"A beautiful night. Look at that last gleam of crimson low down upon the horizon. What are you thinking of, old man?"
Ellison did not make any reply for a minute, and then he said quietly:
"Of a night like this eight years ago! That's all."
"You ought not to have let her tell you."
"I couldn't help myself. It was done before I knew it. And then I had her guilty secret to keep as well as my own. Bah! what a fool I was. But what am I saying! How did you come to know anything of her?"
"Another of my guesses, that's all."
"Murkard, there's something devilish uncanny about you."
"Because you don't understand me, eh? No, no; don't be afraid, old man, you will never have cause to fear me. I owe you too much ever to prove myself ungrateful. Bear with my crotchets—for as surely as I stand before you now, the day will come when you will regret any harsh word you have ever spoken to me. My destiny is before me written in letters of fire—I cannot escape it, and God knows I would not if I could."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Don't ask me, or try to find out. When I saw your face for the first time that wet night on the wharf in Sydney, I knew you to be the man for whom I was sent into the world. There is a year of grace before us, let us enjoy it—then—well then I shall do my duty."