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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chance, by Joseph Conrad
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Chance
-
-Author: Joseph Conrad
-
-Release Date: September, 1998 [eBook #1476]
-[Most recently updated: December 2, 2023]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: David Price
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHANCE ***
-
-
-
-
-CHANCE
-
-A TALE IN TWO PARTS
-
-
-   Those that hold that all things are governed by Fortune had not erred,
-   had they not persisted there
-
-   SIR THOMAS BROWNE
-
-TO SIR HUGH CLIFFORD, K.C.M.G. WHOSE STEADFAST FRIENDSHIP IS RESPONSIBLE
-FOR THE EXISTENCE OF THESE PAGES
-
-
-
-
-PART I--THE DAMSEL
-
-
-CHAPTER ONE--YOUNG POWELL AND HIS CHANCE
-
-
-I believe he had seen us out of the window coming off to dine in the
-dinghy of a fourteen-ton yawl belonging to Marlow my host and skipper.  We
-helped the boy we had with us to haul the boat up on the landing-stage
-before we went up to the riverside inn, where we found our new
-acquaintance eating his dinner in dignified loneliness at the head of a
-long table, white and inhospitable like a snow bank.
-
-The red tint of his clear-cut face with trim short black whiskers under a
-cap of curly iron-grey hair was the only warm spot in the dinginess of
-that room cooled by the cheerless tablecloth.  We knew him already by
-sight as the owner of a little five-ton cutter, which he sailed alone
-apparently, a fellow yachtsman in the unpretending band of fanatics who
-cruise at the mouth of the Thames.  But the first time he addressed the
-waiter sharply as 'steward' we knew him at once for a sailor as well as a
-yachtsman.
-
-Presently he had occasion to reprove that same waiter for the slovenly
-manner in which the dinner was served.  He did it with considerable
-energy and then turned to us.
-
-"If we at sea," he declared, "went about our work as people ashore high
-and low go about theirs we should never make a living.  No one would
-employ us.  And moreover no ship navigated and sailed in the happy-go-
-lucky manner people conduct their business on shore would ever arrive
-into port."
-
-Since he had retired from the sea he had been astonished to discover that
-the educated people were not much better than the others.  No one seemed
-to take any proper pride in his work: from plumbers who were simply
-thieves to, say, newspaper men (he seemed to think them a specially
-intellectual class) who never by any chance gave a correct version of the
-simplest affair.  This universal inefficiency of what he called "the
-shore gang" he ascribed in general to the want of responsibility and to a
-sense of security.
-
-"They see," he went on, "that no matter what they do this tight little
-island won't turn turtle with them or spring a leak and go to the bottom
-with their wives and children."
-
-From this point the conversation took a special turn relating exclusively
-to sea-life.  On that subject he got quickly in touch with Marlow who in
-his time had followed the sea.  They kept up a lively exchange of
-reminiscences while I listened.  They agreed that the happiest time in
-their lives was as youngsters in good ships, with no care in the world
-but not to lose a watch below when at sea and not a moment's time in
-going ashore after work hours when in harbour.  They agreed also as to
-the proudest moment they had known in that calling which is never
-embraced on rational and practical grounds, because of the glamour of its
-romantic associations.  It was the moment when they had passed
-successfully their first examination and left the seamanship Examiner
-with the little precious slip of blue paper in their hands.
-
-"That day I wouldn't have called the Queen my cousin," declared our new
-acquaintance enthusiastically.
-
-At that time the Marine Board examinations took place at the St.
-Katherine's Dock House on Tower Hill, and he informed us that he had a
-special affection for the view of that historic locality, with the
-Gardens to the left, the front of the Mint to the right, the miserable
-tumble-down little houses farther away, a cabstand, boot-blacks squatting
-on the edge of the pavement and a pair of big policemen gazing with an
-air of superiority at the doors of the Black Horse public-house across
-the road.  This was the part of the world, he said, his eyes first took
-notice of, on the finest day of his life.  He had emerged from the main
-entrance of St. Katherine's Dock House a full-fledged second mate after
-the hottest time of his life with Captain R-, the most dreaded of the
-three seamanship Examiners who at the time were responsible for the
-merchant service officers qualifying in the Port of London.
-
-"We all who were preparing to pass," he said, "used to shake in our shoes
-at the idea of going before him.  He kept me for an hour and a half in
-the torture chamber and behaved as though he hated me.  He kept his eyes
-shaded with one of his hands.  Suddenly he let it drop saying, "You will
-do!"  Before I realised what he meant he was pushing the blue slip across
-the table.  I jumped up as if my chair had caught fire.
-
-"Thank you, sir," says I, grabbing the paper.
-
-"Good morning, good luck to you," he growls at me.
-
-"The old doorkeeper fussed out of the cloak-room with my hat.  They
-always do.  But he looked very hard at me before he ventured to ask in a
-sort of timid whisper: "Got through all right, sir?"  For all answer I
-dropped a half-crown into his soft broad palm.  "Well," says he with a
-sudden grin from ear to ear, "I never knew him keep any of you gentlemen
-so long.  He failed two second mates this morning before your turn came.
-Less than twenty minutes each: that's about his usual time."
-
-"I found myself downstairs without being aware of the steps as if I had
-floated down the staircase.  The finest day in my life.  The day you get
-your first command is nothing to it.  For one thing a man is not so young
-then and for another with us, you know, there is nothing much more to
-expect.  Yes, the finest day of one's life, no doubt, but then it is just
-a day and no more.  What comes after is about the most unpleasant time
-for a youngster, the trying to get an officer's berth with nothing much
-to show but a brand-new certificate.  It is surprising how useless you
-find that piece of ass's skin that you have been putting yourself in such
-a state about.  It didn't strike me at the time that a Board of Trade
-certificate does not make an officer, not by a long long way.  But the
-slippers of the ships I was haunting with demands for a job knew that
-very well.  I don't wonder at them now, and I don't blame them either.
-But this 'trying to get a ship' is pretty hard on a youngster all the
-same . . . "
-
-He went on then to tell us how tired he was and how discouraged by this
-lesson of disillusion following swiftly upon the finest day of his life.
-He told us how he went the round of all the ship-owners' offices in the
-City where some junior clerk would furnish him with printed forms of
-application which he took home to fill up in the evening.  He used to run
-out just before midnight to post them in the nearest pillar-box.  And
-that was all that ever came of it.  In his own words: he might just as
-well have dropped them all properly addressed and stamped into the sewer
-grating.
-
-Then one day, as he was wending his weary way to the docks, he met a
-friend and former shipmate a little older than himself outside the
-Fenchurch Street Railway Station.
-
-He craved for sympathy but his friend had just "got a ship" that very
-morning and was hurrying home in a state of outward joy and inward
-uneasiness usual to a sailor who after many days of waiting suddenly gets
-a berth.  This friend had the time to condole with him but briefly.  He
-must be moving.  Then as he was running off, over his shoulder as it
-were, he suggested: "Why don't you go and speak to Mr. Powell in the
-Shipping Office."  Our friend objected that he did not know Mr. Powell
-from Adam.  And the other already pretty near round the corner shouted
-back advice: "Go to the private door of the Shipping Office and walk
-right up to him.  His desk is by the window.  Go up boldly and say I sent
-you."
-
-Our new acquaintance looking from one to the other of us declared: "Upon
-my word, I had grown so desperate that I'd have gone boldly up to the
-devil himself on the mere hint that he had a second mate's job to give
-away."
-
-It was at this point that interrupting his flow of talk to light his pipe
-but holding us with his eye he inquired whether we had known Powell.
-Marlow with a slight reminiscent smile murmured that he "remembered him
-very well."
-
-Then there was a pause.  Our new acquaintance had become involved in a
-vexatious difficulty with his pipe which had suddenly betrayed his trust
-and disappointed his anticipation of self-indulgence.  To keep the ball
-rolling I asked Marlow if this Powell was remarkable in any way.
-
-"He was not exactly remarkable," Marlow answered with his usual
-nonchalance.  "In a general way it's very difficult for one to become
-remarkable.  People won't take sufficient notice of one, don't you know.
-I remember Powell so well simply because as one of the Shipping Masters
-in the Port of London he dispatched me to sea on several long stages of
-my sailor's pilgrimage.  He resembled Socrates.  I mean he resembled him
-genuinely: that is in the face.  A philosophical mind is but an accident.
-He reproduced exactly the familiar bust of the immortal sage, if you will
-imagine the bust with a high top hat riding far on the back of the head,
-and a black coat over the shoulders.  As I never saw him except from the
-other side of the long official counter bearing the five writing desks of
-the five Shipping Masters, Mr. Powell has remained a bust to me."
-
-Our new acquaintance advanced now from the mantelpiece with his pipe in
-good working order.
-
-"What was the most remarkable about Powell," he enunciated dogmatically
-with his head in a cloud of smoke, "is that he should have had just that
-name.  You see, my name happens to be Powell too."
-
-It was clear that this intelligence was not imparted to us for social
-purposes.  It required no acknowledgment.  We continued to gaze at him
-with expectant eyes.
-
-He gave himself up to the vigorous enjoyment of his pipe for a silent
-minute or two.  Then picking up the thread of his story he told us how he
-had started hot foot for Tower Hill.  He had not been that way since the
-day of his examination--the finest day of his life--the day of his
-overweening pride.  It was very different now.  He would not have called
-the Queen his cousin, still, but this time it was from a sense of
-profound abasement.  He didn't think himself good enough for anybody's
-kinship.  He envied the purple-nosed old cab-drivers on the stand, the
-boot-black boys at the edge of the pavement, the two large bobbies pacing
-slowly along the Tower Gardens railings in the consciousness of their
-infallible might, and the bright scarlet sentries walking smartly to and
-fro before the Mint.  He envied them their places in the scheme of
-world's labour.  And he envied also the miserable sallow, thin-faced
-loafers blinking their obscene eyes and rubbing their greasy shoulders
-against the door-jambs of the Black Horse pub, because they were too far
-gone to feel their degradation.
-
-I must render the man the justice that he conveyed very well to us the
-sense of his youthful hopelessness surprised at not finding its place in
-the sun and no recognition of its right to live.
-
-He went up the outer steps of St. Katherine's Dock House, the very steps
-from which he had some six weeks before surveyed the cabstand, the
-buildings, the policemen, the boot-blacks, the paint, gilt, and
-plateglass of the Black Horse, with the eye of a Conqueror.  At the time
-he had been at the bottom of his heart surprised that all this had not
-greeted him with songs and incense, but now (he made no secret of it) he
-made his entry in a slinking fashion past the doorkeeper's glass box.  "I
-hadn't any half-crowns to spare for tips," he remarked grimly.  The man,
-however, ran out after him asking: "What do you require?" but with a
-grateful glance up at the first floor in remembrance of Captain R-'s
-examination room (how easy and delightful all that had been) he bolted
-down a flight leading to the basement and found himself in a place of
-dusk and mystery and many doors.  He had been afraid of being stopped by
-some rule of no-admittance.  However he was not pursued.
-
-The basement of St. Katherine's Dock House is vast in extent and
-confusing in its plan.  Pale shafts of light slant from above into the
-gloom of its chilly passages.  Powell wandered up and down there like an
-early Christian refugee in the catacombs; but what little faith he had in
-the success of his enterprise was oozing out at his finger-tips.  At a
-dark turn under a gas bracket whose flame was half turned down his self-
-confidence abandoned him altogether.
-
-"I stood there to think a little," he said.  "A foolish thing to do
-because of course I got scared.  What could you expect?  It takes some
-nerve to tackle a stranger with a request for a favour.  I wished my
-namesake Powell had been the devil himself.  I felt somehow it would have
-been an easier job.  You see, I never believed in the devil enough to be
-scared of him; but a man can make himself very unpleasant.  I looked at a
-lot of doors, all shut tight, with a growing conviction that I would
-never have the pluck to open one of them.  Thinking's no good for one's
-nerve.  I concluded I would give up the whole business.  But I didn't
-give up in the end, and I'll tell you what stopped me.  It was the
-recollection of that confounded doorkeeper who had called after me.  I
-felt sure the fellow would be on the look-out at the head of the stairs.
-If he asked me what I had been after, as he had the right to do, I
-wouldn't know what to answer that wouldn't make me look silly if no
-worse.  I got very hot.  There was no chance of slinking out of this
-business.
-
-"I had lost my bearings somehow down there.  Of the many doors of various
-sizes, right and left, a good few had glazed lights above; some however
-must have led merely into lumber rooms or such like, because when I
-brought myself to try one or two I was disconcerted to find that they
-were locked.  I stood there irresolute and uneasy like a baffled thief.
-The confounded basement was as still as a grave and I became aware of my
-heart beats.  Very uncomfortable sensation.  Never happened to me before
-or since.  A bigger door to the left of me, with a large brass handle
-looked as if it might lead into the Shipping Office.  I tried it, setting
-my teeth.  "Here goes!"
-
-"It came open quite easily.  And lo! the place it opened into was hardly
-any bigger than a cupboard.  Anyhow it wasn't more than ten feet by
-twelve; and as I in a way expected to see the big shadowy cellar-like
-extent of the Shipping Office where I had been once or twice before, I
-was extremely startled.  A gas bracket hung from the middle of the
-ceiling over a dark, shabby writing-desk covered with a litter of
-yellowish dusty documents.  Under the flame of the single burner which
-made the place ablaze with light, a plump, little man was writing hard,
-his nose very near the desk.  His head was perfectly bald and about the
-same drab tint as the papers.  He appeared pretty dusty too.
-
-"I didn't notice whether there were any cobwebs on him, but I shouldn't
-wonder if there were because he looked as though he had been imprisoned
-for years in that little hole.  The way he dropped his pen and sat
-blinking my way upset me very much.  And his dungeon was hot and musty;
-it smelt of gas and mushrooms, and seemed to be somewhere 120 feet below
-the ground.  Solid, heavy stacks of paper filled all the corners half-way
-up to the ceiling.  And when the thought flashed upon me that these were
-the premises of the Marine Board and that this fellow must be connected
-in some way with ships and sailors and the sea, my astonishment took my
-breath away.  One couldn't imagine why the Marine Board should keep that
-bald, fat creature slaving down there.  For some reason or other I felt
-sorry and ashamed to have found him out in his wretched captivity.  I
-asked gently and sorrowfully: "The Shipping Office, please."
-
-He piped up in a contemptuous squeaky voice which made me start: "Not
-here.  Try the passage on the other side.  Street side.  This is the Dock
-side.  You've lost your way . . . "
-
-He spoke in such a spiteful tone that I thought he was going to round off
-with the words: "You fool" . . . and perhaps he meant to.  But what he
-finished sharply with was: "Shut the door quietly after you."
-
-And I did shut it quietly--you bet.  Quick and quiet.  The indomitable
-spirit of that chap impressed me.  I wonder sometimes whether he has
-succeeded in writing himself into liberty and a pension at last, or had
-to go out of his gas-lighted grave straight into that other dark one
-where nobody would want to intrude.  My humanity was pleased to discover
-he had so much kick left in him, but I was not comforted in the least.  It
-occurred to me that if Mr. Powell had the same sort of temper . . .
-However, I didn't give myself time to think and scuttled across the space
-at the foot of the stairs into the passage where I'd been told to try.
-And I tried the first door I came to, right away, without any hanging
-back, because coming loudly from the hall above an amazed and scandalized
-voice wanted to know what sort of game I was up to down there.  "Don't
-you know there's no admittance that way?" it roared.  But if there was
-anything more I shut it out of my hearing by means of a door marked
-_Private_ on the outside.  It let me into a six-feet wide strip between a
-long counter and the wall, taken off a spacious, vaulted room with a
-grated window and a glazed door giving daylight to the further end.  The
-first thing I saw right in front of me were three middle-aged men having
-a sort of romp together round about another fellow with a thin, long neck
-and sloping shoulders who stood up at a desk writing on a large sheet of
-paper and taking no notice except that he grinned quietly to himself.
-They turned very sour at once when they saw me.  I heard one of them
-mutter 'Hullo!  What have we here?'
-
-"'I want to see Mr. Powell, please,' I said, very civil but firm; I would
-let nothing scare me away now.  This was the Shipping Office right
-enough.  It was after 3 o'clock and the business seemed over for the day
-with them.  The long-necked fellow went on with his writing steadily.  I
-observed that he was no longer grinning.  The three others tossed their
-heads all together towards the far end of the room where a fifth man had
-been looking on at their antics from a high stool.  I walked up to him as
-boldly as if he had been the devil himself.  With one foot raised up and
-resting on the cross-bar of his seat he never stopped swinging the other
-which was well clear of the stone floor.  He had unbuttoned the top of
-his waistcoat and he wore his tall hat very far at the back of his head.
-He had a full unwrinkled face and such clear-shining eyes that his grey
-beard looked quite false on him, stuck on for a disguise.  You said just
-now he resembled Socrates--didn't you?  I don't know about that.  This
-Socrates was a wise man, I believe?"
-
-"He was," assented Marlow.  "And a true friend of youth.  He lectured
-them in a peculiarly exasperating manner.  It was a way he had."
-
-"Then give me Powell every time," declared our new acquaintance sturdily.
-"He didn't lecture me in any way.  Not he.  He said: 'How do you do?'
-quite kindly to my mumble.  Then says he looking very hard at me: 'I
-don't think I know you--do I?'
-
-"No, sir," I said and down went my heart sliding into my boots, just as
-the time had come to summon up all my cheek.  There's nothing meaner in
-the world than a piece of impudence that isn't carried off well.  For
-fear of appearing shamefaced I started about it so free and easy as
-almost to frighten myself.  He listened for a while looking at my face
-with surprise and curiosity and then held up his hand.  I was glad enough
-to shut up, I can tell you.
-
-"Well, you are a cool hand," says he.  "And that friend of yours too.  He
-pestered me coming here every day for a fortnight till a captain I'm
-acquainted with was good enough to give him a berth.  And no sooner he's
-provided for than he turns you on.  You youngsters don't seem to mind
-whom you get into trouble."
-
-"It was my turn now to stare with surprise and curiosity.  He hadn't been
-talking loud but he lowered his voice still more.
-
-"Don't you know it's illegal?"
-
-"I wondered what he was driving at till I remembered that procuring a
-berth for a sailor is a penal offence under the Act.  That clause was
-directed of course against the swindling practices of the boarding-house
-crimps.  It had never struck me it would apply to everybody alike no
-matter what the motive, because I believed then that people on shore did
-their work with care and foresight.
-
-"I was confounded at the idea, but Mr. Powell made me soon see that an
-Act of Parliament hasn't any sense of its own.  It has only the sense
-that's put into it; and that's precious little sometimes.  He didn't mind
-helping a young man to a ship now and then, he said, but if we kept on
-coming constantly it would soon get about that he was doing it for money.
-
-"A pretty thing that would be: the Senior Shipping-Master of the Port of
-London hauled up in a police court and fined fifty pounds," says he.
-"I've another four years to serve to get my pension.  It could be made to
-look very black against me and don't you make any mistake about it," he
-says.
-
-"And all the time with one knee well up he went on swinging his other leg
-like a boy on a gate and looking at me very straight with his shining
-eyes.  I was confounded I tell you.  It made me sick to hear him imply
-that somebody would make a report against him.
-
-"Oh!" I asked shocked, "who would think of such a scurvy trick, sir?"  I
-was half disgusted with him for having the mere notion of it.
-
-"Who?" says he, speaking very low.  "Anybody.  One of the office
-messengers maybe.  I've risen to be the Senior of this office and we are
-all very good friends here, but don't you think that my colleague that
-sits next to me wouldn't like to go up to this desk by the window four
-years in advance of the regulation time?  Or even one year for that
-matter.  It's human nature."
-
-"I could not help turning my head.  The three fellows who had been
-skylarking when I came in were now talking together very soberly, and the
-long-necked chap was going on with his writing still.  He seemed to me
-the most dangerous of the lot.  I saw him sideface and his lips were set
-very tight.  I had never looked at mankind in that light before.  When
-one's young human nature shocks one.  But what startled me most was to
-see the door I had come through open slowly and give passage to a head in
-a uniform cap with a Board of Trade badge.  It was that blamed old
-doorkeeper from the hall.  He had run me to earth and meant to dig me out
-too.  He walked up the office smirking craftily, cap in hand.
-
-"What is it, Symons?" asked Mr. Powell.
-
-"I was only wondering where this 'ere gentleman 'ad gone to, sir.  He
-slipped past me upstairs, sir."
-
-I felt mighty uncomfortable.
-
-"That's all right, Symons.  I know the gentleman," says Mr. Powell as
-serious as a judge.
-
-"Very well, sir.  Of course, sir.  I saw the gentleman running races all
-by 'isself down 'ere, so I . . ."
-
-"It's all right I tell you," Mr. Powell cut him short with a wave of his
-hand; and, as the old fraud walked off at last, he raised his eyes to me.
-I did not know what to do: stay there, or clear out, or say that I was
-sorry.
-
-"Let's see," says he, "what did you tell me your name was?"
-
-"Now, observe, I hadn't given him my name at all and his question
-embarrassed me a bit.  Somehow or other it didn't seem proper for me to
-fling his own name at him as it were.  So I merely pulled out my new
-certificate from my pocket and put it into his hand unfolded, so that he
-could read _Charles Powell_ written very plain on the parchment.
-
-"He dropped his eyes on to it and after a while laid it quietly on the
-desk by his side.  I didn't know whether he meant to make any remark on
-this coincidence.  Before he had time to say anything the glass door came
-open with a bang and a tall, active man rushed in with great strides.  His
-face looked very red below his high silk hat.  You could see at once he
-was the skipper of a big ship.
-
-"Mr. Powell after telling me in an undertone to wait a little addressed
-him in a friendly way.
-
-"I've been expecting you in every moment to fetch away your Articles,
-Captain.  Here they are all ready for you."  And turning to a pile of
-agreements lying at his elbow he took up the topmost of them.  From where
-I stood I could read the words: "Ship _Ferndale_" written in a large
-round hand on the first page.
-
-"No, Mr. Powell, they aren't ready, worse luck," says that skipper.  "I've
-got to ask you to strike out my second officer."  He seemed excited and
-bothered.  He explained that his second mate had been working on board
-all the morning.  At one o'clock he went out to get a bit of dinner and
-didn't turn up at two as he ought to have done.  Instead there came a
-messenger from the hospital with a note signed by a doctor.  Collar bone
-and one arm broken.  Let himself be knocked down by a pair horse van
-while crossing the road outside the dock gate, as if he had neither eyes
-nor ears.  And the ship ready to leave the dock at six o'clock to-morrow
-morning!
-
-"Mr. Powell dipped his pen and began to turn the leaves of the agreement
-over.  "We must then take his name off," he says in a kind of unconcerned
-sing-song.
-
-"What am I to do?" burst out the skipper.  "This office closes at four
-o'clock.  I can't find a man in half an hour."
-
-"This office closes at four," repeats Mr. Powell glancing up and down the
-pages and touching up a letter here and there with perfect indifference.
-
-"Even if I managed to lay hold some time to-day of a man ready to go at
-such short notice I couldn't ship him regularly here--could I?"
-
-"Mr. Powell was busy drawing his pen through the entries relating to that
-unlucky second mate and making a note in the margin.
-
-"You could sign him on yourself on board," says he without looking up.
-"But I don't think you'll find easily an officer for such a pier-head
-jump."
-
-"Upon this the fine-looking skipper gave signs of distress.  The ship
-mustn't miss the next morning's tide.  He had to take on board forty tons
-of dynamite and a hundred and twenty tons of gunpowder at a place down
-the river before proceeding to sea.  It was all arranged for next day.
-There would be no end of fuss and complications if the ship didn't turn
-up in time . . . I couldn't help hearing all this, while wishing him to
-take himself off, because I wanted to know why Mr. Powell had told me to
-wait.  After what he had been saying there didn't seem any object in my
-hanging about.  If I had had my certificate in my pocket I should have
-tried to slip away quietly; but Mr. Powell had turned about into the same
-position I found him in at first and was again swinging his leg.  My
-certificate open on the desk was under his left elbow and I couldn't very
-well go up and jerk it away.
-
-"I don't know," says he carelessly, addressing the helpless captain but
-looking fixedly at me with an expression as if I hadn't been there.  "I
-don't know whether I ought to tell you that I know of a disengaged second
-mate at hand."
-
-"Do you mean you've got him here?" shouts the other looking all over the
-empty public part of the office as if he were ready to fling himself
-bodily upon anything resembling a second mate.  He had been so full of
-his difficulty that I verify believe he had never noticed me.  Or perhaps
-seeing me inside he may have thought I was some understrapper belonging
-to the place.  But when Mr. Powell nodded in my direction he became very
-quiet and gave me a long stare.  Then he stooped to Mr. Powell's ear--I
-suppose he imagined he was whispering, but I heard him well enough.
-
-"Looks very respectable."
-
-"Certainly," says the shipping-master quite calm and staring all the time
-at me.  "His name's Powell."
-
-"Oh, I see!" says the skipper as if struck all of a heap.  "But is he
-ready to join at once?"
-
-"I had a sort of vision of my lodgings--in the North of London, too,
-beyond Dalston, away to the devil--and all my gear scattered about, and
-my empty sea-chest somewhere in an outhouse the good people I was staying
-with had at the end of their sooty strip of garden.  I heard the Shipping
-Master say in the coolest sort of way:
-
-"He'll sleep on board to-night."
-
-"He had better," says the Captain of the _Ferndale_ very businesslike, as
-if the whole thing were settled.  I can't say I was dumb for joy as you
-may suppose.  It wasn't exactly that.  I was more by way of being out of
-breath with the quickness of it.  It didn't seem possible that this was
-happening to me.  But the skipper, after he had talked for a while with
-Mr. Powell, too low for me to hear became visibly perplexed.
-
-"I suppose he had heard I was freshly passed and without experience as an
-officer, because he turned about and looked me over as if I had been
-exposed for sale.
-
-"He's young," he mutters.  "Looks smart, though . . . You're smart and
-willing (this to me very sudden and loud) and all that, aren't you?"
-
-"I just managed to open and shut my mouth, no more, being taken unawares.
-But it was enough for him.  He made as if I had deafened him with
-protestations of my smartness and willingness.
-
-"Of course, of course.  All right."  And then turning to the Shipping
-Master who sat there swinging his leg, he said that he certainly couldn't
-go to sea without a second officer.  I stood by as if all these things
-were happening to some other chap whom I was seeing through with it.  Mr.
-Powell stared at me with those shining eyes of his.  But that bothered
-skipper turns upon me again as though he wanted to snap my head off.
-
-"You aren't too big to be told how to do things--are you?  You've a lot
-to learn yet though you mayn't think so."
-
-"I had half a mind to save my dignity by telling him that if it was my
-seamanship he was alluding to I wanted him to understand that a fellow
-who had survived being turned inside out for an hour and a half by
-Captain R- was equal to any demand his old ship was likely to make on his
-competence.  However he didn't give me a chance to make that sort of fool
-of myself because before I could open my mouth he had gone round on
-another tack and was addressing himself affably to Mr. Powell who
-swinging his leg never took his eyes off me.
-
-"I'll take your young friend willingly, Mr. Powell.  If you let him sign
-on as second-mate at once I'll take the Articles away with me now."
-
-"It suddenly dawned upon me that the innocent skipper of the _Ferndale_
-had taken it for granted that I was a relative of the Shipping Master!  I
-was quite astonished at this discovery, though indeed the mistake was
-natural enough under the circumstances.  What I ought to have admired was
-the reticence with which this misunderstanding had been established and
-acted upon.  But I was too stupid then to admire anything.  All my
-anxiety was that this should be cleared up.  I was ass enough to wonder
-exceedingly at Mr. Powell failing to notice the misapprehension.  I saw a
-slight twitch come and go on his face; but instead of setting right that
-mistake the Shipping Master swung round on his stool and addressed me as
-'Charles.'  He did.  And I detected him taking a hasty squint at my
-certificate just before, because clearly till he did so he was not sure
-of my christian name.  "Now then come round in front of the desk,
-Charles," says he in a loud voice.
-
-"Charles!  At first, I declare to you, it didn't seem possible that he
-was addressing himself to me.  I even looked round for that Charles but
-there was nobody behind me except the thin-necked chap still hard at his
-writing, and the other three Shipping Masters who were changing their
-coats and reaching for their hats, making ready to go home.  It was the
-industrious thin-necked man who without laying down his pen lifted with
-his left hand a flap near his desk and said kindly:
-
-"Pass this way."
-
-I walked through in a trance, faced Mr. Powell, from whom I learned that
-we were bound to Port Elizabeth first, and signed my name on the Articles
-of the ship _Ferndale_ as second mate--the voyage not to exceed two
-years.
-
-"You won't fail to join--eh?" says the captain anxiously.  "It would
-cause no end of trouble and expense if you did.  You've got a good six
-hours to get your gear together, and then you'll have time to snatch a
-sleep on board before the crew joins in the morning."
-
-"It was easy enough for him to talk of getting ready in six hours for a
-voyage that was not to exceed two years.  He hadn't to do that trick
-himself, and with his sea-chest locked up in an outhouse the key of which
-had been mislaid for a week as I remembered.  But neither was I much
-concerned.  The idea that I was absolutely going to sea at six o'clock
-next morning hadn't got quite into my head yet.  It had been too sudden.
-
-"Mr. Powell, slipping the Articles into a long envelope, spoke up with a
-sort of cold half-laugh without looking at either of us.
-
-"Mind you don't disgrace the name, Charles."
-
-"And the skipper chimes in very kindly:
-
-"He'll do well enough I dare say.  I'll look after him a bit."
-
-"Upon this he grabs the Articles, says something about trying to run in
-for a minute to see that poor devil in the hospital, and off he goes with
-his heavy swinging step after telling me sternly: "Don't you go like that
-poor fellow and get yourself run over by a cart as if you hadn't either
-eyes or ears."
-
-"Mr. Powell," says I timidly (there was by then only the thin-necked man
-left in the office with us and he was already by the door, standing on
-one leg to turn the bottom of his trousers up before going away).  "Mr.
-Powell," says I, "I believe the Captain of the _Ferndale_ was thinking
-all the time that I was a relation of yours."
-
-"I was rather concerned about the propriety of it, you know, but Mr.
-Powell didn't seem to be in the least.
-
-"Did he?" says he.  "That's funny, because it seems to me too that I've
-been a sort of good uncle to several of you young fellows lately.  Don't
-you think so yourself?  However, if you don't like it you may put him
-right--when you get out to sea."  At this I felt a bit queer.  Mr. Powell
-had rendered me a very good service:- because it's a fact that with us
-merchant sailors the first voyage as officer is the real start in life.
-He had given me no less than that.  I told him warmly that he had done
-for me more that day than all my relations put together ever did.
-
-"Oh, no, no," says he.  "I guess it's that shipment of explosives waiting
-down the river which has done most for you.  Forty tons of dynamite have
-been your best friend to-day, young man."
-
-"That was true too, perhaps.  Anyway I saw clearly enough that I had
-nothing to thank myself for.  But as I tried to thank him, he checked my
-stammering.
-
-"Don't be in a hurry to thank me," says he.  "The voyage isn't finished
-yet."
-
-Our new acquaintance paused, then added meditatively: "Queer man.  As if
-it made any difference.  Queer man."
-
-"It's certainly unwise to admit any sort of responsibility for our
-actions, whose consequences we are never able to foresee," remarked
-Marlow by way of assent.
-
-"The consequence of his action was that I got a ship," said the other.
-"That could not do much harm," he added with a laugh which argued a
-probably unconscious contempt of general ideas.
-
-But Marlow was not put off.  He was patient and reflective.  He had been
-at sea many years and I verily believe he liked sea-life because upon the
-whole it is favourable to reflection.  I am speaking of the now nearly
-vanished sea-life under sail.  To those who may be surprised at the
-statement I will point out that this life secured for the mind of him who
-embraced it the inestimable advantages of solitude and silence.  Marlow
-had the habit of pursuing general ideas in a peculiar manner, between
-jest and earnest.
-
-"Oh, I wouldn't suggest," he said, "that your namesake Mr. Powell, the
-Shipping Master, had done you much harm.  Such was hardly his intention.
-And even if it had been he would not have had the power.  He was but a
-man, and the incapacity to achieve anything distinctly good or evil is
-inherent in our earthly condition.  Mediocrity is our mark.  And perhaps
-it's just as well, since, for the most part, we cannot be certain of the
-effect of our actions."
-
-"I don't know about the effect," the other stood up to Marlow manfully.
-"What effect did you expect anyhow?  I tell you he did something
-uncommonly kind."
-
-"He did what he could," Marlow retorted gently, "and on his own showing
-that was not a very great deal.  I cannot help thinking that there was
-some malice in the way he seized the opportunity to serve you.  He
-managed to make you uncomfortable.  You wanted to go to sea, but he
-jumped at the chance of accommodating your desire with a vengeance.  I am
-inclined to think your cheek alarmed him.  And this was an excellent
-occasion to suppress you altogether.  For if you accepted he was relieved
-of you with every appearance of humanity, and if you made objections
-(after requesting his assistance, mind you) it was open to him to drop
-you as a sort of impostor.  You might have had to decline that berth for
-some very valid reason.  From sheer necessity perhaps.  The notice was
-too uncommonly short.  But under the circumstances you'd have covered
-yourself with ignominy."
-
-Our new friend knocked the ashes out of his pipe.
-
-"Quite a mistake," he said.  "I am not of the declining sort, though I'll
-admit it was something like telling a man that you would like a bath and
-in consequence being instantly knocked overboard to sink or swim with
-your clothes on.  However, I didn't feel as if I were in deep water at
-first.  I left the shipping office quietly and for a time strolled along
-the street as easy as if I had a week before me to fit myself out.  But
-by and by I reflected that the notice was even shorter than it looked.
-The afternoon was well advanced; I had some things to get, a lot of small
-matters to attend to, one or two persons to see.  One of them was an aunt
-of mine, my only relation, who quarrelled with poor father as long as he
-lived about some silly matter that had neither right nor wrong to it.  She
-left her money to me when she died.  I used always to go and see her for
-decency's sake.  I had so much to do before night that I didn't know
-where to begin.  I felt inclined to sit down on the kerb and hold my head
-in my hands.  It was as if an engine had been started going under my
-skull.  Finally I sat down in the first cab that came along and it was a
-hard matter to keep on sitting there I can tell you, while we rolled up
-and down the streets, pulling up here and there, the parcels accumulating
-round me and the engine in my head gathering more way every minute.  The
-composure of the people on the pavements was provoking to a degree, and
-as to the people in shops, they were benumbed, more than half
-frozen--imbecile.  Funny how it affects you to be in a peculiar state of
-mind: everybody that does not act up to your excitement seems so
-confoundedly unfriendly.  And my state of mind what with the hurry, the
-worry and a growing exultation was peculiar enough.  That engine in my
-head went round at its top speed hour after hour till eleven at about at
-night it let up on me suddenly at the entrance to the Dock before large
-iron gates in a dead wall."
-
-* * * * *
-
-These gates were closed and locked.  The cabby, after shooting his things
-off the roof of his machine into young Powell's arms, drove away leaving
-him alone with his sea-chest, a sail cloth bag and a few parcels on the
-pavement about his feet.  It was a dark, narrow thoroughfare he told us.
-A mean row of houses on the other side looked empty: there wasn't the
-smallest gleam of light in them.  The white-hot glare of a gin palace a
-good way off made the intervening piece of the street pitch black.  Some
-human shapes appearing mysteriously, as if they had sprung up from the
-dark ground, shunned the edge of the faint light thrown down by the
-gateway lamps.  These figures were wary in their movements and perfectly
-silent of foot, like beasts of prey slinking about a camp fire.  Powell
-gathered up his belongings and hovered over them like a hen over her
-brood.  A gruffly insinuating voice said:
-
-"Let's carry your things in, Capt'in!  I've got my pal 'ere."
-
-He was a tall, bony, grey-haired ruffian with a bulldog jaw, in a torn
-cotton shirt and moleskin trousers.  The shadow of his hobnailed boots
-was enormous and coffinlike.  His pal, who didn't come up much higher
-than his elbow, stepping forward exhibited a pale face with a long
-drooping nose and no chin to speak of.  He seemed to have just scrambled
-out of a dust-bin in a tam-o'shanter cap and a tattered soldier's coat
-much too long for him.  Being so deadly white he looked like a horrible
-dirty invalid in a ragged dressing gown.  The coat flapped open in front
-and the rest of his apparel consisted of one brace which crossed his
-naked, bony chest, and a pair of trousers.  He blinked rapidly as if
-dazed by the faint light, while his patron, the old bandit, glowered at
-young Powell from under his beetling brow.
-
-"Say the word, Capt'in.  The bobby'll let us in all right.  'E knows both
-of us."
-
-"I didn't answer him," continued Mr. Powell.  "I was listening to
-footsteps on the other side of the gate, echoing between the walls of the
-warehouses as if in an uninhabited town of very high buildings dark from
-basement to roof.  You could never have guessed that within a stone's
-throw there was an open sheet of water and big ships lying afloat.  The
-few gas lamps showing up a bit of brick work here and there, appeared in
-the blackness like penny dips in a range of cellars--and the solitary
-footsteps came on, tramp, tramp.  A dock policeman strode into the light
-on the other side of the gate, very broad-chested and stern.
-
-"Hallo!  What's up here?"
-
-"He was really surprised, but after some palaver he let me in together
-with the two loafers carrying my luggage.  He grumbled at them however
-and slammed the gate violently with a loud clang.  I was startled to
-discover how many night prowlers had collected in the darkness of the
-street in such a short time and without my being aware of it.  Directly
-we were through they came surging against the bars, silent, like a mob of
-ugly spectres.  But suddenly, up the street somewhere, perhaps near that
-public-house, a row started as if Bedlam had broken loose: shouts, yells,
-an awful shrill shriek--and at that noise all these heads vanished from
-behind the bars.
-
-"Look at this," marvelled the constable.  "It's a wonder to me they
-didn't make off with your things while you were waiting."
-
-"I would have taken good care of that," I said defiantly.  But the
-constable wasn't impressed.
-
-"Much you would have done.  The bag going off round one dark corner; the
-chest round another.  Would you have run two ways at once?  And anyhow
-you'd have been tripped up and jumped upon before you had run three
-yards.  I tell you you've had a most extraordinary chance that there
-wasn't one of them regular boys about to-night, in the High Street, to
-twig your loaded cab go by.  Ted here is honest . . . You are on the
-honest lay, Ted, ain't you?"
-
-"Always was, orficer," said the big ruffian with feeling.  The other
-frail creature seemed dumb and only hopped about with the edge of its
-soldier coat touching the ground.
-
-"Oh yes, I dare say," said the constable.  "Now then, forward, march . . .
-He's that because he ain't game for the other thing," he confided to
-me.  "He hasn't got the nerve for it.  However, I ain't going to lose
-sight of them two till they go out through the gate.  That little chap's
-a devil.  He's got the nerve for anything, only he hasn't got the muscle.
-Well!  Well!  You've had a chance to get in with a whole skin and with
-all your things."
-
-"I was incredulous a little.  It seemed impossible that after getting
-ready with so much hurry and inconvenience I should have lost my chance
-of a start in life from such a cause.  I asked:
-
-"Does that sort of thing happen often so near the dock gates?"
-
-"Often!  No!  Of course not often.  But it ain't often either that a man
-comes along with a cabload of things to join a ship at this time of
-night.  I've been in the dock police thirteen years and haven't seen it
-done once."
-
-"Meantime we followed my sea-chest which was being carried down a sort of
-deep narrow lane, separating two high warehouses, between honest Ted and
-his little devil of a pal who had to keep up a trot to the other's
-stride.  The skirt of his soldier's coat floating behind him nearly swept
-the ground so that he seemed to be running on castors.  At the corner of
-the gloomy passage a rigged jib boom with a dolphin-striker ending in an
-arrow-head stuck out of the night close to a cast iron lamp-post.  It was
-the quay side.  They set down their load in the light and honest Ted
-asked hoarsely:
-
-"Where's your ship, guv'nor?"
-
-"I didn't know.  The constable was interested at my ignorance.
-
-"Don't know where your ship is?" he asked with curiosity.  "And you the
-second officer!  Haven't you been working on board of her?"
-
-"I couldn't explain that the only work connected with my appointment was
-the work of chance.  I told him briefly that I didn't know her at all.  At
-this he remarked:
-
-"So I see.  Here she is, right before you.  That's her."
-
-"At once the head-gear in the gas light inspired me with interest and
-respect; the spars were big, the chains and ropes stout and the whole
-thing looked powerful and trustworthy.  Barely touched by the light her
-bows rose faintly alongside the narrow strip of the quay; the rest of her
-was a black smudge in the darkness.  Here I was face to face with my
-start in life.  We walked in a body a few steps on a greasy pavement
-between her side and the towering wall of a warehouse and I hit my shins
-cruelly against the end of the gangway.  The constable hailed her quietly
-in a bass undertone '_Ferndale_ there!'  A feeble and dismal sound,
-something in the nature of a buzzing groan, answered from behind the
-bulwarks.
-
-"I distinguished vaguely an irregular round knob, of wood, perhaps,
-resting on the rail.  It did not move in the least; but as another broken-
-down buzz like a still fainter echo of the first dismal sound proceeded
-from it I concluded it must be the head of the ship-keeper.  The stalwart
-constable jeered in a mock-official manner.
-
-"Second officer coming to join.  Move yourself a bit."
-
-"The truth of the statement touched me in the pit of the stomach (you
-know that's the spot where emotion gets home on a man) for it was borne
-upon me that really and truly I was nothing but a second officer of a
-ship just like any other second officer, to that constable.  I was moved
-by this solid evidence of my new dignity.  Only his tone offended me.
-Nevertheless I gave him the tip he was looking for.  Thereupon he lost
-all interest in me, humorous or otherwise, and walked away driving
-sternly before him the honest Ted, who went off grumbling to himself like
-a hungry ogre, and his horrible dumb little pal in the soldier's coat,
-who, from first to last, never emitted the slightest sound.
-
-"It was very dark on the quarter deck of the _Ferndale_ between the deep
-bulwarks overshadowed by the break of the poop and frowned upon by the
-front of the warehouse.  I plumped down on to my chest near the after
-hatch as if my legs had been jerked from under me.  I felt suddenly very
-tired and languid.  The ship-keeper, whom I could hardly make out hung
-over the capstan in a fit of weak pitiful coughing.  He gasped out very
-low 'Oh! dear!  Oh! dear!' and struggled for breath so long that I got up
-alarmed and irresolute.
-
-"I've been took like this since last Christmas twelvemonth.  It ain't
-nothing."
-
-"He seemed a hundred years old at least.  I never saw him properly
-because he was gone ashore and out of sight when I came on deck in the
-morning; but he gave me the notion of the feeblest creature that ever
-breathed.  His voice was thin like the buzzing of a mosquito.  As it
-would have been cruel to demand assistance from such a shadowy wreck I
-went to work myself, dragging my chest along a pitch-black passage under
-the poop deck, while he sighed and moaned around me as if my exertions
-were more than his weakness could stand.  At last as I banged pretty
-heavily against the bulkheads he warned me in his faint breathless wheeze
-to be more careful.
-
-"What's the matter?" I asked rather roughly, not relishing to be
-admonished by this forlorn broken-down ghost.
-
-"Nothing!  Nothing, sir," he protested so hastily that he lost his poor
-breath again and I felt sorry for him.  "Only the captain and his missus
-are sleeping on board.  She's a lady that mustn't be disturbed.  They
-came about half-past eight, and we had a permit to have lights in the
-cabin till ten to-night."
-
-"This struck me as a considerable piece of news.  I had never been in a
-ship where the captain had his wife with him.  I'd heard fellows say that
-captains' wives could work a lot of mischief on board ship if they
-happened to take a dislike to anyone; especially the new wives if young
-and pretty.  The old and experienced wives on the other hand fancied they
-knew more about the ship than the skipper himself and had an eye like a
-hawk's for what went on.  They were like an extra chief mate of a
-particularly sharp and unfeeling sort who made his report in the evening.
-The best of them were a nuisance.  In the general opinion a skipper with
-his wife on board was more difficult to please; but whether to show off
-his authority before an admiring female or from loving anxiety for her
-safety or simply from irritation at her presence--nobody I ever heard on
-the subject could tell for certain.
-
-"After I had bundled in my things somehow I struck a match and had a
-dazzling glimpse of my berth; then I pitched the roll of my bedding into
-the bunk but took no trouble to spread it out.  I wasn't sleepy now,
-neither was I tired.  And the thought that I was done with the earth for
-many many months to come made me feel very quiet and self-contained as it
-were.  Sailors will understand what I mean."
-
-Marlow nodded.  "It is a strictly professional feeling," he commented.
-"But other professions or trades know nothing of it.  It is only this
-calling whose primary appeal lies in the suggestion of restless adventure
-which holds out that deep sensation to those who embrace it.  It is
-difficult to define, I admit."
-
-"I should call it the peace of the sea," said Mr. Charles Powell in an
-earnest tone but looking at us as though he expected to be met by a laugh
-of derision and were half prepared to salve his reputation for common
-sense by joining in it.  But neither of us laughed at Mr. Charles Powell
-in whose start in life we had been called to take a part.  He was lucky
-in his audience.
-
-"A very good name," said Marlow looking at him approvingly.  "A sailor
-finds a deep feeling of security in the exercise of his calling.  The
-exacting life of the sea has this advantage over the life of the earth
-that its claims are simple and cannot be evaded."
-
-"Gospel truth," assented Mr. Powell.  "No! they cannot be evaded."
-
-That an excellent understanding should have established itself between my
-old friend and our new acquaintance was remarkable enough.  For they were
-exactly dissimilar--one individuality projecting itself in length and the
-other in breadth, which is already a sufficient ground for irreconcilable
-difference.  Marlow who was lanky, loose, quietly composed in varied
-shades of brown robbed of every vestige of gloss, had a narrow, veiled
-glance, the neutral bearing and the secret irritability which go together
-with a predisposition to congestion of the liver.  The other, compact,
-broad and sturdy of limb, seemed extremely full of sound organs
-functioning vigorously all the time in order to keep up the brilliance of
-his colouring, the light curl of his coal-black hair and the lustre of
-his eyes, which asserted themselves roundly in an open, manly face.
-Between two such organisms one would not have expected to find the
-slightest temperamental accord.  But I have observed that profane men
-living in ships like the holy men gathered together in monasteries
-develop traits of profound resemblance.  This must be because the service
-of the sea and the service of a temple are both detached from the
-vanities and errors of a world which follows no severe rule.  The men of
-the sea understand each other very well in their view of earthly things,
-for simplicity is a good counsellor and isolation not a bad educator.  A
-turn of mind composed of innocence and scepticism is common to them all,
-with the addition of an unexpected insight into motives, as of
-disinterested lookers-on at a game.  Mr. Powell took me aside to say,
-
-"I like the things he says."
-
-"You understand each other pretty well," I observed.
-
-"I know his sort," said Powell, going to the window to look at his cutter
-still riding to the flood.  "He's the sort that's always chasing some
-notion or other round and round his head just for the fun of the thing."
-
-"Keeps them in good condition," I said.
-
-"Lively enough I dare say," he admitted.
-
-"Would you like better a man who let his notions lie curled up?"
-
-"That I wouldn't," answered our new acquaintance.  Clearly he was not
-difficult to get on with.  "I like him, very well," he continued, "though
-it isn't easy to make him out.  He seems to be up to a thing or two.
-What's he doing?"
-
-I informed him that our friend Marlow had retired from the sea in a sort
-of half-hearted fashion some years ago.
-
-Mr. Powell's comment was: "Fancied had enough of it?"
-
-"Fancied's the very word to use in this connection," I observed,
-remembering the subtly provisional character of Marlow's long sojourn
-amongst us.  From year to year he dwelt on land as a bird rests on the
-branch of a tree, so tense with the power of brusque flight into its true
-element that it is incomprehensible why it should sit still minute after
-minute.  The sea is the sailor's true element, and Marlow, lingering on
-shore, was to me an object of incredulous commiseration like a bird,
-which, secretly, should have lost its faith in the high virtue of flying.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER TWO--THE FYNES AND THE GIRL-FRIEND
-
-
-We were on our feet in the room by then, and Marlow, brown and
-deliberate, approached the window where Mr. Powell and I had retired.
-"What was the name of your chance again?" he asked.  Mr. Powell stared
-for a moment.
-
-"Oh!  The _Ferndale_.  A Liverpool ship.  Composite built."
-
-"_Ferndale_," repeated Marlow thoughtfully.  "_Ferndale_."
-
-"Know her?"
-
-"Our friend," I said, "knows something of every ship.  He seems to have
-gone about the seas prying into things considerably."
-
-Marlow smiled.
-
-"I've seen her, at least once."
-
-"The finest sea-boat ever launched," declared Mr. Powell sturdily.
-"Without exception."
-
-"She looked a stout, comfortable ship," assented Marlow.  "Uncommonly
-comfortable.  Not very fast tho'."
-
-"She was fast enough for any reasonable man--when I was in her," growled
-Mr. Powell with his back to us.
-
-"Any ship is that--for a reasonable man," generalized Marlow in a
-conciliatory tone.  "A sailor isn't a globe-trotter."
-
-"No," muttered Mr. Powell.
-
-"Time's nothing to him," advanced Marlow.
-
-"I don't suppose it's much," said Mr. Powell.  "All the same a quick
-passage is a feather in a man's cap."
-
-"True.  But that ornament is for the use of the master only.  And by the
-by what was his name?"
-
-"The master of the _Ferndale_?  Anthony.  Captain Anthony."
-
-"Just so.  Quite right," approved Marlow thoughtfully.  Our new
-acquaintance looked over his shoulder.
-
-"What do you mean?  Why is it more right than if it had been Brown?"
-
-"He has known him probably," I explained.  "Marlow here appears to know
-something of every soul that ever went afloat in a sailor's body."
-
-Mr. Powell seemed wonderfully amenable to verbal suggestions for looking
-again out of the window, he muttered:
-
-"He was a good soul."
-
-This clearly referred to Captain Anthony of the _Ferndale_.  Marlow
-addressed his protest to me.
-
-"I did not know him.  I really didn't.  He was a good soul.  That's
-nothing very much out of the way--is it?  And I didn't even know that
-much of him.  All I knew of him was an accident called Fyne.
-
-At this Mr. Powell who evidently could be rebellious too turned his back
-squarely on the window.
-
-"What on earth do you mean?" he asked.  "An--accident--called Fyne," he
-repeated separating the words with emphasis.
-
-Marlow was not disconcerted.
-
-"I don't mean accident in the sense of a mishap.  Not in the least.  Fyne
-was a good little man in the Civil Service.  By accident I mean that
-which happens blindly and without intelligent design.  That's generally
-the way a brother-in-law happens into a man's life."
-
-Marlow's tone being apologetic and our new acquaintance having again
-turned to the window I took it upon myself to say:
-
-"You are justified.  There is very little intelligent design in the
-majority of marriages; but they are none the worse for that.  Intelligence
-leads people astray as far as passion sometimes.  I know you are not a
-cynic."
-
-Marlow smiled his retrospective smile which was kind as though he bore no
-grudge against people he used to know.
-
-"Little Fyne's marriage was quite successful.  There was no design at all
-in it.  Fyne, you must know, was an enthusiastic pedestrian.  He spent
-his holidays tramping all over our native land.  His tastes were simple.
-He put infinite conviction and perseverance into his holidays.  At the
-proper season you would meet in the fields, Fyne, a serious-faced, broad-
-chested, little man, with a shabby knap-sack on his back, making for some
-church steeple.  He had a horror of roads.  He wrote once a little book
-called the 'Tramp's Itinerary,' and was recognised as an authority on the
-footpaths of England.  So one year, in his favourite over-the-fields,
-back-way fashion he entered a pretty Surrey village where he met Miss
-Anthony.  Pure accident, you see.  They came to an understanding, across
-some stile, most likely.  Little Fyne held very solemn views as to the
-destiny of women on this earth, the nature of our sublunary love, the
-obligations of this transient life and so on.  He probably disclosed them
-to his future wife.  Miss Anthony's views of life were very decided too
-but in a different way.  I don't know the story of their wooing.  I
-imagine it was carried on clandestinely and, I am certain, with
-portentous gravity, at the back of copses, behind hedges . . .
-
-"Why was it carried on clandestinely?" I inquired.
-
-"Because of the lady's father.  He was a savage sentimentalist who had
-his own decided views of his paternal prerogatives.  He was a terror; but
-the only evidence of imaginative faculty about Fyne was his pride in his
-wife's parentage.  It stimulated his ingenuity too.  Difficult--is it
-not?--to introduce one's wife's maiden name into general conversation.
-But my simple Fyne made use of Captain Anthony for that purpose, or else
-I would never even have heard of the man.  "My wife's sailor-brother" was
-the phrase.  He trotted out the sailor-brother in a pretty wide range of
-subjects: Indian and colonial affairs, matters of trade, talk of travels,
-of seaside holidays and so on.  Once I remember "My wife's sailor-brother
-Captain Anthony" being produced in connection with nothing less recondite
-than a sunset.  And little Fyne never failed to add "The son of Carleon
-Anthony, the poet--you know."  He used to lower his voice for that
-statement, and people were impressed or pretended to be."
-
-The late Carleon Anthony, the poet, sang in his time of the domestic and
-social amenities of our age with a most felicitous versification, his
-object being, in his own words, "to glorify the result of six thousand
-years' evolution towards the refinement of thought, manners and
-feelings."  Why he fixed the term at six thousand years I don't know.  His
-poems read like sentimental novels told in verse of a really superior
-quality.  You felt as if you were being taken out for a delightful
-country drive by a charming lady in a pony carriage.  But in his domestic
-life that same Carleon Anthony showed traces of the primitive
-cave-dweller's temperament.  He was a massive, implacable man with a
-handsome face, arbitrary and exacting with his dependants, but
-marvellously suave in his manner to admiring strangers.  These contrasted
-displays must have been particularly exasperating to his long-suffering
-family.  After his second wife's death his boy, whom he persisted by a
-mere whim in educating at home, ran away in conventional style and, as if
-disgusted with the amenities of civilization, threw himself, figuratively
-speaking, into the sea.  The daughter (the elder of the two children)
-either from compassion or because women are naturally more enduring,
-remained in bondage to the poet for several years, till she too seized a
-chance of escape by throwing herself into the arms, the muscular arms, of
-the pedestrian Fyne.  This was either great luck or great sagacity.  A
-civil servant is, I should imagine, the last human being in the world to
-preserve those traits of the cave-dweller from which she was fleeing.  Her
-father would never consent to see her after the marriage.  Such
-unforgiving selfishness is difficult to understand unless as a perverse
-sort of refinement.  There were also doubts as to Carleon Anthony's
-complete sanity for some considerable time before he died.
-
-Most of the above I elicited from Marlow, for all I knew of Carleon
-Anthony was his unexciting but fascinating verse.  Marlow assured me that
-the Fyne marriage was perfectly successful and even happy, in an earnest,
-unplayful fashion, being blessed besides by three healthy, active, self-
-reliant children, all girls.  They were all pedestrians too.  Even the
-youngest would wander away for miles if not restrained.  Mrs. Fyne had a
-ruddy out-of-doors complexion and wore blouses with a starched front like
-a man's shirt, a stand-up collar and a long necktie.  Marlow had made
-their acquaintance one summer in the country, where they were accustomed
-to take a cottage for the holidays . . .
-
-At this point we were interrupted by Mr. Powell who declared that he must
-leave us.  The tide was on the turn, he announced coming away from the
-window abruptly.  He wanted to be on board his cutter before she swung
-and of course he would sleep on board.  Never slept away from the cutter
-while on a cruise.  He was gone in a moment, unceremoniously, but giving
-us no offence and leaving behind an impression as though we had known him
-for a long time.  The ingenuous way he had told us of his start in life
-had something to do with putting him on that footing with us.  I gave no
-thought to seeing him again.
-
-Marlow expressed a confident hope of coming across him before long.
-
-"He cruises about the mouth of the river all the summer.  He will be easy
-to find any week-end," he remarked ringing the bell so that we might
-settle up with the waiter.
-
-* * * * *
-
-Later on I asked Marlow why he wished to cultivate this chance
-acquaintance.  He confessed apologetically that it was the commonest sort
-of curiosity.  I flatter myself that I understand all sorts of curiosity.
-Curiosity about daily facts, about daily things, about daily men.  It is
-the most respectable faculty of the human mind--in fact I cannot conceive
-the uses of an incurious mind.  It would be like a chamber perpetually
-locked up.  But in this particular case Mr. Powell seemed to have given
-us already a complete insight into his personality such as it was; a
-personality capable of perception and with a feeling for the vagaries of
-fate, but essentially simple in itself.
-
-Marlow agreed with me so far.  He explained however that his curiosity
-was not excited by Mr. Powell exclusively.  It originated a good way
-further back in the fact of his accidental acquaintance with the Fynes,
-in the country.  This chance meeting with a man who had sailed with
-Captain Anthony had revived it.  It had revived it to some purpose, to
-such purpose that to me too was given the knowledge of its origin and of
-its nature.  It was given to me in several stages, at intervals which are
-not indicated here.  On this first occasion I remarked to Marlow with
-some surprise:
-
-"But, if I remember rightly you said you didn't know Captain Anthony."
-
-"No.  I never saw the man.  It's years ago now, but I seem to hear solemn
-little Fyne's deep voice announcing the approaching visit of his wife's
-brother "the son of the poet, you know."  He had just arrived in London
-from a long voyage, and, directly his occupations permitted, was coming
-down to stay with his relatives for a few weeks.  No doubt we two should
-find many things to talk about by ourselves in reference to our common
-calling, added little Fyne portentously in his grave undertones, as if
-the Mercantile Marine were a secret society.
-
-You must understand that I cultivated the Fynes only in the country, in
-their holiday time.  This was the third year.  Of their existence in town
-I knew no more than may be inferred from analogy.  I played chess with
-Fyne in the late afternoon, and sometimes came over to the cottage early
-enough to have tea with the whole family at a big round table.  They sat
-about it, an unsmiling, sunburnt company of very few words indeed.  Even
-the children were silent and as if contemptuous of each other and of
-their elders.  Fyne muttered sometimes deep down in his chest some
-insignificant remark.  Mrs. Fyne smiled mechanically (she had splendid
-teeth) while distributing tea and bread and butter.  A something which
-was not coldness, nor yet indifference, but a sort of peculiar
-self-possession gave her the appearance of a very trustworthy, very
-capable and excellent governess; as if Fyne were a widower and the
-children not her own but only entrusted to her calm, efficient,
-unemotional care.  One expected her to address Fyne as Mr.  When she
-called him John it surprised one like a shocking familiarity.  The
-atmosphere of that holiday was--if I may put it so--brightly dull.
-Healthy faces, fair complexions, clear eyes, and never a frank smile in
-the whole lot, unless perhaps from a girl-friend.
-
-The girl-friend problem exercised me greatly.  How and where the Fynes
-got all these pretty creatures to come and stay with them I can't
-imagine.  I had at first the wild suspicion that they were obtained to
-amuse Fyne.  But I soon discovered that he could hardly tell one from the
-other, though obviously their presence met with his solemn approval.
-These girls in fact came for Mrs. Fyne.  They treated her with admiring
-deference.  She answered to some need of theirs.  They sat at her feet.
-They were like disciples.  It was very curious.  Of Fyne they took but
-scanty notice.  As to myself I was made to feel that I did not exist.
-
-After tea we would sit down to chess and then Fyne's everlasting gravity
-became faintly tinged by an attenuated gleam of something inward which
-resembled sly satisfaction.  Of the divine frivolity of laughter he was
-only capable over a chess-board.  Certain positions of the game struck
-him as humorous, which nothing else on earth could do . . .
-
-"He used to beat you," I asserted with confidence.
-
-"Yes.  He used to beat me," Marlow owned up hastily.
-
-So he and Fyne played two games after tea.  The children romped together
-outside, gravely, unplayfully, as one would expect from Fyne's children,
-and Mrs. Fyne would be gone to the bottom of the garden with the girl-
-friend of the week.  She always walked off directly after tea with her
-arm round the girl-friend's waist.  Marlow said that there was only one
-girl-friend with whom he had conversed at all.  It had happened quite
-unexpectedly, long after he had given up all hope of getting into touch
-with these reserved girl-friends.
-
-One day he saw a woman walking about on the edge of a high quarry, which
-rose a sheer hundred feet, at least, from the road winding up the hill
-out of which it had been excavated.  He shouted warningly to her from
-below where he happened to be passing.  She was really in considerable
-danger.  At the sound of his voice she started back and retreated out of
-his sight amongst some young Scotch firs growing near the very brink of
-the precipice.
-
-"I sat down on a bank of grass," Marlow went on.  "She had given me a
-turn.  The hem of her skirt seemed to float over that awful sheer drop,
-she was so close to the edge.  An absurd thing to do.  A perfectly mad
-trick--for no conceivable object!  I was reflecting on the foolhardiness
-of the average girl and remembering some other instances of the kind,
-when she came into view walking down the steep curve of the road.  She
-had Mrs. Fyne's walking-stick and was escorted by the Fyne dog.  Her dead
-white face struck me with astonishment, so that I forgot to raise my hat.
-I just sat and stared.  The dog, a vivacious and amiable animal which for
-some inscrutable reason had bestowed his friendship on my unworthy self,
-rushed up the bank demonstratively and insinuated himself under my arm.
-
-The girl-friend (it was one of them) went past some way as though she had
-not seen me, then stopped and called the dog to her several times; but he
-only nestled closer to my side, and when I tried to push him away
-developed that remarkable power of internal resistance by which a dog
-makes himself practically immovable by anything short of a kick.  She
-looked over her shoulder and her arched eyebrows frowned above her
-blanched face.  It was almost a scowl.  Then the expression changed.  She
-looked unhappy.  "Come here!" she cried once more in an angry and
-distressed tone.  I took off my hat at last, but the dog hanging out his
-tongue with that cheerfully imbecile expression some dogs know so well
-how to put on when it suits their purpose, pretended to be deaf.
-
-She cried from the distance desperately.
-
-"Perhaps you will take him to the cottage then.  I can't wait."
-
-"I won't be responsible for that dog," I protested getting down the bank
-and advancing towards her.  She looked very hurt, apparently by the
-desertion of the dog.  "But if you let me walk with you he will follow us
-all right," I suggested.
-
-She moved on without answering me.  The dog launched himself suddenly
-full speed down the road receding from us in a small cloud of dust.  It
-vanished in the distance, and presently we came up with him lying on the
-grass.  He panted in the shade of the hedge with shining eyes but
-pretended not to see us.  We had not exchanged a word so far.  The girl
-by my side gave him a scornful glance in passing.
-
-"He offered to come with me," she remarked bitterly.
-
-"And then abandoned you!" I sympathized.  "It looks very unchivalrous.
-But that's merely his want of tact.  I believe he meant to protest
-against your reckless proceedings.  What made you come so near the edge
-of that quarry?  The earth might have given way.  Haven't you noticed a
-smashed fir tree at the bottom?  Tumbled over only the other morning
-after a night's rain."
-
-"I don't see why I shouldn't be as reckless as I please."
-
-I was nettled by her brusque manner of asserting her folly, and I told
-her that neither did I as far as that went, in a tone which almost
-suggested that she was welcome to break her neck for all I cared.  This
-was considerably more than I meant, but I don't like rude girls.  I had
-been introduced to her only the day before--at the round tea-table--and
-she had barely acknowledged the introduction.  I had not caught her name
-but I had noticed her fine, arched eyebrows which, so the physiognomists
-say, are a sign of courage.
-
-I examined her appearance quietly.  Her hair was nearly black, her eyes
-blue, deeply shaded by long dark eyelashes.  She had a little colour now.
-She looked straight before her; the corner of her lip on my side drooped
-a little; her chin was fine, somewhat pointed.  I went on to say that
-some regard for others should stand in the way of one's playing with
-danger.  I urged playfully the distress of the poor Fynes in case of
-accident, if nothing else.  I told her that she did not know the bucolic
-mind.  Had she given occasion for a coroner's inquest the verdict would
-have been suicide, with the implication of unhappy love.  They would
-never be able to understand that she had taken the trouble to climb over
-two post-and-rail fences only for the fun of being reckless.  Indeed even
-as I talked chaffingly I was greatly struck myself by the fact.
-
-She retorted that once one was dead what horrid people thought of one did
-not matter.  It was said with infinite contempt; but something like a
-suppressed quaver in the voice made me look at her again.  I perceived
-then that her thick eyelashes were wet.  This surprising discovery
-silenced me as you may guess.  She looked unhappy.  And--I don't know how
-to say it--well--it suited her.  The clouded brow, the pained mouth, the
-vague fixed glance!  A victim.  And this characteristic aspect made her
-attractive; an individual touch--you know.
-
-The dog had run on ahead and now gazed at us by the side of the Fyne's
-garden-gate in a tense attitude and wagging his stumpy tail very, very
-slowly, with an air of concentrated attention.  The girl-friend of the
-Fynes bolted violently through the aforesaid gate and into the cottage
-leaving me on the road--astounded.
-
-A couple of hours afterwards I returned to the cottage for chess as
-usual.  I saw neither the girl nor Mrs. Fyne then.  We had our two games
-and on parting I warned Fyne that I was called to town on business and
-might be away for some time.  He regretted it very much.  His brother-in-
-law was expected next day but he didn't know whether he was a
-chess-player.  Captain Anthony ("the son of the poet--you know") was of a
-retiring disposition, shy with strangers, unused to society and very much
-devoted to his calling, Fyne explained.  All the time they had been
-married he could be induced only once before to come and stay with them
-for a few days.  He had had a rather unhappy boyhood; and it made him a
-silent man.  But no doubt, concluded Fyne, as if dealing portentously
-with a mystery, we two sailors should find much to say to one another.
-
-This point was never settled.  I was detained in town from week to week
-till it seemed hardly worth while to go back.  But as I had kept on my
-rooms in the farmhouse I concluded to go down again for a few days.
-
-It was late, deep dusk, when I got out at our little country station.  My
-eyes fell on the unmistakable broad back and the muscular legs in cycling
-stockings of little Fyne.  He passed along the carriages rapidly towards
-the rear of the train, which presently pulled out and left him solitary
-at the end of the rustic platform.  When he came back to where I waited I
-perceived that he was much perturbed, so perturbed as to forget the
-convention of the usual greetings.  He only exclaimed Oh! on recognizing
-me, and stopped irresolute.  When I asked him if he had been expecting
-somebody by that train he didn't seem to know.  He stammered
-disconnectedly.  I looked hard at him.  To all appearances he was
-perfectly sober; moreover to suspect Fyne of a lapse from the proprieties
-high or low, great or small, was absurd.  He was also a too serious and
-deliberate person to go mad suddenly.  But as he seemed to have forgotten
-that he had a tongue in his head I concluded I would leave him to his
-mystery.  To my surprise he followed me out of the station and kept by my
-side, though I did not encourage him.  I did not however repulse his
-attempts at conversation.  He was no longer expecting me, he said.  He
-had given me up.  The weather had been uniformly fine--and so on.  I
-gathered also that the son of the poet had curtailed his stay somewhat
-and gone back to his ship the day before.
-
-That information touched me but little.  Believing in heredity in
-moderation I knew well how sea-life fashions a man outwardly and stamps
-his soul with the mark of a certain prosaic fitness--because a sailor is
-not an adventurer.  I expressed no regret at missing Captain Anthony and
-we proceeded in silence till, on approaching the holiday cottage, Fyne
-suddenly and unexpectedly broke it by the hurried declaration that he
-would go on with me a little farther.
-
-"Go with you to your door," he mumbled and started forward to the little
-gate where the shadowy figure of Mrs. Fyne hovered, clearly on the
-lookout for him.  She was alone.  The children must have been already in
-bed and I saw no attending girl-friend shadow near her vague but
-unmistakable form, half-lost in the obscurity of the little garden.
-
-I heard Fyne exclaim "Nothing" and then Mrs. Fyne's well-trained,
-responsible voice uttered the words, "It's what I have said," with
-incisive equanimity.  By that time I had passed on, raising my hat.
-Almost at once Fyne caught me up and slowed down to my strolling gait
-which must have been infinitely irksome to his high pedestrian faculties.
-I am sure that all his muscular person must have suffered from awful
-physical boredom; but he did not attempt to charm it away by
-conversation.  He preserved a portentous and dreary silence.  And I was
-bored too.  Suddenly I perceived the menace of even worse boredom.  Yes!
-He was so silent because he had something to tell me.
-
-I became extremely frightened.  But man, reckless animal, is so made that
-in him curiosity, the paltriest curiosity, will overcome all terrors,
-every disgust, and even despair itself.  To my laconic invitation to come
-in for a drink he answered by a deep, gravely accented: "Thanks, I will"
-as though it were a response in church.  His face as seen in the
-lamplight gave me no clue to the character of the impending
-communication; as indeed from the nature of things it couldn't do, its
-normal expression being already that of the utmost possible seriousness.
-It was perfect and immovable; and for a certainty if he had something
-excruciatingly funny to tell me it would be all the same.
-
-He gazed at me earnestly and delivered himself of some weighty remarks on
-Mrs. Fyne's desire to befriend, counsel, and guide young girls of all
-sorts on the path of life.  It was a voluntary mission.  He approved his
-wife's action and also her views and principles in general.
-
-All this with a solemn countenance and in deep measured tones.  Yet
-somehow I got an irresistible conviction that he was exasperated by
-something in particular.  In the unworthy hope of being amused by the
-misfortunes of a fellow-creature I asked him point-blank what was wrong
-now.
-
-What was wrong was that a girl-friend was missing.  She had been missing
-precisely since six o'clock that morning.  The woman who did the work of
-the cottage saw her going out at that hour, for a walk.  The pedestrian
-Fyne's ideas of a walk were extensive, but the girl did not turn up for
-lunch, nor yet for tea, nor yet for dinner.  She had not turned up by
-footpath, road or rail.  He had been reluctant to make inquiries.  It
-would have set all the village talking.  The Fynes had expected her to
-reappear every moment, till the shades of the night and the silence of
-slumber had stolen gradually over the wide and peaceful rural landscape
-commanded by the cottage.
-
-After telling me that much Fyne sat helpless in unconclusive agony.  Going
-to bed was out of the question--neither could any steps be taken just
-then.  What to do with himself he did not know!
-
-I asked him if this was the same young lady I saw a day or two before I
-went to town?  He really could not remember.  Was she a girl with dark
-hair and blue eyes?  I asked further.  He really couldn't tell what
-colour her eyes were.  He was very unobservant except as to the
-peculiarities of footpaths, on which he was an authority.
-
-I thought with amazement and some admiration that Mrs. Fyne's young
-disciples were to her husband's gravity no more than evanescent shadows.
-However, with but little hesitation Fyne ventured to affirm that--yes,
-her hair was of some dark shade.
-
-"We had a good deal to do with that girl first and last," he explained
-solemnly; then getting up as if moved by a spring he snatched his cap off
-the table.  "She may be back in the cottage," he cried in his bass voice.
-I followed him out on the road.
-
-It was one of those dewy, clear, starry nights, oppressing our spirit,
-crushing our pride, by the brilliant evidence of the awful loneliness, of
-the hopeless obscure insignificance of our globe lost in the splendid
-revelation of a glittering, soulless universe.  I hate such skies.
-Daylight is friendly to man toiling under a sun which warms his heart;
-and cloudy soft nights are more kindly to our littleness.  I nearly ran
-back again to my lighted parlour; Fyne fussing in a knicker-bocker suit
-before the hosts of heaven, on a shadowy earth, about a transient,
-phantom-like girl, seemed too ridiculous to associate with.  On the other
-hand there was something fascinating in the very absurdity.  He cut along
-in his best pedestrian style and I found myself let in for a spell of
-severe exercise at eleven o'clock at night.
-
-In the distance over the fields and trees smudging and blotching the vast
-obscurity, one lighted window of the cottage with the blind up was like a
-bright beacon kept alight to guide the lost wanderer.  Inside, at the
-table bearing the lamp, we saw Mrs. Fyne sitting with folded arms and not
-a hair of her head out of place.  She looked exactly like a governess who
-had put the children to bed; and her manner to me was just the neutral
-manner of a governess.  To her husband, too, for that matter.
-
-Fyne told her that I was fully informed.  Not a muscle of her ruddy
-smooth handsome face moved.  She had schooled herself into that sort of
-thing.  Having seen two successive wives of the delicate poet chivied and
-worried into their graves, she had adopted that cool, detached manner to
-meet her gifted father's outbreaks of selfish temper.  It had now become
-a second nature.  I suppose she was always like that; even in the very
-hour of elopement with Fyne.  That transaction when one remembered it in
-her presence acquired a quaintly marvellous aspect to one's imagination.
-But somehow her self-possession matched very well little Fyne's
-invariable solemnity.
-
-I was rather sorry for him.  Wasn't he worried!  The agony of solemnity.
-At the same time I was amused.  I didn't take a gloomy view of that
-"vanishing girl" trick.  Somehow I couldn't.  But I said nothing.  None
-of us said anything.  We sat about that big round table as if assembled
-for a conference and looked at each other in a sort of fatuous
-consternation.  I would have ended by laughing outright if I had not been
-saved from that impropriety by poor Fyne becoming preposterous.
-
-He began with grave anguish to talk of going to the police in the
-morning, of printing descriptive bills, of setting people to drag the
-ponds for miles around.  It was extremely gruesome.  I murmured something
-about communicating with the young lady's relatives.  It seemed to me a
-very natural suggestion; but Fyne and his wife exchanged such a
-significant glance that I felt as though I had made a tactless remark.
-
-But I really wanted to help poor Fyne; and as I could see that, manlike,
-he suffered from the present inability to act, the passive waiting, I
-said: "Nothing of this can be done till to-morrow.  But as you have given
-me an insight into the nature of your thoughts I can tell you what may be
-done at once.  We may go and look at the bottom of the old quarry which
-is on the level of the road, about a mile from here."
-
-The couple made big eyes at this, and then I told them of my meeting with
-the girl.  You may be surprised but I assure you I had not perceived this
-aspect of it till that very moment.  It was like a startling revelation;
-the past throwing a sinister light on the future.  Fyne opened his mouth
-gravely and as gravely shut it.  Nothing more.  Mrs. Fyne said, "You had
-better go," with an air as if her self-possession had been pricked with a
-pin in some secret place.
-
-And I--you know how stupid I can be at times--I perceived with dismay for
-the first time that by pandering to Fyne's morbid fancies I had let
-myself in for some more severe exercise.  And wasn't I sorry I spoke!  You
-know how I hate walking--at least on solid, rural earth; for I can walk a
-ship's deck a whole foggy night through, if necessary, and think little
-of it.  There is some satisfaction too in playing the vagabond in the
-streets of a big town till the sky pales above the ridges of the roofs.  I
-have done that repeatedly for pleasure--of a sort.  But to tramp the
-slumbering country-side in the dark is for me a wearisome nightmare of
-exertion.
-
-With perfect detachment Mrs. Fyne watched me go out after her husband.
-That woman was flint.
-
-* * * * *
-
-The fresh night had a smell of soil, of turned-up sods like a grave--an
-association particularly odious to a sailor by its idea of confinement
-and narrowness; yes, even when he has given up the hope of being buried
-at sea; about the last hope a sailor gives up consciously after he has
-been, as it does happen, decoyed by some chance into the toils of the
-land.  A strong grave-like sniff.  The ditch by the side of the road must
-have been freshly dug in front of the cottage.
-
-Once clear of the garden Fyne gathered way like a racing cutter.  What
-was a mile to him--or twenty miles?  You think he might have gone
-shrinkingly on such an errand.  But not a bit of it.  The force of
-pedestrian genius I suppose.  I raced by his side in a mood of profound
-self-derision, and infinitely vexed with that minx.  Because dead or
-alive I thought of her as a minx . . ."
-
-I smiled incredulously at Marlow's ferocity; but Marlow pausing with a
-whimsically retrospective air, never flinched.
-
-"Yes, yes.  Even dead.  And now you are shocked.  You see, you are such a
-chivalrous masculine beggar.  But there is enough of the woman in my
-nature to free my judgment of women from glamorous reticency.  And then,
-why should I upset myself?  A woman is not necessarily either a doll or
-an angel to me.  She is a human being, very much like myself.  And I have
-come across too many dead souls lying so to speak at the foot of high
-unscaleable places for a merely possible dead body at the bottom of a
-quarry to strike my sincerity dumb.
-
-The cliff-like face of the quarry looked forbiddingly impressive.  I will
-admit that Fyne and I hung back for a moment before we made a plunge off
-the road into the bushes growing in a broad space at the foot of the
-towering limestone wall.  These bushes were heavy with dew.  There were
-also concealed mudholes in there.  We crept and tumbled and felt about
-with our hands along the ground.  We got wet, scratched, and plastered
-with mire all over our nether garments.  Fyne fell suddenly into a
-strange cavity--probably a disused lime-kiln.  His voice uplifted in
-grave distress sounded more than usually rich, solemn and profound.  This
-was the comic relief of an absurdly dramatic situation.  While hauling
-him out I permitted myself to laugh aloud at last.  Fyne, of course,
-didn't.
-
-I need not tell you that we found nothing after a most conscientious
-search.  Fyne even pushed his way into a decaying shed half-buried in dew-
-soaked vegetation.  He struck matches, several of them too, as if to make
-absolutely sure that the vanished girl-friend of his wife was not hiding
-there.  The short flares illuminated his grave, immovable countenance
-while I let myself go completely and laughed in peals.
-
-I asked him if he really and truly supposed that any sane girl would go
-and hide in that shed; and if so why?
-
-Disdainful of my mirth he merely muttered his basso-profundo thankfulness
-that we had not found her anywhere about there.  Having grown extremely
-sensitive (an effect of irritation) to the tonalities, I may say, of this
-affair, I felt that it was only an imperfect, reserved, thankfulness,
-with one eye still on the possibilities of the several ponds in the
-neighbourhood.  And I remember I snorted, I positively snorted, at that
-poor Fyne.
-
-What really jarred upon me was the rate of his walking.  Differences in
-politics, in ethics and even in aesthetics need not arouse angry
-antagonism.  One's opinion may change; one's tastes may alter--in fact
-they do.  One's very conception of virtue is at the mercy of some
-felicitous temptation which may be sprung on one any day.  All these
-things are perpetually on the swing.  But a temperamental difference,
-temperament being immutable, is the parent of hate.  That's why religious
-quarrels are the fiercest of all.  My temperament, in matters pertaining
-to solid land, is the temperament of leisurely movement, of deliberate
-gait.  And there was that little Fyne pounding along the road in a most
-offensive manner; a man wedded to thick-soled, laced boots; whereas my
-temperament demands thin shoes of the lightest kind.  Of course there
-could never have been question of friendship between us; but under the
-provocation of having to keep up with his pace I began to dislike him
-actively.  I begged sarcastically to know whether he could tell me if we
-were engaged in a farce or in a tragedy.  I wanted to regulate my
-feelings which, I told him, were in an unbecoming state of confusion.
-
-But Fyne was as impervious to sarcasm as a turtle.  He tramped on, and
-all he did was to ejaculate twice out of his deep chest, vaguely,
-doubtfully.
-
-"I am afraid . . . I am afraid! . . . "
-
-This was tragic.  The thump of his boots was the only sound in a shadowy
-world.  I kept by his side with a comparatively ghostly, silent tread.  By
-a strange illusion the road appeared to run up against a lot of low stars
-at no very great distance, but as we advanced new stretches of whitey-
-brown ribbon seemed to come up from under the black ground.  I observed,
-as we went by, the lamp in my parlour in the farmhouse still burning.  But
-I did not leave Fyne to run in and put it out.  The impetus of his
-pedestrian excellence carried me past in his wake before I could make up
-my mind.
-
-"Tell me, Fyne," I cried, "you don't think the girl was mad--do you?"
-
-He answered nothing.  Soon the lighted beacon-like window of the cottage
-came into view.  Then Fyne uttered a solemn: "Certainly not," with
-profound assurance.  But immediately after he added a "Very highly strung
-young person indeed," which unsettled me again.  Was it a tragedy?
-
-"Nobody ever got up at six o'clock in the morning to commit suicide," I
-declared crustily.  "It's unheard of!  This is a farce."
-
-As a matter of fact it was neither farce nor tragedy.
-
-Coming up to the cottage we had a view of Mrs. Fyne inside still sitting
-in the strong light at the round table with folded arms.  It looked as
-though she had not moved her very head by as much as an inch since we
-went away.  She was amazing in a sort of unsubtle way; crudely amazing--I
-thought.  Why crudely?  I don't know.  Perhaps because I saw her then in
-a crude light.  I mean this materially--in the light of an unshaded lamp.
-Our mental conclusions depend so much on momentary physical
-sensations--don't they?  If the lamp had been shaded I should perhaps
-have gone home after expressing politely my concern at the Fynes'
-unpleasant predicament.
-
-Losing a girl-friend in that manner is unpleasant.  It is also
-mysterious.  So mysterious that a certain mystery attaches to the people
-to whom such a thing does happen.  Moreover I had never really understood
-the Fynes; he with his solemnity which extended to the very eating of
-bread and butter; she with that air of detachment and resolution in
-breasting the common-place current of their unexciting life, in which the
-cutting of bread and butter appeared to me, by a long way, the most
-dangerous episode.  Sometimes I amused myself by supposing that to their
-minds this world of ours must be wearing a perfectly overwhelming aspect,
-and that their heads contained respectively awfully serious and extremely
-desperate thoughts--and trying to imagine what an exciting time they must
-be having of it in the inscrutable depths of their being.  This last was
-difficult to a volatile person (I am sure that to the Fynes I was a
-volatile person) and the amusement in itself was not very great; but
-still--in the country--away from all mental stimulants! . . . My efforts
-had invested them with a sort of amusing profundity.
-
-But when Fyne and I got back into the room, then in the searching,
-domestic, glare of the lamp, inimical to the play of fancy, I saw these
-two stripped of every vesture it had amused me to put on them for fun.
-Queer enough they were.  Is there a human being that isn't that--more or
-less secretly?  But whatever their secret, it was manifest to me that it
-was neither subtle nor profound.  They were a good, stupid, earnest
-couple and very much bothered.  They were that--with the usual unshaded
-crudity of average people.  There was nothing in them that the lamplight
-might not touch without the slightest risk of indiscretion.
-
-Directly we had entered the room Fyne announced the result by saying
-"Nothing" in the same tone as at the gate on his return from the railway
-station.  And as then Mrs. Fyne uttered an incisive "It's what I've
-said," which might have been the veriest echo of her words in the garden.
-We three looked at each other as if on the brink of a disclosure.  I
-don't know whether she was vexed at my presence.  It could hardly be
-called intrusion--could it?  Little Fyne began it.  It had to go on.  We
-stood before her, plastered with the same mud (Fyne was a sight!),
-scratched by the same brambles, conscious of the same experience.  Yes.
-Before her.  And she looked at us with folded arms, with an extraordinary
-fulness of assumed responsibility.  I addressed her.
-
-"You don't believe in an accident, Mrs. Fyne, do you?"
-
-She shook her head in curt negation while, caked in mud and inexpressibly
-serious-faced, Fyne seemed to be backing her up with all the weight of
-his solemn presence.  Nothing more absurd could be conceived.  It was
-delicious.  And I went on in deferential accents: "Am I to understand
-then that you entertain the theory of suicide?"
-
-I don't know that I am liable to fits of delirium but by a sudden and
-alarming aberration while waiting for her answer I became mentally aware
-of three trained dogs dancing on their hind legs.  I don't know why.
-Perhaps because of the pervading solemnity.  There's nothing more solemn
-on earth than a dance of trained dogs.
-
-"She has chosen to disappear.  That's all."
-
-In these words Mrs. Fyne answered me.  The aggressive tone was too much
-for my endurance.  In an instant I found myself out of the dance and down
-on all-fours so to speak, with liberty to bark and bite.
-
-"The devil she has," I cried.  "Has chosen to . . . Like this, all at
-once, anyhow, regardless . . . I've had the privilege of meeting that
-reckless and brusque young lady and I must say that with her air of an
-angry victim . . . "
-
-"Precisely," Mrs. Fyne said very unexpectedly like a steel trap going
-off.  I stared at her.  How provoking she was!  So I went on to finish my
-tirade.  "She struck me at first sight as the most inconsiderate wrong-
-headed girl that I ever . . . "
-
-"Why should a girl be more considerate than anyone else?  More than any
-man, for instance?" inquired Mrs. Fyne with a still greater assertion of
-responsibility in her bearing.
-
-Of course I exclaimed at this, not very loudly it is true, but forcibly.
-Were then the feelings of friends, relations and even of strangers to be
-disregarded?  I asked Mrs. Fyne if she did not think it was a sort of
-duty to show elementary consideration not only for the natural feelings
-but even for the prejudices of one's fellow-creatures.
-
-Her answer knocked me over.
-
-"Not for a woman."
-
-Just like that.  I confess that I went down flat.  And while in that
-collapsed state I learned the true nature of Mrs. Fyne's feminist
-doctrine.  It was not political, it was not social.  It was a knock-me-
-down doctrine--a practical individualistic doctrine.  You would not thank
-me for expounding it to you at large.  Indeed I think that she herself
-did not enlighten me fully.  There must have been things not fit for a
-man to hear.  But shortly, and as far as my bewilderment allowed me to
-grasp its naive atrociousness, it was something like this: that no
-consideration, no delicacy, no tenderness, no scruples should stand in
-the way of a woman (who by the mere fact of her sex was the predestined
-victim of conditions created by men's selfish passions, their vices and
-their abominable tyranny) from taking the shortest cut towards securing
-for herself the easiest possible existence.  She had even the right to go
-out of existence without considering anyone's feelings or convenience
-since some women's existences were made impossible by the shortsighted
-baseness of men.
-
-I looked at her, sitting before the lamp at one o'clock in the morning,
-with her mature, smooth-cheeked face of masculine shape robbed of its
-freshness by fatigue; at her eyes dimmed by this senseless vigil.  I
-looked also at Fyne; the mud was drying on him; he was obviously tired.
-The weariness of solemnity.  But he preserved an unflinching, endorsing,
-gravity of expression.  Endorsing it all as became a good, convinced
-husband.
-
-"Oh!  I see," I said.  "No consideration . . . Well I hope you like it."
-
-They amused me beyond the wildest imaginings of which I was capable.
-After the first shock, you understand, I recovered very quickly.  The
-order of the world was safe enough.  He was a civil servant and she his
-good and faithful wife.  But when it comes to dealing with human beings
-anything, anything may be expected.  So even my astonishment did not last
-very long.  How far she developed and illustrated that conscienceless and
-austere doctrine to the girl-friends, who were mere transient shadows to
-her husband, I could not tell.  Any length I supposed.  And he looked on,
-acquiesced, approved, just for that very reason--because these pretty
-girls were but shadows to him.  O!  Most virtuous Fyne!  He cast his eyes
-down.  He didn't like it.  But I eyed him with hidden animosity for he
-had got me to run after him under somewhat false pretences.
-
-Mrs. Fyne had only smiled at me very expressively, very self-confidently.
-"Oh I quite understand that you accept the fullest responsibility," I
-said.  "I am the only ridiculous person in this--this--I don't know how
-to call it--performance.  However, I've nothing more to do here, so I'll
-say good-night--or good morning, for it must be past one."
-
-But before departing, in common decency, I offered to take any wires they
-might write.  My lodgings were nearer the post-office than the cottage
-and I would send them off the first thing in the morning.  I supposed
-they would wish to communicate, if only as to the disposal of the
-luggage, with the young lady's relatives . . .
-
-Fyne, he looked rather downcast by then, thanked me and declined.
-
-"There is really no one," he said, very grave.
-
-"No one," I exclaimed.
-
-"Practically," said curt Mrs. Fyne.
-
-And my curiosity was aroused again.
-
-"Ah!  I see.  An orphan."
-
-Mrs. Fyne looked away weary and sombre, and Fyne said "Yes" impulsively,
-and then qualified the affirmative by the quaint statement: "To a certain
-extent."
-
-I became conscious of a languid, exhausted embarrassment, bowed to Mrs.
-Fyne, and went out of the cottage to be confronted outside its door by
-the bespangled, cruel revelation of the Immensity of the Universe.  The
-night was not sufficiently advanced for the stars to have paled; and the
-earth seemed to me more profoundly asleep--perhaps because I was alone
-now.  Not having Fyne with me to set the pace I let myself drift, rather
-than walk, in the direction of the farmhouse.  To drift is the only
-reposeful sort of motion (ask any ship if it isn't) and therefore
-consistent with thoughtfulness.  And I pondered: How is one an orphan "to
-a certain extent"?
-
-No amount of solemnity could make such a statement other than bizarre.
-What a strange condition to be in.  Very likely one of the parents only
-was dead?  But no; it couldn't be, since Fyne had said just before that
-"there was really no one" to communicate with.  No one!  And then
-remembering Mrs. Fyne's snappy "Practically" my thoughts fastened upon
-that lady as a more tangible object of speculation.
-
-I wondered--and wondering I doubted--whether she really understood
-herself the theory she had propounded to me.  Everything may be
-said--indeed ought to be said--providing we know how to say it.  She
-probably did not.  She was not intelligent enough for that.  She had no
-knowledge of the world.  She had got hold of words as a child might get
-hold of some poisonous pills and play with them for "dear, tiny little
-marbles."  No!  The domestic-slave daughter of Carleon Anthony and the
-little Fyne of the Civil Service (that flower of civilization) were not
-intelligent people.  They were commonplace, earnest, without smiles and
-without guile.  But he had his solemnities and she had her reveries, her
-lurid, violent, crude reveries.  And I thought with some sadness that all
-these revolts and indignations, all these protests, revulsions of
-feeling, pangs of suffering and of rage, expressed but the uneasiness of
-sensual beings trying for their share in the joys of form, colour,
-sensations--the only riches of our world of senses.  A poet may be a
-simple being but he is bound to be various and full of wiles, ingenious
-and irritable.  I reflected on the variety of ways the ingenuity of the
-late bard of civilization would be able to invent for the tormenting of
-his dependants.  Poets not being generally foresighted in practical
-affairs, no vision of consequences would restrain him.  Yes.  The Fynes
-were excellent people, but Mrs. Fyne wasn't the daughter of a domestic
-tyrant for nothing.  There were no limits to her revolt.  But they were
-excellent people.  It was clear that they must have been extremely good
-to that girl whose position in the world seemed somewhat difficult, with
-her face of a victim, her obvious lack of resignation and the bizarre
-status of orphan "to a certain extent."
-
-Such were my thoughts, but in truth I soon ceased to trouble about all
-these people.  I found that my lamp had gone out leaving behind an awful
-smell.  I fled from it up the stairs and went to bed in the dark.  My
-slumbers--I suppose the one good in pedestrian exercise, confound it, is
-that it helps our natural callousness--my slumbers were deep, dreamless
-and refreshing.
-
-My appetite at breakfast was not affected by my ignorance of the facts,
-motives, events and conclusions.  I think that to understand everything
-is not good for the intellect.  A well-stocked intelligence weakens the
-impulse to action; an overstocked one leads gently to idiocy.  But Mrs.
-Fyne's individualist woman-doctrine, naively unscrupulous, flitted
-through my mind.  The salad of unprincipled notions she put into these
-girl-friends' heads!  Good innocent creature, worthy wife, excellent
-mother (of the strict governess type), she was as guileless of
-consequences as any determinist philosopher ever was.
-
-As to honour--you know--it's a very fine medieval inheritance which women
-never got hold of.  It wasn't theirs.  Since it may be laid as a general
-principle that women always get what they want we must suppose they
-didn't want it.  In addition they are devoid of decency.  I mean
-masculine decency.  Cautiousness too is foreign to them--the heavy
-reasonable cautiousness which is our glory.  And if they had it they
-would make of it a thing of passion, so that its own mother--I mean the
-mother of cautiousness--wouldn't recognize it.  Prudence with them is a
-matter of thrill like the rest of sublunary contrivances.  "Sensation at
-any cost," is their secret device.  All the virtues are not enough for
-them; they want also all the crimes for their own.  And why?  Because in
-such completeness there is power--the kind of thrill they love most . . .
-"
-
-"Do you expect me to agree to all this?" I interrupted.
-
-"No, it isn't necessary," said Marlow, feeling the check to his eloquence
-but with a great effort at amiability.  "You need not even understand it.
-I continue: with such disposition what prevents women--to use the phrase
-an old boatswain of my acquaintance applied descriptively to his
-captain--what prevents them from "coming on deck and playing hell with
-the ship" generally, is that something in them precise and mysterious,
-acting both as restraint and as inspiration; their femininity in short
-which they think they can get rid of by trying hard, but can't, and never
-will.  Therefore we may conclude that, for all their enterprises, the
-world is and remains safe enough.  Feeling, in my character of a lover of
-peace, soothed by that conclusion I prepared myself to enjoy a fine day.
-
-And it was a fine day; a delicious day, with the horror of the Infinite
-veiled by the splendid tent of blue; a day innocently bright like a child
-with a washed face, fresh like an innocent young girl, suave in welcoming
-one's respects like--like a Roman prelate.  I love such days.  They are
-perfection for remaining indoors.  And I enjoyed it temperamentally in a
-chair, my feet up on the sill of the open window, a book in my hands and
-the murmured harmonies of wind and sun in my heart making an
-accompaniment to the rhythms of my author.  Then looking up from the page
-I saw outside a pair of grey eyes thatched by ragged yellowy-white
-eyebrows gazing at me solemnly over the toes of my slippers.  There was a
-grave, furrowed brow surmounting that portentous gaze, a brown tweed cap
-set far back on the perspiring head.
-
-"Come inside," I cried as heartily as my sinking heart would permit.
-
-After a short but severe scuffle with his dog at the outer door, Fyne
-entered.  I treated him without ceremony and only waved my hand towards a
-chair.  Even before he sat down he gasped out:
-
-"We've heard--midday post."
-
-Gasped out!  The grave, immovable Fyne of the Civil Service, gasped!  This
-was enough, you'll admit, to cause me to put my feet to the ground
-swiftly.  That fellow was always making me do things in subtle discord
-with my meditative temperament.  No wonder that I had but a qualified
-liking for him.  I said with just a suspicion of jeering tone:
-
-"Of course.  I told you last night on the road that it was a farce we
-were engaged in."
-
-He made the little parlour resound to its foundations with a note of
-anger positively sepulchral in its depth of tone.  "Farce be hanged!  She
-has bolted with my wife's brother, Captain Anthony."  This outburst was
-followed by complete subsidence.  He faltered miserably as he added from
-force of habit: "The son of the poet, you know."
-
-A silence fell.  Fyne's several expressions were so many examples of
-varied consistency.  This was the discomfiture of solemnity.  My interest
-of course was revived.
-
-"But hold on," I said.  "They didn't go together.  Is it a suspicion or
-does she actually say that . . . "
-
-"She has gone after him," stated Fyne in comminatory tones.  "By previous
-arrangement.  She confesses that much."
-
-He added that it was very shocking.  I asked him whether he should have
-preferred them going off together; and on what ground he based that
-preference.  This was sheer fun for me in regard of the fact that Fyne's
-too was a runaway match, which even got into the papers in its time,
-because the late indignant poet had no discretion and sought to avenge
-this outrage publicly in some absurd way before a bewigged judge.  The
-dejected gesture of little Fyne's hand disarmed my mocking mood.  But I
-could not help expressing my surprise that Mrs. Fyne had not detected at
-once what was brewing.  Women were supposed to have an unerring eye.
-
-He told me that his wife had been very much engaged in a certain work.  I
-had always wondered how she occupied her time.  It was in writing.  Like
-her husband she too published a little book.  Much later on I came upon
-it.  It had nothing to do with pedestrianism.  It was a sort of hand-book
-for women with grievances (and all women had them), a sort of compendious
-theory and practice of feminine free morality.  It made you laugh at its
-transparent simplicity.  But that authorship was revealed to me much
-later.  I didn't of course ask Fyne what work his wife was engaged on;
-but I marvelled to myself at her complete ignorance of the world, of her
-own sex and of the other kind of sinners.  Yet, where could she have got
-any experience?  Her father had kept her strictly cloistered.  Marriage
-with Fyne was certainly a change but only to another kind of
-claustration.  You may tell me that the ordinary powers of observation
-ought to have been enough.  Why, yes!  But, then, as she had set up for a
-guide and teacher, there was nothing surprising for me in the discovery
-that she was blind.  That's quite in order.  She was a profoundly
-innocent person; only it would not have been proper to tell her husband
-so.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THREE--THRIFT--AND THE CHILD
-
-
-But there was nothing improper in my observing to Fyne that, last night,
-Mrs. Fyne seemed to have some idea where that enterprising young lady had
-gone to.  Fyne shook his head.  No; his wife had been by no means so
-certain as she had pretended to be.  She merely had her reasons to think,
-to hope, that the girl might have taken a room somewhere in London, had
-buried herself in town--in readiness or perhaps in horror of the
-approaching day--
-
-He ceased and sat solemnly dejected, in a brown study.  "What day?" I
-asked at last; but he did not hear me apparently.  He diffused such
-portentous gloom into the atmosphere that I lost patience with him.
-
-"What on earth are you so dismal about?" I cried, being genuinely
-surprised and puzzled.  "One would think the girl was a state prisoner
-under your care."
-
-And suddenly I became still more surprised at myself, at the way I had
-somehow taken for granted things which did appear queer when one thought
-them out.
-
-"But why this secrecy?  Why did they elope--if it is an elopement?  Was
-the girl afraid of your wife?  And your brother-in-law?  What on earth
-possesses him to make a clandestine match of it?  Was he afraid of your
-wife too?"
-
-Fyne made an effort to rouse himself.
-
-"Of course my brother-in-law, Captain Anthony, the son of . . . "  He
-checked himself as if trying to break a bad habit.  "He would be
-persuaded by her.  We have been most friendly to the girl!"
-
-"She struck me as a foolish and inconsiderate little person.  But why
-should you and your wife take to heart so strongly mere folly--or even a
-want of consideration?"
-
-"It's the most unscrupulous action," declared Fyne weightily--and sighed.
-
-"I suppose she is poor," I observed after a short silence.  "But after
-all . . . "
-
-"You don't know who she is."  Fyne had regained his average solemnity.
-
-I confessed that I had not caught her name when his wife had introduced
-us to each other.  "It was something beginning with an S- wasn't it?"  And
-then with the utmost coolness Fyne remarked that it did not matter.  The
-name was not her name.
-
-"Do you mean to say that you made a young lady known to me under a false
-name?" I asked, with the amused feeling that the days of wonders and
-portents had not passed away yet.  That the eminently serious Fynes
-should do such an exceptional thing was simply staggering.  With a more
-hasty enunciation than usual little Fyne was sure that I would not demand
-an apology for this irregularity if I knew what her real name was.  A
-sort of warmth crept into his deep tone.
-
-"We have tried to befriend that girl in every way.  She is the daughter
-and only child of de Barral."
-
-Evidently he expected to produce a sensation; he kept his eyes fixed upon
-me prepared for some sign of it.  But I merely returned his intense,
-awaiting gaze.  For a time we stared at each other.  Conscious of being
-reprehensibly dense I groped in the darkness of my mind: De Barral, De
-Barral--and all at once noise and light burst on me as if a window of my
-memory had been suddenly flung open on a street in the City.  De Barral!
-But could it be the same?  Surely not!
-
-"The financier?" I suggested half incredulous.
-
-"Yes," said Fyne; and in this instance his native solemnity of tone
-seemed to be strangely appropriate.  "The convict."
-
-Marlow looked at me, significantly, and remarked in an explanatory tone:
-
-"One somehow never thought of de Barral as having any children, or any
-other home than the offices of the "Orb"; or any other existence,
-associations or interests than financial.  I see you remember the crash
-. . . "
-
-"I was away in the Indian Seas at the time," I said.  "But of course--"
-
-"Of course," Marlow struck in.  "All the world . . . You may wonder at my
-slowness in recognizing the name.  But you know that my memory is merely
-a mausoleum of proper names.  There they lie inanimate, awaiting the
-magic touch--and not very prompt in arising when called, either.  The
-name is the first thing I forget of a man.  It is but just to add that
-frequently it is also the last, and this accounts for my possession of a
-good many anonymous memories.  In de Barral's case, he got put away in my
-mausoleum in company with so many names of his own creation that really
-he had to throw off a monstrous heap of grisly bones before he stood
-before me at the call of the wizard Fyne.  The fellow had a pretty fancy
-in names: the "Orb" Deposit Bank, the "Sceptre" Mutual Aid Society, the
-"Thrift and Independence" Association.  Yes, a very pretty taste in
-names; and nothing else besides--absolutely nothing--no other merit.  Well
-yes.  He had another name, but that's pure luck--his own name of de
-Barral which he did not invent.  I don't think that a mere Jones or Brown
-could have fished out from the depths of the Incredible such a colossal
-manifestation of human folly as that man did.  But it may be that I am
-underestimating the alacrity of human folly in rising to the bait.  No
-doubt I am.  The greed of that absurd monster is incalculable,
-unfathomable, inconceivable.  The career of de Barral demonstrates that
-it will rise to a naked hook.  He didn't lure it with a fairy tale.  He
-hadn't enough imagination for it . . . "
-
-"Was he a foreigner?" I asked.  "It's clearly a French name.  I suppose
-it _was_ his name?"
-
-"Oh, he didn't invent it.  He was born to it, in Bethnal Green, as it
-came out during the proceedings.  He was in the habit of alluding to his
-Scotch connections.  But every great man has done that.  The mother, I
-believe, was Scotch, right enough.  The father de Barral whatever his
-origins retired from the Customs Service (tide-waiter I think), and
-started lending money in a very, very small way in the East End to people
-connected with the docks, stevedores, minor barge-owners, ship-chandlers,
-tally clerks, all sorts of very small fry.  He made his living at it.  He
-was a very decent man I believe.  He had enough influence to place his
-only son as junior clerk in the account department of one of the Dock
-Companies.  "Now, my boy," he said to him, "I've given you a fine start."
-But de Barral didn't start.  He stuck.  He gave perfect satisfaction.  At
-the end of three years he got a small rise of salary and went out
-courting in the evenings.  He went courting the daughter of an old sea-
-captain who was a churchwarden of his parish and lived in an old badly
-preserved Georgian house with a garden: one of these houses standing in a
-reduced bit of "grounds" that you discover in a labyrinth of the most
-sordid streets, exactly alike and composed of six-roomed hutches.
-
-Some of them were the vicarages of slum parishes.  The old sailor had got
-hold of one cheap, and de Barral got hold of his daughter--which was a
-good bargain for him.  The old sailor was very good to the young couple
-and very fond of their little girl.  Mrs. de Barral was an equable,
-unassuming woman, at that time with a fund of simple gaiety, and with no
-ambitions; but, woman-like, she longed for change and for something
-interesting to happen now and then.  It was she who encouraged de Barral
-to accept the offer of a post in the west-end branch of a great bank.  It
-appears he shrank from such a great adventure for a long time.  At last
-his wife's arguments prevailed.  Later on she used to say: 'It's the only
-time he ever listened to me; and I wonder now if it hadn't been better
-for me to die before I ever made him go into that bank.'
-
-You may be surprised at my knowledge of these details.  Well, I had them
-ultimately from Mrs. Fyne.  Mrs. Fyne while yet Miss Anthony, in her days
-of bondage, knew Mrs. de Barral in her days of exile.  Mrs. de Barral was
-living then in a big stone mansion with mullioned windows in a large damp
-park, called the Priory, adjoining the village where the refined poet had
-built himself a house.
-
-These were the days of de Barral's success.  He had bought the place
-without ever seeing it and had packed off his wife and child at once
-there to take possession.  He did not know what to do with them in
-London.  He himself had a suite of rooms in an hotel.  He gave there
-dinner parties followed by cards in the evening.  He had developed the
-gambling passion--or else a mere card mania--but at any rate he played
-heavily, for relaxation, with a lot of dubious hangers on.
-
-Meantime Mrs. de Barral, expecting him every day, lived at the Priory,
-with a carriage and pair, a governess for the child and many servants.
-The village people would see her through the railings wandering under the
-trees with her little girl lost in her strange surroundings.  Nobody ever
-came near her.  And there she died as some faithful and delicate animals
-die--from neglect, absolutely from neglect, rather unexpectedly and
-without any fuss.  The village was sorry for her because, though
-obviously worried about something, she was good to the poor and was
-always ready for a chat with any of the humble folks.  Of course they
-knew that she wasn't a lady--not what you would call a real lady.  And
-even her acquaintance with Miss Anthony was only a cottage-door, a
-village-street acquaintance.  Carleon Anthony was a tremendous aristocrat
-(his father had been a "restoring" architect) and his daughter was not
-allowed to associate with anyone but the county young ladies.
-Nevertheless in defiance of the poet's wrathful concern for undefiled
-refinement there were some quiet, melancholy strolls to and fro in the
-great avenue of chestnuts leading to the park-gate, during which Mrs. de
-Barral came to call Miss Anthony 'my dear'--and even 'my poor dear.'  The
-lonely soul had no one to talk to but that not very happy girl.  The
-governess despised her.  The housekeeper was distant in her manner.
-Moreover Mrs. de Barral was no foolish gossiping woman.  But she made
-some confidences to Miss Anthony.  Such wealth was a terrific thing to
-have thrust upon one she affirmed.  Once she went so far as to confess
-that she was dying with anxiety.  Mr. de Barral (so she referred to him)
-had been an excellent husband and an exemplary father but "you see my
-dear I have had a great experience of him.  I am sure he won't know what
-to do with all that money people are giving to him to take care of for
-them.  He's as likely as not to do something rash.  When he comes here I
-must have a good long serious talk with him, like the talks we often used
-to have together in the good old times of our life."  And then one day a
-cry of anguish was wrung from her: 'My dear, he will never come here, he
-will never, never come!'
-
-She was wrong.  He came to the funeral, was extremely cut up, and holding
-the child tightly by the hand wept bitterly at the side of the grave.
-Miss Anthony, at the cost of a whole week of sneers and abuse from the
-poet, saw it all with her own eyes.  De Barral clung to the child like a
-drowning man.  He managed, though, to catch the half-past five fast
-train, travelling to town alone in a reserved compartment, with all the
-blinds down . . . "
-
-"Leaving the child?" I said interrogatively.
-
-"Yes.  Leaving . . . He shirked the problem.  He was born that way.  He
-had no idea what to do with her or for that matter with anything or
-anybody including himself.  He bolted back to his suite of rooms in the
-hotel.  He was the most helpless . . . She might have been left in the
-Priory to the end of time had not the high-toned governess threatened to
-send in her resignation.  She didn't care for the child a bit, and the
-lonely, gloomy Priory had got on her nerves.  She wasn't going to put up
-with such a life and, having just come out of some ducal family, she
-bullied de Barral in a very lofty fashion.  To pacify her he took a
-splendidly furnished house in the most expensive part of Brighton for
-them, and now and then ran down for a week-end, with a trunk full of
-exquisite sweets and with his hat full of money.  The governess spent it
-for him in extra ducal style.  She was nearly forty and harboured a
-secret taste for patronizing young men of sorts--of a certain sort.  But
-of that Mrs. Fyne of course had no personal knowledge then; she told me
-however that even in the Priory days she had suspected her of being an
-artificial, heartless, vulgar-minded woman with the lowest possible
-ideals.  But de Barral did not know it.  He literally did not know
-anything . . . "
-
-"But tell me, Marlow," I interrupted, "how do you account for this
-opinion?  He must have been a personality in a sense--in some one sense
-surely.  You don't work the greatest material havoc of a decade at least,
-in a commercial community, without having something in you."
-
-Marlow shook his head.
-
-"He was a mere sign, a portent.  There was nothing in him.  Just about
-that time the word Thrift was to the fore.  You know the power of words.
-We pass through periods dominated by this or that word--it may be
-development, or it may be competition, or education, or purity or
-efficiency or even sanctity.  It is the word of the time.  Well just then
-it was the word Thrift which was out in the streets walking arm in arm
-with righteousness, the inseparable companion and backer up of all such
-national catch-words, looking everybody in the eye as it were.  The very
-drabs of the pavement, poor things, didn't escape the fascination . . .
-However! . . . Well the greatest portion of the press were screeching in
-all possible tones, like a confounded company of parrots instructed by
-some devil with a taste for practical jokes, that the financier de Barral
-was helping the great moral evolution of our character towards the newly-
-discovered virtue of Thrift.  He was helping it by all these great
-establishments of his, which made the moral merits of Thrift manifest to
-the most callous hearts, simply by promising to pay ten per cent.
-interest on all deposits.  And you didn't want necessarily to belong to
-the well-to-do classes in order to participate in the advantages of
-virtue.  If you had but a spare sixpence in the world and went and gave
-it to de Barral it was Thrift!  It's quite likely that he himself
-believed it.  He must have.  It's inconceivable that he alone should
-stand out against the infatuation of the whole world.  He hadn't enough
-intelligence for that.  But to look at him one couldn't tell . . . "
-
-"You did see him then?" I said with some curiosity.
-
-"I did.  Strange, isn't it?  It was only once, but as I sat with the
-distressed Fyne who had suddenly resuscitated his name buried in my
-memory with other dead labels of the past, I may say I saw him again, I
-saw him with great vividness of recollection, as he appeared in the days
-of his glory or splendour.  No!  Neither of these words will fit his
-success.  There was never any glory or splendour about that figure.  Well,
-let us say in the days when he was, according to the majority of the
-daily press, a financial force working for the improvement of the
-character of the people.  I'll tell you how it came about.
-
-At that time I used to know a podgy, wealthy, bald little man having
-chambers in the Albany; a financier too, in his way, carrying out
-transactions of an intimate nature and of no moral character; mostly with
-young men of birth and expectations--though I dare say he didn't withhold
-his ministrations from elderly plebeians either.  He was a true democrat;
-he would have done business (a sharp kind of business) with the devil
-himself.  Everything was fly that came into his web.  He received the
-applicants in an alert, jovial fashion which was quite surprising.  It
-gave relief without giving too much confidence, which was just as well
-perhaps.  His business was transacted in an apartment furnished like a
-drawing-room, the walls hung with several brown, heavily-framed, oil
-paintings.  I don't know if they were good, but they were big, and with
-their elaborate, tarnished gilt-frames had a melancholy dignity.  The man
-himself sat at a shining, inlaid writing table which looked like a rare
-piece from a museum of art; his chair had a high, oval, carved back,
-upholstered in faded tapestry; and these objects made of the costly black
-Havana cigar, which he rolled incessantly from the middle to the left
-corner of his mouth and back again, an inexpressibly cheap and nasty
-object.  I had to see him several times in the interest of a poor devil
-so unlucky that he didn't even have a more competent friend than myself
-to speak for him at a very difficult time in his life.
-
-I don't know at what hour my private financier began his day, but he used
-to give one appointments at unheard of times: such as a quarter to eight
-in the morning, for instance.  On arriving one found him busy at that
-marvellous writing table, looking very fresh and alert, exhaling a faint
-fragrance of scented soap and with the cigar already well alight.  You
-may believe that I entered on my mission with many unpleasant
-forebodings; but there was in that fat, admirably washed, little man such
-a profound contempt for mankind that it amounted to a species of good
-nature; which, unlike the milk of genuine kindness, was never in danger
-of turning sour.  Then, once, during a pause in business, while we were
-waiting for the production of a document for which he had sent (perhaps
-to the cellar?) I happened to remark, glancing round the room, that I had
-never seen so many fine things assembled together out of a collection.
-Whether this was unconscious diplomacy on my part, or not, I shouldn't
-like to say--but the remark was true enough, and it pleased him
-extremely.  "It _is_ a collection," he said emphatically.  "Only I live
-right in it, which most collectors don't.  But I see that you know what
-you are looking at.  Not many people who come here on business do.  Stable
-fittings are more in their way."
-
-I don't know whether my appreciation helped to advance my friend's
-business but at any rate it helped our intercourse.  He treated me with a
-shade of familiarity as one of the initiated.
-
-The last time I called on him to conclude the transaction we were
-interrupted by a person, something like a cross between a bookmaker and a
-private secretary, who, entering through a door which was not the
-anteroom door, walked up and stooped to whisper into his ear.
-
-"Eh?  What?  Who, did you say?"
-
-The nondescript person stooped and whispered again, adding a little
-louder: "Says he won't detain you a moment."
-
-My little man glanced at me, said "Ah!  Well," irresolutely.  I got up
-from my chair and offered to come again later.  He looked whimsically
-alarmed.  "No, no.  It's bad enough to lose my money but I don't want to
-waste any more of my time over your friend.  We must be done with this to-
-day.  Just go and have a look at that _garniture de cheminee_ yonder.
-There's another, something like it, in the castle of Laeken, but mine's
-much superior in design."
-
-I moved accordingly to the other side of that big room.  The _garniture_
-was very fine.  But while pretending to examine it I watched my man going
-forward to meet a tall visitor, who said, "I thought you would be
-disengaged so early.  It's only a word or two"--and after a whispered
-confabulation of no more than a minute, reconduct him to the door and
-shake hands ceremoniously.  "Not at all, not at all.  Very pleased to be
-of use.  You can depend absolutely on my information"--"Oh thank you,
-thank you.  I just looked in."  "Certainly, quite right.  Any time . . .
-Good morning."
-
-I had a good look at the visitor while they were exchanging these
-civilities.  He was clad in black.  I remember perfectly that he wore a
-flat, broad, black satin tie in which was stuck a large cameo pin; and a
-small turn down collar.  His hair, discoloured and silky, curled slightly
-over his ears.  His cheeks were hairless and round, and apparently soft.
-He held himself very upright, walked with small steps and spoke gently in
-an inward voice.  Perhaps from contrast with the magnificent polish of
-the room and the neatness of its owner, he struck me as dingy, indigent,
-and, if not exactly humble, then much subdued by evil fortune.
-
-I wondered greatly at my fat little financier's civility to that dubious
-personage when he asked me, as we resumed our respective seats, whether I
-knew who it was that had just gone out.  On my shaking my head negatively
-he smiled queerly, said "De Barral," and enjoyed my surprise.  Then
-becoming grave: "That's a deep fellow, if you like.  We all know where he
-started from and where he got to; but nobody knows what he means to do."
-He became thoughtful for a moment and added as if speaking to himself, "I
-wonder what his game is."
-
-And, you know, there was no game, no game of any sort, or shape or kind.
-It came out plainly at the trial.  As I've told you before, he was a
-clerk in a bank, like thousands of others.  He got that berth as a second
-start in life and there he stuck again, giving perfect satisfaction.  Then
-one day as though a supernatural voice had whispered into his ear or some
-invisible fly had stung him, he put on his hat, went out into the street
-and began advertising.  That's absolutely all that there was to it.  He
-caught in the street the word of the time and harnessed it to his
-preposterous chariot.
-
-One remembers his first modest advertisements headed with the magic word
-Thrift, Thrift, Thrift, thrice repeated; promising ten per cent. on all
-deposits and giving the address of the Thrift and Independence Aid
-Association in Vauxhall Bridge Road.  Apparently nothing more was
-necessary.  He didn't even explain what he meant to do with the money he
-asked the public to pour into his lap.  Of course he meant to lend it out
-at high rates of interest.  He did so--but he did it without system,
-plan, foresight or judgment.  And as he frittered away the sums that
-flowed in, he advertised for more--and got it.  During a period of
-general business prosperity he set up The Orb Bank and The Sceptre Trust,
-simply, it seems for advertising purposes.  They were mere names.  He was
-totally unable to organize anything, to promote any sort of enterprise if
-it were only for the purpose of juggling with the shares.  At that time
-he could have had for the asking any number of Dukes, retired Generals,
-active M.P.'s, ex-ambassadors and so on as Directors to sit at the
-wildest boards of his invention.  But he never tried.  He had no real
-imagination.  All he could do was to publish more advertisements and open
-more branch offices of the Thrift and Independence, of The Orb, of The
-Sceptre, for the receipt of deposits; first in this town, then in that
-town, north and south--everywhere where he could find suitable premises
-at a moderate rent.  For this was the great characteristic of the
-management.  Modesty, moderation, simplicity.  Neither The Orb nor The
-Sceptre nor yet their parent the Thrift and Independence had built for
-themselves the usual palaces.  For this abstention they were praised in
-silly public prints as illustrating in their management the principle of
-Thrift for which they were founded.  The fact is that de Barral simply
-didn't think of it.  Of course he had soon moved from Vauxhall Bridge
-Road.  He knew enough for that.  What he got hold of next was an old,
-enormous, rat-infested brick house in a small street off the Strand.
-Strangers were taken in front of the meanest possible, begrimed, yellowy,
-flat brick wall, with two rows of unadorned window-holes one above the
-other, and were exhorted with bated breath to behold and admire the
-simplicity of the head-quarters of the great financial force of the day.
-The word THRIFT perched right up on the roof in giant gilt letters, and
-two enormous shield-like brass-plates curved round the corners on each
-side of the doorway were the only shining spots in de Barral's business
-outfit.  Nobody knew what operations were carried on inside except
-this--that if you walked in and tendered your money over the counter it
-would be calmly taken from you by somebody who would give you a printed
-receipt.  That and no more.  It appears that such knowledge is
-irresistible.  People went in and tendered; and once it was taken from
-their hands their money was more irretrievably gone from them than if
-they had thrown it into the sea.  This then, and nothing else was being
-carried on in there . . . "
-
-"Come, Marlow," I said, "you exaggerate surely--if only by your way of
-putting things.  It's too startling."
-
-"I exaggerate!" he defended himself.  "My way of putting things!  My dear
-fellow I have merely stripped the rags of business verbiage and financial
-jargon off my statements.  And you are startled!  I am giving you the
-naked truth.  It's true too that nothing lays itself open to the charge
-of exaggeration more than the language of naked truth.  What comes with a
-shock is admitted with difficulty.  But what will you say to the end of
-his career?
-
-It was of course sensational and tolerably sudden.  It began with the Orb
-Deposit Bank.  Under the name of that institution de Barral with the
-frantic obstinacy of an unimaginative man had been financing an Indian
-prince who was prosecuting a claim for immense sums of money against the
-government.  It was an enormous number of scores of lakhs--a miserable
-remnant of his ancestors' treasures--that sort of thing.  And it was all
-authentic enough.  There was a real prince; and the claim too was
-sufficiently real--only unfortunately it was not a valid claim.  So the
-prince lost his case on the last appeal and the beginning of de Barral's
-end became manifest to the public in the shape of a half-sheet of note
-paper wafered by the four corners on the closed door of The Orb offices
-notifying that payment was stopped at that establishment.
-
-Its consort The Sceptre collapsed within the week.  I won't say in
-American parlance that suddenly the bottom fell out of the whole of de
-Barral concerns.  There never had been any bottom to it.  It was like the
-cask of Danaides into which the public had been pleased to pour its
-deposits.  That they were gone was clear; and the bankruptcy proceedings
-which followed were like a sinister farce, bursts of laughter in a
-setting of mute anguish--that of the depositors; hundreds of thousands of
-them.  The laughter was irresistible; the accompaniment of the bankrupt's
-public examination.
-
-I don't know if it was from utter lack of all imagination or from the
-possession in undue proportion of a particular kind of it, or from
-both--and the three alternatives are possible--but it was discovered that
-this man who had been raised to such a height by the credulity of the
-public was himself more gullible than any of his depositors.  He had been
-the prey of all sorts of swindlers, adventurers, visionaries and even
-lunatics.  Wrapping himself up in deep and imbecile secrecy he had gone
-in for the most fantastic schemes: a harbour and docks on the coast of
-Patagonia, quarries in Labrador--such like speculations.  Fisheries to
-feed a canning Factory on the banks of the Amazon was one of them.  A
-principality to be bought in Madagascar was another.  As the grotesque
-details of these incredible transactions came out one by one ripples of
-laughter ran over the closely packed court--each one a little louder than
-the other.  The audience ended by fairly roaring under the cumulative
-effect of absurdity.  The Registrar laughed, the barristers laughed, the
-reporters laughed, the serried ranks of the miserable depositors watching
-anxiously every word, laughed like one man.  They laughed
-hysterically--the poor wretches--on the verge of tears.
-
-There was only one person who remained unmoved.  It was de Barral
-himself.  He preserved his serene, gentle expression, I am told (for I
-have not witnessed those scenes myself), and looked around at the people
-with an air of placid sufficiency which was the first hint to the world
-of the man's overweening, unmeasurable conceit, hidden hitherto under a
-diffident manner.  It could be seen too in his dogged assertion that if
-he had been given enough time and a lot more money everything would have
-come right.  And there were some people (yes, amongst his very victims)
-who more than half believed him, even after the criminal prosecution
-which soon followed.  When placed in the dock he lost his steadiness as
-if some sustaining illusion had gone to pieces within him suddenly.  He
-ceased to be himself in manner completely, and even in disposition, in so
-far that his faded neutral eyes matching his discoloured hair so well,
-were discovered then to be capable of expressing a sort of underhand
-hate.  He was at first defiant, then insolent, then broke down and burst
-into tears; but it might have been from rage.  Then he calmed down,
-returned to his soft manner of speech and to that unassuming quiet
-bearing which had been usual with him even in his greatest days.  But it
-seemed as though in this moment of change he had at last perceived what a
-power he had been; for he remarked to one of the prosecuting counsel who
-had assumed a lofty moral tone in questioning him, that--yes, he had
-gambled--he liked cards.  But that only a year ago a host of smart people
-would have been only too pleased to take a hand at cards with him.  Yes--he
-went on--some of the very people who were there accommodated with seats
-on the bench; and turning upon the counsel "You yourself as well," he
-cried.  He could have had half the town at his rooms to fawn upon him if
-he had cared for that sort of thing.  "Why, now I think of it, it took me
-most of my time to keep people, just of your sort, off me," he ended with
-a good humoured--quite unobtrusive, contempt, as though the fact had
-dawned upon him for the first time.
-
-This was the moment, the only moment, when he had perhaps all the
-audience in Court with him, in a hush of dreary silence.  And then the
-dreary proceedings were resumed.  For all the outside excitement it was
-the most dreary of all celebrated trials.  The bankruptcy proceedings had
-exhausted all the laughter there was in it.  Only the fact of wide-spread
-ruin remained, and the resentment of a mass of people for having been
-fooled by means too simple to save their self-respect from a deep wound
-which the cleverness of a consummate scoundrel would not have inflicted.
-A shamefaced amazement attended these proceedings in which de Barral was
-not being exposed alone.  For himself his only cry was: Time! Time!  Time
-would have set everything right.  In time some of these speculations of
-his were certain to have succeeded.  He repeated this defence, this
-excuse, this confession of faith, with wearisome iteration.  Everything
-he had done or left undone had been to gain time.  He had hypnotized
-himself with the word.  Sometimes, I am told, his appearance was
-ecstatic, his motionless pale eyes seemed to be gazing down the vista of
-future ages.  Time--and of course, more money.  "Ah!  If only you had
-left me alone for a couple of years more," he cried once in accents of
-passionate belief.  "The money was coming in all right."  The deposits
-you understand--the savings of Thrift.  Oh yes they had been coming in to
-the very last moment.  And he regretted them.  He had arrived to regard
-them as his own by a sort of mystical persuasion.  And yet it was a
-perfectly true cry, when he turned once more on the counsel who was
-beginning a question with the words "You have had all these immense sums
-. . . " with the indignant retort "_What_ have I had out of them?"
-
-"It was perfectly true.  He had had nothing out of them--nothing of the
-prestigious or the desirable things of the earth, craved for by predatory
-natures.  He had gratified no tastes, had known no luxury; he had built
-no gorgeous palaces, had formed no splendid galleries out of these
-"immense sums."  He had not even a home.  He had gone into these rooms in
-an hotel and had stuck there for years, giving no doubt perfect
-satisfaction to the management.  They had twice raised his rent to show I
-suppose their high sense of his distinguished patronage.  He had bought
-for himself out of all the wealth streaming through his fingers neither
-adulation nor love, neither splendour nor comfort.  There was something
-perfect in his consistent mediocrity.  His very vanity seemed to miss the
-gratification of even the mere show of power.  In the days when he was
-most fully in the public eye the invincible obscurity of his origins
-clung to him like a shadowy garment.  He had handled millions without
-ever enjoying anything of what is counted as precious in the community of
-men, because he had neither the brutality of temperament nor the fineness
-of mind to make him desire them with the will power of a masterful
-adventurer . . . "
-
-"You seem to have studied the man," I observed.
-
-"Studied," repeated Marlow thoughtfully.  "No!  Not studied.  I had no
-opportunities.  You know that I saw him only on that one occasion I told
-you of.  But it may be that a glimpse and no more is the proper way of
-seeing an individuality; and de Barral was that, in virtue of his very
-deficiencies for they made of him something quite unlike one's
-preconceived ideas.  There were also very few materials accessible to a
-man like me to form a judgment from.  But in such a case I verify believe
-that a little is as good as a feast--perhaps better.  If one has a taste
-for that kind of thing the merest starting-point becomes a coign of
-vantage, and then by a series of logically deducted verisimilitudes one
-arrives at truth--or very near the truth--as near as any circumstantial
-evidence can do.  I have not studied de Barral but that is how I
-understand him so far as he could be understood through the din of the
-crash; the wailing and gnashing of teeth, the newspaper contents bills,
-"The Thrift Frauds.  Cross-examination of the accused.  Extra
-special"--blazing fiercely; the charitable appeals for the victims, the
-grave tones of the dailies rumbling with compassion as if they were the
-national bowels.  All this lasted a whole week of industrious sittings.  A
-pressman whom I knew told me "He's an idiot."  Which was possible.  Before
-that I overheard once somebody declaring that he had a criminal type of
-face; which I knew was untrue.  The sentence was pronounced by artificial
-light in a stifling poisonous atmosphere.  Something edifying was said by
-the judge weightily, about the retribution overtaking the perpetrator of
-"the most heartless frauds on an unprecedented scale."  I don't
-understand these things much, but it appears that he had juggled with
-accounts, cooked balance sheets, had gathered in deposits months after he
-ought to have known himself to be hopelessly insolvent, and done enough
-of other things, highly reprehensible in the eyes of the law, to earn for
-himself seven years' penal servitude.  The sentence making its way
-outside met with a good reception.  A small mob composed mainly of people
-who themselves did not look particularly clever and scrupulous, leavened
-by a slight sprinkling of genuine pickpockets amused itself by cheering
-in the most penetrating, abominable cold drizzle that I remember.  I
-happened to be passing there on my way from the East End where I had
-spent my day about the Docks with an old chum who was looking after the
-fitting out of a new ship.  I am always eager, when allowed, to call on a
-new ship.  They interest me like charming young persons.
-
-I got mixed up in that crowd seething with an animosity as senseless as
-things of the street always are, and it was while I was laboriously
-making my way out of it that the pressman of whom I spoke was jostled
-against me.  He did me the justice to be surprised.  "What?  You here!
-The last person in the world . . . If I had known I could have got you
-inside.  Plenty of room.  Interest been over for the last three days.  Got
-seven years.  Well, I am glad."
-
-"Why are you glad?  Because he's got seven years?" I asked, greatly
-incommoded by the pressure of a hulking fellow who was remarking to some
-of his equally oppressive friends that the "beggar ought to have been
-poleaxed."  I don't know whether he had ever confided his savings to de
-Barral but if so, judging from his appearance, they must have been the
-proceeds of some successful burglary.  The pressman by my side said 'No,'
-to my question.  He was glad because it was all over.  He had suffered
-greatly from the heat and the bad air of the court.  The clammy, raw,
-chill of the streets seemed to affect his liver instantly.  He became
-contemptuous and irritable and plied his elbows viciously making way for
-himself and me.
-
-A dull affair this.  All such cases were dull.  No really dramatic
-moments.  The book-keeping of The Orb and all the rest of them was
-certainly a burlesque revelation but the public did not care for
-revelations of that kind.  Dull dog that de Barral--he grumbled.  He
-could not or would not take the trouble to characterize for me the
-appearance of that man now officially a criminal (we had gone across the
-road for a drink) but told me with a sourly, derisive snigger that, after
-the sentence had been pronounced the fellow clung to the dock long enough
-to make a sort of protest.  'You haven't given me time.  If I had been
-given time I would have ended by being made a peer like some of them.'
-And he had permitted himself his very first and last gesture in all these
-days, raising a hard-clenched fist above his head.
-
-The pressman disapproved of that manifestation.  It was not his business
-to understand it.  Is it ever the business of any pressman to understand
-anything?  I guess not.  It would lead him too far away from the
-actualities which are the daily bread of the public mind.  He probably
-thought the display worth very little from a picturesque point of view;
-the weak voice; the colourless personality as incapable of an attitude as
-a bed-post, the very fatuity of the clenched hand so ineffectual at that
-time and place--no, it wasn't worth much.  And then, for him, an
-accomplished craftsman in his trade, thinking was distinctly "bad
-business."  His business was to write a readable account.  But I who had
-nothing to write, I permitted myself to use my mind as we sat before our
-still untouched glasses.  And the disclosure which so often rewards a
-moment of detachment from mere visual impressions gave me a thrill very
-much approaching a shudder.  I seemed to understand that, with the shock
-of the agonies and perplexities of his trial, the imagination of that
-man, whose moods, notions and motives wore frequently an air of grotesque
-mystery--that his imagination had been at last roused into activity.  And
-this was awful.  Just try to enter into the feelings of a man whose
-imagination wakes up at the very moment he is about to enter the tomb . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"You must not think," went on Marlow after a pause, "that on that morning
-with Fyne I went consciously in my mind over all this, let us call it
-information; no, better say, this fund of knowledge which I had, or
-rather which existed, in me in regard to de Barral.  Information is
-something one goes out to seek and puts away when found as you might do a
-piece of lead: ponderous, useful, unvibrating, dull.  Whereas knowledge
-comes to one, this sort of knowledge, a chance acquisition preserving in
-its repose a fine resonant quality . . . But as such distinctions touch
-upon the transcendental I shall spare you the pain of listening to them.
-There are limits to my cruelty.  No!  I didn't reckon up carefully in my
-mind all this I have been telling you.  How could I have done so, with
-Fyne right there in the room?  He sat perfectly still, statuesque in
-homely fashion, after having delivered himself of his effective assent:
-"Yes.  The convict," and I, far from indulging in a reminiscent excursion
-into the past, remained sufficiently in the present to muse in a vague,
-absent-minded way on the respectable proportions and on the (upon the
-whole) comely shape of his great pedestrian's calves, for he had thrown
-one leg over his knee, carelessly, to conceal the trouble of his mind by
-an air of ease.  But all the same the knowledge was in me, the awakened
-resonance of which I spoke just now; I was aware of it on that beautiful
-day, so fresh, so warm and friendly, so accomplished--an exquisite
-courtesy of the much abused English climate when it makes up its
-meteorological mind to behave like a perfect gentleman.  Of course the
-English climate is never a rough.  It suffers from spleen somewhat
-frequently--but that is gentlemanly too, and I don't mind going to meet
-him in that mood.  He has his days of grey, veiled, polite melancholy, in
-which he is very fascinating.  How seldom he lapses into a blustering
-manner, after all!  And then it is mostly in a season when, appropriately
-enough, one may go out and kill something.  But his fine days are the
-best for stopping at home, to read, to think, to muse--even to dream; in
-fact to live fully, intensely and quietly, in the brightness of
-comprehension, in that receptive glow of the mind, the gift of the clear,
-luminous and serene weather.
-
-That day I had intended to live intensely and quietly, basking in the
-weather's glory which would have lent enchantment to the most unpromising
-of intellectual prospects.  For a companion I had found a book, not
-bemused with the cleverness of the day--a fine-weather book, simple and
-sincere like the talk of an unselfish friend.  But looking at little Fyne
-seated in the room I understood that nothing would come of my
-contemplative aspirations; that in one way or another I should be let in
-for some form of severe exercise.  Walking, it would be, I feared, since,
-for me, that idea was inseparably associated with the visual impression
-of Fyne.  Where, why, how, a rapid striding rush could be brought in
-helpful relation to the good Fyne's present trouble and perplexity I
-could not imagine; except on the principle that senseless pedestrianism
-was Fyne's panacea for all the ills and evils bodily and spiritual of the
-universe.  It could be of no use for me to say or do anything.  It was
-bound to come.  Contemplating his muscular limb encased in a
-golf-stocking, and under the strong impression of the information he had
-just imparted I said wondering, rather irrationally:
-
-"And so de Barral had a wife and child!  That girl's his daughter.  And
-how . . . "
-
-Fyne interrupted me by stating again earnestly, as though it were
-something not easy to believe, that his wife and himself had tried to
-befriend the girl in every way--indeed they had!  I did not doubt him for
-a moment, of course, but my wonder at this was more rational.  At that
-hour of the morning, you mustn't forget, I knew nothing as yet of Mrs.
-Fyne's contact (it was hardly more) with de Barral's wife and child
-during their exile at the Priory, in the culminating days of that man's
-fame.
-
-Fyne who had come over, it was clear, solely to talk to me on that
-subject, gave me the first hint of this initial, merely out of doors,
-connection.  "The girl was quite a child then," he continued.  "Later on
-she was removed out of Mrs. Fyne's reach in charge of a governess--a very
-unsatisfactory person," he explained.  His wife had then--h'm--met him;
-and on her marriage she lost sight of the child completely.  But after
-the birth of Polly (Polly was the third Fyne girl) she did not get on
-very well, and went to Brighton for some months to recover her
-strength--and there, one day in the street, the child (she wore her hair
-down her back still) recognized her outside a shop and rushed, actually
-rushed, into Mrs. Fyne's arms.  Rather touching this.  And so,
-disregarding the cold impertinence of that . . . h'm . . . governess, his
-wife naturally responded.
-
-He was solemnly fragmentary.  I broke in with the observation that it
-must have been before the crash.
-
-Fyne nodded with deepened gravity, stating in his bass tone--
-
-"Just before," and indulged himself with a weighty period of solemn
-silence.
-
-De Barral, he resumed suddenly, was not coming to Brighton for week-ends
-regularly, then.  Must have been conscious already of the approaching
-disaster.  Mrs. Fyne avoided being drawn into making his acquaintance,
-and this suited the views of the governess person, very jealous of any
-outside influence.  But in any case it would not have been an easy
-matter.  Extraordinary, stiff-backed, thin figure all in black, the
-observed of all, while walking hand-in-hand with the girl; apparently
-shy, but--and here Fyne came very near showing something like
-insight--probably nursing under a diffident manner a considerable amount
-of secret arrogance.  Mrs. Fyne pitied Flora de Barral's fate long before
-the catastrophe.  Most unfortunate guidance.  Very unsatisfactory
-surroundings.  The girl was known in the streets, was stared at in public
-places as if she had been a sort of princess, but she was kept with a
-very ominous consistency, from making any acquaintances--though of course
-there were many people no doubt who would have been more than willing
-to--h'm--make themselves agreeable to Miss de Barral.  But this did not
-enter into the plans of the governess, an intriguing person hatching a
-most sinister plot under her severe air of distant, fashionable
-exclusiveness.  Good little Fyne's eyes bulged with solemn horror as he
-revealed to me, in agitated speech, his wife's more than suspicions, at
-the time, of that, Mrs., Mrs. What's her name's perfidious conduct.  She
-actually seemed to have--Mrs. Fyne asserted--formed a plot already to
-marry eventually her charge to an impecunious relation of her own--a
-young man with furtive eyes and something impudent in his manner, whom
-that woman called her nephew, and whom she was always having down to stay
-with her.
-
-"And perhaps not her nephew.  No relation at all"--Fyne emitted with a
-convulsive effort this, the most awful part of the suspicions Mrs. Fyne
-used to impart to him piecemeal when he came down to spend his week-ends
-gravely with her and the children.  The Fynes, in their good-natured
-concern for the unlucky child of the man busied in stirring casually so
-many millions, spent the moments of their weekly reunion in wondering
-earnestly what could be done to defeat the most wicked of conspiracies,
-trying to invent some tactful line of conduct in such extraordinary
-circumstances.  I could see them, simple, and scrupulous, worrying
-honestly about that unprotected big girl while looking at their own
-little girls playing on the sea-shore.  Fyne assured me that his wife's
-rest was disturbed by the great problem of interference.
-
-"It was very acute of Mrs. Fyne to spot such a deep game," I said,
-wondering to myself where her acuteness had gone to now, to let her be
-taken unawares by a game so much simpler and played to the end under her
-very nose.  But then, at that time, when her nightly rest was disturbed
-by the dread of the fate preparing for de Barral's unprotected child, she
-was not engaged in writing a compendious and ruthless hand-book on the
-theory and practice of life, for the use of women with a grievance.  She
-could as yet, before the task of evolving the philosophy of rebellious
-action had affected her intuitive sharpness, perceive things which were,
-I suspect, moderately plain.  For I am inclined to believe that the woman
-whom chance had put in command of Flora de Barral's destiny took no very
-subtle pains to conceal her game.  She was conscious of being a complete
-master of the situation, having once for all established her ascendancy
-over de Barral.  She had taken all her measures against outside
-observation of her conduct; and I could not help smiling at the thought
-what a ghastly nuisance the serious, innocent Fynes must have been to
-her.  How exasperated she must have been by that couple falling into
-Brighton as completely unforeseen as a bolt from the blue--if not so
-prompt.  How she must have hated them!
-
-But I conclude she would have carried out whatever plan she might have
-formed.  I can imagine de Barral accustomed for years to defer to her
-wishes and, either through arrogance, or shyness, or simply because of
-his unimaginative stupidity, remaining outside the social pale, knowing
-no one but some card-playing cronies; I can picture him to myself
-terrified at the prospect of having the care of a marriageable girl
-thrust on his hands, forcing on him a complete change of habits and the
-necessity of another kind of existence which he would not even have known
-how to begin.  It is evident to me that Mrs. What's her name would have
-had her atrocious way with very little trouble even if the excellent
-Fynes had been able to do something.  She would simply have bullied de
-Barral in a lofty style.  There's nothing more subservient than an
-arrogant man when his arrogance has once been broken in some particular
-instance.
-
-However there was no time and no necessity for any one to do anything.
-The situation itself vanished in the financial crash as a building
-vanishes in an earthquake--here one moment and gone the next with only an
-ill-omened, slight, preliminary rumble.  Well, to say 'in a moment' is an
-exaggeration perhaps; but that everything was over in just twenty-four
-hours is an exact statement.  Fyne was able to tell me all about it; and
-the phrase that would depict the nature of the change best is: an instant
-and complete destitution.  I don't understand these matters very well,
-but from Fyne's narrative it seemed as if the creditors or the
-depositors, or the competent authorities, had got hold in the twinkling
-of an eye of everything de Barral possessed in the world, down to his
-watch and chain, the money in his trousers' pocket, his spare suits of
-clothes, and I suppose the cameo pin out of his black satin cravat.
-Everything!  I believe he gave up the very wedding ring of his late wife.
-The gloomy Priory with its damp park and a couple of farms had been made
-over to Mrs. de Barral; but when she died (without making a will) it
-reverted to him, I imagine.  They got that of course; but it was a mere
-crumb in a Sahara of starvation, a drop in the thirsty ocean.  I dare say
-that not a single soul in the world got the comfort of as much as a
-recovered threepenny bit out of the estate.  Then, less than crumbs, less
-than drops, there were to be grabbed, the lease of the big Brighton
-house, the furniture therein, the carriage and pair, the girl's riding
-horse, her costly trinkets; down to the heavily gold-mounted collar of
-her pedigree St. Bernard.  The dog too went: the most noble-looking item
-in the beggarly assets.
-
-What however went first of all or rather vanished was nothing in the
-nature of an asset.  It was that plotting governess with the trick of a
-"perfect lady" manner (severely conventional) and the soul of a
-remorseless brigand.  When a woman takes to any sort of unlawful
-man-trade, there's nothing to beat her in the way of thoroughness.  It's
-true that you will find people who'll tell you that this terrific
-virulence in breaking through all established things, is altogether the
-fault of men.  Such people will ask you with a clever air why the servile
-wars were always the most fierce, desperate and atrocious of all wars.
-And you may make such answer as you can--even the eminently feminine one,
-if you choose, so typical of the women's literal mind "I don't see what
-this has to do with it!"  How many arguments have been knocked over (I
-won't say knocked down) by these few words!  For if we men try to put the
-spaciousness of all experiences into our reasoning and would fain put the
-Infinite itself into our love, it isn't, as some writer has remarked, "It
-isn't women's doing."  Oh no.  They don't care for these things.  That
-sort of aspiration is not much in their way; and it shall be a funny
-world, the world of their arranging, where the Irrelevant would
-fantastically step in to take the place of the sober humdrum Imaginative
-. . . "
-
-I raised my hand to stop my friend Marlow.
-
-"Do you really believe what you have said?" I asked, meaning no offence,
-because with Marlow one never could be sure.
-
-"Only on certain days of the year," said Marlow readily with a malicious
-smile.  "To-day I have been simply trying to be spacious and I perceive
-I've managed to hurt your susceptibilities which are consecrated to
-women.  When you sit alone and silent you are defending in your mind the
-poor women from attacks which cannot possibly touch them.  I wonder what
-can touch them?  But to soothe your uneasiness I will point out again
-that an Irrelevant world would be very amusing, if the women take care to
-make it as charming as they alone can, by preserving for us certain well-
-known, well-established, I'll almost say hackneyed, illusions, without
-which the average male creature cannot get on.  And that condition is
-very important.  For there is nothing more provoking than the Irrelevant
-when it has ceased to amuse and charm; and then the danger would be of
-the subjugated masculinity in its exasperation, making some brusque,
-unguarded movement and accidentally putting its elbow through the fine
-tissue of the world of which I speak.  And that would be fatal to it.  For
-nothing looks more irretrievably deplorable than fine tissue which has
-been damaged.  The women themselves would be the first to become
-disgusted with their own creation.
-
-There was something of women's highly practical sanity and also of their
-irrelevancy in the conduct of Miss de Barral's amazing governess.  It
-appeared from Fyne's narrative that the day before the first rumble of
-the cataclysm the questionable young man arrived unexpectedly in Brighton
-to stay with his "Aunt."  To all outward appearance everything was going
-on normally; the fellow went out riding with the girl in the afternoon as
-he often used to do--a sight which never failed to fill Mrs. Fyne with
-indignation.  Fyne himself was down there with his family for a whole
-week and was called to the window to behold the iniquity in its progress
-and to share in his wife's feelings.  There was not even a groom with
-them.  And Mrs. Fyne's distress was so strong at this glimpse of the
-unlucky girl all unconscious of her danger riding smilingly by, that Fyne
-began to consider seriously whether it wasn't their plain duty to
-interfere at all risks--simply by writing a letter to de Barral.  He said
-to his wife with a solemnity I can easily imagine "You ought to undertake
-that task, my dear.  You have known his wife after all.  That's something
-at any rate."   On the other hand the fear of exposing Mrs. Fyne to some
-nasty rebuff worried him exceedingly.  Mrs. Fyne on her side gave way to
-despondency.  Success seemed impossible.  Here was a woman for more than
-five years in charge of the girl and apparently enjoying the complete
-confidence of the father.  What, that would be effective, could one say,
-without proofs, without . . .  This Mr. de Barral must be, Mrs. Fyne
-pronounced, either a very stupid or a downright bad man, to neglect his
-child so.
-
-You will notice that perhaps because of Fyne's solemn view of our
-transient life and Mrs. Fyne's natural capacity for responsibility, it
-had never occurred to them that the simplest way out of the difficulty
-was to do nothing and dismiss the matter as no concern of theirs.  Which
-in a strict worldly sense it certainly was not.  But they spent, Fyne
-told me, a most disturbed afternoon, considering the ways and means of
-dealing with the danger hanging over the head of the girl out for a ride
-(and no doubt enjoying herself) with an abominable scamp.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER FOUR--THE GOVERNESS
-
-
-And the best of it was that the danger was all over already.  There was
-no danger any more.  The supposed nephew's appearance had a purpose.  He
-had come, full, full to trembling--with the bigness of his news.  There
-must have been rumours already as to the shaky position of the de
-Barral's concerns; but only amongst those in the very inmost know.  No
-rumour or echo of rumour had reached the profane in the West-End--let
-alone in the guileless marine suburb of Hove.  The Fynes had no
-suspicion; the governess, playing with cold, distinguished exclusiveness
-the part of mother to the fabulously wealthy Miss de Barral, had no
-suspicion; the masters of music, of drawing, of dancing to Miss de
-Barral, had no idea; the minds of her medical man, of her dentist, of the
-servants in the house, of the tradesmen proud of having the name of de
-Barral on their books, were in a state of absolute serenity.  Thus, that
-fellow, who had unexpectedly received a most alarming straight tip from
-somebody in the City arrived in Brighton, at about lunch-time, with
-something very much in the nature of a deadly bomb in his possession.  But
-he knew better than to throw it on the public pavement.  He ate his lunch
-impenetrably, sitting opposite Flora de Barral, and then, on some excuse,
-closeted himself with the woman whom little Fyne's charity described
-(with a slight hesitation of speech however) as his "Aunt."
-
-What they said to each other in private we can imagine.  She came out of
-her own sitting-room with red spots on her cheek-bones, which having
-provoked a question from her "beloved" charge, were accounted for by a
-curt "I have a headache coming on."  But we may be certain that the talk
-being over she must have said to that young blackguard: "You had better
-take her out for a ride as usual."  We have proof positive of this in
-Fyne and Mrs. Fyne observing them mount at the door and pass under the
-windows of their sitting-room, talking together, and the poor girl all
-smiles; because she enjoyed in all innocence the company of Charley.  She
-made no secret of it whatever to Mrs. Fyne; in fact, she had confided to
-her, long before, that she liked him very much: a confidence which had
-filled Mrs. Fyne with desolation and that sense of powerless anguish
-which is experienced in certain kinds of nightmare.  For how could she
-warn the girl?  She did venture to tell her once that she didn't like Mr.
-Charley.  Miss de Barral heard her with astonishment.  How was it
-possible not to like Charley?  Afterwards with naive loyalty she told
-Mrs. Fyne that, immensely as she was fond of her she could not hear a
-word against Charley--the wonderful Charley.
-
-The daughter of de Barral probably enjoyed her jolly ride with the jolly
-Charley (infinitely more jolly than going out with a stupid old riding-
-master), very much indeed, because the Fynes saw them coming back at a
-later hour than usual.  In fact it was getting nearly dark.  On
-dismounting, helped off by the delightful Charley, she patted the neck of
-her horse and went up the steps.  Her last ride.  She was then within a
-few days of her sixteenth birthday, a slight figure in a riding habit,
-rather shorter than the average height for her age, in a black bowler hat
-from under which her fine rippling dark hair cut square at the ends was
-hanging well down her back.  The delightful Charley mounted again to take
-the two horses round to the mews.  Mrs. Fyne remaining at the window saw
-the house door close on Miss de Barral returning from her last ride.
-
-And meantime what had the governess (out of a nobleman's family) so
-judiciously selected (a lady, and connected with well-known county people
-as she said) to direct the studies, guard the health, form the mind,
-polish the manners, and generally play the perfect mother to that
-luckless child--what had she been doing?  Well, having got rid of her
-charge by the most natural device possible, which proved her practical
-sense, she started packing her belongings, an act which showed her clear
-view of the situation.  She had worked methodically, rapidly, and well,
-emptying the drawers, clearing the tables in her special apartment of
-that big house, with something silently passionate in her thoroughness;
-taking everything belonging to her and some things of less unquestionable
-ownership, a jewelled penholder, an ivory and gold paper knife (the house
-was full of common, costly objects), some chased silver boxes presented
-by de Barral and other trifles; but the photograph of Flora de Barral,
-with the loving inscription, which stood on her writing desk, of the most
-modern and expensive style, in a silver-gilt frame, she neglected to
-take.  Having accidentally, in the course of the operations, knocked it
-off on the floor she let it lie there after a downward glance.  Thus it,
-or the frame at least, became, I suppose, part of the assets in the de
-Barral bankruptcy.
-
-At dinner that evening the child found her company dull and brusque.  It
-was uncommonly slow.  She could get nothing from her governess but
-monosyllables, and the jolly Charley actually snubbed the various cheery
-openings of his "little chum"--as he used to call her at times,--but not
-at that time.  No doubt the couple were nervous and preoccupied.  For all
-this we have evidence, and for the fact that Flora being offended with
-the delightful nephew of her profoundly respected governess sulked
-through the rest of the evening and was glad to retire early.  Mrs.,
-Mrs.--I've really forgotten her name--the governess, invited her nephew
-to her sitting-room, mentioning aloud that it was to talk over some
-family matters.  This was meant for Flora to hear, and she heard
-it--without the slightest interest.  In fact there was nothing
-sufficiently unusual in such an invitation to arouse in her mind even a
-passing wonder.  She went bored to bed and being tired with her long ride
-slept soundly all night.  Her last sleep, I won't say of innocence--that
-word would not render my exact meaning, because it has a special meaning
-of its own--but I will say: of that ignorance, or better still, of that
-unconsciousness of the world's ways, the unconsciousness of danger, of
-pain, of humiliation, of bitterness, of falsehood.  An unconsciousness
-which in the case of other beings like herself is removed by a gradual
-process of experience and information, often only partial at that, with
-saving reserves, softening doubts, veiling theories.  Her unconsciousness
-of the evil which lives in the secret thoughts and therefore in the open
-acts of mankind, whenever it happens that evil thought meets evil
-courage; her unconsciousness was to be broken into with profane violence
-with desecrating circumstances, like a temple violated by a mad, vengeful
-impiety.  Yes, that very young girl, almost no more than a child--this
-was what was going to happen to her.  And if you ask me, how, wherefore,
-for what reason?  I will answer you: Why, by chance!  By the merest
-chance, as things do happen, lucky and unlucky, terrible or tender,
-important or unimportant; and even things which are neither, things so
-completely neutral in character that you would wonder why they do happen
-at all if you didn't know that they, too, carry in their insignificance
-the seeds of further incalculable chances.
-
-Of course, all the chances were that de Barral should have fallen upon a
-perfectly harmless, naive, usual, inefficient specimen of respectable
-governess for his daughter; or on a commonplace silly adventuress who
-would have tried, say, to marry him or work some other sort of common
-mischief in a small way.  Or again he might have chanced on a model of
-all the virtues, or the repository of all knowledge, or anything equally
-harmless, conventional, and middle class.  All calculations were in his
-favour; but, chance being incalculable, he fell upon an individuality
-whom it is much easier to define by opprobrious names than to classify in
-a calm and scientific spirit--but an individuality certainly, and a
-temperament as well.  Rare?   No.  There is a certain amount of what I
-would politely call unscrupulousness in all of us.  Think for instance of
-the excellent Mrs. Fyne, who herself, and in the bosom of her family,
-resembled a governess of a conventional type.  Only, her mental excesses
-were theoretical, hedged in by so much humane feeling and conventional
-reserves, that they amounted to no more than mere libertinage of thought;
-whereas the other woman, the governess of Flora de Barral, was, as you
-may have noticed, severely practical--terribly practical.  No!  Hers was
-not a rare temperament, except in its fierce resentment of repression; a
-feeling which like genius or lunacy is apt to drive people into sudden
-irrelevancy.  Hers was feminine irrelevancy.  A male genius, a male
-ruffian, or even a male lunatic, would not have behaved exactly as she
-did behave.  There is a softness in masculine nature, even the most
-brutal, which acts as a check.
-
-While the girl slept those two, the woman of forty, an age in itself
-terrible, and that hopeless young "wrong 'un" of twenty-three (also well
-connected I believe) had some sort of subdued row in the cleared rooms:
-wardrobes open, drawers half pulled out and empty, trunks locked and
-strapped, furniture in idle disarray, and not so much as a single scrap
-of paper left behind on the tables.  The maid, whom the governess and the
-pupil shared between them, after finishing with Flora, came to the door
-as usual, but was not admitted.  She heard the two voices in dispute
-before she knocked, and then being sent away retreated at once--the only
-person in the house convinced at that time that there was "something up."
-
-Dark and, so to speak, inscrutable spaces being met with in life there
-must be such places in any statement dealing with life.  In what I am
-telling you of now--an episode of one of my humdrum holidays in the green
-country, recalled quite naturally after all the years by our meeting a
-man who has been a blue-water sailor--this evening confabulation is a
-dark, inscrutable spot.  And we may conjecture what we like.  I have no
-difficulty in imagining that the woman--of forty, and the chief of the
-enterprise--must have raged at large.  And perhaps the other did not rage
-enough.  Youth feels deeply it is true, but it has not the same vivid
-sense of lost opportunities.  It believes in the absolute reality of
-time.  And then, in that abominable scamp with his youth already soiled,
-withered like a plucked flower ready to be flung on some rotting heap of
-rubbish, no very genuine feeling about anything could exist--not even
-about the hazards of his own unclean existence.  A sneering half-laugh
-with some such remark as: "We are properly sold and no mistake" would
-have been enough to make trouble in that way.  And then another sneer,
-"Waste time enough over it too," followed perhaps by the bitter retort
-from the other party "You seemed to like it well enough though, playing
-the fool with that chit of a girl."  Something of that sort.  Don't you
-see it--eh . . . "
-
-Marlow looked at me with his dark penetrating glance.  I was struck by
-the absolute verisimilitude of this suggestion.  But we were always
-tilting at each other.  I saw an opening and pushed my uncandid thrust.
-
-"You have a ghastly imagination," I said with a cheerfully sceptical
-smile.
-
-"Well, and if I have," he returned unabashed.  "But let me remind you
-that this situation came to me unasked.  I am like a puzzle-headed chief-
-mate we had once in the dear old _Samarcand_ when I was a youngster.  The
-fellow went gravely about trying to "account to himself"--his favourite
-expression--for a lot of things no one would care to bother one's head
-about.  He was an old idiot but he was also an accomplished practical
-seaman.  I was quite a boy and he impressed me.  I must have caught the
-disposition from him."
-
-"Well--go on with your accounting then," I said, assuming an air of
-resignation.
-
-"That's just it."  Marlow fell into his stride at once.  "That's just it.
-Mere disappointed cupidity cannot account for the proceedings of the next
-morning; proceedings which I shall not describe to you--but which I shall
-tell you of presently, not as a matter of conjecture but of actual fact.
-Meantime returning to that evening altercation in deadened tones within
-the private apartment of Miss de Barral's governess, what if I were to
-tell you that disappointment had most likely made them touchy with each
-other, but that perhaps the secret of his careless, railing behaviour,
-was in the thought, springing up within him with an emphatic oath of
-relief "Now there's nothing to prevent me from breaking away from that
-old woman."  And that the secret of her envenomed rage, not against this
-miserable and attractive wretch, but against fate, accident and the whole
-course of human life, concentrating its venom on de Barral and including
-the innocent girl herself, was in the thought, in the fear crying within
-her "Now I have nothing to hold him with . . . "
-
-I couldn't refuse Marlow the tribute of a prolonged whistle "Phew!  So
-you suppose that . . . "
-
-He waved his hand impatiently.
-
-"I don't suppose.  It was so.  And anyhow why shouldn't you accept the
-supposition.  Do you look upon governesses as creatures above suspicion
-or necessarily of moral perfection?  I suppose their hearts would not
-stand looking into much better than other people's.  Why shouldn't a
-governess have passions, all the passions, even that of libertinage, and
-even ungovernable passions; yet suppressed by the very same means which
-keep the rest of us in order: early training--necessity--circumstances--fear
-of consequences; till there comes an age, a time when the restraint of
-years becomes intolerable--and infatuation irresistible . . . "
-
-"But if infatuation--quite possible I admit," I argued, "how do you
-account for the nature of the conspiracy."
-
-"You expect a cogency of conduct not usual in women," said Marlow.  "The
-subterfuges of a menaced passion are not to be fathomed.  You think it is
-going on the way it looks, whereas it is capable, for its own ends, of
-walking backwards into a precipice.
-
-When one once acknowledges that she was not a common woman, then all this
-is easily understood.  She was abominable but she was not common.  She
-had suffered in her life not from its constant inferiority but from
-constant self-repression.  A common woman finding herself placed in a
-commanding position might have formed the design to become the second
-Mrs. de Barral.  Which would have been impracticable.  De Barral would
-not have known what to do with a wife.  But even if by some impossible
-chance he had made advances, this governess would have repulsed him with
-scorn.  She had treated him always as an inferior being with an assured,
-distant politeness.  In her composed, schooled manner she despised and
-disliked both father and daughter exceedingly.  I have a notion that she
-had always disliked intensely all her charges including the two ducal (if
-they were ducal) little girls with whom she had dazzled de Barral.  What
-an odious, ungratified existence it must have been for a woman as avid of
-all the sensuous emotions which life can give as most of her betters.
-
-She had seen her youth vanish, her freshness disappear, her hopes die,
-and now she felt her flaming middle-age slipping away from her.  No
-wonder that with her admirably dressed, abundant hair, thickly sprinkled
-with white threads and adding to her elegant aspect the piquant
-distinction of a powdered coiffure--no wonder, I say, that she clung
-desperately to her last infatuation for that graceless young scamp, even
-to the extent of hatching for him that amazing plot.  He was not so far
-gone in degradation as to make him utterly hopeless for such an attempt.
-She hoped to keep him straight with that enormous bribe.  She was clearly
-a woman uncommon enough to live without illusions--which, of course, does
-not mean that she was reasonable.  She had said to herself, perhaps with
-a fury of self-contempt "In a few years I shall be too old for anybody.
-Meantime I shall have him--and I shall hold him by throwing to him the
-money of that ordinary, silly, little girl of no account."  Well, it was
-a desperate expedient--but she thought it worth while.  And besides there
-is hardly a woman in the world, no matter how hard, depraved or frantic,
-in whom something of the maternal instinct does not survive, unconsumed
-like a salamander, in the fires of the most abandoned passion.  Yes there
-might have been that sentiment for him too.  There _was_ no doubt.  So I
-say again: No wonder!  No wonder that she raged at everything--and
-perhaps even at him, with contradictory reproaches: for regretting the
-girl, a little fool who would never in her life be worth anybody's
-attention, and for taking the disaster itself with a cynical levity in
-which she perceived a flavour of revolt.
-
-And so the altercation in the night went on, over the irremediable.  He
-arguing "What's the hurry?  Why clear out like this?" perhaps a little
-sorry for the girl and as usual without a penny in his pocket,
-appreciating the comfortable quarters, wishing to linger on as long as
-possible in the shameless enjoyment of this already doomed luxury.  There
-was really no hurry for a few days.  Always time enough to vanish.  And,
-with that, a touch of masculine softness, a sort of regard for
-appearances surviving his degradation: "You might behave decently at the
-last, Eliza."  But there was no softness in the sallow face under the
-gala effect of powdered hair, its formal calmness gone, the dark-ringed
-eyes glaring at him with a sort of hunger.  "No!  No!  If it is as you
-say then not a day, not an hour, not a moment."  She stuck to it, very
-determined that there should be no more of that boy and girl philandering
-since the object of it was gone; angry with herself for having suffered
-from it so much in the past, furious at its having been all in vain.
-
-But she was reasonable enough not to quarrel with him finally.  What was
-the good?  She found means to placate him.  The only means.  As long as
-there was some money to be got she had hold of him.  "Now go away.  We
-shall do no good by any more of this sort of talk.  I want to be alone
-for a bit."  He went away, sulkily acquiescent.  There was a room always
-kept ready for him on the same floor, at the further end of a short
-thickly carpeted passage.
-
-How she passed the night, this woman with no illusions to help her
-through the hours which must have been sleepless I shouldn't like to say.
-It ended at last; and this strange victim of the de Barral failure, whose
-name would never be known to the Official Receiver, came down to
-breakfast, impenetrable in her everyday perfection.  From the very first,
-somehow, she had accepted the fatal news for true.  All her life she had
-never believed in her luck, with that pessimism of the passionate who at
-bottom feel themselves to be the outcasts of a morally restrained
-universe.  But this did not make it any easier, on opening the morning
-paper feverishly, to see the thing confirmed.  Oh yes!  It was there.  The
-Orb had suspended payment--the first growl of the storm faint as yet, but
-to the initiated the forerunner of a deluge.  As an item of news it was
-not indecently displayed.  It was not displayed at all in a sense.  The
-serious paper, the only one of the great dailies which had always
-maintained an attitude of reserve towards the de Barral group of banks,
-had its "manner."  Yes! a modest item of news!  But there was also, on
-another page, a special financial article in a hostile tone beginning
-with the words "We have always feared" and a guarded, half-column leader,
-opening with the phrase: "It is a deplorable sign of the times" what was,
-in effect, an austere, general rebuke to the absurd infatuations of the
-investing public.  She glanced through these articles, a line here and a
-line there--no more was necessary to catch beyond doubt the murmur of the
-oncoming flood.  Several slighting references by name to de Barral
-revived her animosity against the man, suddenly, as by the effect of
-unforeseen moral support.  The miserable wretch! . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"--You understand," Marlow interrupted the current of his narrative,
-"that in order to be consecutive in my relation of this affair I am
-telling you at once the details which I heard from Mrs. Fyne later in the
-day, as well as what little Fyne imparted to me with his usual solemnity
-during that morning call.  As you may easily guess the Fynes, in their
-apartments, had read the news at the same time, and, as a matter of fact,
-in the same august and highly moral newspaper, as the governess in the
-luxurious mansion a few doors down on the opposite side of the street.
-But they read them with different feelings.  They were thunderstruck.
-Fyne had to explain the full purport of the intelligence to Mrs. Fyne
-whose first cry was that of relief.  Then that poor child would be safe
-from these designing, horrid people.  Mrs. Fyne did not know what it
-might mean to be suddenly reduced from riches to absolute penury.  Fyne
-with his masculine imagination was less inclined to rejoice extravagantly
-at the girl's escape from the moral dangers which had been menacing her
-defenceless existence.  It was a confoundedly big price to pay.  What an
-unfortunate little thing she was!  "We might be able to do something to
-comfort that poor child at any rate for the time she is here," said Mrs.
-Fyne.  She felt under a sort of moral obligation not to be indifferent.
-But no comfort for anyone could be got by rushing out into the street at
-this early hour; and so, following the advice of Fyne not to act hastily,
-they both sat down at the window and stared feelingly at the great house,
-awful to their eyes in its stolid, prosperous, expensive respectability
-with ruin absolutely standing at the door.
-
-By that time, or very soon after, all Brighton had the information and
-formed a more or less just appreciation of its gravity.  The butler in
-Miss de Barral's big house had seen the news, perhaps earlier than
-anybody within a mile of the Parade, in the course of his morning duties
-of which one was to dry the freshly delivered paper before the fire--an
-occasion to glance at it which no intelligent man could have neglected.
-He communicated to the rest of the household his vaguely forcible
-impression that something had gone d---bly wrong with the affairs of "her
-father in London."
-
-This brought an atmosphere of constraint through the house, which Flora
-de Barral coming down somewhat later than usual could not help noticing
-in her own way.  Everybody seemed to stare so stupidly somehow; she
-feared a dull day.
-
-In the dining-room the governess in her place, a newspaper half-concealed
-under the cloth on her lap, after a few words exchanged with lips that
-seemed hardly to move, remaining motionless, her eyes fixed before her in
-an enduring silence; and presently Charley coming in to whom she did not
-even give a glance.  He hardly said good morning, though he had a half-
-hearted try to smile at the girl, and sitting opposite her with his eyes
-on his plate and slight quivers passing along the line of his
-clean-shaven jaw, he too had nothing to say.  It was dull, horribly dull
-to begin one's day like this; but she knew what it was.  These
-never-ending family affairs!  It was not for the first time that she had
-suffered from their depressing after-effects on these two.  It was a
-shame that the delightful Charley should be made dull by these stupid
-talks, and it was perfectly stupid of him to let himself be upset like
-this by his aunt.
-
-When after a period of still, as if calculating, immobility, her
-governess got up abruptly and went out with the paper in her hand, almost
-immediately afterwards followed by Charley who left his breakfast half
-eaten, the girl was positively relieved.  They would have it out that
-morning whatever it was, and be themselves again in the afternoon.  At
-least Charley would be.  To the moods of her governess she did not attach
-so much importance.
-
-For the first time that morning the Fynes saw the front door of the awful
-house open and the objectionable young man issue forth, his rascality
-visible to their prejudiced eyes in his very bowler hat and in the smart
-cut of his short fawn overcoat.  He walked away rapidly like a man
-hurrying to catch a train, glancing from side to side as though he were
-carrying something off.  Could he be departing for good?  Undoubtedly,
-undoubtedly!  But Mrs. Fyne's fervent "thank goodness" turned out to be a
-bit, as the Americans--some Americans--say "previous."  In a very short
-time the odious fellow appeared again, strolling, absolutely strolling
-back, his hat now tilted a little on one side, with an air of leisure and
-satisfaction.  Mrs. Fyne groaned not only in the spirit, at this sight,
-but in the flesh, audibly; and asked her husband what it might mean.  Fyne
-naturally couldn't say.  Mrs. Fyne believed that there was something
-horrid in progress and meantime the object of her detestation had gone up
-the steps and had knocked at the door which at once opened to admit him.
-
-He had been only as far as the bank.
-
-His reason for leaving his breakfast unfinished to run after Miss de
-Barral's governess, was to speak to her in reference to that very errand
-possessing the utmost possible importance in his eyes.  He shrugged his
-shoulders at the nervousness of her eyes and hands, at the half-strangled
-whisper "I had to go out.  I could hardly contain myself."  That was her
-affair.  He was, with a young man's squeamishness, rather sick of her
-ferocity.  He did not understand it.  Men do not accumulate hate against
-each other in tiny amounts, treasuring every pinch carefully till it
-grows at last into a monstrous and explosive hoard.  He had run out after
-her to remind her of the balance at the bank.  What about lifting that
-money without wasting any more time?  She had promised him to leave
-nothing behind.
-
-An account opened in her name for the expenses of the establishment in
-Brighton, had been fed by de Barral with deferential lavishness.  The
-governess crossed the wide hall into a little room at the side where she
-sat down to write the cheque, which he hastened out to go and cash as if
-it were stolen or a forgery.  As observed by the Fynes, his uneasy
-appearance on leaving the house arose from the fact that his first
-trouble having been caused by a cheque of doubtful authenticity, the
-possession of a document of the sort made him unreasonably uncomfortable
-till this one was safely cashed.  And after all, you know it was stealing
-of an indirect sort; for the money was de Barral's money if the account
-was in the name of the accomplished lady.  At any rate the cheque was
-cashed.  On getting hold of the notes and gold he recovered his jaunty
-bearing, it being well known that with certain natures the presence of
-money (even stolen) in the pocket, acts as a tonic, or at least as a
-stimulant.  He cocked his hat a little on one side as though he had had a
-drink or two--which indeed he might have had in reality, to celebrate the
-occasion.
-
-The governess had been waiting for his return in the hall, disregarding
-the side-glances of the butler as he went in and out of the dining-room
-clearing away the breakfast things.  It was she, herself, who had opened
-the door so promptly.  "It's all right," he said touching his
-breast-pocket; and she did not dare, the miserable wretch without
-illusions, she did not dare ask him to hand it over.  They looked at each
-other in silence.  He nodded significantly: "Where is she now?" and she
-whispered "Gone into the drawing-room.  Want to see her again?" with an
-archly black look which he acknowledged by a muttered, surly: "I am
-damned if I do.  Well, as you want to bolt like this, why don't we go
-now?"
-
-She set her lips with cruel obstinacy and shook her head.  She had her
-idea, her completed plan.  At that moment the Fynes, still at the window
-and watching like a pair of private detectives, saw a man with a long
-grey beard and a jovial face go up the steps helping himself with a thick
-stick, and knock at the door.  Who could he be?
-
-He was one of Miss de Barral's masters.  She had lately taken up painting
-in water-colours, having read in a high-class woman's weekly paper that a
-great many princesses of the European royal houses were cultivating that
-art.  This was the water-colour morning; and the teacher, a veteran of
-many exhibitions, of a venerable and jovial aspect, had turned up with
-his usual punctuality.  He was no great reader of morning papers, and
-even had he seen the news it is very likely he would not have understood
-its real purport.  At any rate he turned up, as the governess expected
-him to do, and the Fynes saw him pass through the fateful door.
-
-He bowed cordially to the lady in charge of Miss de Barral's education,
-whom he saw in the hall engaged in conversation with a very good-looking
-but somewhat raffish young gentleman.  She turned to him graciously:
-"Flora is already waiting for you in the drawing-room."
-
-The cultivation of the art said to be patronized by princesses was
-pursued in the drawing-room from considerations of the right kind of
-light.  The governess preceded the master up the stairs and into the room
-where Miss de Barral was found arrayed in a holland pinafore (also of the
-right kind for the pursuit of the art) and smilingly expectant.  The
-water-colour lesson enlivened by the jocular conversation of the kindly,
-humorous, old man was always great fun; and she felt she would be
-compensated for the tiresome beginning of the day.
-
-Her governess generally was present at the lesson; but on this occasion
-she only sat down till the master and pupil had gone to work in earnest,
-and then as though she had suddenly remembered some order to give, rose
-quietly and went out of the room.
-
-Once outside, the servants summoned by the passing maid without a bell
-being rung, and quick, quick, let all this luggage be taken down into the
-hall, and let one of you call a cab.  She stood outside the drawing-room
-door on the landing, looking at each piece, trunk, leather cases,
-portmanteaus, being carried past her, her brows knitted and her aspect so
-sombre and absorbed that it took some little time for the butler to
-muster courage enough to speak to her.  But he reflected that he was a
-free-born Briton and had his rights.  He spoke straight to the point but
-in the usual respectful manner.
-
-"Beg you pardon, ma'am--but are you going away for good?"
-
-He was startled by her tone.  Its unexpected, unlady-like harshness fell
-on his trained ear with the disagreeable effect of a false note.  "Yes.  I
-am going away.  And the best thing for all of you is to go away too, as
-soon as you like.  You can go now, to-day, this moment.  You had your
-wages paid you only last week.  The longer you stay the greater your
-loss.  But I have nothing to do with it now.  You are the servants of Mr.
-de Barral--you know."
-
-The butler was astounded by the manner of this advice, and as his eyes
-wandered to the drawing-room door the governess extended her arm as if to
-bar the way.  "Nobody goes in there."  And that was said still in another
-tone, such a tone that all trace of the trained respectfulness vanished
-from the butler's bearing.  He stared at her with a frank wondering gaze.
-"Not till I am gone," she added, and there was such an expression on her
-face that the man was daunted by the mystery of it.  He shrugged his
-shoulders slightly and without another word went down the stairs on his
-way to the basement, brushing in the hall past Mr. Charles who hat on
-head and both hands rammed deep into his overcoat pockets paced up and
-down as though on sentry duty there.
-
-The ladies' maid was the only servant upstairs, hovering in the passage
-on the first floor, curious and as if fascinated by the woman who stood
-there guarding the door.  Being beckoned closer imperiously and asked by
-the governess to bring out of the now empty rooms the hat and veil, the
-only objects besides the furniture still to be found there, she did so in
-silence but inwardly fluttered.  And while waiting uneasily, with the
-veil, before that woman who, without moving a step away from the drawing-
-room door was pinning with careless haste her hat on her head, she heard
-within a sudden burst of laughter from Miss de Barral enjoying the fun of
-the water-colour lesson given her for the last time by the cheery old
-man.
-
-Mr. and Mrs. Fyne ambushed at their window--a most incredible occupation
-for people of their kind--saw with renewed anxiety a cab come to the
-door, and watched some luggage being carried out and put on its roof.  The
-butler appeared for a moment, then went in again.  What did it mean?  Was
-Flora going to be taken to her father; or were these people, that woman
-and her horrible nephew, about to carry her off somewhere?  Fyne couldn't
-tell.  He doubted the last, Flora having now, he judged, no value, either
-positive or speculative.  Though no great reader of character he did not
-credit the governess with humane intentions.  He confessed to me naively
-that he was excited as if watching some action on the stage.  Then the
-thought struck him that the girl might have had some money settled on
-her, be possessed of some means, of some little fortune of her own and
-therefore--
-
-He imparted this theory to his wife who shared fully his consternation.
-"I can't believe the child will go away without running in to say good-
-bye to us," she murmured.  "We must find out!  I shall ask her."  But at
-that very moment the cab rolled away, empty inside, and the door of the
-house which had been standing slightly ajar till then was pushed to.
-
-They remained silent staring at it till Mrs. Fyne whispered doubtfully "I
-really think I must go over."  Fyne didn't answer for a while (his is a
-reflective mind, you know), and then as if Mrs. Fyne's whispers had an
-occult power over that door it opened wide again and the white-bearded
-man issued, astonishingly active in his movements, using his stick almost
-like a leaping-pole to get down the steps; and hobbled away briskly along
-the pavement.  Naturally the Fynes were too far off to make out the
-expression of his face.  But it would not have helped them very much to a
-guess at the conditions inside the house.  The expression was humorously
-puzzled--nothing more.
-
-For, at the end of his lesson, seizing his trusty stick and coming out
-with his habitual vivacity, he very nearly cannoned just outside the
-drawing-room door into the back of Miss de Barral's governess.  He
-stopped himself in time and she turned round swiftly.  It was
-embarrassing; he apologised; but her face was not startled; it was not
-aware of him; it wore a singular expression of resolution.  A very
-singular expression which, as it were, detained him for a moment.  In
-order to cover his embarrassment, he made some inane remark on the
-weather, upon which, instead of returning another inane remark according
-to the tacit rules of the game, she only gave him a smile of unfathomable
-meaning.  Nothing could have been more singular.  The good-looking young
-gentleman of questionable appearance took not the slightest notice of him
-in the hall.  No servant was to be seen.  He let himself out pulling the
-door to behind him with a crash as, in a manner, he was forced to do to
-get it shut at all.
-
-When the echo of it had died away the woman on the landing leaned over
-the banister and called out bitterly to the man below "Don't you want to
-come up and say good-bye."  He had an impatient movement of the shoulders
-and went on pacing to and fro as though he had not heard.  But suddenly
-he checked himself, stood still for a moment, then with a gloomy face and
-without taking his hands out of his pockets ran smartly up the stairs.
-Already facing the door she turned her head for a whispered taunt: "Come!
-Confess you were dying to see her stupid little face once more,"--to
-which he disdained to answer.
-
-Flora de Barral, still seated before the table at which she had been
-wording on her sketch, raised her head at the noise of the opening door.
-The invading manner of their entrance gave her the sense of something she
-had never seen before.  She knew them well.  She knew the woman better
-than she knew her father.  There had been between them an intimacy of
-relation as great as it can possibly be without the final closeness of
-affection.  The delightful Charley walked in, with his eyes fixed on the
-back of her governess whose raised veil hid her forehead like a brown
-band above the black line of the eyebrows.  The girl was astounded and
-alarmed by the altogether unknown expression in the woman's face.  The
-stress of passion often discloses an aspect of the personality completely
-ignored till then by its closest intimates.  There was something like an
-emanation of evil from her eyes and from the face of the other, who,
-exactly behind her and overtopping her by half a head, kept his eyelids
-lowered in a sinister fashion--which in the poor girl, reached, stirred,
-set free that faculty of unreasoning explosive terror lying locked up at
-the bottom of all human hearts and of the hearts of animals as well.  With
-suddenly enlarged pupils and a movement as instinctive almost as the
-bounding of a startled fawn, she jumped up and found herself in the
-middle of the big room, exclaiming at those amazing and familiar
-strangers.
-
-"What do you want?"
-
-You will note that she cried: What do you want?  Not: What has happened?
-She told Mrs. Fyne that she had received suddenly the feeling of being
-personally attacked.  And that must have been very terrifying.  The woman
-before her had been the wisdom, the authority, the protection of life,
-security embodied and visible and undisputed.
-
-You may imagine then the force of the shock in the intuitive perception
-not merely of danger, for she did not know what was alarming her, but in
-the sense of the security being gone.  And not only security.  I don't
-know how to explain it clearly.  Look!  Even a small child lives, plays
-and suffers in terms of its conception of its own existence.  Imagine, if
-you can, a fact coming in suddenly with a force capable of shattering
-that very conception itself.  It was only because of the girl being still
-so much of a child that she escaped mental destruction; that, in other
-words she got over it.  Could one conceive of her more mature, while
-still as ignorant as she was, one must conclude that she would have
-become an idiot on the spot--long before the end of that experience.
-Luckily, people, whether mature or not mature (and who really is ever
-mature?) are for the most part quite incapable of understanding what is
-happening to them: a merciful provision of nature to preserve an average
-amount of sanity for working purposes in this world . . . "
-
-"But we, my dear Marlow, have the inestimable advantage of understanding
-what is happening to others," I struck in.  "Or at least some of us seem
-to.  Is that too a provision of nature?  And what is it for?  Is it that
-we may amuse ourselves gossiping about each other's affairs?  You for
-instance seem--"
-
-"I don't know what I seem," Marlow silenced me, "and surely life must be
-amused somehow.  It would be still a very respectable provision if it
-were only for that end.  But from that same provision of understanding,
-there springs in us compassion, charity, indignation, the sense of
-solidarity; and in minds of any largeness an inclination to that
-indulgence which is next door to affection.  I don't mean to say that I
-am inclined to an indulgent view of the precious couple which broke in
-upon an unsuspecting girl.  They came marching in (it's the very
-expression she used later on to Mrs. Fyne) but at her cry they stopped.
-It must have been startling enough to them.  It was like having the mask
-torn off when you don't expect it.  The man stopped for good; he didn't
-offer to move a step further.  But, though the governess had come in
-there for the very purpose of taking the mask off for the first time in
-her life, she seemed to look upon the frightened cry as a fresh
-provocation.  "What are you screaming for, you little fool?" she said
-advancing alone close to the girl who was affected exactly as if she had
-seen Medusa's head with serpentine locks set mysteriously on the
-shoulders of that familiar person, in that brown dress, under that hat
-she knew so well.  It made her lose all her hold on reality.  She told
-Mrs. Fyne: "I didn't know where I was.  I didn't even know that I was
-frightened.  If she had told me it was a joke I would have laughed.  If
-she had told me to put on my hat and go out with her I would have gone to
-put on my hat and gone out with her and never said a single word; I
-should have been convinced I had been mad for a minute or so, and I would
-have worried myself to death rather than breathe a hint of it to her or
-anyone.  But the wretch put her face close to mine and I could not move.
-Directly I had looked into her eyes I felt grown on to the carpet."
-
-It was years afterwards that she used to talk like this to Mrs. Fyne--and
-to Mrs. Fyne alone.  Nobody else ever heard the story from her lips.  But
-it was never forgotten.  It was always felt; it remained like a mark on
-her soul, a sort of mystic wound, to be contemplated, to be meditated
-over.  And she said further to Mrs. Fyne, in the course of many
-confidences provoked by that contemplation, that, as long as that woman
-called her names, it was almost soothing, it was in a manner reassuring.
-Her imagination had, like her body, gone off in a wild bound to meet the
-unknown; and then to hear after all something which more in its tone than
-in its substance was mere venomous abuse, had steadied the inward flutter
-of all her being.
-
-"She called me a little fool more times than I can remember.  I!  A fool!
-Why, Mrs. Fyne!  I do assure you I had never yet thought at all; never of
-anything in the world, till then.  I just went on living.  And one can't
-be a fool without one has at least tried to think.  But what had I ever
-to think about?"
-
-"And no doubt," commented Marlow, "her life had been a mere life of
-sensations--the response to which can neither be foolish nor wise.  It
-can only be temperamental; and I believe that she was of a generally
-happy disposition, a child of the average kind.  Even when she was asked
-violently whether she imagined that there was anything in her, apart from
-her money, to induce any intelligent person to take any sort of interest
-in her existence, she only caught her breath in one dry sob and said
-nothing, made no other sound, made no movement.  When she was viciously
-assured that she was in heart, mind, manner and appearance, an utterly
-common and insipid creature, she remained still, without indignation,
-without anger.  She stood, a frail and passive vessel into which the
-other went on pouring all the accumulated dislike for all her pupils, her
-scorn of all her employers (the ducal one included), the accumulated
-resentment, the infinite hatred of all these unrelieved years of--I won't
-say hypocrisy.  The practice of perfect hypocrisy is a relief in itself,
-a secret triumph of the vilest sort, no doubt, but still a way of getting
-even with the common morality from which some of us appear to suffer so
-much.  No!  I will say the years, the passionate, bitter years, of
-restraint, the iron, admirably mannered restraint at every moment, in a
-never-failing perfect correctness of speech, glances, movements, smiles,
-gestures, establishing for her a high reputation, an impressive record of
-success in her sphere.  It had been like living half strangled for years.
-
-And all this torture for nothing, in the end!  What looked at last like a
-possible prize (oh, without illusions! but still a prize) broken in her
-hands, fallen in the dust, the bitter dust, of disappointment, she
-revelled in the miserable revenge--pretty safe too--only regretting the
-unworthiness of the girlish figure which stood for so much she had longed
-to be able to spit venom at, if only once, in perfect liberty.  The
-presence of the young man at her back increased both her satisfaction and
-her rage.  But the very violence of the attack seemed to defeat its end
-by rendering the representative victim as it were insensible.  The cause
-of this outrage naturally escaping the girl's imagination her attitude
-was in effect that of dense, hopeless stupidity.  And it is a fact that
-the worst shocks of life are often received without outcries, without
-gestures, without a flow of tears and the convulsions of sobbing.  The
-insatiable governess missed these signs exceedingly.  This pitiful
-stolidity was only a fresh provocation.  Yet the poor girl was deadly
-pale.
-
-"I was cold," she used to explain to Mrs. Fyne.  "I had had time to get
-terrified.  She had pushed her face so near mine and her teeth looked as
-though she wanted to bite me.  Her eyes seemed to have become quite dry,
-hard and small in a lot of horrible wrinkles.  I was too afraid of her to
-shudder, too afraid of her to put my fingers to my ears.  I didn't know
-what I expected her to call me next, but when she told me I was no better
-than a beggar--that there would be no more masters, no more servants, no
-more horses for me--I said to myself: Is that all?  I should have laughed
-if I hadn't been too afraid of her to make the least little sound."
-
-It seemed that poor Flora had to know all the possible phases of that
-sort of anguish, beginning with instinctive panic, through the bewildered
-stage, the frozen stage and the stage of blanched apprehension, down to
-the instinctive prudence of extreme terror--the stillness of the mouse.
-But when she heard herself called the child of a cheat and a swindler,
-the very monstrous unexpectedness of this caused in her a revulsion
-towards letting herself go.  She screamed out all at once "You mustn't
-speak like this of Papa!"
-
-The effort of it uprooted her from that spot where her little feet seemed
-dug deep into the thick luxurious carpet, and she retreated backwards to
-a distant part of the room, hearing herself repeat "You mustn't, you
-mustn't" as if it were somebody else screaming.  She came to a chair and
-flung herself into it.  Thereupon the somebody else ceased screaming and
-she lolled, exhausted, sightless, in a silent room, as if indifferent to
-everything and without a single thought in her head.
-
-The next few seconds seemed to last for ever so long; a black abyss of
-time separating what was past and gone from the reappearance of the
-governess and the reawakening of fear.  And that woman was forcing the
-words through her set teeth: "You say I mustn't, I mustn't.  All the
-world will be speaking of him like this to-morrow.  They will say it, and
-they'll print it.  You shall hear it and you shall read it--and then you
-shall know whose daughter you are."
-
-Her face lighted up with an atrocious satisfaction.  "He's nothing but a
-thief," she cried, "this father of yours.  As to you I have never been
-deceived in you for a moment.  I have been growing more and more sick of
-you for years.  You are a vulgar, silly nonentity, and you shall go back
-to where you belong, whatever low place you have sprung from, and beg
-your bread--that is if anybody's charity will have anything to do with
-you, which I doubt--"
-
-She would have gone on regardless of the enormous eyes, of the open mouth
-of the girl who sat up suddenly with the wild staring expression of being
-choked by invisible fingers on her throat, and yet horribly pale.  The
-effect on her constitution was so profound, Mrs. Fyne told me, that she
-who as a child had a rather pretty delicate colouring, showed a white
-bloodless face for a couple of years afterwards, and remained always
-liable at the slightest emotion to an extraordinary ghost-like whiteness.
-The end came in the abomination of desolation of the poor child's
-miserable cry for help: "Charley!  Charley!" coming from her throat in
-hidden gasping efforts.  Her enlarged eyes had discovered him where he
-stood motionless and dumb.
-
-He started from his immobility, a hand withdrawn brusquely from the
-pocket of his overcoat, strode up to the woman, seized her by the arm
-from behind, saying in a rough commanding tone: "Come away, Eliza."  In
-an instant the child saw them close together and remote, near the door,
-gone through the door, which she neither heard nor saw being opened or
-shut.  But it was shut.  Oh yes, it was shut.  Her slow unseeing glance
-wandered all over the room.  For some time longer she remained leaning
-forward, collecting her strength, doubting if she would be able to stand.
-She stood up at last.  Everything about her spun round in an oppressive
-silence.  She remembered perfectly--as she told Mrs. Fyne--that clinging
-to the arm of the chair she called out twice "Papa!  Papa!"  At the
-thought that he was far away in London everything about her became quite
-still.  Then, frightened suddenly by the solitude of that empty room, she
-rushed out of it blindly.
-
-* * * * *
-
-With that fatal diffidence in well doing, inherent in the present
-condition of humanity, the Fynes continued to watch at their window.
-"It's always so difficult to know what to do for the best," Fyne assured
-me.  It is.  Good intentions stand in their own way so much.  Whereas if
-you want to do harm to anyone you needn't hesitate.  You have only to go
-on.  No one will reproach you with your mistakes or call you a
-confounded, clumsy meddler.  The Fynes watched the door, the closed
-street door inimical somehow to their benevolent thoughts, the face of
-the house cruelly impenetrable.  It was just as on any other day.  The
-unchanged daily aspect of inanimate things is so impressive that Fyne
-went back into the room for a moment, picked up the paper again, and ran
-his eyes over the item of news.  No doubt of it.  It looked very bad.  He
-came back to the window and Mrs. Fyne.  Tired out as she was she sat
-there resolute and ready for responsibility.  But she had no suggestion
-to offer.  People do fear a rebuff wonderfully, and all her audacity was
-in her thoughts.  She shrank from the incomparably insolent manner of the
-governess.  Fyne stood by her side, as in those old-fashioned photographs
-of married couples where you see a husband with his hand on the back of
-his wife's chair.  And they were about as efficient as an old photograph,
-and as still, till Mrs. Fyne started slightly.  The street door had swung
-open, and, bursting out, appeared the young man, his hat (Mrs. Fyne
-observed) tilted forward over his eyes.  After him the governess slipped
-through, turning round at once to shut the door behind her with care.
-Meantime the man went down the white steps and strode along the pavement,
-his hands rammed deep into the pockets of his fawn overcoat.  The woman,
-that woman of composed movements, of deliberate superior manner, took a
-little run to catch up with him, and directly she had caught up with him
-tried to introduce her hand under his arm.  Mrs. Fyne saw the brusque
-half turn of the fellow's body as one avoids an importunate contact,
-defeating her attempt rudely.  She did not try again but kept pace with
-his stride, and Mrs. Fyne watched them, walking independently, turn the
-corner of the street side by side, disappear for ever.
-
-The Fynes looked at each other eloquently, doubtfully: What do you think
-of this?  Then with common accord turned their eyes back to the street
-door, closed, massive, dark; the great, clear-brass knocker shining in a
-quiet slant of sunshine cut by a diagonal line of heavy shade filling the
-further end of the street.  Could the girl be already gone?  Sent away to
-her father?  Had she any relations?  Nobody but de Barral himself ever
-came to see her, Mrs. Fyne remembered; and she had the instantaneous,
-profound, maternal perception of the child's loneliness--and a girl too!
-It was irresistible.  And, besides, the departure of the governess was
-not without its encouraging influence.  "I am going over at once to find
-out," she declared resolutely but still staring across the street.  Her
-intention was arrested by the sight of that awful, sombrely glistening
-door, swinging back suddenly on the yawning darkness of the hall, out of
-which literally flew out, right out on the pavement, almost without
-touching the white steps, a little figure swathed in a holland pinafore
-up to the chin, its hair streaming back from its head, darting past a
-lamp-post, past the red pillar-box . . . "Here," cried Mrs. Fyne; "she's
-coming here!  Run, John!  Run!"
-
-Fyne bounded out of the room.  This is his own word.  Bounded!  He
-assured me with intensified solemnity that he bounded; and the sight of
-the short and muscular Fyne bounding gravely about the circumscribed
-passages and staircases of a small, very high class, private hotel, would
-have been worth any amount of money to a man greedy of memorable
-impressions.  But as I looked at him, the desire of laughter at my very
-lips, I asked myself: how many men could be found ready to compromise
-their cherished gravity for the sake of the unimportant child of a ruined
-financier with an ugly, black cloud already wreathing his head.  I didn't
-laugh at little Fyne.  I encouraged him: "You did!--very good . . .
-Well?"
-
-His main thought was to save the child from some unpleasant interference.
-There was a porter downstairs, page boys; some people going away with
-their trunks in the passage; a railway omnibus at the door,
-white-breasted waiters dodging about the entrance.
-
-He was in time.  He was at the door before she reached it in her blind
-course.  She did not recognize him; perhaps she did not see him.  He
-caught her by the arm as she ran past and, very sensibly, without trying
-to check her, simply darted in with her and up the stairs, causing no end
-of consternation amongst the people in his way.  They scattered.  What
-might have been their thoughts at the spectacle of a shameless middle-
-aged man abducting headlong into the upper regions of a respectable hotel
-a terrified young girl obviously under age, I don't know.  And Fyne (he
-told me so) did not care for what people might think.  All he wanted was
-to reach his wife before the girl collapsed.  For a time she ran with him
-but at the last flight of stairs he had to seize and half drag, half
-carry her to his wife.  Mrs. Fyne waited at the door with her quite
-unmoved physiognomy and her readiness to confront any sort of
-responsibility, which already characterized her, long before she became a
-ruthless theorist.  Relieved, his mission accomplished, Fyne closed
-hastily the door of the sitting-room.
-
-But before long both Fynes became frightened.  After a period of
-immobility in the arms of Mrs. Fyne, the girl, who had not said a word,
-tore herself out from that slightly rigid embrace.  She struggled dumbly
-between them, they did not know why, soundless and ghastly, till she sank
-exhausted on a couch.  Luckily the children were out with the two nurses.
-The hotel housemaid helped Mrs. Fyne to put Flora de Barral to bed.  She
-was as if gone speechless and insane.  She lay on her back, her face
-white like a piece of paper, her dark eyes staring at the ceiling, her
-awful immobility broken by sudden shivering fits with a loud chattering
-of teeth in the shadowy silence of the room, the blinds pulled down, Mrs.
-Fyne sitting by patiently, her arms folded, yet inwardly moved by the
-riddle of that distress of which she could not guess the word, and saying
-to herself: "That child is too emotional--much too emotional to be ever
-really sound!"  As if anyone not made of stone could be perfectly sound
-in this world.  And then how sound?  In what sense--to resist what?  Force
-or corruption?  And even in the best armour of steel there are joints a
-treacherous stroke can always find if chance gives the opportunity.
-
-General considerations never had the power to trouble Mrs. Fyne much.  The
-girl not being in a state to be questioned she waited by the bedside.
-Fyne had crossed over to the house, his scruples overcome by his anxiety
-to discover what really had happened.  He did not have to lift the
-knocker; the door stood open on the inside gloom of the hall; he walked
-into it and saw no one about, the servants having assembled for a fatuous
-consultation in the basement.  Fyne's uplifted bass voice startled them
-down there, the butler coming up, staring and in his shirt sleeves, very
-suspicious at first, and then, on Fyne's explanation that he was the
-husband of a lady who had called several times at the house--Miss de
-Barral's mother's friend--becoming humanely concerned and communicative,
-in a man to man tone, but preserving his trained high-class servant's
-voice: "Oh bless you, sir, no!  She does not mean to come back.  She told
-me so herself"--he assured Fyne with a faint shade of contempt creeping
-into his tone.
-
-As regards their young lady nobody downstairs had any idea that she had
-run out of the house.  He dared say they all would have been willing to
-do their very best for her, for the time being; but since she was now
-with her mother's friends . . .
-
-He fidgeted.  He murmured that all this was very unexpected.  He wanted
-to know what he had better do with letters or telegrams which might
-arrive in the course of the day.
-
-"Letters addressed to Miss de Barral, you had better bring over to my
-hotel over there," said Fyne beginning to feel extremely worried about
-the future.  The man said "Yes, sir," adding, "and if a letter comes
-addressed to Mrs. . . . "
-
-Fyne stopped him by a gesture.  "I don't know . . . Anything you like."
-
-"Very well, sir."
-
-The butler did not shut the street door after Fyne, but remained on the
-doorstep for a while, looking up and down the street in the spirit of
-independent expectation like a man who is again his own master.  Mrs.
-Fyne hearing her husband return came out of the room where the girl was
-lying in bed.  "No change," she whispered; and Fyne could only make a
-hopeless sign of ignorance as to what all this meant and how it would
-end.
-
-He feared future complications--naturally; a man of limited means, in a
-public position, his time not his own.  Yes.  He owned to me in the
-parlour of my farmhouse that he had been very much concerned then at the
-possible consequences.  But as he was making this artless confession I
-said to myself that, whatever consequences and complications he might
-have imagined, the complication from which he was suffering now could
-never, never have presented itself to his mind.  Slow but sure (for I
-conceive that the Book of Destiny has been written up from the beginning
-to the last page) it had been coming for something like six years--and
-now it had come.  The complication was there!  I looked at his unshaken
-solemnity with the amused pity we give the victim of a funny if somewhat
-ill-natured practical joke.
-
-"Oh hang it," he exclaimed--in no logical connection with what he had
-been relating to me.  Nevertheless the exclamation was intelligible
-enough.
-
-However at first there were, he admitted, no untoward complications, no
-embarrassing consequences.  To a telegram in guarded terms dispatched to
-de Barral no answer was received for more than twenty-four hours.  This
-certainly caused the Fynes some anxiety.  When the answer arrived late on
-the evening of next day it was in the shape of an elderly man.  An
-unexpected sort of man.  Fyne explained to me with precision that he
-evidently belonged to what is most respectable in the lower middle
-classes.  He was calm and slow in his speech.  He was wearing a frock-
-coat, had grey whiskers meeting under his chin, and declared on entering
-that Mr. de Barral was his cousin.  He hastened to add that he had not
-seen his cousin for many years, while he looked upon Fyne (who received
-him alone) with so much distrust that Fyne felt hurt (the person actually
-refusing at first the chair offered to him) and retorted tartly that he,
-for his part, had _never_ seen Mr. de Barral, in his life, and that,
-since the visitor did not want to sit down, he, Fyne, begged him to state
-his business as shortly as possible.  The man in black sat down then with
-a faint superior smile.
-
-He had come for the girl.  His cousin had asked him in a note delivered
-by a messenger to go to Brighton at once and take "his girl" over from a
-gentleman named Fyne and give her house-room for a time in his family.
-And there he was.  His business had not allowed him to come sooner.  His
-business was the manufacture on a large scale of cardboard boxes.  He had
-two grown-up girls of his own.  He had consulted his wife and so that was
-all right.  The girl would get a welcome in his home.  His home most
-likely was not what she had been used to but, etc. etc.
-
-All the time Fyne felt subtly in that man's manner a derisive disapproval
-of everything that was not lower middle class, a profound respect for
-money, a mean sort of contempt for speculators that fail, and a conceited
-satisfaction with his own respectable vulgarity.
-
-With Mrs. Fyne the manner of the obscure cousin of de Barral was but
-little less offensive.  He looked at her rather slyly but her cold,
-decided demeanour impressed him.  Mrs. Fyne on her side was simply
-appalled by the personage, but did not show it outwardly.  Not even when
-the man remarked with false simplicity that Florrie--her name was Florrie
-wasn't it? would probably miss at first all her grand friends.  And when
-he was informed that the girl was in bed, not feeling well at all he
-showed an unsympathetic alarm.  She wasn't an invalid was she?  No.  What
-was the matter with her then?
-
-An extreme distaste for that respectable member of society was depicted
-in Fyne's face even as he was telling me of him after all these years.  He
-was a specimen of precisely the class of which people like the Fynes have
-the least experience; and I imagine he jarred on them painfully.  He
-possessed all the civic virtues in their very meanest form, and the
-finishing touch was given by a low sort of consciousness he manifested of
-possessing them.  His industry was exemplary.  He wished to catch the
-earliest possible train next morning.  It seems that for seven and twenty
-years he had never missed being seated on his office-stool at the factory
-punctually at ten o'clock every day.  He listened to Mrs. Fyne's
-objections with undisguised impatience.  Why couldn't Florrie get up and
-have her breakfast at eight like other people?  In his house the
-breakfast was at eight sharp.  Mrs. Fyne's polite stoicism overcame him
-at last.  He had come down at a very great personal inconvenience, he
-assured her with displeasure, but he gave up the early train.
-
-The good Fynes didn't dare to look at each other before this unforeseen
-but perfectly authorized guardian, the same thought springing up in their
-minds: Poor girl!  Poor girl!  If the women of the family were like this
-too! . . . And of course they would be.  Poor girl!  But what could they
-have done even if they had been prepared to raise objections.  The person
-in the frock-coat had the father's note; he had shown it to Fyne.  Just a
-request to take care of the girl--as her nearest relative--without any
-explanation or a single allusion to the financial catastrophe, its tone
-strangely detached and in its very silence on the point giving occasion
-to think that the writer was not uneasy as to the child's future.
-Probably it was that very idea which had set the cousin so readily in
-motion.  Men had come before out of commercial crashes with estates in
-the country and a comfortable income, if not for themselves then for
-their wives.  And if a wife could be made comfortable by a little
-dexterous management then why not a daughter?  Yes.  This possibility
-might have been discussed in the person's household and judged worth
-acting upon.
-
-The man actually hinted broadly that such was his belief and in face of
-Fyne's guarded replies gave him to understand that he was not the dupe of
-such reticences.  Obviously he looked upon the Fynes as being
-disappointed because the girl was taken away from them.  They, by a
-diplomatic sacrifice in the interests of poor Flora, had asked the man to
-dinner.  He accepted ungraciously, remarking that he was not used to late
-hours.  He had generally a bit of supper about half-past eight or nine.
-However . . .
-
-He gazed contemptuously round the prettily decorated dining-room.  He
-wrinkled his nose in a puzzled way at the dishes offered to him by the
-waiter but refused none, devouring the food with a great appetite and
-drinking ("swilling" Fyne called it) gallons of ginger beer, which was
-procured for him (in stone bottles) at his request.  The difficulty of
-keeping up a conversation with that being exhausted Mrs. Fyne herself,
-who had come to the table armed with adamantine resolution.  The only
-memorable thing he said was when, in a pause of gorging himself "with
-these French dishes" he deliberately let his eyes roam over the little
-tables occupied by parties of diners, and remarked that his wife did for
-a moment think of coming down with him, but that he was glad she didn't
-do so.  "She wouldn't have been at all happy seeing all this alcohol
-about.  Not at all happy," he declared weightily.
-
-"You must have had a charming evening," I said to Fyne, "if I may judge
-from the way you have kept the memory green."
-
-"Delightful," he growled with, positively, a flash of anger at the
-recollection, but lapsed back into his solemnity at once.  After we had
-been silent for a while I asked whether the man took away the girl next
-day.
-
-Fyne said that he did; in the afternoon, in a fly, with a few clothes the
-maid had got together and brought across from the big house.  He only saw
-Flora again ten minutes before they left for the railway station, in the
-Fynes' sitting-room at the hotel.  It was a most painful ten minutes for
-the Fynes.  The respectable citizen addressed Miss de Barral as "Florrie"
-and "my dear," remarking to her that she was not very big "there's not
-much of you my dear" in a familiarly disparaging tone.  Then turning to
-Mrs. Fyne, and quite loud "She's very white in the face.  Why's that?"  To
-this Mrs. Fyne made no reply.  She had put the girl's hair up that
-morning with her own hands.  It changed her very much, observed Fyne.  He,
-naturally, played a subordinate, merely approving part.  All he could do
-for Miss de Barral personally was to go downstairs and put her into the
-fly himself, while Miss de Barral's nearest relation, having been
-shouldered out of the way, stood by, with an umbrella and a little black
-bag, watching this proceeding with grim amusement, as it seemed.  It was
-difficult to guess what the girl thought or what she felt.  She no longer
-looked a child.  She whispered to Fyne a faint "Thank you," from the fly,
-and he said to her in very distinct tones and while still holding her
-hand: "Pray don't forget to write fully to my wife in a day or two, Miss
-de Barral."  Then Fyne stepped back and the cousin climbed into the fly
-muttering quite audibly: "I don't think you'll be troubled much with her
-in the future;" without however looking at Fyne on whom he did not even
-bestow a nod.  The fly drove away.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER FIVE--THE TEA-PARTY
-
-
-"Amiable personality," I observed seeing Fyne on the point of falling
-into a brown study.  But I could not help adding with meaning: "He hadn't
-the gift of prophecy though."
-
-Fyne got up suddenly with a muttered "No, evidently not."  He was gloomy,
-hesitating.  I supposed that he would not wish to play chess that
-afternoon.  This would dispense me from leaving my rooms on a day much
-too fine to be wasted in walking exercise.  And I was disappointed when
-picking up his cap he intimated to me his hope of seeing me at the
-cottage about four o'clock--as usual.
-
-"It wouldn't be as usual."  I put a particular stress on that remark.  He
-admitted, after a short reflection, that it would not be.  No.  Not as
-usual.  In fact it was his wife who hoped, rather, for my presence.  She
-had formed a very favourable opinion of my practical sagacity.
-
-This was the first I ever heard of it.  I had never suspected that Mrs.
-Fyne had taken the trouble to distinguish in me the signs of sagacity or
-folly.  The few words we had exchanged last night in the excitement--or
-the bother--of the girl's disappearance, were the first moderately
-significant words which had ever passed between us.  I had felt myself
-always to be in Mrs. Fyne's view her husband's chess-player and nothing
-else--a convenience--almost an implement.
-
-"I am highly flattered," I said.  "I have always heard that there are no
-limits to feminine intuition; and now I am half inclined to believe it is
-so.  But still I fail to see in what way my sagacity, practical or
-otherwise, can be of any service to Mrs. Fyne.  One man's sagacity is
-very much like any other man's sagacity.  And with you at hand--"
-
-Fyne, manifestly not attending to what I was saying, directed straight at
-me his worried solemn eyes and struck in:
-
-"Yes, yes.  Very likely.  But you will come--won't you?"
-
-I had made up my mind that no Fyne of either sex would make me walk three
-miles (there and back to their cottage) on this fine day.  If the Fynes
-had been an average sociable couple one knows only because leisure must
-be got through somehow, I would have made short work of that special
-invitation.  But they were not that.  Their undeniable humanity had to be
-acknowledged.  At the same time I wanted to have my own way.  So I
-proposed that I should be allowed the pleasure of offering them a cup of
-tea at my rooms.
-
-A short reflective pause--and Fyne accepted eagerly in his own and his
-wife's name.  A moment after I heard the click of the gate-latch and then
-in an ecstasy of barking from his demonstrative dog his serious head went
-past my window on the other side of the hedge, its troubled gaze fixed
-forward, and the mind inside obviously employed in earnest speculation of
-an intricate nature.  One at least of his wife's girl-friends had become
-more than a mere shadow for him.  I surmised however that it was not of
-the girl-friend but of his wife that Fyne was thinking.  He was an
-excellent husband.
-
-I prepared myself for the afternoon's hospitalities, calling in the
-farmer's wife and reviewing with her the resources of the house and the
-village.  She was a helpful woman.  But the resources of my sagacity I
-did not review.  Except in the gross material sense of the afternoon tea
-I made no preparations for Mrs. Fyne.
-
-It was impossible for me to make any such preparations.  I could not tell
-what sort of sustenance she would look for from my sagacity.  And as to
-taking stock of the wares of my mind no one I imagine is anxious to do
-that sort of thing if it can be avoided.  A vaguely grandiose state of
-mental self-confidence is much too agreeable to be disturbed recklessly
-by such a delicate investigation.  Perhaps if I had had a helpful woman
-at my elbow, a dear, flattering acute, devoted woman . . . There are in
-life moments when one positively regrets not being married.  No!  I don't
-exaggerate.  I have said--moments, not years or even days.  Moments.  The
-farmer's wife obviously could not be asked to assist.  She could not have
-been expected to possess the necessary insight and I doubt whether she
-would have known how to be flattering enough.  She was being helpful in
-her own way, with an extraordinary black bonnet on her head, a good mile
-off by that time, trying to discover in the village shops a piece of
-eatable cake.  The pluck of women!  The optimism of the dear creatures!
-
-And she managed to find something which looked eatable.  That's all I
-know as I had no opportunity to observe the more intimate effects of that
-comestible.  I myself never eat cake, and Mrs. Fyne, when she arrived
-punctually, brought with her no appetite for cake.  She had no appetite
-for anything.  But she had a thirst--the sign of deep, of tormenting
-emotion.  Yes it was emotion, not the brilliant sunshine--more brilliant
-than warm as is the way of our discreet self-repressed, distinguished,
-insular sun, which would not turn a real lady scarlet--not on any
-account.  Mrs. Fyne looked even cool.  She wore a white skirt and coat; a
-white hat with a large brim reposed on her smoothly arranged hair.  The
-coat was cut something like an army mess-jacket and the style suited her.
-I dare say there are many youthful subalterns, and not the worst-looking
-too, who resemble Mrs. Fyne in the type of face, in the sunburnt
-complexion, down to that something alert in bearing.  But not many would
-have had that aspect breathing a readiness to assume any responsibility
-under Heaven.  This is the sort of courage which ripens late in life and
-of course Mrs. Fyne was of mature years for all her unwrinkled face.
-
-She looked round the room, told me positively that I was very comfortable
-there; to which I assented, humbly, acknowledging my undeserved good
-fortune.
-
-"Why undeserved?" she wanted to know.
-
-"I engaged these rooms by letter without asking any questions.  It might
-have been an abominable hole," I explained to her.  "I always do things
-like that.  I don't like to be bothered.  This is no great proof of
-sagacity--is it?  Sagacious people I believe like to exercise that
-faculty.  I have heard that they can't even help showing it in the
-veriest trifles.  It must be very delightful.  But I know nothing of it.
-I think that I have no sagacity--no practical sagacity."
-
-Fyne made an inarticulate bass murmur of protest.  I asked after the
-children whom I had not seen yet since my return from town.  They had
-been very well.  They were always well.  Both Fyne and Mrs. Fyne spoke of
-the rude health of their children as if it were a result of moral
-excellence; in a peculiar tone which seemed to imply some contempt for
-people whose children were liable to be unwell at times.  One almost felt
-inclined to apologize for the inquiry.  And this annoyed me;
-unreasonably, I admit, because the assumption of superior merit is not a
-very exceptional weakness.  Anxious to make myself disagreeable by way of
-retaliation I observed in accents of interested civility that the dear
-girls must have been wondering at the sudden disappearance of their
-mother's young friend.  Had they been putting any awkward questions about
-Miss Smith.  Wasn't it as Miss Smith that Miss de Barral had been
-introduced to me?
-
-Mrs. Fyne, staring fixedly but also colouring deeper under her tan, told
-me that the children had never liked Flora very much.  She hadn't the
-high spirits which endear grown-ups to healthy children, Mrs. Fyne
-explained unflinchingly.  Flora had been staying at the cottage several
-times before.  Mrs. Fyne assured me that she often found it very
-difficult to have her in the house.
-
-"But what else could we do?" she exclaimed.
-
-That little cry of distress quite genuine in its inexpressiveness,
-altered my feeling towards Mrs. Fyne.  It would have been so easy to have
-done nothing and to have thought no more about it.  My liking for her
-began while she was trying to tell me of the night she spent by the
-girl's bedside, the night before her departure with her unprepossessing
-relative.  That Mrs. Fyne found means to comfort the child I doubt very
-much.  She had not the genius for the task of undoing that which the hate
-of an infuriated woman had planned so well.
-
-You will tell me perhaps that children's impressions are not durable.
-That's true enough.  But here, child is only a manner of speaking.  The
-girl was within a few days of her sixteenth birthday; she was old enough
-to be matured by the shock.  The very effort she had to make in conveying
-the impression to Mrs. Fyne, in remembering the details, in finding
-adequate words--or any words at all--was in itself a terribly
-enlightening, an ageing process.  She had talked a long time,
-uninterrupted by Mrs. Fyne, childlike enough in her wonder and pain,
-pausing now and then to interject the pitiful query: "It was cruel of
-her.  Wasn't it cruel, Mrs. Fyne?"
-
-For Charley she found excuses.  He at any rate had not said anything,
-while he had looked very gloomy and miserable.  He couldn't have taken
-part against his aunt--could he?  But after all he did, when she called
-upon him, take "that cruel woman away."  He had dragged her out by the
-arm.  She had seen that plainly.  She remembered it.  That was it!  The
-woman was mad.  "Oh!  Mrs. Fyne, don't tell me she wasn't mad.  If you
-had only seen her face . . . "
-
-But Mrs. Fyne was unflinching in her idea that as much truth as could be
-told was due in the way of kindness to the girl, whose fate she feared
-would be to live exposed to the hardest realities of unprivileged
-existences.  She explained to her that there were in the world
-evil-minded, selfish people.  Unscrupulous people . . . These two persons
-had been after her father's money.  The best thing she could do was to
-forget all about them.
-
-"After papa's money?  I don't understand," poor Flora de Barral had
-murmured, and lay still as if trying to think it out in the silence and
-shadows of the room where only a night-light was burning.  Then she had a
-long shivering fit while holding tight the hand of Mrs. Fyne whose
-patient immobility by the bedside of that brutally murdered childhood did
-infinite honour to her humanity.  That vigil must have been the more
-trying because I could see very well that at no time did she think the
-victim particularly charming or sympathetic.  It was a manifestation of
-pure compassion, of compassion in itself, so to speak, not many women
-would have been capable of displaying with that unflinching steadiness.
-The shivering fit over, the girl's next words in an outburst of sobs
-were, "Oh!  Mrs. Fyne, am I really such a horrid thing as she has made me
-out to be?"
-
-"No, no!" protested Mrs. Fyne.  "It is your former governess who is
-horrid and odious.  She is a vile woman.  I cannot tell you that she was
-mad but I think she must have been beside herself with rage and full of
-evil thoughts.  You must try not to think of these abominations, my dear
-child."
-
-They were not fit for anyone to think of much, Mrs. Fyne commented to me
-in a curt positive tone.  All that had been very trying.  The girl was
-like a creature struggling under a net.
-
-"But how can I forget? she called my father a cheat and a swindler!  Do
-tell me Mrs. Fyne that it isn't true.  It can't be true.  How can it be
-true?"
-
-She sat up in bed with a sudden wild motion as if to jump out and flee
-away from the sound of the words which had just passed her own lips.  Mrs.
-Fyne restrained her, soothed her, induced her at last to lay her head on
-her pillow again, assuring her all the time that nothing this woman had
-had the cruelty to say deserved to be taken to heart.  The girl,
-exhausted, cried quietly for a time.  It may be she had noticed something
-evasive in Mrs. Fyne's assurances.  After a while, without stirring, she
-whispered brokenly:
-
-"That awful woman told me that all the world would call papa these awful
-names.  Is it possible?  Is it possible?"
-
-Mrs. Fyne kept silent.
-
-"Do say something to me, Mrs. Fyne," the daughter of de Barral insisted
-in the same feeble whisper.
-
-Again Mrs. Fyne assured me that it had been very trying.  Terribly
-trying.  "Yes, thanks, I will."  She leaned back in the chair with folded
-arms while I poured another cup of tea for her, and Fyne went out to
-pacify the dog which, tied up under the porch, had become suddenly very
-indignant at somebody having the audacity to walk along the lane.  Mrs.
-Fyne stirred her tea for a long time, drank a little, put the cup down
-and said with that air of accepting all the consequences:
-
-"Silence would have been unfair.  I don't think it would have been kind
-either.  I told her that she must be prepared for the world passing a
-very severe judgment on her father . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"Wasn't it admirable," cried Marlow interrupting his narrative.
-"Admirable!"  And as I looked dubiously at this unexpected enthusiasm he
-started justifying it after his own manner.
-
-"I say admirable because it was so characteristic.  It was perfect.
-Nothing short of genius could have found better.  And this was nature!  As
-they say of an artist's work: this was a perfect Fyne.
-Compassion--judiciousness--something correctly measured.  None of your
-dishevelled sentiment.  And right!  You must confess that nothing could
-have been more right.  I had a mind to shout "Brava!  Brava!" but I did
-not do that.  I took a piece of cake and went out to bribe the Fyne dog
-into some sort of self-control.  His sharp comical yapping was
-unbearable, like stabs through one's brain, and Fyne's deeply modulated
-remonstrances abashed the vivacious animal no more than the deep, patient
-murmur of the sea abashes a nigger minstrel on a popular beach.  Fyne was
-beginning to swear at him in low, sepulchral tones when I appeared.  The
-dog became at once wildly demonstrative, half strangling himself in his
-collar, his eyes and tongue hanging out in the excess of his
-incomprehensible affection for me.  This was before he caught sight of
-the cake in my hand.  A series of vertical springs high up in the air
-followed, and then, when he got the cake, he instantly lost his interest
-in everything else.
-
-Fyne was slightly vexed with me.  As kind a master as any dog could wish
-to have, he yet did not approve of cake being given to dogs.  The Fyne
-dog was supposed to lead a Spartan existence on a diet of repulsive
-biscuits with an occasional dry, hygienic, bone thrown in.  Fyne looked
-down gloomily at the appeased animal, I too looked at that fool-dog; and
-(you know how one's memory gets suddenly stimulated) I was reminded
-visually, with an almost painful distinctness, of the ghostly white face
-of the girl I saw last accompanied by that dog--deserted by that dog.  I
-almost heard her distressed voice as if on the verge of resentful tears
-calling to the dog, the unsympathetic dog.  Perhaps she had not the power
-of evoking sympathy, that personal gift of direct appeal to the feelings.
-I said to Fyne, mistrusting the supine attitude of the dog:
-
-"Why don't you let him come inside?"
-
-Oh dear no!  He couldn't think of it!  I might indeed have saved my
-breath, I knew it was one of the Fynes' rules of life, part of their
-solemnity and responsibility, one of those things that were part of their
-unassertive but ever present superiority, that their dog must not be
-allowed in.  It was most improper to intrude the dog into the houses of
-the people they were calling on--if it were only a careless bachelor in
-farmhouse lodgings and a personal friend of the dog.  It was out of the
-question.  But they would let him bark one's sanity away outside one's
-window.  They were strangely consistent in their lack of imaginative
-sympathy.  I didn't insist but simply led the way back to the parlour,
-hoping that no wayfarer would happen along the lane for the next hour or
-so to disturb the dog's composure.
-
-Mrs. Fyne seated immovable before the table charged with plates, cups,
-jugs, a cold teapot, crumbs, and the general litter of the entertainment
-turned her head towards us.
-
-"You see, Mr. Marlow," she said in an unexpectedly confidential tone:
-"they are so utterly unsuited for each other."
-
-At the moment I did not know how to apply this remark.  I thought at
-first of Fyne and the dog.  Then I adjusted it to the matter in hand
-which was neither more nor less than an elopement.  Yes, by Jove!  It was
-something very much like an elopement--with certain unusual
-characteristics of its own which made it in a sense equivocal.  With
-amused wonder I remembered that my sagacity was requisitioned in such a
-connection.  How unexpected!  But we never know what tests our gifts may
-be put to.  Sagacity dictated caution first of all.  I believe caution to
-be the first duty of sagacity.  Fyne sat down as if preparing himself to
-witness a joust, I thought.
-
-"Do you think so, Mrs. Fyne?" I said sagaciously.  "Of course you are in
-a position . . . "  I was continuing with caution when she struck out
-vivaciously for immediate assent.
-
-"Obviously!  Clearly!  You yourself must admit . . . "
-
-"But, Mrs. Fyne," I remonstrated, "you forget that I don't know your
-brother."
-
-This argument which was not only sagacious but true, overwhelmingly true,
-unanswerably true, seemed to surprise her.
-
-I wondered why.  I did not know enough of her brother for the remotest
-guess at what he might be like.  I had never set eyes on the man.  I
-didn't know him so completely that by contrast I seemed to have known
-Miss de Barral--whom I had seen twice (altogether about sixty minutes)
-and with whom I had exchanged about sixty words--from the cradle so to
-speak.  And perhaps, I thought, looking down at Mrs. Fyne (I had remained
-standing) perhaps she thinks that this ought to be enough for a sagacious
-assent.
-
-She kept silent; and I looking at her with polite expectation, went on
-addressing her mentally in a mood of familiar approval which would have
-astonished her had it been audible: You my dear at any rate are a sincere
-woman . . . "
-
-"I call a woman sincere," Marlow began again after giving me a cigar and
-lighting one himself, "I call a woman sincere when she volunteers a
-statement resembling remotely in form what she really would like to say,
-what she really thinks ought to be said if it were not for the necessity
-to spare the stupid sensitiveness of men.  The women's rougher, simpler,
-more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their
-mistrust of masculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its
-entirety.  And their tact is unerring.  We could not stand women speaking
-the truth.  We could not bear it.  It would cause infinite misery and
-bring about most awful disturbances in this rather mediocre, but still
-idealistic fool's paradise in which each of us lives his own little
-life--the unit in the great sum of existence.  And they know it.  They
-are merciful.  This generalization does not apply exactly to Mrs. Fyne's
-outburst of sincerity in a matter in which neither my affections nor my
-vanity were engaged.  That's why, may be, she ventured so far.  For a
-woman she chose to be as open as the day with me.  There was not only the
-form but almost the whole substance of her thought in what she said.  She
-believed she could risk it.  She had reasoned somewhat in this way;
-there's a man, possessing a certain amount of sagacity . . . "
-
-Marlow paused with a whimsical look at me.  The last few words he had
-spoken with the cigar in his teeth.  He took it out now by an ample
-movement of his arm and blew a thin cloud.
-
-"You smile?  It would have been more kind to spare my blushes.  But as a
-matter of fact I need not blush.  This is not vanity; it is analysis.
-We'll let sagacity stand.  But we must also note what sagacity in this
-connection stands for.  When you see this you shall see also that there
-was nothing in it to alarm my modesty.  I don't think Mrs. Fyne credited
-me with the possession of wisdom tempered by common sense.  And had I had
-the wisdom of the Seven Sages of Antiquity, she would not have been moved
-to confidence or admiration.  The secret scorn of women for the capacity
-to consider judiciously and to express profoundly a meditated conclusion
-is unbounded.  They have no use for these lofty exercises which they look
-upon as a sort of purely masculine game--game meaning a respectable
-occupation devised to kill time in this man-arranged life which must be
-got through somehow.  What women's acuteness really respects are the
-inept "ideas" and the sheeplike impulses by which our actions and
-opinions are determined in matters of real importance.  For if women are
-not rational they are indeed acute.  Even Mrs. Fyne was acute.  The good
-woman was making up to her husband's chess-player simply because she had
-scented in him that small portion of 'femininity,' that drop of superior
-essence of which I am myself aware; which, I gratefully acknowledge, has
-saved me from one or two misadventures in my life either ridiculous or
-lamentable, I am not very certain which.  It matters very little.  Anyhow
-misadventures.  Observe that I say 'femininity,' a privilege--not
-'feminism,' an attitude.  I am not a feminist.  It was Fyne who on
-certain solemn grounds had adopted that mental attitude; but it was
-enough to glance at him sitting on one side, to see that he was purely
-masculine to his finger-tips, masculine solidly, densely,
-amusingly,--hopelessly.
-
-I did glance at him.  You don't get your sagacity recognized by a man's
-wife without feeling the propriety and even the need to glance at the man
-now and again.  So I glanced at him.  Very masculine.  So much so that
-"hopelessly" was not the last word of it.  He was helpless.  He was bound
-and delivered by it.  And if by the obscure promptings of my composite
-temperament I beheld him with malicious amusement, yet being in fact, by
-definition and especially from profound conviction, a man, I could not
-help sympathizing with him largely.  Seeing him thus disarmed, so
-completely captive by the very nature of things I was moved to speak to
-him kindly.
-
-"Well.  And what do you think of it?"
-
-"I don't know.  How's one to tell?  But I say that the thing is done now
-and there's an end of it," said the masculine creature as bluntly as his
-innate solemnity permitted.
-
-Mrs. Fyne moved a little in her chair.  I turned to her and remarked
-gently that this was a charge, a criticism, which was often made.  Some
-people always ask: What could he see in her?  Others wonder what she
-could have seen in him?  Expressions of unsuitability.
-
-She said with all the emphasis of her quietly folded arms:
-
-"I know perfectly well what Flora has seen in my brother."
-
-I bowed my head to the gust but pursued my point.
-
-"And then the marriage in most cases turns out no worse than the average,
-to say the least of it."
-
-Mrs. Fyne was disappointed by the optimistic turn of my sagacity.  She
-rested her eyes on my face as though in doubt whether I had enough
-femininity in my composition to understand the case.
-
-I waited for her to speak.  She seemed to be asking herself; Is it after
-all, worth while to talk to that man?  You understand how provoking this
-was.  I looked in my mind for something appallingly stupid to say, with
-the object of distressing and teasing Mrs. Fyne.  It is humiliating to
-confess a failure.  One would think that a man of average intelligence
-could command stupidity at will.  But it isn't so.  I suppose it's a
-special gift or else the difficulty consists in being relevant.
-Discovering that I could find no really telling stupidity, I turned to
-the next best thing; a platitude.  I advanced, in a common-sense tone,
-that, surely, in the matter of marriage a man had only himself to please.
-
-Mrs. Fyne received this without the flutter of an eyelid.  Fyne's
-masculine breast, as might have been expected, was pierced by that old,
-regulation shaft.  He grunted most feelingly.  I turned to him with false
-simplicity.  "Don't you agree with me?"
-
-"The very thing I've been telling my wife," he exclaimed in his extra-
-manly bass.  "We have been discussing--"
-
-A discussion in the Fyne menage!  How portentous!  Perhaps the very first
-difference they had ever had: Mrs. Fyne unflinching and ready for any
-responsibility, Fyne solemn and shrinking--the children in bed upstairs;
-and outside the dark fields, the shadowy contours of the land on the
-starry background of the universe, with the crude light of the open
-window like a beacon for the truant who would never come back now; a
-truant no longer but a downright fugitive.  Yet a fugitive carrying off
-spoils.  It was the flight of a raider--or a traitor?  This affair of the
-purloined brother, as I had named it to myself, had a very puzzling
-physiognomy.  The girl must have been desperate, I thought, hearing the
-grave voice of Fyne well enough but catching the sense of his words not
-at all, except the very last words which were:
-
-"Of course, it's extremely distressing."
-
-I looked at him inquisitively.  What was distressing him?  The purloining
-of the son of the poet-tyrant by the daughter of the financier-convict.
-Or only, if I may say so, the wind of their flight disturbing the solemn
-placidity of the Fynes' domestic atmosphere.  My incertitude did not last
-long, for he added:
-
-"Mrs. Fyne urges me to go to London at once."
-
-One could guess at, almost see, his profound distaste for the journey,
-his distress at a difference of feeling with his wife.  With his serious
-view of the sublunary comedy Fyne suffered from not being able to agree
-solemnly with her sentiment as he was accustomed to do, in recognition of
-having had his way in one supreme instance; when he made her elope with
-him--the most momentous step imaginable in a young lady's life.  He had
-been really trying to acknowledge it by taking the rightness of her
-feeling for granted on every other occasion.  It had become a sort of
-habit at last.  And it is never pleasant to break a habit.  The man was
-deeply troubled.  I said: "Really!  To go to London!"
-
-He looked dumbly into my eyes.  It was pathetic and funny.  "And you of
-course feel it would be useless," I pursued.
-
-He evidently felt that, though he said nothing.  He only went on blinking
-at me with a solemn and comical slowness.  "Unless it be to carry there
-the family's blessing," I went on, indulging my chaffing humour steadily,
-in a rather sneaking fashion, for I dared not look at Mrs. Fyne, to my
-right.  No sound or movement came from that direction.  "You think very
-naturally that to match mere good, sound reasons, against the passionate
-conclusions of love is a waste of intellect bordering on the absurd."
-
-He looked surprised as if I had discovered something very clever.  He,
-dear man, had thought of nothing at all.
-
-He simply knew that he did not want to go to London on that mission.  Mere
-masculine delicacy.  In a moment he became enthusiastic.
-
-"Yes!  Yes!  Exactly.  A man in love . . . You hear, my dear?  Here you
-have an independent opinion--"
-
-"Can anything be more hopeless," I insisted to the fascinated little
-Fyne, "than to pit reason against love.  I must confess however that in
-this case when I think of that poor girl's sharp chin I wonder if . . . "
-
-My levity was too much for Mrs. Fyne.  Still leaning back in her chair
-she exclaimed:
-
-"Mr. Marlow!"
-
-* * * * *
-
-As if mysteriously affected by her indignation the absurd Fyne dog began
-to bark in the porch.  It might have been at a trespassing bumble-bee
-however.  That animal was capable of any eccentricity.  Fyne got up
-quickly and went out to him.  I think he was glad to leave us alone to
-discuss that matter of his journey to London.  A sort of anti-sentimental
-journey.  He, too, apparently, had confidence in my sagacity.  It was
-touching, this confidence.  It was at any rate more genuine than the
-confidence his wife pretended to have in her husband's chess-player, of
-three successive holidays.  Confidence be hanged!  Sagacity--indeed!  She
-had simply marched in without a shadow of misgiving to make me back her
-up.  But she had delivered herself into my hands . . . "
-
-Interrupting his narrative Marlow addressed me in his tone between grim
-jest and grim earnest:
-
-"Perhaps you didn't know that my character is upon the whole rather
-vindictive."
-
-"No, I didn't know," I said with a grin.  "That's rather unusual for a
-sailor.  They always seemed to me the least vindictive body of men in the
-world."
-
-"H'm!  Simple souls," Marlow muttered moodily.  "Want of opportunity.  The
-world leaves them alone for the most part.  For myself it's towards women
-that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way.  I admit that it is
-small.  But then the occasions in themselves are not great.  Mainly I
-resent that pretence of winding us round their dear little fingers, as of
-right.  Not that the result ever amounts to much generally.  There are so
-very few momentous opportunities.  It is the assumption that each of us
-is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking--in a
-small way; in a very small way.  You needn't stare as though I were
-breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils.  I am not a women-devouring
-monster.  I am not even what is technically called "a brute."  I hope
-there's enough of a kid and an imbecile in me to answer the requirements
-of some really good woman eventually--some day . . . Some day.  Why do
-you gasp?  You don't suppose I should be afraid of getting married?  That
-supposition would be offensive . . . "
-
-"I wouldn't dream of offending you," I said.
-
-"Very well.  But meantime please remember that I was not married to Mrs.
-Fyne.  That lady's little finger was none of my legal property.  I had
-not run off with it.  It was Fyne who had done that thing.  Let him be
-wound round as much as his backbone could stand--or even more, for all I
-cared.  His rushing away from the discussion on the transparent pretence
-of quieting the dog confirmed my notion of there being a considerable
-strain on his elasticity.  I confronted Mrs. Fyne resolved not to assist
-her in her eminently feminine occupation of thrusting a stick in the
-spokes of another woman's wheel.
-
-She tried to preserve her calm-eyed superiority.  She was familiar and
-olympian, fenced in by the tea-table, that excellent symbol of domestic
-life in its lighter hour and its perfect security.  In a few severely
-unadorned words she gave me to understand that she had ventured to hope
-for some really helpful suggestion from me.  To this almost chiding
-declaration--because my vindictiveness seldom goes further than a bit of
-teasing--I said that I was really doing my best.  And being a
-physiognomist . . . "
-
-"Being what?" she interrupted me.
-
-"A physiognomist," I repeated raising my voice a little.  "A
-physiognomist, Mrs. Fyne.  And on the principles of that science a
-pointed little chin is a sufficient ground for interference.  You want to
-interfere--do you not?"
-
-Her eyes grew distinctly bigger.  She had never been bantered before in
-her life.  The late subtle poet's method of making himself unpleasant was
-merely savage and abusive.  Fyne had been always solemnly subservient.
-What other men she knew I cannot tell but I assume they must have been
-gentlemanly creatures.  The girl-friends sat at her feet.  How could she
-recognize my intention.  She didn't know what to make of my tone.
-
-"Are you serious in what you say?" she asked slowly.  And it was
-touching.  It was as if a very young, confiding girl had spoken.  I felt
-myself relenting.
-
-"No.  I am not, Mrs. Fyne," I said.  "I didn't know I was expected to be
-serious as well as sagacious.  No.  That science is farcical and
-therefore I am not serious.  It's true that most sciences are farcical
-except those which teach us how to put things together."
-
-"The question is how to keep these two people apart," she struck in.  She
-had recovered.  I admired the quickness of women's wit.  Mental agility
-is a rare perfection.  And aren't they agile!  Aren't they--just!  And
-tenacious!  When they once get hold you may uproot the tree but you won't
-shake them off the branch.  In fact the more you shake . . . But only
-look at the charm of contradictory perfections!  No wonder men give
-in--generally.  I won't say I was actually charmed by Mrs. Fyne.  I was
-not delighted with her.  What affected me was not what she displayed but
-something which she could not conceal.  And that was emotion--nothing
-less.  The form of her declaration was dry, almost peremptory--but not
-its tone.  Her voice faltered just the least bit, she smiled faintly; and
-as we were looking straight at each other I observed that her eyes were
-glistening in a peculiar manner.  She was distressed.  And indeed that
-Mrs. Fyne should have appealed to me at all was in itself the evidence of
-her profound distress.  "By Jove she's desperate too," I thought.  This
-discovery was followed by a movement of instinctive shrinking from this
-unreasonable and unmasculine affair.  They were all alike, with their
-supreme interest aroused only by fighting with each other about some man:
-a lover, a son, a brother.
-
-"But do you think there's time yet to do anything?" I asked.
-
-She had an impatient movement of her shoulders without detaching herself
-from the back of the chair.  Time!  Of course?  It was less than forty-
-eight hours since she had followed him to London . . . I am no great
-clerk at those matters but I murmured vaguely an allusion to special
-licences.  We couldn't tell what might have happened to-day already.  But
-she knew better, scornfully.  Nothing had happened.
-
-"Nothing's likely to happen before next Friday week,--if then."
-
-This was wonderfully precise.  Then after a pause she added that she
-should never forgive herself if some effort were not made, an appeal.
-
-"To your brother?" I asked.
-
-"Yes.  John ought to go to-morrow.  Nine o'clock train."
-
-"So early as that!" I said.  But I could not find it in my heart to
-pursue this discussion in a jocular tone.  I submitted to her several
-obvious arguments, dictated apparently by common sense but in reality by
-my secret compassion.  Mrs. Fyne brushed them aside, with the
-semi-conscious egoism of all safe, established, existences.  They had
-known each other so little.  Just three weeks.  And of that time, too
-short for the birth of any serious sentiment, the first week had to be
-deducted.  They would hardly look at each other to begin with.  Flora
-barely consented to acknowledge Captain Anthony's presence.  Good
-morning--good night--that was all--absolutely the whole extent of their
-intercourse.  Captain Anthony was a silent man, completely unused to the
-society of girls of any sort and so shy in fact that he avoided raising
-his eyes to her face at the table.  It was perfectly absurd.  It was even
-inconvenient, embarrassing to her--Mrs. Fyne.  After breakfast Flora
-would go off by herself for a long walk and Captain Anthony (Mrs. Fyne
-referred to him at times also as Roderick) joined the children.  But he
-was actually too shy to get on terms with his own nieces.
-
-This would have sounded pathetic if I hadn't known the Fyne children who
-were at the same time solemn and malicious, and nursed a secret contempt
-for all the world.  No one could get on terms with those fresh and comely
-young monsters!  They just tolerated their parents and seemed to have a
-sort of mocking understanding among themselves against all outsiders, yet
-with no visible affection for each other.  They had the habit of
-exchanging derisive glances which to a shy man must have been very
-trying.  They thought their uncle no doubt a bore and perhaps an ass.
-
-I was not surprised to hear that very soon Anthony formed the habit of
-crossing the two neighbouring fields to seek the shade of a clump of elms
-at a good distance from the cottage.  He lay on the grass and smoked his
-pipe all the morning.  Mrs. Fyne wondered at her brother's indolent
-habits.  He had asked for books it is true but there were but few in the
-cottage.  He read them through in three days and then continued to lie
-contentedly on his back with no other companion but his pipe.  Amazing
-indolence!  The live-long morning, Mrs. Fyne, busy writing upstairs in
-the cottage, could see him out of the window.  She had a very long sight,
-and these elms were grouped on a rise of the ground.  His indolence was
-plainly exposed to her criticism on a gentle green slope.  Mrs. Fyne
-wondered at it; she was disgusted too.  But having just then 'commenced
-author,' as you know, she could not tear herself away from the
-fascinating novelty.  She let him wallow in his vice.  I imagine Captain
-Anthony must have had a rather pleasant time in a quiet way.  It was, I
-remember, a hot dry summer, favourable to contemplative life out of
-doors.  And Mrs. Fyne was scandalized.  Women don't understand the force
-of a contemplative temperament.  It simply shocks them.  They feel
-instinctively that it is the one which escapes best the domination of
-feminine influences.  The dear girls were exchanging jeering remarks
-about "lazy uncle Roderick" openly, in her indulgent hearing.  And it was
-so strange, she told me, because as a boy he was anything but indolent.
-On the contrary.  Always active.
-
-I remarked that a man of thirty-five was no longer a boy.  It was an
-obvious remark but she received it without favour.  She told me
-positively that the best, the nicest men remained boys all their lives.
-She was disappointed not to be able to detect anything boyish in her
-brother.  Very, very sorry.  She had not seen him for fifteen years or
-thereabouts, except on three or four occasions for a few hours at a time.
-No.  Not a trace of the boy, he used to be, left in him.
-
-She fell silent for a moment and I mused idly on the boyhood of little
-Fyne.  I could not imagine what it might have been like.  His dominant
-trait was clearly the remnant of still earlier days, because I've never
-seen such staring solemnity as Fyne's except in a very young baby.  But
-where was he all that time?  Didn't he suffer contamination from the
-indolence of Captain Anthony, I inquired.  I was told that Mr. Fyne was
-very little at the cottage at the time.  Some colleague of his was
-convalescing after a severe illness in a little seaside village in the
-neighbourhood and Fyne went off every morning by train to spend the day
-with the elderly invalid who had no one to look after him.  It was a very
-praiseworthy excuse for neglecting his brother-in-law "the son of the
-poet, you know," with whom he had nothing in common even in the remotest
-degree.  If Captain Anthony (Roderick) had been a pedestrian it would
-have been sufficient; but he was not.  Still, in the afternoon, he went
-sometimes for a slow casual stroll, by himself of course, the children
-having definitely cold-shouldered him, and his only sister being busy
-with that inflammatory book which was to blaze upon the world a year or
-more afterwards.  It seems however that she was capable of detaching her
-eyes from her task now and then, if only for a moment, because it was
-from that garret fitted out for a study that one afternoon she observed
-her brother and Flora de Barral coming down the road side by side.  They
-had met somewhere accidentally (which of them crossed the other's path,
-as the saying is, I don't know), and were returning to tea together.  She
-noticed that they appeared to be conversing without constraint.
-
-"I had the simplicity to be pleased," Mrs. Fyne commented with a dry
-little laugh.  "Pleased for both their sakes."  Captain Anthony shook off
-his indolence from that day forth, and accompanied Miss Flora frequently
-on her morning walks.  Mrs. Fyne remained pleased.  She could now forget
-them comfortably and give herself up to the delights of audacious thought
-and literary composition.  Only a week before the blow fell she,
-happening to raise her eyes from the paper, saw two figures seated on the
-grass under the shade of the elms.  She could make out the white blouse.
-There could be no mistake.
-
-"I suppose they imagined themselves concealed by the hedge.  They forgot
-no doubt I was working in the garret," she said bitterly.  "Or perhaps
-they didn't care.  They were right.  I am rather a simple person . . . "
-She laughed again . . . "I was incapable of suspecting such duplicity."
-
-"Duplicity is a strong word, Mrs. Fyne--isn't it?" I expostulated.  "And
-considering that Captain Anthony himself . . . "
-
-"Oh well--perhaps," she interrupted me.  Her eyes which never strayed
-away from mine, her set features, her whole immovable figure, how well I
-knew those appearances of a person who has "made up her mind."  A very
-hopeless condition that, specially in women.  I mistrusted her concession
-so easily, so stonily made.  She reflected a moment.  "Yes.  I ought to
-have said--ingratitude, perhaps."
-
-After having thus disengaged her brother and pushed the poor girl a
-little further off as it were--isn't women's cleverness perfectly
-diabolic when they are really put on their mettle?--after having done
-these things and also made me feel that I was no match for her, she went
-on scrupulously: "One doesn't like to use that word either.  The claim is
-very small.  It's so little one could do for her.  Still . . . "
-
-"I dare say," I exclaimed, throwing diplomacy to the winds.  "But really,
-Mrs. Fyne, it's impossible to dismiss your brother like this out of the
-business . . . "
-
-"She threw herself at his head," Mrs. Fyne uttered firmly.
-
-"He had no business to put his head in the way, then," I retorted with an
-angry laugh.  I didn't restrain myself because her fixed stare seemed to
-express the purpose to daunt me.  I was not afraid of her, but it
-occurred to me that I was within an ace of drifting into a downright
-quarrel with a lady and, besides, my guest.  There was the cold teapot,
-the emptied cups, emblems of hospitality.  It could not be.  I cut short
-my angry laugh while Mrs. Fyne murmured with a slight movement of her
-shoulders, "He!  Poor man!  Oh come . . . "
-
-By a great effort of will I found myself able to smile amiably, to speak
-with proper softness.
-
-"My dear Mrs. Fyne, you forget that I don't know him--not even by sight.
-It's difficult to imagine a victim as passive as all that; but granting
-you the (I very nearly said: imbecility, but checked myself in time)
-innocence of Captain Anthony, don't you think now, frankly, that there is
-a little of your own fault in what has happened.  You bring them
-together, you leave your brother to himself!"
-
-She sat up and leaning her elbow on the table sustained her head in her
-open palm casting down her eyes.  Compunction?  It was indeed a very off-
-hand way of treating a brother come to stay for the first time in fifteen
-years.  I suppose she discovered very soon that she had nothing in common
-with that sailor, that stranger, fashioned and marked by the sea of long
-voyages.  In her strong-minded way she had scorned pretences, had gone to
-her writing which interested her immensely.  A very praiseworthy thing
-your sincere conduct,--if it didn't at times resemble brutality so much.
-But I don't think it was compunction.  That sentiment is rare in women
-. . . "
-
-"Is it?" I interrupted indignantly.
-
-"You know more women than I do," retorted the unabashed Marlow.  "You
-make it your business to know them--don't you?  You go about a lot
-amongst all sorts of people.  You are a tolerably honest observer.  Well,
-just try to remember how many instances of compunction you have seen.  I
-am ready to take your bare word for it.  Compunction!  Have you ever seen
-as much as its shadow?  Have you ever?  Just a shadow--a passing shadow!
-I tell you it is so rare that you may call it non-existent.  They are too
-passionate.  Too pedantic.  Too courageous with themselves--perhaps.  No
-I don't think for a moment that Mrs. Fyne felt the slightest compunction
-at her treatment of her sea-going brother.  What _he_ thought of it who
-can tell?  It is possible that he wondered why he had been so insistently
-urged to come.  It is possible that he wondered bitterly--or
-contemptuously--or humbly.  And it may be that he was only surprised and
-bored.  Had he been as sincere in his conduct as his only sister he would
-have probably taken himself off at the end of the second day.  But
-perhaps he was afraid of appearing brutal.  I am not far removed from the
-conviction that between the sincerities of his sister and of his dear
-nieces, Captain Anthony of the _Ferndale_ must have had his loneliness
-brought home to his bosom for the first time of his life, at an age,
-thirty-five or thereabouts, when one is mature enough to feel the pang of
-such a discovery.  Angry or simply sad but certainly disillusioned he
-wanders about and meets the girl one afternoon and under the sway of a
-strong feeling forgets his shyness.  This is no supposition.  It is a
-fact.  There was such a meeting in which the shyness must have perished
-before we don't know what encouragement, or in the community of mood made
-apparent by some casual word.  You remember that Mrs. Fyne saw them one
-afternoon coming back to the cottage together.  Don't you think that I
-have hit on the psychology of the situation? . . . "
-
-"Doubtless . . . "  I began to ponder.
-
-"I was very certain of my conclusions at the time," Marlow went on
-impatiently.  "But don't think for a moment that Mrs. Fyne in her new
-attitude and toying thoughtfully with a teaspoon was about to surrender.
-She murmured:
-
-"It's the last thing I should have thought could happen."
-
-"You didn't suppose they were romantic enough," I suggested dryly.
-
-She let it pass and with great decision but as if speaking to herself,
-
-"Roderick really must be warned."
-
-She didn't give me the time to ask of what precisely.  She raised her
-head and addressed me.
-
-"I am surprised and grieved more than I can tell you at Mr. Fyne's
-resistance.  We have been always completely at one on every question.  And
-that we should differ now on a point touching my brother so closely is a
-most painful surprise to me."  Her hand rattled the teaspoon brusquely by
-an involuntary movement.  "It is intolerable," she added
-tempestuously--for Mrs. Fyne that is.  I suppose she had nerves of her
-own like any other woman.
-
-Under the porch where Fyne had sought refuge with the dog there was
-silence.  I took it for a proof of deep sagacity.  I don't mean on the
-part of the dog.  He was a confirmed fool.
-
-I said:
-
-"You want absolutely to interfere . . . ?"  Mrs. Fyne nodded just
-perceptibly . . . "Well--for my part . . . but I don't really know how
-matters stand at the present time.  You have had a letter from Miss de
-Barral.  What does that letter say?"
-
-"She asks for her valise to be sent to her town address," Mrs. Fyne
-uttered reluctantly and stopped.  I waited a bit--then exploded.
-
-"Well!  What's the matter?  Where's the difficulty?  Does your husband
-object to that?  You don't mean to say that he wants you to appropriate
-the girl's clothes?"
-
-"Mr. Marlow!"
-
-"Well, but you talk of a painful difference of opinion with your husband,
-and then, when I ask for information on the point, you bring out a
-valise.  And only a few moments ago you reproached me for not being
-serious.  I wonder who is the serious person of us two now."
-
-She smiled faintly and in a friendly tone, from which I concluded at once
-that she did not mean to show me the girl's letter, she said that
-undoubtedly the letter disclosed an understanding between Captain Anthony
-and Flora de Barral.
-
-"What understanding?" I pressed her.  "An engagement is an
-understanding."
-
-"There is no engagement--not yet," she said decisively.  "That letter,
-Mr. Marlow, is couched in very vague terms.  That is why--"
-
-I interrupted her without ceremony.
-
-"You still hope to interfere to some purpose.  Isn't it so?  Yes?  But
-how should you have liked it if anybody had tried to interfere between
-you and Mr. Fyne at the time when your understanding with each other
-could still have been described in vague terms?"
-
-She had a genuine movement of astonished indignation.  It is with the
-accent of perfect sincerity that she cried out at me:
-
-"But it isn't at all the same thing!  How can you!"
-
-Indeed how could I!  The daughter of a poet and the daughter of a convict
-are not comparable in the consequences of their conduct if their
-necessity may wear at times a similar aspect.  Amongst these consequences
-I could perceive undesirable cousins for these dear healthy girls, and
-such like, possible causes of embarrassment in the future.
-
-"No!  You can't be serious," Mrs. Fyne's smouldering resentment broke out
-again.  "You haven't thought--"
-
-"Oh yes, Mrs. Fyne!  I have thought.  I am still thinking.  I am even
-trying to think like you."
-
-"Mr. Marlow," she said earnestly.  "Believe me that I really am thinking
-of my brother in all this . . . "  I assured her that I quite believed
-she was.  For there is no law of nature making it impossible to think of
-more than one person at a time.  Then I said:
-
-"She has told him all about herself of course."
-
-"All about her life," assented Mrs. Fyne with an air, however, of making
-some mental reservation which I did not pause to investigate.  "Her
-life!" I repeated.  "That girl must have had a mighty bad time of it."
-
-"Horrible," Mrs. Fyne admitted with a ready frankness very creditable
-under the circumstances, and a warmth of tone which made me look at her
-with a friendly eye.  "Horrible!  No!  You can't imagine the sort of
-vulgar people she became dependent on . . . You know her father never
-attempted to see her while he was still at large.  After his arrest he
-instructed that relative of his--the odious person who took her away from
-Brighton--not to let his daughter come to the court during the trial.  He
-refused to hold any communication with her whatever."
-
-I remembered what Mrs. Fyne had told me before of the view she had years
-ago of de Barral clinging to the child at the side of his wife's grave
-and later on of these two walking hand in hand the observed of all eyes
-by the sea.  Pictures from Dickens--pregnant with pathos.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER SIX--FLORA
-
-
-"A very singular prohibition," remarked Mrs. Fyne after a short silence.
-"He seemed to love the child."
-
-She was puzzled.  But I surmised that it might have been the sullenness
-of a man unconscious of guilt and standing at bay to fight his
-"persecutors," as he called them; or else the fear of a softer emotion
-weakening his defiant attitude; perhaps, even, it was a self-denying
-ordinance, in order to spare the girl the sight of her father in the
-dock, accused of cheating, sentenced as a swindler--proving the
-possession of a certain moral delicacy.
-
-Mrs. Fyne didn't know what to think.  She supposed it might have been
-mere callousness.  But the people amongst whom the girl had fallen had
-positively not a grain of moral delicacy.  Of that she was certain.  Mrs.
-Fyne could not undertake to give me an idea of their abominable
-vulgarity.  Flora used to tell her something of her life in that
-household, over there, down Limehouse way.  It was incredible.  It passed
-Mrs. Fyne's comprehension.  It was a sort of moral savagery which she
-could not have thought possible.
-
-I, on the contrary, thought it very possible.  I could imagine easily how
-the poor girl must have been bewildered and hurt at her reception in that
-household--envied for her past while delivered defenceless to the tender
-mercies of people without any fineness either of feeling or mind, unable
-to understand her misery, grossly curious, mistaking her manner for
-disdain, her silent shrinking for pride.  The wife of the "odious person"
-was witless and fatuously conceited.  Of the two girls of the house one
-was pious and the other a romp; both were coarse-minded--if they may be
-credited with any mind at all.  The rather numerous men of the family
-were dense and grumpy, or dense and jocose.  None in that grubbing lot
-had enough humanity to leave her alone.  At first she was made much of,
-in an offensively patronising manner.  The connection with the great de
-Barral gratified their vanity even in the moment of the smash.  They
-dragged her to their place of worship, whatever it might have been, where
-the congregation stared at her, and they gave parties to other beings
-like themselves at which they exhibited her with ignoble
-self-satisfaction.  She did not know how to defend herself from their
-importunities, insolence and exigencies.  She lived amongst them, a
-passive victim, quivering in every nerve, as if she were flayed.  After
-the trial her position became still worse.  On the least occasion and
-even on no occasions at all she was scolded, or else taunted with her
-dependence.  The pious girl lectured her on her defects, the romping girl
-teased her with contemptuous references to her accomplishments, and was
-always trying to pick insensate quarrels with her about some "fellow" or
-other.  The mother backed up her girls invariably, adding her own silly,
-wounding remarks.  I must say they were probably not aware of the
-ugliness of their conduct.  They were nasty amongst themselves as a
-matter of course; their disputes were nauseating in origin, in manner, in
-the spirit of mean selfishness.  These women, too, seemed to enjoy
-greatly any sort of row and were always ready to combine together to make
-awful scenes to the luckless girl on incredibly flimsy pretences.  Thus
-Flora on one occasion had been reduced to rage and despair, had her most
-secret feelings lacerated, had obtained a view of the utmost baseness to
-which common human nature can descend--I won't say _a propos de bottes_
-as the French would excellently put it, but literally _a propos_ of some
-mislaid cheap lace trimmings for a nightgown the romping one was making
-for herself.  Yes, that was the origin of one of the grossest scenes
-which, in their repetition, must have had a deplorable effect on the
-unformed character of the most pitiful of de Barral's victims.  I have it
-from Mrs. Fyne.  The girl turned up at the Fynes' house at half-past nine
-on a cold, drizzly evening.  She had walked bareheaded, I believe, just
-as she ran out of the house, from somewhere in Poplar to the
-neighbourhood of Sloane Square--without stopping, without drawing breath,
-if only for a sob.
-
-"We were having some people to dinner," said the anxious sister of
-Captain Anthony.
-
-She had heard the front door bell and wondered what it might mean.  The
-parlourmaid managed to whisper to her without attracting attention.  The
-servants had been frightened by the invasion of that wild girl in a muddy
-skirt and with wisps of damp hair sticking to her pale cheeks.  But they
-had seen her before.  This was not the first occasion, nor yet the last.
-
-Directly she could slip away from her guests Mrs. Fyne ran upstairs.
-
-"I found her in the night nursery crouching on the floor, her head
-resting on the cot of the youngest of my girls.  The eldest was sitting
-up in bed looking at her across the room."
-
-Only a nightlight was burning there.  Mrs. Fyne raised her up, took her
-over to Mr. Fyne's little dressing-room on the other side of the landing,
-to a fire by which she could dry herself, and left her there.  She had to
-go back to her guests.
-
-A most disagreeable surprise it must have been to the Fynes.  Afterwards
-they both went up and interviewed the girl.  She jumped up at their
-entrance.  She had shaken her damp hair loose; her eyes were dry--with
-the heat of rage.
-
-I can imagine little Fyne solemnly sympathetic, solemnly listening,
-solemnly retreating to the marital bedroom.  Mrs. Fyne pacified the girl,
-and, fortunately, there was a bed which could be made up for her in the
-dressing-room.
-
-"But--what could one do after all!" concluded Mrs. Fyne.
-
-And this stereotyped exclamation, expressing the difficulty of the
-problem and the readiness (at any rate) of good intentions, made me, as
-usual, feel more kindly towards her.
-
-Next morning, very early, long before Fyne had to start for his office,
-the "odious personage" turned up, not exactly unexpected perhaps, but
-startling all the same, if only by the promptness of his action.  From
-what Flora herself related to Mrs. Fyne, it seems that without being very
-perceptibly less "odious" than his family he had in a rather mysterious
-fashion interposed his authority for the protection of the girl.  "Not
-that he cares," explained Flora.  "I am sure he does not.  I could not
-stand being liked by any of these people.  If I thought he liked me I
-would drown myself rather than go back with him."
-
-For of course he had come to take "Florrie" home.  The scene was the
-dining-room--breakfast interrupted, dishes growing cold, little Fyne's
-toast growing leathery, Fyne out of his chair with his back to the fire,
-the newspaper on the carpet, servants shut out, Mrs. Fyne rigid in her
-place with the girl sitting beside her--the "odious person," who had
-bustled in with hardly a greeting, looking from Fyne to Mrs. Fyne as
-though he were inwardly amused at something he knew of them; and then
-beginning ironically his discourse.  He did not apologize for disturbing
-Fyne and his "good lady" at breakfast, because he knew they did not want
-(with a nod at the girl) to have more of her than could be helped.  He
-came the first possible moment because he had his business to attend to.
-He wasn't drawing a tip-top salary (this staring at Fyne) in a
-luxuriously furnished office.  Not he.  He had risen to be an employer of
-labour and was bound to give a good example.
-
-I believe the fellow was aware of, and enjoyed quietly, the consternation
-his presence brought to the bosom of Mr. and Mrs. Fyne.  He turned
-briskly to the girl.  Mrs. Fyne confessed to me that they had remained
-all three silent and inanimate.  He turned to the girl: "What's this
-game, Florrie?  You had better give it up.  If you expect me to run all
-over London looking for you every time you happen to have a tiff with
-your auntie and cousins you are mistaken.  I can't afford it."
-
-Tiff--was the sort of definition to take one's breath away, having regard
-to the fact that both the word convict and the word pauper had been used
-a moment before Flora de Barral ran away from the quarrel about the lace
-trimmings.  Yes, these very words!  So at least the girl had told Mrs.
-Fyne the evening before.  The word tiff in connection with her tale had a
-peculiar savour, a paralysing effect.  Nobody made a sound.  The relative
-of de Barral proceeded uninterrupted to a display of magnanimity.  "Auntie
-told me to tell you she's sorry--there!  And Amelia (the romping sister)
-shan't worry you again.  I'll see to that.  You ought to be satisfied.
-Remember your position."
-
-Emboldened by the utter stillness pervading the room he addressed himself
-to Mrs. Fyne with stolid effrontery:
-
-"What I say is that people should be good-natured.  She can't stand being
-chaffed.  She puts on her grand airs.  She won't take a bit of a joke
-from people as good as herself anyway.  We are a plain lot.  We don't
-like it.  And that's how trouble begins."
-
-Insensible to the stony stare of three pairs of eyes, which, if the
-stories of our childhood as to the power of the human eye are true, ought
-to have been enough to daunt a tiger, that unabashed manufacturer from
-the East End fastened his fangs, figuratively speaking, into the poor
-girl and prepared to drag her away for a prey to his cubs of both sexes.
-"Auntie has thought of sending you your hat and coat.  I've got them
-outside in the cab."
-
-Mrs. Fyne looked mechanically out of the window.  A four-wheeler stood
-before the gate under the weeping sky.  The driver in his conical cape
-and tarpaulin hat, streamed with water.  The drooping horse looked as
-though it had been fished out, half unconscious, from a pond.  Mrs. Fyne
-found some relief in looking at that miserable sight, away from the room
-in which the voice of the amiable visitor resounded with a vulgar
-intonation exhorting the strayed sheep to return to the delightful fold.
-"Come, Florrie, make a move.  I can't wait on you all day here."
-
-Mrs. Fyne heard all this without turning her head away from the window.
-Fyne on the hearthrug had to listen and to look on too.  I shall not try
-to form a surmise as to the real nature of the suspense.  Their very
-goodness must have made it very anxious.  The girl's hands were lying in
-her lap; her head was lowered as if in deep thought; and the other went
-on delivering a sort of homily.  Ingratitude was condemned in it, the
-sinfulness of pride was pointed out--together with the proverbial fact
-that it "goes before a fall."  There were also some sound remarks as to
-the danger of nonsensical notions and the disadvantages of a quick
-temper.  It sets one's best friends against one.  "And if anybody ever
-wanted friends in the world it's you, my girl."  Even respect for
-parental authority was invoked.  "In the first hour of his trouble your
-father wrote to me to take care of you--don't forget it.  Yes, to me,
-just a plain man, rather than to any of his fine West-End friends.  You
-can't get over that.  And a father's a father no matter what a mess he's
-got himself into.  You ain't going to throw over your own father--are
-you?"
-
-It was difficult to say whether he was more absurd than cruel or more
-cruel than absurd.  Mrs. Fyne, with the fine ear of a woman, seemed to
-detect a jeering intention in his meanly unctuous tone, something more
-vile than mere cruelty.  She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw
-the girl raise her two hands to her head, then let them fall again on her
-lap.  Fyne in front of the fire was like the victim of an unholy
-spell--bereft of motion and speech but obviously in pain.  It was a short
-pause of perfect silence, and then that "odious creature" (he must have
-been really a remarkable individual in his way) struck out into sarcasm.
-
-"Well? . . . "  Again a silence.  "If you have fixed it up with the lady
-and gentleman present here for your board and lodging you had better say
-so.  I don't want to interfere in a bargain I know nothing of.  But I
-wonder how your father will take it when he comes out . . . or don't you
-expect him ever to come out?"
-
-At that moment, Mrs. Fyne told me she met the girl's eyes.  There was
-that in them which made her shut her own.  She also felt as though she
-would have liked to put her fingers in her ears.  She restrained herself,
-however; and the "plain man" passed in his appalling versatility from
-sarcasm to veiled menace.
-
-"You have--eh?  Well and good.  But before I go home let me ask you, my
-girl, to think if by any chance you throwing us over like this won't be
-rather bad for your father later on?  Just think it over."
-
-He looked at his victim with an air of cunning mystery.  She jumped up so
-suddenly that he started back.  Mrs. Fyne rose too, and even the spell
-was removed from her husband.  But the girl dropped again into the chair
-and turned her head to look at Mrs. Fyne.  This time it was no accidental
-meeting of fugitive glances.  It was a deliberate communication.  To my
-question as to its nature Mrs. Fyne said she did not know.  "Was it
-appealing?" I suggested.  "No," she said.  "Was it frightened, angry,
-crushed, resigned?"  "No!  No!  Nothing of these."  But it had frightened
-her.  She remembered it to this day.  She had been ever since fancying
-she could detect the lingering reflection of that look in all the girl's
-glances.  In the attentive, in the casual--even in the grateful
-glances--in the expression of the softest moods.
-
-"Has she her soft moods, then?" I asked with interest.
-
-Mrs Fyne, much moved by her recollections, heeded not my inquiry.  All
-her mental energy was concentrated on the nature of that memorable
-glance.  The general tradition of mankind teaches us that glances occupy
-a considerable place in the self-expression of women.  Mrs. Fyne was
-trying honestly to give me some idea, as much perhaps to satisfy her own
-uneasiness as my curiosity.  She was frowning in the effort as you see
-sometimes a child do (what is delightful in women is that they so often
-resemble intelligent children--I mean the crustiest, the sourest, the
-most battered of them do--at times).  She was frowning, I say, and I was
-beginning to smile faintly at her when all at once she came out with
-something totally unexpected.
-
-"It was horribly merry," she said.
-
-I suppose she must have been satisfied by my sudden gravity because she
-looked at me in a friendly manner.
-
-"Yes, Mrs. Fyne," I said, smiling no longer.  "I see.  It would have been
-horrible even on the stage."
-
-"Ah!" she interrupted me--and I really believe her change of attitude
-back to folded arms was meant to check a shudder.  "But it wasn't on the
-stage, and it was not with her lips that she laughed."
-
-"Yes.  It must have been horrible," I assented.  "And then she had to go
-away ultimately--I suppose.  You didn't say anything?"
-
-"No," said Mrs. Fyne.  "I rang the bell and told one of the maids to go
-and bring the hat and coat out of the cab.  And then we waited."
-
-I don't think that there ever was such waiting unless possibly in a jail
-at some moment or other on the morning of an execution.  The servant
-appeared with the hat and coat, and then, still as on the morning of an
-execution, when the condemned, I believe, is offered a breakfast, Mrs.
-Fyne, anxious that the white-faced girl should swallow something warm (if
-she could) before leaving her house for an interminable drive through raw
-cold air in a damp four-wheeler--Mrs. Fyne broke the awful silence: "You
-really must try to eat something," in her best resolute manner.  She
-turned to the "odious person" with the same determination.  "Perhaps you
-will sit down and have a cup of coffee, too."
-
-The worthy "employer of labour" sat down.  He might have been awed by
-Mrs. Fyne's peremptory manner--for she did not think of conciliating him
-then.  He sat down, provisionally, like a man who finds himself much
-against his will in doubtful company.  He accepted ungraciously the cup
-handed to him by Mrs. Fyne, took an unwilling sip or two and put it down
-as if there were some moral contamination in the coffee of these
-"swells."  Between whiles he directed mysteriously inexpressive glances
-at little Fyne, who, I gather, had no breakfast that morning at all.
-Neither had the girl.  She never moved her hands from her lap till her
-appointed guardian got up, leaving his cup half full.
-
-"Well.  If you don't mean to take advantage of this lady's kind offer I
-may just as well take you home at once.  I want to begin my day--I do."
-
-After a few more dumb, leaden-footed minutes while Flora was putting on
-her hat and jacket, the Fynes without moving, without saying anything,
-saw these two leave the room.
-
-"She never looked back at us," said Mrs. Fyne.  "She just followed him
-out.  I've never had such a crushing impression of the miserable
-dependence of girls--of women.  This was an extreme case.  But a young
-man--any man--could have gone to break stones on the roads or something
-of that kind--or enlisted--or--"
-
-It was very true.  Women can't go forth on the high roads and by-ways to
-pick up a living even when dignity, independence, or existence itself are
-at stake.  But what made me interrupt Mrs. Fyne's tirade was my profound
-surprise at the fact of that respectable citizen being so willing to keep
-in his home the poor girl for whom it seemed there was no place in the
-world.  And not only willing but anxious.  I couldn't credit him with
-generous impulses.  For it seemed obvious to me from what I had learned
-that, to put it mildly, he was not an impulsive person.
-
-"I confess that I can't understand his motive," I exclaimed.
-
-"This is exactly what John wondered at, at first," said Mrs. Fyne.  By
-that time an intimacy--if not exactly confidence--had sprung up between
-us which permitted her in this discussion to refer to her husband as
-John.  "You know he had not opened his lips all that time," she pursued.
-"I don't blame his restraint.  On the contrary.  What could he have said?
-I could see he was observing the man very thoughtfully."
-
-"And so, Mr. Fyne listened, observed and meditated," I said.  "That's an
-excellent way of coming to a conclusion.  And may I ask at what
-conclusion he had managed to arrive?  On what ground did he cease to
-wonder at the inexplicable?  For I can't admit humanity to be the
-explanation.  It would be too monstrous."
-
-It was nothing of the sort, Mrs. Fyne assured me with some resentment, as
-though I had aspersed little Fyne's sanity.  Fyne very sensibly had set
-himself the mental task of discovering the self-interest.  I should not
-have thought him capable of so much cynicism.  He said to himself that
-for people of that sort (religious fears or the vanity of righteousness
-put aside) money--not great wealth, but money, just a little money--is
-the measure of virtue, of expediency, of wisdom--of pretty well
-everything.  But the girl was absolutely destitute.  The father was in
-prison after the most terribly complete and disgraceful smash of modern
-times.  And then it dawned upon Fyne that this was just it.  The great
-smash, in the great dust of vanishing millions!  Was it possible that
-they all had vanished to the last penny?  Wasn't there, somewhere,
-something palpable; some fragment of the fabric left?
-
-"That's it," had exclaimed Fyne, startling his wife by this explosive
-unseating of his lips less than half an hour after the departure of de
-Barral's cousin with de Barral's daughter.  It was still in the dining-
-room, very near the time for him to go forth affronting the elements in
-order to put in another day's work in his country's service.  All he
-could say at the moment in elucidation of this breakdown from his usual
-placid solemnity was:
-
-"The fellow imagines that de Barral has got some plunder put away
-somewhere."
-
-This being the theory arrived at by Fyne, his comment on it was that a
-good many bankrupts had been known to have taken such a precaution.  It
-was possible in de Barral's case.  Fyne went so far in his display of
-cynical pessimism as to say that it was extremely probable.
-
-He explained at length to Mrs. Fyne that de Barral certainly did not take
-anyone into his confidence.  But the beastly relative had made up his low
-mind that it was so.  He was selfish and pitiless in his stupidity, but
-he had clearly conceived the notion of making a claim on de Barral when
-de Barral came out of prison on the strength of having "looked after" (as
-he would have himself expressed it) his daughter.  He nursed his hopes,
-such as they were, in secret, and it is to be supposed kept them even
-from his wife.
-
-I could see it very well.  That belief accounted for his mysterious air
-while he interfered in favour of the girl.  He was the only protector she
-had.  It was as though Flora had been fated to be always surrounded by
-treachery and lies stifling every better impulse, every instinctive
-aspiration of her soul to trust and to love.  It would have been enough
-to drive a fine nature into the madness of universal suspicion--into any
-sort of madness.  I don't know how far a sense of humour will stand by
-one.  To the foot of the gallows, perhaps.  But from my recollection of
-Flora de Barral I feared that she hadn't much sense of humour.  She had
-cried at the desertion of the absurd Fyne dog.  That animal was certainly
-free from duplicity.  He was frank and simple and ridiculous.  The
-indignation of the girl at his unhypocritical behaviour had been funny
-but not humorous.
-
-As you may imagine I was not very anxious to resume the discussion on the
-justice, expediency, effectiveness or what not, of Fyne's journey to
-London.  It isn't that I was unfaithful to little Fyne out in the porch
-with the dog.  (They kept amazingly quiet there.  Could they have gone to
-sleep?)  What I felt was that either my sagacity or my conscience would
-come out damaged from that campaign.  And no man will willingly put
-himself in the way of moral damage.  I did not want a war with Mrs. Fyne.
-I much preferred to hear something more of the girl.  I said:
-
-"And so she went away with that respectable ruffian."
-
-Mrs. Fyne moved her shoulders slightly--"What else could she have done?"
-I agreed with her by another hopeless gesture.  It isn't so easy for a
-girl like Flora de Barral to become a factory hand, a pathetic seamstress
-or even a barmaid.  She wouldn't have known how to begin.  She was the
-captive of the meanest conceivable fate.  And she wasn't mean enough for
-it.  It is to be remarked that a good many people are born curiously
-unfitted for the fate awaiting them on this earth.  As I don't want you
-to think that I am unduly partial to the girl we shall say that she
-failed decidedly to endear herself to that simple, virtuous and, I
-believe, teetotal household.  It's my conviction that an angel would have
-failed likewise.  It's no use going into details; suffice it to state
-that before the year was out she was again at the Fynes' door.
-
-This time she was escorted by a stout youth.  His large pale face wore a
-smile of inane cunning soured by annoyance.  His clothes were new and the
-indescribable smartness of their cut, a _genre_ which had never been
-obtruded on her notice before, astonished Mrs. Fyne, who came out into
-the hall with her hat on; for she was about to go out to hear a new
-pianist (a girl) in a friend's house.  The youth addressing Mrs. Fyne
-easily begged her not to let "that silly thing go back to us any more."
-There had been, he said, nothing but "ructions" at home about her for the
-last three weeks.  Everybody in the family was heartily sick of
-quarrelling.  His governor had charged him to bring her to this address
-and say that the lady and gentleman were quite welcome to all there was
-in it.  She hadn't enough sense to appreciate a plain, honest English
-home and she was better out of it.
-
-The young, pimply-faced fellow was vexed by this job his governor had
-sprung on him.  It was the cause of his missing an appointment for that
-afternoon with a certain young lady.  The lady he was engaged to.  But he
-meant to dash back and try for a sight of her that evening yet "if he
-were to burst over it."  "Good-bye, Florrie.  Good luck to you--and I
-hope I'll never see your face again."
-
-With that he ran out in lover-like haste leaving the hall-door wide open.
-Mrs. Fyne had not found a word to say.  She had been too much taken aback
-even to gasp freely.  But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's
-arm just as she, too, was running out into the street--with the haste, I
-suppose, of despair and to keep I don't know what tragic tryst.
-
-"You stopped her with your own hand, Mrs. Fyne," I said.  "I presume she
-meant to get away.  That girl is no comedian--if I am any judge."
-
-"Yes!  I had to use some force to drag her in."
-
-Mrs. Fyne had no difficulty in stating the truth.  "You see I was in the
-very act of letting myself out when these two appeared.  So that, when
-that unpleasant young man ran off, I found myself alone with Flora.  It
-was all I could do to hold her in the hall while I called to the servants
-to come and shut the door."
-
-As is my habit, or my weakness, or my gift, I don't know which, I
-visualized the story for myself.  I really can't help it.  And the vision
-of Mrs. Fyne dressed for a rather special afternoon function, engaged in
-wrestling with a wild-eyed, white-faced girl had a certain dramatic
-fascination.
-
-"Really!" I murmured.
-
-"Oh!  There's no doubt that she struggled," said Mrs. Fyne.  She
-compressed her lips for a moment and then added: "As to her being a
-comedian that's another question."
-
-Mrs. Fyne had returned to her attitude of folded arms.  I saw before me
-the daughter of the refined poet accepting life whole with its
-unavoidable conditions of which one of the first is the instinct of self-
-preservation and the egoism of every living creature.  "The fact remains
-nevertheless that you--yourself--have, in your own words, pulled her in,"
-I insisted in a jocular tone, with a serious intention.
-
-"What was one to do," exclaimed Mrs. Fyne with almost comic exasperation.
-"Are you reproaching me with being too impulsive?"
-
-And she went on telling me that she was not that in the least.  One of
-the recommendations she always insisted on (to the girl-friends, I
-imagine) was to be on guard against impulse.  Always!  But I had not been
-there to see the face of Flora at the time.  If I had it would be
-haunting me to this day.  Nobody unless made of iron would have allowed a
-human being with a face like that to rush out alone into the streets.
-
-"And doesn't it haunt you, Mrs. Fyne?" I asked.
-
-"No, not now," she said implacably.  "Perhaps if I had let her go it
-might have done . . . Don't conclude, though, that I think she was
-playing a comedy then, because after struggling at first she ended by
-remaining.  She gave up very suddenly.  She collapsed in our arms, mine
-and the maid's who came running up in response to my calls, and . . . "
-
-"And the door was then shut," I completed the phrase in my own way.
-
-"Yes, the door was shut," Mrs. Fyne lowered and raised her head slowly.
-
-I did not ask her for details.  Of one thing I am certain, and that is
-that Mrs. Fyne did not go out to the musical function that afternoon.  She
-was no doubt considerably annoyed at missing the privilege of hearing
-privately an interesting young pianist (a girl) who, since, had become
-one of the recognized performers.  Mrs. Fyne did not dare leave her
-house.  As to the feelings of little Fyne when he came home from the
-office, via his club, just half an hour before dinner, I have no
-information.  But I venture to affirm that in the main they were kindly,
-though it is quite possible that in the first moment of surprise he had
-to keep down a swear-word or two.
-
-* * * * *
-
-The long and the short of it all is that next day the Fynes made up their
-minds to take into their confidence a certain wealthy old lady.  With
-certain old ladies the passing years bring back a sort of mellowed
-youthfulness of feeling, an optimistic outlook, liking for novelty,
-readiness for experiment.  The old lady was very much interested: "Do let
-me see the poor thing!"  She was accordingly allowed to see Flora de
-Barral in Mrs. Fyne's drawing-room on a day when there was no one else
-there, and she preached to her with charming, sympathetic authority: "The
-only way to deal with our troubles, my dear child, is to forget them.  You
-must forget yours.  It's very simple.  Look at me.  I always forget mine.
-At your age one ought to be cheerful."
-
-Later on when left alone with Mrs. Fyne she said to that lady: "I do hope
-the child will manage to be cheerful.  I can't have sad faces near me.  At
-my age one needs cheerful companions."
-
-And in this hope she carried off Flora de Barral to Bournemouth for the
-winter months in the quality of reader and companion.  She had said to
-her with kindly jocularity: "We shall have a good time together.  I am
-not a grumpy old woman."  But on their return to London she sought Mrs.
-Fyne at once.  She had discovered that Flora was not naturally cheerful.
-When she made efforts to be it was still worse.  The old lady couldn't
-stand the strain of that.  And then, to have the whole thing out, she
-could not bear to have for a companion anyone who did not love her.  She
-was certain that Flora did not love her.  Why?  She couldn't say.
-Moreover, she had caught the girl looking at her in a peculiar way at
-times.  Oh no!--it was not an evil look--it was an unusual expression
-which one could not understand.  And when one remembered that her father
-was in prison shut up together with a lot of criminals and so on--it made
-one uncomfortable.  If the child had only tried to forget her troubles!
-But she obviously was incapable or unwilling to do so.  And that was
-somewhat perverse--wasn't it?  Upon the whole, she thought it would be
-better perhaps--
-
-Mrs. Fyne assented hurriedly to the unspoken conclusion: "Oh certainly!
-Certainly," wondering to herself what was to be done with Flora next; but
-she was not very much surprised at the change in the old lady's view of
-Flora de Barral.  She almost understood it.
-
-What came next was a German family, the continental acquaintances of the
-wife of one of Fyne's colleagues in the Home Office.  Flora of the
-enigmatical glances was dispatched to them without much reflection.  As
-it was not considered absolutely necessary to take them into full
-confidence, they neither expected the girl to be specially cheerful nor
-were they discomposed unduly by the indescribable quality of her glances.
-The German woman was quite ordinary; there were two boys to look after;
-they were ordinary, too, I presume; and Flora, I understand, was very
-attentive to them.  If she taught them anything it must have been by
-inspiration alone, for she certainly knew nothing of teaching.  But it
-was mostly "conversation" which was demanded from her.  Flora de Barral
-conversing with two small German boys, regularly, industriously,
-conscientiously, in order to keep herself alive in the world which held
-for her the past we know and the future of an even more undesirable
-quality--seems to me a very fantastic combination.  But I believe it was
-not so bad.  She was being, she wrote, mercifully drugged by her task.
-She had learned to "converse" all day long, mechanically, absently, as if
-in a trance.  An uneasy trance it must have been!  Her worst moments were
-when off duty--alone in the evening, shut up in her own little room, her
-dulled thoughts waking up slowly till she started into the full
-consciousness of her position, like a person waking up in contact with
-something venomous--a snake, for instance--experiencing a mad impulse to
-fling the thing away and run off screaming to hide somewhere.
-
-At this period of her existence Flora de Barral used to write to Mrs.
-Fyne not regularly but fairly often.  I don't know how long she would
-have gone on "conversing" and, incidentally, helping to supervise the
-beautifully stocked linen closets of that well-to-do German household, if
-the man of it had not developed in the intervals of his avocations (he
-was a merchant and a thoroughly domesticated character) a psychological
-resemblance to the Bournemouth old lady.  It appeared that he, too,
-wanted to be loved.
-
-He was not, however, of a conquering temperament--a kiss-snatching, door-
-bursting type of libertine.  In the very act of straying from the path of
-virtue he remained a respectable merchant.  It would have been perhaps
-better for Flora if he had been a mere brute.  But he set about his
-sinister enterprise in a sentimental, cautious, almost paternal manner;
-and thought he would be safe with a pretty orphan.  The girl for all her
-experience was still too innocent, and indeed not yet sufficiently aware
-of herself as a woman, to mistrust these masked approaches.  She did not
-see them, in fact.  She thought him sympathetic--the first expressively
-sympathetic person she had ever met.  She was so innocent that she could
-not understand the fury of the German woman.  For, as you may imagine,
-the wifely penetration was not to be deceived for any great length of
-time--the more so that the wife was older than the husband.  The man with
-the peculiar cowardice of respectability never said a word in Flora's
-defence.  He stood by and heard her reviled in the most abusive terms,
-only nodding and frowning vaguely from time to time.  It will give you
-the idea of the girl's innocence when I say that at first she actually
-thought this storm of indignant reproaches was caused by the discovery of
-her real name and her relation to a convict.  She had been sent out under
-an assumed name--a highly recommended orphan of honourable parentage.  Her
-distress, her burning cheeks, her endeavours to express her regret for
-this deception were taken for a confession of guilt.  "You attempted to
-bring dishonour to my home," the German woman screamed at her.
-
-Here's a misunderstanding for you!  Flora de Barral, who felt the shame
-but did not believe in the guilt of her father, retorted fiercely,
-"Nevertheless I am as honourable as you are."  And then the German woman
-nearly went into a fit from rage.  "I shall have you thrown out into the
-street."
-
-Flora was not exactly thrown out into the street, I believe, but she was
-bundled bag and baggage on board a steamer for London.  Did I tell you
-these people lived in Hamburg?  Well yes--sent to the docks late on a
-rainy winter evening in charge of some sneering lackey or other who
-behaved to her insolently and left her on deck burning with indignation,
-her hair half down, shaking with excitement and, truth to say, scared as
-near as possible into hysterics.  If it had not been for the stewardess
-who, without asking questions, good soul, took charge of her quietly in
-the ladies' saloon (luckily it was empty) it is by no means certain she
-would ever have reached England.  I can't tell if a straw ever saved a
-drowning man, but I know that a mere glance is enough to make despair
-pause.  For in truth we who are creatures of impulse are not creatures of
-despair.  Suicide, I suspect, is very often the outcome of mere mental
-weariness--not an act of savage energy but the final symptom of complete
-collapse.  The quiet, matter-of-fact attentions of a ship's stewardess,
-who did not seem aware of other human agonies than sea-sickness, who
-talked of the probable weather of the passage--it would be a rough night,
-she thought--and who insisted in a professionally busy manner, "Let me
-make you comfortable down below at once, miss," as though she were
-thinking of nothing else but her tip--was enough to dissipate the shades
-of death gathering round the mortal weariness of bewildered thinking
-which makes the idea of non-existence welcome so often to the young.
-Flora de Barral did lie down, and it may be presumed she slept.  At any
-rate she survived the voyage across the North Sea and told Mrs. Fyne all
-about it, concealing nothing and receiving no rebuke--for Mrs. Fyne's
-opinions had a large freedom in their pedantry.  She held, I suppose,
-that a woman holds an absolute right--or possesses a perfect excuse--to
-escape in her own way from a man-mismanaged world.
-
-* * * * *
-
-What is to be noted is that even in London, having had time to take a
-reflective view, poor Flora was far from being certain as to the true
-inwardness of her violent dismissal.  She felt the humiliation of it with
-an almost maddened resentment.
-
-"And did you enlighten her on the point?" I ventured to ask.
-
-Mrs. Fyne moved her shoulders with a philosophical acceptance of all the
-necessities which ought not to be.  Something had to be said, she
-murmured.  She had told the girl enough to make her come to the right
-conclusion by herself.
-
-"And she did?"
-
-"Yes.  Of course.  She isn't a goose," retorted Mrs. Fyne tartly.
-
-"Then her education is completed," I remarked with some bitterness.
-"Don't you think she ought to be given a chance?"
-
-Mrs. Fyne understood my meaning.
-
-"Not this one," she snapped in a quite feminine way.  "It's all very well
-for you to plead, but I--"
-
-"I do not plead.  I simply asked.  It seemed natural to ask what you
-thought."
-
-"It's what I feel that matters.  And I can't help my feelings.  You may
-guess," she added in a softer tone, "that my feelings are mostly
-concerned with my brother.  We were very fond of each other.  The
-difference of our ages was not very great.  I suppose you know he is a
-little younger than I am.  He was a sensitive boy.  He had the habit of
-brooding.  It is no use concealing from you that neither of us was happy
-at home.  You have heard, no doubt . . . Yes?  Well, I was made still
-more unhappy and hurt--I don't mind telling you that.  He made his way to
-some distant relations of our mother's people who I believe were not
-known to my father at all.  I don't wish to judge their action."
-
-I interrupted Mrs. Fyne here.  I had heard.  Fyne was not very
-communicative in general, but he was proud of his father-in-law--"Carleon
-Anthony, the poet, you know."  Proud of his celebrity without approving
-of his character.  It was on that account, I strongly suspect, that he
-seized with avidity upon the theory of poetical genius being allied to
-madness, which he got hold of in some idiotic book everybody was reading
-a few years ago.  It struck him as being truth itself--illuminating like
-the sun.  He adopted it devoutly.  He bored me with it sometimes.  Once,
-just to shut him up, I asked quietly if this theory which he regarded as
-so incontrovertible did not cause him some uneasiness about his wife and
-the dear girls?  He transfixed me with a pitying stare and requested me
-in his deep solemn voice to remember the "well-established fact" that
-genius was not transmissible.
-
-I said only "Oh!  Isn't it?" and he thought he had silenced me by an
-unanswerable argument.  But he continued to talk of his glorious father-
-in-law, and it was in the course of that conversation that he told me
-how, when the Liverpool relations of the poet's late wife naturally
-addressed themselves to him in considerable concern, suggesting a
-friendly consultation as to the boy's future, the incensed (but always
-refined) poet wrote in answer a letter of mere polished _badinage_ which
-offended mortally the Liverpool people.  This witty outbreak of what was
-in fact mortification and rage appeared to them so heartless that they
-simply kept the boy.  They let him go to sea not because he was in their
-way but because he begged hard to be allowed to go.
-
-"Oh!  You do know," said Mrs. Fyne after a pause.  "Well--I felt myself
-very much abandoned.  Then his choice of life--so extraordinary, so
-unfortunate, I may say.  I was very much grieved.  I should have liked
-him to have been distinguished--or at any rate to remain in the social
-sphere where we could have had common interests, acquaintances, thoughts.
-Don't think that I am estranged from him.  But the precise truth is that
-I do not know him.  I was most painfully affected when he was here by the
-difficulty of finding a single topic we could discuss together."
-
-While Mrs. Fyne was talking of her brother I let my thoughts wander out
-of the room to little Fyne who by leaving me alone with his wife had, so
-to speak, entrusted his domestic peace to my honour.
-
-"Well, then, Mrs. Fyne, does it not strike you that it would be
-reasonable under the circumstances to let your brother take care of
-himself?"
-
-"And suppose I have grounds to think that he can't take care of himself
-in a given instance."  She hesitated in a funny, bashful manner which
-roused my interest.  Then:
-
-"Sailors I believe are very susceptible," she added with forced
-assurance.
-
-I burst into a laugh which only increased the coldness of her observing
-stare.
-
-"They are.  Immensely!  Hopelessly!  My dear Mrs. Fyne, you had better
-give it up!  It only makes your husband miserable."
-
-"And I am quite miserable too.  It is really our first difference . . . "
-
-"Regarding Miss de Barral?" I asked.
-
-"Regarding everything.  It's really intolerable that this girl should be
-the occasion.  I think he really ought to give way."
-
-She turned her chair round a little and picking up the book I had been
-reading in the morning began to turn the leaves absently.
-
-Her eyes being off me, I felt I could allow myself to leave the room.  Its
-atmosphere had become hopeless for little Fyne's domestic peace.  You may
-smile.  But to the solemn all things are solemn.  I had enough sagacity
-to understand that.
-
-I slipped out into the porch.  The dog was slumbering at Fyne's feet.  The
-muscular little man leaning on his elbow and gazing over the fields
-presented a forlorn figure.  He turned his head quickly, but seeing I was
-alone, relapsed into his moody contemplation of the green landscape.
-
-I said loudly and distinctly: "I've come out to smoke a cigarette," and
-sat down near him on the little bench.  Then lowering my voice:
-"Tolerance is an extremely difficult virtue," I said.  "More difficult
-for some than heroism.  More difficult than compassion."
-
-I avoided looking at him.  I knew well enough that he would not like this
-opening.  General ideas were not to his taste.  He mistrusted them.  I
-lighted a cigarette, not that I wanted to smoke, but to give another
-moment to the consideration of the advice--the diplomatic advice I had
-made up my mind to bowl him over with.  And I continued in subdued tones.
-
-"I have been led to make these remarks by what I have discovered since
-you left us.  I suspected from the first.  And now I am certain.  What
-your wife cannot tolerate in this affair is Miss de Barral being what she
-is."
-
-He made a movement, but I kept my eyes away from him and went on
-steadily.  "That is--her being a woman.  I have some idea of Mrs. Fyne's
-mental attitude towards society with its injustices, with its atrocious
-or ridiculous conventions.  As against them there is no audacity of
-action your wife's mind refuses to sanction.  The doctrine which I
-imagine she stuffs into the pretty heads of your girl-guests is almost
-vengeful.  A sort of moral fire-and-sword doctrine.  How far the lesson
-is wise is not for me to say.  I don't permit myself to judge.  I seem to
-see her very delightful disciples singeing themselves with the torches,
-and cutting their fingers with the swords of Mrs. Fyne's furnishing."
-
-"My wife holds her opinions very seriously," murmured Fyne suddenly.
-
-"Yes.  No doubt," I assented in a low voice as before.  "But it is a mere
-intellectual exercise.  What I see is that in dealing with reality Mrs.
-Fyne ceases to be tolerant.  In other words, that she can't forgive Miss
-de Barral for being a woman and behaving like a woman.  And yet this is
-not only reasonable and natural, but it is her only chance.  A woman
-against the world has no resources but in herself.  Her only means of
-action is to be what _she is_.  You understand what I mean."
-
-Fyne mumbled between his teeth that he understood.  But he did not seem
-interested.  What he expected of me was to extricate him from a difficult
-situation.  I don't know how far credible this may sound, to less solemn
-married couples, but to remain at variance with his wife seemed to him a
-considerable incident.  Almost a disaster.
-
-"It looks as though I didn't care what happened to her brother," he said.
-"And after all if anything . . . "
-
-I became a little impatient but without raising my tone:
-
-"What thing?" I asked.  "The liability to get penal servitude is so far
-like genius that it isn't hereditary.  And what else can be objected to
-the girl?  All the energy of her deeper feelings, which she would use up
-vainly in the danger and fatigue of a struggle with society may be turned
-into devoted attachment to the man who offers her a way of escape from
-what can be only a life of moral anguish.  I don't mention the physical
-difficulties."
-
-Glancing at Fyne out of the corner of one eye I discovered that he was
-attentive.  He made the remark that I should have said all this to his
-wife.  It was a sensible enough remark.  But I had given Mrs. Fyne up.  I
-asked him if his impression was that his wife meant to entrust him with a
-letter for her brother?
-
-No.  He didn't think so.  There were certain reasons which made Mrs. Fyne
-unwilling to commit her arguments to paper.  Fyne was to be primed with
-them.  But he had no doubt that if he persisted in his refusal she would
-make up her mind to write.
-
-"She does not wish me to go unless with a full conviction that she is
-right," said Fyne solemnly.
-
-"She's very exacting," I commented.  And then I reflected that she was
-used to it.  "Would nothing less do for once?"
-
-"You don't mean that I should give way--do you?" asked Fyne in a whisper
-of alarmed suspicion.
-
-As this was exactly what I meant, I let his fright sink into him.  He
-fidgeted.  If the word may be used of so solemn a personage, he wriggled.
-And when the horrid suspicion had descended into his very heels, so to
-speak, he became very still.  He sat gazing stonily into space bounded by
-the yellow, burnt-up slopes of the rising ground a couple of miles away.
-The face of the down showed the white scar of the quarry where not more
-than sixteen hours before Fyne and I had been groping in the dark with
-horrible apprehension of finding under our hands the shattered body of a
-girl.  For myself I had in addition the memory of my meeting with her.
-She was certainly walking very near the edge--courting a sinister
-solution.  But, now, having by the most unexpected chance come upon a
-man, she had found another way to escape from the world.  Such world as
-was open to her--without shelter, without bread, without honour.  The
-best she could have found in it would have been a precarious dole of pity
-diminishing as her years increased.  The appeal of the abandoned child
-Flora to the sympathies of the Fynes had been irresistible.  But now she
-had become a woman, and Mrs. Fyne was presenting an implacable front to a
-particularly feminine transaction.  I may say triumphantly feminine.  It
-is true that Mrs. Fyne did not want women to be women.  Her theory was
-that they should turn themselves into unscrupulous sexless nuisances.  An
-offended theorist dwelt in her bosom somewhere.  In what way she expected
-Flora de Barral to set about saving herself from a most miserable
-existence I can't conceive; but I verify believe that she would have
-found it easier to forgive the girl an actual crime; say the rifling of
-the Bournemouth old lady's desk, for instance.  And then--for Mrs. Fyne
-was very much of a woman herself--her sense of proprietorship was very
-strong within her; and though she had not much use for her brother, yet
-she did not like to see him annexed by another woman.  By a chit of a
-girl.  And such a girl, too.  Nothing is truer than that, in this world,
-the luckless have no right to their opportunities--as if misfortune were
-a legal disqualification.  Fyne's sentiments (as they naturally would be
-in a man) had more stability.  A good deal of his sympathy survived.
-Indeed I heard him murmur "Ghastly nuisance," but I knew it was of the
-integrity of his domestic accord that he was thinking.  With my eyes on
-the dog lying curled up in sleep in the middle of the porch I suggested
-in a subdued impersonal tone: "Yes.  Why not let yourself be persuaded?"
-
-I never saw little Fyne less solemn.  He hissed through his teeth in
-unexpectedly figurative style that it would take a lot to persuade him to
-"push under the head of a poor devil of a girl quite sufficiently
-plucky"--and snorted.  He was still gazing at the distant quarry, and I
-think he was affected by that sight.  I assured him that I was far from
-advising him to do anything so cruel.  I am convinced he had always
-doubted the soundness of my principles, because he turned on me swiftly
-as though he had been on the watch for a lapse from the straight path.
-
-"Then what do you mean?  That I should pretend!"
-
-"No!  What nonsense!  It would be immoral.  I may however tell you that
-if I had to make a choice I would rather do something immoral than
-something cruel.  What I meant was that, not believing in the efficacy of
-the interference, the whole question is reduced to your consenting to do
-what your wife wishes you to do.  That would be acting like a gentleman,
-surely.  And acting unselfishly too, because I can very well understand
-how distasteful it may be to you.  Generally speaking, an unselfish
-action is a moral action.  I'll tell you what.  I'll go with you."
-
-He turned round and stared at me with surprise and suspicion.  "You would
-go with me?" he repeated.
-
-"You don't understand," I said, amused at the incredulous disgust of his
-tone.  "I must run up to town, to-morrow morning.  Let us go together.
-You have a set of travelling chessmen."
-
-His physiognomy, contracted by a variety of emotions, relaxed to a
-certain extent at the idea of a game.  I told him that as I had business
-at the Docks he should have my company to the very ship.
-
-"We shall beguile the way to the wilds of the East by improving
-conversation," I encouraged him.
-
-"My brother-in-law is staying at an hotel--the Eastern Hotel," he said,
-becoming sombre again.  "I haven't the slightest idea where it is."
-
-"I know the place.  I shall leave you at the door with the comfortable
-conviction that you are doing what's right since it pleases a lady and
-cannot do any harm to anybody whatever."
-
-"You think so?  No harm to anybody?" he repeated doubtfully.
-
-"I assure you it's not the slightest use," I said with all possible
-emphasis which seemed only to increase the solemn discontent of his
-expression.
-
-"But in order that my going should be a perfectly candid proceeding I
-must first convince my wife that it isn't the slightest use," he objected
-portentously.
-
-"Oh, you casuist!" I said.  And I said nothing more because at that
-moment Mrs. Fyne stepped out into the porch.  We rose together at her
-appearance.  Her clear, colourless, unflinching glance enveloped us both
-critically.  I sustained the chill smilingly, but Fyne stooped at once to
-release the dog.  He was some time about it; then simultaneously with his
-recovery of upright position the animal passed at one bound from
-profoundest slumber into most tumultuous activity.  Enveloped in the
-tornado of his inane scurryings and barkings I took Mrs. Fyne's hand
-extended to me woodenly and bowed over it with deference.  She walked
-down the path without a word; Fyne had preceded her and was waiting by
-the open gate.  They passed out and walked up the road surrounded by a
-low cloud of dust raised by the dog gyrating madly about their two
-figures progressing side by side with rectitude and propriety, and (I
-don't know why) looking to me as if they had annexed the whole country-
-side.  Perhaps it was that they had impressed me somehow with the sense
-of their superiority.  What superiority?  Perhaps it consisted just in
-their limitations.  It was obvious that neither of them had carried away
-a high opinion of me.  But what affected me most was the indifference of
-the Fyne dog.  He used to precipitate himself at full speed and with a
-frightful final upward spring upon my waistcoat, at least once at each of
-our meetings.  He had neglected that ceremony this time notwithstanding
-my correct and even conventional conduct in offering him a cake; it
-seemed to me symbolic of my final separation from the Fyne household.  And
-I remembered against him how on a certain day he had abandoned poor Flora
-de Barral--who was morbidly sensitive.
-
-I sat down in the porch and, maybe inspired by secret antagonism to the
-Fynes, I said to myself deliberately that Captain Anthony must be a fine
-fellow.  Yet on the facts as I knew them he might have been a dangerous
-trifler or a downright scoundrel.  He had made a miserable, hopeless girl
-follow him clandestinely to London.  It is true that the girl had written
-since, only Mrs. Fyne had been remarkably vague as to the contents.  They
-were unsatisfactory.  They did not positively announce imminent nuptials
-as far as I could make it out from her rather mysterious hints.  But then
-her inexperience might have led her astray.  There was no fathoming the
-innocence of a woman like Mrs. Fyne who, venturing as far as possible in
-theory, would know nothing of the real aspect of things.  It would have
-been comic if she were making all this fuss for nothing.  But I rejected
-this suspicion for the honour of human nature.
-
-I imagined to myself Captain Anthony as simple and romantic.  It was much
-more pleasant.  Genius is not hereditary but temperament may be.  And he
-was the son of a poet with an admirable gift of individualising, of
-etherealizing the common-place; of making touching, delicate, fascinating
-the most hopeless conventions of the, so-called, refined existence.
-
-What I could not understand was Mrs. Fyne's dog-in-the-manger attitude.
-Sentimentally she needed that brother of hers so little!  What could it
-matter to her one way or another--setting aside common humanity which
-would suggest at least a neutral attitude.  Unless indeed it was the
-blind working of the law that in our world of chances the luckless _must_
-be put in the wrong somehow.
-
-And musing thus on the general inclination of our instincts towards
-injustice I met unexpectedly, at the turn of the road, as it were, a
-shape of duplicity.  It might have been unconscious on Mrs. Fyne's part,
-but her leading idea appeared to me to be not to keep, not to preserve
-her brother, but to get rid of him definitely.  She did not hope to stop
-anything.  She had too much sense for that.  Almost anyone out of an
-idiot asylum would have had enough sense for that.  She wanted the
-protest to be made, emphatically, with Fyne's fullest concurrence in
-order to make all intercourse for the future impossible.  Such an action
-would estrange the pair for ever from the Fynes.  She understood her
-brother and the girl too.  Happy together, they would never forgive that
-outspoken hostility--and should the marriage turn out badly . . . Well,
-it would be just the same.  Neither of them would be likely to bring
-their troubles to such a good prophet of evil.
-
-Yes.  That must have been her motive.  The inspiration of a possibly
-unconscious Machiavellism!  Either she was afraid of having a sister-in-
-law to look after during the husband's long absences; or dreaded the more
-or less distant eventuality of her brother being persuaded to leave the
-sea, the friendly refuge of his unhappy youth, and to settle on shore,
-bringing to her very door this undesirable, this embarrassing connection.
-She wanted to be done with it--maybe simply from the fatigue of
-continuous effort in good or evil, which, in the bulk of common mortals,
-accounts for so many surprising inconsistencies of conduct.
-
-I don't know that I had classed Mrs. Fyne, in my thoughts, amongst common
-mortals.  She was too quietly sure of herself for that.  But little Fyne,
-as I spied him next morning (out of the carriage window) speeding along
-the platform, looked very much like a common, flustered mortal who has
-made a very near thing of catching his train: the starting wild eyes, the
-tense and excited face, the distracted gait, all the common symptoms were
-there, rendered more impressive by his native solemnity which flapped
-about him like a disordered garment.  Had he--I asked myself with
-interest--resisted his wife to the very last minute and then bolted up
-the road from the last conclusive argument, as though it had been a
-loaded gun suddenly produced?  I opened the carriage door, and a vigorous
-porter shoved him in from behind just as the end of the rustic platform
-went gliding swiftly from under his feet.  He was very much out of
-breath, and I waited with some curiosity for the moment he would recover
-his power of speech.  That moment came.  He said "Good morning" with a
-slight gasp, remained very still for another minute and then pulled out
-of his pocket the travelling chessboard, and holding it in his hand,
-directed at me a glance of inquiry.
-
-"Yes.  Certainly," I said, very much disappointed.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER SEVEN--ON THE PAVEMENT
-
-
-Fyne was not willing to talk; but as I had been already let into the
-secret, the fair-minded little man recognized that I had some right to
-information if I insisted on it.  And I did insist, after the third game.
-We were yet some way from the end of our journey.
-
-"Oh, if you want to know," was his somewhat impatient opening.  And then
-he talked rather volubly.  First of all his wife had not given him to
-read the letter received from Flora (I had suspected him of having it in
-his pocket), but had told him all about the contents.  It was not at all
-what it should have been even if the girl had wished to affirm her right
-to disregard the feelings of all the world.  Her own had been trampled in
-the dirt out of all shape.  Extraordinary thing to say--I would admit,
-for a young girl of her age.  The whole tone of that letter was wrong,
-quite wrong.  It was certainly not the product of a--say, of a
-well-balanced mind.
-
-"If she were given some sort of footing in this world," I said, "if only
-no bigger than the palm of my hand, she would probably learn to keep a
-better balance."
-
-Fyne ignored this little remark.  His wife, he said, was not the sort of
-person to be addressed mockingly on a serious subject.  There was an
-unpleasant strain of levity in that letter, extending even to the
-references to Captain Anthony himself.  Such a disposition was enough,
-his wife had pointed out to him, to alarm one for the future, had all the
-circumstances of that preposterous project been as satisfactory as in
-fact they were not.  Other parts of the letter seemed to have a
-challenging tone--as if daring them (the Fynes) to approve her conduct.
-And at the same time implying that she did not care, that it was for
-their own sakes that she hoped they would "go against the world--the
-horrid world which had crushed poor papa."
-
-Fyne called upon me to admit that this was pretty cool--considering.  And
-there was another thing, too.  It seems that for the last six months (she
-had been assisting two ladies who kept a kindergarten school in
-Bayswater--a mere pittance), Flora had insisted on devoting all her spare
-time to the study of the trial.  She had been looking up files of old
-newspapers, and working herself up into a state of indignation with what
-she called the injustice and the hypocrisy of the prosecution.  Her
-father, Fyne reminded me, had made some palpable hits in his answers in
-Court, and she had fastened on them triumphantly.  She had reached the
-conclusion of her father's innocence, and had been brooding over it.  Mrs.
-Fyne had pointed out to him the danger of this.
-
-The train ran into the station and Fyne, jumping out directly it came to
-a standstill, seemed glad to cut short the conversation.  We walked in
-silence a little way, boarded a bus, then walked again.  I don't suppose
-that since the days of his childhood, when surely he was taken to see the
-Tower, he had been once east of Temple Bar.  He looked about him
-sullenly; and when I pointed out in the distance the rounded front of the
-Eastern Hotel at the bifurcation of two very broad, mean, shabby
-thoroughfares, rising like a grey stucco tower above the lowly roofs of
-the dirty-yellow, two-storey houses, he only grunted disapprovingly.
-
-"I wouldn't lay too much stress on what you have been telling me," I
-observed quietly as we approached that unattractive building.  "No man
-will believe a girl who has just accepted his suit to be not well
-balanced,--you know."
-
-"Oh!  Accepted his suit," muttered Fyne, who seemed to have been very
-thoroughly convinced indeed.  "It may have been the other way about."  And
-then he added: "I am going through with it."
-
-I said that this was very praiseworthy but that a certain moderation of
-statement . . . He waved his hand at me and mended his pace.  I guessed
-that he was anxious to get his mission over as quickly as possible.  He
-barely gave himself time to shake hands with me and made a rush at the
-narrow glass door with the words Hotel Entrance on it.  It swung to
-behind his back with no more noise than the snap of a toothless jaw.
-
-The absurd temptation to remain and see what would come of it got over my
-better judgment.  I hung about irresolute, wondering how long an embassy
-of that sort would take, and whether Fyne on coming out would consent to
-be communicative.  I feared he would be shocked at finding me there,
-would consider my conduct incorrect, conceivably treat me with contempt.
-I walked off a few paces.  Perhaps it would be possible to read something
-on Fyne's face as he came out; and, if necessary, I could always eclipse
-myself discreetly through the door of one of the bars.  The ground floor
-of the Eastern Hotel was an unabashed pub, with plate-glass fronts, a
-display of brass rails, and divided into many compartments each having
-its own entrance.
-
-But of course all this was silly.  The marriage, the love, the affairs of
-Captain Anthony were none of my business.  I was on the point of moving
-down the street for good when my attention was attracted by a girl
-approaching the hotel entrance from the west.  She was dressed very
-modestly in black.  It was the white straw hat of a good form and trimmed
-with a bunch of pale roses which had caught my eye.  The whole figure
-seemed familiar.  Of course!  Flora de Barral.  She was making for the
-hotel, she was going in.  And Fyne was with Captain Anthony!  To meet him
-could not be pleasant for her.  I wished to save her from the
-awkwardness, and as I hesitated what to do she looked up and our eyes
-happened to meet just as she was turning off the pavement into the hotel
-doorway.  Instinctively I extended my arm.  It was enough to make her
-stop.  I suppose she had some faint notion that she had seen me before
-somewhere.  She walked slowly forward, prudent and attentive, watching my
-faint smile.
-
-"Excuse me," I said directly she had approached me near enough.  "Perhaps
-you would like to know that Mr. Fyne is upstairs with Captain Anthony at
-this moment."
-
-She uttered a faint "Ah!  Mr. Fyne!"  I could read in her eyes that she
-had recognized me now.  Her serious expression extinguished the imbecile
-grin of which I was conscious.  I raised my hat.  She responded with a
-slow inclination of the head while her luminous, mistrustful, maiden's
-glance seemed to whisper, "What is this one doing here?"
-
-"I came up to town with Fyne this morning," I said in a businesslike
-tone.  "I have to see a friend in East India Dock.  Fyne and I parted
-this moment at the door here . . . "   The girl regarded me with
-darkening eyes . . . "Mrs. Fyne did not come with her husband," I went
-on, then hesitated before that white face so still in the pearly shadow
-thrown down by the hat-brim.  "But she sent him," I murmured by way of
-warning.
-
-Her eyelids fluttered slowly over the fixed stare.  I imagine she was not
-much disconcerted by this development.  "I live a long way from here,"
-she whispered.
-
-I said perfunctorily, "Do you?"  And we remained gazing at each other.
-The uniform paleness of her complexion was not that of an anaemic girl.
-It had a transparent vitality and at that particular moment the faintest
-possible rosy tinge, the merest suspicion of colour; an equivalent, I
-suppose, in any other girl to blushing like a peony while she told me
-that Captain Anthony had arranged to show her the ship that morning.
-
-It was easy to understand that she did not want to meet Fyne.  And when I
-mentioned in a discreet murmur that he had come because of her letter she
-glanced at the hotel door quickly, and moved off a few steps to a
-position where she could watch the entrance without being seen.  I
-followed her.  At the junction of the two thoroughfares she stopped in
-the thin traffic of the broad pavement and turned to me with an air of
-challenge.  "And so you know."
-
-I told her that I had not seen the letter.  I had only heard of it.  She
-was a little impatient.  "I mean all about me."
-
-Yes.  I knew all about her.  The distress of Mr. and Mrs. Fyne--especially
-of Mrs. Fyne--was so great that they would have shared it with anybody
-almost--not belonging to their circle of friends.  I happened to be at
-hand--that was all.
-
-"You understand that I am not their friend.  I am only a holiday
-acquaintance."
-
-"She was not very much upset?" queried Flora de Barral, meaning, of
-course, Mrs. Fyne.  And I admitted that she was less so than her
-husband--and even less than myself.  Mrs. Fyne was a very self-possessed
-person which nothing could startle out of her extreme theoretical
-position.  She did not seem startled when Fyne and I proposed going to
-the quarry.
-
-"You put that notion into their heads," the girl said.
-
-I advanced that the notion was in their heads already.  But it was much
-more vividly in my head since I had seen her up there with my own eyes,
-tempting Providence.
-
-She was looking at me with extreme attention, and murmured:
-
-"Is that what you called it to them?  Tempting . . . "
-
-"No.  I told them that you were making up your mind and I came along just
-then.  I told them that you were saved by me.  My shout checked you . . .
-"  She moved her head gently from right to left in negation . . . "No?
-Well, have it your own way."
-
-I thought to myself: She has found another issue.  She wants to forget
-now.  And no wonder.  She wants to persuade herself that she had never
-known such an ugly and poignant minute in her life.  "After all," I
-conceded aloud, "things are not always what they seem."
-
-Her little head with its deep blue eyes, eyes of tenderness and anger
-under the black arch of fine eyebrows was very still.  The mouth looked
-very red in the white face peeping from under the veil, the little
-pointed chin had in its form something aggressive.  Slight and even
-angular in her modest black dress she was an appealing and--yes--she was
-a desirable little figure.
-
-Her lips moved very fast asking me:
-
-"And they believed you at once?"
-
-"Yes, they believed me at once.  Mrs. Fyne's word to us was "Go!"
-
-A white gleam between the red lips was so short that I remained uncertain
-whether it was a smile or a ferocious baring of little even teeth.  The
-rest of the face preserved its innocent, tense and enigmatical
-expression.  She spoke rapidly.
-
-"No, it wasn't your shout.  I had been there some time before you saw me.
-And I was not there to tempt Providence, as you call it.  I went up there
-for--for what you thought I was going to do.  Yes.  I climbed two fences.
-I did not mean to leave anything to Providence.  There seem to be people
-for whom Providence can do nothing.  I suppose you are shocked to hear me
-talk like that?"
-
-I shook my head.  I was not shocked.  What had kept her back all that
-time, till I appeared on the scene below, she went on, was neither fear
-nor any other kind of hesitation.  One reaches a point, she said with
-appalling youthful simplicity, where nothing that concerns one matters
-any longer.  But something did keep her back.  I should have never
-guessed what it was.  She herself confessed that it seemed absurd to say.
-It was the Fyne dog.
-
-Flora de Barral paused, looking at me, with a peculiar expression and
-then went on.  You see, she imagined the dog had become extremely
-attached to her.  She took it into her head that he might fall over or
-jump down after her.  She tried to drive him away.  She spoke sternly to
-him.  It only made him more frisky.  He barked and jumped about her skirt
-in his usual, idiotic, high spirits.  He scampered away in circles
-between the pines charging upon her and leaping as high as her waist.  She
-commanded, "Go away.  Go home."  She even picked up from the ground a bit
-of a broken branch and threw it at him.  At this his delight knew no
-bounds; his rushes became faster, his yapping louder; he seemed to be
-having the time of his life.  She was convinced that the moment she threw
-herself down he would spring over after her as if it were part of the
-game.  She was vexed almost to tears.  She was touched too.  And when he
-stood still at some distance as if suddenly rooted to the ground wagging
-his tail slowly and watching her intensely with his shining eyes another
-fear came to her.  She imagined herself gone and the creature sitting on
-the brink, its head thrown up to the sky and howling for hours.  This
-thought was not to be borne.  Then my shout reached her ears.
-
-She told me all this with simplicity.  My voice had destroyed her
-poise--the suicide poise of her mind.  Every act of ours, the most
-criminal, the most mad presupposes a balance of thought, feeling and
-will, like a correct attitude for an effective stroke in a game.  And I
-had destroyed it.  She was no longer in proper form for the act.  She was
-not very much annoyed.  Next day would do.  She would have to slip away
-without attracting the notice of the dog.  She thought of the necessity
-almost tenderly.  She came down the path carrying her despair with lucid
-calmness.  But when she saw herself deserted by the dog, she had an
-impulse to turn round, go up again and be done with it.  Not even that
-animal cared for her--in the end.
-
-"I really did think that he was attached to me.  What did he want to
-pretend for, like this?  I thought nothing could hurt me any more.  Oh
-yes.  I would have gone up, but I felt suddenly so tired.  So tired.  And
-then you were there.  I didn't know what you would do.  You might have
-tried to follow me and I didn't think I could run--not up hill--not
-then."
-
-She had raised her white face a little, and it was queer to hear her say
-these things.  At that time of the morning there are comparatively few
-people out in that part of the town.  The broad interminable perspective
-of the East India Dock Road, the great perspective of drab brick walls,
-of grey pavement, of muddy roadway rumbling dismally with loaded carts
-and vans lost itself in the distance, imposing and shabby in its spacious
-meanness of aspect, in its immeasurable poverty of forms, of colouring,
-of life--under a harsh, unconcerned sky dried by the wind to a clear
-blue.  It had been raining during the night.  The sunshine itself seemed
-poor.  From time to time a few bits of paper, a little dust and straw
-whirled past us on the broad flat promontory of the pavement before the
-rounded front of the hotel.
-
-Flora de Barral was silent for a while.  I said:
-
-"And next day you thought better of it."
-
-Again she raised her eyes to mine with that peculiar expression of
-informed innocence; and again her white cheeks took on the faintest tinge
-of pink--the merest shadow of a blush.
-
-"Next day," she uttered distinctly, "I didn't think.  I remembered.  That
-was enough.  I remembered what I should never have forgotten.  Never.  And
-Captain Anthony arrived at the cottage in the evening."
-
-"Ah yes.  Captain Anthony," I murmured.  And she repeated also in a
-murmur, "Yes!  Captain Anthony."  The faint flush of warm life left her
-face.  I subdued my voice still more and not looking at her: "You found
-him sympathetic?" I ventured.
-
-Her long dark lashes went down a little with an air of calculated
-discretion.  At least so it seemed to me.  And yet no one could say that
-I was inimical to that girl.  But there you are!  Explain it as you may,
-in this world the friendless, like the poor, are always a little suspect,
-as if honesty and delicacy were only possible to the privileged few.
-
-"Why do you ask?" she said after a time, raising her eyes suddenly to
-mine in an effect of candour which on the same principle (of the
-disinherited not being to be trusted) might have been judged equivocal.
-
-"If you mean what right I have . . . "  She move slightly a hand in a
-worn brown glove as much as to say she could not question anyone's right
-against such an outcast as herself.
-
-I ought to have been moved perhaps; but I only noted the total absence of
-humility . . . "No right at all," I continued, "but just interest.  Mrs.
-Fyne--it's too difficult to explain how it came about--has talked to me
-of you--well--extensively."
-
-No doubt Mrs. Fyne had told me the truth, Flora said brusquely with an
-unexpected hoarseness of tone.  This very dress she was wearing had been
-given her by Mrs. Fyne.  Of course I looked at it.  It could not have
-been a recent gift.  Close-fitting and black, with heliotrope silk
-facings under a figured net, it looked far from new, just on this side of
-shabbiness; in fact, it accentuated the slightness of her figure, it went
-well in its suggestion of half mourning with the white face in which the
-unsmiling red lips alone seemed warm with the rich blood of life and
-passion.
-
-Little Fyne was staying up there an unconscionable time.  Was he arguing,
-preaching, remonstrating?  Had he discovered in himself a capacity and a
-taste for that sort of thing?  Or was he perhaps, in an intense dislike
-for the job, beating about the bush and only puzzling Captain Anthony,
-the providential man, who, if he expected the girl to appear at any
-moment, must have been on tenterhooks all the time, and beside himself
-with impatience to see the back of his brother-in-law.  How was it that
-he had not got rid of Fyne long before in any case?  I don't mean by
-actually throwing him out of the window, but in some other resolute
-manner.
-
-Surely Fyne had not impressed him.  That he was an impressionable man I
-could not doubt.  The presence of the girl there on the pavement before
-me proved this up to the hilt--and, well, yes, touchingly enough.
-
-It so happened that in their wanderings to and fro our glances met.  They
-met and remained in contact more familiar than a hand-clasp, more
-communicative, more expressive.  There was something comic too in the
-whole situation, in the poor girl and myself waiting together on the
-broad pavement at a corner public-house for the issue of Fyne's
-ridiculous mission.  But the comic when it is human becomes quickly
-painful.  Yes, she was infinitely anxious.  And I was asking myself
-whether this poignant tension of her suspense depended--to put it
-plainly--on hunger or love.
-
-The answer would have been of some interest to Captain Anthony.  For my
-part, in the presence of a young girl I always become convinced that the
-dreams of sentiment--like the consoling mysteries of Faith--are
-invincible; that it is never never reason which governs men and women.
-
-Yet what sentiment could there have been on her part?  I remembered her
-tone only a moment since when she said: "That evening Captain Anthony
-arrived at the cottage."  And considering, too, what the arrival of
-Captain Anthony meant in this connection, I wondered at the calmness with
-which she could mention that fact.  He arrived at the cottage.  In the
-evening.  I knew that late train.  He probably walked from the station.
-The evening would be well advanced.  I could almost see a dark indistinct
-figure opening the wicket gate of the garden.  Where was she?  Did she
-see him enter?  Was she somewhere near by and did she hear without the
-slightest premonition his chance and fateful footsteps on the flagged
-path leading to the cottage door?  In the shadow of the night made more
-cruelly sombre for her by the very shadow of death he must have appeared
-too strange, too remote, too unknown to impress himself on her thought as
-a living force--such a force as a man can bring to bear on a woman's
-destiny.
-
-She glanced towards the hotel door again; I followed suit and then our
-eyes met once more, this time intentionally.  A tentative, uncertain
-intimacy was springing up between us two.  She said simply: "You are
-waiting for Mr. Fyne to come out; are you?"
-
-I admitted to her that I was waiting to see Mr. Fyne come out.  That was
-all.  I had nothing to say to him.
-
-"I have said yesterday all I had to say to him," I added meaningly.  "I
-have said it to them both, in fact.  I have also heard all they had to
-say."
-
-"About me?" she murmured.
-
-"Yes.  The conversation was about you."
-
-"I wonder if they told you everything."
-
-If she wondered I could do nothing else but wonder too.  But I did not
-tell her that.  I only smiled.  The material point was that Captain
-Anthony should be told everything.  But as to that I was very certain
-that the good sister would see to it.  Was there anything more to
-disclose--some other misery, some other deception of which that girl had
-been a victim?  It seemed hardly probable.  It was not even easy to
-imagine.  What struck me most was her--I suppose I must call
-it--composure.  One could not tell whether she understood what she had
-done.  One wondered.  She was not so much unreadable as blank; and I did
-not know whether to admire her for it or dismiss her from my thoughts as
-a passive butt of ferocious misfortune.
-
-Looking back at the occasion when we first got on speaking terms on the
-road by the quarry, I had to admit that she presented some points of a
-problematic appearance.  I don't know why I imagined Captain Anthony as
-the sort of man who would not be likely to take the initiative; not
-perhaps from indifference but from that peculiar timidity before women
-which often enough is found in conjunction with chivalrous instincts,
-with a great need for affection and great stability of feelings.  Such
-men are easily moved.  At the least encouragement they go forward with
-the eagerness, with the recklessness of starvation.  This accounted for
-the suddenness of the affair.  No!  With all her inexperience this girl
-could not have found any great difficulty in her conquering enterprise.
-She must have begun it.  And yet there she was, patient, almost unmoved,
-almost pitiful, waiting outside like a beggar, without a right to
-anything but compassion, for a promised dole.
-
-Every moment people were passing close by us, singly, in two and threes;
-the inhabitants of that end of the town where life goes on unadorned by
-grace or splendour; they passed us in their shabby garments, with sallow
-faces, haggard, anxious or weary, or simply without expression, in an
-unsmiling sombre stream not made up of lives but of mere unconsidered
-existences whose joys, struggles, thoughts, sorrows and their very hopes
-were miserable, glamourless, and of no account in the world.  And when
-one thought of their reality to themselves one's heart became oppressed.
-But of all the individuals who passed by none appeared to me for the
-moment so pathetic in unconscious patience as the girl standing before
-me; none more difficult to understand.  It is perhaps because I was
-thinking of things which I could not ask her about.
-
-In fact we had nothing to say to each other; but we two, strangers as we
-really were to each other, had dealt with the most intimate and final of
-subjects, the subject of death.  It had created a sort of bond between
-us.  It made our silence weighty and uneasy.  I ought to have left her
-there and then; but, as I think I've told you before, the fact of having
-shouted her away from the edge of a precipice seemed somehow to have
-engaged my responsibility as to this other leap.  And so we had still an
-intimate subject between us to lend more weight and more uneasiness to
-our silence.  The subject of marriage.  I use the word not so much in
-reference to the ceremony itself (I had no doubt of this, Captain Anthony
-being a decent fellow) or in view of the social institution in general,
-as to which I have no opinion, but in regard to the human relation.  The
-first two views are not particularly interesting.  The ceremony, I
-suppose, is adequate; the institution, I dare say, is useful or it would
-not have endured.  But the human relation thus recognized is a mysterious
-thing in its origins, character and consequences.  Unfortunately you
-can't buttonhole familiarly a young girl as you would a young fellow.  I
-don't think that even another woman could really do it.  She would not be
-trusted.  There is not between women that fund of at least conditional
-loyalty which men may depend on in their dealings with each other.  I
-believe that any woman would rather trust a man.  The difficulty in such
-a delicate case was how to get on terms.
-
-So we held our peace in the odious uproar of that wide roadway thronged
-with heavy carts.  Great vans carrying enormous piled-up loads advanced
-swaying like mountains.  It was as if the whole world existed only for
-selling and buying and those who had nothing to do with the movement of
-merchandise were of no account.
-
-"You must be tired," I said.  One had to say something if only to assert
-oneself against that wearisome, passionless and crushing uproar.  She
-raised her eyes for a moment.  No, she was not.  Not very.  She had not
-walked all the way.  She came by train as far as Whitechapel Station and
-had only walked from there.
-
-She had had an ugly pilgrimage; but whether of love or of necessity who
-could tell?  And that precisely was what I should have liked to get at.
-This was not however a question to be asked point-blank, and I could not
-think of any effective circumlocution.  It occurred to me too that she
-might conceivably know nothing of it herself--I mean by reflection.  That
-young woman had been obviously considering death.  She had gone the
-length of forming some conception of it.  But as to its companion
-fatality--love, she, I was certain, had never reflected upon its meaning.
-
-With that man in the hotel, whom I did not know, and this girl standing
-before me in the street I felt that it was an exceptional case.  He had
-broken away from his surroundings; she stood outside the pale.  One
-aspect of conventions which people who declaim against them lose sight of
-is that conventions make both joy and suffering easier to bear in a
-becoming manner.  But those two were outside all conventions.  They would
-be as untrammelled in a sense as the first man and the first woman.  The
-trouble was that I could not imagine anything about Flora de Barral and
-the brother of Mrs. Fyne.  Or, if you like, I could imagine _anything_
-which comes practically to the same thing.  Darkness and chaos are first
-cousins.  I should have liked to ask the girl for a word which would give
-my imagination its line.  But how was one to venture so far?  I can be
-rough sometimes but I am not naturally impertinent.  I would have liked
-to ask her for instance: "Do you know what you have done with yourself?"
-A question like that.  Anyhow it was time for one of us to say something.
-A question it must be.  And the question I asked was: "So he's going to
-show you the ship?"
-
-She seemed glad I had spoken at last and glad of the opportunity to speak
-herself.
-
-"Yes.  He said he would--this morning.  Did you say you did not know
-Captain Anthony?"
-
-"No.  I don't know him.  Is he anything like his sister?"
-
-She looked startled and murmured "Sister!" in a puzzled tone which
-astonished me.  "Oh!  Mrs. Fyne," she exclaimed, recollecting herself,
-and avoiding my eyes while I looked at her curiously.
-
-What an extraordinary detachment!  And all the time the stream of shabby
-people was hastening by us, with the continuous dreary shuffling of weary
-footsteps on the flagstones.  The sunshine falling on the grime of
-surfaces, on the poverty of tones and forms seemed of an inferior
-quality, its joy faded, its brilliance tarnished and dusty.  I had to
-raise my voice in the dull vibrating noise of the roadway.
-
-"You don't mean to say you have forgotten the connection?"
-
-She cried readily enough: "I wasn't thinking."  And then, while I
-wondered what could have been the images occupying her brain at this
-time, she asked me: "You didn't see my letter to Mrs. Fyne--did you?"
-
-"No.  I didn't," I shouted.  Just then the racket was distracting, a pair-
-horse trolly lightly loaded with loose rods of iron passing slowly very
-near us.  "I wasn't trusted so far."  And remembering Mrs. Fyne's hints
-that the girl was unbalanced, I added: "Was it an unreserved confession
-you wrote?"
-
-She did not answer me for a time, and as I waited I thought that there's
-nothing like a confession to make one look mad; and that of all
-confessions a written one is the most detrimental all round.  Never
-confess!  Never, never!  An untimely joke is a source of bitter regret
-always.  Sometimes it may ruin a man; not because it is a joke, but
-because it is untimely.  And a confession of whatever sort is always
-untimely.  The only thing which makes it supportable for a while is
-curiosity.  You smile?  Ah, but it is so, or else people would be sent to
-the rightabout at the second sentence.  How many sympathetic souls can
-you reckon on in the world?  One in ten, one in a hundred--in a
-thousand--in ten thousand?  Ah!  What a sell these confessions are!  What
-a horrible sell!  You seek sympathy, and all you get is the most
-evanescent sense of relief--if you get that much.  For a confession,
-whatever it may be, stirs the secret depths of the hearer's character.
-Often depths that he himself is but dimly aware of.  And so the righteous
-triumph secretly, the lucky are amused, the strong are disgusted, the
-weak either upset or irritated with you according to the measure of their
-sincerity with themselves.  And all of them in their hearts brand you for
-either mad or impudent . . . "
-
-I had seldom seen Marlow so vehement, so pessimistic, so earnestly
-cynical before.  I cut his declamation short by asking what answer Flora
-de Barral had given to his question.  "Did the poor girl admit firing off
-her confidences at Mrs. Fyne--eight pages of close writing--that sort of
-thing?"
-
-Marlow shook his head.
-
-"She did not tell me.  I accepted her silence, as a kind of answer and
-remarked that it would have been better if she had simply announced the
-fact to Mrs. Fyne at the cottage.  "Why didn't you do it?" I asked point-
-blank.
-
-She said: "I am not a very plucky girl."  She looked up at me and added
-meaningly: "And _you_ know it.  And you know why."
-
-I must remark that she seemed to have become very subdued since our first
-meeting at the quarry.  Almost a different person from the defiant, angry
-and despairing girl with quivering lips and resentful glances.
-
-"I thought it was very sensible of you to get away from that sheer drop,"
-I said.
-
-She looked up with something of that old expression.
-
-"That's not what I mean.  I see you will have it that you saved my life.
-Nothing of the kind.  I was concerned for that vile little beast of a
-dog.  No!  It was the idea of--of doing away with myself which was
-cowardly.  That's what I meant by saying I am not a very plucky girl."
-
-"Oh!" I retorted airily.  "That little dog.  He isn't really a bad little
-dog."  But she lowered her eyelids and went on:
-
-"I was so miserable that I could think only of myself.  This was mean.  It
-was cruel too.  And besides I had _not_ given it up--not then."
-
-* * * * *
-
-Marlow changed his tone.
-
-"I don't know much of the psychology of self-destruction.  It's a sort of
-subject one has few opportunities to study closely.  I knew a man once
-who came to my rooms one evening, and while smoking a cigar confessed to
-me moodily that he was trying to discover some graceful way of retiring
-out of existence.  I didn't study his case, but I had a glimpse of him
-the other day at a cricket match, with some women, having a good time.
-That seems a fairly reasonable attitude.  Considered as a sin, it is a
-case for repentance before the throne of a merciful God.  But I imagine
-that Flora de Barral's religion under the care of the distinguished
-governess could have been nothing but outward formality.  Remorse in the
-sense of gnawing shame and unavailing regret is only understandable to me
-when some wrong had been done to a fellow-creature.  But why she, that
-girl who existed on sufferance, so to speak--why she should writhe
-inwardly with remorse because she had once thought of getting rid of a
-life which was nothing in every respect but a curse--that I could not
-understand.  I thought it was very likely some obscure influence of
-common forms of speech, some traditional or inherited feeling--a vague
-notion that suicide is a legal crime; words of old moralists and
-preachers which remain in the air and help to form all the authorized
-moral conventions.  Yes, I was surprised at her remorse.  But lowering
-her glance unexpectedly till her dark eye-lashes seemed to rest against
-her white cheeks she presented a perfectly demure aspect.  It was so
-attractive that I could not help a faint smile.  That Flora de Barral
-should ever, in any aspect, have the power to evoke a smile was the very
-last thing I should have believed.  She went on after a slight
-hesitation:
-
-"One day I started for there, for that place."
-
-Look at the influence of a mere play of physiognomy!  If you remember
-what we were talking about you will hardly believe that I caught myself
-grinning down at that demure little girl.  I must say too that I felt
-more friendly to her at the moment than ever before.
-
-"Oh, you did?  To take that jump?  You are a determined young person.
-Well, what happened that time?"
-
-An almost imperceptible alteration in her bearing; a slight droop of her
-head perhaps--a mere nothing--made her look more demure than ever.
-
-"I had left the cottage," she began a little hurriedly.  "I was walking
-along the road--you know, _the_ road.  I had made up my mind I was not
-coming back this time."
-
-I won't deny that these words spoken from under the brim of her hat (oh
-yes, certainly, her head was down--she had put it down) gave me a thrill;
-for indeed I had never doubted her sincerity.  It could never have been a
-make-believe despair.
-
-"Yes," I whispered.  "You were going along the road."
-
-"When . . . "  Again she hesitated with an effect of innocent shyness
-worlds asunder from tragic issues; then glided on . . . "When suddenly
-Captain Anthony came through a gate out of a field."
-
-I coughed down the beginning of a most improper fit of laughter, and felt
-ashamed of myself.  Her eyes raised for a moment seemed full of innocent
-suffering and unexpressed menace in the depths of the dilated pupils
-within the rings of sombre blue.  It was--how shall I say it?--a night
-effect when you seem to see vague shapes and don't know what reality you
-may come upon at any time.  Then she lowered her eyelids again, shutting
-all mysteriousness out of the situation except for the sobering memory of
-that glance, nightlike in the sunshine, expressively still in the brutal
-unrest of the street.
-
-"So Captain Anthony joined you--did he?"
-
-"He opened a field-gate and walked out on the road.  He crossed to my
-side and went on with me.  He had his pipe in his hand.  He said: 'Are
-you going far this morning?'"
-
-These words (I was watching her white face as she spoke) gave me a slight
-shudder.  She remained demure, almost prim.  And I remarked:
-
-"You have been talking together before, of course."
-
-"Not more than twenty words altogether since he arrived," she declared
-without emphasis.  "That day he had said 'Good morning' to me when we met
-at breakfast two hours before.  And I said good morning to him.  I did
-not see him afterwards till he came out on the road."
-
-I thought to myself that this was not accidental.  He had been observing
-her.  I felt certain also that he had not been asking any questions of
-Mrs. Fyne.
-
-"I wouldn't look at him," said Flora de Barral.  "I had done with looking
-at people.  He said to me: 'My sister does not put herself out much for
-us.  We had better keep each other company.  I have read every book there
-is in that cottage.'  I walked on.  He did not leave me.  I thought he
-ought to.  But he didn't.  He didn't seem to notice that I would not talk
-to him."
-
-She was now perfectly still.  The wretched little parasol hung down
-against her dress from her joined hands.  I was rigid with attention.  It
-isn't every day that one culls such a volunteered tale on a girl's lips.
-The ugly street-noises swelling up for a moment covered the next few
-words she said.  It was vexing.  The next word I heard was "worried."
-
-"It worried you to have him there, walking by your side."
-
-"Yes.  Just that," she went on with downcast eyes.  There was something
-prettily comical in her attitude and her tone, while I pictured to myself
-a poor white-faced girl walking to her death with an unconscious man
-striding by her side.  Unconscious?  I don't know.  First of all, I felt
-certain that this was no chance meeting.  Something had happened before.
-Was he a man for a _coup-de-foudre_, the lightning stroke of love?  I
-don't think so.  That sort of susceptibility is luckily rare.  A world of
-inflammable lovers of the Romeo and Juliet type would very soon end in
-barbarism and misery.  But it is a fact that in every man (not in every
-woman) there lives a lover; a lover who is called out in all his
-potentialities often by the most insignificant little things--as long as
-they come at the psychological moment: the glimpse of a face at an
-unusual angle, an evanescent attitude, the curve of a cheek often looked
-at before, perhaps, but then, at the moment, charged with astonishing
-significance.  These are great mysteries, of course.  Magic signs.
-
-I don't know in what the sign consisted in this case.  It might have been
-her pallor (it wasn't pasty nor yet papery) that white face with eyes
-like blue gleams of fire and lips like red coals.  In certain lights, in
-certain poises of head it suggested tragic sorrow.  Or it might have been
-her wavy hair.  Or even just that pointed chin stuck out a little,
-resentful and not particularly distinguished, doing away with the
-mysterious aloofness of her fragile presence.  But any way at a given
-moment Anthony must have suddenly _seen_ the girl.  And then, that
-something had happened to him.  Perhaps nothing more than the thought
-coming into his head that this was "a possible woman."
-
-Followed this waylaying!  Its resolute character makes me think it was
-the chin's doing; that "common mortal" touch which stands in such good
-stead to some women.  Because men, I mean really masculine men, those
-whose generations have evolved an ideal woman, are often very timid.  Who
-wouldn't be before the ideal?  It's your sentimental trifler, who has
-just missed being nothing at all, who is enterprising, simply because it
-is easy to appear enterprising when one does not mean to put one's belief
-to the test.
-
-Well, whatever it was that encouraged him, Captain Anthony stuck to Flora
-de Barral in a manner which in a timid man might have been called heroic
-if it had not been so simple.  Whether policy, diplomacy, simplicity, or
-just inspiration, he kept up his talk, rather deliberate, with very few
-pauses.  Then suddenly as if recollecting himself:
-
-"It's funny.  I don't think you are annoyed with me for giving you my
-company unasked.  But why don't you say something?"
-
-I asked Miss de Barral what answer she made to this query.
-
-"I made no answer," she said in that even, unemotional low voice which
-seemed to be her voice for delicate confidences.  "I walked on.  He did
-not seem to mind.  We came to the foot of the quarry where the road winds
-up hill, past the place where you were sitting by the roadside that day.
-I began to wonder what I should do.  After we reached the top Captain
-Anthony said that he had not been for a walk with a lady for years and
-years--almost since he was a boy.  We had then come to where I ought to
-have turned off and struck across a field.  I thought of making a run of
-it.  But he would have caught me up.  I knew he would; and, of course, he
-would not have allowed me.  I couldn't give him the slip."
-
-"Why didn't you ask him to leave you?" I inquired curiously.
-
-"He would not have taken any notice," she went on steadily.  "And what
-could I have done then?  I could not have started quarrelling with
-him--could I?  I hadn't enough energy to get angry.  I felt very tired
-suddenly.  I just stumbled on straight along the road.  Captain Anthony
-told me that the family--some relations of his mother--he used to know in
-Liverpool was broken up now, and he had never made any friends since.  All
-gone their different ways.  All the girls married.  Nice girls they were
-and very friendly to him when he was but little more than a boy.  He
-repeated: 'Very nice, cheery, clever girls.'  I sat down on a bank
-against a hedge and began to cry."
-
-"You must have astonished him not a little," I observed.
-
-Anthony, it seems, remained on the road looking down at her.  He did not
-offer to approach her, neither did he make any other movement or gesture.
-Flora de Barral told me all this.  She could see him through her tears,
-blurred to a mere shadow on the white road, and then again becoming more
-distinct, but always absolutely still and as if lost in thought before a
-strange phenomenon which demanded the closest possible attention.
-
-Flora learned later that he had never seen a woman cry; not in that way,
-at least.  He was impressed and interested by the mysteriousness of the
-effect.  She was very conscious of being looked at, but was not able to
-stop herself crying.  In fact, she was not capable of any effort.
-Suddenly he advanced two steps, stooped, caught hold of her hands lying
-on her lap and pulled her up to her feet; she found herself standing
-close to him almost before she realized what he had done.  Some people
-were coming briskly along the road and Captain Anthony muttered: "You
-don't want to be stared at.  What about that stile over there?  Can we go
-back across the fields?"
-
-She snatched her hands out of his grasp (it seems he had omitted to let
-them go), marched away from him and got over the stile.  It was a big
-field sprinkled profusely with white sheep.  A trodden path crossed it
-diagonally.  After she had gone more than half way she turned her head
-for the first time.  Keeping five feet or so behind, Captain Anthony was
-following her with an air of extreme interest.  Interest or eagerness.  At
-any rate she caught an expression on his face which frightened her.  But
-not enough to make her run.  And indeed it would have had to be something
-incredibly awful to scare into a run a girl who had come to the end of
-her courage to live.
-
-As if encouraged by this glance over the shoulder Captain Anthony came up
-boldly, and now that he was by her side, she felt his nearness
-intimately, like a touch.  She tried to disregard this sensation.  But
-she was not angry with him now.  It wasn't worth while.  She was thankful
-that he had the sense not to ask questions as to this crying.  Of course
-he didn't ask because he didn't care.  No one in the world cared for her,
-neither those who pretended nor yet those who did not pretend.  She
-preferred the latter.
-
-Captain Anthony opened for her a gate into another field; when they got
-through he kept walking abreast, elbow to elbow almost.  His voice
-growled pleasantly in her very ear.  Staying in this dull place was
-enough to give anyone the blues.  His sister scribbled all day.  It was
-positively unkind.  He alluded to his nieces as rude, selfish monkeys,
-without either feelings or manners.  And he went on to talk about his
-ship being laid up for a month and dismantled for repairs.  The worst was
-that on arriving in London he found he couldn't get the rooms he was used
-to, where they made him as comfortable as such a confirmed sea-dog as
-himself could be anywhere on shore.
-
-In the effort to subdue by dint of talking and to keep in check the
-mysterious, the profound attraction he felt already for that delicate
-being of flesh and blood, with pale cheeks, with darkened eyelids and
-eyes scalded with hot tears, he went on speaking of himself as a
-confirmed enemy of life on shore--a perfect terror to a simple man, what
-with the fads and proprieties and the ceremonies and affectations.  He
-hated all that.  He wasn't fit for it.  There was no rest and peace and
-security but on the sea.
-
-This gave one a view of Captain Anthony as a hermit withdrawn from a
-wicked world.  It was amusingly unexpected to me and nothing more.  But
-it must have appealed straight to that bruised and battered young soul.
-Still shrinking from his nearness she had ended by listening to him with
-avidity.  His deep murmuring voice soothed her.  And she thought suddenly
-that there was peace and rest in the grave too.
-
-She heard him say: "Look at my sister.  She isn't a bad woman by any
-means.  She asks me here because it's right and proper, I suppose, but
-she has no use for me.  There you have your shore people.  I quite
-understand anybody crying.  I would have been gone already, only, truth
-to say, I haven't any friends to go to."  He added brusquely: "And you?"
-
-She made a slight negative sign.  He must have been observing her,
-putting two and two together.  After a pause he said simply: "When I
-first came here I thought you were governess to these girls.  My sister
-didn't say a word about you to me."
-
-Then Flora spoke for the first time.
-
-"Mrs. Fyne is my best friend."
-
-"So she is mine," he said without the slightest irony or bitterness, but
-added with conviction: "That shows you what life ashore is.  Much better
-be out of it."
-
-As they were approaching the cottage he was heard again as though a long
-silent walk had not intervened: "But anyhow I shan't ask her anything
-about you."
-
-He stopped short and she went on alone.  His last words had impressed
-her.  Everything he had said seemed somehow to have a special meaning
-under its obvious conversational sense.  Till she went in at the door of
-the cottage she felt his eyes resting on her.
-
-That is it.  He had made himself felt.  That girl was, one may say,
-washing about with slack limbs in the ugly surf of life with no
-opportunity to strike out for herself, when suddenly she had been made to
-feel that there was somebody beside her in the bitter water.  A most
-considerable moral event for her; whether she was aware of it or not.
-They met again at the one o'clock dinner.  I am inclined to think that,
-being a healthy girl under her frail appearance, and fast walking and
-what I may call relief-crying (there are many kinds of crying) making one
-hungry, she made a good meal.  It was Captain Anthony who had no
-appetite.  His sister commented on it in a curt, businesslike manner, and
-the eldest of his delightful nieces said mockingly: "You have been taking
-too much exercise this morning, Uncle Roderick."  The mild Uncle Roderick
-turned upon her with a "What do you know about it, young lady?" so
-charged with suppressed savagery that the whole round table gave one gasp
-and went dumb for the rest of the meal.  He took no notice whatever of
-Flora de Barral.  I don't think it was from prudence or any calculated
-motive.  I believe he was so full of her aspects that he did not want to
-look in her direction when there were other people to hamper his
-imagination.
-
-You understand I am piecing here bits of disconnected statements.  Next
-day Flora saw him leaning over the field-gate.  When she told me this, I
-didn't of course ask her how it was she was there.  Probably she could
-not have told me how it was she was there.  The difficulty here is to
-keep steadily in view the then conditions of her existence, a combination
-of dreariness and horror.
-
-That hermit-like but not exactly misanthropic sailor was leaning over the
-gate moodily.  When he saw the white-faced restless Flora drifting like a
-lost thing along the road he put his pipe in his pocket and called out
-"Good morning, Miss Smith" in a tone of amazing happiness.  She, with one
-foot in life and the other in a nightmare, was at the same time inert and
-unstable, and very much at the mercy of sudden impulses.  She swerved,
-came distractedly right up to the gate and looking straight into his
-eyes: "I am not Miss Smith.  That's not my name.  Don't call me by it."
-
-She was shaking as if in a passion.  His eyes expressed nothing; he only
-unlatched the gate in silence, grasped her arm and drew her in.  Then
-closing it with a kick--
-
-"Not your name?  That's all one to me.  Your name's the least thing about
-you I care for."  He was leading her firmly away from the gate though she
-resisted slightly.  There was a sort of joy in his eyes which frightened
-her.  "You are not a princess in disguise," he said with an unexpected
-laugh she found blood-curdling.  "And that's all I care for.  You had
-better understand that I am not blind and not a fool.  And then it's
-plain for even a fool to see that things have been going hard with you.
-You are on a lee shore and eating your heart out with worry."
-
-What seemed most awful to her was the elated light in his eyes, the
-rapacious smile that would come and go on his lips as if he were gloating
-over her misery.  But her misery was his opportunity and he rejoiced
-while the tenderest pity seemed to flood his whole being.  He pointed out
-to her that she knew who he was.  He was Mrs. Fyne's brother.  And, well,
-if his sister was the best friend she had in the world, then, by Jove, it
-was about time somebody came along to look after her a little.
-
-Flora had tried more than once to free herself, but he tightened his
-grasp of her arm each time and even shook it a little without ceasing to
-speak.  The nearness of his face intimidated her.  He seemed striving to
-look her through.  It was obvious the world had been using her ill.  And
-even as he spoke with indignation the very marks and stamp of this ill-
-usage of which he was so certain seemed to add to the inexplicable
-attraction he felt for her person.  It was not pity alone, I take it.  It
-was something more spontaneous, perverse and exciting.  It gave him the
-feeling that if only he could get hold of her, no woman would belong to
-him so completely as this woman.
-
-"Whatever your troubles," he said, "I am the man to take you away from
-them; that is, if you are not afraid.  You told me you had no friends.
-Neither have I.  Nobody ever cared for me as far as I can remember.
-Perhaps you could.  Yes, I live on the sea.  But who would you be parting
-from?  No one.  You have no one belonging to you."
-
-At this point she broke away from him and ran.  He did not pursue her.
-The tall hedges tossing in the wind, the wide fields, the clouds driving
-over the sky and the sky itself wheeled about her in masses of green and
-white and blue as if the world were breaking up silently in a whirl, and
-her foot at the next step were bound to find the void.  She reached the
-gate all right, got out, and, once on the road, discovered that she had
-not the courage to look back.  The rest of that day she spent with the
-Fyne girls who gave her to understand that she was a slow and
-unprofitable person.  Long after tea, nearly at dusk, Captain Anthony
-(the son of the poet) appeared suddenly before her in the little garden
-in front of the cottage.  They were alone for the moment.  The wind had
-dropped.  In the calm evening air the voices of Mrs. Fyne and the girls
-strolling aimlessly on the road could be heard.  He said to her severely:
-
-"You have understood?"
-
-She looked at him in silence.
-
-"That I love you," he finished.
-
-She shook her head the least bit.
-
-"Don't you believe me?" he asked in a low, infuriated voice.
-
-"Nobody would love me," she answered in a very quiet tone.  "Nobody
-could."
-
-He was dumb for a time, astonished beyond measure, as he well might have
-been.  He doubted his ears.  He was outraged.
-
-"Eh?  What?  Can't love you?  What do you know about it?  It's my affair,
-isn't it?  You dare say _that_ to a man who has just told you!  You must
-be mad!"
-
-"Very nearly," she said with the accent of pent-up sincerity, and even
-relieved because she was able to say something which she felt was true.
-For the last few days she had felt herself several times near that
-madness which is but an intolerable lucidity of apprehension.
-
-The clear voices of Mrs. Fyne and the girls were coming nearer, sounding
-affected in the peace of the passion-laden earth.  He began storming at
-her hastily.
-
-"Nonsense!  Nobody can . . . Indeed!  Pah!  You'll have to be shown that
-somebody can.  I can.  Nobody . . . "  He made a contemptuous hissing
-noise.  "More likely _you_ can't.  They have done something to you.
-Something's crushed your pluck.  You can't face a man--that's what it is.
-What made you like this?  Where do you come from?  You have been put
-upon.  The scoundrels--whoever they are, men or women, seem to have
-robbed you of your very name.  You say you are not Miss Smith.  Who are
-you, then?"
-
-She did not answer.  He muttered, "Not that I care," and fell silent,
-because the fatuous self-confident chatter of the Fyne girls could be
-heard at the very gate.  But they were not going to bed yet.  They passed
-on.  He waited a little in silence and immobility, then stamped his foot
-and lost control of himself.  He growled at her in a savage passion.  She
-felt certain that he was threatening her and calling her names.  She was
-no stranger to abuse, as we know, but there seemed to be a particular
-kind of ferocity in this which was new to her.  She began to tremble.  The
-especially terrifying thing was that she could not make out the nature of
-these awful menaces and names.  Not a word.  Yet it was not the shrinking
-anguish of her other experiences of angry scenes.  She made a mighty
-effort, though her knees were knocking together, and in an expiring voice
-demanded that he should let her go indoors.  "Don't stop me.  It's no
-use.  It's no use," she repeated faintly, feeling an invincible obstinacy
-rising within her, yet without anger against that raging man.
-
-He became articulate suddenly, and, without raising his voice, perfectly
-audible.
-
-"No use!  No use!  You dare stand here and tell me that--you white-faced
-wisp, you wreath of mist, you little ghost of all the sorrow in the
-world.  You dare!  Haven't I been looking at you?  You are all eyes.  What
-makes your cheeks always so white as if you had seen something . . .
-Don't speak.  I love it . . . No use!  And you really think that I can
-now go to sea for a year or more, to the other side of the world
-somewhere, leaving you behind.  Why!  You would vanish . . . what little
-there is of you.  Some rough wind will blow you away altogether.  You
-have no holding ground on earth.  Well, then trust yourself to me--to the
-sea--which is deep like your eyes."
-
-She said: "Impossible."  He kept quiet for a while, then asked in a
-totally changed tone, a tone of gloomy curiosity:
-
-"You can't stand me then?  Is that it?"
-
-"No," she said, more steady herself.  "I am not thinking of you at all."
-
-The inane voices of the Fyne girls were heard over the sombre fields
-calling to each other, thin and clear.  He muttered: "You could try to.
-Unless you are thinking of somebody else."
-
-"Yes.  I am thinking of somebody else, of someone who has nobody to think
-of him but me."
-
-His shadowy form stepped out of her way, and suddenly leaned sideways
-against the wooden support of the porch.  And as she stood still,
-surprised by this staggering movement, his voice spoke up in a tone quite
-strange to her.
-
-"Go in then.  Go out of my sight--I thought you said nobody could love
-you."
-
-She was passing him when suddenly he struck her as so forlorn that she
-was inspired to say: "No one has ever loved me--not in that way--if
-that's what you mean.  Nobody would."
-
-He detached himself brusquely from the post, and she did not shrink; but
-Mrs. Fyne and the girls were already at the gate.
-
-All he understood was that everything was not over yet.  There was no
-time to lose; Mrs. Fyne and the girls had come in at the gate.  He
-whispered "Wait" with such authority (he was the son of Carleon Anthony,
-the domestic autocrat) that it did arrest her for a moment, long enough
-to hear him say that he could not be left like this to puzzle over her
-nonsense all night.  She was to slip down again into the garden later on,
-as soon as she could do so without being heard.  He would be there
-waiting for her till--till daylight.  She didn't think he could go to
-sleep, did she?  And she had better come, or--he broke off on an
-unfinished threat.
-
-She vanished into the unlighted cottage just as Mrs. Fyne came up to the
-porch.  Nervous, holding her breath in the darkness of the living-room,
-she heard her best friend say: "You ought to have joined us, Roderick."
-And then: "Have you seen Miss Smith anywhere?"
-
-Flora shuddered, expecting Anthony to break out into betraying
-imprecations on Miss Smith's head, and cause a painful and humiliating
-explanation.  She imagined him full of his mysterious ferocity.  To her
-great surprise, Anthony's voice sounded very much as usual, with perhaps
-a slight tinge of grimness.  "Miss Smith!  No.  I've seen no Miss Smith."
-
-Mrs. Fyne seemed satisfied--and not much concerned really.
-
-Flora, relieved, got clear away to her room upstairs, and shutting her
-door quietly, dropped into a chair.  She was used to reproaches, abuse,
-to all sorts of wicked ill usage--short of actual beating on her body.
-Otherwise inexplicable angers had cut and slashed and trampled down her
-youth without mercy--and mainly, it appeared, because she was the
-financier de Barral's daughter and also condemned to a degrading sort of
-poverty through the action of treacherous men who had turned upon her
-father in his hour of need.  And she thought with the tenderest possible
-affection of that upright figure buttoned up in a long frock-coat, soft-
-voiced and having but little to say to his girl.  She seemed to feel his
-hand closed round hers.  On his flying visits to Brighton he would always
-walk hand in hand with her.  People stared covertly at them; the band was
-playing; and there was the sea--the blue gaiety of the sea.  They were
-quietly happy together . . . It was all over!
-
-An immense anguish of the present wrung her heart, and she nearly cried
-aloud.  That dread of what was before her which had been eating up her
-courage slowly in the course of odious years, flamed up into an access of
-panic, that sort of headlong panic which had already driven her out twice
-to the top of the cliff-like quarry.  She jumped up saying to herself:
-"Why not now?  At once!  Yes.  I'll do it now--in the dark!"  The very
-horror of it seemed to give her additional resolution.
-
-She came down the staircase quietly, and only on the point of opening the
-door and because of the discovery that it was unfastened, she remembered
-Captain Anthony's threat to stay in the garden all night.  She hesitated.
-She did not understand the mood of that man clearly.  He was violent.  But
-she had gone beyond the point where things matter.  What would he think
-of her coming down to him--as he would naturally suppose.  And even that
-didn't matter.  He could not despise her more than she despised herself.
-She must have been light-headed because the thought came into her mind
-that should he get into ungovernable fury from disappointment, and
-perchance strangle her, it would be as good a way to be done with it as
-any.
-
-"You had that thought," I exclaimed in wonder.
-
-With downcast eyes and speaking with an almost painstaking precision (her
-very lips, her red lips, seemed to move just enough to be heard and no
-more), she said that, yes, the thought came into her head.  This makes
-one shudder at the mysterious ways girls acquire knowledge.  For this was
-a thought, wild enough, I admit, but which could only have come from the
-depths of that sort of experience which she had not had, and went far
-beyond a young girl's possible conception of the strongest and most
-veiled of human emotions.
-
-"He was there, of course?" I said.
-
-"Yes, he was there."  She saw him on the path directly she stepped
-outside the porch.  He was very still.  It was as though he had been
-standing there with his face to the door for hours.
-
-Shaken up by the changing moods of passion and tenderness, he must have
-been ready for any extravagance of conduct.  Knowing the profound silence
-each night brought to that nook of the country, I could imagine them
-having the feeling of being the only two people on the wide earth.  A row
-of six or seven lofty elms just across the road opposite the cottage made
-the night more obscure in that little garden.  If these two could just
-make out each other that was all.
-
-"Well!  And were you very much terrified?" I asked.
-
-She made me wait a little before she said, raising her eyes: "He was
-gentleness itself."
-
-I noticed three abominable, drink-sodden loafers, sallow and dirty, who
-had come to range themselves in a row within ten feet of us against the
-front of the public-house.  They stared at Flora de Barral's back with
-unseeing, mournful fixity.
-
-"Let's move this way a little," I proposed.
-
-She turned at once and we made a few paces; not too far to take us out of
-sight of the hotel door, but very nearly.  I could just keep my eyes on
-it.  After all, I had not been so very long with the girl.  If you were
-to disentangle the words we actually exchanged from my comments you would
-see that they were not so very many, including everything she had so
-unexpectedly told me of her story.  No, not so very many.  And now it
-seemed as though there would be no more.  No!  I could expect no more.
-The confidence was wonderful enough in its nature as far as it went, and
-perhaps not to have been expected from any other girl under the sun.  And
-I felt a little ashamed.  The origin of our intimacy was too gruesome.  It
-was as if listening to her I had taken advantage of having seen her poor
-bewildered, scared soul without its veils.  But I was curious, too; or,
-to render myself justice without false modesty--I was anxious; anxious to
-know a little more.
-
-I felt like a blackmailer all the same when I made my attempt with a
-light-hearted remark.
-
-"And so you gave up that walk you proposed to take?"
-
-"Yes, I gave up the walk," she said slowly before raising her downcast
-eyes.  When she did so it was with an extraordinary effect.  It was like
-catching sight of a piece of blue sky, of a stretch of open water.  And
-for a moment I understood the desire of that man to whom the sea and sky
-of his solitary life had appeared suddenly incomplete without that glance
-which seemed to belong to them both.  He was not for nothing the son of a
-poet.  I looked into those unabashed eyes while the girl went on, her
-demure appearance and precise tone changed to a very earnest expression.
-Woman is various indeed.
-
-"But I want you to understand, Mr. . . . " she had actually to think of
-my name . . . "Mr. Marlow, that I have written to Mrs. Fyne that I
-haven't been--that I have done nothing to make Captain Anthony behave to
-me as he had behaved.  I haven't.  I haven't.  It isn't my doing.  It
-isn't my fault--if she likes to put it in that way.  But she, with her
-ideas, ought to understand that I couldn't, that I couldn't . . . I know
-she hates me now.  I think she never liked me.  I think nobody ever cared
-for me.  I was told once nobody could care for me; and I think it is
-true.  At any rate I can't forget it."
-
-Her abominable experience with the governess had implanted in her unlucky
-breast a lasting doubt, an ineradicable suspicion of herself and of
-others.  I said:
-
-"Remember, Miss de Barral, that to be fair you must trust a man
-altogether--or not at all."
-
-She dropped her eyes suddenly.  I thought I heard a faint sigh.  I tried
-to take a light tone again, and yet it seemed impossible to get off the
-ground which gave me my standing with her.
-
-"Mrs. Fyne is absurd.  She's an excellent woman, but really you could not
-be expected to throw away your chance of life simply that she might
-cherish a good opinion of your memory.  That would be excessive."
-
-"It was not of my life that I was thinking while Captain Anthony was--was
-speaking to me," said Flora de Barral with an effort.
-
-I told her that she was wrong then.  She ought to have been thinking of
-her life, and not only of her life but of the life of the man who was
-speaking to her too.  She let me finish, then shook her head impatiently.
-
-"I mean--death."
-
-"Well," I said, "when he stood before you there, outside the cottage, he
-really stood between you and that.  I have it out of your own mouth.  You
-can't deny it."
-
-"If you will have it that he saved my life, then he has got it.  It was
-not for me.  Oh no!  It was not for me that I--It was not fear!  There!"
-She finished petulantly: "And you may just as well know it."
-
-She hung her head and swung the parasol slightly to and fro.  I thought a
-little.
-
-"Do you know French, Miss de Barral?" I asked.
-
-She made a sign with her head that she did, but without showing any
-surprise at the question and without ceasing to swing her parasol.
-
-"Well then, somehow or other I have the notion that Captain Anthony is
-what the French call _un galant homme_.  I should like to think he is
-being treated as he deserves."
-
-The form of her lips (I could see them under the brim of her hat) was
-suddenly altered into a line of seriousness.  The parasol stopped
-swinging.
-
-"I have given him what he wanted--that's myself," she said without a
-tremor and with a striking dignity of tone.
-
-Impressed by the manner and the directness of the words, I hesitated for
-a moment what to say.  Then made up my mind to clear up the point.
-
-"And you have got what you wanted?  Is that it?"
-
-The daughter of the egregious financier de Barral did not answer at once
-this question going to the heart of things.  Then raising her head and
-gazing wistfully across the street noisy with the endless transit of
-innumerable bargains, she said with intense gravity:
-
-"He has been most generous."
-
-I was pleased to hear these words.  Not that I doubted the infatuation of
-Roderick Anthony, but I was pleased to hear something which proved that
-she was sensible and open to the sentiment of gratitude which in this
-case was significant.  In the face of man's desire a girl is excusable if
-she thinks herself priceless.  I mean a girl of our civilization which
-has established a dithyrambic phraseology for the expression of love.  A
-man in love will accept any convention exalting the object of his passion
-and in this indirect way his passion itself.  In what way the captain of
-the ship _Ferndale_ gave proofs of lover-like lavishness I could not
-guess very well.  But I was glad she was appreciative.  It is lucky that
-small things please women.  And it is not silly of them to be thus
-pleased.  It is in small things that the deepest loyalty, that which they
-need most, the loyalty of the passing moment, is best expressed.
-
-She had remained thoughtful, letting her deep motionless eyes rest on the
-streaming jumble of traffic.  Suddenly she said:
-
-"And I wanted to ask you . . . I was really glad when I saw you actually
-here.  Who would have expected you here, at this spot, before this hotel!
-I certainly never . . . You see it meant a lot to me.  You are the only
-person who knows . . . who knows for certain . . . "
-
-"Knows what?" I said, not discovering at first what she had in her mind.
-Then I saw it.  "Why can't you leave that alone?" I remonstrated, rather
-annoyed at the invidious position she was forcing on me in a sense.  "It's
-true that I was the only person to see," I added.  "But, as it happens,
-after your mysterious disappearance I told the Fynes the story of our
-meeting."
-
-Her eyes raised to mine had an expression of dreamy, unfathomable
-candour, if I dare say so.  And if you wonder what I mean I can only say
-that I have seen the sea wear such an expression on one or two occasions
-shortly before sunrise on a calm, fresh day.  She said as if meditating
-aloud that she supposed the Fynes were not likely to talk about that.  She
-couldn't imagine any connection in which . . . Why should they?
-
-As her tone had become interrogatory I assented.  "To be sure.  There's
-no reason whatever--" thinking to myself that they would be more likely
-indeed to keep quiet about it.  They had other things to talk of.  And
-then remembering little Fyne stuck upstairs for an unconscionable time,
-enough to blurt out everything he ever knew in his life, I reflected that
-he would assume naturally that Captain Anthony had nothing to learn from
-him about Flora de Barral.  It had been up to now my assumption too.  I
-saw my mistake.  The sincerest of women will make no unnecessary
-confidences to a man.  And this is as it should be.
-
-"No--no!" I said reassuringly.  "It's most unlikely.  Are you much
-concerned?"
-
-"Well, you see, when I came down," she said again in that precise demure
-tone, "when I came down--into the garden Captain Anthony misunderstood--"
-
-"Of course he would.  Men are so conceited," I said.
-
-I saw it well enough that he must have thought she had come down to him.
-What else could he have thought?  And then he had been "gentleness
-itself."  A new experience for that poor, delicate, and yet so resisting
-creature.  Gentleness in passion!  What could have been more seductive to
-the scared, starved heart of that girl?  Perhaps had he been violent, she
-might have told him that what she came down to keep was the tryst of
-death--not of love.  It occurred to me as I looked at her, young, fragile
-in aspect, and intensely alive in her quietness, that perhaps she did not
-know herself then what sort of tryst she was coming down to keep.
-
-She smiled faintly, almost awkwardly as if she were totally unused to
-smiling, at my cheap jocularity.  Then she said with that forced
-precision, a sort of conscious primness:
-
-"I didn't want him to know."
-
-I approved heartily.  Quite right.  Much better.  Let him ever remain
-under his misapprehension which was so much more flattering for him.
-
-I tried to keep it in the tone of comedy; but she was, I believe, too
-simple to understand my intention.  She went on, looking down.
-
-"Oh!  You think so?  When I saw you I didn't know why you were here.  I
-was glad when you spoke to me because this is exactly what I wanted to
-ask you for.  I wanted to ask you if you ever meet Captain Anthony--by
-any chance--anywhere--you are a sailor too, are you not?--that you would
-never mention--never--that--that you had seen me over there."
-
-"My dear young lady," I cried, horror-struck at the supposition.  "Why
-should I?  What makes you think I should dream of . . . "
-
-She had raised her head at my vehemence.  She did not understand it.  The
-world had treated her so dishonourably that she had no notion even of
-what mere decency of feeling is like.  It was not her fault.  Indeed, I
-don't know why she should have put her trust in anybody's promises.
-
-But I thought it would be better to promise.  So I assured her that she
-could depend on my absolute silence.
-
-"I am not likely to ever set eyes on Captain Anthony," I added with
-conviction--as a further guarantee.
-
-She accepted my assurance in silence, without a sign.  Her gravity had in
-it something acute, perhaps because of that chin.  While we were still
-looking at each other she declared:
-
-"There's no deception in it really.  I want you to believe that if I am
-here, like this, to-day, it is not from fear.  It is not!"
-
-"I quite understand," I said.  But her firm yet self-conscious gaze
-became doubtful.  "I do," I insisted.  "I understand perfectly that it
-was not of death that you were afraid."
-
-She lowered her eyes slowly, and I went on:
-
-"As to life, that's another thing.  And I don't know that one ought to
-blame you very much--though it seemed rather an excessive step.  I wonder
-now if it isn't the ugliness rather than the pain of the struggle which
-. . . "
-
-She shuddered visibly: "But I do blame myself," she exclaimed with
-feeling.  "I am ashamed."  And, dropping her head, she looked in a moment
-the very picture of remorse and shame.
-
-"Well, you will be going away from all its horrors," I said.  "And surely
-you are not afraid of the sea.  You are a sailor's granddaughter, I
-understand."
-
-She sighed deeply.  She remembered her grandfather only a little.  He was
-a clean-shaven man with a ruddy complexion and long, perfectly white
-hair.  He used to take her on his knee, and putting his face near hers,
-talk to her in loving whispers.  If only he were alive now . . . !
-
-She remained silent for a while.
-
-"Aren't you anxious to see the ship?" I asked.
-
-She lowered her head still more so that I could not see anything of her
-face.
-
-"I don't know," she murmured.
-
-I had already the suspicion that she did not know her own feelings.  All
-this work of the merest chance had been so unexpected, so sudden.  And
-she had nothing to fall back upon, no experience but such as to shake her
-belief in every human being.  She was dreadfully and pitifully forlorn.
-It was almost in order to comfort my own depression that I remarked
-cheerfully:
-
-"Well, I know of somebody who must be growing extremely anxious to see
-you."
-
-"I am before my time," she confessed simply, rousing herself.  "I had
-nothing to do.  So I came out."
-
-I had the sudden vision of a shabby, lonely little room at the other end
-of the town.  It had grown intolerable to her restlessness.  The mere
-thought of it oppressed her.  Flora de Barral was looking frankly at her
-chance confidant,
-
-"And I came this way," she went on.  "I appointed the time myself
-yesterday, but Captain Anthony would not have minded.  He told me he was
-going to look over some business papers till I came."
-
-The idea of the son of the poet, the rescuer of the most forlorn damsel
-of modern times, the man of violence, gentleness and generosity, sitting
-up to his neck in ship's accounts amused me.  "I am sure he would not
-have minded," I said, smiling.  But the girl's stare was sombre, her thin
-white face seemed pathetically careworn.
-
-"I can hardly believe yet," she murmured anxiously.
-
-"It's quite real.  Never fear," I said encouragingly, but had to change
-my tone at once.  "You had better go down that way a little," I directed
-her abruptly.
-
-* * * * *
-
-I had seen Fyne come striding out of the hotel door.  The intelligent
-girl, without staying to ask questions, walked away from me quietly down
-one street while I hurried on to meet Fyne coming up the other at his
-efficient pedestrian gait.  My object was to stop him getting as far as
-the corner.  He must have been thinking too hard to be aware of his
-surroundings.  I put myself in his way, and he nearly walked into me.
-
-"Hallo!" I said.
-
-His surprise was extreme.  "You here!  You don't mean to say you have
-been waiting for me?"
-
-I said negligently that I had been detained by unexpected business in the
-neighbourhood, and thus happened to catch sight of him coming out.
-
-He stared at me with solemn distraction, obviously thinking of something
-else.  I suggested that he had better take the next city-ward tramcar.  He
-was inattentive, and I perceived that he was profoundly perturbed.  As
-Miss de Barral (she had moved out of sight) could not possibly approach
-the hotel door as long as we remained where we were I proposed that we
-should wait for the car on the other side of the street.  He obeyed
-rather the slight touch on his arm than my words, and while we were
-crossing the wide roadway in the midst of the lumbering wheeled traffic,
-he exclaimed in his deep tone, "I don't know which of these two is more
-mad than the other!"
-
-"Really!" I said, pulling him forward from under the noses of two
-enormous sleepy-headed cart-horses.  He skipped wildly out of the way and
-up on the curbstone with a purely instinctive precision; his mind had
-nothing to do with his movements.  In the middle of his leap, and while
-in the act of sailing gravely through the air, he continued to relieve
-his outraged feelings.
-
-"You would never believe!  They _are_ mad!"
-
-I took care to place myself in such a position that to face me he had to
-turn his back on the hotel across the road.  I believe he was glad I was
-there to talk to.  But I thought there was some misapprehension in the
-first statement he shot out at me without loss of time, that Captain
-Anthony had been glad to see him.  It was indeed difficult to believe
-that, directly he opened the door, his wife's "sailor-brother" had
-positively shouted: "Oh, it's you!  The very man I wanted to see."
-
-"I found him sitting there," went on Fyne impressively in his effortless,
-grave chest voice, "drafting his will."
-
-This was unexpected, but I preserved a noncommittal attitude, knowing
-full well that our actions in themselves are neither mad nor sane.  But I
-did not see what there was to be excited about.  And Fyne was distinctly
-excited.  I understood it better when I learned that the captain of the
-_Ferndale_ wanted little Fyne to be one of the trustees.  He was leaving
-everything to his wife.  Naturally, a request which involved him into
-sanctioning in a way a proceeding which he had been sent by his wife to
-oppose, must have appeared sufficiently mad to Fyne.
-
-"Me!  Me, of all people in the world!" he repeated portentously.  But I
-could see that he was frightened.  Such want of tact!
-
-"He knew I came from his sister.  You don't put a man into such an
-awkward position," complained Fyne.  "It made me speak much more strongly
-against all this very painful business than I would have had the heart to
-do otherwise."
-
-I pointed out to him concisely, and keeping my eyes on the door of the
-hotel, that he and his wife were the only bond with the land Captain
-Anthony had.  Who else could he have asked?
-
-"I explained to him that he was breaking this bond," declared Fyne
-solemnly.  "Breaking it once for all.  And for what--for what?"
-
-He glared at me.  I could perhaps have given him an inkling for what, but
-I said nothing.  He started again:
-
-"My wife assures me that the girl does not love him a bit.  She goes by
-that letter she received from her.  There is a passage in it where she
-practically admits that she was quite unscrupulous in accepting this
-offer of marriage, but says to my wife that she supposes she, my wife,
-will not blame her--as it was in self-defence.  My wife has her own
-ideas, but this is an outrageous misapprehension of her views.
-Outrageous."
-
-The good little man paused and then added weightily:
-
-"I didn't tell that to my brother-in-law--I mean, my wife's views."
-
-"No," I said.  "What would have been the good?"
-
-"It's positive infatuation," agreed little Fyne, in the tone as though he
-had made an awful discovery.  "I have never seen anything so hopeless and
-inexplicable in my life.  I--I felt quite frightened and sorry," he
-added, while I looked at him curiously asking myself whether this
-excellent civil servant and notable pedestrian had felt the breath of a
-great and fatal love-spell passing him by in the room of that East-end
-hotel.  He did look for a moment as though he had seen a ghost, an other-
-world thing.  But that look vanished instantaneously, and he nodded at me
-with mere exasperation at something quite of this world--whatever it was.
-"It's a bad business.  My brother-in-law knows nothing of women," he
-cried with an air of profound, experienced wisdom.
-
-What he imagined he knew of women himself I can't tell.  I did not know
-anything of the opportunities he might have had.  But this is a subject
-which, if approached with undue solemnity, is apt to elude one's grasp
-entirely.  No doubt Fyne knew something of a woman who was Captain
-Anthony's sister.  But that, admittedly, had been a very solemn study.  I
-smiled at him gently, and as if encouraged or provoked, he completed his
-thought rather explosively.
-
-"And that girl understands nothing . . . It's sheer lunacy."
-
-"I don't know," I said, "whether the circumstances of isolation at sea
-would be any alleviation to the danger.  But it's certain that they shall
-have the opportunity to learn everything about each other in a lonely
-_tete-a-tete_."
-
-"But dash it all," he cried in hollow accents which at the same time had
-the tone of bitter irony--I had never before heard a sound so quaintly
-ugly and almost horrible--"You forget Mr. Smith."
-
-"What Mr. Smith?" I asked innocently.
-
-Fyne made an extraordinary simiesque grimace.  I believe it was quite
-involuntary, but you know that a grave, much-lined, shaven countenance
-when distorted in an unusual way is extremely apelike.  It was a
-surprising sight, and rendered me not only speechless but stopped the
-progress of my thought completely.  I must have presented a remarkably
-imbecile appearance.
-
-"My brother-in-law considered it amusing to chaff me about us introducing
-the girl as Miss Smith," said Fyne, going surly in a moment.  "He said
-that perhaps if he had heard her real name from the first it might have
-restrained him.  As it was, he made the discovery too late.  Asked me to
-tell Zoe this together with a lot more nonsense."
-
-Fyne gave me the impression of having escaped from a man inspired by a
-grimly playful ebullition of high spirits.  It must have been most
-distasteful to him; and his solemnity got damaged somehow in the process,
-I perceived.  There were holes in it through which I could see a new, an
-unknown Fyne.
-
-"You wouldn't believe it," he went on, "but she looks upon her father
-exclusively as a victim.  I don't know," he burst out suddenly through an
-enormous rent in his solemnity, "if she thinks him absolutely a saint,
-but she certainly imagines him to be a martyr."
-
-It is one of the advantages of that magnificent invention, the prison,
-that you may forget people which are put there as though they were dead.
-One needn't worry about them.  Nothing can happen to them that you can
-help.  They can do nothing which might possibly matter to anybody.  They
-come out of it, though, but that seems hardly an advantage to themselves
-or anyone else.  I had completely forgotten the financier de Barral.  The
-girl for me was an orphan, but now I perceived suddenly the force of
-Fyne's qualifying statement, "to a certain extent."  It would have been
-infinitely more kind all round for the law to have shot, beheaded,
-strangled, or otherwise destroyed this absurd de Barral, who was a danger
-to a moral world inhabited by a credulous multitude not fit to take care
-of itself.  But I observed to Fyne that, however insane was the view she
-held, one could not declare the girl mad on that account.
-
-"So she thinks of her father--does she?  I suppose she would appear to us
-saner if she thought only of herself."
-
-"I am positive," Fyne said earnestly, "that she went and made desperate
-eyes at Anthony . . . "
-
-"Oh come!" I interrupted.  "You haven't seen her make eyes.  You don't
-know the colour of her eyes."
-
-"Very well!  It don't matter.  But it could hardly have come to that if
-she hadn't . . . It's all one, though.  I tell you she has led him on, or
-accepted him, if you like, simply because she was thinking of her father.
-She doesn't care a bit about Anthony, I believe.  She cares for no one.
-Never cared for anyone.  Ask Zoe.  For myself I don't blame her," added
-Fyne, giving me another view of unsuspected things through the rags and
-tatters of his damaged solemnity.  "No! by heavens, I don't blame her--the
-poor devil."
-
-I agreed with him silently.  I suppose affections are, in a sense, to be
-learned.  If there exists a native spark of love in all of us, it must be
-fanned while we are young.  Hers, if she ever had it, had been drenched
-in as ugly a lot of corrosive liquid as could be imagined.  But I was
-surprised at Fyne obscurely feeling this.
-
-"She loves no one except that preposterous advertising shark," he pursued
-venomously, but in a more deliberate manner.  "And Anthony knows it."
-
-"Does he?" I said doubtfully.
-
-"She's quite capable of having told him herself," affirmed Fyne, with
-amazing insight.  "But whether or no, _I've_ told him."
-
-"You did?  From Mrs. Fyne, of course."
-
-Fyne only blinked owlishly at this piece of my insight.
-
-"And how did Captain Anthony receive this interesting information?" I
-asked further.
-
-"Most improperly," said Fyne, who really was in a state in which he
-didn't mind what he blurted out.  "He isn't himself.  He begged me to
-tell his sister that he offered no remarks on her conduct.  Very improper
-and inconsequent.  He said . . . I was tired of this wrangling.  I told
-him I made allowances for the state of excitement he was in."
-
-"You know, Fyne," I said, "a man in jail seems to me such an incredible,
-cruel, nightmarish sort of thing that I can hardly believe in his
-existence.  Certainly not in relation to any other existences."
-
-"But dash it all," cried Fyne, "he isn't shut up for life.  They are
-going to let him out.  He's coming out!  That's the whole trouble.  What
-is he coming out to, I want to know?  It seems a more cruel business than
-the shutting him up was.  This has been the worry for weeks.  Do you see
-now?"
-
-I saw, all sorts of things!  Immediately before me I saw the excitement
-of little Fyne--mere food for wonder.  Further off, in a sort of gloom
-and beyond the light of day and the movement of the street, I saw the
-figure of a man, stiff like a ramrod, moving with small steps, a slight
-girlish figure by his side.  And the gloom was like the gloom of
-villainous slums, of misery, of wretchedness, of a starved and degraded
-existence.  It was a relief that I could see only their shabby hopeless
-backs.  He was an awful ghost.  But indeed to call him a ghost was only a
-refinement of polite speech, and a manner of concealing one's terror of
-such things.  Prisons are wonderful contrivances.  Shut--open.  Very
-neat.  Shut--open.  And out comes some sort of corpse, to wander awfully
-in a world in which it has no possible connections and carrying with it
-the appalling tainted atmosphere of its silent abode.  Marvellous
-arrangement.  It works automatically, and, when you look at it, the
-perfection makes you sick; which for a mere mechanism is no mean triumph.
-Sick and scared.  It had nearly scared that poor girl to her death.  Fancy
-having to take such a thing by the hand!  Now I understood the remorseful
-strain I had detected in her speeches.
-
-"By Jove!" I said.  "They are about to let him out!  I never thought of
-that."
-
-Fyne was contemptuous either of me or of things at large.
-
-"You didn't suppose he was to be kept in jail for life?"
-
-At that moment I caught sight of Flora de Barral at the junction of the
-two streets.  Then some vehicles following each other in quick succession
-hid from my sight the black slight figure with just a touch of colour in
-her hat.  She was walking slowly; and it might have been caution or
-reluctance.  While listening to Fyne I stared hard past his shoulder
-trying to catch sight of her again.  He was going on with positive heat,
-the rags of his solemnity dropping off him at every second sentence.
-
-That was just it.  His wife and he had been perfectly aware of it.  Of
-course the girl never talked of her father with Mrs. Fyne.  I suppose
-with her theory of innocence she found it difficult.  But she must have
-been thinking of it day and night.  What to do with him?  Where to go?
-How to keep body and soul together?  He had never made any friends.  The
-only relations were the atrocious East-end cousins.  We know what they
-were.  Nothing but wretchedness, whichever way she turned in an unjust
-and prejudiced world.  And to look at him helplessly she felt would be
-too much for her.
-
-I won't say I was thinking these thoughts.  It was not necessary.  This
-complete knowledge was in my head while I stared hard across the wide
-road, so hard that I failed to hear little Fyne till he raised his deep
-voice indignantly.
-
-"I don't blame the girl," he was saying.  "He is infatuated with her.
-Anybody can see that.  Why she should have got such a hold on him I can't
-understand.  She said "Yes" to him only for the sake of that fatuous,
-swindling father of hers.  It's perfectly plain if one thinks it over a
-moment.  One needn't even think of it.  We have it under her own hand.  In
-that letter to my wife she says she has acted unscrupulously.  She has
-owned up, then, for what else can it mean, I should like to know.  And so
-they are to be married before that old idiot comes out . . . He will be
-surprised," commented Fyne suddenly in a strangely malignant tone.  "He
-shall be met at the jail door by a Mrs. Anthony, a Mrs. Captain Anthony.
-Very pleasant for Zoe.  And for all I know, my brother-in-law means to
-turn up dutifully too.  A little family event.  It's extremely pleasant
-to think of.  Delightful.  A charming family party.  We three against the
-world--and all that sort of thing.  And what for.  For a girl that
-doesn't care twopence for him."
-
-The demon of bitterness had entered into little Fyne.  He amazed me as
-though he had changed his skin from white to black.  It was quite as
-wonderful.  And he kept it up, too.
-
-"Luckily there are some advantages in the--the profession of a sailor.  As
-long as they defy the world away at sea somewhere eighteen thousand miles
-from here, I don't mind so much.  I wonder what that interesting old
-party will say.  He will have another surprise.  They mean to drag him
-along with them on board the ship straight away.  Rescue work.  Just
-think of Roderick Anthony, the son of a gentleman, after all . . . "
-
-He gave me a little shock.  I thought he was going to say the "son of the
-poet" as usual; but his mind was not running on such vanities now.  His
-unspoken thought must have gone on "and uncle of my girls."  I suspect
-that he had been roughly handled by Captain Anthony up there, and the
-resentment gave a tremendous fillip to the slow play of his wits.  Those
-men of sober fancy, when anything rouses their imaginative faculty, are
-very thorough.  "Just think!" he cried.  "The three of them crowded into
-a four-wheeler, and Anthony sitting deferentially opposite that
-astonished old jail-bird!"
-
-The good little man laughed.  An improper sound it was to come from his
-manly chest; and what made it worse was the thought that for the least
-thing, by a mere hair's breadth, he might have taken this affair
-sentimentally.  But clearly Anthony was no diplomatist.  His brother-in-
-law must have appeared to him, to use the language of shore people, a
-perfect philistine with a heart like a flint.  What Fyne precisely meant
-by "wrangling" I don't know, but I had no doubt that these two had
-"wrangled" to a profoundly disturbing extent.  How much the other was
-affected I could not even imagine; but the man before me was quite
-amazingly upset.
-
-"In a four-wheeler!  Take him on board!" I muttered, startled by the
-change in Fyne.
-
-"That's the plan--nothing less.  If I am to believe what I have been
-told, his feet will scarcely touch the ground between the prison-gates
-and the deck of that ship."
-
-The transformed Fyne spoke in a forcibly lowered tone which I heard
-without difficulty.  The rumbling, composite noises of the street were
-hushed for a moment, during one of these sudden breaks in the traffic as
-if the stream of commerce had dried up at its source.  Having an
-unobstructed view past Fyne's shoulder, I was astonished to see that the
-girl was still there.  I thought she had gone up long before.  But there
-was her black slender figure, her white face under the roses of her hat.
-She stood on the edge of the pavement as people stand on the bank of a
-stream, very still, as if waiting--or as if unconscious of where she was.
-The three dismal, sodden loafers (I could see them too; they hadn't
-budged an inch) seemed to me to be watching her.  Which was horrible.
-
-Meantime Fyne was telling me rather remarkable things--for him.  He
-declared first it was a mercy in a sense.  Then he asked me if it were
-not real madness, to saddle one's existence with such a perpetual
-reminder.  The daily existence.  The isolated sea-bound existence.  To
-bring such an additional strain into the solitude already trying enough
-for two people was the craziest thing.  Undesirable relations were bad
-enough on shore.  One could cut them or at least forget their existence
-now and then.  He himself was preparing to forget his brother-in-law's
-existence as much as possible.
-
-That was the general sense of his remarks, not his exact words.  I
-thought that his wife's brother's existence had never been very
-embarrassing to him but that now of course he would have to abstain from
-his allusions to the "son of the poet--you know."  I said "yes, yes" in
-the pauses because I did not want him to turn round; and all the time I
-was watching the girl intently.  I thought I knew now what she meant with
-her--"He was most generous."  Yes.  Generosity of character may carry a
-man through any situation.  But why didn't she go then to her generous
-man?  Why stand there as if clinging to this solid earth which she surely
-hated as one must hate the place where one has been tormented, hopeless,
-unhappy?  Suddenly she stirred.  Was she going to cross over?  No.  She
-turned and began to walk slowly close to the curbstone, reminding me of
-the time when I discovered her walking near the edge of a ninety-foot
-sheer drop.  It was the same impression, the same carriage, straight,
-slim, with rigid head and the two hands hanging lightly clasped in
-front--only now a small sunshade was dangling from them.  I saw something
-fateful in that deliberate pacing towards the inconspicuous door with the
-words _Hotel Entrance_ on the glass panels.
-
-She was abreast of it now and I thought that she would stop again; but
-no!  She swerved rigidly--at the moment there was no one near her; she
-had that bit of pavement to herself--with inanimate slowness as if moved
-by something outside herself.
-
-"A confounded convict," Fyne burst out.
-
-With the sound of that word offending my ears I saw the girl extend her
-arm, push the door open a little way and glide in.  I saw plainly that
-movement, the hand put out in advance with the gesture of a sleep-walker.
-
-She had vanished, her black figure had melted in the darkness of the open
-door.  For some time Fyne said nothing; and I thought of the girl going
-upstairs, appearing before the man.  Were they looking at each other in
-silence and feeling they were alone in the world as lovers should at the
-moment of meeting?  But that fine forgetfulness was surely impossible to
-Anthony the seaman directly after the wrangling interview with Fyne the
-emissary of an order of things which stops at the edge of the sea.  How
-much he was disturbed I couldn't tell because I did not know what that
-impetuous lover had had to listen to.
-
-"Going to take the old fellow to sea with them," I said.  "Well I really
-don't see what else they could have done with him.  You told your brother-
-in-law what you thought of it?  I wonder how he took it."
-
-"Very improperly," repeated Fyne.  "His manner was offensive, derisive,
-from the first.  I don't mean he was actually rude in words.  Hang it
-all, I am not a contemptible ass.  But he was exulting at having got hold
-of a miserable girl."
-
-"It is pretty certain that she will be much less poor and miserable," I
-murmured.
-
-It looked as if the exultation of Captain Anthony had got on Fyne's
-nerves.  "I told the fellow very plainly that he was abominably selfish
-in this," he affirmed unexpectedly.
-
-"You did!  Selfish!" I said rather taken aback.  "But what if the girl
-thought that, on the contrary, he was most generous."
-
-"What do you know about it," growled Fyne.  The rents and slashes of his
-solemnity were closing up gradually but it was going to be a surly
-solemnity.  "Generosity!  I am disposed to give it another name.  No.  Not
-folly," he shot out at me as though I had meant to interrupt him.  "Still
-another.  Something worse.  I need not tell you what it is," he added
-with grim meaning.
-
-"Certainly.  You needn't--unless you like," I said blankly.  Little Fyne
-had never interested me so much since the beginning of the de
-Barral-Anthony affair when I first perceived possibilities in him.  The
-possibilities of dull men are exciting because when they happen they
-suggest legendary cases of "possession," not exactly by the devil but,
-anyhow, by a strange spirit.
-
-"I told him it was a shame," said Fyne.  "Even if the girl did make eyes
-at him--but I think with you that she did not.  Yes!  A shame to take
-advantage of a girl's--a distresses girl that does not love him in the
-least."
-
-"You think it's so bad as that?" I said.  "Because you know I don't."
-
-"What can you think about it," he retorted on me with a solemn stare.  "I
-go by her letter to my wife."
-
-"Ah! that famous letter.  But you haven't actually read it," I said.
-
-"No, but my wife told me.  Of course it was a most improper sort of
-letter to write considering the circumstances.  It pained Mrs. Fyne to
-discover how thoroughly she had been misunderstood.  But what is written
-is not all.  It's what my wife could read between the lines.  She says
-that the girl is really terrified at heart."
-
-"She had not much in life to give her any very special courage for it, or
-any great confidence in mankind.  That's very true.  But this seems an
-exaggeration."
-
-"I should like to know what reasons you have to say that," asked Fyne
-with offended solemnity.  "I really don't see any.  But I had sufficient
-authority to tell my brother-in-law that if he thought he was going to do
-something chivalrous and fine he was mistaken.  I can see very well that
-he will do everything she asks him to do--but, all the same, it is rather
-a pitiless transaction."
-
-For a moment I felt it might be so.  Fyne caught sight of an approaching
-tram-car and stepped out on the road to meet it.  "Have you a more
-compassionate scheme ready?" I called after him.  He made no answer,
-clambered on to the rear platform, and only then looked back.  We
-exchanged a perfunctory wave of the hand.  We also looked at each other,
-he rather angrily, I fancy, and I with wonder.  I may also mention that
-it was for the last time.  From that day I never set eyes on the Fynes.
-As usual the unexpected happened to me.  It had nothing to do with Flora
-de Barral.  The fact is that I went away.  My call was not like her call.
-Mine was not urged on me with passionate vehemence or tender gentleness
-made all the finer and more compelling by the allurements of generosity
-which is a virtue as mysterious as any other but having a glamour of its
-own.  No, it was just a prosaic offer of employment on rather good terms
-which, with a sudden sense of having wasted my time on shore long enough,
-I accepted without misgivings.  And once started out of my indolence I
-went, as my habit was, very, very far away and for a long, long time.
-Which is another proof of my indolence.  How far Flora went I can't say.
-But I will tell you my idea: my idea is that she went as far as she was
-able--as far as she could bear it--as far as she had to . . . "
-
-
-
-
-PART II--THE KNIGHT
-
-
-CHAPTER ONE--THE FERNDALE
-
-
-I have said that the story of Flora de Barral was imparted to me in
-stages.  At this stage I did not see Marlow for some time.  At last, one
-evening rather early, very soon after dinner, he turned up in my rooms.
-
-I had been waiting for his call primed with a remark which had not
-occurred to me till after he had gone away.
-
-"I say," I tackled him at once, "how can you be certain that Flora de
-Barral ever went to sea?  After all, the wife of the captain of the
-_Ferndale_--" the lady that mustn't be disturbed "of the old
-ship-keeper--may not have been Flora."
-
-"Well, I do know," he said, "if only because I have been keeping in touch
-with Mr. Powell."
-
-"You have!" I cried.  "This is the first I hear of it.  And since when?"
-
-"Why, since the first day.  You went up to town leaving me in the inn.  I
-slept ashore.  In the morning Mr. Powell came in for breakfast; and after
-the first awkwardness of meeting a man you have been yarning with over-
-night had worn off, we discovered a liking for each other."
-
-As I had discovered the fact of their mutual liking before either of
-them, I was not surprised.
-
-"And so you kept in touch," I said.
-
-"It was not so very difficult.  As he was always knocking about the river
-I hired Dingle's sloop-rigged three-tonner to be more on an equality.
-Powell was friendly but elusive.  I don't think he ever wanted to avoid
-me.  But it is a fact that he used to disappear out of the river in a
-very mysterious manner sometimes.  A man may land anywhere and bolt
-inland--but what about his five-ton cutter?  You can't carry that in your
-hand like a suit-case.
-
-"Then as suddenly he would reappear in the river, after one had given him
-up.  I did not like to be beaten.  That's why I hired Dingle's decked
-boat.  There was just the accommodation in her to sleep a man and a dog.
-But I had no dog-friend to invite.  Fyne's dog who saved Flora de
-Barral's life is the last dog-friend I had.  I was rather lonely cruising
-about; but that, too, on the river has its charm, sometimes.  I chased
-the mystery of the vanishing Powell dreamily, looking about me at the
-ships, thinking of the girl Flora, of life's chances--and, do you know,
-it was very simple."
-
-"What was very simple?" I asked innocently.
-
-"The mystery."
-
-"They generally are that," I said.
-
-Marlow eyed me for a moment in a peculiar manner.
-
-"Well, I have discovered the mystery of Powell's disappearances.  The
-fellow used to run into one of these narrow tidal creeks on the Essex
-shore.  These creeks are so inconspicuous that till I had studied the
-chart pretty carefully I did not know of their existence.  One afternoon,
-I made Powell's boat out, heading into the shore.  By the time I got
-close to the mud-flat his craft had disappeared inland.  But I could see
-the mouth of the creek by then.  The tide being on the turn I took the
-risk of getting stuck in the mud suddenly and headed in.  All I had to
-guide me was the top of the roof of some sort of small building.  I got
-in more by good luck than by good management.  The sun had set some time
-before; my boat glided in a sort of winding ditch between two low grassy
-banks; on both sides of me was the flatness of the Essex marsh, perfectly
-still.  All I saw moving was a heron; he was flying low, and disappeared
-in the murk.  Before I had gone half a mile, I was up with the building
-the roof of which I had seen from the river.  It looked like a small
-barn.  A row of piles driven into the soft bank in front of it and
-supporting a few planks made a sort of wharf.  All this was black in the
-falling dusk, and I could just distinguish the whitish ruts of a cart-
-track stretching over the marsh towards the higher land, far away.  Not a
-sound was to be heard.  Against the low streak of light in the sky I
-could see the mast of Powell's cutter moored to the bank some twenty
-yards, no more, beyond that black barn or whatever it was.  I hailed him
-with a loud shout.  Got no answer.  After making fast my boat just
-astern, I walked along the bank to have a look at Powell's.  Being so
-much bigger than mine she was aground already.  Her sails were furled;
-the slide of her scuttle hatch was closed and padlocked.  Powell was
-gone.  He had walked off into that dark, still marsh somewhere.  I had
-not seen a single house anywhere near; there did not seem to be any human
-habitation for miles; and now as darkness fell denser over the land I
-couldn't see the glimmer of a single light.  However, I supposed that
-there must be some village or hamlet not very far away; or only one of
-these mysterious little inns one comes upon sometimes in most unexpected
-and lonely places.
-
-"The stillness was oppressive.  I went back to my boat, made some coffee
-over a spirit-lamp, devoured a few biscuits, and stretched myself aft, to
-smoke and gaze at the stars.  The earth was a mere shadow, formless and
-silent, and empty, till a bullock turned up from somewhere, quite shadowy
-too.  He came smartly to the very edge of the bank as though he meant to
-step on board, stretched his muzzle right over my boat, blew heavily
-once, and walked off contemptuously into the darkness from which he had
-come.  I had not expected a call from a bullock, though a moment's
-thought would have shown me that there must be lots of cattle and sheep
-on that marsh.  Then everything became still as before.  I might have
-imagined myself arrived on a desert island.  In fact, as I reclined
-smoking a sense of absolute loneliness grew on me.  And just as it had
-become intense, very abruptly and without any preliminary sound I heard
-firm, quick footsteps on the little wharf.  Somebody coming along the
-cart-track had just stepped at a swinging gait on to the planks.  That
-somebody could only have been Mr. Powell.  Suddenly he stopped short,
-having made out that there were two masts alongside the bank where he had
-left only one.  Then he came on silent on the grass.  When I spoke to him
-he was astonished.
-
-"Who would have thought of seeing you here!" he exclaimed, after
-returning my good evening.
-
-"I told him I had run in for company.  It was rigorously true."
-
-"You knew I was here?" he exclaimed.
-
-"Of course," I said.  "I tell you I came in for company."
-
-"He is a really good fellow," went on Marlow.  "And his capacity for
-astonishment is quickly exhausted, it seems.  It was in the most matter-
-of-fact manner that he said, 'Come on board of me, then; I have here
-enough supper for two.'  He was holding a bulky parcel in the crook of
-his arm.  I did not wait to be asked twice, as you may guess.  His cutter
-has a very neat little cabin, quite big enough for two men not only to
-sleep but to sit and smoke in.  We left the scuttle wide open, of course.
-As to his provisions for supper, they were not of a luxurious kind.  He
-complained that the shops in the village were miserable.  There was a big
-village within a mile and a half.  It struck me he had been very long
-doing his shopping; but naturally I made no remark.  I didn't want to
-talk at all except for the purpose of setting him going."
-
-"And did you set him going?" I asked.
-
-"I did," said Marlow, composing his features into an impenetrable
-expression which somehow assured me of his success better than an air of
-triumph could have done.
-
-* * * * *
-
-"You made him talk?" I said after a silence.
-
-"Yes, I made him . . . about himself."
-
-"And to the point?"
-
-"If you mean by this," said Marlow, "that it was about the voyage of the
-_Ferndale_, then again, yes.  I brought him to talk about that voyage,
-which, by the by, was not the first voyage of Flora de Barral.  The man
-himself, as I told you, is simple, and his faculty of wonder not very
-great.  He's one of those people who form no theories about facts.
-Straightforward people seldom do.  Neither have they much penetration.
-But in this case it did not matter.  I--we--have already the inner
-knowledge.  We know the history of Flora de Barral.  We know something of
-Captain Anthony.  We have the secret of the situation.  The man was
-intoxicated with the pity and tenderness of his part.  Oh yes!
-Intoxicated is not too strong a word; for you know that love and desire
-take many disguises.  I believe that the girl had been frank with him,
-with the frankness of women to whom perfect frankness is impossible,
-because so much of their safety depends on judicious reticences.  I am
-not indulging in cheap sneers.  There is necessity in these things.  And
-moreover she could not have spoken with a certain voice in the face of
-his impetuosity, because she did not have time to understand either the
-state of her feelings, or the precise nature of what she was doing.
-
-Had she spoken ever so clearly he was, I take it, too elated to hear her
-distinctly.  I don't mean to imply that he was a fool.  Oh dear no!  But
-he had no training in the usual conventions, and we must remember that he
-had no experience whatever of women.  He could only have an ideal
-conception of his position.  An ideal is often but a flaming vision of
-reality.
-
-To him enters Fyne, wound up, if I may express myself so irreverently,
-wound up to a high pitch by his wife's interpretation of the girl's
-letter.  He enters with his talk of meanness and cruelty, like a bucket
-of water on the flame.  Clearly a shock.  But the effects of a bucket of
-water are diverse.  They depend on the kind of flame.  A mere blaze of
-dry straw, of course . . . but there can be no question of straw there.
-Anthony of the _Ferndale_ was not, could not have been, a straw-stuffed
-specimen of a man.  There are flames a bucket of water sends leaping sky-
-high.
-
-We may well wonder what happened when, after Fyne had left him, the
-hesitating girl went up at last and opened the door of that room where
-our man, I am certain, was not extinguished.  Oh no!  Nor cold; whatever
-else he might have been.
-
-It is conceivable he might have cried at her in the first moment of
-humiliation, of exasperation, "Oh, it's you!  Why are you here?  If I am
-so odious to you that you must write to my sister to say so, I give you
-back your word."  But then, don't you see, it could not have been that.  I
-have the practical certitude that soon afterwards they went together in a
-hansom to see the ship--as agreed.  That was my reason for saying that
-Flora de Barral did go to sea . . . "
-
-"Yes.  It seems conclusive," I agreed.  "But even without that--if, as
-you seem to think, the very desolation of that girlish figure had a sort
-of perversely seductive charm, making its way through his compassion to
-his senses (and everything is possible)--then such words could not have
-been spoken."
-
-"They might have escaped him involuntarily," observed Marlow.  "However,
-a plain fact settles it.  They went off together to see the ship."
-
-"Do you conclude from this that nothing whatever was said?" I inquired.
-
-"I should have liked to see the first meeting of their glances upstairs
-there," mused Marlow.  "And perhaps nothing was said.  But no man comes
-out of such a 'wrangle' (as Fyne called it) without showing some traces
-of it.  And you may be sure that a girl so bruised all over would feel
-the slightest touch of anything resembling coldness.  She was
-mistrustful; she could not be otherwise; for the energy of evil is so
-much more forcible than the energy of good that she could not help
-looking still upon her abominable governess as an authority.  How could
-one have expected her to throw off the unholy prestige of that long
-domination?  She could not help believing what she had been told; that
-she was in some mysterious way odious and unlovable.  It was cruelly
-true--_to her_.  The oracle of so many years had spoken finally.  Only
-other people did not find her out at once . . . I would not go so far as
-to say she believed it altogether.  That would be hardly possible.  But
-then haven't the most flattered, the most conceited of us their moments
-of doubt?  Haven't they?  Well, I don't know.  There may be lucky beings
-in this world unable to believe any evil of themselves.  For my own part
-I'll tell you that once, many years ago now, it came to my knowledge that
-a fellow I had been mixed up with in a certain transaction--a clever
-fellow whom I really despised--was going around telling people that I was
-a consummate hypocrite.  He could know nothing of it.  It suited his
-humour to say so.  I had given him no ground for that particular calumny.
-Yet to this day there are moments when it comes into my mind, and
-involuntarily I ask myself, 'What if it were true?'  It's absurd, but it
-has on one or two occasions nearly affected my conduct.  And yet I was
-not an impressionable ignorant young girl.  I had taken the exact measure
-of the fellow's utter worthlessness long before.  He had never been for
-me a person of prestige and power, like that awful governess to Flora de
-Barral.  See the might of suggestion?  We live at the mercy of a
-malevolent word.  A sound, a mere disturbance of the air, sinks into our
-very soul sometimes.  Flora de Barral had been more astounded than
-convinced by the first impetuosity of Roderick Anthony.  She let herself
-be carried along by a mysterious force which her person had called into
-being, as her father had been carried away out of his depth by the
-unexpected power of successful advertising.
-
-They went on board that morning.  The _Ferndale_ had just come to her
-loading berth.  The only living creature on board was the
-ship-keeper--whether the same who had been described to us by Mr. Powell,
-or another, I don't know.  Possibly some other man.  He, looking over the
-side, saw, in his own words, 'the captain come sailing round the corner
-of the nearest cargo-shed, in company with a girl.'  He lowered the
-accommodation ladder down on to the jetty . . . "
-
-"How do you know all this?" I interrupted.
-
-Marlow interjected an impatient:
-
-"You shall see by and by . . . Flora went up first, got down on deck and
-stood stock-still till the captain took her by the arm and led her aft.
-The ship-keeper let them into the saloon.  He had the keys of all the
-cabins, and stumped in after them.  The captain ordered him to open all
-the doors, every blessed door; state-rooms, passages, pantry,
-fore-cabin--and then sent him away.
-
-"The _Ferndale_ had magnificent accommodation.  At the end of a passage
-leading from the quarter-deck there was a long saloon, its sumptuosity
-slightly tarnished perhaps, but having a grand air of roominess and
-comfort.  The harbour carpets were down, the swinging lamps hung, and
-everything in its place, even to the silver on the sideboard.  Two large
-stern cabins opened out of it, one on each side of the rudder casing.
-These two cabins communicated through a small bathroom between them, and
-one was fitted up as the captain's state-room.  The other was vacant, and
-furnished with arm-chairs and a round table, more like a room on shore,
-except for the long curved settee following the shape of the ship's
-stern.  In a dim inclined mirror, Flora caught sight down to the waist of
-a pale-faced girl in a white straw hat trimmed with roses, distant,
-shadowy, as if immersed in water, and was surprised to recognize herself
-in those surroundings.  They seemed to her arbitrary, bizarre, strange.
-Captain Anthony moved on, and she followed him.  He showed her the other
-cabins.  He talked all the time loudly in a voice she seemed to have
-known extremely well for a long time; and yet, she reflected, she had not
-heard it often in her life.  What he was saying she did not quite follow.
-He was speaking of comparatively indifferent things in a rather moody
-tone, but she felt it round her like a caress.  And when he stopped she
-could hear, alarming in the sudden silence, the precipitated beating of
-her heart.
-
-The ship-keeper dodged about the quarter-deck, out of hearing, and trying
-to keep out of sight.  At the same time, taking advantage of the open
-doors with skill and prudence, he could see the captain and "that girl"
-the captain had brought aboard.  The captain was showing her round very
-thoroughly.  Through the whole length of the passage, far away aft in the
-perspective of the saloon the ship-keeper had interesting glimpses of
-them as they went in and out of the various cabins, crossing from side to
-side, remaining invisible for a time in one or another of the
-state-rooms, and then reappearing again in the distance.  The girl,
-always following the captain, had her sunshade in her hands.  Mostly she
-would hang her head, but now and then she would look up.  They had a lot
-to say to each other, and seemed to forget they weren't alone in the
-ship.  He saw the captain put his hand on her shoulder, and was preparing
-himself with a certain zest for what might follow, when the "old man"
-seemed to recollect himself, and came striding down all the length of the
-saloon.  At this move the ship-keeper promptly dodged out of sight, as
-you may believe, and heard the captain slam the inner door of the
-passage.  After that disappointment the ship-keeper waited resentfully
-for them to clear out of the ship.  It happened much sooner than he had
-expected.  The girl walked out on deck first.  As before she did not look
-round.  She didn't look at anything; and she seemed to be in such a hurry
-to get ashore that she made for the gangway and started down the ladder
-without waiting for the captain.
-
-What struck the ship-keeper most was the absent, unseeing expression of
-the captain, striding after the girl.  He passed him, the ship-keeper,
-without notice, without an order, without so much as a look.  The captain
-had never done so before.  Always had a nod and a pleasant word for a
-man.  From this slight the ship-keeper drew a conclusion unfavourable to
-the strange girl.  He gave them time to get down on the wharf before
-crossing the deck to steal one more look at the pair over the rail.  The
-captain took hold of the girl's arm just before a couple of railway
-trucks drawn by a horse came rolling along and hid them from the ship-
-keeper's sight for good.
-
-Next day, when the chief mate joined the ship, he told him the tale of
-the visit, and expressed himself about the girl "who had got hold of the
-captain" disparagingly.  She didn't look healthy, he explained.  "Shabby
-clothes, too," he added spitefully.
-
-The mate was very much interested.  He had been with Anthony for several
-years, and had won for himself in the course of many long voyages, a
-footing of familiarity, which was to be expected with a man of Anthony's
-character.  But in that slowly-grown intimacy of the sea, which in its
-duration and solitude had its unguarded moments, no words had passed,
-even of the most casual, to prepare him for the vision of his captain
-associated with any kind of girl.  His impression had been that women did
-not exist for Captain Anthony.  Exhibiting himself with a girl!  A girl!
-What did he want with a girl?  Bringing her on board and showing her
-round the cabin!  That was really a little bit too much.  Captain Anthony
-ought to have known better.
-
-Franklin (the chief mate's name was Franklin) felt disappointed; almost
-disillusioned.  Silly thing to do!  Here was a confounded old ship-keeper
-set talking.  He snubbed the ship-keeper, and tried to think of that
-insignificant bit of foolishness no more; for it diminished Captain
-Anthony in his eyes of a jealously devoted subordinate.
-
-Franklin was over forty; his mother was still alive.  She stood in the
-forefront of all women for him, just as Captain Anthony stood in the
-forefront of all men.  We may suppose that these groups were not very
-large.  He had gone to sea at a very early age.  The feeling which caused
-these two people to partly eclipse the rest of mankind were of course not
-similar; though in time he had acquired the conviction that he was
-"taking care" of them both.  The "old lady" of course had to be looked
-after as long as she lived.  In regard to Captain Anthony, he used to say
-that: why should he leave him?  It wasn't likely that he would come
-across a better sailor or a better man or a more comfortable ship.  As to
-trying to better himself in the way of promotion, commands were not the
-sort of thing one picked up in the streets, and when it came to that,
-Captain Anthony was as likely to give him a lift on occasion as anyone in
-the world.
-
-From Mr. Powell's description Franklin was a short, thick black-haired
-man, bald on the top.  His head sunk between the shoulders, his staring
-prominent eyes and a florid colour, gave him a rather apoplectic
-appearance.  In repose, his congested face had a humorously melancholy
-expression.
-
-The ship-keeper having given him up all the keys and having been chased
-forward with the admonition to mind his own business and not to chatter
-about what did not concern him, Mr. Franklin went under the poop.  He
-opened one door after another; and, in the saloon, in the captain's state-
-room and everywhere, he stared anxiously as if expecting to see on the
-bulkheads, on the deck, in the air, something unusual--sign, mark,
-emanation, shadow--he hardly knew what--some subtle change wrought by the
-passage of a girl.  But there was nothing.  He entered the unoccupied
-stern cabin and spent some time there unscrewing the two stern ports.  In
-the absence of all material evidences his uneasiness was passing away.
-With a last glance round he came out and found himself in the presence of
-his captain advancing from the other end of the saloon.
-
-Franklin, at once, looked for the girl.  She wasn't to be seen.  The
-captain came up quickly.  'Oh! you are here, Mr. Franklin.'  And the mate
-said, 'I was giving a little air to the place, sir.'  Then the captain,
-his hat pulled down over his eyes, laid his stick on the table and asked
-in his kind way: 'How did you find your mother, Franklin?'--'The old
-lady's first-rate, sir, thank you.'  And then they had nothing to say to
-each other.  It was a strange and disturbing feeling for Franklin.  He,
-just back from leave, the ship just come to her loading berth, the
-captain just come on board, and apparently nothing to say!  The several
-questions he had been anxious to ask as to various things which had to be
-done had slipped out of his mind.  He, too, felt as though he had nothing
-to say.
-
-The captain, picking up his stick off the table, marched into his state-
-room and shut the door after him.  Franklin remained still for a moment
-and then started slowly to go on deck.  But before he had time to reach
-the other end of the saloon he heard himself called by name.  He turned
-round.  The captain was staring from the doorway of his state-room.
-Franklin said, "Yes, sir."  But the captain, silent, leaned a little
-forward grasping the door handle.  So he, Franklin, walked aft keeping
-his eyes on him.  When he had come up quite close he said again, "Yes,
-sir?" interrogatively.  Still silence.  The mate didn't like to be stared
-at in that manner, a manner quite new in his captain, with a defiant and
-self-conscious stare, like a man who feels ill and dares you to notice
-it.  Franklin gazed at his captain, felt that there was something wrong,
-and in his simplicity voiced his feelings by asking point-blank:
-
-"What's wrong, sir?"
-
-The captain gave a slight start, and the character of his stare changed
-to a sort of sinister surprise.  Franklin grew very uncomfortable, but
-the captain asked negligently:
-
-"What makes you think that there's something wrong?"
-
-"I can't say exactly.  You don't look quite yourself, sir," Franklin
-owned up.
-
-"You seem to have a confoundedly piercing eye," said the captain in such
-an aggressive tone that Franklin was moved to defend himself.
-
-"We have been together now over six years, sir, so I suppose I know you a
-bit by this time.  I could see there was something wrong directly you
-came on board."
-
-"Mr. Franklin," said the captain, "we have been more than six years
-together, it is true, but I didn't know you for a reader of faces.  You
-are not a correct reader though.  It's very far from being wrong.  You
-understand?  As far from being wrong as it can very well be.  It ought to
-teach you not to make rash surmises.  You should leave that to the shore
-people.  They are great hands at spying out something wrong.  I dare say
-they know what they have made of the world.  A dam' poor job of it and
-that's plain.  It's a confoundedly ugly place, Mr. Franklin.  You don't
-know anything of it?  Well--no, we sailors don't.  Only now and then one
-of us runs against something cruel or underhand, enough to make your hair
-stand on end.  And when you do see a piece of their wickedness you find
-that to set it right is not so easy as it looks . . . Oh!  I called you
-back to tell you that there will be a lot of workmen, joiners and all
-that sent down on board first thing to-morrow morning to start making
-alterations in the cabin.  You will see to it that they don't loaf.  There
-isn't much time."
-
-Franklin was impressed by this unexpected lecture upon the wickedness of
-the solid world surrounded by the salt, uncorruptible waters on which he
-and his captain had dwelt all their lives in happy innocence.  What he
-could not understand was why it should have been delivered, and what
-connection it could have with such a matter as the alterations to be
-carried out in the cabin.  The work did not seem to him to be called for
-in such a hurry.  What was the use of altering anything?  It was a very
-good accommodation, spacious, well-distributed, on a rather old-fashioned
-plan, and with its decorations somewhat tarnished.  But a dab of varnish,
-a touch of gilding here and there, was all that was necessary.  As to
-comfort, it could not be improved by any alterations.  He resented the
-notion of change; but he said dutifully that he would keep his eye on the
-workmen if the captain would only let him know what was the nature of the
-work he had ordered to be done.
-
-"You'll find a note of it on this table.  I'll leave it for you as I go
-ashore," said Captain Anthony hastily.  Franklin thought there was no
-more to hear, and made a movement to leave the saloon.  But the captain
-continued after a slight pause, "You will be surprised, no doubt, when
-you look at it.  There'll be a good many alterations.  It's on account of
-a lady coming with us.  I am going to get married, Mr. Franklin!"
-
-
-
-CHAPTER TWO--YOUNG POWELL SEES AND HEARS
-
-
-"You remember," went on Marlow, "how I feared that Mr. Powell's want of
-experience would stand in his way of appreciating the unusual.  The
-unusual I had in my mind was something of a very subtle sort: the unusual
-in marital relations.  I may well have doubted the capacity of a young
-man too much concerned with the creditable performance of his
-professional duties to observe what in the nature of things is not easily
-observable in itself, and still less so under the special circumstances.
-In the majority of ships a second officer has not many points of contact
-with the captain's wife.  He sits at the same table with her at meals,
-generally speaking; he may now and then be addressed more or less kindly
-on insignificant matters, and have the opportunity to show her some small
-attentions on deck.  And that is all.  Under such conditions, signs can
-be seen only by a sharp and practised eye.  I am alluding now to troubles
-which are subtle often to the extent of not being understood by the very
-hearts they devastate or uplift.
-
-Yes, Mr. Powell, whom the chance of his name had thrown upon the floating
-stage of that tragicomedy would have been perfectly useless for my
-purpose if the unusual of an obvious kind had not aroused his attention
-from the first.
-
-We know how he joined that ship so suddenly offered to his anxious desire
-to make a real start in his profession.  He had come on board breathless
-with the hurried winding up of his shore affairs, accompanied by two
-horrible night-birds, escorted by a dock policeman on the make, received
-by an asthmatic shadow of a ship-keeper, warned not to make a noise in
-the darkness of the passage because the captain and his wife were already
-on board.  That in itself was already somewhat unusual.  Captains and
-their wives do not, as a rule, join a moment sooner than is necessary.
-They prefer to spend the last moments with their friends and relations.  A
-ship in one of London's older docks with their restrictions as to lights
-and so on is not the place for a happy evening.  Still, as the tide
-served at six in the morning, one could understand them coming on board
-the evening before.
-
-Just then young Powell felt as if anybody ought to be glad enough to be
-quit of the shore.  We know he was an orphan from a very early age,
-without brothers or sisters--no near relations of any kind, I believe,
-except that aunt who had quarrelled with his father.  No affection stood
-in the way of the quiet satisfaction with which he thought that now all
-the worries were over, that there was nothing before him but duties, that
-he knew what he would have to do as soon as the dawn broke and for a long
-succession of days.  A most soothing certitude.  He enjoyed it in the
-dark, stretched out in his bunk with his new blankets pulled over him.
-Some clock ashore beyond the dock-gates struck two.  And then he heard
-nothing more, because he went off into a light sleep from which he woke
-up with a start.  He had not taken his clothes off, it was hardly worth
-while.  He jumped up and went on deck.
-
-The morning was clear, colourless, grey overhead; the dock like a sheet
-of darkling glass crowded with upside-down reflections of warehouses, of
-hulls and masts of silent ships.  Rare figures moved here and there on
-the distant quays.  A knot of men stood alongside with clothes-bags and
-wooden chests at their feet.  Others were coming down the lane between
-tall, blind walls, surrounding a hand-cart loaded with more bags and
-boxes.  It was the crew of the _Ferndale_.  They began to come on board.
-He scanned their faces as they passed forward filling the roomy deck with
-the shuffle of their footsteps and the murmur of voices, like the
-awakening to life of a world about to be launched into space.
-
-Far away down the clear glassy stretch in the middle of the long dock Mr.
-Powell watched the tugs coming in quietly through the open gates.  A
-subdued firm voice behind him interrupted this contemplation.  It was
-Franklin, the thick chief mate, who was addressing him with a watchful
-appraising stare of his prominent black eyes: "You'd better take a couple
-of these chaps with you and look out for her aft.  We are going to cast
-off."
-
-"Yes, sir," Powell said with proper alacrity; but for a moment they
-remained looking at each other fixedly.  Something like a faint smile
-altered the set of the chief mate's lips just before he moved off forward
-with his brisk step.
-
-Mr. Powell, getting up on the poop, touched his cap to Captain Anthony,
-who was there alone.  He tells me that it was only then that he saw his
-captain for the first time.  The day before, in the shipping office, what
-with the bad light and his excitement at this berth obtained as if by a
-brusque and unscrupulous miracle, did not count.  He had then seemed to
-him much older and heavier.  He was surprised at the lithe figure, broad
-of shoulder, narrow at the hips, the fire of the deep-set eyes, the
-springiness of the walk.  The captain gave him a steady stare, nodded
-slightly, and went on pacing the poop with an air of not being aware of
-what was going on, his head rigid, his movements rapid.
-
-Powell stole several glances at him with a curiosity very natural under
-the circumstances.  He wore a short grey jacket and a grey cap.  In the
-light of the dawn, growing more limpid rather than brighter, Powell
-noticed the slightly sunken cheeks under the trimmed beard, the
-perpendicular fold on the forehead, something hard and set about the
-mouth.
-
-It was too early yet for the work to have begun in the dock.  The water
-gleamed placidly, no movement anywhere on the long straight lines of the
-quays, no one about to be seen except the few dock hands busy alongside
-the _Ferndale_, knowing their work, mostly silent or exchanging a few
-words in low tones as if they, too, had been aware of that lady 'who
-mustn't be disturbed.'  The _Ferndale_ was the only ship to leave that
-tide.  The others seemed still asleep, without a sound, and only here and
-there a figure, coming up on the forecastle, leaned on the rail to watch
-the proceedings idly.  Without trouble and fuss and almost without a
-sound was the _Ferndale_ leaving the land, as if stealing away.  Even the
-tugs, now with their engines stopped, were approaching her without a
-ripple, the burly-looking paddle-boat sheering forward, while the other,
-a screw, smaller and of slender shape, made for her quarter so gently
-that she did not divide the smooth water, but seemed to glide on its
-surface as if on a sheet of plate-glass, a man in her bow, the master at
-the wheel visible only from the waist upwards above the white screen of
-the bridge, both of them so still-eyed as to fascinate young Powell into
-curious self-forgetfulness and immobility.  He was steeped, sunk in the
-general quietness, remembering the statement 'she's a lady that mustn't
-be disturbed,' and repeating to himself idly: 'No.  She won't be
-disturbed.  She won't be disturbed.'  Then the first loud words of that
-morning breaking that strange hush of departure with a sharp hail: 'Look
-out for that line there,' made him start.  The line whizzed past his
-head, one of the sailors aft caught it, and there was an end to the
-fascination, to the quietness of spirit which had stolen on him at the
-very moment of departure.  From that moment till two hours afterwards,
-when the ship was brought up in one of the lower reaches of the Thames
-off an apparently uninhabited shore, near some sort of inlet where
-nothing but two anchored barges flying a red flag could be seen, Powell
-was too busy to think of the lady 'that mustn't be disturbed,' or of his
-captain--or of anything else unconnected with his immediate duties.  In
-fact, he had no occasion to go on the poop, or even look that way much;
-but while the ship was about to anchor, casting his eyes in that
-direction, he received an absurd impression that his captain (he was up
-there, of course) was sitting on both sides of the aftermost skylight at
-once.  He was too occupied to reflect on this curious delusion, this
-phenomenon of seeing double as though he had had a drop too much.  He
-only smiled at himself.
-
-As often happens after a grey daybreak the sun had risen in a warm and
-glorious splendour above the smooth immense gleam of the enlarged
-estuary.  Wisps of mist floated like trails of luminous dust, and in the
-dazzling reflections of water and vapour, the shores had the murky semi-
-transparent darkness of shadows cast mysteriously from below.  Powell,
-who had sailed out of London all his young seaman's life, told me that it
-was then, in a moment of entranced vision an hour or so after sunrise,
-that the river was revealed to him for all time, like a fair face often
-seen before, which is suddenly perceived to be the expression of an inner
-and unsuspected beauty, of that something unique and only its own which
-rouses a passion of wonder and fidelity and an unappeasable memory of its
-charm.  The hull of the _Ferndale_, swung head to the eastward, caught
-the light, her tall spars and rigging steeped in a bath of red-gold, from
-the water-line full of glitter to the trucks slight and gleaming against
-the delicate expanse of the blue.
-
-"Time we had a mouthful to eat," said a voice at his side.  It was Mr.
-Franklin, the chief mate, with his head sunk between his shoulders, and
-melancholy eyes.  "Let the men have their breakfast, bo'sun," he went on,
-"and have the fire out in the galley in half an hour at the latest, so
-that we can call these barges of explosives alongside.  Come along, young
-man.  I don't know your name.  Haven't seen the captain, to speak to,
-since yesterday afternoon when he rushed off to pick up a second mate
-somewhere.  How did he get you?"
-
-Young Powell, a little shy notwithstanding the friendly disposition of
-the other, answered him smilingly, aware somehow that there was something
-marked in this inquisitiveness, natural, after all--something anxious.
-His name was Powell, and he was put in the way of this berth by Mr.
-Powell, the shipping master.  He blushed.
-
-"Ah, I see.  Well, you have been smart in getting ready.  The
-ship-keeper, before he went away, told me you joined at one o'clock.  I
-didn't sleep on board last night.  Not I.  There was a time when I never
-cared to leave this ship for more than a couple of hours in the evening,
-even while in London, but now, since--"
-
-He checked himself with a roll of his prominent eyes towards that
-youngster, that stranger.  Meantime, he was leading the way across the
-quarter-deck under the poop into the long passage with the door of the
-saloon at the far end.  It was shut.  But Mr. Franklin did not go so far.
-After passing the pantry he opened suddenly a door on the left of the
-passage, to Powell's great surprise.
-
-"Our mess-room," he said, entering a small cabin painted white, bare,
-lighted from part of the foremost skylight, and furnished only with a
-table and two settees with movable backs.  "That surprises you?  Well, it
-isn't usual.  And it wasn't so in this ship either, before.  It's only
-since--"
-
-He checked himself again.  "Yes.  Here we shall feed, you and I, facing
-each other for the next twelve months or more--God knows how much more!
-The bo'sun keeps the deck at meal-times in fine weather."
-
-He talked not exactly wheezing, but like a man whose breath is somewhat
-short, and the spirit (young Powell could not help thinking) embittered
-by some mysterious grievance.
-
-There was enough of the unusual there to be recognized even by Powell's
-inexperience.  The officers kept out of the cabin against the custom of
-the service, and then this sort of accent in the mate's talk.  Franklin
-did not seem to expect conversational ease from the new second mate.  He
-made several remarks about the old, deploring the accident.  Awkward.
-Very awkward this thing to happen on the very eve of sailing.
-
-"Collar-bone and arm broken," he sighed.  "Sad, very sad.  Did you notice
-if the captain was at all affected?  Eh?  Must have been."
-
-Before this congested face, these globular eyes turned yearningly upon
-him, young Powell (one must keep in mind he was but a youngster then) who
-could not remember any signs of visible grief, confessed with an
-embarrassed laugh that, owing to the suddenness of this lucky chance
-coming to him, he was not in a condition to notice the state of other
-people.
-
-"I was so pleased to get a ship at last," he murmured, further
-disconcerted by the sort of pent-up gravity in Mr. Franklin's aspect.
-
-"One man's food another man's poison," the mate remarked.  "That holds
-true beyond mere victuals.  I suppose it didn't occur to you that it was
-a dam' poor way for a good man to be knocked out."
-
-Mr. Powell admitted openly that he had not thought of that.  He was ready
-to admit that it was very reprehensible of him.  But Franklin had no
-intention apparently to moralize.  He did not fall silent either.  His
-further remarks were to the effect that there had been a time when
-Captain Anthony would have showed more than enough concern for the least
-thing happening to one of his officers.  Yes, there had been a time!
-
-"And mind," he went on, laying down suddenly a half-consumed piece of
-bread and butter and raising his voice, "poor Mathews was the second man
-the longest on board.  I was the first.  He joined a month later--about
-the same time as the steward by a few days.  The bo'sun and the carpenter
-came the voyage after.  Steady men.  Still here.  No good man need ever
-have thought of leaving the _Ferndale_ unless he were a fool.  Some good
-men are fools.  Don't know when they are well off.  I mean the best of
-good men; men that you would do anything for.  They go on for years, then
-all of a sudden--"
-
-Our young friend listened to the mate with a queer sense of discomfort
-growing on him.  For it was as though Mr. Franklin were thinking aloud,
-and putting him into the delicate position of an unwilling eavesdropper.
-But there was in the mess-room another listener.  It was the steward, who
-had come in carrying a tin coffee-pot with a long handle, and stood
-quietly by: a man with a middle-aged, sallow face, long features, heavy
-eyelids, a soldierly grey moustache.  His body encased in a short black
-jacket with narrow sleeves, his long legs in very tight trousers, made up
-an agile, youthful, slender figure.  He moved forward suddenly, and
-interrupted the mate's monologue.
-
-"More coffee, Mr. Franklin?  Nice fresh lot.  Piping hot.  I am going to
-give breakfast to the saloon directly, and the cook is raking his fire
-out.  Now's your chance."
-
-The mate who, on account of his peculiar build, could not turn his head
-freely, twisted his thick trunk slightly, and ran his black eyes in the
-corners towards the steward.
-
-"And is the precious pair of them out?" he growled.
-
-The steward, pouring out the coffee into the mate's cup, muttered moodily
-but distinctly: "The lady wasn't when I was laying the table."
-
-Powell's ears were fine enough to detect something hostile in this
-reference to the captain's wife.  For of what other person could they be
-speaking?  The steward added with a gloomy sort of fairness: "But she
-will be before I bring the dishes in.  She never gives that sort of
-trouble.  That she doesn't."
-
-"No.  Not in that way," Mr. Franklin agreed, and then both he and the
-steward, after glancing at Powell--the stranger to the ship--said nothing
-more.
-
-But this had been enough to rouse his curiosity.  Curiosity is natural to
-man.  Of course it was not a malevolent curiosity which, if not exactly
-natural, is to be met fairly frequently in men and perhaps more
-frequently in women--especially if a woman be in question; and that woman
-under a cloud, in a manner of speaking.  For under a cloud Flora de
-Barral was fated to be even at sea.  Yes.  Even that sort of darkness
-which attends a woman for whom there is no clear place in the world hung
-over her.  Yes.  Even at sea!
-
-* * * * *
-
-And this is the pathos of being a woman.  A man can struggle to get a
-place for himself or perish.  But a woman's part is passive, say what you
-like, and shuffle the facts of the world as you may, hinting at lack of
-energy, of wisdom, of courage.  As a matter of fact, almost all women
-have all that--of their own kind.  But they are not made for attack.  Wait
-they must.  I am speaking here of women who are really women.  And it's
-no use talking of opportunities, either.  I know that some of them do
-talk of it.  But not the genuine women.  Those know better.  Nothing can
-beat a true woman for a clear vision of reality; I would say a cynical
-vision if I were not afraid of wounding your chivalrous feelings--for
-which, by the by, women are not so grateful as you may think, to fellows
-of your kind . . .
-
-"Upon my word, Marlow," I cried, "what are you flying out at me for like
-this?  I wouldn't use an ill-sounding word about women, but what right
-have you to imagine that I am looking for gratitude?"
-
-Marlow raised a soothing hand.
-
-"There!  There!  I take back the ill-sounding word, with the remark,
-though, that cynicism seems to me a word invented by hypocrites.  But let
-that pass.  As to women, they know that the clamour for opportunities for
-them to become something which they cannot be is as reasonable as if
-mankind at large started asking for opportunities of winning immortality
-in this world, in which death is the very condition of life.  You must
-understand that I am not talking here of material existence.  That
-naturally is implied; but you won't maintain that a woman who, say,
-enlisted, for instance (there have been cases) has conquered her place in
-the world.  She has only got her living in it--which is quite
-meritorious, but not quite the same thing.
-
-All these reflections which arise from my picking up the thread of Flora
-de Barral's existence did not, I am certain, present themselves to Mr.
-Powell--not the Mr. Powell we know taking solitary week-end cruises in
-the estuary of the Thames (with mysterious dashes into lonely creeks) but
-to the young Mr. Powell, the chance second officer of the ship
-_Ferndale_, commanded (and for the most part owned) by Roderick Anthony,
-the son of the poet--you know.  A Mr. Powell, much slenderer than our
-robust friend is now, with the bloom of innocence not quite rubbed off
-his smooth cheeks, and apt not only to be interested but also to be
-surprised by the experience life was holding in store for him.  This
-would account for his remembering so much of it with considerable
-vividness.  For instance, the impressions attending his first breakfast
-on board the _Ferndale_, both visual and mental, were as fresh to him as
-if received yesterday.
-
-The surprise, it is easy to understand, would arise from the inability to
-interpret aright the signs which experience (a thing mysterious in
-itself) makes to our understanding and emotions.  For it is never more
-than that.  Our experience never gets into our blood and bones.  It
-always remains outside of us.  That's why we look with wonder at the
-past.  And this persists even when from practice and through growing
-callousness of fibre we come to the point when nothing that we meet in
-that rapid blinking stumble across a flick of sunshine--which our life
-is--nothing, I say, which we run against surprises us any more.  Not at
-the time, I mean.  If, later on, we recover the faculty with some such
-exclamation: 'Well!  Well!  I'll be hanged if I ever, . . . ' it is
-probably because this very thing that there should be a past to look back
-upon, other people's, is very astounding in itself when one has the time,
-a fleeting and immense instant to think of it . . . "
-
-I was on the point of interrupting Marlow when he stopped of himself, his
-eyes fixed on vacancy, or--perhaps--(I wouldn't be too hard on him) on a
-vision.  He has the habit, or, say, the fault, of defective mantelpiece
-clocks, of suddenly stopping in the very fulness of the tick.  If you
-have ever lived with a clock afflicted with that perversity, you know how
-vexing it is--such a stoppage.  I was vexed with Marlow.  He was smiling
-faintly while I waited.  He even laughed a little.  And then I said
-acidly:
-
-"Am I to understand that you have ferreted out something comic in the
-history of Flora de Barral?"
-
-"Comic!" he exclaimed.  "No!  What makes you say?  . . . Oh, I
-laughed--did I?  But don't you know that people laugh at absurdities that
-are very far from being comic?  Didn't you read the latest books about
-laughter written by philosophers, psychologists?  There is a lot of them
-. . . "
-
-"I dare say there has been a lot of nonsense written about laughter--and
-tears, too, for that matter," I said impatiently.
-
-"They say," pursued the unabashed Marlow, "that we laugh from a sense of
-superiority.  Therefore, observe, simplicity, honesty, warmth of feeling,
-delicacy of heart and of conduct, self-confidence, magnanimity are
-laughed at, because the presence of these traits in a man's character
-often puts him into difficult, cruel or absurd situations, and makes us,
-the majority who are fairly free as a rule from these peculiarities, feel
-pleasantly superior."
-
-"Speak for yourself," I said.  "But have you discovered all these fine
-things in the story; or has Mr. Powell discovered them to you in his
-artless talk?  Have you two been having good healthy laughs together?
-Come!  Are your sides aching yet, Marlow?"
-
-Marlow took no offence at my banter.  He was quite serious.
-
-"I should not like to say off-hand how much of that there was," he
-pursued with amusing caution.  "But there was a situation, tense enough
-for the signs of it to give many surprises to Mr. Powell--neither of them
-shocking in itself, but with a cumulative effect which made the whole
-unforgettable in the detail of its progress.  And the first surprise came
-very soon, when the explosives (to which he owed his sudden chance of
-engagement)--dynamite in cases and blasting powder in barrels--taken on
-board, main hatch battened for sea, cook restored to his functions in the
-galley, anchor fished and the tug ahead, rounding the South Foreland, and
-with the sun sinking clear and red down the purple vista of the channel,
-he went on the poop, on duty, it is true, but with time to take the first
-freer breath in the busy day of departure.  The pilot was still on board,
-who gave him first a silent glance, and then passed an insignificant
-remark before resuming his lounging to and fro between the steering wheel
-and the binnacle.  Powell took his station modestly at the break of the
-poop.  He had noticed across the skylight a head in a grey cap.  But
-when, after a time, he crossed over to the other side of the deck he
-discovered that it was not the captain's head at all.  He became aware of
-grey hairs curling over the nape of the neck.  How could he have made
-that mistake?  But on board ship away from the land one does not expect
-to come upon a stranger.
-
-Powell walked past the man.  A thin, somewhat sunken face, with a tightly
-closed mouth, stared at the distant French coast, vague like a suggestion
-of solid darkness, lying abeam beyond the evening light reflected from
-the level waters, themselves growing more sombre than the sky; a stare,
-across which Powell had to pass and did pass with a quick side glance,
-noting its immovable stillness.  His passage disturbed those eyes no more
-than if he had been as immaterial as a ghost.  And this failure of his
-person in producing an impression affected him strangely.  Who could that
-old man be?
-
-He was so curious that he even ventured to ask the pilot in a low voice.
-The pilot turned out to be a good-natured specimen of his kind,
-condescending, sententious.  He had been down to his meals in the main
-cabin, and had something to impart.
-
-"That?  Queer fish--eh?  Mrs. Anthony's father.  I've been introduced to
-him in the cabin at breakfast time.  Name of Smith.  Wonder if he has all
-his wits about him.  They take him about with them, it seems.  Don't look
-very happy--eh?"
-
-Then, changing his tone abruptly, he desired Powell to get all hands on
-deck and make sail on the ship.  "I shall be leaving you in half an hour.
-You'll have plenty of time to find out all about the old gent," he added
-with a thick laugh.
-
-* * * * *
-
-In the secret emotion of giving his first order as a fully responsible
-officer, young Powell forgot the very existence of that old man in a
-moment.  The following days, in the interest of getting in touch with the
-ship, with the men in her, with his duties, in the rather anxious period
-of settling down, his curiosity slumbered; for of course the pilot's few
-words had not extinguished it.
-
-This settling down was made easy for him by the friendly character of his
-immediate superior--the chief.  Powell could not defend himself from some
-sympathy for that thick, bald man, comically shaped, with his crimson
-complexion and something pathetic in the rolling of his very movable
-black eyes in an apparently immovable head, who was so tactfully ready to
-take his competency for granted.
-
-There can be nothing more reassuring to a young man tackling his life's
-work for the first time.  Mr. Powell, his mind at ease about himself, had
-time to observe the people around with friendly interest.  Very early in
-the beginning of the passage, he had discovered with some amusement that
-the marriage of Captain Anthony was resented by those to whom Powell
-(conscious of being looked upon as something of an outsider) referred in
-his mind as 'the old lot.'
-
-They had the funny, regretful glances, intonations, nods of men who had
-seen other, better times.  What difference it could have made to the
-bo'sun and the carpenter Powell could not very well understand.  Yet
-these two pulled long faces and even gave hostile glances to the poop.
-The cook and the steward might have been more directly concerned.  But
-the steward used to remark on occasion, 'Oh, she gives no extra trouble,'
-with scrupulous fairness of the most gloomy kind.  He was rather a silent
-man with a great sense of his personal worth which made his speeches
-guarded.  The cook, a neat man with fair side whiskers, who had been only
-three years in the ship, seemed the least concerned.  He was even known
-to have inquired once or twice as to the success of some of his dishes
-with the captain's wife.  This was considered a sort of disloyal falling
-away from the ruling feeling.
-
-The mate's annoyance was yet the easiest to understand.  As he let it out
-to Powell before the first week of the passage was over: 'You can't
-expect me to be pleased at being chucked out of the saloon as if I
-weren't good enough to sit down to meat with that woman.'  But he
-hastened to add: 'Don't you think I'm blaming the captain.  He isn't a
-man to be found fault with.  You, Mr. Powell, are too young yet to
-understand such matters.'
-
-Some considerable time afterwards, at the end of a conversation of that
-aggrieved sort, he enlarged a little more by repeating: 'Yes!  You are
-too young to understand these things.  I don't say you haven't plenty of
-sense.  You are doing very well here.  Jolly sight better than I
-expected, though I liked your looks from the first.'
-
-It was in the trade-winds, at night, under a velvety, bespangled sky; a
-great multitude of stars watching the shadows of the sea gleaming
-mysteriously in the wake of the ship; while the leisurely swishing of the
-water to leeward was like a drowsy comment on her progress.  Mr. Powell
-expressed his satisfaction by a half-bashful laugh.  The mate mused on:
-'And of course you haven't known the ship as she used to be.  She was
-more than a home to a man.  She was not like any other ship; and Captain
-Anthony was not like any other master to sail with.  Neither is she now.
-But before one never had a care in the world as to her--and as to him,
-too.  No, indeed, there was never anything to worry about.'
-
-Young Powell couldn't see what there was to worry about even then.  The
-serenity of the peaceful night seemed as vast as all space, and as
-enduring as eternity itself.  It's true the sea is an uncertain element,
-but no sailor remembers this in the presence of its bewitching power any
-more than a lover ever thinks of the proverbial inconstancy of women.  And
-Mr. Powell, being young, thought naively that the captain being married,
-there could be no occasion for anxiety as to his condition.  I suppose
-that to him life, perhaps not so much his own as that of others, was
-something still in the nature of a fairy-tale with a 'they lived happy
-ever after' termination.  We are the creatures of our light literature
-much more than is generally suspected in a world which prides itself on
-being scientific and practical, and in possession of incontrovertible
-theories.  Powell felt in that way the more because the captain of a ship
-at sea is a remote, inaccessible creature, something like a prince of a
-fairy-tale, alone of his kind, depending on nobody, not to be called to
-account except by powers practically invisible and so distant, that they
-might well be looked upon as supernatural for all that the rest of the
-crew knows of them, as a rule.
-
-So he did not understand the aggrieved attitude of the mate--or rather he
-understood it obscurely as a result of simple causes which did not seem
-to him adequate.  He would have dismissed all this out of his mind with a
-contemptuous: 'What the devil do I care?' if the captain's wife herself
-had not been so young.  To see her the first time had been something of a
-shock to him.  He had some preconceived ideas as to captain's wives
-which, while he did not believe the testimony of his eyes, made him open
-them very wide.  He had stared till the captain's wife noticed it plainly
-and turned her face away.  Captain's wife!  That girl covered with rugs
-in a long chair.  Captain's . . . !  He gasped mentally.  It had never
-occurred to him that a captain's wife could be anything but a woman to be
-described as stout or thin, as jolly or crabbed, but always mature, and
-even, in comparison with his own years, frankly old.  But this!  It was a
-sort of moral upset as though he had discovered a case of abduction or
-something as surprising as that.  You understand that nothing is more
-disturbing than the upsetting of a preconceived idea.  Each of us
-arranges the world according to his own notion of the fitness of things.
-To behold a girl where your average mediocre imagination had placed a
-comparatively old woman may easily become one of the strongest shocks
-. . . "
-
-Marlow paused, smiling to himself.
-
-"Powell remained impressed after all these years by the very
-recollection," he continued in a voice, amused perhaps but not mocking.
-"He said to me only the other day with something like the first awe of
-that discovery lingering in his tone--he said to me: "Why, she seemed so
-young, so girlish, that I looked round for some woman which would be the
-captain's wife, though of course I knew there was no other woman on board
-that voyage."  The voyage before, it seems, there had been the steward's
-wife to act as maid to Mrs. Anthony; but she was not taken that time for
-some reason he didn't know.  Mrs. Anthony . . . !  If it hadn't been the
-captain's wife he would have referred to her mentally as a kid, he said.
-I suppose there must be a sort of divinity hedging in a captain's wife
-(however incredible) which prevented him applying to her that
-contemptuous definition in the secret of his thoughts.
-
-I asked him when this had happened; and he told me that it was three days
-after parting from the tug, just outside the channel--to be precise.  A
-head wind had set in with unpleasant damp weather.  He had come up to
-leeward of the poop, still feeling very much of a stranger, and an
-untried officer, at six in the evening to take his watch.  To see her was
-quite as unexpected as seeing a vision.  When she turned away her head he
-recollected himself and dropped his eyes.  What he could see then was
-only, close to the long chair on which she reclined, a pair of long, thin
-legs ending in black cloth boots tucked in close to the skylight seat.
-Whence he concluded that the 'old gentleman,' who wore a grey cap like
-the captain's, was sitting by her--his daughter.  In his first
-astonishment he had stopped dead short, with the consequence that now he
-felt very much abashed at having betrayed his surprise.  But he couldn't
-very well turn tail and bolt off the poop.  He had come there on duty.
-So, still with downcast eyes, he made his way past them.  Only when he
-got as far as the wheel-grating did he look up.  She was hidden from him
-by the back of her deck-chair; but he had the view of the owner of the
-thin, aged legs seated on the skylight, his clean-shaved cheek, his thin
-compressed mouth with a hollow in each corner, the sparse grey locks
-escaping from under the tweed cap, and curling slightly on the collar of
-the coat.  He leaned forward a little over Mrs. Anthony, but they were
-not talking.  Captain Anthony, walking with a springy hurried gait on the
-other side of the poop from end to end, gazed straight before him.  Young
-Powell might have thought that his captain was not aware of his presence
-either.  However, he knew better, and for that reason spent a most
-uncomfortable hour motionless by the compass before his captain stopped
-in his swift pacing and with an almost visible effort made some remark to
-him about the weather in a low voice.  Before Powell, who was startled,
-could find a word of answer, the captain swung off again on his endless
-tramp with a fixed gaze.  And till the supper bell rang silence dwelt
-over that poop like an evil spell.  The captain walked up and down
-looking straight before him, the helmsman steered, looking upwards at the
-sails, the old gent on the skylight looked down on his daughter--and Mr.
-Powell confessed to me that he didn't know where to look, feeling as
-though he had blundered in where he had no business--which was absurd.  At
-last he fastened his eyes on the compass card, took refuge, in spirit,
-inside the binnacle.  He felt chilled more than he should have been by
-the chilly dusk falling on the muddy green sea of the soundings from a
-smoothly clouded sky.  A fitful wind swept the cheerless waste, and the
-ship, hauled up so close as to check her way, seemed to progress by
-languid fits and starts against the short seas which swept along her
-sides with a snarling sound.
-
-Young Powell thought that this was the dreariest evening aspect of the
-sea he had ever seen.  He was glad when the other occupants of the poop
-left it at the sound of the bell.  The captain first, with a sudden
-swerve in his walk towards the companion, and not even looking once
-towards his wife and his wife's father.  Those two got up and moved
-towards the companion, the old gent very erect, his thin locks stirring
-gently about the nape of his neck, and carrying the rugs over his arm.
-The girl who was Mrs. Anthony went down first.  The murky twilight had
-settled in deep shadow on her face.  She looked at Mr. Powell in passing.
-He thought that she was very pale.  Cold perhaps.  The old gent stopped a
-moment, thin and stiff, before the young man, and in a voice which was
-low but distinct enough, and without any particular accent--not even of
-inquiry--he said:
-
-"You are the new second officer, I believe."
-
-Mr. Powell answered in the affirmative, wondering if this were a friendly
-overture.  He had noticed that Mr. Smith's eyes had a sort of inward look
-as though he had disliked or disdained his surroundings.  The captain's
-wife had disappeared then down the companion stairs.  Mr. Smith said
-'Ah!' and waited a little longer to put another question in his incurious
-voice.
-
-"And did you know the man who was here before you?"
-
-"No," said young Powell, "I didn't know anybody belonging to this ship
-before I joined."
-
-"He was much older than you.  Twice your age.  Perhaps more.  His hair
-was iron grey.  Yes.  Certainly more."
-
-The low, repressed voice paused, but the old man did not move away.  He
-added: "Isn't it unusual?"
-
-Mr. Powell was surprised not only by being engaged in conversation, but
-also by its character.  It might have been the suggestion of the word
-uttered by this old man, but it was distinctly at that moment that he
-became aware of something unusual not only in this encounter but
-generally around him, about everybody, in the atmosphere.  The very sea,
-with short flashes of foam bursting out here and there in the gloomy
-distances, the unchangeable, safe sea sheltering a man from all passions,
-except its own anger, seemed queer to the quick glance he threw to
-windward where the already effaced horizon traced no reassuring limit to
-the eye.  In the expiring, diffused twilight, and before the clouded
-night dropped its mysterious veil, it was the immensity of space made
-visible--almost palpable.  Young Powell felt it.  He felt it in the
-sudden sense of his isolation; the trustworthy, powerful ship of his
-first acquaintance reduced to a speck, to something almost
-undistinguishable, the mere support for the soles of his two feet before
-that unexpected old man becoming so suddenly articulate in a darkening
-universe.
-
-It took him a moment or so to seize the drift of the question.  He
-repeated slowly: 'Unusual . . . Oh, you mean for an elderly man to be the
-second of a ship.  I don't know.  There are a good many of us who don't
-get on.  He didn't get on, I suppose.'
-
-The other, his head bowed a little, had the air of listening with acute
-attention.
-
-"And now he has been taken to the hospital," he said.
-
-"I believe so.  Yes.  I remember Captain Anthony saying so in the
-shipping office."
-
-"Possibly about to die," went on the old man, in his careful deliberate
-tone.  "And perhaps glad enough to die."
-
-Mr. Powell was young enough to be startled at the suggestion, which
-sounded confidential and blood-curdling in the dusk.  He said sharply
-that it was not very likely, as if defending the absent victim of the
-accident from an unkind aspersion.  He felt, in fact, indignant.  The
-other emitted a short stifled laugh of a conciliatory nature.  The second
-bell rang under the poop.  He made a movement at the sound, but lingered.
-
-"What I said was not meant seriously," he murmured, with that strange air
-of fearing to be overheard.  "Not in this case.  I know the man."
-
-The occasion, or rather the want of occasion, for this conversation, had
-sharpened the perceptions of the unsophisticated second officer of the
-_Ferndale_.  He was alive to the slightest shade of tone, and felt as if
-this "I know the man" should have been followed by a "he was no friend of
-mine."  But after the shortest possible break the old gentleman continued
-to murmur distinctly and evenly:
-
-"Whereas you have never seen him.  Nevertheless, when you have gone
-through as many years as I have, you will understand how an event putting
-an end to one's existence may not be altogether unwelcome.  Of course
-there are stupid accidents.  And even then one needn't be very angry.
-What is it to be deprived of life?  It's soon done.  But what would you
-think of the feelings of a man who should have had his life stolen from
-him?  Cheated out of it, I say!"
-
-He ceased abruptly, and remained still long enough for the astonished
-Powell to stammer out an indistinct: "What do you mean?  I don't
-understand."  Then, with a low 'Good-night' glided a few steps, and sank
-through the shadow of the companion into the lamplight below which did
-not reach higher than the turn of the staircase.
-
-The strange words, the cautious tone, the whole person left a strong
-uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Powell.  He started walking the poop in
-great mental confusion.  He felt all adrift.  This was funny talk and no
-mistake.  And this cautious low tone as though he were watched by someone
-was more than funny.  The young second officer hesitated to break the
-established rule of every ship's discipline; but at last could not resist
-the temptation of getting hold of some other human being, and spoke to
-the man at the wheel.
-
-"Did you hear what this gentleman was saying to me?"
-
-"No, sir," answered the sailor quietly.  Then, encouraged by this
-evidence of laxity in his officer, made bold to add, "A queer fish, sir."
-This was tentative, and Mr. Powell, busy with his own view, not saying
-anything, he ventured further.  "They are more like passengers.  One sees
-some queer passengers."
-
-"Who are like passengers?" asked Powell gruffly.
-
-"Why, these two, sir."
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THREE--DEVOTED SERVANTS--AND THE LIGHT OF A FLARE
-
-
-Young Powell thought to himself: "The men, too, are noticing it."  Indeed,
-the captain's behaviour to his wife and to his wife's father was
-noticeable enough.  It was as if they had been a pair of not very
-congenial passengers.  But perhaps it was not always like that.  The
-captain might have been put out by something.
-
-When the aggrieved Franklin came on deck Mr. Powell made a remark to that
-effect.  For his curiosity was aroused.
-
-The mate grumbled "Seems to you? . . . Putout?  . . . eh?"  He buttoned
-his thick jacket up to the throat, and only then added a gloomy "Aye,
-likely enough," which discouraged further conversation.  But no
-encouragement would have induced the newly-joined second mate to enter
-the way of confidences.  His was an instinctive prudence.  Powell did not
-know why it was he had resolved to keep his own counsel as to his
-colloquy with Mr. Smith.  But his curiosity did not slumber.  Some time
-afterwards, again at the relief of watches, in the course of a little
-talk, he mentioned Mrs. Anthony's father quite casually, and tried to
-find out from the mate who he was.
-
-"It would take a clever man to find that out, as things are on board
-now," Mr. Franklin said, unexpectedly communicative.  "The first I saw of
-him was when she brought him alongside in a four-wheeler one morning
-about half-past eleven.  The captain had come on board early, and was
-down in the cabin that had been fitted out for him.  Did I tell you that
-if you want the captain for anything you must stamp on the port side of
-the deck?  That's so.  This ship is not only unlike what she used to be,
-but she is like no other ship, anyhow.  Did you ever hear of the
-captain's room being on the port side?  Both of them stern cabins have
-been fitted up afresh like a blessed palace.  A gang of people from some
-tip-top West-End house were fussing here on board with hangings and
-furniture for a fortnight, as if the Queen were coming with us.  Of
-course the starboard cabin is the bedroom one, but the poor captain hangs
-out to port on a couch, so that in case we want him on deck at night,
-Mrs. Anthony should not be startled.  Nervous!  Phoo!  A woman who
-marries a sailor and makes up her mind to come to sea should have no
-blamed jumpiness about her, I say.  But never mind.  Directly the old cab
-pointed round the corner of the warehouse I called out to the captain
-that his lady was coming aboard.  He answered me, but as I didn't see him
-coming, I went down the gangway myself to help her alight.  She jumps out
-excitedly without touching my arm, or as much as saying "thank you" or
-"good morning" or anything, turns back to the cab, and then that old
-joker comes out slowly.  I hadn't noticed him inside.  I hadn't expected
-to see anybody.  It gave me a start.  She says: "My father--Mr.
-Franklin."  He was staring at me like an owl.  "How do you do, sir?" says
-I.  Both of them looked funny.  It was as if something had happened to
-them on the way.  Neither of them moved, and I stood by waiting.  The
-captain showed himself on the poop; and I saw him at the side looking
-over, and then he disappeared; on the way to meet them on shore, I
-expected.  But he just went down below again.  So, not seeing him, I
-said: "Let me help you on board, sir."  "On board!" says he in a silly
-fashion.  "On board!"  "It's not a very good ladder, but it's quite
-firm," says I, as he seemed to be afraid of it.  And he didn't look a
-broken-down old man, either.  You can see yourself what he is.  Straight
-as a poker, and life enough in him yet.  But he made no move, and I began
-to feel foolish.  Then she comes forward.  "Oh!  Thank you, Mr. Franklin.
-I'll help my father up."  Flabbergasted me--to be choked off like this.
-Pushed in between him and me without as much as a look my way.  So of
-course I dropped it.  What do you think?  I fell back.  I would have gone
-up on board at once and left them on the quay to come up or stay there
-till next week, only they were blocking the way.  I couldn't very well
-shove them on one side.  Devil only knows what was up between them.  There
-she was, pale as death, talking to him very fast.  He got as red as a
-turkey-cock--dash me if he didn't.  A bad-tempered old bloke, I can tell
-you.  And a bad lot, too.  Never mind.  I couldn't hear what she was
-saying to him, but she put force enough into it to shake her.  It
-seemed--it seemed, mind!--that he didn't want to go on board.  Of course
-it couldn't have been that.  I know better.  Well, she took him by the
-arm, above the elbow, as if to lead him, or push him rather.  I was
-standing not quite ten feet off.  Why should I have gone away?  I was
-anxious to get back on board as soon as they would let me.  I didn't want
-to overhear her blamed whispering either.  But I couldn't stay there for
-ever, so I made a move to get past them if I could.  And that's how I
-heard a few words.  It was the old chap--something nasty about being
-"under the heel" of somebody or other.  Then he says, "I don't want this
-sacrifice."  What it meant I can't tell.  It was a quarrel--of that I am
-certain.  She looks over her shoulder, and sees me pretty close to them.
-I don't know what she found to say into his ear, but he gave way
-suddenly.  He looked round at me too, and they went up together so
-quickly then that when I got on the quarter-deck I was only in time to
-see the inner door of the passage close after them.  Queer--eh?  But if
-it were only queerness one wouldn't mind.  Some luggage in new trunks
-came on board in the afternoon.  We undocked at midnight.  And may I be
-hanged if I know who or what he was or is.  I haven't been able to find
-out.  No, I don't know.  He may have been anything.  All I know is that
-once, years ago when I went to see the Derby with a friend, I saw a pea-
-and-thimble chap who looked just like that old mystery father out of a
-cab."
-
-All this the goggle-eyed mate had said in a resentful and melancholy
-voice, with pauses, to the gentle murmur of the sea.  It was for him a
-bitter sort of pleasure to have a fresh pair of ears, a newcomer, to whom
-he could repeat all these matters of grief and suspicion talked over
-endlessly by the band of Captain Anthony's faithful subordinates.  It was
-evidently so refreshing to his worried spirit that it made him forget the
-advisability of a little caution with a complete stranger.  But really
-with Mr. Powell there was no danger.  Amused, at first, at these plaints,
-he provoked them for fun.  Afterwards, turning them over in his mind, he
-became impressed, and as the impression grew stronger with the days his
-resolution to keep it to himself grew stronger too.
-
-* * * * *
-
-What made it all the easier to keep--I mean the resolution--was that
-Powell's sentiment of amused surprise at what struck him at first as mere
-absurdity was not unmingled with indignation.  And his years were too
-few, his position too novel, his reliance on his own opinion not yet firm
-enough to allow him to express it with any effect.  And then--what would
-have been the use, anyhow--and where was the necessity?
-
-But this thing, familiar and mysterious at the same time, occupied his
-imagination.  The solitude of the sea intensifies the thoughts and the
-facts of one's experience which seems to lie at the very centre of the
-world, as the ship which carries one always remains the centre figure of
-the round horizon.  He viewed the apoplectic, goggle-eyed mate and the
-saturnine, heavy-eyed steward as the victims of a peculiar and secret
-form of lunacy which poisoned their lives.  But he did not give them his
-sympathy on that account.  No.  That strange affliction awakened in him a
-sort of suspicious wonder.
-
-Once--and it was at night again; for the officers of the _Ferndale_
-keeping watch and watch as was customary in those days, had but few
-occasions for intercourse--once, I say, the thick Mr. Franklin, a
-quaintly bulky figure under the stars, the usual witnesses of his
-outpourings, asked him with an abruptness which was not callous, but in
-his simple way:
-
-"I believe you have no parents living?"
-
-Mr. Powell said that he had lost his father and mother at a very early
-age.
-
-"My mother is still alive," declared Mr. Franklin in a tone which
-suggested that he was gratified by the fact.  "The old lady is lasting
-well.  Of course she's got to be made comfortable.  A woman must be
-looked after, and, if it comes to that, I say, give me a mother.  I dare
-say if she had not lasted it out so well I might have gone and got
-married.  I don't know, though.  We sailors haven't got much time to look
-about us to any purpose.  Anyhow, as the old lady was there I haven't, I
-may say, looked at a girl in all my life.  Not that I wasn't partial to
-female society in my time," he added with a pathetic intonation, while
-the whites of his goggle eyes gleamed amorously under the clear night
-sky.  "Very partial, I may say."
-
-Mr. Powell was amused; and as these communications took place only when
-the mate was relieved off duty he had no serious objection to them.  The
-mate's presence made the first half-hour and sometimes even more of his
-watch on deck pass away.  If his senior did not mind losing some of his
-rest it was not Mr. Powell's affair.  Franklin was a decent fellow.  His
-intention was not to boast of his filial piety.
-
-"Of course I mean respectable female society," he explained.  "The other
-sort is neither here nor there.  I blame no man's conduct, but a well-
-brought-up young fellow like you knows that there's precious little fun
-to be got out of it."  He fetched a deep sigh.  "I wish Captain Anthony's
-mother had been a lasting sort like my old lady.  He would have had to
-look after her and he would have done it well.  Captain Anthony is a
-proper man.  And it would have saved him from the most foolish--"
-
-He did not finish the phrase which certainly was turning bitter in his
-mouth.  Mr. Powell thought to himself: "There he goes again."  He laughed
-a little.
-
-"I don't understand why you are so hard on the captain, Mr. Franklin.  I
-thought you were a great friend of his."
-
-Mr. Franklin exclaimed at this.  He was not hard on the captain.  Nothing
-was further from his thoughts.  Friend!  Of course he was a good friend
-and a faithful servant.  He begged Powell to understand that if Captain
-Anthony chose to strike a bargain with Old Nick to-morrow, and Old Nick
-were good to the captain, he (Franklin) would find it in his heart to
-love Old Nick for the captain's sake.  That was so.  On the other hand,
-if a saint, an angel with white wings came along and--"
-
-He broke off short again as if his own vehemence had frightened him.  Then
-in his strained pathetic voice (which he had never raised) he observed
-that it was no use talking.  Anybody could see that the man was changed.
-
-"As to that," said young Powell, "it is impossible for me to judge."
-
-"Good Lord!" whispered the mate.  "An educated, clever young fellow like
-you with a pair of eyes on him and some sense too!  Is that how a happy
-man looks?  Eh?  Young you may be, but you aren't a kid; and I dare you
-to say 'Yes!'"
-
-Mr. Powell did not take up the challenge.  He did not know what to think
-of the mate's view.  Still, it seemed as if it had opened his
-understanding in a measure.  He conceded that the captain did not look
-very well.
-
-"Not very well," repeated the mate mournfully.  "Do you think a man with
-a face like that can hope to live his life out?  You haven't knocked
-about long in this world yet, but you are a sailor, you have been in
-three or four ships, you say.  Well, have you ever seen a shipmaster
-walking his own deck as if he did not know what he had underfoot?  Have
-you?  Dam'me if I don't think that he forgets where he is.  Of course he
-can be no other than a prime seaman; but it's lucky, all the same, he has
-me on board.  I know by this time what he wants done without being told.
-Do you know that I have had no order given me since we left port?  Do you
-know that he has never once opened his lips to me unless I spoke to him
-first?  I?  His chief officer; his shipmate for full six years, with whom
-he had no cross word--not once in all that time.  Aye.  Not a cross look
-even.  True that when I do make him speak to me, there is his dear old
-self, the quick eye, the kind voice.  Could hardly be other to his old
-Franklin.  But what's the good?  Eyes, voice, everything's miles away.
-And for all that I take good care never to address him when the poop
-isn't clear.  Yes!  Only we two and nothing but the sea with us.  You
-think it would be all right; the only chief mate he ever had--Mr.
-Franklin here and Mr. Franklin there--when anything went wrong the first
-word you would hear about the decks was 'Franklin!'--I am thirteen years
-older than he is--you would think it would be all right, wouldn't you?
-Only we two on this poop on which we saw each other first--he a young
-master--told me that he thought I would suit him very well--we two, and
-thirty-one days out at sea, and it's no good!  It's like talking to a man
-standing on shore.  I can't get him back.  I can't get at him.  I feel
-sometimes as if I must shake him by the arm: "Wake up!  Wake up!  You are
-wanted, sir . . . !"
-
-Young Powell recognized the expression of a true sentiment, a thing so
-rare in this world where there are so many mutes and so many excellent
-reasons even at sea for an articulate man not to give himself away, that
-he felt something like respect for this outburst.  It was not loud.  The
-grotesque squat shape, with the knob of the head as if rammed down
-between the square shoulders by a blow from a club, moved vaguely in a
-circumscribed space limited by the two harness-casks lashed to the front
-rail of the poop, without gestures, hands in the pockets of the jacket,
-elbows pressed closely to its side; and the voice without resonance,
-passed from anger to dismay and back again without a single louder word
-in the hurried delivery, interrupted only by slight gasps for air as if
-the speaker were being choked by the suppressed passion of his grief.
-
-Mr. Powell, though moved to a certain extent, was by no means carried
-away.  And just as he thought that it was all over, the other, fidgeting
-in the darkness, was heard again explosive, bewildered but not very loud
-in the silence of the ship and the great empty peace of the sea.
-
-"They have done something to him!  What is it?  What can it be?  Can't
-you guess?  Don't you know?"
-
-"Good heavens!" Young Powell was astounded on discovering that this was
-an appeal addressed to him.  "How on earth can I know?"
-
-"You do talk to that white-faced, black-eyed . . . I've seen you talking
-to her more than a dozen times."
-
-Young Powell, his sympathy suddenly chilled, remarked in a disdainful
-tone that Mrs. Anthony's eyes were not black.
-
-"I wish to God she had never set them on the captain, whatever colour
-they are," retorted Franklin.  "She and that old chap with the scraped
-jaws who sits over her and stares down at her dead-white face with his
-yellow eyes--confound them!  Perhaps you will tell us that his eyes are
-not yellow?"
-
-Powell, not interested in the colour of Mr. Smith's eyes, made a vague
-gesture.  Yellow or not yellow, it was all one to him.
-
-The mate murmured to himself.  "No.  He can't know.  No!  No more than a
-baby.  It would take an older head."
-
-"I don't even understand what you mean," observed Mr. Powell coldly.
-
-"And even the best head would be puzzled by such devil-work," the mate
-continued, muttering.  "Well, I have heard tell of women doing for a man
-in one way or another when they got him fairly ashore.  But to bring
-their devilry to sea and fasten on such a man! . . . It's something I
-can't understand.  But I can watch.  Let them look out--I say!"
-
-His short figure, unable to stoop, without flexibility, could not express
-dejection.  He was very tired suddenly; he dragged his feet going off the
-poop.  Before he left it with nearly an hour of his watch below
-sacrificed, he addressed himself once more to our young man who stood
-abreast of the mizzen rigging in an unreceptive mood expressed by silence
-and immobility.  He did not regret, he said, having spoken openly on this
-very serious matter.
-
-"I don't know about its seriousness, sir," was Mr. Powell's frank answer.
-"But if you think you have been telling me something very new you are
-mistaken.  You can't keep that matter out of your speeches.  It's the
-sort of thing I've been hearing more or less ever since I came on board."
-
-Mr. Powell, speaking truthfully, did not mean to speak offensively.  He
-had instincts of wisdom; he felt that this was a serious affair, for it
-had nothing to do with reason.  He did not want to raise an enemy for
-himself in the mate.  And Mr. Franklin did not take offence.  To Mr.
-Powell's truthful statement he answered with equal truth and simplicity
-that it was very likely, very likely.  With a thing like that (next door
-to witchcraft almost) weighing on his mind, the wonder was that he could
-think of anything else.  The poor man must have found in the restlessness
-of his thoughts the illusion of being engaged in an active contest with
-some power of evil; for his last words as he went lingeringly down the
-poop ladder expressed the quaint hope that he would get him, Powell, "on
-our side yet."
-
-Mr. Powell--just imagine a straightforward youngster assailed in this
-fashion on the high seas--answered merely by an embarrassed and uneasy
-laugh which reflected exactly the state of his innocent soul.  The
-apoplectic mate, already half-way down, went up again three steps of the
-poop ladder.  Why, yes.  A proper young fellow, the mate expected,
-wouldn't stand by and see a man, a good sailor and his own skipper, in
-trouble without taking his part against a couple of shore people who--Mr.
-Powell interrupted him impatiently, asking what was the trouble?
-
-"What is it you are hinting at?" he cried with an inexplicable
-irritation.
-
-"I don't like to think of him all alone down there with these two,"
-Franklin whispered impressively.  "Upon my word I don't.  God only knows
-what may be going on there . . . Don't laugh . . . It was bad enough last
-voyage when Mrs. Brown had a cabin aft; but now it's worse.  It frightens
-me.  I can't sleep sometimes for thinking of him all alone there, shut
-off from us all."
-
-Mrs. Brown was the steward's wife.  You must understand that shortly
-after his visit to the Fyne cottage (with all its consequences), Anthony
-had got an offer to go to the Western Islands, and bring home the cargo
-of some ship which, damaged in a collision or a stranding, took refuge in
-St. Michael, and was condemned there.  Roderick Anthony had connections
-which would put such paying jobs in his way.  So Flora de Barral had but
-a five months' voyage, a mere excursion, for her first trial of sea-life.
-And Anthony, dearly trying to be most attentive, had induced this Mrs.
-Brown, the wife of his faithful steward, to come along as maid to his
-bride.  But for some reason or other this arrangement was not continued.
-And the mate, tormented by indefinite alarms and forebodings, regretted
-it.  He regretted that Jane Brown was no longer on board--as a sort of
-representative of Captain Anthony's faithful servants, to watch quietly
-what went on in that part of the ship this fatal marriage had closed to
-their vigilance.  That had been excellent.  For she was a dependable
-woman.
-
-Powell did not detect any particular excellence in what seemed a spying
-employment.  But in his simplicity he said that he should have thought
-Mrs. Anthony would have been glad anyhow to have another woman on board.
-He was thinking of the white-faced girlish personality which it seemed to
-him ought to have been cared for.  The innocent young man always looked
-upon the girl as immature; something of a child yet.
-
-"She! glad!  Why it was she who had her fired out.  She didn't want
-anybody around the cabin.  Mrs. Brown is certain of it.  She told her
-husband so.  You ask the steward and hear what he has to say about it.
-That's why I don't like it.  A capable woman who knew her place.  But no.
-Out she must go.  For no fault, mind you.  The captain was ashamed to
-send her away.  But that wife of his--aye the precious pair of them have
-got hold of him.  I can't speak to him for a minute on the poop without
-that thimble-rigging coon coming gliding up.  I'll tell you what.  I
-overheard once--God knows I didn't try to--only he forgot I was on the
-other side of the skylight with my sextant--I overheard him--you know how
-he sits hanging over her chair and talking away without properly opening
-his mouth--yes I caught the word right enough.  He was alluding to the
-captain as "the jailer."  The jail . . . !"
-
-Franklin broke off with a profane execration.  A silence reigned for a
-long time and the slight, very gentle rolling of the ship slipping before
-the N.E. trade-wind seemed to be a soothing device for lulling to sleep
-the suspicions of men who trust themselves to the sea.
-
-A deep sigh was heard followed by the mate's voice asking dismally if
-that was the way one would speak of a man to whom one wished well?  No
-better proof of something wrong was needed.  Therefore he hoped, as he
-vanished at last, that Mr. Powell would be on their side.  And this time
-Mr. Powell did not answer this hope with an embarrassed laugh.
-
-That young officer was more and more surprised at the nature of the
-incongruous revelations coming to him in the surroundings and in the
-atmosphere of the open sea.  It is difficult for us to understand the
-extent, the completeness, the comprehensiveness of his inexperience, for
-us who didn't go to sea out of a small private school at the age of
-fourteen years and nine months.  Leaning on his elbow in the mizzen
-rigging and so still that the helmsman over there at the other end of the
-poop might have (and he probably did) suspect him of being criminally
-asleep on duty, he tried to "get hold of that thing" by some side which
-would fit in with his simple notions of psychology.  "What the deuce are
-they worrying about?" he asked himself in a dazed and contemptuous
-impatience.  But all the same "jailer" was a funny name to give a man;
-unkind, unfriendly, nasty.  He was sorry that Mr. Smith was guilty in
-that matter because, the truth must be told, he had been to a certain
-extent sensible of having been noticed in a quiet manner by the father of
-Mrs. Anthony.  Youth appreciates that sort of recognition which is the
-subtlest form of flattery age can offer.  Mr. Smith seized opportunities
-to approach him on deck.  His remarks were sometimes weird and
-enigmatical.
-
-He was doubtless an eccentric old gent.  But from that to calling his son-
-in-law (whom he never approached on deck) nasty names behind his back was
-a long step.
-
-And Mr. Powell marvelled . . . "
-
-"While he was telling me all this,"--Marlow changed his tone--"I
-marvelled even more.  It was as if misfortune marked its victims on the
-forehead for the dislike of the crowd.  I am not thinking here of
-numbers.  Two men may behave like a crowd, three certainly will when
-their emotions are engaged.  It was as if the forehead of Flora de Barral
-were marked.  Was the girl born to be a victim; to be always disliked and
-crushed as if she were too fine for this world?  Or too luckless--since
-that also is often counted as sin.
-
-Yes, I marvelled more since I knew more of the girl than Mr. Powell--if
-only her true name; and more of Captain Anthony--if only the fact that he
-was the son of a delicate erotic poet of a markedly refined and
-autocratic temperament.  Yes, I knew their joint stories which Mr. Powell
-did not know.  The chapter in it he was opening to me, the sea-chapter,
-with such new personages as the sentimental and apoplectic chief-mate and
-the morose steward, however astounding to him in its detached condition
-was much more so to me as a member of a series, following the chapter
-outside the Eastern Hotel in which I myself had played my part.  In view
-of her declarations and my sage remarks it was very unexpected.  She had
-meant well, and I had certainly meant well too.  Captain Anthony--as far
-as I could gather from little Fyne--had meant well.  As far as such lofty
-words may be applied to the obscure personages of this story we were all
-filled with the noblest sentiments and intentions.  The sea was there to
-give them the shelter of its solitude free from the earth's petty
-suggestions.  I could well marvel in myself, as to what had happened.
-
-I hope that if he saw it, Mr. Powell forgave me the smile of which I was
-guilty at that moment.  The light in the cabin of his little cutter was
-dim.  And the smile was dim too.  Dim and fleeting.  The girl's life had
-presented itself to me as a tragi-comical adventure, the saddest thing on
-earth, slipping between frank laughter and unabashed tears.  Yes, the
-saddest facts and the most common, and, being common perhaps the most
-worthy of our unreserved pity.
-
-The purely human reality is capable of lyrism but not of abstraction.
-Nothing will serve for its understanding but the evidence of rational
-linking up of characters and facts.  And beginning with Flora de Barral,
-in the light of my memories I was certain that she at least must have
-been passive; for that is of necessity the part of women, this waiting on
-fate which some of them, and not the most intelligent, cover up by the
-vain appearances of agitation.  Flora de Barral was not exceptionally
-intelligent but she was thoroughly feminine.  She would be passive (and
-that does not mean inanimate) in the circumstances, where the mere fact
-of being a woman was enough to give her an occult and supreme
-significance.  And she would be enduring which is the essence of woman's
-visible, tangible power.  Of that I was certain.  Had she not endured
-already?  Yet it is so true that the germ of destruction lies in wait for
-us mortals, even at the very source of our strength, that one may die of
-too much endurance as well as of too little of it.
-
-Such was my train of thought.  And I was mindful also of my first view of
-her--toying or perhaps communing in earnest with the possibilities of a
-precipice.  But I did not ask Mr. Powell anxiously what had happened to
-Mrs. Anthony in the end.  I let him go on in his own way feeling that no
-matter what strange facts he would have to disclose, I was certain to
-know much more of them than he ever did know or could possibly guess
-. . . "
-
-Marlow paused for quite a long time.  He seemed uncertain as though he
-had advanced something beyond my grasp.  Purposely I made no sign.  "You
-understand?" he asked.
-
-"Perfectly," I said.  "You are the expert in the psychological
-wilderness.  This is like one of those Red-skin stories where the noble
-savages carry off a girl and the honest backwoodsman with his
-incomparable knowledge follows the track and reads the signs of her fate
-in a footprint here, a broken twig there, a trinket dropped by the way.  I
-have always liked such stories.  Go on."
-
-Marlow smiled indulgently at my jesting.  "It is not exactly a story for
-boys," he said.  "I go on then.  The sign, as you call it, was not very
-plentiful but very much to the purpose, and when Mr. Powell heard (at a
-certain moment I felt bound to tell him) when he heard that I had known
-Mrs. Anthony before her marriage, that, to a certain extent, I was her
-confidant . . . For you can't deny that to a certain extent . . . Well
-let us say that I had a look in . . . A young girl, you know, is
-something like a temple.  You pass by and wonder what mysterious rites
-are going on in there, what prayers, what visions?  The privileged men,
-the lover, the husband, who are given the key of the sanctuary do not
-always know how to use it.  For myself, without claim, without merit,
-simply by chance I had been allowed to look through the half-opened door
-and I had seen the saddest possible desecration, the withered brightness
-of youth, a spirit neither made cringing nor yet dulled but as if
-bewildered in quivering hopelessness by gratuitous cruelty;
-self-confidence destroyed and, instead, a resigned recklessness, a
-mournful callousness (and all this simple, almost naive)--before the
-material and moral difficulties of the situation.  The passive anguish of
-the luckless!
-
-I asked myself: wasn't that ill-luck exhausted yet?  Ill-luck which is
-like the hate of invisible powers interpreted, made sensible and
-injurious by the actions of men?
-
-Mr. Powell as you may well imagine had opened his eyes at my statement.
-But he was full of his recalled experiences on board the _Ferndale_, and
-the strangeness of being mixed up in what went on aboard, simply because
-his name was also the name of a shipping-master, kept him in a state of
-wonder which made other coincidences, however unlikely, not so very
-surprising after all.
-
-This astonishing occurrence was so present to his mind that he always
-felt as though he were there under false pretences.  And this feeling was
-so uncomfortable that it nerved him to break through the awe-inspiring
-aloofness of his captain.  He wanted to make a clean breast of it.  I
-imagine that his youth stood in good stead to Mr. Powell.  Oh, yes.  Youth
-is a power.  Even Captain Anthony had to take some notice of it, as if it
-refreshed him to see something untouched, unscarred, unhardened by
-suffering.  Or perhaps the very novelty of that face, on board a ship
-where he had seen the same faces for years, attracted his attention.
-
-Whether one day he dropped a word to his new second officer or only
-looked at him I don't know; but Mr. Powell seized the opportunity
-whatever it was.  The captain who had started and stopped in his
-everlasting rapid walk smoothed his brow very soon, heard him to the end
-and then laughed a little.
-
-"Ah!  That's the story.  And you felt you must put me right as to this."
-
-"Yes, sir."
-
-"It doesn't matter how you came on board," said Anthony.  And then
-showing that perhaps he was not so utterly absent from his ship as
-Franklin supposed: "That's all right.  You seem to be getting on very
-well with everybody," he said in his curt hurried tone, as if talking
-hurt him, and his eyes already straying over the sea as usual.
-
-"Yes, sir."
-
-Powell tells me that looking then at the strong face to which that
-haggard expression was returning, he had the impulse, from some confused
-friendly feeling, to add: "I am very happy on board here, sir."
-
-The quickly returning glance, its steadiness, abashed Mr. Powell and made
-him even step back a little.  The captain looked as though he had
-forgotten the meaning of the word.
-
-"You--what?  Oh yes . . . You . . . of course . . . Happy.  Why not?"
-
-This was merely muttered; and next moment Anthony was off on his headlong
-tramp his eyes turned to the sea away from his ship.
-
-A sailor indeed looks generally into the great distances, but in Captain
-Anthony's case there was--as Powell expressed it--something particular,
-something purposeful like the avoidance of pain or temptation.  It was
-very marked once one had become aware of it.  Before, one felt only a
-pronounced strangeness.  Not that the captain--Powell was careful to
-explain--didn't see things as a ship-master should.  The proof of it was
-that on that very occasion he desired him suddenly after a period of
-silent pacing, to have all the staysails sheets eased off, and he was
-going on with some other remarks on the subject of these staysails when
-Mrs. Anthony followed by her father emerged from the companion.  She
-established herself in her chair to leeward of the skylight as usual.
-Thereupon the captain cut short whatever he was going to say, and in a
-little while went down below.
-
-I asked Mr. Powell whether the captain and his wife never conversed on
-deck.  He said no--or at any rate they never exchanged more than a couple
-of words.  There was some constraint between them.  For instance, on that
-very occasion, when Mrs. Anthony came out they did look at each other;
-the captain's eyes indeed followed her till she sat down; but he did not
-speak to her; he did not approach her; and afterwards left the deck
-without turning his head her way after this first silent exchange of
-glances.
-
-I asked Mr. Powell what did he do then, the captain being out of the way.
-"I went over and talked to Mrs. Anthony.  I was thinking that it must be
-very dull for her.  She seemed to be such a stranger to the ship."
-
-"The father was there of course?"
-
-"Always," said Powell.  "He was always there sitting on the skylight, as
-if he were keeping watch over her.  And I think," he added, "that he was
-worrying her.  Not that she showed it in any way.  Mrs. Anthony was
-always very quiet and always ready to look one straight in the face."
-
-"You talked together a lot?" I pursued my inquiries.  "She mostly let me
-talk to her," confessed Mr. Powell.  "I don't know that she was very much
-interested--but still she let me.  She never cut me short."
-
-All the sympathies of Mr. Powell were for Flora Anthony nee de Barral.
-She was the only human being younger than himself on board that ship
-since the _Ferndale_ carried no boys and was manned by a full crew of
-able seamen.  Yes! their youth had created a sort of bond between them.
-Mr. Powell's open countenance must have appeared to her distinctly
-pleasing amongst the mature, rough, crabbed or even inimical faces she
-saw around her.  With the warm generosity of his age young Powell was on
-her side, as it were, even before he knew that there were sides to be
-taken on board that ship, and what this taking sides was about.  There
-was a girl.  A nice girl.  He asked himself no questions.  Flora de
-Barral was not so much younger in years than himself; but for some
-reason, perhaps by contrast with the accepted idea of a captain's wife,
-he could not regard her otherwise but as an extremely youthful creature.
-At the same time, apart from her exalted position, she exercised over him
-the supremacy a woman's earlier maturity gives her over a young man of
-her own age.  As a matter of fact we can see that, without ever having
-more than a half an hour's consecutive conversation together, and the
-distances duly preserved, these two were becoming friends--under the eye
-of the old man, I suppose.
-
-How he first got in touch with his captain's wife Powell relates in this
-way.  It was long before his memorable conversation with the mate and
-shortly after getting clear of the channel.  It was gloomy weather; dead
-head wind, blowing quite half a gale; the _Ferndale_ under reduced sail
-was stretching close-hauled across the track of the homeward bound ships,
-just moving through the water and no more, since there was no object in
-pressing her and the weather looked threatening.  About ten o'clock at
-night he was alone on the poop, in charge, keeping well aft by the
-weather rail and staring to windward, when amongst the white, breaking
-seas, under the black sky, he made out the lights of a ship.  He watched
-them for some time.  She was running dead before the wind of course.  She
-will pass jolly close--he said to himself; and then suddenly he felt a
-great mistrust of that approaching ship.  She's heading straight for
-us--he thought.  It was not his business to get out of the way.  On the
-contrary.  And his uneasiness grew by the recollection of the forty tons
-of dynamite in the body of the _Ferndale_; not the sort of cargo one
-thinks of with equanimity in connection with a threatened collision.  He
-gazed at the two small lights in the dark immensity filled with the angry
-noise of the seas.  They fascinated him till their plainness to his sight
-gave him a conviction that there was danger there.  He knew in his mind
-what to do in the emergency, but very properly he felt that he must call
-the captain out at once.
-
-He crossed the deck in one bound.  By the immemorial custom and usage of
-the sea the captain's room is on the starboard side.  You would just as
-soon expect your captain to have his nose at the back of his head as to
-have his state-room on the port side of the ship.  Powell forgot all
-about the direction on that point given him by the chief.  He flew over
-as I said, stamped with his foot and then putting his face to the cowl of
-the big ventilator shouted down there: "Please come on deck, sir," in a
-voice which was not trembling or scared but which we may call fairly
-expressive.  There could not be a mistake as to the urgence of the call.
-But instead of the expected alert "All right!" and the sound of a rush
-down there, he heard only a faint exclamation--then silence.
-
-Think of his astonishment!  He remained there, his ear in the cowl of the
-ventilator, his eyes fastened on those menacing sidelights dancing on the
-gusts of wind which swept the angry darkness of the sea.  It was as
-though he had waited an hour but it was something much less than a minute
-before he fairly bellowed into the wide tube "Captain Anthony!"  An
-agitated "What is it?" was what he heard down there in Mrs. Anthony's
-voice, light rapid footsteps . . . Why didn't she try to wake him up!  "I
-want the captain," he shouted, then gave it up, making a dash at the
-companion where a blue light was kept, resolved to act for himself.
-
-On the way he glanced at the helmsman whose face lighted up by the
-binnacle lamps was calm.  He said rapidly to him: "Stand by to spin that
-helm up at the first word."  The answer "Aye, aye, sir," was delivered in
-a steady voice.  Then Mr. Powell after a shout for the watch on deck to
-"lay aft," ran to the ship's side and struck the blue light on the rail.
-
-A sort of nasty little spitting of sparks was all that came.  The light
-(perhaps affected by damp) had failed to ignite.  The time of all these
-various acts must be counted in seconds.  Powell confessed to me that at
-this failure he experienced a paralysis of thought, of voice, of limbs.
-The unexpectedness of this misfire positively overcame his faculties.  It
-was the only thing for which his imagination was not prepared.  It was
-knocked clean over.  When it got up it was with the suggestion that he
-must do something at once or there would be a broadside smash accompanied
-by the explosion of dynamite, in which both ships would be blown up and
-every soul on board of them would vanish off the earth in an enormous
-flame and uproar.
-
-He saw the catastrophe happening and at the same moment, before he could
-open his mouth or stir a limb to ward off the vision, a voice very near
-his ear, the measured voice of Captain Anthony said: "Wouldn't light--eh?
-Throw it down!  Jump for the flare-up."
-
-The spring of activity in Mr. Powell was released with great force.  He
-jumped.  The flare-up was kept inside the companion with a box of matches
-ready to hand.  Almost before he knew he had moved he was diving under
-the companion slide.  He got hold of the can in the dark and tried to
-strike a light.  But he had to press the flare-holder to his breast with
-one arm, his fingers were damp and stiff, his hands trembled a little.
-One match broke.  Another went out.  In its flame he saw the colourless
-face of Mrs. Anthony a little below him, standing on the cabin stairs.
-Her eyes which were very close to his (he was in a crouching posture on
-the top step) seemed to burn darkly in the vanishing light.  On deck the
-captain's voice was heard sudden and unexpectedly sardonic: "You had
-better look sharp, if you want to be in time."
-
-"Let me have the box," said Mrs. Anthony in a hurried and familiar
-whisper which sounded amused as if they had been a couple of children up
-to some lark behind a wall.  He was glad of the offer which seemed to him
-very natural, and without ceremony--
-
-"Here you are.  Catch hold."
-
-Their hands touched in the dark and she took the box while he held the
-paraffin soaked torch in its iron holder.  He thought of warning her:
-"Look out for yourself."  But before he had the time to finish the
-sentence the flare blazed up violently between them and he saw her throw
-herself back with an arm across her face.  "Hallo," he exclaimed; only he
-could not stop a moment to ask if she was hurt.  He bolted out of the
-companion straight into his captain who took the flare from him and held
-it high above his head.
-
-The fierce flame fluttered like a silk flag, throwing an angry swaying
-glare mingled with moving shadows over the poop, lighting up the concave
-surfaces of the sails, gleaming on the wet paint of the white rails.  And
-young Powell turned his eyes to windward with a catch in his breath.
-
-The strange ship, a darker shape in the night, did not seem to be moving
-onwards but only to grow more distinct right abeam, staring at the
-_Ferndale_ with one green and one red eye which swayed and tossed as if
-they belonged to the restless head of some invisible monster ambushed in
-the night amongst the waves.  A moment, long like eternity, elapsed, and,
-suddenly, the monster which seemed to take to itself the shape of a
-mountain shut its green eye without as much as a preparatory wink.
-
-Mr. Powell drew a free breath.  "All right now," said Captain Anthony in
-a quiet undertone.  He gave the blazing flare to Powell and walked aft to
-watch the passing of that menace of destruction coming blindly with its
-parti-coloured stare out of a blind night on the wings of a sweeping
-wind.  Her very form could be distinguished now black and elongated
-amongst the hissing patches of foam bursting along her path.
-
-As is always the case with a ship running before wind and sea she did not
-seem to an onlooker to move very fast; but to be progressing indolently
-in long leisurely bounds and pauses in the midst of the overtaking waves.
-It was only when actually passing the stern within easy hail of the
-_Ferndale_, that her headlong speed became apparent to the eye.  With the
-red light shut off and soaring like an immense shadow on the crest of a
-wave she was lost to view in one great, forward swing, melting into the
-lightless space.
-
-"Close shave," said Captain Anthony in an indifferent voice just raised
-enough to be heard in the wind.  "A blind lot on board that ship.  Put
-out the flare now."
-
-Silently Mr. Powell inverted the holder, smothering the flame in the can,
-bringing about by the mere turn of his wrist the fall of darkness upon
-the poop.  And at the same time vanished out of his mind's eye the vision
-of another flame enormous and fierce shooting violently from a white
-churned patch of the sea, lighting up the very clouds and carrying
-upwards in its volcanic rush flying spars, corpses, the fragments of two
-destroyed ships.  It vanished and there was an immense relief.  He told
-me he did not know how scared he had been, not generally but of that very
-thing his imagination had conjured, till it was all over.  He measured it
-(for fear is a great tension) by the feeling of slack weariness which
-came over him all at once.
-
-He walked to the companion and stooping low to put the flare in its usual
-place saw in the darkness the motionless pale oval of Mrs. Anthony's
-face.  She whispered quietly:
-
-"Is anything going to happen?  What is it?"
-
-"It's all over now," he whispered back.
-
-He remained bent low, his head inside the cover staring at that white
-ghostly oval.  He wondered she had not rushed out on deck.  She had
-remained quietly there.  This was pluck.  Wonderful self-restraint.  And
-it was not stupidity on her part.  She knew there was imminent danger and
-probably had some notion of its nature.
-
-"You stayed here waiting for what would come," he murmured admiringly.
-
-"Wasn't that the best thing to do?" she asked.
-
-He didn't know.  Perhaps.  He confessed he could not have done it.  Not
-he.  His flesh and blood could not have stood it.  He would have felt he
-must see what was coming.  Then he remembered that the flare might have
-scorched her face, and expressed his concern.
-
-"A bit.  Nothing to hurt.  Smell the singed hair?"
-
-There was a sort of gaiety in her tone.  She might have been frightened
-but she certainly was not overcome and suffered from no reaction.  This
-confirmed and augmented if possible Mr. Powell's good opinion of her as a
-"jolly girl," though it seemed to him positively monstrous to refer in
-such terms to one's captain's wife.  "But she doesn't look it," he
-thought in extenuation and was going to say something more to her about
-the lighting of that flare when another voice was heard in the companion,
-saying some indistinct words.  Its tone was contemptuous; it came from
-below, from the bottom of the stairs.  It was a voice in the cabin.  And
-the only other voice which could be heard in the main cabin at this time
-of the evening was the voice of Mrs. Anthony's father.  The indistinct
-white oval sank from Mr. Powell's sight so swiftly as to take him by
-surprise.  For a moment he hung at the opening of the companion and now
-that her slight form was no longer obstructing the narrow and winding
-staircase the voices came up louder but the words were still indistinct.
-The old gentleman was excited about something and Mrs. Anthony was
-"managing him" as Powell expressed it.  They moved away from the bottom
-of the stairs and Powell went away from the companion.  Yet he fancied he
-had heard the words "Lost to me" before he withdrew his head.  They had
-been uttered by Mr. Smith.
-
-Captain Anthony had not moved away from the taffrail.  He remained in the
-very position he took up to watch the other ship go by rolling and
-swinging all shadowy in the uproar of the following seas.  He stirred
-not; and Powell keeping near by did not dare speak to him, so enigmatical
-in its contemplation of the night did his figure appear to his young
-eyes: indistinct--and in its immobility staring into gloom, the prey of
-some incomprehensible grief, longing or regret.
-
-Why is it that the stillness of a human being is often so impressive, so
-suggestive of evil--as if our proper fate were a ceaseless agitation?  The
-stillness of Captain Anthony became almost intolerable to his second
-officer.  Mr. Powell loitering about the skylight wanted his captain off
-the deck now.  "Why doesn't he go below?" he asked himself impatiently.
-He ventured a cough.
-
-Whether the effect of the cough or not Captain Anthony spoke.  He did not
-move the least bit.  With his back remaining turned to the whole length
-of the ship he asked Mr. Powell with some brusqueness if the chief mate
-had neglected to instruct him that the captain was to be found on the
-port side.
-
-"Yes, sir," said Mr. Powell approaching his back.  "The mate told me to
-stamp on the port side when I wanted you; but I didn't remember at the
-moment."
-
-"You should remember," the captain uttered with an effort.  Then added
-mumbling "I don't want Mrs. Anthony frightened.  Don't you see? . . ."
-
-"She wasn't this time," Powell said innocently: "She lighted the flare-up
-for me, sir."
-
-"This time," Captain Anthony exclaimed and turned round.  "Mrs. Anthony
-lighted the flare?  Mrs. Anthony! . . . "  Powell explained that she was
-in the companion all the time.
-
-"All the time," repeated the captain.  It seemed queer to Powell that
-instead of going himself to see the captain should ask him:
-
-"Is she there now?"
-
-Powell said that she had gone below after the ship had passed clear of
-the _Ferndale_.  Captain Anthony made a movement towards the companion
-himself, when Powell added the information.  "Mr. Smith called to Mrs.
-Anthony from the saloon, sir.  I believe they are talking there now."
-
-He was surprised to see the captain give up the idea of going below after
-all.
-
-He began to walk the poop instead regardless of the cold, of the damp
-wind and of the sprays.  And yet he had nothing on but his sleeping suit
-and slippers.  Powell placing himself on the break of the poop kept a
-look-out.  When after some time he turned his head to steal a glance at
-his eccentric captain he could not see his active and shadowy figure
-swinging to and fro.  The second mate of the _Ferndale_ walked aft
-peering about and addressed the seaman who steered.
-
-"Captain gone below?"
-
-"Yes, sir," said the fellow who with a quid of tobacco bulging out his
-left cheek kept his eyes on the compass card.  "This minute.  He
-laughed."
-
-"Laughed," repeated Powell incredulously.  "Do you mean the captain did?
-You must be mistaken.  What would he want to laugh for?"
-
-"Don't know, sir."
-
-The elderly sailor displayed a profound indifference towards human
-emotions.  However, after a longish pause he conceded a few words more to
-the second officer's weakness.  "Yes.  He was walking the deck as usual
-when suddenly he laughed a little and made for the companion.  Thought of
-something funny all at once."
-
-Something funny!  That Mr. Powell could not believe.  He did not ask
-himself why, at the time.  Funny thoughts come to men, though, in all
-sorts of situations; they come to all sorts of men.  Nevertheless Mr.
-Powell was shocked to learn that Captain Anthony had laughed without
-visible cause on a certain night.  The impression for some reason was
-disagreeable.  And it was then, while finishing his watch, with the
-chilly gusts of wind sweeping at him out of the darkness where the short
-sea of the soundings growled spitefully all round the ship, that it
-occurred to his unsophisticated mind that perhaps things are not what
-they are confidently expected to be; that it was possible that Captain
-Anthony was not a happy man . . . In so far you will perceive he was to a
-certain extent prepared for the apoplectic and sensitive Franklin's
-lamentations about his captain.  And though he treated them with a
-contempt which was in a great measure sincere, yet he admitted to me that
-deep down within him an inexplicable and uneasy suspicion that all was
-not well in that cabin, so unusually cut off from the rest of the ship,
-came into being and grew against his will.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER FOUR--ANTHONY AND FLORA
-
-
-Marlow emerged out of the shadow of the book-case to get himself a cigar
-from a box which stood on a little table by my side.  In the full light
-of the room I saw in his eyes that slightly mocking expression with which
-he habitually covers up his sympathetic impulses of mirth and pity before
-the unreasonable complications the idealism of mankind puts into the
-simple but poignant problem of conduct on this earth.
-
-He selected and lit the cigar with affected care, then turned upon me, I
-had been looking at him silently.
-
-"I suppose," he said, the mockery of his eyes giving a pellucid quality
-to his tone, "that you think it's high time I told you something
-definite.  I mean something about that psychological cabin mystery of
-discomfort (for it's obvious that it must be psychological) which
-affected so profoundly Mr. Franklin the chief mate, and had even
-disturbed the serene innocence of Mr. Powell, the second of the ship
-_Ferndale_, commanded by Roderick Anthony--the son of the poet, you
-know."
-
-"You are going to confess now that you have failed to find it out," I
-said in pretended indignation.
-
-"It would serve you right if I told you that I have.  But I won't.  I
-haven't failed.  I own though that for a time, I was puzzled.  However, I
-have now seen our Powell many times under the most favourable
-conditions--and besides I came upon a most unexpected source of
-information . . . But never mind that.  The means don't concern you
-except in so far as they belong to the story.  I'll admit that for some
-time the old-maiden-lady-like occupation of putting two and two together
-failed to procure a coherent theory.  I am speaking now as an
-investigator--a man of deductions.  With what we know of Roderick Anthony
-and Flora de Barral I could not deduct an ordinary marital quarrel
-beautifully matured in less than a year--could I?  If you ask me what is
-an ordinary marital quarrel I will tell you, that it is a difference
-about nothing; I mean, these nothings which, as Mr. Powell told us when
-we first met him, shore people are so prone to start a row about, and
-nurse into hatred from an idle sense of wrong, from perverted ambition,
-for spectacular reasons too.  There are on earth no actors too humble and
-obscure not to have a gallery; that gallery which envenoms the play by
-stealthy jeers, counsels of anger, amused comments or words of perfidious
-compassion.  However, the Anthonys were free from all demoralizing
-influences.  At sea, you know, there is no gallery.  You hear no
-tormenting echoes of your own littleness there, where either a great
-elemental voice roars defiantly under the sky or else an elemental
-silence seems to be part of the infinite stillness of the universe.
-
-Remembering Flora de Barral in the depths of moral misery, and Roderick
-Anthony carried away by a gust of tempestuous tenderness, I asked myself,
-Is it all forgotten already?  What could they have found to estrange them
-from each other with this rapidity and this thoroughness so far from all
-temptations, in the peace of the sea and in an isolation so complete that
-if it had not been the jealous devotion of the sentimental Franklin
-stimulating the attention of Powell, there would have been no record, no
-evidence of it at all.
-
-I must confess at once that it was Flora de Barral whom I suspected.  In
-this world as at present organized women are the suspected half of the
-population.  There are good reasons for that.  These reasons are so
-discoverable with a little reflection that it is not worth my while to
-set them out for you.  I will only mention this: that the part falling to
-women's share being all "influence" has an air of occult and mysterious
-action, something not altogether trustworthy like all natural forces
-which, for us, work in the dark because of our imperfect comprehension.
-
-If women were not a force of nature, blind in its strength and capricious
-in its power, they would not be mistrusted.  As it is one can't help it.
-You will say that this force having been in the person of Flora de Barral
-captured by Anthony . . . Why yes.  He had dealt with her masterfully.
-But man has captured electricity too.  It lights him on his way, it warms
-his home, it will even cook his dinner for him--very much like a woman.
-But what sort of conquest would you call it?  He knows nothing of it.  He
-has got to be mighty careful what he is about with his captive.  And the
-greater the demand he makes on it in the exultation of his pride the more
-likely it is to turn on him and burn him to a cinder . . . "
-
-"A far-fetched enough parallel," I observed coldly to Marlow.  He had
-returned to the arm-chair in the shadow of the bookcase.  "But accepting
-the meaning you have in your mind it reduces itself to the knowledge of
-how to use it.  And if you mean that this ravenous Anthony--"
-
-"Ravenous is good," interrupted Marlow.  "He was a-hungering and
-a-thirsting for femininity to enter his life in a way no mere feminist
-could have the slightest conception of.  I reckon that this accounts for
-much of Fyne's disgust with him.  Good little Fyne.  You have no idea
-what infernal mischief he had worked during his call at the hotel.  But
-then who could have suspected Anthony of being a heroic creature.  There
-are several kinds of heroism and one of them at least is idiotic.  It is
-the one which wears the aspect of sublime delicacy.  It is apparently the
-one of which the son of the delicate poet was capable.
-
-He certainly resembled his father, who, by the way, wore out two women
-without any satisfaction to himself, because they did not come up to his
-supra-refined standard of the delicacy which is so perceptible in his
-verses.  That's your poet.  He demands too much from others.  The
-inarticulate son had set up a standard for himself with that need for
-embodying in his conduct the dreams, the passion, the impulses the poet
-puts into arrangements of verses, which are dearer to him than his own
-self--and may make his own self appear sublime in the eyes of other
-people, and even in his own eyes.
-
-Did Anthony wish to appear sublime in his own eyes?  I should not like to
-make that charge; though indeed there are other, less noble, ambitions at
-which the world does not dare to smile.  But I don't think so; I do not
-even think that there was in what he did a conscious and lofty confidence
-in himself, a particularly pronounced sense of power which leads men so
-often into impossible or equivocal situations.  Looked at abstractedly
-(the way in which truth is often seen in its real shape) his life had
-been a life of solitude and silence--and desire.
-
-Chance had thrown that girl in his way; and if we may smile at his
-violent conquest of Flora de Barral we must admit also that this eager
-appropriation was truly the act of a man of solitude and desire; a man
-also, who, unless a complete imbecile, must have been a man of long and
-ardent reveries wherein the faculty of sincere passion matures slowly in
-the unexplored recesses of the heart.  And I know also that a passion,
-dominating or tyrannical, invading the whole man and subjugating all his
-faculties to its own unique end, may conduct him whom it spurs and
-drives, into all sorts of adventures, to the brink of unfathomable
-dangers, to the limits of folly, and madness, and death.
-
-To the man then of a silence made only more impressive by the
-inarticulate thunders and mutters of the great seas, an utter stranger to
-the clatter of tongues, there comes the muscular little Fyne, the most
-marked representative of that mankind whose voice is so strange to him,
-the husband of his sister, a personality standing out from the misty and
-remote multitude.  He comes and throws at him more talk than he had ever
-heard boomed out in an hour, and certainly touching the deepest things
-Anthony had ever discovered in himself, and flings words like "unfair"
-whose very sound is abhorrent to him.  Unfair!  Undue advantage!  He!
-Unfair to that girl?  Cruel to her!
-
-No scorn could stand against the impression of such charges advanced with
-heat and conviction.  They shook him.  They were yet vibrating in the air
-of that stuffy hotel-room, terrific, disturbing, impossible to get rid
-of, when the door opened and Flora de Barral entered.
-
-He did not even notice that she was late.  He was sitting on a sofa
-plunged in gloom.  Was it true?  Having himself always said exactly what
-he meant he imagined that people (unless they were liars, which of course
-his brother-in-law could not be) never said more than they meant.  The
-deep chest voice of little Fyne was still in his ear.  "He knows,"
-Anthony said to himself.  He thought he had better go away and never see
-her again.  But she stood there before him accusing and appealing.  How
-could he abandon her?  That was out of the question.  She had no one.  Or
-rather she had someone.  That father.  Anthony was willing to take him at
-her valuation.  This father may have been the victim of the most
-atrocious injustice.  But what could a man coming out of jail do?  An old
-man too.  And then--what sort of man?  What would become of them both?
-Anthony shuddered slightly and the faint smile with which Flora had
-entered the room faded on her lips.  She was used to his impetuous
-tenderness.  She was no longer afraid of it.  But she had never seen him
-look like this before, and she suspected at once some new cruelty of
-life.  He got up with his usual ardour but as if sobered by a momentous
-resolve and said:
-
-"No.  I can't let you out of my sight.  I have seen you.  You have told
-me your story.  You are honest.  You have never told me you loved me."
-
-She waited, saying to herself that he had never given her time, that he
-had never asked her!  And that, in truth, she did not know!
-
-I am inclined to believe that she did not.  As abundance of experience is
-not precisely her lot in life, a woman is seldom an expert in matters of
-sentiment.  It is the man who can and generally does "see himself" pretty
-well inside and out.  Women's self-possession is an outward thing;
-inwardly they flutter, perhaps because they are, or they feel themselves
-to be, engaged.  All this speaking generally.  In Flora de Barral's
-particular case ever since Anthony had suddenly broken his way into her
-hopeless and cruel existence she lived like a person liberated from a
-condemned cell by a natural cataclysm, a tempest, an earthquake; not
-absolutely terrified, because nothing can be worse than the eve of
-execution, but stunned, bewildered--abandoning herself passively.  She
-did not want to make a sound, to move a limb.  She hadn't the strength.
-What was the good?  And deep down, almost unconsciously she was seduced
-by the feeling of being supported by this violence.  A sensation she had
-never experienced before in her life.
-
-She felt as if this whirlwind were calming down somehow!  As if this
-feeling of support, which was tempting her to close her eyes deliciously
-and let herself be carried on and on into the unknown undefiled by vile
-experiences, were less certain, had wavered threateningly.  She tried to
-read something in his face, in that energetic kindly face to which she
-had become accustomed so soon.  But she was not yet capable of
-understanding its expression.  Scared, discouraged on the threshold of
-adolescence, plunged in moral misery of the bitterest kind, she had not
-learned to read--not that sort of language.
-
-If Anthony's love had been as egoistic as love generally is, it would
-have been greater than the egoism of his vanity--or of his generosity, if
-you like--and all this could not have happened.  He would not have hit
-upon that renunciation at which one does not know whether to grin or
-shudder.  It is true too that then his love would not have fastened
-itself upon the unhappy daughter of de Barral.  But it was a love born of
-that rare pity which is not akin to contempt because rooted in an
-overwhelmingly strong capacity for tenderness--the tenderness of the
-fiery kind--the tenderness of silent solitary men, the voluntary,
-passionate outcasts of their kind.  At the time I am forced to think that
-his vanity must have been enormous.
-
-"What big eyes she has," he said to himself amazed.  No wonder.  She was
-staring at him with all the might of her soul awakening slowly from a
-poisoned sleep, in which it could only quiver with pain but could neither
-expand nor move.  He plunged into them breathless and tense, deep, deep,
-like a mad sailor taking a desperate dive from the masthead into the blue
-unfathomable sea so many men have execrated and loved at the same time.
-And his vanity was immense.  It had been touched to the quick by that
-muscular little feminist, Fyne.  "I!  I!  Take advantage of her
-helplessness.  I!  Unfair to that creature--that wisp of mist, that white
-shadow homeless in an ugly dirty world.  I could blow her away with a
-breath," he was saying to himself with horror.  "Never!"  All the
-supremely refined delicacy of tenderness, expressed in so many fine lines
-of verse by Carleon Anthony, grew to the size of a passion filling with
-inward sobs the big frame of the man who had never in his life read a
-single one of those famous sonnets singing of the most highly civilized,
-chivalrous love, of those sonnets which . . . You know there's a volume
-of them.  My edition has the portrait of the author at thirty, and when I
-showed it to Mr. Powell the other day he exclaimed: "Wonderful!  One
-would think this the portrait of Captain Anthony himself if . . ."  I
-wanted to know what that if was.  But Powell could not say.  There was
-something--a difference.  No doubt there was--in fineness perhaps.  The
-father, fastidious, cerebral, morbidly shrinking from all contacts, could
-only sing in harmonious numbers of what the son felt with a dumb and
-reckless sincerity.
-
-* * * * *
-
-Possessed by most strong men's touching illusion as to the frailness of
-women and their spiritual fragility, it seemed to Anthony that he would
-be destroying, breaking something very precious inside that being.  In
-fact nothing less than partly murdering her.  This seems a very extreme
-effect to flow from Fyne's words.  But Anthony, unaccustomed to the
-chatter of the firm earth, never stayed to ask himself what value these
-words could have in Fyne's mouth.  And indeed the mere dark sound of them
-was utterly abhorrent to his native rectitude, sea-salted, hardened in
-the winds of wide horizons, open as the day.
-
-He wished to blurt out his indignation but she regarded him with an
-expectant air which checked him.  His visible discomfort made her uneasy.
-He could only repeat "Oh yes.  You are perfectly honest.  You might have,
-but I dare say you are right.  At any rate you have never said anything
-to me which you didn't mean."
-
-"Never," she whispered after a pause.
-
-He seemed distracted, choking with an emotion she could not understand
-because it resembled embarrassment, a state of mind inconceivable in that
-man.
-
-She wondered what it was she had said; remembering that in very truth she
-had hardly spoken to him except when giving him the bare outline of her
-story which he seemed to have hardly had the patience to hear, waving it
-perpetually aside with exclamations of horror and anger, with fiercely
-sombre mutters "Enough!  Enough!" and with alarming starts from a forced
-stillness, as though he meant to rush out at once and take vengeance on
-somebody.  She was saying to herself that he caught her words in the air,
-never letting her finish her thought.  Honest.  Honest.  Yes certainly
-she had been that.  Her letter to Mrs. Fyne had been prompted by honesty.
-But she reflected sadly that she had never known what to say to him.  That
-perhaps she had nothing to say.
-
-"But you'll find out that I can be honest too," he burst out in a
-menacing tone, she had learned to appreciate with an amused thrill.
-
-She waited for what was coming.  But he hung in the wind.  He looked
-round the room with disgust as if he could see traces on the walls of all
-the casual tenants that had ever passed through it.  People had
-quarrelled in that room; they had been ill in it, there had been misery
-in that room, wickedness, crime perhaps--death most likely.  This was not
-a fit place.  He snatched up his hat.  He had made up his mind.  The
-ship--the ship he had known ever since she came off the stocks, his
-home--her shelter--the uncontaminated, honest ship, was the place.
-
-"Let us go on board.  We'll talk there," he said.  "And you will have to
-listen to me.  For whatever happens, no matter what they say, I cannot
-let you go."
-
-You can't say that (misgivings or no misgivings) she could have done
-anything else but go on board.  It was the appointed business of that
-morning.  During the drive he was silent.  Anthony was the last man to
-condemn conventionally any human being, to scorn and despise even
-deserved misfortune.  He was ready to take old de Barral--the convict--on
-his daughter's valuation without the slightest reserve.  But love like
-his, though it may drive one into risky folly by the proud consciousness
-of its own strength, has a sagacity of its own.  And now, as if lifted up
-into a higher and serene region by its purpose of renunciation, it gave
-him leisure to reflect for the first time in these last few days.  He
-said to himself: "I don't know that man.  She does not know him either.
-She was barely sixteen when they locked him up.  She was a child.  What
-will he say?  What will he do?  No, he concluded, I cannot leave her
-behind with that man who would come into the world as if out of a grave.
-
-They went on board in silence, and it was after showing her round and
-when they had returned to the saloon that he assailed her in his fiery,
-masterful fashion.  At first she did not understand.  Then when she
-understood that he was giving her her liberty she went stiff all over,
-her hand resting on the edge of the table, her face set like a carving of
-white marble.  It was all over.  It was as that abominable governess had
-said.  She was insignificant, contemptible.  Nobody could love her.
-Humiliation clung to her like a cold shroud--never to be shaken off,
-unwarmed by this madness of generosity.
-
-"Yes.  Here.  Your home.  I can't give it to you and go away, but it is
-big enough for us two.  You need not be afraid.  If you say so I shall
-not even look at you.  Remember that grey head of which you have been
-thinking night and day.  Where is it going to rest?  Where else if not
-here, where nothing evil can touch it.  Don't you understand that I won't
-let you buy shelter from me at the cost of your very soul.  I won't.  You
-are too much part of me.  I have found myself since I came upon you and I
-would rather sell my own soul to the devil than let you go out of my
-keeping.  But I must have the right."
-
-He went away brusquely to shut the door leading on deck and came back the
-whole length of the cabin repeating:
-
-"I must have the legal right.  Are you ashamed of letting people think
-you are my wife?"
-
-He opened his arms as if to clasp her to his breast but mastered the
-impulse and shook his clenched hands at her, repeating: "I must have the
-right if only for your father's sake.  I must have the right.  Where
-would you take him?  To that infernal cardboard box-maker.  I don't know
-what keeps me from hunting him up in his virtuous home and bashing his
-head in.  I can't bear the thought.  Listen to me, Flora!  Do you hear
-what I am saying to you?  You are not so proud that you can't understand
-that I as a man have my pride too?"
-
-He saw a tear glide down her white cheek from under each lowered eyelid.
-Then, abruptly, she walked out of the cabin.  He stood for a moment,
-concentrated, reckoning his own strength, interrogating his heart, before
-he followed her hastily.  Already she had reached the wharf.
-
-At the sound of his pursuing footsteps her strength failed her.  Where
-could she escape from this?  From this new perfidy of life taking upon
-itself the form of magnanimity.  His very voice was changed.  The
-sustaining whirlwind had let her down, to stumble on again, weakened by
-the fresh stab, bereft of moral support which is wanted in life more than
-all the charities of material help.  She had never had it.  Never.  Not
-from the Fynes.  But where to go?  Oh yes, this dock--a placid sheet of
-water close at hand.  But there was that old man with whom she had walked
-hand in hand on the parade by the sea.  She seemed to see him coming to
-meet her, pitiful, a little greyer, with an appealing look and an
-extended, tremulous arm.  It was for her now to take the hand of that
-wronged man more helpless than a child.  But where could she lead him?
-Where?  And what was she to say to him?  What words of cheer, of courage
-and of hope?  There were none.  Heaven and earth were mute, unconcerned
-at their meeting.  But this other man was coming up behind her.  He was
-very close now.  His fiery person seemed to radiate heat, a tingling
-vibration into the atmosphere.  She was exhausted, careless, afraid to
-stumble, ready to fall.  She fancied she could hear his breathing.  A
-wave of languid warmth overtook her, she seemed to lose touch with the
-ground under her feet; and when she felt him slip his hand under her arm
-she made no attempt to disengage herself from that grasp which closed
-upon her limb, insinuating and firm.
-
-He conducted her through the dangers of the quayside.  Her sight was dim.
-A moving truck was like a mountain gliding by.  Men passed by as if in a
-mist; and the buildings, the sheds, the unexpected open spaces, the
-ships, had strange, distorted, dangerous shapes.  She said to herself
-that it was good not to be bothered with what all these things meant in
-the scheme of creation (if indeed anything had a meaning), or were just
-piled-up matter without any sense.  She felt how she had always been
-unrelated to this world.  She was hanging on to it merely by that one arm
-grasped firmly just above the elbow.  It was a captivity.  So be it.  Till
-they got out into the street and saw the hansom waiting outside the gates
-Anthony spoke only once, beginning brusquely but in a much gentler tone
-than she had ever heard from his lips.
-
-"Of course I ought to have known that you could not care for a man like
-me, a stranger.  Silence gives consent.  Yes?  Eh?  I don't want any of
-that sort of consent.  And unless some day you find you can speak . . .
-No!  No!  I shall never ask you.  For all the sign I will give you you
-may go to your grave with sealed lips.  But what I have said you must
-do!"
-
-He bent his head over her with tender care.  At the same time she felt
-her arm pressed and shaken inconspicuously, but in an undeniable manner.
-"You must do it."  A little shake that no passer-by could notice; and
-this was going on in a deserted part of the dock.  "It must be done.  You
-are listening to me--eh? or would you go again to my sister?"
-
-His ironic tone, perhaps from want of use, had an awful grating ferocity.
-
-"Would you go to her?" he pursued in the same strange voice.  "Your best
-friend!  And say nicely--I am sorry.  Would you?  No!  You couldn't.
-There are things that even you, poor dear lost girl, couldn't stand.  Eh?
-Die rather.  That's it.  Of course.  Or can you be thinking of taking
-your father to that infernal cousin's house.  No!  Don't speak.  I can't
-bear to think of it.  I would follow you there and smash the door!"
-
-The catch in his voice astonished her by its resemblance to a sob.  It
-frightened her too.  The thought that came to her head was: "He mustn't."
-He was putting her into the hansom.  "Oh!  He mustn't, he mustn't."  She
-was still more frightened by the discovery that he was shaking all over.
-Bewildered, shrinking into the far off corner, avoiding his eyes, she yet
-saw the quivering of his mouth and made a wild attempt at a smile, which
-broke the rigidity of her lips and set her teeth chattering suddenly.
-
-"I am not coming with you," he was saying.  "I'll tell the man . . . I
-can't.  Better not.  What is it?  Are you cold?  Come!  What is it?  Only
-to go to a confounded stuffy room, a hole of an office.  Not a quarter of
-an hour.  I'll come for you--in ten days.  Don't think of it too much.
-Think of no man, woman or child of all that silly crowd cumbering the
-ground.  Don't think of me either.  Think of yourself.  Ha!  Nothing will
-be able to touch you then--at last.  Say nothing.  Don't move.  I'll have
-everything arranged; and as long as you don't hate the sight of me--and
-you don't--there's nothing to be frightened about.  One of their silly
-offices with a couple of ink-slingers of no consequence; poor, scribbling
-devils."
-
-The hansom drove away with Flora de Barral inside, without movement,
-without thought, only too glad to rest, to be alone and still moving away
-without effort, in solitude and silence.
-
-Anthony roamed the streets for hours without being able to remember in
-the evening where he had been--in the manner of a happy and exulting
-lover.  But nobody could have thought so from his face, which bore no
-signs of blissful anticipation.  Exulting indeed he was but it was a
-special sort of exultation which seemed to take him by the throat like an
-enemy.
-
-Anthony's last words to Flora referred to the registry office where they
-were married ten days later.  During that time Anthony saw no one or
-anything, though he went about restlessly, here and there, amongst men
-and things.  This special state is peculiar to common lovers, who are
-known to have no eyes for anything except for the contemplation, actual
-or inward, of one human form which for them contains the soul of the
-whole world in all its beauty, perfection, variety and infinity.  It must
-be extremely pleasant.  But felicity was denied to Roderick Anthony's
-contemplation.  He was not a common sort of lover; and he was punished
-for it as if Nature (which it is said abhors a vacuum) were so very
-conventional as to abhor every sort of exceptional conduct.  Roderick
-Anthony had begun already to suffer.  That is why perhaps he was so
-industrious in going about amongst his fellowmen who would have been
-surprised and humiliated, had they known how little solidity and even
-existence they had in his eyes.  But they could not suspect anything so
-queer.  They saw nothing extraordinary in him during that fortnight.  The
-proof of this is that they were willing to transact business with him.
-Obviously they were; since it is then that the offer of chartering his
-ship for the special purpose of proceeding to the Western Islands was put
-in his way by a firm of shipbrokers who had no doubt of his sanity.
-
-He probably looked sane enough for all the practical purposes of
-commercial life.  But I am not so certain that he really was quite sane
-at that time.
-
-However, he jumped at the offer.  Providence itself was offering him this
-opportunity to accustom the girl to sea-life by a comparatively short
-trip.  This was the time when everything that happened, everything he
-heard, casual words, unrelated phrases, seemed a provocation or an
-encouragement, confirmed him in his resolution.  And indeed to be busy
-with material affairs is the best preservative against reflection, fears,
-doubts--all these things which stand in the way of achievement.  I
-suppose a fellow proposing to cut his throat would experience a sort of
-relief while occupied in stropping his razor carefully.
-
-And Anthony was extremely careful in preparing for himself and for the
-luckless Flora, an impossible existence.  He went about it with no more
-tremors than if he had been stuffed with rags or made of iron instead of
-flesh and blood.  An existence, mind you, which, on shore, in the thick
-of mankind, of varied interests, of distractions, of infinite
-opportunities to preserve your distance from each other, is hardly
-conceivable; but on board ship, at sea, _en tete-a-tete_ for days and
-weeks and months together, could mean nothing but mental torture, an
-exquisite absurdity of torment.  He was a simple soul.  His hopelessly
-masculine ingenuousness is displayed in a touching way by his care to
-procure some woman to attend on Flora.  The condition of guaranteed
-perfect respectability gave him moments of anxious thought.  When he
-remembered suddenly his steward's wife he must have exclaimed _eureka_
-with particular exultation.  One does not like to call Anthony an ass.
-But really to put any woman within scenting distance of such a secret and
-suppose that she would not track it out!
-
-No woman, however simple, could be as ingenuous as that.  I don't know
-how Flora de Barral qualified him in her thoughts when he told her of
-having done this amongst other things intended to make her comfortable.  I
-should think that, for all _her_ simplicity, she must have been appalled.
-He stood before her on the appointed day outwardly calmer than she had
-ever seen him before.  And this very calmness, that scrupulous attitude
-which he felt bound in honour to assume then and for ever, unless she
-would condescend to make a sign at some future time, added to the
-heaviness of her heart innocent of the most pardonable guile.
-
-The night before she had slept better than she had done for the past ten
-nights.  Both youth and weariness will assert themselves in the end
-against the tyranny of nerve-racking stress.  She had slept but she woke
-up with her eyes full of tears.  There were no traces of them when she
-met him in the shabby little parlour downstairs.  She had swallowed them
-up.  She was not going to let him see.  She felt bound in honour to
-accept the situation for ever and ever unless . . . Ah, unless . . . She
-dissembled all her sentiments but it was not duplicity on her part.  All
-she wanted was to get at the truth; to see what would come of it.
-
-She beat him at his own honourable game and the thoroughness of her
-serenity disconcerted Anthony a bit.  It was he who stammered when it
-came to talking.  The suppressed fierceness of his character carried him
-on after the first word or two masterfully enough.  But it was as if they
-both had taken a bite of the same bitter fruit.  He was thinking with
-mournful regret not unmixed with surprise: "That fellow Fyne has been
-telling me the truth.  She does not care for me a bit."  It humiliated
-him and also increased his compassion for the girl who in this darkness
-of life, buffeted and despairing, had fallen into the grip of his
-stronger will, abandoning herself to his arms as on a night of shipwreck.
-Flora on her side with partial insight (for women are never blind with
-the complete masculine blindness) looked on him with some pity; and she
-felt pity for herself too.  It was a rejection, a casting out; nothing
-new to her.  But she who supposed all her sensibility dead by this time,
-discovered in herself a resentment of this ultimate betrayal.  She had no
-resignation for this one.  With a sort of mental sullenness she said to
-herself: "Well, I am here.  I am here without any nonsense.  It is not my
-fault that I am a mere worthless object of pity."
-
-And these things which she could tell herself with a clear conscience
-served her better than the passionate obstinacy of purpose could serve
-Roderick Anthony.  She was much more sure of herself than he was.  Such
-are the advantages of mere rectitude over the most exalted generosity.
-
-And so they went out to get married, the people of the house where she
-lodged having no suspicion of anything of the sort.  They were only
-excited at a "gentleman friend" (a very fine man too) calling on Miss
-Smith for the first time since she had come to live in the house.  When
-she returned, for she did come back alone, there were allusions made to
-that outing.  She had to take her meals with these rather vulgar people.
-The woman of the house, a scraggy, genteel person, tried even to provoke
-confidences.  Flora's white face with the deep blue eyes did not strike
-their hearts as it did the heart of Captain Anthony, as the very face of
-the suffering world.  Her pained reserve had no power to awe them into
-decency.
-
-Well, she returned alone--as in fact might have been expected.  After
-leaving the Registry Office Flora de Barral and Roderick Anthony had gone
-for a walk in a park.  It must have been an East-End park but I am not
-sure.  Anyway that's what they did.  It was a sunny day.  He said to her:
-"Everything I have in the world belongs to you.  I have seen to that
-without troubling my brother-in-law.  They have no call to interfere."
-
-She walked with her hand resting lightly on his arm.  He had offered it
-to her on coming out of the Registry Office, and she had accepted it
-silently.  Her head drooped, she seemed to be turning matters over in her
-mind.  She said, alluding to the Fynes: "They have been very good to me."
-At that he exclaimed:
-
-"They have never understood you.  Well, not properly.  My sister is not a
-bad woman, but . . . "
-
-Flora didn't protest; asking herself whether he imagined that he himself
-understood her so much better.  Anthony dismissing his family out of his
-thoughts went on: "Yes.  Everything is yours.  I have kept nothing back.
-As to the piece of paper we have just got from that miserable
-quill-driver if it wasn't for the law, I wouldn't mind if you tore it up
-here, now, on this spot.  But don't you do it.  Unless you should some
-day feel that--"
-
-He choked, unexpectedly.  She, reflective, hesitated a moment then making
-up her mind bravely.
-
-"Neither am I keeping anything back from you."
-
-She had said it!  But he in his blind generosity assumed that she was
-alluding to her deplorable history and hastened to mutter:
-
-"Of course!  Of course!  Say no more.  I have been lying awake thinking
-of it all no end of times."
-
-He made a movement with his other arm as if restraining himself from
-shaking an indignant fist at the universe; and she never even attempted
-to look at him.  His voice sounded strangely, incredibly lifeless in
-comparison with these tempestuous accents that in the broad fields, in
-the dark garden had seemed to shake the very earth under her weary and
-hopeless feet.
-
-She regretted them.  Hearing the sigh which escaped her Anthony instead
-of shaking his fist at the universe began to pat her hand resting on his
-arm and then desisted, suddenly, as though he had burnt himself.  Then
-after a silence:
-
-"You will have to go by yourself to-morrow.  I . . . No, I think I
-mustn't come.  Better not.  What you two will have to say to each other--"
-
-She interrupted him quickly:
-
-"Father is an innocent man.  He was cruelly wronged."
-
-"Yes.  That's why," Anthony insisted earnestly.  "And you are the only
-human being that can make it up to him.  You alone must reconcile him
-with the world if anything can.  But of course you shall.  You'll have to
-find words.  Oh you'll know.  And then the sight of you, alone, would
-soothe--"
-
-"He's the gentlest of men," she interrupted again.
-
-Anthony shook his head.  "It would take no end of generosity, no end of
-gentleness to forgive such a dead set.  For my part I would have liked
-better to have been killed and done with at once.  It could not have been
-worse for you--and I suppose it was of you that he was thinking most
-while those infernal lawyers were badgering him in court.  Of you.  And
-now I think of it perhaps the sight of you may bring it all back to him.
-All these years, all these years--and you his child left alone in the
-world.  I would have gone crazy.  For even if he had done wrong--"
-
-"But he hasn't," insisted Flora de Barral with a quite unexpected
-fierceness.  "You mustn't even suppose it.  Haven't you read the accounts
-of the trial?"
-
-"I am not supposing anything," Anthony defended himself.  He just
-remembered hearing of the trial.  He assured her that he was away from
-England, the second voyage of the _Ferndale_.  He was crossing the
-Pacific from Australia at the time and didn't see any papers for weeks
-and weeks.  He interrupted himself to suggest:
-
-"You had better tell him at once that you are happy."
-
-He had stammered a little, and Flora de Barral uttered a deliberate and
-concise "Yes."
-
-A short silence ensued.  She withdrew her hand from his arm.  They
-stopped.  Anthony looked as if a totally unexpected catastrophe had
-happened.
-
-"Ah," he said.  "You mind . . . "
-
-"No!  I think I had better," she murmured.
-
-"I dare say.  I dare say.  Bring him along straight on board to-morrow.
-Stop nowhere."
-
-She had a movement of vague gratitude, a momentary feeling of peace which
-she referred to the man before her.  She looked up at Anthony.  His face
-was sombre.  He was miles away and muttered as if to himself:
-
-"Where could he want to stop though?"
-
-"There's not a single being on earth that I would want to look at his
-dear face now, to whom I would willingly take him," she said extending
-her hand frankly and with a slight break in her voice, "but
-you--Roderick."
-
-He took that hand, felt it very small and delicate in his broad palm.
-
-"That's right.  That's right," he said with a conscious and hasty
-heartiness and, as if suddenly ashamed of the sound of his voice, turned
-half round and absolutely walked away from the motionless girl.  He even
-resisted the temptation to look back till it was too late.  The gravel
-path lay empty to the very gate of the park.  She was gone--vanished.  He
-had an impression that he had missed some sort of chance.  He felt sad.
-That excited sense of his own conduct which had kept him up for the last
-ten days buoyed him no more.  He had succeeded!
-
-He strolled on aimlessly a prey to gentle melancholy.  He walked and
-walked.  There were but few people about in this breathing space of a
-poor neighbourhood.  Under certain conditions of life there is precious
-little time left for mere breathing.  But still a few here and there were
-indulging in that luxury; yet few as they were Captain Anthony, though
-the least exclusive of men, resented their presence.  Solitude had been
-his best friend.  He wanted some place where he could sit down and be
-alone.  And in his need his thoughts turned to the sea which had given
-him so much of that congenial solitude.  There, if always with his ship
-(but that was an integral part of him) he could always be as solitary as
-he chose.  Yes.  Get out to sea!
-
-The night of the town with its strings of lights, rigid, and crossed like
-a net of flames, thrown over the sombre immensity of walls, closed round
-him, with its artificial brilliance overhung by an emphatic blackness,
-its unnatural animation of a restless, overdriven humanity.  His thoughts
-which somehow were inclined to pity every passing figure, every single
-person glimpsed under a street lamp, fixed themselves at last upon a
-figure which certainly could not have been seen under the lamps on that
-particular night.  A figure unknown to him.  A figure shut up within high
-unscaleable walls of stone or bricks till next morning . . . The figure
-of Flora de Barral's father.  De Barral the financier--the convict.
-
-There is something in that word with its suggestions of guilt and
-retribution which arrests the thought.  We feel ourselves in the presence
-of the power of organized society--a thing mysterious in itself and still
-more mysterious in its effect.  Whether guilty or innocent, it was as if
-old de Barral had been down to the Nether Regions.  Impossible to imagine
-what he would bring out from there to the light of this world of
-uncondemned men.  What would he think?  What would he have to say?  And
-what was one to say to him?
-
-Anthony, a little awed, as one is by a range of feelings stretching
-beyond one's grasp, comforted himself by the thought that probably the
-old fellow would have little to say.  He wouldn't want to talk about it.
-No man would.  It must have been a real hell to him.
-
-And then Anthony, at the end of the day in which he had gone through a
-marriage ceremony with Flora de Barral, ceased to think of Flora's father
-except, as in some sort, the captive of his triumph.  He turned to the
-mental contemplation of the white, delicate and appealing face with great
-blue eyes which he had seen weep and wonder and look profoundly at him,
-sometimes with incredulity, sometimes with doubt and pain, but always
-irresistible in the power to find their way right into his breast, to
-stir there a deep response which was something more than love--he said to
-himself,--as men understand it.  More?  Or was it only something other?
-Yes.  It was something other.  More or less.  Something as incredible as
-the fulfilment of an amazing and startling dream in which he could take
-the world in his arms--all the suffering world--not to possess its
-pathetic fairness but to console and cherish its sorrow.
-
-Anthony walked slowly to the ship and that night slept without dreams.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER FIVE--THE GREAT DE BARRAL
-
-
-Renovated certainly the saloon of the _Ferndale_ was to receive the
-"strange woman."  The mellowness of its old-fashioned, tarnished
-decoration was gone.  And Anthony looking round saw the glitter, the
-gleams, the colour of new things, untried, unused, very bright--too
-bright.  The workmen had gone only last night; and the last piece of work
-they did was the hanging of the heavy curtains which looped midway the
-length of the saloon--divided it in two if released, cutting off the
-after end with its companion-way leading direct on the poop, from the
-forepart with its outlet on the deck; making a privacy within a privacy,
-as though Captain Anthony could not place obstacles enough between his
-new happiness and the men who shared his life at sea.  He inspected that
-arrangement with an approving eye then made a particular visitation of
-the whole, ending by opening a door which led into a large state-room
-made of two knocked into one.  It was very well furnished and had,
-instead of the usual bedplace of such cabins, an elaborate swinging cot
-of the latest pattern.  Anthony tilted it a little by way of trial.  "The
-old man will be very comfortable in here," he said to himself, and
-stepped back into the saloon closing the door gently.  Then another
-thought occurred to him obvious under the circumstances but strangely
-enough presenting itself for the first time.  "Jove!  Won't he get a
-shock," thought Roderick Anthony.
-
-He went hastily on deck.  "Mr. Franklin, Mr. Franklin."  The mate was not
-very far.  "Oh!  Here you are.  Miss . . . Mrs. Anthony'll be coming on
-board presently.  Just give me a call when you see the cab."
-
-Then, without noticing the gloominess of the mate's countenance he went
-in again.  Not a friendly word, not a professional remark, or a small
-joke, not as much as a simple and inane "fine day."  Nothing.  Just
-turned about and went in.
-
-We know that, when the moment came, he thought better of it and decided
-to meet Flora's father in that privacy of the main cabin which he had
-been so careful to arrange.  Why Anthony appeared to shrink from the
-contact, he who was sufficiently self-confident not only to face but to
-absolutely create a situation almost insane in its audacious generosity,
-is difficult to explain.  Perhaps when he came on the poop for a glance
-he found that man so different outwardly from what he expected that he
-decided to meet him for the first time out of everybody's sight.  Possibly
-the general secrecy of his relation to the girl might have influenced
-him.  Truly he may well have been dismayed.  That man's coming brought
-him face to face with the necessity to speak and act a lie; to appear
-what he was not and what he could never be, unless, unless--
-
-In short, we'll say if you like that for various reasons, all having to
-do with the delicate rectitude of his nature, Roderick Anthony (a man of
-whom his chief mate used to say: he doesn't know what fear is) was
-frightened.  There is a Nemesis which overtakes generosity too, like all
-the other imprudences of men who dare to be lawless and proud . . . "
-
-"Why do you say this?" I inquired, for Marlow had stopped abruptly and
-kept silent in the shadow of the bookcase.
-
-"I say this because that man whom chance had thrown in Flora's way was
-both: lawless and proud.  Whether he knew anything about it or not it
-does not matter.  Very likely not.  One may fling a glove in the face of
-nature and in the face of one's own moral endurance quite innocently,
-with a simplicity which wears the aspect of perfectly Satanic conceit.
-However, as I have said it does not matter.  It's a transgression all the
-same and has got to be paid for in the usual way.  But never mind that.  I
-paused because, like Anthony, I find a difficulty, a sort of dread in
-coming to grips with old de Barral.
-
-You remember I had a glimpse of him once.  He was not an imposing
-personality: tall, thin, straight, stiff, faded, moving with short steps
-and with a gliding motion, speaking in an even low voice.  When the sea
-was rough he wasn't much seen on deck--at least not walking.  He caught
-hold of things then and dragged himself along as far as the after
-skylight where he would sit for hours.  Our, then young, friend offered
-once to assist him and this service was the first beginning of a sort of
-friendship.  He clung hard to one--Powell says, with no figurative
-intention.  Powell was always on the lookout to assist, and to assist
-mainly Mrs. Anthony, because he clung so jolly hard to her that Powell
-was afraid of her being dragged down notwithstanding that she very soon
-became very sure-footed in all sorts of weather.  And Powell was the only
-one ready to assist at hand because Anthony (by that time) seemed to be
-afraid to come near them; the unforgiving Franklin always looked
-wrathfully the other way; the boatswain, if up there, acted likewise but
-sheepishly; and any hands that happened to be on the poop (a feeling
-spreads mysteriously all over a ship) shunned him as though he had been
-the devil.
-
-We know how he arrived on board.  For my part I know so little of prisons
-that I haven't the faintest notion how one leaves them.  It seems as
-abominable an operation as the other, the shutting up with its mental
-suggestions of bang, snap, crash and the empty silence outside--where an
-instant before you were--you _were_--and now no longer are.  Perfectly
-devilish.  And the release!  I don't know which is worse.  How do they do
-it?  Pull the string, door flies open, man flies through: Out you go!
-_Adios_!  And in the space where a second before you were not, in the
-silent space there is a figure going away, limping.  Why limping?  I
-don't know.  That's how I see it.  One has a notion of a maiming,
-crippling process; of the individual coming back damaged in some subtle
-way.  I admit it is a fantastic hallucination, but I can't help it.  Of
-course I know that the proceedings of the best machine-made humanity are
-employed with judicious care and so on.  I am absurd, no doubt, but still
-. . . Oh yes it's idiotic.  When I pass one of these places . . . did you
-notice that there is something infernal about the aspect of every
-individual stone or brick of them, something malicious as if matter were
-enjoying its revenge of the contemptuous spirit of man.  Did you notice?
-You didn't?  Eh?  Well I am perhaps a little mad on that point.  When I
-pass one of these places I must avert my eyes.  I couldn't have gone to
-meet de Barral.  I should have shrunk from the ordeal.  You'll notice
-that it looks as if Anthony (a brave man indubitably) had shirked it too.
-Little Fyne's flight of fancy picturing three people in the fatal four
-wheeler--you remember?--went wide of the truth.  There were only two
-people in the four wheeler.  Flora did not shrink.  Women can stand
-anything.  The dear creatures have no imagination when it comes to solid
-facts of life.  In sentimental regions--I won't say.  It's another thing
-altogether.  There they shrink from or rush to embrace ghosts of their
-own creation just the same as any fool-man would.
-
-No.  I suppose the girl Flora went on that errand reasonably.  And then,
-why!  This was the moment for which she had lived.  It was her only point
-of contact with existence.  Oh yes.  She had been assisted by the Fynes.
-And kindly.  Certainly.  Kindly.  But that's not enough.  There is a kind
-way of assisting our fellow-creatures which is enough to break their
-hearts while it saves their outer envelope.  How cold, how infernally
-cold she must have felt--unless when she was made to burn with
-indignation or shame.  Man, we know, cannot live by bread alone but hang
-me if I don't believe that some women could live by love alone.  If there
-be a flame in human beings fed by varied ingredients earthly and
-spiritual which tinge it in different hues, then I seem to see the colour
-of theirs.  It is azure . . . What the devil are you laughing at . . . "
-
-Marlow jumped up and strode out of the shadow as if lifted by indignation
-but there was the flicker of a smile on his lips.  "You say I don't know
-women.  Maybe.  It's just as well not to come too close to the shrine.
-But I have a clear notion of _woman_.  In all of them, termagant, flirt,
-crank, washerwoman, blue-stocking, outcast and even in the ordinary fool
-of the ordinary commerce there is something left, if only a spark.  And
-when there is a spark there can always be a flame . . . "
-
-He went back into the shadow and sat down again.
-
-"I don't mean to say that Flora de Barral was one of the sort that could
-live by love alone.  In fact she had managed to live without.  But still,
-in the distrust of herself and of others she looked for love, any kind of
-love, as women will.  And that confounded jail was the only spot where
-she could see it--for she had no reason to distrust her father.
-
-She was there in good time.  I see her gazing across the road at these
-walls which are, properly speaking, awful.  You do indeed seem to feel
-along the very lines and angles of the unholy bulk, the fall of time,
-drop by drop, hour by hour, leaf by leaf, with a gentle and implacable
-slowness.  And a voiceless melancholy comes over one, invading,
-overpowering like a dream, penetrating and mortal like poison.
-
-When de Barral came out she experienced a sort of shock to see that he
-was exactly as she remembered him.  Perhaps a little smaller.  Otherwise
-unchanged.  You come out in the same clothes, you know.  I can't tell
-whether he was looking for her.  No doubt he was.  Whether he recognized
-her?  Very likely.  She crossed the road and at once there was reproduced
-at a distance of years, as if by some mocking witchcraft, the sight so
-familiar on the Parade at Brighton of the financier de Barral walking
-with his only daughter.  One comes out of prison in the same clothes one
-wore on the day of condemnation, no matter how long one has been put away
-there.  Oh, they last!  They last!  But there is something which is
-preserved by prison life even better than one's discarded clothing.  It
-is the force, the vividness of one's sentiments.  A monastery will do
-that too; but in the unholy claustration of a jail you are thrown back
-wholly upon yourself--for God and Faith are not there.  The people
-outside disperse their affections, you hoard yours, you nurse them into
-intensity.  What they let slip, what they forget in the movement and
-changes of free life, you hold on to, amplify, exaggerate into a rank
-growth of memories.  They can look with a smile at the troubles and pains
-of the past; but you can't.  Old pains keep on gnawing at your heart, old
-desires, old deceptions, old dreams, assailing you in the dead stillness
-of your present where nothing moves except the irrecoverable minutes of
-your life.
-
-De Barral was out and, for a time speechless, being led away almost
-before he had taken possession of the free world, by his daughter.  Flora
-controlled herself well.  They walked along quickly for some distance.
-The cab had been left round the corner--round several corners for all I
-know.  He was flustered, out of breath, when she helped him in and
-followed herself.  Inside that rolling box, turning towards that
-recovered presence with her heart too full for words she felt the desire
-of tears she had managed to keep down abandon her suddenly, her
-half-mournful, half-triumphant exultation subside, every fibre of her
-body, relaxed in tenderness, go stiff in the close look she took at his
-face.  He _was_ different.  There was something.  Yes, there was
-something between them, something hard and impalpable, the ghost of these
-high walls.
-
-How old he was, how unlike!
-
-She shook off this impression, amazed and frightened by it of course.  And
-remorseful too.  Naturally.  She threw her arms round his neck.  He
-returned that hug awkwardly, as if not in perfect control of his arms,
-with a fumbling and uncertain pressure.  She hid her face on his breast.
-It was as though she were pressing it against a stone.  They released
-each other and presently the cab was rolling along at a jog-trot to the
-docks with those two people as far apart as they could get from each
-other, in opposite corners.
-
-After a silence given up to mutual examination he uttered his first
-coherent sentence outside the walls of the prison.
-
-"What has done for me was envy.  Envy.  There was a lot of them just
-bursting with it every time they looked my way.  I was doing too well.  So
-they went to the Public Prosecutor--"
-
-She said hastily "Yes!  Yes!  I know," and he glared as if resentful that
-the child had turned into a young woman without waiting for him to come
-out.  "What do you know about it?" he asked.  "You were too young."  His
-speech was soft.  The old voice, the old voice!  It gave her a thrill.
-She recognized its pointless gentleness always the same no matter what he
-had to say.  And she remembered that he never had much to say when he
-came down to see her.  It was she who chattered, chattered, on their
-walks, while stiff and with a rigidly-carried head, he dropped a gentle
-word now and then.
-
-Moved by these recollections waking up within her, she explained to him
-that within the last year she had read and studied the report of the
-trial.
-
-"I went through the files of several papers, papa."
-
-He looked at her suspiciously.  The reports were probably very
-incomplete.  No doubt the reporters had garbled his evidence.  They were
-determined to give him no chance either in court or before the public
-opinion.  It was a conspiracy . . . "My counsel was a fool too," he
-added.  "Did you notice?  A perfect fool."
-
-She laid her hand on his arm soothingly.  "Is it worth while talking
-about that awful time?  It is so far away now."  She shuddered slightly
-at the thought of all the horrible years which had passed over her young
-head; never guessing that for him the time was but yesterday.  He folded
-his arms on his breast, leaned back in his corner and bowed his head.  But
-in a little while he made her jump by asking suddenly:
-
-"Who has got hold of the Lone Valley Railway?  That's what they were
-after mainly.  Somebody has got it.  Parfitts and Co. grabbed it--eh?  Or
-was it that fellow Warner . . . "
-
-"I--I don't know," she said quite scared by the twitching of his lips.
-
-"Don't know!" he exclaimed softly.  Hadn't her cousin told her?  Oh yes.
-She had left them--of course.  Why did she?  It was his first question
-about herself but she did not answer it.  She did not want to talk of
-these horrors.  They were impossible to describe.  She perceived though
-that he had not expected an answer, because she heard him muttering to
-himself that: "There was half a million's worth of work done and material
-accumulated there."
-
-"You mustn't think of these things, papa," she said firmly.  And he asked
-her with that invariable gentleness, in which she seemed now to detect
-some rather ugly shades, what else had he to think about?  Another year
-or two, if they had only left him alone, he and everybody else would have
-been all right, rolling in money; and she, his daughter, could have
-married anybody--anybody.  A lord.
-
-All this was to him like yesterday, a long yesterday, a yesterday gone
-over innumerable times, analysed, meditated upon for years.  It had a
-vividness and force for that old man of which his daughter who had not
-been shut out of the world could have no idea.  She was to him the only
-living figure out of that past, and it was perhaps in perfect good faith
-that he added, coldly, inexpressive and thin-lipped: "I lived only for
-you, I may say.  I suppose you understand that.  There were only you and
-me."
-
-Moved by this declaration, wondering that it did not warm her heart more,
-she murmured a few endearing words while the uppermost thought in her
-mind was that she must tell him now of the situation.  She had expected
-to be questioned anxiously about herself--and while she desired it she
-shrank from the answers she would have to make.  But her father seemed
-strangely, unnaturally incurious.  It looked as if there would be no
-questions.  Still this was an opening.  This seemed to be the time for
-her to begin.  And she began.  She began by saying that she had always
-felt like that.  There were two of them, to live for each other.  And if
-he only knew what she had gone through!
-
-Ensconced in his corner, with his arms folded, he stared out of the cab
-window at the street.  How little he was changed after all.  It was the
-unmovable expression, the faded stare she used to see on the esplanade
-whenever walking by his side hand in hand she raised her eyes to his
-face--while she chattered, chattered.  It was the same stiff, silent
-figure which at a word from her would turn rigidly into a shop and buy
-her anything it occurred to her that she would like to have.  Flora de
-Barral's voice faltered.  He bent on her that well-remembered glance in
-which she had never read anything as a child, except the consciousness of
-her existence.  And that was enough for a child who had never known
-demonstrative affection.  But she had lived a life so starved of all
-feeling that this was no longer enough for her.  What was the good of
-telling him the story of all these miseries now past and gone, of all
-those bewildering difficulties and humiliations?  What she must tell him
-was difficult enough to say.  She approached it by remarking cheerfully:
-
-"You haven't even asked me where I am taking you."  He started like a
-somnambulist awakened suddenly, and there was now some meaning in his
-stare; a sort of alarmed speculation.  He opened his mouth slowly.  Flora
-struck in with forced gaiety.  "You would never, guess."
-
-He waited, still more startled and suspicious.  "Guess!  Why don't you
-tell me?"
-
-He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward towards her.  She got hold of
-one of his hands.  "You must know first . . . "  She paused, made an
-effort: "I am married, papa."
-
-For a moment they kept perfectly still in that cab rolling on at a steady
-jog-trot through a narrow city street full of bustle.  Whatever she
-expected she did not expect to feel his hand snatched away from her grasp
-as if from a burn or a contamination.  De Barral fresh from the stagnant
-torment of the prison (where nothing happens) had not expected that sort
-of news.  It seemed to stick in his throat.  In strangled low tones he
-cried out, "You--married?  You, Flora!  When?  Married!  What for?  Who
-to?  Married!"
-
-His eyes which were blue like hers, only faded, without depth, seemed to
-start out of their orbits.  He did really look as if he were choking.  He
-even put his hand to his collar . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"You know," continued Marlow out of the shadow of the bookcase and nearly
-invisible in the depths of the arm-chair, "the only time I saw him he had
-given me the impression of absolute rigidity, as though he had swallowed
-a poker.  But it seems that he could collapse.  I can hardly picture this
-to myself.  I understand that he did collapse to a certain extent in his
-corner of the cab.  The unexpected had crumpled him up.  She regarded him
-perplexed, pitying, a little disillusioned, and nodded at him gravely:
-Yes.  Married.  What she did not like was to see him smile in a manner
-far from encouraging to the devotion of a daughter.  There was something
-unintentionally savage in it.  Old de Barral could not quite command his
-muscles, as yet.  But he had recovered command of his gentle voice.
-
-"You were just saying that in this wide world there we were, only you and
-I, to stick to each other."
-
-She was dimly aware of the scathing intention lurking in these soft low
-tones, in these words which appealed to her poignantly.  She defended
-herself.  Never, never for a single moment had she ceased to think of
-him.  Neither did he cease to think of her, he said, with as much
-sinister emphasis as he was capable of.
-
-"But, papa," she cried, "I haven't been shut up like you."  She didn't
-mind speaking of it because he was innocent.  He hadn't been understood.
-It was a misfortune of the most cruel kind but no more disgraceful than
-an illness, a maiming accident or some other visitation of blind fate.  "I
-wish I had been too.  But I was alone out in the world, the horrid world,
-that very world which had used you so badly."
-
-"And you couldn't go about in it without finding somebody to fall in love
-with?" he said.  A jealous rage affected his brain like the fumes of
-wine, rising from some secret depths of his being so long deprived of all
-emotions.  The hollows at the corners of his lips became more pronounced
-in the puffy roundness of his cheeks.  Images, visions, obsess with
-particular force, men withdrawn from the sights and sounds of active
-life.  "And I did nothing but think of you!" he exclaimed under his
-breath, contemptuously.  "Think of you!  You haunted me, I tell you."
-
-Flora said to herself that there was a being who loved her.  "Then we
-have been haunting each other," she declared with a pang of remorse.  For
-indeed he had haunted her nearly out of the world, into a final and
-irremediable desertion.  "Some day I shall tell you . . . No.  I don't
-think I can ever tell you.  There was a time when I was mad.  But what's
-the good?  It's all over now.  We shall forget all this.  There shall be
-nothing to remind us."
-
-De Barral moved his shoulders.
-
-"I should think you were mad to tie yourself to . . . How long is it
-since you are married?"
-
-She answered "Not long" that being the only answer she dared to make.
-Everything was so different from what she imagined it would be.  He
-wanted to know why she had said nothing of it in any of her letters; in
-her last letter.  She said:
-
-"It was after."
-
-"So recently!" he wondered.  "Couldn't you wait at least till I came out?
-You could have told me; asked me; consulted me!  Let me see--"
-
-She shook her head negatively.  And he was appalled.  He thought to
-himself: Who can he be?  Some miserable, silly youth without a penny.  Or
-perhaps some scoundrel?  Without making any expressive movement he wrung
-his loosely-clasped hands till the joints cracked.  He looked at her.  She
-was pretty.  Some low scoundrel who will cast her off.  Some plausible
-vagabond . . . "You couldn't wait--eh?"
-
-Again she made a slight negative sign.
-
-"Why not?  What was the hurry?"  She cast down her eyes.  "It had to be.
-Yes.  It was sudden, but it had to be."
-
-He leaned towards her, his mouth open, his eyes wild with virtuous anger,
-but meeting the absolute candour of her raised glance threw himself back
-into his corner again.
-
-"So tremendously in love with each other--was that it?  Couldn't let a
-father have his daughter all to himself even for a day after--after such
-a separation.  And you know I never had anyone, I had no friends.  What
-did I want with those people one meets in the City.  The best of them are
-ready to cut your throat.  Yes!  Business men, gentlemen, any sort of men
-and women--out of spite, or to get something.  Oh yes, they can talk fair
-enough if they think there's something to be got out of you . . . "  His
-voice was a mere breath yet every word came to Flora as distinctly as if
-charged with all the moving power of passion . . . "My girl, I looked at
-them making up to me and I would say to myself: What do I care for all
-that!  I am a business man.  I am the great Mr. de Barral (yes, yes, some
-of them twisted their mouths at it, but I _was_ the great Mr. de Barral)
-and I have my little girl.  I wanted nobody and I have never had
-anybody."
-
-A true emotion had unsealed his lips but the words that came out of them
-were no louder than the murmur of a light wind.  It died away.
-
-"That's just it," said Flora de Barral under her breath.  Without
-removing his eyes from her he took off his hat.  It was a tall hat.  The
-hat of the trial.  The hat of the thumb-nail sketches in the illustrated
-papers.  One comes out in the same clothes, but seclusion counts!  It is
-well known that lurid visions haunt secluded men, monks, hermits--then
-why not prisoners?  De Barral the convict took off the silk hat of the
-financier de Barral and deposited it on the front seat of the cab.  Then
-he blew out his cheeks.  He was red in the face.
-
-"And then what happens?" he began again in his contained voice.  "Here I
-am, overthrown, broken by envy, malice and all uncharitableness.  I come
-out--and what do I find?  I find that my girl Flora has gone and married
-some man or other, perhaps a fool, how do I know; or perhaps--anyway not
-good enough."
-
-"Stop, papa."
-
-"A silly love affair as likely as not," he continued monotonously, his
-thin lips writhing between the ill-omened sunk corners.  "And a very
-suspicious thing it is too, on the part of a loving daughter."
-
-She tried to interrupt him but he went on till she actually clapped her
-hand on his mouth.  He rolled his eyes a bit but when she took her hand
-away he remained silent.
-
-"Wait.  I must tell you . . .  And first of all, papa, understand this,
-for everything's in that: he is the most generous man in the world.  He
-is . . . "
-
-De Barral very still in his corner uttered with an effort "You are in
-love with him."
-
-"Papa!  He came to me.  I was thinking of you.  I had no eyes for
-anybody.  I could no longer bear to think of you.  It was then that he
-came.  Only then.  At that time when--when I was going to give up."
-
-She gazed into his faded blue eyes as if yearning to be understood, to be
-given encouragement, peace--a word of sympathy.  He declared without
-animation "I would like to break his neck."
-
-She had the mental exclamation of the overburdened.
-
-"Oh my God!" and watched him with frightened eyes.  But he did not appear
-insane or in any other way formidable.  This comforted her.  The silence
-lasted for some little time.  Then suddenly he asked:
-
-"What's your name then?"
-
-For a moment in the profound trouble of the task before her she did not
-understand what the question meant.  Then, her face faintly flushing, she
-whispered: "Anthony."
-
-Her father, a red spot on each cheek, leaned his head back wearily in the
-corner of the cab.
-
-"Anthony.  What is he?  Where did he spring from?"
-
-"Papa, it was in the country, on a road--"
-
-He groaned, "On a road," and closed his eyes.
-
-"It's too long to explain to you now.  We shall have lots of time.  There
-are things I could not tell you now.  But some day.  Some day.  For now
-nothing can part us.  Nothing.  We are safe as long as we live--nothing
-can ever come between us."
-
-"You are infatuated with the fellow," he remarked, without opening his
-eyes.  And she said: "I believe in him," in a low voice.  "You and I must
-believe in him."
-
-"Who the devil is he?"
-
-"He's the brother of the lady--you know Mrs. Fyne, she knew mother--who
-was so kind to me.  I was staying in the country, in a cottage, with Mr.
-and Mrs. Fyne.  It was there that we met.  He came on a visit.  He
-noticed me.  I--well--we are married now."
-
-She was thankful that his eyes were shut.  It made it easier to talk of
-the future she had arranged, which now was an unalterable thing.  She did
-not enter on the path of confidences.  That was impossible.  She felt he
-would not understand her.  She felt also that he suffered.  Now and then
-a great anxiety gripped her heart with a mysterious sense of guilt--as
-though she had betrayed him into the hands of an enemy.  With his eyes
-shut he had an air of weary and pious meditation.  She was a little
-afraid of it.  Next moment a great pity for him filled her heart.  And in
-the background there was remorse.  His face twitched now and then just
-perceptibly.  He managed to keep his eyelids down till he heard that the
-'husband' was a sailor and that he, the father, was being taken straight
-on board ship ready to sail away from this abominable world of
-treacheries, and scorns and envies and lies, away, away over the blue
-sea, the sure, the inaccessible, the uncontaminated and spacious refuge
-for wounded souls.
-
-Something like that.  Not the very words perhaps but such was the general
-sense of her overwhelming argument--the argument of refuge.
-
-I don't think she gave a thought to material conditions.  But as part of
-that argument set forth breathlessly, as if she were afraid that if she
-stopped for a moment she could never go on again, she mentioned that
-generosity of a stormy type, which had come to her from the sea, had
-caught her up on the brink of unmentionable failure, had whirled her away
-in its first ardent gust and could be trusted now, implicitly trusted, to
-carry them both, side by side, into absolute safety.
-
-She believed it, she affirmed it.  He understood thoroughly at last, and
-at once the interior of that cab, of an aspect so pacific in the eyes of
-the people on the pavements, became the scene of a great agitation.  The
-generosity of Roderick Anthony--the son of the poet--affected the
-ex-financier de Barral in a manner which must have brought home to Flora
-de Barral the extreme arduousness of the business of being a woman.  Being
-a woman is a terribly difficult trade since it consists principally of
-dealings with men.  This man--the man inside the cab--cast oft his stiff
-placidity and behaved like an animal.  I don't mean it in an offensive
-sense.  What he did was to give way to an instinctive panic.  Like some
-wild creature scared by the first touch of a net falling on its back, old
-de Barral began to struggle, lank and angular, against the empty air--as
-much of it as there was in the cab--with staring eyes and gasping mouth
-from which his daughter shrank as far as she could in the confined space.
-
-"Stop the cab.  Stop him I tell you.  Let me get out!" were the strangled
-exclamations she heard.  Why?  What for?  To do what?  He would hear
-nothing.  She cried to him "Papa!  Papa!  What do you want to do?"  And
-all she got from him was: "Stop.  I must get out.  I want to think.  I
-must get out to think."
-
-It was a mercy that he didn't attempt to open the door at once.  He only
-stuck his head and shoulders out of the window crying to the cabman.  She
-saw the consequences, the cab stopping, a crowd collecting around a
-raving old gentleman . . . In this terrible business of being a woman so
-full of fine shades, of delicate perplexities (and very small rewards)
-you can never know what rough work you may have to do, at any moment.
-Without hesitation Flora seized her father round the body and pulled
-back--being astonished at the ease with which she managed to make him
-drop into his seat again.  She kept him there resolutely with one hand
-pressed against his breast, and leaning across him, she, in her turn put
-her head and shoulders out of the window.  By then the cab had drawn up
-to the curbstone and was stopped.  "No!  I've changed my mind.  Go on
-please where you were told first.  To the docks."
-
-She wondered at the steadiness of her own voice.  She heard a grunt from
-the driver and the cab began to roll again.  Only then she sank into her
-place keeping a watchful eye on her companion.  He was hardly anything
-more by this time.  Except for her childhood's impressions he was just--a
-man.  Almost a stranger.  How was one to deal with him?  And there was
-the other too.  Also almost a stranger.  The trade of being a woman was
-very difficult.  Too difficult.  Flora closed her eyes saying to herself:
-"If I think too much about it I shall go mad."  And then opening them she
-asked her father if the prospect of living always with his daughter and
-being taken care of by her affection away from the world, which had no
-honour to give to his grey hairs, was such an awful prospect.
-
-"Tell me, is it so bad as that?"
-
-She put that question sadly, without bitterness.  The famous--or
-notorious--de Barral had lost his rigidity now.  He was bent.  Nothing
-more deplorably futile than a bent poker.  He said nothing.  She added
-gently, suppressing an uneasy remorseful sigh:
-
-"And it might have been worse.  You might have found no one, no one in
-all this town, no one in all the world, not even me!  Poor papa!"
-
-She made a conscience-stricken movement towards him thinking: "Oh!  I am
-horrible, I am horrible."  And old de Barral, scared, tired, bewildered
-by the extraordinary shocks of his liberation, swayed over and actually
-leaned his head on her shoulder, as if sorrowing over his regained
-freedom.
-
-The movement by itself was touching.  Flora supporting him lightly
-imagined that he was crying; and at the thought that had she smashed in a
-quarry that shoulder, together with some other of her bones, this grey
-and pitiful head would have had nowhere to rest, she too gave way to
-tears.  They flowed quietly, easing her overstrained nerves.  Suddenly he
-pushed her away from him so that her head struck the side of the cab,
-pushing himself away too from her as if something had stung him.
-
-All the warmth went out of her emotion.  The very last tears turned cold
-on her cheek.  But their work was done.  She had found courage,
-resolution, as women do, in a good cry.  With his hand covering the upper
-part of his face whether to conceal his eyes or to shut out an unbearable
-sight, he was stiffening up in his corner to his usual poker-like
-consistency.  She regarded him in silence.  His thin obstinate lips
-moved.  He uttered the name of the cousin--the man, you remember, who did
-not approve of the Fynes, and whom rightly or wrongly little Fyne
-suspected of interested motives, in view of de Barral having possibly put
-away some plunder, somewhere before the smash.
-
-I may just as well tell you at once that I don't know anything more of
-him.  But de Barral was of the opinion, speaking in his low voice from
-under his hand, that this relation would have been only too glad to have
-secured his guidance.
-
-"Of course I could not come forward in my own name, or person.  But the
-advice of a man of my experience is as good as a fortune to anybody
-wishing to venture into finance.  The same sort of thing can be done
-again."
-
-He shuffled his feet a little, let fall his hand; and turning carefully
-toward his daughter his puffy round cheeks, his round chin resting on his
-collar, he bent on her the faded, resentful gaze of his pale eyes, which
-were wet.
-
-"The start is really only a matter of judicious advertising.  There's no
-difficulty.  And here you go and . . . "
-
-He turned his face away.  "After all I am still de Barral, _the_ de
-Barral.  Didn't you remember that?"
-
-"Papa," said Flora; "listen.  It's you who must remember that there is no
-longer a de Barral . . . "  He looked at her sideways anxiously.  "There
-is Mr. Smith, whom no harm, no trouble, no wicked lies of evil people can
-ever touch."
-
-"Mr. Smith," he breathed out slowly.  "Where does he belong to?  There's
-not even a Miss Smith."
-
-"There is your Flora."
-
-"My Flora!  You went and . . . I can't bear to think of it.  It's
-horrible."
-
-"Yes.  It was horrible enough at times," she said with feeling, because
-somehow, obscurely, what this man said appealed to her as if it were her
-own thought clothed in an enigmatic emotion.  "I think with shame
-sometimes how I . . . No not yet.  I shall not tell you.  At least not
-now."
-
-The cab turned into the gateway of the dock.  Flora handed the tall hat
-to her father.  "Here, papa.  And please be good.  I suppose you love me.
-If you don't, then I wonder who--"
-
-He put the hat on, and stiffened hard in his corner, kept a sidelong
-glance on his girl.  "Try to be nice for my sake.  Think of the years I
-have been waiting for you.  I do indeed want support--and peace.  A
-little peace."
-
-She clasped his arm suddenly with both hands pressing with all her might
-as if to crush the resistance she felt in him.  "I could not have peace
-if I did not have you with me.  I won't let you go.  Not after all I went
-through.  I won't."  The nervous force of her grip frightened him a
-little.  She laughed suddenly.  "It's absurd.  It's as if I were asking
-you for a sacrifice.  What am I afraid of?  Where could you go?  I mean
-now, to-day, to-night?  You can't tell me.  Have you thought of it?  Well
-I have been thinking of it for the last year.  Longer.  I nearly went mad
-trying to find out.  I believe I was mad for a time or else I should
-never have thought . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"This was as near as she came to a confession," remarked Marlow in a
-changed tone.  "The confession I mean of that walk to the top of the
-quarry which she reproached herself with so bitterly.  And he made of it
-what his fancy suggested.  It could not possibly be a just notion.  The
-cab stopped alongside the ship and they got out in the manner described
-by the sensitive Franklin.  I don't know if they suspected each other's
-sanity at the end of that drive.  But that is possible.  We all seem a
-little mad to each other; an excellent arrangement for the bulk of
-humanity which finds in it an easy motive of forgiveness.  Flora crossed
-the quarter-deck with a rapidity born of apprehension.  It had grown
-unbearable.  She wanted this business over.  She was thankful on looking
-back to see he was following her.  "If he bolts away," she thought, "then
-I shall know that I am of no account indeed!  That no one loves me, that
-words and actions and protestations and everything in the world is
-false--and I shall jump into the dock.  _That_ at least won't lie."
-
-Well I don't know.  If it had come to that she would have been most
-likely fished out, what with her natural want of luck and the good many
-people on the quay and on board.  And just where the _Ferndale_ was
-moored there hung on a wall (I know the berth) a coil of line, a pole,
-and a life-buoy kept there on purpose to save people who tumble into the
-dock.  It's not so easy to get away from life's betrayals as she thought.
-However it did not come to that.  He followed her with his quick gliding
-walk.  Mr. Smith!  The liberated convict de Barral passed off the solid
-earth for the last time, vanished for ever, and there was Mr. Smith added
-to that world of waters which harbours so many queer fishes.  An old
-gentleman in a silk hat, darting wary glances.  He followed, because mere
-existence has its claims which are obeyed mechanically.  I have no doubt
-he presented a respectable figure.  Father-in-law.  Nothing more
-respectable.  But he carried in his heart the confused pain of dismay and
-affection, of involuntary repulsion and pity.  Very much like his
-daughter.  Only in addition he felt a furious jealousy of the man he was
-going to see.
-
-A residue of egoism remains in every affection--even paternal.  And this
-man in the seclusion of his prison had thought himself into such a sense
-of ownership of that single human being he had to think about, as may
-well be inconceivable to us who have not had to serve a long (and
-wickedly unjust) sentence of penal servitude.  She was positively the
-only thing, the one point where his thoughts found a resting-place, for
-years.  She was the only outlet for his imagination.  He had not much of
-that faculty to be sure, but there was in it the force of concentration.
-He felt outraged, and perhaps it was an absurdity on his part, but I
-venture to suggest rather in degree than in kind.  I have a notion that
-no usual, normal father is pleased at parting with his daughter.  No.  Not
-even when he rationally appreciates "Jane being taken off his hands" or
-perhaps is able to exult at an excellent match.  At bottom, quite deep
-down, down in the dark (in some cases only by digging), there is to be
-found a certain repugnance . . .  With mothers of course it is different.
-Women are more loyal, not to each other, but to their common femininity
-which they behold triumphant with a secret and proud satisfaction.
-
-The circumstances of that match added to Mr. Smith's indignation.  And if
-he followed his daughter into that ship's cabin it was as if into a house
-of disgrace and only because he was still bewildered by the suddenness of
-the thing.  His will, so long lying fallow, was overborne by her
-determination and by a vague fear of that regained liberty.
-
-You will be glad to hear that Anthony, though he did shirk the welcome on
-the quay, behaved admirably, with the simplicity of a man who has no
-small meannesses and makes no mean reservations.  His eyes did not flinch
-and his tongue did not falter.  He was, I have it on the best authority,
-admirable in his earnestness, in his sincerity and also in his restraint.
-He was perfect.  Nevertheless the vital force of his unknown
-individuality addressing him so familiarly was enough to fluster Mr.
-Smith.  Flora saw her father trembling in all his exiguous length, though
-he held himself stiffer than ever if that was possible.  He muttered a
-little and at last managed to utter, not loud of course but very
-distinctly: "I am here under protest," the corners of his mouth sunk
-disparagingly, his eyes stony.  "I am here under protest.  I have been
-locked up by a conspiracy.  I--"
-
-He raised his hands to his forehead--his silk hat was on the table rim
-upwards; he had put it there with a despairing gesture as he came in--he
-raised his hands to his forehead.  "It seems to me unfair.  I--"  He
-broke off again.  Anthony looked at Flora who stood by the side of her
-father.
-
-"Well, sir, you will soon get used to me.  Surely you and she must have
-had enough of shore-people and their confounded half-and-half ways to
-last you both for a life-time.  A particularly merciful lot they are too.
-You ask Flora.  I am alluding to my own sister, her best friend, and not
-a bad woman either as they go."
-
-The captain of the _Ferndale_ checked himself.  "Lucky thing I was there
-to step in.  I want you to make yourself at home, and before long--"
-
-The faded stare of the Great de Barral silenced Anthony by its
-inexpressive fixity.  He signalled with his eyes to Flora towards the
-door of the state-room fitted specially to receive Mr. Smith, the free
-man.  She seized the free man's hat off the table and took him
-caressingly under the arm.  "Yes!  This is home, come and see your room,
-papa!"
-
-Anthony himself threw open the door and Flora took care to shut it
-carefully behind herself and her father.  "See," she began but desisted
-because it was clear that he would look at none of the contrivances for
-his comfort.  She herself had hardly seen them before.  He was looking
-only at the new carpet and she waited till he should raise his eyes.
-
-He didn't do that but spoke in his usual voice.  "So this is your
-husband, that . . . And I locked up!"
-
-"Papa, what's the good of harping on that," she remonstrated no louder.
-"He is kind."
-
-"And you went and . . . married him so that he should be kind to me.  Is
-that it?  How did you know that I wanted anybody to be kind to me?"
-
-"How strange you are!" she said thoughtfully.
-
-"It's hard for a man who has gone through what I have gone through to
-feel like other people.  Has that occurred to you?  . . . "  He looked up
-at last . . .  "Mrs. Anthony, I can't bear the sight of the fellow."  She
-met his eyes without flinching and he added, "You want to go to him now."
-His mild automatic manner seemed the effect of tremendous
-self-restraint--and yet she remembered him always like that.  She felt
-cold all over.
-
-"Why, of course, I must go to him," she said with a slight start.
-
-He gnashed his teeth at her and she went out.
-
-Anthony had not moved from the spot.  One of his hands was resting on the
-table.  She went up to him, stopped, then deliberately moved still
-closer.  "Thank you, Roderick."
-
-"You needn't thank me," he murmured.  "It's I who . . . "
-
-"No, perhaps I needn't.  You do what you like.  But you are doing it
-well."
-
-He sighed then hardly above a whisper because they were near the state-
-room door, "Upset, eh?"
-
-She made no sign, no sound of any kind.  The thorough falseness of the
-position weighed on them both.  But he was the braver of the two.  "I
-dare say.  At first.  Did you think of telling him you were happy?"
-
-"He never asked me," she smiled faintly at him.  She was disappointed by
-his quietness.  "I did not say more than I was absolutely obliged to
-say--of myself."  She was beginning to be irritated with this man a
-little.  "I told him I had been very lucky," she said suddenly
-despondent, missing Anthony's masterful manner, that something arbitrary
-and tender which, after the first scare, she had accustomed herself to
-look forward to with pleasurable apprehension.  He was contemplating her
-rather blankly.  She had not taken off her outdoor things, hat, gloves.
-She was like a caller.  And she had a movement suggesting the end of a
-not very satisfactory business call.  "Perhaps it would be just as well
-if we went ashore.  Time yet."
-
-He gave her a glimpse of his unconstrained self in the low vehement "You
-dare!" which sprang to his lips and out of them with a most menacing
-inflexion.
-
-"You dare . . . What's the matter now?"
-
-These last words were shot out not at her but at some target behind her
-back.  Looking over her shoulder she saw the bald head with black bunches
-of hair of the congested and devoted Franklin (he had his cap in his
-hand) gazing sentimentally from the saloon doorway with his lobster eyes.
-He was heard from the distance in a tone of injured innocence reporting
-that the berthing master was alongside and that he wanted to move the
-ship into the basin before the crew came on board.
-
-His captain growled "Well, let him," and waved away the ulcerated and
-pathetic soul behind these prominent eyes which lingered on the offensive
-woman while the mate backed out slowly.  Anthony turned to Flora.
-
-"You could not have meant it.  You are as straight as they make them."
-
-"I am trying to be."
-
-"Then don't joke in that way.  Think of what would become of--me."
-
-"Oh yes.  I forgot.  No, I didn't mean it.  It wasn't a joke.  It was
-forgetfulness.  You wouldn't have been wronged.  I couldn't have gone.
-I--I am too tired."
-
-He saw she was swaying where she stood and restrained himself violently
-from taking her into his arms, his frame trembling with fear as though he
-had been tempted to an act of unparalleled treachery.  He stepped aside
-and lowering his eyes pointed to the door of the stern-cabin.  It was
-only after she passed by him that he looked up and thus he did not see
-the angry glance she gave him before she moved on.  He looked after her.
-She tottered slightly just before reaching the door and flung it to
-behind her nervously.
-
-Anthony--he had felt this crash as if the door had been slammed inside
-his very breast--stood for a moment without moving and then shouted for
-Mrs. Brown.  This was the steward's wife, his lucky inspiration to make
-Flora comfortable.  "Mrs. Brown!  Mrs. Brown!"  At last she appeared from
-somewhere.  "Mrs. Anthony has come on board.  Just gone into the cabin.
-Hadn't you better see if you can be of any assistance?"
-
-"Yes, sir."
-
-And again he was alone with the situation he had created in the hardihood
-and inexperience of his heart.  He thought he had better go on deck.  In
-fact he ought to have been there before.  At any rate it would be the
-usual thing for him to be on deck.  But a sound of muttering and of faint
-thuds somewhere near by arrested his attention.  They proceeded from Mr.
-Smith's room, he perceived.  It was very extraordinary.  "He's talking to
-himself," he thought.  "He seems to be thumping the bulkhead with his
-fists--or his head."
-
-Anthony's eyes grew big with wonder while he listened to these noises.  He
-became so attentive that he did not notice Mrs. Brown till she actually
-stopped before him for a moment to say:
-
-"Mrs. Anthony doesn't want any assistance, sir."
-
-* * * * *
-
-This was you understand the voyage before Mr. Powell--young Powell
-then--joined the _Ferndale_; chance having arranged that he should get
-his start in life in that particular ship of all the ships then in the
-port of London.  The most unrestful ship that ever sailed out of any port
-on earth.  I am not alluding to her sea-going qualities.  Mr. Powell
-tells me she was as steady as a church.  I mean unrestful in the sense,
-for instance in which this planet of ours is unrestful--a matter of an
-uneasy atmosphere disturbed by passions, jealousies, loves, hates and the
-troubles of transcendental good intentions, which, though ethically
-valuable, I have no doubt cause often more unhappiness than the plots of
-the most evil tendency.  For those who refuse to believe in chance he, I
-mean Mr. Powell, must have been obviously predestined to add his native
-ingenuousness to the sum of all the others carried by the honest ship
-_Ferndale_.  He was too ingenuous.  Everybody on board was, exception
-being made of Mr. Smith who, however, was simple enough in his way, with
-that terrible simplicity of the fixed idea, for which there is also
-another name men pronounce with dread and aversion.  His fixed idea was
-to save his girl from the man who had possessed himself of her (I use
-these words on purpose because the image they suggest was clearly in Mr.
-Smith's mind), possessed himself unfairly of her while he, the father,
-was locked up.
-
-"I won't rest till I have got you away from that man," he would murmur to
-her after long periods of contemplation.  We know from Powell how he used
-to sit on the skylight near the long deck-chair on which Flora was
-reclining, gazing into her face from above with an air of guardianship
-and investigation at the same time.
-
-It is almost impossible to say if he ever had considered the event
-rationally.  The avatar of de Barral into Mr. Smith had not been effected
-without a shock--that much one must recognize.  It may be that it drove
-all practical considerations out of his mind, making room for awful and
-precise visions which nothing could dislodge afterwards.
-
-And it might have been the tenacity, the unintelligent tenacity, of the
-man who had persisted in throwing millions of other people's thrift into
-the Lone Valley Railway, the Labrador Docks, the Spotted Leopard Copper
-Mine, and other grotesque speculations exposed during the famous de
-Barral trial, amongst murmurs of astonishment mingled with bursts of
-laughter.  For it is in the Courts of Law that Comedy finds its last
-refuge in our deadly serious world.  As to tears and lamentations, these
-were not heard in the august precincts of comedy, because they were
-indulged in privately in several thousand homes, where, with a fine
-dramatic effect, hunger had taken the place of Thrift.
-
-But there was one at least who did not laugh in court.  That person was
-the accused.  The notorious de Barral did not laugh because he was
-indignant.  He was impervious to words, to facts, to inferences.  It
-would have been impossible to make him see his guilt or his folly--either
-by evidence or argument--if anybody had tried to argue.
-
-Neither did his daughter Flora try to argue with him.  The cruelty of her
-position was so great, its complications so thorny, if I may express
-myself so, that a passive attitude was yet her best refuge--as it had
-been before her of so many women.
-
-For that sort of inertia in woman is always enigmatic and therefore
-menacing.  It makes one pause.  A woman may be a fool, a sleepy fool, an
-agitated fool, a too awfully noxious fool, and she may even be simply
-stupid.  But she is never dense.  She's never made of wood through and
-through as some men are.  There is in woman always, somewhere, a spring.
-Whatever men don't know about women (and it may be a lot or it may be
-very little) men and even fathers do know that much.  And that is why so
-many men are afraid of them.
-
-Mr. Smith I believe was afraid of his daughter's quietness though of
-course he interpreted it in his own way.
-
-He would, as Mr. Powell depicts, sit on the skylight and bend over the
-reclining girl, wondering what there was behind the lost gaze under the
-darkened eyelids in the still eyes.  He would look and look and then he
-would say, whisper rather, it didn't take much for his voice to drop to a
-mere breath--he would declare, transferring his faded stare to the
-horizon, that he would never rest till he had "got her away from that
-man."
-
-"You don't know what you are saying, papa."
-
-She would try not to show her weariness, the nervous strain of these two
-men's antagonism around her person which was the cause of her languid
-attitudes.  For as a matter of fact the sea agreed with her.
-
-As likely as not Anthony would be walking on the other side of the deck.
-The strain was making him restless.  He couldn't sit still anywhere.  He
-had tried shutting himself up in his cabin; but that was no good.  He
-would jump up to rush on deck and tramp, tramp up and down that poop till
-he felt ready to drop, without being able to wear down the agitation of
-his soul, generous indeed, but weighted by its envelope of blood and
-muscle and bone; handicapped by the brain creating precise images and
-everlastingly speculating, speculating--looking out for signs, watching
-for symptoms.
-
-And Mr. Smith with a slight backward jerk of his small head at the
-footsteps on the other side of the skylight would insist in his awful,
-hopelessly gentle voice that he knew very well what he was saying.  Hadn't
-she given herself to that man while he was locked up.
-
-"Helpless, in jail, with no one to think of, nothing to look forward to,
-but my daughter.  And then when they let me out at last I find her
-gone--for it amounts to this.  Sold.  Because you've sold yourself; you
-know you have."
-
-With his round unmoved face, a lot of fine white hair waving in the wind-
-eddies of the spanker, his glance levelled over the sea he seemed to be
-addressing the universe across her reclining form.  She would protest
-sometimes.
-
-"I wish you would not talk like this, papa.  You are only tormenting me,
-and tormenting yourself."
-
-"Yes, I am tormented enough," he admitted meaningly.  But it was not
-talking about it that tormented him.  It was thinking of it.  And to sit
-and look at it was worse for him than it possibly could have been for her
-to go and give herself up, bad as that must have been.
-
-"For of course you suffered.  Don't tell me you didn't?  You must have."
-
-She had renounced very soon all attempts at protests.  It was useless.  It
-might have made things worse; and she did not want to quarrel with her
-father, the only human being that really cared for her, absolutely,
-evidently, completely--to the end.  There was in him no pity, no
-generosity, nothing whatever of these fine things--it was for her, for
-her very own self such as it was, that this human being cared.  This
-certitude would have made her put up with worse torments.  For, of
-course, she too was being tormented.  She felt also helpless, as if the
-whole enterprise had been too much for her.  This is the sort of
-conviction which makes for quietude.  She was becoming a fatalist.
-
-What must have been rather appalling were the necessities of daily life,
-the intercourse of current trifles.  That naturally had to go on.  They
-wished good morning to each other, they sat down together to meals--and I
-believe there would be a game of cards now and then in the evening,
-especially at first.  What frightened her most was the duplicity of her
-father, at least what looked like duplicity, when she remembered his
-persistent, insistent whispers on deck.  However her father was a
-taciturn person as far back as she could remember him best--on the
-Parade.  It was she who chattered, never troubling herself to discover
-whether he was pleased or displeased.  And now she couldn't fathom his
-thoughts.  Neither did she chatter to him.  Anthony with a forced
-friendly smile as if frozen to his lips seemed only too thankful at not
-being made to speak.  Mr. Smith sometimes forgot himself while studying
-his hand so long that Flora had to recall him to himself by a murmured
-"Papa--your lead."  Then he apologized by a faint as if inward
-ejaculation "Beg your pardon, Captain."  Naturally she addressed Anthony
-as Roderick and he addressed her as Flora.  This was all the acting that
-was necessary to judge from the wincing twitch of the old man's mouth at
-every uttered "Flora."  On hearing the rare "Rodericks" he had sometimes
-a scornful grimace as faint and faded and colourless as his whole stiff
-personality.
-
-He would be the first to retire.  He was not infirm.  With him too the
-life on board ship seemed to agree; but from a sense of duty, of
-affection, or to placate his hidden fury, his daughter always accompanied
-him to his state-room "to make him comfortable."  She lighted his lamp,
-helped him into his dressing-gown or got him a book from a bookcase
-fitted in there--but this last rarely, because Mr. Smith used to declare
-"I am no reader" with something like pride in his low tones.  Very often
-after kissing her good-night on the forehead he would treat her to some
-such fretful remark: "It's like being in jail--'pon my word.  I suppose
-that man is out there waiting for you.  Head jailer!  Ough!"
-
-She would smile vaguely; murmur a conciliatory "How absurd."  But once,
-out of patience, she said quite sharply "Leave off.  It hurts me.  One
-would think you hate me."
-
-"It isn't you I hate," he went on monotonously breathing at her.  "No, it
-isn't you.  But if I saw that you loved that man I think I could hate you
-too."
-
-That word struck straight at her heart.  "You wouldn't be the first
-then," she muttered bitterly.  But he was busy with his fixed idea and
-uttered an awfully equable "But you don't!  Unfortunate girl!"
-
-She looked at him steadily for a time then said "Good-night, papa."
-
-As a matter of fact Anthony very seldom waited for her alone at the table
-with the scattered cards, glasses, water-jug, bottles and soon.  He took
-no more opportunities to be alone with her than was absolutely necessary
-for the edification of Mrs. Brown.  Excellent, faithful woman; the wife
-of his still more excellent and faithful steward.  And Flora wished all
-these excellent people, devoted to Anthony, she wished them all further;
-and especially the nice, pleasant-spoken Mrs. Brown with her beady,
-mobile eyes and her "Yes certainly, ma'am," which seemed to her to have a
-mocking sound.  And so this short trip--to the Western Islands only--came
-to an end.  It was so short that when young Powell joined the _Ferndale_
-by a memorable stroke of chance, no more than seven months had elapsed
-since the--let us say the liberation of the convict de Barral and his
-avatar into Mr. Smith.
-
-* * * * *
-
-For the time the ship was loading in London Anthony took a cottage near a
-little country station in Essex, to house Mr. Smith and Mr. Smith's
-daughter.  It was altogether his idea.  How far it was necessary for Mr.
-Smith to seek rural retreat I don't know.  Perhaps to some extent it was
-a judicious arrangement.  There were some obligations incumbent on the
-liberated de Barral (in connection with reporting himself to the police I
-imagine) which Mr. Smith was not anxious to perform.  De Barral had to
-vanish; the theory was that de Barral had vanished, and it had to be
-upheld.  Poor Flora liked the country, even if the spot had nothing more
-to recommend it than its retired character.
-
-Now and then Captain Anthony ran down; but as the station was a real
-wayside one, with no early morning trains up, he could never stay for
-more than the afternoon.  It appeared that he must sleep in town so as to
-be early on board his ship.  The weather was magnificent and whenever the
-captain of the _Ferndale_ was seen on a brilliant afternoon coming down
-the road Mr. Smith would seize his stick and toddle off for a solitary
-walk.  But whether he would get tired or because it gave him some
-satisfaction to see "that man" go away--or for some cunning reason of his
-own, he was always back before the hour of Anthony's departure.  On
-approaching the cottage he would see generally "that man" lying on the
-grass in the orchard at some distance from his daughter seated in a chair
-brought out of the cottage's living room.  Invariably Mr. Smith made
-straight for them and as invariably had the feeling that his approach was
-not disturbing a very intimate conversation.  He sat with them, through a
-silent hour or so, and then it would be time for Anthony to go.  Mr.
-Smith, perhaps from discretion, would casually vanish a minute or so
-before, and then watch through the diamond panes of an upstairs room
-"that man" take a lingering look outside the gate at the invisible Flora,
-lift his hat, like a caller, and go off down the road.  Then only Mr.
-Smith would join his daughter again.
-
-These were the bad moments for her.  Not always, of course, but
-frequently.  It was nothing extraordinary to hear Mr. Smith begin gently
-with some observation like this:
-
-"That man is getting tired of you."
-
-He would never pronounce Anthony's name.  It was always "that man."
-
-Generally she would remain mute with wide open eyes gazing at nothing
-between the gnarled fruit trees.  Once, however, she got up and walked
-into the cottage.  Mr. Smith followed her carrying the chair.  He banged
-it down resolutely and in that smooth inexpressive tone so many ears used
-to bend eagerly to catch when it came from the Great de Barral he said:
-
-"Let's get away."
-
-She had the strength of mind not to spin round.  On the contrary she went
-on to a shabby bit of a mirror on the wall.  In the greenish glass her
-own face looked far off like the livid face of a drowned corpse at the
-bottom of a pool.  She laughed faintly.
-
-"I tell you that man's getting--"
-
-"Papa," she interrupted him.  "I have no illusions as to myself.  It has
-happened to me before but--"
-
-Her voice failing her suddenly her father struck in with quite an
-unwonted animation.  "Let's make a rush for it, then."
-
-Having mastered both her fright and her bitterness, she turned round, sat
-down and allowed her astonishment to be seen.  Mr. Smith sat down too,
-his knees together and bent at right angles, his thin legs parallel to
-each other and his hands resting on the arms of the wooden arm-chair.  His
-hair had grown long, his head was set stiffly, there was something
-fatuously venerable in his aspect.
-
-"You can't care for him.  Don't tell me.  I understand your motive.  And
-I have called you an unfortunate girl.  You are that as much as if you
-had gone on the streets.  Yes.  Don't interrupt me, Flora.  I was
-everlastingly being interrupted at the trial and I can't stand it any
-more.  I won't be interrupted by my own child.  And when I think that it
-is on the very day before they let me out that you . . . "
-
-He had wormed this fact out of her by that time because Flora had got
-tired of evading the question.  He had been very much struck and
-distressed.  Was that the trust she had in him?  Was that a proof of
-confidence and love?  The very day before!  Never given him even half a
-chance.  It was as at the trial.  They never gave him a chance.  They
-would not give him time.  And there was his own daughter acting exactly
-as his bitterest enemies had done.  Not giving him time!
-
-The monotony of that subdued voice nearly lulled her dismay to sleep.  She
-listened to the unavoidable things he was saying.
-
-"But what induced that man to marry you?  Of course he's a gentleman.  One
-can see that.  And that makes it worse.  Gentlemen don't understand
-anything about city affairs--finance.  Why!--the people who started the
-cry after me were a firm of gentlemen.  The counsel, the judge--all
-gentlemen--quite out of it!  No notion of . . . And then he's a sailor
-too.  Just a skipper--"
-
-"My grandfather was nothing else," she interrupted.  And he made an
-angular gesture of impatience.
-
-"Yes.  But what does a silly sailor know of business?  Nothing.  No
-conception.  He can have no idea of what it means to be the daughter of
-Mr. de Barral--even after his enemies had smashed him.  What on earth
-induced him--"
-
-She made a movement because the level voice was getting on her nerves.
-And he paused, but only to go on again in the same tone with the remark:
-
-"Of course you are pretty.  And that's why you are lost--like many other
-poor girls.  Unfortunate is the word for you."
-
-She said: "It may be.  Perhaps it is the right word; but listen, papa.  I
-mean to be honest."
-
-He began to exhale more speeches.
-
-"Just the sort of man to get tired and then leave you and go off with his
-beastly ship.  And anyway you can never be happy with him.  Look at his
-face.  I want to save you.  You see I was not perhaps a very good husband
-to your poor mother.  She would have done better to have left me long
-before she died.  I have been thinking it all over.  I won't have you
-unhappy."
-
-He ran his eyes over her with an attention which was surprisingly
-noticeable.  Then said, "H'm!  Yes.  Let's clear out before it is too
-late.  Quietly, you and I."
-
-She said as if inspired and with that calmness which despair often gives:
-"There is no money to go away with, papa."
-
-He rose up straightening himself as though he were a hinged figure.  She
-said decisively:
-
-"And of course you wouldn't think of deserting me, papa?"
-
-"Of course not," sounded his subdued tone.  And he left her, gliding away
-with his walk which Mr. Powell described to me as being as level and wary
-as his voice.  He walked as if he were carrying a glass full of water on
-his head.
-
-Flora naturally said nothing to Anthony of that edifying conversation.
-His generosity might have taken alarm at it and she did not want to be
-left behind to manage her father alone.  And moreover she was too honest.
-She would be honest at whatever cost.  She would not be the first to
-speak.  Never.  And the thought came into her head: "I am indeed an
-unfortunate creature!"
-
-It was by the merest coincidence that Anthony coming for the afternoon
-two days later had a talk with Mr. Smith in the orchard.  Flora for some
-reason or other had left them for a moment; and Anthony took that
-opportunity to be frank with Mr. Smith.  He said: "It seems to me, sir,
-that you think Flora has not done very well for herself.  Well, as to
-that I can't say anything.  All I want you to know is that I have tried
-to do the right thing."  And then he explained that he had willed
-everything he was possessed of to her.  "She didn't tell you, I suppose?"
-
-Mr. Smith shook his head slightly.  And Anthony, trying to be friendly,
-was just saying that he proposed to keep the ship away from home for at
-least two years.  "I think, sir, that from every point of view it would
-be best," when Flora came back and the conversation, cut short in that
-direction, languished and died.  Later in the evening, after Anthony had
-been gone for hours, on the point of separating for the night, Mr. Smith
-remarked suddenly to his daughter after a long period of brooding:
-
-"A will is nothing.  One tears it up.  One makes another."  Then after
-reflecting for a minute he added unemotionally:
-
-"One tells lies about it."
-
-Flora, patient, steeled against every hurt and every disgust to the point
-of wondering at herself, said: "You push your dislike of--of--Roderick
-too far, papa.  You have no regard for me.  You hurt me."
-
-He, as ever inexpressive to the point of terrifying her sometimes by the
-contrast of his placidity and his words, turned away from her a pair of
-faded eyes.
-
-"I wonder how far your dislike goes," he began.  "His very name sticks in
-your throat.  I've noticed it.  It hurts me.  What do you think of that?
-You might remember that you are not the only person that's hurt by your
-folly, by your hastiness, by your recklessness."  He brought back his
-eyes to her face.  "And the very day before they were going to let me
-out."  His feeble voice failed him altogether, the narrow compressed lips
-only trembling for a time before he added with that extraordinary
-equanimity of tone, "I call it sinful."
-
-Flora made no answer.  She judged it simpler, kinder and certainly safer
-to let him talk himself out.  This, Mr. Smith, being naturally taciturn,
-never took very long to do.  And we must not imagine that this sort of
-thing went on all the time.  She had a few good days in that cottage.  The
-absence of Anthony was a relief and his visits were pleasurable.  She was
-quieter.  He was quieter too.  She was almost sorry when the time to join
-the ship arrived.  It was a moment of anguish, of excitement; they
-arrived at the dock in the evening and Flora after "making her father
-comfortable" according to established usage lingered in the state-room
-long enough to notice that he was surprised.  She caught his pale eyes
-observing her quite stonily.  Then she went out after a cheery
-good-night.
-
-Contrary to her hopes she found Anthony yet in the saloon.  Sitting in
-his arm-chair at the head of the table he was picking up some business
-papers which he put hastily in his breast pocket and got up.  He asked
-her if her day, travelling up to town and then doing some shopping, had
-tired her.  She shook her head.  Then he wanted to know in a half-jocular
-way how she felt about going away, and for a long voyage this time.
-
-"Does it matter how I feel?" she asked in a tone that cast a gloom over
-his face.  He answered with repressed violence which she did not expect:
-
-"No, it does not matter, because I cannot go without you.  I've told you
-. . . You know it.  You don't think I could."
-
-"I assure you I haven't the slightest wish to evade my obligations," she
-said steadily.  "Even if I could.  Even if I dared, even if I had to die
-for it!"
-
-He looked thunderstruck.  They stood facing each other at the end of the
-saloon.  Anthony stuttered.  "Oh no.  You won't die.  You don't mean it.
-You have taken kindly to the sea."
-
-She laughed, but she felt angry.
-
-"No, I don't mean it.  I tell you I don't mean to evade my obligations.  I
-shall live on . . . feeling a little crushed, nevertheless."
-
-"Crushed!" he repeated.  "What's crushing you?"
-
-"Your magnanimity," she said sharply.  But her voice was softened after a
-time.  "Yet I don't know.  There is a perfection in it--do you understand
-me, Roderick?--which makes it almost possible to bear."
-
-He sighed, looked away, and remarked that it was time to put out the lamp
-in the saloon.  The permission was only till ten o'clock.
-
-"But you needn't mind that so much in your cabin.  Just see that the
-curtains of the ports are drawn close and that's all.  The steward might
-have forgotten to do it.  He lighted your reading lamp in there before he
-went ashore for a last evening with his wife.  I don't know if it was
-wise to get rid of Mrs. Brown.  You will have to look after yourself,
-Flora."
-
-He was quite anxious; but Flora as a matter of fact congratulated herself
-on the absence of Mrs. Brown.  No sooner had she closed the door of her
-state-room than she murmured fervently, "Yes!  Thank goodness, she is
-gone."  There would be no gentle knock, followed by her appearance with
-her equivocal stare and the intolerable: "Can I do anything for you,
-ma'am?" which poor Flora had learned to fear and hate more than any voice
-or any words on board that ship--her only refuge from the world which had
-no use for her, for her imperfections and for her troubles.
-
-* * * * *
-
-Mrs. Brown had been very much vexed at her dismissal.  The Browns were a
-childless couple and the arrangement had suited them perfectly.  Their
-resentment was very bitter.  Mrs. Brown had to remain ashore alone with
-her rage, but the steward was nursing his on board.  Poor Flora had no
-greater enemy, the aggrieved mate had no greater sympathizer.  And Mrs.
-Brown, with a woman's quick power of observation and inference (the
-putting of two and two together) had come to a certain conclusion which
-she had imparted to her husband before leaving the ship.  The morose
-steward permitted himself once to make an allusion to it in Powell's
-hearing.  It was in the officers' mess-room at the end of a meal while he
-lingered after putting a fruit pie on the table.  He and the chief mate
-started a dialogue about the alarming change in the captain, the sallow
-steward looking down with a sinister frown, Franklin rolling upwards his
-eyes, sentimental in a red face.  Young Powell had heard a lot of that
-sort of thing by that time.  It was growing monotonous; it had always
-sounded to him a little absurd.  He struck in impatiently with the remark
-that such lamentations over a man merely because he had taken a wife
-seemed to him like lunacy.
-
-Franklin muttered, "Depends on what the wife is up to."  The steward
-leaning against the bulkhead near the door glowered at Powell, that
-newcomer, that ignoramus, that stranger without right or privileges.  He
-snarled:
-
-"Wife!  Call her a wife, do you?"
-
-"What the devil do you mean by this?" exclaimed young Powell.
-
-"I know what I know.  My old woman has not been six months on board for
-nothing.  You had better ask her when we get back."
-
-And meeting sullenly the withering stare of Mr. Powell the steward
-retreated backwards.
-
-Our young friend turned at once upon the mate.  "And you let that
-confounded bottle-washer talk like this before you, Mr. Franklin.  Well,
-I am astonished."
-
-"Oh, it isn't what you think.  It isn't what you think."  Mr. Franklin
-looked more apoplectic than ever.  "If it comes to that I could astonish
-you.  But it's no use.  I myself can hardly . . . You couldn't
-understand.  I hope you won't try to make mischief.  There was a time,
-young fellow, when I would have dared any man--any man, you hear?--to
-make mischief between me and Captain Anthony.  But not now.  Not now.
-There's a change!  Not in me though . . . "
-
-Young Powell rejected with indignation any suggestion of making mischief.
-"Who do you take me for?" he cried.  "Only you had better tell that
-steward to be careful what he says before me or I'll spoil his good looks
-for him for a month and will leave him to explain the why of it to the
-captain the best way he can."
-
-This speech established Powell as a champion of Mrs. Anthony.  Nothing
-more bearing on the question was ever said before him.  He did not care
-for the steward's black looks; Franklin, never conversational even at the
-best of times and avoiding now the only topic near his heart, addressed
-him only on matters of duty.  And for that, too, Powell cared very
-little.  The woes of the apoplectic mate had begun to bore him long
-before.  Yet he felt lonely a bit at times.  Therefore the little
-intercourse with Mrs. Anthony either in one dog-watch or the other was
-something to be looked forward to.  The captain did not mind it.  That
-was evident from his manner.  One night he inquired (they were then alone
-on the poop) what they had been talking about that evening?  Powell had
-to confess that it was about the ship.  Mrs. Anthony had been asking him
-questions.
-
-"Takes interest--eh?" jerked out the captain moving rapidly up and down
-the weather side of the poop.
-
-"Yes, sir.  Mrs. Anthony seems to get hold wonderfully of what one's
-telling her."
-
-"Sailor's granddaughter.  One of the old school.  Old sea-dog of the best
-kind, I believe," ejaculated the captain, swinging past his motionless
-second officer and leaving the words behind him like a trail of sparks
-succeeded by a perfect conversational darkness, because, for the next two
-hours till he left the deck, he didn't open his lips again.
-
-On another occasion . . . we mustn't forget that the ship had crossed the
-line and was adding up south latitude every day by then . . . on another
-occasion, about seven in the evening, Powell on duty, heard his name
-uttered softly in the companion.  The captain was on the stairs, thin-
-faced, his eyes sunk, on his arm a Shetland wool wrap.
-
-"Mr. Powell--here."
-
-"Yes, sir."
-
-"Give this to Mrs. Anthony.  Evenings are getting chilly."
-
-And the haggard face sank out of sight.  Mrs. Anthony was surprised on
-seeing the shawl.
-
-"The captain wants you to put this on," explained young Powell, and as
-she raised herself in her seat he dropped it on her shoulders.  She
-wrapped herself up closely.
-
-"Where was the captain?" she asked.
-
-"He was in the companion.  Called me on purpose," said Powell, and then
-retreated discreetly, because she looked as though she didn't want to
-talk any more that evening.  Mr. Smith--the old gentleman--was as usual
-sitting on the skylight near her head, brooding over the long chair but
-by no means inimical, as far as his unreadable face went, to those
-conversations of the two youngest people on board.  In fact they seemed
-to give him some pleasure.  Now and then he would raise his faded china
-eyes to the animated face of Mr. Powell thoughtfully.  When the young
-sailor was by, the old man became less rigid, and when his daughter, on
-rare occasions, smiled at some artless tale of Mr. Powell, the
-inexpressive face of Mr. Smith reflected dimly that flash of evanescent
-mirth.  For Mr. Powell had come now to entertain his captain's wife with
-anecdotes from the not very distant past when he was a boy, on board
-various ships,--funny things do happen on board ship.  Flora was quite
-surprised at times to find herself amused.  She was even heard to laugh
-twice in the course of a month.  It was not a loud sound but it was
-startling enough at the after-end of the _Ferndale_ where low tones or
-silence were the rule.  The second time this happened the captain himself
-must have been startled somewhere down below; because he emerged from the
-depths of his unobtrusive existence and began his tramping on the
-opposite side of the poop.
-
-Almost immediately he called his young second officer over to him.  This
-was not done in displeasure.  The glance he fastened on Mr. Powell
-conveyed a sort of approving wonder.  He engaged him in desultory
-conversation as if for the only purpose of keeping a man who could
-provoke such a sound, near his person.  Mr. Powell felt himself liked.  He
-felt it.  Liked by that haggard, restless man who threw at him
-disconnected phrases to which his answers were, "Yes, sir," "No, sir,"
-"Oh, certainly," "I suppose so, sir,"--and might have been clearly
-anything else for all the other cared.
-
-It was then, Mr. Powell told me, that he discovered in himself an already
-old-established liking for Captain Anthony.  He also felt sorry for him
-without being able to discover the origins of that sympathy of which he
-had become so suddenly aware.
-
-Meantime Mr. Smith, bending forward stiffly as though he had a hinged
-back, was speaking to his daughter.
-
-She was a child no longer.  He wanted to know if she believed in--in
-hell.  In eternal punishment?
-
-His peculiar voice, as if filtered through cotton-wool was inaudible on
-the other side of the deck.  Poor Flora, taken very much unawares, made
-an inarticulate murmur, shook her head vaguely, and glanced in the
-direction of the pacing Anthony who was not looking her way.  It was no
-use glancing in that direction.  Of young Powell, leaning against the
-mizzen-mast and facing his captain she could only see the shoulder and
-part of a blue serge back.
-
-And the unworried, unaccented voice of her father went on tormenting her.
-
-"You see, you must understand.  When I came out of jail it was with joy.
-That is, my soul was fairly torn in two--but anyway to see you happy--I
-had made up my mind to that.  Once I could be sure that you were happy
-then of course I would have had no reason to care for life--strictly
-speaking--which is all right for an old man; though naturally . . . no
-reason to wish for death either.  But this sort of life!  What sense,
-what meaning, what value has it either for you or for me?  It's just
-sitting down to look at the death, that's coming, coming.  What else is
-it?  I don't know how you can put up with that.  I don't think you can
-stand it for long.  Some day you will jump overboard."
-
-Captain Anthony had stopped for a moment staring ahead from the break of
-the poop, and poor Flora sent at his back a look of despairing appeal
-which would have moved a heart of stone.  But as though she had done
-nothing he did not stir in the least.  She got out of the long chair and
-went towards the companion.  Her father followed carrying a few small
-objects, a handbag, her handkerchief, a book.  They went down together.
-
-It was only then that Captain Anthony turned, looked at the place they
-had vacated and resumed his tramping, but not his desultory conversation
-with his second officer.  His nervous exasperation had grown so much that
-now very often he used to lose control of his voice.  If he did not watch
-himself it would suddenly die in his throat.  He had to make sure before
-he ventured on the simplest saying, an order, a remark on the wind, a
-simple good-morning.  That's why his utterance was abrupt, his answers to
-people startlingly brusque and often not forthcoming at all.
-
-It happens to the most resolute of men to find himself at grips not only
-with unknown forces, but with a well-known force the real might of which
-he had not understood.  Anthony had discovered that he was not the proud
-master but the chafing captive of his generosity.  It rose in front of
-him like a wall which his respect for himself forbade him to scale.  He
-said to himself: "Yes, I was a fool--but she has trusted me!"  Trusted!  A
-terrible word to any man somewhat exceptional in a world in which success
-has never been found in renunciation and good faith.  And it must also be
-said, in order not to make Anthony more stupidly sublime than he was,
-that the behaviour of Flora kept him at a distance.  The girl was afraid
-to add to the exasperation of her father.  It was her unhappy lot to be
-made more wretched by the only affection which she could not suspect.  She
-could not be angry with it, however, and out of deference for that
-exaggerated sentiment she hardly dared to look otherwise than by stealth
-at the man whose masterful compassion had carried her off.  And quite
-unable to understand the extent of Anthony's delicacy, she said to
-herself that "he didn't care."  He probably was beginning at bottom to
-detest her--like the governess, like the maiden lady, like the German
-woman, like Mrs. Fyne, like Mr. Fyne--only he was extraordinary, he was
-generous.  At the same time she had moments of irritation.  He was
-violent, headstrong--perhaps stupid.  Well, he had had his way.
-
-A man who has had his way is seldom happy, for generally he finds that
-the way does not lead very far on this earth of desires which can never
-be fully satisfied.  Anthony had entered with extreme precipitation the
-enchanted gardens of Armida saying to himself "At last!"  As to Armida,
-herself, he was not going to offer her any violence.  But now he had
-discovered that all the enchantment was in Armida herself, in Armida's
-smiles.  This Armida did not smile.  She existed, unapproachable, behind
-the blank wall of his renunciation.  His force, fit for action,
-experienced the impatience, the indignation, almost the despair of his
-vitality arrested, bound, stilled, progressively worn down, frittered
-away by Time; by that force blind and insensible, which seems inert and
-yet uses one's life up by its imperceptible action, dropping minute after
-minute on one's living heart like drops of water wearing down a stone.
-
-He upbraided himself.  What else could he have expected?  He had rushed
-in like a ruffian; he had dragged the poor defenceless thing by the hair
-of her head, as it were, on board that ship.  It was really atrocious.
-Nothing assured him that his person could be attractive to this or any
-other woman.  And his proceedings were enough in themselves to make
-anyone odious.  He must have been bereft of his senses.  She must fatally
-detest and fear him.  Nothing could make up for such brutality.  And yet
-somehow he resented this very attitude which seemed to him completely
-justifiable.  Surely he was not too monstrous (morally) to be looked at
-frankly sometimes.  But no!  She wouldn't.  Well, perhaps, some day . . .
-Only he was not going ever to attempt to beg for forgiveness.  With the
-repulsion she felt for his person she would certainly misunderstand the
-most guarded words, the most careful advances.  Never!  Never!
-
-It would occur to Anthony at the end of such meditations that death was
-not an unfriendly visitor after all.  No wonder then that even young
-Powell, his faculties having been put on the alert, began to think that
-there was something unusual about the man who had given him his chance in
-life.  Yes, decidedly, his captain was "strange."  There was something
-wrong somewhere, he said to himself, never guessing that his young and
-candid eyes were in the presence of a passion profound, tyrannical and
-mortal, discovering its own existence, astounded at feeling itself
-helpless and dismayed at finding itself incurable.
-
-Powell had never before felt this mysterious uneasiness so strongly as on
-that evening when it had been his good fortune to make Mrs. Anthony laugh
-a little by his artless prattle.  Standing out of the way, he had watched
-his captain walk the weather-side of the poop, he took full cognizance of
-his liking for that inexplicably strange man and saw him swerve towards
-the companion and go down below with sympathetic if utterly
-uncomprehending eyes.
-
-Shortly afterwards, Mr. Smith came up alone and manifested a desire for a
-little conversation.  He, too, if not so mysterious as the captain, was
-not very comprehensible to Mr. Powell's uninformed candour.  He often
-favoured thus the second officer.  His talk alluded somewhat
-enigmatically and often without visible connection to Mr. Powell's
-friendliness towards himself and his daughter.  "For I am well aware that
-we have no friends on board this ship, my dear young man," he would add,
-"except yourself.  Flora feels that too."
-
-And Mr. Powell, flattered and embarrassed, could but emit a vague murmur
-of protest.  For the statement was true in a sense, though the fact was
-in itself insignificant.  The feelings of the ship's company could not
-possibly matter to the captain's wife and to Mr. Smith--her father.  Why
-the latter should so often allude to it was what surprised our Mr.
-Powell.  This was by no means the first occasion.  More like the
-twentieth rather.  And in his weak voice, with his monotonous intonation,
-leaning over the rail and looking at the water the other continued this
-conversation, or rather his remarks, remarks of such a monstrous nature
-that Mr. Powell had no option but to accept them for gruesome jesting.
-
-"For instance," said Mr. Smith, "that mate, Franklin, I believe he would
-just as soon see us both overboard as not."
-
-"It's not so bad as that," laughed Mr. Powell, feeling uncomfortable,
-because his mind did not accommodate itself easily to exaggeration of
-statement.  "He isn't a bad chap really," he added, very conscious of Mr.
-Franklin's offensive manner of which instances were not far to seek.
-"He's such a fool as to be jealous.  He has been with the captain for
-years.  It's not for me to say, perhaps, but I think the captain has
-spoiled all that gang of old servants.  They are like a lot of pet old
-dogs.  Wouldn't let anybody come near him if they could help it.  I've
-never seen anything like it.  And the second mate, I believe, was like
-that too."
-
-"Well, he isn't here, luckily.  There would have been one more enemy,"
-said Mr. Smith.  "There's enough of them without him.  And you being here
-instead of him makes it much more pleasant for my daughter and myself.
-One feels there may be a friend in need.  For really, for a woman all
-alone on board ship amongst a lot of unfriendly men . . . "
-
-"But Mrs Anthony is not alone," exclaimed Powell.  "There's you, and
-there's the . . . "
-
-Mr. Smith interrupted him.
-
-"Nobody's immortal.  And there are times when one feels ashamed to live.
-Such an evening as this for instance."
-
-It was a lovely evening; the colours of a splendid sunset had died out
-and the breath of a warm breeze seemed to have smoothed out the sea.  Away
-to the south the sheet lightning was like the flashing of an enormous
-lantern hidden under the horizon.  In order to change the conversation
-Mr. Powell said:
-
-"Anyway no one can charge you with being a Jonah, Mr. Smith.  We have had
-a magnificent quick passage so far.  The captain ought to be pleased.  And
-I suppose you are not sorry either."
-
-This diversion was not successful.  Mr. Smith emitted a sort of bitter
-chuckle and said: "Jonah!  That's the fellow that was thrown overboard by
-some sailors.  It seems to me it's very easy at sea to get rid of a
-person one does not like.  The sea does not give up its dead as the earth
-does."
-
-"You forget the whale, sir," said young Powell.
-
-Mr. Smith gave a start.  "Eh?  What whale?  Oh!  Jonah.  I wasn't
-thinking of Jonah.  I was thinking of this passage which seems so quick
-to you.  But only think what it is to me?  It isn't a life, going about
-the sea like this.  And, for instance, if one were to fall ill, there
-isn't a doctor to find out what's the matter with one.  It's worrying.  It
-makes me anxious at times."
-
-"Is Mrs. Anthony not feeling well?" asked Powell.  But Mr. Smith's remark
-was not meant for Mrs. Anthony.  She was well.  He himself was well.  It
-was the captain's health that did not seem quite satisfactory.  Had Mr.
-Powell noticed his appearance?
-
-Mr. Powell didn't know enough of the captain to judge.  He couldn't tell.
-But he observed thoughtfully that Mr. Franklin had been saying the same
-thing.  And Franklin had known the captain for years.  The mate was quite
-worried about it.
-
-This intelligence startled Mr. Smith considerably.  "Does he think he is
-in danger of dying?" he exclaimed with an animation quite extraordinary
-for him, which horrified Mr. Powell.
-
-"Heavens!  Die!  No!  Don't you alarm yourself, sir.  I've never heard a
-word about danger from Mr. Franklin."
-
-"Well, well," sighed Mr. Smith and left the poop for the saloon rather
-abruptly.
-
-As a matter of fact Mr. Franklin had been on deck for some considerable
-time.  He had come to relieve young Powell; but seeing him engaged in
-talk with the "enemy"--with one of the "enemies" at least--had kept at a
-distance, which, the poop of the _Ferndale_ being aver seventy feet long,
-he had no difficulty in doing.  Mr. Powell saw him at the head of the
-ladder leaning on his elbow, melancholy and silent.  "Oh!  Here you are,
-sir."
-
-"Here I am.  Here I've been ever since six o'clock.  Didn't want to
-interrupt the pleasant conversation.  If you like to put in half of your
-watch below jawing with a dear friend, that's not my affair.  Funny taste
-though."
-
-"He isn't a bad chap," said the impartial Powell.
-
-The mate snorted angrily, tapping the deck with his foot; then: "Isn't
-he?  Well, give him my love when you come together again for another nice
-long yarn."
-
-"I say, Mr. Franklin, I wonder the captain don't take offence at your
-manners."
-
-"The captain.  I wish to goodness he would start a row with me.  Then I
-should know at least I am somebody on board.  I'd welcome it, Mr. Powell.
-I'd rejoice.  And dam' me I would talk back too till I roused him.  He's
-a shadow of himself.  He walks about his ship like a ghost.  He's fading
-away right before our eyes.  But of course you don't see.  You don't care
-a hang.  Why should you?"
-
-Mr. Powell did not wait for more.  He went down on the main deck.  Without
-taking the mate's jeremiads seriously he put them beside the words of Mr.
-Smith.  He had grown already attached to Captain Anthony.  There was
-something not only attractive but compelling in the man.  Only it is very
-difficult for youth to believe in the menace of death.  Not in the fact
-itself, but in its proximity to a breathing, moving, talking, superior
-human being, showing no sign of disease.  And Mr. Powell thought that
-this talk was all nonsense.  But his curiosity was awakened.  There was
-something, and at any time some circumstance might occur . . . No, he
-would never find out . . . There was nothing to find out, most likely.
-Mr. Powell went to his room where he tried to read a book he had already
-read a good many times.  Presently a bell rang for the officers' supper.
-
-
-
-CHAPTER SIX--. . . A MOONLESS NIGHT, THICK WITH STARS ABOVE, VERY DARK ON
-THE WATER
-
-
-In the mess-room Powell found Mr. Franklin hacking at a piece of cold
-salt beef with a table knife.  The mate, fiery in the face and rolling
-his eyes over that task, explained that the carver belonging to the mess-
-room could not be found.  The steward, present also, complained savagely
-of the cook.  The fellow got things into his galley and then lost them.
-Mr. Franklin tried to pacify him with mournful firmness.
-
-"There, there!  That will do.  We who have been all these years together
-in the ship have other things to think about than quarrelling among
-ourselves."
-
-Mr. Powell thought with exasperation: "Here he goes again," for this
-utterance had nothing cryptic for him.  The steward having withdrawn
-morosely, he was not surprised to hear the mate strike the usual note.
-That morning the mizzen topsail tie had carried away (probably a
-defective link) and something like forty feet of chain and wire-rope,
-mixed up with a few heavy iron blocks, had crashed down from aloft on the
-poop with a terrifying racket.
-
-"Did you notice the captain then, Mr. Powell.  Did you notice?"
-
-Powell confessed frankly that he was too scared himself when all that lot
-of gear came down on deck to notice anything.
-
-"The gin-block missed his head by an inch," went on the mate
-impressively.  "I wasn't three feet from him.  And what did he do?  Did
-he shout, or jump, or even look aloft to see if the yard wasn't coming
-down too about our ears in a dozen pieces?  It's a marvel it didn't.  No,
-he just stopped short--no wonder; he must have felt the wind of that iron
-gin-block on his face--looked down at it, there, lying close to his
-foot--and went on again.  I believe he didn't even blink.  It isn't
-natural.  The man is stupefied."
-
-He sighed ridiculously and Mr. Powell had suppressed a grin, when the
-mate added as if he couldn't contain himself:
-
-"He will be taking to drink next.  Mark my words.  That's the next
-thing."
-
-Mr. Powell was disgusted.
-
-"You are so fond of the captain and yet you don't seem to care what you
-say about him.  I haven't been with him for seven years, but I know he
-isn't the sort of man that takes to drink.  And then--why the devil
-should he?"
-
-"Why the devil, you ask.  Devil--eh?  Well, no man is safe from the
-devil--and that's answer enough for you," wheezed Mr. Franklin not
-unkindly.  "There was a time, a long time ago, when I nearly took to
-drink myself.  What do you say to that?"
-
-Mr. Powell expressed a polite incredulity.  The thick, congested mate
-seemed on the point of bursting with despondency.  "That was bad example
-though.  I was young and fell into dangerous company, made a fool of
-myself--yes, as true as you see me sitting here.  Drank to forget.
-Thought it a great dodge."
-
-Powell looked at the grotesque Franklin with awakened interest and with
-that half-amused sympathy with which we receive unprovoked confidences
-from men with whom we have no sort of affinity.  And at the same time he
-began to look upon him more seriously.  Experience has its prestige.  And
-the mate continued:
-
-"If it hadn't been for the old lady, I would have gone to the devil.  I
-remembered her in time.  Nothing like having an old lady to look after to
-steady a chap and make him face things.  But as bad luck would have it,
-Captain Anthony has no mother living, not a blessed soul belonging to him
-as far as I know.  Oh, aye, I fancy he said once something to me of a
-sister.  But she's married.  She don't need him.  Yes.  In the old days
-he used to talk to me as if we had been brothers," exaggerated the mate
-sentimentally.  "'Franklin,'--he would say--'this ship is my nearest
-relation and she isn't likely to turn against me.  And I suppose you are
-the man I've known the longest in the world.'  That's how he used to
-speak to me.  Can I turn my back on him?  He has turned his back on his
-ship; that's what it has come to.  He has no one now but his old
-Franklin.  But what's a fellow to do to put things back as they were and
-should be.  Should be--I say!"
-
-His starting eyes had a terrible fixity.  Mr. Powell's irresistible
-thought, "he resembles a boiled lobster in distress," was followed by
-annoyance.  "Good Lord," he said, "you don't mean to hint that Captain
-Anthony has fallen into bad company.  What is it you want to save him
-from?"
-
-"I do mean it," affirmed the mate, and the very absurdity of the
-statement made it impressive--because it seemed so absolutely audacious.
-"Well, you have a cheek," said young Powell, feeling mentally helpless.
-"I have a notion the captain would half kill you if he were to know how
-you carry on."
-
-"And welcome," uttered the fervently devoted Franklin.  "I am willing, if
-he would only clear the ship afterwards of that . . . You are but a
-youngster and you may go and tell him what you like.  Let him knock the
-stuffing out of his old Franklin first and think it over afterwards.
-Anything to pull him together.  But of course you wouldn't.  You are all
-right.  Only you don't know that things are sometimes different from what
-they look.  There are friendships that are no friendships, and marriages
-that are no marriages.  Phoo!  Likely to be right--wasn't it?  Never a
-hint to me.  I go off on leave and when I come back, there it is--all
-over, settled!  Not a word beforehand.  No warning.  If only: 'What do
-you think of it, Franklin?'--or anything of the sort.  And that's a man
-who hardly ever did anything without asking my advice.  Why!  He couldn't
-take over a new coat from the tailor without . . . first thing, directly
-the fellow came on board with some new clothes, whether in London or in
-China, it would be: 'Pass the word along there for Mr. Franklin.  Mr.
-Franklin wanted in the cabin.'  In I would go.  'Just look at my back,
-Franklin.  Fits all right, doesn't it?'  And I would say: 'First rate,
-sir,' or whatever was the truth of it.  That or anything else.  Always
-the truth of it.  Always.  And well he knew it; and that's why he dared
-not speak right out.  Talking about workmen, alterations, cabins . . .
-Phoo! . . . instead of a straightforward--'Wish me joy, Mr. Franklin!'
-Yes, that was the way to let me know.  God only knows what they
-are--perhaps she isn't his daughter any more than she is . . . She
-doesn't resemble that old fellow.  Not a bit.  Not a bit.  It's very
-awful.  You may well open your mouth, young man.  But for goodness' sake,
-you who are mixed up with that lot, keep your eyes and ears open too in
-case--in case of . . . I don't know what.  Anything.  One wonders what
-can happen here at sea!  Nothing.  Yet when a man is called a jailer
-behind his back."
-
-Mr. Franklin hid his face in his hands for a moment and Powell shut his
-mouth, which indeed had been open.  He slipped out of the mess-room
-noiselessly.  "The mate's crazy," he thought.  It was his firm
-conviction.  Nevertheless, that evening, he felt his inner tranquillity
-disturbed at last by the force and obstinacy of this craze.  He couldn't
-dismiss it with the contempt it deserved.  Had the word "jailer" really
-been pronounced?  A strange word for the mate to even _imagine_ he had
-heard.  A senseless, unlikely word.  But this word being the only clear
-and definite statement in these grotesque and dismal ravings was
-comparatively restful to his mind.  Powell's mind rested on it still when
-he came up at eight o'clock to take charge of the deck.  It was a
-moonless night, thick with stars above, very dark on the water.  A steady
-air from the west kept the sails asleep.  Franklin mustered both watches
-in low tones as if for a funeral, then approaching Powell:
-
-"The course is east-south-east," said the chief mate distinctly.
-
-"East-south-east, sir."
-
-"Everything's set, Mr. Powell."
-
-"All right, sir."
-
-The other lingered, his sentimental eyes gleamed silvery in the shadowy
-face.  "A quiet night before us.  I don't know that there are any special
-orders.  A settled, quiet night.  I dare say you won't see the captain.
-Once upon a time this was the watch he used to come up and start a chat
-with either of us then on deck.  But now he sits in that infernal stern-
-cabin and mopes.  Jailer--eh?"
-
-Mr. Powell walked away from the mate and when at some distance said,
-"Damn!" quite heartily.  It was a confounded nuisance.  It had ceased to
-be funny; that hostile word "jailer" had given the situation an air of
-reality.
-
-* * * * *
-
-Franklin's grotesque mortal envelope had disappeared from the poop to
-seek its needful repose, if only the worried soul would let it rest a
-while.  Mr. Powell, half sorry for the thick little man, wondered whether
-it would let him.  For himself, he recognized that the charm of a quiet
-watch on deck when one may let one's thoughts roam in space and time had
-been spoiled without remedy.  What shocked him most was the implied
-aspersion of complicity on Mrs. Anthony.  It angered him.  In his own
-words to me, he felt very "enthusiastic" about Mrs. Anthony.
-"Enthusiastic" is good; especially as he couldn't exactly explain to me
-what he meant by it.  But he felt enthusiastic, he says.  That silly
-Franklin must have been dreaming.  That was it.  He had dreamed it all.
-Ass.  Yet the injurious word stuck in Powell's mind with its associated
-ideas of prisoner, of escape.  He became very uncomfortable.  And just
-then (it might have been half an hour or more since he had relieved
-Franklin) just then Mr. Smith came up on the poop alone, like a gliding
-shadow and leaned over the rail by his side.  Young Powell was affected
-disagreeably by his presence.  He made a movement to go away but the
-other began to talk--and Powell remained where he was as if retained by a
-mysterious compulsion.  The conversation started by Mr. Smith had nothing
-peculiar.  He began to talk of mail-boats in general and in the end
-seemed anxious to discover what were the services from Port Elizabeth to
-London.  Mr. Powell did not know for certain but imagined that there must
-be communication with England at least twice a month.  "Are you thinking
-of leaving us, sir; of going home by steam?  Perhaps with Mrs. Anthony,"
-he asked anxiously.
-
-"No!  No!  How can I?"  Mr. Smith got quite agitated, for him, which did
-not amount to much.  He was just asking for the sake of something to talk
-about.  No idea at all of going home.  One could not always do what one
-wanted and that's why there were moments when one felt ashamed to live.
-This did not mean that one did not want to live.  Oh no!
-
-He spoke with careless slowness, pausing frequently and in such a low
-voice that Powell had to strain his hearing to catch the phrases dropped
-overboard as it were.  And indeed they seemed not worth the effort.  It
-was like the aimless talk of a man pursuing a secret train of thought far
-removed from the idle words we so often utter only to keep in touch with
-our fellow beings.  An hour passed.  It seemed as though Mr. Smith could
-not make up his mind to go below.  He repeated himself.  Again he spoke
-of lives which one was ashamed of.  It was necessary to put up with such
-lives as long as there was no way out, no possible issue.  He even
-alluded once more to mail-boat services on the East coast of Africa and
-young Powell had to tell him once more that he knew nothing about them.
-
-"Every fortnight, I thought you said," insisted Mr. Smith.  He stirred,
-seemed to detach himself from the rail with difficulty.  His long,
-slender figure straightened into stiffness, as if hostile to the
-enveloping soft peace of air and sea and sky, emitted into the night a
-weak murmur which Mr. Powell fancied was the word, "Abominable" repeated
-three times, but which passed into the faintly louder declaration: "The
-moment has come--to go to bed," followed by a just audible sigh.
-
-"I sleep very well," added Mr. Smith in his restrained tone.  "But it is
-the moment one opens one's eyes that is horrible at sea.  These days!  Oh,
-these days!  I wonder how anybody can . . . "
-
-"I like the life," observed Mr. Powell.
-
-"Oh, you.  You have only yourself to think of.  You have made your bed.
-Well, it's very pleasant to feel that you are friendly to us.  My
-daughter has taken quite a liking to you, Mr. Powell."
-
-He murmured, "Good-night" and glided away rigidly.  Young Powell asked
-himself with some distaste what was the meaning of these utterances.  His
-mind had been worried at last into that questioning attitude by no other
-person than the grotesque Franklin.  Suspicion was not natural to him.
-And he took good care to carefully separate in his thoughts Mrs. Anthony
-from this man of enigmatic words--her father.  Presently he observed that
-the sheen of the two deck dead-lights of Mr. Smith's room had gone out.
-The old gentleman had been surprisingly quick in getting into bed.
-Shortly afterwards the lamp in the foremost skylight of the saloon was
-turned out; and this was the sign that the steward had taken in the tray
-and had retired for the night.
-
-Young Powell had settled down to the regular officer-of-the-watch tramp
-in the dense shadow of the world decorated with stars high above his
-head, and on earth only a few gleams of light about the ship.  The lamp
-in the after skylight was kept burning through the night.  There were
-also the dead-lights of the stern-cabins glimmering dully in the deck far
-aft, catching his eye when he turned to walk that way.  The brasses of
-the wheel glittered too, with the dimly lit figure of the man detached,
-as if phosphorescent, against the black and spangled background of the
-horizon.
-
-Young Powell, in the silence of the ship, reinforced by the great silent
-stillness of the world, said to himself that there was something
-mysterious in such beings as the absurd Franklin, and even in such beings
-as himself.  It was a strange and almost improper thought to occur to the
-officer of the watch of a ship on the high seas on no matter how quiet a
-night.  Why on earth was he bothering his head?  Why couldn't he dismiss
-all these people from his mind?  It was as if the mate had infected him
-with his own diseased devotion.  He would not have believed it possible
-that he should be so foolish.  But he was--clearly.  He was foolish in a
-way totally unforeseen by himself.  Pushing this self-analysis further,
-he reflected that the springs of his conduct were just as obscure.
-
-"I may be catching myself any time doing things of which I have no
-conception," he thought.  And as he was passing near the mizzen-mast he
-perceived a coil of rope left lying on the deck by the oversight of the
-sweepers.  By an impulse which had nothing mysterious in it, he stooped
-as he went by with the intention of picking it up and hanging it up on
-its proper pin.  This movement brought his head down to the level of the
-glazed end of the after skylight--the lighted skylight of the most
-private part of the saloon, consecrated to the exclusiveness of Captain
-Anthony's married life; the part, let me remind you, cut off from the
-rest of that forbidden space by a pair of heavy curtains.  I mention
-these curtains because at this point Mr. Powell himself recalled the
-existence of that unusual arrangement to my mind.
-
-He recalled them with simple-minded compunction at that distance of time.
-He said: "You understand that directly I stooped to pick up that coil of
-running gear--the spanker foot-outhaul, it was--I perceived that I could
-see right into that part of the saloon the curtains were meant to make
-particularly private.  Do you understand me?" he insisted.
-
-I told him that I understood; and he proceeded to call my attention to
-the wonderful linking up of small facts, with something of awe left yet,
-after all these years, at the precise workmanship of chance, fate,
-providence, call it what you will!  "For, observe, Marlow," he said,
-making at me very round eyes which contrasted funnily with the austere
-touch of grey on his temples, "observe, my dear fellow, that everything
-depended on the men who cleared up the poop in the evening leaving that
-coil of rope on the deck, and on the topsail-tie carrying away in a most
-incomprehensible and surprising manner earlier in the day, and the end of
-the chain whipping round the coaming and shivering to bits the coloured
-glass-pane at the end of the skylight.  It had the arms of the city of
-Liverpool on it; I don't know why unless because the _Ferndale_ was
-registered in Liverpool.  It was very thick plate glass.  Anyhow, the
-upper part got smashed, and directly we had attended to things aloft Mr.
-Franklin had set the carpenter to patch up the damage with some pieces of
-plain glass.  I don't know where they got them; I think the people who
-fitted up new bookcases in the captain's room had left some spare panes.
-Chips was there the whole afternoon on his knees, messing with putty and
-red-lead.  It wasn't a neat job when it was done, not by any means, but
-it would serve to keep the weather out and let the light in.  Clear
-glass.  And of course I was not thinking of it.  I just stooped to pick
-up that rope and found my head within three inches of that clear glass,
-and--dash it all!  I found myself out.  Not half an hour before I was
-saying to myself that it was impossible to tell what was in people's
-heads or at the back of their talk, or what they were likely to be up to.
-And here I found myself up to as low a trick as you can well think of.
-For, after I had stooped, there I remained prying, spying, anyway
-looking, where I had no business to look.  Not consciously at first, may
-be.  He who has eyes, you know, nothing can stop him from seeing things
-as long as there are things to see in front of him.  What I saw at first
-was the end of the table and the tray clamped on to it, a patent tray for
-sea use, fitted with holders for a couple of decanters, water-jug and
-glasses.  The glitter of these things caught my eye first; but what I saw
-next was the captain down there, alone as far as I could see; and I could
-see pretty well the whole of that part up to the cottage piano, dark
-against the satin-wood panelling of the bulkhead.  And I remained
-looking.  I did.  And I don't know that I was ashamed of myself either,
-then.  It was the fault of that Franklin, always talking of the man,
-making free with him to that extent that really he seemed to have become
-our property, his and mine, in a way.  It's funny, but one had that
-feeling about Captain Anthony.  To watch him was not so much worse than
-listening to Franklin talking him over.  Well, it's no use making excuses
-for what's inexcusable.  I watched; but I dare say you know that there
-could have been nothing inimical in this low behaviour of mine.  On the
-contrary.  I'll tell you now what he was doing.  He was helping himself
-out of a decanter.  I saw every movement, and I said to myself mockingly
-as though jeering at Franklin in my thoughts, 'Hallo!  Here's the captain
-taking to drink at last.'  He poured a little brandy or whatever it was
-into a long glass, filled it with water, drank about a fourth of it and
-stood the glass back into the holder.  Every sign of a bad drinking bout,
-I was saying to myself, feeling quite amused at the notions of that
-Franklin.  He seemed to me an enormous ass, with his jealousy and his
-fears.  At that rate a month would not have been enough for anybody to
-get drunk.  The captain sat down in one of the swivel arm-chairs fixed
-around the table; I had him right under me and as he turned the chair
-slightly, I was looking, I may say, down his back.  He took another
-little sip and then reached for a book which was lying on the table.  I
-had not noticed it before.  Altogether the proceedings of a desperate
-drunkard--weren't they?  He opened the book and held it before his face.
-If this was the way he took to drink, then I needn't worry.  He was in no
-danger from that, and as to any other, I assure you no human being could
-have looked safer than he did down there.  I felt the greatest contempt
-for Franklin just then, while I looked at Captain Anthony sitting there
-with a glass of weak brandy-and-water at his elbow and reading in the
-cabin of his ship, on a quiet night--the quietest, perhaps the finest, of
-a prosperous passage.  And if you wonder why I didn't leave off my ugly
-spying I will tell you how it was.  Captain Anthony was a great reader
-just about that time; and I, too, I have a great liking for books.  To
-this day I can't come near a book but I must know what it is about.  It
-was a thickish volume he had there, small close print, double columns--I
-can see it now.  What I wanted to make out was the title at the top of
-the page.  I have very good eyes but he wasn't holding it conveniently--I
-mean for me up there.  Well, it was a history of some kind, that much I
-read and then suddenly he bangs the book face down on the table, jumps up
-as if something had bitten him and walks away aft.
-
-"Funny thing shame is.  I had been behaving badly and aware of it in a
-way, but I didn't feel really ashamed till the fright of being found out
-in my honourable occupation drove me from it.  I slunk away to the
-forward end of the poop and lounged about there, my face and ears burning
-and glad it was a dark night, expecting every moment to hear the
-captain's footsteps behind me.  For I made sure he was coming on deck.
-Presently I thought I had rather meet him face to face and I walked
-slowly aft prepared to see him emerge from the companion before I got
-that far.  I even thought of his having detected me by some means.  But
-it was impossible, unless he had eyes in the top of his head.  I had
-never had a view of his face down there.  It was impossible; I was safe;
-and I felt very mean, yet, explain it as you may, I seemed not to care.
-And the captain not appearing on deck, I had the impulse to go on being
-mean.  I wanted another peep.  I really don't know what was the beastly
-influence except that Mr. Franklin's talk was enough to demoralize any
-man by raising a sort of unhealthy curiosity which did away in my case
-with all the restraints of common decency.
-
-"I did not mean to run the risk of being caught squatting in a suspicious
-attitude by the captain.  There was also the helmsman to consider.  So
-what I did--I am surprised at my low cunning--was to sit down naturally
-on the skylight-seat and then by bending forward I found that, as I
-expected, I could look down through the upper part of the end-pane.  The
-worst that could happen to me then, if I remained too long in that
-position, was to be suspected by the seaman aft at the wheel of having
-gone to sleep there.  For the rest my ears would give me sufficient
-warning of any movements in the companion.
-
-"But in that way my angle of view was changed.  The field too was
-smaller.  The end of the table, the tray and the swivel-chair I had right
-under my eyes.  The captain had not come back yet.  The piano I could not
-see now; but on the other hand I had a very oblique downward view of the
-curtains drawn across the cabin and cutting off the forward part of it
-just about the level of the skylight-end and only an inch or so from the
-end of the table.  They were heavy stuff, travelling on a thick brass rod
-with some contrivance to keep the rings from sliding to and fro when the
-ship rolled.  But just then the ship was as still almost as a model shut
-up in a glass case while the curtains, joined closely, and, perhaps on
-purpose, made a little too long moved no more than a solid wall."
-
-* * * * *
-
-Marlow got up to get another cigar.  The night was getting on to what I
-may call its deepest hour, the hour most favourable to evil purposes of
-men's hate, despair or greed--to whatever can whisper into their ears the
-unlawful counsels of protest against things that are; the hour of ill-
-omened silence and chill and stagnation, the hour when the criminal plies
-his trade and the victim of sleeplessness reaches the lowest depth of
-dreadful discouragement; the hour before the first sight of dawn.  I know
-it, because while Marlow was crossing the room I looked at the clock on
-the mantelpiece.  He however never looked that way though it is possible
-that he, too, was aware of the passage of time.  He sat down heavily.
-
-"Our friend Powell," he began again, "was very anxious that I should
-understand the topography of that cabin.  I was interested more by its
-moral atmosphere, that tension of falsehood, of desperate acting, which
-tainted the pure sea-atmosphere into which the magnanimous Anthony had
-carried off his conquest and--well--his self-conquest too, trying to act
-at the same time like a beast of prey, a pure spirit and the "most
-generous of men."  Too big an order clearly because he was nothing of a
-monster but just a common mortal, a little more self-willed and
-self-confident than most, may be, both in his roughness and in his
-delicacy.
-
-As to the delicacy of Mr. Powell's proceedings I'll say nothing.  He
-found a sort of depraved excitement in watching an unconscious man--and
-such an attractive and mysterious man as Captain Anthony at that.  He
-wanted another peep at him.  He surmised that the captain must come back
-soon because of the glass two-thirds full and also of the book put down
-so brusquely.  God knows what sudden pang had made Anthony jump up so.  I
-am convinced he used reading as an opiate against the pain of his
-magnanimity which like all abnormal growths was gnawing at his healthy
-substance with cruel persistence.  Perhaps he had rushed into his cabin
-simply to groan freely in absolute and delicate secrecy.  At any rate he
-tarried there.  And young Powell would have grown weary and compunctious
-at last if it had not become manifest to him that he had not been alone
-in the highly incorrect occupation of watching the movements of Captain
-Anthony.
-
-Powell explained to me that no sound did or perhaps could reach him from
-the saloon.  The first sign--and we must remember that he was using his
-eyes for all they were worth--was an unaccountable movement of the
-curtain.  It was wavy and very slight; just perceptible in fact to the
-sharpened faculties of a secret watcher; for it can't be denied that our
-wits are much more alert when engaged in wrong-doing (in which one
-mustn't be found out) than in a righteous occupation.
-
-He became suspicious, with no one and nothing definite in his mind.  He
-was suspicious of the curtain itself and observed it.  It looked very
-innocent.  Then just as he was ready to put it down to a trick of
-imagination he saw trembling movements where the two curtains joined.
-Yes!  Somebody else besides himself had been watching Captain Anthony.  He
-owns artlessly that this roused his indignation.  It was really too much
-of a good thing.  In this state of intense antagonism he was startled to
-observe tips of fingers fumbling with the dark stuff.  Then they grasped
-the edge of the further curtain and hung on there, just fingers and
-knuckles and nothing else.  It made an abominable sight.  He was looking
-at it with unaccountable repulsion when a hand came into view; a short,
-puffy, old, freckled hand projecting into the lamplight, followed by a
-white wrist, an arm in a grey coat-sleeve, up to the elbow, beyond the
-elbow, extended tremblingly towards the tray.  Its appearance was weird
-and nauseous, fantastic and silly.  But instead of grabbing the bottle as
-Powell expected, this hand, tremulous with senile eagerness, swerved to
-the glass, rested on its edge for a moment (or so it looked from above)
-and went back with a jerk.  The gripping fingers of the other hand
-vanished at the same time, and young Powell staring at the motionless
-curtains could indulge for a moment the notion that he had been dreaming.
-
-But that notion did not last long.  Powell, after repressing his first
-impulse to spring for the companion and hammer at the captain's door,
-took steps to have himself relieved by the boatswain.  He was in a state
-of distraction as to his feelings and yet lucid as to his mind.  He
-remained on the skylight so as to keep his eye on the tray.
-
-Still the captain did not appear in the saloon.  "If he had," said Mr.
-Powell, "I knew what to do.  I would have put my elbow through the pane
-instantly--crash."
-
-I asked him why?
-
-"It was the quickest dodge for getting him away from that tray," he
-explained.  "My throat was so dry that I didn't know if I could shout
-loud enough.  And this was not a case for shouting, either."
-
-The boatswain, sleepy and disgusted, arriving on the poop, found the
-second officer doubled up over the end of the skylight in a pose which
-might have been that of severe pain.  And his voice was so changed that
-the man, though naturally vexed at being turned out, made no comment on
-the plea of sudden indisposition which young Powell put forward.
-
-The rapidity with which the sick man got off the poop must have
-astonished the boatswain.  But Powell, at the moment he opened the door
-leading into the saloon from the quarter-deck, had managed to control his
-agitation.  He entered swiftly but without noise and found himself in the
-dark part of the saloon, the strong sheen of the lamp on the other side
-of the curtains visible only above the rod on which they ran.  The door
-of Mr. Smith's cabin was in that dark part.  He passed by it assuring
-himself by a quick side glance that it was imperfectly closed.  "Yes," he
-said to me.  "The old man must have been watching through the crack.  Of
-that I am certain; but it was not for me that he was watching and
-listening.  Horrible!  Surely he must have been startled to hear and see
-somebody he did not expect.  He could not possibly guess why I was coming
-in, but I suppose he must have been concerned."  Concerned indeed!  He
-must have been thunderstruck, appalled.
-
-Powell's only distinct aim was to remove the suspected tumbler.  He had
-no other plan, no other intention, no other thought.  Do away with it in
-some manner.  Snatch it up and run out with it.
-
-You know that complete mastery of one fixed idea, not a reasonable but an
-emotional mastery, a sort of concentrated exaltation.  Under its empire
-men rush blindly through fire and water and opposing violence, and
-nothing can stop them--unless, sometimes, a grain of sand.  For his blind
-purpose (and clearly the thought of Mrs. Anthony was at the bottom of it)
-Mr. Powell had plenty of time.  What checked him at the crucial moment
-was the familiar, harmless aspect of common things, the steady light, the
-open book on the table, the solitude, the peace, the home-like effect of
-the place.  He held the glass in his hand; all he had to do was to vanish
-back beyond the curtains, flee with it noiselessly into the night on
-deck, fling it unseen overboard.  A minute or less.  And then all that
-would have happened would have been the wonder at the utter disappearance
-of a glass tumbler, a ridiculous riddle in pantry-affairs beyond the wit
-of anyone on board to solve.  The grain of sand against which Powell
-stumbled in his headlong career was a moment of incredulity as to the
-truth of his own conviction because it had failed to affect the safe
-aspect of familiar things.  He doubted his eyes too.  He must have dreamt
-it all!  "I am dreaming now," he said to himself.  And very likely for a
-few seconds he must have looked like a man in a trance or profoundly
-asleep on his feet, and with a glass of brandy-and-water in his hand.
-
-What woke him up and, at the same time, fixed his feet immovably to the
-spot, was a voice asking him what he was doing there in tones of thunder.
-Or so it sounded to his ears.  Anthony, opening the door of his stern-
-cabin had naturally exclaimed.  What else could you expect?  And the
-exclamation must have been fairly loud if you consider the nature of the
-sight which met his eye.  There, before him, stood his second officer, a
-seemingly decent, well-bred young man, who, being on duty, had left the
-deck and had sneaked into the saloon, apparently for the inexpressibly
-mean purpose of drinking up what was left of his captain's brandy-and-
-water.  There he was, caught absolutely with the glass in his hand.
-
-But the very monstrosity of appearances silenced Anthony after the first
-exclamation; and young Powell felt himself pierced through and through by
-the overshadowed glance of his captain.  Anthony advanced quietly.  The
-first impulse of Mr. Powell, when discovered, had been to dash the glass
-on the deck.  He was in a sort of panic.  But deep down within him his
-wits were working, and the idea that if he did that he could prove
-nothing and that the story he had to tell was completely incredible,
-restrained him.  The captain came forward slowly.  With his eyes now
-close to his, Powell, spell-bound, numb all over, managed to lift one
-finger to the deck above mumbling the explanatory words, "Boatswain on
-the poop."
-
-The captain moved his head slightly as much as to say, "That's all
-right"--and this was all.  Powell had no voice, no strength.  The air was
-unbreathable, thick, sticky, odious, like hot jelly in which all
-movements became difficult.  He raised the glass a little with immense
-difficulty and moved his trammelled lips sufficiently to form the words:
-
-"Doctored."
-
-Anthony glanced at it for an instant, only for an instant, and again
-fastened his eyes on the face of his second mate.  Powell added a fervent
-"I believe" and put the glass down on the tray.  The captain's glance
-followed the movement and returned sternly to his face.  The young man
-pointed a finger once more upwards and squeezed out of his iron-bound
-throat six consecutive words of further explanation.  "Through the
-skylight.  The white pane."
-
-The captain raised his eyebrows very much at this, while young Powell,
-ashamed but desperate, nodded insistently several times.  He meant to say
-that: Yes.  Yes.  He had done that thing.  He had been spying . . .  The
-captain's gaze became thoughtful.  And, now the confession was over, the
-iron-bound feeling of Powell's throat passed away giving place to a
-general anxiety which from his breast seemed to extend to all the limbs
-and organs of his body.  His legs trembled a little, his vision was
-confused, his mind became blankly expectant.  But he was alert enough.  At
-a movement of Anthony he screamed in a strangled whisper.
-
-"Don't, sir!  Don't touch it."
-
-The captain pushed aside Powell's extended arm, took up the glass and
-raised it slowly against the lamplight.  The liquid, of very pale amber
-colour, was clear, and by a glance the captain seemed to call Powell's
-attention to the fact.  Powell tried to pronounce the word, "dissolved"
-but he only thought of it with great energy which however failed to move
-his lips.  Only when Anthony had put down the glass and turned to him he
-recovered such a complete command of his voice that he could keep it down
-to a hurried, forcible whisper--a whisper that shook him.
-
-"Doctored!  I swear it!  I have seen.  Doctored!  I have seen."
-
-Not a feature of the captain's face moved.  His was a calm to take one's
-breath away.  It did so to young Powell.  Then for the first time Anthony
-made himself heard to the point.
-
-"You did! . . . Who was it?"
-
-And Powell gasped freely at last.  "A hand," he whispered fearfully, "a
-hand and the arm--only the arm--like that."
-
-He advanced his own, slow, stealthy, tremulous in faithful reproduction,
-the tips of two fingers and the thumb pressed together and hovering above
-the glass for an instant--then the swift jerk back, after the deed.
-
-"Like that," he repeated growing excited.  "From behind this."  He
-grasped the curtain and glaring at the silent Anthony flung it back
-disclosing the forepart of the saloon.  There was on one to be seen.
-
-Powell had not expected to see anybody.  "But," he said to me, "I knew
-very well there was an ear listening and an eye glued to the crack of a
-cabin door.  Awful thought.  And that door was in that part of the saloon
-remaining in the shadow of the other half of the curtain.  I pointed at
-it and I suppose that old man inside saw me pointing.  The captain had a
-wonderful self-command.  You couldn't have guessed anything from his
-face.  Well, it was perhaps more thoughtful than usual.  And indeed this
-was something to think about.  But I couldn't think steadily.  My brain
-would give a sort of jerk and then go dead again.  I had lost all notion
-of time, and I might have been looking at the captain for days and months
-for all I knew before I heard him whisper to me fiercely: "Not a word!"
-This jerked me out of that trance I was in and I said "No!  No!  I didn't
-mean even you."
-
-"I wanted to explain my conduct, my intentions, but I read in his eyes
-that he understood me and I was only too glad to leave off.  And there we
-were looking at each other, dumb, brought up short by the question "What
-next?"
-
-"I thought Captain Anthony was a man of iron till I saw him suddenly
-fling his head to the right and to the left fiercely, like a wild animal
-at bay not knowing which way to break out . . . "
-
-* * * * *
-
-"Truly," commented Marlow, "brought to bay was not a bad comparison; a
-better one than Mr. Powell was aware of.  At that moment the appearance
-of Flora could not but bring the tension to the breaking point.  She came
-out in all innocence but not without vague dread.  Anthony's exclamation
-on first seeing Powell had reached her in her cabin, where, it seems, she
-was brushing her hair.  She had heard the very words.  "What are you
-doing here?"  And the unwonted loudness of the voice--his voice--breaking
-the habitual stillness of that hour would have startled a person having
-much less reason to be constantly apprehensive, than the captive of
-Anthony's masterful generosity.  She had no means to guess to whom the
-question was addressed and it echoed in her heart, as Anthony's voice
-always did.  Followed complete silence.  She waited, anxious, expectant,
-till she could stand the strain no longer, and with the weary mental
-appeal of the overburdened.  "My God!  What is it now?" she opened the
-door of her room and looked into the saloon.  Her first glance fell on
-Powell.  For a moment, seeing only the second officer with Anthony, she
-felt relieved and made as if to draw back; but her sharpened perception
-detected something suspicious in their attitudes, and she came forward
-slowly.
-
-"I was the first to see Mrs. Anthony," related Powell, "because I was
-facing aft.  The captain, noticing my eyes, looked quickly over his
-shoulder and at once put his finger to his lips to caution me.  As if I
-were likely to let out anything before her!  Mrs. Anthony had on a
-dressing-gown of some grey stuff with red facings and a thick red cord
-round her waist.  Her hair was down.  She looked a child; a pale-faced
-child with big blue eyes and a red mouth a little open showing a glimmer
-of white teeth.  The light fell strongly on her as she came up to the end
-of the table.  A strange child though; she hardly affected one like a
-child, I remember.  Do you know," exclaimed Mr. Powell, who clearly must
-have been, like many seamen, an industrious reader, "do you know what she
-looked like to me with those big eyes and something appealing in her
-whole expression.  She looked like a forsaken elf.  Captain Anthony had
-moved towards her to keep her away from my end of the table, where the
-tray was.  I had never seen them so near to each other before, and it
-made a great contrast.  It was wonderful, for, with his beard cut to a
-point, his swarthy, sunburnt complexion, thin nose and his lean head
-there was something African, something Moorish in Captain Anthony.  His
-neck was bare; he had taken off his coat and collar and had drawn on his
-sleeping jacket in the time that he had been absent from the saloon.  I
-seem to see him now.  Mrs. Anthony too.  She looked from him to me--I
-suppose I looked guilty or frightened--and from me to him, trying to
-guess what there was between us two.  Then she burst out with a "What has
-happened?" which seemed addressed to me.  I mumbled "Nothing!  Nothing,
-ma'am," which she very likely did not hear.
-
-"You must not think that all this had lasted a long time.  She had taken
-fright at our behaviour and turned to the captain pitifully.  "What is it
-you are concealing from me?"  A straight question--eh?  I don't know what
-answer the captain would have made.  Before he could even raise his eyes
-to her she cried out "Ah!  Here's papa" in a sharp tone of relief, but
-directly afterwards she looked to me as if she were holding her breath
-with apprehension.  I was so interested in her that, how shall I say it,
-her exclamation made no connection in my brain at first.  I also noticed
-that she had sidled up a little nearer to Captain Anthony, before it
-occurred to me to turn my head.  I can tell you my neck stiffened in the
-twisted position from the shock of actually seeing that old man!  He had
-dared!  I suppose you think I ought to have looked upon him as mad.  But
-I couldn't.  It would have been certainly easier.  But I could _not_.  You
-should have seen him.  First of all he was completely dressed with his
-very cap still on his head just as when he left me on deck two hours
-before, saying in his soft voice: "The moment has come to go to
-bed"--while he meant to go and do that thing and hide in his dark cabin,
-and watch the stuff do its work.  A cold shudder ran down my back.  He
-had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his arms were pressed close
-to his thin, upright body, and he shuffled across the cabin with his
-short steps.  There was a red patch on each of his old soft cheeks as if
-somebody had been pinching them.  He drooped his head a little, and
-looked with a sort of underhand expectation at the captain and Mrs.
-Anthony standing close together at the other end of the saloon.  The
-calculating horrible impudence of it!  His daughter was there; and I am
-certain he had seen the captain putting his finger on his lips to warn
-me.  And then he had coolly come out!  He passed my imagination, I assure
-you.  After that one shiver his presence killed every faculty in
-me--wonder, horror, indignation.  I felt nothing in particular just as if
-he were still the old gentleman who used to talk to me familiarly every
-day on deck.  Would you believe it?"
-
-"Mr. Powell challenged my powers of wonder at this internal phenomenon,"
-went on Marlow after a slight pause.  "But even if they had not been
-fully engaged, together with all my powers of attention in following the
-facts of the case, I would not have been astonished by his statements
-about himself.  Taking into consideration his youth they were by no means
-incredible; or, at any rate, they were the least incredible part of the
-whole.  They were also the least interesting part.  The interest was
-elsewhere, and there of course all he could do was to look at the
-surface.  The inwardness of what was passing before his eyes was hidden
-from him, who had looked on, more impenetrably than from me who at a
-distance of years was listening to his words.  What presently happened at
-this crisis in Flora de Barral's fate was beyond his power of comment,
-seemed in a sense natural.  And his own presence on the scene was so
-strangely motived that it was left for me to marvel alone at this young
-man, a completely chance-comer, having brought it about on that night.
-
-Each situation created either by folly or wisdom has its psychological
-moment.  The behaviour of young Powell with its mixture of boyish
-impulses combined with instinctive prudence, had not created it--I can't
-say that--but had discovered it to the very people involved.  What would
-have happened if he had made a noise about his discovery?  But he didn't.
-His head was full of Mrs. Anthony and he behaved with a discretion beyond
-his years.  Some nice children often do; and surely it is not from
-reflection.  They have their own inspirations.  Young Powell's
-inspiration consisted in being "enthusiastic" about Mrs. Anthony.
-'Enthusiastic' is really good.  And he was amongst them like a child,
-sensitive, impressionable, plastic--but unable to find for himself any
-sort of comment.
-
-I don't know how much mine may be worth; but I believe that just then the
-tension of the false situation was at its highest.  Of all the forms
-offered to us by life it is the one demanding a couple to realize it
-fully, which is the most imperative.  Pairing off is the fate of mankind.
-And if two beings thrown together, mutually attracted, resist the
-necessity, fail in understanding and voluntarily stop short of the--the
-embrace, in the noblest meaning of the word, then they are committing a
-sin against life, the call of which is simple.  Perhaps sacred.  And the
-punishment of it is an invasion of complexity, a tormenting, forcibly
-tortuous involution of feelings, the deepest form of suffering from which
-indeed something significant may come at last, which may be criminal or
-heroic, may be madness or wisdom--or even a straight if despairing
-decision.
-
-Powell on taking his eyes off the old gentleman noticed Captain Anthony,
-swarthy as an African, by the side of Flora whiter than the lilies, take
-his handkerchief out and wipe off his forehead the sweat of anguish--like
-a man who is overcome.  "And no wonder," commented Mr. Powell here.  Then
-the captain said, "Hadn't you better go back to your room."  This was to
-Mrs. Anthony.  He tried to smile at her.  "Why do you look startled?  This
-night is like any other night."
-
-"Which," Powell again commented to me earnestly, "was a lie . . . No
-wonder he sweated."  You see from this the value of Powell's comments.
-Mrs. Anthony then said: "Why are you sending me away?"
-
-"Why!  That you should go to sleep.  That you should rest."  And Captain
-Anthony frowned.  Then sharply, "You stay here, Mr. Powell.  I shall want
-you presently."
-
-As a matter of fact Powell had not moved.  Flora did not mind his
-presence.  He himself had the feeling of being of no account to those
-three people.  He was looking at Mrs. Anthony as unabashed as the
-proverbial cat looking at a king.  Mrs. Anthony glanced at him.  She did
-not move, gripped by an inexplicable premonition.  She had arrived at the
-very limit of her endurance as the object of Anthony's magnanimity; she
-was the prey of an intuitive dread of she did not know what mysterious
-influence; she felt herself being pushed back into that solitude, that
-moral loneliness, which had made all her life intolerable.  And then, in
-that close communion established again with Anthony, she felt--as on that
-night in the garden--the force of his personal fascination.  The passive
-quietness with which she looked at him gave her the appearance of a
-person bewitched--or, say, mesmerically put to sleep--beyond any notion
-of her surroundings.
-
-After telling Mr. Powell not to go away the captain remained silent.
-Suddenly Mrs. Anthony pushed back her loose hair with a decisive gesture
-of her arms and moved still nearer to him.  "Here's papa up yet," she
-said, but she did not look towards Mr. Smith.  "Why is it?  And you?  I
-can't go on like this, Roderick--between you two.  Don't."
-
-Anthony interrupted her as if something had untied his tongue.
-
-"Oh yes.  Here's your father.  And . . . Why not.  Perhaps it is just as
-well you came out.  Between us two?  Is that it?  I won't pretend I don't
-understand.  I am not blind.  But I can't fight any longer for what I
-haven't got.  I don't know what you imagine has happened.  Something has
-though.  Only you needn't be afraid.  No shadow can touch you--because I
-give up.  I can't say we had much talk about it, your father and I, but,
-the long and the short of it is, that I must learn to live without
-you--which I have told you was impossible.  I was speaking the truth.  But
-I have done fighting, or waiting, or hoping.  Yes.  You shall go."
-
-At this point Mr. Powell who (he confessed to me) was listening with
-uncomprehending awe, heard behind his back a triumphant chuckling sound.
-It gave him the shudders, he said, to mention it now; but at the time,
-except for another chill down the spine, it had not the power to destroy
-his absorption in the scene before his eyes, and before his ears too,
-because just then Captain Anthony raised his voice grimly.  Perhaps he
-too had heard the chuckle of the old man.
-
-"Your father has found an argument which makes me pause, if it does not
-convince me.  No!  I can't answer it.  I--I don't want to answer it.  I
-simply surrender.  He shall have his way with you--and with me.  Only,"
-he added in a gloomy lowered tone which struck Mr. Powell as if a pedal
-had been put down, "only it shall take a little time.  I have never lied
-to you.  Never.  I renounce not only my chance but my life.  In a few
-days, directly we get into port, the very moment we do, I, who have said
-I could never let you go, I shall let you go."
-
-To the innocent beholder Anthony seemed at this point to become
-physically exhausted.  My view is that the utter falseness of his, I may
-say, aspirations, the vanity of grasping the empty air, had come to him
-with an overwhelming force, leaving him disarmed before the other's mad
-and sinister sincerity.  As he had said himself he could not fight for
-what he did not possess; he could not face such a thing as this for the
-sake of his mere magnanimity.  The normal alone can overcome the
-abnormal.  He could not even reproach that man over there.  "I own myself
-beaten," he said in a firmer tone.  "You are free.  I let you off since I
-must."
-
-Powell, the onlooker, affirms that at these incomprehensible words Mrs.
-Anthony stiffened into the very image of astonishment, with a frightened
-stare and frozen lips.  But next minute a cry came out from her heart,
-not very loud but of a quality which made not only Captain Anthony (he
-was not looking at her), not only him but also the more distant (and
-equally unprepared) young man, catch their breath: "But I don't want to
-be let off," she cried.
-
-She was so still that one asked oneself whether the cry had come from
-her.  The restless shuffle behind Powell's back stopped short, the
-intermittent shadowy chuckling ceased too.  Young Powell, glancing round,
-saw Mr. Smith raise his head with his faded eyes very still, puckered at
-the corners, like a man perceiving something coming at him from a great
-distance.  And Mrs. Anthony's voice reached Powell's ears, entreating and
-indignant.
-
-"You can't cast me off like this, Roderick.  I won't go away from you.  I
-won't--"
-
-Powell turned about and discovered then that what Mr. Smith was puckering
-his eyes at, was the sight of his daughter clinging round Captain
-Anthony's neck--a sight not in itself improper, but which had the power
-to move young Powell with a bashfully profound emotion.  It was different
-from his emotion while spying at the revelations of the skylight, but in
-this case too he felt the discomfort, if not the guilt, of an unseen
-beholder.  Experience was being piled up on his young shoulders.  Mrs.
-Anthony's hair hung back in a dark mass like the hair of a drowned woman.
-She looked as if she would let go and sink to the floor if the captain
-were to withhold his sustaining arm.  But the captain obviously had no
-such intention.  Standing firm and still he gazed with sombre eyes at Mr.
-Smith.  For a time the low convulsive sobbing of Mr. Smith's daughter was
-the only sound to trouble the silence.  The strength of Anthony's clasp
-pressing Flora to his breast could not be doubted even at that distance,
-and suddenly, awakening to his opportunity, he began to partly support
-her, partly carry her in the direction of her cabin.  His head was bent
-over her solicitously, then recollecting himself, with a glance full of
-unwonted fire, his voice ringing in a note unknown to Mr. Powell, he
-cried to him, "Don't you go on deck yet.  I want you to stay down here
-till I come back.  There are some instructions I want to give you."
-
-And before the young man could answer, Anthony had disappeared in the
-stern-cabin, burdened and exulting.
-
-"Instructions," commented Mr. Powell.  "That was all right.  Very likely;
-but they would be such instructions as, I thought to myself, no ship's
-officer perhaps had ever been given before.  It made me feel a little
-sick to think what they would be dealing with, probably.  But there!
-Everything that happens on board ship on the high seas has got to be
-dealt with somehow.  There are no special people to fly to for
-assistance.  And there I was with that old man left in my charge.  When
-he noticed me looking at him he started to shuffle again athwart the
-saloon.  He kept his hands rammed in his pockets, he was as stiff-backed
-as ever, only his head hung down.  After a bit he says in his gentle soft
-tone: "Did you see it?"
-
-There were in Powell's head no special words to fit the horror of his
-feelings.  So he said--he had to say something, "Good God!  What were you
-thinking of, Mr. Smith, to try to . . . "   And then he left off.  He
-dared not utter the awful word poison.  Mr. Smith stopped his prowl.
-
-"Think!  What do you know of thinking.  I don't think.  There is
-something in my head that thinks.  The thoughts in men, it's like being
-drunk with liquor or--You can't stop them.  A man who thinks will think
-anything.  No!  But have you seen it.  Have you?"
-
-"I tell you I have!  I am certain!" said Powell forcibly.  "I was looking
-at you all the time.  You've done something to the drink in that glass."
-
-Then Powell lost his breath somehow.  Mr. Smith looked at him curiously,
-with mistrust.
-
-"My good young man, I don't know what you are talking about.  I ask
-you--have you seen?  Who would have believed it? with her arms round his
-neck.  When!  Oh!  Ha!  Ha!  You did see!  Didn't you?  It wasn't a
-delusion--was it?  Her arms round . . . But I have never wholly trusted
-her."
-
-"Then I flew out at him, said Mr. Powell.  I told him he was jolly lucky
-to have fallen upon Captain Anthony.  A man in a million.  He started
-again shuffling to and fro.  "You too," he said mournfully, keeping his
-eyes down.  "Eh?  Wonderful man?  But have you a notion who I am?  Listen!
-I have been the Great Mr. de Barral.  So they printed it in the papers
-while they were getting up a conspiracy.  And I have been doing time.  And
-now I am brought low."  His voice died down to a mere breath.  "Brought
-low."
-
-He took his hands out of his pocket, dragged the cap down on his head and
-stuck them back into his pockets, exactly as if preparing himself to go
-out into a great wind.  "But not so low as to put up with this disgrace,
-to see her, fast in this fellow's clutches, without doing something.  She
-wouldn't listen to me.  Frightened?  Silly?  I had to think of some way
-to get her out of this.  Did you think she cared for him?  No!  Would
-anybody have thought so?  No!  She pretended it was for my sake.  She
-couldn't understand that if I hadn't been an old man I would have flown
-at his throat months ago.  As it was I was tempted every time he looked
-at her.  My girl.  Ough!  Any man but this.  And all the time the wicked
-little fool was lying to me.  It was their plot, their conspiracy!  These
-conspiracies are the devil.  She has been leading me on, till she has
-fairly put my head under the heel of that jailer, of that scoundrel, of
-her husband . . .  Treachery!  Bringing me low.  Lower than herself.  In
-the dirt.  That's what it means.  Doesn't it?  Under his heel!"
-
-He paused in his restless shuffle and again, seizing his cap with both
-hands, dragged it furiously right down on his ears.  Powell had lost
-himself in listening to these broken ravings, in looking at that old
-feverish face when, suddenly, quick as lightning, Mr. Smith spun round,
-snatched up the captain's glass and with a stifled, hurried exclamation,
-"Here's luck," tossed the liquor down his throat.
-
-"I know now the meaning of the word 'Consternation,'" went on Mr. Powell.
-"That was exactly my state of mind.  I thought to myself directly:
-There's nothing in that drink.  I have been dreaming, I have made the
-awfulest mistake! . . ."
-
-Mr. Smith put the glass down.  He stood before Powell unharmed, quieted
-down, in a listening attitude, his head inclined on one side, chewing his
-thin lips.  Suddenly he blinked queerly, grabbed Powell's shoulder and
-collapsed, subsiding all at once as though he had gone soft all over, as
-a piece of silk stuff collapses.  Powell seized his arm instinctively and
-checked his fall; but as soon as Mr. Smith was fairly on the floor he
-jerked himself free and backed away.  Almost as quick he rushed forward
-again and tried to lift up the body.  But directly he raised his
-shoulders he knew that the man was dead!  Dead!
-
-He lowered him down gently.  He stood over him without fear or any other
-feeling, almost indifferent, far away, as it were.  And then he made
-another start and, if he had not kept Mrs. Anthony always in his mind, he
-would have let out a yell for help.  He staggered to her cabin-door, and,
-as it was, his call for "Captain Anthony" burst out of him much too loud;
-but he made a great effort of self-control.  "I am waiting for my orders,
-sir," he said outside that door distinctly, in a steady tone.
-
-It was very still in there; still as death.  Then he heard a shuffle of
-feet and the captain's voice "All right.  Coming."  He leaned his back
-against the bulkhead as you see a drunken man sometimes propped up
-against a wall, half doubled up.  In that attitude the captain found him,
-when he came out, pulling the door to after him quickly.  At once Anthony
-let his eyes run all over the cabin.  Powell, without a word, clutched
-his forearm, led him round the end of the table and began to justify
-himself.  "I couldn't stop him," he whispered shakily.  "He was too quick
-for me.  He drank it up and fell down."  But the captain was not
-listening.  He was looking down at Mr. Smith, thinking perhaps that it
-was a mere chance his own body was not lying there.  They did not want to
-speak.  They made signs to each other with their eyes.  The captain
-grasped Powell's shoulder as if in a vice and glanced at Mrs. Anthony's
-cabin door, and it was enough.  He knew that the young man understood
-him.  Rather!  Silence!  Silence for ever about this.  Their very glances
-became stealthy.  Powell looked from the body to the door of the dead
-man's state-room.  The captain nodded and let him go; and then Powell
-crept over, hooked the door open and crept back with fearful glances
-towards Mrs. Anthony's cabin.  They stooped over the corpse.  Captain
-Anthony lifted up the shoulders.
-
-Mr. Powell shuddered.  "I'll never forget that interminable journey
-across the saloon, step by step, holding our breath.  For part of the way
-the drawn half of the curtain concealed us from view had Mrs. Anthony
-opened her door; but I didn't draw a free breath till after we laid the
-body down on the swinging cot.  The reflection of the saloon light left
-most of the cabin in the shadow.  Mr. Smith's rigid, extended body looked
-shadowy too, shadowy and alive.  You know he always carried himself as
-stiff as a poker.  We stood by the cot as though waiting for him to make
-us a sign that he wanted to be left alone.  The captain threw his arm
-over my shoulder and said in my very ear: "The steward'll find him in the
-morning."
-
-"I made no answer.  It was for him to say.  It was perhaps the best way.
-It's no use talking about my thoughts.  They were not concerned with
-myself, nor yet with that old man who terrified me more now than when he
-was alive.  Him whom I pitied was the captain.  He whispered.  "I am
-certain of you, Mr. Powell.  You had better go on deck now.  As to me
-. . . " and I saw him raise his hands to his head as if distracted.  But his
-last words before we stole out that cabin stick to my mind with the very
-tone of his mutter--to himself, not to me:
-
-"No!  No!  I am not going to stumble now over that corpse."
-
-* * *
-
-"This is what our Mr. Powell had to tell me," said Marlow, changing his
-tone.  I was glad to learn that Flora de Barral had been saved from
-_that_ sinister shadow at least falling upon her path.
-
-We sat silent then, my mind running on the end of de Barral, on the
-irresistible pressure of imaginary griefs, crushing conscience, scruples,
-prudence, under their ever-expanding volume; on the sombre and venomous
-irony in the obsession which had mastered that old man.
-
-"Well," I said.
-
-"The steward found him," Mr. Powell roused himself.  "He went in there
-with a cup of tea at five and of course dropped it.  I was on watch
-again.  He reeled up to me on deck pale as death.  I had been expecting
-it; and yet I could hardly speak.  "Go and tell the captain quietly," I
-managed to say.  He ran off muttering "My God!  My God!" and I'm hanged
-if he didn't get hysterical while trying to tell the captain, and start
-screaming in the saloon, "Fully dressed!  Dead!  Fully dressed!"  Mrs.
-Anthony ran out of course but she didn't get hysterical.  Franklin, who
-was there too, told me that she hid her face on the captain's breast and
-then he went out and left them there.  It was days before Mrs. Anthony
-was seen on deck.  The first time I spoke to her she gave me her hand and
-said, "My poor father was quite fond of you, Mr. Powell."  She started
-wiping her eyes and I fled to the other side of the deck.  One would like
-to forget all this had ever come near her."
-
-But clearly he could not, because after lighting his pipe he began musing
-aloud: "Very strong stuff it must have been.  I wonder where he got it.
-It could hardly be at a common chemist.  Well, he had it from somewhere--a
-mere pinch it must have been, no more."
-
-"I have my theory," observed Marlow, "which to a certain extent does away
-with the added horror of a coldly premeditated crime.  Chance had stepped
-in there too.  It was not Mr. Smith who obtained the poison.  It was the
-Great de Barral.  And it was not meant for the obscure, magnanimous
-conqueror of Flora de Barral; it was meant for the notorious financier
-whose enterprises had nothing to do with magnanimity.  He had his
-physician in his days of greatness.  I even seem to remember that the man
-was called at the trial on some small point or other.  I can imagine that
-de Barral went to him when he saw, as he could hardly help seeing, the
-possibility of a "triumph of envious rivals"--a heavy sentence.
-
-I doubt if for love or even for money, but I think possibly, from pity
-that man provided him with what Mr. Powell called "strong stuff."  From
-what Powell saw of the very act I am fairly certain it must have been
-contained in a capsule and that he had it about him on the last day of
-his trial, perhaps secured by a stitch in his waistcoat pocket.  He
-didn't use it.  Why?  Did he think of his child at the last moment?  Was
-it want of courage?  We can't tell.  But he found it in his clothes when
-he came out of jail.  It had escaped investigation if there was any.
-Chance had armed him.  And chance alone, the chance of Mr. Powell's life,
-forced him to turn the abominable weapon against himself.
-
-I imparted my theory to Mr. Powell who accepted it at once as, in a
-sense, favourable to the father of Mrs. Anthony.  Then he waved his hand.
-"Don't let us think of it."
-
-I acquiesced and very soon he observed dreamily:
-
-"I was with Captain and Mrs. Anthony sailing all over the world for near
-on six years.  Almost as long as Franklin."
-
-"Oh yes!  What about Franklin?" I asked.
-
-Powell smiled.  "He left the _Ferndale_ a year or so afterwards, and I
-took his place.  Captain Anthony recommended him for a command.  You
-don't think Captain Anthony would chuck a man aside like an old glove.
-But of course Mrs. Anthony did not like him very much.  I don't think she
-ever let out a whisper against him but Captain Anthony could read her
-thoughts.
-
-And again Powell seemed to lose himself in the past.  I asked, for
-suddenly the vision of the Fynes passed through my mind.
-
-"Any children?"
-
-Powell gave a start.  "No!  No!  Never had any children," and again
-subsided, puffing at his short briar pipe.
-
-"Where are they now?" I inquired next as if anxious to ascertain that all
-Fyne's fears had been misplaced and vain as our fears often are; that
-there were no undesirable cousins for his dear girls, no danger of
-intrusion on their spotless home.  Powell looked round at me slowly, his
-pipe smouldering in his hand.
-
-"Don't you know?" he uttered in a deep voice.
-
-"Know what?"
-
-"That the _Ferndale_ was lost this four years or more.  Sunk.  Collision.
-And Captain Anthony went down with her."
-
-"You don't say so!" I cried quite affected as if I had known Captain
-Anthony personally.  "Was--was Mrs. Anthony lost too?"
-
-"You might as well ask if I was lost," Mr. Powell rejoined so testily as
-to surprise me.  "You see me here,--don't you."
-
-He was quite huffy, but noticing my wondering stare he smoothed his
-ruffled plumes.  And in a musing tone.
-
-"Yes.  Good men go out as if there was no use for them in the world.  It
-seems as if there were things that, as the Turks say, are written.  Or
-else fate has a try and sometimes misses its mark.  You remember that
-close shave we had of being run down at night, I told you of, my first
-voyage with them.  This go it was just at dawn.  A flat calm and a fog
-thick enough to slice with a knife.  Only there were no explosives on
-board.  I was on deck and I remember the cursed, murderous thing looming
-up alongside and Captain Anthony (we were both on deck) calling out,
-"Good God!  What's this!  Shout for all hands, Powell, to save
-themselves.  There's no dynamite on board now.  I am going to get the
-wife! . . "  I yelled, all the watch on deck yelled.  Crash!"
-
-Mr. Powell gasped at the recollection.  "It was a Belgian Green Star
-liner, the _Westland_," he went on, "commanded by one of those stop-for-
-nothing skippers.  Flaherty was his name and I hope he will die without
-absolution.  She cut half through the old _Ferndale_ and after the blow
-there was a silence like death.  Next I heard the captain back on deck
-shouting, "Set your engines slow ahead," and a howl of "Yes, yes,"
-answering him from her forecastle; and then a whole crowd of people up
-there began making a row in the fog.  They were throwing ropes down to us
-in dozens, I must say.  I and the captain fastened one of them under Mrs.
-Anthony's arms: I remember she had a sort of dim smile on her face."
-
-"Haul up carefully," I shouted to the people on the steamer's deck.
-"You've got a woman on that line."
-
-The captain saw her landed up there safe.  And then we made a rush round
-our decks to see no one was left behind.  As we got back the captain
-says: "Here she's gone at last, Powell; the dear old thing!  Run down at
-sea."
-
-"Indeed she is gone," I said.  "But it might have been worse.  Shin up
-this rope, sir, for God's sake.  I will steady it for you."
-
-"What are you thinking about," he says angrily.  "It isn't my turn.  Up
-with you."
-
-These were the last words he ever spoke on earth I suppose.  I knew he
-meant to be the last to leave his ship, so I swarmed up as quick as I
-could, and those damned lunatics up there grab at me from above, lug me
-in, drag me along aft through the row and the riot of the silliest
-excitement I ever did see.  Somebody hails from the bridge, "Have you got
-them all on board?" and a dozen silly asses start yelling all together,
-"All saved!  All saved," and then that accursed Irishman on the bridge,
-with me roaring No!  No! till I thought my head would burst, rings his
-engines astern.  He rings the engines astern--I fighting like mad to make
-myself heard!  And of course . . . "
-
-I saw tears, a shower of them fall down Mr. Powell's face.  His voice
-broke.
-
-"The _Ferndale_ went down like a stone and Captain Anthony went down with
-her, the finest man's soul that ever left a sailor's body.  I raved like
-a maniac, like a devil, with a lot of fools crowding round me and asking,
-"Aren't you the captain?"
-
-"I wasn't fit to tie the shoe-strings of the man you have drowned," I
-screamed at them . . .  Well!  Well!  I could see for myself that it was
-no good lowering a boat.  You couldn't have seen her alongside.  No use.
-And only think, Marlow, it was I who had to go and tell Mrs. Anthony.
-They had taken her down below somewhere, first-class saloon.  I had to go
-and tell her!  That Flaherty, God forgive him, comes to me as white as a
-sheet, "I think you are the proper person."  God forgive him.  I wished
-to die a hundred times.  A lot of kind ladies, passengers, were
-chattering excitedly around Mrs. Anthony--a real parrot house.  The
-ship's doctor went before me.  He whispers right and left and then there
-falls a sudden hush.  Yes, I wished myself dead.  But Mrs. Anthony was a
-brick.
-
-Here Mr. Powell fairly burst into tears.  "No one could help loving
-Captain Anthony.  I leave you to imagine what he was to her.  Yet before
-the week was out it was she who was helping me to pull myself together."
-
-"Is Mrs. Anthony in England now?" I asked after a while.
-
-He wiped his eyes without any false shame.  "Oh yes."  He began to look
-for matches, and while diving for the box under the table added: "And not
-very far from here either.  That little village up there--you know."
-
-"No!  Really!  Oh I see!"
-
-Mr. Powell smoked austerely, very detached.  But I could not let him off
-like this.  The sly beggar.  So this was the secret of his passion for
-sailing about the river, the reason of his fondness for that creek.
-
-"And I suppose," I said, "that you are still as 'enthusiastic' as ever.
-Eh?  If I were you I would just mention my enthusiasm to Mrs. Anthony.
-Why not?"
-
-He caught his falling pipe neatly.  But if what the French call
-_effarement_ was ever expressed on a human countenance it was on this
-occasion, testifying to his modesty, his sensibility and his innocence.
-He looked afraid of somebody overhearing my audacious--almost
-sacrilegious hint--as if there had not been a mile and a half of lonely
-marshland and dykes between us and the nearest human habitation.  And
-then perhaps he remembered the soothing fact for he allowed a gleam to
-light up his eyes, like the reflection of some inward fire tended in the
-sanctuary of his heart by a devotion as pure as that of any vestal.
-
-It flashed and went out.  He smiled a bashful smile, sighed:
-
-"Pah!  Foolishness.  You ought to know better," he said, more sad than
-annoyed.  "But I forgot that you never knew Captain Anthony," he added
-indulgently.
-
-I reminded him that I knew Mrs. Anthony; even before he--an old friend
-now--had ever set eyes on her.  And as he told me that Mrs. Anthony had
-heard of our meetings I wondered whether she would care to see me.  Mr.
-Powell volunteered no opinion then; but next time we lay in the creek he
-said, "She will be very pleased.  You had better go to-day."
-
-The afternoon was well advanced before I approached the cottage.  The
-amenity of a fine day in its decline surrounded me with a beneficent, a
-calming influence; I felt it in the silence of the shady lane, in the
-pure air, in the blue sky.  It is difficult to retain the memory of the
-conflicts, miseries, temptations and crimes of men's self-seeking
-existence when one is alone with the charming serenity of the unconscious
-nature.  Breathing the dreamless peace around the picturesque cottage I
-was approaching, it seemed to me that it must reign everywhere, over all
-the globe of water and land and in the hearts of all the dwellers on this
-earth.
-
-Flora came down to the garden gate to meet me, no longer the perversely
-tempting, sorrowful, wisp of white mist drifting in the complicated bad
-dream of existence.  Neither did she look like a forsaken elf.  I
-stammered out stupidly, "Again in the country, Miss . . . Mrs . . . "  She
-was very good, returned the pressure of my hand, but we were slightly
-embarrassed.  Then we laughed a little.  Then we became grave.
-
-I am no lover of day-breaks.  You know how thin, equivocal, is the light
-of the dawn.  But she was now her true self, she was like a fine tranquil
-afternoon--and not so very far advanced either.  A woman not much over
-thirty, with a dazzling complexion and a little colour, a lot of hair, a
-smooth brow, a fine chin, and only the eyes of the Flora of the old days,
-absolutely unchanged.
-
-In the room into which she led me we found a Miss Somebody--I didn't
-catch the name,--an unobtrusive, even an indistinct, middle-aged person
-in black.  A companion.  All very proper.  She came and went and even sat
-down at times in the room, but a little apart, with some sewing.  By the
-time she had brought in a lighted lamp I had heard all the details which
-really matter in this story.  Between me and her who was once Flora de
-Barral the conversation was not likely to keep strictly to the weather.
-
-The lamp had a rosy shade; and its glow wreathed her in perpetual
-blushes, made her appear wonderfully young as she sat before me in a
-deep, high-backed arm-chair.  I asked:
-
-"Tell me what is it you said in that famous letter which so upset Mrs.
-Fyne, and caused little Fyne to interfere in this offensive manner?"
-
-"It was simply crude," she said earnestly.  "I was feeling reckless and I
-wrote recklessly.  I knew she would disapprove and I wrote foolishly.  It
-was the echo of her own stupid talk.  I said that I did not love her
-brother but that I had no scruples whatever in marrying him."
-
-She paused, hesitating, then with a shy half-laugh:
-
-"I really believed I was selling myself, Mr. Marlow.  And I was proud of
-it.  What I suffered afterwards I couldn't tell you; because I only
-discovered my love for my poor Roderick through agonies of rage and
-humiliation.  I came to suspect him of despising me; but I could not put
-it to the test because of my father.  Oh!  I would not have been too
-proud.  But I had to spare poor papa's feelings.  Roderick was perfect,
-but I felt as though I were on the rack and not allowed even to cry out.
-Papa's prejudice against Roderick was my greatest grief.  It was
-distracting.  It frightened me.  Oh!  I have been miserable!  That night
-when my poor father died suddenly I am certain they had some sort of
-discussion, about me.  But I did not want to hold out any longer against
-my own heart!  I could not."
-
-She stopped short, then impulsively:
-
-"Truth will out, Mr. Marlow."
-
-"Yes," I said.
-
-She went on musingly.
-
-"Sorrow and happiness were mingled at first like darkness and light.  For
-months I lived in a dusk of feelings.  But it was quiet.  It was warm
-. . . "
-
-Again she paused, then going back in her thoughts.  "No!  There was no
-harm in that letter.  It was simply foolish.  What did I know of life
-then?  Nothing.  But Mrs. Fyne ought to have known better.  She wrote a
-letter to her brother, a little later.  Years afterwards Roderick allowed
-me to glance at it.  I found in it this sentence: 'For years I tried to
-make a friend of that girl; but I warn you once more that she has the
-nature of a heartless adventuress . . . '  Adventuress!" repeated Flora
-slowly.  "So be it.  I have had a fine adventure."
-
-"It was fine, then," I said interested.
-
-"The finest in the world!  Only think!  I loved and I was loved,
-untroubled, at peace, without remorse, without fear.  All the world, all
-life were transformed for me.  And how much I have seen!  How good people
-were to me!  Roderick was so much liked everywhere.  Yes, I have known
-kindness and safety.  The most familiar things appeared lighted up with a
-new light, clothed with a loveliness I had never suspected.  The sea
-itself! . . . You are a sailor.  You have lived your life on it.  But do
-you know how beautiful it is, how strong, how charming, how friendly, how
-mighty . . . "
-
-I listened amazed and touched.  She was silent only a little while.
-
-"It was too good to last.  But nothing can rob me of it now . . .  Don't
-think that I repine.  I am not even sad now.  Yes, I have been happy.  But
-I remember also the time when I was unhappy beyond endurance, beyond
-desperation.  Yes.  You remember that.  And later on, too.  There was a
-time on board the _Ferndale_ when the only moments of relief I knew were
-when I made Mr. Powell talk to me a little on the poop.  You like
-him?--Don't you?"
-
-"Excellent fellow," I said warmly.  "You see him often?"
-
-"Of course.  I hardly know another soul in the world.  I am alone.  And
-he has plenty of time on his hands.  His aunt died a few years ago.  He's
-doing nothing, I believe."
-
-"He is fond of the sea," I remarked.  "He loves it."
-
-"He seems to have given it up," she murmured.
-
-"I wonder why?"
-
-She remained silent.  "Perhaps it is because he loves something else
-better," I went on.  "Come, Mrs. Anthony, don't let me carry away from
-here the idea that you are a selfish person, hugging the memory of your
-past happiness, like a rich man his treasure, forgetting the poor at the
-gate."
-
-I rose to go, for it was getting late.  She got up in some agitation and
-went out with me into the fragrant darkness of the garden.  She detained
-my hand for a moment and then in the very voice of the Flora of old days,
-with the exact intonation, showing the old mistrust, the old doubt of
-herself, the old scar of the blow received in childhood, pathetic and
-funny, she murmured, "Do you think it possible that he should care for
-me?"
-
-"Just ask him yourself.  You are brave."
-
-"Oh, I am brave enough," she said with a sigh.
-
-"Then do.  For if you don't you will be wronging that patient man
-cruelly."
-
-I departed leaving her dumb.  Next day, seeing Powell making preparations
-to go ashore, I asked him to give my regards to Mrs. Anthony.  He
-promised he would.
-
-"Listen, Powell," I said.  "We got to know each other by chance?"
-
-"Oh, quite!" he admitted, adjusting his hat.
-
-"And the science of life consists in seizing every chance that presents
-itself," I pursued.  "Do you believe that?"
-
-"Gospel truth," he declared innocently.
-
-"Well, don't forget it."
-
-"Oh, I!  I don't expect now anything to present itself," he said, jumping
-ashore.
-
-He didn't turn up at high water.  I set my sail and just as I had cast
-off from the bank, round the black barn, in the dusk, two figures
-appeared and stood silent, indistinct.
-
-"Is that you, Powell?" I hailed.
-
-"And Mrs. Anthony," his voice came impressively through the silence of
-the great marsh.  "I am not sailing to-night.  I have to see Mrs. Anthony
-home."
-
-"Then I must even go alone," I cried.
-
-Flora's voice wished me "_bon voyage_" in a most friendly but tremulous
-tone.
-
-"You shall hear from me before long," shouted Powell, suddenly, just as
-my boat had cleared the mouth of the creek.
-
-"This was yesterday," added Marlow, lolling in the arm-chair lazily.  "I
-haven't heard yet; but I expect to hear any moment . . .  What on earth
-are you grinning at in this sarcastic manner?  I am not afraid of going
-to church with a friend.  Hang it all, for all my belief in Chance I am
-not exactly a pagan . . . "
-
-
-
-
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