Mrs. Falchion, Volume 2_

him. After breakfast he said to me: "I have to go to the valley to pay Phil Boldrick's friend the mon

ll idle a good deal, for my time with you here is shortening, and I want to have a g

weren't going. I wish that we might be comrades unde

old world? I imagine Miss Belle Treherne would scarcely fancy that. . . . Still, we can be frie

m too seriously. He said nothin

m Winnipeg would come. About noon it came. It was not known quite in what part of the North-west, Madras (under his new name

let her know that he was alive, but I would break the promise if Madras himself did not come. After considerable h

st. Here was a pleasant revelation! I was so confused with delight at the information, that I could think of nothing more sensible to say than that the unexpected always happens. By this time we were withi

," she said gravely, "I hope as I live and travel, I grow

that you were

foolish sometimes." . . . She came back towards

w unselfish this girl could be, and she knew thoroughly the

e you," she said, "but do you not

so, but I hesitated to

rnestly. "We have both understood, a

ntinued: "Once, on the vessel, you remember, in a hint so very little, I made it appear that madame was selfish. . . . I am sorry. Her heart was asleep. Now, it i

is has come, that

e asked that question had I known more o

at all. I do not come

hap

chion entered. There was something new in her carriage, in her person. She came towards me, held out her hand, and said, with th

u because I had an inclination. I did not guess

c calculation-at which, I suppose, you are an adeptor curiosity? Or had it a purpose? Or were you bored, and t

ctly: I was impelled to come. I reasoned-if that is scientific-on

" she interrupted, and s

s sylvan, and I fear, to you, half-barbaric spot. I was bored with myself

hair easily, not languidly. S

hen there is some hope for your future wife. . . . We have had many talks in our acquaintance, Dr. Marmion, but none so interes

, almost imperceptible clic

I, "has no point now; for even if I were to propose to amuse you-I believ

phy," she brok

fancy, be prepared to accept my services. There would be no ch

pleasantly if it suited y

it is all futil

tioned that b

lied, dropping into

ally offered me a flower. I mechanically placed it in my button

gravely now, "that there need

are not

y true as it is epig

is more tha

do delight in epigram; there see

uite what I wished there, but she

k me full in the face as she had done before: "Well, then, let me add to your present

ot unde

with the directness she

nquiring-scientific, or feminine-what you please! . . . You can now yield up your portfolio of-foreign affairs-of war-shall I say? and retire into sedative habitations, which, believe me, yo

I did not know all the truth until afterwards-some of it long afterwards), "it is more than I dared to hope for,

k, or may have intended to do, has not moved me in the least. I have had wrongs that

ht, it is not probable that we shall meet again. I ho

new deep look which I had seen

I never tried to injure you. For the rest, I can make no complaint. You do not like me. I liked you once, and do now, when you do not depreciate yourself of purpose. . . . Pardon me, but I say this very humbly too. . .

y husband," she in

ted. But I confess I have found it imp

my face, as she leaned slightly forward. Then at last she spoke m

yet mine. Then strange things occurred. . . . At last I relented. I saw that I had better go. Yesterday I saw that; and I am going-that is all. . . . I wished to keep the edge of my intercourse with you sharp and uncompanionable to the end; but you have forced me at my weakest point. . .

husband, Boyd Madras

t she did not resent it,

speak, and I left her. At that moment she blinde

.......

ght be thought numbness of sensation, in others fortitude-the prerogative of despair. He came to the point of land juttin

de his way to Mr. Devlin's office. He found Phil's pal awaiting him the

for all that'll drink success to Viking. A place that's stood by my pal, I stand by-but not with his money, mind you! No, that goes to you, Padre,

lin for safe keeping, remarking, at the same time, that the matt

Devlin, perplexity crossed his face. He said, as Roscoe turned round: "There's something catchy about you

ev

n Aust

in 1

't ther

posed. He was determined to answer truthfully any

in Sa

htest pause, and t

in S

by gracious! Not a

ther. He did not feel bou

er, I'll swear. Was you there in the last hal

e reply w

ons, who had been hanging about the door-urged him to come to the tavern. This distracted him. He laughed, and said th

u, so far as I know

remember. . . . I can't remember! . . . But we'll have a spin about it again,

's memory was drunk, not in silence, many times that day. So that when, in the afternoon, he made up his mind to keep his engagement with Mrs. Falchion, and left

he long boat d

ads as pi

n the 'Lovely

rmaids do

bides on its s

where the lo

uff this equ

its hurri

ly Jane' she d

ored at the

d again to We

f a thousa

he town. The walk had sobered him a little. "Phil, old pal," he said at last, "you ain't got the taste of raw whiskey with you now. When a man loses a pal he loses a grip on the world equal to all that pal's grip was worth. . . . I'm drunk, and Phil's down there among the worms- among th

t her if he went that way. This he did. He was just about to issue into a partly open space by a

t as you did. He would have given her a home, have made her happy, perhaps. You, whe

r-that is not so. As God i

t now, and say that I believe that, whatever I may have hinted or

led herself I had made up my mind to leave the navy. I was going to send in my papers, and come back to Apia, and marry her as Englishmen are married. While I r

now," was th

ake me despise myself more than I do; but I have told you all, as I shall

bay to the 'Porcupine', which was then under way. The band on board, you also remember, was playing the music of La Grande Duchesse. You fired on the natives who followed. Well, Sam Kilb

d across his fo

ish I had faced the matter there an

t did not know you. You wisely came straight to the Consul's office- my fa

"Alo-your-sister!" he

her mother had been honestly married to my father by a missionary; though for my sake it had never been made known.

" Roscoe was

y reason for wishing you ill,

id despairin

e before him the outer coldne

o's death? . . . I leave you to think that over. It is worth thinking about. I shall keep your secret, too. Kilby does not know you. I doubt that he ever saw you, though, as I said, he followed you with the natives that night in Apia. He was to come to see me to-day. I think I intended to tell him all, and shift-the duty-of punishment on his sh

d bitterness, but in a thankfulness too, more for Ruth's sake than his own. He rai

t, a body pressed hard against him, and he