summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/2876-h.htm
blob: f791204fdc3ce8d81ae7c1ee4ef265b13e82a6c3 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?>

<!DOCTYPE html
   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >

<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
  <head>
    <title>
      The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling
    </title>
    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">

    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
    div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
    pre     { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}

</style>
  </head>
  <body>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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


Title: The Light That Failed

Author: Rudyard Kipling

Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2876]
Last Updated: November 5, 2012

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED ***




Produced by David Reed, and David Widger






</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE LIGHT THAT FAILED
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Rudyard Kipling
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
      So we settled it all when the storm was done
      As comf'y as comf'y could be;
      And I was to wait in the barn, my dears,
      Because I was only three;
      And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot,
      Because he was five and a man;
      And that's how it all began, my dears,
      And that's how it all began.

      &mdash;Big Barn Stories.
</pre>
    <p>
      'WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, you
      know,' said Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,' Dick answered, without
      hesitation. 'Have you got the cartridges?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire
      cartridges go off of their own accord?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm not afraid.' Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket and
      her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver.
    </p>
    <p>
      The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable without
      pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had saved
      seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed Belgian
      revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for
      the purchase of a hundred cartridges. 'You can save better than I can,
      Dick,' she explained; 'I like nice things to eat, and it doesn't matter to
      you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the
      purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers did
      not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the
      guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother to
      these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six years, during
      which time she had made her profit of the allowances supposed to be
      expended on his clothes, and, partly through thoughtlessness, partly
      through a natural desire to pain,&mdash;she was a widow of some years
      anxious to marry again,&mdash;had made his days burdensome on his young
      shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him
      ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her
      small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick
      Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence and
      a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At such
      times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, she left him
      to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with his Creator;
      wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as he loathed Mrs.
      Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for the young. Since
      she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when dread of pain drove him to his first untruth, he naturally developed into a liar, but an economical and
      self-contained one, never throwing away the least unnecessary fib, and
      never hesitating at the blackest, were it only plausible, that might make
      his life a little easier. The treatment taught him at least the power of
      living alone,&mdash;a power that was of service to him when he went to a
      public school and the boys laughed at his clothes, which were poor in
      quality and much mended. In the holidays he returned to the teachings of
      Mrs. Jennett, and, that the chain of discipline might not be weakened by
      association with the world, was generally beaten, on one account or
      another, before he had been twelve hours under her roof.
    </p>
    <p>
      The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a long-haired,
      gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who moved about the
      house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only to the goat that was
      her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the back-garden. Mrs. Jennett
      objected to the goat on the grounds that he was un-Christian,&mdash;which
      he certainly was. 'Then,' said the atom, choosing her words very
      deliberately, 'I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and tell them that you
      are a very bad woman. Amomma is mine, mine, mine!' Mrs. Jennett made a
      movement to the hall, where certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack.
      The atom understood as clearly as Dick what this meant. 'I have been
      beaten before,' she said, still in the same passionless voice; 'I have
      been beaten worse than you can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write
      to my lawyer-peoples and tell them that you do not give me enough to eat.
      I am not afraid of you.' Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the
      atom, after a pause to assure herself that all danger of war was past,
      went out, to weep bitterly on Amomma's neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her
      profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small liberty
      of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered no
      friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the
      holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the
      children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as they
      prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school, Maisie
      whispered, 'Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself; but,' and she
      nodded her head bravely, 'I can do it. You promised to send Amomma a grass
      collar. Send it soon.' A week later she asked for that collar by return of
      post, and wa not pleased when she learned that it took time to make. When
      at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot to thank him for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into a
      lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not for a
      moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the average
      canings of a public school&mdash;Dick fell under punishment about three
      times a month&mdash;filled him with contempt for her powers. 'She doesn't
      hurt,' he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 'and she is
      kinder to you after she has whacked me.' Dick shambled through the days
      unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the school
      learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them,
      cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try to
      tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. 'We are both
      miserable as it is,' said she. 'What is the use of trying to make things
      worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the
      muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and
      pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out
      nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched
      by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the
      afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting
      patiently behind them.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Mf!' said Maisie, sniffing the air. 'I wonder what makes the sea so
      smelly? I don't like it!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You never like anything that isn't made just for you,' said Dick bluntly.
      'Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does one of
      these little revolvers carry?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, half a mile,' said Maisie, promptly. 'At least it makes an awful
      noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged stick-up
      things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of mud
      to the right of the wood-wreathed piles.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all
      round.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, her
      hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very
      cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon
      walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations with
      his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I think it hit the post,' she said, shading her eyes and looking out
      across the sailless sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,' said Dick, with a
      chuckle. 'Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look
      at Amomma!&mdash;he's eating the cartridges!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma
      scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred
      to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma had
      naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried up to
      assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, he's eaten two.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up,
      and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could not
      explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated her
      from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in his
      face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside him,
      crying, 'Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I didn't mean it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course you didn't, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping his
      cheek. 'But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings awfully.' A
      neat little splash of gray led on a stone showed where the bullet had
      gone. Maisie began to whimper.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't,' said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. 'I'm not a
      bit hurt.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, but I might have killed you,' protested Maisie, the corners of her
      mouth drooping. 'What should I have done then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.' Dick grinned at the thought; then,
      softening, 'Please don't worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time.
    </p>
    <p>
      We've got to get back to tea. I'll take the revolver for a bit.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick's
      indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol,
      restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically
      bombarded the breakwater. 'Got it at last!' he exclaimed, as a lock of
      weed flew from the wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let me try,' said Maisie, imperiously. 'I'm all right now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself
      to pieces, and Amomma the outcast&mdash;because he might blow up at any
      moment&mdash;browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown
      at him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which was
      commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down together
      before this new target.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Next holidays,' said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver kicked
      wildly in his hand, 'we'll get another pistol,&mdash;central fire,&mdash;that
      will carry farther.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There won't be any next holidays for me,' said Maisie. 'I'm going away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where to?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to be
      educated somewhere,&mdash;in France, perhaps,&mdash;I don't know where;
      but I shall be glad to go away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, is
      it really true you're going? Then these holidays will be the last I shall
      see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I wish&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking grass-tufts
      and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy nodding all by
      itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the milk-white sea
      beyond.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish,' she said, after a pause, 'that I could see you again sometime.
    </p>
    <p>
      You wish that, too?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, but it would have been better if&mdash;if&mdash;you had&mdash;shot
      straight over there&mdash;down by the breakwater.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy who only
      ten days before had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper ham-frills and
      turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public ways! Then she
      dropped her eyes: this was not the boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't be stupid,' she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct attacked
      the side-issue. 'How selfish you are! Just think what I should have felt
      if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm quite miserable enough already.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'From me, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though he
      did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this the
      more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know,' she said. 'I suppose it is.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let's go home,' said Maisie, weakly.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Dick was not minded to retreat.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can't say things,' he pleaded, 'and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you
      about Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you see?
      And you might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving me to
      find out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't
      know how much I cared.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't believe you ever did care.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, I didn't; but I do,&mdash;I care awfully now, Maisie,' he gulped,&mdash;'Maisie,
      darling, say you care too, please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because I am going away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say&mdash;will you?' A second
      'darling' came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few
      endearments in Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by
      instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of
      the revolver.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I promise,' she said solemnly; 'but if I care there is no need for
      promising.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And do you care?' For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes
      met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech....
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, Dick, don't! Please don't! It was all right when we said
      good-morning; but now it's all different!' Amomma looked on from afar.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen kisses
      exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its head
      approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it was
      the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that either
      had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every one of
      them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration of any
      worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and sat still,
      holding each other's hands and saying not a word.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You can't forget now,' said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek
      that stung more than gunpowder.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shouldn't have forgotten anyhow,' said Maisie, and they looked at each
      other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour ago to a
      wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began to set, and
      a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We shall be awfully late for tea,' said Maisie. 'Let's go home.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let's use the rest of the cartridges first,' said Dick; and he helped
      Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,&mdash;a descent that she was
      quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took the
      grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and
      Dick blushed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's very pretty,' he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Pooh!' said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood
      close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired over
      the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was protecting
      Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across the mud caught
      the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red disc. The light
      held Dick's attention for a moment, and as he raised his revolver there
      fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in that he was standing
      by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an indefinite length of
      time till such date as&mdash;&mdash; A gust of the growing wind drove the
      girl's long black hair across his face as she stood with her hand on his
      shoulder calling Amomma 'a little beast,' and for a moment he was in the
      dark,&mdash;a darkness that stung. The bullet went singing out to the
      empty sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Spoilt my aim,' said he, shaking his head. 'There aren't any more
      cartridges; we shall have to run home.' But they did not run. They walked
      very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to them
      whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his inside
      blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden heritage
      and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their years.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And I shall be&mdash;&mdash;' quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked
      himself: 'I don't know what I shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass
      any exams, but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be an artist, then,' said Maisie. 'You're always laughing at my trying to
      draw; and it will do you good.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll never laugh at anything you do,' he answered. 'I'll be an artist,
      and I'll do things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Artists always want money, don't they?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians tell
      me I'm to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin with.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ah, I'm rich,' said Maisie. 'I've got three hundred a year all my own
      when I'm twenty-one. That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she is
      to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to me,&mdash;just
      a father or a mother.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You belong to me,' said Dick, 'for ever and ever.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, we belong&mdash;for ever. It's very nice.' She squeezed his arm. The
      kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only just
      see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long lashes veiling the gray
      eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had been
      boggling over for the last two hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And I&mdash;love you, Maisie,' he said, in a whisper that seemed to him
      to ring across the world,&mdash;the world that he would to-morrow or the
      next day set out to conquer.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, when
      Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful
      unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden
      weapon.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,' said Dick, when the
      powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, 'but if you think you're
      going to lick me you're wrong. You are never going to touch me again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sit down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us out of that, anyhow.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but encouraged
      Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that evening. Mrs.
      Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and a descent into
      Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would not hear. Only when he
      was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted herself. He had
      bidden Maisie good-night with down-dropped eyes and from a distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      'If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,' said Mrs.
      Jennett, spitefully. 'You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, white
      to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of indifference, and
      was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room red as fire. That
      night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the world and brought it to
      Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it over with her foot, and,
      instead of saying 'Thank you,' cried&mdash;'Where is the grass collar you
      promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!'
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew,
     When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two,
     Ridin', ridin', ridin', two an' two,
     Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra,
     All the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two.

     &mdash;Barrack-Room Ballad.
</pre>
    <p>
      'I'M NOT angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few thousand
      of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn't be in such a hurry to
      get at their morning papers then. Can't you imagine the regulation
      householder&mdash;Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and
      all that lot&mdash;frizzling on hot gravel?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man
      here a needle? I've got a piece of sugar-sack.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both my
      knees are worn through.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why not six square acres, while you're about it? But lend me the needle,
      and I'll see what I can do with the selvage. I don't think there's enough
      to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. What are you doing
      with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,' said Dick,
      gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn riding-breeches
      and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most obvious open
      space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the void developed
      itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for
      that whale-boat.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into
      exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of the
      tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel shirt,
      went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the sketch.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted with
      English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their clothes.
      A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and flour- and
      small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the whale-boats had been
      compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental carpenter was swearing aloud
      as he tried, on a wholly insufficient allowance of white lead, to plaster
      up the sun-parched gaping seams of the boat herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      'First the bloomin' rudder snaps,' said he to the world in general; 'then
      the mast goes; an' then, s' 'help me, when she can't do nothin' else, she
      opens 'erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,' said the tailor,
      without looking up. 'Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it
      raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half a
      mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would drive
      the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent of Nile
      mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next few miles
      would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The desert ran
      down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black hillocks, a
      camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose touch of the
      slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks past, and
      throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid had
      followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the rank
      and file had long since lost all count of direction and very nearly of
      time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do something,
      they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the other end of
      it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town called Khartoum.
      There were columns of British troops in the desert, or in one of the many
      deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to embark on the river; there
      were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and Assuan; there were lies and
      rumours running over the face of the hopeless land from Suakin to the
      Sixth Cataract, and men supposed generally that there must be some one in
      authority to direct the general scheme of the many movements. The duty of
      that particular river-column was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the
      water, to avoid trampling on the villagers' crops when the gangs 'tracked'
      the boats with lines thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food
      as was possible, and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of
      the churning Nile.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the newspapers,
      and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But it was above all
      things necessary that England at breakfast should be amused and thrilled
      and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or half the British army
      went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign was a picturesque one,
      and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and again a 'Special' managed
      to get slain,&mdash;which was not altogether a disadvantage to the paper
      that employed him,&mdash;and more often the hand-to-hand nature of the
      fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which were worth telegraphing home
      at eighteenpence the word. There were many correspondents with many corps
      and columns,&mdash;from the veterans who had followed on the heels of the
      cavalry that occupied Cairo in '82, what time Arabi Pasha called himself
      king, who had seen the first miserable work round Suakin when the sentries
      were cut up nightly and the scrub swarmed with spears, to youngsters
      jerked into the business at the end of a telegraph-wire to take the places
      of their betters killed or invalided.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the seniors&mdash;those who knew every shift and change in the
      perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest
      Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk a
      telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a newly
      appointed staff-officer when press regulations became burdensome&mdash;was
      the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He represented
      the Central Southern Syndicate in the campaign, as he had represented it
      in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. The syndicate did not concern itself
      greatly with criticisms of attack and the like. It supplied the masses,
      and all it demanded was picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there
      is more joy in England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of
      square to rescue a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to
      baldness at the gross details of transport and commissariat.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently
      abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of
      shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are you for?' said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is
      that of the commercial traveller on the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      'My own hand,' said the young man, without looking up. 'Have you any
      tobacco?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at
      it said, 'What's your business here?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something
      down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the
      condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,' said Torpenhow, and took
      stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,'
      said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.&mdash;'Chief mate
      dirked by a comprador.&mdash;Junk ashore off Hakodate.&mdash;Somali
      muleteer being flogged.&mdash;Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.&mdash;Slave-dhow
      being chased round Tajurrah Bah.&mdash;Soldier lying dead in the moonlight
      outside Suakin.&mdash;throat cut by Fuzzies.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water
      myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are
      you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. I'm amusing myself here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right to
      take your first chance when you can get it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled across
      the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, 'Got man here,
      picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress with
      sketches.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, 'I knew the
      chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to sweat for it
      if I come through this business alive!'
    </p>
    <p>
      In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the
      Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying expenses
      for three months. 'And, by the way, what's your name?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They've taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You'd better
      stick to me. I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do what I can
      for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I'll send 'em
      along.' To himself he said, 'That's the best bargain the Central southern
      has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.'
    </p>
    <p>
      So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and
      arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and
      Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the
      inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much
      for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are
      added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that
      neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, the
      eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a bullock,
      the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to all
      circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and the
      past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes when
      they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the multitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's fancy chose to lead him, and
      between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost satisfied
      themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its influence
      the two were drawn ver closely together, for they ate from the same dish,
      they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie of all, their
      mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make gloriously drunk
      a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second Cataract, and, while
      the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed himself of some laboriously
      acquired exclusive information, forwarded by a confiding correspondent of
      an opposition syndicate, made a careful duplicate of the matter, and
      brought the result to Torpenhow, who said that all was fair in love or war
      correspondence, and built an excellent descriptive article from his
      rival's riotous waste of words. It was Torpenhow who&mdash;but the tale of
      their adventures, together and apart, from Philae to the waste wilderness
      of Herawi and Muella, would fill many books. They had been penned into a
      square side by side, in deadly fear of being shot by over-excited
      soldiers; they had fought with baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had
      jogged along in silence under blinding sun on indefatigable little
      Egyptian horses; and they had floundered on the shallows of the Nile when
      the whale-boat in which they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock
      and rip out half her bottom-planks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were bringing
      up the remainder of the column.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes,' said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his
      over-long-neglected gear, 'it has been a beautiful business.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The patch or the campaign?' said Dick. 'Don't think much of either,
      myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don't you? and
      eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with my breeches.'
      He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner of a clown.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government
      Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's my initials,&mdash;Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on
      purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?' Torpenhow shaded his
      eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel.
    </p>
    <p>
      A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms and
      accoutrements.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,"' remarked Dick, calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy
      it. That scrub's alive with enemy.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and a
      hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the column had
      wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As swiftly as a
      reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn ridges and
      scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with armed men.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and
      gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The
      camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little
      breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on the
      sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up within
      shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied of all
      save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased his
      outcries, and his friends howled.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They look like the Mahdi's men,' said Torpenhow, elbowing himself into
      the crush of the square; 'but what thousands of 'em there are! The tribes
      hereabout aren't against us, I know.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then the Mahdi's taken another town,' said Dick, 'and set all these
      yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Our scouts should have told us of this. We've been trapped,' said a
      subaltern. 'Aren't the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you men!'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against
      the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso was
      left outside when the fighting began would very probably die in an
      extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound
      camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the
      square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of rising
      ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there was no
      novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling formation,
      the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of the enemy, the
      same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of hand-to-hand
      scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only by the yells of
      those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to pursue. They had become
      careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the square slouched
      forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the attack of three
      thousand men who had not learned from books that it is impossible for
      troops in close order to attack against breech-loading fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, but
      the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed with
      the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there is always
      much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the weakest,
      for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them as they
      passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most like
      those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the train
      races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the opportune
      moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised troops in the
      world could have endured the hell through which they came, the living
      leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, the wounded
      cursing and staggering forward, till they fell&mdash;a torrent black as
      the sliding water above a mill-dam&mdash;full on the right flank of the
      square.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead
      went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground and
      the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing interest, for
      men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things, counting
      mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble and branch. There
      was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught the men knew, the
      enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square at once. Their
      business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet in the back
      those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag down the slayer till he
      could be knocked on the head by some avenging gun-butt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew
      unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was
      repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side of
      the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough of the
      stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty others,
      dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of the square sucked
      in after them, and the other sides sent help. The wounded, who knew that
      they had but a few hours more to live, caught at the enemy's feet and
      brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded rifle, fired blindly
      into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the square.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his helmet,
      that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face which
      forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that Torpenhow had
      gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to 'collar low,' and was turning
      over and over with his captive, feeling for the man's eyes. The doctor
      jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless soldier fired over
      Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung his cheek. It was to
      Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The representative of the Central
      Southern Syndicate had shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping
      his thumb on his trousers. The Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed
      aloud, then snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting
      under shelter of Dick's revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped
      limply. His upturned face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but
      cheers mingled with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If
      the heart of the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's
      shop. Dick thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of
      the enemy were retiring, as the few&mdash;the very few&mdash;English
      cavalry rode down the laggards.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside
      in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the
      illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned
      it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, 'Ah, get away, you
      brute!' Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the desert. His eye
      was held by the red splash in the distance, and the clamour about him
      seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a level
      sea. There was the revolver and the red light.... and the voice of some
      one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before,&mdash;a
      darkness that stung. He fired at random, and the bullet went out across
      the desert as he muttered, 'Spoilt my aim. There aren't any more
      cartridges. We shall have to run home.' He put his hand to his head and
      brought it away covered with blood.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Old man, you're cut rather badly,' said Torpenhow. 'I owe you something
      for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be ill here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, a
      black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted
      that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,&mdash;was dead,&mdash;was dead,&mdash;that
      two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of
      all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was dead,&mdash;was
      dead,&mdash;was dead!
    </p>
    <p>
      But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to the
      restless Nile for Maisie,&mdash;and again Maisie!
    </p>
    <p>
      'Behold a phenomenon,' said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. 'Here is a
      man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. And I've
      seen a good deal of delirium, too.&mdash;Dick, here's some fizzy drink.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank you, Maisie,' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     So he thinks he shall take to the sea again
     For one more cruise with his buccaneers,
     To singe the beard of the King of Spain,
     And capture another Dean of Jaen
     And sell him in Algiers.&mdash;A Dutch Picture.&mdash;Longfellow
</pre>
    <p>
      THE SOUDAN campaign and Dick's broken head had been some months ended and
      mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain sum on
      account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him was not
      altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into the Nile at
      Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm farewell to
      Torpenhow at the station.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am going to lie up for a while and rest,' said Torpenhow. 'I don't know
      where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we shall meet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Are you starying here on the off-chance of another row? There will be none
      till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark that.
    </p>
    <p>
      Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money's spent; and give me your
      address.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,&mdash;especially
      Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in all,
      but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the vices in
      all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the heart of
      that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long above the
      Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and women you
      have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters more riotous
      than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and boarded many
      ships, and saw very many friends,&mdash;gracious Englishwomen with whom he
      had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's Hotel, hurrying war
      correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships employed in the
      campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less reputable trades.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and the
      advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong excitement,
      at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For
      recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing sands,
      the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the English
      soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and colour all that
      Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended sought about for fresh
      material. It was a fascinating employment, but it ran away with his money,
      and he had drawn in advance the hundred and twenty pounds to which he was
      entitled yearly. 'Now I shall have to work and starve!' thought he, and
      was addressing himself to this new fate when a mysterious telegram arrived
      from Torpenhow in England, which said, 'Come back, quick; you have caught
      on. Come.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A large smile overspread his face. 'So soon! that's a good hearing,' said
      he to himself. 'There will be an orgy to-night. I'll stand or fall by my
      luck. Faith, it's time it came!' He deposited half of his funds in the
      hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and ordered
      himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was shaking with
      drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically&mdash;'Monsieur needs a chair, of
      course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses himself
      strangely.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. 'I
      understand,' he quavered. 'We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, as
      I have been.' Dick nodded. 'In the end,' said Binat, with gravity,
      'Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.' And he
      laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You must come to the dance, too,' said Dick; 'I shall want you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my
      degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or at
      least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.' The excellent Binat began to
      kick and scream.
    </p>
    <p>
      'All things are for sale in Port Said,' said Madame. 'If my husband comes
      it will be so much more. Eh, 'how you call&mdash;'alf a sovereign.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled
      courtyard at the back of Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in faded
      mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the
      piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari
      girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat sat upon a
      chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance
      and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink that took the
      place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick took him by the
      chin brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame Binat looked over
      her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against the wall and
      sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began to smell, and the
      girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. Then he shut his
      book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. 'Show
      me,' he whimpered. 'I too was once an artist, even I!' Dick showed him the
      rough sketch. 'Am I that?' he screamed. 'Will you take that away with you
      and show all the world that it is I,&mdash;Binat?' He moaned and wept.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Monsieur has paid for all,' said Madame. 'To the pleasure of seeing
      Monsieur again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the
      nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. 'If the luck holds, it's
      an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.' He placed his money picturesquely
      about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went
      down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed
      cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket
      than he cared to think about.
    </p>
    <p>
      A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for
      summer was in England.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the knack of altering much,'
      Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. 'Now, what must I
      do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless
      streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. 'Oh, you rabbit-hutches!'
      said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached residences.
      'Do you know what you've got to do later on? You have to supply me with
      men-servants and maid-servants,'&mdash;here he smacked his lips,&mdash;'and
      the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll find clothes and boots, and
      presently I will return and trample on you.' He stepped forward
      energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the side. As he
      stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. 'All
      right,' he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's another nick in the score. I'll jostle you later on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the
      certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only
      fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and
      lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost
      audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at
      all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate for
      Torpenhow's address, and got it, with the intimation that there was still
      some money waiting for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How much?' said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you,
      of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts
      monthly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If I show that I want anything now, I'm lost,' he said to himself. 'All I
      need I'll take later on.' Then, aloud, 'It's hardly worth while; and I'm
      going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and I'll see
      about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your connection
      with us?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker
      keenly. 'That man means something,' he said. 'I'll do no business till
      I've seen Torpenhow. There's a big deal coming.' So he departed, making no
      promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was the
      seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful distinctness,
      had thirty-one days in it!
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist
      for twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the
      experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven
      shillings a week for his lodging, which left him rather less than a
      shilling a day for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was of
      the materials of his craft; he had been without them too long. Half a
      day's investigations and comparison brought him to the conclusion that
      sausages and mashed potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. Now,
      sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. As lunch,
      even, with mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At dinner they are
      impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, and, going
      forth, pawned his watch to revel on sheep's head, which is not as cheap as
      it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then he returned to sausages
      and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely to mashed potatoes
      for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his inside. Then he pawned
      his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully of money thrown away in
      times past. There are few things more edifying unto Art than the actual
      belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks abroad,&mdash;he did not
      care for exercise; it raised desires that could not be satisfied&mdash;found
      himself dividing mankind into two classes,&mdash;those who looked as if
      they might give him something to eat, and those who looked otherwise. 'I
      never knew what I had to learn about the human face before,' he thought;
      and, as a reward for his humility, Providence caused a cab-driver at a
      sausage-shop where Dick fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk
      of bread. Dick took it,&mdash;would have fought all the world for its
      possession,&mdash;and it cheered him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience,
      he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow's address and
      smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the chambers.
      Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, to be
      received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow dragged
      him to the light and spoke of twenty different things in the same breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But you're looking tucked up,' he concluded.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Got anything to eat?' said Dick, his eye roaming round the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed
      horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now, what lunacy has been your latest?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his
      coat; there was no waistcoat below. 'I ran it fine, awfully fine, but I've
      just scraped through.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and talk
      afterwards.' Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could gorge
      no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke
      who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ouf!' said he. 'That's heavenly! Well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why in the world didn't you come to me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of
      superstition that this temporary starvation&mdash;that's what it was, and
      it hurt&mdash;would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and
      none of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact
      state of affairs as regards myself?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You had my wire? You've caught on here. People like your work immensely.
      I don't know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh touch and a new
      way of drawing things. And, because they're chiefly home-bred English,
      they say you have insight. You're wanted by half a dozen papers; you're
      wanted to illustrate books.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick grunted scornfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the
      dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They're a remarkably sensible people.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They are subject to fits, if that's what you mean; and you happen to be
      the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what they
      call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you please.
      I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you here, and I
      have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches you gave me
      from time to time. Those coming after your work on the Central Southern
      Syndicate appear to have done your business. You're in luck.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about the
      world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I want a
      place to work first.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come here,' said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. 'This place is a big
      box room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or your
      north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to thrash
      about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good enough,' said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a
      third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A
      pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of the
      place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more to
      Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness,
      pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors
      slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do they give you a free hand here?' said Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael
      enough to know the value of liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent
      tenants for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a
      Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms
      for you when I wired.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're a great deal too kind, old man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?' Torpenhow put
      his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room,
      henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. They
      heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. 'That's some ruffian come up for a
      drink,' said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. There entered no
      one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman in a satin-faced
      frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were deep pouches
      under the eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Weak heart,' said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, 'very weak
      heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate
      and 'one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr.
      Heldar. I assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely
      indebted to you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won't forget that we were
      largely instrumental in bringing you before the public.' He panted because
      of the seven flights of stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on his
      cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shan't forget,' said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've paid me so well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, when I am
      settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There
      must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That is er&mdash;is what I came to speak about. I fear we can't allow it
      exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the
      sketches are our property, of course.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to
      assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name and
      the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of material
      service to you. Sketches such as yours&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you
      dared. You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all I've
      got in the world!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock in
      trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his
      campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught aright,
      who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which Dick
      had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings did not much
      move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in other places to
      be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and
      when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained
      sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Forgive me, sir, but you have no&mdash;no younger man who can arrange
      this business with me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning
      against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be
      good enough to do things.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,' said Torpenhow, critically; 'but
      I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be
      careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your
      name before the world&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant years
      lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did
      not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the
      fruit of those years.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know quite what to do with you,' began Dick, meditatively. 'Of
      course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case
      you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides,
      it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite
      yourself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump body
      beneath the coat. 'My goodness!' said he to Torpenhow, 'and this gray oaf
      dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black hide
      taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet dates, and
      he was as tough as whipcord. This things' soft all over&mdash;like a
      woman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by a
      man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to
      breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft
      hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches
      underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 'You were going to steal my
      things,&mdash;mine, mine, mine!&mdash;you, who don't know when you may
      die.
    </p>
    <p>
      Write a note to your office,&mdash;you say you're the head of it,&mdash;and
      order them to give Torpenhow my sketches,&mdash;every one of them. Wait a
      minute: your hand's shaking. Now!' He thrust a pocket-book before him. The
      note was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while
      Dick walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice
      as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned
      with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, 'Now, I
      hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have settled
      down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I'll
      catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You haven't very long to
      live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,&mdash;get out!' The man departed,
      staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: 'Phew! what a lawless lot
      these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is gang robbery,
      organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that man's mind! Are
      my sketches all right, Torp?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, you've
      begun well.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it was
      everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him some
      medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at the
      little flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep
      in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and
      thought of the price at which they had been bought.
    </p>
    <p>
      The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw
      Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I builded better than I knew, Torp,' he said, without stopping the dance.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I shall have an
      exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have cheated
      me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I didn't actually hit
      him?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go out,' said Torpenhow,&mdash;'go out and pray to be delivered from the
      sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from
      whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a little
      more shipshape.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And then&mdash;oh, then,' said Dick, still capering, 'we will spoil the
      Egyptians!'
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn,
     When the smoke of the cooking hung gray:
     He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn,
     And he looked to his strength for his prey.

     But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away.

     And he turned from his meal in the villager's close,
     And he bayed to the moon as she rose.

     &mdash;In Seonee.
</pre>
    <p>
      'WELL, and how does success taste?' said Torpenhow, some three months
      later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good,' said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the
      studio.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I want more,&mdash;heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve
      of these fat ones.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep on
      his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, and a
      lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose from a
      wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, belts, and
      regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand uniforms and
      a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais showed that a
      military model had just gone away. The watery autumn sunlight was falling,
      and shadows sat in the corners of the studio.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes,' said Dick, deliberately, 'I like the power; I like the fun; I like
      the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the people who
      make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they're a queer gang,&mdash;an
      amazingly queer gang!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They have been good enough to you, at any rate. Than tin-pot exhibition
      of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it the
      "Wild Work Show"?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, I
      believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone artist.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or scratched
      them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and colour.
      Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn't the word to
      describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that it was
      impossible that shadows on white sand should be blue,&mdash;ultramarine,&mdash;as
      they are. I found out, later, that the man had been as far as Brighton
      beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. He gave me a lecture on
      it, and recommended me to go to school to learn technique. I wonder what
      old Kami would have said to that.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal
      magnetism. All he ever said was, "Continuez, mes enfants," and you had to
      make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he knew
      something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could never
      have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was good.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?' said Torpenhow, with a
      provoking drawl.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick squirmed in his place. 'Don't! It makes me want to get out there
      again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and
      brick-red and sulphur&mdash;cockatoo-crest&mdash;sulphur&mdash;against
      brown, with a nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a
      decorative frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise
      sky.' He began to walk up and down. 'And yet, you know, if you try to give
      these people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension
      and according to the powers He has given you&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Modest man! Go on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven't even been to Algiers will
      tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it
      isn't Art.
    </p>
    <p>
      ''This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been
      promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I couldn't help it,' said Dick, penitently. 'You weren't here, and it was
      lonely these long evenings. A man can't work for ever.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they
      were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,&mdash;but they wouldn't
      draw. They gave me tea,&mdash;tea at five in the afternoon!&mdash;and
      talked about Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered.
      I've heard more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than
      in the whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some
      continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular
      Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with
      his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps,
      and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show us
      how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his reports
      from the Nilghai. See?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up here
      this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept clear
      of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will unsettle
      your mind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It won't. It has taught me what Art&mdash;holy sacred Art&mdash;means.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. 'Here's a sample of
      real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I called
      it "His Last Shot." It's worked up from the little water-colour I made
      outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman, up here
      with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored him, and I
      made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with his helmet at
      the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his eye, and the
      blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't pretty, but he
      was all soldier and very much man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Once more, modest child!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick laughed. 'Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as well
      as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the
      art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't
      like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,&mdash;man being naturally
      gentle when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more
      restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but you
      might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my "Last Shot"
      back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without a speck
      on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,&mdash;observe the high light on
      the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,&mdash;rifles are always clean
      on service,&mdash;because that is Art.
    </p>
    <p>
      I pipeclayed his helmet,&mdash;pipeclay is always used on active service,
      and is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and
      gave him an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate.
      Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was
      moderately decent.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, home-bred
      Art and Dickenson's Weekly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, delivered
      from rolling clouds: 'If you were only a mass of blathering vanity, Dick,
      I wouldn't mind,&mdash;I'd let you go to the deuce on your own mahl-stick;
      but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find that to vanity you
      add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old girl, then I bestir
      myself in your behalf. Thus!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the
      terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about.
    </p>
    <p>
      'If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue.
    </p>
    <p>
      You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take
      liberties with his public, even though they be&mdash;which they ain't&mdash;all
      you say they are.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But they don't know any better. What can you expect from creatures born
      and bred in this light?' Dick pointed to the yellow fog. 'If they want
      furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay for
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are
      the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They are
      your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to
      trifle with them,&mdash;or with yourself, which is more important.
    </p>
    <p>
      Moreover,&mdash;Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going anywhere,&mdash;unless
      you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the
      check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get drunk&mdash;you're
      half drunk already&mdash;on easily acquired money. For that money and your
      own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work.
      You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as I love
      you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off your nose
      to spite your face for all the gold in England. That's settled. Now
      swear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't know, said Dick. 'I've been trying to make myself angry, but I
      can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on Dickenson's
      Weekly, I fancy.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow
      bleeding of power.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It brings in the very desirable dollars,' said Dick, his hands in his
      pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 'Why, I thought it was a man!'
      said he. 'It's a child.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, it isn't,' said Dick, wheeling quickly. 'You've no notion what the
      certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys; on that Chinese pig-boat,
      for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho-Wang
      wouldn't allow us anything better, and it all tasted of pig,&mdash;Chinese
      pig. I've worked for this, I've sweated and I've starved for this, line on
      line and month after month. And now I've got it I am going to make the
      most of it while it lasts. Let them pay&mdash;they've no knowledge.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What does Your Majesty please to want? You can't smoke more than you do;
      you won't drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, by the
      look of you. You wouldn't keep a horse the other day when I suggested,
      because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross the street
      you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose that
      theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life.
    </p>
    <p>
      What earthly need have you for money?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's there, bless its golden heart,' said Dick. 'It's there all the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. I
      haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm keeping my teeth filed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? You
      would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't go. I don't
      care to profit by the price of a man's soul,&mdash;for that's what it
      would mean.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick, it's no use arguing. You're a fool.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got credit
      for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, when our
      old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking those pigs
      as a parallel&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you
      always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren't the
      British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go out
      for a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the Nilghai
      comes up this evening can I show him your diggings?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Surely. You'll be asking whether you must knock at my door, next.'
And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly
      gathering London fog.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. He
      was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, and
      his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only his
      ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the craft than
      he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that there would
      be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed as he entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always
      screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn't he? I hope you keep him
      properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his
      reputation.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't know about his reputation, but
      he'll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So I told him. I don't think he believes it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the ground
      there?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Specimen of his latest impertinence.' Torpenhow thrust the torn edges of
      the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the Nilghai,
      who looked at it for a moment and whistled.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's a chromo,' said he,&mdash;'a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What
      possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note that
      catches a public who think with their boots and read with their elbows!
      The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but he mustn't go
      on with this. Hasn't he been praised and cockered up too much? You know
      these people here have no sense of proportion. They'll call him a second
      Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his fashion lasts. It's windy
      diet for a colt.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young wolf a
      lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a shin-bone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's soul is in the bank. He's working for cash.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn't see that the
      obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are
      changed.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in
      print. He wants the whiplash.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too
      much.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a woman
      at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did he cut you out?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what's the good?
      Leave him alone and he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, dragging
      or wagging his tail behind him. There's more in a week of life than in a
      lively weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate him ponderously in
      the Cataclysm.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make Dick
      wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He's intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Matter of temper,' said the Nilghai. 'It's the same with horses. Some you
      wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you wallop
      and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's exactly what Dick has done,' said Torpenhow. 'Wait till he comes
      back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll show you some
      of his last and worst work in his studio.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of
      mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of the
      Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of
      Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the study of the
      faces flocking past. Some had death written on their features, and Dick
      marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and coarse-built for the
      most part, were alight with love; others were merely drawn and lined with
      work; but there was something, Dick knew, to be made out of them all. The
      poor at least should suffer that he might learn, and the rich should pay
      for the output of his learning. Thus his credit in the world and his cash
      balance at the bank would be increased. So much the better for him. He had
      suffered. Now he would take toll of the ills of others.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red
      wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of the
      tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low tide. A
      girl hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, 'Ah, get away, you
      beast!' and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog drove across
      Dick's face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth below the
      wall. He was blinded for the moment, then spun round and found himself
      face to face with&mdash;Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but
      they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the
      firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of old,
      she wore a closely fitting gray dress.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own command,
      Dick, advancing, said 'Halloo!' after the manner of schoolboys, and Maisie
      answered, 'Oh, Dick, is that you?' Then, against his will, and before the
      brain newly released from considerations of the cash balance had time to
      dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick's body throbbed furiously and
      his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down again, and Maisie's face
      was pearl-white through it. No word was spoken, but Dick fell into step at
      her side, and the two paced the Embankment together, keeping the step as
      perfectly as in their afternoon excursions to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a
      little hoarsely&mdash;'What has happened to Amomma?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't
      it funny?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ye&mdash;es. No. This. Where have you come from?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Over there,' He pointed eastward through the fog. 'And you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, I'm in the north,&mdash;the black north, across all the Park. I am
      very busy.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What do you do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have that still. I am painting; that's all.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Are you alone, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of
      step.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then you noticed it too?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course I did. You're always out of step.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton's in St.
    </p>
    <p>
      John's Wood, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,&mdash;I mean I went to
      the National,&mdash;and now I'm working under Kami.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But Kami is in Paris surely?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in the
      summer, and I live in London in the winter. I'm a householder.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you sell much?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose
      half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good-bye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where you live? I must see you again;
      and perhaps I could help you. I&mdash;I paint a little myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk from
      the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. But of
      course I shall see you again.' She stepped into the omnibus and was
      swallowed up by the fog.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well&mdash;I&mdash;am&mdash;damned!' exclaimed Dick, and returned to the
      chambers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio
      door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll be more damned when I'm done with you,' said the Nilghai,
      upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf of
      half-dry manuscript. 'Dick, it is of common report that you are suffering
      from swelled head.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little
      Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow
      refuses from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in your
      studio. They are simply disgraceful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You
      can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a P.
      and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's the
      peroration: "For work done without conviction, for power wasted on
      trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose
      of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public&mdash;&mdash;"
      'That's "His Last Shot," second edition. Go on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      '&mdash;&mdash;"public, there remains but one end,&mdash;the oblivion that
      is preceded by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr.
      Heldar has yet to prove himself out of danger.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wow&mdash;wow&mdash;wow&mdash;wow&mdash;wow!' said Dick, profanely. 'It's
      a clumsy ending and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,'&mdash;he
      sprang to his feet and snatched at the manuscript,&mdash;'you scarred,
      deboshed, battered old gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to
      minister to the blind, brutal, British public's bestial thirst for blood.
      They have no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're
      a fat gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's
      seen. You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an
      affable actress, a devastating cyclone, or&mdash;mine own sweet self. And
      you presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while
      I'd caricature you in four papers!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this.
    </p>
    <p>
      'As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small&mdash;so!' The
      manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. 'Go
      home, Nilghai,' said Dick; 'go home to your lonely little bed, and leave
      me in peace. I am about to turn in till to-morrow.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why, it isn't seven yet!' said Torpenhow, with amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,' said Dick, backing to the
      studio door. 'I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want any
      dinner.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The door shut and was locked.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What can you do with a man like that?' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. 'Is the Nilghai with you
      still?' said a voice from within. 'Then tell him he might have condensed
      the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: "Only the free are
      bond, and only the bond are free." Tell him he's an idiot, Torp, and tell
      him I'm another.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty stomach.'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'I have a thousand men,' said he,
     'To wait upon my will,
     And towers nine upon the Tyne,
     And three upon the Till.'

     'And what care I for you men,' said she,
     'Or towers from Tyne to Till,
     Sith you must go with me,' she said,
     'To wait upon my will?'

     Sir Hoggie and the Fairies
</pre>
    <p>
      NEXT morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well, madman, how d'you feel?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know. I'm trying to find out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You had much better do some work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too much
      Ego in my Cosmos.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and now
      I'm going to work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas,
      cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure,
      rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went
      out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      'This is positively indecent,' said Torpenhow, 'and the first time that
      Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that he
      has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally valuable.
    </p>
    <p>
      That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going out
      of evenings. I must look to this.' He rang for the bald-headed old
      housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly 'e dined
      in; but 'e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up 'ere after
      theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen on the
      top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sir, droppin'
      a walkin'-stick down five flights o' stairs an' then goin' down four
      abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin', singin,'
      "Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin,'"&mdash;not once or twice, but
      scores o' times,&mdash;isn't charity to the other tenants. What I say is,
      "Do as you would be done by." That's my motto.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in the
      house.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an' he
      laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a coloured
      print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say is, "Never
      look a gift-horse in the mouth." Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes 'aven't been
      on him for weeks.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then it's all right,' said Torpenhow to himself. 'Orgies are healthy, and
      Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making eyes I'm not
      so certain,&mdash;Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. They're
      contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the
      spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered the
      day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and Maisie,
      white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years seemed in
      review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour of them!
      Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, sweeping
      her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward race of the
      fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie sniffing
      scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before the wind that
      threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot about her ears;
      Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to Mrs. Jennett while
      Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie picking her way
      delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand and her teeth
      firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the grass between the
      mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The pictures passed
      before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind as
      it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that there
      might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in the
      forenoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's a good working light now,' he said, watching his shadow placidly.
      'Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's Maisie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no
      mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still
      Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed
      between them, because there had been none in the old days.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?' said Dick, as one
      who was entitled to ask.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I
      left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A fancy head that wouldn't come right,&mdash;horrid thing!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain
      comes up woolly as the paint dries.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not if you scrape properly.' Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her
      methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're as untidy as ever.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered in
      anything. Let's see, though.' He looked at Maisie critically. The pale
      blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the Park and
      made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque above the
      black hair, and the resolute profile.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I
      fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to
      Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait a minute,' said he. 'That mouth is down at the corners a little.
    </p>
    <p>
      Who's been worrying you, Maisie?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try
      hard enough, and Kami says&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants." Kami is
      depressing. I beg your pardon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better
      and he'd let me exhibit this year.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not in this place, surely?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course not. The Salon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You fly high.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't exhibit. I sell.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What is your line, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Haven't you heard?' Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He cast
      about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the Marble
      Arch. 'Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Some reproduction of my work inside,' he said, with suppressed triumph.
      Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. 'You see the
      sort of things I paint. D'you like it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into
      action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They've chucked the off lead-'orse' said one to the other. ''E's tore up
      awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver
      drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,' was the answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all
      right.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy&mdash;fine, rank, vulgar
      triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the picture.
    </p>
    <p>
      That was something that she could understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!' she said at last, under her
      breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Me,&mdash;all me!' said Dick, placidly. 'Look at their faces. It hits
      'em. They don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know.
      And I know my work's right.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you think?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I call it success. Tell me how you got it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his
      own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the beginning he told the tale, the I&mdash;I&mdash;I's flashing
      through the records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie
      listened and nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did
      not move her a hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude,
      'And that gave me some notion of handling colour,' or light, or whatever
      it might be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her
      breathless across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his
      life before.
    </p>
    <p>
      And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great desire
      to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, 'I understand. Go
      on,'&mdash;to pick her up and carry her away with him, because she was
      Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his right, and a
      woman to be desired above all women.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he checked himself abruptly. 'And so I took all I wanted,' he said,
      'and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of patient
      toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken thought dealers
      laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even sarcastic,
      and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a few bright
      spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but it wound up
      with the oft repeated wail, 'And so you see, Dick, I had no success,
      though I worked so hard.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not hit
      the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had
      happened yesterday.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.'
      The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. 'The whole thing,
      lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort
      Keeling.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie flushed a little. 'It's all very well for you to talk, but you've
      had the success and I haven't.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a
      bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I've come back again.
      It really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I understand,' she said slowly. 'But I've got my work to do, and I must
      do it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, I couldn't. It's my work,&mdash;mine,&mdash;mine,&mdash;mine! I've
      been alone all my life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody
      except myself. I remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't
      count. We were babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. Dick,
      don't be selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year.
      Don't take it away from me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I can't
      expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll go to my
      own place and wait a little.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But, Dick, I don't want you to&mdash;go&mdash;out of&mdash;my life, now
      you've just come back.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm at your orders; forgive me.' Dick devoured the troubled little face
      with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive
      that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved her.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's wrong of me,' said Maisie, more slowly than before; 'it's wrong and
      selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now I've
      seen you again,&mdash;it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Naturally. We belong.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work
      that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things.
      You must.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose
      sight of me altogether, and&mdash;you want me to help you in your work?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I feel
      so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and
      overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see
      what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good advice,
      and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Again there was triumph in Dick's eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's too good of you,&mdash;much too good. Because you are consoling
      yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to
      keep you. Don't blame me later, please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can do no
      wrong. It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's your audacity in
      proposing to make use of me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Pooh! You're only Dick,&mdash;and a print-shop.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don't you, that I
      love you? I don't want you to have any false notions about brothers and
      sisters.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's absurd, but&mdash;I believe. I wish I could send you away before you
      get angry with me. But&mdash;but the girl that lives with me is
      red-haired, and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be
      laughing at this together.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie shook her head mournfully. 'I knew you wouldn't understand, and it
      will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and tell
      me what you see.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering,
      and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. Dick
      brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on the eyes,
      mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me,' he said. 'We've both nice
      little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now
      about the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,&mdash;I
      suppose when the red-haired girl is on the premises.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such heaps
      of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I must get
      back to work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,' said Dick. 'Don't take my
      word for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she was
      out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, 'I'm a
      wretch,&mdash;a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will
      understand.'
    </p>
    <p>
      No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible force
      meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even as Dick
      thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in a few
      weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of thinking. Then
      he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that was written on it.
    </p>
    <p>
      'If I know anything of heads,' he said, 'there's everything in that face
      but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and mouth
      won't be won for nothing. But she's right. She knows what she wants, and
      she's going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people in the wide
      world, to use me! But then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that
      fact; and it's good to see her again. This business must have been
      simmering at the back of my head for years.... She'll use me as I used
      Binat at Port Said.
    </p>
    <p>
      She's quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every
      Sunday,&mdash;like a young man courting a housemaid. She's sure to come
      around; and yet&mdash;that mouth isn't a yielding mouth. I shall be
      wanting to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her
      pictures,&mdash;I don't even know what sort of work she does yet,&mdash;and
      I shall have to talk about Art,&mdash;Woman's Art! Therefore, particularly
      and perpetually, damn all varieties of Art. It did me a good turn once,
      and now it's in my way. I'll go home and do some Art.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The
      figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She's all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who
      probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like lone women,&mdash;meals
      at all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris
      used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan't be able to
      help.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full of
      the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the same
      oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of toil.
      This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, strife,
      recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, and is proof
      against any absence and evil conduct.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He
      thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of
      anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was an
      outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with
      jewelry,&mdash;a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets
      upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,&mdash;the cool,
      temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between his own. It was an
      absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on one
      finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. It would be better to sit
      with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around her neck and her face on his
      shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots creaked that
      night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted and he
      murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a right and
      part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in his stride by
      a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly care for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I say, old man,' said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts at
      conversation, 'I haven't put your back up by anything I've said lately,
      have I?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You! No. How could you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Liver out of order?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit worried
      about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have you
      with luxuries of that kind?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands
      shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's right, whoever he is,&mdash;except about the misunderstanding. I
      don't think we could misunderstand each other.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow,
      insinuatingly&mdash;'Dick, is it a woman?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you begin
      to talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint
      trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among
      three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye
      plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who maunders over what her
      guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 'em, Torp,&mdash;in a
      snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll
      like that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and
      swearing. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, of
      course, but it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars
      there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come from
      heaven or earth, I don't know, but it's bound to come and break you up a
      little. You want hammering.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick shivered. 'All right,' said he. 'When this island is disintegrated,
      it will call for you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more.
    </p>
    <p>
      We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.'
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'And you may lead a thousand men,
     Nor ever draw the rein,
     But ere ye lead the Faery Queen
     'Twill burst your heart in twain.'

     He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar,
     The bridle from his hand,
     And he is bound by hand and foot
     To the Queen o' Faery-land.

     Sir Hoggie and the Fairies.
</pre>
    <p>
      SOME weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the
      Park to his studio. 'This,' he said, 'is evidently the thrashing that Torp
      meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no wrong; and
      she certainly has some notion of drawing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,&mdash;always under the
      green eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate
      at sight,&mdash;and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after
      Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy
      house north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, and then to
      criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were productions
      on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love
      grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his heart back from
      between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and
      very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above the heart had warned
      him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that it would be better to
      talk as connectedly as possible upon the mysteries of the craft that was
      all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to endure weekly torture in
      the studio built out over the clammy back garden of a frail stuffy little
      villa where nothing was ever in its right place and nobody every called,&mdash;to
      endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro with the teacups. He abhorred
      tea, but, since it gave him a little longer time in her presence, he drank
      it devoutly, and the red-haired girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed him
      without speaking. She was always watching him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him an
      album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,&mdash;the
      briefest of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying
      exhibitions. Dick stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open
      page. 'Oh, my love, my love,' he muttered, 'do you value these things?
      Chuck 'em into the waste-paper basket!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not till I get something better,' said Maisie, shutting the book.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for
      the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these
      coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should sign.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's childish,' said Maisie, 'and I didn't think it of you. It must be
      my work. Mine,&mdash;mine,&mdash;mine!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are
      thoroughly good at that.' Dick was sick and savage.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Better things than medallions, Dick,' was the answer, in tones that
      recalled a gray-eyed atom's fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would
      have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts of pencils that could
      almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, and
      he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, among
      other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with
      which Dick preached his own gospel of Art.
    </p>
    <p>
      A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was
      Maisie's will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make
      plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the whys
      and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing a thing
      if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your method.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,' said Dick,
      despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would
      not 'look flesh,'&mdash;it was the same chin that she had scraped out with
      the palette knife,&mdash;'but I find it almost impossible to teach you.
      There's a queer grim, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but
      I've a notion that you're weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though you
      never used the model, and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing with
      flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don't know it yourself, you shirk
      hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line alone. Line doesn't
      allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of flashy, tricky
      stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing off,&mdash;as I
      know. That's immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and then I can tell
      more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know,' said Dick. 'You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of
      flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.' The red-haired
      girl laughed a little. 'You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep in
      grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than you can
      do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a gift,&mdash;put
      it aside and think no more about it,&mdash;but form you can be drilled
      into.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, all your fancy heads&mdash;and some of them are very good&mdash;will
      keep you exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward,
      and it will show up all your weaknesses.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But other people&mdash;&mdash;' began Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You mustn't mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, it
      would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, and
      it's waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came
      back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly as
      words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas and
      counsel and join hands with Life and Love?
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick
      could hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there and
      carrying her off to the nearest registrar's office. It was the implicit
      obedience to the spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken
      desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held authority in that
      house,&mdash;authority limited, indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in
      seven, but very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal to him
      on many subjects, from the proper packing of pictures to the condition of
      a smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted him about anything.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and
      watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment were
      irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, and
      biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were supposed
      to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help of a
      charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of her
      income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as refined as
      her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from the Docks, Dick
      warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the crippling of power
      to work, which was considerably worse than death.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and drank.
      When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the long winter
      twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic authority and
      his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room chimney stung
      Dick like a whip-lash.
    </p>
    <p>
      He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, till
      one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a study of
      Dick's head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, and&mdash;quite
      as an afterthought&mdash;look at Maisie. He sat, because he could not well
      refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all the people
      in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his own craft. He
      remembered Binat most distinctly,&mdash;that Binat who had once been an
      artist and talked about degradation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the
      dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of the
      man, in a spirit of bitter mockery.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll buy it,' said Dick, promptly, 'at your own price.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be as grateful if&mdash;&mdash;'
      The wet sketch, fluttered from the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of
      the studio stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, it's all spoiled!' said Maisie. 'And I never saw it. Was it like?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank you,' said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he
      removed himself swiftly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How that man hates me!' said the girl. 'And how he loves you, Maisie!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to do,
      and I have mine.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in
      impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'See? See what?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that
      man looks at you, I'd&mdash;I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. Oh,
      how he hates me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred was tempered with gratitude
      for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only the sense of
      shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park in the fog.
      'There'll be an explosion one of these days,' he said wrathfully. 'But it
      isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite right, as far as she knows, and I
      can't blame her. This business has been going on for three months nearly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three months!&mdash;and it cost me ten years' knocking about to get at the
      notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That's true; but then I didn't
      have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very bad
      time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I am now.
      I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,&mdash;she's
      unwholesome,&mdash;and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the sin
      of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the weeks
      between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung himself
      savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least know the full
      stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she must not pay the
      least attention to any work outside her own, and Maisie had obeyed him all
      too well. She took his counsels, but was not interested in his pictures.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Your things smell of tobacco and blood,' she said once. 'Can't you do
      anything except soldiers?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I could do a head of you that would startle you,' thought Dick,&mdash;this
      was before the red-haired girl had brought him under the guillotine,&mdash;but
      he only said, 'I am very sorry,' and harrowed Torpenhow's soul that
      evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, insensibly and to a large
      extent against his own will, he ceased to interest himself in his own
      work.
    </p>
    <p>
      For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him he
      lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, since
      Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to do anything
      at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. Torpenhow was
      disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then attacked him one Sunday
      evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after three hours' biting
      self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was Language, and Torpenhow
      withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it to talk continental
      politics.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a
      woman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Isn't that bad enough?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a
      while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the
      staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you
      had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned
      fellow.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't
      storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush.
    </p>
    <p>
      You're fond of him?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the worst
      of it is, no man can save his brother.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick must
      learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be trouble
      in the Balkans in the spring.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there
      when it comes off?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not good enough,' he said shortly. 'I'm too comf'y where I am.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?' said the
      Nilghai. 'Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,&mdash;the
      public will know your touch and go on to something new,&mdash;and where
      will you be then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Here, in England.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I shall
      go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will be there,
      and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as much as ever
      we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you of seeing things
      that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Um!' said Dick, pulling at his pipe.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at your
      pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own pursuits
      and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look up between
      mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't the least
      interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or notoriety,
      according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be hanged if I do!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be hanged, then; you probably will be,&mdash;for a spy, by excited Turks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.' Dick
      dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's a bad sign,' said the Nilghai, in an undertone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to
      burn, and put a pillow behind the head. 'We can't help; we can't help,' he
      said. 'It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it. There's
      the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should. He's a most businesslike madman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Dick began to snore furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and
      go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,' said the Nilghai, in his
      beard, 'I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural
      history.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches he
      was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he wondered he
      had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He would seek Maisie
      on a week-day,&mdash;would suggest an excursion, and would take her by
      train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two had trodden
      together ten years ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      'As a general rule,' he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the
      morning, 'it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one of
      things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel said; but this is an
      exception to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and
      Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was
      not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond;
      and it needed all his courage to explain his errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know you've been working too hard,' he concluded, with an air of
      authority. 'If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better come.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where?' said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too
      long, and was very tired.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Anywhere you please. We'll take a train to-morrow and see where it stops.
      We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the evening.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If there's a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.' Maisie balanced
      the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet
      learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working
      light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll
      call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But surely you are going to ask&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much
      as I hate her. She won't care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that we
      get sunshine.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever.
    </p>
    <p>
      He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great
      gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired into
      himself to consider things.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,' said Maisie to the
      red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the
      Edgware road.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while
      you're away. It's very dirty.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to the
      little excitement, but not without misgivings.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she though, but
      I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him
      anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him so
      much better.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning and
      saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the
      hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, were
      surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired girl
      drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether
      unused to these demonstrations. 'Mind my hat,' she said, hurrying away,
      and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more
      breakfast? Put the cloak over you knees.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing
      like that. People will think we're mad.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let 'em think,&mdash;if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know
      who we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie,
      you're looking lovely!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a
      keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the
      creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a
      pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout
      committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It will be lovely weather in the country,' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But where are we going?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait and see.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the
      fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the
      waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the
      booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put her
      into a Pullman,&mdash;solely on account of the warmth there; and she
      regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved
      out into the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish I knew where we are going,' she repeated for the twentieth time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the
      run, and Maisie was delighted.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, Dick, you villain!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been
      here since the old times, have you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was
      ever there.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the
      potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I
      shut you up in it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was
      burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a
      trusting nature in those days.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with
      many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's
      cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin.
      He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening
      would bring him a great reward.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes.
      First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?' said Dick, with mock
      terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should make a face.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Show, then,' said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick
      laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"This is disgraceful,"' said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle
      for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three
      helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. If
      you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least&mdash;"'
    </p>
    <p>
      The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Try to behave like one,"' said Dick, promptly. 'Quite right. Now we'll
      get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,&mdash;unless you'd rather drive
      there?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!'
    </p>
    <p>
      They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the
      influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a
      confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint
      pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick, have you any pennies?' said Maisie, half to herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy
      peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as the
      blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went down to
      the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land that no
      builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter breeze came
      in from the sea and sang about their ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maisie,' said Dick, 'your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the
      tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the
      ulster allowed, till she was out of breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We used to run miles,' she panted. 'It's absurd that we can't run now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished to
      pull you hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top of
      your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were meant to
      call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why, it's the same as ever!' said Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and
      shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a
      travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess
      and polite conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's worse than anything I imagined,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with
      one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a
      young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where's your proof?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He got up and went out at eight this morning,&mdash;got up in the middle
      of the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the
      fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might get
      up for that, mightn't he?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in the
      wind. It's a girl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray
      dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in
      the world besides himself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and
      ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can
      stop him, and&mdash;he'll ever go on the long trail again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that
      happens.... No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick "go wooing with the
      boys." Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can only
      look on. Get the chessmen.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the
      ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew
      indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was all
      one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut
      savagely from time to time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her
      door: 'Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, not to
      say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an' disinfectink.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be
      pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you what sort of
      soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap,
      miss&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury that
      drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost shouting&mdash;'Do
      you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!&mdash;any kind!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in
      the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as
      though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Roses red and roses white
     Plucked I for my love's delight.

     She would none of all my posies,&mdash;
     Bade me gather her blue roses.

     Half the world I wandered through,
     Seeking where such flowers grew;
     Half the world unto my quest
     Answered but with laugh and jest.

     It may be beyond the grave
     She shall find what she would have.

     Mine was but an idle quest,&mdash;
     Roses white and red are best!&mdash;Blue Roses
</pre>
    <p>
      THE SEA had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and the
      Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white
      beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't see the old breakwater,' said Maisie, under her breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe
      they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come and
      look.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook sheltered
      from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder cannon.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now, if Ammoma were only here!' said Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and called
      her by her name.
    </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head and looked out to sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No!' between clenched teeth. 'I'd&mdash;I'd tell you if it did; but it
      doesn't, Oh, Dick, please be sensible.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't you think that it ever will?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, I'm sure it won't.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke
      hurriedly&mdash;'I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it
      to you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I could
      care for any one&mdash;&mdash;But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't
      understand what the feeling means.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is that true, dear?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you back
      is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself quit
      enough as it is.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What in the world for?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because&mdash;because I take everything that you give me and I give you
      nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of it
      it worries me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if I
      choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing to
      reproach yourself with, darling.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then don't talk about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always
      talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I
      despise myself sometimes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Great goodness!' said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. 'Speak the truth
      now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I&mdash;does this worrying
      bore you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. It does not.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'd tell me if it did?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should let you know, I think.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man
      when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was
      forced to repeat it.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in
      the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did you listen?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used
      to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud of
      the praise, and tell Kami, and&mdash;I shall never forget&mdash;once Kami
      laughed at me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless&mdash;unless they do bad
      work.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,&mdash;of
      everything of mine that you've seen.'
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Honest, honest, and honest over!"' quoted Dick from a catchword of long
      ago. 'Tell me what Kami always says.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie hesitated. 'He&mdash;he says that there is feeling in them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two
      years. I know exactly what he says.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It isn't a fib.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one
      side,&mdash;so,&mdash;"Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti
      pris."' He rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is right.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Certainly he is.' Dick admitted that two people in the world could do and
      say no wrong. Kami was the man.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you too
      much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient sometimes,&mdash;not
      always,&mdash;and sometimes there's power in it, but there's no special
      reason why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it strikes me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be done.
      You know that as well as I do. I only want success.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you
      so?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, to
      begin with.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't say that, and I don't think it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's amateurish, then.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your
      boot-heels, and I respect you for that.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't laugh at me behind my back?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak
      thing round you, or you'll get chilled.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray kangaroo
      fur to the outside.
    </p>
    <p>
      'This is delicious,' she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along the
      fur.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has
      nothing to do with&mdash;doesn't belong to&mdash;the person who does it.
      It's put into him or her from outside.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But how does that affect&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be
      masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of
      anything.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I understand that.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down
      quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not do
      something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the
      bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think about
      success and the effect of our work&mdash;to play with one eye on the
      gallery&mdash;we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's
      how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power you
      possess to your work, you're fretting over something which you can neither
      help no hinder by a minute. See?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. Don't
      you ever think about the gallery?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's as
      simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using it for
      our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the weaker, we
      shall suffer.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes for
      yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do exactly
      the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French schools,
      and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their own credit,
      and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all the world was
      interested in my work, and everybody at Kami's talked turpentine, and I
      honestly believed that the world needed elevating and influencing, and all
      manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I actually believed that!
      When my little head was bursting with a notion that I couldn't handle
      because I hadn't sufficient knowledge of my craft, I used to run about
      wondering at my own magnificence and getting ready to astonish the world.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But surely one can do that sometimes?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's
      such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part of
      it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of the
      size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,&mdash;that
      goes on by itself,&mdash;but try to see what you are working for. I know
      such little heavens that I could take you to,&mdash;islands tucked away
      under the Line.
    </p>
    <p>
      You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black
      marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after day
      and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so lonely.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who is afraid?&mdash;you, or the sun?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds
      overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist
      orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk.
    </p>
    <p>
      There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of
      green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the
      rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and you
      order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with
      tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the bees
      hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Can one work there?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a
      palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When the scuffle you heave a ripe
      custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There are
      hundreds of places. Come and see them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, with
      raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on
      honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in a
      gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and
      streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you
      find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market-place,
      and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and spreads its tail
      against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. Then a monkey&mdash;a
      little black monkey&mdash;walks through the main square to get a drink
      from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the water's
      edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should fall in.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is that all true?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change
      till it's just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little
      before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, with
      all his family following, trots through the city gate, churning the foam
      on his tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god and
      watch that pig choose himself a palace for the night and stump in wagging
      his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and you hear
      the desert outside the city singing, "Now I lay me down to sleep," and
      everything is dark till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, come with me and
      see what the world is really like. It's very lovely, and it's very
      horrible,&mdash;but I won't let you see anything horrid,&mdash;and it
      doesn't care your life or mine for pictures or anything else except doing
      its own work and making love. Come, and I'll show you how to brew
      sangaree, and sling a hammock, and&mdash;oh, thousands of things, and
      you'll see for yourself what colour means, and we'll find out together
      what love means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good
      work. Come away!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why?' said Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as you
      can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You have no
      business here; you don't belong to this place; you're half a gipsy,&mdash;your
      face tells that; and I&mdash;even the smell of open water makes me
      restless. Come across the sea and be happy!'
    </p>
    <p>
      He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking down
      at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, before
      they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long ruled
      lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was turning over
      the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense stillness they
      could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards away. A faint
      beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the moon-haze.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's that?' said Maisie, quickly. 'It sounds like a heart beating.
    </p>
    <p>
      Where is it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could not
      trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie from
      her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with
      over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She was not
      prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's a steamer,' he said,&mdash;'a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I
      can't make her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!' as
      the red of a rocket streaked the haze, 'she's standing in to signal before
      she clears the Channel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is it a wreck?' said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. 'Wreck! What nonsense! She's only
      reporting herself. Red rocket forward&mdash;there's a green light aft now,
      and two red rockets from the bridge.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What does that mean?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder
      which steamer it is.' The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to be
      talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight broke
      the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer working
      down Channel. 'Four masts and three funnels&mdash;she's in deep draught,
      too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia has a
      clopper bow. It's the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the Southern
      Cross in a week,&mdash;lucky old tub!&mdash;oh, lucky old tub!'
    </p>
    <p>
      He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better
      view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the
      screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he
      returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. 'Have you ever seen the
      Southern Cross blazing right over your head?' he asked. 'It's superb!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No,' she said shortly, 'and I don't want to. If you think it's so lovely,
      why don't you go and see it yourself?'
    </p>
    <p>
      She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about her
      throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray
      kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest.
    </p>
    <p>
      'By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.'
      The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. 'I'm sorry,'
      he continued. 'The Southern Cross isn't worth looking at unless someone
      helps you to see. That steamer's out of hearing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick,' she said quietly, 'suppose I were to come to you now,&mdash;be
      quiet a minute,&mdash;just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I
      do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not as a brother, though You said you didn't&mdash;in the Park.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I never had a brother. Suppose I said, "Take me to those places, and in
      time, perhaps, I might really care for you," what would you do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I wouldn't;
      I'd let you walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And I wouldn't run the
      risk. You're worth waiting for till you can come without reservation.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you honestly believe that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that
      light?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ye&mdash;es. I feel so wicked about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wickeder than usual?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth&mdash;at least.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's so ungrateful of me, but&mdash;but, though I know you care for me,
      and I like to have you with me, I'd&mdash;I'd even sacrifice you, if that
      would bring me what I want.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to
      good work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm not exactly flattered,&mdash;I had guessed as much before,&mdash;but
      I'm not angry. I'm sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a
      littleness like that behind you, years ago.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so
      long. It came to you without any trouble, and&mdash;and I don't think it's
      fair.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What can I do? I'd give ten years of my life to get you what you want.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I can't help you; even I can't help.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on&mdash;'And I know by what you
      have just said that you're on the wrong road to success. It isn't got at
      by sacrificing other people,&mdash;I've had that much knocked into me; you
      must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for
      yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at the
      beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How can you believe all that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's no question of belief or disbelief. That's the law, and you take
      it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can't, and then my
      work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, four-fifths
      of everybody's work must be bad. But the remnant is worth the trouble for
      it's own sake.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's much too nice. But&mdash;&mdash; May I tell you something? It isn't
      a pretty tale, but you're so like a man that I forget when I'm talking to
      you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tell me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had
      been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we
      hadn't time to bury them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How ghastly!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering what
      people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught me a good
      deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all colours, and&mdash;I'd
      never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings before. So I began to
      understand that men and women were only material to work with, and that
      what they said or did was of no consequence. See? Strictly speaking, you
      might just as well put your ear down to the palette to catch what your
      colours are saying.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick, that's disgraceful!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must
      be either a man or a woman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm glad you allow that much.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie,
      must behave and work as such. That's what makes me so savage.' He hurled a
      pebble towards the sea as he spoke. 'I know that it is outside my business
      to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output if I listen to
      'em; and yet, confound it all,'&mdash;another pebble flew seaward,&mdash;'I
      can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right way. Even when I can see on a
      man's forehead that he is lying his way through a clump of pretty
      speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with my hand.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And when he doesn't say pretty things?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then, belovedest,'&mdash;Dick grinned,&mdash;'I forget that I am the
      steward of these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my
      work with a thick stick. It's too humiliating altogether; but I suppose
      even if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one
      would lose in touch what one gained in grip.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But you seem to think,' she said, 'that everything nice spoils your
      hand.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't think. It's the law,&mdash;just the same as it was at Mrs.
      Jennett's.
    </p>
    <p>
      Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I'm glad you see so
      clearly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't like the view.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nor I. But&mdash;have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to
      face it alone?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I suppose I must.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to walk
      straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than stumbling
      apart. Maisie, can't you see reason?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, so
      we should never agree.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a
      cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own arrow-heads.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my
      work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to speak to.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. D'you
      suppose that I don't know the feeling of worry and bother and
      can't-get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it four days out of the
      seven. What difference would that make?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A great deal&mdash;if you had it too.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at
      you. But there's no use talking about it. If you can think in that way you
      can't care for me&mdash;yet.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples broke
      on the beach before Maisie chose to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick,' she said slowly, 'I believe very much that you are better than I
      am.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'This doesn't seem to bear on the argument&mdash;but in what way?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and then
      you're so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man's life. There was
      nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted the
      hem of the cloak to his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why,' said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, 'can you see
      things that I can't? I don't believe what you believe; but you're right, I
      believe.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't have seen it but for you, and
      I know that I couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed to make
      everything clear for a minute; but I don't practice what I preach. You
      would help me.... There are only us two in the world for all purposes, and&mdash;and
      you like to have me with you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Darling, I think I can.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up and
      down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no
      money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it
      frightened me&mdash;oh, how it frightened me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know that fear. It's the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the
      night sometimes. You oughtn't to know anything about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How do you know?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's in Consols.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better investment,&mdash;even
      if I should come to you,&mdash;don't you listen. Never shift the money for
      a minute, and never lend a penny of it,&mdash;even to the red-haired
      girl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls for three hundred a year;
      and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a ten-pound
      note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stick to your money, Maisie, for there's nothing more ghastly in the world
      than poverty in London. It's scared me. By Jove, it put the fear into me!
      And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything.'
    </p>
    <p>
      To each man is appointed his particular dread,&mdash;the terror that, if
      he does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his
      manhood. Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into
      the deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory
      stood behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares.
      As the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake
      or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut
      or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he had
      once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of his
      companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've plenty of pennies now,' she said soothingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shall never have enough,' he began, with vicious emphasis. Then,
      laughing, 'I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why threepence?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to Blackfriar's
      Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,&mdash;you needn't laugh; indeed it was,&mdash;and
      I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; and he hadn't
      even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, I shall never
      get that odd threepence out of the world.'
    </p>
    <p>
      This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity
      of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause,
      which, since all men desire it, must be of he right. She hunted for her
      little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There it is,' she said. 'I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any more;
      it isn't worth while. Are you paid?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am,' said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. 'I'm
      paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my
      watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the cloak
      is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so chilly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had
      forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that
      laugh ended all serious discourse.
    </p>
    <p>
      They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to look
      at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense black
      shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that Maisie
      could see colour even as he saw it,&mdash;could see the blue in the white
      of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all things else as
      they are,&mdash;not of one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight came
      into Maisie's soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of herself
      and of the things she took interest in,&mdash;of Kami, wisest of teachers,
      and of the girls in the studio,&mdash;of the Poles, who will kill
      themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the French, who talk
      at great length of much more than they will ever accomplish; of the
      slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot understand that
      inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, whose rasping voices
      in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to
      breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of tempestuous
      Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost-stories
      till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to learn one thing,
      and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and copy pictures for
      evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie who spoke. He
      knew the old life.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It hasn't changed much,' he said. 'Do they still steal colours at
      lunch-time?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good&mdash;I only
      attract ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Every colour is common property once it runs down,&mdash;even though you
      do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their
      tubes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might
      catch your success with them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, which
      you've just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want of
      success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with&mdash;&mdash;
      No, I won't open that question again. It's time to go back to town.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry, Dick, but&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're much more interested in that than you are in me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know, I don't think I am.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you
      want,&mdash;the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will
      you promise to obey me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen to be
      at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,' said Dick, at a venture,
      for he knew with whom he was dealing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, no,&mdash;only once, really.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a cup of tea and a biscuit in
      place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're making fun of me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn't it
      dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here's the whole earth in a
      conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the
      skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and
      underfeeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after you. Why, I don't
      even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the
      weather's cold.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to&mdash;really! How do you
      suppose I managed when you were away?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now I'm back I'd give everything I
      have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Your success too?'
    </p>
    <p>
      This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words.
    </p>
    <p>
      'As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, Maisie! You've been cooped
      up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at you.
    </p>
    <p>
      There aren't twelve hundred people in the world who understand pictures.
      The others pretend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve hundred men
      dead in toadstool-beds. It's only the voice of the tiniest little fraction
      of people that makes success. The real world doesn't care a tinker's&mdash;doesn't
      care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man in the world may be arguing
      with a Maisie of his own.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Poor Maisie!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he's fighting for what's dearer
      than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, and if
      all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and shouted hymns
      to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the knowledge that
      you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day without an
      umbrella? Now we'll go to the station.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But you said on the beach&mdash;&mdash;' persisted Maisie, with a certain
      fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick groaned aloud: 'Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I
      have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law that
      governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,&mdash;though you've
      nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't everything to
      all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to
      London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent
      harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,&mdash;such
      a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,&mdash;would stable it, with a
      companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her
      health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's absurd,' said she. 'It wouldn't be proper.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or
      audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was
      right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not
      going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way to-night.
      I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You won't
      think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember, you've
      been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work for a
      little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be tiny.'
    </p>
    <p>
      This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put
      Maisie into her hansom.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good-bye,' she said simply. 'You'll come on Sunday. It has been a
      beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you can't
      stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, and, for
      my&mdash;for my sake, take care of yourself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing that
      he hoped for, but&mdash;surely this was worth many days&mdash;it had
      brought him nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and
      the prize well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the
      river.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And she understood at once,' he said, looking at the water. 'She found
      out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she
      understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she was!'
      He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. 'I wonder if girls guess at
      one-half a man's life. They can't, or&mdash;they wouldn't marry us.' He
      took her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a
      miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to
      perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to save
      her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the heathen
      as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were to befal,
      let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since the threepenny
      piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. It was a small coin in
      itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, and surely the
      Fates would be bribed for this once.
    </p>
    <p>
      The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie for
      the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his
      chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his
      first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. There
      was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an
      unsolicited vision of the Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for the
      Southern Cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     And these two, as I have told you,
     Were the friends of Hiawatha,
     Chibiabos, the musician,
     And the very strong man, Kwasind.

     &mdash;Hiawatha.
</pre>
    <p>
      TORPENHOW was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the
      Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was reading
      through the first part, commenting scornfully the while.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,' said he; 'but as a serious
      consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.'
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
'It's off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight,
thirty-nine slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between
eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!' Torpenhow
shuffled the writing together and hummed&mdash;

     Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell,
     If I'd as much money as I could tell,
     I never would cry, Young lambs to sell!
</pre>
    <p>
      Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of
      tempers with all the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Back at last?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'More or less. What have you been doing?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you.
      Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line. It's
      scandalous.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The notions come and go, my children&mdash;they come and go like our
      'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust a
      spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his&mdash;&mdash;
      Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,' said
      the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to their
      nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!&mdash;where you sit
      down.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If you weren't so big and fat,' said Dick, looking round for a weapon,
      'I'd&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time
      you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How d'you
      do? to Binkie. Look at him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee,
      and scratching at his boots.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dear man!' said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black
      patch above his right eye. 'Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai turn
      you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.' He pitched him on the Nilghai's
      stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to destroy the
      Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, and panting he
      stuck out his tongue at the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      'The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp.
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters were
      being taken down&mdash;just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own
      proper house,' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Binks, is that a true bill?' said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog
      retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of him
      that he really had no further interest in the discussion.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,' said the
      Nilghai. 'What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be buying a
      horse.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. No,
      I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and watch
      the pretty ships go by.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where did you go?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was
      its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two hours' run from London and
      the ships went by.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did you see anything you knew?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Only the Barralong outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat loaded
      down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?' said
      Torpenhow, pointing.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, I
      wanted to do honour to the sea.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did She make you feel restless?' asked the Nilghai, keenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied
      himself among the former's boots and trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      'These will do,' he said at last; 'I can't say I think much of your taste
      in slippers, but the fit's the thing.' He slipped his feet into a pair of
      sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and lay at
      length.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They're my own pet pair,' Torpenhow said. 'I was just going to put them
      on myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a
      minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live
      communistically,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge
      upon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?' said
      Dick. 'I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you expect a
      man to keep his accounts properly if you&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a
      fiver about a month back. Do you remember?' Torpenhow said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, of course.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the
      bottom of the tobacco?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some 'baccy
      and found it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What did you do with it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice the money&mdash;not though you
      gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or
      later. What is there to laugh at?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,' said the Nilghai, still
      chuckling over the thought of the dinner. 'Never mind. We had both been
      working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, and as
      you're only a loafer it didn't matter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's pleasant&mdash;from the man who is bursting with my meat, too.
      I'll get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre
      now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Put our boots on,&mdash;and dress,&mdash;and wash?' The Nilghai spoke
      very lazily.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I withdraw the motion.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Suppose, just for a change&mdash;as a startling variety, you know&mdash;we,
      that is to say we, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our
      work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the soft
      leather moccasins.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on
      hand, I haven't any model; if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I
      never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and twenty
      photographs of backgrounds, I couldn't do anything to-night. I don't feel
      that way.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very good, I will do some work,' said Dick, rising swiftly. 'I'll fetch
      the Nungapunga Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nilghai Saga.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Aren't you worrying him a little too much?' asked the Nilghai, when Dick
      had left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me savage
      to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to do. You and
      I are arranged for&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a good
      deal.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So have I, but we know our limitations now. I'm dashed if I know what
      Dick's may be when he gives himself to his work. That's what makes me so
      keen about him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And when all's said and done, you will be put aside&mdash;quite rightly&mdash;for
      a female girl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wonder... Where do you think he has been to-day?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he talked about her?
      He's as restless as a swallow in autumn.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; but did he go alone?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know, and I don't care, but he has the beginnings of the go-fever
      upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no mistaking the
      signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call upon him now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It might be his salvation,' Torpenhow said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Perhaps&mdash;if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew well
      and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of moving
      incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the others, of all
      the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of the Nilghai's body
      and life attracted him most. When truth failed he fell back on fiction of
      the wildest, and represented incidents in the Nilghai's career that were
      unseemly,&mdash;his marriages with many African princesses, his shameless
      betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to the Mahdi, his tattooment by
      skilled operators in Burmah, his interview (and his fears) with the yellow
      headsman in the blood-stained execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the
      passings of his spirit into the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans.
      Torpenhow from time to time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole
      was a curious piece of art, because Dick decided, having regard to the
      name of the book which being interpreted means 'naked,' that it would be
      wrong to draw the Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances.
      Consequently the last sketch, representing that much-enduring man calling
      on the War Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly
      delicate. He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned
      over the pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!' he said. 'There's
      a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's more than
      life-like. "The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the Mahdieh"&mdash;that
      was founded on fact, eh?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come
      into the Saga yet?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. Let's
      see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced decorative
      lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed down
      to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in rare and
      curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The
      domestic life of the Nilghai?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hasn't got any.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of his
      wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it. They came from the ends of the earth
      to attend Nilghai's wedding to an English bride. This shall be an epic.
      It's a sweet material to work with.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's a scandalous waste of time,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in&mdash;specially when you begin
      without the pencil.' He set to work rapidly. 'That's Nelson's Column.
      Presently the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Give him some clothes this time.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Certainly&mdash;a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Gad, that's clever enough!' said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick
      brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back
      and labouring shoulder pressed against stone.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Just imagine,' Dick continued, 'if we could publish a few of these dear
      little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, to
      give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that
      kind. I know I can't hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give the
      job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No-o&mdash;one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark
      of the wall-paper&mdash;you only burble and call me names. That left
      shoulder's out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that.
      Where's my pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I only gave him his riding-orders to&mdash;to lambast you on general
      principles for not producing work that will last.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Whereupon that young fool,'&mdash;Dick threw back his head and shut one
      eye as he shifted the page under his hand,&mdash;'being left alone with an
      ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them
      both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for the
      business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand away
      from the body as it does?' said Torpenhow, to whom Dick's methods were
      always new.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much
      about his business he might have done better.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then?'
      insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in hiring
      for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most of his
      waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of Art,
      which, he wrote, was one and indivisible.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of wives.
      You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in with the
      pencil&mdash;Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting aside the
      weakness and the wickedness and&mdash;and the fat-headedness of
      deliberately trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I'm
      content with the knowledge that I've done my best up to date, and I shan't
      do anything like it again for some hours at least&mdash;probably years.
      Most probably never.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Anything you've sold?' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be
      sold, and I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't....
      And yet more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe the
      virtuous horror of the lions!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You may as well explain,' said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from
      the paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      'The sea reminded me of it,' he said slowly. 'I wish it hadn't. It weighs
      some few thousand tons&mdash;unless you cut it out with a cold chisel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from
      Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into a
      cargo-boat and owned by a second-had Italian firm. She was a crazy basket.
      We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought ourselves
      lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then we used to stop
      and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the crack in the shaft
      was spreading.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I should
      have been a steward, I think,' said Dick, with perfect gravity, returning
      to the procession of angry wives. 'I was the only other passenger from
      Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and cockroaches and
      scorpions.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But what has this to do with the picture?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower
      decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, and
      she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port holes&mdash;most
      annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I hadn't anything to
      do for weeks. The ship's charts were in pieces and our skipper daren't run
      south for fear of catching a storm. So he did his best to knock all the
      Society Islands out of the water one by one, and I went into the lower
      deck, and did my picture on the port side as far forward in her as I could
      go. There was some brown paint and some green paint that they used for the
      boats, and some black paint for ironwork, and that was all I had.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The passengers must have thought you mad.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my
      picture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What was she like?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She
      couldn't read or write, and she didn't want to, but she used to come down
      and watch me paint, and the skipper didn't like it, because he was paying
      her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I see. That must have been cheerful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn't know whether we
      should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when it
      was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints and talk
      broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few minutes to
      the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. So, you see, we
      could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a splendid notion to
      work out in only three keys of colour.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What was the notion?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Two lines in Poe&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Neither the angles in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, Can
      ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
    </p>
    <p>
      It came out of the sea&mdash;all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out
      in green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the
      model for the devils and the angels both&mdash;sea-devils and sea-angels,
      and the soul half drowned between them. It doesn't sound much, but when
      there was a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy.
      It was seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting
      light.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did the woman inspire you much?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She and the sea between them&mdash;immensely. There was a heap of bad
      drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten
      for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all
      that it's the best thing I've ever done; and now I suppose the ship's
      broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What happened after all?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but
      even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the
      demons scared them, I honestly believe.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And the woman?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself before
      she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of getting
      any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, and the
      fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!' He had ceased to look at
      the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why don't you try something of the same kind now?' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a
      cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, I
      may.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You won't find them here,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, I shall not.' Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. 'This room's as
      hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London below
      him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, commanding a
      hundred chimneys&mdash;crooked cowls that looked like sitting cats as they
      swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries supported by iron
      stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the lights of Piccadilly
      Circus and Leicester Square threw a copper-coloured glare above the black
      roofs, and southward by all the orderly lights of the Thames. A train
      rolled out across one of the railway bridges, and its thunder drowned for
      a minute the dull roar of the streets. The Nilghai looked at his watch and
      said shortly, 'That's the Paris night-mail. You can book from here to St.
      Petersburg if you choose.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the
      river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over quietly
      to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as possible,
      spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be lightly
      disturbed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well,' said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, 'have you never
      seen this place before?'
    </p>
    <p>
      A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then the
      boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good place to bank in&mdash;bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general not
      without fame, still looking out on the darkness&mdash;'"My God, what a
      city to loot!"'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed plaintively.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,' said Torpenhow. 'Come in,' and they
      withdrew their heads. 'You'll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, one of
      these days, if it isn't closed by the time you want to go there&mdash;buried
      within two feet of some one else, his wife and his family.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room to
      stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.' Dick flung himself down on the sofa and
      tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning heavily the while.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,' Torpenhow said to
      the Nilghai. 'It's never touched except by you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A piece of gross extravagance,' Dick grunted. 'The Nilghai only comes
      when I'm out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, His writings are watered
      Dickens and water; But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high Makes even
      the Mahdieh glad to die!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many
      Press-tents in far-off lands had known.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What shall I sing?' said he, turning in the chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Moll Roe in the Morning,"' said Torpenhow, at a venture.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No,' said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old chanty
      whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a pretty
      one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. Without
      prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together and
      troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you,
      ladies of Spain.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the
      Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then came the chorus&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, We'll rant and we'll
      roar across the salt seas, Until we take soundings in the Channel of Old
      England From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thirty-five-thirty-five,' said Dick, petulantly. 'Don't tamper with Holy
      Writ. Go on, Nilghai.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The first land we made it was called the Deadman,' and they sang to the
      end very vigourously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way&mdash;to
      the Ushant light, for instance,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,' said Torpenhow. 'Give us
      something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Give us the "Ganges Pilot"; you sang that in the square the night before
      El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive
      to-night,' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow considered for a minute. 'By Jove! I believe only you and I.
    </p>
    <p>
      Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes&mdash;all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in
      Cairo, carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the
      Nilghai.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Umph! And yet the men here who've done their work in a well-warmed studio
      all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I charge too
      much for my pictures.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,' said
      the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't preach. Go on with the
      "Pilot." Where in the world did you get that song?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'On a tombstone,' said the Nilghai. 'On a tombstone in a distant land. I
      made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, Vanity! Begin.' And the Nilghai began&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with the tide, I
      have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride.
    </p>
    <p>
      And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea With clearer
      conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge Strike
      with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cries Charnock, "Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, The tall
      pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      'Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie has
      soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?&mdash;Why, hark!'
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open
sea about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go.

     'The morning gun&mdash;
     Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!
     I ha' sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart
     As my lead doth sound the sea.
</pre>
    <p>
      'Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, Moore me
      close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride.
    </p>
    <p>
      My blessing to Kate at Fairlight&mdash;Holwell, my thanks to you; Steady!
      We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?' said Dick,
      hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It depends on the man,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'The man who has been down to look at the sea,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It's more
      easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and
      surroundings.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But a woman can be&mdash;&mdash;' began Dick, unguardedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A piece of one's life,' continued Torpenhow. 'No, she can't. His face
      darkened for a moment. 'She says she wants to sympathise with you and help
      you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must do for
      himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the dickens you
      haven't been wasting your time with her.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't generalise,' said the Nilghai. 'By the time you arrive at five
      notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved
      accordingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shouldn't begin these things, my son.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,' said Dick, just a little anxious
      to change the conversation. 'And you shouldn't have sung.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and I'm sorry
      I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a three-pair back?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you
      listen to her?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout that
      shook the windows, in 'The Men of the Sea,' that begins, as all know, 'The
      sea is a wicked old woman,' and after rading through eight lines whose
      imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking of a capstan
      when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the men sweat and
      tramp in the shingle.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '"Ye that bore us, O restore us!
     She is kinder than ye;
     For the call is on our heart-strings!"
     Said The Men of the Sea.'
</pre>
    <p>
      The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that
      Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to
      their wives.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '"Ye that love us, can ye move us?
     She is dearer than ye;
     And your sleep will be the sweeter,"
     Said The Men of the Sea.'
</pre>
    <p>
      The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the
      rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making
      love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether
      the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his
      shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors'
      diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything in
      the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life again,&mdash;to
      scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his fellows; to take
      ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget pictures; to talk to
      Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow 'Tina mixed the drinks; to
      hear the crackle of musketry, and see the smoke roll outward, thin and
      thicken again till the shining black faces came through, and in that hell
      every man was strictly responsible for his own head, and his own alone,
      and struck with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, utterly impossible,
      but&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '"Oh, our fathers in the churchyard,
     She is older than ye,
     And our graves will be the greener,"
     Said The Men of the Sea.'
</pre>
    <p>
      'What is there to hinder?' said Torpenhow, in the long hush that followed
      the song.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round the
      world, Torp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for
      travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go
      away and do some work, and see some things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,' said
      the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful of Dick
      generally over the right ribs. 'Soft as putty&mdash;pure tallow born of
      over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field
      you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil.
    </p>
    <p>
      There's always trouble in South America.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only
      difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told
      you before.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the
      others,' said Torpenhow. 'Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay
      forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself
      shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third
      engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn't very warm
      in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at
      all, which I'm not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small
      trip to begin with.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's something at any rate. Where will you go?' said Torpenhow. 'It
      would do you all the good in the world, old man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire one
      horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall
      walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a lather
      and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake of air and
      exercise.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Bah!' Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the cushion
      that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Air and exercise indeed,' said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would not
      open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was some
      trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and even
      when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of the blast,
      and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy becoming
      helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a soft sofa
      cushion that that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, and Binkie,
      interfering in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the half-empty bag
      and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after a while, travelling
      rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an agitated green haggis,
      and when he came out looking for satisfaction, the three pillars of his
      world were picking feathers out of their hair.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A prophet has no honour in his own country,' said Dick, ruefully, dusting
      his knees. 'This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was all for your own good,' said the Nilghai. 'Nothing like air and
      exercise.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All for your good,' said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to
      past clowning. 'It would let you focus things at their proper worth and
      prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would,
      old man. I shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make a
      joke of everything.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Before God I do no such thing,' said Dick, quickly and earnestly. 'You
      don't know me if you think that.'
    </p>
    <p>
      I don't think it,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really mean,
      dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save ourselves
      from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, old man,
      how you're always anxious about me, and try to advise me to make my work
      better? Do you suppose I don't think about that myself? But you can't help
      me&mdash;you can't help me&mdash;not even you. I must play my own hand
      alone in my own way.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hear, hear,' from the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in the
      Nungapunga Book?' Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little astonished
      at the outburst.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that
      Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; when
      that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to
      the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass in
      the rear of Bredow's brigade on the day that the troopers flung themselves
      at Caurobert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty battalions in
      front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give time to decide
      the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant came back to
      Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and break unshaken infantry.
      Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that might have been better,
      an income that might have been larger, and a soul that might have been
      considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would comfort himself with the thought,
      'I rode with Bredow's brigade at Vionville,' and take heart for any lesser
      battle the next day might bring.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know,' he said very gravely. 'I was always glad that you left it out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned
      then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don't know German.
    </p>
    <p>
      What is it? "Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of
      itself." I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be&mdash;hideously wrong. I must find that
      out for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't
      turn my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than
      you know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own
      work and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for both.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and
      sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, 'What did
      the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the makings
      of a very fine prig in you, Dick,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his
      mouth.' Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, without
      any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. Sic volo,
      sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my eye because I
      talk Latin. Good-night.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He went out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's distinctly one for you,' said the Nilghai. 'I told you it was
      hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the go-fever
      upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go some day
      when he doesn't want to,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself&mdash;and the
      question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a
      burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown into
      the Thames.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it,' he decided.
    </p>
    <p>
      'After all, the honeymoon will be that tour&mdash;with reservations;
      only... only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't feel it
      so much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He's
      beginning again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, and
      before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether
      clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide by
      Fort Keeling.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'If I have taken the common clay
     And wrought it cunningly
     In the shape of a god that was digged a clod,
     The greater honour to me.'

     'If thou hast taken the common clay,
     And thy hands be not free
     From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil
     The greater shame to thee.'&mdash;The Two Potters.
</pre>
    <p>
      HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another
      Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the red-haired
      girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than desire in his mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about
      line-work. She had gone off at score filed with some absurd notion for a
      'fancy head.' It cost Dick something to command his temper.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the good of suggesting anything?' he said pointedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ah, but this will be a picture,&mdash;a real picture; and I know that
      Kami will let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get the
      idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with
      his queen who could do no wrong. 'Just when I thought I had made some
      headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening!'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the
      studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry,' he said, 'and I think you make a mistake. But what's the idea
      of your new picture?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I took it from a book.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. And&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's this,' said the red-haired girl behind him. 'I was reading it to
      Maisie the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the
      book?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken
      her fancy?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The description of the Melancolia&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle,
     But all too impotent to lift the regal
     Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride.
</pre>
    <p>
      And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.)
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams,
     The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown,
     Voluminous indented, and yet rigid
     As though a shell of burnished metal frigid,
     Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.'
</pre>
    <p>
      There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick winced.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of
      Durer,' said he. 'How does the poem run?&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'Three centuries and threescore years ago, With phantasies of his peculiar
      thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, it won't,' said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to
      reassure herself. 'And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful
      thing it would make?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper training?
      Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the thing through,&mdash;training
      and conviction; not rushing after the first fancy.' Dick spoke between his
      teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't understand,' said Maisie. 'I think I can do it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the voice of the girl behind him&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; Weary and sick of soul, she
      works the more.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Sustained by her indomitable will,
     The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore,
     And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour&mdash;&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The notion
      in itself has fascinated me.&mdash;Of course you don't care for fancy
      heads, Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely a
      sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What d'you
      know about Melacolias?' Dick firmly believed that he was even then tasting
      three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She was a woman,' said Maisie, 'and she suffered a great deal,&mdash;till
      she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I
      painted her and sent her to the Salon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind about the picture,' he said. 'Are you really going back to
      Kami's for a month before your time?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must, if I want to get the picture done.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And that's all you want?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You haven't the power. You have only the ideas&mdash;the ideas and the
      little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten years
      steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,&mdash;a month before
      you need?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must do my work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Your work&mdash;bah!... No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. Of
      course you must do your work, and&mdash;I think I'll say good-bye for this
      week.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Won't you even stay for tea? 'No, thank you. Have I your leave to go,
      dear? There's nothing more you particularly want me to do, and the
      line-work doesn't matter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only
      one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I
      know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't
      have been so rude about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other Sundays.
    </p>
    <p>
      There are four more&mdash;yes, one, two, three, four&mdash;before you go.
      Good-bye, Maisie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl
      returned, a little white at the corners of her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick's gone off,' said Maisie. 'Just when I wanted to talk about the
      picture. Isn't it selfish of him?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went on
      reading The City of Dreadful Night.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen as
      his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and when he
      found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his rage, he
      sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the use of
      the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient service;
      nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before he arrived at the
      proposition that the queen could do no wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's a losing game,' he said. 'I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers is
      in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double the
      stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the
      insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse of
      Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet she's
      stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her on her
      own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only do blood
      and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the same I
      lover her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her inordinate
      vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something like a
      Melancolia&mdash;"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." I'll do it at
      once, con&mdash;bless her.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could
      not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. He
      took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when she
      showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time was at
      hand when all the church bells in London could not ring Maisie back to
      him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about 'hermaphroditic
      futilities,' but the little dog received so many confidences both from
      Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his tulip-ears to listen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover
      night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, and
      Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy stripping the
      small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, that she had not
      time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted a day there fretting
      over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very last allow him one
      small kiss? He reflected that he might capture her by the strong arm, as
      he had seem women captured in the Southern Soudan, and lead her away; but
      Maisie would never be led. She would turn her gray eyes upon him and say,
      'Dick, how selfish you are!' Then his courage would fail him. It would be
      better, after all, to beg for that kiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the
      night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray
      cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green
      eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and
      went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags were
      thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching them.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll have a rough passage to-night,' said Dick. 'It's blowing outside.
      I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you.
      But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to
      consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!&mdash;so good to
      me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't&mdash;in that way. But don't think I'm not
      grateful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Damn the gratitude!' said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd
      ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were so
      angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken.
    </p>
    <p>
      Can't you wait till that day comes?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, love. I want you unbroken&mdash;all to myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie shook her head. 'My poor Dick, what can I say!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I
      won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're
      grateful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was
      a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood abashed
      and tingling from head to toe.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only&mdash;keep
      well and do good work,&mdash;specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do
      one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country
      drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to me if
      you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the whatever-you-call-um
      girl, and&mdash;can't I have another kiss? No. You're quite right.
      Good-bye.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A should told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag
      incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he
      followed her with his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And there's nothing&mdash;nothing in the wide world&mdash;to keep us
      apart except her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small.
      I'll get Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch
      already.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping cough
      at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold flame.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He kissed you!' she said. 'How could you let him, when he wasn't anything
      to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, let's go to the
      ladies' cabin. I'm sick,&mdash;deadly sick.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. I don't
      like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved one,&mdash;only
      one.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had
      telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio.
    </p>
    <p>
      He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow
      entered, looking guilty.
    </p>
    <p>
      'H'sh!' said he. 'Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms,
      and I'll show you why.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl
      asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the
      blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with mud
      at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at
      the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, above all, the
      disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared all things.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here.
    </p>
    <p>
      They steal things from the rooms.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered
      into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I
      couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your
      lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the minute
      she had finished.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, I
      suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for
      presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the
      face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,&mdash;slack,
      fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how the
      skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and
      cheek-bone?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's down.
      Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation.
    </p>
    <p>
      She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a
      wild beast. It was horrible.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she
      going to sleep for ever?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and
      effrontery.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Feeling better?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you are.
      Thank you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'When did you leave service?' said Dick, who had been watching the scarred
      and chapped hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like
      it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And how do you like being your own mistress?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do I look as if I liked it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to
      the window?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,&mdash;so keenly that
      she made as if to hide behind Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'The eyes have it,' said Dick, walking up and down. 'They are superb eyes
      for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. This has
      been sent from heaven to make up for&mdash;what was taken away. Now the
      weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,' said
      Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit
      cruel to-day because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like that!
      He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that,
      neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like
      that!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like
      a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and
      Torpenhow flung the door back.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There you are,' said Dick, soothingly. 'My friend here can call for a
      policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt
      you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm what
      they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the
      Academicians. I want to draw your head.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What for?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the
      landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you
      three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a
      quid on account.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'For nothing? Oh, my!' The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and with
      more foolish tears, 'Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid of my
      bilking you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the
      way, what's your name?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm Bessic,&mdash;Bessie&mdash;&mdash; It's no use giving the rest.
      Bessie Broke,&mdash;Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But
      there,&mdash;no one ever gives the real ones.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      'My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be sure
      to come here. Where do you live?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'South-the-water,&mdash;one room,&mdash;five and sixpence a week. Aren't
      you making fun of me about that three quid?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you
      needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the colours
      you'll be likely to need.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief.
      The two men looked at each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're a man,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the earth
      reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on this
      landing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Perhaps she won't come back.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she will,
      worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my model; and
      be careful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,&mdash;a gutter-snippet and
      nothing more.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear.
      That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a week
      or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be too
      happy and smiling for my purposes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But surely you're not taking her out of charity?&mdash;to please me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She
      has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me with
      my Melancolia.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never heard a word about the lady before.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at him
      in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me grunt
      lately?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to
      wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for
      some time.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that it
      meant the Melancolia.' Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, keeping
      silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, 'Now don't you see it? Bessie's
      abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one or two
      details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience lately.
      Likewise some orange and black,&mdash;two keys of each. But I can't
      explain on an empty stomach.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, instead
      of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Think so?' Dick began to dance on his heels, singing&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, You ought to
      'ear the way they laugh an' joke; They are tricky an' they're funny when
      they've got the ready money,&mdash;Ow! but see 'em when they're all
      stone-broke.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter of
      counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get to
      work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and overbold
      by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit still, she
      grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio with freedom
      and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and the release from
      fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies of her head in
      monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would not arrive.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a mess you keep your things in!' said Bessie, some days later, when
      she felt herself thoroughly at home. 'I s'pose your clothes are just as
      bad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know
      what Torpenhow does.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale of
      disreputable socks. 'Some of these I'll mend now,' she said, 'and some
      I'll take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing nothing, just
      like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in the house than if
      they was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary words, but I put 'em
      down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. No; it's quite nice
      these days. I lock my door, and they can only call me names through the
      keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow
      wears his socks out both ends at once.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks
      mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and
      all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,' thought Dick; and he
      looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the
      girl, as Dick knew they would.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are you looking at me like that for?' she said quickly. 'Don't. You
      look reg'lar bad when you look that way. You don't think much o' me, do
      you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That depends on how you behave.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a sitting
      to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred the
      studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as an
      excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be moved
      to tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still stranger ones
      of her present improved circumstances. She would make them tea as though
      she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these occasions Dick
      caught Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, and because
      Bessie'' flittings about the room made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he
      realised whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. And Bessie was
      exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow's linen. She spoke very
      little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the landing.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was a great fool,' Dick said to himself. 'I know what red firelight
      looks like when a man's tramping through a strange town; and ours is a
      lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn't feel
      that sometimes. But I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of
      beginning things. One never knows where they stop.'
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light,
      Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. He
      jumped to his feet. 'Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go in.&mdash;Oh,
      bless you, Binkie!' The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's door open with
      his nose and came out to take possession of Dick's chair. The door swung
      wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie in the
      half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was kneeling
      by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know,&mdash;I know,' she said thickly. ''Tisn't right o' me to do this,
      but I can't help it; and you were so kind,&mdash;so kind; and you never
      took any notice o' me. And I've mended all your things so carefully,&mdash;I
      did. Oh, please, 'tisn't as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't
      think of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But you&mdash;couldn't you take and live with me till Miss Right comes
      along? I'm only Miss Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the bare bone
      for you. And I'm not ugly to look at. Say you will!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow's voice in reply&mdash;'But look here.
      It's no use. I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere at a minute's notice if
      a war breaks out. At a minute's notice&mdash;dear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. 'Tisn't much I'm
      asking, and&mdash;you don't know how good I can cook.' She had put an arm
      round his neck and was drawing his head down.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Until&mdash;I&mdash;go, then.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp,' said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble'&mdash;'Heaven send he'll
      listen to me!' There was something very like an oath from Bessie's lips.
      She was afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but
      it seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the
      mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded bull.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What the devil right have you to interfere?' he said, at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who's interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you
      couldn't be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you're all
      right now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I oughtn't to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they belonged
      to her. That's what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of hankering,
      doesn't it?' said Torpenhow, piteously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren't in a condition to
      discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what you're
      going to do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't. I wish I did.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. You're
      going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the ships go
      by. And you're going at once. Isn't it odd? I'll take care of Binkie, but
      out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the bank. Fly
      from him. Pack your things and go.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I believe you're right. Where shall I go?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire
      afterwards.'
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,' said
      Dick. 'On to Euston, to begin with, and&mdash;oh yes&mdash;get drunk
      to-night.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the room
      very dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me to-morrow!&mdash;Binkie,
      come here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him
      with a meditative foot.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That
      showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to
      perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will go
      to a much worse place.'
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What's you that follows at my side?&mdash;
     The foe that ye must fight, my lord.&mdash;
     That hirples swift as I can ride?&mdash;
     The shadow of the night, my lord.&mdash;
     Then wheel my horse against the foe!&mdash;
     He's down and overpast, my lord.

     Ye war against the sunset glow;
     The darkness gathers fast, my lord.

     &mdash;The Fight of Heriot's Ford.
</pre>
    <p>
      'THIS is a cheerful life,' said Dick, some days later. 'Torp's away;
      Bessie hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's
      letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man
      pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take
      some liver pills?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the
      fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained her
      enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat for
      the sake of his money. 'And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man than
      you,' she concluded.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to
      you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. 'To me! I'd like to
      catch you! If I wasn't afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what I'd
      do.
    </p>
    <p>
      D'you believe me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion
      that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who
      talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment there unrolled
      itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the flimsiest
      gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not go.
    </p>
    <p>
      'This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. We
      can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; also
      mutton-chop bones for little dogs.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said
      nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,' he
      chirped. 'Like a ship, my dear sir,&mdash;exactly like a ship. Sometimes
      the hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the
      rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the
      brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and then
      we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A little
      patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An oculist, by
      all means.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick sought an oculist,&mdash;the best in London. He was certain that the
      local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more certain
      that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear spectacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence these
      spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.'
    </p>
    <p>
      As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man cannoned
      against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as
      Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn't like.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him hold
      his breath as he walked into the oculist's waiting room, with the heavy
      carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints on the
      wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a
      flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that
      eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's idolatrous bad Art,' he said, drawing the book towards himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      'From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.' He opened
      in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in red ink&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The next good joy that Mary had,
     It was the joy of three,
     To see her good Son Jesus Christ
     Making the blind to see;
     Making the blind to see, good Lord,
     And happy we may be.

     Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
     To all eternity!
</pre>
    <p>
      Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor was
      bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the gas-microscope
      in his eyes made him wince. The doctor's hand touched the scar of the
      sword-cut on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how he had come by
      it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor's face, and the fear
      came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a mist of words. Dick
      caught allusions to 'scar,' 'frontal bone,' 'optic nerve,' 'extreme
      caution,' and the 'avoidance of mental anxiety.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Verdict?' he said faintly. 'My business is painting, and I daren't waste
      time. What do you make of it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Can you give me anything to drink?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners
      often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      'As far as I can gather,' he said, coughing above the spirit, 'you call it
      decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What is my
      time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Perhaps one year.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'My God! And if I don't take care of myself?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury
      inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and&mdash;exposure to
      the strong light of the desert, did you say?&mdash;with excessive
      application to fine work? I really could not say?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let
      me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very good
      in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thanks.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it.
      We'll go to the Park to think it out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to
      thin, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear at
      the pit of his stomach.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being shot.
      It's the living death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the dark in one year
      if we're careful, and we shan't see anybody, and we shall never have
      anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!' Binkie wagged his
      tail joyously. 'Binkie, we must think. Let's see how it feels to be
      blind.' Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and Catherine-wheels
      floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the Park the scope of
      his vision was not contracted. He could see perfectly, until a procession
      of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his eyeballs.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp were
      back, now!'
    </p>
    <p>
      But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the
      company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He
      argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated with
      a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were blindness, all
      the Torpenhows in the world could not save him. 'I can't call him off his
      trip to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull through this business
      alone,' he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating his moustache and
      wondering what the darkness of the night would be like. Then came to his
      mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. A soldier had been nearly
      hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. For one instant the man felt
      no pain. Looking down, he saw that his life-blood was going from him. The
      stupid bewilderment on his face was so intensely comic that both Dick and
      Torpenhow, still panting and unstrung from a fight for life, had roared
      with laughter, in which the man seemed as if he would join, but, as his
      lips parted in a sheepish grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he
      pitched grunting at their feet. Dick laughed again, remembering the
      horror. It seemed so exactly like his own case.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But I have a little more time allowed me,' he said. He paced up and down
      the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of fear.
      It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him to go
      forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots before
      his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.' He talked aloud for the
      sake of distraction. 'This isn't nice at all. What shall we do? We must do
      something. Our time is short. I shouldn't have believed that this morning;
      but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the light went
      out?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made no
      suggestion.
    </p>
    <p>
      '"Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not
      crime.... But at my back I always hear&mdash;&mdash;"' He wiped his
      forehead, which was unpleasantly damp. 'What can I do? What can I do? I
      haven't any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, but I must do
      something, or I shall go off my head.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag
      forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his
      work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. 'You won't do, and you
      won't do,' he said, at each inspection. 'No more soldiers. I couldn't
      paint 'em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is battle and
      murder for me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight of
      the blind had come upon him unaware. 'Allah Almighty!' he cried
      despairingly, 'help me through the time of waiting, and I won't whine when
      my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of control
      over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on their
      steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the sweat was
      running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward by the desire
      to get to work at once and accomplish something, and maddened by the
      refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news that he was about to
      go blind. 'It's a humiliating exhibition,' he thought, 'and I'm glad Torp
      isn't here to see. The doctor said I was to avoid mental worry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood
      that his trouble stood off from him&mdash;'Allah is good, Binkie. Not
      quite so gentle as we could wish, but we'll discuss that later. I think I
      see my way to it now. All those studies of Bessie's head were nonsense,
      and they nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the notion now
      as clear as crystal,&mdash;"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." There
      shall be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and Bess,
      of course, because she knows all about Melancolia, though she doesn't know
      she knows; and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall all end up
      with a laugh. That's for myself. Shall she giggle or grin? No, she shall
      laugh right out of the canvas, and every man and woman that ever had a
      sorrow of their own shall&mdash;what is it the poem says?&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Understand the speech and feel a stir
     Of fellowship in all disastrous fight.
</pre>
    <p>
      "In all disastrous fight"? That's better than painting the thing merely to
      pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, I'm
      going to hold you up by your tail. You're an omen. Come here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're a brave little dog, and you
      don't yelp when you're hung up. It is an omen.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking
      up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a
      letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying
      very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not
      till morning did he remember that something might happen to him in the
      future.
    </p>
    <p>
      He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean,
      clear joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he
      should consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at the
      appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, but
      remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a
      tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of
      the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion,
      and the things of this world had no power upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're pleased to-day,' said Bessie.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard for
      a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died down, he
      went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became convinced that
      the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see everything very
      clearly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that
      whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next
      morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes and
      blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the Melancolia
      both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than ever. There
      was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, such as they feel who
      walking among their fellow-men know that the death-sentence of disease is
      upon them, and, seeing that fear is but waste of the little time left, are
      riotously happy. The days passed without event.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick to
      come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia began
      to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known all the
      sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that the corners
      of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired into the
      darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head were
      very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters were hard to read and harder
      still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and he could not
      laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was always going to be
      finished. But the furious days of toil and the nights of wild dreams made
      amends for all, and the sideboard was his best friend on earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick stared
      at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him with
      disgust, saying very little.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded his
      return. 'News! great news!' he wrote. 'The Nilghai knows, and so does the
      Keneu. We're all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your
      accoutrements.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever
      sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well,' said Dick, brutally, 'you're better as you are, instead of making
      love to some drunken beast in the street.' He felt that he had rescued
      Torpenhow from great temptation.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a
      studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the
      whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What d'you mean?' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.'
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a
      sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and
      the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Drinking like a fish,' Bessie whispered. 'He's been at it for nearly a
      month.' She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done.
    </p>
    <p>
      They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a
      drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,&mdash;unshaven, blue-white about
      the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows
      nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is this you?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been doing
      some good work.' He reeled where he stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man
      alive, you're&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room to
      find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend is
      much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since Torpenhow
      used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt
      untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to Dick, who
      blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the culprit began
      to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure that he had
      not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, too, of which
      Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain.
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could
      hardly see.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You are right,' he said. 'But I am right, too. After you went away I had
      some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a
      gasogene&mdash;I mean a gas-engine&mdash;into my eye. That was very long
      ago. He said, "Scar on the head,&mdash;sword-cut and optic nerve." Make a
      note of that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go
      blind, and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can
      see best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but
      I must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.' He pointed
      to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at
      seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds&mdash;if indeed they were
      misdeeds&mdash;that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for
      childish vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to
      his wonderful picture.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two
      walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who was
      dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his master
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The lark will make her hymn to God,
     The partridge call her brood,
     While I forget the heath I trod,
     The fields wherein I stood.

     'Tis dule to know not night from morn,
     But deeper dule to know
     I can but hear the hunter's horn
     That once I used to blow.

     &mdash;The Only Son.
</pre>
    <p>
      IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's
      generally the other way about.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Can a drunkard swear on his honour?' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, if he has been as god a man as you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then I give you my word of honour,' said Dick, speaking hurriedly through
      parched lips. 'Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've kept me
      sober for two days,&mdash;if I ever was drunk,&mdash;and I've done no
      work.
    </p>
    <p>
      Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than ever.
      I swear I can see all right when I'm&mdash;when I'm moderately screwed, as
      you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all&mdash;the stuff I
      want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. It
      only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and&mdash;the
      other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you
      could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I
      shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my heart.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil
      of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The
      Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had
      hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he was
      'a drunken beast'; but the reproof did not move him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we
      shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three
      months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more
      work in hand&mdash;but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make
      you hate me less?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow won't
      speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that at
      the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a kiss,
      and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a little
      fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and their
      talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, and secret
      preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick till the
      picture was finished.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's doing first-class work,' he said to the Nilghai, 'and it's quite out
      of his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so's his infernal
      soaking.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again we'll
      carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor Dick! I
      don't envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, it will be a case of "God help the man who's chained to our Davie."
      The worst is that we don't know when it will happen, and I believe the
      uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey more than
      anything else.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor
      consolation now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'All finished!' he shouted. 'I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a beauty?
      Isn't she a darling? I've been down to hell to get her; but isn't she
      worth it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,&mdash;a full-lipped,
      hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had intended
      she would.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who taught you how to do it?' said Torpenhow. 'The touch and notion have
      nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, and
      what insolence!' Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed with
      her. 'She's seen the game played out,&mdash;I don't think she had a good
      time of it,&mdash;and now she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Exactly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They're&mdash;some one else's. But isn't it good? Isn't it thundering
      good? Wasn't it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the
      best I can do.' He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, 'Just God! what
      could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!&mdash;By the way,
      what do you think of it, Bess?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken
      no notice of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,' she
      answered, and turned away.
    </p>
    <p>
      'More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.&mdash;Dick,
      there's a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the head
      that I don't understand,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      That's trick-work,' said Dick, chuckling with delight at being completely
      understood. 'I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer swagger. It's a
      French trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got at by slewing
      round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening of one side of
      the face from the angle of the chin to the top of the left ear. That, and
      deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It was flagrant
      trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled to play with it,&mdash;Oh,
      you beauty!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,' said Dick, slapping his
      thigh. 'He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just when
      he's feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his head and
      laugh,&mdash;as she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart and the
      light of my eyes into her, and I don't care what comes.... I'm tired,&mdash;awfully
      tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, it has served its
      turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over for luck. Cover the
      picture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost
      before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's
      hand. 'Aren't you never going to speak to me any more?' she said; but
      Torpenhow was looking at Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll take him in hand to-morrow and
      make much of him. He deserves it.&mdash;Eh! what was that, Bess?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, and then I'll go. You
      couldn't give the that three months' pay now, could you? He said you were
      to.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully
      tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a bottle
      of turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the Melancolia
      viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took a
      palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. In
      five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. She
      threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her tongue
      at the sleeper, and whispered, 'Bilked!' as she turned to run down the
      staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had at least
      done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire and who used
      to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream of the jest to
      Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the Thames, to be
      swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off to
      bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. 'Let's have another
      look at the picture,' he said, insistently as a child.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You&mdash;go&mdash;to&mdash;bed,' said Torpenhow. 'You aren't at all
      well, though you mayn't know it. You're as jumpy as a cat.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I reform to-morrow. Good-night.'
    </p>
    <p>
      As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the
      picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: 'Wiped out!&mdash;scraped
      out and turped out! He's on the verge of jumps as it is. That's Bess,&mdash;the
      little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!-with the ink not dry on
      the check, too! Dick will be raving mad to-morrow. It was all my fault for
      trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the Lord is hitting you
      very hard!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because
      the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to
      crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. 'Spout away,' he said aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.' He lay still,
      staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his veins,
      his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be
      considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that he
      was painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed with
      millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood embodied
      hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting together in his
      honour, when something cracked inside his temples like an overstrained
      bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was alone in the thick
      night.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see how
      the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.'
    </p>
    <p>
      It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did
      not know,&mdash;in the rattling accents of deadly fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's looked at the picture,' was his first thought, as he hurried into
      the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the matter?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick clutched at his shoulder. 'Matter! I've been lying here for hours in
      the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm all in
      the dark. In the dark, I tell you!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no
      light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The
      grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't see.
      D'you understand? It's black,&mdash;quite black,&mdash;and I feel as if I
      was falling through it all.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Steady does it.' Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him
      gently to and fro.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this
      darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!' Dick
      knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was
      chilling Torpenhow's toes.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Can you stay like that a minute?' he said. 'I'll get my dressing-gown and
      some slippers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness to
      clear away. 'What a time you've been!' he cried, when Torpenhow returned.
      'It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the door-way?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Long chair,&mdash;horse-blanket,&mdash;pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie
      down now; you'll be better in the morning.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shan't!' The voice rose to a wail. 'My God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and
      the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but
      Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his shoulder,
      and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, 'Blind!' and
      wriggle feebly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Steady, Dickie, steady!' said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip
      tightened. 'Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're
      afraid,' The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let me go,' he panted. 'You're cracking my ribs. We-we mustn't let them
      think we're afraid, must we,&mdash;all the powers of darkness and that
      lot?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lie down. It's all over now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes,' said Dick, obediently. 'But would you mind letting me hold your
      hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through the
      dark so.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick
      clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow
      withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the
      forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of death,
      to ease his departure.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift on
      the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly&mdash;'It's a pity,&mdash;a
      great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten, Master George.
      Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, putting
      aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious notoriety&mdash;such
      as mine was&mdash;that the queen can do no wrong. Torp doesn't know that.
      I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the desert.
    </p>
    <p>
      What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They'll have
      that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you so&mdash;there
      she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing round. How
      good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted with
      ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it extends up
      the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. Laugh, you
      graven image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It'll knock you into the
      water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh!' said Torpenhow. 'This happened before. That night on the river.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite
      near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd
      miss.
    </p>
    <p>
      Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry,
      darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than
      obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of
      misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy,' said
      Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured at
      length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being
      enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss&mdash;only one kiss&mdash;before
      she went away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she
      would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that
      the queen could do no wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's life
      that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the past,
      and then a natural sleep. 'What a strain he has been running under, poor
      chap!' said Torpenhow. 'Dick, of all men, handing himself over like a dog!
      And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have known that it was no
      use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that girl must be! Dick's
      given her his life,&mdash;confound him!&mdash;and she's given him one kiss
      apparently.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp,' said Dick, from the bed, 'go out for a walk. You've been here too
      long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, it's
      too absurd!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair in the
      studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the darkness to
      lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick adventured on a voyage
      round the walls. He hit his shins against the stove, and this suggested to
      him that it would be better to crawl on all fours, one hand in front of
      him. Torpenhow found him on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,' said he. 'D'you
      remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't keep the
      odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me all the
      ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. They're of
      no importance.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick put
      it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might not have
      read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never belong to
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I
      couldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter suggested
      that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'I
      have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it
      would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but
      the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his
      strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness,
      Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came
      from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by the window, the pulse
      of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, stronger
      than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark background it
      worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him raging up
      and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four
      places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The
      arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled
      despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that Dick confided to his
      pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with
      intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since
      the beginning of things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'&mdash;he
      paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,&mdash;'something will run
      over me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to
      Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he
      said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and die.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there
      are the Guards!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look.
      Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of
      grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick sniffed
      luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near to
      the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made
      Dick's nostrils quiver.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. How did you know?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Felt it. Oh, my men!&mdash;my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though
      he could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!&mdash;nearer!
      Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!&mdash;one
      half-minute!'
    </p>
    <p>
      He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the
      slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from
      the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash
      of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, heard
      the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts.
      The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a
      perfect quickstep&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     He must be a man of decent height,
     He must be a man of weight,
     He must come home on a Saturday night
     In a thoroughly sober state;
     He must know how to love me,
     And he must know how to kiss;
     And if he's enough to keep us both
     I can't refuse him bliss.
</pre>
    <p>
      'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the
      last of the regiment had departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,&mdash;that's all. Torp,
      take me back. Why did you bring me out?'
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     There were three friends that buried the fourth,
     The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes
     And they went south and east, and north,&mdash;
     The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.

     There were three friends that spoke of the dead,&mdash;
     The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.&mdash;
     'And would he were with us now,' they said,
     'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.'

     &mdash;Ballad.
</pre>
    <p>
      THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,&mdash;blind
      men are ever under the orders of those who can see,&mdash;and since he had
      returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was
      alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he,
      Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only
      burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs.
      Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle
      three unopened letters from Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a
      large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not wrong
      about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must be
      done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the government
      does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You know that as
      well as I do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from
      Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,' said
      Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. 'Can you
      blame me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat&mdash;'Don't
      blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the rest of
      it, but every man&mdash;even you, Torp&mdash;must consider his work. I
      know it sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,&mdash;down,&mdash;gastados
      expended, finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't
      starve, and you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your
      own reputation.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all ended
      now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command your
      own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick for a
      while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he likes
      to have me near him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who
      throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The
      constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider
      this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is&mdash;or rather was&mdash;an
      able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of audacity.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin to
      see,&mdash;Torp, I'm sorry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut you out,
      though.&mdash;Go on, Keneu.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if the
      news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport were
      quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's bedside.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things
      are as they are,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered
      ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.&mdash;What do you
      think yourself, Torp?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know they aren't. But what can I do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've
      been most in his life.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But I picked it up when he was off his head.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is
      she?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent who
      knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened without
      interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his
      calf-love?' said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling
      three letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh yes! Write to her,&mdash;I don't know her full name, remember,&mdash;and
      ask her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were
      sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the
      bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl,
      whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the blindness
      has made him rather muscular.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go to
      Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,&mdash;single
      track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was
      a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire
      There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,&mdash;or ought to be. Where
      this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's
      business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain the
      situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,&mdash;the more
      especially because, to use Dick's words, "there is nothing but her damned
      obstinacy to keep them apart."'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven't
      the shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and impossible. I
      can't drag her back by the hair.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Our business&mdash;the business for which we draw our money&mdash;is to
      do absurd and impossible things,&mdash;generally with no reason whatever
      except to amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't
      matter. I shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns.
      There will be a batch of unbridled "specials" coming to town in a little
      while, and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for
      sending Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, and'&mdash;here
      the Keneu dropped his measured speech&mdash;'we can't have you tied by the
      leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only chance of getting
      away; and Dick will be grateful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He will,&mdash;worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman
      in her senses refusing Dick.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh
      woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. You had
      better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will be
      in possession. It is an order. Obey.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick,' said Torpenhow, next morning, 'can I do anything for you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Poor chap!' said Torpenhow to himself. 'I must have been sitting on his
      nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.' Then, aloud, 'Very well. Since
      you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say good-bye
      at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my rooms.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's face fell. 'You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I know
      I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be
      glad I'm gone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things
      might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet
      Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know
      what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's unopened letters
      felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them for himself
      as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some fresh ones to
      play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,&mdash;a piece of red
      modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his
      hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, 'Is it like
      anything in the world?' he said drearily. 'Take it away. I may get the
      touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has gone?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai knew nothing. 'We're staying in his rooms till he comes back.
      Can we do anything for you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm
      best alone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen
      rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work
      he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed
      from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness of
      his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for Maisie&mdash;Maisie
      who would understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, having her own
      work to do, would not care. His experience had taught him that when money
      was exhausted women went away, and that when a man was knocked out of the
      race the others trampled on him. 'Then at the least,' said Dick, in reply,
      'she could use me as I used Binat,&mdash;for some sort of a study. I
      wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even though I knew that
      another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a dog I am!'
    </p>
    <p>
      A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      'When we go&mdash;go&mdash;go away from here, Our creditors will weep and
      they will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that they've
      been getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the
      sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, 'And see, you good
      fellows, I have found a new water-bottle&mdash;firs'-class patent&mdash;eh,
      how you say? Open himself inside out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. 'That's Cassavetti, come
      back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a row
      somewhere, and&mdash;I'm out of it!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake,' Dick said
      bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't tell me.
      I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War Correspondents in
      London are there;&mdash;and I'm out of it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He could
      feel that it was full of men. 'Where's the trouble?' said he. 'In the
      Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We thought you wouldn't be interested,' said the Nilghai, shamefacedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's in the Soudan, as usual.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton at
      the feast.&mdash;Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as
      ever.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk
      swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing
      press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the capacities
      of generals,&mdash;these in language that would have horrified a trusting
      public,&mdash;rangint, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of
      their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at any
      moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in readiness. The Keneu
      had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen a perfectly
      inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered forward, and was reading
      it out amid profane interruptions, and the Keneu introduced to Dick some
      man unknown who would be employed as war artist by the Central Southern
      Syndicate. 'It's his first outing,' said the Keneu. 'Give him some tips&mdash;about
      riding camels.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, those camels!' groaned Cassavetti. 'I shall learn to ride him again,
      and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know your
      military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire
      Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A roar of laughter interrupted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Sit down,' said the Nilghai. 'The lists aren't even made out in the War
      Office.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Will there be any force at Suakin?' aid a voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: 'How many Egyptian
      troops will they use?&mdash;God help the Fellaheen!&mdash;There's a
      railway in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.&mdash;We shall
      have the Suakin-Berber line built at last.&mdash;Canadian voyageurs are
      too careful. Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.&mdash;Who
      commands the Desert column?&mdash;No, they never blew up the big rock in
      the Ghineh bend. We shall have to be hauled up, as usual.&mdash;Somebody
      tell me if there's an Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's head.&mdash;Don't
      tear the map in two.&mdash;It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to
      connect with the African companies in the South.&mdash;There's Guinea-worm
      in most of the wells on that route.' Then the Nilghai, despairing of
      peace, bellowed like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But what becomes of Torpenhow?' said Dick, in the silence that followed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I suppose,'
      said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He said he was going to stay at home,' said the Keneu.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is he?' said Dick, with an oath. 'He won't. I'm not much good now, but if
      you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him till he
      sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all. There'll
      be some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, this time.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So do we all, Dickie,' said the Keneu.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And I most of all,' said the new artist of the Central Southern
      Syndicate.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Could you tell me&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll give you one piece of advice,' Dick answered, moving towards the
      door. 'If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the end. Thanks
      for letting me look in.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's grit in Dick,' said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room was
      emptied of all save the Keneu.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he answered
      to it? Poor fellow! Let's look at him,' said the Keneu.
    </p>
    <p>
      The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio
      table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not change
      his position.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It hurts,' he moaned. 'God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet,
      y'know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I see
      Torp before he goes?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, yes. You'll see him,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The sun went down an hour ago,
     I wonder if I face towards home;
     If I lost my way in the light of day
     How shall I find it now night is come?

     &mdash;Old Song.
</pre>
    <p>
      'MAISIE, come to bed.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on
      the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne
      and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the
      clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers
      were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on their
      stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was almost
      intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami's studio across the
      road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the big
      bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught
      Maisie's eye and annoyed her.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Horrid thing! It should be all white,' she murmured. 'And the gate isn't
      in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few
      weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study of
      a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished in
      time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as much two
      days before; fourthly,&mdash;but so completely fourthly that it was hardly
      worth thinking about,&mdash;Dick, her property, had not written to her for
      more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and with her
      work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had written to him three times,&mdash;each time proposing a fresh
      treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these
      communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned to
      England in the autumn&mdash;for her pride's sake she could not return
      earlier&mdash;she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon
      conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was,
      'Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours,' and he had been repeating
      the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,&mdash;an
      old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt
      hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her little studio north of
      the cool green London park, and had said things ten times worse than
      continuez, before he snatched the brush out of her hand and showed her
      where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, contained some
      trivial advice about not sketching in the sun or drinking water at wayside
      farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but three times,&mdash;as if he
      did not know that Maisie could take care of herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of
      voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the
      little garrison in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight
      glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand
      lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on
      her face, which was close to the conscript's. He slid his arm round her
      waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Faugh!' said Maisie, stepping back.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's that?' said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily outside
      her bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Only a conscript kissing the cook,' said Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They've gone away now.' She leaned out of the window again, and put a
      shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small
      night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one who
      knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his
      thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of
      Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and one
      leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick could not, 'because,' thought Maisie, 'he is mind,&mdash;mine,&mdash;mine.
      He said he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his
      work if he does; and it will spoil mine too.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The rose continued to nod it the futile way peculiar to flowers. There was
      no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, except
      that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist Maisie in
      her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that went sometimes
      to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the scrap-book
      proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when Kami was
      plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the future, it
      seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly similar lines
      which would be rejected in exactly the same way&mdash;&mdash;The
      red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. 'It's too hot to
      sleep,' she moaned; and the interruption jarred.
    </p>
    <p>
      Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little
      studio in England and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she would
      go to another master, who should force her into the success that was her
      right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a right to
      anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to understand his
      craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were nothing. Dick had said
      that ten years were nothing,&mdash;but that was in regard to herself only.
      He had said&mdash;this very man who could not find time to write&mdash;that
      he would wait ten years for her, and that she was bound to come back to
      him sooner or later. He had said this in the absurd letter about sunstroke
      and diphtheria; and then he had stopped writing. He was wandering up and
      down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. She would like to lecture him now,&mdash;not
      in her nightgown, of course, but properly dressed, severely and from a
      height. Yet if he was kissing other girls he certainly would not care
      whether she lecture him or not. He would laugh at her. Very good.
    </p>
    <p>
      She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it might
      be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no doubt
      whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began,
      unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he
      loved her. And he kissed her,&mdash;kissed her on the cheek,&mdash;by a
      yellow sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose
      in the garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they
      loved her&mdash;just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came
      back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her.
      Then he had&mdash;&mdash; But there was no end to the things he had done.
      He had given her his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of Art,
      housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a stimulant,&mdash;that
      was rude,&mdash;sable hair-brushes,&mdash;he had given her the best in her
      stock,&mdash;she used them daily; he had given her advice that she
      profited by, and now and again&mdash;a look. Such a look! The look of a
      beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his mistress's feet. In
      return she had given him nothing whatever, except&mdash;here she brushed
      her mouth against the open-work sleeve f her nightgown&mdash;the privilege
      of kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not
      enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled the
      debt by not writing and&mdash;probably kissing other girls? 'Maisie,
      you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,' said the wearied voice of her
      companion. 'I can't sleep a wink with you at the window.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting on
      the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had nothing
      to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the skylight of
      the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it intently and
      her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow of the big
      bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and faded out as the
      moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came limping home across the
      road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the upland grasses, and brought
      coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by the drought-shrunk river.
      Maisie's head fell forward on the window-sill, and the tangle of black
      hair covered her arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, dear; yes, dear.' She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, and
      as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, 'I think&mdash;I
      think....
    </p>
    <p>
      But he ought to have written.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and turpentine,
      and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, but a golden
      teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie was not in
      sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the end of the work.
    </p>
    <p>
      She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca coat
      into a bunch behind him, and, with faded flue eyes that saw neither pupils
      nor canvas, look back into the past to recall the history of one Binat.
      'You have all done not so badly,' he would say. 'But you shall remember
      that it is not enough to have the method, and the art, and the power, nor
      even that which is touch, but you shall have also the conviction that
      nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I taught,'&mdash;here the
      students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or get their tubes together,&mdash;'the
      very so many that I have taught, the best was Binat. All that comes of the
      study and the work and the knowledge was to him even when he came. After
      he left me he should have done all that could be done with the colour, the
      form, and the knowledge. Only, he had not the conviction. So to-day I hear
      no more of Binat,&mdash;the best of my pupils,&mdash;and that is long ago.
      So to-day, too, you will be glad to hear no more of me. Continuez,
      mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with conviction.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the
      pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to
      make plans for the cool of the afternoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to
      grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter to
      Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How
      Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to the
      hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to discuss
      with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to reduce the
      colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best horse in the
      squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery that only special
      correspondents can unravel.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I beg your pardon,' said he. 'It seems an absurd question to ask, but the
      fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young lady
      here that is called Maisie?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am Maisie,' was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I ought to introduce myself,' he said, as the horse capered in the
      blinding white dust. 'My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best friend,
      and&mdash;and&mdash;the fact is that he has gone blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Blind!' said Maisie, stupidly. 'He can't be blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. 'No! No! Not blind! I
      won't have him blind!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Would you care to see for yourself?' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now,&mdash;at once?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till to-night.
      There will be ample time.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in his
      studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head and
      went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa,
      complaining of a headache.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Dick's blind!' said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied
      herself against a chair-back. 'My Dick's blind!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What?' The girl was on the sofa no longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six
      weeks.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Are you going to him?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must think.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his eyes
      and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't go I
      shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to him at
      once. Go!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite
      patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am coming,' said she, her eyes on the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.' This was an
      order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said nothing,
      but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing with this big
      man who took everything for granted and managed a squealing horse with one
      hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, and
      between tears, kisses,&mdash;very few of those,&mdash;menthol, packing,
      and an interview with Kami, the sultry afternoon wore away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,&mdash;Dick
      who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her
      unopened letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But what will you do,' she said to her companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I? Oh, I shall stay here and&mdash;finish your Melancolia,' she said,
      smiling pitifully. 'Write to me afterwards.'
    </p>
    <p>
      That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad Englishman,
      doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the officers of the
      garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the lines, and had
      then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one of those more
      mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the care of that good
      Monsieur Kami.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They are very droll,' said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight by
      the studio wall. 'She walked always with those big eyes that saw nothing,
      and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my sister, and
      gives me&mdash;see&mdash;ten francs!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself
      on being a good soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; but he
      was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment entirely
      to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease with which
      the matter had been accomplished.
    </p>
    <p>
      'The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's showing,&mdash;when
      he was off his head,&mdash;she must have ordered him about very
      thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes
      shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order
      that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last
      almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking
      after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her
      surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she,
      Maisie,&mdash;of all people,&mdash;was in disgrace. Therefore she
      justified her conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came
      up to her on the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of
      Dick's blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the
      miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he
      had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was
      furious with him and with herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for
      breakfast, and&mdash;she was past any feeling of indignation now&mdash;was
      bidden curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs
      while Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she
      was being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame.
      It was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick was
      sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three
      envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man who
      gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped behind
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. 'Hullo,
      Topr! Is that you? I've been so lonely.'
    </p>
    <p>
      His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed
      herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, and
      she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring directly
      at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased was
      child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.' Dick looked puzzled and a
      little irritated at the silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No; it's only me,' was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie
      could hardly move her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      'H'm!' said Dick, composedly, without moving. 'This is a new phenomenon.
      Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's
      heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began to
      feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he passed.
      Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his knees to feel
      what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him walking in the Park
      as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping up and down her studio
      two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the Channel steamer. The
      beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick was coming nearer,
      guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a hand mechanically to
      ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not know which. It touched
      his chest, and he stepped back as though he had been shot.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's Maisie!' said he, with a dry sob. 'What are you doing here?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I came&mdash;I came&mdash;to see you, please.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's lips closed firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, and&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I couldn't write.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What has he to do with my affairs?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He&mdash;he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see
      you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I
      forgot.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and&mdash;&mdash; Let me
      take you back to your chair.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to
      tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let me
      alone!'
    </p>
    <p>
      He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed by
      a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from the
      girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he was,
      indeed, down and done for&mdash;masterful no longer but rather a little
      abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up to&mdash;only
      some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of crying. She
      was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him&mdash;more sorry than she had
      ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words.
    </p>
    <p>
      So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had
      honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she
      was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away. 'I never meant to worry
      you any more. What's the matter?'
    </p>
    <p>
      He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as
      unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had
      dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can't&mdash;I can't!' she cried desperately. 'Indeed, I can't. It isn't
      my fault.
    </p>
    <p>
      I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have
      failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of
      making sacrifices.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I do despise myself&mdash;indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you
      wouldn't ask me&mdash;would you?' wailed Maisie.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes
      fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips were
      trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out eyes that
      Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place some one that
      she could hardly recognise till he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be.
    </p>
    <p>
      What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it isn't
      worth it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me&mdash;help me!' The
      passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to alarm
      the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head fell
      on his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to
      reproach yourself with&mdash;you never had. You're only a little upset by
      the journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute
      Torp was to bring you over.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wanted to come. I did indeed,' she protested.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm&mdash;immensely
      grateful.
    </p>
    <p>
      When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort
      of a passage did you have coming over?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad that
      she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder
      tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder might
      be.
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most
      unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room
      between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Are you better now?' he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, but&mdash;don't you hate me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I hate you? My God! I?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Isn't&mdash;isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here
      in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you
      sometimes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. I
      don't want to seem rude, but&mdash;don't you think&mdash;perhaps you had
      almost better go now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain
      continued much longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait a
      moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for you
      ever since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a beauty
      when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're poor you
      can sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the market.' He
      groped among his canvases. 'She's framed in black. Is this a black frame
      that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of her?'
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the eyes
      strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One thing and
      one thing only could she do for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was
      speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic desire
      to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake&mdash;whatever this
      mad blankness might mean&mdash;she must make no sign. Her voice choked
      with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck&mdash;'Oh,
      Dick, it is good!'
    </p>
    <p>
      He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. 'Won't you
      have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I? Oh yes&mdash;thank you. Ha! ha!' If she did not fly at once the
      laughter that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran,
      choking and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take
      refuge in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down
      in the dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness,
      useless till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the
      sorrow, the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the
      red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her
      companion before. Not until she found herself saying, 'Well, he never
      asked me,' did she realise her scorn of herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      And that is the end of Maisie.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at
      first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word
      of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought upon
      him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his dark hour
      came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get what help he
      could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in following the
      right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her one subject more
      than his own brain would let him know.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's all I had and I've lost it,' he said, as soon as the misery
      permitted clear thinking. 'And Torp will think that he has been so
      infernally clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think
      this out quietly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hullo!' said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two
      hours of thought. 'I'm back. Are you feeling any better?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here.' Dick coughed huskily,
      wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.' Torpenhow was
      perfectly satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder,
      and Dick buried in his own thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How in the world did you find it all out?' said Dick, at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It
      was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing
      about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd have
      laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven other
      devils&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know&mdash;the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils
      the other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go?
      Who d'you work for?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business would
      turn out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Would you have stayed with me, then, if&mdash;things had gone wrong?' He
      put his question cautiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You've tried to be an angel very successfully.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh ye&mdash;es!... Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall be
      half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a
      certainty.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay
      quiet here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man
      did.'
    </p>
    <p>
      That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured in
      from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they might
      discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations
      becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden all
      the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the housekeeper,
      declared that never before in his checkered experience had he seen quite
      such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the chambers with shoutings and
      song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the younger. For the chances
      of war were in front of them, and all knew what those meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the
      landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      'When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. Maisie's
      quite right&mdash;poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry like that
      before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be quite fool
      enough to stay at home and try to console me&mdash;if he knew. Besides, it
      isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken chair. I must
      carry this business through alone&mdash;as usual. If there isn't a war,
      and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If there is a way I
      mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business is business, and I
      want to be alone&mdash;I want to be alone. What a row they're making!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Somebody hammered at the studio door.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come out and frolic, Dickie,' said the Nilghai.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.'
    </p>
    <p>
      For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, thanks, I've a headache already.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my
      congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your
      welfare.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go to the devil&mdash;oh, send Binkie in here.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made much
      of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely
      inside the studio he realised that this was no place for tail-wagging, and
      settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed
      with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning
      with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's more formal
      congratulations and a particular account of the last night's revels.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind that&mdash;it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you
      really go?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted
      on better terms than before.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'When do you start?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The day after to-morrow&mdash;for Brindisi.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank God.' Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. But
      men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before
      you leave?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, it's only for&mdash;marriage expenses.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and
      carefully put it away in the writing table.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until
      I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!' he said to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the
      doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked
      innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to
      feel annoyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, don't
      you?' he said on the last evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I&mdash;I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will
      last?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish I were going.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it occurred
      to you that you're going to be married&mdash;thanks to me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course, yes. I'm going to be married&mdash;so I am. Going to be
      married.
    </p>
    <p>
      I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,' said Torpenhow.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the
      loneliness he had so much desired.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
     Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,
     Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
     He of the Faith spoke as master to slave;
     Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him,
     Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,&mdash;
     Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him,
     He called upon Allah and died a believer.

     &mdash;Kizzilbashi.
</pre>
    <p>
      'BEG your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but&mdash;but isn't nothin' going to
      happen?' said Mr. Beeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No!' Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his
      temper was of the shortest.
    </p>
    <p>
      ''Tain't my regular business, o' course, sir; and what I say is, "Mind
      your own business and let other people mind theirs;" but just before Mr.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be
      moving into a house of your own, so to speak&mdash;a sort of house with
      rooms upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I
      try to act just by all our tenants. Don't I?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me
      there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as
      far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in
      chambers&mdash;and more particular those whose lot is hard&mdash;such as
      you, for instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you?
      Soft-roe bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, "Never
      mind a little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the
      tenants."'
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long
      away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled down
      to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing better than
      death.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night;
      dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising restless
      in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, would grope
      along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one snore. Then he
      would know that the day had not yet come, and return wearily to his
      bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the
      house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed&mdash;and
      dressing, now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because
      collars, ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and
      search meant head-beating against chairs and trunks&mdash;once dressed,
      there was nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the
      three daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch
      from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his mind
      might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind was
      quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as
      millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would
      not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with
      imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past
      success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and
      feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had
      the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased through
      sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of
      overwhelming, purposeless fear&mdash;dread of starvation always, terror
      lest the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the
      chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror
      that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head,
      and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till the
      tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and Dick
      learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted gas-plugs,
      waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving picture-nails into
      walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the housemaids. In the lack of
      better things the small gossip of a servant'' hall becomes immensely
      interesting, and the screwing of a washer on a tap an event to be talked
      over for days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when he
      went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish,
      lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight
      first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with the tins
      and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps meet one of Mr.
      Beeton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, would hold his peace
      till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again.
    </p>
    <p>
      The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a
      dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure of
      his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly brushed,
      and since he had never taken any care of his personal appearance he became
      every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot deal with cleanliness
      till he has been some months used to the darkness. If he demand attendance
      and grow angry at the want of it, he must assert himself and stand
      upright. Then the meanest menial can see that he is blind and, therefore,
      of no consequence. A wise man will keep his eyes on the floor and sit
      still. For amusement he may pick coal lump by lump out of the scuttle with
      the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the fender, keeping count of the
      lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one and very carefully. He
      may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself
      or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that
      of an artist, he may sketch in the air with his forefinger; but that is
      too much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He may go to his
      bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or
      to his wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three
      on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very,
      very long.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps
      and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string.
    </p>
    <p>
      'If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why,
      then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the
      amount of little things that these chambers uses up,' said Mr. Beeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: 'It's hard on you, sir,
      I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but I
      'ave often said to my wife, "It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as if he
      was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young gentleman.
      That's where it comes so 'ard."'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I suppose so,' said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long
      battering had ceased to feel&mdash;much.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was thinking,' continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, 'that
      you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an
      evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his
      while.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands;
      but only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the
      newspapers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board
      certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song of
      some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young Cockney, and,
      after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten
      minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and scared.
    </p>
    <p>
      ''E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like that,
      but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about
      Stocks, Alf?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone&mdash;a
      great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words in
      it. 'E give me 'arf a crown because I read so well. And 'e says the next
      time there's anything 'e wants read 'e'll send for me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown&mdash;put it
      into the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it&mdash;he
      might have kept you longer. Why, he couldn't have begun to understand how
      beautiful you read.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's best left to hisself&mdash;gentlemen always are when they're
      downhearted,' said Mr. Beeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alf's rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow's special
      correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear,
      through the boy's nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind
      the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing
      across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it
      drifted over camp before the wind of the desert.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him,
      offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he had
      not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed Dick
      knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour and no
      special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded himself,
      would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as well as a
      weak-kneed confession of fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Just for the fun of the thing,' he said to the cat, who had taken
      Binkie's place in his establishment, 'I should like to know how long this
      is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds Torp cashed
      for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the Bank&mdash;twenty
      or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I fall back on my
      hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that time. Let's
      consider.
    </p>
    <p>
      Twenty-five&mdash;thirty-five&mdash;a man's in his prime then, they say&mdash;forty-five&mdash;a
      middle-aged man just entering politics&mdash;fifty-five&mdash;"died at the
      comparatively early age of fifty-five," according to the newspapers. Bah!
      How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five&mdash;we're only getting on in
      years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell, cat O! fifty
      years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die, and Beeton
      will die, and Torp will die, and Mai&mdash;everybody else will die, but I
      shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry for myself.
      I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently I'm not going ma
      before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever. Some day when you're
      vivisected, cat O! they'll tie you down on a little table and cut you open&mdash;but
      don't be afraid; they'll take precious good care that you don't die.
      You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that you weren't sorry for me.
      Perhaps Torp will come back or... I wish I could go to Torp and the
      Nilghai, even though I were in their way.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered,
      found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's a letter for you, sir,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd like me to read
      it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not
      over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that&mdash;that
      was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes only
      too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to him, for he
      did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no reparation though
      the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love strive to mend all.
      It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused or endured, since it
      is as remediless as bad work once put forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Read it, then,' said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the rules
      of the Board School&mdash;'"I could have given you love, I could have
      given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared
      what you were? But you chose to whistle everything down the wind for
      nothing. My only excuse for you is that you are so young." 'That's all,'
      he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What was in the letter?' asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' at
      everything when you're young.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about and
      it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is&mdash;unless it
      was all a joke. But I don't know any one who'd take the trouble to play a
      joke on me.... Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wonder whether I have lost anything really?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he had
      put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think
      about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. When
      his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, body and soul
      together seemed to be dropping without check through the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light
      again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left him
      sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till the
      gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless as the
      first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that he saw.
      Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he was utterly worn
      out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration of Maisie and
      might-have-beens.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to
      take him out. 'Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if you
      like.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Be damned if I do,' quoth Dick. 'Keep to the streets and walk up and
      down. I like to hear the people round me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their
      infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted arms&mdash;but
      Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only once since
      Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's charge. Alf forgot
      him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with some companions. After
      half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with rage and wrath, caught a
      passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly policeman, who led him to a
      four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's
      forgetfulness, but... this was not the manner in which he was used to walk
      the Parks aforetime.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What streets would you like to walk down, then?' said Mr. Beeton,
      sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on
      the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags full
      of food.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Keep to the river,' said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush
      of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck
      thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of the
      scenery as he went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And walking on the other side of the pavement,' said he, 'unless I'm much
      mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to be drawed.
      I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except paying
      tenants, o' course!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Stop her,' said Dick. 'It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to
      her again. Quick, man!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and arrested
      Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the man in
      authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick's staircase,
      and her first impulse was to run.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?' said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in
      front of her. 'You was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd like
      to see you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Why?' said Bessie, faintly. She remembered&mdash;indeed had never for
      long forgotten&mdash;an affair connected with a newly finished picture.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular
      blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Drunk?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed
      him out&mdash;a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty
      magenta-coloured neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to
      fear from such an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not
      follow far. She crossed over, and Dick's face lighted up. It was long
      since a woman of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?' said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr.
      Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see&mdash;hear you, I
      mean, Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again
      after you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going
      anywhere in particular just now?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was going for a walk,' said Bessie.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not the old business?' Dick spoke under his breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lor, no! I paid my premium'&mdash;Bessie was very proud of that word&mdash;'for
      a barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I
      am.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human
      nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his
      gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a
      certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the
      harm that had been done to him...
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,' she went on, 'and they've got
      one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a
      penny at the end of the day&mdash;but then I don't believe the machinery
      is right. Do you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'He's gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth your
      while. You see.' The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It isn't taking you out of your way?' he said hesitatingly. 'I can ask a
      policeman if it is.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good God!&mdash;but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do
      too.
    </p>
    <p>
      Let's go home, Bess.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an oath.
      Bessie took his arm and said nothing&mdash;as she had said nothing when he
      had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They walked
      for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And where's&mdash;where's Mr. Torpenhow?' she inquired at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He has gone away to the desert.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Where's that?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick pointed to the right. 'East&mdash;out of the mouth of the river,'
      said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side of
      Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.' The explanation did not
      enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to
      Dick's patch till they came to the chambers.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We'll have tea and muffins,' he said joyously. 'I can't tell you, Bessie,
      how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so suddenly?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't think you'd want me any more,' she said, emboldened by his
      ignorance.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't, as a matter of fact&mdash;but afterwards&mdash;At any rate I'm
      glad you've come. You know the stairs.'
    </p>
    <p>
      So Bessie led him home to his own place&mdash;there was no one to hinder&mdash;and
      shut the door of the studio.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a mess!' was her first word. 'All these things haven't been looked
      after for months and months.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what you've
      paid them for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the easel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't use it much now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like to
      speak to them housemaids.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ring for tea, then.' Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by
      custom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there
      remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her
      voice when she spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How long have you been like this?' she said wrathfully, as though the
      blindness were some fault of the housemaids.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'As you are.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my picture
      was finished; I hardly saw her alive.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their nice
      little ways.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine
      principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being
      defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being
      obviously an idiot, needs protection.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much,' said Dick. Bessie was flouncing up
      and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment as he
      heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tea and muffins,' she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was
      answered; 'two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don't want the old
      teapot that was here when I used to come. It don't draw. Get another.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to
      cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are you trying to do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you let
      it go so?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'How could I help it? Dust away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding up
      with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, 'Do unto others as you would be
      done by.' She had descended to put into her place the person who demanded
      muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to both.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Muffins ready yet?' said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab of
      the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had paid her
      premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being neatly
      dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and there
      passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have
      appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and
      Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about
      models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,' he said. 'Alf,
      you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's as kindly
      as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took too many
      little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that particular
      about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of course, but
      if it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did introduce him
      to that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Much too feelin'!' Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and
      thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long as
      he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young gentlemen,
      you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each stick to his
      own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them muffins down,
      Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. His lot is
      cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any one I've ever
      served.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's a little better,' said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. 'You
      needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which real
      ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first-class
      public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes' notice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and
      displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his coat;
      the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the forehead
      was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was a dusty
      indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called gray. The
      utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, and at the
      bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was humbled and brought
      low who had once humbled her.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,' said Dick, rubbing his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live now.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why
      isn't there any one to look after you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I
      don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Why should they?&mdash;and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was&mdash;well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become
      you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me
      these days?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can
      come, can't I?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very
      well in the old days. I used to make you angry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Very angry, you did.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as you
      can. God knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble
      except you and Mr. Beeton.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.' This with a toss of the head.
    </p>
    <p>
      'They've let you do anyhow and they haven't done anything for you. I've
      only to look and see that much. I'll come, and I'll be glad to come, but
      you must go and be shaved, and you must get some other clothes&mdash;those
      ones aren't fit to be seen.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have heaps somewhere,' he said helplessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush it
      and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, but it
      doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do I look like a sweep, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!' she cried impulsively,
      and took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to kiss&mdash;she
      was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not too proud for
      a little pity now. She stood up to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nothing o' that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite easy
      when you get shaved, and some clothes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She
      passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and ran
      away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia.
    </p>
    <p>
      'To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,' she said to herself, 'after all he's
      done to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved he
      wouldn't be so bad to look at, but... Oh them Beetons, how shameful
      they've treated him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his back to-day
      just as well as if I'd aired it. To-morrow, I'll see... I wonder if he has
      much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar&mdash;I wouldn't have
      to do any work&mdash;and just as respectable as if no one knew.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely
      conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it
      seemed, among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting
      shaved.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A
      fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in the
      world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance made him
      carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while from
      thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might have given that
      kiss and a million others.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let us consider,' said he, after lunch. 'The girl can't care, and it's a
      toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to look
      after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take the
      trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She's a child of the gutter
      holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything she wants
      if she'll only come and talk and look after me.' He rubbed his newly shorn
      chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of her not coming. 'I
      suppose I did look rather a sweep,' he went on. 'I had no reason to look
      otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, but it didn't matter. It
      would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. Maisie came once, and that
      was enough for her. She was quite right. She had something to work for.
      This creature has only beer-handles to pull, unless she has deluded some
      young man into keeping company with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling pretty
      low.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Something cried aloud within him:&mdash;This will hurt more than anything
      that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and tantalise,
      and in the end drive you mad.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know it, I know it!' Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly;
      'but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of
      his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she'd
      come.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in
      her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would
      allow her to be idle for the rest of her days.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shouldn't have known you,' she said approvingly. 'You look as you used
      to look&mdash;a gentleman that was proud of himself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?' said Dick, flushing a
      little.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Maybe&mdash;but you won't get it yet. Sit down and let's see what I can
      do for you. I'm certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't go
      through the housekeeping books every month. Isn't that true?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Couldn't do it in these chambers&mdash;you know that as well as I do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your
      while.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work
      for both of us.' This was tentative.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?' said he. 'Torp took
      it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a penny!
      Oh my!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You can have the penny. That's not bad for one year's work. Is that and a
      hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, but
      she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we'd
      find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms here
      and there. They don't look as full as they used.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind, we'll let him have them. The only thing I'm particularly
      anxious to take away is that picture I used you for&mdash;when you used to
      swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as
      ever we can.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh yes,' she said uneasily.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't know where I can go to get away from myself, but I'll try, and
      you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You'll like that.
    </p>
    <p>
      Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it's good to put one's arm round a
      woman's waist again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm were
      thus round Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and taken between
      them,&mdash;why then... He pressed the girl more closely to himself
      because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little
      accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the
      solace of her company&mdash;and certainly he would relapse into his
      original slough if she withdrew it&mdash;he would not be more than just a
      little vexed.
    </p>
    <p>
      It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her
      teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,' she began, in the
      hope of turning his attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know it
      as well as I do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know&mdash;but&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But what? You've wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine
      hundred pounds to&mdash;to us. I simply didn't like to think about it for
      a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.&mdash;But we'll cover up our
      tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the
      beginning, Bess.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of
      money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the
      value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about
      their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries to
      explain the breakage of a pipe.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm very sorry, but you remember I was&mdash;I was angry with you before
      Mr. Torpenhow went away?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to
      be.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then I&mdash;but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when
      you might just as well be giving me another kiss?'
    </p>
    <p>
      He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that
      kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, 'I was so angry
      I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, are you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What? Say that again.' The man's hand had closed on her wrist.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,' faltered Bessie. 'I thought
      you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't you?
      Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Isn't there anything left of the thing?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry&mdash;I didn't know you'd
      take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit
      me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hit you! No! Let's think.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the
      stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles
      that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the
      Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie's return
      and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the Melancolia&mdash;lovelier
      in his imagination than she had ever been on canvas&mdash;reappeared. By
      her aid he might have procured mor money wherewith to amuse Bess and to
      forget Maisie, as well as another taste of an almost forgotten success.
      Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid's folly, there was nothing to
      look for&mdash;not even the hope that he might some day take an abiding
      interest in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been made to appear
      ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A woman will forgive the man who has ruined
      her life's work so long as he gives her love; a man may forgive those who
      ruin the love of his life, but he will never forgive the destruction of
      his work.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tck&mdash;tck&mdash;tck,' said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed
      softly. 'It's an omen, Bessie, and&mdash;a good many things considered, it
      serves me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for
      Maisie's running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad&mdash;small
      blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn't it so? What made you do it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now&mdash;I'm awful sorry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wonder.&mdash;It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the
      mistake.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What mistake?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Something you wouldn't understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that a
      little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!' Dick was
      talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call me so! I did it 'cause I
      hated you, and I'm only sorry now 'cause you're&mdash;'cause you're&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Exactly&mdash;because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little
      things.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she
      was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that
      her great revenge had only made Dick laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Don't cry,' he said, and took her into his arms. 'You only did what you
      thought right.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I&mdash;I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never
      come to you again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry&mdash;indeed, I'm
      not.
    </p>
    <p>
      Be quiet for a minute.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's first thought was connected
      with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first pang&mdash;the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to
      the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has
      decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest
      pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the love
      of their life, and in their new wives' arms are compelled to realise it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so
      long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that
      resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie
      to his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Though you mayn't know it,' he said, raising his head, 'the Lord is a
      just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It
      serves me right&mdash;how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if
      he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but
      only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Let me go,' said Bess, her face darkening. 'Let me go.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself.... Thus. "He saved others,
      himself he cannot save." It isn't exactly a school-board text.' He
      released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could
      not escape. 'What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can do!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking
      about before you mentioned the thing?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'About getting away&mdash;and money. Me and you going away.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course. We will get away&mdash;that is to say, I will.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then you won't&mdash;&mdash;?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to
      yourself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You said you couldn't do anything without me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my
      hat.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'S'pose I don't?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had
      kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it
      pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all
      there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a
      slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not too
      much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty
      things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as
      respectable as a real lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and
      I'll think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Tuesday.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool&mdash;what a blind fool I have
      been!
    </p>
    <p>
      Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional
      expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat's for old time's sake. Thirty-two
      pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last trip&mdash;Gad,
      won't Torp stare to see me!&mdash;a hundred and thirty-two leaves
      seventy-eight for baksheesh&mdash;I shall need it&mdash;and to play with.
    </p>
    <p>
      What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn't your fault, child; it was mine
      altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out!
    </p>
    <p>
      I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand
      pounds at four per cent&mdash;that's safe interest&mdash;means a hundred
      and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a hear&mdash;also
      safe&mdash;is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three
      hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll go to
      the bank.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick caused
      Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the P. and O.
      offices, where he explained things tersely.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      What ship's going?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The Colgong,' said the clerk.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and
      the docks?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well&mdash;will you count it
      into my hand?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their
      trunks, life would be worth something,' said the clerk to his neighbour,
      who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed milk
      is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and
      unmarried, he spoke with conviction.
    </p>
    <p>
      'We are now,' quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the
      place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, 'beyond the reach of
      man, or devil, or woman&mdash;which is much more important. I've had three
      little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask you to
      help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll breakfast, and
      you shall take me down to Galleons Station.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are you going to do?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Going away, of course. What should I stay for?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But you can't look after yourself?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a
      great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie
      doesn't object.' Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. 'I
      suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and
      you'll get your money.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Shall I sure?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,&mdash;send Beeton
      here as you go out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The housekeeper came.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?' said Dick, imperiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      ''Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore
      out dreadful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me and the
      other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the
      other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Fifty,' said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and
      wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That's sinful, sir,' said the housekeeper, alarmed.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's my own. One hundred or&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster
      mended.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring
      that price at once!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all
      you, sir.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my clothes
      are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But the quarter's notice?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that
      Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable
      view.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It's very sudden&mdash;but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen
      to him now!'
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'We'll never come back any more, boys,
     We'll never come back no more;
     We'll go to the deuce on any excuse,
     And never come back no more!

     Oh say we're afloat or ashore, boys,
     Oh say we're afloat or ashore;
     But we'll never come back any more, boys,
     We'll never come back no more!'
</pre>
    <p>
      'Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Quick, he's going to shoot himself&mdash;'avin' gone mad!' said Mrs.
      Beeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the
      latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of
      the promises to 'find everything to-morrow, sir.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, you copper-nosed old fool&mdash;you impotent Academician!' he shouted
      at last. 'Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your
      silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's
      loaded.
    </p>
    <p>
      It's among my campaign-kit somewhere&mdash;in the parcel at the bottom of
      the trunk.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight
      field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was
      this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package,
      and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth
      leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck
      spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin
      case of stationery.
    </p>
    <p>
      'These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else I'll
      keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've done
      that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a minute;
      get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.'
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had
      particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began,
      following his right hand with his left: '"The badness of this writing is
      because I am blind and cannot see my pen." H'mph!&mdash;even a lawyer
      can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn't be
      witnessed. Now an inch lower&mdash;why did I never learn to use a
      type-writer?&mdash;"This is the last will and testament of me, Richard
      Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous
      will to revoke."&mdash;That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the
      paper was I?&mdash;"I leave everything that I possess in the world,
      including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty
      eight pounds held for me"&mdash;oh, I can't get this straight.' He tore
      off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting.
      Then: 'I leave all the money I possess in the world to'&mdash;here
      followed Maisie's name, and the names of the two banks that held the
      money.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to dispute
      it, and I've given Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is my
      signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow you
      must take me to the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for leaving without
      notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while
      I'm away. Now we're going to light up the studio stove. Stay with me, and
      give me my papers as I want 'em.'
    </p>
    <p>
      No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year's accumulation of
      bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove every
      document in the studio&mdash;saving only three unopened letters; destroyed
      sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough in
      one place, to be sure,' said Mr. Beeton, at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He does. Is there anything more left?' Dick felt round the walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand pounds' worth of sketches.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what I used to
      be.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes, sir,' politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad,
      otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a
      song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of
      the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could not
      be accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking up the
      last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there remained
      no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, and sat down
      before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting iron cracked
      in the silence of the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     With a heart of furious fancies,
     Whereof I am commander;
     With a burning spear and a horse of air,
     To the wilderness I wander.

     With a knight of ghosts and shadows
     I summoned am to tourney&mdash;
     Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end,
     Methinks it is no journey.

     &mdash;Tom a' Bedlam's Song.
</pre>
    <p>
      'GOOD-BYE, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here's a hundred&mdash;all that I
      got for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for
      some time. You've been a good little girl, all things considered, but
      you've given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the cabin.
      Once aboard the lugger and the maid is&mdash;and I am free, I mean.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who'll look after you on this ship?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The head-steward, if there's any use in money. The doctor when we come to
      Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the Lord
      will provide, as He used to do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of
      leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself
      down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long
      to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography of a
      ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been
      introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good
      place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy
      in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about,
      for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of
      weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and he
      slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames and was lifting
      to the pulse of the Channel.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very familiar
      sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, it's good to be alive again!' He yawned, stretched himself
      vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of
      the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgal Square
      is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could
      feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous little
      cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave
      breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new
      deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was
      stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to
      the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong b reeze found him, blew his
      cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room
      steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that the
      weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than half a
      gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and Dick enjoyed
      himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay
      firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to
      place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea
      even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the
      weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales&mdash;and these
      are coin of more value than silver if properly handled&mdash;smoked with
      him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that
      he promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang
      their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom
      the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened hatch-grating
      where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread and the passengers
      made merry, and at last they came to Port Said.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Take me,' said Dick, to the doctor, 'to Madame Binat's&mdash;if you know
      where that is.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Whew!' said the doctor, 'I do. There's not much to choose between 'em;
      but I suppose you're aware that that's one of the worst houses in the
      place. They'll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      So he was brought to Madame Binat's and filled his nostrils with the
      well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the
      Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca
      of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with the
      buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his coat-sleeve
      was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick
      entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a
      little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he had
      ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a
      bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur
      Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, scandalised,
      so far as a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's reception. Dick
      was delighted at it. 'They remember me here after a year. They have
      forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I want a long talk
      with you when you're at liberty. It is good to be back again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      In the evening she set an iron-topped cafe-table out on the sands, and
      Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot,
      merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the
      shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? We
      have not forgotten thee.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was over there in England and I went blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here&mdash;I and
      Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow 'Tina&mdash;she is still
      alive&mdash;so often and so well that 'Tina laughed when the papers
      arrived by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could
      recognise in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the
      money for thee.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am not poor&mdash;I shall pay you well.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.' Under her breath, 'Mon Dieu,
      to be blind and so young! What horror!'
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the
      discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was
      too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire as
      they used to do when the war was here&mdash;ten years ago. Beyond Cairo
      there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent's
      passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is
      impossible also,' said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must go to Suakin.' He knew, thanks to Alf's readings, that Torpenhow
      was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the
      Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and,
      besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth
      anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to
      be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work toward.
    </p>
    <p>
      'But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men always&mdash;and
      always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'My friend is there.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick's glass anew,
      and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that he
      should bow his head in assent and say&mdash;'No. He is a man, but&mdash;if
      it should arrive... blamest thou?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I blame?' she laughed shrilly. 'Who am I that I should blame any one&mdash;except
      those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it is very
      terrible.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the
      year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer
      goes down the Canal to Suakin&mdash;and the post-boats&mdash;But even then&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt go&mdash;thou
      shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house is a little
      quiet&mdash;I must attend to my guests&mdash;and afterwards go to bed.
      Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'To-morrow?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'As soon as may be.' She was talking as though he were a child.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the
      streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat
      carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and
      sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with one eye
      on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick's interests. To
      this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers of
      fellaheen regiments, and more than kind to camel agents of no nationality
      whatever.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red
      silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a necklace
      of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too.
      Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the
      morning chocolate.' She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:&mdash;'It
      is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe of
      ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The boat
      comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a Greek
      muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not know of
      thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his mules. Then
      he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do not receive
      a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers for
      George.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thank you.' He reached out sleepily for the cup. 'You are much too kind,
      Madame.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be
      wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.' She looked at her
      liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. 'Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou
      shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.'
    </p>
    <p>
      She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. 'That is for good-morning,'
      she said, going away. 'When thou art dressed we will speak to George and
      make everything ready. But first we must open the little trunk. Give me
      the keys.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect
      Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his
      way, though. Well, it won't last long.&mdash;Ohe, Madame, help me to my
      toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly
      out yonder.'
    </p>
    <p>
      He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands with
      the spurs. There are two says of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, spotless
      blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed helmet.
      The right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, setting
      out upon an expedition, well pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Everything must be very correct,' Dick explained. 'It will become dirty
      afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it
      should be?'
    </p>
    <p>
      He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on
      the right hip and fingered his collar.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I can do no more,' Madame said, between laughing and crying. 'Look at
      thyself&mdash;but I forgot.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am very content.' He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Be quick, Madame.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the
      daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Take me there.'
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the
      lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to George
      and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made for Dick's
      benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance cared to
      disregard Madame's advice. That sort of contempt might end in being knifed
      by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short provocation.
    </p>
    <p>
      For six days&mdash;two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal&mdash;the
      little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the
      superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to
      propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his
      light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own
      discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and together
      they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material and wastage
      of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate fragments to
      mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers.
    </p>
    <p>
      'If you keep with me,' said George, 'nobody will ask for passports or what
      you do. They are all very busy.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might
      remember me. I was known here a long time ago&mdash;when I was some one
      indeed.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan&mdash;that
      is seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan
      the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be
      brought to them by this line.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in
      the open.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'For this reason even the mules to up in the iron-train.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Iron what?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly require
      to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far from
      the city.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'The dears&mdash;they always used to!' Dick snuffed the smell of parched
      dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old life
      was welcoming him back most generously.
    </p>
    <p>
      'When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first
      send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had
      the chance?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I have no chance,' said the Greek. 'She is there with that woman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the
      chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was
      desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was
      the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On their
      return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. The
      blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand on George's
      elbow as he replied&mdash;'Egyptian Government&mdash;mules. My orders are
      to give them over to the A.
    </p>
    <p>
      C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my papers?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not seeing
      your face before I&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,' said Dick, boldly. 'There
      will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up
      early.' The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down waif
      this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek
      muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small
      thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark,
      and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of
      what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had been
      as it was not.
    </p>
    <p>
      George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His
      charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his
      tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips.
      There was a great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost
      called for George.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I say, have you got your mules ready?' It was the voice of the subaltern
      over his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      'My man's looking after them. The&mdash;the fact is I've a touch of
      ophthalmia and can't see very well.
    </p>
    <p>
      'By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've
      had a turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'So I find it. When does this armoured train go?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Are the Fuzzies on the rampage&mdash;eh?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the
      night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is that far off?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Between thirty and forty miles&mdash;in an infernal thirsty country.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern's
      command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it in some
      extraordinary fashion.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They always did.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Have you been here before, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'In the service and cashiered,' was the subaltern's first thought, so he
      refrained from putting any questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      'There's you man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'That I should be mule-leading?' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I didn't mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me&mdash;it's beastly
      impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public
      school. There's no mistaking the tone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I am a public school man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're a
      little down on your luck, aren't you? I saw you sitting with your head in
      your hands, and that's why I spoke.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need be.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Suppose&mdash;I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I perhaps&mdash;take
      it as a loan y'know and&mdash;&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      'You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want.
    </p>
    <p>
      ... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an
      everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is a fore-truck, isn't there?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Yes. How d'you know?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see&mdash;hear some of
      the fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a
      non-combatant.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man thought for a minute. 'All right,' he said. 'We're supposed
      to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the other end.'
    </p>
    <p>
      George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the mules,
      and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch
      boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in
      with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the
      muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of
      artillerymen were rioting.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Whitechapel&mdash;last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class
      there!' somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward
      truck.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin'
      train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.'&mdash;'Shall I get you a
      foot-warmer?' said another.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Thanks. I'll pay my footing,' said Dick, and relations of the most
      amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the
      subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track.
    </p>
    <p>
      'This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in
      the open,' said Dick, from his place in the corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!' said the subaltern, as a
      bullet struck the outside of the truck. 'We always have at least one
      demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the
      rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not to-night though! Listen!' said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed bullets
      was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued
      their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?' the subaltern asked of the
      engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing old
      Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Right O!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Hrrmph!' said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern
      drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the
      smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the
      rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited
      howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the
      sounds and the smells.
    </p>
    <p>
      'God is very good&mdash;I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em
      hell, men. Oh, give 'em hell!' he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went
      out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of
      the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes were
      lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied
      with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine
      guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came
      under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,' said
      the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How
      superb it must have looked from outside!' said Dick, sighing regretfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled
      about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm
      Bennil of the Gunners&mdash;in the artillery lines&mdash;and mind you
      don't fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.'
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the
      hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the
      tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for
      George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the
      rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the mules.
    </p>
    <p>
      The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of the
      desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and dirty&mdash;so
      dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a hopeless
      job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the many
      times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels,
      mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he could see&mdash;few
      men more clearly&mdash;and the spectacle of an armed camp at dinner under
      the stare was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was colour, light,
      and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in living. This night
      there remained for him only one more journey through the darkness that
      never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled. Then he would grip
      Torpenhow's hand again&mdash;Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, and
      lived in the midst of the action that had once made the reputation of a
      man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused with the blind,
      bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the same name. Yes, he would
      find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old life as might be. Afterwards
      he would forget everything: Bessie, who had wrecked the Melancolia and so
      nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived in a strange unreal city full
      of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters that no men needed; that irrational
      being who had offered him love and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed
      her name; and most of all Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was
      undeniably right in all she did, but oh, at this distance, so
      tantalisingly fair.
    </p>
    <p>
      George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      'And what now?' said George.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where
      the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their
      camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the
      corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!'
    </p>
    <p>
      The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the stumps
      of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they
      would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, and
      the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no part of
      Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies. That would
      lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not
      needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to Suakin.
    </p>
    <p>
      He must go up alone, and go immediately.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Now for one last bluff&mdash;the biggest of all,' he said. 'Peace be with
      you, brethren!' The watchful George steered him to the circle of the
      nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels,
      scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding hens, half
      ready to get to their feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A Mulaid?' said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he
      knew.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A Bisharin,' returned Dick, with perfect gravity. 'A Bisharin without
      saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Two or three minutes passed. Then&mdash;'We be knee-haltered for the
      night. There is no going out from the camp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not for money?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'H'm! Ah! English money?'
    </p>
    <p>
      Another depressing interval of silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      'How much?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my
      journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to
      be paid when the driver returns.'
    </p>
    <p>
      This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his
      commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf.
    </p>
    <p>
      'For scarcely one night's journey&mdash;fifty pounds. Land and wells and
      good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who
      speaks?' said Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I,' said a voice. 'I will go&mdash;but there is no going from the camp.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries do
      not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five
      pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no
      baggage-camel.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first
      deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dick heard the latter say: 'A little way out only. Any baggage-beast will
      serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'And though I cannot see'&mdash;Dick lifted his voice a little&mdash;'yet
      I carry that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we
      do not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'But where, in God's name, are the troops?'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it
      will be life or death to thee.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I know,' said the driver, sullenly. 'Stand back from my beast. I am going
      to slip him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel
      his cheek.' The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded
      half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel.
    </p>
    <p>
      'That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on
      those who try to cheat the blind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had
      intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Stand back!' one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a
      quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his hand,&mdash;and
      a cry went up, 'Illaha! Aho! He is loose.'
    </p>
    <p>
      With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward
      toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation.
    </p>
    <p>
      George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a
      disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What's the row now?' he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,' Dick answered, after
      the manner of a common soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut out side&mdash;you and your
      dromedary's.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and
      his driver had called him back and made him kneel down.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Mount first,' said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently
      screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, 'Go on
      in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to Madame, and
      have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!'
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by
      the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick
      adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed
      his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was
      conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.
    </p>
    <p>
      'A good camel,' he said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      'He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,' the driver replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his
      thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in seemed
      that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had committed
      some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his
      bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the
      hymn&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came.
    </p>
    <p>
      He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the
      saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and
      ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, and
      stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of camel-thorn
      shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was fired, and the
      silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. Dick could think no
      longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do more than nod
      uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching the driver
      with the pistol.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is there a moon?' he asked drowsily.
    </p>
    <p>
      'She is near her setting.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the
      desert talk.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It
      rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A
      handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and
      crumbled softly to the bottom.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go on. The night is very cold.'
    </p>
    <p>
      Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before the
      light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that he had
      never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all save
      jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger the
      nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. Centuries
      later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and
      allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe distance of
      London he was watching himself thus employed,&mdash;watching critically.
      Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the
      tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black shadow
      of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a revolver and
      the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he was in the
      dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever.
    </p>
    <p>
      The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air.
    </p>
    <p>
      'I smell the dawn,' he whispered.
    </p>
    <p>
      'It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?'
    </p>
    <p>
      The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the
      pungent reek of camels in the square.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see
      what they do.'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Am I in better case? Go forward.'
    </p>
    <p>
      They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of
      the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two or three shots were fired.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,' Dick spoke
      angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Nay, it is from the desert,' the driver answered, cowering in his saddle.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an hour
      ago.'
    </p>
    <p>
      The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind multiplied.
      The children of the desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of
      surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and were getting their
      distance by snap-shots at the only moving object without the square.
    </p>
    <p>
      'What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!' said Dick. 'It's "just
      before the battle, mother." Oh, God has been most good to me!
    </p>
    <p>
      Only'&mdash;the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an
      instant&mdash;'Maisie...'
    </p>
    <p>
      'Allahu! We are in,' said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the
      camel knelt.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the
      enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?' asked a dozen voices.
      For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted
      from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, 'Torpenhow! Ohe,
      Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.'
    </p>
    <p>
      A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved
      very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to
      fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the
      scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white
      that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned over
      wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square were
      coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and they
      edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet and
      roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had cut its
      throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a man receiving
      his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and redoubled firing.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no time to ask any questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!'
    </p>
    <p>
      'No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.' Dick turned his face
      to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but,
      miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair
      was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man.
    </p>
    <p>
      'Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!'
    </p>
    <p>
      And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the
      Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the last, even
      to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





End of Project Gutenberg's The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED ***

***** This file should be named 2876-h.htm or 2876-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/2876/

Produced by David Reed, and David Widger


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.


</pre>
  </body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-07-15 18:41:03 +0000