"Then, just as her nose grounded, my eyes caught sight of a big creeper-covered mass."
"She may have been close on a hundred tons burden, but it was impossible to calculate her size exactly for the heap of stuff that covered her. How she ever got on to that plain, and why she hadn't rotted clean away during the two hundred years or more she must have lain there, are things I can't explain. Anyhow, I didn't stay to puzzle 'em out then, but set to work hunting for a way to get inside her. From the main-deck seemed to be the best course, and to reach that I started hacking at the blooming creepers. It was harder work than you'd think, for they'd spliced and twisted 'emselves into cables, and a jack-knife was about as much use on 'em as a tooth-pick. When night came I'd done a big day's work, and had only just got a footing on her deck.
"Next morning I went at it again, and by mid-day had the satisfaction of standing before the cuddy entrance. Again I felt the same dod-dratted funk creeping over me; but when I remembered the treasure, I said good-bye to that, and placed my shoulder against the door. It crumbled away and fell in a heap upon the deck, and when the dust had passed I found myself at the entrance of a small alleyway leading into the saloon. I entered it, stepping gingerly; but had only gone a few steps before the deck suddenly gave way, and I found myself disappearing with a crash into the lower regions. The fall was a darned sight bigger than I liked; but it served a purpose, for my weight on landing started a plank and brought a glimmer of light into the darkness.
"Finding I was not hurt, I fell to groping for a way out again; then I noticed the rottenness of the timbers, and determined to enlarge the light I had just made. The two kicks and a shove brought a flood of sunshine pouring in, and a horrible sight met my eyes. I was standing beside an old-fashioned bed-place on which lay (you may believe me or not) the mummified body of a man stretched full out and hanging on to the stanchions like grim death. He was not alone, for in the centre of the cabin, clutching at a heavy table, was another chap, also perfectly preserved, half standing, with his feet braced against the thick cross-bars and his shrivelled parchment face, with its staring eyes turned towards me, grinning like a poisoned cat. My scalp seemed to lift and my innards to turn to water. Letting out one yell, I clambered for the open air.
"Outside all was sunshine, blue sky, and bright colour, and, as if to set off what I had just left, a big butterfly came hovering towards me. In a few minutes my presence of mind returned, and I began to laugh at the idea of Sacramento Nick being afeared of dead men; so back I went in search of further mysteries. Again I entered the cuddy, and lowered myself into the under-cabin; but this time I was prepared for anything. The treasure-guard stared, but said nothing.
"While I was wondering how I'd best set about my search, a smart breeze came whistling in, caught the figure at the table, disengaged his hold, and brought his old carcase with a dry rattle to the floor. With his fall a small piece of metal rolled to my feet, and picking it up I found it to be a key of real curious shape and workmanship. Fired with my discoveries, I slipped across to try it on the first of the chests I saw ranged round the cabin, when to my astonishment I found it open. Somebody had been there before me; perhaps I was too late! All of a sweat I looked in, but 'twas too dark; I tried to pull the whole chest towards the light, but it was a main sight too heavy. Then I plunged my hand in and—great Jehoshaphat, how I yelled! Clutching what I could hold, I dashed across the cabin, up into the light, and throwing myself upon the ground, spread what I had brought before me. It took less than a second to see that they were diamonds, and, by all the stars and stripes, diamonds of the first water! There they lay winking and blinking at me and the sun, and for the first time I began to savee my amazing wealth. For the minute I was clean stark staring mad. I closed my eyes, and wondered if when I opened them again I should find it all a dream; but no, the beauties were there, looking brighter and even larger than before.
"Gentlemen, it's strange how the habits and precautions of civilization linger with a man even in the queerest places. For while not twenty yards from where I stood was greater wealth than I or fifty men could ever spend, I found myself fearful of losing one, picking each gem up with scrupulous care, and securing it inside my jumper. The next box was locked, so I tried the key. In spite of age and rust the wards shot back and the cover lifted. Again I felt the touch of stones, and again seizing a handful, I went back into the light. This time they were rubies; Burmese rubies, my experience told me, and not a tarnation flaw in one of 'em. For a second time I carefully picked them up and was hiding 'em as before, when I happened to look round. Dash my buttons, if I was alone! On all sides were niggers regarding me with considerable attention. I sprang to my feet and felt for my revolver. Fool that I was, I had left it in the boat! Seeing that I was aware of their presence, they closed in on me, and as they did so I took stock of 'em. They were unlike other South Sea natives, being of better build and but little darker than myself. True, they were rigged out in a short loin-cloth not unlike tappa, but they carried neither spear nor shield. When I saw this I was for showing fight, but soon gave that idea up; they were too many for me.
"After a few minutes' inspection they began to march me through the forest in a westerly direction, all the time talking a lingo that seemed curiously familiar. Just upon sunset we entered a large clearing on which stood a fair-sized native village, and I thought as I looked at it that, if ever I got out of this mess and turned to blackbirding, I'd know where to come for niggers. It contained perhaps fifty huts, all built of wood and with conical-shaped grass roofs. A trim garden ran down the centre, at the furthest end of which stood the largest and the most slap-up building of the lot. As soon as we hove in sight, a crowd came out to meet us, and in the middle of hundreds of yelling darkies I was marched up to the big house. The old chief, who had been bossing affairs with the swagger of a New York policeman, told me to wait while he carried his carcass up some steps and disappeared. After a little while he returned, and signified that I should follow him.
"When I got inside I had plenty of time to look about me, for it must have been full half an hour before any one came. Then some grass curtains were drawn aside, and what looked like a man entered. I say looked like, because I ain't really clear in my mind as to what he was; anyway, I shouldn't be far from the mark in sayin' he was quite a hundred years old, and just about as deformed as he well could be. He was as white as myself, and from the antics of the chief who had fetched me to his presence I could see that he had a great hold over the niggers. Throwing himself upon the ground, that old fool of a chief feebly wagged his toes till told to rise. Then he started explaining where he had found me and what I was doing.
"During his yarn, old grandfer', whose name I afterwards found was Don Silvio, riddled me into augurholes with his evil little eyes; then, having ordered the chief out, he started to examine me himself. He spoke the same lingo as the niggers, a sort of bastard Portugee, and still looking me through and through, asked, 'Stranger, how came you to this island?'
"I reckoned it best to keep the real truth from him, so said, 'I am a shipwrecked mariner, Señor, and fetched here in an open boat.'
"His eyes blazed, and his long, lean fingers twitched round his jewelled stick. 'And had you no thought of what treasure you might find?'
"'Señor,' said I, looking him square in the face, 'let me put it to you. Is it likely that a shipwrecked mariner would think of treasure?'
"A storm was brewing in his eyes, and I guessed it would break on me. Suddenly he yelled: 'You lie—you dog, you thief—you lie! You came for what you could steal, but nothing shall you take away, nothing—not one stone. The Fates that consumed those who came aforetime shall consume you also. Shipwreck or no shipwreck, you shall die!'
"He fell to beating a gong with his stick, and a dozen or so natives came tumbling in. They seemed to know their business, and before I had time to get in a word I was being dragged away down the street, to a small and securely guarded hut, where I was pushed in and the door closed. Disliking the look of things, as soon as I recovered my breath I started hunting about for a way of escape, but that was no good. Added to my other troubles, I was just famishing, and was beginning to fix it that my end was to be starvation, when footsteps approached, the door opened, and a native girl appeared, bearing on her head two wooden dishes which she set down before me. Being a favourite with the sex, I tried to draw her into conversation, but either she didn't understand my talk or fear had taken away her tongue; anyway, not a word would she utter. After she had left me I set to work on the food, and never before or since have I enjoyed a meal so much. Then stretching myself on some dry reeds in a corner I soon fell asleep.
"I was awakened in the chill grey of dawn by the entrance of the same beauty, who put down my breakfast, saying as she did so, 'White man, eat well, for at sunrise you die!' For a moment the shock cleared me out of speech; I could only sit and stare at her. She seemed to see what was going on in my mind, and as if in comfort added, 'Stranger, why do you fear death? It can only come once!'
"Her reasoning, though logical enough, wasn't of the kind calculated to meet my trouble, and when she had left me I started wondering if anybody in Sacramento City would ever hear of my fate, and bitterly cursing the day I set out in search of this villainous island. As I sat with my head upon my hands, the jewels I had stuck in my jumper fell to the floor and lay there taunting me with their sparkling splendour. Howsomever, it was no use crying over spilled milk; I had brought the situation on myself, and, whatever happened, must go through with it. Suddenly my ear caught the pat of naked feet outside the cell. Then the door was unbarred and the chief entered. 'Come, white man,' he said, 'all is made ready, and the axe waits for the bare flesh!' How would you have felt in such a situation? As for myself, I put a good face on it, and resolved, since I could no longer live a free and independent American citizen, to die as such. Pity, I thought, there wasn't a band. I was led up the village to the open plot before Don Silvio's house. It might have been the fourth of July for the crowd that was assembled. In the centre, for my special benefit, was an object which held an awful fascination for me; a curiously carved block of wood, dull brown in colour, and on two sides much stained and worn. It didn't take me a year to understand what it meant; and you may think it strange, seeing the nature of my position, but, true as gospel, I fell to wondering how my long neck would figure stretched across it.
"When I was halted, I took it for granted that the work of dispatching me would commence at once, but I was mistaken. The execution could not take place until the arrival of Don Silvio, and the sun was a good hour up before there was a stir in the crowd, and the withered monkey-faced little devil came stumping towards me. If he had appeared a hundred years old in the half-dark of his house, he now looked double that age, but the fire in his eyes was as bright as ever. Hobbling to within a dozen paces of where I stood, he took thorough stock of me. Then, tapping the block with his stick, he said: 'Señor, you are about to hunt treasure in a golden country, where I trust your efforts may meet with better success. I wish you farewell.' After relieving himself of this, he went to his seat; two natives raised a great grass umbrella above his head, and, all being comfortable, he gave orders for the performance to begin. A nigger stepped from the crowd and approached me, carrying in his hand an axe. Reaching the block he signed me to kneel. I took a last look round—first at the thick jungle, then at the great mountain pushing itself up into the blue sky. After that my eyes returned to the block, and, gentlemen both, a wonderful circumstance happened. Understand me clearly! Standing on either side of it were two thin columns of palest blue smoke, maybe six feet in height. As I stared at 'em they gradually took the shapes of men, till I could make out the features of old Milwaukee and poor Jim Dance, of London Town. They seemed to be gently beckoning me and telling me not to fear. P'raps I kind of understood, for I stretched my long neck across the block without a sign of funk. I heard the cackling laugh of Don Silvio, I saw the headsman draw a step closer, his arms go up, and then I shut my eyes, and remember no more.
"When I came to my senses I was lying on the bed of rushes in my old quarters, and the native girl before mentioned was seated beside me. On putting my hand to my head to sort of fix matters, she laughed merrily, and said: 'Stranger, it is still there, but to-morrow it will certainly be gone!' Why they hadn't killed me I couldn't understand, unless it was to put me to the torture of waiting another day; anyhow, the following morning I was prepared for the guard when they came to lead me out.
"Once more the crowd was there, once more that villainous old Don kept me waiting, and once more the axe went up but failed to strike. I was respited for another day. Well, this sort of thing happened every blessed morning, till I nearly went mad with the strain of it. On the eighth day, instead of being kept in the square, I was marched straight to the Don's house. The old pirate was waiting for me, and as soon as I arrived fell to questioning me about the outer world, seeming to take an all-fired interest in such parts of my own life as I thought fit to tell him. When he had found out all he wanted, he said: 'Go now, for the present you are free; but remember, if you but approach that ship by so much as half a mile, that same moment you die!' I stumbled out of his presence and down the street like a man dazed. That he had some reason for sparing my life was certain; but what it was, for the life of me I couldn't then determine. Arriving at my hut, I threw myself upon the rushes and tried to think it out.
"That evening, a little after sundown, while walking outside the village and racking my brain for a chance of escape, an event happened which changed all my thoughts and plans. I was passing through a bit of jungle, where the fireflies were beginning to play to and fro, when I came face to face with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and—well, I'm a free-born American citizen, and as such the equal of any man living; but I reckon that young woman took the conceit out of me. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years of age: her skin was as white as milk, her hair and eyes of the deepest black; and when she walked it was like the sound of falling rose-leaves. Seeing me, she started with surprise, and was half-inclined to run; but something seemed to tell her I wasn't particular harmful, so overcoming her fear she said, 'Señor, I am glad my grandfather has given you your freedom!' Her grandfather! Not being able to make it out, I said, 'Surely, miss, Don Silvio ain't your grandfather?' 'No, Señor, he was my father's grandfather, but I call him so because the other is so tedious.' Perhaps my manner, as I say, didn't appear very dangerous; anyway, after this her bashfulness seemed to vanish, and we walked back to the village as comfortable as you please. She told me that it was she who had induced the old rascal to spare my life, and I reckon the look I gave her for that had something to do with the flush as spread across her face. She also let me into the risk I had run by breaking into the old galleon, which, accordin' to her tellin', was a sacred thing upon the island. She did not know how long it had lain there, but suspicioned her great-grandfather had commanded it as a young man, and that all the rest who came with him were dead,—a fact which, you bet, I could quite believe.
"The moon was full up before we sighted the village, and when she left me I went back to my hut in a flumux of enchantment, as much in love as the veriest schoolboy. Somehow after this I never thought of escape, but set to work improving my quarters and laying out a garden. Every day Don Silvio came to question me, and you'd better guess I did my best to corral the old chap's confidence. How I got on you'll hear shortly.
"Well, each evening as soon as the sun was down, I visited the grove beyond the village, where, sure enough, I always met the Don's great-granddaughter. Her beauty and amazin' innocence so held me that I was nearly mad to make her my wife; and when I found that she reckoned to have the same liking for me, I could bear it no longer, so went right off to ask the old man for her hand. Not having the least hope of being successful, you can judge of my surprise when he promised her to me straight away, and, what's more, fixed it that the wedding should take place next day. He kept his word, and on the following morning, in the presence of all the village, she became my wife.
"The year that followed topped everything I ever knew of happiness. It slipped by in a rosy mist, and when our boy was born my cup was full. I proclaimed him American, according to the constitution of the United States, and the old Don announced a great feast in his honour. It was spread in the square, and all the village sat down to it. I can see the sight now: the shadowy outline of the mountain beyond the great flaring torches of sweet-smelling wood, the long rows of tables, the shouts and laughter of the niggers, and at the head, between my wife and her great-grandfather, the boy in his cradle. When the feast was right at its height, the old Don rose and handed me a silver mug filled with some sweet liquor. He told me to drink to my son's health, and suspecting no treachery, I did so. Next moment a change stole over me; I made a try to get on to my feet, but it was no use; everything seemed to be slipping away. I could just see my wife start towards me and the old Don pull her back, when my head sank on the table, and my senses left me.
"The next thing I remember is finding myself lying precious sick and weak at the bottom of my own boat, with nothing but the big green seas rolling around me. The island had vanished, and with it my wife and child. At first I reckoned I must have been asleep and dreamed the last year; but no, the food with which the boat was stocked was clear enough evidence of its truth. For an eternity I sailed those cursed seas this way and that, seeking for the land I had lost; but I must have drifted into different waters, for I saw no more islands. My food ran out, and I had given up all hope of being saved, when one of your luggers hove in sight and picked me up.
"Now, gentlemen, you've heard my story. Whether you believe it or not, of course I don't know; but I take my affidavy that all I have told you is true; and what's more, if you'll fit out a vessel to search for that island and its treasure, I'll take command of her. Should we find it, I reckon I can make you the two richest men on earth; and when I get my wife and child I shall be the happiest. In proof that the treasure's there, and as my contribution towards the expenses, I hand you this." From an inner pocket he produced a leather pouch, from which he took what at first appeared to be a small piece of crystal; on inspection it turned out to be a diamond, worth at least a hundred pounds. "That stone," said he, holding it at the angle which would best show its fire, "came from the coffers of the treasure-ship, and is the only one left out of all I saw and took. I will leave it with you for the present. Remember, there's thousands more aboard the old galleon, bigger and better nor that. Say, gentlemen, will you adventure for such merchandise?"
It was too late to go into the question that night, so we bade him come up for a further talk in the morning. Rising, he gravely bowed to us, and without another word withdrew. Next day he was not to be found, nor has he ever made his appearance since. Whether he lost himself and fell into the sea, or whether he was an impostor and feared detection, I haven't the remotest idea. I only know that I have a valuable diamond in my possession, which I am waiting to restore to its uncommonly curious owner.
Into the Outer Darkness
"I am not wrath, my own lost love, although
My heart is breaking—wrath I am not, no!
For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray
Of light into thy heart's night finds its way.
I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight!
I saw thy heart all empty, all in night;
I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart;
I saw how wretched, oh, my love, thou art!"
—Heine.
You will, perhaps, remember how the soul of Tom Guilfoy was saved by his wife, how Godfrey Halkett was killed by his sweetheart, and how the plans of the Kangaroo Girl were shattered at one blow by a certain grandee aide-de-camp. All those things are matters of history. This is a story of a similar nature, but with a somewhat different ending.
I am not going to tell you how I acquired my information, nor shall I say in which Australian colony the events occurred. If you have ever originated a scandal yourself, you will understand why and sympathise with me. Remember, however, personally, I don't blame them. Situated as they were, they couldn't have done otherwise. But I do contend that it refutes the charge globe-trotters bring against us when they say there is nothing underneath the surface of Australian society.
Officially, and for the purposes of trade, the man was named Cyril George Paton Haywood; his friends, however, called him Lancelot. The woman's maiden name was Alice Mary Whittaker, otherwise Guinevere; and as Lancelot and Guinevere, they are as famous through three colonies as a certain governor's mislaid particular despatch.
Lancelot was in the Civil Service, Deputy-Assistant-Registrar-General of Lands, Titles, or something brilliant of that description. Departmentally, he ranked high, was entitled to wear a uniform on occasion, and boasted the right of private entrée at vice-regal levees; financially, however, he was too low altogether. The greyheads lost no opportunity of affirming that he was too young, and even cadets know that it is impossible for a man to be accounted brilliant until age has removed the opportunity of showing it. That is why, according to the peculiarity of our legislation, we venerate and retain fossils to the detriment of younger and abler men.
Among other things Lancelot was consumptive, and, apart from his salary, penniless. So he naturally loved Guinevere, with a love that was dog-like in its faithfulness, and she returned his passion with equal fervour. For three seasons, to my certain knowledge, they drove together, sat out dances together, and met on every conceivable opportunity. She was desperately thorough in everything she undertook. Any man who has ever danced with her will confirm this statement.
Then King Arthur appeared on the scene, and languid society—we were in the hills for the hot months—sat down to watch results.
Arthur was not an ideal knight in any way. His past was a sealed book, therefore it was adjudged disreputable; his present was a golden age, so he had evidently turned over a new leaf. He was worth a quarter of a million, men said; but even that couldn't prevent him from being a podgy little red man with a double chin, always horribly clean, and given to the display of many diamonds. He told Mrs. Whittaker, in confidence, at the Bellakers' ball, that he was anxious to marry and settle down if he could only meet the right sort of girl; and, being a good mother, she informed her husband, in the brougham on the way home, that she could put her hand on just the very identical maid.
Whittaker said nothing, for he was fighting a financial crisis at the time; and, besides, he had every confidence in his wife.
About a month later Arthur purchased a gorgeous summer palace half-way up the mountain-road, furnished it magnificently, and set himself to entertain on his own lines. He had for neighbours a dignified judge and a popular widow. The judge lent him tone, the widow gave him female society. Indirectly, he paid through the nose for both.
Needless to say, every one was disposed to be cordial, for he gave delightful impromptu dances on cool summer evenings, and his iced champagne-cup was undeniable. He threw his tennis-courts open to society generally, and his billiard-room was the rendezvous for youths of sporting tastes for miles round. He also organized lovely moonlight riding picnics; and after a day in the sweltering heat of the plains, it was vastly refreshing to dodge through the cool gullies in congenial company.
Early in the summer Lancelot took rooms in the township down the hillside, and in the evenings he would stroll quietly along the mountain roads with Guinevere. Of course every one else was strolling too, but that only gave zest to the affair; and as most of them were also playing at love, their presence hardly mattered.
In the autumn, when people were beginning to think of returning to the city, Whittaker died, leaving his family almost unprovided for.
King Arthur was among the first to tender his sympathies, and, I'm told, after five minutes' preamble, asked point-blank for Guinevere's hand in marriage.
In spite of her grief, Mrs. Whittaker was able to grasp the majesty of his offer, and took care that night to show her daughter how necessary it was, for all their sakes, that she should marry well. Guinevere, however, could not see it in the same light. If it had been Lancelot, she would have been only too happy, she said; but even for her family's sake she was not going to marry anybody else. The mother postponed the matter for a week, then she argued, pleaded, threatened, and finally wept; but her daughter remained obstinate.
Knowing all this, you can imagine our surprise when, two months later, the engagement of King Arthur to beautiful Guinevere was publicly announced. But what amazed us still more was the fact that Lancelot did not seem to be affected thereby in the very smallest degree. His heart complaint was rapidly developing itself, and perhaps his valve demanded his complete attention.
If, however, we had seen a certain little letter, smeared with tear-stains and innumerable blotches, we might have understood matters; but as we did not, we had, like a certain lady of scriptural fame, to argue on what might be called insufficient premises.
Towards the end of June, Arthur and Guinevere were married in the Anglican Cathedral, the Lord Bishop officiating.
It was in all respects a brilliant wedding, and the bridegroom's present to the bride was a thing to see and marvel over. Guinevere walked through the ceremony as if she had been doing nothing else from childhood. (As I have said, she was desperately thorough in all she undertook.) Lancelot was not present; his health would not permit of it, he said.
The happy couple left the same day in the steamer Chang-Sha, to spend their honeymoon in Japan.
One morning, on arrival at the office, Lancelot found a letter on his table. It was from an eminent firm of English solicitors, and informed him of the death of an unknown relative, who, in consideration perhaps of their never having met, had left him the sum of thirty thousand pounds snugly invested.
He was barely interested, and asked what earthly manner of use it was to him now? Any one could see that he was growing daily worse, and I believe it was that very week that his doctor first insisted that he should resign his appointments and settle down in some quiet place, where he could not be excited in any shape or form. He was only thirty-three, but a very old man.
Early in December the happy couple returned to the south. The hot weather had commenced, again everybody was resident in the hills. Arthur and his wife went straight to the palace on the mountain-road, and on her first "afternoon," Guinevere's large drawing-room was filled with callers. Two things were painfully evident to the least observant: she was only a walking skeleton, while her husband was cleaner and more distressfully polite than ever. At first, we didn't know how to account for it; but men who saw his brandy-pegs understood what they meant, and told their women-folk, who, as usual, spread the report abroad.
Lancelot called on the Monday following their return, and Arthur welcomed him, if anything, a little too effusively. Guinevere crossed the room to shake hands, and the afternoon light enabled them to take stock of each other properly. They were a pair of ghosts, and each was shocked almost beyond the bounds of decency at the change in the other. He followed her to the Japanese afternoon tea-table, and took a cup of tea from her hands. The tremor of the cup and saucer told their own tale. Arthur watched them from the fireplace with the blandest of smiles upon his face. It pleased him to see the tears gather in his wife's eyes, as she recognised the change in her old lover. From that day forward, Lancelot was made free of the house, and Arthur insisted that he should be asked to every function, however great or small.
Whatever his own thoughts might have been, Lancelot could not fail to see the pleasure his society gave Guinevere, so he settled it in his own mind that the invitations emanated from her. His health was too feeble to admit of his riding or playing tennis; but driving along the mountain-roads, strolling in the gardens, or idling in the music-room, he was her constant companion. Naturally, folk talked, though Arthur assured them that he was only too glad to see his wife happy with her old friends. But it was not true, the long brandy pawnee glasses in his study said so most emphatically.
This sort of thing went on all through the summer months, until the roses began to bloom again in Guinevere's cheeks. Her husband noticed the change, but did not comment on it; he was going to have his day of reckoning by-and-by.
One day Lancelot called upon a certain famous specialist (I'll tell you a pretty piece of scandal about his wife some day), and after a brief wait was shown into the consulting-room. He sniffed the professional smell of the place for five minutes, and while listening to the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece, made up his mind on a certain subject.
After the specialist had completed a searching examination, Lancelot said,—"As you see, I am growing thinner every day; it nearly kills me to walk fifty yards, and my appetite has forsaken me completely. It's not the first time you've told men their fate: tell me mine. What is the length of my tether?"
"My dear sir, my very dear sir!" that worthy man replied, as he put his paraphernalia back into their respective cases, "we must not despair! While there is life there is hope; with proper care you may yet——"
"But I shall take no care. How long have I to live?"
"As I have said, with scrupulous attention to detail and proper advice, say twelve months, possibly more."
"And without that care?"
"I cannot tell you—perhaps five minutes, perhaps five months; it depends upon yourself."
"I am glad to hear that. Good-day!"
As he stepped into his buggy a letter crinkled in his breast-pocket. He laid himself back on the seat, murmuring Heine's
"Lay your dear little hand on my heart, my fair!
Ah! you hear how it knocks on its chamber there?
In there dwells a carpenter grim and vile,
And he's shaping a coffin for me the while.
"There is knocking and hammering night and day;
Long since they have frightened my sleep away.
Oh, carpenter, show that you know your trade,
That so to sleep I may soon be laid!"
Half-way up the mountain-road, Arthur overtook the buggy and cantered alongside.
"You're looking pretty cheap, old man," he said; "better come to dinner to-night, and see if we can't cheer you up—7.30 as usual!"
"Thanks! I think I will," answered Lancelot. "I don't feel particularly bright!"
Immediately after dessert Guinevere retired, leaving her husband and their guest together.
As Lancelot drew his handkerchief from his pocket, a letter came with it and fell unnoticed to the floor.
On rising Arthur saw it and picked it up. He read it without apology, and as he did so his face set. Then he politely handed it to his guest, saying,—
"I must beg your pardon, this is evidently your property!"
Lancelot did not speak, but sank back in his chair while the other continued,—"This is really a most unfortunate affair; and so my wife is about to dishonour my name, in order to devote herself more exclusively to the care of your health?"
"The fault is mine," stammered Lancelot, "only mine!"
"My dear fellow, not at all. Judging from that letter, she is in love with you—possibly she is right. We won't argue that matter. She seems fond of playing the rôle of St. Mary Magdala."
"What do you mean to do?"
"Turn her out of my house to-night, or settle the matter with you!"
"Settle with me; but for God's sake spare her!"
"Very well! Let us discuss the question quietly. As you know, I do not believe in what is called sentiment, and fortunately I am able to say, with a clear conscience, that I am not in love with my wife. Probably if I were, I should act otherwise. Now, what I propose is, that chance shall decide for us whether my wife leaves Australia, as she suggests, with you, or whether you go alone concealing your destination and promising never to communicate in any way with her again. Both are unpleasant alternatives, but my gain is, that in either case I shall be rid of you!"
"Good God, man, what an unholy arrangement! Supposing I refuse?"
"For her sake you cannot. I assure you I should turn her out of my house to-night!"
"But will you treat her kindly if I agree?"
"Isn't that rather a curious question from you to me? You must see that it depends entirely on her. Do you agree to my proposal?"
"God help me, I have no alternative!"
There was a long pause, during which Guinevere's music came faintly from the drawing-room.
"Very well; in that case, we had better decide at once. What is my wife playing?"
"An Andante and Scherzo of Beethoven's."
"Do you know it?"
"Thoroughly."
"Then you have that much in your favour. See, here, it is just three and a half minutes to nine by that clock. If she stops before the first stroke of the hour, I win, and she stays with me, and vice versâ. Do you agree?"
"I cannot do otherwise. God help her; it is all my fault!"
"Not at all, I assure you. Let us make ourselves comfortable. Will you try that port? No? You are foolish; it is an excellent vintage. Ah! one minute gone! What a lovely melody it is; and she plays it charmingly. The laughter of the Scherzo is delicious! May I trouble you for that decanter? Thank you! Two minutes gone. It appears as if my luck is going to fail me at last. Well, it can't be helped. I don't know which of us will be the gainer by the change. By the way, let me recommend you to go to Europe, and you might winter in Algiers; the climate you will find most ben——Ah! she has stopped. Well, I am afraid, Mr. Haywood, Fate has decided against you. Shall I order your carriage?"
Lancelot did not answer save by a little convulsive gasp. Then a little trickle of blood ran from his lips down his chin. The excitement had been too much for him; the frail cord that bound him to life had snapped, and he was dead.
The Story of Tommy Dodd and "The Rooster"
"Keep back, in the yellow! Come up, on Othello!
Hold hard, on the chestnut! Turn round, on The Drag:
Keep back there, on Spartan! Back, you, sir, in tartan!
So! steady there! easy! and down went the flag."
—Adam Lindsay Gordon.
Men in all ranks of society, from cabinet ministers to hotel clerks, are apt to underestimate the true importance of Little Things. Women never do, because it is their business in life to overestimate everything. Though these statements may seem paradoxical, when you've studied the sad history of Tommy Dodd and "The Rooster," my meaning will be as clear as noonday.
Jack Medway's Love Affair was a case in point; for if he had paid proper attention to small matters, he would not have cuffed "The Rooster" in Bourke Street, nor emphasized the insult by calling him a "dirty brat"; then most assuredly he would have married the girl of his heart, instead of a certain vivacious widow who now bullies his life away. Of course people bursting with common sense will deem it impossible that a rebuke given to a street-arab in Melbourne could affect the destinies of four people three years afterwards in North Queensland; nevertheless, without a shadow of doubt, such was the case. Just let me explain a little before you watch the course of events for yourself.
In the first place, Tommy Dodd was a racehorse, and one who had earned fame for himself on every course in Victoria from Mosquito Creek to Cape Howe. That he was not originally intended for the turf was evident from the fact that he made his first appearance in Government employ; and it was not until he had nearly killed four telegraph messengers and two important citizens that he was deemed unfit for the public service. Then he was put up to auction, and Lazarus Levi secured him for a quarter of his real value. He was a most accommodating quadruped, and with not more than nine-stone-six on his back was able, when his owner so desired, to make even crack performers look ridiculous. He had one fault, however, and that was——But I'll tell you about that directly.
"The Rooster" was another curiosity. His body was the body of a child, his face was the face of a lad; but his knowledge of the world, and the racing world in particular, could only have been gained in generations of experience. A great love for Tommy Dodd, and an intense hatred for the before-mentioned Mr. John Medway, of Barcoola Station, were among other of his peculiarities.
Now it so happened that after Jack Medway was appointed manager of Barcoola, he fell in love. I don't push this forward as anything extraordinary; but, as the statement of the fact is necessary to the proper narration of this story, I am bound to repeat, Jack Medway was in love, and Gerty Morris was the object of his affection. He also respected a dashing widow, named Leversidge.
The trouble dates from the issue of the first advertisements in connection with the Barcoola Races. At this yearly festival every owner, manager, jackeroo and rouseabout, within a hundred miles of the course, makes it a point of honour to be present. Then, for the space of a week, life is one whirl of shows, picnics, dances, and meetings. But above all the races reigned supreme.
One Sunday afternoon in Dr. Morris's verandah The Ladies' Bracelet was discussed, and Gerty Morris half hinted that Medway should enter a horse for it in her name. Naturally he jumped at the chance, and after summing up the strength of the most likely entries, cast about him for a nag.
(At this point the curtain should fall upon Act I., with rosy limelight effects, suggestive of Dawning Love and High Ideas.)
When an owner runs a horse to suit his book he should not grumble if his method is discovered; for stewards do sometimes see crooked running, and when they do they are apt to make things troublesome for that owner. Perhaps the proprietor of Tommy Dodd had met with some misfortune of this sort, for that sagacious animal suddenly disappeared from the southern racing world, and was seen therein no more.
A month later a mob of horses came up to Queensland, and at the sale a long, lolloping chestnut gelding, name unknown, was knocked down to Medway for twenty pounds. Though he was not aware of the fact, he was now the owner of the famous Tommy Dodd.
After the sale, driving home from the township, Beverley, of Kimona, nearly annihilated a drunken atom lying on the track. He picked him up and drove on. Next day, ascertaining that he possessed racing experience, he put him on to exercise The Gift. The Gift was his entry for The Bracelet, under the nomination of an unknown Alice Brown, in whom everybody, of course, recognised the before-mentioned Miss Gertrude Morris. That atom was "The Rooster," who had followed Tommy Dodd from the south. And here again Fate played up against Jack Medway.
(Curtain on Act II.: subdued lights and music suggestive of much Mystery.)
A week later the entries of the Barcoola Jockey Club's Autumn Meeting were announced, and Mr. J. Medway's Young Romeo, and Mr. R. Beverley's The Gift, were in the list of competitors.
The training of both animals was proceeding satisfactorily, and the owner of Young Romeo, alias Tommy Dodd, informed Miss Morris that the bracelet she so much coveted must certainly become her property. Beverley had written to her that morning to the same effect.
"The Rooster" ferreted about until he discovered his equine friend's abode, and at the same time learnt all he cared to know about the owner.
Then, remembering the insult of three years before, he saw a chance of revenge. He was quick-witted enough to notice the rivalry between Beverley and Medway, and he quite understood that both men had staked their life's happiness upon the issue of the race. He knew more about Tommy Dodd than any man living, so he took Beverley into his confidence, and revealed the animal's one peculiarity. That gentleman gave him a sovereign to hold his tongue, and as Young Romeo was the only horse he feared, he now saw his way clear to victory.
(Here Act III. terminates, with much red fire and music suggestive of conspiracy.)
It is all nonsense to say that a good day's sport cannot be enjoyed without grand-stands, electric scratching-boards, and telegraphs. The Barcoola Jockey Club possessed none of these advantages, and yet their races were always wonderfully successful. The fact is, in North Queensland the horse is the consideration; but the farther you go south, the nearer you get to directors' meetings and bank overdrafts—consequently, the more iniquitous and black-guardly the sport becomes.
Jack Medway drove his party on to the course in great style, and pretty Gerty Morris sat beside him, looking the picture of health and happiness. Beverley watched the waggonette draw up in a good position, and smiled sardonically. (The Gift was as fit as hands could make him: Young Romeo was his only enemy; and armed with "The Rooster's" knowledge, he knew he held him safe.)
Now, the secret was very simple after all. Years before, when Tommy Dodd was in Government employ, he had been put to a good deal of torture by one small telegraph boy, whose peculiar pleasure it was to flay him daily with a green hide whip. When this amiable young gentleman had succeeded in rawing the horse's sides to his own satisfaction, he still further goaded the poor brute by raising the hide as if to strike, yet never letting it descend. The result of this was that, even in his racing days, Tommy Dodd could never be persuaded to pass a lifted whip. This was "The Rooster's" secret, and the sequel you shall know directly.
The races opened splendidly. A Bush Handicap of 30 sovs., half a mile, was won after a determined struggle by Mr. Exton's Headstrong, 7 st. 2 lb., totalisator dividend, £3 10s. The District Plate went to Mr. Goodwyn's Endymion, 6 st. 10 lb., totalisator dividend, £5 6s. After that, hampers were opened, and every one went to luncheon. Dick Beverley lunched with the Barcoola party, and made himself vastly agreeable to all concerned—his rival included. The Bracelet Stakes was the first event after luncheon, and the two men went away to dress.
Young Romeo had been excellently prepared, and for old association's sake took to the process very kindly. "The Rooster" kept The Gift out of the way till he was wanted, on the plea that he was "a mighty nervous 'oss to 'andle."
After weighing in, Jack Medway offered Beverley a level fifty against his mount. "I'll take you," said Beverley, and strolled away to saddle.
Every one was pleased with the appearance of Young Romeo. He carried himself prettily, and swept over the ground with that easy gliding motion characteristic of a thoroughbred. His rider looked and behaved well in the saddle, so the ladies were unanimous in their praise. The Gift was not a handsome horse, but he had a wear-and-tear appearance that was better than mere beauty, and more than one who could judge of horse-flesh slipped away to put "just a saver" on him. The remainder of the field were a very so-so lot indeed.
As the rivals passed the Barcoola party in their preliminary canter, Gerty Morris scanned both men carefully, but could not make up her mind which she preferred. However, Medway had openly promised her the bracelet, so he had that in his favour. His colours were white jacket, red sleeves and cap; and she had worked a tiny sprig of ivy on the collar, of which he was inordinately proud.
After a little delay at the post, the flag dropped to a good start. Warrigal was the first away, with Endymion and The Gift in close attendance; Young Romeo was unfortunate, and brought up the rear with The Jackeroo and Blush Rose. As they passed the windmill, Endymion changed places with Warrigal, and Young Romeo came up to fourth place. Then The Gift forged to the front and led by a length. On entering the dip, Medway pushed Young Romeo to second place, and remained there watching events until they came into the straight. The crowd, thinking all was over, commenced shouting, "The Gift wins," "The Gift in a canter," "The Gift," etc., etc., etc., until Jack Medway thought it time to make play, so he set sail in pursuit. Young Romeo was full of running and overhauled his rival foot by foot; when fifty yards from the post they were locked neck and neck. Both were doing all they knew. Then "The Rooster's" secret flashed through Beverley's mind, and instantly he raised his whip, but did not strike. Next moment he was past the post with a couple of lengths to spare. To every one's surprise, Young Romeo, on his right, had shut up like a concertina just as he had it all his own way. The bracelet was the property of Miss Brown.
Next day we were informed that Gerty Morris had accepted Beverley, of Kimona, with her parents' full consent, and, strange to say, at the dinner given to celebrate that wonderful event she wore the bracelet of the famous race. Medway was among those invited, but he declined the invitation on the plea that business demanded his presence elsewhere.
"I often think that if he knew everything he would be the first to regret having hurt 'The Rooster's' feelings that night in Bourke Street. They say he is not having a very happy time of it with his wife—once the Widow Leversidge."
Now don't you think I'm right about the importance of Little Things?
Quod Erat Demonstrandum
"That this is doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
Such is life's trial, as old Earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you;
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!"
—R. Browning.
Any afternoon, between three and five, you will probably find in the Club Library, somewhere near the S T E and T R A Bookcase, a thin, restless-eyed man of perhaps five-and-fifty years of age. He will answer to the name of Pennethorne—Cornelius Pennethorne—and he can sometimes be trusted to converse in a fairly rational manner. Generally, however, he is chock-full of nonsensical ideas, founded on what he calls "Inferences from Established Principles," and these make it almost impossible for him to do anything, from tying his bootlace to reducing his Overdraft, except on theories of his own determining.
He sold out of the Army because he had proved to the War Office that the science of modern warfare was founded on an entirely wrong basis, and the greyheads refused his aid to set it right. So, washing his hands of the whole affair, he came to Australia. This was in '69, or perhaps '70.
Knowing nothing about station work, he gave sixty thousand pounds for a property on the Diamantina, in order to demonstrate his own theories on cattle-breeding. And when they proved unworkable, he spent a small fortune inventing a gold-crushing plant—another failure. In similar manner all his pet projects faded away, one after another, like cats'-paws on a big lagoon.
But he learnt nothing from these rebuffs, and there was no kudos to be gained by showing him what an utter ass he really was. You can reason with some men, but not with Pennethorne: he came from obstinate Cornish stock; and as soon as he saw the theory of the moment a failure, he threw it away and dived deeper still into something else.
When he had exhausted cattle-breeding, horse-breaking, irrigation and gold-mining, he hunted about for some other channel in which to sink his money; but for the moment nothing came to hand.
Then some one sent him a pamphlet entitled "The Folklore of our Aboriginal Predecessors," or something of an equally idiotic nature; and in this he saw a fresh opening. His district was infested with blacks, so he plunged holus-bolus into their private affairs. He argued that the theory of their treatment was altogether wrong, and for three months he choked the Colonial Press with lengthy screeds denouncing every one concerned in their government. Beginning with the Protector of Aboriginals and his staff, he took in the Commissioner of Police, and clergy of all denominations. Then, working through the Legislative and Executive Councils, he finished with a great blare at the Governor himself. It never, for an instant, struck him that he was making an egregious ass of himself. That, probably, would be some one else's theory.
Now of all this absurd man's absurd ideas, his fondest, and consequently his most absurd, was that, fundamentally, the nature of both blacks and whites is the same. He contended that education and opportunity are alone responsible for the difference. He said he would prove it.
Taking from the nearest tribe a little half-caste girl, perhaps eight years of age, he sent her south to school, and, cutting off all communication with her people, sat himself down to watch results.
After the child had been enjoying the advantages of every luxury for ten years, he went down to ascertain what progress she had made, and was astounded at the result. In place of the half-wild urchin he remembered, he found a well-mannered, accomplished girl, able to hold her own anywhere. She received him with an air of abandon that staggered him, and he was pleased beyond measure. He said he would go down to the Club and show the scoffers there that one theory, at least, had proved successful.
On reaching it he discovered a strange generation, and was not a little chagrined to find himself and his theories almost forgotten. The younger men watched him meandering about the rooms, and said to each other, "Who is this old bore Pennethorne, and what forgotten part of the interior does he come from?"
So delighted was he with the success of his scheme that he sent the girl to Europe for a year, he himself returning to the Back-blocks. It must be remembered here that her colour was not pure black, but a sort of dirty brown, that she was by no means ill-looking, and that she had been perfectly educated.
Then came the situation he should have foreseen, "When her education was completed, what was to be done with her?" In the loneliness of his station he thought and thought, but could come to no conclusion. She would know enough to make a perfect governess; but then, perhaps, no one would care to give her employment. It was impossible that she should go back to the tribe, and it was equally unlikely that any suitable man would ask her hand in marriage. He began to realize what a white elephant he had raised up for himself.
One cold winter's night, when the rain was beating down and the wind whistling round the station-house, it flashed through his mind that it would be by no means unpleasant to exchange his grumpy old housekeeper for a younger woman—one who could make the evenings pleasant with music and intellectual conversation. But it would have this drawback—it would mean matrimony.
All this time his protégée was writing him charming letters from Rome and Naples, commenting shrewdly on all the wonders she was seeing. Sometimes on the run he would read these letters, and think out certain schemes all by himself.
On her return he went down to Sydney for the special purpose of meeting her. He found a pretty little woman in a neat dark blue travelling dress awaiting him. Her white cuffs and collar contrasted charmingly with her dark complexion. She received him very nicely, and he noticed that she had picked up the little mannerisms of the better-class Englishwomen she had met. They drove to the Australian, and a week later were married by special licence.
Most men who remembered him said he was a very big fool; the rest said that they would give their opinions when they saw how events turned out.
Directly they were married they posted straight off to the station. And herein Pennethorne acted very unwisely. He should have toured Tasmania and New Zealand, or visited Japan in the orthodox way. But he was unlike other men, and it was a moral impossibility for him to act like a rational being—his theories got in the way and tripped him up.
For the first year or so everything progressed beautifully, and he wrote glowing accounts of his new life to the few men whose friendship he had thought worth retaining. Then the correspondence ceased abruptly, and his friends marvelled.
Now, of all those who had scoffed at Pennethorne's theories, the most persistent was William Pevis Farrington, afterwards His Honour Mr. Justice Farrington. In the middle of his happiness, Pennethorne had invited the judge, if ever he should be travelling that way, etc.—you know the usual sort of thing—to put in a day or two with him, and see for himself how things stood. About a year later Farrington did happen to be somewhere in the district and called as requested.
Meeting his host near the homestead, they rode up together, and Farrington noticed that Pennethorne decidedly looked his age. When they reached the house the latter, leaving his guest in the dining-room, went in search of his wife, to return about ten minutes later saying she was unwell. They dined alone. All through the meal Pennethorne seemed disturbed and uncomfortable, and when it was over led the way into the garden, where he said abruptly, "Farrington, you think me a madman, don't you?"
The judge mumbled the only thing he could think of at the moment, and endeavoured to push the conversation off to a side track by an inquiry after Mrs. Pennethorne's health. It had precisely the contrary effect to what he intended.
His friend had twelve years' arrears to work off before he could be considered, conversationally, a decent companion. So, setting to work, he poured into the unfortunate judge's ears his granary of theories, facts, and arguments. He marshalled his arguments, backed them up with his theories, and clinched all with his facts, his voice rising from its usual placid level to a higher note of almost childish entreaty. Unconsciously he was endeavouring to convince himself, through the medium of a second person, of the wisdom contained in his marriage experiment.
Farrington listened attentively. His trained mind distinguished between what the other believed and what he was endeavouring to prove against his own convictions. However, he could see that the keynote of the whole harangue was Failure, but as every one admitted that the last experiment had proved entirely successful, in what direction did such failure lie? He was more than a little mixed, and by delicate cross-examination elicited certain facts that puzzled him still more.
One thing was plainly evident: Pennethorne was very much in love with his wife. In the first place he was given to understand that no man could desire a more amiable wife than Mrs. Pennethorne had proved herself to be. This heading included virtues too numerous to mention—but she was not well. Nor could any man desire a more accomplished wife than Mrs. Pennethorne, who was fit to be the helpmate of an Oxford Don—but she was not well. His assertions always had the same refrain—"She was not well!"
Because he could not understand, Farrington became deeply interested.
Just before daylight the judge was wakened by his host. He saw in an instant that something terrible had happened.
Mrs. Pennethorne had disappeared in the night, her husband knew not whither!
Even with his teeth chattering in his head, and his palsied old hand rattling the candlestick, he was compelled to state his theory of her absence.
Farrington, seeing he was not responsible for his actions, acted for him. He routed out all the station hands and scoured the country. They spent all day searching the scrub, dragging the dams and waterholes, and at nightfall had to give it up as hopeless.
Farrington and Pennethorne rode home together. Passing through a rocky gully, they noticed the smoke of a camp fire floating up into the still night air, and rode up to make inquiries. The blacks were at their evening meal. One filthy girl raised her head and looked up at them from her frowsy blankets. It was Mrs. Pennethorne!
After thirteen years of civilization the race instinct had proved too strong: the reek of the camp fires, the call of the Bush, and the fascination of the old savage life had come back upon her with double intensity, and so the last theory had to be written down a failure. Q.E.D.
Cupid and Psyche
"Handsome, amiable, and clever,
With a fortune and a wife;
So I make my start whenever
I would build the fancy life.
After all the bright ideal,
What a gulf there is between
Things that are, alas! too real
And the things that might have been!"
—Henry S. Leigh.
His name upon the ship's books was Edward Braithwaite Colchester, but between Tilbury and Sydney Harbour he was better known as Cupid. His mother was a widow with four more olive branches, absolutely dependent on her own and Teddy's exertions.
At the best of times Kindergartens for the children of respectable tradespeople are not particularly remunerative, and the semi-detached villa in Sydenham was often sorely tried for petty cash. But when Teddy was appointed fourth officer of the X.Y.Z. Company's steamship Cambrian Prince, endless possibilities were opened up.
If you will remember that everything in this world is ordained to a certain end, you will see that Teddy's future entirely depended on his falling in love—first love, of course, and not the matter-of-fact business-like affair that follows later.
After his second voyage he obtained a fortnight's leave and hastened home. Being fond of tennis and such-like amusements, he was naturally brought into contact with many charming girls, who, because he was a strange man and a sailor, were effusively polite. Then he fell hopelessly in love with a horribly impossible girl, and in the excitement of the latest waltz proposed, and was accepted, on the strength of a fourth officer's pay, an incipient moustache, and a dozen or so brass buttons.
During the next voyage his behaviour towards unmarried women was marked by that circumspection which should always characterize an engaged man. He never allowed himself to forget this for an instant, and his cabin had for its chief ornament a plush-framed likeness of a young lady gazing, with a wistful expression, over a palpably photographic sea.
Now, it was necessary for his ultimate happiness that Teddy Colchester should learn that, like his own brass buttons, without constant burnishing, a young lady's affection is apt to lose much of its pristine brightness, and that too much sea air is good for neither. He ticked off the days of absence, and, as his calendar lessened, his affection increased.
At Plymouth a letter met him—a jerky, inky, schoolgirl epistle, evidently written by a writer very cold and miserable; and the first reading stunned him. Had he seen a little more of the real world, he would have been able to read between the lines something to this effect: "You're Teddy, three months away, and I'm madly in love with a soldier." Then he would have noted that the writer was staying in Salisbury, after which he would have hunted up his home papers and discovered that the Royal Wiltshire Yeomanry Cavalry were encamped at Humington Down. But as he had only seen life through a telescope, he could not do this, consequently his pain was a trifle acute.
His mother wrote him four pages of sympathy. But though she wondered at any girl jilting her boy, she could not help a feeling of satisfaction at its being still in her power to transmute three-quarters of his pay into food and raiment for her brood.
Next voyage the Cambrian Prince had her full complement of passengers, and the "Kangaroo Girl," whom perhaps you may remember, was of the number. At Plymouth a little reserved girl joined, and as she is considerably mixed up in this story, you must know that she rejoiced in the unpretentious name of Hinks.
For the first week or so Teddy held very much aloof from the passengers, engaging himself entirely with recollections of the girl for whose sake he was going to live "only in a memory."
Being an honest, straightforward young fellow, he of course followed the prescribed programme of all blighted love affairs. He began by pitying himself for the sorrow he was undergoing, then went on to picture the future that might have been theirs had she married him; but before they were clear of the Bay he had arrived at the invariable conclusion, and was pitying himself for pitying the girl who was foolish enough to jilt such an entirely estimable young man as Edward Braithwaite Colchester.
One moonlight night, after leaving "Gib," he was leaning over the rails of the promenade deck, feeling sympathetically inclined to the world in general, when somebody stepped up beside him. It was Miss Hinks. She prefaced her conversation with two or three questions about the sea, and he made the astounding discovery that her voice possessed just the note of sympathy he required for his complaint. He had felt sorry for her because other people snubbed her, and she for him because she had been told exaggerated stories about his love affair. Together they made rather a curious couple.
