+water. . . " and at a vaguely dismayed gesture of Renouard, he
+added:  "Don't be afraid.  You wouldn't be putting out a sacred
+fire."
+
+Renouard could hardly find words for a protest:  "I assure you that
+I never talk with Miss Moorsom--on--on--that.  And if you, her
+father . . . "
+
+"I envy you your innocence," sighed the professor.  "A father is
+only an everyday person.  Flat.  Stale.  Moreover, my child would
+naturally mistrust me.  We belong to the same set.  Whereas you
+carry with you the prestige of the unknown.  You have proved
+yourself to be a force."
+
+Thereupon the professor followed by Renouard joined the circle of
+all the inmates of the house assembled at the other end of the
+terrace about a tea-table; three white heads and that resplendent
+vision of woman's glory, the sight of which had the power to
+flutter his heart like a reminder of the mortality of his frame.
+
+He avoided the seat by the side of Miss Moorsom.  The others were
+talking together languidly.  Unnoticed he looked at that woman so
+marvellous that centuries seemed to lie between them.  He was
+oppressed and overcome at the thought of what she could give to
+some man who really would be a force!  What a glorious struggle
+with this amazon.  What noble burden for the victorious strength.
+
+Dear old Mrs. Dunster was dispensing tea, looking from time to time
+with interest towards Miss Moorsom.  The aged statesman having
+eaten a raw tomato and drunk a glass of milk (a habit of his early
+farming days, long before politics, when, pioneer of wheat-growing,
+he demonstrated the possibility of raising crops on ground looking
+barren enough to discourage a magician), smoothed his white beard,
+and struck lightly Renouard's knee with his big wrinkled hand.
+
+"You had better come back to-night and dine with us quietly."
+
+He liked this young man, a pioneer, too, in more than one
+direction.  Mrs. Dunster added:  "Do.  It will be very quiet.  I
+don't even know if Willie will be home for dinner."  Renouard
+murmured his thanks, and left the terrace to go on board the
+schooner.  While lingering in the drawing-room doorway he heard the
+resonant voice of old Dunster uttering oracularly -
+
+". . . the leading man here some day. . . . Like me."
+
+Renouard let the thin summer portiere of the doorway fall behind
+him.  The voice of Professor Moorsom said -
+
+"I am told that he has made an enemy of almost every man who had to
+work with him."
+
+"That's nothing.  He did his work. . . . Like me."
+
+"He never counted the cost they say.  Not even of lives."
+
+Renouard understood that they were talking of him.  Before he could
+move away, Mrs. Dunster struck in placidly -
+
+"Don't let yourself be shocked by the tales you may hear of him, my
+dear.  Most of it is envy."
+
+Then he heard Miss Moorsom's voice replying to the old lady -
+
+"Oh!  I am not easily deceived.  I think I may say I have an
+instinct for truth."
+
+He hastened away from that house with his heart full of dread.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+
+On board the schooner, lying on the settee on his back with the
+knuckles of his hands pressed over his eyes, he made up his mind
+that he would not return to that house for dinner--that he would
+never go back there any more.  He made up his mind some twenty
+times.  The knowledge that he had only to go up on the quarter
+deck, utter quietly the words:  "Man the windlass," and that the
+schooner springing into life would run a hundred miles out to sea
+before sunrise, deceived his struggling will.  Nothing easier!
+Yet, in the end, this young man, almost ill-famed for his ruthless
+daring, the inflexible leader of two tragically successful
+expeditions, shrank from that act of savage energy, and began,
+instead, to hunt for excuses.
+
+No!  It was not for him to run away like an incurable who cuts his
+throat.  He finished dressing and looked at his own impassive face
+in the saloon mirror scornfully.  While being pulled on shore in
+the gig, he remembered suddenly the wild beauty of a waterfall seen
+when hardly more than a boy, years ago, in Menado.  There was a
+legend of a governor-general of the Dutch East Indies, on official
+tour, committing suicide on that spot by leaping into the chasm.
+It was supposed that a painful disease had made him weary of life.
+But was there ever a visitation like his own, at the same time
+binding one to life and so cruelly mortal!
+
+The dinner was indeed quiet.  Willie, given half an hour's grace,
+failed to turn up, and his chair remained vacant by the side of
+Miss Moorsom.  Renouard had the professor's sister on his left,
+dressed in an expensive gown becoming her age.  That maiden lady in
+her wonderful preservation reminded Renouard somehow of a wax
+flower under glass.  There were no traces of the dust of life's
+battles on her anywhere.  She did not like him very much in the
+afternoons, in his white drill suit and planter's hat, which seemed
+to her an unduly Bohemian costume for calling in a house where
+there were ladies.  But in the evening, lithe and elegant in his
+dress clothes and with his pleasant, slightly veiled voice, he
+always made her conquest afresh.  He might have been anybody
+distinguished--the son of a duke.  Falling under that charm
+probably (and also because her brother had given her a hint), she
+attempted to open her heart to Renouard, who was watching with all
+the power of his soul her niece across the table.  She spoke to him
+as frankly as though that miserable mortal envelope, emptied of
+everything but hopeless passion, were indeed the son of a duke.
+
+Inattentive, he heard her only in snatches, till the final
+confidential burst:  ". . . glad if you would express an opinion.
+Look at her, so charming, such a great favourite, so generally
+admired!  It would be too sad.  We all hoped she would make a
+brilliant marriage with somebody very rich and of high position,
+have a house in London and in the country, and entertain us all
+splendidly.  She's so eminently fitted for it.  She has such hosts
+of distinguished friends!  And then--this instead! . . . My heart
+really aches."
+
+Her well-bred if anxious whisper was covered by the voice of
+professor Moorsom discoursing subtly down the short length of the
+dinner table on the Impermanency of the Measurable to his venerable
+disciple.  It might have been a chapter in a new and popular book
+of Moorsonian philosophy.  Patriarchal and delighted, old Dunster
+leaned forward a little, his eyes shining youthfully, two spots of
+colour at the roots of his white beard; and Renouard, glancing at
+the senile excitement, recalled the words heard on those subtle
+lips, adopted their scorn for his own, saw their truth before this
+man ready to be amused by the side of the grave.  Yes!
+Intellectual debauchery in the froth of existence!  Froth and
+fraud!
+
+On the same side of the table Miss Moorsom never once looked
+towards her father, all her grace as if frozen, her red lips
+compressed, the faintest rosiness under her dazzling complexion,
+her black eyes burning motionless, and the very coppery gleams of
+light lying still on the waves and undulation of her hair.
+Renouard fancied himself overturning the table, smashing crystal
+and china, treading fruit and flowers under foot, seizing her in
+his arms, carrying her off in a tumult of shrieks from all these
+people, a silent frightened mortal, into some profound retreat as
+in the age of Cavern men.  Suddenly everybody got up, and he
+hastened to rise too, finding himself out of breath and quite
+unsteady on his feet.
+
+On the terrace the philosopher, after lighting a cigar, slipped his
+hand condescendingly under his "dear young friend's" arm.  Renouard
+regarded him now with the profoundest mistrust.  But the great man
+seemed really to have a liking for his young friend--one of those
+mysterious sympathies, disregarding the differences of age and
+position, which in this case might have been explained by the
+failure of philosophy to meet a very real worry of a practical
+kind.
+
+After a turn or two and some casual talk the professor said
+suddenly:  "My late son was in your school--do you know?  I can
+imagine that had he lived and you had ever met you would have
+understood each other.  He too was inclined to action."
+
+He sighed, then, shaking off the mournful thought and with a nod at
+the dusky part of the terrace where the dress of his daughter made
+a luminous stain:  "I really wish you would drop in that quarter a
+few sensible, discouraging words."
+
+Renouard disengaged himself from that most perfidious of men under
+the pretence of astonishment, and stepping back a pace -
+
+"Surely you are making fun of me, Professor Moorsom," he said with
+a low laugh, which was really a sound of rage.
+
+"My dear young friend!  It's no subject for jokes, to me. . . You
+don't seem to have any notion of your prestige," he added, walking
+away towards the chairs.
+
+"Humbug!" thought Renouard, standing still and looking after him.
+"And yet!  And yet!  What if it were true?"
+
+He advanced then towards Miss Moorsom.  Posed on the seat on which
+they had first spoken to each other, it was her turn to watch him
+coming on.  But many of the windows were not lighted that evening.
+It was dark over there.  She appeared to him luminous in her clear
+dress, a figure without shape, a face without features, awaiting
+his approach, till he got quite near to her, sat down, and they had
+exchanged a few insignificant words.  Gradually she came out like a
+magic painting of charm, fascination, and desire, glowing
+mysteriously on the dark background.  Something imperceptible in
+the lines of her attitude, in the modulations of her voice, seemed
+to soften that suggestion of calm unconscious pride which enveloped
+her always like a mantle.  He, sensitive like a bond slave to the
+moods of the master, was moved by the subtle relenting of her grace
+to an infinite tenderness.  He fought down the impulse to seize her
+by the hand, lead her down into the garden away under the big
+trees, and throw himself at her feet uttering words of love.  His
+emotion was so strong that he had to cough slightly, and not
+knowing what to talk to her about he began to tell her of his
+mother and sisters.  All the family were coming to London to live
+there, for some little time at least.
+
+"I hope you will go and tell them something of me.  Something
+seen," he said pressingly.
+
+By this miserable subterfuge, like a man about to part with his
+life, he hoped to make her remember him a little longer.
+
+"Certainly," she said.  "I'll be glad to call when I get back.  But
+that 'when' may be a long time."
+
+He heard a light sigh.  A cruel jealous curiosity made him ask -
+
+"Are you growing weary, Miss Moorsom?"
+
+A silence fell on his low spoken question.
+
+"Do you mean heart-weary?" sounded Miss Moorsom's voice.  "You
+don't know me, I see."
+
+"Ah!  Never despair," he muttered.
+
+"This, Mr. Renouard, is a work of reparation.  I stand for truth
+here.  I can't think of myself."
+
+He could have taken her by the throat for every word seemed an
+insult to his passion; but he only said -
+
+"I never doubted the--the--nobility of your purpose."
+
+"And to hear the word weariness pronounced in this connection
+surprises me.  And from a man too who, I understand, has never
+counted the cost."
+
+"You are pleased to tease me," he said, directly he had recovered
+his voice and had mastered his anger.  It was as if Professor
+Moorsom had dropped poison in his ear which was spreading now and
+tainting his passion, his very jealousy.  He mistrusted every word
+that came from those lips on which his life hung.  "How can you
+know anything of men who do not count the cost?" he asked in his
+gentlest tones.
+
+"From hearsay--a little."
+
+"Well, I assure you they are like the others, subject to suffering,
+victims of spells. . . ."
+
+"One of them, at least, speaks very strangely."
+
+She dismissed the subject after a short silence.  "Mr. Renouard, I
+had a disappointment this morning.  This mail brought me a letter
+from the widow of the old butler--you know.  I expected to learn
+that she had heard from--from here.  But no.  No letter arrived
+home since we left."
+
+Her voice was calm.  His jealousy couldn't stand much more of this
+sort of talk; but he was glad that nothing had turned up to help
+the search; glad blindly, unreasonably--only because it would keep
+her longer in his sight--since she wouldn't give up.
+
+"I am too near her," he thought, moving a little further on the
+seat.  He was afraid in the revulsion of feeling of flinging
+himself on her hands, which were lying on her lap, and covering
+them with kisses.  He was afraid.  Nothing, nothing could shake
+that spell--not if she were ever so false, stupid, or degraded.
+She was fate itself.  The extent of his misfortune plunged him in
+such a stupor that he failed at first to hear the sound of voices
+and footsteps inside the drawing-room.  Willie had come home--and
+the Editor was with him.
+
+They burst out on the terrace babbling noisily, and then pulling
+themselves together stood still, surprising--and as if themselves
+surprised.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+
+They had been feasting a poet from the bush, the latest discovery
+of the Editor.  Such discoveries were the business, the vocation,
+the pride and delight of the only apostle of letters in the
+hemisphere, the solitary patron of culture, the Slave of the Lamp--
+as he subscribed himself at the bottom of the weekly literary page
+of his paper.  He had had no difficulty in persuading the virtuous
+Willie (who had festive instincts) to help in the good work, and
+now they had left the poet lying asleep on the hearthrug of the
+editorial room and had rushed to the Dunster mansion wildly.  The
+Editor had another discovery to announce.  Swaying a little where
+he stood he opened his mouth very wide to shout the one word
+"Found!"  Behind him Willie flung both his hands above his head and
+let them fall dramatically.  Renouard saw the four white-headed
+people at the end of the terrace rise all together from their
+chairs with an effect of sudden panic.
+
+"I tell you--he--is--found," the patron of letters shouted
+emphatically.
+
+"What is this!" exclaimed Renouard in a choked voice.  Miss Moorsom
+seized his wrist suddenly, and at that contact fire ran through all
+his veins, a hot stillness descended upon him in which he heard the
+blood--or the fire--beating in his ears.  He made a movement as if
+to rise, but was restrained by the convulsive pressure on his
+wrist.
+
+"No, no."  Miss Moorsom's eyes stared black as night, searching the
+space before her.  Far away the Editor strutted forward, Willie
+following with his ostentatious manner of carrying his bulky and
+oppressive carcass which, however, did not remain exactly
+perpendicular for two seconds together.
+
+"The innocent Arthur . . . Yes.  We've got him," the Editor became
+very business-like.  "Yes, this letter has done it."
+
+He plunged into an inside pocket for it, slapped the scrap of paper
+with his open palm.  "From that old woman.  William had it in his
+pocket since this morning when Miss Moorsom gave it to him to show
+me.  Forgot all about it till an hour ago.  Thought it was of no
+importance.  Well, no!  Not till it was properly read."
+
+Renouard and Miss Moorsom emerged from the shadows side by side, a
+well-matched couple, animated yet statuesque in their calmness and
+in their pallor.  She had let go his wrist.  On catching sight of
+Renouard the Editor exclaimed:
+
+"What--you here!" in a quite shrill voice.
+
+There came a dead pause.  All the faces had in them something
+dismayed and cruel.
+
+"He's the very man we want," continued the Editor.  "Excuse my
+excitement.  You are the very man, Renouard.  Didn't you tell me
+that your assistant called himself Walter?  Yes?  Thought so.  But
+here's that old woman--the butler's wife--listen to this.  She
+writes:  All I can tell you, Miss, is that my poor husband directed
+his letters to the name of H. Walter."
+
+Renouard's violent but repressed exclamation was lost in a general
+murmur and shuffle of feet.  The Editor made a step forward, bowed
+with creditable steadiness.
+
+"Miss Moorsom, allow me to congratulate you from the bottom of my
+heart on the happy--er--issue. . . "
+
+"Wait," muttered Renouard irresolutely.
+
+The Editor jumped on him in the manner of their old friendship.
+"Ah, you!  You are a fine fellow too.  With your solitary ways of
+life you will end by having no more discrimination than a savage.
+Fancy living with a gentleman for months and never guessing.  A
+man, I am certain, accomplished, remarkable, out of the common,
+since he had been distinguished" (he bowed again) "by Miss Moorsom,
+whom we all admire."
+
+She turned her back on him.
+
+"I hope to goodness you haven't been leading him a dog's life,
+Geoffrey," the Editor addressed his friend in a whispered aside.
+
+Renouard seized a chair violently, sat down, and propping his elbow
+on his knee leaned his head on his hand.  Behind him the sister of
+the professor looked up to heaven and wrung her hands stealthily.
+Mrs. Dunster's hands were clasped forcibly under her chin, but she,
+dear soul, was looking sorrowfully at Willie.  The model nephew!
+In this strange state!  So very much flushed!  The careful
+disposition of the thin hairs across Willie's bald spot was
+deplorably disarranged, and the spot itself was red and, as it
+were, steaming.
+
+"What's the matter, Geoffrey?"  The Editor seemed disconcerted by
+the silent attitudes round him, as though he had expected all these
+people to shout and dance.  "You have him on the island--haven't
+you?"
+
+"Oh, yes:  I have him there," said Renouard, without looking up.
+
+"Well, then!"  The Editor looked helplessly around as if begging
+for response of some sort.  But the only response that came was
+very unexpected.  Annoyed at being left in the background, and also
+because very little drink made him nasty, the emotional Willie
+turned malignant all at once, and in a bibulous tone surprising in
+a man able to keep his balance so well -
+
+"Aha!  But you haven't got him here--not yet!" he sneered.  "No!
+You haven't got him yet."
+
+This outrageous exhibition was to the Editor like the lash to a
+jaded horse.  He positively jumped.
+
+"What of that?  What do you mean?  We--haven't--got--him--here.  Of
+course he isn't here!  But Geoffrey's schooner is here.  She can be
+sent at once to fetch him here.  No!  Stay!  There's a better plan.
+Why shouldn't you all sail over to Malata, professor?  Save time!
+I am sure Miss Moorsom would prefer. . ."
+
+With a gallant flourish of his arm he looked for Miss Moorsom.  She
+had disappeared.  He was taken aback somewhat.
+
+"Ah!  H'm.  Yes. . . . Why not.  A pleasure cruise, delightful
+ship, delightful season, delightful errand, del . . . No!  There
+are no objections.  Geoffrey, I understand, has indulged in a
+bungalow three sizes too large for him.  He can put you all up.  It
+will be a pleasure for him.  It will be the greatest privilege.
+Any man would be proud of being an agent of this happy reunion.  I
+am proud of the little part I've played.  He will consider it the
+greatest honour.  Geoff, my boy, you had better be stirring to-
+morrow bright and early about the preparations for the trip.  It
+would be criminal to lose a single day."
+
+He was as flushed as Willie, the excitement keeping up the effect
+of the festive dinner.  For a time Renouard, silent, as if he had
+not heard a word of all that babble, did not stir.  But when he got
+up it was to advance towards the Editor and give him such a hearty
+slap on the back that the plump little man reeled in his tracks and
+looked quite frightened for a moment.
+
+"You are a heaven-born discoverer and a first-rate manager. . .
+He's right.  It's the only way.  You can't resist the claim of
+sentiment, and you must even risk the voyage to Malata. . . "
+Renouard's voice sank.  "A lonely spot," he added, and fell into
+thought under all these eyes converging on him in the sudden
+silence.  His slow glance passed over all the faces in succession,
+remaining arrested on Professor Moorsom, stony eyed, a smouldering
+cigar in his fingers, and with his sister standing by his side.
+
+"I shall be infinitely gratified if you consent to come.  But, of
+course, you will.  We shall sail to-morrow evening then.  And now
+let me leave you to your happiness."
+
+He bowed, very grave, pointed suddenly his finger at Willie who was
+swaying about with a sleepy frown. . . . "Look at him.  He's
+overcome with happiness.  You had better put him to bed . . . " and
+disappeared while every head on the terrace was turned to Willie
+with varied expressions.
+
+Renouard ran through the house.  Avoiding the carriage road he fled
+down the steep short cut to the shore, where his gig was waiting.
+At his loud shout the sleeping Kanakas jumped up.  He leaped in.
+"Shove off.  Give way!" and the gig darted through the water.
+"Give way!  Give way!"  She flew past the wool-clippers sleeping at
+their anchors each with the open unwinking eye of the lamp in the
+rigging; she flew past the flagship of the Pacific squadron, a
+great mass all dark and silent, heavy with the slumbers of five
+hundred men, and where the invisible sentries heard his urgent
+"Give way!  Give way!" in the night.  The Kanakas, panting, rose
+off the thwarts at every stroke.  Nothing could be fast enough for
+him!  And he ran up the side of his schooner shaking the ladder
+noisily with his rush.
+
+On deck he stumbled and stood still.
+
+Wherefore this haste?  To what end, since he knew well before he
+started that he had a pursuer from whom there was no escape.
+
+As his foot touched the deck his will, his purpose he had been
+hurrying to save, died out within.  It had been nothing less than
+getting the schooner under-way, letting her vanish silently in the
+night from amongst these sleeping ships.  And now he was certain he
+could not do it.  It was impossible!  And he reflected that whether
+he lived or died such an act would lay him under a dark suspicion
+from which he shrank.  No, there was nothing to be done.
+
+He went down into the cabin and, before even unbuttoning his
+overcoat, took out of the drawer the letter addressed to his
+assistant; that letter which he had found in the pigeon-hole
+labelled "Malata" in young Dunster's outer office, where it had
+been waiting for three months some occasion for being forwarded.
+From the moment of dropping it in the drawer he had utterly
+forgotten its existence--till now, when the man's name had come out
+so clamorously.  He glanced at the common envelope, noted the shaky
+and laborious handwriting:  H. Walter, Esqre.  Undoubtedly the very
+last letter the old butler had posted before his illness, and in
+answer clearly to one from "Master Arthur" instructing him to
+address in the future:  "Care of Messrs. W. Dunster and Co."
+Renouard made as if to open the envelope, but paused, and, instead,
+tore the letter deliberately in two, in four, in eight.  With his
+hand full of pieces of paper he returned on deck and scattered them
+overboard on the dark water, in which they vanished instantly.
+
+He did it slowly, without hesitation or remorse.  H. Walter, Esqre,
+in Malata.  The innocent Arthur--What was his name?  The man sought
+for by that woman who as she went by seemed to draw all the passion
+of the earth to her, without effort, not deigning to notice,
+naturally, as other women breathed the air.  But Renouard was no
+longer jealous of her very existence.  Whatever its meaning it was
+not for that man he had picked up casually on obscure impulse, to
+get rid of the tiresome expostulations of a so-called friend; a man
+of whom he really knew nothing--and now a dead man.  In Malata.
+Oh, yes!  He was there secure enough, untroubled in his grave.  In
+Malata.  To bury him was the last service Renouard had rendered to
+his assistant before leaving the island on this trip to town.
+
+Like many men ready enough for arduous enterprises Renouard was
+inclined to evade the small complications of existence.  This trait
+of his character was composed of a little indolence, some disdain,
+and a shrinking from contests with certain forms of vulgarity--like
+a man who would face a lion and go out of his way to avoid a toad.
+His intercourse with the meddlesome journalist was that merely
+outward intimacy without sympathy some young men get drawn into
+easily.  It had amused him rather to keep that "friend" in the dark
+about the fate of his assistant.  Renouard had never needed other
+company than his own, for there was in him something of the
+sensitiveness of a dreamer who is easily jarred.  He had said to
+himself that the all-knowing one would only preach again about the
+evils of solitude and worry his head off in favour of some
+forlornly useless protege of his.  Also the inquisitiveness of the
+Editor had irritated him and had closed his lips in sheer disgust.
+
+And now he contemplated the noose of consequences drawing tight
+around him.
+
+It was the memory of that diplomatic reticence which on the terrace
+had stiffled his first cry which would have told them all that the
+man sought for was not to be met on earth any more.  He shrank from
+the absurdity of hearing the all-knowing one, and not very sober at
+that, turning on him with righteous reproaches -
+
+"You never told me.  You gave me to understand that your assistant
+was alive, and now you say he's dead.  Which is it?  Were you lying
+then or are you lying now?"  No! the thought of such a scene was
+not to be borne.  He had sat down appalled, thinking:  "What shall
+I do now?"
+
+His courage had oozed out of him.  Speaking the truth meant the
+Moorsoms going away at once--while it seemed to him that he would
+give the last shred of his rectitude to secure a day more of her
+company.  He sat on--silent.  Slowly, from confused sensations,
+from his talk with the professor, the manner of the girl herself,
+the intoxicating familiarity of her sudden hand-clasp, there had
+come to him a half glimmer of hope.  The other man was dead.  Then!
+. . . Madness, of course--but he could not give it up.  He had
+listened to that confounded busybody arranging everything--while
+all these people stood around assenting, under the spell of that
+dead romance.  He had listened scornful and silent.  The glimmers
+of hope, of opportunity, passed before his eyes.  He had only to
+sit still and say nothing.  That and no more.  And what was truth
+to him in the face of that great passion which had flung him
+prostrate in spirit at her adored feet!
+
+And now it was done!  Fatality had willed it!  With the eyes of a
+mortal struck by the maddening thunderbolt of the gods, Renouard
+looked up to the sky, an immense black pall dusted over with gold,
+on which great shudders seemed to pass from the breath of life
+affirming its sway.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+
+At last, one morning, in a clear spot of a glassy horizon charged
+with heraldic masses of black vapours, the island grew out from the
+sea, showing here and there its naked members of basaltic rock
+through the rents of heavy foliage.  Later, in the great spilling
+of all the riches of sunset, Malata stood out green and rosy before
+turning into a violet shadow in the autumnal light of the expiring
+day.  Then came the night.  In the faint airs the schooner crept on
+past a sturdy squat headland, and it was pitch dark when her
+headsails ran down, she turned short on her heel, and her anchor
+bit into the sandy bottom on the edge of the outer reef; for it was
+too dangerous then to attempt entering the little bay full of
+shoals.  After the last solemn flutter of the mainsail the
+murmuring voices of the Moorsom party lingered, very frail, in the
+black stillness.
+
+They were sitting aft, on chairs, and nobody made a move.  Early in
+the day, when it had become evident that the wind was failing,
+Renouard, basing his advice on the shortcomings of his bachelor
+establishment, had urged on the ladies the advisability of not
+going ashore in the middle of the night.  Now he approached them in
+a constrained manner (it was astonishing the constraint that had
+reigned between him and his guests all through the passage) and
+renewed his arguments.  No one ashore would dream of his bringing
+any visitors with him.  Nobody would even think of coming off.
+There was only one old canoe on the plantation.  And landing in the
+schooner's boats would be awkward in the dark.  There was the risk
+of getting aground on some shallow patches.  It would be best to
+spend the rest of the night on board.
+
+There was really no opposition.  The professor smoking a pipe, and
+very comfortable in an ulster buttoned over his tropical clothes,
+was the first to speak from his long chair.
+
+"Most excellent advice."
+
+Next to him Miss Moorsom assented by a long silence.  Then in a
+voice as of one coming out of a dream -
+
+"And so this is Malata," she said.  "I have often wondered . . ."
+
+A shiver passed through Renouard.  She had wondered!  What about?
+Malata was himself.  He and Malata were one.  And she had wondered!
+She had . . .
+
+The professor's sister leaned over towards Renouard.  Through all
+these days at sea the man's--the found man's--existence had not
+been alluded to on board the schooner.  That reticence was part of
+the general constraint lying upon them all.  She, herself,
+certainly had not been exactly elated by this finding--poor Arthur,
+without money, without prospects.  But she felt moved by the
+sentiment and romance of the situation.
+
+"Isn't it wonderful," she whispered out of her white wrap, "to
+think of poor Arthur sleeping there, so near to our dear lovely
+Felicia, and not knowing the immense joy in store for him to-
+morrow."
+
+There was such artificiality in the wax-flower lady that nothing in
+this speech touched Renouard.  It was but the simple anxiety of his
+heart that he was voicing when he muttered gloomily -
+
+"No one in the world knows what to-morrow may hold in store."
+
+The mature lady had a recoil as though he had said something
+impolite.  What a harsh thing to say--instead of finding something
+nice and appropriate.  On board, where she never saw him in evening
+clothes, Renouard's resemblance to a duke's son was not so apparent
+to her.  Nothing but his--ah--bohemianism remained.  She rose with
+a sort of ostentation.
+
+"It's late--and since we are going to sleep on board to-night . .
+." she said.  "But it does seem so cruel."
+
+The professor started up eagerly, knocking the ashes out of his
+pipe.  "Infinitely more sensible, my dear Emma."
+
+Renouard waited behind Miss Moorsom's chair.
+
+She got up slowly, moved one step forward, and paused looking at
+the shore.  The blackness of the island blotted out the stars with
+its vague mass like a low thundercloud brooding over the waters and
+ready to burst into flame and crashes.
+
+"And so--this is Malata," she repeated dreamily, moving towards the
+cabin door.  The clear cloak hanging from her shoulders, the ivory
+face--for the night had put out nothing of her but the gleams of
+her hair--made her resemble a shining dream-woman uttering words of
+wistful inquiry.  She disappeared without a sign, leaving Renouard
+penetrated to the very marrow by the sounds that came from her body
+like a mysterious resonance of an exquisite instrument.
+
+He stood stock still.  What was this accidental touch which had
+evoked the strange accent of her voice?  He dared not answer that
+question.  But he had to answer the question of what was to be done
+now.  Had the moment of confession come?  The thought was enough to
+make one's blood run cold.
+
+It was as if those people had a premonition of something.  In the
+taciturn days of the passage he had noticed their reserve even
+amongst themselves.  The professor smoked his pipe moodily in
+retired spots.  Renouard had caught Miss Moorsom's eyes resting on
+himself more than once, with a peculiar and grave expression.  He
+fancied that she avoided all opportunities of conversation.  The
+maiden lady seemed to nurse a grievance.  And now what had he to
+do?
+
+The lights on the deck had gone out one after the other.  The
+schooner slept.
+
+About an hour after Miss Moorsom had gone below without a sign or a
+word for him, Renouard got out of his hammock slung in the waist
+under the midship awning--for he had given up all the accommodation
+below to his guests.  He got out with a sudden swift movement,
+flung off his sleeping jacket, rolled his pyjamas up his thighs,
+and stole forward, unseen by the one Kanaka of the anchor-watch.
+His white torso, naked like a stripped athlete's, glimmered,
+ghostly, in the deep shadows of the deck.  Unnoticed he got out of
+the ship over the knight-heads, ran along the back rope, and
+seizing the dolphin-striker firmly with both hands, lowered himself
+into the sea without a splash.
+
+He swam away, noiseless like a fish, and then struck boldly for the
+land, sustained, embraced, by the tepid water.  The gentle,
+voluptuous heave of its breast swung him up and down slightly;
+sometimes a wavelet murmured in his ears; from time to time,
+lowering his feet, he felt for the bottom on a shallow patch to
+rest and correct his direction.  He landed at the lower end of the
+bungalow garden, into the dead stillness of the island.  There were
+no lights.  The plantation seemed to sleep, as profoundly as the
+schooner.  On the path a small shell cracked under his naked heel.
+
+The faithful half-caste foreman going his rounds cocked his ears at
+the sharp sound.  He gave one enormous start of fear at the sight
+of the swift white figure flying at him out of the night.  He
+crouched in terror, and then sprang up and clicked his tongue in
+amazed recognition.
+
+"Tse!  Tse!  The master!"
+
+"Be quiet, Luiz, and listen to what I say."
+
+Yes, it was the master, the strong master who was never known to
+raise his voice, the man blindly obeyed and never questioned.  He
+talked low and rapidly in the quiet night, as if every minute were
+precious.  On learning that three guests were coming to stay Luiz
+clicked his tongue rapidly.  These clicks were the uniform,
+stenographic symbols of his emotions, and he could give them an
+infinite variety of meaning.  He listened to the rest in a deep
+silence hardly affected by the low, "Yes, master," whenever
+Renouard paused.
+
+"You understand?" the latter insisted.  "No preparations are to be
+made till we land in the morning.  And you are to say that Mr.
+Walter has gone off in a trading schooner on a round of the
+islands."
+
+"Yes, master."
+
+"No mistakes--mind!"
+
+"No, master."
+
+Renouard walked back towards the sea.  Luiz, following him,
+proposed to call out half a dozen boys and man the canoe.
+
+"Imbecile!"
+
+"Tse!  Tse!  Tse!"
+
+"Don't you understand that you haven't seen me?"
+
+"Yes, master.  But what a long swim.  Suppose you drown."
+
+"Then you can say of me and of Mr. Walter what you like.  The dead
+don't mind."
+
+Renouard entered the sea and heard a faint "Tse! Tse! Tse!" of
+concern from the half-caste, who had already lost sight of the
+master's dark head on the overshadowed water.
+
+Renouard set his direction by a big star that, dipping on the
+horizon, seemed to look curiously into his face.  On this swim back
+he felt the mournful fatigue of all that length of the traversed
+road, which brought him no nearer to his desire.  It was as if his
+love had sapped the invisible supports of his strength.  There came
+a moment when it seemed to him that he must have swum beyond the
+confines of life.  He had a sensation of eternity close at hand,
+demanding no effort--offering its peace.  It was easy to swim like
+this beyond the confines of life looking at a star.  But the
+thought:  "They will think I dared not face them and committed
+suicide," caused a revolt of his mind which carried him on.  He
+returned on board, as he had left, unheard and unseen.  He lay in
+his hammock utterly exhausted and with a confused feeling that he
+had been beyond the confines of life, somewhere near a star, and
+that it was very quiet there.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+
+Sheltered by the squat headland from the first morning sparkle of
+the sea the little bay breathed a delicious freshness.  The party
+from the schooner landed at the bottom of the garden.  They
+exchanged insignificant words in studiously casual tones.  The
+professor's sister put up a long-handled eye-glass as if to scan
+the novel surroundings, but in reality searching for poor Arthur
+anxiously.  Having never seen him otherwise than in his town
+clothes she had no idea what he would look like.  It had been left
+to the professor to help his ladies out of the boat because
+Renouard, as if intent on giving directions, had stepped forward at
+once to meet the half-caste Luiz hurrying down the path.  In the
+distance, in front of the dazzlingly sunlit bungalow, a row of
+dark-faced house-boys unequal in stature and varied in complexion
+preserved the immobility of a guard of honour.
+
+Luiz had taken off his soft felt hat before coming within earshot.
+Renouard bent his head to his rapid talk of domestic arrangements
+he meant to make for the visitors; another bed in the master's room
+for the ladies and a cot for the gentleman to be hung in the room
+opposite where--where Mr. Walter--here he gave a scared look all
+round--Mr. Walter--had died.
+
+"Very good," assented Renouard in an even undertone.  "And remember
+what you have to say of him."
+
+"Yes, master.  Only"--he wriggled slightly and put one bare foot on
+the other for a moment in apologetic embarrassment--"only I--I--
+don't like to say it."
+
+Renouard looked at him without anger, without any sort of
+expression.  "Frightened of the dead?  Eh?  Well--all right.  I
+will say it myself--I suppose once for all. . . Immediately he
+raised his voice very much.
+
+"Send the boys down to bring up the luggage."
+
+"Yes, master."
+
+Renouard turned to his distinguished guests who, like a personally
+conducted party of tourists, had stopped and were looking about
+them.
+
+"I am sorry," he began with an impassive face.  "My man has just
+told me that Mr. Walter . . ." he managed to smile, but didn't
+correct himself . . . "has gone in a trading schooner on a short
+tour of the islands, to the westward."
+
+This communication was received in profound silence.
+
+Renouard forgot himself in the thought:  "It's done!"  But the
+sight of the string of boys marching up to the house with suit-
+cases and dressing-bags rescued him from that appalling
+abstraction.
+
+"All I can do is to beg you to make yourselves at home . . . with
+what patience you may."
+
+This was so obviously the only thing to do that everybody moved on
+at once.  The professor walked alongside Renouard, behind the two
+ladies.
+
+"Rather unexpected--this absence."
+
+"Not exactly," muttered Renouard.  "A trip has to be made every
+year to engage labour."
+
+"I see . . . And he . . . How vexingly elusive the poor fellow has
+become!  I'll begin to think that some wicked fairy is favouring
+this love tale with unpleasant attentions."
+
+Renouard noticed that the party did not seem weighed down by this
+new disappointment.  On the contrary they moved with a freer step.
+The professor's sister dropped her eye-glass to the end of its
+chain.  Miss Moorsom took the lead.  The professor, his lips
+unsealed, lingered in the open:  but Renouard did not listen to
+that man's talk.  He looked after that man's daughter--if indeed
+that creature of irresistible seductions were a daughter of
+mortals.  The very intensity of his desire, as if his soul were
+streaming after her through his eyes, defeated his object of
+keeping hold of her as long as possible with, at least, one of his
+senses.  Her moving outlines dissolved into a misty coloured
+shimmer of a woman made of flame and shadows, crossing the
+threshold of his house.
+
+The days which followed were not exactly such as Renouard had
+feared--yet they were not better than his fears.  They were
+accursed in all the moods they brought him.  But the general aspect
+of things was quiet.  The professor smoked innumerable pipes with
+the air of a worker on his holiday, always in movement and looking
+at things with that mysteriously sagacious aspect of men who are
+admittedly wiser than the rest of the world.  His white head of
+hair--whiter than anything within the horizon except the broken
+water on the reefs--was glimpsed in every part of the plantation
+always on the move under the white parasol.  And once he climbed
+the headland and appeared suddenly to those below, a white speck
+elevated in the blue, with a diminutive but statuesque effect.
+
+Felicia Moorsom remained near the house.  Sometimes she could be
+seen with a despairing expression scribbling rapidly in her lock-up
+dairy.  But only for a moment.  At the sound of Renouard's
+footsteps she would turn towards him her beautiful face, adorable
+in that calm which was like a wilful, like a cruel ignoring of her
+tremendous power.  Whenever she sat on the verandah, on a chair
+more specially reserved for her use, Renouard would stroll up and
+sit on the steps near her, mostly silent, and often not trusting
+himself to turn his glance on her.  She, very still with her eyes
+half-closed, looked down on his head--so that to a beholder (such
+as Professor Moorsom, for instance) she would appear to be turning
+over in her mind profound thoughts about that man sitting at her
+feet, his shoulders bowed a little, his hands listless--as if
+vanquished.  And, indeed, the moral poison of falsehood has such a
+decomposing power that Renouard felt his old personality turn to
+dead dust.  Often, in the evening, when they sat outside conversing
+languidly in the dark, he felt that he must rest his forehead on
+her feet and burst into tears.
+
+The professor's sister suffered from some little strain caused by
+the unstability of her own feelings toward Renouard.  She could not
+tell whether she really did dislike him or not.  At times he
+appeared to her most fascinating; and, though he generally ended by
+saying something shockingly crude, she could not resist her
+inclination to talk with him--at least not always.  One day when
+her niece had left them alone on the verandah she leaned forward in
+her chair--speckless, resplendent, and, in her way, almost as
+striking a personality as her niece, who did not resemble her in
+the least.  "Dear Felicia has inherited her hair and the greatest
+part of her appearance from her mother," the maiden lady used to
+tell people.
+
+She leaned forward then, confidentially.
+
+"Oh!  Mr. Renouard!  Haven't you something comforting to say?"
+
+He looked up, as surprised as if a voice from heaven had spoken
+with this perfect society intonation, and by the puzzled profundity
+of his blue eyes fluttered the wax-flower of refined womanhood.
+She continued.  "For--I can speak to you openly on this tiresome
+subject--only think what a terrible strain this hope deferred must
+be for Felicia's heart--for her nerves."
+
+"Why speak to me about it," he muttered feeling half choked
+suddenly.
+
+"Why!  As a friend--a well-wisher--the kindest of hosts.  I am
+afraid we are really eating you out of house and home."  She
+laughed a little.  "Ah!  When, when will this suspense be relieved!
+That poor lost Arthur!  I confess that I am almost afraid of the
+great moment.  It will be like seeing a ghost."
+
+"Have you ever seen a ghost?" asked Renouard, in a dull voice.
+
+She shifted her hands a little.  Her pose was perfect in its ease
+and middle-aged grace.
+
+"Not actually.  Only in a photograph.  But we have many friends who
+had the experience of apparitions."
+
+"Ah!  They see ghosts in London," mumbled Renouard, not looking at
+her.
+
+"Frequently--in a certain very interesting set.  But all sorts of
+people do.  We have a friend, a very famous author--his ghost is a
+girl.  One of my brother's intimates is a very great man of
+science.  He is friendly with a ghost . . . Of a girl too," she
+added in a voice as if struck for the first time by the
+coincidence.  "It is the photograph of that apparition which I have
+seen.  Very sweet.  Most interesting.  A little cloudy naturally. .
+. . Mr. Renouard!  I hope you are not a sceptic.  It's so consoling
+to think. . ."
+
+"Those plantation boys of mine see ghosts too," said Renouard
+grimly.
+
+The sister of the philosopher sat up stiffly.  What crudeness!  It
+was always so with this strange young man.
+
+"Mr. Renouard!  How can you compare the superstitious fancies of
+your horrible savages with the manifestations . . . "
+
+Words failed her.  She broke off with a very faint primly angry
+smile.  She was perhaps the more offended with him because of that
+flutter at the beginning of the conversation.  And in a moment with
+perfect tact and dignity she got up from her chair and left him
+alone.
+
+Renouard didn't even look up.  It was not the displeasure of the
+lady which deprived him of his sleep that night.  He was beginning
+to forget what simple, honest sleep was like.  His hammock from the
+ship had been hung for him on a side verandah, and he spent his
+nights in it on his back, his hands folded on his chest, in a sort
+of half conscious, oppressed stupor.  In the morning he watched
+with unseeing eyes the headland come out a shapeless inkblot
+against the thin light of the false dawn, pass through all the
+stages of daybreak to the deep purple of its outlined mass nimbed
+gloriously with the gold of the rising sun.  He listened to the
+vague sounds of waking within the house:  and suddenly he became
+aware of Luiz standing by the hammock--obviously troubled.
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Tse!  Tse!  Tse!"
+
+"Well, what now?  Trouble with the boys?"
+
+"No, master.  The gentleman when I take him his bath water he speak
+to me.  He ask me--he ask--when, when, I think Mr. Walter, he come
+back."
+
+The half-caste's teeth chattered slightly.  Renouard got out of the
+hammock.
+
+"And he is here all the time--eh?"
+
+Luiz nodded a scared affirmative, but at once protested, "I no see
+him.  I never.  Not I!  The ignorant wild boys say they see . . .
+Something!  Ough!"
+
+He clapped his teeth on another short rattle, and stood there,
+shrunk, blighted, like a man in a freezing blast.
+
+"And what did you say to the gentleman?"
+
+"I say I don't know--and I clear out.  I--I don't like to speak of
+him."
+
+"All right.  We shall try to lay that poor ghost," said Renouard
+gloomily, going off to a small hut near by to dress.  He was saying
+to himself:  "This fellow will end by giving me away.  The last
+thing that I . . . No!  That mustn't be."  And feeling his hand
+being forced he discovered the whole extent of his cowardice.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+
+That morning wandering about his plantation, more like a frightened
+soul than its creator and master, he dodged the white parasol
+bobbing up here and there like a buoy adrift on a sea of dark-green
+plants.  The crop promised to be magnificent, and the fashionable
+philosopher of the age took other than a merely scientific interest
+in the experiment.  His investments were judicious, but he had
+always some little money lying by, for experiments.
+
+After lunch, being left alone with Renouard, he talked a little of
+cultivation and such matters.  Then suddenly:
+
+"By the way, is it true what my sister tells me, that your
+plantation boys have been disturbed by a ghost?"
+
+Renouard, who since the ladies had left the table was not keeping
+such a strict watch on himself, came out of his abstraction with a
+start and a stiff smile.
+
+"My foreman had some trouble with them during my absence.  They
+funk working in a certain field on the slope of the hill."
+
+"A ghost here!" exclaimed the amused professor.  "Then our whole
+conception of the psychology of ghosts must be revised.  This
+island has been uninhabited probably since the dawn of ages.  How
+did a ghost come here.  By air or water?  And why did it leave its
+native haunts.  Was it from misanthropy?  Was he expelled from some
+community of spirits?"
+
+Renouard essayed to respond in the same tone.  The words died on
+his lips.  Was it a man or a woman ghost, the professor inquired.
+
+"I don't know."  Renouard made an effort to appear at ease.  He
+had, he said, a couple of Tahitian amongst his boys--a ghost-ridden
+race.  They had started the scare.  They had probably brought their
+ghost with them.
+
+"Let us investigate the matter, Renouard," proposed the professor
+half in earnest.  "We may make some interesting discoveries as to
+the state of primitive minds, at any rate."
+
+This was too much.  Renouard jumped up and leaving the room went
+out and walked about in front of the house.  He would allow no one
+to force his hand.  Presently the professor joined him outside.  He
+carried his parasol, but had neither his book nor his pipe with
+him.  Amiably serious he laid his hand on his "dear young friend's"
+arm.
+
+"We are all of us a little strung up," he said.  "For my part I
+have been like sister Anne in the story.  But I cannot see anything
+coming.  Anything that would be the least good for anybody--I
+mean."
+
+Renouard had recovered sufficiently to murmur coldly his regret of
+this waste of time.  For that was what, he supposed, the professor
+had in his mind.
+
+"Time," mused Professor Moorsom.  "I don't know that time can be
+wasted.  But I will tell you, my dear friend, what this is:  it is
+an awful waste of life.  I mean for all of us.  Even for my sister,
+who has got a headache and is gone to lie down."
+
+He shook gently Renouard's arm.  "Yes, for all of us!  One may
+meditate on life endlessly, one may even have a poor opinion of it-
+-but the fact remains that we have only one life to live.  And it
+is short.  Think of that, my young friend."
+
+He released Renouard's arm and stepped out of the shade opening his
+parasol.  It was clear that there was something more in his mind
+than mere anxiety about the date of his lectures for fashionable
+audiences.  What did the man mean by his confounded platitudes?  To
+Renouard, scared by Luiz in the morning (for he felt that nothing
+could be more fatal than to have his deception unveiled otherwise
+than by personal confession), this talk sounded like encouragement
+or a warning from that man who seemed to him to be very brazen and
+very subtle.  It was like being bullied by the dead and cajoled by
+the living into a throw of dice for a supreme stake.
+
+Renouard went away to some distance from the house and threw
+himself down in the shade of a tree.  He lay there perfectly still
+with his forehead resting on his folded arms, light-headed and
+thinking.  It seemed to him that he must be on fire, then that he
+had fallen into a cool whirlpool, a smooth funnel of water swirling
+about with nauseating rapidity.  And then (it must have been a
+reminiscence of his boyhood) he was walking on the dangerous thin
+ice of a river, unable to turn back. . . . Suddenly it parted from
+shore to shore with a loud crack like the report of a gun.
+
+With one leap he found himself on his feet.  All was peace,
+stillness, sunshine.  He walked away from there slowly.  Had he
+been a gambler he would have perhaps been supported in a measure by
+the mere excitement.  But he was not a gambler.  He had always
+disdained that artificial manner of challenging the fates.  The
+bungalow came into view, bright and pretty, and all about
+everything was peace, stillness, sunshine. . . .
+
+While he was plodding towards it he had a disagreeable sense of the
+dead man's company at his elbow.  The ghost!  He seemed to be
+everywhere but in his grave.  Could one ever shake him off? he
+wondered.  At that moment Miss Moorsom came out on the verandah;
+and at once, as if by a mystery of radiating waves, she roused a
+great tumult in his heart, shook earth and sky together--but he
+plodded on.  Then like a grave song-note in the storm her voice
+came to him ominously.
+
+"Ah!  Mr. Renouard. . . "  He came up and smiled, but she was very
+serious.  "I can't keep still any longer.  Is there time to walk up
+this headland and back before dark?"
+
+The shadows were lying lengthened on the ground; all was stillness
+and peace.  "No," said Renouard, feeling suddenly as steady as a
+rock.  "But I can show you a view from the central hill which your
+father has not seen.  A view of reefs and of broken water without
+end, and of great wheeling clouds of sea-birds."
+
+She came down the verandah steps at once and they moved off.  "You
+go first," he proposed, "and I'll direct you.  To the left."
+
+She was wearing a short nankin skirt, a muslin blouse; he could see
+through the thin stuff the skin of her shoulders, of her arms.  The
+noble delicacy of her neck caused him a sort of transport.  "The
+path begins where these three palms are.  The only palms on the
+island."
+
+"I see."
+
+She never turned her head.  After a while she observed:  "This path
+looks as if it had been made recently."
+
+"Quite recently," he assented very low.
+
+They went on climbing steadily without exchanging another word; and
+when they stood on the top she gazed a long time before her.  The
+low evening mist veiled the further limit of the reefs.  Above the
+enormous and melancholy confusion, as of a fleet of wrecked
+islands, the restless myriads of sea-birds rolled and unrolled dark
+ribbons on the sky, gathered in clouds, soared and stooped like a
+play of shadows, for they were too far for them to hear their
+cries.
+
+Renouard broke the silence in low tones.
+
+"They'll be settling for the night presently."  She made no sound.
+Round them all was peace and declining sunshine.  Near by, the
+topmost pinnacle of Malata, resembling the top of a buried tower,
+rose a rock, weather-worn, grey, weary of watching the monotonous
+centuries of the Pacific.  Renouard leaned his shoulders against
+it.  Felicia Moorsom faced him suddenly, her splendid black eyes
+full on his face as though she had made up her mind at last to
+destroy his wits once and for all.  Dazzled, he lowered his eyelids
+slowly.
+
+"Mr. Renouard!  There is something strange in all this.  Tell me
+where he is?"
+
+He answered deliberately.
+
+"On the other side of this rock.  I buried him there myself."
+
+She pressed her hands to her breast, struggled for her breath for a
+moment, then:  "Ohhh! . . . You buried him! . . . What sort of man
+are you? . . . You dared not tell! . . . He is another of your
+victims? . . . You dared not confess that evening. . . . You must
+have killed him.  What could he have done to you? . . . You
+fastened on him some atrocious quarrel and . . ."
+
+Her vengeful aspect, her poignant cries left him as unmoved as the
+weary rock against which he leaned.  He only raised his eyelids to
+look at her and lowered them slowly.  Nothing more.  It silenced
+her.  And as if ashamed she made a gesture with her hand, putting
+away from her that thought.  He spoke, quietly ironic at first.
+
+"Ha! the legendary Renouard of sensitive idiots--the ruthless
+adventurer--the ogre with a future.  That was a parrot cry, Miss
+Moorsom.  I don't think that the greatest fool of them all ever
+dared hint such a stupid thing of me that I killed men for nothing.
+No, I had noticed this man in a hotel.  He had come from up country
+I was told, and was doing nothing.  I saw him sitting there lonely
+in a corner like a sick crow, and I went over one evening to talk
+to him.  Just on impulse.  He wasn't impressive.  He was pitiful.
+My worst enemy could have told you he wasn't good enough to be one
+of Renouard's victims.  It didn't take me long to judge that he was
+drugging himself.  Not drinking.  Drugs."
+
+"Ah!  It's now that you are trying to murder him," she cried.
+
+"Really.  Always the Renouard of shopkeepers' legend.  Listen!  I
+would never have been jealous of him.  And yet I am jealous of the
+air you breathe, of the soil you tread on, of the world that sees
+you--moving free--not mine.  But never mind.  I rather liked him.
+For a certain reason I proposed he should come to be my assistant
+here.  He said he believed this would save him.  It did not save
+him from death.  It came to him as it were from nothing--just a
+fall.  A mere slip and tumble of ten feet into a ravine.  But it
+seems he had been hurt before up-country--by a horse.  He ailed and
+ailed.  No, he was not a steel-tipped man.  And his poor soul
+seemed to have been damaged too.  It gave way very soon."
+
+"This is tragic!" Felicia Moorsom whispered with feeling.
+Renouard's lips twitched, but his level voice continued
+mercilessly.
+
+"That's the story.  He rallied a little one night and said he
+wanted to tell me something.  I, being a gentleman, he said, he
+could confide in me.  I told him that he was mistaken.  That there
+was a good deal of a plebeian in me, that he couldn't know.  He
+seemed disappointed.  He muttered something about his innocence and
+something that sounded like a curse on some woman, then turned to
+the wall and--just grew cold."
+
+"On a woman," cried Miss Moorsom indignantly.  "What woman?"
+
+"I wonder!" said Renouard, raising his eyes and noting the crimson
+of her ear-lobes against the live whiteness of her complexion, the
+sombre, as if secret, night-splendour of her eyes under the
+writhing flames of her hair.  "Some woman who wouldn't believe in
+that poor innocence of his. . . Yes.  You probably.  And now you
+will not believe in me--not even in me who must in truth be what I
+am--even to death.  No!  You won't.  And yet, Felicia, a woman like
+you and a man like me do not often come together on this earth."
+
+The flame of her glorious head scorched his face.  He flung his hat
+far away, and his suddenly lowered eyelids brought out startlingly
+his resemblance to antique bronze, the profile of Pallas, still,
+austere, bowed a little in the shadow of the rock.  "Oh!  If you
+could only understand the truth that is in me!" he added.
+
+She waited, as if too astounded to speak, till he looked up again,
+and then with unnatural force as if defending herself from some
+unspoken aspersion, "It's I who stand for truth here!  Believe in
+you!  In you, who by a heartless falsehood--and nothing else,
+nothing else, do you hear?--have brought me here, deceived,
+cheated, as in some abominable farce!"  She sat down on a boulder,
+rested her chin in her hands, in the pose of simple grief--mourning
+for herself.
+
+"It only wanted this.  Why!  Oh!  Why is it that ugliness,
+ridicule, and baseness must fall across my path."
+
+On that height, alone with the sky, they spoke to each other as if
+the earth had fallen away from under their feet.
+
+"Are you grieving for your dignity?  He was a mediocre soul and
+could have given you but an unworthy existence."
+
+She did not even smile at those words, but, superb, as if lifting a
+corner of the veil, she turned on him slowly.
+
+"And do you imagine I would have devoted myself to him for such a
+purpose!  Don't you know that reparation was due to him from me?  A
+sacred debt--a fine duty.  To redeem him would not have been in my
+power--I know it.  But he was blameless, and it was for me to come
+forward.  Don't you see that in the eyes of the world nothing could
+have rehabilitated him so completely as his marriage with me?  No
+word of evil could be whispered of him after I had given him my
+hand.  As to giving myself up to anything less than the shaping of
+a man's destiny--if I thought I could do it I would abhor myself. .
+. ."  She spoke with authority in her deep fascinating, unemotional
+voice.  Renouard meditated, gloomy, as if over some sinister riddle
+of a beautiful sphinx met on the wild road of his life.
+
+"Yes.  Your father was right.  You are one of these aristocrats . .
+."
+
+She drew herself up haughtily.
+
+"What do you say?  My father! . . . I an aristocrat."
+
+"Oh!  I don't mean that you are like the men and women of the time
+of armours, castles, and great deeds.  Oh, no!  They stood on the
+naked soil, had traditions to be faithful to, had their feet on
+this earth of passions and death which is not a hothouse.  They
+would have been too plebeian for you since they had to lead, to
+suffer with, to understand the commonest humanity.  No, you are
+merely of the topmost layer, disdainful and superior, the mere pure
+froth and bubble on the inscrutable depths which some day will toss
+you out of existence.  But you are you!  You are you!  You are the
+eternal love itself--only, O Divinity, it isn't your body, it is
+your soul that is made of foam."
+
+She listened as if in a dream.  He had succeeded so well in his
+effort to drive back the flood of his passion that his life itself
+seemed to run with it out of his body.  At that moment he felt as
+one dead speaking.  But the headlong wave returning with tenfold
+force flung him on her suddenly, with open arms and blazing eyes.
+She found herself like a feather in his grasp, helpless, unable to
+struggle, with her feet off the ground.  But this contact with her,
+maddening like too much felicity, destroyed its own end.  Fire ran
+through his veins, turned his passion to ashes, burnt him out and
+left him empty, without force--almost without desire.  He let her
+go before she could cry out.  And she was so used to the forms of
+repression enveloping, softening the crude impulses of old humanity
+that she no longer believed in their existence as if it were an
+exploded legend.  She did not recognise what had happened to her.
+She came safe out of his arms, without a struggle, not even having
+felt afraid.
+
+"What's the meaning of this?" she said, outraged but calm in a
+scornful way.
+
+He got down on his knees in silence, bent low to her very feet,
+while she looked down at him, a little surprised, without
+animosity, as if merely curious to see what he would do.  Then,
+while he remained bowed to the ground pressing the hem of her skirt
+to his lips, she made a slight movement.  He got up.
+
+"No," he said.  "Were you ever so much mine what could I do with
+you without your consent?  No.  You don't conquer a wraith, cold
+mist, stuff of dreams, illusion.  It must come to you and cling to
+your breast.  And then!  Oh!  And then!"
+
+All ecstasy, all expression went out of his face.
+
+"Mr. Renouard," she said, "though you can have no claim on my
+consideration after having decoyed me here for the vile purpose,
+apparently, of gloating over me as your possible prey, I will tell
+you that I am not perhaps the extraordinary being you think I am.
+You may believe me.  Here I stand for truth itself."
+
+"What's that to me what you are?" he answered.  "At a sign from you
+I would climb up to the seventh heaven to bring you down to earth
+for my own--and if I saw you steeped to the lips in vice, in crime,
+in mud, I would go after you, take you to my arms--wear you for an
+incomparable jewel on my breast.  And that's love--true love--the
+gift and the curse of the gods.  There is no other."
+
+The truth vibrating in his voice made her recoil slightly, for she
+was not fit to hear it--not even a little--not even one single time
+in her life.  It was revolting to her; and in her trouble, perhaps
+prompted by the suggestion of his name or to soften the harshness
+of expression, for she was obscurely moved, she spoke to him in
+French.
+
+"Assez!  J'ai horreur de tout cela," she said.
+
+He was white to his very lips, but he was trembling no more.  The
+dice had been cast, and not even violence could alter the throw.
+She passed by him unbendingly, and he followed her down the path.
+After a time she heard him saying:
+
+"And your dream is to influence a human destiny?"
+
+"Yes!" she answered curtly, unabashed, with a woman's complete
+assurance.
+
+"Then you may rest content.  You have done it."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders slightly.  But just before reaching the
+end of the path she relented, stopped, and went back to him.
+
+"I don't suppose you are very anxious for people to know how near
+you came to absolute turpitude.  You may rest easy on that point.
+I shall speak to my father, of course, and we will agree to say
+that he has died--nothing more."
+
+"Yes," said Renouard in a lifeless voice.  "He is dead.  His very
+ghost shall be done with presently."
+
+She went on, but he remained standing stock still in the dusk.  She
+had already reached the three palms when she heard behind her a
+loud peal of laughter, cynical and joyless, such as is heard in
+smoking-rooms at the end of a scandalous story.  It made her feel
+positively faint for a moment.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+
+Slowly a complete darkness enveloped Geoffrey Renouard.  His
+resolution had failed him.  Instead of following Felicia into the
+house, he had stopped under the three palms, and leaning against a
+smooth trunk had abandoned himself to a sense of an immense
+deception and the feeling of extreme fatigue.  This walk up the
+hill and down again was like the supreme effort of an explorer
+trying to penetrate the interior of an unknown country, the secret
+of which is too well defended by its cruel and barren nature.
+Decoyed by a mirage, he had gone too far--so far that there was no
+going back.  His strength was at an end.  For the first time in his
+life he had to give up, and with a sort of despairing self-
+possession he tried to understand the cause of the defeat.  He did
+not ascribe it to that absurd dead man.
+
+The hesitating shadow of Luiz approached him unnoticed till it
+spoke timidly.  Renouard started.
+
+"Eh?  What?  Dinner waiting?  You must say I beg to be excused.  I
+can't come.  But I shall see them to-morrow morning, at the landing
+place.  Take your orders from the professor as to the sailing of
+the schooner.  Go now."
+
+Luiz, dumbfounded, retreated into the darkness.  Renouard did not
+move, but hours afterwards, like the bitter fruit of his
+immobility, the words:  "I had nothing to offer to her vanity,"
+came from his lips in the silence of the island.  And it was then
+only that he stirred, only to wear the night out in restless
+tramping up and down the various paths of the plantation.  Luiz,
+whose sleep was made light by the consciousness of some impending
+change, heard footsteps passing by his hut, the firm tread of the
+master; and turning on his mats emitted a faint Tse! Tse! Tse! of
+deep concern.
+
+Lights had been burning in the bungalow almost all through the
+night; and with the first sign of day began the bustle of
+departure.  House boys walked processionally carrying suit-cases
+and dressing-bags down to the schooner's boat, which came to the
+landing place at the bottom of the garden.  Just as the rising sun
+threw its golden nimbus around the purple shape of the headland,
+the Planter of Malata was perceived pacing bare-headed the curve of
+the little bay.  He exchanged a few words with the sailing-master
+of the schooner, then remained by the boat, standing very upright,
+his eyes on the ground, waiting.
+
+He had not long to wait.  Into the cool, overshadowed garden the
+professor descended first, and came jauntily down the path in a
+lively cracking of small shells.  With his closed parasol hooked on
+his forearm, and a book in his hand, he resembled a banal tourist
+more than was permissible to a man of his unique distinction.  He
+waved the disengaged arm from a distance, but at close quarters,
+arrested before Renouard's immobility, he made no offer to shake
+hands.  He seemed to appraise the aspect of the man with a sharp
+glance, and made up his mind.
+
+"We are going back by Suez," he began almost boisterously.  "I have
+been looking up the sailing lists.  If the zephirs of your Pacific
+are only moderately propitious I think we are sure to catch the
+mail boat due in Marseilles on the 18th of March.  This will suit
+me excellently. . . ."  He lowered his tone.  "My dear young
+friend, I'm deeply grateful to you."
+
+Renouard's set lips moved.
+
+"Why are you grateful to me?"
+
+"Ah!  Why?  In the first place you might have made us miss the next
+boat, mightn't you? . . . I don't thank you for your hospitality.
+You can't be angry with me for saying that I am truly thankful to
+escape from it.  But I am grateful to you for what you have done,
+and--for being what you are."
+
+It was difficult to define the flavour of that speech, but Renouard
+received it with an austerely equivocal smile.  The professor
+stepping into the boat opened his parasol and sat down in the
+stern-sheets waiting for the ladies.  No sound of human voice broke
+the fresh silence of the morning while they walked the broad path,
+Miss Moorsom a little in advance of her aunt.
+
+When she came abreast of him Renouard raised his head.
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Renouard," she said in a low voice, meaning to pass
+on; but there was such a look of entreaty in the blue gleam of his
+sunken eyes that after an imperceptible hesitation she laid her
+hand, which was ungloved, in his extended palm.
+
+"Will you condescend to remember me?" he asked, while an emotion
+with which she was angry made her pale cheeks flush and her black
+eyes sparkle.
+
+"This is a strange request for you to make," she said exaggerating
+the coldness of her tone.
+
+"Is it?  Impudent perhaps.  Yet I am not so guilty as you think;
+and bear in mind that to me you can never make reparation."
+
+"Reparation?  To you!  It is you who can offer me no reparation for
+the offence against my feelings--and my person; for what reparation
+can be adequate for your odious and ridiculous plot so scornful in
+its implication, so humiliating to my pride.  No!  I don't want to
+remember you."
+
+Unexpectedly, with a tightening grip, he pulled her nearer to him,
+and looking into her eyes with fearless despair -
+
+"You'll have to.  I shall haunt you," he said firmly.
+
+Her hand was wrenched out of his grasp before he had time to
+release it.  Felicia Moorsom stepped into the boat, sat down by the
+side of her father, and breathed tenderly on her crushed fingers.
+
+The professor gave her a sidelong look--nothing more.  But the
+professor's sister, yet on shore, had put up her long-handle double
+eye-glass to look at the scene.  She dropped it with a faint
+rattle.
+
+"I've never in my life heard anything so crude said to a lady," she
+murmured, passing before Renouard with a perfectly erect head.
+When, a moment afterwards, softening suddenly, she turned to throw
+a good-bye to that young man, she saw only his back in the distance
+moving towards the bungalow.  She watched him go in--amazed--before
+she too left the soil of Malata.
+
+Nobody disturbed Renouard in that room where he had shut himself in
+to breathe the evanescent perfume of her who for him was no more,
+till late in the afternoon when the half-caste was heard on the
+other side of the door.
+
+He wanted the master to know that the trader Janet was just
+entering the cove.
+
+Renouard's strong voice on his side of the door gave him most
+unexpected instructions.  He was to pay off the boys with the cash
+in the office and arrange with the captain of the Janet to take
+every worker away from Malata, returning them to their respective
+homes.  An order on the Dunster firm would be given to him in
+payment.
+
+And again the silence of the bungalow remained unbroken till, next
+morning, the half-caste came to report that everything was done.
+The plantation boys were embarking now.
+
+Through a crack in the door a hand thrust at him a piece of paper,
+and the door slammed to so sharply that Luiz stepped back.  Then
+approaching cringingly the keyhole, in a propitiatory tone he
+asked:
+
+"Do I go too, master?"
+
+"Yes.  You too.  Everybody."
+
+"Master stop here alone?"
+
+Silence.  And the half-caste's eyes grew wide with wonder.  But he
+also, like those "ignorant savages," the plantation boys, was only
+too glad to leave an island haunted by the ghost of a white man.
+He backed away noiselessly from the mysterious silence in the
+closed room, and only in the very doorway of the bungalow allowed
+himself to give vent to his feelings by a deprecatory and pained -
+
+"Tse!  Tse!  Tse!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+
+The Moorsoms did manage to catch the homeward mail boat all right,
+but had only twenty-four hours in town.  Thus the sentimental
+Willie could not see very much of them.  This did not prevent him
+afterwards from relating at great length, with manly tears in his
+eyes, how poor Miss Moorsom--the fashionable and clever beauty--
+found her betrothed in Malata only to see him die in her arms.
+Most people were deeply touched by the sad story.  It was the talk
+of a good many days.
+
+But the all-knowing Editor, Renouard's only friend and crony,
+wanted to know more than the rest of the world.  From professional
+incontinence, perhaps, he thirsted for a full cup of harrowing
+detail.  And when he noticed Renouard's schooner lying in port day
+after day he sought the sailing master to learn the reason.  The
+man told him that such were his instructions.  He had been ordered
+to lie there a month before returning to Malata.  And the month was
+nearly up.  "I will ask you to give me a passage," said the Editor.
+
+He landed in the morning at the bottom of the garden and found
+peace, stillness, sunshine reigning everywhere, the doors and
+windows of the bungalow standing wide open, no sight of a human
+being anywhere, the plants growing rank and tall on the deserted
+fields.  For hours the Editor and the schooner's crew, excited by
+the mystery, roamed over the island shouting Renouard's name; and
+at last set themselves in grim silence to explore systematically
+the uncleared bush and the deeper ravines in search of his corpse.
+What had happened?  Had he been murdered by the boys?  Or had he
+simply, capricious and secretive, abandoned his plantation taking
+the people with him.  It was impossible to tell what had happened.
+At last, towards the decline of the day, the Editor and the sailing
+master discovered a track of sandals crossing a strip of sandy
+beach on the north shore of the bay.  Following this track
+fearfully, they passed round the spur of the headland, and there on
+a large stone found the sandals, Renouard's white jacket, and the
+Malay sarong of chequered pattern which the planter of Malata was
+well known to wear when going to bathe.  These things made a little
+heap, and the sailor remarked, after gazing at it in silence -
+
+"Birds have been hovering over this for many a day."
+
+"He's gone bathing and got drowned," cried the Editor in dismay.
+
+"I doubt it, sir.  If he had been drowned anywhere within a mile
+from the shore the body would have been washed out on the reefs.
+And our boats have found nothing so far."
+
+Nothing was ever found--and Renouard's disappearance remained in
+the main inexplicable.  For to whom could it have occurred that a
+man would set out calmly to swim beyond the confines of life--with
+a steady stroke--his eyes fixed on a star!
+
+Next evening, from the receding schooner, the Editor looked back
+for the last time at the deserted island.  A black cloud hung
+listlessly over the high rock on the middle hill; and under the
+mysterious silence of that shadow Malata lay mournful, with an air
+of anguish in the wild sunset, as if remembering the heart that was
+broken there.
+
+
+Dec. 1913.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARTNER
+
+
+
+
+"And that be hanged for a silly yarn.  The boatmen here in Westport
+have been telling this lie to the summer visitors for years.  The
+sort that gets taken out for a row at a shilling a head--and asks
+foolish questions--must be told something to pass the time away.
+D'ye know anything more silly than being pulled in a boat along a
+beach? . . . It's like drinking weak lemonade when you aren't
+thirsty.  I don't know why they do it!  They don't even get sick."
+
+A forgotten glass of beer stood at his elbow; the locality was a
+small respectable smoking-room of a small respectable hotel, and a
+taste for forming chance acquaintances accounts for my sitting up
+late with him.  His great, flat, furrowed cheeks were shaven; a
+thick, square wisp of white hairs hung from his chin; its waggling
+gave additional point to his deep utterance; and his general
+contempt for mankind with its activities and moralities was
+expressed in the rakish set of his big soft hat of black felt with
+a large rim, which he kept always on his head.
+
+His appearance was that of an old adventurer, retired after many
+unholy experiences in the darkest parts of the earth; but I had
+every reason to believe that he had never been outside England.
+From a casual remark somebody dropped I gathered that in his early
+days he must have been somehow connected with shipping--with ships
+in docks.  Of individuality he had plenty.  And it was this which
+attracted my attention at first.  But he was not easy to classify,
+and before the end of the week I gave him up with the vague
+definition, "an imposing old ruffian."
+
+One rainy afternoon, oppressed by infinite boredom, I went into the
+smoking-room.  He was sitting there in absolute immobility, which
+was really fakir-like and impressive.  I began to wonder what could
+be the associations of that sort of man, his "milieu," his private
+connections, his views, his morality, his friends, and even his
+wife--when to my surprise he opened a conversation in a deep,
+muttering voice.
+
+I must say that since he had learned from somebody that I was a
+writer of stories he had been acknowledging my existence by means
+of some vague growls in the morning.
+
+He was essentially a taciturn man.  There was an effect of rudeness
+in his fragmentary sentences.  It was some time before I discovered
+that what he would be at was the process by which stories--stories
+for periodicals--were produced.
+
+What could one say to a fellow like that?  But I was bored to
+death; the weather continued impossible; and I resolved to be
+amiable.
+
+"And so you make these tales up on your own.  How do they ever come
+into your head?" he rumbled.
+
+I explained that one generally got a hint for a tale.
+
+"What sort of hint?"
+
+"Well, for instance," I said, "I got myself rowed out to the rocks
+the other day.  My boatman told me of the wreck on these rocks
+nearly twenty years ago.  That could be used as a hint for a mainly
+descriptive bit of story with some such title as 'In the Channel,'
+for instance."
+
+It was then that he flew out at the boatmen and the summer visitors
+who listen to their tales.  Without moving a muscle of his face he
+emitted a powerful "Rot," from somewhere out of the depths of his
+chest, and went on in his hoarse, fragmentary mumble.  "Stare at
+the silly rocks--nod their silly heads [the visitors, I presume].
+What do they think a man is--blown-out paper bag or what?--go off
+pop like that when he's hit--Damn silly yarn--Hint indeed! . . . A
+lie?"
+
+You must imagine this statuesque ruffian enhaloed in the black rim
+of his hat, letting all this out as an old dog growls sometimes,
+with his head up and staring-away eyes.
+
+"Indeed!" I exclaimed.  "Well, but even if untrue it IS a hint,
+enabling me to see these rocks, this gale they speak of, the heavy
+seas, etc., etc., in relation to mankind.  The struggle against
+natural forces and the effect of the issue on at least one, say,
+exalted--"
+
+He interrupted me by an aggressive -
+
+"Would truth be any good to you?"
+
+"I shouldn't like to say," I answered, cautiously.  "It's said that
+truth is stranger than fiction."
+
+"Who says that?" he mouthed.
+
+"Oh!  Nobody in particular."
+
+I turned to the window; for the contemptuous beggar was oppressive
+to look at, with his immovable arm on the table.  I suppose my
+unceremonious manner provoked him to a comparatively long speech.
+
+"Did you ever see such a silly lot of rocks?  Like plums in a slice
+of cold pudding."
+
+I was looking at them--an acre or more of black dots scattered on
+the steel-grey shades of the level sea, under the uniform gossamer
+grey mist with a formless brighter patch in one place--the veiled
+whiteness of the cliff coming through, like a diffused, mysterious
+radiance.  It was a delicate and wonderful picture, something
+expressive, suggestive, and desolate, a symphony in grey and black-
+-a Whistler.  But the next thing said by the voice behind me made
+me turn round.  It growled out contempt for all associated notions
+of roaring seas with concise energy, then went on -
+
+"I--no such foolishness--looking at the rocks out there--more
+likely call to mind an office--I used to look in sometimes at one
+time--office in London--one of them small streets behind Cannon
+Street Station. . . "
+
+He was very deliberate; not jerky, only fragmentary; at times
+profane.
+
+"That's a rather remote connection," I observed, approaching him.
+
+"Connection?  To Hades with your connections.  It was an accident."
+
+"Still," I said, "an accident has its backward and forward
+connections, which, if they could be set forth--"
+
+Without moving he seemed to lend an attentive ear.
+
+"Aye!  Set forth.  That's perhaps what you could do.  Couldn't you
+now?  There's no sea life in this connection.  But you can put it
+in out of your head--if you like."
+
+"Yes.  I could, if necessary," I said.  "Sometimes it pays to put
+in a lot out of one's head, and sometimes it doesn't.  I mean that
+the story isn't worth it.  Everything's in that."
+
+It amused me to talk to him like this.  He reflected audibly that
+he guessed story-writers were out after money like the rest of the
+world which had to live by its wits:  and that it was extraordinary
+how far people who were out after money would go. . . Some of them.
+
+Then he made a sally against sea life.  Silly sort of life, he
+called it.  No opportunities, no experience, no variety, nothing.
+Some fine men came out of it--he admitted--but no more chance in
+the world if put to it than fly.  Kids.  So Captain Harry Dunbar.
+Good sailor.  Great name as a skipper.  Big man; short side-
+whiskers going grey, fine face, loud voice.  A good fellow, but no
+more up to people's tricks than a baby.
+
+"That's the captain of the Sagamore you're talking about," I said,
+confidently.
+
+After a low, scornful "Of course" he seemed now to hold on the wall
+with his fixed stare the vision of that city office, "at the back
+of Cannon Street Station," while he growled and mouthed a
+fragmentary description, jerking his chin up now and then, as if
+angry.
+
+It was, according to his account, a modest place of business, not
+shady in any sense, but out of the way, in a small street now
+rebuilt from end to end.  "Seven doors from the Cheshire Cat public
+house under the railway bridge.  I used to take my lunch there when
+my business called me to the city.  Cloete would come in to have
+his chop and make the girl laugh.  No need to talk much, either,
+for that.  Nothing but the way he would twinkle his spectacles on
+you and give a twitch of his thick mouth was enough to start you
+off before he began one of his little tales.  Funny fellow, Cloete.
+C-l-o-e-t-e--Cloete."
+
+"What was he--a Dutchman?" I asked, not seeing in the least what
+all this had to do with the Westport boatmen and the Westport
+summer visitors and this extraordinary old fellow's irritable view
+of them as liars and fools.  "Devil knows," he grunted, his eyes on
+the wall as if not to miss a single movement of a cinematograph
+picture.  "Spoke nothing but English, anyway.  First I saw him--
+comes off a ship in dock from the States--passenger.  Asks me for a
+small hotel near by.  Wanted to be quiet and have a look round for
+a few days.  I took him to a place--friend of mine. . . Next time--
+in the City--Hallo!  You're very obliging--have a drink.  Talks
+plenty about himself.  Been years in the States.  All sorts of
+business all over the place.  With some patent medicine people,
+too.  Travels.  Writes advertisements and all that.  Tells me funny
+stories.  Tall, loose-limbed fellow.  Black hair up on end, like a
+brush; long face, long legs, long arms, twinkle in his specs,
+jocular way of speaking--in a low voice. . . See that?"
+
+I nodded, but he was not looking at me.
+
+"Never laughed so much in my life.  The beggar--would make you
+laugh telling you how he skinned his own father.  He was up to
+that, too.  A man who's been in the patent-medicine trade will be
+up to anything from pitch-and-toss to wilful murder.  And that's a
+bit of hard truth for you.  Don't mind what they do--think they can
+carry off anything and talk themselves out of anything--all the
+world's a fool to them.  Business man, too, Cloete.  Came over with
+a few hundred pounds.  Looking for something to do--in a quiet way.
+Nothing like the old country, after all, says he. . . And so we
+part--I with more drinks in me than I was used to.  After a time,
+perhaps six months or so, I run up against him again in Mr. George
+Dunbar's office.  Yes, THAT office.  It wasn't often that I . . .
+However, there was a bit of his cargo in a ship in dock that I
+wanted to ask Mr. George about.  In comes Cloete out of the room at
+the back with some papers in his hand.  Partner.  You understand?"
+
+"Aha!" I said.  "The few hundred pounds."
+
+"And that tongue of his," he growled.  "Don't forget that tongue.
+Some of his tales must have opened George Dunbar's eyes a bit as to
+what business means."
+
+"A plausible fellow," I suggested.
+
+"H'm!  You must have it in your own way--of course.  Well.
+Partner.  George Dunbar puts his top-hat on and tells me to wait a
+moment. . . George always looked as though he were making a few
+thousands a year--a city swell. . . Come along, old man!  And he
+and Captain Harry go out together--some business with a solicitor
+round the corner.  Captain Harry, when he was in England, used to
+turn up in his brother's office regularly about twelve.  Sat in a
+corner like a good boy, reading the paper and smoking his pipe.  So
+they go out. . . Model brothers, says Cloete--two love-birds--I am
+looking after the tinned-fruit side of this cozy little show. . .
+Gives me that sort of talk.  Then by-and-by:  What sort of old
+thing is that Sagamore? Finest ship out--eh?  I dare say all ships
+are fine to you.  You live by them.  I tell you what; I would just
+as soon put my money into an old stocking.  Sooner!"
+
+
+He drew a breath, and I noticed his hand, lying loosely on the
+table, close slowly into a fist.  In that immovable man it was
+startling, ominous, like the famed nod of the Commander.
+
+"So, already at that time--note--already," he growled.
+
+"But hold on," I interrupted.  "The Sagamore belonged to Mundy and
+Rogers, I've been told."
+
+He snorted contemptuously.  "Damn boatmen--know no better.  Flew
+the firm's HOUSE-FLAG.  That's another thing.  Favour.  It was like
+this:  When old man Dunbar died, Captain Harry was already in
+command with the firm.  George chucked the bank he was clerking in-
+-to go on his own with what there was to share after the old chap.
+George was a smart man.  Started warehousing; then two or three
+things at a time:  wood-pulp, preserved-fruit trade, and so on.
+And Captain Harry let him have his share to work with. . . I am
+provided for in my ship, he says. . . But by-and-by Mundy and
+Rogers begin to sell out to foreigners all their ships--go into
+steam right away.  Captain Harry gets very upset--lose command,
+part with the ship he was fond of--very wretched.  Just then, so it
+happened, the brothers came in for some money--an old woman died or
+something.  Quite a tidy bit.  Then young George says:  There's
+enough between us two to buy the Sagamore with. . . But you'll need
+more money for your business, cries Captain Harry--and the other
+laughs at him:  My business is going on all right.  Why, I can go
+out and make a handful of sovereigns while you are trying to get
+your pipe to draw, old man. . . Mundy and Rogers very friendly
+about it:  Certainly, Captain.  And we will manage her for you, if
+you like, as if she were still our own. . . Why, with a connection
+like that it was good investment to buy that ship.  Good!  Aye, at
+the time."
+
+The turning of his head slightly toward me at this point was like a
+sign of strong feeling in any other man.
+
+"You'll mind that this was long before Cloete came into it at all,"
+he muttered, warningly.
+
+"Yes.  I will mind," I said.  "We generally say:  some years
+passed.  That's soon done."
+
+He eyed me for a while silently in an unseeing way, as if engrossed
+in the thought of the years so easily dealt with; his own years,
+too, they were, the years before and the years (not so many) after
+Cloete came upon the scene.  When he began to speak again, I
+discerned his intention to point out to me, in his obscure and
+graphic manner, the influence on George Dunbar of long association
+with Cloete's easy moral standards, unscrupulously persuasive gift
+of humour (funny fellow), and adventurously reckless disposition.
+He desired me anxiously to elaborate this view, and I assured him
+it was quite within my powers.  He wished me also to understand
+that George's business had its ups and downs (the other brother was
+meantime sailing to and fro serenely); that he got into low water
+at times, which worried him rather, because he had married a young
+wife with expensive tastes.  He was having a pretty anxious time of
+it generally; and just then Cloete ran up in the city somewhere
+against a man working a patent medicine (the fellow's old trade)
+with some success, but which, with capital, capital to the tune of
+thousands to be spent with both hands on advertising, could be
+turned into a great thing--infinitely better--paying than a gold-
+mine.  Cloete became excited at the possibilities of that sort of
+business, in which he was an expert.  I understood that George's
+partner was all on fire from the contact with this unique
+opportunity.
+
+"So he goes in every day into George's room about eleven, and sings
+that tune till George gnashes his teeth with rage.  Do shut up.
+What's the good?  No money.  Hardly any to go on with, let alone
+pouring thousands into advertising.  Never dare propose to his
+brother Harry to sell the ship.  Couldn't think of it.  Worry him
+to death.  It would be like the end of the world coming.  And
+certainly not for a business of that kind! . . . Do you think it
+would be a swindle? asks Cloete, twitching his mouth. . . George
+owns up:  No-would be no better than a squeamish ass if he thought
+that, after all these years in business.
+
+"Cloete looks at him hard--Never thought of SELLING the ship.
+Expected the blamed old thing wouldn't fetch half her insured value
+by this time.  Then George flies out at him.  What's the meaning,
+then, of these silly jeers at ship-owning for the last three weeks?
+Had enough of them, anyhow.
+
+"Angry at having his mouth made to water, see.  Cloete don't get
+excited. . . I am no squeamish ass, either, says he, very slowly.
+'Tisn't selling your old Sagamore wants.  The blamed thing wants
+tomahawking (seems the name Sagamore means an Indian chief or
+something.  The figure-head was a half-naked savage with a feather
+over one ear and a hatchet in his belt).  Tomahawking, says he.
+
+"What do you mean? asks George. . . Wrecking--it could be managed
+with perfect safety, goes on Cloete--your brother would then put in
+his share of insurance money.  Needn't tell him exactly what for.
+He thinks you're the smartest business man that ever lived.  Make
+his fortune, too. . . George grips the desk with both hands in his
+rage. . . You think my brother's a man to cast away his ship on
+purpose.  I wouldn't even dare think of such a thing in the same
+room with him--the finest fellow that ever lived. . . Don't make
+such noise; they'll hear you outside, says Cloete; and he tells him
+that his brother is the salted pattern of all virtues, but all
+that's necessary is to induce him to stay ashore for a voyage--for
+a holiday--take a rest--why not? . . . In fact, I have in view
+somebody up to that sort of game--Cloete whispers.
+
+"George nearly chokes. . . So you think I am of that sort--you
+think ME capable--What do you take me for? . . . He almost loses
+his head, while Cloete keeps cool, only gets white about the gills.
+. . I take you for a man who will be most cursedly hard up before
+long. . . He goes to the door and sends away the clerks--there were
+only two--to take their lunch hour.  Comes back . . . What are you
+indignant about?  Do I want you to rob the widow and orphan?  Why,
+man!  Lloyd's a corporation, it hasn't got a body to starve.
+There's forty or more of them perhaps who underwrote the lines on
+that silly ship of yours.  Not one human being would go hungry or
+cold for it.  They take every risk into consideration.  Everything
+I tell you. . . That sort of talk.  H'm!  George too upset to
+speak--only gurgles and waves his arms; so sudden, you see.  The
+other, warming his back at the fire, goes on.  Wood-pulp business
+next door to a failure.  Tinned-fruit trade nearly played out. . .
+You're frightened, he says; but the law is only meant to frighten
+fools away. . . And he shows how safe casting away that ship would
+be.  Premiums paid for so many, many years.  No shadow of suspicion
+could arise.  And, dash it all! a ship must meet her end some day.
+. .
+
+"I am not frightened.  I am indignant," says George Dunbar.
+
+"Cloete boiling with rage inside.  Chance of a lifetime--his
+chance!  And he says kindly:  Your wife'll be much more indignant
+when you ask her to get out of that pretty house of yours and pile
+in into a two-pair back--with kids perhaps, too. . .
+
+"George had no children.  Married a couple of years; looked forward
+to a kid or two very much.  Feels more upset than ever.  Talks
+about an honest man for father, and so on.  Cloete grins:  You be
+quick before they come, and they'll have a rich man for father, and
+no one the worse for it.  That's the beauty of the thing.
+
+"George nearly cries.  I believe he did cry at odd times.  This
+went on for weeks.  He couldn't quarrel with Cloete.  Couldn't pay
+off his few hundreds; and besides, he was used to have him about.
+Weak fellow, George.  Cloete generous, too. . . Don't think of my
+little pile, says he.  Of course it's gone when we have to shut up.
+But I don't care, he says. . . And then there was George's new
+wife.  When Cloete dines there, the beggar puts on a dress suit;
+little woman liked it; . . . Mr. Cloete, my husband's partner; such
+a clever man, man of the world, so amusing! . . . When he dines
+there and they are alone:  Oh, Mr. Cloete, I wish George would do
+something to improve our prospects.  Our position is really so
+mediocre. . . And Cloete smiles, but isn't surprised, because he
+had put all these notions himself into her empty head. . . What
+your husband wants is enterprise, a little audacity.  You can
+encourage him best, Mrs. Dunbar. . . She was a silly, extravagant
+little fool.  Had made George take a house in Norwood.  Live up to
+a lot of people better off than themselves.  I saw her once; silk
+dress, pretty boots, all feathers and scent, pink face.  More like
+the Promenade at the Alhambra than a decent home, it looked to me.
+But some women do get a devil of a hold on a man."
+
+"Yes, some do," I assented.  "Even when the man is the husband."
+
+"My missis," he addressed me unexpectedly, in a solemn,
+surprisingly hollow tone, "could wind me round her little finger.
+I didn't find it out till she was gone.  Aye.  But she was a woman
+of sense, while that piece of goods ought to have been walking the
+streets, and that's all I can say. . . You must make her up out of
+your head.  You will know the sort."
+
+"Leave all that to me," I said.
+
+"H'm!" he grunted, doubtfully, then going back to his scornful
+tone:  "A month or so afterwards the Sagamore arrives home.  All
+very jolly at first. . . Hallo, George boy!  Hallo, Harry, old man!
+. . . But by and by Captain Harry thinks his clever brother is not
+looking very well.  And George begins to look worse.  He can't get
+rid of Cloete's notion.  It has stuck in his head. . . There's
+nothing wrong--quite well. . . Captain Harry still anxious.
+Business going all right, eh?  Quite right.  Lots of business.
+Good business. . . Of course Captain Harry believes that easily.
+Starts chaffing his brother in his jolly way about rolling in
+money.  George's shirt sticks to his back with perspiration, and he
+feels quite angry with the captain. . . The fool, he says to
+himself.  Rolling in money, indeed!  And then he thinks suddenly:
+Why not? . . . Because Cloete's notion has got hold of his mind.
+
+"But next day he weakens and says to Cloete . . . Perhaps it would
+be best to sell.  Couldn't you talk to my brother? and Cloete
+explains to him over again for the twentieth time why selling
+wouldn't do, anyhow.  No!  The Sagamore must be tomahawked--as he
+would call it; to spare George's feelings, maybe.  But every time
+he says the word, George shudders. . . I've got a man at hand
+competent for the job who will do the trick for five hundred, and
+only too pleased at the chance, says Cloete. . . George shuts his
+eyes tight at that sort of talk--but at the same time he thinks:
+Humbug!  There can be no such man.  And yet if there was such a man
+it would be safe enough--perhaps.
+
+"And Cloete always funny about it.  He couldn't talk about anything
+without it seeming there was a great joke in it somewhere. . . Now,
+says he, I know you are a moral citizen, George.  Morality is
+mostly funk, and I think you're the funkiest man I ever came across
+in my travels.  Why, you are afraid to speak to your brother.
+Afraid to open your mouth to him with a fortune for us all in
+sight. . . George flares up at this:  no, he ain't afraid; he will
+speak; bangs fist on the desk.  And Cloete pats him on the back. .
+. We'll be made men presently, he says.
+
+"But the first time George attempts to speak to Captain Harry his
+heart slides down into his boots.  Captain Harry only laughs at the
+notion of staying ashore.  He wants no holiday, not he.  But Jane
+thinks of remaining in England this trip.  Go about a bit and see
+some of her people.  Jane was the Captain's wife; round-faced,
+pleasant lady.  George gives up that time; but Cloete won't let him
+rest.  So he tries again; and the Captain frowns.  He frowns
+because he's puzzled.  He can't make it out.  He has no notion of
+living away from his Sagamore. . .
+
+"Ah!" I cried.  "Now I understand."
+
+"No, you don't," he growled, his black, contemptuous stare turning
+on me crushingly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I murmured.
+
+"H'm!  Very well, then.  Captain Harry looks very stern, and George
+crumples all up inside. . . He sees through me, he thinks. . . Of
+course it could not be; but George, by that time, was scared at his
+own shadow.  He is shirking it with Cloete, too.  Gives his partner
+to understand that his brother has half a mind to try a spell on
+shore, and so on.  Cloete waits, gnawing his fingers; so anxious.
+Cloete really had found a man for the job.  Believe it or not, he
+had found him inside the very boarding-house he lodged in--
+somewhere about Tottenham Court Road.  He had noticed down-stairs a
+fellow--a boarder and not a boarder--hanging about the dark--part
+of the passage mostly; sort of 'man of the house,' a slinking chap.
+Black eyes.  White face.  The woman of the house--a widow lady, she
+called herself--very full of Mr. Stafford; Mr. Stafford this and
+Mr. Stafford that. . . Anyhow, Cloete one evening takes him out to
+have a drink.  Cloete mostly passed away his evenings in saloon
+bars.  No drunkard, though, Cloete; for company; liked to talk to
+all sorts there; just habit; American fashion.
+
+"So Cloete takes that chap out more than once.  Not very good
+company, though.  Little to say for himself.  Sits quiet and drinks
+what's given to him, eyes always half closed, speaks sort of
+demure. . . I've had misfortunes, he says.  The truth was they had
+kicked him out of a big steam-ship company for disgraceful conduct;
+nothing to affect his certificate, you understand; and he had gone
+down quite easily.  Liked it, I expect.  Anything's better than
+work.  Lived on the widow lady who kept that boarding-house."
+
+"That's almost incredible," I ventured to interrupt.  "A man with a
+master's certificate, do you mean?"
+
+"I do; I've known them 'bus cads," he growled, contemptuously.
+"Yes.  Swing on the tail-board by the strap and yell, 'tuppence all
+the way.'  Through drink.  But this Stafford was of another kind.
+Hell's full of such Staffords; Cloete would make fun of him, and
+then there would be a nasty gleam in the fellow's half-shut eye.
+But Cloete was generally kind to him.  Cloete was a fellow that
+would be kind to a mangy dog.  Anyhow, he used to stand drinks to
+that object, and now and then gave him half a crown--because the
+widow lady kept Mr. Stafford short of pocket-money.  They had rows
+almost every day down in the basement. . .
+
+It was the fellow being a sailor that put into Cloete's mind the
+first notion of doing away with the Sagamore.  He studies him a
+bit, thinks there's enough devil in him yet to be tempted, and one
+evening he says to him . . . I suppose you wouldn't mind going to
+sea again, for a spell? . . . The other never raises his eyes; says
+it's scarcely worth one's while for the miserable salary one gets.
+. . Well, but what do you say to captain's wages for a time, and a
+couple of hundred extra if you are compelled to come home without
+the ship.  Accidents will happen, says Cloete. . . Oh! sure to,
+says that Stafford; and goes on taking sips of his drink as if he
+had no interest in the matter.
+
+"Cloete presses him a bit; but the other observes, impudent and
+languid like:  You see, there's no future in a thing like that--is
+there? . . Oh! no, says Cloete.  Certainly not.  I don't mean this
+to have any future--as far as you are concerned.  It's a 'once for
+all' transaction.  Well, what do you estimate your future at? he
+asks. . . The fellow more listless than ever--nearly asleep.--I
+believe the skunk was really too lazy to care.  Small cheating at
+cards, wheedling or bullying his living out of some woman or other,
+was more his style.  Cloete swears at him in whispers something
+awful.  All this in the saloon bar of the Horse Shoe, Tottenham
+Court Road.  Finally they agree, over the second sixpennyworth of
+Scotch hot, on five hundred pounds as the price of tomahawking the
+Sagamore.  And Cloete waits to see what George can do.
+
+"A week or two goes by.  The other fellow loafs about the house as
+if there had been nothing, and Cloete begins to doubt whether he
+really means ever to tackle that job.  But one day he stops Cloete
+at the door, with his downcast eyes:  What about that employment
+you wished to give me? he asks. . . You see, he had played some
+more than usual dirty trick on the woman and expected awful
+ructions presently; and to be fired out for sure.  Cloete very
+pleased.  George had been prevaricating to him such a lot that he
+really thought the thing was as well as settled.  And he says:
+Yes.  It's time I introduced you to my friend.  Just get your hat
+and we will go now. . .
+
+"The two come into the office, and George at his desk sits up in a
+sudden panic--staring.  Sees a tallish fellow, sort of nasty-
+handsome face, heavy eyes, half shut; short drab overcoat, shabby
+bowler hat, very careful--like in his movements.  And he thinks to
+himself, Is that how such a man looks!  No, the thing's impossible.
+. . Cloete does the introduction, and the fellow turns round to
+look behind him at the chair before he sits down. . . A thoroughly
+competent man, Cloete goes on . . . The man says nothing, sits
+perfectly quiet.  And George can't speak, throat too dry.  Then he
+makes an effort:  H'm!  H'm!  Oh yes--unfortunately--sorry to
+disappoint--my brother--made other arrangements--going himself.
+
+"The fellow gets up, never raising his eyes off the ground, like a
+modest girl, and goes out softly, right out of the office without a
+sound.  Cloete sticks his chin in his hand and bites all his
+fingers at once.  George's heart slows down and he speaks to
+Cloete. . . This can't be done.  How can it be?  Directly the ship
+is lost Harry would see through it.  You know he is a man to go to
+the underwriters himself with his suspicions.  And he would break
+his heart over me.  How can I play that on him?  There's only two
+of us in the world belonging to each other. . .
+
+"Cloete lets out a horrid cuss-word, jumps up, bolts away into his
+room, and George hears him there banging things around.  After a
+while he goes to the door and says in a trembling voice:  You ask
+me for an impossibility. . . Cloete inside ready to fly out like a
+tiger and rend him; but he opens the door a little way and says
+softly:  Talking of hearts, yours is no bigger than a mouse's, let
+me tell you. . . But George doesn't care--load off the heart,
+anyhow.  And just then Captain Harry comes in. . . Hallo, George
+boy.  I am little late.  What about a chop at the Cheshire, now? .
+. . Right you are, old man. . . And off they go to lunch together.
+Cloete has nothing to eat that day.
+
+"George feels a new man for a time; but all of a sudden that fellow
+Stafford begins to hang about the street, in sight of the house
+door.  The first time George sees him he thinks he made a mistake.
+But no; next time he has to go out, there is the very fellow
+skulking on the other side of the road.  It makes George nervous;
+but he must go out on business, and when the fellow cuts across the
+road-way he dodges him.  He dodges him once, twice, three times;
+but at last he gets nabbed in his very doorway. . . What do you
+want? he says, trying to look fierce.
+
+"It seems that ructions had come in the basement of that boarding-
+house, and the widow lady had turned on him (being jealous mad), to
+the extent of talking of the police.  THAT Mr. Stafford couldn't
+stand; so he cleared out like a scared stag, and there he was,
+chucked into the streets, so to speak.  Cloete looked so savage as
+he went to and fro that he hadn't the spunk to tackle him; but
+George seemed a softer kind to his eye.  He would have been glad of
+half a quid, anything. . . I've had misfortunes, he says softly, in
+his demure way, which frightens George more than a row would have
+done. . . Consider the severity of my disappointment, he says. . .
+
+"George, instead of telling him to go to the devil, loses his head.
+. . I don't know you.  What do you want? he cries, and bolts up-
+stairs to Cloete. . . . Look what's come of it, he gasps; now we
+are at the mercy of that horrid fellow. . . Cloete tries to show
+him that the fellow can do nothing; but George thinks that some
+sort of scandal may be forced on, anyhow.  Says that he can't live
+with that horror haunting him.  Cloete would laugh if he weren't
+too weary of it all.  Then a thought strikes him and he changes his
+tune. . . Well, perhaps!  I will go down-stairs and send him away
+to begin with. . . He comes back. . . He's gone.  But perhaps you
+are right.  The fellow's hard up, and that's what makes people
+desperate.  The best thing would be to get him out of the country
+for a time.  Look here, the poor devil is really in want of
+employment.  I won't ask you much this time:  only to hold your
+tongue; and I shall try to get your brother to take him as chief
+officer.  At this George lays his arms and his head on his desk, so
+that Cloete feels sorry for him.  But altogether Cloete feels more
+cheerful because he has shaken the ghost a bit into that Stafford.
+That very afternoon he buys him a suit of blue clothes, and tells
+him that he will have to turn to and work for his living now.  Go
+to sea as mate of the Sagamore.  The skunk wasn't very willing, but
+what with having nothing to eat and no place to sleep in, and the
+woman having frightened him with the talk of some prosecution or
+other, he had no choice, properly speaking.  Cloete takes care of
+him for a couple of days. . . Our arrangement still stands, says
+he.  Here's the ship bound for Port Elizabeth; not a safe anchorage
+at all.  Should she by chance part from her anchors in a north-east
+gale and get lost on the beach, as many of them do, why, it's five
+hundred in your pocket--and a quick return home.  You are up to the
+job, ain't you?
+
+"Our Mr. Stafford takes it all in with downcast eyes. . . I am a
+competent seaman, he says, with his sly, modest air.  A ship's
+chief mate has no doubt many opportunities to manipulate the chains
+and anchors to some purpose. . . At this Cloete thumps him on the
+back:  You'll do, my noble sailor.  Go in and win. . .
+
+"Next thing George knows, his brother tells him that he had
+occasion to oblige his partner.  And glad of it, too.  Likes the
+partner no end.  Took a friend of his as mate.  Man had his
+troubles, been ashore a year nursing a dying wife, it seems.  Down
+on his luck. . . George protests earnestly that he knows nothing of
+the person.  Saw him once.  Not very attractive to look at. . . And
+Captain Harry says in his hearty way, That's so, but must give the
+poor devil a chance. . .
+
+"So Mr. Stafford joins in dock.  And it seems that he did manage to
+monkey with one of the cables--keeping his mind on Port Elizabeth.
+The riggers had all the cable ranged on deck to clean lockers.  The
+new mate watches them go ashore--dinner hour--and sends the ship-
+keeper out of the ship to fetch him a bottle of beer.  Then he goes
+to work whittling away the forelock of the forty-five-fathom
+shackle-pin, gives it a tap or two with a hammer just to make it
+loose, and of course that cable wasn't safe any more.  Riggers come
+back--you know what riggers are:  come day, go day, and God send
+Sunday.  Down goes the chain into the locker without their foreman
+looking at the shackles at all.  What does he care?  He ain't going
+in the ship.  And two days later the ship goes to sea. . . "
+
+
+At this point I was incautious enough to breathe out another "I
+see," which gave offence again, and brought on me a rude "No, you
+don't"--as before.  But in the pause he remembered the glass of
+beer at his elbow.  He drank half of it, wiped his mustaches, and
+remarked grimly -
+
+"Don't you think that there will be any sea life in this, because
+there ain't.  If you're going to put in any out of your own head,
+now's your chance.  I suppose you know what ten days of bad weather
+in the Channel are like?  I don't.  Anyway, ten whole days go by.
+One Monday Cloete comes to the office a little late--hears a
+woman's voice in George's room and looks in.  Newspapers on the
+desk, on the floor; Captain Harry's wife sitting with red eyes and
+a bag on the chair near her. . . Look at this, says George, in
+great excitement, showing him a paper.  Cloete's heart gives a
+jump.  Ha!  Wreck in Westport Bay.  The Sagamore gone ashore early
+hours of Sunday, and so the newspaper men had time to put in some
+of their work.  Columns of it.  Lifeboat out twice.  Captain and
+crew remain by the ship.  Tugs summoned to assist.  If the weather
+improves, this well-known fine ship may yet be saved. . . You know
+the way these chaps put it. . . Mrs. Harry there on her way to
+catch a train from Cannon Street.  Got an hour to wait.
+
+"Cloete takes George aside and whispers:  Ship saved yet!  Oh,
+damn!  That must never be; you hear?  But George looks at him
+dazed, and Mrs. Harry keeps on sobbing quietly:  . . . I ought to
+have been with him.  But I am going to him. . . We are all going
+together, cries Cloete, all of a sudden.  He rushes out, sends the
+woman a cup of hot bovril from the shop across the road, buys a rug
+for her, thinks of everything; and in the train tucks her in and
+keeps on talking, thirteen to the dozen, all the way, to keep her
+spirits up, as it were; but really because he can't hold his peace
+for very joy.  Here's the thing done all at once, and nothing to
+pay.  Done.  Actually done.  His head swims now and again when he
+thinks of it.  What enormous luck!  It almost frightens him.  He
+would like to yell and sing.  Meantime George Dunbar sits in his
+corner, looking so deadly miserable that at last poor Mrs. Harry
+tries to comfort him, and so cheers herself up at the same time by
+talking about how her Harry is a prudent man; not likely to risk
+his crew's life or his own unnecessarily--and so on.
+
+"First thing they hear at Westport station is that the life-boat
+has been out to the ship again, and has brought off the second
+officer, who had hurt himself, and a few sailors.  Captain and the
+rest of the crew, about fifteen in all, are still on board.  Tugs
+expected to arrive every moment.
+
+"They take Mrs. Harry to the inn, nearly opposite the rocks; she
+bolts straight up-stairs to look out of the window, and she lets
+out a great cry when she sees the wreck.  She won't rest till she
+gets on board to her Harry.  Cloete soothes her all he can. . . All
+right; you try to eat a mouthful, and we will go to make inquiries.
+
+"He draws George out of the room:  Look here, she can't go on
+board, but I shall.  I'll see to it that he doesn't stop in the
+ship too long.  Let's go and find the coxswain of the life-boat. .
+. George follows him, shivering from time to time.  The waves are
+washing over the old pier; not much wind, a wild, gloomy sky over
+the bay.  In the whole world only one tug away off, heading to the
+seas, tossed in and out of sight every minute as regular as
+clockwork.
+
+"They meet the coxswain and he tells them:  Yes!  He's going out
+again.  No, they ain't in danger on board--not yet.  But the ship's
+chance is very poor.  Still, if the wind doesn't pipe up again and
+the sea goes down something might be tried.  After some talk he
+agrees to take Cloete on board; supposed to be with an urgent
+message from the owners to the captain.
+
+"Whenever Cloete looks at the sky he feels comforted; it looks so
+threatening.  George Dunbar follows him about with a white face and
+saying nothing.  Cloete takes him to have a drink or two, and by
+and by he begins to pick up. . . That's better, says Cloete; dash
+me if it wasn't like walking about with a dead man before.  You
+ought to be throwing up your cap, man.  I feel as if I wanted to
+stand in the street and cheer.  Your brother is safe, the ship is
+lost, and we are made men.
+
+"Are you certain she's lost? asks George.  It would be an awful
+blow after all the agonies I have gone through in my mind, since
+you first spoke to me, if she were to be got off--and--and--all
+this temptation to begin over again. . . For we had nothing to do
+with this; had we?
+
+"Of course not, says Cloete.  Wasn't your brother himself in
+charge?  It's providential. . . Oh! cries George, shocked. . .
+Well, say it's the devil, says Cloete, cheerfully.  I don't mind!
+You had nothing to do with it any more than a baby unborn, you
+great softy, you. . . Cloete has got so that he almost loved George
+Dunbar.  Well.  Yes.  That was so.  I don't mean he respected him.
+He was just fond of his partner.
+
+"They go back, you may say fairly skipping, to the hotel, and find
+the wife of the captain at the open window, with her eyes on the
+ship as if she wanted to fly across the bay over there. . . Now
+then, Mrs. Dunbar, cries Cloete, you can't go, but I am going.  Any
+messages?  Don't be shy.  I'll deliver every word faithfully.  And
+if you would like to give me a kiss for him, I'll deliver that too,
+dash me if I don't.
+
+"He makes Mrs. Harry laugh with his patter. . . Oh, dear Mr.
+Cloete, you are a calm, reasonable man.  Make him behave sensibly.
+He's a bit obstinate, you know, and he's so fond of the ship, too.
+Tell him I am here--looking on. . . Trust me, Mrs. Dunbar.  Only
+shut that window, that's a good girl.  You will be sure to catch
+cold if you don't, and the Captain won't be pleased coming off the
+wreck to find you coughing and sneezing so that you can't tell him
+how happy you are.  And now if you can get me a bit of tape to
+fasten my glasses on good to my ears, I will be going. . .
+
+"How he gets on board I don't know.  All wet and shaken and excited
+and out of breath, he does get on board.  Ship lying over,
+smothered in sprays, but not moving very much; just enough to jag
+one's nerve a bit.  He finds them all crowded on the deck-house
+forward, in their shiny oilskins, with faces like sick men.
+Captain Harry can't believe his eyes.  What!  Mr. Cloete!  What are
+you doing here, in God's name? . . . Your wife's ashore there,
+looking on, gasps out Cloete; and after they had talked a bit,
+Captain Harry thinks it's uncommonly plucky and kind of his
+brother's partner to come off to him like this.  Man glad to have
+somebody to talk to. . . It's a bad business, Mr. Cloete, he says.
+And Cloete rejoices to hear that.  Captain Harry thinks he had done
+his best, but the cable had parted when he tried to anchor her.  It
+was a great trial to lose the ship.  Well, he would have to face
+it.  He fetches a deep sigh now and then.  Cloete almost sorry he
+had come on board, because to be on that wreck keeps his chest in a
+tight band all the time.  They crouch out of the wind under the
+port boat, a little apart from the men.  The life-boat had gone
+away after putting Cloete on board, but was coming back next high
+water to take off the crew if no attempt at getting the ship afloat
+could be made.  Dusk was falling; winter's day; black sky; wind
+rising.  Captain Harry felt melancholy.  God's will be done.  If
+she must be left on the rocks--why, she must.  A man should take
+what God sends him standing up. . . Suddenly his voice breaks, and
+he squeezes Cloete's arm:  It seems as if I couldn't leave her, he
+whispers.  Cloete looks round at the men like a lot of huddled
+sheep and thinks to himself:  They won't stay. . . Suddenly the
+ship lifts a little and sets down with a thump.  Tide rising.
+Everybody beginning to look out for the life-boat.  Some of the men
+made her out far away and also two more tugs.  But the gale has
+come on again, and everybody knows that no tug will ever dare come
+near the ship.
+
+"That's the end, Captain Harry says, very low. . . . Cloete thinks
+he never felt so cold in all his life. . . And I feel as if I
+didn't care to live on just now, mutters Captain Harry . . . Your
+wife's ashore, looking on, says Cloete . . . Yes.  Yes.  It must be
+awful for her to look at the poor old ship lying here done for.
+Why, that's our home.
+
+"Cloete thinks that as long as the Sagamore's done for he doesn't
+care, and only wishes himself somewhere else.  The slightest
+movement of the ship cuts his breath like a blow.  And he feels
+excited by the danger, too.  The captain takes him aside. . . The
+life-boat can't come near us for more than an hour.  Look here,
+Cloete, since you are here, and such a plucky one--do something for
+me. . . He tells him then that down in his cabin aft in a certain
+drawer there is a bundle of important papers and some sixty
+sovereigns in a small canvas bag.  Asks Cloete to go and get these
+things out.  He hasn't been below since the ship struck, and it
+seems to him that if he were to take his eyes off her she would
+fall to pieces.  And then the men--a scared lot by this time--if he
+were to leave them by themselves they would attempt to launch one
+of the ship's boats in a panic at some heavier thump--and then some
+of them bound to get drowned. . . There are two or three boxes of
+matches about my shelves in my cabin if you want a light, says
+Captain Harry.  Only wipe your wet hands before you begin to feel
+for them. . .
+
+"Cloete doesn't like the job, but doesn't like to show funk,
+either--and he goes.  Lots of water on the main-deck, and he
+splashes along; it was getting dark, too.  All at once, by the
+mainmast, somebody catches him by the arm.  Stafford.  He wasn't
+thinking of Stafford at all.  Captain Harry had said something as
+to the mate not being quite satisfactory, but it wasn't much.
+Cloete doesn't recognise him in his oilskins at first.  He sees a
+white face with big eyes peering at him. . . Are you pleased, Mr.
+Cloete . . . ?
+
+"Cloete is moved to laugh at the whine, and shakes him off.  But
+the fellow scrambles on after him on the poop and follows him down
+into the cabin of that wrecked ship.  And there they are, the two
+of them; can hardly see each other. . . You don't mean to make me
+believe you have had anything to do with this, says Cloete. . .
+
+"They both shiver, nearly out of their wits with the excitement of
+being on board that ship.  She thumps and lurches, and they stagger
+together, feeling sick.  Cloete again bursts out laughing at that
+wretched creature Stafford pretending to have been up to something
+so desperate. . . Is that how you think you can treat me now? yells
+the other man all of a sudden. . .
+
+"A sea strikes the stern, the ship trembles and groans all round
+them, there's the noise of the seas about and overhead, confusing
+Cloete, and he hears the other screaming as if crazy. . . Ah, you
+don't believe me!  Go and look at the port chain.  Parted?  Eh?  Go
+and see if it's parted.  Go and find the broken link.  You can't.
+There's no broken link.  That means a thousand pounds for me.  No
+less.  A thousand the day after we get ashore--prompt.  I won't
+wait till she breaks up, Mr. Cloete.  To the underwriters I go if
+I've to walk to London on my bare feet.  Port cable!  Look at her
+port cable, I will say to them.  I doctored it--for the owners--
+tempted by a low rascal called Cloete.
+
+"Cloete does not understand what it means exactly.  All he sees is
+that the fellow means to make mischief.  He sees trouble ahead. . .
+Do you think you can scare me? he asks,--you poor miserable skunk.
+. . And Stafford faces him out--both holding on to the cabin table:
+No, damn you, you are only a dirty vagabond; but I can scare the
+other, the chap in the black coat. . .
+
+"Meaning George Dunbar.  Cloete's brain reels at the thought.  He
+doesn't imagine the fellow can do any real harm, but he knows what
+George is; give the show away; upset the whole business he had set
+his heart on.  He says nothing; he hears the other, what with the
+funk and strain and excitement, panting like a dog--and then a
+snarl. . . A thousand down, twenty-four hours after we get ashore;
+day after to-morrow.  That's my last word, Mr. Cloete. . . A
+thousand pounds, day after to-morrow, says Cloete.  Oh yes.  And
+to-day take this, you dirty cur. . . He hits straight from the
+shoulder in sheer rage, nothing else.  Stafford goes away spinning
+along the bulk-head.  Seeing this, Cloete steps out and lands him
+another one somewhere about the jaw.  The fellow staggers backward
+right into the captain's cabin through the open door.  Cloete,
+following him up, hears him fall down heavily and roll to leeward,
+then slams the door to and turns the key. . . There! says he to
+himself, that will stop you from making trouble."
+
+"By Jove!" I murmured.
+
+The old fellow departed from his impressive immobility to turn his
+rakishly hatted head and look at me with his old, black, lack-
+lustre eyes.
+
+"He did leave him there," he uttered, weightily, returning to the
+contemplation of the wall.  "Cloete didn't mean to allow anybody,
+let alone a thing like Stafford, to stand in the way of his great
+notion of making George and himself, and Captain Harry, too, for
+that matter, rich men.  And he didn't think much of consequences.
+These patent-medicine chaps don't care what they say or what they
+do.  They think the world's bound to swallow any story they like to
+tell. . . He stands listening for a bit.  And it gives him quite a
+turn to hear a thump at the door and a sort of muffled raving
+screech inside the captain's room.  He thinks he hears his own
+name, too, through the awful crash as the old Sagamore rises and
+falls to a sea.  That noise and that awful shock make him clear out
+of the cabin.  He collects his senses on the poop.  But his heart
+sinks a little at the black wildness of the night.  Chances that he
+will get drowned himself before long.  Puts his head down the
+companion.  Through the wind and breaking seas he can hear the
+noise of Stafford's beating against the door and cursing.  He
+listens and says to himself:  No.  Can't trust him now. . .
+
+"When he gets back to the top of the deck-house he says to Captain
+Harry, who asks him if he got the things, that he is very sorry.
+There was something wrong with the door.  Couldn't open it.  And to
+tell you the truth, says he, I didn't like to stop any longer in
+that cabin.  There are noises there as if the ship were going to
+pieces. . . Captain Harry thinks:  Nervous; can't be anything wrong
+with the door.  But he says:  Thanks--never mind, never mind. . .
+All hands looking out now for the life-boat.  Everybody thinking of
+himself rather.  Cloete asks himself, will they miss him?  But the
+fact is that Mr. Stafford had made such poor show at sea that after
+the ship struck nobody ever paid any attention to him.  Nobody
+cared what he did or where he was.  Pitch dark, too--no counting of
+heads.  The light of the tug with the lifeboat in tow is seen
+making for the ship, and Captain Harry asks:  Are we all there? . .
+. Somebody answers:  All here, sir. . . Stand by to leave the ship,
+then, says Captain Harry; and two of you help the gentleman over
+first. . . Aye, aye, sir. . . Cloete was moved to ask Captain Harry
+to let him stay till last, but the life-boat drops on a grapnel
+abreast the fore-rigging, two chaps lay hold of him, watch their
+chance, and drop him into her, all safe.
+
+"He's nearly exhausted; not used to that sort of thing, you see.
+He sits in the stern-sheets with his eyes shut.  Don't want to look
+at the white water boiling all around.  The men drop into the boat
+one after another.  Then he hears Captain Harry's voice shouting in
+the wind to the coxswain, to hold on a moment, and some other words
+he can't catch, and the coxswain yelling back:  Don't be long, sir.
+. . What is it?  Cloete asks feeling faint. . . Something about the
+ship's papers, says the coxswain, very anxious.  It's no time to be
+fooling about alongside, you understand.  They haul the boat off a
+little and wait.  The water flies over her in sheets.  Cloete's
+senses almost leave him.  He thinks of nothing.  He's numb all
+over, till there's a shout:  Here he is! . . . They see a figure in
+the fore-rigging waiting--they slack away on the grapnel-line and
+get him in the boat quite easy.  There is a little shouting--it's
+all mixed up with the noise of the sea.  Cloete fancies that
+Stafford's voice is talking away quite close to his ear.  There's a
+lull in the wind, and Stafford's voice seems to be speaking very
+fast to the coxswain; he tells him that of course he was near his
+skipper, was all the time near him, till the old man said at the
+last moment that he must go and get the ship's papers from aft;
+would insist on going himself; told him, Stafford, to get into the
+life-boat. . . He had meant to wait for his skipper, only there
+came this smooth of the seas, and he thought he would take his
+chance at once.
+
+"Cloete opens his eyes.  Yes.  There's Stafford sitting close by
+him in that crowded life-boat.  The coxswain stoops over Cloete and
+cries:  Did you hear what the mate said, sir? . . . Cloete's face
+feels as if it were set in plaster, lips and all.  Yes, I did, he
+forces himself to answer.  The coxswain waits a moment, then says:
+I don't like it. . . And he turns to the mate, telling him it was a
+pity he did not try to run along the deck and hurry up the captain
+when the lull came.  Stafford answers at once that he did think of
+it, only he was afraid of missing him on the deck in the dark.
+For, says he, the captain might have got over at once, thinking I
+was already in the life-boat, and you would have hauled off
+perhaps, leaving me behind. . . True enough, says the coxswain.  A
+minute or so passes.  This won't do, mutters the coxswain.
+Suddenly Stafford speaks up in a sort of hollow voice:  I was by
+when he told Mr. Cloete here that he didn't know how he would ever
+have the courage to leave the old ship; didn't he, now? . . . And
+Cloete feels his arm being gripped quietly in the dark. . . Didn't
+he now?  We were standing together just before you went over, Mr.
+Cloete? . . .
+
+"Just then the coxswain cries out:  I'm going on board to see. . .
+Cloete tears his arm away:  I am going with you. . .
+
+"When they get aboard, the coxswain tells Cloete to go aft along
+one side of the ship and he would go along the other so as not to
+miss the captain. . . And feel about with your hands, too, says he;
+he might have fallen and be lying insensible somewhere on the deck.
+. . When Cloete gets at last to the cabin companion on the poop the
+coxswain is already there, peering down and sniffing.  I detect a
+smell of smoke down there, says he.  And he yells:  Are you there,
+sir? . . . This is not a case for shouting, says Cloete, feeling
+his heart go stony, as it were. . . Down they go.  Pitch dark; the
+inclination so sharp that the coxswain, groping his way into the
+captain's room, slips and goes tumbling down.  Cloete hears him cry
+out as though he had hurt himself, and asks what's the matter.  And
+the coxswain answers quietly that he had fallen on the captain,
+lying there insensible.  Cloete without a word begins to grope all
+over the shelves for a box of matches, finds one, and strikes a
+light.  He sees the coxswain in his cork jacket kneeling over
+Captain Harry. . . Blood, says the coxswain, looking up, and the
+match goes out. . .
+
+"Wait a bit, says Cloete; I'll make paper spills. . . He had felt
+the back of books on the shelves.  And so he stands lighting one
+spill from another while the coxswain turns poor Captain Harry
+over.  Dead, he says.  Shot through the heart.  Here's the
+revolver. . . He hands it up to Cloete, who looks at it before
+putting it in his pocket, and sees a plate on the butt with H.
+Dunbar on it. . . His own, he mutters. . . Whose else revolver did
+you expect to find? snaps the coxswain.  And look, he took off his
+long oilskin in the cabin before he went in.  But what's this lot
+of burnt paper?  What could he want to burn the ship's papers for?
+. . .
+
+Cloete sees all, the little drawers drawn out, and asks the
+coxswain to look well into them. . . There's nothing, says the man.
+Cleaned out.  Seems to have pulled out all he could lay his hands
+on and set fire to the lot.  Mad--that's what it is--went mad.  And
+now he's dead.  You'll have to break it to his wife. . .
+
+"I feel as if I were going mad myself, says Cloete, suddenly, and
+the coxswain begs him for God's sake to pull himself together, and
+drags him away from the cabin.  They had to leave the body, and as
+it was they were just in time before a furious squall came on.
+Cloete is dragged into the life-boat and the coxswain tumbles in.
+Haul away on the grapnel, he shouts; the captain has shot himself.
+. .
+
+"Cloete was like a dead man--didn't care for anything.  He let that
+Stafford pinch his arm twice without making a sign.  Most of
+Westport was on the old pier to see the men out of the life-boat,
+and at first there was a sort of confused cheery uproar when she
+came alongside; but after the coxswain has shouted something the
+voices die out, and everybody is very quiet.  As soon as Cloete has
+set foot on something firm he becomes himself again.  The coxswain
+shakes hands with him:  Poor woman, poor woman, I'd rather you had
+the job than I. . .
+
+"Where's the mate?" asks Cloete.  He's the last man who spoke to
+the master. . . Somebody ran along--the crew were being taken to
+the Mission Hall, where there was a fire and shake-downs ready for
+them--somebody ran along the pier and caught up with Stafford. . .
+Here!  The owner's agent wants you. . . Cloete tucks the fellow's
+arm under his own and walks away with him to the left, where the
+fishing-harbour is. . . I suppose I haven't misunderstood you.  You
+wish me to look after you a bit, says he.  The other hangs on him
+rather limp, but gives a nasty little laugh:  You had better, he
+mumbles; but mind, no tricks; no tricks, Mr. Cloete; we are on land
+now.
+
+"There's a police office within fifty yards from here, says Cloete.
+He turns into a little public house, pushes Stafford along the
+passage.  The landlord runs out of the bar. . . This is the mate of
+the ship on the rocks, Cloete explains; I wish you would take care
+of him a bit to-night. . . What's the matter with him? asks the
+man.  Stafford leans against the wall in the passage, looking
+ghastly.  And Cloete says it's nothing--done up, of course. . . I
+will be responsible for the expense; I am the owner's agent.  I'll
+be round in an hour or two to see him.
+
+And Cloete gets back to the hotel.  The news had travelled there
+already, and the first thing he sees is George outside the door as
+white as a sheet waiting for him.  Cloete just gives him a nod and
+they go in.  Mrs. Harry stands at the head of the stairs, and, when
+she sees only these two coming up, flings her arms above her head
+and runs into her room.  Nobody had dared tell her, but not seeing
+her husband was enough.  Cloete hears an awful shriek. . . Go to
+her, he says to George.
+
+"While he's alone in the private parlour Cloete drinks a glass of
+brandy and thinks it all out.  Then George comes in. . . The
+landlady's with her, he says.  And he begins to walk up and down
+the room, flinging his arms about and talking, disconnected like,
+his face set hard as Cloete has never seen it before. . . What must
+be, must be.  Dead--only brother.  Well, dead--his troubles over.
+But we are living, he says to Cloete; and I suppose, says he,
+glaring at him with hot, dry eyes, that you won't forget to wire in
+the morning to your friend that we are coming in for certain. . .
+
+"Meaning the patent-medicine fellow. . . Death is death and
+business is business, George goes on; and look--my hands are clean,
+he says, showing them to Cloete.  Cloete thinks:  He's going crazy.
+He catches hold of him by the shoulders and begins to shake him:
+Damn you--if you had had the sense to know what to say to your
+brother, if you had had the spunk to speak to him at all, you moral
+creature you, he would be alive now, he shouts.
+
+"At this George stares, then bursts out weeping with a great
+bellow.  He throws himself on the couch, buries his face in a
+cushion, and howls like a kid. . . That's better, thinks Cloete,
+and he leaves him, telling the landlord that he must go out, as he
+has some little business to attend to that night.  The landlord's
+wife, weeping herself, catches him on the stairs:  Oh, sir, that
+poor lady will go out of her mind. . .
+
+"Cloete shakes her off, thinking to himself:  Oh no!  She won't.
+She will get over it.  Nobody will go mad about this affair unless
+I do.  It isn't sorrow that makes people go mad, but worry.
+
+"There Cloete was wrong.  What affected Mrs. Harry was that her
+husband should take his own life, with her, as it were, looking on.
+She brooded over it so that in less than a year they had to put her
+into a Home.  She was very, very quiet; just gentle melancholy.
+She lived for quite a long time.
+
+"Well, Cloete splashes along in the wind and rain.  Nobody in the
+streets--all the excitement over.  The publican runs out to meet
+him in the passage and says to him:  Not this way.  He isn't in his
+room.  We couldn't get him to go to bed nohow.  He's in the little
+parlour there.  We've lighted him a fire. . . You have been giving
+him drinks too, says Cloete; I never said I would be responsible
+for drinks.  How many? . . . Two, says the other.  It's all right.
+I don't mind doing that much for a shipwrecked sailor. . . Cloete
+smiles his funny smile:  Eh?  Come.  He paid for them. . . The
+publican just blinks. . . Gave you gold, didn't he?  Speak up! . .
+. What of that! cries the man.  What are you after, anyway?  He had
+the right change for his sovereign.
+
+"Just so, says Cloete.  He walks into the parlour, and there he
+sees our Stafford; hair all up on end, landlord's shirt and pants
+on, bare feet in slippers, sitting by the fire.  When he sees
+Cloete he casts his eyes down.
+
+"You didn't mean us ever to meet again, Mr. Cloete, Stafford says,
+demurely. . . That fellow, when he had the drink he wanted--he
+wasn't a drunkard--would put on this sort of sly, modest air. . .
+But since the captain committed suicide, he says, I have been
+sitting here thinking it out.  All sorts of things happen.
+Conspiracy to lose the ship--attempted murder--and this suicide.
+For if it was not suicide, Mr. Cloete, then I know of a victim of
+the most cruel, cold-blooded attempt at murder; somebody who has
+suffered a thousand deaths.  And that makes the thousand pounds of
+which we spoke once a quite insignificant sum.  Look how very
+convenient this suicide is. . .
+
+"He looks up at Cloete then, who smiles at him and comes quite
+close to the table.
+
+"You killed Harry Dunbar, he whispers. . . The fellow glares at him
+and shows his teeth:  Of course I did!  I had been in that cabin
+for an hour and a half like a rat in a trap. . . Shut up and left
+to drown in that wreck.  Let flesh and blood judge.  Of course I
+shot him!  I thought it was you, you murdering scoundrel, come back
+to settle me.  He opens the door flying and tumbles right down upon
+me; I had a revolver in my hand, and I shot him.  I was crazy.  Men
+have gone crazy for less.
+
+"Cloete looks at him without flinching.  Aha!  That's your story,
+is it? . . . And he shakes the table a little in his passion as he
+speaks. . . Now listen to mine.  What's this conspiracy?  Who's
+going to prove it?  You were there to rob.  You were rifling his
+cabin; he came upon you unawares with your hands in the drawer; and
+you shot him with his own revolver.  You killed to steal--to steal!
+His brother and the clerks in the office know that he took sixty
+pounds with him to sea.  Sixty pounds in gold in a canvas bag.  He
+told me where they were.  The coxswain of the life-boat can swear
+to it that the drawers were all empty.  And you are such a fool
+that before you're half an hour ashore you change a sovereign to
+pay for a drink.  Listen to me.  If you don't turn up day after to-
+morrow at George Dunbar's solicitors, to make the proper deposition
+as to the loss of the ship, I shall set the police on your track.
+Day after to-morrow. . .
+
+"And then what do you think?  That Stafford begins to tear his
+hair.  Just so.  Tugs at it with both hands without saying
+anything.  Cloete gives a push to the table which nearly sends the
+fellow off his chair, tumbling inside the fender; so that he has
+got to catch hold of it to save himself. . .
+
+"You know the sort of man I am, Cloete says, fiercely.  I've got to
+a point that I don't care what happens to me.  I would shoot you
+now for tuppence.
+
+"At this the cur dodges under the table.  Then Cloete goes out, and
+as he turns in the street--you know, little fishermen's cottages,
+all dark; raining in torrents, too--the other opens the window of
+the parlour and speaks in a sort of crying voice -
+
+"You low Yankee fiend--I'll pay you off some day.
+
+"Cloete passes by with a damn bitter laugh, because he thinks that
+the fellow in a way has paid him off already, if he only knew it."
+
+
+My impressive ruffian drank what remained of his beer, while his
+black, sunken eyes looked at me over the rim.
+
+"I don't quite understand this," I said.  "In what way?"
+
+He unbent a little and explained without too much scorn that
+Captain Harry being dead, his half of the insurance money went to
+his wife, and her trustees of course bought consols with it.
+Enough to keep her comfortable.  George Dunbar's half, as Cloete
+feared from the first, did not prove sufficient to launch the
+medicine well; other moneyed men stepped in, and these two had to
+go out of that business, pretty nearly shorn of everything.
+
+"I am curious," I said, "to learn what the motive force of this
+tragic affair was--I mean the patent medicine.  Do you know?"
+
+He named it, and I whistled respectfully.  Nothing less than
+Parker's Lively Lumbago Pills.  Enormous property!  You know it;
+all the world knows it.  Every second man, at least, on this globe
+of ours has tried it.
+
+"Why!" I cried, "they missed an immense fortune."
+
+"Yes," he mumbled, "by the price of a revolver-shot."
+
+He told me also that eventually Cloete returned to the States,
+passenger in a cargo-boat from Albert Dock.  The night before he
+sailed he met him wandering about the quays, and took him home for
+a drink.  "Funny chap, Cloete.  We sat all night drinking grogs,
+till it was time for him to go on board."
+
+It was then that Cloete, unembittered but weary, told him this
+story, with that utterly unconscious frankness of a patent-medicine
+man stranger to all moral standards.  Cloete concluded by remarking
+that he, had "had enough of the old country."  George Dunbar had
+turned on him, too, in the end.  Cloete was clearly somewhat
+disillusioned.
+
+As to Stafford, he died, professed loafer, in some East End
+hospital or other, and on his last day clamoured "for a parson,"
+because his conscience worried him for killing an innocent man.
+"Wanted somebody to tell him it was all right," growled my old
+ruffian, contemptuously.  "He told the parson that I knew this
+Cloete who had tried to murder him, and so the parson (he worked
+among the dock labourers) once spoke to me about it.  That skunk of
+a fellow finding himself trapped yelled for mercy. . . Promised to
+be good and so on. . . Then he went crazy . . . screamed and threw
+himself about, beat his head against the bulkheads . . . you can
+guess all that--eh? . . . till he was exhausted.  Gave up.  Threw
+himself down, shut his eyes, and wanted to pray.  So he says.
+Tried to think of some prayer for a quick death--he was that
+terrified.  Thought that if he had a knife or something he would
+cut his throat, and be done with it.  Then he thinks:  No!  Would
+try to cut away the wood about the lock. . . He had no knife in his
+pocket. . . he was weeping and calling on God to send him a tool of
+some kind when suddenly he thinks:  Axe!  In most ships there is a
+spare emergency axe kept in the master's room in some locker or
+other. . . Up he jumps. . . Pitch dark.  "Pulls at the drawers to
+find matches and, groping for them, the first thing he comes upon--
+Captain Harry's revolver.  Loaded too.  He goes perfectly quiet all
+over.  Can shoot the lock to pieces.  See?  Saved!  God's
+providence!  There are boxes of matches too.  Thinks he:  I may
+just as well see what I am about.
+
+"Strikes a light and sees the little canvas bag tucked away at the
+back of the drawer.  Knew at once what that was.  Rams it into his
+pocket quick.  Aha! says he to himself:  this requires more light.
+So he pitches a lot of paper on the floor, set fire to it, and
+starts in a hurry rummaging for more valuables.  Did you ever?  He
+told that East-End parson that the devil tempted him.  First God's
+mercy--then devil's work.  Turn and turn about. . .
+
+"Any squirming skunk can talk like that.  He was so busy with the
+drawers that the first thing he heard was a shout, Great Heavens.
+He looks up and there was the door open (Cloete had left the key in
+the lock) and Captain Harry holding on, well above him, very fierce
+in the light of the burning papers.  His eyes were starting out of
+his head.  Thieving, he thunders at him.  A sailor!  An officer!
+No!  A wretch like you deserves no better than to be left here to
+drown.
+
+"This Stafford--on his death-bed--told the parson that when he
+heard these words he went crazy again.  He snatched his hand with
+the revolver in it out of the drawer, and fired without aiming.
+Captain Harry fell right in with a crash like a stone on top of the
+burning papers, putting the blaze out.  All dark.  Not a sound.  He
+listened for a bit then dropped the revolver and scrambled out on
+deck like mad."
+
+The old fellow struck the table with his ponderous fist.
+
+"What makes me sick is to hear these silly boat-men telling people
+the captain committed suicide.  Pah!  Captain Harry was a man that
+could face his Maker any time up there, and here below, too.  He
+wasn't the sort to slink out of life.  Not he!  He was a good man
+down to the ground.  He gave me my first job as stevedore only
+three days after I got married."
+
+As the vindication of Captain Harry from the charge of suicide
+seemed to be his only object, I did not thank him very effusively
+for his material.  And then it was not worth many thanks in any
+case.
+
+For it is too startling even to think of such things happening in
+our respectable Channel in full view, so to speak, of the luxurious
+continental traffic to Switzerland and Monte Carlo.  This story to
+be acceptable should have been transposed to somewhere in the South
+Seas.  But it would have been too much trouble to cook it for the
+consumption of magazine readers.  So here it is raw, so to speak--
+just as it was told to me--but unfortunately robbed of the striking
+effect of the narrator; the most imposing old ruffian that ever
+followed the unromantic trade of master stevedore in the port of
+London.
+
+Oct. 1910.
+
+
+
+
+THE INN OF THE TWO WITCHES--A FIND
+
+
+
+
+This tale, episode, experience--call it how you will--was related
+in the fifties of the last century by a man who, by his own
+confession, was sixty years old at the time.  Sixty is not a bad
+age--unless in perspective, when no doubt it is contemplated by the
+majority of us with mixed feelings.  It is a calm age; the game is
+practically over by then; and standing aside one begins to remember
+with a certain vividness what a fine fellow one used to be.  I have
+observed that, by an amiable attention of Providence, most people
+at sixty begin to take a romantic view of themselves.  Their very
+failures exhale a charm of peculiar potency.  And indeed the hopes
+of the future are a fine company to live with, exquisite forms,
+fascinating if you like, but--so to speak--naked, stripped for a
+run.  The robes of glamour are luckily the property of the
+immovable past which, without them, would sit, a shivery sort of
+thing, under the gathering shadows.
+
+I suppose it was the romanticism of growing age which set our man
+to relate his experience for his own satisfaction or for the wonder
+of his posterity.  It could not have been for his glory, because
+the experience was simply that of an abominable fright--terror he
+calls it.  You would have guessed that the relation alluded to in
+the very first lines was in writing.
+
+This writing constitutes the Find declared in the sub-title.  The
+title itself is my own contrivance, (can't call it invention), and
+has the merit of veracity.  We will be concerned with an inn here.
+As to the witches that's merely a conventional expression, and we
+must take our man's word for it that it fits the case.
+
+The Find was made in a box of books bought in London, in a street
+which no longer exists, from a second-hand bookseller in the last
+stage of decay.  As to the books themselves they were at least
+twentieth-hand, and on inspection turned out not worth the very
+small sum of money I disbursed.  It might have been some
+premonition of that fact which made me say:  "But I must have the
+box too."  The decayed bookseller assented by the careless, tragic
+gesture of a man already doomed to extinction.
+
+A litter of loose pages at the bottom of the box excited my
+curiosity but faintly.  The close, neat, regular handwriting was
+not attractive at first sight.  But in one place the statement that
+in A.D. 1813 the writer was twenty-two years old caught my eye.
+Two and twenty is an interesting age in which one is easily
+reckless and easily frightened; the faculty of reflection being
+weak and the power of imagination strong.
+
+In another place the phrase:  "At night we stood in again,"
+arrested my languid attention, because it was a sea phrase.  "Let's
+see what it is all about," I thought, without excitement.
+
+Oh! but it was a dull-faced MS., each line resembling every other
+line in their close-set and regular order.  It was like the drone
+of a monotonous voice.  A treatise on sugar-refining (the dreariest
+subject I can think of) could have been given a more lively
+appearance.  "In A.D. 1813, I was twenty-two years old," he begins
+earnestly and goes on with every appearance of calm, horrible
+industry.  Don't imagine, however, that there is anything archaic
+in my find.  Diabolic ingenuity in invention though as old as the
+world is by no means a lost art.  Look at the telephones for
+shattering the little peace of mind given to us in this world, or
+at the machine guns for letting with dispatch life out of our
+bodies.  Now-a-days any blear-eyed old witch if only strong enough
+to turn an insignificant little handle could lay low a hundred
+young men of twenty in the twinkling of an eye.
+
+If this isn't progress! . . . Why immense!  We have moved on, and
+so you must expect to meet here a certain naiveness of contrivance
+and simplicity of aim appertaining to the remote epoch.  And of
+course no motoring tourist can hope to find such an inn anywhere,
+now.  This one, the one of the title, was situated in Spain.  That
+much I discovered only from internal evidence, because a good many
+pages of that relation were missing--perhaps not a great misfortune
+after all.  The writer seemed to have entered into a most elaborate
+detail of the why and wherefore of his presence on that coast--
+presumably the north coast of Spain.  His experience has nothing to
+do with the sea, though.  As far as I can make it out, he was an
+officer on board a sloop-of-war.  There's nothing strange in that.
+At all stages of the long Peninsular campaign many of our men-of-
+war of the smaller kind were cruising off the north coast of Spain-
+-as risky and disagreeable a station as can be well imagined.
+
+It looks as though that ship of his had had some special service to
+perform.  A careful explanation of all the circumstances was to be
+expected from our man, only, as I've said, some of his pages (good
+tough paper too) were missing:  gone in covers for jampots or in
+wadding for the fowling-pieces of his irreverent posterity.  But it
+is to be seen clearly that communication with the shore and even
+the sending of messengers inland was part of her service, either to
+obtain intelligence from or to transmit orders or advice to
+patriotic Spaniards, guerilleros or secret juntas of the province.
+Something of the sort.  All this can be only inferred from the
+preserved scraps of his conscientious writing.
+
+Next we come upon the panegyric of a very fine sailor, a member of
+the ship's company, having the rating of the captain's coxswain.
+He was known on board as Cuba Tom; not because he was Cuban
+however; he was indeed the best type of a genuine British tar of
+that time, and a man-of-war's man for years.  He came by the name
+on account of some wonderful adventures he had in that island in
+his young days, adventures which were the favourite subject of the
+yarns he was in the habit of spinning to his shipmates of an
+evening on the forecastle head.  He was intelligent, very strong,
+and of proved courage.  Incidentally we are told, so exact is our
+narrator, that Tom had the finest pigtail for thickness and length
+of any man in the Navy.  This appendage, much cared for and
+sheathed tightly in a porpoise skin, hung half way down his broad
+back to the great admiration of all beholders and to the great envy
+of some.
+
+Our young officer dwells on the manly qualities of Cuba Tom with
+something like affection.  This sort of relation between officer
+and man was not then very rare.  A youngster on joining the service
+was put under the charge of a trustworthy seaman, who slung his
+first hammock for him and often later on became a sort of humble
+friend to the junior officer.  The narrator on joining the sloop
+had found this man on board after some years of separation.  There
+is something touching in the warm pleasure he remembers and records
+at this meeting with the professional mentor of his boyhood.
+
+We discover then that, no Spaniard being forthcoming for the
+service, this worthy seaman with the unique pigtail and a very high
+character for courage and steadiness had been selected as messenger
+for one of these missions inland which have been mentioned.  His
+preparations were not elaborate.  One gloomy autumn morning the
+sloop ran close to a shallow cove where a landing could be made on
+that iron-bound shore.  A boat was lowered, and pulled in with Tom
+Corbin (Cuba Tom) perched in the bow, and our young man (Mr. Edgar
+Byrne was his name on this earth which knows him no more) sitting
+in the stern sheets.
+
+A few inhabitants of a hamlet, whose grey stone houses could be
+seen a hundred yards or so up a deep ravine, had come down to the
+shore and watched the approach of the boat.  The two Englishmen
+leaped ashore.  Either from dullness or astonishment the peasants
+gave no greeting, and only fell back in silence.
+
+Mr. Byrne had made up his mind to see Tom Corbin started fairly on
+his way.  He looked round at the heavy surprised faces.
+
+"There isn't much to get out of them," he said.  "Let us walk up to
+the village.  There will be a wine shop for sure where we may find
+somebody more promising to talk to and get some information from."
+
+"Aye, aye, sir," said Tom falling into step behind his officer.  "A
+bit of palaver as to courses and distances can do no harm; I
+crossed the broadest part of Cuba by the help of my tongue tho'
+knowing far less Spanish than I do now.  As they say themselves it
+was 'four words and no more' with me, that time when I got left
+behind on shore by the Blanche, frigate."
+
+He made light of what was before him, which was but a day's journey
+into the mountains.  It is true that there was a full day's journey
+before striking the mountain path, but that was nothing for a man
+who had crossed the island of Cuba on his two legs, and with no
+more than four words of the language to begin with.
+
+The officer and the man were walking now on a thick sodden bed of
+dead leaves, which the peasants thereabouts accumulate in the
+streets of their villages to rot during the winter for field
+manure.  Turning his head Mr. Byrne perceived that the whole male
+population of the hamlet was following them on the noiseless
+springy carpet.  Women stared from the doors of the houses and the
+children had apparently gone into hiding.  The village knew the
+ship by sight, afar off, but no stranger had landed on that spot
+perhaps for a hundred years or more.  The cocked hat of Mr. Byrne,
+the bushy whiskers and the enormous pigtail of the sailor, filled
+them with mute wonder.  They pressed behind the two Englishmen
+staring like those islanders discovered by Captain Cook in the
+South Seas.
+
+It was then that Byrne had his first glimpse of the little cloaked
+man in a yellow hat.  Faded and dingy as it was, this covering for
+his head made him noticeable.
+
+The entrance to the wine shop was like a rough hole in a wall of
+flints.  The owner was the only person who was not in the street,
+for he came out from the darkness at the back where the inflated
+forms of wine skins hung on nails could be vaguely distinguished.
+He was a tall, one-eyed Asturian with scrubby, hollow cheeks; a
+grave expression of countenance contrasted enigmatically with the
+roaming restlessness of his solitary eye.  On learning that the
+matter in hand was the sending on his way of that English mariner
+toward a certain Gonzales in the mountains, he closed his good eye
+for a moment as if in meditation.  Then opened it, very lively
+again.
+
+"Possibly, possibly.  It could be done."
+
+A friendly murmur arose in the group in the doorway at the name of
+Gonzales, the local leader against the French.  Inquiring as to the
+safety of the road Byrne was glad to learn that no troops of that
+nation had been seen in the neighbourhood for months.  Not the
+smallest little detachment of these impious polizones.  While
+giving these answers the owner of the wine-shop busied himself in
+drawing into an earthenware jug some wine which he set before the
+heretic English, pocketing with grave abstraction the small piece
+of money the officer threw upon the table in recognition of the
+unwritten law that none may enter a wine-shop without buying drink.
+His eye was in constant motion as if it were trying to do the work
+of the two; but when Byrne made inquiries as to the possibility of
+hiring a mule, it became immovably fixed in the direction of the
+door which was closely besieged by the curious.  In front of them,
+just within the threshold, the little man in the large cloak and
+yellow hat had taken his stand.  He was a diminutive person, a mere
+homunculus, Byrne describes him, in a ridiculously mysterious, yet
+assertive attitude, a corner of his cloak thrown cavalierly over
+his left shoulder, muffling his chin and mouth; while the broad-
+brimmed yellow hat hung on a corner of his square little head.  He
+stood there taking snuff, repeatedly.
+
+"A mule," repeated the wine-seller, his eyes fixed on that quaint
+and snuffy figure. . . "No, senor officer!  Decidedly no mule is to
+be got in this poor place."
+
+The coxswain, who stood by with the true sailor's air of unconcern
+in strange surroundings, struck in quietly -
+
+"If your honour will believe me Shank's pony's the best for this
+job.  I would have to leave the beast somewhere, anyhow, since the
+captain has told me that half my way will be along paths fit only
+for goats."
+
+The diminutive man made a step forward, and speaking through the
+folds of the cloak which seemed to muffle a sarcastic intention -
+
+"Si, senor.  They are too honest in this village to have a single
+mule amongst them for your worship's service.  To that I can bear
+testimony.  In these times it's only rogues or very clever men who
+can manage to have mules or any other four-footed beasts and the
+wherewithal to keep them.  But what this valiant mariner wants is a
+guide; and here, senor, behold my brother-in-law, Bernardino, wine-
+seller, and alcade of this most Christian and hospitable village,
+who will find you one."
+
+This, Mr. Byrne says in his relation, was the only thing to do.  A
+youth in a ragged coat and goat-skin breeches was produced after
+some more talk.  The English officer stood treat to the whole
+village, and while the peasants drank he and Cuba Tom took their
+departure accompanied by the guide.  The diminutive man in the
+cloak had disappeared.
+
+Byrne went along with the coxswain out of the village.  He wanted
+to see him fairly on his way; and he would have gone a greater
+distance, if the seaman had not suggested respectfully the
+advisability of return so as not to keep the ship a moment longer
+than necessary so close in with the shore on such an unpromising
+looking morning.  A wild gloomy sky hung over their heads when they
+took leave of each other, and their surroundings of rank bushes and
+stony fields were dreary.
+
+"In four days' time," were Byrne's last words, "the ship will stand
+in and send a boat on shore if the weather permits.  If not you'll
+have to make it out on shore the best you can till we come along to
+take you off."
+
+"Right you are, sir," answered Tom, and strode on.  Byrne watched
+him step out on a narrow path.  In a thick pea-jacket with a pair
+of pistols in his belt, a cutlass by his side, and a stout cudgel
+in his hand, he looked a sturdy figure and well able to take care
+of himself.  He turned round for a moment to wave his hand, giving
+to Byrne one more view of his honest bronzed face with bushy
+whiskers.  The lad in goatskin breeches looking, Byrne says, like a
+faun or a young satyr leaping ahead, stopped to wait for him, and
+then went off at a bound.  Both disappeared.
+
+Byrne turned back.  The hamlet was hidden in a fold of the ground,
+and the spot seemed the most lonely corner of the earth and as if
+accursed in its uninhabited desolate barrenness.  Before he had
+walked many yards, there appeared very suddenly from behind a bush
+the muffled up diminutive Spaniard.  Naturally Byrne stopped short.
+
+The other made a mysterious gesture with a tiny hand peeping from
+under his cloak.  His hat hung very much at the side of his head.
+"Senor," he said without any preliminaries.  "Caution!  It is a
+positive fact that one-eyed Bernardino, my brother-in-law, has at
+this moment a mule in his stable.  And why he who is not clever has
+a mule there?  Because he is a rogue; a man without conscience.
+Because I had to give up the macho to him to secure for myself a
+roof to sleep under and a mouthful of olla to keep my soul in this
+insignificant body of mine.  Yet, senor, it contains a heart many
+times bigger than the mean thing which beats in the breast of that
+brute connection of mine of which I am ashamed, though I opposed
+that marriage with all my power.  Well, the misguided woman
+suffered enough.  She had her purgatory on this earth--God rest her
+soul."
+
+Byrne says he was so astonished by the sudden appearance of that
+sprite-like being, and by the sardonic bitterness of the speech,
+that he was unable to disentangle the significant fact from what
+seemed but a piece of family history fired out at him without rhyme
+or reason.  Not at first.  He was confounded and at the same time
+he was impressed by the rapid forcible delivery, quite different
+from the frothy excited loquacity of an Italian.  So he stared
+while the homunculus letting his cloak fall about him, aspired an
+immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his palm.
+
+"A mule," exclaimed Byrne seizing at last the real aspect of the
+discourse.  "You say he has got a mule?  That's queer!  Why did he
+refuse to let me have it?"
+
+The diminutive Spaniard muffled himself up again with great
+dignity.
+
+"Quien sabe," he said coldly, with a shrug of his draped shoulders.
+"He is a great politico in everything he does.  But one thing your
+worship may be certain of--that his intentions are always rascally.
+This husband of my defunta sister ought to have been married a long
+time ago to the widow with the wooden legs." {1}
+
+"I see.  But remember that; whatever your motives, your worship
+countenanced him in this lie."
+
+The bright unhappy eyes on each side of a predatory nose confronted
+Byrne without wincing, while with that testiness which lurks so
+often at the bottom of Spanish dignity -
+
+"No doubt the senor officer would not lose an ounce of blood if I
+were stuck under the fifth rib," he retorted.  "But what of this
+poor sinner here?"  Then changing his tone.  "Senor, by the
+necessities of the times I live here in exile, a Castilian and an
+old Christian, existing miserably in the midst of these brute
+Asturians, and dependent on the worst of them all, who has less
+conscience and scruples than a wolf.  And being a man of
+intelligence I govern myself accordingly.  Yet I can hardly contain
+my scorn.  You have heard the way I spoke.  A caballero of parts
+like your worship might have guessed that there was a cat in
+there."
+
+"What cat?" said Byrne uneasily.  "Oh, I see.  Something
+suspicious.  No, senor.  I guessed nothing.  My nation are not good
+guessers at that sort of thing; and, therefore, I ask you plainly
+whether that wine-seller has spoken the truth in other
+particulars?"
+
+"There are certainly no Frenchmen anywhere about," said the little
+man with a return to his indifferent manner.
+
+"Or robbers--ladrones?"
+
+"Ladrones en grande--no!  Assuredly not," was the answer in a cold
+philosophical tone.  "What is there left for them to do after the
+French?  And nobody travels in these times.  But who can say!
+Opportunity makes the robber.  Still that mariner of yours has a
+fierce aspect, and with the son of a cat rats will have no play.
+But there is a saying, too, that where honey is there will soon be
+flies."
+
+This oracular discourse exasperated Byrne.  "In the name of God,"
+he cried, "tell me plainly if you think my man is reasonably safe
+on his journey."
+
+The homunculus, undergoing one of his rapid changes, seized the
+officer's arm.  The grip of his little hand was astonishing.
+
+"Senor!  Bernardino had taken notice of him.  What more do you
+want?  And listen--men have disappeared on this road--on a certain
+portion of this road, when Bernardino kept a meson, an inn, and I,
+his brother-in-law, had coaches and mules for hire.  Now there are
+no travellers, no coaches.  The French have ruined me.  Bernardino
+has retired here for reasons of his own after my sister died.  They
+were three to torment the life out of her, he and Erminia and
+Lucilla, two aunts of his--all affiliated to the devil.  And now he
+has robbed me of my last mule.  You are an armed man.  Demand the
+macho from him, with a pistol to his head, senor--it is not his, I
+tell you--and ride after your man who is so precious to you.  And
+then you shall both be safe, for no two travellers have been ever
+known to disappear together in those days.  As to the beast, I, its
+owner, I confide it to your honour."
+
+They were staring hard at each other, and Byrne nearly burst into a
+laugh at the ingenuity and transparency of the little man's plot to
+regain possession of his mule.  But he had no difficulty to keep a
+straight face because he felt deep within himself a strange
+inclination to do that very extraordinary thing.  He did not laugh,
+but his lip quivered; at which the diminutive Spaniard, detaching
+his black glittering eyes from Byrne's face, turned his back on him
+brusquely with a gesture and a fling of the cloak which somehow
+expressed contempt, bitterness, and discouragement all at once.  He
+turned away and stood still, his hat aslant, muffled up to the
+ears.  But he was not offended to the point of refusing the silver
+duro which Byrne offered him with a non-committal speech as if
+nothing extraordinary had passed between them.
+
+"I must make haste on board now," said Byrne, then.
+
+"Vaya usted con Dios," muttered the gnome.  And this interview
+ended with a sarcastic low sweep of the hat which was replaced at
+the same perilous angle as before.
+
+Directly the boat had been hoisted the ship's sails were filled on
+the off-shore tack, and Byrne imparted the whole story to his
+captain, who was but a very few years older than himself.  There
+was some amused indignation at it--but while they laughed they
+looked gravely at each other.  A Spanish dwarf trying to beguile an
+officer of his majesty's navy into stealing a mule for him--that
+was too funny, too ridiculous, too incredible.  Those were the
+exclamations of the captain.  He couldn't get over the
+grotesqueness of it.
+
+"Incredible.  That's just it," murmured Byrne at last in a
+significant tone.
+
+They exchanged a long stare.  "It's as clear as daylight," affirmed
+the captain impatiently, because in his heart he was not certain.
+And Tom the best seaman in the ship for one, the good-humouredly
+deferential friend of his boyhood for the other, was becoming
+endowed with a compelling fascination, like a symbolic figure of
+loyalty appealing to their feelings and their conscience, so that
+they could not detach their thoughts from his safety.  Several
+times they went up on deck, only to look at the coast, as if it
+could tell them something of his fate.  It stretched away,
+lengthening in the distance, mute, naked, and savage, veiled now
+and then by the slanting cold shafts of rain.  The westerly swell
+rolled its interminable angry lines of foam and big dark clouds
+flew over the ship in a sinister procession.
+
+"I wish to goodness you had done what your little friend in the
+yellow hat wanted you to do," said the commander of the sloop late
+in the afternoon with visible exasperation.
+
+"Do you, sir?" answered Byrne, bitter with positive anguish.  "I
+wonder what you would have said afterwards?  Why!  I might have
+been kicked out of the service for looting a mule from a nation in
+alliance with His Majesty.  Or I might have been battered to a pulp
+with flails and pitch-forks--a pretty tale to get abroad about one
+of your officers--while trying to steal a mule.  Or chased
+ignominiously to the boat--for you would not have expected me to
+shoot down unoffending people for the sake of a mangy mule. . . And
+yet," he added in a low voice, "I almost wish myself I had done
+it."
+
+Before dark those two young men had worked themselves up into a
+highly complex psychological state of scornful scepticism and
+alarmed credulity.  It tormented them exceedingly; and the thought
+that it would have to last for six days at least, and possibly be
+prolonged further for an indefinite time, was not to be borne.  The
+ship was therefore put on the inshore tack at dark.  All through
+the gusty dark night she went towards the land to look for her man,
+at times lying over in the heavy puffs, at others rolling idle in
+the swell, nearly stationary, as if she too had a mind of her own
+to swing perplexed between cool reason and warm impulse.
+
+Then just at daybreak a boat put off from her and went on tossed by
+the seas towards the shallow cove where, with considerable
+difficulty, an officer in a thick coat and a round hat managed to
+land on a strip of shingle.
+
+"It was my wish," writes Mr. Byrne, "a wish of which my captain
+approved, to land secretly if possible.  I did not want to be seen
+either by my aggrieved friend in the yellow hat, whose motives were
+not clear, or by the one-eyed wine-seller, who may or may not have
+been affiliated to the devil, or indeed by any other dweller in
+that primitive village.  But unfortunately the cove was the only
+possible landing place for miles; and from the steepness of the
+ravine I couldn't make a circuit to avoid the houses."
+
+"Fortunately," he goes on, "all the people were yet in their beds.
+It was barely daylight when I found myself walking on the thick
+layer of sodden leaves filling the only street.  No soul was
+stirring abroad, no dog barked.  The silence was profound, and I
+had concluded with some wonder that apparently no dogs were kept in
+the hamlet, when I heard a low snarl, and from a noisome alley
+between two hovels emerged a vile cur with its tail between its
+legs.  He slunk off silently showing me his teeth as he ran before
+me, and he disappeared so suddenly that he might have been the
+unclean incarnation of the Evil One.  There was, too, something so
+weird in the manner of its coming and vanishing, that my spirits,
+already by no means very high, became further depressed by the
+revolting sight of this creature as if by an unlucky presage."
+
+He got away from the coast unobserved, as far as he knew, then
+struggled manfully to the west against wind and rain, on a barren
+dark upland, under a sky of ashes.  Far away the harsh and desolate
+mountains raising their scarped and denuded ridges seemed to wait
+for him menacingly.  The evening found him fairly near to them,
+but, in sailor language, uncertain of his position, hungry, wet,
+and tired out by a day of steady tramping over broken ground during
+which he had seen very few people, and had been unable to obtain
+the slightest intelligence of Tom Corbin's passage.  "On! on! I
+must push on," he had been saying to himself through the hours of
+solitary effort, spurred more by incertitude than by any definite
+fear or definite hope.
+
+The lowering daylight died out quickly, leaving him faced by a
+broken bridge.  He descended into the ravine, forded a narrow
+stream by the last gleam of rapid water, and clambering out on the
+other side was met by the night which fen like a bandage over his
+eyes.  The wind sweeping in the darkness the broadside of the
+sierra worried his ears by a continuous roaring noise as of a
+maddened sea.  He suspected that he had lost the road.  Even in
+daylight, with its ruts and mud-holes and ledges of outcropping
+stone, it was difficult to distinguish from the dreary waste of the
+moor interspersed with boulders and clumps of naked bushes.  But,
+as he says, "he steered his course by the feel of the wind," his
+hat rammed low on his brow, his head down, stopping now and again
+from mere weariness of mind rather than of body--as if not his
+strength but his resolution were being overtaxed by the strain of
+endeavour half suspected to be vain, and by the unrest of his
+feelings.
+
+In one of these pauses borne in the wind faintly as if from very
+far away he heard a sound of knocking, just knocking on wood.  He
+noticed that the wind had lulled suddenly.
+
+His heart started beating tumultuously because in himself he
+carried the impression of the desert solitudes he had been
+traversing for the last six hours--the oppressive sense of an
+uninhabited world.  When he raised his head a gleam of light,
+illusory as it often happens in dense darkness, swam before his
+eyes.  While he peered, the sound of feeble knocking was repeated--
+and suddenly he felt rather than saw the existence of a massive
+obstacle in his path.  What was it?  The spur of a hill?  Or was it
+a house!  Yes.  It was a house right close, as though it had risen
+from the ground or had come gliding to meet him, dumb and pallid;
+from some dark recess of the night.  It towered loftily.  He had
+come up under its lee; another three steps and he could have
+touched the wall with his hand.  It was no doubt a posada and some
+other traveller was trying for admittance.  He heard again the
+sound of cautious knocking.
+
+Next moment a broad band of light fell into the night through the
+opened door.  Byrne stepped eagerly into it, whereupon the person
+outside leaped with a stifled cry away into the night.  An
+exclamation of surprise was heard too, from within.  Byrne,
+flinging himself against the half closed door, forced his way in
+against some considerable resistance.
+
+A miserable candle, a mere rushlight, burned at the end of a long
+deal table.  And in its light Byrne saw, staggering yet, the girl
+he had driven from the door.  She had a short black skirt, an
+orange shawl, a dark complexion--and the escaped single hairs from
+the mass, sombre and thick like a forest and held up by a comb,
+made a black mist about her low forehead.  A shrill lamentable howl
+of:  "Misericordia!" came in two voices from the further end of the
+long room, where the fire-light of an open hearth played between
+heavy shadows.  The girl recovering herself drew a hissing breath
+through her set teeth.
+
+It is unnecessary to report the long process of questions and
+answers by which he soothed the fears of two old women who sat on
+each side of the fire, on which stood a large earthenware pot.
+Byrne thought at once of two witches watching the brewing of some
+deadly potion.  But all the same, when one of them raising forward
+painfully her broken form lifted the cover of the pot, the escaping
+steam had an appetising smell.  The other did not budge, but sat
+hunched up, her head trembling all the time.
+
+They were horrible.  There was something grotesque in their
+decrepitude.  Their toothless mouths, their hooked noses, the
+meagreness of the active one, and the hanging yellow cheeks of the
+other (the still one, whose head trembled) would have been
+laughable if the sight of their dreadful physical degradation had
+not been appalling to one's eyes, had not gripped one's heart with
+poignant amazement at the unspeakable misery of age, at the awful
+persistency of life becoming at last an object of disgust and
+dread.
+
+To get over it Byrne began to talk, saying that he was an
+Englishman, and that he was in search of a countryman who ought to
+have passed this way.  Directly he had spoken the recollection of
+his parting with Tom came up in his mind with amazing vividness:
+the silent villagers, the angry gnome, the one-eyed wine-seller,
+Bernardino.  Why!  These two unspeakable frights must be that man's
+aunts--affiliated to the devil.
+
+Whatever they had been once it was impossible to imagine what use
+such feeble creatures could be to the devil, now, in the world of
+the living.  Which was Lucilla and which was Erminia?  They were
+now things without a name.  A moment of suspended animation
+followed Byrne's words.  The sorceress with the spoon ceased
+stirring the mess in the iron pot, the very trembling of the
+other's head stopped for the space of breath.  In this
+infinitesimal fraction of a second Byrne had the sense of being
+really on his quest, of having reached the turn of the path, almost
+within hail of Tom.
+
+"They have seen him," he thought with conviction.  Here was at last
+somebody who had seen him.  He made sure they would deny all
+knowledge of the Ingles; but on the contrary they were eager to
+tell him that he had eaten and slept the night in the house.  They
+both started talking together, describing his appearance and
+behaviour.  An excitement quite fierce in its feebleness possessed
+them.  The doubled-up sorceress flourished aloft her wooden spoon,
+the puffy monster got off her stool and screeched, stepping from
+one foot to the other, while the trembling of her head was
+accelerated to positive vibration.  Byrne was quite disconcerted by
+their excited behaviour. . . Yes!  The big, fierce Ingles went away
+in the morning, after eating a piece of bread and drinking some
+wine.  And if the caballero wished to follow the same path nothing
+could be easier--in the morning.
+
+"You will give me somebody to show me the way?" said Byrne.
+
+"Si, senor.  A proper youth.  The man the caballero saw going out."
+
+"But he was knocking at the door," protested Byrne.  "He only
+bolted when he saw me.  He was coming in."
+
+"No!  No!" the two horrid witches screamed out together.  "Going
+out. Going out!"
+
+After all it may have been true. The sound of knocking had been
+faint, elusive, reflected Byrne.  Perhaps only the effect of his
+fancy.  He asked -
+
+"Who is that man?"
+
+"Her novio."  They screamed pointing to the girl.  "He is gone home
+to a village far away from here.  But he will return in the
+morning.  Her novio!  And she is an orphan--the child of poor
+Christian people.  She lives with us for the love of God, for the
+love of God."
+
+The orphan crouching on the corner of the hearth had been looking
+at Byrne.  He thought that she was more like a child of Satan kept
+there by these two weird harridans for the love of the Devil.  Her
+eyes were a little oblique, her mouth rather thick, but admirably
+formed; her dark face had a wild beauty, voluptuous and untamed.
+As to the character of her steadfast gaze attached upon him with a
+sensuously savage attention, "to know what it was like," says Mr.
+Byrne, "you have only to observe a hungry cat watching a bird in a
+cage or a mouse inside a trap."
+
+It was she who served him the food, of which he was glad; though
+with those big slanting black eyes examining him at close range, as
+if he had something curious written on his face, she gave him an
+uncomfortable sensation.  But anything was better than being
+approached by these blear-eyed nightmarish witches.  His
+apprehensions somehow had been soothed; perhaps by the sensation of
+warmth after severe exposure and the ease of resting after the
+exertion of fighting the gale inch by inch all the way.  He had no
+doubt of Tom's safety.  He was now sleeping in the mountain camp
+having been met by Gonzales' men.
+
+Byrne rose, filled a tin goblet with wine out of a skin hanging on
+the wall, and sat down again.  The witch with the mummy face began
+to talk to him, ramblingly of old times; she boasted of the inn's
+fame in those better days.  Great people in their own coaches
+stopped there.  An archbishop slept once in the casa, a long, long
+time ago.
+
+The witch with the puffy face seemed to be listening from her
+stool, motionless, except for the trembling of her head.  The girl
+(Byrne was certain she was a casual gipsy admitted there for some
+reason or other) sat on the hearth stone in the glow of the embers.
+She hummed a tune to herself, rattling a pair of castanets slightly
+now and then.  At the mention of the archbishop she chuckled
+impiously and turned her head to look at Byrne, so that the red
+glow of the fire flashed in her black eyes and on her white teeth
+under the dark cowl of the enormous overmantel.  And he smiled at
+her.
+
+He rested now in the ease of security.  His advent not having been
+expected there could be no plot against him in existence.
+Drowsiness stole upon his senses.  He enjoyed it, but keeping a
+hold, so he thought at least, on his wits; but he must have been
+gone further than he thought because he was startled beyond measure
+by a fiendish uproar.  He had never heard anything so pitilessly
+strident in his life.  The witches had started a fierce quarrel
+about something or other.  Whatever its origin they were now only
+abusing each other violently, without arguments; their senile
+screams expressed nothing but wicked anger and ferocious dismay.
+The gipsy girl's black eyes flew from one to the other.  Never
+before had Byrne felt himself so removed from fellowship with human
+beings.  Before he had really time to understand the subject of the
+quarrel, the girl jumped up rattling her castanets loudly.  A
+silence fell.  She came up to the table and bending over, her eyes
+in his -
+
+"Senor," she said with decision, "You shall sleep in the
+archbishop's room."
+
+Neither of the witches objected.  The dried-up one bent double was
+propped on a stick.  The puffy faced one had now a crutch.
+
+Byrne got up, walked to the door, and turning the key in the
+enormous lock put it coolly in his pocket.  This was clearly the
+only entrance, and he did not mean to be taken unawares by whatever
+danger there might have been lurking outside.
+
+When he turned from the door he saw the two witches "affiliated to
+the Devil" and the Satanic girl looking at him in silence.  He
+wondered if Tom Corbin took the same precaution last might.  And
+thinking of him he had again that queer impression of his nearness.
+The world was perfectly dumb.  And in this stillness he heard the
+blood beating in his ears with a confused rushing noise, in which
+there seemed to be a voice uttering the words:  "Mr. Byrne, look
+out, sir."  Tom's voice.  He shuddered; for the delusions of the
+senses of hearing are the most vivid of all, and from their nature
+have a compelling character.
+
+It seemed impossible that Tom should not be there.  Again a slight
+chill as of stealthy draught penetrated through his very clothes
+and passed over all his body.  He shook off the impression with an
+effort.
+
+It was the girl who preceded him upstairs carrying an iron lamp
+from the naked flame of which ascended a thin thread of smoke.  Her
+soiled white stockings were full of holes.
+
+With the same quiet resolution with which he had locked the door
+below, Byrne threw open one after another the doors in the
+corridor.  All the rooms were empty except for some nondescript
+lumber in one or two.  And the girl seeing what he would be at
+stopped every time, raising the smoky light in each doorway
+patiently.  Meantime she observed him with sustained attention.
+The last door of all she threw open herself.
+
+"You sleep here, senor," she murmured in a voice light like a
+child's breath, offering him the lamp.
+
+"Buenos noches, senorita," he said politely, taking it from her.
+
+She didn't return the wish audibly, though her lips did move a
+little, while her gaze black like a starless night never for a
+moment wavered before him.  He stepped in, and as he turned to
+close the door she was still there motionless and disturbing, with
+her voluptuous mouth and slanting eyes, with the expression of
+expectant sensual ferocity of a baffled cat.  He hesitated for a
+moment, and in the dumb house he heard again the blood pulsating
+ponderously in his ears, while once more the illusion of Tom's
+voice speaking earnestly somewhere near by was specially
+terrifying, because this time he could not make out the words.
+
+He slammed the door in the girl's face at last, leaving her in the
+dark; and he opened it again almost on the instant.  Nobody.  She
+had vanished without the slightest sound.  He closed the door
+quickly and bolted it with two heavy bolts.
+
+A profound mistrust possessed him suddenly.  Why did the witches
+quarrel about letting him sleep here?  And what meant that stare of
+the girl as if she wanted to impress his features for ever in her
+mind?  His own nervousness alarmed him.  He seemed to himself to be
+removed very far from mankind.
+
+He examined his room.  It was not very high, just high enough to
+take the bed which stood under an enormous baldaquin-like canopy
+from which fell heavy curtains at foot and head; a bed certainly
+worthy of an archbishop.  There was a heavy table carved all round
+the edges, some arm-chairs of enormous weight like the spoils of a
+grandee's palace; a tall shallow wardrobe placed against the wall
+and with double doors.  He tried them.  Locked.  A suspicion came
+into his mind, and he snatched the lamp to make a closer
+examination.  No, it was not a disguised entrance.  That heavy,
+tall piece of furniture stood clear of the wall by quite an inch.
+He glanced at the bolts of his room door.  No!  No one could get at
+him treacherously while he slept.  But would he be able to sleep?
+he asked himself anxiously.  If only he had Tom there--the trusty
+seaman who had fought at his right hand in a cutting out affair or
+two, and had always preached to him the necessity to take care of
+himself.  "For it's no great trick," he used to say, "to get
+yourself killed in a hot fight.  Any fool can do that.  The proper
+pastime is to fight the Frenchies and then live to fight another
+day."
+
+Byrne found it a hard matter not to fall into listening to the
+silence.  Somehow he had the conviction that nothing would break it
+unless he heard again the haunting sound of Tom's voice.  He had
+heard it twice before.  Odd!  And yet no wonder, he argued with
+himself reasonably, since he had been thinking of the man for over
+thirty hours continuously and, what's more, inconclusively.  For
+his anxiety for Tom had never taken a definite shape.  "Disappear,"
+was the only word connected with the idea of Tom's danger.  It was
+very vague and awful.  "Disappear!"  What did that mean?
+
+Byrne shuddered, and then said to himself that he must be a little
+feverish.  But Tom had not disappeared.  Byrne had just heard of
+him.  And again the young man felt the blood beating in his ears.
+He sat still expecting every moment to hear through the pulsating
+strokes the sound of Tom's voice.  He waited straining his ears,
+but nothing came.  Suddenly the thought occurred to him:  "He has
+not disappeared, but he cannot make himself heard."
+
+He jumped up from the arm-chair.  How absurd!  Laying his pistol
+and his hanger on the table he took off his boots and, feeling
+suddenly too tired to stand, flung himself on the bed which he
+found soft and comfortable beyond his hopes.
+
+He had felt very wakeful, but he must have dozed off after all,
+because the next thing he knew he was sitting up in bed and trying
+to recollect what it was that Tom's voice had said.  Oh!  He
+remembered it now.  It had said:  "Mr. Byrne!  Look out, sir!"  A
+warning this.  But against what?
+
+He landed with one leap in the middle of the floor, gasped once,
+then looked all round the room.  The window was shuttered and
+barred with an iron bar.  Again he ran his eyes slowly all round
+the bare walls, and even looked up at the ceiling, which was rather
+high.  Afterwards he went to the door to examine the fastenings.
+They consisted of two enormous iron bolts sliding into holes made
+in the wall; and as the corridor outside was too narrow to admit of
+any battering arrangement or even to permit an axe to be swung,
+nothing could burst the door open--unless gunpowder.  But while he
+was still making sure that the lower bolt was pushed well home, he
+received the impression of somebody's presence in the room.  It was
+so strong that he spun round quicker than lightning.  There was no
+one.  Who could there be?  And yet . . .
+
+It was then that he lost the decorum and restraint a man keeps up
+for his own sake.  He got down on his hands and knees, with the
+lamp on the floor, to look under the bed, like a silly girl.  He
+saw a lot of dust and nothing else.  He got up, his cheeks burning,
+and walked about discontented with his own behaviour and
+unreasonably angry with Tom for not leaving him alone.  The words:
+"Mr. Byrne!  Look out, sir," kept on repeating themselves in his
+head in a tone of warning.
+
+"Hadn't I better just throw myself on the bed and try to go to
+sleep," he asked himself.  But his eyes fell on the tall wardrobe,
+and he went towards it feeling irritated with himself and yet
+unable to desist.  How he could explain to-morrow the burglarious
+misdeed to the two odious witches he had no idea.  Nevertheless he
+inserted the point of his hanger between the two halves of the door
+and tried to prize them open.  They resisted.  He swore, sticking
+now hotly to his purpose.  His mutter:  "I hope you will be
+satisfied, confound you," was addressed to the absent Tom.  Just
+then the doors gave way and flew open.
+
+He was there.
+
+He--the trusty, sagacious, and courageous Tom was there, drawn up
+shadowy and stiff, in a prudent silence, which his wide-open eyes
+by their fixed gleam seemed to command Byrne to respect.  But Byrne
+was too startled to make a sound.  Amazed, he stepped back a
+little--and on the instant the seaman flung himself forward
+headlong as if to clasp his officer round the neck.  Instinctively
+Byrne put out his faltering arms; he felt the horrible rigidity of
+the body and then the coldness of death as their heads knocked
+together and their faces came into contact.  They reeled, Byrne
+hugging Tom close to his breast in order not to let him fall with a
+crash.  He had just strength enough to lower the awful burden
+gently to the floor--then his head swam, his legs gave way, and he
+sank on his knees, leaning over the body with his hands resting on
+the breast of that man once full of generous life, and now as
+insensible as a stone.
+
+"Dead! my poor Tom, dead," he repeated mentally.  The light of the
+lamp standing near the edge of the table fell from above straight
+on the stony empty stare of these eyes which naturally had a mobile
+and merry expression.
+
+Byrne turned his own away from them.  Tom's black silk neckerchief
+was not knotted on his breast.  It was gone.  The murderers had
+also taken off his shoes and stockings.  And noticing this
+spoliation, the exposed throat, the bare up-turned feet, Byrne felt
+his eyes run full of tears.  In other respects the seaman was fully
+dressed; neither was his clothing disarranged as it must have been
+in a violent struggle.  Only his checked shirt had been pulled a
+little out the waistband in one place, just enough to ascertain
+whether he had a money belt fastened round his body.  Byrne began
+to sob into his handkerchief.
+
+It was a nervous outburst which passed off quickly.  Remaining on
+his knees he contemplated sadly the athletic body of as fine a
+seaman as ever had drawn a cutlass, laid a gun, or passed the
+weather earring in a gale, lying stiff and cold, his cheery,
+fearless spirit departed--perhaps turning to him, his boy chum, to
+his ship out there rolling on the grey seas off an iron-bound
+coast, at the very moment of its flight.
+
+He perceived that the six brass buttons of Tom's jacket had been
+cut off.  He shuddered at the notion of the two miserable and
+repulsive witches busying themselves ghoulishly about the
+defenceless body of his friend.  Cut off.  Perhaps with the same
+knife which . . . The head of one trembled; the other was bent
+double, and their eyes were red and bleared, their infamous claws
+unsteady. . . It must have been in this very room too, for Tom
+could not have been killed in the open and brought in here
+afterwards.  Of that Byrne was certain.  Yet those devilish crones
+could not have killed him themselves even by taking him unawares--
+and Tom would be always on his guard of course.  Tom was a very
+wide awake wary man when engaged on any service. . . And in fact
+how did they murder him?  Who did?  In what way?
+
+Byrne jumped up, snatched the lamp off the table, and stooped
+swiftly over the body.  The light revealed on the clothing no
+stain, no trace, no spot of blood anywhere.  Byrne's hands began to
+shake so that he had to set the lamp on the floor and turn away his
+head in order to recover from this agitation.
+
+Then he began to explore that cold, still, and rigid body for a
+stab, a gunshot wound, for the trace of some killing blow.  He felt
+all over the skull anxiously.  It was whole.  He slipped his hand
+under the neck.  It was unbroken.  With terrified eyes he peered
+close under the chin and saw no marks of strangulation on the
+throat.
+
+There were no signs anywhere.  He was just dead.
+
+Impulsively Byrne got away from the body as if the mystery of an
+incomprehensible death had changed his pity into suspicion and
+dread.  The lamp on the floor near the set, still face of the
+seaman showed it staring at the ceiling as if despairingly.  In the
+circle of light Byrne saw by the undisturbed patches of thick dust
+on the floor that there had been no struggle in that room.  "He has
+died outside," he thought.  Yes, outside in that narrow corridor,
+where there was hardly room to turn, the mysterious death had come
+to his poor dear Tom.  The impulse of snatching up his pistols and
+rushing out of the room abandoned Byrne suddenly.  For Tom, too,
+had been armed--with just such powerless weapons as he himself
+possessed--pistols, a cutlass!  And Tom had died a nameless death,
+by incomprehensible means.
+
+A new thought came to Byrne.  That stranger knocking at the door
+and fleeing so swiftly at his appearance had come there to remove
+the body.  Aha!  That was the guide the withered witch had promised
+would show the English officer the shortest way of rejoining his
+man.  A promise, he saw it now, of dreadful import.  He who had
+knocked would have two bodies to deal with.  Man and officer would
+go forth from the house together.  For Byrne was certain now that
+he would have to die before the morning--and in the same mysterious
+manner, leaving behind him an unmarked body.
+
+The sight of a smashed head, of a throat cut, of a gaping gunshot
+wound, would have been an inexpressible relief.  It would have
+soothed all his fears.  His soul cried within him to that dead man
+whom he had never found wanting in danger.  "Why don't you tell me
+what I am to look for, Tom?  Why don't you?"  But in rigid
+immobility, extended on his back, he seemed to preserve an austere
+silence, as if disdaining in the finality of his awful knowledge to
+hold converse with the living.
+
+Suddenly Byrne flung himself on his knees by the side of the body,
+and dry-eyed, fierce, opened the shirt wide on the breast, as if to
+tear the secret forcibly from that cold heart which had been so
+loyal to him in life!  Nothing!  Nothing!  He raised the lamp, and
+all the sign vouchsafed to him by that face which used to be so
+kindly in expression was a small bruise on the forehead--the least
+thing, a mere mark.  The skin even was not broken.  He stared at it
+a long time as if lost in a dreadful dream.  Then he observed that
+Tom's hands were clenched as though he had fallen facing somebody
+in a fight with fists.  His knuckles, on closer view, appeared
+somewhat abraded.  Both hands.
+
+The discovery of these slight signs was more appalling to Byrne
+than the absolute absence of every mark would have been.  So Tom
+had died striking against something which could be hit, and yet
+could kill one without leaving a wound--by a breath.
+
+Terror, hot terror, began to play about Byrne's heart like a tongue
+of flame that touches and withdraws before it turns a thing to
+ashes.  He backed away from the body as far as he could, then came
+forward stealthily casting fearful glances to steal another look at
+the bruised forehead.  There would perhaps be such a faint bruise
+on his own forehead--before the morning.
+
+"I can't bear it," he whispered to himself.  Tom was for him now an
+object of horror, a sight at once tempting and revolting to his
+fear.  He couldn't bear to look at him.
+
+At last, desperation getting the better of his increasing horror,
+he stepped forward from the wall against which he had been leaning,
+seized the corpse under the armpits, and began to lug it over to
+the bed.  The bare heels of the seaman trailed on the floor
+noiselessly.  He was heavy with the dead weight of inanimate
+objects.  With a last effort Byrne landed him face downwards on the
+edge of the bed, rolled him over, snatched from under this stiff
+passive thing a sheet with which he covered it over.  Then he
+spread the curtains at head and foot so that joining together as he
+shook their folds they hid the bed altogether from his sight.
+
+He stumbled towards a chair, and fell on it.  The perspiration
+poured from his face for a moment, and then his veins seemed to
+carry for a while a thin stream of half, frozen blood.  Complete
+terror had possession of him now, a nameless terror which had
+turned his heart to ashes.
+
+He sat upright in the straight-backed chair, the lamp burning at
+his feet, his pistols and his hanger at his left elbow on the end
+of the table, his eyes turning incessantly in their sockets round
+the walls, over the ceiling, over the floor, in the expectation of
+a mysterious and appalling vision.  The thing which could deal
+death in a breath was outside that bolted door.  But Byrne believed
+neither in walls nor bolts now.  Unreasoning terror turning
+everything to account, his old time boyish admiration of the
+athletic Tom, the undaunted Tom (he had seemed to him invincible),
+helped to paralyse his faculties, added to his despair.
+
+He was no longer Edgar Byrne.  He was a tortured soul suffering
+more anguish than any sinner's body had ever suffered from rack or
+boot.  The depth of his torment may be measured when I say that
+this young man, as brave at least as the average of his kind,
+contemplated seizing a pistol and firing into his own head.  But a
+deadly, chilly, langour was spreading over his limbs.  It was as if
+his flesh had been wet plaster stiffening slowly about his ribs.
+Presently, he thought, the two witches will be coming in, with
+crutch and stick--horrible, grotesque, monstrous--affiliated to the
+devil--to put a mark on his forehead, the tiny little bruise of
+death.  And he wouldn't be able to do anything.  Tom had struck out
+at something, but he was not like Tom.  His limbs were dead
+already.  He sat still, dying the death over and over again; and
+the only part of him which moved were his eyes, turning round and
+round in their sockets, running over the walls, the floor, the
+ceiling, again and again till suddenly they became motionless and
+stony-starting out of his head fixed in the direction of the bed.
+
+He had seen the heavy curtains stir and shake as if the dead body
+they concealed had turned over and sat up.  Byrne, who thought the
+world could hold no more terrors in store, felt his hair stir at
+the roots.  He gripped the arms of the chair, his jaw fell, and the
+sweat broke out on his brow while his dry tongue clove suddenly to
+the roof of his mouth.  Again the curtains stirred, but did not
+open.  "Don't, Tom!" Byrne made effort to shout, but all he heard
+was a slight moan such as an uneasy sleeper may make.  He felt that
+his brain was going, for, now, it seemed to him that the ceiling
+over the bed had moved, had slanted, and came level again--and once
+more the closed curtains swayed gently as if about to part.
+
+Byrne closed his eyes not to see the awful apparition of the
+seaman's corpse coming out animated by an evil spirit.  In the
+profound silence of the room he endured a moment of frightful
+agony, then opened his eyes again.  And he saw at once that the
+curtains remained closed still, but that the ceiling over the bed
+had risen quite a foot.  With the last gleam of reason left to him
+he understood that it was the enormous baldaquin over the bed which
+was coming down, while the curtains attached to it swayed softly,
+sinking gradually to the floor.  His drooping jaw snapped to--and
+half rising in his chair he watched mutely the noiseless descent of
+the monstrous canopy.  It came down in short smooth rushes till
+lowered half way or more, when it took a run and settled swiftly
+its turtle-back shape with the deep border piece fitting exactly
+the edge of the bedstead.  A slight crack or two of wood were
+heard, and the overpowering stillness of the room resumed its sway.
+
+Byrne stood up, gasped for breath, and let out a cry of rage and
+dismay, the first sound which he is perfectly certain did make its
+way past his lips on this night of terrors.  This then was the
+death he had escaped!  This was the devilish artifice of murder
+poor Tom's soul had perhaps tried from beyond the border to warn
+him of.  For this was how he had died.  Byrne was certain he had
+heard the voice of the seaman, faintly distinct in his familiar
+phrase, "Mr. Byrne!  Look out, sir!" and again uttering words he
+could not make out.  But then the distance separating the living
+from the dead is so great!  Poor Tom had tried.  Byrne ran to the
+bed and attempted to lift up, to push off the horrible lid
+smothering the body.  It resisted his efforts, heavy as lead,
+immovable like a tombstone.  The rage of vengeance made him desist;
+his head buzzed with chaotic thoughts of extermination, he turned
+round the room as if he could find neither his weapons nor the way
+out; and all the time he stammered awful menaces. . .
+
+A violent battering at the door of the inn recalled him to his
+soberer senses.  He flew to the window pulled the shutters open,
+and looked out.  In the faint dawn he saw below him a mob of men.
+Ha!  He would go and face at once this murderous lot collected no
+doubt for his undoing.  After his struggle with nameless terrors he
+yearned for an open fray with armed enemies.  But he must have
+remained yet bereft of his reason, because forgetting his weapons
+he rushed downstairs with a wild cry, unbarred the door while blows
+were raining on it outside, and flinging it open flew with his bare
+hands at the throat of the first man he saw before him.  They
+rolled over together.  Byrne's hazy intention was to break through,
+to fly up the mountain path, and come back presently with Gonzales'
+men to exact an exemplary vengeance.  He fought furiously till a
+tree, a house, a mountain, seemed to crash down upon his head--and
+he knew no more.
+
+* * * * *
+
+Here Mr. Byrne describes in detail the skilful manner in which he
+found his broken head bandaged, informs us that he had lost a great
+deal of blood, and ascribes the preservation of his sanity to that
+circumstance.  He sets down Gonzales' profuse apologies in full
+too.  For it was Gonzales who, tired of waiting for news from the
+English, had come down to the inn with half his band, on his way to
+the sea.  "His excellency," he explained, "rushed out with fierce
+impetuosity, and, moreover, was not known to us for a friend, and
+so we . . . etc., etc.  When asked what had become of the witches,
+he only pointed his finger silently to the ground, then voiced
+calmly a moral reflection:  "The passion for gold is pitiless in
+the very old, senor," he said.  "No doubt in former days they have
+put many a solitary traveller to sleep in the archbishop's bed."
+
+"There was also a gipsy girl there," said Byrne feebly from the
+improvised litter on which he was being carried to the coast by a
+squad of guerilleros.
+
+"It was she who winched up that infernal machine, and it was she
+too who lowered it that night," was the answer.
+
+"But why?  Why?" exclaimed Byrne.  "Why should she wish for my
+death?"
+
+"No doubt for the sake of your excellency's coat buttons," said
+politely the saturnine Gonzales.  "We found those of the dead
+mariner concealed on her person.  But your excellency may rest
+assured that everything that is fitting has been done on this
+occasion."
+
+Byrne asked no more questions.  There was still another death which
+was considered by Gonzales as "fitting to the occasion."  The one-
+eyed Bernardino stuck against the wall of his wine-shop received
+the charge of six escopettas into his breast.  As the shots rang
+out the rough bier with Tom's body on it went past carried by a
+bandit-like gang of Spanish patriots down the ravine to the shore,
+where two boats from the ship were waiting for what was left on
+earth of her best seaman.
+
+Mr. Byrne, very pale and weak, stepped into the boat which carried
+the body of his humble friend.  For it was decided that Tom Corbin
+should rest far out in the bay of Biscay.  The officer took the
+tiller and, turning his head for the last look at the shore, saw on
+the grey hillside something moving, which he made out to be a
+little man in a yellow hat mounted on a mule--that mule without
+which the fate of Tom Corbin would have remained mysterious for
+ever.
+
+
+June, 1913.
+
+
+
+
+BECAUSE OF THE DOLLARS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+
+While we were hanging about near the water's edge, as sailors
+idling ashore will do (it was in the open space before the Harbour
+Office of a great Eastern port), a man came towards us from the
+"front" of business houses, aiming obliquely at the landing steps.
+He attracted my attention because in the movement of figures in
+white drill suits on the pavement from which he stepped, his
+costume, the usual tunic and trousers, being made of light grey
+flannel, made him noticeable.
+
+I had time to observe him.  He was stout, but he was not grotesque.
+His face was round and smooth, his complexion very fair.  On his
+nearer approach I saw a little moustache made all the fairer by a
+good many white hairs.  And he had, for a stout man, quite a good
+chin.  In passing us he exchanged nods with the friend I was with
+and smiled.
+
+My friend was Hollis, the fellow who had so many adventures and had
+known so many queer people in that part of the (more or less)
+gorgeous East in the days of his youth.  He said:  "That's a good
+man.  I don't mean good in the sense of smart or skilful in his
+trade.  I mean a really GOOD man."
+
+I turned round at once to look at the phenomenon.  The "really GOOD
+man" had a very broad back.  I saw him signal a sampan to come
+alongside, get into it, and go off in the direction of a cluster of
+local steamers anchored close inshore.
+
+I said:  "He's a seaman, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes.  Commands that biggish dark-green steamer:  'Sissie--
+Glasgow.'  He has never commanded anything else but the 'Sissie--
+Glasgow,' only it wasn't always the same Sissie.  The first he had
+was about half the length of this one, and we used to tell poor
+Davidson that she was a size too small for him.  Even at that time
+Davidson had bulk.  We warned him he would get callosities on his
+shoulders and elbows because of the tight fit of his command.  And
+Davidson could well afford the smiles he gave us for our chaff.  He
+made lots of money in her.  She belonged to a portly Chinaman
+resembling a mandarin in a picture-book, with goggles and thin
+drooping moustaches, and as dignified as only a Celestial knows how
+to be.
+
+"The best of Chinamen as employers is that they have such
+gentlemanly instincts.  Once they become convinced that you are a
+straight man, they give you their unbounded confidence.  You simply
+can't do wrong, then.  And they are pretty quick judges of
+character, too.  Davidson's Chinaman was the first to find out his
+worth, on some theoretical principle.  One day in his counting-
+house, before several white men he was heard to declare:  'Captain
+Davidson is a good man.'  And that settled it.  After that you
+couldn't tell if it was Davidson who belonged to the Chinaman or
+the Chinaman who belonged to Davidson.  It was he who, shortly
+before he died, ordered in Glasgow the new Sissie for Davidson to
+command."
+
+We walked into the shade of the Harbour Office and leaned our
+elbows on the parapet of the quay.
+
+"She was really meant to comfort poor Davidson," continued Hollis.
+"Can you fancy anything more naively touching than this old
+mandarin spending several thousand pounds to console his white man?
+Well, there she is.  The old mandarin's sons have inherited her,
+and Davidson with her; and he commands her; and what with his
+salary and trading privileges he makes a lot of money; and
+everything is as before; and Davidson even smiles--you have seen
+it?  Well, the smile's the only thing which isn't as before."
+
+"Tell me, Hollis," I asked, "what do you mean by good in this
+connection?"
+
+"Well, there are men who are born good just as others are born
+witty.  What I mean is his nature.  No simpler, more scrupulously
+delicate soul had ever lived in such a--a--comfortable envelope.
+How we used to laugh at Davidson's fine scruples!  In short, he's
+thoroughly humane, and I don't imagine there can be much of any
+other sort of goodness that counts on this earth.  And as he's that
+with a shade of particular refinement, I may well call him a
+'REALLY good man.'"
+
+I knew from old that Hollis was a firm believer in the final value
+of shades.  And I said:  "I see"--because I really did see Hollis's
+Davidson in the sympathetic stout man who had passed us a little
+while before.  But I remembered that at the very moment he smiled
+his placid face appeared veiled in melancholy--a sort of spiritual
+shadow.  I went on.
+
+"Who on earth has paid him off for being so fine by spoiling his
+smile?"
+
+"That's quite a story, and I will tell it to you if you like.
+Confound it!  It's quite a surprising one, too.  Surprising in
+every way, but mostly in the way it knocked over poor Davidson--and
+apparently only because he is such a good sort.  He was telling me
+all about it only a few days ago.  He said that when he saw these
+four fellows with their heads in a bunch over the table, he at once
+didn't like it.  He didn't like it at all.  You mustn't suppose
+that Davidson is a soft fool.  These men -
+
+"But I had better begin at the beginning.  We must go back to the
+first time the old dollars had been called in by our Government in
+exchange for a new issue.  Just about the time when I left these
+parts to go home for a long stay.  Every trader in the islands was
+thinking of getting his old dollars sent up here in time, and the
+demand for empty French wine cases--you know the dozen of vermouth
+or claret size--was something unprecedented.  The custom was to
+pack the dollars in little bags of a hundred each.  I don't know
+how many bags each case would hold.  A good lot.  Pretty tidy sums
+must have been moving afloat just then.  But let us get away from
+here.  Won't do to stay in the sun.  Where could we--?  I know! let
+us go to those tiffin-rooms over there."
+
+We moved over accordingly.  Our appearance in the long empty room
+at that early hour caused visible consternation amongst the China
+boys.  But Hollis led the way to one of the tables between the
+windows screened by rattan blinds.  A brilliant half-light trembled
+on the ceiling, on the whitewashed walls, bathed the multitude of
+vacant chairs and tables in a peculiar, stealthy glow.
+
+"All right.  We will get something to eat when it's ready," he
+said, waving the anxious Chinaman waiter aside.  He took his
+temples touched with grey between his hands, leaning over the table
+to bring his face, his dark, keen eyes, closer to mine.
+
+"Davidson then was commanding the steamer Sissie--the little one
+which we used to chaff him about.  He ran her alone, with only the
+Malay serang for a deck officer.  The nearest approach to another
+white man on board of her was the engineer, a Portuguese half-
+caste, as thin as a lath and quite a youngster at that.  For all
+practical purposes Davidson was managing that command of his
+single-handed; and of course this was known in the port.  I am
+telling you of it because the fact had its influence on the
+developments you shall hear of presently.
+
+"His steamer, being so small, could go up tiny creeks and into
+shallow bays and through reefs and over sand-banks, collecting
+produce, where no other vessel but a native craft would think of
+venturing.  It is a paying game, often.  Davidson was known to
+visit in her places that no one else could find and that hardly
+anybody had ever heard of.
+
+"The old dollars being called in, Davidson's Chinaman thought that
+the Sissie would be just the thing to collect them from small
+traders in the less frequented parts of the Archipelago.  It's a
+good business.  Such cases of dollars are dumped aft in the ship's
+lazarette, and you get good freight for very little trouble and
+space.
+
+"Davidson, too, thought it was a good idea; and together they made
+up a list of his calls on his next trip.  Then Davidson (he had
+naturally the chart of his voyages in his head) remarked that on
+his way back he might look in at a certain settlement up a mere
+creek, where a poor sort of white man lived in a native village.
+Davidson pointed out to his Chinaman that the fellow was certain to
+have some rattans to ship.
+
+"'Probably enough to fill her forward,' said Davidson.  'And
+that'll be better than bringing her back with empty holds.  A day
+more or less doesn't matter.'
+
+"This was sound talk, and the Chinaman owner could not but agree.
+But if it hadn't been sound it would have been just the same.
+Davidson did what he liked.  He was a man that could do no wrong.
+However, this suggestion of his was not merely a business matter.
+There was in it a touch of Davidsonian kindness.  For you must know
+that the man could not have continued to live quietly up that creek
+if it had not been for Davidson's willingness to call there from
+time to time.  And Davidson's Chinaman knew this perfectly well,
+too.  So he only smiled his dignified, bland smile, and said:  'All
+right, Captain.  You do what you like.'
+
+"I will explain presently how this connection between Davidson and
+that fellow came about.  Now I want to tell you about the part of
+this affair which happened here--the preliminaries of it.
+
+"You know as well as I do that these tiffin-rooms where we are
+sitting now have been in existence for many years.  Well, next day
+about twelve o'clock, Davidson dropped in here to get something to
+eat.
+
+"And here comes the only moment in this story where accident--mere
+accident--plays a part.  If Davidson had gone home that day for
+tiffin, there would be now, after twelve years or more, nothing
+changed in his kindly, placid smile.
+
+"But he came in here; and perhaps it was sitting at this very table
+that he remarked to a friend of mine that his next trip was to be a
+dollar-collecting trip.  He added, laughing, that his wife was
+making rather a fuss about it.  She had begged him to stay ashore
+and get somebody else to take his place for a voyage.  She thought
+there was some danger on account of the dollars.  He told her, he
+said, that there were no Java-sea pirates nowadays except in boys'
+books.  He had laughed at her fears, but he was very sorry, too;
+for when she took any notion in her head it was impossible to argue
+her out of it.  She would be worrying herself all the time he was
+away.  Well, he couldn't help it.  There was no one ashore fit to
+take his place for the trip.
+
+"This friend of mine and I went home together in the same mail-
+boat, and he mentioned that conversation one evening in the Red Sea
+while we were talking over the things and people we had just left,
+with more or less regret.
+
+"I can't say that Davidson occupied a very prominent place.  Moral
+excellence seldom does.  He was quietly appreciated by those who
+knew him well; but his more obvious distinction consisted in this,
+that he was married.  Ours, as you remember, was a bachelor crowd;
+in spirit anyhow, if not absolutely in fact.  There might have been
+a few wives in existence, but if so they were invisible, distant,
+never alluded to.  For what would have been the good?  Davidson
+alone was visibly married.
+
+"Being married suited him exactly.  It fitted him so well that the
+wildest of us did not resent the fact when it was disclosed.
+Directly he had felt his feet out here, Davidson sent for his wife.
+She came out (from West Australia) in the Somerset, under the care
+of Captain Ritchie--you know, Monkey-face Ritchie--who couldn't
+praise enough her sweetness, her gentleness, and her charm.  She
+seemed to be the heaven-born mate for Davidson.  She found on
+arrival a very pretty bungalow on the hill, ready for her and the
+little girl they had.  Very soon he got for her a two-wheeled trap
+and a Burmah pony, and she used to drive down of an evening to pick
+up Davidson, on the quay.  When Davidson, beaming, got into the
+trap, it would become very full all at once.
+
+"We used to admire Mrs. Davidson from a distance.  It was a girlish
+head out of a keepsake.  From a distance.  We had not many
+opportunities for a closer view, because she did not care to give
+them to us.  We would have been glad to drop in at the Davidson
+bungalow, but we were made to feel somehow that we were not very
+welcome there.  Not that she ever said anything ungracious.  She
+never had much to say for herself.  I was perhaps the one who saw
+most of the Davidsons at home.  What I noticed under the
+superficial aspect of vapid sweetness was her convex, obstinate
+forehead, and her small, red, pretty, ungenerous mouth.  But then I
+am an observer with strong prejudices.  Most of us were fetched by
+her white, swan-like neck, by that drooping, innocent profile.
+There was a lot of latent devotion to Davidson's wife hereabouts,
+at that time, I can tell you.  But my idea was that she repaid it
+by a profound suspicion of the sort of men we were; a mistrust
+which extended--I fancied--to her very husband at times.  And I
+thought then she was jealous of him in a way; though there were no
+women that she could be jealous about.  She had no women's society.
+It's difficult for a shipmaster's wife unless there are other
+shipmasters' wives about, and there were none here then.  I know
+that the dock manager's wife called on her; but that was all.  The
+fellows here formed the opinion that Mrs. Davidson was a meek, shy
+little thing.  She looked it, I must say.  And this opinion was so
+universal that the friend I have been telling you of remembered his
+conversation with Davidson simply because of the statement about
+Davidson's wife.  He even wondered to me:  'Fancy Mrs. Davidson
+making a fuss to that extent.  She didn't seem to me the sort of
+woman that would know how to make a fuss about anything.'
+
+"I wondered, too--but not so much.  That bumpy forehead--eh?  I had
+always suspected her of being silly.  And I observed that Davidson
+must have been vexed by this display of wifely anxiety.
+
+"My friend said:  'No.  He seemed rather touched and distressed.
+There really was no one he could ask to relieve him; mainly because
+he intended to make a call in some God-forsaken creek, to look up a
+fellow of the name of Bamtz who apparently had settled there.'
+
+"And again my friend wondered.  'Tell me,' he cried, 'what
+connection can there be between Davidson and such a creature as
+Bamtz?'
+
+"I don't remember now what answer I made.  A sufficient one could
+have been given in two words:  'Davidson's goodness.'  THAT never
+boggled at unworthiness if there was the slightest reason for
+compassion.  I don't want you to think that Davidson had no
+discrimination at all.  Bamtz could not have imposed on him.
+Moreover, everybody knew what Bamtz was.  He was a loafer with a
+beard.  When I think of Bamtz, the first thing I see is that long
+black beard and a lot of propitiatory wrinkles at the corners of
+two little eyes.  There was no such beard from here to Polynesia,
+where a beard is a valuable property in itself.  Bamtz's beard was
+valuable to him in another way.  You know how impressed Orientals
+are by a fine beard.  Years and years ago, I remember, the grave
+Abdullah, the great trader of Sambir, unable to repress signs of
+astonishment and admiration at the first sight of that imposing
+beard.  And it's very well known that Bamtz lived on Abdullah off
+and on for several years.  It was a unique beard, and so was the
+bearer of the same.  A unique loafer.  He made a fine art of it, or
+rather a sort of craft and mystery.  One can understand a fellow
+living by cadging and small swindles in towns, in large communities
+of people; but Bamtz managed to do that trick in the wilderness, to
+loaf on the outskirts of the virgin forest.
+
+"He understood how to ingratiate himself with the natives.  He
+would arrive in some settlement up a river, make a present of a
+cheap carbine or a pair of shoddy binoculars, or something of that
+sort, to the Rajah, or the head-man, or the principal trader; and
+on the strength of that gift, ask for a house, posing mysteriously
+as a very special trader.  He would spin them no end of yarns, live
+on the fat of the land, for a while, and then do some mean swindle
+or other--or else they would get tired of him and ask him to quit.
+And he would go off meekly with an air of injured innocence.  Funny
+life.  Yet, he never got hurt somehow.  I've heard of the Rajah of
+Dongala giving him fifty dollars' worth of trade goods and paying
+his passage in a prau only to get rid of him.  Fact.  And observe
+that nothing prevented the old fellow having Bamtz's throat cut and
+the carcase thrown into deep water outside the reefs; for who on
+earth would have inquired after Bamtz?
+
+"He had been known to loaf up and down the wilderness as far north
+as the Gulf of Tonkin.  Neither did he disdain a spell of
+civilisation from time to time.  And it was while loafing and
+cadging in Saigon, bearded and dignified (he gave himself out there
+as a bookkeeper), that he came across Laughing Anne.
+
+"The less said of her early history the better, but something must
+be said.  We may safely suppose there was very little heart left in
+her famous laugh when Bamtz spoke first to her in some low cafe.
+She was stranded in Saigon with precious little money and in great
+trouble about a kid she had, a boy of five or six.
+
+"A fellow I just remember, whom they called Pearler Harry, brought
+her out first into these parts--from Australia, I believe.  He
+brought her out and then dropped her, and she remained knocking
+about here and there, known to most of us by sight, at any rate.
+Everybody in the Archipelago had heard of Laughing Anne.  She had
+really a pleasant silvery laugh always at her disposal, so to
+speak, but it wasn't enough apparently to make her fortune.  The
+poor creature was ready to stick to any half-decent man if he would
+only let her, but she always got dropped, as it might have been
+expected.
+
+"She had been left in Saigon by the skipper of a German ship with
+whom she had been going up and down the China coast as far as
+Vladivostok for near upon two years.  The German said to her:
+'This is all over, mein Taubchen.  I am going home now to get
+married to the girl I got engaged to before coming out here.'  And
+Anne said:  'All right, I'm ready to go.  We part friends, don't
+we?'
+
+"She was always anxious to part friends.  The German told her that
+of course they were parting friends.  He looked rather glum at the
+moment of parting.  She laughed and went ashore.
+
+"But it was no laughing matter for her.  She had some notion that
+this would be her last chance.  What frightened her most was the
+future of her child.  She had left her boy in Saigon before going
+off with the German, in the care of an elderly French couple.  The
+husband was a doorkeeper in some Government office, but his time
+was up, and they were returning to France.  She had to take the boy
+back from them; and after she had got him back, she did not like to
+part with him any more.
+
+"That was the situation when she and Bamtz got acquainted casually.
+She could not have had any illusions about that fellow.  To pick up
+with Bamtz was coming down pretty low in the world, even from a
+material point of view.  She had always been decent, in her way;
+whereas Bamtz was, not to mince words, an abject sort of creature.
+On the other hand, that bearded loafer, who looked much more like a
+pirate than a bookkeeper, was not a brute.  He was gentle--rather--
+even in his cups.  And then, despair, like misfortune, makes us
+acquainted with strange bed-fellows.  For she may well have
+despaired.  She was no longer young--you know.
+
+"On the man's side this conjunction is more difficult to explain,
+perhaps.  One thing, however, must be said of Bamtz; he had always
+kept clear of native women.  As one can't suspect him of moral
+delicacy, I surmise that it must have been from prudence.  And he,
+too, was no longer young.  There were many white hairs in his
+valuable black beard by then.  He may have simply longed for some
+kind of companionship in his queer, degraded existence.  Whatever
+their motives, they vanished from Saigon together.  And of course
+nobody cared what had become of them.
+
+"Six months later Davidson came into the Mirrah Settlement.  It was
+the very first time he had been up that creek, where no European
+vessel had ever been seen before.  A Javanese passenger he had on
+board offered him fifty dollars to call in there--it must have been
+some very particular business--and Davidson consented to try.
+Fifty dollars, he told me, were neither here nor there; but he was
+curious to see the place, and the little Sissie could go anywhere
+where there was water enough to float a soup-plate.
+
+"Davidson landed his Javanese plutocrat, and, as he had to wait a
+couple of hours for the tide, he went ashore himself to stretch his
+legs.
+
+"It was a small settlement.  Some sixty houses, most of them built
+on piles over the river, the rest scattered in the long grass; the
+usual pathway at the back; the forest hemming in the clearing and
+smothering what there might have been of air into a dead, hot
+stagnation.
+
+"All the population was on the river-bank staring silently, as
+Malays will do, at the Sissie anchored in the stream.  She was
+almost as wonderful to them as an angel's visit.  Many of the old
+people had only heard vaguely of fire-ships, and not many of the
+younger generation had seen one.  On the back path Davidson
+strolled in perfect solitude.  But he became aware of a bad smell
+and concluded he would go no farther.
+
+"While he stood wiping his forehead, he heard from somewhere the
+exclamation:  'My God!  It's Davy!'
+
+"Davidson's lower jaw, as he expressed it, came unhooked at the
+crying of this excited voice.  Davy was the name used by the
+associates of his young days; he hadn't heard it for many years.
+He stared about with his mouth open and saw a white woman issue
+from the long grass in which a small hut stood buried nearly up to
+the roof.
+
+"Try to imagine the shock:  in that wild place that you couldn't
+find on a map, and more squalid than the most poverty-stricken
+Malay settlement had a right to be, this European woman coming
+swishing out of the long grass in a fanciful tea-gown thing, dingy
+pink satin, with a long train and frayed lace trimmings; her eyes
+like black coals in a pasty-white face.  Davidson thought that he
+was asleep, that he was delirious.  From the offensive village
+mudhole (it was what Davidson had sniffed just before) a couple of
+filthy buffaloes uprose with loud snorts and lumbered off crashing
+through the bushes, panic-struck by this apparition.
+
+"The woman came forward, her arms extended, and laid her hands on
+Davidson's shoulders, exclaiming:  'Why!  You have hardly changed
+at all.  The same good Davy.'  And she laughed a little wildly.
+
+"This sound was to Davidson like a galvanic shock to a corpse.  He
+started in every muscle.  'Laughing Anne,' he said in an awe-struck
+voice.
+
+"'All that's left of her, Davy.  All that's left of her.'
+
+"Davidson looked up at the sky; but there was to be seen no balloon
+from which she could have fallen on that spot.  When he brought his
+distracted gaze down, it rested on a child holding on with a brown
+little paw to the pink satin gown.  He had run out of the grass
+after her.  Had Davidson seen a real hobgoblin his eyes could not
+have bulged more than at this small boy in a dirty white blouse and
+ragged knickers.  He had a round head of tight chestnut curls, very
+sunburnt legs, a freckled face, and merry eyes.  Admonished by his
+mother to greet the gentleman, he finished off Davidson by
+addressing him in French.
+
+"'Bonjour.'
+
+"Davidson, overcome, looked up at the woman in silence.  She sent
+the child back to the hut, and when he had disappeared in the
+grass, she turned to Davidson, tried to speak, but after getting
+out the words, 'That's my Tony,' burst into a long fit of crying.
+She had to lean on Davidson's shoulder.  He, distressed in the
+goodness of his heart, stood rooted to the spot where she had come
+upon him.
+
+"What a meeting--eh?  Bamtz had sent her out to see what white man
+it was who had landed.  And she had recognised him from that time
+when Davidson, who had been pearling himself in his youth, had been
+associating with Harry the Pearler and others, the quietest of a
+rather rowdy set.
+
+"Before Davidson retraced his steps to go on board the steamer, he
+had heard much of Laughing Anne's story, and had even had an
+interview, on the path, with Bamtz himself.  She ran back to the
+hut to fetch him, and he came out lounging, with his hands in his
+pockets, with the detached, casual manner under which he concealed
+his propensity to cringe.  Ya-a-as-as.  He thought he would settle
+here permanently--with her.  This with a nod at Laughing Anne, who
+stood by, a haggard, tragically anxious figure, her black hair
+hanging over her shoulders.
+
+"'No more paint and dyes for me, Davy,' she struck in, 'if only you
+will do what he wants you to do.  You know that I was always ready
+to stand by my men--if they had only let me.'
+
+"Davidson had no doubt of her earnestness.  It was of Bamtz's good
+faith that he was not at all sure.  Bamtz wanted Davidson to
+promise to call at Mirrah more or less regularly.  He thought he
+saw an opening to do business with rattans there, if only he could
+depend on some craft to bring out trading goods and take away his
+produce.
+
+"'I have a few dollars to make a start on.  The people are all
+right.'
+
+"He had come there, where he was not known, in a native prau, and
+had managed, with his sedate manner and the exactly right kind of
+yarn he knew how to tell to the natives, to ingratiate himself with
+the chief man.
+
+"'The Orang Kaya has given me that empty house there to live in as
+long as I will stay,' added Bamtz.
+
+"'Do it, Davy,' cried the woman suddenly.  'Think of that poor
+kid.'
+
+"'Seen him?  'Cute little customer,' said the reformed loafer in
+such a tone of interest as to surprise Davidson into a kindly
+glance.
+
+"'I certainly can do it,' he declared.  He thought of at first
+making some stipulation as to Bamtz behaving decently to the woman,
+but his exaggerated delicacy and also the conviction that such a
+fellow's promises were worth nothing restrained him.  Anne went a
+little distance down the path with him talking anxiously.
+
+"'It's for the kid.  How could I have kept him with me if I had to
+knock about in towns?  Here he will never know that his mother was
+a painted woman.  And this Bamtz likes him.  He's real fond of him.
+I suppose I ought to thank God for that.'
+
+"Davidson shuddered at any human creature being brought so low as
+to have to thank God for the favours or affection of a Bamtz.
+
+"'And do you think that you can make out to live here?' he asked
+gently.
+
+"'Can't I?  You know I have always stuck to men through thick and
+thin till they had enough of me.  And now look at me!  But inside I
+am as I always was.  I have acted on the square to them all one
+after another.  Only they do get tired somehow.  Oh, Davy!  Harry
+ought not to have cast me off.  It was he that led me astray.'
+
+"Davidson mentioned to her that Harry the Pearler had been dead now
+for some years.  Perhaps she had heard?
+
+"She made a sign that she had heard; and walked by the side of
+Davidson in silence nearly to the bank.  Then she told him that her
+meeting with him had brought back the old times to her mind.  She
+had not cried for years.  She was not a crying woman either.  It
+was hearing herself called Laughing Anne that had started her
+sobbing like a fool.  Harry was the only man she had loved.  The
+others -
+
+"She shrugged her shoulders.  But she prided herself on her loyalty
+to the successive partners of her dismal adventures.  She had never
+played any tricks in her life.  She was a pal worth having.  But
+men did get tired.  They did not understand women.  She supposed it
+had to be.
+
+"Davidson was attempting a veiled warning as to Bamtz, but she
+interrupted him.  She knew what men were.  She knew what this man
+was like.  But he had taken wonderfully to the kid.  And Davidson
+desisted willingly, saying to himself that surely poor Laughing
+Anne could have no illusions by this time.  She wrung his hand hard
+at parting.
+
+"'It's for the kid, Davy--it's for the kid.  Isn't he a bright
+little chap?'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+
+"All this happened about two years before the day when Davidson,
+sitting in this very room, talked to my friend.  You will see
+presently how this room can get full.  Every seat'll be occupied,
+and as you notice, the tables are set close, so that the backs of
+the chairs are almost touching.  There is also a good deal of noisy
+talk here about one o'clock.
+
+"I don't suppose Davidson was talking very loudly; but very likely
+he had to raise his voice across the table to my friend.  And here
+accident, mere accident, put in its work by providing a pair of
+fine ears close behind Davidson's chair.  It was ten to one
+against, the owner of the same having enough change in his pockets
+to get his tiffin here.  But he had.  Most likely had rooked
+somebody of a few dollars at cards overnight.  He was a bright
+creature of the name of Fector, a spare, short, jumpy fellow with a
+red face and muddy eyes.  He described himself as a journalist as
+certain kind of women give themselves out as actresses in the dock
+of a police-court.
+
+"He used to introduce himself to strangers as a man with a mission
+to track out abuses and fight them whenever found.  He would also
+hint that he was a martyr.  And it's a fact that he had been
+kicked, horsewhipped, imprisoned, and hounded with ignominy out of
+pretty well every place between Ceylon and Shanghai, for a
+professional blackmailer.
+
+"I suppose, in that trade, you've got to have active wits and sharp
+ears.  It's not likely that he overheard every word Davidson said
+about his dollar collecting trip, but he heard enough to set his
+wits at work.
+
+"He let Davidson go out, and then hastened away down to the native
+slums to a sort of lodging-house kept in partnership by the usual
+sort of Portuguese and a very disreputable Chinaman.  Macao Hotel,
+it was called, but it was mostly a gambling den that one used to
+warn fellows against.  Perhaps you remember?
+
+"There, the evening before, Fector had met a precious couple, a
+partnership even more queer than the Portuguese and the Chinaman.
+One of the two was Niclaus--you know.  Why! the fellow with a
+Tartar moustache and a yellow complexion, like a Mongolian, only
+that his eyes were set straight and his face was not so flat.  One
+couldn't tell what breed he was.  A nondescript beggar.  From a
+certain angle you would think a very bilious white man.  And I
+daresay he was.  He owned a Malay prau and called himself The
+Nakhoda, as one would say:  The Captain.  Aha!  Now you remember.
+He couldn't, apparently, speak any other European language than
+English, but he flew the Dutch flag on his prau.
+
+"The other was the Frenchman without hands.  Yes.  The very same we
+used to know in '79 in Sydney, keeping a little tobacco shop at the
+lower end of George Street.  You remember the huge carcase hunched
+up behind the counter, the big white face and the long black hair
+brushed back off a high forehead like a bard's.  He was always
+trying to roll cigarettes on his knee with his stumps, telling
+endless yarns of Polynesia and whining and cursing in turn about
+'mon malheur.'  His hands had been blown away by a dynamite
+cartridge while fishing in some lagoon.  This accident, I believe,
+had made him more wicked than before, which is saying a good deal.
+
+"He was always talking about 'resuming his activities' some day,
+whatever they were, if he could only get an intelligent companion.
+It was evident that the little shop was no field for his
+activities, and the sickly woman with her face tied up, who used to
+look in sometimes through the back door, was no companion for him.
+
+"And, true enough, he vanished from Sydney before long, after some
+trouble with the Excise fellows about his stock.  Goods stolen out
+of a warehouse or something similar.  He left the woman behind, but
+he must have secured some sort of companion--he could not have
+shifted for himself; but whom he went away with, and where, and
+what other companions he might have picked up afterwards, it is
+impossible to make the remotest guess about.
+
+"Why exactly he came this way I can't tell.  Towards the end of my
+time here we began to hear talk of a maimed Frenchman who had been
+seen here and there.  But no one knew then that he had foregathered
+with Niclaus and lived in his prau.  I daresay he put Niclaus up to
+a thing or two.  Anyhow, it was a partnership.  Niclaus was
+somewhat afraid of the Frenchman on account of his tempers, which
+were awful.  He looked then like a devil; but a man without hands,
+unable to load or handle a weapon, can at best go for one only with
+his teeth.  From that danger Niclaus felt certain he could always
+defend himself.
+
+"The couple were alone together loafing in the common-room of that
+infamous hotel when Fector turned up.  After some beating about the
+bush, for he was doubtful how far he could trust these two, he
+repeated what he had overheard in the tiffin-rooms.
+
+"His tale did not have much success till he came to mention the
+creek and Bamtz's name.  Niclaus, sailing about like a native in a
+prau, was, in his own words, 'familiar with the locality.'  The
+huge Frenchman, walking up and down the room with his stumps in the
+pockets of his jacket, stopped short in surprise.  'Comment?
+Bamtz!  Bamtz!'
+
+"He had run across him several times in his life.  He exclaimed:
+'Bamtz!  Mais je ne connais que ca!'  And he applied such a
+contemptuously indecent epithet to Bamtz that when, later, he
+alluded to him as 'une chiffe' (a mere rag) it sounded quite
+complimentary.  'We can do with him what we like,' he asserted
+confidently.  'Oh, yes.  Certainly we must hasten to pay a visit to
+that--' (another awful descriptive epithet quite unfit for
+repetition).  'Devil take me if we don't pull off a coup that will
+set us all up for a long time.'
+
+"He saw all that lot of dollars melted into bars and disposed of
+somewhere on the China coast.  Of the escape after the coup he
+never doubted.  There was Niclaus's prau to manage that in.
+
+"In his enthusiasm he pulled his stumps out of his pockets and
+waved them about.  Then, catching sight of them, as it were, he
+held them in front of his eyes, cursing and blaspheming and
+bewailing his misfortune and his helplessness, till Niclaus quieted
+him down.
+
+"But it was his mind that planned out the affair and it was his
+spirit which carried the other two on.  Neither of them was of the
+bold buccaneer type; and Fector, especially, had never in his
+adventurous life used other weapons than slander and lies.
+
+"That very evening they departed on a visit to Bamtz in Niclaus's
+prau, which had been lying, emptied of her cargo of cocoanuts, for
+a day or two under the canal bridge.  They must have crossed the
+bows of the anchored Sissie, and no doubt looked at her with
+interest as the scene of their future exploit, the great haul, le
+grand coup!
+
+"Davidson's wife, to his great surprise, sulked with him for
+several days before he left.  I don't know whether it occurred to
+him that, for all her angelic profile, she was a very stupidly
+obstinate girl.  She didn't like the tropics.  He had brought her
+out there, where she had no friends, and now, she said, he was
+becoming inconsiderate.  She had a presentiment of some misfortune,
+and notwithstanding Davidson's painstaking explanations, she could
+not see why her presentiments were to be disregarded.  On the very
+last evening before Davidson went away she asked him in a
+suspicious manner:
+
+"'Why is it that you are so anxious to go this time?'
+
+"'I am not anxious,' protested the good Davidson.  'I simply can't
+help myself.  There's no one else to go in my place.'
+
+"'Oh!  There's no one,' she said, turning away slowly.
+
+"She was so distant with him that evening that Davidson from a
+sense of delicacy made up his mind to say good-bye to her at once
+and go and sleep on board.  He felt very miserable and, strangely
+enough, more on his own account than on account of his wife.  She
+seemed to him much more offended than grieved.
+
+"Three weeks later, having collected a good many cases of old
+dollars (they were stowed aft in the lazarette with an iron bar and
+a padlock securing the hatch under his cabin-table), yes, with a
+bigger lot than he had expected to collect, he found himself
+homeward bound and off the entrance of the creek where Bamtz lived
+and even, in a sense, flourished.
+
+"It was so late in the day that Davidson actually hesitated whether
+he should not pass by this time.  He had no regard for Bamtz, who
+was a degraded but not a really unhappy man.  His pity for Laughing
+Anne was no more than her case deserved.  But his goodness was of a
+particularly delicate sort.  He realised how these people were
+dependent on him, and how they would feel their dependence (if he
+failed to turn up) through a long month of anxious waiting.
+Prompted by his sensitive humanity, Davidson, in the gathering
+dusk, turned the Sissie's head towards the hardly discernible
+coast, and navigated her safety through a maze of shallow patches.
+But by the time he got to the mouth of the creek the night had
+come.
+
+"The narrow waterway lay like a black cutting through the forest.
+And as there were always grounded snaggs in the channel which it
+would be impossible to make out, Davidson very prudently turned the
+Sissie round, and with only enough steam on the boilers to give her
+a touch ahead if necessary, let her drift up stern first with the
+tide, silent and invisible in the impenetrable darkness and in the
+dumb stillness.
+
+"It was a long job, and when at the end of two hours Davidson
+thought he must be up to the clearing, the settlement slept
+already, the whole land of forests and rivers was asleep.
+
+"Davidson, seeing a solitary light in the massed darkness of the
+shore, knew that it was burning in Bamtz's house.  This was
+unexpected at this time of the night, but convenient as a guide.
+By a turn of the screw and a touch of the helm he sheered the
+Sissie alongside Bamtz's wharf--a miserable structure of a dozen
+piles and a few planks, of which the ex-vagabond was very proud.  A
+couple of Kalashes jumped down on it, took a turn with the ropes
+thrown to them round the posts, and the Sissie came to rest without
+a single loud word or the slightest noise.  And just in time too,
+for the tide turned even before she was properly moored.
+
+"Davidson had something to eat, and then, coming on deck for a last
+look round, noticed that the light was still burning in the house.
+
+"This was very unusual, but since they were awake so late, Davidson
+thought that he would go up to say that he was in a hurry to be off
+and to ask that what rattans there were in store should be sent on
+board with the first sign of dawn.
+
+"He stepped carefully over the shaky planks, not being anxious to
+get a sprained ankle, and picked his way across the waste ground to
+the foot of the house ladder.  The house was but a glorified hut on
+piles, unfenced and lonely.
+
+"Like many a stout man, Davidson is very lightfooted.  He climbed
+the seven steps or so, stepped across the bamboo platform quietly,
+but what he saw through the doorway stopped him short.
+
+"Four men were sitting by the light of a solitary candle.  There
+was a bottle, a jug and glasses on the table, but they were not
+engaged in drinking.  Two packs of cards were lying there too, but
+they were not preparing to play.  They were talking together in
+whispers, and remained quite unaware of him.  He himself was too
+astonished to make a sound for some time.  The world was still,
+except for the sibilation of the whispering heads bunched together
+over the table.
+
+"And Davidson, as I have quoted him to you before, didn't like it.
+He didn't like it at all.
+
+"The situation ended with a scream proceeding from the dark,
+interior part of the room.  'O Davy! you've given me a turn.'
+
+"Davidson made out beyond the table Anne's very pale face.  She
+laughed a little hysterically, out of the deep shadows between the
+gloomy mat walls.  'Ha! ha! ha!'
+
+"The four heads sprang apart at the first sound, and four pairs of
+eyes became fixed stonily on Davidson.  The woman came forward,
+having little more on her than a loose chintz wrapper and straw
+slippers on her bare feet.  Her head was tied up Malay fashion in a
+red handkerchief, with a mass of loose hair hanging under it
+behind.  Her professional, gay, European feathers had literally
+dropped off her in the course of these two years, but a long
+necklace of amber beads hung round her uncovered neck.  It was the
+only ornament she had left; Bamtz had sold all her poor-enough
+trinkets during the flight from Saigon--when their association
+began.
+
+"She came forward, past the table, into the light, with her usual
+groping gesture of extended arms, as though her soul, poor thing!
+had gone blind long ago, her white cheeks hollow, her eyes darkly
+wild, distracted, as Davidson thought.  She came on swiftly,
+grabbed him by the arm, dragged him in.  'It's heaven itself that
+sends you to-night.  My Tony's so bad--come and see him.  Come
+along--do!'
+
+"Davidson submitted.  The only one of the men to move was Bamtz,
+who made as if to get up but dropped back in his chair again.
+Davidson in passing heard him mutter confusedly something that
+sounded like 'poor little beggar.'
+
+"The child, lying very flushed in a miserable cot knocked up out of
+gin-cases, stared at Davidson with wide, drowsy eyes.  It was a bad
+bout of fever clearly.  But while Davidson was promising to go on
+board and fetch some medicines, and generally trying to say
+reassuring things, he could not help being struck by the
+extraordinary manner of the woman standing by his side.  Gazing
+with despairing expression down at the cot, she would suddenly
+throw a quick, startled glance at Davidson and then towards the
+other room.
+
+"'Yes, my poor girl,' he whispered, interpreting her distraction in
+his own way, though he had nothing precise in his mind.  'I'm
+afraid this bodes no good to you.  How is it they are here?'
+
+"She seized his forearm and breathed out forcibly:  'No good to me!
+Oh, no!  But what about you!  They are after the dollars you have
+on board.'
+
+"Davidson let out an astonished 'How do they know there are any
+dollars?'
+
+"She clapped her hands lightly, in distress.  'So it's true!  You
+have them on board?  Then look out for yourself.'
+
+"They stood gazing down at the boy in the cot, aware that they
+might be observed from the other room.
+
+"'We must get him to perspire as soon as possible,' said Davidson
+in his ordinary voice.  'You'll have to give him hot drink of some
+kind.  I will go on board and bring you a spirit-kettle amongst
+other things.'  And he added under his breath:  'Do they actually
+mean murder?'
+
+"She made no sign, she had returned to her desolate contemplation
+of the boy.  Davidson thought she had not heard him even, when with
+an unchanged expression she spoke under her breath.
+
+"'The Frenchman would, in a minute.  The others shirk it--unless
+you resist.  He's a devil.  He keeps them going.  Without him they
+would have done nothing but talk.  I've got chummy with him. What
+can you do when you are with a man like the fellow I am with now.
+Bamtz is terrified of them, and they know it.  He's in it from
+funk.  Oh, Davy! take your ship away--quick!'
+
+"'Too late,' said Davidson.  'She's on the mud already.'
+
+"If the kid hadn't been in this state I would have run off with
+him--to you--into the woods--anywhere.  Oh, Davy! will he die?' she
+cried aloud suddenly.
+
+"Davidson met three men in the doorway.  They made way for him
+without actually daring to face his glance.  But Bamtz was the only
+one who looked down with an air of guilt.  The big Frenchman had
+remained lolling in his chair; he kept his stumps in his pockets
+and addressed Davidson.
+
+"'Isn't it unfortunate about that child!  The distress of that
+woman there upsets me, but I am of no use in the world.  I couldn't
+smooth the sick pillow of my dearest friend.  I have no hands.
+Would you mind sticking one of those cigarettes there into the
+mouth of a poor, harmless cripple?  My nerves want soothing--upon
+my honour, they do.'
+
+"Davidson complied with his naturally kind smile.  As his outward
+placidity becomes only more pronounced, if possible, the more
+reason there is for excitement; and as Davidson's eyes, when his
+wits are hard at work, get very still and as if sleepy, the huge
+Frenchman might have been justified in concluding that the man
+there was a mere sheep--a sheep ready for slaughter.  With a 'merci
+bien' he uplifted his huge carcase to reach the light of the candle
+with his cigarette, and Davidson left the house.
+
+"Going down to the ship and returning, he had time to consider his
+position.  At first he was inclined to believe that these men
+(Niclaus--the white Nakhoda--was the only one he knew by sight
+before, besides Bamtz) were not of the stamp to proceed to
+extremities.  This was partly the reason why he never attempted to
+take any measures on board.  His pacific Kalashes were not to be
+thought of as against white men.  His wretched engineer would have
+had a fit from fright at the mere idea of any sort of combat.
+Davidson knew that he would have to depend on himself in this
+affair if it ever came off.
+
+"Davidson underestimated naturally the driving power of the
+Frenchman's character and the force of the actuating motive.  To
+that man so hopelessly crippled these dollars were an enormous
+opportunity.  With his share of the robbery he would open another
+shop in Vladivostok, Haiphong, Manila--somewhere far away.
+
+"Neither did it occur to Davidson, who is a man of courage, if ever
+there was one, that his psychology was not known to the world at
+large, and that to this particular lot of ruffians, who judged him
+by his appearance, he appeared an unsuspicious, inoffensive, soft
+creature, as he passed again through the room, his hands full of
+various objects and parcels destined for the sick boy.
+
+"All the four were sitting again round the table.  Bamtz not having
+the pluck to open his mouth, it was Niclaus who, as a collective
+voice, called out to him thickly to come out soon and join in a
+drink.
+
+"'I think I'll have to stay some little time in there, to help her
+look after the boy,' Davidson answered without stopping.
+
+"This was a good thing to say to allay a possible suspicion.  And,
+as it was, Davidson felt he must not stay very long.
+
+"He sat down on an old empty nail-keg near the improvised cot and
+looked at the child; while Laughing Anne, moving to and fro,
+preparing the hot drink, giving it to the boy in spoonfuls, or
+stopping to gaze motionless at the flushed face, whispered
+disjointed bits of information.  She had succeeded in making
+friends with that French devil.  Davy would understand that she
+knew how to make herself pleasant to a man.
+
+"And Davidson nodded without looking at her.
+
+"The big beast had got to be quite confidential with her.  She held
+his cards for him when they were having a game.  Bamtz!  Oh!  Bamtz
+in his funk was only too glad to see the Frenchman humoured.  And
+the Frenchman had come to believe that she was a woman who didn't
+care what she did.  That's how it came about they got to talk
+before her openly.  For a long time she could not make out what
+game they were up to.  The new arrivals, not expecting to find a
+woman with Bamtz, had been very startled and annoyed at first, she
+explained.
+
+"She busied herself in attending to the boy; and nobody looking
+into that room would have seen anything suspicious in those two
+people exchanging murmurs by the sick-bedside.
+
+"'But now they think I am a better man than Bamtz ever was,' she
+said with a faint laugh.
+
+"The child moaned.  She went down on her knees, and, bending low,
+contemplated him mournfully.  Then raising her head, she asked
+Davidson whether he thought the child would get better.  Davidson
+was sure of it.  She murmured sadly:  'Poor kid.  There's nothing
+in life for such as he.  Not a dog's chance.  But I couldn't let
+him go, Davy!  I couldn't.'
+
+"Davidson felt a profound pity for the child.  She laid her hand on
+his knee and whispered an earnest warning against the Frenchman.
+Davy must never let him come to close quarters.  Naturally Davidson
+wanted to know the reason, for a man without hands did not strike
+him as very formidable under any circumstances.
+
+"'Mind you don't let him--that's all,' she insisted anxiously,
+hesitated, and then confessed that the Frenchman had got her away
+from the others that afternoon and had ordered her to tie a seven-
+pound iron weight (out of the set of weights Bamtz used in
+business) to his right stump.  She had to do it for him.  She had
+been afraid of his savage temper.  Bamtz was such a craven, and
+neither of the other men would have cared what happened to her.
+The Frenchman, however, with many awful threats had warned her not
+to let the others know what she had done for him.  Afterwards he
+had been trying to cajole her.  He had promised her that if she
+stood by him faithfully in this business he would take her with him
+to Haiphong or some other place.  A poor cripple needed somebody to
+take care of him--always.
+
+"Davidson asked her again if they really meant mischief.  It was,
+he told me, the hardest thing to believe he had run up against, as
+yet, in his life.  Anne nodded.  The Frenchman's heart was set on
+this robbery.  Davy might expect them, about midnight, creeping on
+board his ship, to steal anyhow--to murder, perhaps.  Her voice
+sounded weary, and her eyes remained fastened on her child.
+
+"And still Davidson could not accept it somehow; his contempt for
+these men was too great.
+
+"'Look here, Davy,' she said.  'I'll go outside with them when they
+start, and it will be hard luck if I don't find something to laugh
+at.  They are used to that from me.  Laugh or cry--what's the odds.
+You will be able to hear me on board on this quiet night.  Dark it
+is too.  Oh! it's dark, Davy!--it's dark!'
+
+"'Don't you run any risks,' said Davidson.  Presently he called her
+attention to the boy, who, less flushed now, had dropped into a
+sound sleep.  'Look.  He'll be all right.'
+
+"She made as if to snatch the child up to her breast, but
+restrained herself.  Davidson prepared to go.  She whispered
+hurriedly:
+
+"'Mind, Davy!  I've told them that you generally sleep aft in the
+hammock under the awning over the cabin.  They have been asking me
+about your ways and about your ship, too.  I told them all I knew.
+I had to keep in with them.  And Bamtz would have told them if I
+hadn't--you understand?'
+
+"He made a friendly sign and went out.  The men about the table
+(except Bamtz) looked at him.  This time it was Fector who spoke.
+'Won't you join us in a quiet game, Captain?'
+
+"Davidson said that now the child was better he thought he would go
+on board and turn in.  Fector was the only one of the four whom he
+had, so to speak, never seen, for he had had a good look at the
+Frenchman already.  He observed Fector's muddy eyes, his mean,
+bitter mouth.  Davidson's contempt for those men rose in his gorge,
+while his placid smile, his gentle tones and general air of
+innocence put heart into them.  They exchanged meaning glances.
+
+"'We shall be sitting late over the cards,' Fector said in his
+harsh, low voice.
+
+"'Don't make more noise than you can help.'
+
+"'Oh! we are a quiet lot.  And if the invalid shouldn't be so well,
+she will be sure to send one of us down to call you, so that you
+may play the doctor again.  So don't shoot at sight.'
+
+"'He isn't a shooting man,' struck in Niclaus.
+
+"'I never shoot before making sure there's a reason for it--at any
+rate,' said Davidson.
+
+"Bamtz let out a sickly snigger.  The Frenchman alone got up to
+make a bow to Davidson's careless nod.  His stumps were stuck
+immovably in his pockets.  Davidson understood now the reason.
+
+"He went down to the ship.  His wits were working actively, and he
+was thoroughly angry.  He smiled, he says (it must have been the
+first grim smile of his life), at the thought of the seven-pound
+weight lashed to the end of the Frenchman's stump.  The ruffian had
+taken that precaution in case of a quarrel that might arise over
+the division of the spoil.  A man with an unsuspected power to deal
+killing blows could take his own part in a sudden scrimmage round a
+heap of money, even against adversaries armed with revolvers,
+especially if he himself started the row.
+
+"'He's ready to face any of his friends with that thing.  But he
+will have no use for it.  There will be no occasion to quarrel
+about these dollars here,' thought Davidson, getting on board
+quietly.  He never paused to look if there was anybody about the
+decks.  As a matter of fact, most of his crew were on shore, and
+the rest slept, stowed away in dark corners.
+
+"He had his plan, and he went to work methodically.
+
+"He fetched a lot of clothing from below and disposed it in his
+hammock in such a way as to distend it to the shape of a human
+body; then he threw over all the light cotton sheet he used to draw
+over himself when sleeping on deck.  Having done this, he loaded
+his two revolvers and clambered into one of the boats the Sissie
+carried right aft, swung out on their davits.  Then he waited.
+
+"And again the doubt of such a thing happening to him crept into
+his mind.  He was almost ashamed of this ridiculous vigil in a
+boat.  He became bored.  And then he became drowsy.  The stillness
+of the black universe wearied him.  There was not even the lapping
+of the water to keep him company, for the tide was out and the
+Sissie was lying on soft mud.  Suddenly in the breathless,
+soundless, hot night an argus pheasant screamed in the woods across
+the stream.  Davidson started violently, all his senses on the
+alert at once.
+
+"The candle was still burning in the house.  Everything was quiet
+again, but Davidson felt drowsy no longer.  An uneasy premonition
+of evil oppressed him.
+
+"'Surely I am not afraid,' he argued with himself.
+
+"The silence was like a seal on his ears, and his nervous inward
+impatience grew intolerable.  He commanded himself to keep still.
+But all the same he was just going to jump out of the boat when a
+faint ripple on the immensity of silence, a mere tremor in the air,
+the ghost of a silvery laugh, reached his ears.
+
+"Illusion!
+
+"He kept very still.  He had no difficulty now in emulating the
+stillness of the mouse--a grimly determined mouse.  But he could
+not shake off that premonition of evil unrelated to the mere danger
+of the situation.  Nothing happened.  It had been an illusion!
+
+"A curiosity came to him to learn how they would go to work.  He
+wondered and wondered, till the whole thing seemed more absurd than
+ever.
+
+"He had left the hanging lamp in the cabin burning as usual.  It
+was part of his plan that everything should be as usual.  Suddenly
+in the dim glow of the skylight panes a bulky shadow came up the
+ladder without a sound, made two steps towards the hammock (it hung
+right over the skylight), and stood motionless.  The Frenchman!
+
+"The minutes began to slip away.  Davidson guessed that the
+Frenchman's part (the poor cripple) was to watch his (Davidson's)
+slumbers while the others were no doubt in the cabin busy forcing
+off the lazarette hatch.
+
+"What was the course they meant to pursue once they got hold of the
+silver (there were ten cases, and each could be carried easily by
+two men) nobody can tell now.  But so far, Davidson was right.
+They were in the cabin.  He expected to hear the sounds of
+breaking-in every moment.  But the fact was that one of them
+(perhaps Fector, who had stolen papers out of desks in his time)
+knew how to pick a lock, and apparently was provided with the
+tools.  Thus while Davidson expected every moment to hear them
+begin down there, they had the bar off already and two cases
+actually up in the cabin out of the lazarette.
+
+"In the diffused faint glow of the skylight the Frenchman moved no
+more than a statue.  Davidson could have shot him with the greatest
+ease--but he was not homicidally inclined.  Moreover, he wanted to
+make sure before opening fire that the others had gone to work.
+Not hearing the sounds he expected to hear, he felt uncertain
+whether they all were on board yet.
+
+"While he listened, the Frenchman, whose immobility might have but
+cloaked an internal struggle; moved forward a pace, then another.
+Davidson, entranced, watched him advance one leg, withdraw his
+right stump, the armed one, out of his pocket, and swinging his
+body to put greater force into the blow, bring the seven-pound
+weight down on the hammock where the head of the sleeper ought to
+have been.
+
+"Davidson admitted to me that his hair stirred at the roots then.
+But for Anne, his unsuspecting head would have been there.  The
+Frenchman's surprise must have been simply overwhelming.  He
+staggered away from the lightly swinging hammock, and before
+Davidson could make a movement he had vanished, bounding down the
+ladder to warn and alarm the other fellows.
+
+"Davidson sprang instantly out of the boat, threw up the skylight
+flap, and had a glimpse of the men down there crouching round the
+hatch.  They looked up scared, and at that moment the Frenchman
+outside the door bellowed out 'Trahison--trahison!'  They bolted
+out of the cabin, falling over each other and swearing awfully.
+The shot Davidson let off down the skylight had hit no one; but he
+ran to the edge of the cabin-top and at once opened fire at the
+dark shapes rushing about the deck.  These shots were returned, and
+a rapid fusillade burst out, reports and flashes, Davidson dodging
+behind a ventilator and pulling the trigger till his revolver
+clicked, and then throwing it down to take the other in his right
+hand.
+
+"He had been hearing in the din the Frenchman's infuriated yells
+'Tuez-le! tuez-le!' above the fierce cursing of the others.  But
+though they fired at him they were only thinking of clearing out.
+In the flashes of the last shots Davidson saw them scrambling over
+the rail.  That he had hit more than one he was certain.  Two
+different voices had cried out in pain.  But apparently none of
+them were disabled.
+
+"Davidson leaned against the bulwark reloading his revolver without
+haste.  He had not the slightest apprehension of their coming back.
+On the other hand, he had no intention of pursuing them on shore in
+the dark.  What they were doing he had no idea.  Looking to their
+hurts probably.  Not very far from the bank the invisible Frenchman
+was blaspheming and cursing his associates, his luck, and all the
+world.  He ceased; then with a sudden, vengeful yell, 'It's that
+woman!--it's that woman that has sold us,' was heard running off in
+the night.
+
+"Davidson caught his breath in a sudden pang of remorse.  He
+perceived with dismay that the stratagem of his defence had given
+Anne away.  He did not hesitate a moment.  It was for him to save
+her now.  He leaped ashore.  But even as he landed on the wharf he
+heard a shrill shriek which pierced his very soul.
+
+"The light was still burning in the house.  Davidson, revolver in
+hand, was making for it when another shriek, away to his left, made
+him change his direction.
+
+"He changed his direction--but very soon he stopped.  It was then
+that he hesitated in cruel perplexity.  He guessed what had
+happened.  The woman had managed to escape from the house in some
+way, and now was being chased in the open by the infuriated
+Frenchman.  He trusted she would try to run on board for
+protection.
+
+"All was still around Davidson.  Whether she had run on board or
+not, this silence meant that the Frenchman had lost her in the
+dark.
+
+"Davidson, relieved, but still very anxious, turned towards the
+river-side.  He had not made two steps in that direction when
+another shriek burst out behind him, again close to the house.
+
+"He thinks that the Frenchman had lost sight of the poor woman
+right enough.  Then came that period of silence.  But the horrible
+ruffian had not given up his murderous purpose.  He reasoned that
+she would try to steal back to her child, and went to lie in wait
+for her near the house.
+
+"It must have been something like that.  As she entered the light
+falling about the house-ladder, he had rushed at her too soon,
+impatient for vengeance.  She had let out that second scream of
+mortal fear when she caught sight of him, and turned to run for
+life again.
+
+"This time she was making for the river, but not in a straight
+line.  Her shrieks circled about Davidson.  He turned on his heels,
+following the horrible trail of sound in the darkness.  He wanted
+to shout 'This way, Anne!  I am here!' but he couldn't.  At the
+horror of this chase, more ghastly in his imagination than if he
+could have seen it, the perspiration broke out on his forehead,
+while his throat was as dry as tinder.  A last supreme scream was
+cut short suddenly.
+
+"The silence which ensued was even more dreadful.  Davidson felt
+sick.  He tore his feet from the spot and walked straight before
+him, gripping the revolver and peering into the obscurity
+fearfully.  Suddenly a bulky shape sprang from the ground within a
+few yards of him and bounded away.  Instinctively he fired at it,
+started to run in pursuit, and stumbled against something soft
+which threw him down headlong.
+
+"Even as he pitched forward on his head he knew it could be nothing
+else but Laughing Anne's body.  He picked himself up and, remaining
+on his knees, tried to lift her in his arms.  He felt her so limp
+that he gave it up.  She was lying on her face, her long hair
+scattered on the ground.  Some of it was wet.  Davidson, feeling
+about her head, came to a place where the crushed bone gave way
+under his fingers.  But even before that discovery he knew that she
+was dead.  The pursuing Frenchman had flung her down with a kick
+from behind, and, squatting on her back, was battering in her skull
+with the weight she herself had fastened to his stump, when the
+totally unexpected Davidson loomed up in the night and scared him
+away.
+
+"Davidson, kneeling by the side of that woman done so miserably to
+death, was overcome by remorse.  She had died for him.  His manhood
+was as if stunned.  For the first time he felt afraid.  He might
+have been pounced upon in the dark at any moment by the murderer of
+Laughing Anne.  He confesses to the impulse of creeping away from
+that pitiful corpse on his hands and knees to the refuge of the
+ship.  He even says that he actually began to do so. . .
+
+"One can hardly picture to oneself Davidson crawling away on all
+fours from the murdered woman--Davidson unmanned and crushed by the
+idea that she had died for him in a sense.  But he could not have
+gone very far.  What stopped him was the thought of the boy,
+Laughing Anne's child, that (Davidson remembered her very words)
+would not have a dog's chance.
+
+"This life the woman had left behind her appeared to Davidson's
+conscience in the light of a sacred trust.  He assumed an erect
+attitude and, quaking inwardly still, turned about and walked
+towards the house.
+
+"For all his tremors he was very determined; but that smashed skull
+had affected his imagination, and he felt very defenceless in the
+darkness, in which he seemed to hear faintly now here, now there,
+the prowling footsteps of the murderer without hands.  But he never
+faltered in his purpose.  He got away with the boy safely after
+all.  The house he found empty.  A profound silence encompassed him
+all the time, except once, just as he got down the ladder with Tony
+in his arms, when a faint groan reached his ears.  It seemed to
+come from the pitch-black space between the posts on which the
+house was built, but he did not stop to investigate.
+
+"It's no use telling you in detail how Davidson got on board with
+the burden Anne's miserably cruel fate had thrust into his arms;
+how next morning his scared crew, after observing from a distance
+the state of affairs on board, rejoined with alacrity; how Davidson
+went ashore and, aided by his engineer (still half dead with
+fright), rolled up Laughing Anne's body in a cotton sheet and
+brought it on board for burial at sea later.  While busy with this
+pious task, Davidson, glancing about, perceived a huge heap of
+white clothes huddled up against the corner-post of the house.
+That it was the Frenchman lying there he could not doubt.  Taking
+it in connection with the dismal groan he had heard in the night,
+Davidson is pretty sure that his random shot gave a mortal hurt to
+the murderer of poor Anne.
+
+"As to the others, Davidson never set eyes on a single one of them.
+Whether they had concealed themselves in the scared settlement, or
+bolted into the forest, or were hiding on board Niclaus's prau,
+which could be seen lying on the mud a hundred yards or so higher
+up the creek, the fact is that they vanished; and Davidson did not
+trouble his head about them.  He lost no time in getting out of the
+creek directly the Sissie floated.  After steaming some twenty
+miles clear of the coast, he (in his own words) 'committed the body
+to the deep.'  He did everything himself.  He weighted her down
+with a few fire-bars, he read the service, he lifted the plank, he
+was the only mourner.  And while he was rendering these last
+services to the dead, the desolation of that life and the atrocious
+wretchedness of its end cried aloud to his compassion, whispered to
+him in tones of self-reproach.
+
+"He ought to have handled the warning she had given him in another
+way.  He was convinced now that a simple display of watchfulness
+would have been enough to restrain that vile and cowardly crew.
+But the fact was that he had not quite believed that anything would
+be attempted.
+
+"The body of Laughing Anne having been 'committed to the deep' some
+twenty miles S.S.W. from Cape Selatan, the task before Davidson was
+to commit Laughing Anne's child to the care of his wife.  And there
+poor, good Davidson made a fatal move.  He didn't want to tell her
+the whole awful story, since it involved the knowledge of the
+danger from which he, Davidson, had escaped.  And this, too, after
+he had been laughing at her unreasonable fears only a short time
+before.
+
+"'I thought that if I told her everything,' Davidson explained to
+me, 'she would never have a moment's peace while I was away on my
+trips.'
+
+"He simply stated that the boy was an orphan, the child of some
+people to whom he, Davidson, was under the greatest obligation, and
+that he felt morally bound to look after him.  Some day he would
+tell her more, he said, and meantime he trusted in the goodness and
+warmth of her heart, in her woman's natural compassion.
+
+"He did not know that her heart was about the size of a parched
+pea, and had the proportional amount of warmth; and that her
+faculty of compassion was mainly directed to herself.  He was only
+startled and disappointed at the air of cold surprise and the
+suspicious look with which she received his imperfect tale.  But
+she did not say much.  She never had much to say.  She was a fool
+of the silent, hopeless kind.
+
+"What story Davidson's crew thought fit to set afloat in Malay town
+is neither here nor there.  Davidson himself took some of his
+friends into his confidence, besides giving the full story
+officially to the Harbour Master.
+
+"The Harbour Master was considerably astonished.  He didn't think,
+however, that a formal complaint should be made to the Dutch
+Government.  They would probably do nothing in the end, after a lot
+of trouble and correspondence.  The robbery had not come off, after
+all.  Those vagabonds could be trusted to go to the devil in their
+own way.  No amount of fuss would bring the poor woman to life
+again, and the actual murderer had been done justice to by a chance
+shot from Davidson.  Better let the matter drop.
+
+"This was good common sense.  But he was impressed.
+
+"'Sounds a terrible affair, Captain Davidson.'
+
+"'Aye, terrible enough,' agreed the remorseful Davidson.  But the
+most terrible thing for him, though he didn't know it yet then, was
+that his wife's silly brain was slowly coming to the conclusion
+that Tony was Davidson's child, and that he had invented that lame
+story to introduce him into her pure home in defiance of decency,
+of virtue--of her most sacred feelings.
+
+"Davidson was aware of some constraint in his domestic relations.
+But at the best of times she was not demonstrative; and perhaps
+that very coldness was part of her charm in the placid Davidson's
+eyes.  Women are loved for all sorts of reasons and even for
+characteristics which one would think repellent.  She was watching
+him and nursing her suspicions.
+
+"Then, one day, Monkey-faced Ritchie called on that sweet, shy Mrs.
+Davidson.  She had come out under his care, and he considered
+himself a privileged person--her oldest friend in the tropics.  He
+posed for a great admirer of hers.  He was always a great
+chatterer.  He had got hold of the story rather vaguely, and he
+started chattering on that subject, thinking she knew all about it.
+And in due course he let out something about Laughing Anne.
+
+"'Laughing Anne,' says Mrs. Davidson with a start.  'What's that?'
+
+Ritchie plunged into circumlocution at once, but she very soon
+stopped him.  'Is that creature dead?' she asks.
+
+"'I believe so,' stammered Ritchie.  'Your husband says so.'
+
+"'But you don't know for certain?'
+
+"'No!  How could I, Mrs. Davidson!'
+
+"'That's all wanted to know,' says she, and goes out of the room.
+
+"When Davidson came home she was ready to go for him, not with
+common voluble indignation, but as if trickling a stream of cold
+clear water down his back.  She talked of his base intrigue with a
+vile woman, of being made a fool of, of the insult to her dignity.
+
+"Davidson begged her to listen to him and told her all the story,
+thinking that it would move a heart of stone.  He tried to make her
+understand his remorse.  She heard him to the end, said 'Indeed!'
+and turned her back on him.
+
+"'Don't you believe me?' he asked, appalled.
+
+"She didn't say yes or no.  All she said was, 'Send that brat away
+at once.'
+
+"'I can't throw him out into the street,' cried Davidson.  'You
+don't mean it.'
+
+"'I don't care.  There are charitable institutions for such
+children, I suppose.'
+
+"'That I will never do,' said Davidson.
+
+"'Very well.  That's enough for me.'
+
+"Davidson's home after this was like a silent, frozen hell for him.
+A stupid woman with a sense of grievance is worse than an unchained
+devil.  He sent the boy to the White Fathers in Malacca.  This was
+not a very expensive sort of education, but she could not forgive
+him for not casting the offensive child away utterly.  She worked
+up her sense of her wifely wrongs and of her injured purity to such
+a pitch that one day, when poor Davidson was pleading with her to
+be reasonable and not to make an impossible existence for them
+both, she turned on him in a chill passion and told him that his
+very sight was odious to her.
+
+"Davidson, with his scrupulous delicacy of feeling, was not the man
+to assert his rights over a woman who could not bear the sight of
+him.  He bowed his head; and shortly afterwards arranged for her to
+go back to her parents.  That was exactly what she wanted in her
+outraged dignity.  And then she had always disliked the tropics and
+had detested secretly the people she had to live amongst as
+Davidson's wife.  She took her pure, sensitive, mean little soul
+away to Fremantle or somewhere in that direction.  And of course
+the little girl went away with her too.  What could poor Davidson
+have done with a little girl on his hands, even if she had
+consented to leave her with him--which is unthinkable.
+
+"This is the story that has spoiled Davidson's smile for him--which
+perhaps it wouldn't have done so thoroughly had he been less of a
+good fellow."
+
+Hollis ceased.  But before we rose from the table I asked him if he
+knew what had become of Laughing Anne's boy.
+
+He counted carefully the change handed him by the Chinaman waiter,
+and raised his head.
+
+"Oh! that's the finishing touch.  He was a bright, taking little
+chap, as you know, and the Fathers took very special pains in his
+bringing up.  Davidson expected in his heart to have some comfort
+out of him.  In his placid way he's a man who needs affection.
+Well, Tony has grown into a fine youth--but there you are!  He
+wants to be a priest; his one dream is to be a missionary.  The
+Fathers assure Davidson that it is a serious vocation.  They tell
+him he has a special disposition for mission work, too.  So
+Laughing Anne's boy will lead a saintly life in China somewhere; he
+may even become a martyr; but poor Davidson is left out in the
+cold.  He will have to go downhill without a single human affection
+near him because of these old dollars."
+
+Jan. 1914
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+{1}  The gallows, supposed to be widowed of the last executed
+criminal and waiting for another.
+
+
+
+
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+<title>Within the Tides</title>
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+<h2>
+<a href="#startoftext">Within the Tides, by Joseph Conrad</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Within the Tides
+
+Author: Joseph Conrad
+
+Release Date: September, 1997  [EBook #1053]
+[This file was first posted on August 29, 1997]
+[Most recently updated: June 24, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+</pre>
+<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
+<p>Scanned and proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h1>Within the Tides</h1>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Contents:</p>
+<p>The Planter of Malata<br />The Partner<br />The Inn of the Two Witches<br />Because
+of the Dollars</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>THE PLANTER OF MALATA</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER I</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>In the private editorial office of the principal newspaper in a great
+colonial city two men were talking.&nbsp; They were both young.&nbsp;
+The stouter of the two, fair, and with more of an urban look about him,
+was the editor and part-owner of the important newspaper.</p>
+<p>The other&rsquo;s name was Renouard.&nbsp; That he was exercised
+in his mind about something was evident on his fine bronzed face.&nbsp;
+He was a lean, lounging, active man.&nbsp; The journalist continued
+the conversation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so you were dining yesterday at old Dunster&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He used the word old not in the endearing sense in which it is sometimes
+applied to intimates, but as a matter of sober fact.&nbsp; The Dunster
+in question was old.&nbsp; He had been an eminent colonial statesman,
+but had now retired from active politics after a tour in Europe and
+a lengthy stay in England, during which he had had a very good press
+indeed.&nbsp; The colony was proud of him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; I dined there,&rdquo; said Renouard.&nbsp; &ldquo;Young
+Dunster asked me just as I was going out of his office.&nbsp; It seemed
+to be like a sudden thought.&nbsp; And yet I can&rsquo;t help suspecting
+some purpose behind it.&nbsp; He was very pressing.&nbsp; He swore that
+his uncle would be very pleased to see me.&nbsp; Said his uncle had
+mentioned lately that the granting to me of the Malata concession was
+the last act of his official life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very touching.&nbsp; The old boy sentimentalises over the
+past now and then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t know why I accepted,&rdquo; continued
+the other.&nbsp; &ldquo;Sentiment does not move me very easily.&nbsp;
+Old Dunster was civil to me of course, but he did not even inquire how
+I was getting on with my silk plants.&nbsp; Forgot there was such a
+thing probably.&nbsp; I must say there were more people there than I
+expected to meet.&nbsp; Quite a big party.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was asked,&rdquo; remarked the newspaper man.&nbsp; &ldquo;Only
+I couldn&rsquo;t go.&nbsp; But when did you arrive from Malata?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I arrived yesterday at daylight.&nbsp; I am anchored out there
+in the bay&mdash;off Garden Point.&nbsp; I was in Dunster&rsquo;s office
+before he had finished reading his letters.&nbsp; Have you ever seen
+young Dunster reading his letters?&nbsp; I had a glimpse of him through
+the open door.&nbsp; He holds the paper in both hands, hunches his shoulders
+up to his ugly ears, and brings his long nose and his thick lips on
+to it like a sucking apparatus.&nbsp; A commercial monster.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here we don&rsquo;t consider him a monster,&rdquo; said the
+newspaper man looking at his visitor thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Probably not.&nbsp; You are used to see his face and to see
+other faces.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know how it is that, when I come to
+town, the appearance of the people in the street strike me with such
+force.&nbsp; They seem so awfully expressive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And not charming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;no.&nbsp; Not as a rule.&nbsp; The effect is forcible
+without being clear. . . . I know that you think it&rsquo;s because
+of my solitary manner of life away there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; I do think so.&nbsp; It is demoralising.&nbsp;
+You don&rsquo;t see any one for months at a stretch.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+leading an unhealthy life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The other hardly smiled and murmured the admission that true enough
+it was a good eleven months since he had been in town last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; insisted the other.&nbsp; &ldquo;Solitude
+works like a sort of poison.&nbsp; And then you perceive suggestions
+in faces&mdash;mysterious and forcible, that no sound man would be bothered
+with.&nbsp; Of course you do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Geoffrey Renouard did not tell his journalist friend that the suggestions
+of his own face, the face of a friend, bothered him as much as the others.&nbsp;
+He detected a degrading quality in the touches of age which every day
+adds to a human countenance.&nbsp; They moved and disturbed him, like
+the signs of a horrible inward travail which was frightfully apparent
+to the fresh eye he had brought from his isolation in Malata, where
+he had settled after five strenuous years of adventure and exploration.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a fact,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that when I am at
+home in Malata I see no one consciously.&nbsp; I take the plantation
+boys for granted.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, and we here take the people in the streets for granted.&nbsp;
+And that&rsquo;s sanity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The visitor said nothing to this for fear of engaging a discussion.&nbsp;
+What he had come to seek in the editorial office was not controversy,
+but information.&nbsp; Yet somehow he hesitated to approach the subject.&nbsp;
+Solitary life makes a man reticent in respect of anything in the nature
+of gossip, which those to whom chatting about their kind is an everyday
+exercise regard as the commonest use of speech.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You very busy?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>The Editor making red marks on a long slip of printed paper threw
+the pencil down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&nbsp; I am done.&nbsp; Social paragraphs.&nbsp; This office
+is the place where everything is known about everybody&mdash;including
+even a great deal of nobodies.&nbsp; Queer fellows drift in and out
+of this room.&nbsp; Waifs and strays from home, from up-country, from
+the Pacific.&nbsp; And, by the way, last time you were here you picked
+up one of that sort for your assistant&mdash;didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I engaged an assistant only to stop your preaching about the
+evils of solitude,&rdquo; said Renouard hastily; and the pressman laughed
+at the half-resentful tone.&nbsp; His laugh was not very loud, but his
+plump person shook all over.&nbsp; He was aware that his younger friend&rsquo;s
+deference to his advice was based only on an imperfect belief in his
+wisdom&mdash;or his sagacity.&nbsp; But it was he who had first helped
+Renouard in his plans of exploration: the five-years&rsquo; programme
+of scientific adventure, of work, of danger and endurance, carried out
+with such distinction and rewarded modestly with the lease of Malata
+island by the frugal colonial government.&nbsp; And this reward, too,
+had been due to the journalist&rsquo;s advocacy with word and pen&mdash;for
+he was an influential man in the community.&nbsp; Doubting very much
+if Renouard really liked him, he was himself without great sympathy
+for a certain side of that man which he could not quite make out.&nbsp;
+He only felt it obscurely to be his real personality&mdash;the true&mdash;and,
+perhaps, the absurd.&nbsp; As, for instance, in that case of the assistant.&nbsp;
+Renouard had given way to the arguments of his friend and backer&mdash;the
+argument against the unwholesome effect of solitude, the argument for
+the safety of companionship even if quarrelsome.&nbsp; Very well.&nbsp;
+In this docility he was sensible and even likeable.&nbsp; But what did
+he do next?&nbsp; Instead of taking counsel as to the choice with his
+old backer and friend, and a man, besides, knowing everybody employed
+and unemployed on the pavements of the town, this extraordinary Renouard
+suddenly and almost surreptitiously picked up a fellow&mdash;God knows
+who&mdash;and sailed away with him back to Malata in a hurry; a proceeding
+obviously rash and at the same time not quite straight.&nbsp; That was
+the sort of thing.&nbsp; The secretly unforgiving journalist laughed
+a little longer and then ceased to shake all over.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes.&nbsp; About that assistant of yours. . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about him,&rdquo; said Renouard, after waiting a while,
+with a shadow of uneasiness on his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you nothing to tell me of him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing except. . . .&rdquo;&nbsp; Incipient grimness vanished
+out of Renouard&rsquo;s aspect and his voice, while he hesitated as
+if reflecting seriously before he changed his mind.&nbsp; &ldquo;No.&nbsp;
+Nothing whatever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t brought him along with you by chance&mdash;for
+a change.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Planter of Malata stared, then shook his head, and finally murmured
+carelessly: &ldquo;I think he&rsquo;s very well where he is.&nbsp; But
+I wish you could tell me why young Dunster insisted so much on my dining
+with his uncle last night.&nbsp; Everybody knows I am not a society
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Editor exclaimed at so much modesty.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t his friend
+know that he was their one and only explorer&mdash;that he was the man
+experimenting with the silk plant. . . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Still, that doesn&rsquo;t tell me why I was invited yesterday.&nbsp;
+For young Dunster never thought of this civility before. . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our Willie,&rdquo; said the popular journalist, &ldquo;never
+does anything without a purpose, that&rsquo;s a fact.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And to his uncle&rsquo;s house too!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He lives there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; But he might have given me a feed somewhere else.&nbsp;
+The extraordinary part is that the old man did not seem to have anything
+special to say.&nbsp; He smiled kindly on me once or twice, and that
+was all.&nbsp; It was quite a party, sixteen people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Editor then, after expressing his regret that he had not been
+able to come, wanted to know if the party had been entertaining.</p>
+<p>Renouard regretted that his friend had not been there.&nbsp; Being
+a man whose business or at least whose profession was to know everything
+that went on in this part of the globe, he could probably have told
+him something of some people lately arrived from home, who were amongst
+the guests.&nbsp; Young Dunster (Willie), with his large shirt-front
+and streaks of white skin shining unpleasantly through the thin black
+hair plastered over the top of his head, bore down on him and introduced
+him to that party, as if he had been a trained dog or a child phenomenon.&nbsp;
+Decidedly, he said, he disliked Willie&mdash;one of these large oppressive
+men. . . .</p>
+<p>A silence fell, and it was as if Renouard were not going to say anything
+more when, suddenly, he came out with the real object of his visit to
+the editorial room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They looked to me like people under a spell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Editor gazed at him appreciatively, thinking that, whether the
+effect of solitude or not, this was a proof of a sensitive perception
+of the expression of faces.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You omitted to tell me their name, but I can make a guess.&nbsp;
+You mean Professor Moorsom, his daughter and sister&mdash;don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard assented.&nbsp; Yes, a white-haired lady.&nbsp; But from
+his silence, with his eyes fixed, yet avoiding his friend, it was easy
+to guess that it was not in the white-haired lady that he was interested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my word,&rdquo; he said, recovering his usual bearing.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It looks to me as if I had been asked there only for the daughter
+to talk to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He did not conceal that he had been greatly struck by her appearance.&nbsp;
+Nobody could have helped being impressed.&nbsp; She was different from
+everybody else in that house, and it was not only the effect of her
+London clothes.&nbsp; He did not take her down to dinner.&nbsp; Willie
+did that.&nbsp; It was afterwards, on the terrace. . . .</p>
+<p>The evening was delightfully calm.&nbsp; He was sitting apart and
+alone, and wishing himself somewhere else&mdash;on board the schooner
+for choice, with the dinner-harness off.&nbsp; He hadn&rsquo;t exchanged
+forty words altogether during the evening with the other guests.&nbsp;
+He saw her suddenly all by herself coming towards him along the dimly
+lighted terrace, quite from a distance.</p>
+<p>She was tall and supple, carrying nobly on her straight body a head
+of a character which to him appeared peculiar, something&mdash;well&mdash;pagan,
+crowned with a great wealth of hair.&nbsp; He had been about to rise,
+but her decided approach caused him to remain on the seat.&nbsp; He
+had not looked much at her that evening.&nbsp; He had not that freedom
+of gaze acquired by the habit of society and the frequent meetings with
+strangers.&nbsp; It was not shyness, but the reserve of a man not used
+to the world and to the practice of covert staring, with careless curiosity.&nbsp;
+All he had captured by his first, keen, instantly lowered, glance was
+the impression that her hair was magnificently red and her eyes very
+black.&nbsp; It was a troubling effect, but it had been evanescent;
+he had forgotten it almost till very unexpectedly he saw her coming
+down the terrace slow and eager, as if she were restraining herself,
+and with a rhythmic upward undulation of her whole figure.&nbsp; The
+light from an open window fell across her path, and suddenly all that
+mass of arranged hair appeared incandescent, chiselled and fluid, with
+the daring suggestion of a helmet of burnished copper and the flowing
+lines of molten metal.&nbsp; It kindled in him an astonished admiration.&nbsp;
+But he said nothing of it to his friend the Editor.&nbsp; Neither did
+he tell him that her approach woke up in his brain the image of love&rsquo;s
+infinite grace and the sense of the inexhaustible joy that lives in
+beauty.&nbsp; No!&nbsp; What he imparted to the Editor were no emotions,
+but mere facts conveyed in a deliberate voice and in uninspired words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That young lady came and sat down by me.&nbsp; She said: &lsquo;Are
+you French, Mr. Renouard?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had breathed a whiff of perfume of which he said nothing either&mdash;of
+some perfume he did not know.&nbsp; Her voice was low and distinct.&nbsp;
+Her shoulders and her bare arms gleamed with an extraordinary splendour,
+and when she advanced her head into the light he saw the admirable contour
+of the face, the straight fine nose with delicate nostrils, the exquisite
+crimson brushstroke of the lips on this oval without colour.&nbsp; The
+expression of the eyes was lost in a shadowy mysterious play of jet
+and silver, stirring under the red coppery gold of the hair as though
+she had been a being made of ivory and precious metals changed into
+living tissue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;. . . I told her my people were living in Canada, but that
+I was brought up in England before coming out here.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+imagine what interest she could have in my history.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you complain of her interest?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The accent of the all-knowing journalist seemed to jar on the Planter
+of Malata.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo; he said, in a deadened voice that was almost sullen.&nbsp;
+But after a short silence he went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;Very extraordinary.&nbsp;
+I told her I came out to wander at large in the world when I was nineteen,
+almost directly after I left school.&nbsp; It seems that her late brother
+was in the same school a couple of years before me.&nbsp; She wanted
+me to tell her what I did at first when I came out here; what other
+men found to do when they came out&mdash;where they went, what was likely
+to happen to them&mdash;as if I could guess and foretell from my experience
+the fates of men who come out here with a hundred different projects,
+for hundreds of different reasons&mdash;for no reason but restlessness&mdash;who
+come, and go, and disappear!&nbsp; Preposterous.&nbsp; She seemed to
+want to hear their histories.&nbsp; I told her that most of them were
+not worth telling.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The distinguished journalist leaning on his elbow, his head resting
+against the knuckles of his left hand, listened with great attention,
+but gave no sign of that surprise which Renouard, pausing, seemed to
+expect.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know something,&rdquo; the latter said brusquely.&nbsp;
+The all-knowing man moved his head slightly and said, &ldquo;Yes.&nbsp;
+But go on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just this.&nbsp; There is no more to it.&nbsp;
+I found myself talking to her of my adventures, of my early days.&nbsp;
+It couldn&rsquo;t possibly have interested her.&nbsp; Really,&rdquo;
+he cried, &ldquo;this is most extraordinary.&nbsp; Those people have
+something on their minds.&nbsp; We sat in the light of the window, and
+her father prowled about the terrace, with his hands behind his back
+and his head drooping.&nbsp; The white-haired lady came to the dining-room
+window twice&mdash;to look at us I am certain.&nbsp; The other guests
+began to go away&mdash;and still we sat there.&nbsp; Apparently these
+people are staying with the Dunsters.&nbsp; It was old Mrs. Dunster
+who put an end to the thing.&nbsp; The father and the aunt circled about
+as if they were afraid of interfering with the girl.&nbsp; Then she
+got up all at once, gave me her hand, and said she hoped she would see
+me again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>While he was speaking Renouard saw again the sway of her figure in
+a movement of grace and strength&mdash;felt the pressure of her hand&mdash;heard
+the last accents of the deep murmur that came from her throat so white
+in the light of the window, and remembered the black rays of her steady
+eyes passing off his face when she turned away.&nbsp; He remembered
+all this visually, and it was not exactly pleasurable.&nbsp; It was
+rather startling like the discovery of a new faculty in himself.&nbsp;
+There are faculties one would rather do without&mdash;such, for instance,
+as seeing through a stone wall or remembering a person with this uncanny
+vividness.&nbsp; And what about those two people belonging to her with
+their air of expectant solicitude!&nbsp; Really, those figures from
+home got in front of one.&nbsp; In fact, their persistence in getting
+between him and the solid forms of the everyday material world had driven
+Renouard to call on his friend at the office.&nbsp; He hoped that a
+little common, gossipy information would lay the ghost of that unexpected
+dinner-party.&nbsp; Of course the proper person to go to would have
+been young Dunster, but, he couldn&rsquo;t stand Willie Dunster&mdash;not
+at any price.</p>
+<p>In the pause the Editor had changed his attitude, faced his desk,
+and smiled a faint knowing smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Striking girl&mdash;eh?&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>The incongruity of the word was enough to make one jump out of the
+chair.&nbsp; Striking!&nbsp; That girl striking!&nbsp; Stri . . .!&nbsp;
+But Renouard restrained his feelings.&nbsp; His friend was not a person
+to give oneself away to.&nbsp; And, after all, this sort of speech was
+what he had come there to hear.&nbsp; As, however, he had made a movement
+he re-settled himself comfortably and said, with very creditable indifference,
+that yes&mdash;she was, rather.&nbsp; Especially amongst a lot of over-dressed
+frumps.&nbsp; There wasn&rsquo;t one woman under forty there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that the way to speak of the cream of our society; the
+&lsquo;top of the basket,&rsquo; as the French say,&rdquo; the Editor
+remonstrated with mock indignation.&nbsp; &ldquo;You aren&rsquo;t moderate
+in your expressions&mdash;you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I express myself very little,&rdquo; interjected Renouard
+seriously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will tell you what you are.&nbsp; You are a fellow that
+doesn&rsquo;t count the cost.&nbsp; Of course you are safe with me,
+but will you never learn. . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What struck me most,&rdquo; interrupted the other, &ldquo;is
+that she should pick me out for such a long conversation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s perhaps because you were the most remarkable
+of the men there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard shook his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This shot doesn&rsquo;t seem to me to hit the mark,&rdquo;
+he said calmly.&nbsp; &ldquo;Try again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you believe me?&nbsp; Oh, you modest creature.&nbsp;
+Well, let me assure you that under ordinary circumstances it would have
+been a good shot.&nbsp; You are sufficiently remarkable.&nbsp; But you
+seem a pretty acute customer too.&nbsp; The circumstances are extraordinary.&nbsp;
+By Jove they are!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He mused.&nbsp; After a time the Planter of Malata dropped a negligent
+-</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you know them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I know them,&rdquo; assented the all-knowing Editor, soberly,
+as though the occasion were too special for a display of professional
+vanity; a vanity so well known to Renouard that its absence augmented
+his wonder and almost made him uneasy as if portending bad news of some
+sort.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have met those people?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&nbsp; I was to have met them last night, but I had to
+send an apology to Willie in the morning.&nbsp; It was then that he
+had the bright idea to invite you to fill the place, from a muddled
+notion that you could be of use.&nbsp; Willie is stupid sometimes.&nbsp;
+For it is clear that you are the last man able to help.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How on earth do I come to be mixed up in this&mdash;whatever
+it is?&rdquo;&nbsp; Renouard&rsquo;s voice was slightly altered by nervous
+irritation.&nbsp; &ldquo;I only arrived here yesterday morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER II</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>His friend the Editor turned to him squarely.&nbsp; &ldquo;Willie
+took me into consultation, and since he seems to have let you in I may
+just as well tell you what is up.&nbsp; I shall try to be as short as
+I can.&nbsp; But in confidence&mdash;mind!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He waited.&nbsp; Renouard, his uneasiness growing on him unreasonably,
+assented by a nod, and the other lost no time in beginning.&nbsp; Professor
+Moorsom&mdash;physicist and philosopher&mdash;fine head of white hair,
+to judge from the photographs&mdash;plenty of brains in the head too&mdash;all
+these famous books&mdash;surely even Renouard would know. . . .</p>
+<p>Renouard muttered moodily that it wasn&rsquo;t his sort of reading,
+and his friend hastened to assure him earnestly that neither was it
+his sort&mdash;except as a matter of business and duty, for the literary
+page of that newspaper which was his property (and the pride of his
+life).&nbsp; The only literary newspaper in the Antipodes could not
+ignore the fashionable philosopher of the age.&nbsp; Not that anybody
+read Moorsom at the Antipodes, but everybody had heard of him&mdash;women,
+children, dock labourers, cabmen.&nbsp; The only person (besides himself)
+who had read Moorsom, as far as he knew, was old Dunster, who used to
+call himself a Moorsomian (or was it Moorsomite) years and years ago,
+long before Moorsom had worked himself up into the great swell he was
+now, in every way. . . Socially too.&nbsp; Quite the fashion in the
+highest world.</p>
+<p>Renouard listened with profoundly concealed attention.&nbsp; &ldquo;A
+charlatan,&rdquo; he muttered languidly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;no.&nbsp; I should say not.&nbsp; I shouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder though if most of his writing had been done with his tongue in
+his cheek.&nbsp; Of course.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s to be expected.&nbsp;
+I tell you what: the only really honest writing is to be found in newspapers
+and nowhere else&mdash;and don&rsquo;t you forget it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Editor paused with a basilisk stare till Renouard had conceded
+a casual: &ldquo;I dare say,&rdquo; and only then went on to explain
+that old Dunster, during his European tour, had been made rather a lion
+of in London, where he stayed with the Moorsoms&mdash;he meant the father
+and the girl.&nbsp; The professor had been a widower for a long time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t look just a girl,&rdquo; muttered Renouard.&nbsp;
+The other agreed.&nbsp; Very likely not.&nbsp; Had been playing the
+London hostess to tip-top people ever since she put her hair up, probably.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t expect to see any girlish bloom on her when
+I do have the privilege,&rdquo; he continued.&nbsp; &ldquo;Those people
+are staying with the Dunster&rsquo;s <i>incog</i>., in a manner, you
+understand&mdash;something like royalties.&nbsp; They don&rsquo;t deceive
+anybody, but they want to be left to themselves.&nbsp; We have even
+kept them out of the paper&mdash;to oblige old Dunster.&nbsp; But we
+shall put your arrival in&mdash;our local celebrity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; Mr. G. Renouard, the explorer, whose indomitable
+energy, etc., and who is now working for the prosperity of our country
+in another way on his Malata plantation . . . And, by the by, how&rsquo;s
+the silk plant&mdash;flourishing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you bring any fibre?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Schooner-full.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see.&nbsp; To be transhipped to Liverpool for experimental
+manufacture, eh?&nbsp; Eminent capitalists at home very much interested,
+aren&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A silence fell.&nbsp; Then the Editor uttered slowly&mdash;&ldquo;You
+will be a rich man some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard&rsquo;s face did not betray his opinion of that confident
+prophecy.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t say anything till his friend suggested
+in the same meditative voice -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to interest Moorsom in the affair too&mdash;since
+Willie has let you in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A philosopher!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose he isn&rsquo;t above making a bit of money.&nbsp;
+And he may be clever at it for all you know.&nbsp; I have a notion that
+he&rsquo;s a fairly practical old cove. . . . Anyhow,&rdquo; and here
+the tone of the speaker took on a tinge of respect, &ldquo;he has made
+philosophy pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard raised his eyes, repressed an impulse to jump up, and got
+out of the arm-chair slowly.&nbsp; &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t perhaps a bad
+idea,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to call there in
+any case.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He wondered whether he had managed to keep his voice steady, its
+tone unconcerned enough; for his emotion was strong though it had nothing
+to do with the business aspect of this suggestion.&nbsp; He moved in
+the room in vague preparation for departure, when he heard a soft laugh.&nbsp;
+He spun about quickly with a frown, but the Editor was not laughing
+at him.&nbsp; He was chuckling across the big desk at the wall: a preliminary
+of some speech for which Renouard, recalled to himself, waited silent
+and mistrustful.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&nbsp; You would never guess!&nbsp; No one would ever guess
+what these people are after.&nbsp; Willie&rsquo;s eyes bulged out when
+he came to me with the tale.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They always do,&rdquo; remarked Renouard with disgust.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s stupid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was startled.&nbsp; And so was I after he told me.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s a search party.&nbsp; They are out looking for a man.&nbsp;
+Willie&rsquo;s soft heart&rsquo;s enlisted in the cause.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard repeated: &ldquo;Looking for a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sat down suddenly as if on purpose to stare.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did
+Willie come to you to borrow the lantern,&rdquo; he asked sarcastically,
+and got up again for no apparent reason.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What lantern?&rdquo; snapped the puzzled Editor, and his face
+darkened with suspicion.&nbsp; &ldquo;You, Renouard, are always alluding
+to things that aren&rsquo;t clear to me.&nbsp; If you were in politics,
+I, as a party journalist, wouldn&rsquo;t trust you further than I could
+see you.&nbsp; Not an inch further.&nbsp; You are such a sophisticated
+beggar.&nbsp; Listen: the man is the man Miss Moorsom was engaged to
+for a year.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t have been a nobody, anyhow.&nbsp;
+But he doesn&rsquo;t seem to have been very wise.&nbsp; Hard luck for
+the young lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He spoke with feeling.&nbsp; It was clear that what he had to tell
+appealed to his sentiment.&nbsp; Yet, as an experienced man of the world,
+he marked his amused wonder.&nbsp; Young man of good family and connections,
+going everywhere, yet not merely a man about town, but with a foot in
+the two big F&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p>Renouard lounging aimlessly in the room turned round: &ldquo;And
+what the devil&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; he asked faintly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why Fashion and Finance,&rdquo; explained the Editor.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s how I call it.&nbsp; There are the three R&rsquo;s
+at the bottom of the social edifice and the two F&rsquo;s on the top.&nbsp;
+See?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha! Ha!&nbsp; Excellent!&nbsp; Ha! Ha!&rdquo; Renouard laughed
+with stony eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you proceed from one set to the other in this democratic
+age,&rdquo; the Editor went on with unperturbed complacency.&nbsp; &ldquo;That
+is if you are clever enough.&nbsp; The only danger is in being too clever.&nbsp;
+And I think something of the sort happened here.&nbsp; That swell I
+am speaking of got himself into a mess.&nbsp; Apparently a very ugly
+mess of a financial character.&nbsp; You will understand that Willie
+did not go into details with me.&nbsp; They were not imparted to him
+with very great abundance either.&nbsp; But a bad mess&mdash;something
+of the criminal order.&nbsp; Of course he was innocent.&nbsp; But he
+had to quit all the same.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha! Ha!&rdquo; Renouard laughed again abruptly, staring as
+before.&nbsp; &ldquo;So there&rsquo;s one more big F in the tale.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; inquired the Editor quickly, with
+an air as if his patent were being infringed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean&mdash;Fool.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t say that.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t
+say that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;let him be a scoundrel then.&nbsp; What the devil
+do I care.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But hold on!&nbsp; You haven&rsquo;t heard the end of the
+story.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, his hat on his head already, sat down with the disdainful
+smile of a man who had discounted the moral of the story.&nbsp; Still
+he sat down and the Editor swung his revolving chair right round.&nbsp;
+He was full of unction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Imprudent, I should say.&nbsp; In many ways money is as dangerous
+to handle as gunpowder.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t be too careful either
+as to who you are working with.&nbsp; Anyhow there was a mighty flashy
+burst up, a sensation, and&mdash;his familiar haunts knew him no more.&nbsp;
+But before he vanished he went to see Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; That very
+fact argues for his innocence&mdash;don&rsquo;t it?&nbsp; What was said
+between them no man knows&mdash;unless the professor had the confidence
+from his daughter.&nbsp; There couldn&rsquo;t have been much to say.&nbsp;
+There was nothing for it but to let him go&mdash;was there?&mdash;for
+the affair had got into the papers.&nbsp; And perhaps the kindest thing
+would have been to forget him.&nbsp; Anyway the easiest.&nbsp; Forgiveness
+would have been more difficult, I fancy, for a young lady of spirit
+and position drawn into an ugly affair like that.&nbsp; Any ordinary
+young lady, I mean.&nbsp; Well, the fellow asked nothing better than
+to be forgotten, only he didn&rsquo;t find it easy to do so himself,
+because he would write home now and then.&nbsp; Not to any of his friends
+though.&nbsp; He had no near relations.&nbsp; The professor had been
+his guardian.&nbsp; No, the poor devil wrote now and then to an old
+retired butler of his late father, somewhere in the country, forbidding
+him at the same time to let any one know of his whereabouts.&nbsp; So
+that worthy old ass would go up and dodge about the Moorsom&rsquo;s
+town house, perhaps waylay Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s maid, and then would
+write to &lsquo;Master Arthur&rsquo; that the young lady looked well
+and happy, or some such cheerful intelligence.&nbsp; I dare say he wanted
+to be forgotten, but I shouldn&rsquo;t think he was much cheered by
+the news.&nbsp; What would you say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, his legs stretched out and his chin on his breast, said
+nothing.&nbsp; A sensation which was not curiosity, but rather a vague
+nervous anxiety, distinctly unpleasant, like a mysterious symptom of
+some malady, prevented him from getting up and going away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mixed feelings,&rdquo; the Editor opined.&nbsp; &ldquo;Many
+fellows out here receive news from home with mixed feelings.&nbsp; But
+what will his feelings be when he hears what I am going to tell you
+now?&nbsp; For we know he has not heard yet.&nbsp; Six months ago a
+city clerk, just a common drudge of finance, gets himself convicted
+of a common embezzlement or something of that kind.&nbsp; Then seeing
+he&rsquo;s in for a long sentence he thinks of making his conscience
+comfortable, and makes a clean breast of an old story of tampered with,
+or else suppressed, documents, a story which clears altogether the honesty
+of our ruined gentleman.&nbsp; That embezzling fellow was in a position
+to know, having been employed by the firm before the smash.&nbsp; There
+was no doubt about the character being cleared&mdash;but where the cleared
+man was nobody could tell.&nbsp; Another sensation in society.&nbsp;
+And then Miss Moorsom says: &lsquo;He will come back to claim me, and
+I&rsquo;ll marry him.&rsquo;&nbsp; But he didn&rsquo;t come back.&nbsp;
+Between you and me I don&rsquo;t think he was much wanted&mdash;except
+by Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; I imagine she&rsquo;s used to have her own way.&nbsp;
+She grew impatient, and declared that if she knew where the man was
+she would go to him.&nbsp; But all that could be got out of the old
+butler was that the last envelope bore the postmark of our beautiful
+city; and that this was the only address of &lsquo;Master Arthur&rsquo;
+that he ever had.&nbsp; That and no more.&nbsp; In fact the fellow was
+at his last gasp&mdash;with a bad heart.&nbsp; Miss Moorsom wasn&rsquo;t
+allowed to see him.&nbsp; She had gone herself into the country to learn
+what she could, but she had to stay downstairs while the old chap&rsquo;s
+wife went up to the invalid.&nbsp; She brought down the scrap of intelligence
+I&rsquo;ve told you of.&nbsp; He was already too far gone to be cross-examined
+on it, and that very night he died.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t leave behind
+him much to go by, did he?&nbsp; Our Willie hinted to me that there
+had been pretty stormy days in the professor&rsquo;s house, but&mdash;here
+they are.&nbsp; I have a notion she isn&rsquo;t the kind of everyday
+young lady who may be permitted to gallop about the world all by herself&mdash;eh?&nbsp;
+Well, I think it rather fine of her, but I quite understand that the
+professor needed all his philosophy under the circumstances.&nbsp; She
+is his only child now&mdash;and brilliant&mdash;what?&nbsp; Willie positively
+spluttered trying to describe her to me; and I could see directly you
+came in that you had an uncommon experience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, with an irritated gesture, tilted his hat more forward
+on his eyes, as though he were bored.&nbsp; The Editor went on with
+the remark that to be sure neither he (Renouard) nor yet Willie were
+much used to meet girls of that remarkable superiority.&nbsp; Willie
+when learning business with a firm in London, years before, had seen
+none but boarding-house society, he guessed.&nbsp; As to himself in
+the good old days, when he trod the glorious flags of Fleet Street,
+he neither had access to, nor yet would have cared for the swells.&nbsp;
+Nothing interested him then but parliamentary politics and the oratory
+of the House of Commons.</p>
+<p>He paid to this not very distant past the tribute of a tender, reminiscent
+smile, and returned to his first idea that for a society girl her action
+was rather fine.&nbsp; All the same the professor could not be very
+pleased.&nbsp; The fellow if he was as pure as a lily now was just about
+as devoid of the goods of the earth.&nbsp; And there were misfortunes,
+however undeserved, which damaged a man&rsquo;s standing permanently.&nbsp;
+On the other hand, it was difficult to oppose cynically a noble impulse&mdash;not
+to speak of the great love at the root of it.&nbsp; Ah!&nbsp; Love!&nbsp;
+And then the lady was quite capable of going off by herself.&nbsp; She
+was of age, she had money of her own, plenty of pluck too.&nbsp; Moorsom
+must have concluded that it was more truly paternal, more prudent too,
+and generally safer all round to let himself be dragged into this chase.&nbsp;
+The aunt came along for the same reasons.&nbsp; It was given out at
+home as a trip round the world of the usual kind.</p>
+<p>Renouard had risen and remained standing with his heart beating,
+and strangely affected by this tale, robbed as it was of all glamour
+by the prosaic personality of the narrator.&nbsp; The Editor added:
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been asked to help in the search&mdash;you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard muttered something about an appointment and went out into
+the street.&nbsp; His inborn sanity could not defend him from a misty
+creeping jealousy.&nbsp; He thought that obviously no man of that sort
+could be worthy of such a woman&rsquo;s devoted fidelity.&nbsp; Renouard,
+however, had lived long enough to reflect that a man&rsquo;s activities,
+his views, and even his ideas may be very inferior to his character;
+and moved by a delicate consideration for that splendid girl he tried
+to think out for the man a character of inward excellence and outward
+gifts&mdash;some extraordinary seduction.&nbsp; But in vain.&nbsp; Fresh
+from months of solitude and from days at sea, her splendour presented
+itself to him absolutely unconquerable in its perfection, unless by
+her own folly.&nbsp; It was easier to suspect her of this than to imagine
+in the man qualities which would be worthy of her.&nbsp; Easier and
+less degrading.&nbsp; Because folly may be generous&mdash;could be nothing
+else but generosity in her; whereas to imagine her subjugated by something
+common was intolerable.</p>
+<p>Because of the force of the physical impression he had received from
+her personality (and such impressions are the real origins of the deepest
+movements of our soul) this conception of her was even inconceivable.&nbsp;
+But no Prince Charming has ever lived out of a fairy tale.&nbsp; He
+doesn&rsquo;t walk the worlds of Fashion and Finance&mdash;and with
+a stumbling gait at that.&nbsp; Generosity.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; It was
+her generosity.&nbsp; But this generosity was altogether regal in its
+splendour, almost absurd in its lavishness&mdash;or, perhaps, divine.</p>
+<p>In the evening, on board his schooner, sitting on the rail, his arms
+folded on his breast and his eyes fixed on the deck, he let the darkness
+catch him unawares in the midst of a meditation on the mechanism of
+sentiment and the springs of passion.&nbsp; And all the time he had
+an abiding consciousness of her bodily presence.&nbsp; The effect on
+his senses had been so penetrating that in the middle of the night,
+rousing up suddenly, wide-eyed in the darkness of his cabin, he did
+not create a faint mental vision of her person for himself, but, more
+intimately affected, he scented distinctly the faint perfume she used,
+and could almost have sworn that he had been awakened by the soft rustle
+of her dress.&nbsp; He even sat up listening in the dark for a time,
+then sighed and lay down again, not agitated but, on the contrary, oppressed
+by the sensation of something that had happened to him and could not
+be undone.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER III</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>In the afternoon he lounged into the editorial office, carrying with
+affected nonchalance that weight of the irremediable he had felt laid
+on him suddenly in the small hours of the night&mdash;that consciousness
+of something that could no longer be helped.&nbsp; His patronising friend
+informed him at once that he had made the acquaintance of the Moorsom
+party last night.&nbsp; At the Dunsters, of course.&nbsp; Dinner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very quiet.&nbsp; Nobody there.&nbsp; It was much better for
+the business.&nbsp; I say . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, his hand grasping the back of a chair, stared down at him
+dumbly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Phew!&nbsp; That&rsquo;s a stunning girl. . . Why do you want
+to sit on that chair?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s uncomfortable!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wasn&rsquo;t going to sit on it.&rdquo;&nbsp; Renouard walked
+slowly to the window, glad to find in himself enough self-control to
+let go the chair instead of raising it on high and bringing it down
+on the Editor&rsquo;s head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Willie kept on gazing at her with tears in his boiled eyes.&nbsp;
+You should have seen him bending sentimentally over her at dinner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Renouard in such an anguished tone
+that the Editor turned right round to look at his back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You push your dislike of young Dunster too far.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+positively morbid,&rdquo; he disapproved mildly.&nbsp; &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t
+be all beautiful after thirty. . . . I talked a little, about you mostly,
+to the professor.&nbsp; He appeared to be interested in the silk plant&mdash;if
+only as a change from the great subject.&nbsp; Miss Moorsom didn&rsquo;t
+seem to mind when I confessed to her that I had taken you into the confidence
+of the thing.&nbsp; Our Willie approved too.&nbsp; Old Dunster with
+his white beard seemed to give me his blessing.&nbsp; All those people
+have a great opinion of you, simply because I told them that you&rsquo;ve
+led every sort of life one can think of before you got struck on exploration.&nbsp;
+They want you to make suggestions.&nbsp; What do you think &lsquo;Master
+Arthur&rsquo; is likely to have taken to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something easy,&rdquo; muttered Renouard without unclenching
+his teeth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hunting man.&nbsp; Athlete.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t be hard on the
+chap.&nbsp; He may be riding boundaries, or droving cattle, or humping
+his swag about the back-blocks away to the devil&mdash;somewhere.&nbsp;
+He may be even prospecting at the back of beyond&mdash;this very moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or lying dead drunk in a roadside pub.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s late
+enough in the day for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Editor looked up instinctively.&nbsp; The clock was pointing
+at a quarter to five.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, it is,&rdquo; he admitted.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But it needn&rsquo;t be.&nbsp; And he may have lit out into the
+Western Pacific all of a sudden&mdash;say in a trading schooner.&nbsp;
+Though I really don&rsquo;t see in what capacity.&nbsp; Still . . .
+&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or he may be passing at this very moment under this very window.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not he . . . and I wish you would get away from it to where
+one can see your face.&nbsp; I hate talking to a man&rsquo;s back.&nbsp;
+You stand there like a hermit on a sea-shore growling to yourself.&nbsp;
+I tell you what it is, Geoffrey, you don&rsquo;t like mankind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t make my living by talking about mankind&rsquo;s
+affairs,&rdquo; Renouard defended himself.&nbsp; But he came away obediently
+and sat down in the armchair.&nbsp; &ldquo;How can you be so certain
+that your man isn&rsquo;t down there in the street?&rdquo; he asked.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s neither more nor less probable than every single one
+of your other suppositions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Placated by Renouard&rsquo;s docility the Editor gazed at him for
+a while.&nbsp; &ldquo;Aha!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell you how.&nbsp; Learn
+then that we have begun the campaign.&nbsp; We have telegraphed his
+description to the police of every township up and down the land.&nbsp;
+And what&rsquo;s more we&rsquo;ve ascertained definitely that he hasn&rsquo;t
+been in this town for the last three months at least.&nbsp; How much
+longer he&rsquo;s been away we can&rsquo;t tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s very curious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very simple.&nbsp; Miss Moorsom wrote to him, to
+the post office here directly she returned to London after her excursion
+into the country to see the old butler.&nbsp; Well&mdash;her letter
+is still lying there.&nbsp; It has not been called for.&nbsp; Ergo,
+this town is not his usual abode.&nbsp; Personally, I never thought
+it was.&nbsp; But he cannot fail to turn up some time or other.&nbsp;
+Our main hope lies just in the certitude that he must come to town sooner
+or later.&nbsp; Remember he doesn&rsquo;t know that the butler is dead,
+and he will want to inquire for a letter.&nbsp; Well, he&rsquo;ll find
+a note from Miss Moorsom.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, silent, thought that it was likely enough.&nbsp; His profound
+distaste for this conversation was betrayed by an air of weariness darkening
+his energetic sun-tanned features, and by the augmented dreaminess of
+his eyes.&nbsp; The Editor noted it as a further proof of that immoral
+detachment from mankind, of that callousness of sentiment fostered by
+the unhealthy conditions of solitude&mdash;according to his own favourite
+theory.&nbsp; Aloud he observed that as long as a man had not given
+up correspondence he could not be looked upon as lost.&nbsp; Fugitive
+criminals had been tracked in that way by justice, he reminded his friend;
+then suddenly changed the bearing of the subject somewhat by asking
+if Renouard had heard from his people lately, and if every member of
+his large tribe was well and happy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, thanks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tone was curt, as if repelling a liberty.&nbsp; Renouard did
+not like being asked about his people, for whom he had a profound and
+remorseful affection.&nbsp; He had not seen a single human being to
+whom he was related, for many years, and he was extremely different
+from them all.</p>
+<p>On the very morning of his arrival from his island he had gone to
+a set of pigeon-holes in Willie Dunster&rsquo;s outer office and had
+taken out from a compartment labelled &ldquo;Malata&rdquo; a very small
+accumulation of envelopes, a few addressed to himself, and one addressed
+to his assistant, all to the care of the firm, W. Dunster and Co.&nbsp;
+As opportunity offered, the firm used to send them on to Malata either
+by a man-of-war schooner going on a cruise, or by some trading craft
+proceeding that way.&nbsp; But for the last four months there had been
+no opportunity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You going to stay here some time?&rdquo; asked the Editor,
+after a longish silence.</p>
+<p>Renouard, perfunctorily, did see no reason why he should make a long
+stay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For health, for your mental health, my boy,&rdquo; rejoined
+the newspaper man.&nbsp; &ldquo;To get used to human faces so that they
+don&rsquo;t hit you in the eye so hard when you walk about the streets.&nbsp;
+To get friendly with your kind.&nbsp; I suppose that assistant of yours
+can be trusted to look after things?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s the half-caste too.&nbsp; The Portuguese.&nbsp;
+He knows what&rsquo;s to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aha!&rdquo;&nbsp; The Editor looked sharply at his friend.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s his name?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s name?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The assistant&rsquo;s you picked up on the sly behind my back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard made a slight movement of impatience.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I met him unexpectedly one evening.&nbsp; I thought he would
+do as well as another.&nbsp; He had come from up country and didn&rsquo;t
+seem happy in a town.&nbsp; He told me his name was Walter.&nbsp; I
+did not ask him for proofs, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you get on very well with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&nbsp; What makes you think so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&nbsp; Something reluctant in your manner
+when he&rsquo;s in question.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really.&nbsp; My manner!&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think he&rsquo;s
+a great subject for conversation, perhaps.&nbsp; Why not drop him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course!&nbsp; You wouldn&rsquo;t confess to a mistake.&nbsp;
+Not you.&nbsp; Nevertheless I have my suspicions about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard got up to go, but hesitated, looking down at the seated
+Editor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How funny,&rdquo; he said at last with the utmost seriousness,
+and was making for the door, when the voice of his friend stopped him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know what has been said of you?&nbsp; That you couldn&rsquo;t
+get on with anybody you couldn&rsquo;t kick.&nbsp; Now, confess&mdash;is
+there any truth in the soft impeachment?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Renouard.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did you print that
+in your paper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t quite believe it.&nbsp; But I will
+tell you what I believe.&nbsp; I believe that when your heart is set
+on some object you are a man that doesn&rsquo;t count the cost to yourself
+or others.&nbsp; And this shall get printed some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Obituary notice?&rdquo; Renouard dropped negligently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certain&mdash;some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you then regard yourself as immortal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, my boy.&nbsp; I am not immortal.&nbsp; But the voice of
+the press goes on for ever. . . . And it will say that this was the
+secret of your great success in a task where better men than you&mdash;meaning
+no offence&mdash;did fail repeatedly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Success,&rdquo; muttered Renouard, pulling-to the office door
+after him with considerable energy.&nbsp; And the letters of the word
+PRIVATE like a row of white eyes seemed to stare after his back sinking
+down the staircase of that temple of publicity.</p>
+<p>Renouard had no doubt that all the means of publicity would be put
+at the service of love and used for the discovery of the loved man.&nbsp;
+He did not wish him dead.&nbsp; He did not wish him any harm.&nbsp;
+We are all equipped with a fund of humanity which is not exhausted without
+many and repeated provocations&mdash;and this man had done him no evil.&nbsp;
+But before Renouard had left old Dunster&rsquo;s house, at the conclusion
+of the call he made there that very afternoon, he had discovered in
+himself the desire that the search might last long.&nbsp; He never really
+flattered himself that it might fail.&nbsp; It seemed to him that there
+was no other course in this world for himself, for all mankind, but
+resignation.&nbsp; And he could not help thinking that Professor Moorsom
+had arrived at the same conclusion too.</p>
+<p>Professor Moorsom, slight frame of middle height, a thoughtful keen
+head under the thick wavy hair, veiled dark eyes under straight eyebrows,
+and with an inward gaze which when disengaged and arriving at one seemed
+to issue from an obscure dream of books, from the limbo of meditation,
+showed himself extremely gracious to him.&nbsp; Renouard guessed in
+him a man whom an incurable habit of investigation and analysis had
+made gentle and indulgent; inapt for action, and more sensitive to the
+thoughts than to the events of existence.&nbsp; Withal not crushed,
+sub-ironic without a trace of acidity, and with a simple manner which
+put people at ease quickly.&nbsp; They had a long conversation on the
+terrace commanding an extended view of the town and the harbour.</p>
+<p>The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze, with its
+grey spurs and shining indentations, helped Renouard to regain his self-possession,
+which he had felt shaken, in coming out on the terrace, into the setting
+of the most powerful emotion of his life, when he had sat within a foot
+of Miss Moorsom with fire in his breast, a humming in his ears, and
+in a complete disorder of his mind.&nbsp; There was the very garden
+seat on which he had been enveloped in the radiant spell.&nbsp; And
+presently he was sitting on it again with the professor talking of her.&nbsp;
+Near by the patriarchal Dunster leaned forward in a wicker arm-chair,
+benign and a little deaf, his big hand to his ear with the innocent
+eagerness of his advanced age remembering the fires of life.</p>
+<p>It was with a sort of apprehension that Renouard looked forward to
+seeing Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; And strangely enough it resembled the state
+of mind of a man who fears disenchantment more than sortilege.&nbsp;
+But he need not have been afraid.&nbsp; Directly he saw her in a distance
+at the other end of the terrace he shuddered to the roots of his hair.&nbsp;
+With her approach the power of speech left him for a time.&nbsp; Mrs.
+Dunster and her aunt were accompanying her.&nbsp; All these people sat
+down; it was an intimate circle into which Renouard felt himself cordially
+admitted; and the talk was of the great search which occupied all their
+minds.&nbsp; Discretion was expected by these people, but of reticence
+as to the object of the journey there could be no question.&nbsp; Nothing
+but ways and means and arrangements could be talked about.</p>
+<p>By fixing his eyes obstinately on the ground, which gave him an air
+of reflective sadness, Renouard managed to recover his self-possession.&nbsp;
+He used it to keep his voice in a low key and to measure his words on
+the great subject.&nbsp; And he took care with a great inward effort
+to make them reasonable without giving them a discouraging complexion.&nbsp;
+For he did not want the quest to be given up, since it would mean her
+going away with her two attendant grey-heads to the other side of the
+world.</p>
+<p>He was asked to come again, to come often and take part in the counsels
+of all these people captivated by the sentimental enterprise of a declared
+love.&nbsp; On taking Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s hand he looked up, would
+have liked to say something, but found himself voiceless, with his lips
+suddenly sealed.&nbsp; She returned the pressure of his fingers, and
+he left her with her eyes vaguely staring beyond him, an air of listening
+for an expected sound, and the faintest possible smile on her lips.&nbsp;
+A smile not for him, evidently, but the reflection of some deep and
+inscrutable thought.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>He went on board his schooner.&nbsp; She lay white, and as if suspended,
+in the crepuscular atmosphere of sunset mingling with the ashy gleam
+of the vast anchorage.&nbsp; He tried to keep his thoughts as sober,
+as reasonable, as measured as his words had been, lest they should get
+away from him and cause some sort of moral disaster.&nbsp; What he was
+afraid of in the coming night was sleeplessness and the endless strain
+of that wearisome task.&nbsp; It had to be faced however.&nbsp; He lay
+on his back, sighing profoundly in the dark, and suddenly beheld his
+very own self, carrying a small bizarre lamp, reflected in a long mirror
+inside a room in an empty and unfurnished palace.&nbsp; In this startling
+image of himself he recognised somebody he had to follow&mdash;the frightened
+guide of his dream.&nbsp; He traversed endless galleries, no end of
+lofty halls, innumerable doors.&nbsp; He lost himself utterly&mdash;he
+found his way again.&nbsp; Room succeeded room.&nbsp; At last the lamp
+went out, and he stumbled against some object which, when he stooped
+for it, he found to be very cold and heavy to lift.&nbsp; The sickly
+white light of dawn showed him the head of a statue.&nbsp; Its marble
+hair was done in the bold lines of a helmet, on its lips the chisel
+had left a faint smile, and it resembled Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; While he
+was staring at it fixedly, the head began to grow light in his fingers,
+to diminish and crumble to pieces, and at last turned into a handful
+of dust, which was blown away by a puff of wind so chilly that he woke
+up with a desperate shiver and leaped headlong out of his bed-place.&nbsp;
+The day had really come.&nbsp; He sat down by the cabin table, and taking
+his head between his hands, did not stir for a very long time.</p>
+<p>Very quiet, he set himself to review this dream.&nbsp; The lamp,
+of course, he connected with the search for a man.&nbsp; But on closer
+examination he perceived that the reflection of himself in the mirror
+was not really the true Renouard, but somebody else whose face he could
+not remember.&nbsp; In the deserted palace he recognised a sinister
+adaptation by his brain of the long corridors with many doors, in the
+great building in which his friend&rsquo;s newspaper was lodged on the
+first floor.&nbsp; The marble head with Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s face!&nbsp;
+Well!&nbsp; What other face could he have dreamed of?&nbsp; And her
+complexion was fairer than Parian marble, than the heads of angels.&nbsp;
+The wind at the end was the morning breeze entering through the open
+porthole and touching his face before the schooner could swing to the
+chilly gust.</p>
+<p>Yes!&nbsp; And all this rational explanation of the fantastic made
+it only more mysterious and weird.&nbsp; There was something daemonic
+in that dream.&nbsp; It was one of those experiences which throw a man
+out of conformity with the established order of his kind and make him
+a creature of obscure suggestions.</p>
+<p>Henceforth, without ever trying to resist, he went every afternoon
+to the house where she lived.&nbsp; He went there as passively as if
+in a dream.&nbsp; He could never make out how he had attained the footing
+of intimacy in the Dunster mansion above the bay&mdash;whether on the
+ground of personal merit or as the pioneer of the vegetable silk industry.&nbsp;
+It must have been the last, because he remembered distinctly, as distinctly
+as in a dream, hearing old Dunster once telling him that his next public
+task would be a careful survey of the Northern Districts to discover
+tracts suitable for the cultivation of the silk plant.&nbsp; The old
+man wagged his beard at him sagely.&nbsp; It was indeed as absurd as
+a dream.</p>
+<p>Willie of course would be there in the evening.&nbsp; But he was
+more of a figure out of a nightmare, hovering about the circle of chairs
+in his dress-clothes like a gigantic, repulsive, and sentimental bat.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Do away with the beastly cocoons all over the world,&rdquo; he
+buzzed in his blurred, water-logged voice.&nbsp; He affected a great
+horror of insects of all kinds.&nbsp; One evening he appeared with a
+red flower in his button-hole.&nbsp; Nothing could have been more disgustingly
+fantastic.&nbsp; And he would also say to Renouard: &ldquo;You may yet
+change the history of our country.&nbsp; For economic conditions do
+shape the history of nations.&nbsp; Eh?&nbsp; What?&rdquo;&nbsp; And
+he would turn to Miss Moorsom for approval, lowering protectingly his
+spatulous nose and looking up with feeling from under his absurd eyebrows,
+which grew thin, in the manner of canebrakes, out of his spongy skin.&nbsp;
+For this large, bilious creature was an economist and a sentimentalist,
+facile to tears, and a member of the Cobden Club.</p>
+<p>In order to see as little of him as possible Renouard began coming
+earlier so as to get away before his arrival, without curtailing too
+much the hours of secret contemplation for which he lived.&nbsp; He
+had given up trying to deceive himself.&nbsp; His resignation was without
+bounds.&nbsp; He accepted the immense misfortune of being in love with
+a woman who was in search of another man only to throw herself into
+his arms.&nbsp; With such desperate precision he defined in his thoughts
+the situation, the consciousness of which traversed like a sharp arrow
+the sudden silences of general conversation.&nbsp; The only thought
+before which he quailed was the thought that this could not last; that
+it must come to an end.&nbsp; He feared it instinctively as a sick man
+may fear death.&nbsp; For it seemed to him that it must be the death
+of him followed by a lightless, bottomless pit.&nbsp; But his resignation
+was not spared the torments of jealousy: the cruel, insensate, poignant,
+and imbecile jealousy, when it seems that a woman betrays us simply
+by this that she exists, that she breathes&mdash;and when the deep movements
+of her nerves or her soul become a matter of distracting suspicion,
+of killing doubt, of mortal anxiety.</p>
+<p>In the peculiar condition of their sojourn Miss Moorsom went out
+very little.&nbsp; She accepted this seclusion at the Dunsters&rsquo;
+mansion as in a hermitage, and lived there, watched over by a group
+of old people, with the lofty endurance of a condescending and strong-headed
+goddess.&nbsp; It was impossible to say if she suffered from anything
+in the world, and whether this was the insensibility of a great passion
+concentrated on itself, or a perfect restraint of manner, or the indifference
+of superiority so complete as to be sufficient to itself.&nbsp; But
+it was visible to Renouard that she took some pleasure in talking to
+him at times.&nbsp; Was it because he was the only person near her age?&nbsp;
+Was this, then, the secret of his admission to the circle?</p>
+<p>He admired her voice as well poised as her movements, as her attitudes.&nbsp;
+He himself had always been a man of tranquil tones.&nbsp; But the power
+of fascination had torn him out of his very nature so completely that
+to preserve his habitual calmness from going to pieces had become a
+terrible effort.</p>
+<p>He used to go from her on board the schooner exhausted, broken, shaken
+up, as though he had been put to the most exquisite torture.&nbsp; When
+he saw her approaching he always had a moment of hallucination.&nbsp;
+She was a misty and fair creature, fitted for invisible music, for the
+shadows of love, for the murmurs of waters.&nbsp; After a time (he could
+not be always staring at the ground) he would summon up all his resolution
+and look at her.&nbsp; There was a sparkle in the clear obscurity of
+her eyes; and when she turned them on him they seemed to give a new
+meaning to life.&nbsp; He would say to himself that another man would
+have found long before the happy release of madness, his wits burnt
+to cinders in that radiance.&nbsp; But no such luck for him.&nbsp; His
+wits had come unscathed through the furnaces of hot suns, of blazing
+deserts, of flaming angers against the weaknesses of men and the obstinate
+cruelties of hostile nature.</p>
+<p>Being sane he had to be constantly on his guard against falling into
+adoring silences or breaking out into wild speeches.&nbsp; He had to
+keep watch on his eyes, his limbs, on the muscles of his face.&nbsp;
+Their conversations were such as they could be between these two people:
+she a young lady fresh from the thick twilight of four million people
+and the artificiality of several London seasons; he the man of definite
+conquering tasks, the familiar of wide horizons, and in his very repose
+holding aloof from these agglomerations of units in which one loses
+one&rsquo;s importance even to oneself.&nbsp; They had no common conversational
+small change.&nbsp; They had to use the great pieces of general ideas,
+but they exchanged them trivially.&nbsp; It was no serious commerce.&nbsp;
+Perhaps she had not much of that coin.&nbsp; Nothing significant came
+from her.&nbsp; It could not be said that she had received from the
+contacts of the external world impressions of a personal kind, different
+from other women.&nbsp; What was ravishing in her was her quietness
+and, in her grave attitudes, the unfailing brilliance of her femininity.&nbsp;
+He did not know what there was under that ivory forehead so splendidly
+shaped, so gloriously crowned.&nbsp; He could not tell what were her
+thoughts, her feelings.&nbsp; Her replies were reflective, always preceded
+by a short silence, while he hung on her lips anxiously.&nbsp; He felt
+himself in the presence of a mysterious being in whom spoke an unknown
+voice, like the voice of oracles, bringing everlasting unrest to the
+heart.</p>
+<p>He was thankful enough to sit in silence with secretly clenched teeth,
+devoured by jealousy&mdash;and nobody could have guessed that his quiet
+deferential bearing to all these grey-heads was the supreme effort of
+stoicism, that the man was engaged in keeping a sinister watch on his
+tortures lest his strength should fail him.&nbsp; As before, when grappling
+with other forces of nature, he could find in himself all sorts of courage
+except the courage to run away.</p>
+<p>It was perhaps from the lack of subjects they could have in common
+that Miss Moorsom made him so often speak of his own life.&nbsp; He
+did not shrink from talking about himself, for he was free from that
+exacerbated, timid vanity which seals so many vain-glorious lips.&nbsp;
+He talked to her in his restrained voice, gazing at the tip of her shoe,
+and thinking that the time was bound to come soon when her very inattention
+would get weary of him.&nbsp; And indeed on stealing a glance he would
+see her dazzling and perfect, her eyes vague, staring in mournful immobility,
+with a drooping head that made him think of a tragic Venus arising before
+him, not from the foam of the sea, but from a distant, still more formless,
+mysterious, and potent immensity of mankind.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER V</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>One afternoon Renouard stepping out on the terrace found nobody there.&nbsp;
+It was for him, at the same time, a melancholy disappointment and a
+poignant relief.</p>
+<p>The heat was great, the air was still, all the long windows of the
+house stood wide open.&nbsp; At the further end, grouped round a lady&rsquo;s
+work-table, several chairs disposed sociably suggested invisible occupants,
+a company of conversing shades.&nbsp; Renouard looked towards them with
+a sort of dread.&nbsp; A most elusive, faint sound of ghostly talk issuing
+from one of the rooms added to the illusion and stopped his already
+hesitating footsteps.&nbsp; He leaned over the balustrade of stone near
+a squat vase holding a tropical plant of a bizarre shape.&nbsp; Professor
+Moorsom coming up from the garden with a book under his arm and a white
+parasol held over his bare head, found him there and, closing the parasol,
+leaned over by his side with a remark on the increasing heat of the
+season.&nbsp; Renouard assented and changed his position a little; the
+other, after a short silence, administered unexpectedly a question which,
+like the blow of a club on the head, deprived Renouard of the power
+of speech and even thought, but, more cruel, left him quivering with
+apprehension, not of death but of everlasting torment.&nbsp; Yet the
+words were extremely simple.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something will have to be done soon.&nbsp; We can&rsquo;t
+remain in a state of suspended expectation for ever.&nbsp; Tell me what
+do you think of our chances?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, speechless, produced a faint smile.&nbsp; The professor
+confessed in a jocular tone his impatience to complete the circuit of
+the globe and be done with it.&nbsp; It was impossible to remain quartered
+on the dear excellent Dunsters for an indefinite time.&nbsp; And then
+there were the lectures he had arranged to deliver in Paris.&nbsp; A
+serious matter.</p>
+<p>That lectures by Professor Moorsom were a European event and that
+brilliant audiences would gather to hear them Renouard did not know.&nbsp;
+All he was aware of was the shock of this hint of departure.&nbsp; The
+menace of separation fell on his head like a thunderbolt.&nbsp; And
+he saw the absurdity of his emotion, for hadn&rsquo;t he lived all these
+days under the very cloud?&nbsp; The professor, his elbows spread out,
+looked down into the garden and went on unburdening his mind.&nbsp;
+Yes.&nbsp; The department of sentiment was directed by his daughter,
+and she had plenty of volunteered moral support; but he had to look
+after the practical side of life without assistance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have the less hesitation in speaking to you about my anxiety,
+because I feel you are friendly to us and at the same time you are detached
+from all these sublimities&mdash;confound them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; murmured Renouard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean that you are capable of calm judgment.&nbsp; Here the
+atmosphere is simply detestable.&nbsp; Everybody has knuckled under
+to sentiment.&nbsp; Perhaps your deliberate opinion could influence
+. . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You want Miss Moorsom to give it up?&rdquo;&nbsp; The professor
+turned to the young man dismally.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heaven only knows what I want.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard leaning his back against the balustrade folded his arms
+on his breast, appeared to meditate profoundly.&nbsp; His face, shaded
+softly by the broad brim of a planter&rsquo;s Panama hat, with the straight
+line of the nose level with the forehead, the eyes lost in the depth
+of the setting, and the chin well forward, had such a profile as may
+be seen amongst the bronzes of classical museums, pure under a crested
+helmet&mdash;recalled vaguely a Minerva&rsquo;s head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the most troublesome time I ever had in my life,&rdquo;
+exclaimed the professor testily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely the man must be worth it,&rdquo; muttered Renouard
+with a pang of jealousy traversing his breast like a self-inflicted
+stab.</p>
+<p>Whether enervated by the heat or giving way to pent up irritation
+the professor surrendered himself to the mood of sincerity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He began by being a pleasantly dull boy.&nbsp; He developed
+into a pointlessly clever young man, without, I suspect, ever trying
+to understand anything.&nbsp; My daughter knew him from childhood.&nbsp;
+I am a busy man, and I confess that their engagement was a complete
+surprise to me.&nbsp; I wish their reasons for that step had been more
+na&iuml;ve.&nbsp; But simplicity was out of fashion in their set.&nbsp;
+From a worldly point of view he seems to have been a mere baby.&nbsp;
+Of course, now, I am assured that he is the victim of his noble confidence
+in the rectitude of his kind.&nbsp; But that&rsquo;s mere idealising
+of a sad reality.&nbsp; For my part I will tell you that from the very
+beginning I had the gravest doubts of his dishonesty.&nbsp; Unfortunately
+my clever daughter hadn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; And now we behold the reaction.&nbsp;
+No.&nbsp; To be earnestly dishonest one must be really poor.&nbsp; This
+was only a manifestation of his extremely refined cleverness.&nbsp;
+The complicated simpleton.&nbsp; He had an awful awakening though.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In such words did Professor Moorsom give his &ldquo;young friend&rdquo;
+to understand the state of his feelings toward the lost man.&nbsp; It
+was evident that the father of Miss Moorsom wished him to remain lost.&nbsp;
+Perhaps the unprecedented heat of the season made him long for the cool
+spaces of the Pacific, the sweep of the ocean&rsquo;s free wind along
+the promenade decks, cumbered with long chairs, of a ship steaming towards
+the Californian coast.&nbsp; To Renouard the philosopher appeared simply
+the most treacherous of fathers.&nbsp; He was amazed.&nbsp; But he was
+not at the end of his discoveries.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He may be dead,&rdquo; the professor murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&nbsp; People don&rsquo;t die here sooner than in Europe.&nbsp;
+If he had gone to hide in Italy, for instance, you wouldn&rsquo;t think
+of saying that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well!&nbsp; And suppose he has become morally disintegrated.&nbsp;
+You know he was not a strong personality,&rdquo; the professor suggested
+moodily.&nbsp; &ldquo;My daughter&rsquo;s future is in question here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard thought that the love of such a woman was enough to pull
+any broken man together&mdash;to drag a man out of his grave.&nbsp;
+And he thought this with inward despair, which kept him silent as much
+almost as his astonishment.&nbsp; At last he managed to stammer out
+a generous -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t let us even suppose. . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The professor struck in with a sadder accent than before -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s good to be young.&nbsp; And then you have been
+a man of action, and necessarily a believer in success.&nbsp; But I
+have been looking too long at life not to distrust its surprises.&nbsp;
+Age!&nbsp; Age!&nbsp; Here I stand before you a man full of doubts and
+hesitation&mdash;<i>spe lentus, timidus futuri</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He made a sign to Renouard not to interrupt, and in a lowered voice,
+as if afraid of being overheard, even there, in the solitude of the
+terrace -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the worst is that I am not even sure how far this sentimental
+pilgrimage is genuine.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; I doubt my own child.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s true that she&rsquo;s a woman. . . . &rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard detected with horror a tone of resentment, as if the professor
+had never forgiven his daughter for not dying instead of his son.&nbsp;
+The latter noticed the young man&rsquo;s stony stare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you don&rsquo;t understand.&nbsp; Yes, she&rsquo;s clever,
+open-minded, popular, and&mdash;well, charming.&nbsp; But you don&rsquo;t
+know what it is to have moved, breathed, existed, and even triumphed
+in the mere smother and froth of life&mdash;the brilliant froth.&nbsp;
+There thoughts, sentiments, opinions, feelings, actions too, are nothing
+but agitation in empty space&mdash;to amuse life&mdash;a sort of superior
+debauchery, exciting and fatiguing, meaning nothing, leading nowhere.&nbsp;
+She is the creature of that circle.&nbsp; And I ask myself if she is
+obeying the uneasiness of an instinct seeking its satisfaction, or is
+it a revulsion of feeling, or is she merely deceiving her own heart
+by this dangerous trifling with romantic images.&nbsp; And everything
+is possible&mdash;except sincerity, such as only stark, struggling humanity
+can know.&nbsp; No woman can stand that mode of life in which women
+rule, and remain a perfectly genuine, simple human being.&nbsp; Ah!&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s some people coming out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He moved off a pace, then turning his head: &ldquo;Upon my word!&nbsp;
+I would be infinitely obliged to you if you could throw a little cold
+water. . . &rdquo; and at a vaguely dismayed gesture of Renouard, he
+added: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid.&nbsp; You wouldn&rsquo;t be putting
+out a sacred fire.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard could hardly find words for a protest: &ldquo;I assure you
+that I never talk with Miss Moorsom&mdash;on&mdash;on&mdash;that.&nbsp;
+And if you, her father . . . &rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I envy you your innocence,&rdquo; sighed the professor.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;A father is only an everyday person.&nbsp; Flat.&nbsp; Stale.&nbsp;
+Moreover, my child would naturally mistrust me.&nbsp; We belong to the
+same set.&nbsp; Whereas you carry with you the prestige of the unknown.&nbsp;
+You have proved yourself to be a force.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon the professor followed by Renouard joined the circle of
+all the inmates of the house assembled at the other end of the terrace
+about a tea-table; three white heads and that resplendent vision of
+woman&rsquo;s glory, the sight of which had the power to flutter his
+heart like a reminder of the mortality of his frame.</p>
+<p>He avoided the seat by the side of Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; The others
+were talking together languidly.&nbsp; Unnoticed he looked at that woman
+so marvellous that centuries seemed to lie between them.&nbsp; He was
+oppressed and overcome at the thought of what she could give to some
+man who really would be a force!&nbsp; What a glorious struggle with
+this amazon.&nbsp; What noble burden for the victorious strength.</p>
+<p>Dear old Mrs. Dunster was dispensing tea, looking from time to time
+with interest towards Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; The aged statesman having
+eaten a raw tomato and drunk a glass of milk (a habit of his early farming
+days, long before politics, when, pioneer of wheat-growing, he demonstrated
+the possibility of raising crops on ground looking barren enough to
+discourage a magician), smoothed his white beard, and struck lightly
+Renouard&rsquo;s knee with his big wrinkled hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You had better come back to-night and dine with us quietly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He liked this young man, a pioneer, too, in more than one direction.&nbsp;
+Mrs. Dunster added: &ldquo;Do.&nbsp; It will be very quiet.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t even know if Willie will be home for dinner.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Renouard murmured his thanks, and left the terrace to go on board the
+schooner.&nbsp; While lingering in the drawing-room doorway he heard
+the resonant voice of old Dunster uttering oracularly -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;. . . the leading man here some day. . . . Like me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard let the thin summer porti&egrave;re of the doorway fall
+behind him.&nbsp; The voice of Professor Moorsom said -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am told that he has made an enemy of almost every man who
+had to work with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing.&nbsp; He did his work. . . . Like me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He never counted the cost they say.&nbsp; Not even of lives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard understood that they were talking of him.&nbsp; Before he
+could move away, Mrs. Dunster struck in placidly -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let yourself be shocked by the tales you may hear
+of him, my dear.&nbsp; Most of it is envy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he heard Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s voice replying to the old lady
+-</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; I am not easily deceived.&nbsp; I think I may say
+I have an instinct for truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hastened away from that house with his heart full of dread.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>On board the schooner, lying on the settee on his back with the knuckles
+of his hands pressed over his eyes, he made up his mind that he would
+not return to that house for dinner&mdash;that he would never go back
+there any more.&nbsp; He made up his mind some twenty times.&nbsp; The
+knowledge that he had only to go up on the quarter deck, utter quietly
+the words: &ldquo;Man the windlass,&rdquo; and that the schooner springing
+into life would run a hundred miles out to sea before sunrise, deceived
+his struggling will.&nbsp; Nothing easier!&nbsp; Yet, in the end, this
+young man, almost ill-famed for his ruthless daring, the inflexible
+leader of two tragically successful expeditions, shrank from that act
+of savage energy, and began, instead, to hunt for excuses.</p>
+<p>No!&nbsp; It was not for him to run away like an incurable who cuts
+his throat.&nbsp; He finished dressing and looked at his own impassive
+face in the saloon mirror scornfully.&nbsp; While being pulled on shore
+in the gig, he remembered suddenly the wild beauty of a waterfall seen
+when hardly more than a boy, years ago, in Menado.&nbsp; There was a
+legend of a governor-general of the Dutch East Indies, on official tour,
+committing suicide on that spot by leaping into the chasm.&nbsp; It
+was supposed that a painful disease had made him weary of life.&nbsp;
+But was there ever a visitation like his own, at the same time binding
+one to life and so cruelly mortal!</p>
+<p>The dinner was indeed quiet.&nbsp; Willie, given half an hour&rsquo;s
+grace, failed to turn up, and his chair remained vacant by the side
+of Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; Renouard had the professor&rsquo;s sister on
+his left, dressed in an expensive gown becoming her age.&nbsp; That
+maiden lady in her wonderful preservation reminded Renouard somehow
+of a wax flower under glass.&nbsp; There were no traces of the dust
+of life&rsquo;s battles on her anywhere.&nbsp; She did not like him
+very much in the afternoons, in his white drill suit and planter&rsquo;s
+hat, which seemed to her an unduly Bohemian costume for calling in a
+house where there were ladies.&nbsp; But in the evening, lithe and elegant
+in his dress clothes and with his pleasant, slightly veiled voice, he
+always made her conquest afresh.&nbsp; He might have been anybody distinguished&mdash;the
+son of a duke.&nbsp; Falling under that charm probably (and also because
+her brother had given her a hint), she attempted to open her heart to
+Renouard, who was watching with all the power of his soul her niece
+across the table.&nbsp; She spoke to him as frankly as though that miserable
+mortal envelope, emptied of everything but hopeless passion, were indeed
+the son of a duke.</p>
+<p>Inattentive, he heard her only in snatches, till the final confidential
+burst: &ldquo;. . . glad if you would express an opinion.&nbsp; Look
+at her, so charming, such a great favourite, so generally admired!&nbsp;
+It would be too sad.&nbsp; We all hoped she would make a brilliant marriage
+with somebody very rich and of high position, have a house in London
+and in the country, and entertain us all splendidly.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s
+so eminently fitted for it.&nbsp; She has such hosts of distinguished
+friends!&nbsp; And then&mdash;this instead! . . . My heart really aches.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her well-bred if anxious whisper was covered by the voice of professor
+Moorsom discoursing subtly down the short length of the dinner table
+on the Impermanency of the Measurable to his venerable disciple.&nbsp;
+It might have been a chapter in a new and popular book of Moorsonian
+philosophy.&nbsp; Patriarchal and delighted, old Dunster leaned forward
+a little, his eyes shining youthfully, two spots of colour at the roots
+of his white beard; and Renouard, glancing at the senile excitement,
+recalled the words heard on those subtle lips, adopted their scorn for
+his own, saw their truth before this man ready to be amused by the side
+of the grave.&nbsp; Yes!&nbsp; Intellectual debauchery in the froth
+of existence!&nbsp; Froth and fraud!</p>
+<p>On the same side of the table Miss Moorsom never once looked towards
+her father, all her grace as if frozen, her red lips compressed, the
+faintest rosiness under her dazzling complexion, her black eyes burning
+motionless, and the very coppery gleams of light lying still on the
+waves and undulation of her hair.&nbsp; Renouard fancied himself overturning
+the table, smashing crystal and china, treading fruit and flowers under
+foot, seizing her in his arms, carrying her off in a tumult of shrieks
+from all these people, a silent frightened mortal, into some profound
+retreat as in the age of Cavern men.&nbsp; Suddenly everybody got up,
+and he hastened to rise too, finding himself out of breath and quite
+unsteady on his feet.</p>
+<p>On the terrace the philosopher, after lighting a cigar, slipped his
+hand condescendingly under his &ldquo;dear young friend&rsquo;s&rdquo;
+arm.&nbsp; Renouard regarded him now with the profoundest mistrust.&nbsp;
+But the great man seemed really to have a liking for his young friend&mdash;one
+of those mysterious sympathies, disregarding the differences of age
+and position, which in this case might have been explained by the failure
+of philosophy to meet a very real worry of a practical kind.</p>
+<p>After a turn or two and some casual talk the professor said suddenly:
+&ldquo;My late son was in your school&mdash;do you know?&nbsp; I can
+imagine that had he lived and you had ever met you would have understood
+each other.&nbsp; He too was inclined to action.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He sighed, then, shaking off the mournful thought and with a nod
+at the dusky part of the terrace where the dress of his daughter made
+a luminous stain: &ldquo;I really wish you would drop in that quarter
+a few sensible, discouraging words.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard disengaged himself from that most perfidious of men under
+the pretence of astonishment, and stepping back a pace -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely you are making fun of me, Professor Moorsom,&rdquo;
+he said with a low laugh, which was really a sound of rage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear young friend!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s no subject for jokes,
+to me. . . You don&rsquo;t seem to have any notion of your prestige,&rdquo;
+he added, walking away towards the chairs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Humbug!&rdquo; thought Renouard, standing still and looking
+after him.&nbsp; &ldquo;And yet!&nbsp; And yet!&nbsp; What if it were
+true?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He advanced then towards Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; Posed on the seat on
+which they had first spoken to each other, it was her turn to watch
+him coming on.&nbsp; But many of the windows were not lighted that evening.&nbsp;
+It was dark over there.&nbsp; She appeared to him luminous in her clear
+dress, a figure without shape, a face without features, awaiting his
+approach, till he got quite near to her, sat down, and they had exchanged
+a few insignificant words.&nbsp; Gradually she came out like a magic
+painting of charm, fascination, and desire, glowing mysteriously on
+the dark background.&nbsp; Something imperceptible in the lines of her
+attitude, in the modulations of her voice, seemed to soften that suggestion
+of calm unconscious pride which enveloped her always like a mantle.&nbsp;
+He, sensitive like a bond slave to the moods of the master, was moved
+by the subtle relenting of her grace to an infinite tenderness.&nbsp;
+He fought down the impulse to seize her by the hand, lead her down into
+the garden away under the big trees, and throw himself at her feet uttering
+words of love.&nbsp; His emotion was so strong that he had to cough
+slightly, and not knowing what to talk to her about he began to tell
+her of his mother and sisters.&nbsp; All the family were coming to London
+to live there, for some little time at least.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you will go and tell them something of me.&nbsp; Something
+seen,&rdquo; he said pressingly.</p>
+<p>By this miserable subterfuge, like a man about to part with his life,
+he hoped to make her remember him a little longer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; she said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be glad
+to call when I get back.&nbsp; But that &lsquo;when&rsquo; may be a
+long time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He heard a light sigh.&nbsp; A cruel jealous curiosity made him ask
+-</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you growing weary, Miss Moorsom?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A silence fell on his low spoken question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean heart-weary?&rdquo; sounded Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s
+voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know me, I see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; Never despair,&rdquo; he muttered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This, Mr. Renouard, is a work of reparation.&nbsp; I stand
+for truth here.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t think of myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He could have taken her by the throat for every word seemed an insult
+to his passion; but he only said -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never doubted the&mdash;the&mdash;nobility of your purpose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And to hear the word weariness pronounced in this connection
+surprises me.&nbsp; And from a man too who, I understand, has never
+counted the cost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are pleased to tease me,&rdquo; he said, directly he had
+recovered his voice and had mastered his anger.&nbsp; It was as if Professor
+Moorsom had dropped poison in his ear which was spreading now and tainting
+his passion, his very jealousy.&nbsp; He mistrusted every word that
+came from those lips on which his life hung.&nbsp; &ldquo;How can you
+know anything of men who do not count the cost?&rdquo; he asked in his
+gentlest tones.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;From hearsay&mdash;a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I assure you they are like the others, subject to suffering,
+victims of spells. . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of them, at least, speaks very strangely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She dismissed the subject after a short silence.&nbsp; &ldquo;Mr.
+Renouard, I had a disappointment this morning.&nbsp; This mail brought
+me a letter from the widow of the old butler&mdash;you know.&nbsp; I
+expected to learn that she had heard from&mdash;from here.&nbsp; But
+no.&nbsp; No letter arrived home since we left.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her voice was calm.&nbsp; His jealousy couldn&rsquo;t stand much
+more of this sort of talk; but he was glad that nothing had turned up
+to help the search; glad blindly, unreasonably&mdash;only because it
+would keep her longer in his sight&mdash;since she wouldn&rsquo;t give
+up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am too near her,&rdquo; he thought, moving a little further
+on the seat.&nbsp; He was afraid in the revulsion of feeling of flinging
+himself on her hands, which were lying on her lap, and covering them
+with kisses.&nbsp; He was afraid.&nbsp; Nothing, nothing could shake
+that spell&mdash;not if she were ever so false, stupid, or degraded.&nbsp;
+She was fate itself.&nbsp; The extent of his misfortune plunged him
+in such a stupor that he failed at first to hear the sound of voices
+and footsteps inside the drawing-room.&nbsp; Willie had come home&mdash;and
+the Editor was with him.</p>
+<p>They burst out on the terrace babbling noisily, and then pulling
+themselves together stood still, surprising&mdash;and as if themselves
+surprised.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>They had been feasting a poet from the bush, the latest discovery
+of the Editor.&nbsp; Such discoveries were the business, the vocation,
+the pride and delight of the only apostle of letters in the hemisphere,
+the solitary patron of culture, the Slave of the Lamp&mdash;as he subscribed
+himself at the bottom of the weekly literary page of his paper.&nbsp;
+He had had no difficulty in persuading the virtuous Willie (who had
+festive instincts) to help in the good work, and now they had left the
+poet lying asleep on the hearthrug of the editorial room and had rushed
+to the Dunster mansion wildly.&nbsp; The Editor had another discovery
+to announce.&nbsp; Swaying a little where he stood he opened his mouth
+very wide to shout the one word &ldquo;Found!&rdquo;&nbsp; Behind him
+Willie flung both his hands above his head and let them fall dramatically.&nbsp;
+Renouard saw the four white-headed people at the end of the terrace
+rise all together from their chairs with an effect of sudden panic.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you&mdash;he&mdash;is&mdash;found,&rdquo; the patron
+of letters shouted emphatically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is this!&rdquo; exclaimed Renouard in a choked voice.&nbsp;
+Miss Moorsom seized his wrist suddenly, and at that contact fire ran
+through all his veins, a hot stillness descended upon him in which he
+heard the blood&mdash;or the fire&mdash;beating in his ears.&nbsp; He
+made a movement as if to rise, but was restrained by the convulsive
+pressure on his wrist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no.&rdquo;&nbsp; Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s eyes stared black
+as night, searching the space before her.&nbsp; Far away the Editor
+strutted forward, Willie following with his ostentatious manner of carrying
+his bulky and oppressive carcass which, however, did not remain exactly
+perpendicular for two seconds together.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The innocent Arthur . . . Yes.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve got him,&rdquo;
+the Editor became very business-like.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, this letter
+has done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He plunged into an inside pocket for it, slapped the scrap of paper
+with his open palm.&nbsp; &ldquo;From that old woman.&nbsp; William
+had it in his pocket since this morning when Miss Moorsom gave it to
+him to show me.&nbsp; Forgot all about it till an hour ago.&nbsp; Thought
+it was of no importance.&nbsp; Well, no!&nbsp; Not till it was properly
+read.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard and Miss Moorsom emerged from the shadows side by side,
+a well-matched couple, animated yet statuesque in their calmness and
+in their pallor.&nbsp; She had let go his wrist.&nbsp; On catching sight
+of Renouard the Editor exclaimed:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&mdash;you here!&rdquo; in a quite shrill voice.</p>
+<p>There came a dead pause.&nbsp; All the faces had in them something
+dismayed and cruel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s the very man we want,&rdquo; continued the Editor.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Excuse my excitement.&nbsp; You are the very man, Renouard.&nbsp;
+Didn&rsquo;t you tell me that your assistant called himself Walter?&nbsp;
+Yes?&nbsp; Thought so.&nbsp; But here&rsquo;s that old woman&mdash;the
+butler&rsquo;s wife&mdash;listen to this.&nbsp; She writes: All I can
+tell you, Miss, is that my poor husband directed his letters to the
+name of H. Walter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard&rsquo;s violent but repressed exclamation was lost in a
+general murmur and shuffle of feet.&nbsp; The Editor made a step forward,
+bowed with creditable steadiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Moorsom, allow me to congratulate you from the bottom
+of my heart on the happy&mdash;er&mdash;issue. . . &rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; muttered Renouard irresolutely.</p>
+<p>The Editor jumped on him in the manner of their old friendship.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ah, you!&nbsp; You are a fine fellow too.&nbsp; With your solitary
+ways of life you will end by having no more discrimination than a savage.&nbsp;
+Fancy living with a gentleman for months and never guessing.&nbsp; A
+man, I am certain, accomplished, remarkable, out of the common, since
+he had been distinguished&rdquo; (he bowed again) &ldquo;by Miss Moorsom,
+whom we all admire.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned her back on him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope to goodness you haven&rsquo;t been leading him a dog&rsquo;s
+life, Geoffrey,&rdquo; the Editor addressed his friend in a whispered
+aside.</p>
+<p>Renouard seized a chair violently, sat down, and propping his elbow
+on his knee leaned his head on his hand.&nbsp; Behind him the sister
+of the professor looked up to heaven and wrung her hands stealthily.&nbsp;
+Mrs. Dunster&rsquo;s hands were clasped forcibly under her chin, but
+she, dear soul, was looking sorrowfully at Willie.&nbsp; The model nephew!&nbsp;
+In this strange state!&nbsp; So very much flushed!&nbsp; The careful
+disposition of the thin hairs across Willie&rsquo;s bald spot was deplorably
+disarranged, and the spot itself was red and, as it were, steaming.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, Geoffrey?&rdquo;&nbsp; The Editor
+seemed disconcerted by the silent attitudes round him, as though he
+had expected all these people to shout and dance.&nbsp; &ldquo;You have
+him on the island&mdash;haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes: I have him there,&rdquo; said Renouard, without looking
+up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then!&rdquo;&nbsp; The Editor looked helplessly around
+as if begging for response of some sort.&nbsp; But the only response
+that came was very unexpected.&nbsp; Annoyed at being left in the background,
+and also because very little drink made him nasty, the emotional Willie
+turned malignant all at once, and in a bibulous tone surprising in a
+man able to keep his balance so well -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aha!&nbsp; But you haven&rsquo;t got him here&mdash;not yet!&rdquo;
+he sneered.&nbsp; &ldquo;No!&nbsp; You haven&rsquo;t got him yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This outrageous exhibition was to the Editor like the lash to a jaded
+horse.&nbsp; He positively jumped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What of that?&nbsp; What do you mean?&nbsp; We&mdash;haven&rsquo;t&mdash;got&mdash;him&mdash;here.&nbsp;
+Of course he isn&rsquo;t here!&nbsp; But Geoffrey&rsquo;s schooner is
+here.&nbsp; She can be sent at once to fetch him here.&nbsp; No!&nbsp;
+Stay!&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a better plan.&nbsp; Why shouldn&rsquo;t you
+all sail over to Malata, professor?&nbsp; Save time!&nbsp; I am sure
+Miss Moorsom would prefer. . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With a gallant flourish of his arm he looked for Miss Moorsom.&nbsp;
+She had disappeared.&nbsp; He was taken aback somewhat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; H&rsquo;m.&nbsp; Yes. . . . Why not.&nbsp; A pleasure
+cruise, delightful ship, delightful season, delightful errand, del .
+. . No!&nbsp; There are no objections.&nbsp; Geoffrey, I understand,
+has indulged in a bungalow three sizes too large for him.&nbsp; He can
+put you all up.&nbsp; It will be a pleasure for him.&nbsp; It will be
+the greatest privilege.&nbsp; Any man would be proud of being an agent
+of this happy reunion.&nbsp; I am proud of the little part I&rsquo;ve
+played.&nbsp; He will consider it the greatest honour.&nbsp; Geoff,
+my boy, you had better be stirring to-morrow bright and early about
+the preparations for the trip.&nbsp; It would be criminal to lose a
+single day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was as flushed as Willie, the excitement keeping up the effect
+of the festive dinner.&nbsp; For a time Renouard, silent, as if he had
+not heard a word of all that babble, did not stir.&nbsp; But when he
+got up it was to advance towards the Editor and give him such a hearty
+slap on the back that the plump little man reeled in his tracks and
+looked quite frightened for a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are a heaven-born discoverer and a first-rate manager.
+. . He&rsquo;s right.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s the only way.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t
+resist the claim of sentiment, and you must even risk the voyage to
+Malata. . . &rdquo; Renouard&rsquo;s voice sank.&nbsp; &ldquo;A lonely
+spot,&rdquo; he added, and fell into thought under all these eyes converging
+on him in the sudden silence.&nbsp; His slow glance passed over all
+the faces in succession, remaining arrested on Professor Moorsom, stony
+eyed, a smouldering cigar in his fingers, and with his sister standing
+by his side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall be infinitely gratified if you consent to come.&nbsp;
+But, of course, you will.&nbsp; We shall sail to-morrow evening then.&nbsp;
+And now let me leave you to your happiness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bowed, very grave, pointed suddenly his finger at Willie who was
+swaying about with a sleepy frown. . . . &ldquo;Look at him.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s
+overcome with happiness.&nbsp; You had better put him to bed . . . &rdquo;
+and disappeared while every head on the terrace was turned to Willie
+with varied expressions.</p>
+<p>Renouard ran through the house.&nbsp; Avoiding the carriage road
+he fled down the steep short cut to the shore, where his gig was waiting.&nbsp;
+At his loud shout the sleeping Kanakas jumped up.&nbsp; He leaped in.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Shove off.&nbsp; Give way!&rdquo; and the gig darted through
+the water.&nbsp; &ldquo;Give way!&nbsp; Give way!&rdquo;&nbsp; She flew
+past the wool-clippers sleeping at their anchors each with the open
+unwinking eye of the lamp in the rigging; she flew past the flagship
+of the Pacific squadron, a great mass all dark and silent, heavy with
+the slumbers of five hundred men, and where the invisible sentries heard
+his urgent &ldquo;Give way!&nbsp; Give way!&rdquo; in the night.&nbsp;
+The Kanakas, panting, rose off the thwarts at every stroke.&nbsp; Nothing
+could be fast enough for him!&nbsp; And he ran up the side of his schooner
+shaking the ladder noisily with his rush.</p>
+<p>On deck he stumbled and stood still.</p>
+<p>Wherefore this haste?&nbsp; To what end, since he knew well before
+he started that he had a pursuer from whom there was no escape.</p>
+<p>As his foot touched the deck his will, his purpose he had been hurrying
+to save, died out within.&nbsp; It had been nothing less than getting
+the schooner under-way, letting her vanish silently in the night from
+amongst these sleeping ships.&nbsp; And now he was certain he could
+not do it.&nbsp; It was impossible!&nbsp; And he reflected that whether
+he lived or died such an act would lay him under a dark suspicion from
+which he shrank.&nbsp; No, there was nothing to be done.</p>
+<p>He went down into the cabin and, before even unbuttoning his overcoat,
+took out of the drawer the letter addressed to his assistant; that letter
+which he had found in the pigeon-hole labelled &ldquo;Malata&rdquo;
+in young Dunster&rsquo;s outer office, where it had been waiting for
+three months some occasion for being forwarded.&nbsp; From the moment
+of dropping it in the drawer he had utterly forgotten its existence&mdash;till
+now, when the man&rsquo;s name had come out so clamorously.&nbsp; He
+glanced at the common envelope, noted the shaky and laborious handwriting:
+H. Walter, Esqre.&nbsp; Undoubtedly the very last letter the old butler
+had posted before his illness, and in answer clearly to one from &ldquo;Master
+Arthur&rdquo; instructing him to address in the future: &ldquo;Care
+of Messrs. W. Dunster and Co.&rdquo;&nbsp; Renouard made as if to open
+the envelope, but paused, and, instead, tore the letter deliberately
+in two, in four, in eight.&nbsp; With his hand full of pieces of paper
+he returned on deck and scattered them overboard on the dark water,
+in which they vanished instantly.</p>
+<p>He did it slowly, without hesitation or remorse.&nbsp; H. Walter,
+Esqre, in Malata.&nbsp; The innocent Arthur&mdash;What was his name?&nbsp;
+The man sought for by that woman who as she went by seemed to draw all
+the passion of the earth to her, without effort, not deigning to notice,
+naturally, as other women breathed the air.&nbsp; But Renouard was no
+longer jealous of her very existence.&nbsp; Whatever its meaning it
+was not for that man he had picked up casually on obscure impulse, to
+get rid of the tiresome expostulations of a so-called friend; a man
+of whom he really knew nothing&mdash;and now a dead man.&nbsp; In Malata.&nbsp;
+Oh, yes!&nbsp; He was there secure enough, untroubled in his grave.&nbsp;
+In Malata.&nbsp; To bury him was the last service Renouard had rendered
+to his assistant before leaving the island on this trip to town.</p>
+<p>Like many men ready enough for arduous enterprises Renouard was inclined
+to evade the small complications of existence.&nbsp; This trait of his
+character was composed of a little indolence, some disdain, and a shrinking
+from contests with certain forms of vulgarity&mdash;like a man who would
+face a lion and go out of his way to avoid a toad.&nbsp; His intercourse
+with the meddlesome journalist was that merely outward intimacy without
+sympathy some young men get drawn into easily.&nbsp; It had amused him
+rather to keep that &ldquo;friend&rdquo; in the dark about the fate
+of his assistant.&nbsp; Renouard had never needed other company than
+his own, for there was in him something of the sensitiveness of a dreamer
+who is easily jarred.&nbsp; He had said to himself that the all-knowing
+one would only preach again about the evils of solitude and worry his
+head off in favour of some forlornly useless prot&eacute;g&eacute; of
+his.&nbsp; Also the inquisitiveness of the Editor had irritated him
+and had closed his lips in sheer disgust.</p>
+<p>And now he contemplated the noose of consequences drawing tight around
+him.</p>
+<p>It was the memory of that diplomatic reticence which on the terrace
+had stiffled his first cry which would have told them all that the man
+sought for was not to be met on earth any more.&nbsp; He shrank from
+the absurdity of hearing the all-knowing one, and not very sober at
+that, turning on him with righteous reproaches -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You never told me.&nbsp; You gave me to understand that your
+assistant was alive, and now you say he&rsquo;s dead.&nbsp; Which is
+it?&nbsp; Were you lying then or are you lying now?&rdquo;&nbsp; No!
+the thought of such a scene was not to be borne.&nbsp; He had sat down
+appalled, thinking: &ldquo;What shall I do now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His courage had oozed out of him.&nbsp; Speaking the truth meant
+the Moorsoms going away at once&mdash;while it seemed to him that he
+would give the last shred of his rectitude to secure a day more of her
+company.&nbsp; He sat on&mdash;silent.&nbsp; Slowly, from confused sensations,
+from his talk with the professor, the manner of the girl herself, the
+intoxicating familiarity of her sudden hand-clasp, there had come to
+him a half glimmer of hope.&nbsp; The other man was dead.&nbsp; Then!
+. . . Madness, of course&mdash;but he could not give it up.&nbsp; He
+had listened to that confounded busybody arranging everything&mdash;while
+all these people stood around assenting, under the spell of that dead
+romance.&nbsp; He had listened scornful and silent.&nbsp; The glimmers
+of hope, of opportunity, passed before his eyes.&nbsp; He had only to
+sit still and say nothing.&nbsp; That and no more.&nbsp; And what was
+truth to him in the face of that great passion which had flung him prostrate
+in spirit at her adored feet!</p>
+<p>And now it was done!&nbsp; Fatality had willed it!&nbsp; With the
+eyes of a mortal struck by the maddening thunderbolt of the gods, Renouard
+looked up to the sky, an immense black pall dusted over with gold, on
+which great shudders seemed to pass from the breath of life affirming
+its sway.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>At last, one morning, in a clear spot of a glassy horizon charged
+with heraldic masses of black vapours, the island grew out from the
+sea, showing here and there its naked members of basaltic rock through
+the rents of heavy foliage.&nbsp; Later, in the great spilling of all
+the riches of sunset, Malata stood out green and rosy before turning
+into a violet shadow in the autumnal light of the expiring day.&nbsp;
+Then came the night.&nbsp; In the faint airs the schooner crept on past
+a sturdy squat headland, and it was pitch dark when her headsails ran
+down, she turned short on her heel, and her anchor bit into the sandy
+bottom on the edge of the outer reef; for it was too dangerous then
+to attempt entering the little bay full of shoals.&nbsp; After the last
+solemn flutter of the mainsail the murmuring voices of the Moorsom party
+lingered, very frail, in the black stillness.</p>
+<p>They were sitting aft, on chairs, and nobody made a move.&nbsp; Early
+in the day, when it had become evident that the wind was failing, Renouard,
+basing his advice on the shortcomings of his bachelor establishment,
+had urged on the ladies the advisability of not going ashore in the
+middle of the night.&nbsp; Now he approached them in a constrained manner
+(it was astonishing the constraint that had reigned between him and
+his guests all through the passage) and renewed his arguments.&nbsp;
+No one ashore would dream of his bringing any visitors with him.&nbsp;
+Nobody would even think of coming off.&nbsp; There was only one old
+canoe on the plantation.&nbsp; And landing in the schooner&rsquo;s boats
+would be awkward in the dark.&nbsp; There was the risk of getting aground
+on some shallow patches.&nbsp; It would be best to spend the rest of
+the night on board.</p>
+<p>There was really no opposition.&nbsp; The professor smoking a pipe,
+and very comfortable in an ulster buttoned over his tropical clothes,
+was the first to speak from his long chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Most excellent advice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Next to him Miss Moorsom assented by a long silence.&nbsp; Then in
+a voice as of one coming out of a dream -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so this is Malata,&rdquo; she said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have
+often wondered . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A shiver passed through Renouard.&nbsp; She had wondered!&nbsp; What
+about?&nbsp; Malata was himself.&nbsp; He and Malata were one.&nbsp;
+And she had wondered!&nbsp; She had . . .</p>
+<p>The professor&rsquo;s sister leaned over towards Renouard.&nbsp;
+Through all these days at sea the man&rsquo;s&mdash;the found man&rsquo;s&mdash;existence
+had not been alluded to on board the schooner.&nbsp; That reticence
+was part of the general constraint lying upon them all.&nbsp; She, herself,
+certainly had not been exactly elated by this finding&mdash;poor Arthur,
+without money, without prospects.&nbsp; But she felt moved by the sentiment
+and romance of the situation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it wonderful,&rdquo; she whispered out of her
+white wrap, &ldquo;to think of poor Arthur sleeping there, so near to
+our dear lovely Felicia, and not knowing the immense joy in store for
+him to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was such artificiality in the wax-flower lady that nothing
+in this speech touched Renouard.&nbsp; It was but the simple anxiety
+of his heart that he was voicing when he muttered gloomily -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No one in the world knows what to-morrow may hold in store.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The mature lady had a recoil as though he had said something impolite.&nbsp;
+What a harsh thing to say&mdash;instead of finding something nice and
+appropriate.&nbsp; On board, where she never saw him in evening clothes,
+Renouard&rsquo;s resemblance to a duke&rsquo;s son was not so apparent
+to her.&nbsp; Nothing but his&mdash;ah&mdash;bohemianism remained.&nbsp;
+She rose with a sort of ostentation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s late&mdash;and since we are going to sleep on board
+to-night . . .&rdquo; she said.&nbsp; &ldquo;But it does seem so cruel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The professor started up eagerly, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Infinitely more sensible, my dear Emma.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard waited behind Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s chair.</p>
+<p>She got up slowly, moved one step forward, and paused looking at
+the shore.&nbsp; The blackness of the island blotted out the stars with
+its vague mass like a low thundercloud brooding over the waters and
+ready to burst into flame and crashes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so&mdash;this is Malata,&rdquo; she repeated dreamily,
+moving towards the cabin door.&nbsp; The clear cloak hanging from her
+shoulders, the ivory face&mdash;for the night had put out nothing of
+her but the gleams of her hair&mdash;made her resemble a shining dream-woman
+uttering words of wistful inquiry.&nbsp; She disappeared without a sign,
+leaving Renouard penetrated to the very marrow by the sounds that came
+from her body like a mysterious resonance of an exquisite instrument.</p>
+<p>He stood stock still.&nbsp; What was this accidental touch which
+had evoked the strange accent of her voice?&nbsp; He dared not answer
+that question.&nbsp; But he had to answer the question of what was to
+be done now.&nbsp; Had the moment of confession come?&nbsp; The thought
+was enough to make one&rsquo;s blood run cold.</p>
+<p>It was as if those people had a premonition of something.&nbsp; In
+the taciturn days of the passage he had noticed their reserve even amongst
+themselves.&nbsp; The professor smoked his pipe moodily in retired spots.&nbsp;
+Renouard had caught Miss Moorsom&rsquo;s eyes resting on himself more
+than once, with a peculiar and grave expression.&nbsp; He fancied that
+she avoided all opportunities of conversation.&nbsp; The maiden lady
+seemed to nurse a grievance.&nbsp; And now what had he to do?</p>
+<p>The lights on the deck had gone out one after the other.&nbsp; The
+schooner slept.</p>
+<p>About an hour after Miss Moorsom had gone below without a sign or
+a word for him, Renouard got out of his hammock slung in the waist under
+the midship awning&mdash;for he had given up all the accommodation below
+to his guests.&nbsp; He got out with a sudden swift movement, flung
+off his sleeping jacket, rolled his pyjamas up his thighs, and stole
+forward, unseen by the one Kanaka of the anchor-watch.&nbsp; His white
+torso, naked like a stripped athlete&rsquo;s, glimmered, ghostly, in
+the deep shadows of the deck.&nbsp; Unnoticed he got out of the ship
+over the knight-heads, ran along the back rope, and seizing the dolphin-striker
+firmly with both hands, lowered himself into the sea without a splash.</p>
+<p>He swam away, noiseless like a fish, and then struck boldly for the
+land, sustained, embraced, by the tepid water.&nbsp; The gentle, voluptuous
+heave of its breast swung him up and down slightly; sometimes a wavelet
+murmured in his ears; from time to time, lowering his feet, he felt
+for the bottom on a shallow patch to rest and correct his direction.&nbsp;
+He landed at the lower end of the bungalow garden, into the dead stillness
+of the island.&nbsp; There were no lights.&nbsp; The plantation seemed
+to sleep, as profoundly as the schooner.&nbsp; On the path a small shell
+cracked under his naked heel.</p>
+<p>The faithful half-caste foreman going his rounds cocked his ears
+at the sharp sound.&nbsp; He gave one enormous start of fear at the
+sight of the swift white figure flying at him out of the night.&nbsp;
+He crouched in terror, and then sprang up and clicked his tongue in
+amazed recognition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&nbsp; The master!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be quiet, Luiz, and listen to what I say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Yes, it was the master, the strong master who was never known to
+raise his voice, the man blindly obeyed and never questioned.&nbsp;
+He talked low and rapidly in the quiet night, as if every minute were
+precious.&nbsp; On learning that three guests were coming to stay Luiz
+clicked his tongue rapidly.&nbsp; These clicks were the uniform, stenographic
+symbols of his emotions, and he could give them an infinite variety
+of meaning.&nbsp; He listened to the rest in a deep silence hardly affected
+by the low, &ldquo;Yes, master,&rdquo; whenever Renouard paused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You understand?&rdquo; the latter insisted.&nbsp; &ldquo;No
+preparations are to be made till we land in the morning.&nbsp; And you
+are to say that Mr. Walter has gone off in a trading schooner on a round
+of the islands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, master.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No mistakes&mdash;mind!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, master.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard walked back towards the sea.&nbsp; Luiz, following him,
+proposed to call out half a dozen boys and man the canoe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Imbecile!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you understand that you haven&rsquo;t seen me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, master.&nbsp; But what a long swim.&nbsp; Suppose you
+drown.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you can say of me and of Mr. Walter what you like.&nbsp;
+The dead don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard entered the sea and heard a faint &ldquo;Tse! Tse! Tse!&rdquo;
+of concern from the half-caste, who had already lost sight of the master&rsquo;s
+dark head on the overshadowed water.</p>
+<p>Renouard set his direction by a big star that, dipping on the horizon,
+seemed to look curiously into his face.&nbsp; On this swim back he felt
+the mournful fatigue of all that length of the traversed road, which
+brought him no nearer to his desire.&nbsp; It was as if his love had
+sapped the invisible supports of his strength.&nbsp; There came a moment
+when it seemed to him that he must have swum beyond the confines of
+life.&nbsp; He had a sensation of eternity close at hand, demanding
+no effort&mdash;offering its peace.&nbsp; It was easy to swim like this
+beyond the confines of life looking at a star.&nbsp; But the thought:
+&ldquo;They will think I dared not face them and committed suicide,&rdquo;
+caused a revolt of his mind which carried him on.&nbsp; He returned
+on board, as he had left, unheard and unseen.&nbsp; He lay in his hammock
+utterly exhausted and with a confused feeling that he had been beyond
+the confines of life, somewhere near a star, and that it was very quiet
+there.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Sheltered by the squat headland from the first morning sparkle of
+the sea the little bay breathed a delicious freshness.&nbsp; The party
+from the schooner landed at the bottom of the garden.&nbsp; They exchanged
+insignificant words in studiously casual tones.&nbsp; The professor&rsquo;s
+sister put up a long-handled eye-glass as if to scan the novel surroundings,
+but in reality searching for poor Arthur anxiously.&nbsp; Having never
+seen him otherwise than in his town clothes she had no idea what he
+would look like.&nbsp; It had been left to the professor to help his
+ladies out of the boat because Renouard, as if intent on giving directions,
+had stepped forward at once to meet the half-caste Luiz hurrying down
+the path.&nbsp; In the distance, in front of the dazzlingly sunlit bungalow,
+a row of dark-faced house-boys unequal in stature and varied in complexion
+preserved the immobility of a guard of honour.</p>
+<p>Luiz had taken off his soft felt hat before coming within earshot.&nbsp;
+Renouard bent his head to his rapid talk of domestic arrangements he
+meant to make for the visitors; another bed in the master&rsquo;s room
+for the ladies and a cot for the gentleman to be hung in the room opposite
+where&mdash;where Mr. Walter&mdash;here he gave a scared look all round&mdash;Mr.
+Walter&mdash;had died.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very good,&rdquo; assented Renouard in an even undertone.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;And remember what you have to say of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, master.&nbsp; Only&rdquo;&mdash;he wriggled slightly
+and put one bare foot on the other for a moment in apologetic embarrassment&mdash;&ldquo;only
+I&mdash;I&mdash;don&rsquo;t like to say it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard looked at him without anger, without any sort of expression.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Frightened of the dead?&nbsp; Eh?&nbsp; Well&mdash;all right.&nbsp;
+I will say it myself&mdash;I suppose once for all. . . Immediately he
+raised his voice very much.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Send the boys down to bring up the luggage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, master.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard turned to his distinguished guests who, like a personally
+conducted party of tourists, had stopped and were looking about them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; he began with an impassive face.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;My man has just told me that Mr. Walter . . .&rdquo; he managed
+to smile, but didn&rsquo;t correct himself . . . &ldquo;has gone in
+a trading schooner on a short tour of the islands, to the westward.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This communication was received in profound silence.</p>
+<p>Renouard forgot himself in the thought: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s done!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+But the sight of the string of boys marching up to the house with suit-cases
+and dressing-bags rescued him from that appalling abstraction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All I can do is to beg you to make yourselves at home . .
+. with what patience you may.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was so obviously the only thing to do that everybody moved on
+at once.&nbsp; The professor walked alongside Renouard, behind the two
+ladies.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rather unexpected&mdash;this absence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not exactly,&rdquo; muttered Renouard.&nbsp; &ldquo;A trip
+has to be made every year to engage labour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see . . . And he . . . How vexingly elusive the poor fellow
+has become!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll begin to think that some wicked fairy is
+favouring this love tale with unpleasant attentions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard noticed that the party did not seem weighed down by this
+new disappointment.&nbsp; On the contrary they moved with a freer step.&nbsp;
+The professor&rsquo;s sister dropped her eye-glass to the end of its
+chain.&nbsp; Miss Moorsom took the lead.&nbsp; The professor, his lips
+unsealed, lingered in the open: but Renouard did not listen to that
+man&rsquo;s talk.&nbsp; He looked after that man&rsquo;s daughter&mdash;if
+indeed that creature of irresistible seductions were a daughter of mortals.&nbsp;
+The very intensity of his desire, as if his soul were streaming after
+her through his eyes, defeated his object of keeping hold of her as
+long as possible with, at least, one of his senses.&nbsp; Her moving
+outlines dissolved into a misty coloured shimmer of a woman made of
+flame and shadows, crossing the threshold of his house.</p>
+<p>The days which followed were not exactly such as Renouard had feared&mdash;yet
+they were not better than his fears.&nbsp; They were accursed in all
+the moods they brought him.&nbsp; But the general aspect of things was
+quiet.&nbsp; The professor smoked innumerable pipes with the air of
+a worker on his holiday, always in movement and looking at things with
+that mysteriously sagacious aspect of men who are admittedly wiser than
+the rest of the world.&nbsp; His white head of hair&mdash;whiter than
+anything within the horizon except the broken water on the reefs&mdash;was
+glimpsed in every part of the plantation always on the move under the
+white parasol.&nbsp; And once he climbed the headland and appeared suddenly
+to those below, a white speck elevated in the blue, with a diminutive
+but statuesque effect.</p>
+<p>Felicia Moorsom remained near the house.&nbsp; Sometimes she could
+be seen with a despairing expression scribbling rapidly in her lock-up
+dairy.&nbsp; But only for a moment.&nbsp; At the sound of Renouard&rsquo;s
+footsteps she would turn towards him her beautiful face, adorable in
+that calm which was like a wilful, like a cruel ignoring of her tremendous
+power.&nbsp; Whenever she sat on the verandah, on a chair more specially
+reserved for her use, Renouard would stroll up and sit on the steps
+near her, mostly silent, and often not trusting himself to turn his
+glance on her.&nbsp; She, very still with her eyes half-closed, looked
+down on his head&mdash;so that to a beholder (such as Professor Moorsom,
+for instance) she would appear to be turning over in her mind profound
+thoughts about that man sitting at her feet, his shoulders bowed a little,
+his hands listless&mdash;as if vanquished.&nbsp; And, indeed, the moral
+poison of falsehood has such a decomposing power that Renouard felt
+his old personality turn to dead dust.&nbsp; Often, in the evening,
+when they sat outside conversing languidly in the dark, he felt that
+he must rest his forehead on her feet and burst into tears.</p>
+<p>The professor&rsquo;s sister suffered from some little strain caused
+by the unstability of her own feelings toward Renouard.&nbsp; She could
+not tell whether she really did dislike him or not.&nbsp; At times he
+appeared to her most fascinating; and, though he generally ended by
+saying something shockingly crude, she could not resist her inclination
+to talk with him&mdash;at least not always.&nbsp; One day when her niece
+had left them alone on the verandah she leaned forward in her chair&mdash;speckless,
+resplendent, and, in her way, almost as striking a personality as her
+niece, who did not resemble her in the least.&nbsp; &ldquo;Dear Felicia
+has inherited her hair and the greatest part of her appearance from
+her mother,&rdquo; the maiden lady used to tell people.</p>
+<p>She leaned forward then, confidentially.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; Mr. Renouard!&nbsp; Haven&rsquo;t you something
+comforting to say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked up, as surprised as if a voice from heaven had spoken with
+this perfect society intonation, and by the puzzled profundity of his
+blue eyes fluttered the wax-flower of refined womanhood.&nbsp; She continued.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;For&mdash;I can speak to you openly on this tiresome subject&mdash;only
+think what a terrible strain this hope deferred must be for Felicia&rsquo;s
+heart&mdash;for her nerves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why speak to me about it,&rdquo; he muttered feeling half
+choked suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why!&nbsp; As a friend&mdash;a well-wisher&mdash;the kindest
+of hosts.&nbsp; I am afraid we are really eating you out of house and
+home.&rdquo;&nbsp; She laughed a little.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; When,
+when will this suspense be relieved!&nbsp; That poor lost Arthur!&nbsp;
+I confess that I am almost afraid of the great moment.&nbsp; It will
+be like seeing a ghost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you ever seen a ghost?&rdquo; asked Renouard, in a dull
+voice.</p>
+<p>She shifted her hands a little.&nbsp; Her pose was perfect in its
+ease and middle-aged grace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not actually.&nbsp; Only in a photograph.&nbsp; But we have
+many friends who had the experience of apparitions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; They see ghosts in London,&rdquo; mumbled Renouard,
+not looking at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Frequently&mdash;in a certain very interesting set.&nbsp;
+But all sorts of people do.&nbsp; We have a friend, a very famous author&mdash;his
+ghost is a girl.&nbsp; One of my brother&rsquo;s intimates is a very
+great man of science.&nbsp; He is friendly with a ghost . . . Of a girl
+too,&rdquo; she added in a voice as if struck for the first time by
+the coincidence.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is the photograph of that apparition
+which I have seen.&nbsp; Very sweet.&nbsp; Most interesting.&nbsp; A
+little cloudy naturally. . . . Mr. Renouard!&nbsp; I hope you are not
+a sceptic.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s so consoling to think. . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Those plantation boys of mine see ghosts too,&rdquo; said
+Renouard grimly.</p>
+<p>The sister of the philosopher sat up stiffly.&nbsp; What crudeness!&nbsp;
+It was always so with this strange young man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Renouard!&nbsp; How can you compare the superstitious
+fancies of your horrible savages with the manifestations . . . &rdquo;</p>
+<p>Words failed her.&nbsp; She broke off with a very faint primly angry
+smile.&nbsp; She was perhaps the more offended with him because of that
+flutter at the beginning of the conversation.&nbsp; And in a moment
+with perfect tact and dignity she got up from her chair and left him
+alone.</p>
+<p>Renouard didn&rsquo;t even look up.&nbsp; It was not the displeasure
+of the lady which deprived him of his sleep that night.&nbsp; He was
+beginning to forget what simple, honest sleep was like.&nbsp; His hammock
+from the ship had been hung for him on a side verandah, and he spent
+his nights in it on his back, his hands folded on his chest, in a sort
+of half conscious, oppressed stupor.&nbsp; In the morning he watched
+with unseeing eyes the headland come out a shapeless inkblot against
+the thin light of the false dawn, pass through all the stages of daybreak
+to the deep purple of its outlined mass nimbed gloriously with the gold
+of the rising sun.&nbsp; He listened to the vague sounds of waking within
+the house: and suddenly he became aware of Luiz standing by the hammock&mdash;obviously
+troubled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what now?&nbsp; Trouble with the boys?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, master.&nbsp; The gentleman when I take him his bath water
+he speak to me.&nbsp; He ask me&mdash;he ask&mdash;when, when, I think
+Mr. Walter, he come back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The half-caste&rsquo;s teeth chattered slightly.&nbsp; Renouard got
+out of the hammock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And he is here all the time&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Luiz nodded a scared affirmative, but at once protested, &ldquo;I
+no see him.&nbsp; I never.&nbsp; Not I!&nbsp; The ignorant wild boys
+say they see . . . Something!&nbsp; Ough!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He clapped his teeth on another short rattle, and stood there, shrunk,
+blighted, like a man in a freezing blast.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what did you say to the gentleman?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;and I clear out.&nbsp; I&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t like to speak of him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right.&nbsp; We shall try to lay that poor ghost,&rdquo;
+said Renouard gloomily, going off to a small hut near by to dress.&nbsp;
+He was saying to himself: &ldquo;This fellow will end by giving me away.&nbsp;
+The last thing that I . . . No!&nbsp; That mustn&rsquo;t be.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+And feeling his hand being forced he discovered the whole extent of
+his cowardice.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER X</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>That morning wandering about his plantation, more like a frightened
+soul than its creator and master, he dodged the white parasol bobbing
+up here and there like a buoy adrift on a sea of dark-green plants.&nbsp;
+The crop promised to be magnificent, and the fashionable philosopher
+of the age took other than a merely scientific interest in the experiment.&nbsp;
+His investments were judicious, but he had always some little money
+lying by, for experiments.</p>
+<p>After lunch, being left alone with Renouard, he talked a little of
+cultivation and such matters.&nbsp; Then suddenly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the way, is it true what my sister tells me, that your
+plantation boys have been disturbed by a ghost?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard, who since the ladies had left the table was not keeping
+such a strict watch on himself, came out of his abstraction with a start
+and a stiff smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My foreman had some trouble with them during my absence.&nbsp;
+They funk working in a certain field on the slope of the hill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A ghost here!&rdquo; exclaimed the amused professor.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Then our whole conception of the psychology of ghosts must be
+revised.&nbsp; This island has been uninhabited probably since the dawn
+of ages.&nbsp; How did a ghost come here.&nbsp; By air or water?&nbsp;
+And why did it leave its native haunts.&nbsp; Was it from misanthropy?&nbsp;
+Was he expelled from some community of spirits?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard essayed to respond in the same tone.&nbsp; The words died
+on his lips.&nbsp; Was it a man or a woman ghost, the professor inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;&nbsp; Renouard made an effort to
+appear at ease.&nbsp; He had, he said, a couple of Tahitian amongst
+his boys&mdash;a ghost-ridden race.&nbsp; They had started the scare.&nbsp;
+They had probably brought their ghost with them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us investigate the matter, Renouard,&rdquo; proposed the
+professor half in earnest.&nbsp; &ldquo;We may make some interesting
+discoveries as to the state of primitive minds, at any rate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was too much.&nbsp; Renouard jumped up and leaving the room
+went out and walked about in front of the house.&nbsp; He would allow
+no one to force his hand.&nbsp; Presently the professor joined him outside.&nbsp;
+He carried his parasol, but had neither his book nor his pipe with him.&nbsp;
+Amiably serious he laid his hand on his &ldquo;dear young friend&rsquo;s&rdquo;
+arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are all of us a little strung up,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;For my part I have been like sister Anne in the story.&nbsp;
+But I cannot see anything coming.&nbsp; Anything that would be the least
+good for anybody&mdash;I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard had recovered sufficiently to murmur coldly his regret of
+this waste of time.&nbsp; For that was what, he supposed, the professor
+had in his mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time,&rdquo; mused Professor Moorsom.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+know that time can be wasted.&nbsp; But I will tell you, my dear friend,
+what this is: it is an awful waste of life.&nbsp; I mean for all of
+us.&nbsp; Even for my sister, who has got a headache and is gone to
+lie down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook gently Renouard&rsquo;s arm.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, for all of
+us!&nbsp; One may meditate on life endlessly, one may even have a poor
+opinion of it&mdash;but the fact remains that we have only one life
+to live.&nbsp; And it is short.&nbsp; Think of that, my young friend.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He released Renouard&rsquo;s arm and stepped out of the shade opening
+his parasol.&nbsp; It was clear that there was something more in his
+mind than mere anxiety about the date of his lectures for fashionable
+audiences.&nbsp; What did the man mean by his confounded platitudes?&nbsp;
+To Renouard, scared by Luiz in the morning (for he felt that nothing
+could be more fatal than to have his deception unveiled otherwise than
+by personal confession), this talk sounded like encouragement or a warning
+from that man who seemed to him to be very brazen and very subtle.&nbsp;
+It was like being bullied by the dead and cajoled by the living into
+a throw of dice for a supreme stake.</p>
+<p>Renouard went away to some distance from the house and threw himself
+down in the shade of a tree.&nbsp; He lay there perfectly still with
+his forehead resting on his folded arms, light-headed and thinking.&nbsp;
+It seemed to him that he must be on fire, then that he had fallen into
+a cool whirlpool, a smooth funnel of water swirling about with nauseating
+rapidity.&nbsp; And then (it must have been a reminiscence of his boyhood)
+he was walking on the dangerous thin ice of a river, unable to turn
+back. . . . Suddenly it parted from shore to shore with a loud crack
+like the report of a gun.</p>
+<p>With one leap he found himself on his feet.&nbsp; All was peace,
+stillness, sunshine.&nbsp; He walked away from there slowly.&nbsp; Had
+he been a gambler he would have perhaps been supported in a measure
+by the mere excitement.&nbsp; But he was not a gambler.&nbsp; He had
+always disdained that artificial manner of challenging the fates.&nbsp;
+The bungalow came into view, bright and pretty, and all about everything
+was peace, stillness, sunshine. . . .</p>
+<p>While he was plodding towards it he had a disagreeable sense of the
+dead man&rsquo;s company at his elbow.&nbsp; The ghost!&nbsp; He seemed
+to be everywhere but in his grave.&nbsp; Could one ever shake him off?
+he wondered.&nbsp; At that moment Miss Moorsom came out on the verandah;
+and at once, as if by a mystery of radiating waves, she roused a great
+tumult in his heart, shook earth and sky together&mdash;but he plodded
+on.&nbsp; Then like a grave song-note in the storm her voice came to
+him ominously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; Mr. Renouard. . . &rdquo;&nbsp; He came up and smiled,
+but she was very serious.&nbsp; &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t keep still any
+longer.&nbsp; Is there time to walk up this headland and back before
+dark?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The shadows were lying lengthened on the ground; all was stillness
+and peace.&nbsp; &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Renouard, feeling suddenly as
+steady as a rock.&nbsp; &ldquo;But I can show you a view from the central
+hill which your father has not seen.&nbsp; A view of reefs and of broken
+water without end, and of great wheeling clouds of sea-birds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She came down the verandah steps at once and they moved off.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You go first,&rdquo; he proposed, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll direct
+you.&nbsp; To the left.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She was wearing a short nankin skirt, a muslin blouse; he could see
+through the thin stuff the skin of her shoulders, of her arms.&nbsp;
+The noble delicacy of her neck caused him a sort of transport.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;The path begins where these three palms are.&nbsp; The only palms
+on the island.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She never turned her head.&nbsp; After a while she observed: &ldquo;This
+path looks as if it had been made recently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite recently,&rdquo; he assented very low.</p>
+<p>They went on climbing steadily without exchanging another word; and
+when they stood on the top she gazed a long time before her.&nbsp; The
+low evening mist veiled the further limit of the reefs.&nbsp; Above
+the enormous and melancholy confusion, as of a fleet of wrecked islands,
+the restless myriads of sea-birds rolled and unrolled dark ribbons on
+the sky, gathered in clouds, soared and stooped like a play of shadows,
+for they were too far for them to hear their cries.</p>
+<p>Renouard broke the silence in low tones.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be settling for the night presently.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+She made no sound.&nbsp; Round them all was peace and declining sunshine.&nbsp;
+Near by, the topmost pinnacle of Malata, resembling the top of a buried
+tower, rose a rock, weather-worn, grey, weary of watching the monotonous
+centuries of the Pacific.&nbsp; Renouard leaned his shoulders against
+it.&nbsp; Felicia Moorsom faced him suddenly, her splendid black eyes
+full on his face as though she had made up her mind at last to destroy
+his wits once and for all.&nbsp; Dazzled, he lowered his eyelids slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Renouard!&nbsp; There is something strange in all this.&nbsp;
+Tell me where he is?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He answered deliberately.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the other side of this rock.&nbsp; I buried him there myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She pressed her hands to her breast, struggled for her breath for
+a moment, then: &ldquo;Ohhh! . . . You buried him! . . . What sort of
+man are you? . . . You dared not tell! . . . He is another of your victims?
+. . . You dared not confess that evening. . . . You must have killed
+him.&nbsp; What could he have done to you? . . . You fastened on him
+some atrocious quarrel and . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her vengeful aspect, her poignant cries left him as unmoved as the
+weary rock against which he leaned.&nbsp; He only raised his eyelids
+to look at her and lowered them slowly.&nbsp; Nothing more.&nbsp; It
+silenced her.&nbsp; And as if ashamed she made a gesture with her hand,
+putting away from her that thought.&nbsp; He spoke, quietly ironic at
+first.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha! the legendary Renouard of sensitive idiots&mdash;the ruthless
+adventurer&mdash;the ogre with a future.&nbsp; That was a parrot cry,
+Miss Moorsom.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think that the greatest fool of them
+all ever dared hint such a stupid thing of me that I killed men for
+nothing.&nbsp; No, I had noticed this man in a hotel.&nbsp; He had come
+from up country I was told, and was doing nothing.&nbsp; I saw him sitting
+there lonely in a corner like a sick crow, and I went over one evening
+to talk to him.&nbsp; Just on impulse.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t impressive.&nbsp;
+He was pitiful.&nbsp; My worst enemy could have told you he wasn&rsquo;t
+good enough to be one of Renouard&rsquo;s victims.&nbsp; It didn&rsquo;t
+take me long to judge that he was drugging himself.&nbsp; Not drinking.&nbsp;
+Drugs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s now that you are trying to murder him,&rdquo;
+she cried.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really.&nbsp; Always the Renouard of shopkeepers&rsquo; legend.&nbsp;
+Listen!&nbsp; I would never have been jealous of him.&nbsp; And yet
+I am jealous of the air you breathe, of the soil you tread on, of the
+world that sees you&mdash;moving free&mdash;not mine.&nbsp; But never
+mind.&nbsp; I rather liked him.&nbsp; For a certain reason I proposed
+he should come to be my assistant here.&nbsp; He said he believed this
+would save him.&nbsp; It did not save him from death.&nbsp; It came
+to him as it were from nothing&mdash;just a fall.&nbsp; A mere slip
+and tumble of ten feet into a ravine.&nbsp; But it seems he had been
+hurt before up-country&mdash;by a horse.&nbsp; He ailed and ailed.&nbsp;
+No, he was not a steel-tipped man.&nbsp; And his poor soul seemed to
+have been damaged too.&nbsp; It gave way very soon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is tragic!&rdquo; Felicia Moorsom whispered with feeling.&nbsp;
+Renouard&rsquo;s lips twitched, but his level voice continued mercilessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the story.&nbsp; He rallied a little one night
+and said he wanted to tell me something.&nbsp; I, being a gentleman,
+he said, he could confide in me.&nbsp; I told him that he was mistaken.&nbsp;
+That there was a good deal of a plebeian in me, that he couldn&rsquo;t
+know.&nbsp; He seemed disappointed.&nbsp; He muttered something about
+his innocence and something that sounded like a curse on some woman,
+then turned to the wall and&mdash;just grew cold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On a woman,&rdquo; cried Miss Moorsom indignantly.&nbsp; &ldquo;What
+woman?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder!&rdquo; said Renouard, raising his eyes and noting
+the crimson of her ear-lobes against the live whiteness of her complexion,
+the sombre, as if secret, night-splendour of her eyes under the writhing
+flames of her hair.&nbsp; &ldquo;Some woman who wouldn&rsquo;t believe
+in that poor innocence of his. . . Yes.&nbsp; You probably.&nbsp; And
+now you will not believe in me&mdash;not even in me who must in truth
+be what I am&mdash;even to death.&nbsp; No!&nbsp; You won&rsquo;t.&nbsp;
+And yet, Felicia, a woman like you and a man like me do not often come
+together on this earth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The flame of her glorious head scorched his face.&nbsp; He flung
+his hat far away, and his suddenly lowered eyelids brought out startlingly
+his resemblance to antique bronze, the profile of Pallas, still, austere,
+bowed a little in the shadow of the rock.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; If
+you could only understand the truth that is in me!&rdquo; he added.</p>
+<p>She waited, as if too astounded to speak, till he looked up again,
+and then with unnatural force as if defending herself from some unspoken
+aspersion, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s I who stand for truth here!&nbsp; Believe
+in you!&nbsp; In you, who by a heartless falsehood&mdash;and nothing
+else, nothing else, do you hear?&mdash;have brought me here, deceived,
+cheated, as in some abominable farce!&rdquo;&nbsp; She sat down on a
+boulder, rested her chin in her hands, in the pose of simple grief&mdash;mourning
+for herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It only wanted this.&nbsp; Why!&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp; Why is it
+that ugliness, ridicule, and baseness must fall across my path.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>On that height, alone with the sky, they spoke to each other as if
+the earth had fallen away from under their feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you grieving for your dignity?&nbsp; He was a mediocre
+soul and could have given you but an unworthy existence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She did not even smile at those words, but, superb, as if lifting
+a corner of the veil, she turned on him slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And do you imagine I would have devoted myself to him for
+such a purpose!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you know that reparation was due to
+him from me?&nbsp; A sacred debt&mdash;a fine duty.&nbsp; To redeem
+him would not have been in my power&mdash;I know it.&nbsp; But he was
+blameless, and it was for me to come forward.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you
+see that in the eyes of the world nothing could have rehabilitated him
+so completely as his marriage with me?&nbsp; No word of evil could be
+whispered of him after I had given him my hand.&nbsp; As to giving myself
+up to anything less than the shaping of a man&rsquo;s destiny&mdash;if
+I thought I could do it I would abhor myself. . . .&rdquo;&nbsp; She
+spoke with authority in her deep fascinating, unemotional voice.&nbsp;
+Renouard meditated, gloomy, as if over some sinister riddle of a beautiful
+sphinx met on the wild road of his life.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; Your father was right.&nbsp; You are one of these
+aristocrats . . .&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She drew herself up haughtily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you say?&nbsp; My father! . . . I an aristocrat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t mean that you are like the men and
+women of the time of armours, castles, and great deeds.&nbsp; Oh, no!&nbsp;
+They stood on the naked soil, had traditions to be faithful to, had
+their feet on this earth of passions and death which is not a hothouse.&nbsp;
+They would have been too plebeian for you since they had to lead, to
+suffer with, to understand the commonest humanity.&nbsp; No, you are
+merely of the topmost layer, disdainful and superior, the mere pure
+froth and bubble on the inscrutable depths which some day will toss
+you out of existence.&nbsp; But you are you!&nbsp; You are you!&nbsp;
+You are the eternal love itself&mdash;only, O Divinity, it isn&rsquo;t
+your body, it is your soul that is made of foam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She listened as if in a dream.&nbsp; He had succeeded so well in
+his effort to drive back the flood of his passion that his life itself
+seemed to run with it out of his body.&nbsp; At that moment he felt
+as one dead speaking.&nbsp; But the headlong wave returning with tenfold
+force flung him on her suddenly, with open arms and blazing eyes.&nbsp;
+She found herself like a feather in his grasp, helpless, unable to struggle,
+with her feet off the ground.&nbsp; But this contact with her, maddening
+like too much felicity, destroyed its own end.&nbsp; Fire ran through
+his veins, turned his passion to ashes, burnt him out and left him empty,
+without force&mdash;almost without desire.&nbsp; He let her go before
+she could cry out.&nbsp; And she was so used to the forms of repression
+enveloping, softening the crude impulses of old humanity that she no
+longer believed in their existence as if it were an exploded legend.&nbsp;
+She did not recognise what had happened to her.&nbsp; She came safe
+out of his arms, without a struggle, not even having felt afraid.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the meaning of this?&rdquo; she said, outraged
+but calm in a scornful way.</p>
+<p>He got down on his knees in silence, bent low to her very feet, while
+she looked down at him, a little surprised, without animosity, as if
+merely curious to see what he would do.&nbsp; Then, while he remained
+bowed to the ground pressing the hem of her skirt to his lips, she made
+a slight movement.&nbsp; He got up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Were you ever so much mine
+what could I do with you without your consent?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t
+conquer a wraith, cold mist, stuff of dreams, illusion.&nbsp; It must
+come to you and cling to your breast.&nbsp; And then!&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp;
+And then!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All ecstasy, all expression went out of his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Renouard,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;though you can have
+no claim on my consideration after having decoyed me here for the vile
+purpose, apparently, of gloating over me as your possible prey, I will
+tell you that I am not perhaps the extraordinary being you think I am.&nbsp;
+You may believe me.&nbsp; Here I stand for truth itself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that to me what you are?&rdquo; he answered.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;At a sign from you I would climb up to the seventh heaven to
+bring you down to earth for my own&mdash;and if I saw you steeped to
+the lips in vice, in crime, in mud, I would go after you, take you to
+my arms&mdash;wear you for an incomparable jewel on my breast.&nbsp;
+And that&rsquo;s love&mdash;true love&mdash;the gift and the curse of
+the gods.&nbsp; There is no other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The truth vibrating in his voice made her recoil slightly, for she
+was not fit to hear it&mdash;not even a little&mdash;not even one single
+time in her life.&nbsp; It was revolting to her; and in her trouble,
+perhaps prompted by the suggestion of his name or to soften the harshness
+of expression, for she was obscurely moved, she spoke to him in French.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Assez!&nbsp; J&rsquo;ai horreur de tout cela</i>,&rdquo;
+she said.</p>
+<p>He was white to his very lips, but he was trembling no more.&nbsp;
+The dice had been cast, and not even violence could alter the throw.&nbsp;
+She passed by him unbendingly, and he followed her down the path.&nbsp;
+After a time she heard him saying:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And your dream is to influence a human destiny?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; she answered curtly, unabashed, with a woman&rsquo;s
+complete assurance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you may rest content.&nbsp; You have done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders slightly.&nbsp; But just before reaching
+the end of the path she relented, stopped, and went back to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose you are very anxious for people to know
+how near you came to absolute turpitude.&nbsp; You may rest easy on
+that point.&nbsp; I shall speak to my father, of course, and we will
+agree to say that he has died&mdash;nothing more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Renouard in a lifeless voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;He
+is dead.&nbsp; His very ghost shall be done with presently.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She went on, but he remained standing stock still in the dusk.&nbsp;
+She had already reached the three palms when she heard behind her a
+loud peal of laughter, cynical and joyless, such as is heard in smoking-rooms
+at the end of a scandalous story.&nbsp; It made her feel positively
+faint for a moment.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Slowly a complete darkness enveloped Geoffrey Renouard.&nbsp; His
+resolution had failed him.&nbsp; Instead of following Felicia into the
+house, he had stopped under the three palms, and leaning against a smooth
+trunk had abandoned himself to a sense of an immense deception and the
+feeling of extreme fatigue.&nbsp; This walk up the hill and down again
+was like the supreme effort of an explorer trying to penetrate the interior
+of an unknown country, the secret of which is too well defended by its
+cruel and barren nature.&nbsp; Decoyed by a mirage, he had gone too
+far&mdash;so far that there was no going back.&nbsp; His strength was
+at an end.&nbsp; For the first time in his life he had to give up, and
+with a sort of despairing self-possession he tried to understand the
+cause of the defeat.&nbsp; He did not ascribe it to that absurd dead
+man.</p>
+<p>The hesitating shadow of Luiz approached him unnoticed till it spoke
+timidly.&nbsp; Renouard started.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eh?&nbsp; What?&nbsp; Dinner waiting?&nbsp; You must say I
+beg to be excused.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t come.&nbsp; But I shall see them
+to-morrow morning, at the landing place.&nbsp; Take your orders from
+the professor as to the sailing of the schooner.&nbsp; Go now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Luiz, dumbfounded, retreated into the darkness.&nbsp; Renouard did
+not move, but hours afterwards, like the bitter fruit of his immobility,
+the words: &ldquo;I had nothing to offer to her vanity,&rdquo; came
+from his lips in the silence of the island.&nbsp; And it was then only
+that he stirred, only to wear the night out in restless tramping up
+and down the various paths of the plantation.&nbsp; Luiz, whose sleep
+was made light by the consciousness of some impending change, heard
+footsteps passing by his hut, the firm tread of the master; and turning
+on his mats emitted a faint Tse! Tse! Tse! of deep concern.</p>
+<p>Lights had been burning in the bungalow almost all through the night;
+and with the first sign of day began the bustle of departure.&nbsp;
+House boys walked processionally carrying suit-cases and dressing-bags
+down to the schooner&rsquo;s boat, which came to the landing place at
+the bottom of the garden.&nbsp; Just as the rising sun threw its golden
+nimbus around the purple shape of the headland, the Planter of Malata
+was perceived pacing bare-headed the curve of the little bay.&nbsp;
+He exchanged a few words with the sailing-master of the schooner, then
+remained by the boat, standing very upright, his eyes on the ground,
+waiting.</p>
+<p>He had not long to wait.&nbsp; Into the cool, overshadowed garden
+the professor descended first, and came jauntily down the path in a
+lively cracking of small shells.&nbsp; With his closed parasol hooked
+on his forearm, and a book in his hand, he resembled a banal tourist
+more than was permissible to a man of his unique distinction.&nbsp;
+He waved the disengaged arm from a distance, but at close quarters,
+arrested before Renouard&rsquo;s immobility, he made no offer to shake
+hands.&nbsp; He seemed to appraise the aspect of the man with a sharp
+glance, and made up his mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are going back by Suez,&rdquo; he began almost boisterously.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I have been looking up the sailing lists.&nbsp; If the zephirs
+of your Pacific are only moderately propitious I think we are sure to
+catch the mail boat due in Marseilles on the 18th of March.&nbsp; This
+will suit me excellently. . . .&rdquo;&nbsp; He lowered his tone.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;My dear young friend, I&rsquo;m deeply grateful to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Renouard&rsquo;s set lips moved.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why are you grateful to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&nbsp; Why?&nbsp; In the first place you might have made
+us miss the next boat, mightn&rsquo;t you? . . . I don&rsquo;t thank
+you for your hospitality.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t be angry with me for
+saying that I am truly thankful to escape from it.&nbsp; But I am grateful
+to you for what you have done, and&mdash;for being what you are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was difficult to define the flavour of that speech, but Renouard
+received it with an austerely equivocal smile.&nbsp; The professor stepping
+into the boat opened his parasol and sat down in the stern-sheets waiting
+for the ladies.&nbsp; No sound of human voice broke the fresh silence
+of the morning while they walked the broad path, Miss Moorsom a little
+in advance of her aunt.</p>
+<p>When she came abreast of him Renouard raised his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-bye, Mr. Renouard,&rdquo; she said in a low voice, meaning
+to pass on; but there was such a look of entreaty in the blue gleam
+of his sunken eyes that after an imperceptible hesitation she laid her
+hand, which was ungloved, in his extended palm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you condescend to remember me?&rdquo; he asked, while
+an emotion with which she was angry made her pale cheeks flush and her
+black eyes sparkle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a strange request for you to make,&rdquo; she said
+exaggerating the coldness of her tone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it?&nbsp; Impudent perhaps.&nbsp; Yet I am not so guilty
+as you think; and bear in mind that to me you can never make reparation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Reparation?&nbsp; To you!&nbsp; It is you who can offer me
+no reparation for the offence against my feelings&mdash;and my person;
+for what reparation can be adequate for your odious and ridiculous plot
+so scornful in its implication, so humiliating to my pride.&nbsp; No!&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t want to remember you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Unexpectedly, with a tightening grip, he pulled her nearer to him,
+and looking into her eyes with fearless despair -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have to.&nbsp; I shall haunt you,&rdquo; he said
+firmly.</p>
+<p>Her hand was wrenched out of his grasp before he had time to release
+it.&nbsp; Felicia Moorsom stepped into the boat, sat down by the side
+of her father, and breathed tenderly on her crushed fingers.</p>
+<p>The professor gave her a sidelong look&mdash;nothing more.&nbsp;
+But the professor&rsquo;s sister, yet on shore, had put up her long-handle
+double eye-glass to look at the scene.&nbsp; She dropped it with a faint
+rattle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never in my life heard anything so crude said to
+a lady,&rdquo; she murmured, passing before Renouard with a perfectly
+erect head.&nbsp; When, a moment afterwards, softening suddenly, she
+turned to throw a good-bye to that young man, she saw only his back
+in the distance moving towards the bungalow.&nbsp; She watched him go
+in&mdash;amazed&mdash;before she too left the soil of Malata.</p>
+<p>Nobody disturbed Renouard in that room where he had shut himself
+in to breathe the evanescent perfume of her who for him was no more,
+till late in the afternoon when the half-caste was heard on the other
+side of the door.</p>
+<p>He wanted the master to know that the trader <i>Janet</i> was just
+entering the cove.</p>
+<p>Renouard&rsquo;s strong voice on his side of the door gave him most
+unexpected instructions.&nbsp; He was to pay off the boys with the cash
+in the office and arrange with the captain of the <i>Janet</i> to take
+every worker away from Malata, returning them to their respective homes.&nbsp;
+An order on the Dunster firm would be given to him in payment.</p>
+<p>And again the silence of the bungalow remained unbroken till, next
+morning, the half-caste came to report that everything was done.&nbsp;
+The plantation boys were embarking now.</p>
+<p>Through a crack in the door a hand thrust at him a piece of paper,
+and the door slammed to so sharply that Luiz stepped back.&nbsp; Then
+approaching cringingly the keyhole, in a propitiatory tone he asked:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do I go too, master?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; You too.&nbsp; Everybody.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Master stop here alone?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Silence.&nbsp; And the half-caste&rsquo;s eyes grew wide with wonder.&nbsp;
+But he also, like those &ldquo;ignorant savages,&rdquo; the plantation
+boys, was only too glad to leave an island haunted by the ghost of a
+white man.&nbsp; He backed away noiselessly from the mysterious silence
+in the closed room, and only in the very doorway of the bungalow allowed
+himself to give vent to his feelings by a deprecatory and pained -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&nbsp; Tse!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>The Moorsoms did manage to catch the homeward mail boat all right,
+but had only twenty-four hours in town.&nbsp; Thus the sentimental Willie
+could not see very much of them.&nbsp; This did not prevent him afterwards
+from relating at great length, with manly tears in his eyes, how poor
+Miss Moorsom&mdash;the fashionable and clever beauty&mdash;found her
+betrothed in Malata only to see him die in her arms.&nbsp; Most people
+were deeply touched by the sad story.&nbsp; It was the talk of a good
+many days.</p>
+<p>But the all-knowing Editor, Renouard&rsquo;s only friend and crony,
+wanted to know more than the rest of the world.&nbsp; From professional
+incontinence, perhaps, he thirsted for a full cup of harrowing detail.&nbsp;
+And when he noticed Renouard&rsquo;s schooner lying in port day after
+day he sought the sailing master to learn the reason.&nbsp; The man
+told him that such were his instructions.&nbsp; He had been ordered
+to lie there a month before returning to Malata.&nbsp; And the month
+was nearly up.&nbsp; &ldquo;I will ask you to give me a passage,&rdquo;
+said the Editor.</p>
+<p>He landed in the morning at the bottom of the garden and found peace,
+stillness, sunshine reigning everywhere, the doors and windows of the
+bungalow standing wide open, no sight of a human being anywhere, the
+plants growing rank and tall on the deserted fields.&nbsp; For hours
+the Editor and the schooner&rsquo;s crew, excited by the mystery, roamed
+over the island shouting Renouard&rsquo;s name; and at last set themselves
+in grim silence to explore systematically the uncleared bush and the
+deeper ravines in search of his corpse.&nbsp; What had happened?&nbsp;
+Had he been murdered by the boys?&nbsp; Or had he simply, capricious
+and secretive, abandoned his plantation taking the people with him.&nbsp;
+It was impossible to tell what had happened.&nbsp; At last, towards
+the decline of the day, the Editor and the sailing master discovered
+a track of sandals crossing a strip of sandy beach on the north shore
+of the bay.&nbsp; Following this track fearfully, they passed round
+the spur of the headland, and there on a large stone found the sandals,
+Renouard&rsquo;s white jacket, and the Malay sarong of chequered pattern
+which the planter of Malata was well known to wear when going to bathe.&nbsp;
+These things made a little heap, and the sailor remarked, after gazing
+at it in silence -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Birds have been hovering over this for many a day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s gone bathing and got drowned,&rdquo; cried the
+Editor in dismay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I doubt it, sir.&nbsp; If he had been drowned anywhere within
+a mile from the shore the body would have been washed out on the reefs.&nbsp;
+And our boats have found nothing so far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Nothing was ever found&mdash;and Renouard&rsquo;s disappearance remained
+in the main inexplicable.&nbsp; For to whom could it have occurred that
+a man would set out calmly to swim beyond the confines of life&mdash;with
+a steady stroke&mdash;his eyes fixed on a star!</p>
+<p>Next evening, from the receding schooner, the Editor looked back
+for the last time at the deserted island.&nbsp; A black cloud hung listlessly
+over the high rock on the middle hill; and under the mysterious silence
+of that shadow Malata lay mournful, with an air of anguish in the wild
+sunset, as if remembering the heart that was broken there.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Dec. 1913.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>THE PARTNER</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And that be hanged for a silly yarn.&nbsp; The boatmen here
+in Westport have been telling this lie to the summer visitors for years.&nbsp;
+The sort that gets taken out for a row at a shilling a head&mdash;and
+asks foolish questions&mdash;must be told something to pass the time
+away.&nbsp; D&rsquo;ye know anything more silly than being pulled in
+a boat along a beach? . . . It&rsquo;s like drinking weak lemonade when
+you aren&rsquo;t thirsty.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know why they do it!&nbsp;
+They don&rsquo;t even get sick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A forgotten glass of beer stood at his elbow; the locality was a
+small respectable smoking-room of a small respectable hotel, and a taste
+for forming chance acquaintances accounts for my sitting up late with
+him.&nbsp; His great, flat, furrowed cheeks were shaven; a thick, square
+wisp of white hairs hung from his chin; its waggling gave additional
+point to his deep utterance; and his general contempt for mankind with
+its activities and moralities was expressed in the rakish set of his
+big soft hat of black felt with a large rim, which he kept always on
+his head.</p>
+<p>His appearance was that of an old adventurer, retired after many
+unholy experiences in the darkest parts of the earth; but I had every
+reason to believe that he had never been outside England.&nbsp; From
+a casual remark somebody dropped I gathered that in his early days he
+must have been somehow connected with shipping&mdash;with ships in docks.&nbsp;
+Of individuality he had plenty.&nbsp; And it was this which attracted
+my attention at first.&nbsp; But he was not easy to classify, and before
+the end of the week I gave him up with the vague definition, &ldquo;an
+imposing old ruffian.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>One rainy afternoon, oppressed by infinite boredom, I went into the
+smoking-room.&nbsp; He was sitting there in absolute immobility, which
+was really fakir-like and impressive.&nbsp; I began to wonder what could
+be the associations of that sort of man, his &ldquo;milieu,&rdquo; his
+private connections, his views, his morality, his friends, and even
+his wife&mdash;when to my surprise he opened a conversation in a deep,
+muttering voice.</p>
+<p>I must say that since he had learned from somebody that I was a writer
+of stories he had been acknowledging my existence by means of some vague
+growls in the morning.</p>
+<p>He was essentially a taciturn man.&nbsp; There was an effect of rudeness
+in his fragmentary sentences.&nbsp; It was some time before I discovered
+that what he would be at was the process by which stories&mdash;stories
+for periodicals&mdash;were produced.</p>
+<p>What could one say to a fellow like that?&nbsp; But I was bored to
+death; the weather continued impossible; and I resolved to be amiable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so you make these tales up on your own.&nbsp; How do they
+ever come into your head?&rdquo; he rumbled.</p>
+<p>I explained that one generally got a hint for a tale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What sort of hint?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for instance,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I got myself rowed
+out to the rocks the other day.&nbsp; My boatman told me of the wreck
+on these rocks nearly twenty years ago.&nbsp; That could be used as
+a hint for a mainly descriptive bit of story with some such title as
+&lsquo;In the Channel,&rsquo; for instance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was then that he flew out at the boatmen and the summer visitors
+who listen to their tales.&nbsp; Without moving a muscle of his face
+he emitted a powerful &ldquo;Rot,&rdquo; from somewhere out of the depths
+of his chest, and went on in his hoarse, fragmentary mumble.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stare
+at the silly rocks&mdash;nod their silly heads [the visitors, I presume].&nbsp;
+What do they think a man is&mdash;blown-out paper bag or what?&mdash;go
+off pop like that when he&rsquo;s hit&mdash;Damn silly yarn&mdash;Hint
+indeed! . . . A lie?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>You must imagine this statuesque ruffian enhaloed in the black rim
+of his hat, letting all this out as an old dog growls sometimes, with
+his head up and staring-away eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; I exclaimed.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well, but even if
+untrue it <i>is</i> a hint, enabling me to see these rocks, this gale
+they speak of, the heavy seas, etc., etc., in relation to mankind.&nbsp;
+The struggle against natural forces and the effect of the issue on at
+least one, say, exalted&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He interrupted me by an aggressive -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would truth be any good to you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t like to say,&rdquo; I answered, cautiously.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s said that truth is stranger than fiction.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who says that?&rdquo; he mouthed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; Nobody in particular.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I turned to the window; for the contemptuous beggar was oppressive
+to look at, with his immovable arm on the table.&nbsp; I suppose my
+unceremonious manner provoked him to a comparatively long speech.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ever see such a silly lot of rocks?&nbsp; Like plums
+in a slice of cold pudding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I was looking at them&mdash;an acre or more of black dots scattered
+on the steel-grey shades of the level sea, under the uniform gossamer
+grey mist with a formless brighter patch in one place&mdash;the veiled
+whiteness of the cliff coming through, like a diffused, mysterious radiance.&nbsp;
+It was a delicate and wonderful picture, something expressive, suggestive,
+and desolate, a symphony in grey and black&mdash;a Whistler.&nbsp; But
+the next thing said by the voice behind me made me turn round.&nbsp;
+It growled out contempt for all associated notions of roaring seas with
+concise energy, then went on -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;no such foolishness&mdash;looking at the rocks out
+there&mdash;more likely call to mind an office&mdash;I used to look
+in sometimes at one time&mdash;office in London&mdash;one of them small
+streets behind Cannon Street Station. . . &rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was very deliberate; not jerky, only fragmentary; at times profane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a rather remote connection,&rdquo; I observed,
+approaching him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Connection?&nbsp; To Hades with your connections.&nbsp; It
+was an accident.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Still,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;an accident has its backward
+and forward connections, which, if they could be set forth&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Without moving he seemed to lend an attentive ear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye!&nbsp; Set forth.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s perhaps what you
+could do.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t you now?&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no sea life
+in this connection.&nbsp; But you can put it in out of your head&mdash;if
+you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; I could, if necessary,&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Sometimes
+it pays to put in a lot out of one&rsquo;s head, and sometimes it doesn&rsquo;t.&nbsp;
+I mean that the story isn&rsquo;t worth it.&nbsp; Everything&rsquo;s
+in that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It amused me to talk to him like this.&nbsp; He reflected audibly
+that he guessed story-writers were out after money like the rest of
+the world which had to live by its wits: and that it was extraordinary
+how far people who were out after money would go. . . Some of them.</p>
+<p>Then he made a sally against sea life.&nbsp; Silly sort of life,
+he called it.&nbsp; No opportunities, no experience, no variety, nothing.&nbsp;
+Some fine men came out of it&mdash;he admitted&mdash;but no more chance
+in the world if put to it than fly.&nbsp; Kids.&nbsp; So Captain Harry
+Dunbar.&nbsp; Good sailor.&nbsp; Great name as a skipper.&nbsp; Big
+man; short side-whiskers going grey, fine face, loud voice.&nbsp; A
+good fellow, but no more up to people&rsquo;s tricks than a baby.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the captain of the <i>Sagamore</i> you&rsquo;re
+talking about,&rdquo; I said, confidently.</p>
+<p>After a low, scornful &ldquo;Of course&rdquo; he seemed now to hold
+on the wall with his fixed stare the vision of that city office, &ldquo;at
+the back of Cannon Street Station,&rdquo; while he growled and mouthed
+a fragmentary description, jerking his chin up now and then, as if angry.</p>
+<p>It was, according to his account, a modest place of business, not
+shady in any sense, but out of the way, in a small street now rebuilt
+from end to end.&nbsp; &ldquo;Seven doors from the Cheshire Cat public
+house under the railway bridge.&nbsp; I used to take my lunch there
+when my business called me to the city.&nbsp; Cloete would come in to
+have his chop and make the girl laugh.&nbsp; No need to talk much, either,
+for that.&nbsp; Nothing but the way he would twinkle his spectacles
+on you and give a twitch of his thick mouth was enough to start you
+off before he began one of his little tales.&nbsp; Funny fellow, Cloete.&nbsp;
+C-l-o-e-t-e&mdash;Cloete.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What was he&mdash;a Dutchman?&rdquo; I asked, not seeing in
+the least what all this had to do with the Westport boatmen and the
+Westport summer visitors and this extraordinary old fellow&rsquo;s irritable
+view of them as liars and fools.&nbsp; &ldquo;Devil knows,&rdquo; he
+grunted, his eyes on the wall as if not to miss a single movement of
+a cinematograph picture.&nbsp; &ldquo;Spoke nothing but English, anyway.&nbsp;
+First I saw him&mdash;comes off a ship in dock from the States&mdash;passenger.&nbsp;
+Asks me for a small hotel near by.&nbsp; Wanted to be quiet and have
+a look round for a few days.&nbsp; I took him to a place&mdash;friend
+of mine. . . Next time&mdash;in the City&mdash;Hallo!&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+very obliging&mdash;have a drink.&nbsp; Talks plenty about himself.&nbsp;
+Been years in the States.&nbsp; All sorts of business all over the place.&nbsp;
+With some patent medicine people, too.&nbsp; Travels.&nbsp; Writes advertisements
+and all that.&nbsp; Tells me funny stories.&nbsp; Tall, loose-limbed
+fellow.&nbsp; Black hair up on end, like a brush; long face, long legs,
+long arms, twinkle in his specs, jocular way of speaking&mdash;in a
+low voice. . . See that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I nodded, but he was not looking at me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never laughed so much in my life.&nbsp; The beggar&mdash;would
+make you laugh telling you how he skinned his own father.&nbsp; He was
+up to that, too.&nbsp; A man who&rsquo;s been in the patent-medicine
+trade will be up to anything from pitch-and-toss to wilful murder.&nbsp;
+And that&rsquo;s a bit of hard truth for you.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t mind
+what they do&mdash;think they can carry off anything and talk themselves
+out of anything&mdash;all the world&rsquo;s a fool to them.&nbsp; Business
+man, too, Cloete.&nbsp; Came over with a few hundred pounds.&nbsp; Looking
+for something to do&mdash;in a quiet way.&nbsp; Nothing like the old
+country, after all, says he. . . And so we part&mdash;I with more drinks
+in me than I was used to.&nbsp; After a time, perhaps six months or
+so, I run up against him again in Mr. George Dunbar&rsquo;s office.&nbsp;
+Yes, <i>that</i> office.&nbsp; It wasn&rsquo;t often that I . . . However,
+there was a bit of his cargo in a ship in dock that I wanted to ask
+Mr. George about.&nbsp; In comes Cloete out of the room at the back
+with some papers in his hand.&nbsp; Partner.&nbsp; You understand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;The few hundred pounds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that tongue of his,&rdquo; he growled.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+forget that tongue.&nbsp; Some of his tales must have opened George
+Dunbar&rsquo;s eyes a bit as to what business means.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A plausible fellow,&rdquo; I suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;H&rsquo;m!&nbsp; You must have it in your own way&mdash;of
+course.&nbsp; Well.&nbsp; Partner.&nbsp; George Dunbar puts his top-hat
+on and tells me to wait a moment. . . George always looked as though
+he were making a few thousands a year&mdash;a city swell. . . Come along,
+old man!&nbsp; And he and Captain Harry go out together&mdash;some business
+with a solicitor round the corner.&nbsp; Captain Harry, when he was
+in England, used to turn up in his brother&rsquo;s office regularly
+about twelve.&nbsp; Sat in a corner like a good boy, reading the paper
+and smoking his pipe.&nbsp; So they go out. . . Model brothers, says
+Cloete&mdash;two love-birds&mdash;I am looking after the tinned-fruit
+side of this cozy little show. . . Gives me that sort of talk.&nbsp;
+Then by-and-by: What sort of old thing is that <i>Sagamore</i>? Finest
+ship out&mdash;eh?&nbsp; I dare say all ships are fine to you.&nbsp;
+You live by them.&nbsp; I tell you what; I would just as soon put my
+money into an old stocking.&nbsp; Sooner!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>He drew a breath, and I noticed his hand, lying loosely on the table,
+close slowly into a fist.&nbsp; In that immovable man it was startling,
+ominous, like the famed nod of the Commander.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, already at that time&mdash;note&mdash;already,&rdquo;
+he growled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But hold on,&rdquo; I interrupted.&nbsp; &ldquo;The <i>Sagamore</i>
+belonged to Mundy and Rogers, I&rsquo;ve been told.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He snorted contemptuously.&nbsp; &ldquo;Damn boatmen&mdash;know no
+better.&nbsp; Flew the firm&rsquo;s <i>house-flag</i>.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+another thing.&nbsp; Favour.&nbsp; It was like this: When old man Dunbar
+died, Captain Harry was already in command with the firm.&nbsp; George
+chucked the bank he was clerking in&mdash;to go on his own with what
+there was to share after the old chap.&nbsp; George was a smart man.&nbsp;
+Started warehousing; then two or three things at a time: wood-pulp,
+preserved-fruit trade, and so on.&nbsp; And Captain Harry let him have
+his share to work with. . . I am provided for in my ship, he says. .
+. But by-and-by Mundy and Rogers begin to sell out to foreigners all
+their ships&mdash;go into steam right away.&nbsp; Captain Harry gets
+very upset&mdash;lose command, part with the ship he was fond of&mdash;very
+wretched.&nbsp; Just then, so it happened, the brothers came in for
+some money&mdash;an old woman died or something.&nbsp; Quite a tidy
+bit.&nbsp; Then young George says: There&rsquo;s enough between us two
+to buy the <i>Sagamore</i> with. . . But you&rsquo;ll need more money
+for your business, cries Captain Harry&mdash;and the other laughs at
+him: My business is going on all right.&nbsp; Why, I can go out and
+make a handful of sovereigns while you are trying to get your pipe to
+draw, old man. . . Mundy and Rogers very friendly about it: Certainly,
+Captain.&nbsp; And we will manage her for you, if you like, as if she
+were still our own. . . Why, with a connection like that it was good
+investment to buy that ship.&nbsp; Good!&nbsp; Aye, at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The turning of his head slightly toward me at this point was like
+a sign of strong feeling in any other man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll mind that this was long before Cloete came into
+it at all,&rdquo; he muttered, warningly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; I will mind,&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;We generally
+say: some years passed.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s soon done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He eyed me for a while silently in an unseeing way, as if engrossed
+in the thought of the years so easily dealt with; his own years, too,
+they were, the years before and the years (not so many) after Cloete
+came upon the scene.&nbsp; When he began to speak again, I discerned
+his intention to point out to me, in his obscure and graphic manner,
+the influence on George Dunbar of long association with Cloete&rsquo;s
+easy moral standards, unscrupulously persuasive gift of humour (funny
+fellow), and adventurously reckless disposition.&nbsp; He desired me
+anxiously to elaborate this view, and I assured him it was quite within
+my powers.&nbsp; He wished me also to understand that George&rsquo;s
+business had its ups and downs (the other brother was meantime sailing
+to and fro serenely); that he got into low water at times, which worried
+him rather, because he had married a young wife with expensive tastes.&nbsp;
+He was having a pretty anxious time of it generally; and just then Cloete
+ran up in the city somewhere against a man working a patent medicine
+(the fellow&rsquo;s old trade) with some success, but which, with capital,
+capital to the tune of thousands to be spent with both hands on advertising,
+could be turned into a great thing&mdash;infinitely better&mdash;paying
+than a gold-mine.&nbsp; Cloete became excited at the possibilities of
+that sort of business, in which he was an expert.&nbsp; I understood
+that George&rsquo;s partner was all on fire from the contact with this
+unique opportunity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he goes in every day into George&rsquo;s room about eleven,
+and sings that tune till George gnashes his teeth with rage.&nbsp; Do
+shut up.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the good?&nbsp; No money.&nbsp; Hardly any
+to go on with, let alone pouring thousands into advertising.&nbsp; Never
+dare propose to his brother Harry to sell the ship.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t
+think of it.&nbsp; Worry him to death.&nbsp; It would be like the end
+of the world coming.&nbsp; And certainly not for a business of that
+kind! . . . Do you think it would be a swindle? asks Cloete, twitching
+his mouth. . . George owns up: No-would be no better than a squeamish
+ass if he thought that, after all these years in business.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete looks at him hard&mdash;Never thought of <i>selling</i>
+the ship.&nbsp; Expected the blamed old thing wouldn&rsquo;t fetch half
+her insured value by this time.&nbsp; Then George flies out at him.&nbsp;
+What&rsquo;s the meaning, then, of these silly jeers at ship-owning
+for the last three weeks?&nbsp; Had enough of them, anyhow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Angry at having his mouth made to water, see.&nbsp; Cloete
+don&rsquo;t get excited. . . I am no squeamish ass, either, says he,
+very slowly.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t selling your old <i>Sagamore</i>
+wants.&nbsp; The blamed thing wants tomahawking (seems the name <i>Sagamore</i>
+means an Indian chief or something.&nbsp; The figure-head was a half-naked
+savage with a feather over one ear and a hatchet in his belt).&nbsp;
+Tomahawking, says he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean? asks George. . . Wrecking&mdash;it could
+be managed with perfect safety, goes on Cloete&mdash;your brother would
+then put in his share of insurance money.&nbsp; Needn&rsquo;t tell him
+exactly what for.&nbsp; He thinks you&rsquo;re the smartest business
+man that ever lived.&nbsp; Make his fortune, too. . . George grips the
+desk with both hands in his rage. . . You think my brother&rsquo;s a
+man to cast away his ship on purpose.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t even dare
+think of such a thing in the same room with him&mdash;the finest fellow
+that ever lived. . . Don&rsquo;t make such noise; they&rsquo;ll hear
+you outside, says Cloete; and he tells him that his brother is the salted
+pattern of all virtues, but all that&rsquo;s necessary is to induce
+him to stay ashore for a voyage&mdash;for a holiday&mdash;take a rest&mdash;why
+not? . . . In fact, I have in view somebody up to that sort of game&mdash;Cloete
+whispers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;George nearly chokes. . . So you think I am of that sort&mdash;you
+think <i>me</i> capable&mdash;What do you take me for? . . . He almost
+loses his head, while Cloete keeps cool, only gets white about the gills.
+. . I take you for a man who will be most cursedly hard up before long.
+. . He goes to the door and sends away the clerks&mdash;there were only
+two&mdash;to take their lunch hour.&nbsp; Comes back . . . What are
+you indignant about?&nbsp; Do I want you to rob the widow and orphan?&nbsp;
+Why, man!&nbsp; Lloyd&rsquo;s a corporation, it hasn&rsquo;t got a body
+to starve.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s forty or more of them perhaps who underwrote
+the lines on that silly ship of yours.&nbsp; Not one human being would
+go hungry or cold for it.&nbsp; They take every risk into consideration.&nbsp;
+Everything I tell you. . . That sort of talk.&nbsp; H&rsquo;m!&nbsp;
+George too upset to speak&mdash;only gurgles and waves his arms; so
+sudden, you see.&nbsp; The other, warming his back at the fire, goes
+on.&nbsp; Wood-pulp business next door to a failure.&nbsp; Tinned-fruit
+trade nearly played out. . . You&rsquo;re frightened, he says; but the
+law is only meant to frighten fools away. . . And he shows how safe
+casting away that ship would be.&nbsp; Premiums paid for so many, many
+years.&nbsp; No shadow of suspicion could arise.&nbsp; And, dash it
+all! a ship must meet her end some day. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am not frightened.&nbsp; I am indignant,&rdquo; says George
+Dunbar.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete boiling with rage inside.&nbsp; Chance of a lifetime&mdash;his
+chance!&nbsp; And he says kindly: Your wife&rsquo;ll be much more indignant
+when you ask her to get out of that pretty house of yours and pile in
+into a two-pair back&mdash;with kids perhaps, too. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;George had no children.&nbsp; Married a couple of years; looked
+forward to a kid or two very much.&nbsp; Feels more upset than ever.&nbsp;
+Talks about an honest man for father, and so on.&nbsp; Cloete grins:
+You be quick before they come, and they&rsquo;ll have a rich man for
+father, and no one the worse for it.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the beauty of
+the thing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;George nearly cries.&nbsp; I believe he did cry at odd times.&nbsp;
+This went on for weeks.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t quarrel with Cloete.&nbsp;
+Couldn&rsquo;t pay off his few hundreds; and besides, he was used to
+have him about.&nbsp; Weak fellow, George.&nbsp; Cloete generous, too.
+. . Don&rsquo;t think of my little pile, says he.&nbsp; Of course it&rsquo;s
+gone when we have to shut up.&nbsp; But I don&rsquo;t care, he says.
+. . And then there was George&rsquo;s new wife.&nbsp; When Cloete dines
+there, the beggar puts on a dress suit; little woman liked it; . . .
+Mr. Cloete, my husband&rsquo;s partner; such a clever man, man of the
+world, so amusing! . . . When he dines there and they are alone: Oh,
+Mr. Cloete, I wish George would do something to improve our prospects.&nbsp;
+Our position is really so mediocre. . . And Cloete smiles, but isn&rsquo;t
+surprised, because he had put all these notions himself into her empty
+head. . . What your husband wants is enterprise, a little audacity.&nbsp;
+You can encourage him best, Mrs. Dunbar. . . She was a silly, extravagant
+little fool.&nbsp; Had made George take a house in Norwood.&nbsp; Live
+up to a lot of people better off than themselves.&nbsp; I saw her once;
+silk dress, pretty boots, all feathers and scent, pink face.&nbsp; More
+like the Promenade at the Alhambra than a decent home, it looked to
+me.&nbsp; But some women do get a devil of a hold on a man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, some do,&rdquo; I assented.&nbsp; &ldquo;Even when the
+man is the husband.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My missis,&rdquo; he addressed me unexpectedly, in a solemn,
+surprisingly hollow tone, &ldquo;could wind me round her little finger.&nbsp;
+I didn&rsquo;t find it out till she was gone.&nbsp; Aye.&nbsp; But she
+was a woman of sense, while that piece of goods ought to have been walking
+the streets, and that&rsquo;s all I can say. . . You must make her up
+out of your head.&nbsp; You will know the sort.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leave all that to me,&rdquo; I said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;H&rsquo;m!&rdquo; he grunted, doubtfully, then going back
+to his scornful tone: &ldquo;A month or so afterwards the <i>Sagamore</i>
+arrives home.&nbsp; All very jolly at first. . . Hallo, George boy!&nbsp;
+Hallo, Harry, old man! . . . But by and by Captain Harry thinks his
+clever brother is not looking very well.&nbsp; And George begins to
+look worse.&nbsp; He can&rsquo;t get rid of Cloete&rsquo;s notion.&nbsp;
+It has stuck in his head. . . There&rsquo;s nothing wrong&mdash;quite
+well. . . Captain Harry still anxious.&nbsp; Business going all right,
+eh?&nbsp; Quite right.&nbsp; Lots of business.&nbsp; Good business.
+. . Of course Captain Harry believes that easily.&nbsp; Starts chaffing
+his brother in his jolly way about rolling in money.&nbsp; George&rsquo;s
+shirt sticks to his back with perspiration, and he feels quite angry
+with the captain. . . The fool, he says to himself.&nbsp; Rolling in
+money, indeed!&nbsp; And then he thinks suddenly: Why not? . . . Because
+Cloete&rsquo;s notion has got hold of his mind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But next day he weakens and says to Cloete . . . Perhaps it
+would be best to sell.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t you talk to my brother?
+and Cloete explains to him over again for the twentieth time why selling
+wouldn&rsquo;t do, anyhow.&nbsp; No!&nbsp; The <i>Sagamore</i> must
+be tomahawked&mdash;as he would call it; to spare George&rsquo;s feelings,
+maybe.&nbsp; But every time he says the word, George shudders. . . I&rsquo;ve
+got a man at hand competent for the job who will do the trick for five
+hundred, and only too pleased at the chance, says Cloete. . . George
+shuts his eyes tight at that sort of talk&mdash;but at the same time
+he thinks: Humbug!&nbsp; There can be no such man.&nbsp; And yet if
+there was such a man it would be safe enough&mdash;perhaps.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Cloete always funny about it.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t
+talk about anything without it seeming there was a great joke in it
+somewhere. . . Now, says he, I know you are a moral citizen, George.&nbsp;
+Morality is mostly funk, and I think you&rsquo;re the funkiest man I
+ever came across in my travels.&nbsp; Why, you are afraid to speak to
+your brother.&nbsp; Afraid to open your mouth to him with a fortune
+for us all in sight. . . George flares up at this: no, he ain&rsquo;t
+afraid; he will speak; bangs fist on the desk.&nbsp; And Cloete pats
+him on the back. . . We&rsquo;ll be made men presently, he says.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the first time George attempts to speak to Captain Harry
+his heart slides down into his boots.&nbsp; Captain Harry only laughs
+at the notion of staying ashore.&nbsp; He wants no holiday, not he.&nbsp;
+But Jane thinks of remaining in England this trip.&nbsp; Go about a
+bit and see some of her people.&nbsp; Jane was the Captain&rsquo;s wife;
+round-faced, pleasant lady.&nbsp; George gives up that time; but Cloete
+won&rsquo;t let him rest.&nbsp; So he tries again; and the Captain frowns.&nbsp;
+He frowns because he&rsquo;s puzzled.&nbsp; He can&rsquo;t make it out.&nbsp;
+He has no notion of living away from his <i>Sagamore</i>. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; I cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now I understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, you don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he growled, his black, contemptuous
+stare turning on me crushingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; I murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;H&rsquo;m!&nbsp; Very well, then.&nbsp; Captain Harry looks
+very stern, and George crumples all up inside. . . He sees through me,
+he thinks. . . Of course it could not be; but George, by that time,
+was scared at his own shadow.&nbsp; He is shirking it with Cloete, too.&nbsp;
+Gives his partner to understand that his brother has half a mind to
+try a spell on shore, and so on.&nbsp; Cloete waits, gnawing his fingers;
+so anxious.&nbsp; Cloete really had found a man for the job.&nbsp; Believe
+it or not, he had found him inside the very boarding-house he lodged
+in&mdash;somewhere about Tottenham Court Road.&nbsp; He had noticed
+down-stairs a fellow&mdash;a boarder and not a boarder&mdash;hanging
+about the dark&mdash;part of the passage mostly; sort of &lsquo;man
+of the house,&rsquo; a slinking chap.&nbsp; Black eyes.&nbsp; White
+face.&nbsp; The woman of the house&mdash;a widow lady, she called herself&mdash;very
+full of Mr. Stafford; Mr. Stafford this and Mr. Stafford that. . . Anyhow,
+Cloete one evening takes him out to have a drink.&nbsp; Cloete mostly
+passed away his evenings in saloon bars.&nbsp; No drunkard, though,
+Cloete; for company; liked to talk to all sorts there; just habit; American
+fashion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Cloete takes that chap out more than once.&nbsp; Not very
+good company, though.&nbsp; Little to say for himself.&nbsp; Sits quiet
+and drinks what&rsquo;s given to him, eyes always half closed, speaks
+sort of demure. . . I&rsquo;ve had misfortunes, he says.&nbsp; The truth
+was they had kicked him out of a big steam-ship company for disgraceful
+conduct; nothing to affect his certificate, you understand; and he had
+gone down quite easily.&nbsp; Liked it, I expect.&nbsp; Anything&rsquo;s
+better than work.&nbsp; Lived on the widow lady who kept that boarding-house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s almost incredible,&rdquo; I ventured to interrupt.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;A man with a master&rsquo;s certificate, do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do; I&rsquo;ve known them &rsquo;bus cads,&rdquo; he growled,
+contemptuously.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; Swing on the tail-board by the
+strap and yell, &lsquo;tuppence all the way.&rsquo;&nbsp; Through drink.&nbsp;
+But this Stafford was of another kind.&nbsp; Hell&rsquo;s full of such
+Staffords; Cloete would make fun of him, and then there would be a nasty
+gleam in the fellow&rsquo;s half-shut eye.&nbsp; But Cloete was generally
+kind to him.&nbsp; Cloete was a fellow that would be kind to a mangy
+dog.&nbsp; Anyhow, he used to stand drinks to that object, and now and
+then gave him half a crown&mdash;because the widow lady kept Mr. Stafford
+short of pocket-money.&nbsp; They had rows almost every day down in
+the basement. . .</p>
+<p>It was the fellow being a sailor that put into Cloete&rsquo;s mind
+the first notion of doing away with the <i>Sagamore</i>.&nbsp; He studies
+him a bit, thinks there&rsquo;s enough devil in him yet to be tempted,
+and one evening he says to him . . . I suppose you wouldn&rsquo;t mind
+going to sea again, for a spell? . . . The other never raises his eyes;
+says it&rsquo;s scarcely worth one&rsquo;s while for the miserable salary
+one gets. . . Well, but what do you say to captain&rsquo;s wages for
+a time, and a couple of hundred extra if you are compelled to come home
+without the ship.&nbsp; Accidents will happen, says Cloete. . . Oh!
+sure to, says that Stafford; and goes on taking sips of his drink as
+if he had no interest in the matter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete presses him a bit; but the other observes, impudent
+and languid like: You see, there&rsquo;s no future in a thing like that&mdash;is
+there? . . Oh! no, says Cloete.&nbsp; Certainly not.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+mean this to have any future&mdash;as far as you are concerned.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s a &lsquo;once for all&rsquo; transaction.&nbsp; Well, what
+do you estimate your future at? he asks. . . The fellow more listless
+than ever&mdash;nearly asleep.&mdash;I believe the skunk was really
+too lazy to care.&nbsp; Small cheating at cards, wheedling or bullying
+his living out of some woman or other, was more his style.&nbsp; Cloete
+swears at him in whispers something awful.&nbsp; All this in the saloon
+bar of the Horse Shoe, Tottenham Court Road.&nbsp; Finally they agree,
+over the second sixpennyworth of Scotch hot, on five hundred pounds
+as the price of tomahawking the <i>Sagamore</i>.&nbsp; And Cloete waits
+to see what George can do.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A week or two goes by.&nbsp; The other fellow loafs about
+the house as if there had been nothing, and Cloete begins to doubt whether
+he really means ever to tackle that job.&nbsp; But one day he stops
+Cloete at the door, with his downcast eyes: What about that employment
+you wished to give me? he asks. . . You see, he had played some more
+than usual dirty trick on the woman and expected awful ructions presently;
+and to be fired out for sure.&nbsp; Cloete very pleased.&nbsp; George
+had been prevaricating to him such a lot that he really thought the
+thing was as well as settled.&nbsp; And he says: Yes.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+time I introduced you to my friend.&nbsp; Just get your hat and we will
+go now. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The two come into the office, and George at his desk sits
+up in a sudden panic&mdash;staring.&nbsp; Sees a tallish fellow, sort
+of nasty-handsome face, heavy eyes, half shut; short drab overcoat,
+shabby bowler hat, very careful&mdash;like in his movements.&nbsp; And
+he thinks to himself, Is that how such a man looks!&nbsp; No, the thing&rsquo;s
+impossible. . . Cloete does the introduction, and the fellow turns round
+to look behind him at the chair before he sits down. . . A thoroughly
+competent man, Cloete goes on . . . The man says nothing, sits perfectly
+quiet.&nbsp; And George can&rsquo;t speak, throat too dry.&nbsp; Then
+he makes an effort: H&rsquo;m!&nbsp; H&rsquo;m!&nbsp; Oh yes&mdash;unfortunately&mdash;sorry
+to disappoint&mdash;my brother&mdash;made other arrangements&mdash;going
+himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fellow gets up, never raising his eyes off the ground,
+like a modest girl, and goes out softly, right out of the office without
+a sound.&nbsp; Cloete sticks his chin in his hand and bites all his
+fingers at once.&nbsp; George&rsquo;s heart slows down and he speaks
+to Cloete. . . This can&rsquo;t be done.&nbsp; How can it be?&nbsp;
+Directly the ship is lost Harry would see through it.&nbsp; You know
+he is a man to go to the underwriters himself with his suspicions.&nbsp;
+And he would break his heart over me.&nbsp; How can I play that on him?&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s only two of us in the world belonging to each other. .
+.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete lets out a horrid cuss-word, jumps up, bolts away into
+his room, and George hears him there banging things around.&nbsp; After
+a while he goes to the door and says in a trembling voice: You ask me
+for an impossibility. . . Cloete inside ready to fly out like a tiger
+and rend him; but he opens the door a little way and says softly: Talking
+of hearts, yours is no bigger than a mouse&rsquo;s, let me tell you.
+. . But George doesn&rsquo;t care&mdash;load off the heart, anyhow.&nbsp;
+And just then Captain Harry comes in. . . Hallo, George boy.&nbsp; I
+am little late.&nbsp; What about a chop at the Cheshire, now? . . .
+Right you are, old man. . . And off they go to lunch together.&nbsp;
+Cloete has nothing to eat that day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;George feels a new man for a time; but all of a sudden that
+fellow Stafford begins to hang about the street, in sight of the house
+door.&nbsp; The first time George sees him he thinks he made a mistake.&nbsp;
+But no; next time he has to go out, there is the very fellow skulking
+on the other side of the road.&nbsp; It makes George nervous; but he
+must go out on business, and when the fellow cuts across the road-way
+he dodges him.&nbsp; He dodges him once, twice, three times; but at
+last he gets nabbed in his very doorway. . . What do you want? he says,
+trying to look fierce.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seems that ructions had come in the basement of that boarding-house,
+and the widow lady had turned on him (being jealous mad), to the extent
+of talking of the police.&nbsp; <i>That</i> Mr. Stafford couldn&rsquo;t
+stand; so he cleared out like a scared stag, and there he was, chucked
+into the streets, so to speak.&nbsp; Cloete looked so savage as he went
+to and fro that he hadn&rsquo;t the spunk to tackle him; but George
+seemed a softer kind to his eye.&nbsp; He would have been glad of half
+a quid, anything. . . I&rsquo;ve had misfortunes, he says softly, in
+his demure way, which frightens George more than a row would have done.
+. . Consider the severity of my disappointment, he says. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;George, instead of telling him to go to the devil, loses his
+head. . . I don&rsquo;t know you.&nbsp; What do you want? he cries,
+and bolts up-stairs to Cloete. . . . Look what&rsquo;s come of it, he
+gasps; now we are at the mercy of that horrid fellow. . . Cloete tries
+to show him that the fellow can do nothing; but George thinks that some
+sort of scandal may be forced on, anyhow.&nbsp; Says that he can&rsquo;t
+live with that horror haunting him.&nbsp; Cloete would laugh if he weren&rsquo;t
+too weary of it all.&nbsp; Then a thought strikes him and he changes
+his tune. . . Well, perhaps!&nbsp; I will go down-stairs and send him
+away to begin with. . . He comes back. . . He&rsquo;s gone.&nbsp; But
+perhaps you are right.&nbsp; The fellow&rsquo;s hard up, and that&rsquo;s
+what makes people desperate.&nbsp; The best thing would be to get him
+out of the country for a time.&nbsp; Look here, the poor devil is really
+in want of employment.&nbsp; I won&rsquo;t ask you much this time: only
+to hold your tongue; and I shall try to get your brother to take him
+as chief officer.&nbsp; At this George lays his arms and his head on
+his desk, so that Cloete feels sorry for him.&nbsp; But altogether Cloete
+feels more cheerful because he has shaken the ghost a bit into that
+Stafford.&nbsp; That very afternoon he buys him a suit of blue clothes,
+and tells him that he will have to turn to and work for his living now.&nbsp;
+Go to sea as mate of the <i>Sagamore</i>.&nbsp; The skunk wasn&rsquo;t
+very willing, but what with having nothing to eat and no place to sleep
+in, and the woman having frightened him with the talk of some prosecution
+or other, he had no choice, properly speaking.&nbsp; Cloete takes care
+of him for a couple of days. . . Our arrangement still stands, says
+he.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s the ship bound for Port Elizabeth; not a safe
+anchorage at all.&nbsp; Should she by chance part from her anchors in
+a north-east gale and get lost on the beach, as many of them do, why,
+it&rsquo;s five hundred in your pocket&mdash;and a quick return home.&nbsp;
+You are up to the job, ain&rsquo;t you?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our Mr. Stafford takes it all in with downcast eyes. . . I
+am a competent seaman, he says, with his sly, modest air.&nbsp; A ship&rsquo;s
+chief mate has no doubt many opportunities to manipulate the chains
+and anchors to some purpose. . . At this Cloete thumps him on the back:
+You&rsquo;ll do, my noble sailor.&nbsp; Go in and win. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Next thing George knows, his brother tells him that he had
+occasion to oblige his partner.&nbsp; And glad of it, too.&nbsp; Likes
+the partner no end.&nbsp; Took a friend of his as mate.&nbsp; Man had
+his troubles, been ashore a year nursing a dying wife, it seems.&nbsp;
+Down on his luck. . . George protests earnestly that he knows nothing
+of the person.&nbsp; Saw him once.&nbsp; Not very attractive to look
+at. . . And Captain Harry says in his hearty way, That&rsquo;s so, but
+must give the poor devil a chance. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Mr. Stafford joins in dock.&nbsp; And it seems that he
+did manage to monkey with one of the cables&mdash;keeping his mind on
+Port Elizabeth.&nbsp; The riggers had all the cable ranged on deck to
+clean lockers.&nbsp; The new mate watches them go ashore&mdash;dinner
+hour&mdash;and sends the ship-keeper out of the ship to fetch him a
+bottle of beer.&nbsp; Then he goes to work whittling away the forelock
+of the forty-five-fathom shackle-pin, gives it a tap or two with a hammer
+just to make it loose, and of course that cable wasn&rsquo;t safe any
+more.&nbsp; Riggers come back&mdash;you know what riggers are: come
+day, go day, and God send Sunday.&nbsp; Down goes the chain into the
+locker without their foreman looking at the shackles at all.&nbsp; What
+does he care?&nbsp; He ain&rsquo;t going in the ship.&nbsp; And two
+days later the ship goes to sea. . . &rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>At this point I was incautious enough to breathe out another &ldquo;I
+see,&rdquo; which gave offence again, and brought on me a rude &ldquo;No,
+you don&rsquo;t&rdquo;&mdash;as before.&nbsp; But in the pause he remembered
+the glass of beer at his elbow.&nbsp; He drank half of it, wiped his
+mustaches, and remarked grimly -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that there will be any sea life in this,
+because there ain&rsquo;t.&nbsp; If you&rsquo;re going to put in any
+out of your own head, now&rsquo;s your chance.&nbsp; I suppose you know
+what ten days of bad weather in the Channel are like?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t.&nbsp;
+Anyway, ten whole days go by.&nbsp; One Monday Cloete comes to the office
+a little late&mdash;hears a woman&rsquo;s voice in George&rsquo;s room
+and looks in.&nbsp; Newspapers on the desk, on the floor; Captain Harry&rsquo;s
+wife sitting with red eyes and a bag on the chair near her. . . Look
+at this, says George, in great excitement, showing him a paper.&nbsp;
+Cloete&rsquo;s heart gives a jump.&nbsp; Ha!&nbsp; Wreck in Westport
+Bay.&nbsp; The <i>Sagamore</i> gone ashore early hours of Sunday, and
+so the newspaper men had time to put in some of their work.&nbsp; Columns
+of it.&nbsp; Lifeboat out twice.&nbsp; Captain and crew remain by the
+ship.&nbsp; Tugs summoned to assist.&nbsp; If the weather improves,
+this well-known fine ship may yet be saved. . . You know the way these
+chaps put it. . . Mrs. Harry there on her way to catch a train from
+Cannon Street.&nbsp; Got an hour to wait.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete takes George aside and whispers: Ship saved yet!&nbsp;
+Oh, damn!&nbsp; That must never be; you hear?&nbsp; But George looks
+at him dazed, and Mrs. Harry keeps on sobbing quietly: . . . I ought
+to have been with him.&nbsp; But I am going to him. . . We are all going
+together, cries Cloete, all of a sudden.&nbsp; He rushes out, sends
+the woman a cup of hot bovril from the shop across the road, buys a
+rug for her, thinks of everything; and in the train tucks her in and
+keeps on talking, thirteen to the dozen, all the way, to keep her spirits
+up, as it were; but really because he can&rsquo;t hold his peace for
+very joy.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s the thing done all at once, and nothing
+to pay.&nbsp; Done.&nbsp; Actually done.&nbsp; His head swims now and
+again when he thinks of it.&nbsp; What enormous luck!&nbsp; It almost
+frightens him.&nbsp; He would like to yell and sing.&nbsp; Meantime
+George Dunbar sits in his corner, looking so deadly miserable that at
+last poor Mrs. Harry tries to comfort him, and so cheers herself up
+at the same time by talking about how her Harry is a prudent man; not
+likely to risk his crew&rsquo;s life or his own unnecessarily&mdash;and
+so on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;First thing they hear at Westport station is that the life-boat
+has been out to the ship again, and has brought off the second officer,
+who had hurt himself, and a few sailors.&nbsp; Captain and the rest
+of the crew, about fifteen in all, are still on board.&nbsp; Tugs expected
+to arrive every moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They take Mrs. Harry to the inn, nearly opposite the rocks;
+she bolts straight up-stairs to look out of the window, and she lets
+out a great cry when she sees the wreck.&nbsp; She won&rsquo;t rest
+till she gets on board to her Harry.&nbsp; Cloete soothes her all he
+can. . . All right; you try to eat a mouthful, and we will go to make
+inquiries.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He draws George out of the room: Look here, she can&rsquo;t
+go on board, but I shall.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll see to it that he doesn&rsquo;t
+stop in the ship too long.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s go and find the coxswain
+of the life-boat. . . George follows him, shivering from time to time.&nbsp;
+The waves are washing over the old pier; not much wind, a wild, gloomy
+sky over the bay.&nbsp; In the whole world only one tug away off, heading
+to the seas, tossed in and out of sight every minute as regular as clockwork.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They meet the coxswain and he tells them: Yes!&nbsp; He&rsquo;s
+going out again.&nbsp; No, they ain&rsquo;t in danger on board&mdash;not
+yet.&nbsp; But the ship&rsquo;s chance is very poor.&nbsp; Still, if
+the wind doesn&rsquo;t pipe up again and the sea goes down something
+might be tried.&nbsp; After some talk he agrees to take Cloete on board;
+supposed to be with an urgent message from the owners to the captain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whenever Cloete looks at the sky he feels comforted; it looks
+so threatening.&nbsp; George Dunbar follows him about with a white face
+and saying nothing.&nbsp; Cloete takes him to have a drink or two, and
+by and by he begins to pick up. . . That&rsquo;s better, says Cloete;
+dash me if it wasn&rsquo;t like walking about with a dead man before.&nbsp;
+You ought to be throwing up your cap, man.&nbsp; I feel as if I wanted
+to stand in the street and cheer.&nbsp; Your brother is safe, the ship
+is lost, and we are made men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you certain she&rsquo;s lost? asks George.&nbsp; It would
+be an awful blow after all the agonies I have gone through in my mind,
+since you first spoke to me, if she were to be got off&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;all
+this temptation to begin over again. . . For we had nothing to do with
+this; had we?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course not, says Cloete.&nbsp; Wasn&rsquo;t your brother
+himself in charge?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s providential. . . Oh! cries George,
+shocked. . . Well, say it&rsquo;s the devil, says Cloete, cheerfully.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t mind!&nbsp; You had nothing to do with it any more than
+a baby unborn, you great softy, you. . . Cloete has got so that he almost
+loved George Dunbar.&nbsp; Well.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; That was so.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t mean he respected him.&nbsp; He was just fond of his partner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They go back, you may say fairly skipping, to the hotel, and
+find the wife of the captain at the open window, with her eyes on the
+ship as if she wanted to fly across the bay over there. . . Now then,
+Mrs. Dunbar, cries Cloete, you can&rsquo;t go, but I am going.&nbsp;
+Any messages?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t be shy.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll deliver every
+word faithfully.&nbsp; And if you would like to give me a kiss for him,
+I&rsquo;ll deliver that too, dash me if I don&rsquo;t.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He makes Mrs. Harry laugh with his patter. . . Oh, dear Mr.
+Cloete, you are a calm, reasonable man.&nbsp; Make him behave sensibly.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s a bit obstinate, you know, and he&rsquo;s so fond of the
+ship, too.&nbsp; Tell him I am here&mdash;looking on. . . Trust me,
+Mrs. Dunbar.&nbsp; Only shut that window, that&rsquo;s a good girl.&nbsp;
+You will be sure to catch cold if you don&rsquo;t, and the Captain won&rsquo;t
+be pleased coming off the wreck to find you coughing and sneezing so
+that you can&rsquo;t tell him how happy you are.&nbsp; And now if you
+can get me a bit of tape to fasten my glasses on good to my ears, I
+will be going. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How he gets on board I don&rsquo;t know.&nbsp; All wet and
+shaken and excited and out of breath, he does get on board.&nbsp; Ship
+lying over, smothered in sprays, but not moving very much; just enough
+to jag one&rsquo;s nerve a bit.&nbsp; He finds them all crowded on the
+deck-house forward, in their shiny oilskins, with faces like sick men.&nbsp;
+Captain Harry can&rsquo;t believe his eyes.&nbsp; What!&nbsp; Mr. Cloete!&nbsp;
+What are you doing here, in God&rsquo;s name? . . . Your wife&rsquo;s
+ashore there, looking on, gasps out Cloete; and after they had talked
+a bit, Captain Harry thinks it&rsquo;s uncommonly plucky and kind of
+his brother&rsquo;s partner to come off to him like this.&nbsp; Man
+glad to have somebody to talk to. . . It&rsquo;s a bad business, Mr.
+Cloete, he says.&nbsp; And Cloete rejoices to hear that.&nbsp; Captain
+Harry thinks he had done his best, but the cable had parted when he
+tried to anchor her.&nbsp; It was a great trial to lose the ship.&nbsp;
+Well, he would have to face it.&nbsp; He fetches a deep sigh now and
+then.&nbsp; Cloete almost sorry he had come on board, because to be
+on that wreck keeps his chest in a tight band all the time.&nbsp; They
+crouch out of the wind under the port boat, a little apart from the
+men.&nbsp; The life-boat had gone away after putting Cloete on board,
+but was coming back next high water to take off the crew if no attempt
+at getting the ship afloat could be made.&nbsp; Dusk was falling; winter&rsquo;s
+day; black sky; wind rising.&nbsp; Captain Harry felt melancholy.&nbsp;
+God&rsquo;s will be done.&nbsp; If she must be left on the rocks&mdash;why,
+she must.&nbsp; A man should take what God sends him standing up. .
+. Suddenly his voice breaks, and he squeezes Cloete&rsquo;s arm: It
+seems as if I couldn&rsquo;t leave her, he whispers.&nbsp; Cloete looks
+round at the men like a lot of huddled sheep and thinks to himself:
+They won&rsquo;t stay. . . Suddenly the ship lifts a little and sets
+down with a thump.&nbsp; Tide rising.&nbsp; Everybody beginning to look
+out for the life-boat.&nbsp; Some of the men made her out far away and
+also two more tugs.&nbsp; But the gale has come on again, and everybody
+knows that no tug will ever dare come near the ship.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the end, Captain Harry says, very low. . . .
+Cloete thinks he never felt so cold in all his life. . . And I feel
+as if I didn&rsquo;t care to live on just now, mutters Captain Harry
+. . . Your wife&rsquo;s ashore, looking on, says Cloete . . . Yes.&nbsp;
+Yes.&nbsp; It must be awful for her to look at the poor old ship lying
+here done for.&nbsp; Why, that&rsquo;s our home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete thinks that as long as the <i>Sagamore&rsquo;s</i>
+done for he doesn&rsquo;t care, and only wishes himself somewhere else.&nbsp;
+The slightest movement of the ship cuts his breath like a blow.&nbsp;
+And he feels excited by the danger, too.&nbsp; The captain takes him
+aside. . . The life-boat can&rsquo;t come near us for more than an hour.&nbsp;
+Look here, Cloete, since you are here, and such a plucky one&mdash;do
+something for me. . . He tells him then that down in his cabin aft in
+a certain drawer there is a bundle of important papers and some sixty
+sovereigns in a small canvas bag.&nbsp; Asks Cloete to go and get these
+things out.&nbsp; He hasn&rsquo;t been below since the ship struck,
+and it seems to him that if he were to take his eyes off her she would
+fall to pieces.&nbsp; And then the men&mdash;a scared lot by this time&mdash;if
+he were to leave them by themselves they would attempt to launch one
+of the ship&rsquo;s boats in a panic at some heavier thump&mdash;and
+then some of them bound to get drowned. . . There are two or three boxes
+of matches about my shelves in my cabin if you want a light, says Captain
+Harry.&nbsp; Only wipe your wet hands before you begin to feel for them.
+. .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete doesn&rsquo;t like the job, but doesn&rsquo;t like
+to show funk, either&mdash;and he goes.&nbsp; Lots of water on the main-deck,
+and he splashes along; it was getting dark, too.&nbsp; All at once,
+by the mainmast, somebody catches him by the arm.&nbsp; Stafford.&nbsp;
+He wasn&rsquo;t thinking of Stafford at all.&nbsp; Captain Harry had
+said something as to the mate not being quite satisfactory, but it wasn&rsquo;t
+much.&nbsp; Cloete doesn&rsquo;t recognise him in his oilskins at first.&nbsp;
+He sees a white face with big eyes peering at him. . . Are you pleased,
+Mr. Cloete . . . ?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete is moved to laugh at the whine, and shakes him off.&nbsp;
+But the fellow scrambles on after him on the poop and follows him down
+into the cabin of that wrecked ship.&nbsp; And there they are, the two
+of them; can hardly see each other. . . You don&rsquo;t mean to make
+me believe you have had anything to do with this, says Cloete. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They both shiver, nearly out of their wits with the excitement
+of being on board that ship.&nbsp; She thumps and lurches, and they
+stagger together, feeling sick.&nbsp; Cloete again bursts out laughing
+at that wretched creature Stafford pretending to have been up to something
+so desperate. . . Is that how you think you can treat me now? yells
+the other man all of a sudden. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A sea strikes the stern, the ship trembles and groans all
+round them, there&rsquo;s the noise of the seas about and overhead,
+confusing Cloete, and he hears the other screaming as if crazy. . .
+Ah, you don&rsquo;t believe me!&nbsp; Go and look at the port chain.&nbsp;
+Parted?&nbsp; Eh?&nbsp; Go and see if it&rsquo;s parted.&nbsp; Go and
+find the broken link.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no
+broken link.&nbsp; That means a thousand pounds for me.&nbsp; No less.&nbsp;
+A thousand the day after we get ashore&mdash;prompt.&nbsp; I won&rsquo;t
+wait till she breaks up, Mr. Cloete.&nbsp; To the underwriters I go
+if I&rsquo;ve to walk to London on my bare feet.&nbsp; Port cable!&nbsp;
+Look at her port cable, I will say to them.&nbsp; I doctored it&mdash;for
+the owners&mdash;tempted by a low rascal called Cloete.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete does not understand what it means exactly.&nbsp; All
+he sees is that the fellow means to make mischief.&nbsp; He sees trouble
+ahead. . . Do you think you can scare me? he asks,&mdash;you poor miserable
+skunk. . . And Stafford faces him out&mdash;both holding on to the cabin
+table: No, damn you, you are only a dirty vagabond; but I can scare
+the other, the chap in the black coat. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meaning George Dunbar.&nbsp; Cloete&rsquo;s brain reels at
+the thought.&nbsp; He doesn&rsquo;t imagine the fellow can do any real
+harm, but he knows what George is; give the show away; upset the whole
+business he had set his heart on.&nbsp; He says nothing; he hears the
+other, what with the funk and strain and excitement, panting like a
+dog&mdash;and then a snarl. . . A thousand down, twenty-four hours after
+we get ashore; day after to-morrow.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s my last word,
+Mr. Cloete. . . A thousand pounds, day after to-morrow, says Cloete.&nbsp;
+Oh yes.&nbsp; And to-day take this, you dirty cur. . . He hits straight
+from the shoulder in sheer rage, nothing else.&nbsp; Stafford goes away
+spinning along the bulk-head.&nbsp; Seeing this, Cloete steps out and
+lands him another one somewhere about the jaw.&nbsp; The fellow staggers
+backward right into the captain&rsquo;s cabin through the open door.&nbsp;
+Cloete, following him up, hears him fall down heavily and roll to leeward,
+then slams the door to and turns the key. . . There! says he to himself,
+that will stop you from making trouble.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; I murmured.</p>
+<p>The old fellow departed from his impressive immobility to turn his
+rakishly hatted head and look at me with his old, black, lack-lustre
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He did leave him there,&rdquo; he uttered, weightily, returning
+to the contemplation of the wall.&nbsp; &ldquo;Cloete didn&rsquo;t mean
+to allow anybody, let alone a thing like Stafford, to stand in the way
+of his great notion of making George and himself, and Captain Harry,
+too, for that matter, rich men.&nbsp; And he didn&rsquo;t think much
+of consequences.&nbsp; These patent-medicine chaps don&rsquo;t care
+what they say or what they do.&nbsp; They think the world&rsquo;s bound
+to swallow any story they like to tell. . . He stands listening for
+a bit.&nbsp; And it gives him quite a turn to hear a thump at the door
+and a sort of muffled raving screech inside the captain&rsquo;s room.&nbsp;
+He thinks he hears his own name, too, through the awful crash as the
+old <i>Sagamore</i> rises and falls to a sea.&nbsp; That noise and that
+awful shock make him clear out of the cabin.&nbsp; He collects his senses
+on the poop.&nbsp; But his heart sinks a little at the black wildness
+of the night.&nbsp; Chances that he will get drowned himself before
+long.&nbsp; Puts his head down the companion.&nbsp; Through the wind
+and breaking seas he can hear the noise of Stafford&rsquo;s beating
+against the door and cursing.&nbsp; He listens and says to himself:
+No.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t trust him now. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When he gets back to the top of the deck-house he says to
+Captain Harry, who asks him if he got the things, that he is very sorry.&nbsp;
+There was something wrong with the door.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t open it.&nbsp;
+And to tell you the truth, says he, I didn&rsquo;t like to stop any
+longer in that cabin.&nbsp; There are noises there as if the ship were
+going to pieces. . . Captain Harry thinks: Nervous; can&rsquo;t be anything
+wrong with the door.&nbsp; But he says: Thanks&mdash;never mind, never
+mind. . . All hands looking out now for the life-boat.&nbsp; Everybody
+thinking of himself rather.&nbsp; Cloete asks himself, will they miss
+him?&nbsp; But the fact is that Mr. Stafford had made such poor show
+at sea that after the ship struck nobody ever paid any attention to
+him.&nbsp; Nobody cared what he did or where he was.&nbsp; Pitch dark,
+too&mdash;no counting of heads.&nbsp; The light of the tug with the
+lifeboat in tow is seen making for the ship, and Captain Harry asks:
+Are we all there? . . . Somebody answers: All here, sir. . . Stand by
+to leave the ship, then, says Captain Harry; and two of you help the
+gentleman over first. . . Aye, aye, sir. . . Cloete was moved to ask
+Captain Harry to let him stay till last, but the life-boat drops on
+a grapnel abreast the fore-rigging, two chaps lay hold of him, watch
+their chance, and drop him into her, all safe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s nearly exhausted; not used to that sort of thing,
+you see.&nbsp; He sits in the stern-sheets with his eyes shut.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t want to look at the white water boiling all around.&nbsp;
+The men drop into the boat one after another.&nbsp; Then he hears Captain
+Harry&rsquo;s voice shouting in the wind to the coxswain, to hold on
+a moment, and some other words he can&rsquo;t catch, and the coxswain
+yelling back: Don&rsquo;t be long, sir. . . What is it?&nbsp; Cloete
+asks feeling faint. . . Something about the ship&rsquo;s papers, says
+the coxswain, very anxious.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s no time to be fooling about
+alongside, you understand.&nbsp; They haul the boat off a little and
+wait.&nbsp; The water flies over her in sheets.&nbsp; Cloete&rsquo;s
+senses almost leave him.&nbsp; He thinks of nothing.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s
+numb all over, till there&rsquo;s a shout: Here he is! . . . They see
+a figure in the fore-rigging waiting&mdash;they slack away on the grapnel-line
+and get him in the boat quite easy.&nbsp; There is a little shouting&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+all mixed up with the noise of the sea.&nbsp; Cloete fancies that Stafford&rsquo;s
+voice is talking away quite close to his ear.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a
+lull in the wind, and Stafford&rsquo;s voice seems to be speaking very
+fast to the coxswain; he tells him that of course he was near his skipper,
+was all the time near him, till the old man said at the last moment
+that he must go and get the ship&rsquo;s papers from aft; would insist
+on going himself; told him, Stafford, to get into the life-boat. . .
+He had meant to wait for his skipper, only there came this smooth of
+the seas, and he thought he would take his chance at once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete opens his eyes.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s Stafford
+sitting close by him in that crowded life-boat.&nbsp; The coxswain stoops
+over Cloete and cries: Did you hear what the mate said, sir? . . . Cloete&rsquo;s
+face feels as if it were set in plaster, lips and all.&nbsp; Yes, I
+did, he forces himself to answer.&nbsp; The coxswain waits a moment,
+then says: I don&rsquo;t like it. . . And he turns to the mate, telling
+him it was a pity he did not try to run along the deck and hurry up
+the captain when the lull came.&nbsp; Stafford answers at once that
+he did think of it, only he was afraid of missing him on the deck in
+the dark.&nbsp; For, says he, the captain might have got over at once,
+thinking I was already in the life-boat, and you would have hauled off
+perhaps, leaving me behind. . . True enough, says the coxswain.&nbsp;
+A minute or so passes.&nbsp; This won&rsquo;t do, mutters the coxswain.&nbsp;
+Suddenly Stafford speaks up in a sort of hollow voice: I was by when
+he told Mr. Cloete here that he didn&rsquo;t know how he would ever
+have the courage to leave the old ship; didn&rsquo;t he, now? . . .
+And Cloete feels his arm being gripped quietly in the dark. . . Didn&rsquo;t
+he now?&nbsp; We were standing together just before you went over, Mr.
+Cloete? . . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just then the coxswain cries out: I&rsquo;m going on board
+to see. . . Cloete tears his arm away: I am going with you. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When they get aboard, the coxswain tells Cloete to go aft
+along one side of the ship and he would go along the other so as not
+to miss the captain. . . And feel about with your hands, too, says he;
+he might have fallen and be lying insensible somewhere on the deck.
+. . When Cloete gets at last to the cabin companion on the poop the
+coxswain is already there, peering down and sniffing.&nbsp; I detect
+a smell of smoke down there, says he.&nbsp; And he yells: Are you there,
+sir? . . . This is not a case for shouting, says Cloete, feeling his
+heart go stony, as it were. . . Down they go.&nbsp; Pitch dark; the
+inclination so sharp that the coxswain, groping his way into the captain&rsquo;s
+room, slips and goes tumbling down.&nbsp; Cloete hears him cry out as
+though he had hurt himself, and asks what&rsquo;s the matter.&nbsp;
+And the coxswain answers quietly that he had fallen on the captain,
+lying there insensible.&nbsp; Cloete without a word begins to grope
+all over the shelves for a box of matches, finds one, and strikes a
+light.&nbsp; He sees the coxswain in his cork jacket kneeling over Captain
+Harry. . . Blood, says the coxswain, looking up, and the match goes
+out. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait a bit, says Cloete; I&rsquo;ll make paper spills. . .
+He had felt the back of books on the shelves.&nbsp; And so he stands
+lighting one spill from another while the coxswain turns poor Captain
+Harry over.&nbsp; Dead, he says.&nbsp; Shot through the heart.&nbsp;
+Here&rsquo;s the revolver. . . He hands it up to Cloete, who looks at
+it before putting it in his pocket, and sees a plate on the butt with
+<i>H. Dunbar</i> on it. . . His own, he mutters. . . Whose else revolver
+did you expect to find? snaps the coxswain.&nbsp; And look, he took
+off his long oilskin in the cabin before he went in.&nbsp; But what&rsquo;s
+this lot of burnt paper?&nbsp; What could he want to burn the ship&rsquo;s
+papers for? . . .</p>
+<p>Cloete sees all, the little drawers drawn out, and asks the coxswain
+to look well into them. . . There&rsquo;s nothing, says the man.&nbsp;
+Cleaned out.&nbsp; Seems to have pulled out all he could lay his hands
+on and set fire to the lot.&nbsp; Mad&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is&mdash;went
+mad.&nbsp; And now he&rsquo;s dead.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll have to break
+it to his wife. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I feel as if I were going mad myself, says Cloete, suddenly,
+and the coxswain begs him for God&rsquo;s sake to pull himself together,
+and drags him away from the cabin.&nbsp; They had to leave the body,
+and as it was they were just in time before a furious squall came on.&nbsp;
+Cloete is dragged into the life-boat and the coxswain tumbles in.&nbsp;
+Haul away on the grapnel, he shouts; the captain has shot himself. .
+.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete was like a dead man&mdash;didn&rsquo;t care for anything.&nbsp;
+He let that Stafford pinch his arm twice without making a sign.&nbsp;
+Most of Westport was on the old pier to see the men out of the life-boat,
+and at first there was a sort of confused cheery uproar when she came
+alongside; but after the coxswain has shouted something the voices die
+out, and everybody is very quiet.&nbsp; As soon as Cloete has set foot
+on something firm he becomes himself again.&nbsp; The coxswain shakes
+hands with him: Poor woman, poor woman, I&rsquo;d rather you had the
+job than I. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s the mate?&rdquo; asks Cloete.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s
+the last man who spoke to the master. . . Somebody ran along&mdash;the
+crew were being taken to the Mission Hall, where there was a fire and
+shake-downs ready for them&mdash;somebody ran along the pier and caught
+up with Stafford. . . Here!&nbsp; The owner&rsquo;s agent wants you.
+. . Cloete tucks the fellow&rsquo;s arm under his own and walks away
+with him to the left, where the fishing-harbour is. . . I suppose I
+haven&rsquo;t misunderstood you.&nbsp; You wish me to look after you
+a bit, says he.&nbsp; The other hangs on him rather limp, but gives
+a nasty little laugh: You had better, he mumbles; but mind, no tricks;
+no tricks, Mr. Cloete; we are on land now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a police office within fifty yards from here,
+says Cloete.&nbsp; He turns into a little public house, pushes Stafford
+along the passage.&nbsp; The landlord runs out of the bar. . . This
+is the mate of the ship on the rocks, Cloete explains; I wish you would
+take care of him a bit to-night. . . What&rsquo;s the matter with him?
+asks the man.&nbsp; Stafford leans against the wall in the passage,
+looking ghastly.&nbsp; And Cloete says it&rsquo;s nothing&mdash;done
+up, of course. . . I will be responsible for the expense; I am the owner&rsquo;s
+agent.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be round in an hour or two to see him.</p>
+<p>And Cloete gets back to the hotel.&nbsp; The news had travelled there
+already, and the first thing he sees is George outside the door as white
+as a sheet waiting for him.&nbsp; Cloete just gives him a nod and they
+go in.&nbsp; Mrs. Harry stands at the head of the stairs, and, when
+she sees only these two coming up, flings her arms above her head and
+runs into her room.&nbsp; Nobody had dared tell her, but not seeing
+her husband was enough.&nbsp; Cloete hears an awful shriek. . . Go to
+her, he says to George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;While he&rsquo;s alone in the private parlour Cloete drinks
+a glass of brandy and thinks it all out.&nbsp; Then George comes in.
+. . The landlady&rsquo;s with her, he says.&nbsp; And he begins to walk
+up and down the room, flinging his arms about and talking, disconnected
+like, his face set hard as Cloete has never seen it before. . . What
+must be, must be.&nbsp; Dead&mdash;only brother.&nbsp; Well, dead&mdash;his
+troubles over.&nbsp; But we are living, he says to Cloete; and I suppose,
+says he, glaring at him with hot, dry eyes, that you won&rsquo;t forget
+to wire in the morning to your friend that we are coming in for certain.
+. .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Meaning the patent-medicine fellow. . . Death is death and
+business is business, George goes on; and look&mdash;my hands are clean,
+he says, showing them to Cloete.&nbsp; Cloete thinks: He&rsquo;s going
+crazy.&nbsp; He catches hold of him by the shoulders and begins to shake
+him: Damn you&mdash;if you had had the sense to know what to say to
+your brother, if you had had the spunk to speak to him at all, you moral
+creature you, he would be alive now, he shouts.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At this George stares, then bursts out weeping with a great
+bellow.&nbsp; He throws himself on the couch, buries his face in a cushion,
+and howls like a kid. . . That&rsquo;s better, thinks Cloete, and he
+leaves him, telling the landlord that he must go out, as he has some
+little business to attend to that night.&nbsp; The landlord&rsquo;s
+wife, weeping herself, catches him on the stairs: Oh, sir, that poor
+lady will go out of her mind. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete shakes her off, thinking to himself: Oh no!&nbsp; She
+won&rsquo;t.&nbsp; She will get over it.&nbsp; Nobody will go mad about
+this affair unless I do.&nbsp; It isn&rsquo;t sorrow that makes people
+go mad, but worry.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There Cloete was wrong.&nbsp; What affected Mrs. Harry was
+that her husband should take his own life, with her, as it were, looking
+on.&nbsp; She brooded over it so that in less than a year they had to
+put her into a Home.&nbsp; She was very, very quiet; just gentle melancholy.&nbsp;
+She lived for quite a long time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Cloete splashes along in the wind and rain.&nbsp; Nobody
+in the streets&mdash;all the excitement over.&nbsp; The publican runs
+out to meet him in the passage and says to him: Not this way.&nbsp;
+He isn&rsquo;t in his room.&nbsp; We couldn&rsquo;t get him to go to
+bed nohow.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s in the little parlour there.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve
+lighted him a fire. . . You have been giving him drinks too, says Cloete;
+I never said I would be responsible for drinks.&nbsp; How many? . .
+. Two, says the other.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s all right.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+mind doing that much for a shipwrecked sailor. . . Cloete smiles his
+funny smile: Eh?&nbsp; Come.&nbsp; He paid for them. . . The publican
+just blinks. . . Gave you gold, didn&rsquo;t he?&nbsp; Speak up! . .
+. What of that! cries the man.&nbsp; What are you after, anyway?&nbsp;
+He had the right change for his sovereign.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just so, says Cloete.&nbsp; He walks into the parlour, and
+there he sees our Stafford; hair all up on end, landlord&rsquo;s shirt
+and pants on, bare feet in slippers, sitting by the fire.&nbsp; When
+he sees Cloete he casts his eyes down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t mean us ever to meet again, Mr. Cloete, Stafford
+says, demurely. . . That fellow, when he had the drink he wanted&mdash;he
+wasn&rsquo;t a drunkard&mdash;would put on this sort of sly, modest
+air. . . But since the captain committed suicide, he says, I have been
+sitting here thinking it out.&nbsp; All sorts of things happen.&nbsp;
+Conspiracy to lose the ship&mdash;attempted murder&mdash;and this suicide.&nbsp;
+For if it was not suicide, Mr. Cloete, then I know of a victim of the
+most cruel, cold-blooded attempt at murder; somebody who has suffered
+a thousand deaths.&nbsp; And that makes the thousand pounds of which
+we spoke once a quite insignificant sum.&nbsp; Look how very convenient
+this suicide is. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He looks up at Cloete then, who smiles at him and comes quite
+close to the table.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You killed Harry Dunbar, he whispers. . . The fellow glares
+at him and shows his teeth: Of course I did!&nbsp; I had been in that
+cabin for an hour and a half like a rat in a trap. . . Shut up and left
+to drown in that wreck.&nbsp; Let flesh and blood judge.&nbsp; Of course
+I shot him!&nbsp; I thought it was you, you murdering scoundrel, come
+back to settle me.&nbsp; He opens the door flying and tumbles right
+down upon me; I had a revolver in my hand, and I shot him.&nbsp; I was
+crazy.&nbsp; Men have gone crazy for less.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete looks at him without flinching.&nbsp; Aha!&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+your story, is it? . . . And he shakes the table a little in his passion
+as he speaks. . . Now listen to mine.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this conspiracy?&nbsp;
+Who&rsquo;s going to prove it?&nbsp; You were there to rob.&nbsp; You
+were rifling his cabin; he came upon you unawares with your hands in
+the drawer; and you shot him with his own revolver.&nbsp; You killed
+to steal&mdash;to steal!&nbsp; His brother and the clerks in the office
+know that he took sixty pounds with him to sea.&nbsp; Sixty pounds in
+gold in a canvas bag.&nbsp; He told me where they were.&nbsp; The coxswain
+of the life-boat can swear to it that the drawers were all empty.&nbsp;
+And you are such a fool that before you&rsquo;re half an hour ashore
+you change a sovereign to pay for a drink.&nbsp; Listen to me.&nbsp;
+If you don&rsquo;t turn up day after to-morrow at George Dunbar&rsquo;s
+solicitors, to make the proper deposition as to the loss of the ship,
+I shall set the police on your track.&nbsp; Day after to-morrow. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then what do you think?&nbsp; That Stafford begins to
+tear his hair.&nbsp; Just so.&nbsp; Tugs at it with both hands without
+saying anything.&nbsp; Cloete gives a push to the table which nearly
+sends the fellow off his chair, tumbling inside the fender; so that
+he has got to catch hold of it to save himself. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know the sort of man I am, Cloete says, fiercely.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve got to a point that I don&rsquo;t care what happens to me.&nbsp;
+I would shoot you now for tuppence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At this the cur dodges under the table.&nbsp; Then Cloete
+goes out, and as he turns in the street&mdash;you know, little fishermen&rsquo;s
+cottages, all dark; raining in torrents, too&mdash;the other opens the
+window of the parlour and speaks in a sort of crying voice -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You low Yankee fiend&mdash;I&rsquo;ll pay you off some day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cloete passes by with a damn bitter laugh, because he thinks
+that the fellow in a way has paid him off already, if he only knew it.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>My impressive ruffian drank what remained of his beer, while his
+black, sunken eyes looked at me over the rim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite understand this,&rdquo; I said.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;In what way?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He unbent a little and explained without too much scorn that Captain
+Harry being dead, his half of the insurance money went to his wife,
+and her trustees of course bought consols with it.&nbsp; Enough to keep
+her comfortable.&nbsp; George Dunbar&rsquo;s half, as Cloete feared
+from the first, did not prove sufficient to launch the medicine well;
+other moneyed men stepped in, and these two had to go out of that business,
+pretty nearly shorn of everything.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am curious,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;to learn what the motive
+force of this tragic affair was&mdash;I mean the patent medicine.&nbsp;
+Do you know?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He named it, and I whistled respectfully.&nbsp; Nothing less than
+Parker&rsquo;s Lively Lumbago Pills.&nbsp; Enormous property!&nbsp;
+You know it; all the world knows it.&nbsp; Every second man, at least,
+on this globe of ours has tried it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why!&rdquo; I cried, &ldquo;they missed an immense fortune.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he mumbled, &ldquo;by the price of a revolver-shot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He told me also that eventually Cloete returned to the States, passenger
+in a cargo-boat from Albert Dock.&nbsp; The night before he sailed he
+met him wandering about the quays, and took him home for a drink.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Funny chap, Cloete.&nbsp; We sat all night drinking grogs, till
+it was time for him to go on board.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was then that Cloete, unembittered but weary, told him this story,
+with that utterly unconscious frankness of a patent-medicine man stranger
+to all moral standards.&nbsp; Cloete concluded by remarking that he,
+had &ldquo;had enough of the old country.&rdquo;&nbsp; George Dunbar
+had turned on him, too, in the end.&nbsp; Cloete was clearly somewhat
+disillusioned.</p>
+<p>As to Stafford, he died, professed loafer, in some East End hospital
+or other, and on his last day clamoured &ldquo;for a parson,&rdquo;
+because his conscience worried him for killing an innocent man.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Wanted somebody to tell him it was all right,&rdquo; growled
+my old ruffian, contemptuously.&nbsp; &ldquo;He told the parson that
+I knew this Cloete who had tried to murder him, and so the parson (he
+worked among the dock labourers) once spoke to me about it.&nbsp; That
+skunk of a fellow finding himself trapped yelled for mercy. . . Promised
+to be good and so on. . . Then he went crazy . . . screamed and threw
+himself about, beat his head against the bulkheads . . . you can guess
+all that&mdash;eh? . . . till he was exhausted.&nbsp; Gave up.&nbsp;
+Threw himself down, shut his eyes, and wanted to pray.&nbsp; So he says.&nbsp;
+Tried to think of some prayer for a quick death&mdash;he was that terrified.&nbsp;
+Thought that if he had a knife or something he would cut his throat,
+and be done with it.&nbsp; Then he thinks: No!&nbsp; Would try to cut
+away the wood about the lock. . . He had no knife in his pocket. . .
+he was weeping and calling on God to send him a tool of some kind when
+suddenly he thinks: Axe!&nbsp; In most ships there is a spare emergency
+axe kept in the master&rsquo;s room in some locker or other. . . Up
+he jumps. . . Pitch dark.&nbsp; &ldquo;Pulls at the drawers to find
+matches and, groping for them, the first thing he comes upon&mdash;Captain
+Harry&rsquo;s revolver.&nbsp; Loaded too.&nbsp; He goes perfectly quiet
+all over.&nbsp; Can shoot the lock to pieces.&nbsp; See?&nbsp; Saved!&nbsp;
+God&rsquo;s providence!&nbsp; There are boxes of matches too.&nbsp;
+Thinks he: I may just as well see what I am about.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Strikes a light and sees the little canvas bag tucked away
+at the back of the drawer.&nbsp; Knew at once what that was.&nbsp; Rams
+it into his pocket quick.&nbsp; Aha! says he to himself: this requires
+more light.&nbsp; So he pitches a lot of paper on the floor, set fire
+to it, and starts in a hurry rummaging for more valuables.&nbsp; Did
+you ever?&nbsp; He told that East-End parson that the devil tempted
+him.&nbsp; First God&rsquo;s mercy&mdash;then devil&rsquo;s work.&nbsp;
+Turn and turn about. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Any squirming skunk can talk like that.&nbsp; He was so busy
+with the drawers that the first thing he heard was a shout, Great Heavens.&nbsp;
+He looks up and there was the door open (Cloete had left the key in
+the lock) and Captain Harry holding on, well above him, very fierce
+in the light of the burning papers.&nbsp; His eyes were starting out
+of his head.&nbsp; Thieving, he thunders at him.&nbsp; A sailor!&nbsp;
+An officer!&nbsp; No!&nbsp; A wretch like you deserves no better than
+to be left here to drown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This Stafford&mdash;on his death-bed&mdash;told the parson
+that when he heard these words he went crazy again.&nbsp; He snatched
+his hand with the revolver in it out of the drawer, and fired without
+aiming.&nbsp; Captain Harry fell right in with a crash like a stone
+on top of the burning papers, putting the blaze out.&nbsp; All dark.&nbsp;
+Not a sound.&nbsp; He listened for a bit then dropped the revolver and
+scrambled out on deck like mad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old fellow struck the table with his ponderous fist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What makes me sick is to hear these silly boat-men telling
+people the captain committed suicide.&nbsp; Pah!&nbsp; Captain Harry
+was a man that could face his Maker any time up there, and here below,
+too.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t the sort to slink out of life.&nbsp; Not
+he!&nbsp; He was a good man down to the ground.&nbsp; He gave me my
+first job as stevedore only three days after I got married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the vindication of Captain Harry from the charge of suicide seemed
+to be his only object, I did not thank him very effusively for his material.&nbsp;
+And then it was not worth many thanks in any case.</p>
+<p>For it is too startling even to think of such things happening in
+our respectable Channel in full view, so to speak, of the luxurious
+continental traffic to Switzerland and Monte Carlo.&nbsp; This story
+to be acceptable should have been transposed to somewhere in the South
+Seas.&nbsp; But it would have been too much trouble to cook it for the
+consumption of magazine readers.&nbsp; So here it is raw, so to speak&mdash;just
+as it was told to me&mdash;but unfortunately robbed of the striking
+effect of the narrator; the most imposing old ruffian that ever followed
+the unromantic trade of master stevedore in the port of London.</p>
+<p>Oct. 1910.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>THE INN OF THE TWO WITCHES&mdash;A FIND</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>This tale, episode, experience&mdash;call it how you will&mdash;was
+related in the fifties of the last century by a man who, by his own
+confession, was sixty years old at the time.&nbsp; Sixty is not a bad
+age&mdash;unless in perspective, when no doubt it is contemplated by
+the majority of us with mixed feelings.&nbsp; It is a calm age; the
+game is practically over by then; and standing aside one begins to remember
+with a certain vividness what a fine fellow one used to be.&nbsp; I
+have observed that, by an amiable attention of Providence, most people
+at sixty begin to take a romantic view of themselves.&nbsp; Their very
+failures exhale a charm of peculiar potency.&nbsp; And indeed the hopes
+of the future are a fine company to live with, exquisite forms, fascinating
+if you like, but&mdash;so to speak&mdash;naked, stripped for a run.&nbsp;
+The robes of glamour are luckily the property of the immovable past
+which, without them, would sit, a shivery sort of thing, under the gathering
+shadows.</p>
+<p>I suppose it was the romanticism of growing age which set our man
+to relate his experience for his own satisfaction or for the wonder
+of his posterity.&nbsp; It could not have been for his glory, because
+the experience was simply that of an abominable fright&mdash;terror
+he calls it.&nbsp; You would have guessed that the relation alluded
+to in the very first lines was in writing.</p>
+<p>This writing constitutes the Find declared in the sub-title.&nbsp;
+The title itself is my own contrivance, (can&rsquo;t call it invention),
+and has the merit of veracity.&nbsp; We will be concerned with an inn
+here.&nbsp; As to the witches that&rsquo;s merely a conventional expression,
+and we must take our man&rsquo;s word for it that it fits the case.</p>
+<p>The Find was made in a box of books bought in London, in a street
+which no longer exists, from a second-hand bookseller in the last stage
+of decay.&nbsp; As to the books themselves they were at least twentieth-hand,
+and on inspection turned out not worth the very small sum of money I
+disbursed.&nbsp; It might have been some premonition of that fact which
+made me say: &ldquo;But I must have the box too.&rdquo;&nbsp; The decayed
+bookseller assented by the careless, tragic gesture of a man already
+doomed to extinction.</p>
+<p>A litter of loose pages at the bottom of the box excited my curiosity
+but faintly.&nbsp; The close, neat, regular handwriting was not attractive
+at first sight.&nbsp; But in one place the statement that in A.D. 1813
+the writer was twenty-two years old caught my eye.&nbsp; Two and twenty
+is an interesting age in which one is easily reckless and easily frightened;
+the faculty of reflection being weak and the power of imagination strong.</p>
+<p>In another place the phrase: &ldquo;At night we stood in again,&rdquo;
+arrested my languid attention, because it was a sea phrase.&nbsp; &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s
+see what it is all about,&rdquo; I thought, without excitement.</p>
+<p>Oh! but it was a dull-faced MS., each line resembling every other
+line in their close-set and regular order.&nbsp; It was like the drone
+of a monotonous voice.&nbsp; A treatise on sugar-refining (the dreariest
+subject I can think of) could have been given a more lively appearance.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;In A.D. 1813, I was twenty-two years old,&rdquo; he begins earnestly
+and goes on with every appearance of calm, horrible industry.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t imagine, however, that there is anything archaic in my find.&nbsp;
+Diabolic ingenuity in invention though as old as the world is by no
+means a lost art.&nbsp; Look at the telephones for shattering the little
+peace of mind given to us in this world, or at the machine guns for
+letting with dispatch life out of our bodies.&nbsp; Now-a-days any blear-eyed
+old witch if only strong enough to turn an insignificant little handle
+could lay low a hundred young men of twenty in the twinkling of an eye.</p>
+<p>If this isn&rsquo;t progress! . . . Why immense!&nbsp; We have moved
+on, and so you must expect to meet here a certain naiveness of contrivance
+and simplicity of aim appertaining to the remote epoch.&nbsp; And of
+course no motoring tourist can hope to find such an inn anywhere, now.&nbsp;
+This one, the one of the title, was situated in Spain.&nbsp; That much
+I discovered only from internal evidence, because a good many pages
+of that relation were missing&mdash;perhaps not a great misfortune after
+all.&nbsp; The writer seemed to have entered into a most elaborate detail
+of the why and wherefore of his presence on that coast&mdash;presumably
+the north coast of Spain.&nbsp; His experience has nothing to do with
+the sea, though.&nbsp; As far as I can make it out, he was an officer
+on board a sloop-of-war.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s nothing strange in that.&nbsp;
+At all stages of the long Peninsular campaign many of our men-of-war
+of the smaller kind were cruising off the north coast of Spain&mdash;as
+risky and disagreeable a station as can be well imagined.</p>
+<p>It looks as though that ship of his had had some special service
+to perform.&nbsp; A careful explanation of all the circumstances was
+to be expected from our man, only, as I&rsquo;ve said, some of his pages
+(good tough paper too) were missing: gone in covers for jampots or in
+wadding for the fowling-pieces of his irreverent posterity.&nbsp; But
+it is to be seen clearly that communication with the shore and even
+the sending of messengers inland was part of her service, either to
+obtain intelligence from or to transmit orders or advice to patriotic
+Spaniards, guerilleros or secret juntas of the province.&nbsp; Something
+of the sort.&nbsp; All this can be only inferred from the preserved
+scraps of his conscientious writing.</p>
+<p>Next we come upon the panegyric of a very fine sailor, a member of
+the ship&rsquo;s company, having the rating of the captain&rsquo;s coxswain.&nbsp;
+He was known on board as Cuba Tom; not because he was Cuban however;
+he was indeed the best type of a genuine British tar of that time, and
+a man-of-war&rsquo;s man for years.&nbsp; He came by the name on account
+of some wonderful adventures he had in that island in his young days,
+adventures which were the favourite subject of the yarns he was in the
+habit of spinning to his shipmates of an evening on the forecastle head.&nbsp;
+He was intelligent, very strong, and of proved courage.&nbsp; Incidentally
+we are told, so exact is our narrator, that Tom had the finest pigtail
+for thickness and length of any man in the Navy.&nbsp; This appendage,
+much cared for and sheathed tightly in a porpoise skin, hung half way
+down his broad back to the great admiration of all beholders and to
+the great envy of some.</p>
+<p>Our young officer dwells on the manly qualities of Cuba Tom with
+something like affection.&nbsp; This sort of relation between officer
+and man was not then very rare.&nbsp; A youngster on joining the service
+was put under the charge of a trustworthy seaman, who slung his first
+hammock for him and often later on became a sort of humble friend to
+the junior officer.&nbsp; The narrator on joining the sloop had found
+this man on board after some years of separation.&nbsp; There is something
+touching in the warm pleasure he remembers and records at this meeting
+with the professional mentor of his boyhood.</p>
+<p>We discover then that, no Spaniard being forthcoming for the service,
+this worthy seaman with the unique pigtail and a very high character
+for courage and steadiness had been selected as messenger for one of
+these missions inland which have been mentioned.&nbsp; His preparations
+were not elaborate.&nbsp; One gloomy autumn morning the sloop ran close
+to a shallow cove where a landing could be made on that iron-bound shore.&nbsp;
+A boat was lowered, and pulled in with Tom Corbin (Cuba Tom) perched
+in the bow, and our young man (Mr. Edgar Byrne was his name on this
+earth which knows him no more) sitting in the stern sheets.</p>
+<p>A few inhabitants of a hamlet, whose grey stone houses could be seen
+a hundred yards or so up a deep ravine, had come down to the shore and
+watched the approach of the boat.&nbsp; The two Englishmen leaped ashore.&nbsp;
+Either from dullness or astonishment the peasants gave no greeting,
+and only fell back in silence.</p>
+<p>Mr. Byrne had made up his mind to see Tom Corbin started fairly on
+his way.&nbsp; He looked round at the heavy surprised faces.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There isn&rsquo;t much to get out of them,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Let us walk up to the village.&nbsp; There will be a wine shop
+for sure where we may find somebody more promising to talk to and get
+some information from.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, aye, sir,&rdquo; said Tom falling into step behind his
+officer.&nbsp; &ldquo;A bit of palaver as to courses and distances can
+do no harm; I crossed the broadest part of Cuba by the help of my tongue
+tho&rsquo; knowing far less Spanish than I do now.&nbsp; As they say
+themselves it was &lsquo;four words and no more&rsquo; with me, that
+time when I got left behind on shore by the <i>Blanche</i>, frigate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He made light of what was before him, which was but a day&rsquo;s
+journey into the mountains.&nbsp; It is true that there was a full day&rsquo;s
+journey before striking the mountain path, but that was nothing for
+a man who had crossed the island of Cuba on his two legs, and with no
+more than four words of the language to begin with.</p>
+<p>The officer and the man were walking now on a thick sodden bed of
+dead leaves, which the peasants thereabouts accumulate in the streets
+of their villages to rot during the winter for field manure.&nbsp; Turning
+his head Mr. Byrne perceived that the whole male population of the hamlet
+was following them on the noiseless springy carpet.&nbsp; Women stared
+from the doors of the houses and the children had apparently gone into
+hiding.&nbsp; The village knew the ship by sight, afar off, but no stranger
+had landed on that spot perhaps for a hundred years or more.&nbsp; The
+cocked hat of Mr. Byrne, the bushy whiskers and the enormous pigtail
+of the sailor, filled them with mute wonder.&nbsp; They pressed behind
+the two Englishmen staring like those islanders discovered by Captain
+Cook in the South Seas.</p>
+<p>It was then that Byrne had his first glimpse of the little cloaked
+man in a yellow hat.&nbsp; Faded and dingy as it was, this covering
+for his head made him noticeable.</p>
+<p>The entrance to the wine shop was like a rough hole in a wall of
+flints.&nbsp; The owner was the only person who was not in the street,
+for he came out from the darkness at the back where the inflated forms
+of wine skins hung on nails could be vaguely distinguished.&nbsp; He
+was a tall, one-eyed Asturian with scrubby, hollow cheeks; a grave expression
+of countenance contrasted enigmatically with the roaming restlessness
+of his solitary eye.&nbsp; On learning that the matter in hand was the
+sending on his way of that English mariner toward a certain Gonzales
+in the mountains, he closed his good eye for a moment as if in meditation.&nbsp;
+Then opened it, very lively again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Possibly, possibly.&nbsp; It could be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A friendly murmur arose in the group in the doorway at the name of
+Gonzales, the local leader against the French.&nbsp; Inquiring as to
+the safety of the road Byrne was glad to learn that no troops of that
+nation had been seen in the neighbourhood for months.&nbsp; Not the
+smallest little detachment of these impious <i>polizones</i>.&nbsp;
+While giving these answers the owner of the wine-shop busied himself
+in drawing into an earthenware jug some wine which he set before the
+heretic English, pocketing with grave abstraction the small piece of
+money the officer threw upon the table in recognition of the unwritten
+law that none may enter a wine-shop without buying drink.&nbsp; His
+eye was in constant motion as if it were trying to do the work of the
+two; but when Byrne made inquiries as to the possibility of hiring a
+mule, it became immovably fixed in the direction of the door which was
+closely besieged by the curious.&nbsp; In front of them, just within
+the threshold, the little man in the large cloak and yellow hat had
+taken his stand.&nbsp; He was a diminutive person, a mere homunculus,
+Byrne describes him, in a ridiculously mysterious, yet assertive attitude,
+a corner of his cloak thrown cavalierly over his left shoulder, muffling
+his chin and mouth; while the broad-brimmed yellow hat hung on a corner
+of his square little head.&nbsp; He stood there taking snuff, repeatedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A mule,&rdquo; repeated the wine-seller, his eyes fixed on
+that quaint and snuffy figure. . . &ldquo;No, se&ntilde;or officer!&nbsp;
+Decidedly no mule is to be got in this poor place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The coxswain, who stood by with the true sailor&rsquo;s air of unconcern
+in strange surroundings, struck in quietly -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If your honour will believe me Shank&rsquo;s pony&rsquo;s
+the best for this job.&nbsp; I would have to leave the beast somewhere,
+anyhow, since the captain has told me that half my way will be along
+paths fit only for goats.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The diminutive man made a step forward, and speaking through the
+folds of the cloak which seemed to muffle a sarcastic intention -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Si, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; They are too honest in this village
+to have a single mule amongst them for your worship&rsquo;s service.&nbsp;
+To that I can bear testimony.&nbsp; In these times it&rsquo;s only rogues
+or very clever men who can manage to have mules or any other four-footed
+beasts and the wherewithal to keep them.&nbsp; But what this valiant
+mariner wants is a guide; and here, se&ntilde;or, behold my brother-in-law,
+Bernardino, wine-seller, and alcade of this most Christian and hospitable
+village, who will find you one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This, Mr. Byrne says in his relation, was the only thing to do.&nbsp;
+A youth in a ragged coat and goat-skin breeches was produced after some
+more talk.&nbsp; The English officer stood treat to the whole village,
+and while the peasants drank he and Cuba Tom took their departure accompanied
+by the guide.&nbsp; The diminutive man in the cloak had disappeared.</p>
+<p>Byrne went along with the coxswain out of the village.&nbsp; He wanted
+to see him fairly on his way; and he would have gone a greater distance,
+if the seaman had not suggested respectfully the advisability of return
+so as not to keep the ship a moment longer than necessary so close in
+with the shore on such an unpromising looking morning.&nbsp; A wild
+gloomy sky hung over their heads when they took leave of each other,
+and their surroundings of rank bushes and stony fields were dreary.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In four days&rsquo; time,&rdquo; were Byrne&rsquo;s last words,
+&ldquo;the ship will stand in and send a boat on shore if the weather
+permits.&nbsp; If not you&rsquo;ll have to make it out on shore the
+best you can till we come along to take you off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right you are, sir,&rdquo; answered Tom, and strode on.&nbsp;
+Byrne watched him step out on a narrow path.&nbsp; In a thick pea-jacket
+with a pair of pistols in his belt, a cutlass by his side, and a stout
+cudgel in his hand, he looked a sturdy figure and well able to take
+care of himself.&nbsp; He turned round for a moment to wave his hand,
+giving to Byrne one more view of his honest bronzed face with bushy
+whiskers.&nbsp; The lad in goatskin breeches looking, Byrne says, like
+a faun or a young satyr leaping ahead, stopped to wait for him, and
+then went off at a bound.&nbsp; Both disappeared.</p>
+<p>Byrne turned back.&nbsp; The hamlet was hidden in a fold of the ground,
+and the spot seemed the most lonely corner of the earth and as if accursed
+in its uninhabited desolate barrenness.&nbsp; Before he had walked many
+yards, there appeared very suddenly from behind a bush the muffled up
+diminutive Spaniard.&nbsp; Naturally Byrne stopped short.</p>
+<p>The other made a mysterious gesture with a tiny hand peeping from
+under his cloak.&nbsp; His hat hung very much at the side of his head.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Se&ntilde;or,&rdquo; he said without any preliminaries.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Caution!&nbsp; It is a positive fact that one-eyed Bernardino,
+my brother-in-law, has at this moment a mule in his stable.&nbsp; And
+why he who is not clever has a mule there?&nbsp; Because he is a rogue;
+a man without conscience.&nbsp; Because I had to give up the <i>macho</i>
+to him to secure for myself a roof to sleep under and a mouthful of
+<i>olla</i> to keep my soul in this insignificant body of mine.&nbsp;
+Yet, se&ntilde;or, it contains a heart many times bigger than the mean
+thing which beats in the breast of that brute connection of mine of
+which I am ashamed, though I opposed that marriage with all my power.&nbsp;
+Well, the misguided woman suffered enough.&nbsp; She had her purgatory
+on this earth&mdash;God rest her soul.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Byrne says he was so astonished by the sudden appearance of that
+sprite-like being, and by the sardonic bitterness of the speech, that
+he was unable to disentangle the significant fact from what seemed but
+a piece of family history fired out at him without rhyme or reason.&nbsp;
+Not at first.&nbsp; He was confounded and at the same time he was impressed
+by the rapid forcible delivery, quite different from the frothy excited
+loquacity of an Italian.&nbsp; So he stared while the homunculus letting
+his cloak fall about him, aspired an immense quantity of snuff out of
+the hollow of his palm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A mule,&rdquo; exclaimed Byrne seizing at last the real aspect
+of the discourse.&nbsp; &ldquo;You say he has got a mule?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+queer!&nbsp; Why did he refuse to let me have it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The diminutive Spaniard muffled himself up again with great dignity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Quien sabe</i>,&rdquo; he said coldly, with a shrug of
+his draped shoulders.&nbsp; &ldquo;He is a great <i>politico</i> in
+everything he does.&nbsp; But one thing your worship may be certain
+of&mdash;that his intentions are always rascally.&nbsp; This husband
+of my <i>defunta</i> sister ought to have been married a long time ago
+to the widow with the wooden legs.&rdquo; <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a></p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see.&nbsp; But remember that; whatever your motives, your
+worship countenanced him in this lie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The bright unhappy eyes on each side of a predatory nose confronted
+Byrne without wincing, while with that testiness which lurks so often
+at the bottom of Spanish dignity -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt the se&ntilde;or officer would not lose an ounce
+of blood if I were stuck under the fifth rib,&rdquo; he retorted.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But what of this poor sinner here?&rdquo;&nbsp; Then changing
+his tone.&nbsp; &ldquo;Se&ntilde;or, by the necessities of the times
+I live here in exile, a Castilian and an old Christian, existing miserably
+in the midst of these brute Asturians, and dependent on the worst of
+them all, who has less conscience and scruples than a wolf.&nbsp; And
+being a man of intelligence I govern myself accordingly.&nbsp; Yet I
+can hardly contain my scorn.&nbsp; You have heard the way I spoke.&nbsp;
+A caballero of parts like your worship might have guessed that there
+was a cat in there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What cat?&rdquo; said Byrne uneasily.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, I see.&nbsp;
+Something suspicious.&nbsp; No, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; I guessed nothing.&nbsp;
+My nation are not good guessers at that sort of thing; and, therefore,
+I ask you plainly whether that wine-seller has spoken the truth in other
+particulars?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are certainly no Frenchmen anywhere about,&rdquo; said
+the little man with a return to his indifferent manner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or robbers&mdash;<i>ladrones</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Ladrones en grande&mdash;</i>no!&nbsp; Assuredly not,&rdquo;
+was the answer in a cold philosophical tone.&nbsp; &ldquo;What is there
+left for them to do after the French?&nbsp; And nobody travels in these
+times.&nbsp; But who can say!&nbsp; Opportunity makes the robber.&nbsp;
+Still that mariner of yours has a fierce aspect, and with the son of
+a cat rats will have no play.&nbsp; But there is a saying, too, that
+where honey is there will soon be flies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This oracular discourse exasperated Byrne.&nbsp; &ldquo;In the name
+of God,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;tell me plainly if you think my man
+is reasonably safe on his journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The homunculus, undergoing one of his rapid changes, seized the officer&rsquo;s
+arm.&nbsp; The grip of his little hand was astonishing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Se&ntilde;or!&nbsp; Bernardino had taken notice of him.&nbsp;
+What more do you want?&nbsp; And listen&mdash;men have disappeared on
+this road&mdash;on a certain portion of this road, when Bernardino kept
+a <i>meson</i>, an inn, and I, his brother-in-law, had coaches and mules
+for hire.&nbsp; Now there are no travellers, no coaches.&nbsp; The French
+have ruined me.&nbsp; Bernardino has retired here for reasons of his
+own after my sister died.&nbsp; They were three to torment the life
+out of her, he and Erminia and Lucilla, two aunts of his&mdash;all affiliated
+to the devil.&nbsp; And now he has robbed me of my last mule.&nbsp;
+You are an armed man.&nbsp; Demand the <i>macho</i> from him, with a
+pistol to his head, se&ntilde;or&mdash;it is not his, I tell you&mdash;and
+ride after your man who is so precious to you.&nbsp; And then you shall
+both be safe, for no two travellers have been ever known to disappear
+together in those days.&nbsp; As to the beast, I, its owner, I confide
+it to your honour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were staring hard at each other, and Byrne nearly burst into
+a laugh at the ingenuity and transparency of the little man&rsquo;s
+plot to regain possession of his mule.&nbsp; But he had no difficulty
+to keep a straight face because he felt deep within himself a strange
+inclination to do that very extraordinary thing.&nbsp; He did not laugh,
+but his lip quivered; at which the diminutive Spaniard, detaching his
+black glittering eyes from Byrne&rsquo;s face, turned his back on him
+brusquely with a gesture and a fling of the cloak which somehow expressed
+contempt, bitterness, and discouragement all at once.&nbsp; He turned
+away and stood still, his hat aslant, muffled up to the ears.&nbsp;
+But he was not offended to the point of refusing the silver <i>duro</i>
+which Byrne offered him with a non-committal speech as if nothing extraordinary
+had passed between them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must make haste on board now,&rdquo; said Byrne, then.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Vaya usted con Dios</i>,&rdquo; muttered the gnome.&nbsp;
+And this interview ended with a sarcastic low sweep of the hat which
+was replaced at the same perilous angle as before.</p>
+<p>Directly the boat had been hoisted the ship&rsquo;s sails were filled
+on the off-shore tack, and Byrne imparted the whole story to his captain,
+who was but a very few years older than himself.&nbsp; There was some
+amused indignation at it&mdash;but while they laughed they looked gravely
+at each other.&nbsp; A Spanish dwarf trying to beguile an officer of
+his majesty&rsquo;s navy into stealing a mule for him&mdash;that was
+too funny, too ridiculous, too incredible.&nbsp; Those were the exclamations
+of the captain.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t get over the grotesqueness of
+it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Incredible.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s just it,&rdquo; murmured Byrne
+at last in a significant tone.</p>
+<p>They exchanged a long stare.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s as clear as
+daylight,&rdquo; affirmed the captain impatiently, because in his heart
+he was not certain.&nbsp; And Tom the best seaman in the ship for one,
+the good-humouredly deferential friend of his boyhood for the other,
+was becoming endowed with a compelling fascination, like a symbolic
+figure of loyalty appealing to their feelings and their conscience,
+so that they could not detach their thoughts from his safety.&nbsp;
+Several times they went up on deck, only to look at the coast, as if
+it could tell them something of his fate.&nbsp; It stretched away, lengthening
+in the distance, mute, naked, and savage, veiled now and then by the
+slanting cold shafts of rain.&nbsp; The westerly swell rolled its interminable
+angry lines of foam and big dark clouds flew over the ship in a sinister
+procession.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to goodness you had done what your little friend in
+the yellow hat wanted you to do,&rdquo; said the commander of the sloop
+late in the afternoon with visible exasperation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you, sir?&rdquo; answered Byrne, bitter with positive anguish.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I wonder what you would have said afterwards?&nbsp; Why!&nbsp;
+I might have been kicked out of the service for looting a mule from
+a nation in alliance with His Majesty.&nbsp; Or I might have been battered
+to a pulp with flails and pitch-forks&mdash;a pretty tale to get abroad
+about one of your officers&mdash;while trying to steal a mule.&nbsp;
+Or chased ignominiously to the boat&mdash;for you would not have expected
+me to shoot down unoffending people for the sake of a mangy mule. .
+. And yet,&rdquo; he added in a low voice, &ldquo;I almost wish myself
+I had done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Before dark those two young men had worked themselves up into a highly
+complex psychological state of scornful scepticism and alarmed credulity.&nbsp;
+It tormented them exceedingly; and the thought that it would have to
+last for six days at least, and possibly be prolonged further for an
+indefinite time, was not to be borne.&nbsp; The ship was therefore put
+on the inshore tack at dark.&nbsp; All through the gusty dark night
+she went towards the land to look for her man, at times lying over in
+the heavy puffs, at others rolling idle in the swell, nearly stationary,
+as if she too had a mind of her own to swing perplexed between cool
+reason and warm impulse.</p>
+<p>Then just at daybreak a boat put off from her and went on tossed
+by the seas towards the shallow cove where, with considerable difficulty,
+an officer in a thick coat and a round hat managed to land on a strip
+of shingle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was my wish,&rdquo; writes Mr. Byrne, &ldquo;a wish of
+which my captain approved, to land secretly if possible.&nbsp; I did
+not want to be seen either by my aggrieved friend in the yellow hat,
+whose motives were not clear, or by the one-eyed wine-seller, who may
+or may not have been affiliated to the devil, or indeed by any other
+dweller in that primitive village.&nbsp; But unfortunately the cove
+was the only possible landing place for miles; and from the steepness
+of the ravine I couldn&rsquo;t make a circuit to avoid the houses.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fortunately,&rdquo; he goes on, &ldquo;all the people were
+yet in their beds.&nbsp; It was barely daylight when I found myself
+walking on the thick layer of sodden leaves filling the only street.&nbsp;
+No soul was stirring abroad, no dog barked.&nbsp; The silence was profound,
+and I had concluded with some wonder that apparently no dogs were kept
+in the hamlet, when I heard a low snarl, and from a noisome alley between
+two hovels emerged a vile cur with its tail between its legs.&nbsp;
+He slunk off silently showing me his teeth as he ran before me, and
+he disappeared so suddenly that he might have been the unclean incarnation
+of the Evil One.&nbsp; There was, too, something so weird in the manner
+of its coming and vanishing, that my spirits, already by no means very
+high, became further depressed by the revolting sight of this creature
+as if by an unlucky presage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He got away from the coast unobserved, as far as he knew, then struggled
+manfully to the west against wind and rain, on a barren dark upland,
+under a sky of ashes.&nbsp; Far away the harsh and desolate mountains
+raising their scarped and denuded ridges seemed to wait for him menacingly.&nbsp;
+The evening found him fairly near to them, but, in sailor language,
+uncertain of his position, hungry, wet, and tired out by a day of steady
+tramping over broken ground during which he had seen very few people,
+and had been unable to obtain the slightest intelligence of Tom Corbin&rsquo;s
+passage.&nbsp; &ldquo;On! on! I must push on,&rdquo; he had been saying
+to himself through the hours of solitary effort, spurred more by incertitude
+than by any definite fear or definite hope.</p>
+<p>The lowering daylight died out quickly, leaving him faced by a broken
+bridge.&nbsp; He descended into the ravine, forded a narrow stream by
+the last gleam of rapid water, and clambering out on the other side
+was met by the night which fen like a bandage over his eyes.&nbsp; The
+wind sweeping in the darkness the broadside of the sierra worried his
+ears by a continuous roaring noise as of a maddened sea.&nbsp; He suspected
+that he had lost the road.&nbsp; Even in daylight, with its ruts and
+mud-holes and ledges of outcropping stone, it was difficult to distinguish
+from the dreary waste of the moor interspersed with boulders and clumps
+of naked bushes.&nbsp; But, as he says, &ldquo;he steered his course
+by the feel of the wind,&rdquo; his hat rammed low on his brow, his
+head down, stopping now and again from mere weariness of mind rather
+than of body&mdash;as if not his strength but his resolution were being
+overtaxed by the strain of endeavour half suspected to be vain, and
+by the unrest of his feelings.</p>
+<p>In one of these pauses borne in the wind faintly as if from very
+far away he heard a sound of knocking, just knocking on wood.&nbsp;
+He noticed that the wind had lulled suddenly.</p>
+<p>His heart started beating tumultuously because in himself he carried
+the impression of the desert solitudes he had been traversing for the
+last six hours&mdash;the oppressive sense of an uninhabited world.&nbsp;
+When he raised his head a gleam of light, illusory as it often happens
+in dense darkness, swam before his eyes.&nbsp; While he peered, the
+sound of feeble knocking was repeated&mdash;and suddenly he felt rather
+than saw the existence of a massive obstacle in his path.&nbsp; What
+was it?&nbsp; The spur of a hill?&nbsp; Or was it a house!&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp;
+It was a house right close, as though it had risen from the ground or
+had come gliding to meet him, dumb and pallid; from some dark recess
+of the night.&nbsp; It towered loftily.&nbsp; He had come up under its
+lee; another three steps and he could have touched the wall with his
+hand.&nbsp; It was no doubt a <i>posada</i> and some other traveller
+was trying for admittance.&nbsp; He heard again the sound of cautious
+knocking.</p>
+<p>Next moment a broad band of light fell into the night through the
+opened door.&nbsp; Byrne stepped eagerly into it, whereupon the person
+outside leaped with a stifled cry away into the night.&nbsp; An exclamation
+of surprise was heard too, from within.&nbsp; Byrne, flinging himself
+against the half closed door, forced his way in against some considerable
+resistance.</p>
+<p>A miserable candle, a mere rushlight, burned at the end of a long
+deal table.&nbsp; And in its light Byrne saw, staggering yet, the girl
+he had driven from the door.&nbsp; She had a short black skirt, an orange
+shawl, a dark complexion&mdash;and the escaped single hairs from the
+mass, sombre and thick like a forest and held up by a comb, made a black
+mist about her low forehead.&nbsp; A shrill lamentable howl of: &ldquo;Misericordia!&rdquo;
+came in two voices from the further end of the long room, where the
+fire-light of an open hearth played between heavy shadows.&nbsp; The
+girl recovering herself drew a hissing breath through her set teeth.</p>
+<p>It is unnecessary to report the long process of questions and answers
+by which he soothed the fears of two old women who sat on each side
+of the fire, on which stood a large earthenware pot.&nbsp; Byrne thought
+at once of two witches watching the brewing of some deadly potion.&nbsp;
+But all the same, when one of them raising forward painfully her broken
+form lifted the cover of the pot, the escaping steam had an appetising
+smell.&nbsp; The other did not budge, but sat hunched up, her head trembling
+all the time.</p>
+<p>They were horrible.&nbsp; There was something grotesque in their
+decrepitude.&nbsp; Their toothless mouths, their hooked noses, the meagreness
+of the active one, and the hanging yellow cheeks of the other (the still
+one, whose head trembled) would have been laughable if the sight of
+their dreadful physical degradation had not been appalling to one&rsquo;s
+eyes, had not gripped one&rsquo;s heart with poignant amazement at the
+unspeakable misery of age, at the awful persistency of life becoming
+at last an object of disgust and dread.</p>
+<p>To get over it Byrne began to talk, saying that he was an Englishman,
+and that he was in search of a countryman who ought to have passed this
+way.&nbsp; Directly he had spoken the recollection of his parting with
+Tom came up in his mind with amazing vividness: the silent villagers,
+the angry gnome, the one-eyed wine-seller, Bernardino.&nbsp; Why!&nbsp;
+These two unspeakable frights must be that man&rsquo;s aunts&mdash;affiliated
+to the devil.</p>
+<p>Whatever they had been once it was impossible to imagine what use
+such feeble creatures could be to the devil, now, in the world of the
+living.&nbsp; Which was Lucilla and which was Erminia?&nbsp; They were
+now things without a name.&nbsp; A moment of suspended animation followed
+Byrne&rsquo;s words.&nbsp; The sorceress with the spoon ceased stirring
+the mess in the iron pot, the very trembling of the other&rsquo;s head
+stopped for the space of breath.&nbsp; In this infinitesimal fraction
+of a second Byrne had the sense of being really on his quest, of having
+reached the turn of the path, almost within hail of Tom.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They have seen him,&rdquo; he thought with conviction.&nbsp;
+Here was at last somebody who had seen him.&nbsp; He made sure they
+would deny all knowledge of the Ingles; but on the contrary they were
+eager to tell him that he had eaten and slept the night in the house.&nbsp;
+They both started talking together, describing his appearance and behaviour.&nbsp;
+An excitement quite fierce in its feebleness possessed them.&nbsp; The
+doubled-up sorceress flourished aloft her wooden spoon, the puffy monster
+got off her stool and screeched, stepping from one foot to the other,
+while the trembling of her head was accelerated to positive vibration.&nbsp;
+Byrne was quite disconcerted by their excited behaviour. . . Yes!&nbsp;
+The big, fierce Ingles went away in the morning, after eating a piece
+of bread and drinking some wine.&nbsp; And if the caballero wished to
+follow the same path nothing could be easier&mdash;in the morning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will give me somebody to show me the way?&rdquo; said
+Byrne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Si, se&ntilde;or.&nbsp; A proper youth.&nbsp; The man the
+caballero saw going out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he was knocking at the door,&rdquo; protested Byrne.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He only bolted when he saw me.&nbsp; He was coming in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&nbsp; No!&rdquo; the two horrid witches screamed out together.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Going out. Going out!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After all it may have been true. The sound of knocking had been faint,
+elusive, reflected Byrne.&nbsp; Perhaps only the effect of his fancy.&nbsp;
+He asked -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who is that man?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her <i>novio</i>.&rdquo;&nbsp; They screamed pointing to the
+girl.&nbsp; &ldquo;He is gone home to a village far away from here.&nbsp;
+But he will return in the morning.&nbsp; Her <i>novio</i>!&nbsp; And
+she is an orphan&mdash;the child of poor Christian people.&nbsp; She
+lives with us for the love of God, for the love of God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The orphan crouching on the corner of the hearth had been looking
+at Byrne.&nbsp; He thought that she was more like a child of Satan kept
+there by these two weird harridans for the love of the Devil.&nbsp;
+Her eyes were a little oblique, her mouth rather thick, but admirably
+formed; her dark face had a wild beauty, voluptuous and untamed.&nbsp;
+As to the character of her steadfast gaze attached upon him with a sensuously
+savage attention, &ldquo;to know what it was like,&rdquo; says Mr. Byrne,
+&ldquo;you have only to observe a hungry cat watching a bird in a cage
+or a mouse inside a trap.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was she who served him the food, of which he was glad; though
+with those big slanting black eyes examining him at close range, as
+if he had something curious written on his face, she gave him an uncomfortable
+sensation.&nbsp; But anything was better than being approached by these
+blear-eyed nightmarish witches.&nbsp; His apprehensions somehow had
+been soothed; perhaps by the sensation of warmth after severe exposure
+and the ease of resting after the exertion of fighting the gale inch
+by inch all the way.&nbsp; He had no doubt of Tom&rsquo;s safety.&nbsp;
+He was now sleeping in the mountain camp having been met by Gonzales&rsquo;
+men.</p>
+<p>Byrne rose, filled a tin goblet with wine out of a skin hanging on
+the wall, and sat down again.&nbsp; The witch with the mummy face began
+to talk to him, ramblingly of old times; she boasted of the inn&rsquo;s
+fame in those better days.&nbsp; Great people in their own coaches stopped
+there.&nbsp; An archbishop slept once in the <i>casa</i>, a long, long
+time ago.</p>
+<p>The witch with the puffy face seemed to be listening from her stool,
+motionless, except for the trembling of her head.&nbsp; The girl (Byrne
+was certain she was a casual gipsy admitted there for some reason or
+other) sat on the hearth stone in the glow of the embers.&nbsp; She
+hummed a tune to herself, rattling a pair of castanets slightly now
+and then.&nbsp; At the mention of the archbishop she chuckled impiously
+and turned her head to look at Byrne, so that the red glow of the fire
+flashed in her black eyes and on her white teeth under the dark cowl
+of the enormous overmantel.&nbsp; And he smiled at her.</p>
+<p>He rested now in the ease of security.&nbsp; His advent not having
+been expected there could be no plot against him in existence.&nbsp;
+Drowsiness stole upon his senses.&nbsp; He enjoyed it, but keeping a
+hold, so he thought at least, on his wits; but he must have been gone
+further than he thought because he was startled beyond measure by a
+fiendish uproar.&nbsp; He had never heard anything so pitilessly strident
+in his life.&nbsp; The witches had started a fierce quarrel about something
+or other.&nbsp; Whatever its origin they were now only abusing each
+other violently, without arguments; their senile screams expressed nothing
+but wicked anger and ferocious dismay.&nbsp; The gipsy girl&rsquo;s
+black eyes flew from one to the other.&nbsp; Never before had Byrne
+felt himself so removed from fellowship with human beings.&nbsp; Before
+he had really time to understand the subject of the quarrel, the girl
+jumped up rattling her castanets loudly.&nbsp; A silence fell.&nbsp;
+She came up to the table and bending over, her eyes in his -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Se&ntilde;or,&rdquo; she said with decision, &ldquo;You shall
+sleep in the archbishop&rsquo;s room.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Neither of the witches objected.&nbsp; The dried-up one bent double
+was propped on a stick.&nbsp; The puffy faced one had now a crutch.</p>
+<p>Byrne got up, walked to the door, and turning the key in the enormous
+lock put it coolly in his pocket.&nbsp; This was clearly the only entrance,
+and he did not mean to be taken unawares by whatever danger there might
+have been lurking outside.</p>
+<p>When he turned from the door he saw the two witches &ldquo;affiliated
+to the Devil&rdquo; and the Satanic girl looking at him in silence.&nbsp;
+He wondered if Tom Corbin took the same precaution last might.&nbsp;
+And thinking of him he had again that queer impression of his nearness.&nbsp;
+The world was perfectly dumb.&nbsp; And in this stillness he heard the
+blood beating in his ears with a confused rushing noise, in which there
+seemed to be a voice uttering the words: &ldquo;Mr. Byrne, look out,
+sir.&rdquo;&nbsp; Tom&rsquo;s voice.&nbsp; He shuddered; for the delusions
+of the senses of hearing are the most vivid of all, and from their nature
+have a compelling character.</p>
+<p>It seemed impossible that Tom should not be there.&nbsp; Again a
+slight chill as of stealthy draught penetrated through his very clothes
+and passed over all his body.&nbsp; He shook off the impression with
+an effort.</p>
+<p>It was the girl who preceded him upstairs carrying an iron lamp from
+the naked flame of which ascended a thin thread of smoke.&nbsp; Her
+soiled white stockings were full of holes.</p>
+<p>With the same quiet resolution with which he had locked the door
+below, Byrne threw open one after another the doors in the corridor.&nbsp;
+All the rooms were empty except for some nondescript lumber in one or
+two.&nbsp; And the girl seeing what he would be at stopped every time,
+raising the smoky light in each doorway patiently.&nbsp; Meantime she
+observed him with sustained attention.&nbsp; The last door of all she
+threw open herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You sleep here, se&ntilde;or,&rdquo; she murmured in a voice
+light like a child&rsquo;s breath, offering him the lamp.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Buenos noches, senorita</i>,&rdquo; he said politely, taking
+it from her.</p>
+<p>She didn&rsquo;t return the wish audibly, though her lips did move
+a little, while her gaze black like a starless night never for a moment
+wavered before him.&nbsp; He stepped in, and as he turned to close the
+door she was still there motionless and disturbing, with her voluptuous
+mouth and slanting eyes, with the expression of expectant sensual ferocity
+of a baffled cat.&nbsp; He hesitated for a moment, and in the dumb house
+he heard again the blood pulsating ponderously in his ears, while once
+more the illusion of Tom&rsquo;s voice speaking earnestly somewhere
+near by was specially terrifying, because this time he could not make
+out the words.</p>
+<p>He slammed the door in the girl&rsquo;s face at last, leaving her
+in the dark; and he opened it again almost on the instant.&nbsp; Nobody.&nbsp;
+She had vanished without the slightest sound.&nbsp; He closed the door
+quickly and bolted it with two heavy bolts.</p>
+<p>A profound mistrust possessed him suddenly.&nbsp; Why did the witches
+quarrel about letting him sleep here?&nbsp; And what meant that stare
+of the girl as if she wanted to impress his features for ever in her
+mind?&nbsp; His own nervousness alarmed him.&nbsp; He seemed to himself
+to be removed very far from mankind.</p>
+<p>He examined his room.&nbsp; It was not very high, just high enough
+to take the bed which stood under an enormous baldaquin-like canopy
+from which fell heavy curtains at foot and head; a bed certainly worthy
+of an archbishop.&nbsp; There was a heavy table carved all round the
+edges, some arm-chairs of enormous weight like the spoils of a grandee&rsquo;s
+palace; a tall shallow wardrobe placed against the wall and with double
+doors.&nbsp; He tried them.&nbsp; Locked.&nbsp; A suspicion came into
+his mind, and he snatched the lamp to make a closer examination.&nbsp;
+No, it was not a disguised entrance.&nbsp; That heavy, tall piece of
+furniture stood clear of the wall by quite an inch.&nbsp; He glanced
+at the bolts of his room door.&nbsp; No!&nbsp; No one could get at him
+treacherously while he slept.&nbsp; But would he be able to sleep? he
+asked himself anxiously.&nbsp; If only he had Tom there&mdash;the trusty
+seaman who had fought at his right hand in a cutting out affair or two,
+and had always preached to him the necessity to take care of himself.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;For it&rsquo;s no great trick,&rdquo; he used to say, &ldquo;to
+get yourself killed in a hot fight.&nbsp; Any fool can do that.&nbsp;
+The proper pastime is to fight the Frenchies and then live to fight
+another day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Byrne found it a hard matter not to fall into listening to the silence.&nbsp;
+Somehow he had the conviction that nothing would break it unless he
+heard again the haunting sound of Tom&rsquo;s voice.&nbsp; He had heard
+it twice before.&nbsp; Odd!&nbsp; And yet no wonder, he argued with
+himself reasonably, since he had been thinking of the man for over thirty
+hours continuously and, what&rsquo;s more, inconclusively.&nbsp; For
+his anxiety for Tom had never taken a definite shape.&nbsp; &ldquo;Disappear,&rdquo;
+was the only word connected with the idea of Tom&rsquo;s danger.&nbsp;
+It was very vague and awful.&nbsp; &ldquo;Disappear!&rdquo;&nbsp; What
+did that mean?</p>
+<p>Byrne shuddered, and then said to himself that he must be a little
+feverish.&nbsp; But Tom had not disappeared.&nbsp; Byrne had just heard
+of him.&nbsp; And again the young man felt the blood beating in his
+ears.&nbsp; He sat still expecting every moment to hear through the
+pulsating strokes the sound of Tom&rsquo;s voice.&nbsp; He waited straining
+his ears, but nothing came.&nbsp; Suddenly the thought occurred to him:
+&ldquo;He has not disappeared, but he cannot make himself heard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He jumped up from the arm-chair.&nbsp; How absurd!&nbsp; Laying his
+pistol and his hanger on the table he took off his boots and, feeling
+suddenly too tired to stand, flung himself on the bed which he found
+soft and comfortable beyond his hopes.</p>
+<p>He had felt very wakeful, but he must have dozed off after all, because
+the next thing he knew he was sitting up in bed and trying to recollect
+what it was that Tom&rsquo;s voice had said.&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp; He remembered
+it now.&nbsp; It had said: &ldquo;Mr. Byrne!&nbsp; Look out, sir!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+A warning this.&nbsp; But against what?</p>
+<p>He landed with one leap in the middle of the floor, gasped once,
+then looked all round the room.&nbsp; The window was shuttered and barred
+with an iron bar.&nbsp; Again he ran his eyes slowly all round the bare
+walls, and even looked up at the ceiling, which was rather high.&nbsp;
+Afterwards he went to the door to examine the fastenings.&nbsp; They
+consisted of two enormous iron bolts sliding into holes made in the
+wall; and as the corridor outside was too narrow to admit of any battering
+arrangement or even to permit an axe to be swung, nothing could burst
+the door open&mdash;unless gunpowder.&nbsp; But while he was still making
+sure that the lower bolt was pushed well home, he received the impression
+of somebody&rsquo;s presence in the room.&nbsp; It was so strong that
+he spun round quicker than lightning.&nbsp; There was no one.&nbsp;
+Who could there be?&nbsp; And yet . . .</p>
+<p>It was then that he lost the decorum and restraint a man keeps up
+for his own sake.&nbsp; He got down on his hands and knees, with the
+lamp on the floor, to look under the bed, like a silly girl.&nbsp; He
+saw a lot of dust and nothing else.&nbsp; He got up, his cheeks burning,
+and walked about discontented with his own behaviour and unreasonably
+angry with Tom for not leaving him alone.&nbsp; The words: &ldquo;Mr.
+Byrne!&nbsp; Look out, sir,&rdquo; kept on repeating themselves in his
+head in a tone of warning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t I better just throw myself on the bed and try
+to go to sleep,&rdquo; he asked himself.&nbsp; But his eyes fell on
+the tall wardrobe, and he went towards it feeling irritated with himself
+and yet unable to desist.&nbsp; How he could explain to-morrow the burglarious
+misdeed to the two odious witches he had no idea.&nbsp; Nevertheless
+he inserted the point of his hanger between the two halves of the door
+and tried to prize them open.&nbsp; They resisted.&nbsp; He swore, sticking
+now hotly to his purpose.&nbsp; His mutter: &ldquo;I hope you will be
+satisfied, confound you,&rdquo; was addressed to the absent Tom.&nbsp;
+Just then the doors gave way and flew open.</p>
+<p>He was there.</p>
+<p>He&mdash;the trusty, sagacious, and courageous Tom was there, drawn
+up shadowy and stiff, in a prudent silence, which his wide-open eyes
+by their fixed gleam seemed to command Byrne to respect.&nbsp; But Byrne
+was too startled to make a sound.&nbsp; Amazed, he stepped back a little&mdash;and
+on the instant the seaman flung himself forward headlong as if to clasp
+his officer round the neck.&nbsp; Instinctively Byrne put out his faltering
+arms; he felt the horrible rigidity of the body and then the coldness
+of death as their heads knocked together and their faces came into contact.&nbsp;
+They reeled, Byrne hugging Tom close to his breast in order not to let
+him fall with a crash.&nbsp; He had just strength enough to lower the
+awful burden gently to the floor&mdash;then his head swam, his legs
+gave way, and he sank on his knees, leaning over the body with his hands
+resting on the breast of that man once full of generous life, and now
+as insensible as a stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead! my poor Tom, dead,&rdquo; he repeated mentally.&nbsp;
+The light of the lamp standing near the edge of the table fell from
+above straight on the stony empty stare of these eyes which naturally
+had a mobile and merry expression.</p>
+<p>Byrne turned his own away from them.&nbsp; Tom&rsquo;s black silk
+neckerchief was not knotted on his breast.&nbsp; It was gone.&nbsp;
+The murderers had also taken off his shoes and stockings.&nbsp; And
+noticing this spoliation, the exposed throat, the bare up-turned feet,
+Byrne felt his eyes run full of tears.&nbsp; In other respects the seaman
+was fully dressed; neither was his clothing disarranged as it must have
+been in a violent struggle.&nbsp; Only his checked shirt had been pulled
+a little out the waistband in one place, just enough to ascertain whether
+he had a money belt fastened round his body.&nbsp; Byrne began to sob
+into his handkerchief.</p>
+<p>It was a nervous outburst which passed off quickly.&nbsp; Remaining
+on his knees he contemplated sadly the athletic body of as fine a seaman
+as ever had drawn a cutlass, laid a gun, or passed the weather earring
+in a gale, lying stiff and cold, his cheery, fearless spirit departed&mdash;perhaps
+turning to him, his boy chum, to his ship out there rolling on the grey
+seas off an iron-bound coast, at the very moment of its flight.</p>
+<p>He perceived that the six brass buttons of Tom&rsquo;s jacket had
+been cut off.&nbsp; He shuddered at the notion of the two miserable
+and repulsive witches busying themselves ghoulishly about the defenceless
+body of his friend.&nbsp; Cut off.&nbsp; Perhaps with the same knife
+which . . . The head of one trembled; the other was bent double, and
+their eyes were red and bleared, their infamous claws unsteady. . .
+It must have been in this very room too, for Tom could not have been
+killed in the open and brought in here afterwards.&nbsp; Of that Byrne
+was certain.&nbsp; Yet those devilish crones could not have killed him
+themselves even by taking him unawares&mdash;and Tom would be always
+on his guard of course.&nbsp; Tom was a very wide awake wary man when
+engaged on any service. . . And in fact how did they murder him?&nbsp;
+Who did?&nbsp; In what way?</p>
+<p>Byrne jumped up, snatched the lamp off the table, and stooped swiftly
+over the body.&nbsp; The light revealed on the clothing no stain, no
+trace, no spot of blood anywhere.&nbsp; Byrne&rsquo;s hands began to
+shake so that he had to set the lamp on the floor and turn away his
+head in order to recover from this agitation.</p>
+<p>Then he began to explore that cold, still, and rigid body for a stab,
+a gunshot wound, for the trace of some killing blow.&nbsp; He felt all
+over the skull anxiously.&nbsp; It was whole.&nbsp; He slipped his hand
+under the neck.&nbsp; It was unbroken.&nbsp; With terrified eyes he
+peered close under the chin and saw no marks of strangulation on the
+throat.</p>
+<p>There were no signs anywhere.&nbsp; He was just dead.</p>
+<p>Impulsively Byrne got away from the body as if the mystery of an
+incomprehensible death had changed his pity into suspicion and dread.&nbsp;
+The lamp on the floor near the set, still face of the seaman showed
+it staring at the ceiling as if despairingly.&nbsp; In the circle of
+light Byrne saw by the undisturbed patches of thick dust on the floor
+that there had been no struggle in that room.&nbsp; &ldquo;He has died
+outside,&rdquo; he thought.&nbsp; Yes, outside in that narrow corridor,
+where there was hardly room to turn, the mysterious death had come to
+his poor dear Tom.&nbsp; The impulse of snatching up his pistols and
+rushing out of the room abandoned Byrne suddenly.&nbsp; For Tom, too,
+had been armed&mdash;with just such powerless weapons as he himself
+possessed&mdash;pistols, a cutlass!&nbsp; And Tom had died a nameless
+death, by incomprehensible means.</p>
+<p>A new thought came to Byrne.&nbsp; That stranger knocking at the
+door and fleeing so swiftly at his appearance had come there to remove
+the body.&nbsp; Aha!&nbsp; That was the guide the withered witch had
+promised would show the English officer the shortest way of rejoining
+his man.&nbsp; A promise, he saw it now, of dreadful import.&nbsp; He
+who had knocked would have two bodies to deal with.&nbsp; Man and officer
+would go forth from the house together.&nbsp; For Byrne was certain
+now that he would have to die before the morning&mdash;and in the same
+mysterious manner, leaving behind him an unmarked body.</p>
+<p>The sight of a smashed head, of a throat cut, of a gaping gunshot
+wound, would have been an inexpressible relief.&nbsp; It would have
+soothed all his fears.&nbsp; His soul cried within him to that dead
+man whom he had never found wanting in danger.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t
+you tell me what I am to look for, Tom?&nbsp; Why don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+But in rigid immobility, extended on his back, he seemed to preserve
+an austere silence, as if disdaining in the finality of his awful knowledge
+to hold converse with the living.</p>
+<p>Suddenly Byrne flung himself on his knees by the side of the body,
+and dry-eyed, fierce, opened the shirt wide on the breast, as if to
+tear the secret forcibly from that cold heart which had been so loyal
+to him in life!&nbsp; Nothing!&nbsp; Nothing!&nbsp; He raised the lamp,
+and all the sign vouchsafed to him by that face which used to be so
+kindly in expression was a small bruise on the forehead&mdash;the least
+thing, a mere mark.&nbsp; The skin even was not broken.&nbsp; He stared
+at it a long time as if lost in a dreadful dream.&nbsp; Then he observed
+that Tom&rsquo;s hands were clenched as though he had fallen facing
+somebody in a fight with fists.&nbsp; His knuckles, on closer view,
+appeared somewhat abraded.&nbsp; Both hands.</p>
+<p>The discovery of these slight signs was more appalling to Byrne than
+the absolute absence of every mark would have been.&nbsp; So Tom had
+died striking against something which could be hit, and yet could kill
+one without leaving a wound&mdash;by a breath.</p>
+<p>Terror, hot terror, began to play about Byrne&rsquo;s heart like
+a tongue of flame that touches and withdraws before it turns a thing
+to ashes.&nbsp; He backed away from the body as far as he could, then
+came forward stealthily casting fearful glances to steal another look
+at the bruised forehead.&nbsp; There would perhaps be such a faint bruise
+on his own forehead&mdash;before the morning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear it,&rdquo; he whispered to himself.&nbsp;
+Tom was for him now an object of horror, a sight at once tempting and
+revolting to his fear.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t bear to look at him.</p>
+<p>At last, desperation getting the better of his increasing horror,
+he stepped forward from the wall against which he had been leaning,
+seized the corpse under the armpits, and began to lug it over to the
+bed.&nbsp; The bare heels of the seaman trailed on the floor noiselessly.&nbsp;
+He was heavy with the dead weight of inanimate objects.&nbsp; With a
+last effort Byrne landed him face downwards on the edge of the bed,
+rolled him over, snatched from under this stiff passive thing a sheet
+with which he covered it over.&nbsp; Then he spread the curtains at
+head and foot so that joining together as he shook their folds they
+hid the bed altogether from his sight.</p>
+<p>He stumbled towards a chair, and fell on it.&nbsp; The perspiration
+poured from his face for a moment, and then his veins seemed to carry
+for a while a thin stream of half, frozen blood.&nbsp; Complete terror
+had possession of him now, a nameless terror which had turned his heart
+to ashes.</p>
+<p>He sat upright in the straight-backed chair, the lamp burning at
+his feet, his pistols and his hanger at his left elbow on the end of
+the table, his eyes turning incessantly in their sockets round the walls,
+over the ceiling, over the floor, in the expectation of a mysterious
+and appalling vision.&nbsp; The thing which could deal death in a breath
+was outside that bolted door.&nbsp; But Byrne believed neither in walls
+nor bolts now.&nbsp; Unreasoning terror turning everything to account,
+his old time boyish admiration of the athletic Tom, the undaunted Tom
+(he had seemed to him invincible), helped to paralyse his faculties,
+added to his despair.</p>
+<p>He was no longer Edgar Byrne.&nbsp; He was a tortured soul suffering
+more anguish than any sinner&rsquo;s body had ever suffered from rack
+or boot.&nbsp; The depth of his torment may be measured when I say that
+this young man, as brave at least as the average of his kind, contemplated
+seizing a pistol and firing into his own head.&nbsp; But a deadly, chilly,
+langour was spreading over his limbs.&nbsp; It was as if his flesh had
+been wet plaster stiffening slowly about his ribs.&nbsp; Presently,
+he thought, the two witches will be coming in, with crutch and stick&mdash;horrible,
+grotesque, monstrous&mdash;affiliated to the devil&mdash;to put a mark
+on his forehead, the tiny little bruise of death.&nbsp; And he wouldn&rsquo;t
+be able to do anything.&nbsp; Tom had struck out at something, but he
+was not like Tom.&nbsp; His limbs were dead already.&nbsp; He sat still,
+dying the death over and over again; and the only part of him which
+moved were his eyes, turning round and round in their sockets, running
+over the walls, the floor, the ceiling, again and again till suddenly
+they became motionless and stony-starting out of his head fixed in the
+direction of the bed.</p>
+<p>He had seen the heavy curtains stir and shake as if the dead body
+they concealed had turned over and sat up.&nbsp; Byrne, who thought
+the world could hold no more terrors in store, felt his hair stir at
+the roots.&nbsp; He gripped the arms of the chair, his jaw fell, and
+the sweat broke out on his brow while his dry tongue clove suddenly
+to the roof of his mouth.&nbsp; Again the curtains stirred, but did
+not open.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, Tom!&rdquo; Byrne made effort to
+shout, but all he heard was a slight moan such as an uneasy sleeper
+may make.&nbsp; He felt that his brain was going, for, now, it seemed
+to him that the ceiling over the bed had moved, had slanted, and came
+level again&mdash;and once more the closed curtains swayed gently as
+if about to part.</p>
+<p>Byrne closed his eyes not to see the awful apparition of the seaman&rsquo;s
+corpse coming out animated by an evil spirit.&nbsp; In the profound
+silence of the room he endured a moment of frightful agony, then opened
+his eyes again.&nbsp; And he saw at once that the curtains remained
+closed still, but that the ceiling over the bed had risen quite a foot.&nbsp;
+With the last gleam of reason left to him he understood that it was
+the enormous baldaquin over the bed which was coming down, while the
+curtains attached to it swayed softly, sinking gradually to the floor.&nbsp;
+His drooping jaw snapped to&mdash;and half rising in his chair he watched
+mutely the noiseless descent of the monstrous canopy.&nbsp; It came
+down in short smooth rushes till lowered half way or more, when it took
+a run and settled swiftly its turtle-back shape with the deep border
+piece fitting exactly the edge of the bedstead.&nbsp; A slight crack
+or two of wood were heard, and the overpowering stillness of the room
+resumed its sway.</p>
+<p>Byrne stood up, gasped for breath, and let out a cry of rage and
+dismay, the first sound which he is perfectly certain did make its way
+past his lips on this night of terrors.&nbsp; This then was the death
+he had escaped!&nbsp; This was the devilish artifice of murder poor
+Tom&rsquo;s soul had perhaps tried from beyond the border to warn him
+of.&nbsp; For this was how he had died.&nbsp; Byrne was certain he had
+heard the voice of the seaman, faintly distinct in his familiar phrase,
+&ldquo;Mr. Byrne!&nbsp; Look out, sir!&rdquo; and again uttering words
+he could not make out.&nbsp; But then the distance separating the living
+from the dead is so great!&nbsp; Poor Tom had tried.&nbsp; Byrne ran
+to the bed and attempted to lift up, to push off the horrible lid smothering
+the body.&nbsp; It resisted his efforts, heavy as lead, immovable like
+a tombstone.&nbsp; The rage of vengeance made him desist; his head buzzed
+with chaotic thoughts of extermination, he turned round the room as
+if he could find neither his weapons nor the way out; and all the time
+he stammered awful menaces. . .</p>
+<p>A violent battering at the door of the inn recalled him to his soberer
+senses.&nbsp; He flew to the window pulled the shutters open, and looked
+out.&nbsp; In the faint dawn he saw below him a mob of men.&nbsp; Ha!&nbsp;
+He would go and face at once this murderous lot collected no doubt for
+his undoing.&nbsp; After his struggle with nameless terrors he yearned
+for an open fray with armed enemies.&nbsp; But he must have remained
+yet bereft of his reason, because forgetting his weapons he rushed downstairs
+with a wild cry, unbarred the door while blows were raining on it outside,
+and flinging it open flew with his bare hands at the throat of the first
+man he saw before him.&nbsp; They rolled over together.&nbsp; Byrne&rsquo;s
+hazy intention was to break through, to fly up the mountain path, and
+come back presently with Gonzales&rsquo; men to exact an exemplary vengeance.&nbsp;
+He fought furiously till a tree, a house, a mountain, seemed to crash
+down upon his head&mdash;and he knew no more.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>Here Mr. Byrne describes in detail the skilful manner in which he
+found his broken head bandaged, informs us that he had lost a great
+deal of blood, and ascribes the preservation of his sanity to that circumstance.&nbsp;
+He sets down Gonzales&rsquo; profuse apologies in full too.&nbsp; For
+it was Gonzales who, tired of waiting for news from the English, had
+come down to the inn with half his band, on his way to the sea.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;His excellency,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;rushed out with fierce
+impetuosity, and, moreover, was not known to us for a friend, and so
+we . . . etc., etc.&nbsp; When asked what had become of the witches,
+he only pointed his finger silently to the ground, then voiced calmly
+a moral reflection: &ldquo;The passion for gold is pitiless in the very
+old, se&ntilde;or,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;No doubt in former days
+they have put many a solitary traveller to sleep in the archbishop&rsquo;s
+bed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There was also a gipsy girl there,&rdquo; said Byrne feebly
+from the improvised litter on which he was being carried to the coast
+by a squad of guerilleros.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was she who winched up that infernal machine, and it was
+she too who lowered it that night,&rdquo; was the answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But why?&nbsp; Why?&rdquo; exclaimed Byrne.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why
+should she wish for my death?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt for the sake of your excellency&rsquo;s coat buttons,&rdquo;
+said politely the saturnine Gonzales.&nbsp; &ldquo;We found those of
+the dead mariner concealed on her person.&nbsp; But your excellency
+may rest assured that everything that is fitting has been done on this
+occasion.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Byrne asked no more questions.&nbsp; There was still another death
+which was considered by Gonzales as &ldquo;fitting to the occasion.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The one-eyed Bernardino stuck against the wall of his wine-shop received
+the charge of six escopettas into his breast.&nbsp; As the shots rang
+out the rough bier with Tom&rsquo;s body on it went past carried by
+a bandit-like gang of Spanish patriots down the ravine to the shore,
+where two boats from the ship were waiting for what was left on earth
+of her best seaman.</p>
+<p>Mr. Byrne, very pale and weak, stepped into the boat which carried
+the body of his humble friend.&nbsp; For it was decided that Tom Corbin
+should rest far out in the bay of Biscay.&nbsp; The officer took the
+tiller and, turning his head for the last look at the shore, saw on
+the grey hillside something moving, which he made out to be a little
+man in a yellow hat mounted on a mule&mdash;that mule without which
+the fate of Tom Corbin would have remained mysterious for ever.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>June, 1913.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>BECAUSE OF THE DOLLARS</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER I</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>While we were hanging about near the water&rsquo;s edge, as sailors
+idling ashore will do (it was in the open space before the Harbour Office
+of a great Eastern port), a man came towards us from the &ldquo;front&rdquo;
+of business houses, aiming obliquely at the landing steps.&nbsp; He
+attracted my attention because in the movement of figures in white drill
+suits on the pavement from which he stepped, his costume, the usual
+tunic and trousers, being made of light grey flannel, made him noticeable.</p>
+<p>I had time to observe him.&nbsp; He was stout, but he was not grotesque.&nbsp;
+His face was round and smooth, his complexion very fair.&nbsp; On his
+nearer approach I saw a little moustache made all the fairer by a good
+many white hairs.&nbsp; And he had, for a stout man, quite a good chin.&nbsp;
+In passing us he exchanged nods with the friend I was with and smiled.</p>
+<p>My friend was Hollis, the fellow who had so many adventures and had
+known so many queer people in that part of the (more or less) gorgeous
+East in the days of his youth.&nbsp; He said: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a
+good man.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t mean good in the sense of smart or skilful
+in his trade.&nbsp; I mean a really <i>good</i> man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I turned round at once to look at the phenomenon.&nbsp; The &ldquo;really
+<i>good</i> man&rdquo; had a very broad back.&nbsp; I saw him signal
+a sampan to come alongside, get into it, and go off in the direction
+of a cluster of local steamers anchored close inshore.</p>
+<p>I said: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a seaman, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; Commands that biggish dark-green steamer: &lsquo;<i>Sissie</i>&mdash;Glasgow.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He has never commanded anything else but the <i>&lsquo;Sissie&mdash;</i>Glasgow,&rsquo;
+only it wasn&rsquo;t always the same <i>Sissie</i>.&nbsp; The first
+he had was about half the length of this one, and we used to tell poor
+Davidson that she was a size too small for him.&nbsp; Even at that time
+Davidson had bulk.&nbsp; We warned him he would get callosities on his
+shoulders and elbows because of the tight fit of his command.&nbsp;
+And Davidson could well afford the smiles he gave us for our chaff.&nbsp;
+He made lots of money in her.&nbsp; She belonged to a portly Chinaman
+resembling a mandarin in a picture-book, with goggles and thin drooping
+moustaches, and as dignified as only a Celestial knows how to be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The best of Chinamen as employers is that they have such gentlemanly
+instincts.&nbsp; Once they become convinced that you are a straight
+man, they give you their unbounded confidence.&nbsp; You simply can&rsquo;t
+do wrong, then.&nbsp; And they are pretty quick judges of character,
+too.&nbsp; Davidson&rsquo;s Chinaman was the first to find out his worth,
+on some theoretical principle.&nbsp; One day in his counting-house,
+before several white men he was heard to declare: &lsquo;Captain Davidson
+is a good man.&rsquo;&nbsp; And that settled it.&nbsp; After that you
+couldn&rsquo;t tell if it was Davidson who belonged to the Chinaman
+or the Chinaman who belonged to Davidson.&nbsp; It was he who, shortly
+before he died, ordered in Glasgow the new <i>Sissie</i> for Davidson
+to command.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>We walked into the shade of the Harbour Office and leaned our elbows
+on the parapet of the quay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She was really meant to comfort poor Davidson,&rdquo; continued
+Hollis.&nbsp; &ldquo;Can you fancy anything more na&iuml;vely touching
+than this old mandarin spending several thousand pounds to console his
+white man?&nbsp; Well, there she is.&nbsp; The old mandarin&rsquo;s
+sons have inherited her, and Davidson with her; and he commands her;
+and what with his salary and trading privileges he makes a lot of money;
+and everything is as before; and Davidson even smiles&mdash;you have
+seen it?&nbsp; Well, the smile&rsquo;s the only thing which isn&rsquo;t
+as before.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me, Hollis,&rdquo; I asked, &ldquo;what do you mean by
+good in this connection?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, there are men who are born good just as others are born
+witty.&nbsp; What I mean is his nature.&nbsp; No simpler, more scrupulously
+delicate soul had ever lived in such a&mdash;a&mdash;comfortable envelope.&nbsp;
+How we used to laugh at Davidson&rsquo;s fine scruples!&nbsp; In short,
+he&rsquo;s thoroughly humane, and I don&rsquo;t imagine there can be
+much of any other sort of goodness that counts on this earth.&nbsp;
+And as he&rsquo;s that with a shade of particular refinement, I may
+well call him a &lsquo;<i>really</i> good man.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>I knew from old that Hollis was a firm believer in the final value
+of shades.&nbsp; And I said: &ldquo;I see&rdquo;&mdash;because I really
+did see Hollis&rsquo;s Davidson in the sympathetic stout man who had
+passed us a little while before.&nbsp; But I remembered that at the
+very moment he smiled his placid face appeared veiled in melancholy&mdash;a
+sort of spiritual shadow.&nbsp; I went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who on earth has paid him off for being so fine by spoiling
+his smile?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s quite a story, and I will tell it to you if you
+like.&nbsp; Confound it!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s quite a surprising one, too.&nbsp;
+Surprising in every way, but mostly in the way it knocked over poor
+Davidson&mdash;and apparently only because he is such a good sort.&nbsp;
+He was telling me all about it only a few days ago.&nbsp; He said that
+when he saw these four fellows with their heads in a bunch over the
+table, he at once didn&rsquo;t like it.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t like it
+at all.&nbsp; You mustn&rsquo;t suppose that Davidson is a soft fool.&nbsp;
+These men -</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I had better begin at the beginning.&nbsp; We must go
+back to the first time the old dollars had been called in by our Government
+in exchange for a new issue.&nbsp; Just about the time when I left these
+parts to go home for a long stay.&nbsp; Every trader in the islands
+was thinking of getting his old dollars sent up here in time, and the
+demand for empty French wine cases&mdash;you know the dozen of vermouth
+or claret size&mdash;was something unprecedented.&nbsp; The custom was
+to pack the dollars in little bags of a hundred each.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+know how many bags each case would hold.&nbsp; A good lot.&nbsp; Pretty
+tidy sums must have been moving afloat just then.&nbsp; But let us get
+away from here.&nbsp; Won&rsquo;t do to stay in the sun.&nbsp; Where
+could we&mdash;?&nbsp; I know! let us go to those tiffin-rooms over
+there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>We moved over accordingly.&nbsp; Our appearance in the long empty
+room at that early hour caused visible consternation amongst the China
+boys.&nbsp; But Hollis led the way to one of the tables between the
+windows screened by rattan blinds.&nbsp; A brilliant half-light trembled
+on the ceiling, on the whitewashed walls, bathed the multitude of vacant
+chairs and tables in a peculiar, stealthy glow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right.&nbsp; We will get something to eat when it&rsquo;s
+ready,&rdquo; he said, waving the anxious Chinaman waiter aside.&nbsp;
+He took his temples touched with grey between his hands, leaning over
+the table to bring his face, his dark, keen eyes, closer to mine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson then was commanding the steamer <i>Sissie&mdash;</i>the
+little one which we used to chaff him about.&nbsp; He ran her alone,
+with only the Malay serang for a deck officer.&nbsp; The nearest approach
+to another white man on board of her was the engineer, a Portuguese
+half-caste, as thin as a lath and quite a youngster at that.&nbsp; For
+all practical purposes Davidson was managing that command of his single-handed;
+and of course this was known in the port.&nbsp; I am telling you of
+it because the fact had its influence on the developments you shall
+hear of presently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His steamer, being so small, could go up tiny creeks and into
+shallow bays and through reefs and over sand-banks, collecting produce,
+where no other vessel but a native craft would think of venturing.&nbsp;
+It is a paying game, often.&nbsp; Davidson was known to visit in her
+places that no one else could find and that hardly anybody had ever
+heard of.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The old dollars being called in, Davidson&rsquo;s Chinaman
+thought that the <i>Sissie</i> would be just the thing to collect them
+from small traders in the less frequented parts of the Archipelago.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s a good business.&nbsp; Such cases of dollars are dumped aft
+in the ship&rsquo;s lazarette, and you get good freight for very little
+trouble and space.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, too, thought it was a good idea; and together they
+made up a list of his calls on his next trip.&nbsp; Then Davidson (he
+had naturally the chart of his voyages in his head) remarked that on
+his way back he might look in at a certain settlement up a mere creek,
+where a poor sort of white man lived in a native village.&nbsp; Davidson
+pointed out to his Chinaman that the fellow was certain to have some
+rattans to ship.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Probably enough to fill her forward,&rsquo; said Davidson.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And that&rsquo;ll be better than bringing her back with empty
+holds.&nbsp; A day more or less doesn&rsquo;t matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This was sound talk, and the Chinaman owner could not but
+agree.&nbsp; But if it hadn&rsquo;t been sound it would have been just
+the same.&nbsp; Davidson did what he liked.&nbsp; He was a man that
+could do no wrong.&nbsp; However, this suggestion of his was not merely
+a business matter.&nbsp; There was in it a touch of Davidsonian kindness.&nbsp;
+For you must know that the man could not have continued to live quietly
+up that creek if it had not been for Davidson&rsquo;s willingness to
+call there from time to time.&nbsp; And Davidson&rsquo;s Chinaman knew
+this perfectly well, too.&nbsp; So he only smiled his dignified, bland
+smile, and said: &lsquo;All right, Captain.&nbsp; You do what you like.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will explain presently how this connection between Davidson
+and that fellow came about.&nbsp; Now I want to tell you about the part
+of this affair which happened here&mdash;the preliminaries of it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know as well as I do that these tiffin-rooms where we
+are sitting now have been in existence for many years.&nbsp; Well, next
+day about twelve o&rsquo;clock, Davidson dropped in here to get something
+to eat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And here comes the only moment in this story where accident&mdash;mere
+accident&mdash;plays a part.&nbsp; If Davidson had gone home that day
+for tiffin, there would be now, after twelve years or more, nothing
+changed in his kindly, placid smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he came in here; and perhaps it was sitting at this very
+table that he remarked to a friend of mine that his next trip was to
+be a dollar-collecting trip.&nbsp; He added, laughing, that his wife
+was making rather a fuss about it.&nbsp; She had begged him to stay
+ashore and get somebody else to take his place for a voyage.&nbsp; She
+thought there was some danger on account of the dollars.&nbsp; He told
+her, he said, that there were no Java-sea pirates nowadays except in
+boys&rsquo; books.&nbsp; He had laughed at her fears, but he was very
+sorry, too; for when she took any notion in her head it was impossible
+to argue her out of it.&nbsp; She would be worrying herself all the
+time he was away.&nbsp; Well, he couldn&rsquo;t help it.&nbsp; There
+was no one ashore fit to take his place for the trip.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This friend of mine and I went home together in the same mail-boat,
+and he mentioned that conversation one evening in the Red Sea while
+we were talking over the things and people we had just left, with more
+or less regret.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say that Davidson occupied a very prominent
+place.&nbsp; Moral excellence seldom does.&nbsp; He was quietly appreciated
+by those who knew him well; but his more obvious distinction consisted
+in this, that he was married.&nbsp; Ours, as you remember, was a bachelor
+crowd; in spirit anyhow, if not absolutely in fact.&nbsp; There might
+have been a few wives in existence, but if so they were invisible, distant,
+never alluded to.&nbsp; For what would have been the good?&nbsp; Davidson
+alone was visibly married.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Being married suited him exactly.&nbsp; It fitted him so well
+that the wildest of us did not resent the fact when it was disclosed.&nbsp;
+Directly he had felt his feet out here, Davidson sent for his wife.&nbsp;
+She came out (from West Australia) in the <i>Somerset</i>, under the
+care of Captain Ritchie&mdash;you know, Monkey-face Ritchie&mdash;who
+couldn&rsquo;t praise enough her sweetness, her gentleness, and her
+charm.&nbsp; She seemed to be the heaven-born mate for Davidson.&nbsp;
+She found on arrival a very pretty bungalow on the hill, ready for her
+and the little girl they had.&nbsp; Very soon he got for her a two-wheeled
+trap and a Burmah pony, and she used to drive down of an evening to
+pick up Davidson, on the quay.&nbsp; When Davidson, beaming, got into
+the trap, it would become very full all at once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We used to admire Mrs. Davidson from a distance.&nbsp; It
+was a girlish head out of a keepsake.&nbsp; From a distance.&nbsp; We
+had not many opportunities for a closer view, because she did not care
+to give them to us.&nbsp; We would have been glad to drop in at the
+Davidson bungalow, but we were made to feel somehow that we were not
+very welcome there.&nbsp; Not that she ever said anything ungracious.&nbsp;
+She never had much to say for herself.&nbsp; I was perhaps the one who
+saw most of the Davidsons at home.&nbsp; What I noticed under the superficial
+aspect of vapid sweetness was her convex, obstinate forehead, and her
+small, red, pretty, ungenerous mouth.&nbsp; But then I am an observer
+with strong prejudices.&nbsp; Most of us were fetched by her white,
+swan-like neck, by that drooping, innocent profile.&nbsp; There was
+a lot of latent devotion to Davidson&rsquo;s wife hereabouts, at that
+time, I can tell you.&nbsp; But my idea was that she repaid it by a
+profound suspicion of the sort of men we were; a mistrust which extended&mdash;I
+fancied&mdash;to her very husband at times.&nbsp; And I thought then
+she was jealous of him in a way; though there were no women that she
+could be jealous about.&nbsp; She had no women&rsquo;s society.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s difficult for a shipmaster&rsquo;s wife unless there are
+other shipmasters&rsquo; wives about, and there were none here then.&nbsp;
+I know that the dock manager&rsquo;s wife called on her; but that was
+all.&nbsp; The fellows here formed the opinion that Mrs. Davidson was
+a meek, shy little thing.&nbsp; She looked it, I must say.&nbsp; And
+this opinion was so universal that the friend I have been telling you
+of remembered his conversation with Davidson simply because of the statement
+about Davidson&rsquo;s wife.&nbsp; He even wondered to me: &lsquo;Fancy
+Mrs. Davidson making a fuss to that extent.&nbsp; She didn&rsquo;t seem
+to me the sort of woman that would know how to make a fuss about anything.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wondered, too&mdash;but not so much.&nbsp; That bumpy forehead&mdash;eh?&nbsp;
+I had always suspected her of being silly.&nbsp; And I observed that
+Davidson must have been vexed by this display of wifely anxiety.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My friend said: &lsquo;No.&nbsp; He seemed rather touched
+and distressed.&nbsp; There really was no one he could ask to relieve
+him; mainly because he intended to make a call in some God-forsaken
+creek, to look up a fellow of the name of Bamtz who apparently had settled
+there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And again my friend wondered.&nbsp; &lsquo;Tell me,&rsquo;
+he cried, &lsquo;what connection can there be between Davidson and such
+a creature as Bamtz?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t remember now what answer I made.&nbsp; A sufficient
+one could have been given in two words: &lsquo;Davidson&rsquo;s goodness.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+<i>That</i> never boggled at unworthiness if there was the slightest
+reason for compassion.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want you to think that Davidson
+had no discrimination at all.&nbsp; Bamtz could not have imposed on
+him.&nbsp; Moreover, everybody knew what Bamtz was.&nbsp; He was a loafer
+with a beard.&nbsp; When I think of Bamtz, the first thing I see is
+that long black beard and a lot of propitiatory wrinkles at the corners
+of two little eyes.&nbsp; There was no such beard from here to Polynesia,
+where a beard is a valuable property in itself.&nbsp; Bamtz&rsquo;s
+beard was valuable to him in another way.&nbsp; You know how impressed
+Orientals are by a fine beard.&nbsp; Years and years ago, I remember,
+the grave Abdullah, the great trader of Sambir, unable to repress signs
+of astonishment and admiration at the first sight of that imposing beard.&nbsp;
+And it&rsquo;s very well known that Bamtz lived on Abdullah off and
+on for several years.&nbsp; It was a unique beard, and so was the bearer
+of the same.&nbsp; A unique loafer.&nbsp; He made a fine art of it,
+or rather a sort of craft and mystery.&nbsp; One can understand a fellow
+living by cadging and small swindles in towns, in large communities
+of people; but Bamtz managed to do that trick in the wilderness, to
+loaf on the outskirts of the virgin forest.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He understood how to ingratiate himself with the natives.&nbsp;
+He would arrive in some settlement up a river, make a present of a cheap
+carbine or a pair of shoddy binoculars, or something of that sort, to
+the Rajah, or the head-man, or the principal trader; and on the strength
+of that gift, ask for a house, posing mysteriously as a very special
+trader.&nbsp; He would spin them no end of yarns, live on the fat of
+the land, for a while, and then do some mean swindle or other&mdash;or
+else they would get tired of him and ask him to quit.&nbsp; And he would
+go off meekly with an air of injured innocence.&nbsp; Funny life.&nbsp;
+Yet, he never got hurt somehow.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard of the Rajah
+of Dongala giving him fifty dollars&rsquo; worth of trade goods and
+paying his passage in a prau only to get rid of him.&nbsp; Fact.&nbsp;
+And observe that nothing prevented the old fellow having Bamtz&rsquo;s
+throat cut and the carcase thrown into deep water outside the reefs;
+for who on earth would have inquired after Bamtz?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had been known to loaf up and down the wilderness as far
+north as the Gulf of Tonkin.&nbsp; Neither did he disdain a spell of
+civilisation from time to time.&nbsp; And it was while loafing and cadging
+in Saigon, bearded and dignified (he gave himself out there as a bookkeeper),
+that he came across Laughing Anne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The less said of her early history the better, but something
+must be said.&nbsp; We may safely suppose there was very little heart
+left in her famous laugh when Bamtz spoke first to her in some low caf&eacute;.&nbsp;
+She was stranded in Saigon with precious little money and in great trouble
+about a kid she had, a boy of five or six.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A fellow I just remember, whom they called Pearler Harry,
+brought her out first into these parts&mdash;from Australia, I believe.&nbsp;
+He brought her out and then dropped her, and she remained knocking about
+here and there, known to most of us by sight, at any rate.&nbsp; Everybody
+in the Archipelago had heard of Laughing Anne.&nbsp; She had really
+a pleasant silvery laugh always at her disposal, so to speak, but it
+wasn&rsquo;t enough apparently to make her fortune.&nbsp; The poor creature
+was ready to stick to any half-decent man if he would only let her,
+but she always got dropped, as it might have been expected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had been left in Saigon by the skipper of a German ship
+with whom she had been going up and down the China coast as far as Vladivostok
+for near upon two years.&nbsp; The German said to her: &lsquo;This is
+all over, <i>mein Taubchen</i>.&nbsp; I am going home now to get married
+to the girl I got engaged to before coming out here.&rsquo;&nbsp; And
+Anne said: &lsquo;All right, I&rsquo;m ready to go.&nbsp; We part friends,
+don&rsquo;t we?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She was always anxious to part friends.&nbsp; The German told
+her that of course they were parting friends.&nbsp; He looked rather
+glum at the moment of parting.&nbsp; She laughed and went ashore.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it was no laughing matter for her.&nbsp; She had some
+notion that this would be her last chance.&nbsp; What frightened her
+most was the future of her child.&nbsp; She had left her boy in Saigon
+before going off with the German, in the care of an elderly French couple.&nbsp;
+The husband was a doorkeeper in some Government office, but his time
+was up, and they were returning to France.&nbsp; She had to take the
+boy back from them; and after she had got him back, she did not like
+to part with him any more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was the situation when she and Bamtz got acquainted casually.&nbsp;
+She could not have had any illusions about that fellow.&nbsp; To pick
+up with Bamtz was coming down pretty low in the world, even from a material
+point of view.&nbsp; She had always been decent, in her way; whereas
+Bamtz was, not to mince words, an abject sort of creature.&nbsp; On
+the other hand, that bearded loafer, who looked much more like a pirate
+than a bookkeeper, was not a brute.&nbsp; He was gentle&mdash;rather&mdash;even
+in his cups.&nbsp; And then, despair, like misfortune, makes us acquainted
+with strange bed-fellows.&nbsp; For she may well have despaired.&nbsp;
+She was no longer young&mdash;you know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the man&rsquo;s side this conjunction is more difficult
+to explain, perhaps.&nbsp; One thing, however, must be said of Bamtz;
+he had always kept clear of native women.&nbsp; As one can&rsquo;t suspect
+him of moral delicacy, I surmise that it must have been from prudence.&nbsp;
+And he, too, was no longer young.&nbsp; There were many white hairs
+in his valuable black beard by then.&nbsp; He may have simply longed
+for some kind of companionship in his queer, degraded existence.&nbsp;
+Whatever their motives, they vanished from Saigon together.&nbsp; And
+of course nobody cared what had become of them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Six months later Davidson came into the Mirrah Settlement.&nbsp;
+It was the very first time he had been up that creek, where no European
+vessel had ever been seen before.&nbsp; A Javanese passenger he had
+on board offered him fifty dollars to call in there&mdash;it must have
+been some very particular business&mdash;and Davidson consented to try.&nbsp;
+Fifty dollars, he told me, were neither here nor there; but he was curious
+to see the place, and the little <i>Sissie</i> could go anywhere where
+there was water enough to float a soup-plate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson landed his Javanese plutocrat, and, as he had to
+wait a couple of hours for the tide, he went ashore himself to stretch
+his legs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a small settlement.&nbsp; Some sixty houses, most of
+them built on piles over the river, the rest scattered in the long grass;
+the usual pathway at the back; the forest hemming in the clearing and
+smothering what there might have been of air into a dead, hot stagnation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the population was on the river-bank staring silently,
+as Malays will do, at the <i>Sissie</i> anchored in the stream.&nbsp;
+She was almost as wonderful to them as an angel&rsquo;s visit.&nbsp;
+Many of the old people had only heard vaguely of fire-ships, and not
+many of the younger generation had seen one.&nbsp; On the back path
+Davidson strolled in perfect solitude.&nbsp; But he became aware of
+a bad smell and concluded he would go no farther.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;While he stood wiping his forehead, he heard from somewhere
+the exclamation: &lsquo;My God!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s Davy!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson&rsquo;s lower jaw, as he expressed it, came unhooked
+at the crying of this excited voice.&nbsp; Davy was the name used by
+the associates of his young days; he hadn&rsquo;t heard it for many
+years.&nbsp; He stared about with his mouth open and saw a white woman
+issue from the long grass in which a small hut stood buried nearly up
+to the roof.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try to imagine the shock: in that wild place that you couldn&rsquo;t
+find on a map, and more squalid than the most poverty-stricken Malay
+settlement had a right to be, this European woman coming swishing out
+of the long grass in a fanciful tea-gown thing, dingy pink satin, with
+a long train and frayed lace trimmings; her eyes like black coals in
+a pasty-white face.&nbsp; Davidson thought that he was asleep, that
+he was delirious.&nbsp; From the offensive village mudhole (it was what
+Davidson had sniffed just before) a couple of filthy buffaloes uprose
+with loud snorts and lumbered off crashing through the bushes, panic-struck
+by this apparition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The woman came forward, her arms extended, and laid her hands
+on Davidson&rsquo;s shoulders, exclaiming: &lsquo;Why!&nbsp; You have
+hardly changed at all.&nbsp; The same good Davy.&rsquo;&nbsp; And she
+laughed a little wildly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This sound was to Davidson like a galvanic shock to a corpse.&nbsp;
+He started in every muscle.&nbsp; &lsquo;Laughing Anne,&rsquo; he said
+in an awe-struck voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;All that&rsquo;s left of her, Davy.&nbsp; All that&rsquo;s
+left of her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson looked up at the sky; but there was to be seen no
+balloon from which she could have fallen on that spot.&nbsp; When he
+brought his distracted gaze down, it rested on a child holding on with
+a brown little paw to the pink satin gown.&nbsp; He had run out of the
+grass after her.&nbsp; Had Davidson seen a real hobgoblin his eyes could
+not have bulged more than at this small boy in a dirty white blouse
+and ragged knickers.&nbsp; He had a round head of tight chestnut curls,
+very sunburnt legs, a freckled face, and merry eyes.&nbsp; Admonished
+by his mother to greet the gentleman, he finished off Davidson by addressing
+him in French.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;<i>Bonjour</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, overcome, looked up at the woman in silence.&nbsp;
+She sent the child back to the hut, and when he had disappeared in the
+grass, she turned to Davidson, tried to speak, but after getting out
+the words, &lsquo;That&rsquo;s my Tony,&rsquo; burst into a long fit
+of crying.&nbsp; She had to lean on Davidson&rsquo;s shoulder.&nbsp;
+He, distressed in the goodness of his heart, stood rooted to the spot
+where she had come upon him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a meeting&mdash;eh?&nbsp; Bamtz had sent her out to see
+what white man it was who had landed.&nbsp; And she had recognised him
+from that time when Davidson, who had been pearling himself in his youth,
+had been associating with Harry the Pearler and others, the quietest
+of a rather rowdy set.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Before Davidson retraced his steps to go on board the steamer,
+he had heard much of Laughing Anne&rsquo;s story, and had even had an
+interview, on the path, with Bamtz himself.&nbsp; She ran back to the
+hut to fetch him, and he came out lounging, with his hands in his pockets,
+with the detached, casual manner under which he concealed his propensity
+to cringe.&nbsp; Ya-a-as-as.&nbsp; He thought he would settle here permanently&mdash;with
+her.&nbsp; This with a nod at Laughing Anne, who stood by, a haggard,
+tragically anxious figure, her black hair hanging over her shoulders.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;No more paint and dyes for me, Davy,&rsquo; she struck
+in, &lsquo;if only you will do what he wants you to do.&nbsp; You know
+that I was always ready to stand by my men&mdash;if they had only let
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson had no doubt of her earnestness.&nbsp; It was of
+Bamtz&rsquo;s good faith that he was not at all sure.&nbsp; Bamtz wanted
+Davidson to promise to call at Mirrah more or less regularly.&nbsp;
+He thought he saw an opening to do business with rattans there, if only
+he could depend on some craft to bring out trading goods and take away
+his produce.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I have a few dollars to make a start on.&nbsp; The
+people are all right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had come there, where he was not known, in a native prau,
+and had managed, with his sedate manner and the exactly right kind of
+yarn he knew how to tell to the natives, to ingratiate himself with
+the chief man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The Orang Kaya has given me that empty house there
+to live in as long as I will stay,&rsquo; added Bamtz.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Do it, Davy,&rsquo; cried the woman suddenly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Think of that poor kid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Seen him?&nbsp; &lsquo;Cute little customer,&rsquo;
+said the reformed loafer in such a tone of interest as to surprise Davidson
+into a kindly glance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I certainly can do it,&rsquo; he declared.&nbsp; He
+thought of at first making some stipulation as to Bamtz behaving decently
+to the woman, but his exaggerated delicacy and also the conviction that
+such a fellow&rsquo;s promises were worth nothing restrained him.&nbsp;
+Anne went a little distance down the path with him talking anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It&rsquo;s for the kid.&nbsp; How could I have kept
+him with me if I had to knock about in towns?&nbsp; Here he will never
+know that his mother was a painted woman.&nbsp; And this Bamtz likes
+him.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s real fond of him.&nbsp; I suppose I ought to thank
+God for that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson shuddered at any human creature being brought so
+low as to have to thank God for the favours or affection of a Bamtz.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;And do you think that you can make out to live here?&rsquo;
+he asked gently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Can&rsquo;t I?&nbsp; You know I have always stuck to
+men through thick and thin till they had enough of me.&nbsp; And now
+look at me!&nbsp; But inside I am as I always was.&nbsp; I have acted
+on the square to them all one after another.&nbsp; Only they do get
+tired somehow.&nbsp; Oh, Davy!&nbsp; Harry ought not to have cast me
+off.&nbsp; It was he that led me astray.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson mentioned to her that Harry the Pearler had been
+dead now for some years.&nbsp; Perhaps she had heard?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She made a sign that she had heard; and walked by the side
+of Davidson in silence nearly to the bank.&nbsp; Then she told him that
+her meeting with him had brought back the old times to her mind.&nbsp;
+She had not cried for years.&nbsp; She was not a crying woman either.&nbsp;
+It was hearing herself called Laughing Anne that had started her sobbing
+like a fool.&nbsp; Harry was the only man she had loved.&nbsp; The others
+-</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She shrugged her shoulders.&nbsp; But she prided herself on
+her loyalty to the successive partners of her dismal adventures.&nbsp;
+She had never played any tricks in her life.&nbsp; She was a pal worth
+having.&nbsp; But men did get tired.&nbsp; They did not understand women.&nbsp;
+She supposed it had to be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson was attempting a veiled warning as to Bamtz, but
+she interrupted him.&nbsp; She knew what men were.&nbsp; She knew what
+this man was like.&nbsp; But he had taken wonderfully to the kid.&nbsp;
+And Davidson desisted willingly, saying to himself that surely poor
+Laughing Anne could have no illusions by this time.&nbsp; She wrung
+his hand hard at parting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It&rsquo;s for the kid, Davy&mdash;it&rsquo;s for the
+kid.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t he a bright little chap?&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>CHAPTER II</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;All this happened about two years before the day when Davidson,
+sitting in this very room, talked to my friend.&nbsp; You will see presently
+how this room can get full.&nbsp; Every seat&rsquo;ll be occupied, and
+as you notice, the tables are set close, so that the backs of the chairs
+are almost touching.&nbsp; There is also a good deal of noisy talk here
+about one o&rsquo;clock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose Davidson was talking very loudly; but
+very likely he had to raise his voice across the table to my friend.&nbsp;
+And here accident, mere accident, put in its work by providing a pair
+of fine ears close behind Davidson&rsquo;s chair.&nbsp; It was ten to
+one against, the owner of the same having enough change in his pockets
+to get his tiffin here.&nbsp; But he had.&nbsp; Most likely had rooked
+somebody of a few dollars at cards overnight.&nbsp; He was a bright
+creature of the name of Fector, a spare, short, jumpy fellow with a
+red face and muddy eyes.&nbsp; He described himself as a journalist
+as certain kind of women give themselves out as actresses in the dock
+of a police-court.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He used to introduce himself to strangers as a man with a
+mission to track out abuses and fight them whenever found.&nbsp; He
+would also hint that he was a martyr.&nbsp; And it&rsquo;s a fact that
+he had been kicked, horsewhipped, imprisoned, and hounded with ignominy
+out of pretty well every place between Ceylon and Shanghai, for a professional
+blackmailer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose, in that trade, you&rsquo;ve got to have active
+wits and sharp ears.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s not likely that he overheard every
+word Davidson said about his dollar collecting trip, but he heard enough
+to set his wits at work.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He let Davidson go out, and then hastened away down to the
+native slums to a sort of lodging-house kept in partnership by the usual
+sort of Portuguese and a very disreputable Chinaman.&nbsp; Macao Hotel,
+it was called, but it was mostly a gambling den that one used to warn
+fellows against.&nbsp; Perhaps you remember?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There, the evening before, Fector had met a precious couple,
+a partnership even more queer than the Portuguese and the Chinaman.&nbsp;
+One of the two was Niclaus&mdash;you know.&nbsp; Why! the fellow with
+a Tartar moustache and a yellow complexion, like a Mongolian, only that
+his eyes were set straight and his face was not so flat.&nbsp; One couldn&rsquo;t
+tell what breed he was.&nbsp; A nondescript beggar.&nbsp; From a certain
+angle you would think a very bilious white man.&nbsp; And I daresay
+he was.&nbsp; He owned a Malay prau and called himself The Nakhoda,
+as one would say: The Captain.&nbsp; Aha!&nbsp; Now you remember.&nbsp;
+He couldn&rsquo;t, apparently, speak any other European language than
+English, but he flew the Dutch flag on his prau.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The other was the Frenchman without hands.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp;
+The very same we used to know in &lsquo;79 in Sydney, keeping a little
+tobacco shop at the lower end of George Street.&nbsp; You remember the
+huge carcase hunched up behind the counter, the big white face and the
+long black hair brushed back off a high forehead like a bard&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+He was always trying to roll cigarettes on his knee with his stumps,
+telling endless yarns of Polynesia and whining and cursing in turn about
+&lsquo;<i>mon malheur</i>.&rsquo;&nbsp; His hands had been blown away
+by a dynamite cartridge while fishing in some lagoon.&nbsp; This accident,
+I believe, had made him more wicked than before, which is saying a good
+deal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was always talking about &lsquo;resuming his activities&rsquo;
+some day, whatever they were, if he could only get an intelligent companion.&nbsp;
+It was evident that the little shop was no field for his activities,
+and the sickly woman with her face tied up, who used to look in sometimes
+through the back door, was no companion for him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, true enough, he vanished from Sydney before long, after
+some trouble with the Excise fellows about his stock.&nbsp; Goods stolen
+out of a warehouse or something similar.&nbsp; He left the woman behind,
+but he must have secured some sort of companion&mdash;he could not have
+shifted for himself; but whom he went away with, and where, and what
+other companions he might have picked up afterwards, it is impossible
+to make the remotest guess about.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why exactly he came this way I can&rsquo;t tell.&nbsp; Towards
+the end of my time here we began to hear talk of a maimed Frenchman
+who had been seen here and there.&nbsp; But no one knew then that he
+had foregathered with Niclaus and lived in his prau.&nbsp; I daresay
+he put Niclaus up to a thing or two.&nbsp; Anyhow, it was a partnership.&nbsp;
+Niclaus was somewhat afraid of the Frenchman on account of his tempers,
+which were awful.&nbsp; He looked then like a devil; but a man without
+hands, unable to load or handle a weapon, can at best go for one only
+with his teeth.&nbsp; From that danger Niclaus felt certain he could
+always defend himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The couple were alone together loafing in the common-room
+of that infamous hotel when Fector turned up.&nbsp; After some beating
+about the bush, for he was doubtful how far he could trust these two,
+he repeated what he had overheard in the tiffin-rooms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His tale did not have much success till he came to mention
+the creek and Bamtz&rsquo;s name.&nbsp; Niclaus, sailing about like
+a native in a prau, was, in his own words, &lsquo;familiar with the
+locality.&rsquo;&nbsp; The huge Frenchman, walking up and down the room
+with his stumps in the pockets of his jacket, stopped short in surprise.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;<i>Comment?&nbsp; Bamtz!&nbsp; Bamtz</i>!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had run across him several times in his life.&nbsp; He
+exclaimed: &lsquo;<i>Bamtz</i>!&nbsp; <i>Mais je ne connais que</i>
+<i>ca</i>!&rsquo;&nbsp; And he applied such a contemptuously indecent
+epithet to Bamtz that when, later, he alluded to him as &lsquo;<i>une
+chiffe</i>&rsquo; (a mere rag) it sounded quite complimentary.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We can do with him what we like,&rsquo; he asserted confidently.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Oh, yes.&nbsp; Certainly we must hasten to pay a visit to that&mdash;&rsquo;
+(another awful descriptive epithet quite unfit for repetition).&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Devil take me if we don&rsquo;t pull off a coup that will set
+us all up for a long time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He saw all that lot of dollars melted into bars and disposed
+of somewhere on the China coast.&nbsp; Of the escape after the <i>coup</i>
+he never doubted.&nbsp; There was Niclaus&rsquo;s prau to manage that
+in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In his enthusiasm he pulled his stumps out of his pockets
+and waved them about.&nbsp; Then, catching sight of them, as it were,
+he held them in front of his eyes, cursing and blaspheming and bewailing
+his misfortune and his helplessness, till Niclaus quieted him down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it was his mind that planned out the affair and it was
+his spirit which carried the other two on.&nbsp; Neither of them was
+of the bold buccaneer type; and Fector, especially, had never in his
+adventurous life used other weapons than slander and lies.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That very evening they departed on a visit to Bamtz in Niclaus&rsquo;s
+prau, which had been lying, emptied of her cargo of cocoanuts, for a
+day or two under the canal bridge.&nbsp; They must have crossed the
+bows of the anchored <i>Sissie</i>, and no doubt looked at her with
+interest as the scene of their future exploit, the great haul, <i>le
+grand coup</i>!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson&rsquo;s wife, to his great surprise, sulked with
+him for several days before he left.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know whether
+it occurred to him that, for all her angelic profile, she was a very
+stupidly obstinate girl.&nbsp; She didn&rsquo;t like the tropics.&nbsp;
+He had brought her out there, where she had no friends, and now, she
+said, he was becoming inconsiderate.&nbsp; She had a presentiment of
+some misfortune, and notwithstanding Davidson&rsquo;s painstaking explanations,
+she could not see why her presentiments were to be disregarded.&nbsp;
+On the very last evening before Davidson went away she asked him in
+a suspicious manner:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Why is it that you are so anxious to go this time?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I am not anxious,&rsquo; protested the good Davidson.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I simply can&rsquo;t help myself.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no one
+else to go in my place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Oh!&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no one,&rsquo; she said, turning
+away slowly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She was so distant with him that evening that Davidson from
+a sense of delicacy made up his mind to say good-bye to her at once
+and go and sleep on board.&nbsp; He felt very miserable and, strangely
+enough, more on his own account than on account of his wife.&nbsp; She
+seemed to him much more offended than grieved.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Three weeks later, having collected a good many cases of old
+dollars (they were stowed aft in the lazarette with an iron bar and
+a padlock securing the hatch under his cabin-table), yes, with a bigger
+lot than he had expected to collect, he found himself homeward bound
+and off the entrance of the creek where Bamtz lived and even, in a sense,
+flourished.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was so late in the day that Davidson actually hesitated
+whether he should not pass by this time.&nbsp; He had no regard for
+Bamtz, who was a degraded but not a really unhappy man.&nbsp; His pity
+for Laughing Anne was no more than her case deserved.&nbsp; But his
+goodness was of a particularly delicate sort.&nbsp; He realised how
+these people were dependent on him, and how they would feel their dependence
+(if he failed to turn up) through a long month of anxious waiting.&nbsp;
+Prompted by his sensitive humanity, Davidson, in the gathering dusk,
+turned the <i>Sissie&rsquo;s</i> head towards the hardly discernible
+coast, and navigated her safety through a maze of shallow patches.&nbsp;
+But by the time he got to the mouth of the creek the night had come.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The narrow waterway lay like a black cutting through the forest.&nbsp;
+And as there were always grounded snaggs in the channel which it would
+be impossible to make out, Davidson very prudently turned the <i>Sissie</i>
+round, and with only enough steam on the boilers to give her a touch
+ahead if necessary, let her drift up stern first with the tide, silent
+and invisible in the impenetrable darkness and in the dumb stillness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a long job, and when at the end of two hours Davidson
+thought he must be up to the clearing, the settlement slept already,
+the whole land of forests and rivers was asleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, seeing a solitary light in the massed darkness of
+the shore, knew that it was burning in Bamtz&rsquo;s house.&nbsp; This
+was unexpected at this time of the night, but convenient as a guide.&nbsp;
+By a turn of the screw and a touch of the helm he sheered the <i>Sissie</i>
+alongside Bamtz&rsquo;s wharf&mdash;a miserable structure of a dozen
+piles and a few planks, of which the ex-vagabond was very proud.&nbsp;
+A couple of Kalashes jumped down on it, took a turn with the ropes thrown
+to them round the posts, and the <i>Sissie</i> came to rest without
+a single loud word or the slightest noise.&nbsp; And just in time too,
+for the tide turned even before she was properly moored.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson had something to eat, and then, coming on deck for
+a last look round, noticed that the light was still burning in the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This was very unusual, but since they were awake so late,
+Davidson thought that he would go up to say that he was in a hurry to
+be off and to ask that what rattans there were in store should be sent
+on board with the first sign of dawn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He stepped carefully over the shaky planks, not being anxious
+to get a sprained ankle, and picked his way across the waste ground
+to the foot of the house ladder.&nbsp; The house was but a glorified
+hut on piles, unfenced and lonely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like many a stout man, Davidson is very lightfooted.&nbsp;
+He climbed the seven steps or so, stepped across the bamboo platform
+quietly, but what he saw through the doorway stopped him short.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Four men were sitting by the light of a solitary candle.&nbsp;
+There was a bottle, a jug and glasses on the table, but they were not
+engaged in drinking.&nbsp; Two packs of cards were lying there too,
+but they were not preparing to play.&nbsp; They were talking together
+in whispers, and remained quite unaware of him.&nbsp; He himself was
+too astonished to make a sound for some time.&nbsp; The world was still,
+except for the sibilation of the whispering heads bunched together over
+the table.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Davidson, as I have quoted him to you before, didn&rsquo;t
+like it.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t like it at all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The situation ended with a scream proceeding from the dark,
+interior part of the room.&nbsp; &lsquo;O Davy! you&rsquo;ve given me
+a turn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson made out beyond the table Anne&rsquo;s very pale
+face.&nbsp; She laughed a little hysterically, out of the deep shadows
+between the gloomy mat walls.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha! ha! ha!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The four heads sprang apart at the first sound, and four pairs
+of eyes became fixed stonily on Davidson.&nbsp; The woman came forward,
+having little more on her than a loose chintz wrapper and straw slippers
+on her bare feet.&nbsp; Her head was tied up Malay fashion in a red
+handkerchief, with a mass of loose hair hanging under it behind.&nbsp;
+Her professional, gay, European feathers had literally dropped off her
+in the course of these two years, but a long necklace of amber beads
+hung round her uncovered neck.&nbsp; It was the only ornament she had
+left; Bamtz had sold all her poor-enough trinkets during the flight
+from Saigon&mdash;when their association began.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She came forward, past the table, into the light, with her
+usual groping gesture of extended arms, as though her soul, poor thing!
+had gone blind long ago, her white cheeks hollow, her eyes darkly wild,
+distracted, as Davidson thought.&nbsp; She came on swiftly, grabbed
+him by the arm, dragged him in.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s heaven itself
+that sends you to-night.&nbsp; My Tony&rsquo;s so bad&mdash;come and
+see him.&nbsp; Come along&mdash;do!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson submitted.&nbsp; The only one of the men to move
+was Bamtz, who made as if to get up but dropped back in his chair again.&nbsp;
+Davidson in passing heard him mutter confusedly something that sounded
+like &lsquo;poor little beggar.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The child, lying very flushed in a miserable cot knocked up
+out of gin-cases, stared at Davidson with wide, drowsy eyes.&nbsp; It
+was a bad bout of fever clearly.&nbsp; But while Davidson was promising
+to go on board and fetch some medicines, and generally trying to say
+reassuring things, he could not help being struck by the extraordinary
+manner of the woman standing by his side.&nbsp; Gazing with despairing
+expression down at the cot, she would suddenly throw a quick, startled
+glance at Davidson and then towards the other room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Yes, my poor girl,&rsquo; he whispered, interpreting
+her distraction in his own way, though he had nothing precise in his
+mind.&nbsp; &lsquo;I&rsquo;m afraid this bodes no good to you.&nbsp;
+How is it they are here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She seized his forearm and breathed out forcibly: &lsquo;No
+good to me!&nbsp; Oh, no!&nbsp; But what about you!&nbsp; They are after
+the dollars you have on board.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson let out an astonished &lsquo;How do they know there
+are any dollars?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She clapped her hands lightly, in distress.&nbsp; &lsquo;So
+it&rsquo;s true!&nbsp; You have them on board?&nbsp; Then look out for
+yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They stood gazing down at the boy in the cot, aware that they
+might be observed from the other room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;We must get him to perspire as soon as possible,&rsquo;
+said Davidson in his ordinary voice.&nbsp; &lsquo;You&rsquo;ll have
+to give him hot drink of some kind.&nbsp; I will go on board and bring
+you a spirit-kettle amongst other things.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he added
+under his breath: &lsquo;Do they actually mean murder?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She made no sign, she had returned to her desolate contemplation
+of the boy.&nbsp; Davidson thought she had not heard him even, when
+with an unchanged expression she spoke under her breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The Frenchman would, in a minute.&nbsp; The others
+shirk it&mdash;unless you resist.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s a devil.&nbsp; He
+keeps them going.&nbsp; Without him they would have done nothing but
+talk.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got chummy with him. What can you do when you
+are with a man like the fellow I am with now.&nbsp; Bamtz is terrified
+of them, and they know it.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s in it from funk.&nbsp; Oh,
+Davy! take your ship away&mdash;quick!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Too late,&rsquo; said Davidson.&nbsp; &lsquo;She&rsquo;s
+on the mud already.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the kid hadn&rsquo;t been in this state I would have run
+off with him&mdash;to you&mdash;into the woods&mdash;anywhere.&nbsp;
+Oh, Davy! will he die?&rsquo; she cried aloud suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson met three men in the doorway.&nbsp; They made way
+for him without actually daring to face his glance.&nbsp; But Bamtz
+was the only one who looked down with an air of guilt.&nbsp; The big
+Frenchman had remained lolling in his chair; he kept his stumps in his
+pockets and addressed Davidson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Isn&rsquo;t it unfortunate about that child!&nbsp;
+The distress of that woman there upsets me, but I am of no use in the
+world.&nbsp; I couldn&rsquo;t smooth the sick pillow of my dearest friend.&nbsp;
+I have no hands.&nbsp; Would you mind sticking one of those cigarettes
+there into the mouth of a poor, harmless cripple?&nbsp; My nerves want
+soothing&mdash;upon my honour, they do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson complied with his naturally kind smile.&nbsp; As
+his outward placidity becomes only more pronounced, if possible, the
+more reason there is for excitement; and as Davidson&rsquo;s eyes, when
+his wits are hard at work, get very still and as if sleepy, the huge
+Frenchman might have been justified in concluding that the man there
+was a mere sheep&mdash;a sheep ready for slaughter.&nbsp; With a &lsquo;<i>merci
+bien</i>&rsquo; he uplifted his huge carcase to reach the light of the
+candle with his cigarette, and Davidson left the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going down to the ship and returning, he had time to consider
+his position.&nbsp; At first he was inclined to believe that these men
+(Niclaus&mdash;the white Nakhoda&mdash;was the only one he knew by sight
+before, besides Bamtz) were not of the stamp to proceed to extremities.&nbsp;
+This was partly the reason why he never attempted to take any measures
+on board.&nbsp; His pacific Kalashes were not to be thought of as against
+white men.&nbsp; His wretched engineer would have had a fit from fright
+at the mere idea of any sort of combat.&nbsp; Davidson knew that he
+would have to depend on himself in this affair if it ever came off.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson underestimated naturally the driving power of the
+Frenchman&rsquo;s character and the force of the actuating motive.&nbsp;
+To that man so hopelessly crippled these dollars were an enormous opportunity.&nbsp;
+With his share of the robbery he would open another shop in Vladivostok,
+Ha&iuml;phong, Manila&mdash;somewhere far away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Neither did it occur to Davidson, who is a man of courage,
+if ever there was one, that his psychology was not known to the world
+at large, and that to this particular lot of ruffians, who judged him
+by his appearance, he appeared an unsuspicious, inoffensive, soft creature,
+as he passed again through the room, his hands full of various objects
+and parcels destined for the sick boy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the four were sitting again round the table.&nbsp; Bamtz
+not having the pluck to open his mouth, it was Niclaus who, as a collective
+voice, called out to him thickly to come out soon and join in a drink.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I think I&rsquo;ll have to stay some little time in
+there, to help her look after the boy,&rsquo; Davidson answered without
+stopping.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This was a good thing to say to allay a possible suspicion.&nbsp;
+And, as it was, Davidson felt he must not stay very long.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He sat down on an old empty nail-keg near the improvised cot
+and looked at the child; while Laughing Anne, moving to and fro, preparing
+the hot drink, giving it to the boy in spoonfuls, or stopping to gaze
+motionless at the flushed face, whispered disjointed bits of information.&nbsp;
+She had succeeded in making friends with that French devil.&nbsp; Davy
+would understand that she knew how to make herself pleasant to a man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Davidson nodded without looking at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The big beast had got to be quite confidential with her.&nbsp;
+She held his cards for him when they were having a game.&nbsp; Bamtz!&nbsp;
+Oh!&nbsp; Bamtz in his funk was only too glad to see the Frenchman humoured.&nbsp;
+And the Frenchman had come to believe that she was a woman who didn&rsquo;t
+care what she did.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how it came about they got to
+talk before her openly.&nbsp; For a long time she could not make out
+what game they were up to.&nbsp; The new arrivals, not expecting to
+find a woman with Bamtz, had been very startled and annoyed at first,
+she explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She busied herself in attending to the boy; and nobody looking
+into that room would have seen anything suspicious in those two people
+exchanging murmurs by the sick-bedside.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;But now they think I am a better man than Bamtz ever
+was,&rsquo; she said with a faint laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The child moaned.&nbsp; She went down on her knees, and, bending
+low, contemplated him mournfully.&nbsp; Then raising her head, she asked
+Davidson whether he thought the child would get better.&nbsp; Davidson
+was sure of it.&nbsp; She murmured sadly: &lsquo;Poor kid.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+nothing in life for such as he.&nbsp; Not a dog&rsquo;s chance.&nbsp;
+But I couldn&rsquo;t let him go, Davy!&nbsp; I couldn&rsquo;t.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson felt a profound pity for the child.&nbsp; She laid
+her hand on his knee and whispered an earnest warning against the Frenchman.&nbsp;
+Davy must never let him come to close quarters.&nbsp; Naturally Davidson
+wanted to know the reason, for a man without hands did not strike him
+as very formidable under any circumstances.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Mind you don&rsquo;t let him&mdash;that&rsquo;s all,&rsquo;
+she insisted anxiously, hesitated, and then confessed that the Frenchman
+had got her away from the others that afternoon and had ordered her
+to tie a seven-pound iron weight (out of the set of weights Bamtz used
+in business) to his right stump.&nbsp; She had to do it for him.&nbsp;
+She had been afraid of his savage temper.&nbsp; Bamtz was such a craven,
+and neither of the other men would have cared what happened to her.&nbsp;
+The Frenchman, however, with many awful threats had warned her not to
+let the others know what she had done for him.&nbsp; Afterwards he had
+been trying to cajole her.&nbsp; He had promised her that if she stood
+by him faithfully in this business he would take her with him to Ha&iuml;phong
+or some other place.&nbsp; A poor cripple needed somebody to take care
+of him&mdash;always.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson asked her again if they really meant mischief.&nbsp;
+It was, he told me, the hardest thing to believe he had run up against,
+as yet, in his life.&nbsp; Anne nodded.&nbsp; The Frenchman&rsquo;s
+heart was set on this robbery.&nbsp; Davy might expect them, about midnight,
+creeping on board his ship, to steal anyhow&mdash;to murder, perhaps.&nbsp;
+Her voice sounded weary, and her eyes remained fastened on her child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And still Davidson could not accept it somehow; his contempt
+for these men was too great.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Look here, Davy,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll
+go outside with them when they start, and it will be hard luck if I
+don&rsquo;t find something to laugh at.&nbsp; They are used to that
+from me.&nbsp; Laugh or cry&mdash;what&rsquo;s the odds.&nbsp; You will
+be able to hear me on board on this quiet night.&nbsp; Dark it is too.&nbsp;
+Oh! it&rsquo;s dark, Davy!&mdash;it&rsquo;s dark!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you run any risks,&rsquo; said Davidson.&nbsp;
+Presently he called her attention to the boy, who, less flushed now,
+had dropped into a sound sleep.&nbsp; &lsquo;Look.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll
+be all right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She made as if to snatch the child up to her breast, but restrained
+herself.&nbsp; Davidson prepared to go.&nbsp; She whispered hurriedly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Mind, Davy!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve told them that you generally
+sleep aft in the hammock under the awning over the cabin.&nbsp; They
+have been asking me about your ways and about your ship, too.&nbsp;
+I told them all I knew.&nbsp; I had to keep in with them.&nbsp; And
+Bamtz would have told them if I hadn&rsquo;t&mdash;you understand?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He made a friendly sign and went out.&nbsp; The men about
+the table (except Bamtz) looked at him.&nbsp; This time it was Fector
+who spoke.&nbsp; &lsquo;Won&rsquo;t you join us in a quiet game, Captain?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson said that now the child was better he thought he
+would go on board and turn in.&nbsp; Fector was the only one of the
+four whom he had, so to speak, never seen, for he had had a good look
+at the Frenchman already.&nbsp; He observed Fector&rsquo;s muddy eyes,
+his mean, bitter mouth.&nbsp; Davidson&rsquo;s contempt for those men
+rose in his gorge, while his placid smile, his gentle tones and general
+air of innocence put heart into them.&nbsp; They exchanged meaning glances.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;We shall be sitting late over the cards,&rsquo; Fector
+said in his harsh, low voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t make more noise than you can help.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Oh! we are a quiet lot.&nbsp; And if the invalid shouldn&rsquo;t
+be so well, she will be sure to send one of us down to call you, so
+that you may play the doctor again.&nbsp; So don&rsquo;t shoot at sight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;He isn&rsquo;t a shooting man,&rsquo; struck in Niclaus.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I never shoot before making sure there&rsquo;s a reason
+for it&mdash;at any rate,&rsquo; said Davidson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bamtz let out a sickly snigger.&nbsp; The Frenchman alone
+got up to make a bow to Davidson&rsquo;s careless nod.&nbsp; His stumps
+were stuck immovably in his pockets.&nbsp; Davidson understood now the
+reason.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He went down to the ship.&nbsp; His wits were working actively,
+and he was thoroughly angry.&nbsp; He smiled, he says (it must have
+been the first grim smile of his life), at the thought of the seven-pound
+weight lashed to the end of the Frenchman&rsquo;s stump.&nbsp; The ruffian
+had taken that precaution in case of a quarrel that might arise over
+the division of the spoil.&nbsp; A man with an unsuspected power to
+deal killing blows could take his own part in a sudden scrimmage round
+a heap of money, even against adversaries armed with revolvers, especially
+if he himself started the row.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;He&rsquo;s ready to face any of his friends with that
+thing.&nbsp; But he will have no use for it.&nbsp; There will be no
+occasion to quarrel about these dollars here,&rsquo; thought Davidson,
+getting on board quietly.&nbsp; He never paused to look if there was
+anybody about the decks.&nbsp; As a matter of fact, most of his crew
+were on shore, and the rest slept, stowed away in dark corners.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had his plan, and he went to work methodically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He fetched a lot of clothing from below and disposed it in
+his hammock in such a way as to distend it to the shape of a human body;
+then he threw over all the light cotton sheet he used to draw over himself
+when sleeping on deck.&nbsp; Having done this, he loaded his two revolvers
+and clambered into one of the boats the <i>Sissie</i> carried right
+aft, swung out on their davits.&nbsp; Then he waited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And again the doubt of such a thing happening to him crept
+into his mind.&nbsp; He was almost ashamed of this ridiculous vigil
+in a boat.&nbsp; He became bored.&nbsp; And then he became drowsy.&nbsp;
+The stillness of the black universe wearied him.&nbsp; There was not
+even the lapping of the water to keep him company, for the tide was
+out and the <i>Sissie</i> was lying on soft mud.&nbsp; Suddenly in the
+breathless, soundless, hot night an argus pheasant screamed in the woods
+across the stream.&nbsp; Davidson started violently, all his senses
+on the alert at once.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The candle was still burning in the house.&nbsp; Everything
+was quiet again, but Davidson felt drowsy no longer.&nbsp; An uneasy
+premonition of evil oppressed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Surely I am not afraid,&rsquo; he argued with himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The silence was like a seal on his ears, and his nervous inward
+impatience grew intolerable.&nbsp; He commanded himself to keep still.&nbsp;
+But all the same he was just going to jump out of the boat when a faint
+ripple on the immensity of silence, a mere tremor in the air, the ghost
+of a silvery laugh, reached his ears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Illusion!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He kept very still.&nbsp; He had no difficulty now in emulating
+the stillness of the mouse&mdash;a grimly determined mouse.&nbsp; But
+he could not shake off that premonition of evil unrelated to the mere
+danger of the situation.&nbsp; Nothing happened.&nbsp; It had been an
+illusion!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A curiosity came to him to learn how they would go to work.&nbsp;
+He wondered and wondered, till the whole thing seemed more absurd than
+ever.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had left the hanging lamp in the cabin burning as usual.&nbsp;
+It was part of his plan that everything should be as usual.&nbsp; Suddenly
+in the dim glow of the skylight panes a bulky shadow came up the ladder
+without a sound, made two steps towards the hammock (it hung right over
+the skylight), and stood motionless.&nbsp; The Frenchman!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The minutes began to slip away.&nbsp; Davidson guessed that
+the Frenchman&rsquo;s part (the poor cripple) was to watch his (Davidson&rsquo;s)
+slumbers while the others were no doubt in the cabin busy forcing off
+the lazarette hatch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What was the course they meant to pursue once they got hold
+of the silver (there were ten cases, and each could be carried easily
+by two men) nobody can tell now.&nbsp; But so far, Davidson was right.&nbsp;
+They were in the cabin.&nbsp; He expected to hear the sounds of breaking-in
+every moment.&nbsp; But the fact was that one of them (perhaps Fector,
+who had stolen papers out of desks in his time) knew how to pick a lock,
+and apparently was provided with the tools.&nbsp; Thus while Davidson
+expected every moment to hear them begin down there, they had the bar
+off already and two cases actually up in the cabin out of the lazarette.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the diffused faint glow of the skylight the Frenchman moved
+no more than a statue.&nbsp; Davidson could have shot him with the greatest
+ease&mdash;but he was not homicidally inclined.&nbsp; Moreover, he wanted
+to make sure before opening fire that the others had gone to work.&nbsp;
+Not hearing the sounds he expected to hear, he felt uncertain whether
+they all were on board yet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;While he listened, the Frenchman, whose immobility might have
+but cloaked an internal struggle; moved forward a pace, then another.&nbsp;
+Davidson, entranced, watched him advance one leg, withdraw his right
+stump, the armed one, out of his pocket, and swinging his body to put
+greater force into the blow, bring the seven-pound weight down on the
+hammock where the head of the sleeper ought to have been.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson admitted to me that his hair stirred at the roots
+then.&nbsp; But for Anne, his unsuspecting head would have been there.&nbsp;
+The Frenchman&rsquo;s surprise must have been simply overwhelming.&nbsp;
+He staggered away from the lightly swinging hammock, and before Davidson
+could make a movement he had vanished, bounding down the ladder to warn
+and alarm the other fellows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson sprang instantly out of the boat, threw up the skylight
+flap, and had a glimpse of the men down there crouching round the hatch.&nbsp;
+They looked up scared, and at that moment the Frenchman outside the
+door bellowed out &lsquo;<i>Trahison</i>&mdash;<i>trahison</i>!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+They bolted out of the cabin, falling over each other and swearing awfully.&nbsp;
+The shot Davidson let off down the skylight had hit no one; but he ran
+to the edge of the cabin-top and at once opened fire at the dark shapes
+rushing about the deck.&nbsp; These shots were returned, and a rapid
+fusillade burst out, reports and flashes, Davidson dodging behind a
+ventilator and pulling the trigger till his revolver clicked, and then
+throwing it down to take the other in his right hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He had been hearing in the din the Frenchman&rsquo;s infuriated
+yells &lsquo;<i>Tuez-le! tuez-le</i>!&rsquo; above the fierce cursing
+of the others.&nbsp; But though they fired at him they were only thinking
+of clearing out.&nbsp; In the flashes of the last shots Davidson saw
+them scrambling over the rail.&nbsp; That he had hit more than one he
+was certain.&nbsp; Two different voices had cried out in pain.&nbsp;
+But apparently none of them were disabled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson leaned against the bulwark reloading his revolver
+without haste.&nbsp; He had not the slightest apprehension of their
+coming back.&nbsp; On the other hand, he had no intention of pursuing
+them on shore in the dark.&nbsp; What they were doing he had no idea.&nbsp;
+Looking to their hurts probably.&nbsp; Not very far from the bank the
+invisible Frenchman was blaspheming and cursing his associates, his
+luck, and all the world.&nbsp; He ceased; then with a sudden, vengeful
+yell, &lsquo;It&rsquo;s that woman!&mdash;it&rsquo;s that woman that
+has sold us,&rsquo; was heard running off in the night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson caught his breath in a sudden pang of remorse.&nbsp;
+He perceived with dismay that the stratagem of his defence had given
+Anne away.&nbsp; He did not hesitate a moment.&nbsp; It was for him
+to save her now.&nbsp; He leaped ashore.&nbsp; But even as he landed
+on the wharf he heard a shrill shriek which pierced his very soul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The light was still burning in the house.&nbsp; Davidson,
+revolver in hand, was making for it when another shriek, away to his
+left, made him change his direction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He changed his direction&mdash;but very soon he stopped.&nbsp;
+It was then that he hesitated in cruel perplexity.&nbsp; He guessed
+what had happened.&nbsp; The woman had managed to escape from the house
+in some way, and now was being chased in the open by the infuriated
+Frenchman.&nbsp; He trusted she would try to run on board for protection.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All was still around Davidson.&nbsp; Whether she had run on
+board or not, this silence meant that the Frenchman had lost her in
+the dark.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, relieved, but still very anxious, turned towards
+the river-side.&nbsp; He had not made two steps in that direction when
+another shriek burst out behind him, again close to the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He thinks that the Frenchman had lost sight of the poor woman
+right enough.&nbsp; Then came that period of silence.&nbsp; But the
+horrible ruffian had not given up his murderous purpose.&nbsp; He reasoned
+that she would try to steal back to her child, and went to lie in wait
+for her near the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It must have been something like that.&nbsp; As she entered
+the light falling about the house-ladder, he had rushed at her too soon,
+impatient for vengeance.&nbsp; She had let out that second scream of
+mortal fear when she caught sight of him, and turned to run for life
+again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This time she was making for the river, but not in a straight
+line.&nbsp; Her shrieks circled about Davidson.&nbsp; He turned on his
+heels, following the horrible trail of sound in the darkness.&nbsp;
+He wanted to shout &lsquo;This way, Anne!&nbsp; I am here!&rsquo; but
+he couldn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; At the horror of this chase, more ghastly in
+his imagination than if he could have seen it, the perspiration broke
+out on his forehead, while his throat was as dry as tinder.&nbsp; A
+last supreme scream was cut short suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The silence which ensued was even more dreadful.&nbsp; Davidson
+felt sick.&nbsp; He tore his feet from the spot and walked straight
+before him, gripping the revolver and peering into the obscurity fearfully.&nbsp;
+Suddenly a bulky shape sprang from the ground within a few yards of
+him and bounded away.&nbsp; Instinctively he fired at it, started to
+run in pursuit, and stumbled against something soft which threw him
+down headlong.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even as he pitched forward on his head he knew it could be
+nothing else but Laughing Anne&rsquo;s body.&nbsp; He picked himself
+up and, remaining on his knees, tried to lift her in his arms.&nbsp;
+He felt her so limp that he gave it up.&nbsp; She was lying on her face,
+her long hair scattered on the ground.&nbsp; Some of it was wet.&nbsp;
+Davidson, feeling about her head, came to a place where the crushed
+bone gave way under his fingers.&nbsp; But even before that discovery
+he knew that she was dead.&nbsp; The pursuing Frenchman had flung her
+down with a kick from behind, and, squatting on her back, was battering
+in her skull with the weight she herself had fastened to his stump,
+when the totally unexpected Davidson loomed up in the night and scared
+him away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, kneeling by the side of that woman done so miserably
+to death, was overcome by remorse.&nbsp; She had died for him.&nbsp;
+His manhood was as if stunned.&nbsp; For the first time he felt afraid.&nbsp;
+He might have been pounced upon in the dark at any moment by the murderer
+of Laughing Anne.&nbsp; He confesses to the impulse of creeping away
+from that pitiful corpse on his hands and knees to the refuge of the
+ship.&nbsp; He even says that he actually began to do so. . .</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One can hardly picture to oneself Davidson crawling away on
+all fours from the murdered woman&mdash;Davidson unmanned and crushed
+by the idea that she had died for him in a sense.&nbsp; But he could
+not have gone very far.&nbsp; What stopped him was the thought of the
+boy, Laughing Anne&rsquo;s child, that (Davidson remembered her very
+words) would not have a dog&rsquo;s chance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This life the woman had left behind her appeared to Davidson&rsquo;s
+conscience in the light of a sacred trust.&nbsp; He assumed an erect
+attitude and, quaking inwardly still, turned about and walked towards
+the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all his tremors he was very determined; but that smashed
+skull had affected his imagination, and he felt very defenceless in
+the darkness, in which he seemed to hear faintly now here, now there,
+the prowling footsteps of the murderer without hands.&nbsp; But he never
+faltered in his purpose.&nbsp; He got away with the boy safely after
+all.&nbsp; The house he found empty.&nbsp; A profound silence encompassed
+him all the time, except once, just as he got down the ladder with Tony
+in his arms, when a faint groan reached his ears.&nbsp; It seemed to
+come from the pitch-black space between the posts on which the house
+was built, but he did not stop to investigate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use telling you in detail how Davidson got on
+board with the burden Anne&rsquo;s miserably cruel fate had thrust into
+his arms; how next morning his scared crew, after observing from a distance
+the state of affairs on board, rejoined with alacrity; how Davidson
+went ashore and, aided by his engineer (still half dead with fright),
+rolled up Laughing Anne&rsquo;s body in a cotton sheet and brought it
+on board for burial at sea later.&nbsp; While busy with this pious task,
+Davidson, glancing about, perceived a huge heap of white clothes huddled
+up against the corner-post of the house.&nbsp; That it was the Frenchman
+lying there he could not doubt.&nbsp; Taking it in connection with the
+dismal groan he had heard in the night, Davidson is pretty sure that
+his random shot gave a mortal hurt to the murderer of poor Anne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the others, Davidson never set eyes on a single one
+of them.&nbsp; Whether they had concealed themselves in the scared settlement,
+or bolted into the forest, or were hiding on board Niclaus&rsquo;s prau,
+which could be seen lying on the mud a hundred yards or so higher up
+the creek, the fact is that they vanished; and Davidson did not trouble
+his head about them.&nbsp; He lost no time in getting out of the creek
+directly the <i>Sissie</i> floated.&nbsp; After steaming some twenty
+miles clear of the coast, he (in his own words) &lsquo;committed the
+body to the deep.&rsquo;&nbsp; He did everything himself.&nbsp; He weighted
+her down with a few fire-bars, he read the service, he lifted the plank,
+he was the only mourner.&nbsp; And while he was rendering these last
+services to the dead, the desolation of that life and the atrocious
+wretchedness of its end cried aloud to his compassion, whispered to
+him in tones of self-reproach.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ought to have handled the warning she had given him in
+another way.&nbsp; He was convinced now that a simple display of watchfulness
+would have been enough to restrain that vile and cowardly crew.&nbsp;
+But the fact was that he had not quite believed that anything would
+be attempted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The body of Laughing Anne having been &lsquo;committed to
+the deep&rsquo; some twenty miles S.S.W. from Cape Selatan, the task
+before Davidson was to commit Laughing Anne&rsquo;s child to the care
+of his wife.&nbsp; And there poor, good Davidson made a fatal move.&nbsp;
+He didn&rsquo;t want to tell her the whole awful story, since it involved
+the knowledge of the danger from which he, Davidson, had escaped.&nbsp;
+And this, too, after he had been laughing at her unreasonable fears
+only a short time before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I thought that if I told her everything,&rsquo; Davidson
+explained to me, &lsquo;she would never have a moment&rsquo;s peace
+while I was away on my trips.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He simply stated that the boy was an orphan, the child of
+some people to whom he, Davidson, was under the greatest obligation,
+and that he felt morally bound to look after him.&nbsp; Some day he
+would tell her more, he said, and meantime he trusted in the goodness
+and warmth of her heart, in her woman&rsquo;s natural compassion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He did not know that her heart was about the size of a parched
+pea, and had the proportional amount of warmth; and that her faculty
+of compassion was mainly directed to herself.&nbsp; He was only startled
+and disappointed at the air of cold surprise and the suspicious look
+with which she received his imperfect tale.&nbsp; But she did not say
+much.&nbsp; She never had much to say.&nbsp; She was a fool of the silent,
+hopeless kind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What story Davidson&rsquo;s crew thought fit to set afloat
+in Malay town is neither here nor there.&nbsp; Davidson himself took
+some of his friends into his confidence, besides giving the full story
+officially to the Harbour Master.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Harbour Master was considerably astonished.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t
+think, however, that a formal complaint should be made to the Dutch
+Government.&nbsp; They would probably do nothing in the end, after a
+lot of trouble and correspondence.&nbsp; The robbery had not come off,
+after all.&nbsp; Those vagabonds could be trusted to go to the devil
+in their own way.&nbsp; No amount of fuss would bring the poor woman
+to life again, and the actual murderer had been done justice to by a
+chance shot from Davidson.&nbsp; Better let the matter drop.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This was good common sense.&nbsp; But he was impressed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Sounds a terrible affair, Captain Davidson.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Aye, terrible enough,&rsquo; agreed the remorseful
+Davidson.&nbsp; But the most terrible thing for him, though he didn&rsquo;t
+know it yet then, was that his wife&rsquo;s silly brain was slowly coming
+to the conclusion that Tony was Davidson&rsquo;s child, and that he
+had invented that lame story to introduce him into her pure home in
+defiance of decency, of virtue&mdash;of her most sacred feelings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson was aware of some constraint in his domestic relations.&nbsp;
+But at the best of times she was not demonstrative; and perhaps that
+very coldness was part of her charm in the placid Davidson&rsquo;s eyes.&nbsp;
+Women are loved for all sorts of reasons and even for characteristics
+which one would think repellent.&nbsp; She was watching him and nursing
+her suspicions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, one day, Monkey-faced Ritchie called on that sweet,
+shy Mrs. Davidson.&nbsp; She had come out under his care, and he considered
+himself a privileged person&mdash;her oldest friend in the tropics.&nbsp;
+He posed for a great admirer of hers.&nbsp; He was always a great chatterer.&nbsp;
+He had got hold of the story rather vaguely, and he started chattering
+on that subject, thinking she knew all about it.&nbsp; And in due course
+he let out something about Laughing Anne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Laughing Anne,&rsquo; says Mrs. Davidson with a start.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Ritchie plunged into circumlocution at once, but she very soon stopped
+him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is that creature dead?&rsquo; she asks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I believe so,&rsquo; stammered Ritchie.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your
+husband says so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;But you don&rsquo;t know for certain?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;No!&nbsp; How could I, Mrs. Davidson!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;That&rsquo;s all wanted to know,&rsquo; says she, and
+goes out of the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When Davidson came home she was ready to go for him, not with
+common voluble indignation, but as if trickling a stream of cold clear
+water down his back.&nbsp; She talked of his base intrigue with a vile
+woman, of being made a fool of, of the insult to her dignity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson begged her to listen to him and told her all the
+story, thinking that it would move a heart of stone.&nbsp; He tried
+to make her understand his remorse.&nbsp; She heard him to the end,
+said &lsquo;Indeed!&rsquo; and turned her back on him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you believe me?&rsquo; he asked, appalled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She didn&rsquo;t say yes or no.&nbsp; All she said was, &lsquo;Send
+that brat away at once.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t throw him out into the street,&rsquo;
+cried Davidson.&nbsp; &lsquo;You don&rsquo;t mean it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care.&nbsp; There are charitable institutions
+for such children, I suppose.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;That I will never do,&rsquo; said Davidson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Very well.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s enough for me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson&rsquo;s home after this was like a silent, frozen
+hell for him.&nbsp; A stupid woman with a sense of grievance is worse
+than an unchained devil.&nbsp; He sent the boy to the White Fathers
+in Malacca.&nbsp; This was not a very expensive sort of education, but
+she could not forgive him for not casting the offensive child away utterly.&nbsp;
+She worked up her sense of her wifely wrongs and of her injured purity
+to such a pitch that one day, when poor Davidson was pleading with her
+to be reasonable and not to make an impossible existence for them both,
+she turned on him in a chill passion and told him that his very sight
+was odious to her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Davidson, with his scrupulous delicacy of feeling, was not
+the man to assert his rights over a woman who could not bear the sight
+of him.&nbsp; He bowed his head; and shortly afterwards arranged for
+her to go back to her parents.&nbsp; That was exactly what she wanted
+in her outraged dignity.&nbsp; And then she had always disliked the
+tropics and had detested secretly the people she had to live amongst
+as Davidson&rsquo;s wife.&nbsp; She took her pure, sensitive, mean little
+soul away to Fremantle or somewhere in that direction.&nbsp; And of
+course the little girl went away with her too.&nbsp; What could poor
+Davidson have done with a little girl on his hands, even if she had
+consented to leave her with him&mdash;which is unthinkable.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the story that has spoiled Davidson&rsquo;s smile
+for him&mdash;which perhaps it wouldn&rsquo;t have done so thoroughly
+had he been less of a good fellow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hollis ceased.&nbsp; But before we rose from the table I asked him
+if he knew what had become of Laughing Anne&rsquo;s boy.</p>
+<p>He counted carefully the change handed him by the Chinaman waiter,
+and raised his head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! that&rsquo;s the finishing touch.&nbsp; He was a bright,
+taking little chap, as you know, and the Fathers took very special pains
+in his bringing up.&nbsp; Davidson expected in his heart to have some
+comfort out of him.&nbsp; In his placid way he&rsquo;s a man who needs
+affection.&nbsp; Well, Tony has grown into a fine youth&mdash;but there
+you are!&nbsp; He wants to be a priest; his one dream is to be a missionary.&nbsp;
+The Fathers assure Davidson that it is a serious vocation.&nbsp; They
+tell him he has a special disposition for mission work, too.&nbsp; So
+Laughing Anne&rsquo;s boy will lead a saintly life in China somewhere;
+he may even become a martyr; but poor Davidson is left out in the cold.&nbsp;
+He will have to go downhill without a single human affection near him
+because of these old dollars.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jan. 1914</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Footnotes:</p>
+<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a>&nbsp; The gallows,
+supposed to be widowed of the last executed criminal and waiting for
+another.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
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+</pre></body>
+</html>
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