F A L K 
 
F A L K 
 
 AMY FOSTER 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 THREE STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH CONRAD 
 
 Garden Citt New York 
 
 DOUBLEDAY. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
COPYUCXT, 1909, BT 
 DOUBLKDAT, FAOB * COMBAVT 
 
 ETNCLfSM f 
 
6^ ri. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Falk 1 
 
 Amy Foster 153 
 
 to-morbow. , , 215 
 
 ^■45417 
 
FALK 
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
FALK 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
 Several of us, all more or less connected with the 
 sea, were dining in a small river-hostelry not more 
 than thirty miles from London, and less than twenty 
 from that shallow and dangerous puddle to which 
 cur coasting men give the grandiose name of " Ger- 
 man Ocean." And through the wide windows we 
 had a view of the Thames ; an enfilading view down 
 the Lower Hope Reach. But the dinner was exe- 
 crable, and all the feast was for the eyes. 
 
 That flavour of salt-water which for so many of 
 us had been the very water of life permeated our 
 talk. He who hath known the bitterness of the 
 Ocean shall have its taste forever in his mouth. But 
 one or two of us, pampered by the life of the land, 
 complained of hunger. It was impossible to swal- 
 low any of that stuff. And indeed there was a 
 itrange mustiness in everything. The wooden din- 
 ing-room stuck out over the mud of the shore like 
 [8] 
 
FALK 
 
 B, lacustrine dwelling ; the planks of the floor seemed 
 rotten ; a decrepid old waiter tottered pathetically 
 to and fro before an antediluvian and worm-eaten 
 sideboard ; the chipped plates might have been dis- 
 interred from some kitchen midden near an inhab- 
 ited lake ; and the chops recalled times more ancient 
 still. They brought forcibly to one's mind the 
 night of ages when the primeval man, evolving the 
 first rudiments of cookery from his dim conscious- 
 ness, scorched lumps of flesh at a fire of sticks in the 
 company of other good fellows; then, gorged and 
 happy, sat him back among the gnawed bones to 
 tell his artless tales of experience — the tales of hun- 
 ger and hunt — and of women, perhaps ! 
 
 But luckily the wine happened to be as old as 
 the waiter. So, comparativel}' empty, but upon the 
 whole fairly happy, we sat back and told our artless 
 tales. We talked of the sea and all its works. The 
 sea never changes, and its works for all the talk of 
 men are wrapped in mystery-. But we agreed that 
 the times were changed. And we talked of old 
 ships, of sea-accidents, of break-downs, dismast- 
 ings ; and of a man who brouglit his ship safe to 
 Liverpool all tlie way from the River Platte under 
 [4 J 
 
P A T. K 
 
 a jury rudder. We talked of wrecks, of short ra- 
 tions and of heroism — or at least of what the news- 
 papers would have called hei'oism at sea — a mani- 
 festation of virtues quite different from the heroism 
 of primitive times. And now and then falling silent 
 all together we gazed at the sights of the river. 
 
 A P. & O. boat passed bound down. " One gets 
 jolly good dinners on board these ships," remarked 
 one of our band. A man with sharp eyes read out 
 the name on her bows: Arcadia. "What a beauti- 
 ful model of a ship ! " murmured some of us. Slic 
 was followed by a small cargo steamer, and the flag 
 they hauled down aboard while we were looking 
 showed her to be a Norwegian. She made an awful 
 lot of smoke ; and before it had quite blown away, a 
 high-sided, short, wooden barque, in ballast and 
 towed by a paddle-tug, appeared in front of the 
 windows. All lier hands were forward busy setting 
 up the headgear ; and aft a woman in a red hood, 
 quite alone with the man at the wheel, paced the 
 length of the poop back and forth, with the grey 
 wool of some knitting work in her hands. 
 
 " German I should think," muttered one. " The 
 skipper has his wife on board," remarked another; 
 [5] 
 
PALK 
 
 and the light of the crimson sunset all ablaze behind 
 the London smoke, throwing a glow of Bengal light 
 upon the barque's spars, faded away from the Hope 
 Reach. 
 
 Then one of us, who had not spoken before, a 
 man of over fifty, that had commanded ships for a 
 quarter of a century, looking after the barque now 
 gliding far away, all black on the lustre of the river, 
 said: 
 
 This reminds me of an absurd episode in my life, 
 now many years ago, when I got first the command 
 of an iron barque, loading then in a certain Eastern 
 seaport. It was also the capital of an Eastern king- 
 dom, lying up a river as might be London lies up 
 this old Thames of ours. No more need be said of 
 the place; for this sort of thing might have hap- 
 pened anywhere where there are ships, skippers, 
 tugboats, and orphan nieces of indescribable splen- 
 dour. And the absurdity of the episode concerns 
 only me, my enemy Falk, and my friend Hermann. 
 
 There seemed to be something like peculiar em- 
 phasis on the words " My friend Hermann," which 
 caused one of us (for we had just been speaking of 
 heroism at sea) to say idly and nonchalantly: 
 [6] 
 
FALK 
 
 ** And was this Hermann a hero ? " 
 
 Not at all, said our grizzled friend. No hero at 
 all. He was a Schiff-f iihrer : Ship-conductor. 
 That's how they call a Master Mariner in Germany. 
 I prefer our way. The alliteration is good, and 
 there is something in the nomenclature that gives 
 to us as a body the sense of corporate existence: 
 Apprentice, Mate, Master, in the ancient and hon- 
 ourable craft of the sea. As to my friend Hermann, 
 he might have been a consummate master of the 
 honourable craft, but he was called officially Schiff- 
 fiihrer, and had the simple, heavy appearance of a 
 well-to-do farmer, combined with the good-natured 
 shrewdness of a small shopkeeper. With his shaven 
 chin, round limbs, and heavy eyelids he did not look 
 like a toiler, and even less like an adventurer of the 
 sea. Still, he toiled upon the seas, in his own way, 
 much as a shopkeeper works behind his counter. 
 And his ship was the means by which he maintained 
 his growing family. 
 
 She was a heavy, strong, blunt-bowed affair, 
 awakening the ideas of primitive solidity, like the 
 wooden plough of our forefathers. And there were, 
 about her, other suggestions of a rustic and homely 
 
TALK 
 
 nature. The extraordinary timber projections 
 which I haA-e seen in no other vessel made her square 
 stem resemble the tail end of a miller's waggon. 
 But the four stern ports of her cabin, gkzed with 
 six little greenish panes each, and framed in wooden 
 sashes painted brown, might have been the windows 
 of a cottage in the country. The tiny white cur- 
 tains and the greenery of flower pots behind the 
 glass completed the resemblance. On one or two 
 occasions when passing under her stern I had de- 
 tected from my boat a round arm in the act of tilt- 
 ing a watering pot. and the bowed sleek head of a 
 maiden whom I shall always call Hermann's niece, 
 because as a matter of fact I've never heard her 
 name, for all my intimacy with the family. 
 
 This, however, sprang up later on. Meantime in 
 common with the rest of the shipping in that East- 
 em port, I was left in no doubt as to Hermann's no- 
 tions of hygienic clothing. Evidently he believed 
 in wearing good stout flannel next his skin. On 
 most days little frocks and pinafores could be seen 
 drying in the mizzen rigging of his ship, or a tiny 
 row of socks fluttering on the signal halyards ; but 
 once a fortnight the family washing was exhibited 
 [8] 
 
FALK 
 
 in force. It covered the poop entirely. The after- 
 noon breeze would incite to a weird and flabby activ- 
 ity all that crowded mass of clothing, with its vague 
 suggestions of drowned, mutilated and flattened hu- 
 manity. Trunks without heads waved at you arms 
 without hands; legs without feet kicked fantasti- 
 cally with collapsible flourishes ; and there were long 
 white garments that, taking the wind fairly 
 through their neck openings edged with lace, be- 
 came for a moment violently distended as by the 
 passage of obese and invisible bodies. On these days 
 3'ou could make out that ship at a great distance 
 by the multi-coloured grotesque riot going on abaft 
 her mizzen mast. 
 
 She had her berth just ahead of me, and her 
 name was Diana, — Diana not of Ephesus but of 
 Bremen. This was proclaimed in white letters a 
 foot long spaced widely across the stern (somewhat 
 like the lettering of a shop-sign) under the cottage 
 windows. This ridiculously unsuitable name struck 
 one as an impertinence towards the memory of the 
 most charming of goddesses; for, apart from the 
 fact that the old craft was physically incapable of 
 engaging in any sort of chase, there was a gang of 
 [9] 
 
FALK 
 
 four children belonging to her. They peeped over 
 the rail at passing boats and occasionally dropped 
 various objects into them. Thus, sometime before 
 I knew Hermann to speak to, I received on my hat 
 a horrid rag-doll belonging to Hermann's eldest 
 daughter. However, these youngsters were upon 
 the whole well behaved. They had fair heads, round 
 eyes, round little knobby noses, and they resembled 
 their father a good deal. 
 
 This Diana of Bremen was a most innocent old 
 ship, and seemed to know nothing of the wicked sea, 
 as there are on shore households that know nothing 
 of the corrupt world. And the sentiments she sug- 
 gested were unexceptionable and mainly of a do- 
 mestic order. She was a home. All these dear chil- 
 dren had learned to walk on her roomy quarter-deck. 
 In such thoughts there is something pretty, even 
 touching. Their teeth, I should judge, they had 
 cut on the ends of her running gear. I have many 
 times observed the baby Hermann (Nicholas) en- 
 gaged in gnawing the whipping of the fore-royal 
 brace, Nicholas' favourite place of residence was 
 under the main fife-rail. Directly he was let loose 
 he would crawl off there, and the first seaman who 
 [10] 
 
FALK 
 
 came along would bring him, carefully held aloft 
 in tarry hands, back to the cabin door. I fancy 
 there must have been a standing order to that effect. 
 In the course of these transportations the baby, 
 who was the only peppery person in the ship, tried 
 to smite these stalwart young German sailors on the 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Hermann, an engaging, stout housewife, 
 wore on board baggy blue dresses with white dots. 
 When, as happened once or twice I caught her at an 
 elegant little wash-tub rubbing hard on white col- 
 lars, baby's socks, and Hermann's summer neck- 
 ties, she would blush in girlish confusion, and rais- 
 ing her wet hands greet me from afar with many 
 friendly nods. Her sleeves would be rolled up to 
 the elbows, and the gold hoop of her wedding ring 
 glittered among the soapsuds. Her voice was 
 pleasant, she had a serene brow, smooth bands of 
 very fair hair, and a good-humoured expression of 
 the eyes. She was motherly and moderately talka- 
 tive. When this simple matron smiled, youthful 
 dimples broke out on her fresh broad cheeks. Her- 
 mann's niece on the other hand, an orphan and very 
 silent, I never saw attempt a smile. This, however, 
 
 [11] 
 
FALK 
 
 was not gloom on her part but the restraint of 
 youthful gravity. 
 
 They had carried her about with them for the 
 last three years, to help with the children and be 
 company for Mrs. Hermann, as Hermann men- 
 tioned once to me. It had been very necessary while 
 they were all little, he had added in a vexed manner. 
 It was her arm and her sleek head that I had 
 glimpsed one morning, through the stern-windows 
 of the cabin, hovering over the pots of fuchsias and 
 mignonette ; but the first time I beheld her full 
 length I surrendered to her propoitions. They fix 
 her in my mind, as great beauty, great intelligence, 
 quickness of wit or kindness of heart might have 
 made some other woman equally memorable. 
 
 With her it was form and size. It was her physi- 
 cal personality that had this imposing charm. She 
 might have been witty, intelligent, and kind to an 
 exceptional degree. I don't know, and this is not to 
 the point. All I know is that she was built on a 
 magnificent scale. Built is the only word. She was 
 constructed, she was erected, as it were, with a regal 
 lavishness. It staggered you to see this reckless ex- 
 penditure of material upon a chit of a girl. She 
 [12] 
 
FALK 
 
 was youthful and also perfectly mature, as though 
 she had been some fortunate immortal. She was 
 heavy too, perhaps, but that's nothing. It only 
 added to that notion of permanence. She was bare- 
 ly nineteen. But such shoulders ! Such round 
 arms ! Such a shadowing forth of mighty limbs 
 when with three long strides she pounced across the 
 deck upon the overturned Nicholas — it's perfectly 
 indescribable ! She seemed a good, quiet girl, vigi- 
 lant as to Lena's needs, Gustav's tumbles, the state 
 of Carl's dear little nose — conscientious, hardwork- 
 ing, and all that. But what magnificent hair she 
 had! Abundant, long, thick, of a tawny colour. 
 It had the sheen of precious metals. She wore it 
 plaited tightly into one single tress hanging girl- 
 ishly down her back and its end reached down to 
 her waist. The massiveness of it surprised you. 
 On my word it reminded one of a club. Her face 
 was big, comely, of an unruffled expression. She 
 had a good complexion, and her blue eyes were so 
 pale that she appeared to look at the world with 
 the empty white candour of a statue. You could 
 not call her good-looking. It was something much 
 more impressive. The simplicity of her apparel, 
 [13] 
 
FALK 
 
 the opulence of her form, her imposing stature, 
 and the extraordinary sense of vigorous life that 
 seemed to emanate from her like a perfume exhaled 
 by a flower, made her beautiful with a beauty of a 
 rustic and olympian order. To watch her reaching 
 up to the clothes-Hne with both arms raised high 
 above her head, caused you to fall a musing in a 
 strain of pagan piety. Excellent Mrs. Hermann's 
 baggy cotton gowns had some sort of rudimentary 
 frills at neck and bottom, but this girl's print frocks 
 hadn't even a wrinkle ; nothing but a few straight 
 folds in the skirt falling to her feet, and these, when 
 she stood still, had a severe and statuesque quality. 
 She was inclined naturally to be still whether sit- 
 ting or standing. However, I don't mean to say 
 she was statuesque. She was too generously alive; 
 but she could have stood for an allegoric statue of 
 the Earth. I don't mean the worn-out earth of our 
 possession, but a 3'oung Earth, a virginal planet 
 undisturbed by the vision of a future teeming with 
 the monstrous forms of life and death, clamorous 
 with the cruel battles of hunger and thought. 
 
 The worthy Hermann liimself was not very en- 
 tertaining, though his English was fairly compre- 
 [U] 
 
FALK 
 hensible. Mrs. Hermann, who always let off one 
 speech at least at me in an hospitable, cordial tone 
 (and in Platt-Deutsch I suppose) I could not un- 
 derstand. As to their niece, however satisfactory 
 to look upon (and she inspired you somehow with 
 a hopeful view as to the prospects of mankind) 
 she was a modest and silent presence, mostly en- 
 gaged in sewing, only now and then, as I observed, 
 falling over that work into a state of maidenly 
 meditation. Her aunt sat opposite her, sewing also, 
 with her feet propped on a wooden footstool. On 
 the other side of the deck Hermann and I would 
 get a couple of chairs out of the cabin and settle 
 down to a smoking match, accompanied at long in- 
 tervals by the pacific exchange of a few words. I 
 came nearly every evening. Hermann I would find 
 in his shirt sleeves. As soon as he returned from 
 the shore on board his ship he commenced operations 
 by taking off his coat ; then he put on his head an 
 embroidered round cap with a tassel, and changed 
 his boots for a pair of cloth slippers. Afterwards 
 he smoked at the cabin-door, looking at his children 
 with an air of civic virtue, till they got caught one 
 after another and put to bed In various staterooms. 
 [16] 
 
PALK 
 
 Lastly, we would drink some beer in the cabin, which 
 was furnished with a wooden table on cross legs, and 
 with black straight-backed chairs — more like a farm 
 kitchen than a ship's cuddy. The sea and all nauti- 
 cal affairs seemed very far removed from the hos- 
 pitality of this exemplary family. 
 
 And I liktd this because I had a rather worrying 
 time on board my own ship. I had been appointed 
 ex-officio by the British Consul to take charge of 
 her after a man who had died suddenly, leaving for 
 the guidance of his successor some suspiciously un- 
 receipted bills, a few dry-dock estimates hinting at 
 bribery, and a quantity of vouchers for three years' 
 extravagant expenditure; all these mixed up to- 
 gether in a dusty old violin-case lined with ruby 
 velvet. I found besides a large account-book, 
 which, when opened, hopefully turned out to my 
 infinite consternation to be filled with verses — page 
 after page of rhymed doggerel of a jovial and im- 
 proper character, written in the neatest minute hand 
 I ever did see. In the same fiddle-case a photograph 
 of my predecessor, taken lately in Saigon, repre- 
 sented in front of a garden view, and in company 
 of a female in strange draperies, an elderly, squat, 
 [16] 
 
FALK 
 
 rugged man of stern aspect In a clumsy suit of black 
 broadcloth, and with the hair brushed forward above 
 the temples in a manner reminding one of a boar's 
 tusks. Of a fiddle, however, the only trace on board 
 was the case, its empty husk as it were ; but of the 
 two last freights the ship had indubitably earned 
 of late, there were not even the husks left. It was 
 impossible to say where all that money had gone to. 
 It wasn't on board. It had not been remitted home ; 
 for a letter from the o\\'ners, preserved in a desk 
 evidently by the merest accident, complained mildly 
 enough that they had not been favoured by a 
 scratch of the pen for the last eighteen months. 
 There were next to no stores on board, not an inch 
 of spare rope or a yard of canvas. The ship had 
 been run bare, and I foresaw no end of difficulties 
 before I could get her ready for sea. 
 
 As I was young then — not thirty yet — I took 
 myself and my troubles verj"^ seriously. The old 
 mate, who had acted as chief mourner at the cap- 
 tain's funeral, was not particularly pleased at my 
 coming. But the fact is the fellow was not legally 
 qualified for command, and the Consul was bound, 
 if at all possible, to put a properly certificated man 
 [17] 
 
FALK 
 on board. As to the second mate, all I can say liis 
 name was Tottersen, or something like that. His 
 practice was to wear on his head, in that tropical 
 climate, a mangy fur cap. He was, without excep- 
 tion, the stupidest man I had ever seen on board 
 ship. And he looked it too. He looked so con- 
 foundedly stupid that it was a matter of surprise 
 for me when he answered to his name. 
 
 I drew no great comfort from their company, to 
 say the least of it; while the prospect of making a 
 long sea passage with those two fellows was depress- 
 ing. And my other thoughts in solitude could not 
 be of a gay complexion. The crew was sickly, the 
 cargo was coming very slow ; I foresaw I would 
 have lots of trouble with the charterers, and doubted 
 whether they would advance me enough money for 
 the ship's expenses. Their attitude towards me was 
 unfriendly. Altogether I was not getting on. I 
 would discover at odd times (generally about mid- 
 night) that I was totally inexperienced, greatly ig- 
 norant of business, and hopelessly unfit for any 
 sort of conmiand ; and when the steward had to be 
 taken to the hospital ill with choleraic symptoms I 
 felt bereaved of the only decent person at the after 
 [18] 
 
FALK 
 
 end of the ship. He was fully expected to recover, 
 but in the meantime had to be replaced by some sort 
 of servant. And on the recommendation of a cer- 
 tain Schomberg, the proprietor of the smaller of 
 the two hotels in the place, I engaged a Chinaman. 
 Schomberg, a brawny, hairy Alsatian, and an awful 
 gossip, assured me that it was all right. " First- 
 class boy that. Came in the suite of his Excellency 
 Tseng the Commissioner — you know. His Excel- 
 lency Tseng lodged with me here for tliree weeks." 
 He mouthed the Chinese Excellency at me with 
 gi-cat unction, though the specimen of the " suite " 
 did not seem very promising. At the time, however, 
 I did not know what an untrustworthy humbug 
 Schomberg was. The " bo}' " might have been forty 
 or a hundred and forty for all you could tell — 
 one of those Chinamen of the death's-head type of 
 face and completely inscrutable. Before the end of 
 the third day he had revealed himself as a confirmed 
 opium-smoker, a gambler, a most audacious thief, 
 and a first-class sprinter. When he departed at the 
 top of his speed with thirty-two golden sovereigns 
 of my own hard-earned savings it was the last straw. 
 I had reserved that money in case my diflliculties 
 [19] 
 
FALK 
 
 came to the worst. Now it was gone I felt as poor 
 and naked as a fakir. I clung to my ship, for all 
 the bother she caused me, but wliat I could not bear 
 were the long lonely evenings in her cudd}', where 
 the atmosphere, made smelly by a leaky lamp, was 
 agitated by the snoring of the mate. That fellow 
 shut himself up in his stuffy cabin punctually at 
 eight, and made gross and revolting noises like a 
 water-logged trump. It was odious not to be able 
 to worry oneself in comfort on board one's own 
 sliip. Everj^thing in this world, I reflected, even 
 the command of a nice little barque, may be made 
 a delusion and a snare for the unwary spirit of 
 pride in man. 
 
 From such reflections I was glad to make any es- 
 cape on board that Bremen Dian-a. There appar- 
 ently no whisper of the world's iniquities had ever 
 penetrated. And yet she lived upon the wide sea: 
 and the sea tragic and comic, the sea with its horrors 
 and its peculiar scandals, the sea peopled by men 
 and ruled by iron necessity is indubitably a part of 
 the world. But that patriarchal old tub, like some 
 saintly retreat, echoed nothing of it. She was world 
 proof. Her venerable innocence apparently had 
 [20] 
 
FALK 
 
 put a restraint on the roaring lusts of the sea. And 
 yet I have known the sea too long to believe in its 
 respect for decency. An elemental force is ruthlessly 
 frank. It may, of course, have been Hermann's 
 skilful seamanship, but to me it looked as if the al- 
 lied oceans had refrained from smashing these high 
 bulwarks, unshipping the lumpy rudder, frighten- 
 ing the children, and generallj' opening this fam- 
 ily's eyes out of sheer reticence. It looked like reti- 
 cence. The ruthless disclosure was in the end left 
 for a man to make; a man strong and elemental 
 enough and driven to unveil some secrets of the sea 
 by the power of a simple and elemental desire. 
 
 This, however, occurred much later, and mean- 
 time I took sanctuary in that serene old ship early 
 every evening. The only person on board that 
 seemed to be in trouble was little Lena, and in due 
 course J perceived that the health of the rag-doll 
 was more than delicate. This object led a sort of 
 " in extremis " existence in a wooden box placed 
 against the starboard mooring-bitts, tended and 
 nursed with the greatest sympathy and care by all 
 the children, who greatly en joyed pulling long faces 
 and moving with hushed footsteps. Only the baby 
 [21] 
 
FALK 
 
 — Nicholas — looked on with a cold, ruffianh- leer, 
 as if he had belonged to another tribe altogether. 
 Lena perpetually sorrowed over the box, and all of 
 them were in deadly earnest. It was wonderful the 
 way these children would work up their compassion 
 for that bedraggled thing I wouldn't have touched 
 with a pair of tongs. I suppose they were exercis- 
 ing and developing their racial sentimentalism b^ 
 the means of that dummy. I was only surprised 
 that Mrs. Hermann let Lena cherish and hug that 
 bundle of rags to that extent, it was so disreputably 
 and completely unclean. But Mrs. Hermann would 
 raise her fine womanly eyes from her needlework to 
 look on with amused sympathy, and did not seem to 
 see it, somehow, that this object of affection was a 
 disgrace to the ship's purity. Purity, not cleanli- 
 ness, is the word. It was pushed so far that I seemed 
 to detect in this too a sentimental excess, as if dirt 
 had been removed in very love. It is impossible to 
 give you an idea of such a meticulous neatness. It 
 was as if every morning that ship had been ardu- 
 ously explored with — with toothbrushes. Her very 
 bowsprit three times a week had its toilette made 
 with a cake of soap and a piece of soft flannel. Ar- 
 [22] 
 
FALK- 
 
 rayed — I must say arrayed — arrayed artlessly irt 
 dazzling white paint as to wood and dark green as 
 to ironwork the simple-minded distribution of these 
 colours evoked the images of simple-minded peace, 
 of arcadian felicity; and the childish comedy of 
 disease and sorrow struck me sometimes as an abom- 
 inably real blot upon that ideal state. 
 
 I enjoyed it greatly, and on my part I brought 
 a little mild excitement into it. Our intimacy arose 
 from the pursuit of that thief. It was in the even- 
 ing, and Hermann, who, contrary to his habits, had 
 stayed on shore late that day, was extricating him- 
 self backwards out of a little gharry on the river 
 bank, opposite his ship, when the hunt passed. 
 Realising the situation as though he had eyes in his 
 shoulder-blades, he joined us with a leap and took 
 the lead. The Chinaman fled silent Hke a rapid 
 shadow on the dust of an extremely oriental road. 
 I followed. A long way in the rear my mate 
 whooped like a savage. A young moon threw a 
 bashful light on a plain like a monstrous waste 
 ground : the architectural mass of a Buddhist tem- 
 ple far away projected itself in dead black on the 
 sky. We lost the thief of course ; but in my disap- 
 [23] 
 
FALK 
 
 pointment I had to admire Hermann's presence of 
 mind. The velocity that stodgy man developed in 
 the interests of a complete stranger earned my 
 warm gratitude — there was something truly cordial 
 in his exertions. 
 
 He seemed as vexed as myself at our failure, and 
 would hardly listen to my thanks. He said it was 
 " nothings," and invited me on the spot to come on 
 board his ship and drink a glass of beer with him. 
 We poked sceptically for a while amongst the 
 bushes, peered without conviction into a ditch or 
 two. There was not a sound : patches of slime glim- 
 mered feebly amongst the reeds. Slowly we trudged 
 back, drooping under the thin sickle of the moon, 
 and I heard him mutter to himself, " Himmel ! Zwei 
 und dreissig Pf und ! " He was impressed by the 
 figure of my loss. For a long time we had ceased to 
 hear the mete's whoops and yells. 
 
 Then he said to me, " Everybody has his troub- 
 les," and as we went on remarked that he would 
 never have known anything of mine hadn't he b}-^ an 
 extraordinary chance been detained on shore by 
 Captain Falk. He didn't like to stay late ashore — 
 he added with a sigh. The something doleful in hi§ 
 [24] 
 
FALK 
 
 tone I put to his sympathy with my misfortune, of 
 course. 
 
 On board the Diana Mrs. Hermann's fine eyes 
 expressed much interest and commiseration. We 
 had found the two women sewing face to face under 
 the open skylight in the strong glare of the lamp. 
 Hermann walked in first, starting in the very door- 
 way to pull off his coat, and encouraging me with 
 loud, hospitable ejaculations: "Come in! This 
 way ! Come in, captain ! " At once, coat In hand, 
 he began to tell his wife all about it. Mrs. Hermann 
 put the palms of her plump hands together; I 
 smiled and bowed with a heavy heart : the niece got 
 up from her sewing to bring Hermann's slippers 
 and his embroidered calotte, which he assumed pon- 
 tificall}^, talking (about me) all the time. Billows 
 of white stuff lay between the chairs on the cabin 
 floor ; I caught the words " Zwei und dreissig 
 Pfund " repeated several times, and presently came 
 the beer, which seemed delicious to my throat, 
 parched with running and the emotions of the chase. 
 
 I didn't get away till well past midnight, long 
 after the women had retired. Hermann had been 
 trading in the East for three years or more, carry- 
 [25] 
 
FALK 
 
 ing freights of rice and timber mostly. His ship 
 was well known in all the ports from Vladivostok to 
 Singapore. She was his own property. The profits 
 had been moderate, but the trade answered well 
 enough while the cliildren were small yet. In an- 
 other year or so he hoped he would be able to sell the 
 old Diana to a firm in Japan for a fair price. He 
 intended to return home, to Bremen, by mail boat, 
 second class, with Mrs. Hermann and the children. 
 He told me all this stolidly, with slow puffs at his 
 pipe. I was sorry when knocking the ashes out he 
 began to rub his eyes. I would have sat with him 
 till morning. What had I to hurry on board my 
 own ship for.'' To face the broken rifled drawer in 
 my state-room. Ugh ! The very thought made me 
 feel unwell. 
 
 I became their dail}^ guest, as you know. I think 
 that Mrs. Hermann from the first looked upon me 
 as a romantic person. I did not, of course, tear m}' 
 hair coram populo over my loss, and she took it for 
 lordly indifference. Afterwards, I daresa3', I did 
 tell them some of my adventures — such as they were 
 — and they marvelled greatly at the extent of my 
 experience. Hermann would translate what he 
 [26] 
 
FALK 
 
 thought the most striking passages. Getting up on 
 his legs, and as if delivering a lecture on a phenom- 
 enon, he addressed himself, with gestures, to the 
 two women, who would let their sewing sink slowly 
 on their laps. Meantime I sat before a glass of 
 Hermann's beer, trying to look modest. Mrs. Her- 
 mann would glance at me quickly, emit slight 
 " Ach's ! " The girl never made a sound. Never. 
 But she too would sometimes raise her pale eyes to 
 look at me in her unseeing gentle way. Her glance 
 was by no means stupid ; it beamed out soft and dif 
 fuse as the moon beams upon a landscape — quite 
 differently from the scrutinising inspection of th« 
 stars. You were drowned in it, and imagined your- 
 self to appear blurred. And yet this same glance 
 when turned upon Christian Falk must have been 
 as efficient as the searchlight of a battle-ship. 
 
 Falk was the other assiduous visitor on board, 
 but from his behaviour he might have been coming 
 to see the quarter-deck capstan. He certainly used 
 to stare at it a good deal when keeping us company 
 outside the cabin door, with one muscular arm 
 thrown over the back of the chair, and his big 
 •hapely legs, in very tight white trousers, extended 
 [«7] 
 
FALX 
 
 far out and ending in a pair of black shoes a% 
 roomy as punts. On arrival he would shake Her- 
 mann's hand with a mutter, bow to the women, and 
 take up his careless and misanthropic attitude by 
 our side. He departed abrupth^ with a jump, go- 
 ing through the performance of grunts, hand- 
 shakes, bow, as if in a panic. Sometimes, with a 
 sort of discreet and convulsive effort, he approached 
 the women and exchanged a few low words with 
 them, half a dozen at most. On these occasions Her- 
 mann's usual stare became positively glassy and 
 jNIrs. Hermann's kind countenance would colour up. 
 The girl herself never turned a hair. 
 
 Falk was a Dane or perhaps a Norwegian, I 
 can't tell now. At all events he was a Scandinavian 
 of some sort, and a bloated monopolist to boot. It 
 is possible he Avas unacquainted with the word, but 
 he had a clear perception of the thing itself. His 
 tariff of charges for towing ships in and out was 
 the most brutally inconsiderate docimicnt of the sort 
 I had ever seen. He was the commander and owner 
 of the only tug-boat on the river, a very trim white 
 craft of 150 tons or more, as elegantly neat as a 
 yacht, with a round wheel-house rising like a glazed 
 [28] 
 
FALK 
 
 turret high above her sharp bows, and with one slen- 
 der varnished pole mast forward. I daresay there 
 are yet a few shipmasters afloat who remember Falk 
 and his tug very well. He extracted his pound and 
 a half of flesh from each of us merchant-skippers 
 with an inflexible sort of indiff'crence which made 
 him detested and even feared. Schomberg used to 
 remark : " I won't talk about the fellow. I don't 
 think he has six drinks from year's end to year's end 
 in my place. But my advice is, gentlemen, don't 
 you have anything to do with him, if you can help 
 it." 
 
 This advice, apart from unavoidable business re- 
 lations, was easy to follow because Falk intruded 
 upon no one. It seems absurd to compare a tug- 
 boat skipper to a centaur : but he reminded me some- 
 how of an engraving in a little book I had as a boy, 
 which represented centaurs at a stream, and there 
 was one, especially in the foreground, prancing bow 
 and arrows in hand, with regular severe features 
 and an immense curled wavy beard, flowing down 
 his breast. Falk's face reminded me of that cen- 
 taur. Besides, he was a composite creature. Not 
 » man-horse, it is true, but a man-boat. He lived 
 [29] 
 
FALK 
 on board his tug, which was always dashing up and 
 down the river from early morn till dewy eve. 
 
 In the last rays of the setting sun, you could pick 
 out far away down the reach his beard borne high 
 up on the white structure, foaming up stream to 
 anchor for the night. There was the white-clad 
 man's body, and the rich brown patch of the hair, 
 and nothing below the waist but the 'thwart-ship 
 white lines of the bridge-screens, that lead the eye 
 to the sharp white lines of the bows cleaving the 
 muddy water of the river. 
 
 Separated from his boat to me at least he seemed 
 incomplete. The tug herself without his head and 
 torso on the bridge looked mutilated as it were. 
 But he left her very seldom. All the time I re- 
 mained in harbour I saw him only twice on shore. 
 On the first occasion it was at my charterers, where 
 he came in misanthropically to get paid for towing 
 out a French barque the day before. The second 
 time I could hardly believe my eyes, for I beheld 
 him reclining under his beard in a cane-bottomed 
 chair in the billiard-room of Schomberg's hotel. 
 
 It was very funny to see Schomberg ignoring 
 him pointedly. The artificiality of it contrasted 
 [30] 
 
FAI.K 
 
 strongly with Falk's natural unconcern. The big 
 Alsatian talked loudly with liis other customers, go- 
 ing from one little table to the other, and passing 
 Falk's place of repose with his eyes fixed straight 
 ahead. Falk sat there with an untouched glass at 
 his elbow. He must have known by sight and name 
 every white man in the room, but he never addressed 
 a word to anybody. He acknowledged my presence 
 by a drop of his eyelids, and that was all. Sprawl- 
 ing there in the chair, he would, now and again, 
 draw the palms of both his hands down his face, 
 giving at the same time a slight, almost impercepti- 
 ble, shudder. 
 
 It was a habit he had, and of course I was per- 
 fectly familiar with it, since you could not remain 
 an hour in his company without being made to won- 
 der at such a movement breaking some long period 
 of stillness. It was a passionate and inexplicable 
 gesture. He used to make it at all sorts of times ; 
 as likely as not after he had been listening to little 
 Lena's chatter about the suffering doll, for instance. 
 The Hermann children always besieged him about 
 his legs closely, though, in a gentle way, he shrank 
 from them a little. He seemed, however, to feel a 
 [31] 
 
FALK 
 
 great affection for the whole family. For Hermann 
 himself esjDccially. He sought his company. In 
 this case, for instance, he must have been waiting 
 for him, because as soon as he appeared Falk rose 
 hastily, and they went out together. Then Schom- 
 berg expounded in my hearing to three or four 
 people his theory that Falk was after Captain Her- 
 mann's niece, and asserted confidently that nothing 
 would come of it. It was the same last year when 
 Captain Hermann was loading here, he said. 
 
 Naturally, I did not believe Schomberg, but I 
 own that for a time I observed closely what went 
 on. All I discovered was some impatience on Her- 
 mann's part. At the sight of Falk, stepping over 
 the gangway, the excellent man would begin to 
 mumble and chew between his teeth something that 
 sounded like German swear-words. However, as 
 I've said, I'm not familiar with the language, and 
 Hermann's soft, round-eyed countenance remained 
 unchanged. Staring stolidly ahead he greeted 
 him with, " Wie gehts," or in English, " How are 
 you? " with a throaty enunciation. The girl would 
 look up for an instant and move her lips slightly: 
 Mrs. Hermann let her hands rest on her lap to talk 
 [32] 
 
FALK 
 
 Tolubly to him for a minute or so in her pleasant 
 voice before she went on with her sewing again. 
 Falk would throw himself into a chair, stretch his 
 big legs, as like as not draw his hands down his face 
 passionatel3\ As to myself, he was not pointedly 
 impertinent: it was rather as though he could not 
 be bothered with such trifles as my existence; and 
 the truth is that being a monopolist he was under 
 no necessity to be amiable. He was sure to get his 
 own extortionate terms out of me for towage 
 whether he frowned or smiled. As a matter of fact, 
 he did neither: but before many days elapsed he 
 managed to astonish me not a little and to set 
 Schomberg's tongue clacking more than ever. 
 
 It came about in this way. There was a shallow 
 bar at the mouth of the river which ought to have 
 been kept down, but the authorities of the State 
 were piously busy gilding afresh the great Buddhist 
 Pagoda just then, and I suppose had no money to 
 spare for dredging operations. I don't know how 
 it may be now, but at the time I speak of that sand- 
 bank was a great nuisance to the shipping. One of 
 its consequences was that vessels of a certain 
 draught of water, like Hermann's or mine, could not 
 [33] 
 
FALK 
 
 complete their loading in the river. After taking 
 in as much as possible of their cargo, they had to 
 go outside to fill up. The whole procedure was an 
 unmitigated bore. When you thought you had as 
 much on board as your ship could carry safely over 
 the bar, you went and gave notice to your agents. 
 They, in their turn, notified Falk that so-and-so 
 was ready to go out. Then Falk ( ostensibly when it 
 fitted in with his other work, but, if the truth were 
 known, simply when his arbitrary spirit moved 
 him), after ascertaining carefully in the office that 
 there was enough money to meet his bill, would 
 come along unsympatheticall}^, glaring at you with 
 his yellow eyes from the bridge, and would drag you 
 out dishevelled as to rigging, lumbered as to the 
 decks, with unfeeling haste, as if to execution. And 
 he would force you too to take the end of his own 
 wire hawser, for the use of which there was of course 
 •>n extra charge. To your shouted remonstrances 
 against that extortion this towering trunk with one 
 hand on the engine-room telegraph only shook its 
 bearded head above the splash, the racket, and the 
 clouds of smoke in which the tug, backing and fill- 
 ing in the smother of churning paddle-wheels be- 
 [31] 
 
FALK 
 
 haved like a ferocious and impatient creature. He 
 had her manned by the cheekiest gang of lascars I 
 ever did see, whom he allowed to bawl at you inso- 
 lently, and, once fast, he plucked you out of your 
 berth as if he did not care what he smashed. Eigh- 
 teen miles down the river you had to go beliind him, 
 and then three more along the coast to where a 
 group of uninhabited rocky islets enclosed a shel- 
 tered anchorage. There you would have to lie at 
 single anchor with your naked spars showing to 
 seaward over these barren fragments of land scat- 
 tered upon a very intensely blue sea. There was 
 nothing to look at besides but a bare coast, the mud- 
 dy edge of the brown plain with the sinuosities of 
 the river you had left, traced in dull green, and the 
 Great Pagoda uprising lonely and massive with 
 shining curves and pinnacles like the gorgeous and 
 stony efflorescence of tropical rocks. You had 
 nothing to do but to wait fretfully for tlie balance 
 of your cargo, which was sent out of the river with 
 the greatest irregularity. And it was open to you 
 to console yourself with the thought that, after all, 
 this stage of bother meant that your departure from 
 these shores was indeed approaching at last. 
 [35] 
 
FALK 
 
 We both had to go through that stage, Hennann 
 and I, and there was a sort of tacit emulation be- 
 tween the ships as to which should be ready first. 
 We kept on neck and neck almost to the finish, wlien 
 I won the race by going personally to give notice in 
 the forenoon ; whereas Hermann, who was ver}'- slow 
 in making up his mind to go ashore, did not get to 
 the agents' office till late in the day. They told liim 
 there that my ship was first on turn for next morn- 
 ing, and I believe he told them he was in no hurry. 
 It suited him better to go the day after. 
 
 That evening, on board the Diana, he sat with 
 his plump knees well apart, staring and puffing at 
 the curved mouthpiece of his pipe. Presently' he 
 spoke with some impatience to his niece about put- 
 ting the children to bed. Mrs. Hermann, who was 
 talking to Falk, stopped short and looked at her 
 liusband uneasily, but the girl got up at once and 
 drove the children before her into the cabin. In a 
 little while Mrs. Hermann had to leave us to q\iell 
 what, from the sounds inside, must have been a dan- 
 gerous nmtin3^ At this Hermann grumbled to him- 
 self. For half an hour longer Falk left alone with 
 us fidgeted on his chair, sighed Hghtly, then at last, 
 [36] 
 
FALK 
 
 after drawing his hands down his face, got up, and 
 as if renouncing the hope of making himself under- 
 Btood (he hadn't opened his mouth once) he said in 
 English : " Well. . . . Good night. Captain Her- 
 mann." He stopped for a moment before my chair 
 and looked down fixedly ; I may even saj^ he glared : 
 and he went so far as to make a deep noise in his 
 tliroat. There was in all this something so marked 
 that for the first time in our limited intercourse of 
 nods and grunts he excited in me something like 
 interest. But next moment he disappointed me — 
 for he strode away hastily without a nod even. 
 
 His manner was usually odd it is true, and I cer- 
 tainly did not pay much attention to it; but that 
 sort of obscure intention, which seemed to lurk in 
 his nonchalance like a wary old carp in a pond, had 
 never before come so near the surface. He had dis- 
 tinctly aroused my expectations. I would have been 
 unable to say what it was I expected, but at all 
 events I did not expect the absurd developments he 
 sprung upon me no later than the break of the very 
 next da}'. 
 
 I remember only that there was, on that evening, 
 enough point in his behaviour to make me, after he 
 [37] 
 
FALK 
 
 had fled, wonder audibly what he might mean. To 
 this Hermann, crossing his legs with a swing and 
 settling himself viciously away from me in his chair, 
 said : " That fellow don't know himself what he 
 means." 
 
 There might have been some insight in such a 
 remark. I said nothing, and, still averted, he 
 added: " When I was here last year he was just 
 the same." An eruption of tobacco smoke envel- 
 oped his head as if his temper had exploded like 
 gunpowder. 
 
 I had half a mind to ask him point blank whether 
 he, at least, didn't know why Falk, a notoriously 
 unsociable man, had taken to visiting his ship with 
 such assiduity. After all, I reflected suddenly, it 
 was a most remarkable thing. I wonder now what 
 Hermann would have said. As it turned out he 
 didn't let me ask. Forgetting all about Falk ap- 
 parently, he started a monologue on his plans for 
 the future : the selling of the ship, the going home ; 
 and falling into a reflective and calculating mood 
 he mumbled between regular jets of smoke about 
 the expense. The necessity of disbursing passage 
 money for all his tribe seemed to disturb him in a 
 [38] 
 
FALK 
 
 manner tliat was the more striking because other- 
 wise he gave no signs of a miserly disposition. And 
 3'et he fussed over the prospect of that voyage home 
 in a mail boat like a sedentary grocer who has made 
 up his mind to see the world. He was racially thrifty 
 I suppose, and for him there must have been a great 
 novelty in finding himself obliged to pay for travel- 
 ling — for sea travelling which was the normal state 
 of life for the family — from the very cradle for 
 most of them. I could see he grudged prospectively 
 every single shilling which must be spent so absurd- 
 ly. It was rather funny. He would become doleful 
 over it, and then again, with a fretful sigh, he would 
 suppose there was nothing for it now but to take 
 three second-class tickets — and there were the four 
 children to pay for besides. A lot of money that 
 to spend at once. A big lot of money. 
 
 I sat with him listening (not for the first time) 
 to these heart-searchings till I grew thoroughly 
 sleepy, and then I left him and turned in on board 
 my ship. At daylight I was awakened by a yelping 
 of shrill voices, accompanied by a great commotion 
 in the water, and the short, bullying blasts of a 
 steam-whistle. Falk with his tug had come for me. 
 [89] 
 
FALK 
 
 I began to dress. It was remarkable that the 
 answering noise on board my ship together with the 
 patter of feet above my head ceased suddenly. But 
 I heard more remote guttural cries which seemed to 
 express surprise and annoyance. Then the voice of 
 my mate reached me howling expostulations to 
 somebody at a distance. Other voices joined, ap- 
 parently indignant; a chorus of something that 
 sounded like abuse replied. Now and then the 
 steam-whistle screeched. 
 
 Altogether that unnecessary uproar was distract- 
 ing, but down there in my cabin I took it calmly. 
 In another moment, I thought, I should be going 
 down that wretched river, and in another week at 
 the most I should be totally quit of the odious place 
 and all the odious people in it. 
 
 Greatly cheered by the idea, I seized the hair- 
 brushes and looking at myself in the glass began to 
 use them. Suddenly a hush fell upon the noise out- 
 side, and I heard (the ports of my cabin were thrown 
 open) — I heard a deep calm voice, not on board my 
 ship, however, hailing resolutely in English, but 
 with a strong foreign twang, " Go ahead ! " 
 
 There may be tides in the affairs of men which 
 [40] 
 
FALK 
 
 taken at the flood . . . and so on. Personal!}' T 
 am still on the look out for that important turn. 
 I am, however, afraid that most of us are fated to 
 flounder for ever in the dead water of a pool whose 
 shores are arid indeed. But I know that there arc 
 often in men's aff'airs unexpectedly — even irration- 
 ally — illuminating moments when an otherwise in- 
 significant sound, perhaps only some perfectly com- 
 monplace gesture, suffices to reveal to us all the 
 unreason, all the fatuous unreason, of our compla- 
 cency. " Go ahead " are not particularly striking 
 words even when pronounced with a foreign accent ; 
 yet they petrified me in the very act of smiling at 
 myself in the glass. And then, refusing to believe 
 my ears, but already boiling with indignation, I 
 ran out of the cabin and up on deck. 
 
 It was incredibl}'^ true. It was perfectly true. I 
 had no ca'cs for an3'thing but the Diana. It was she, 
 then, was being taken away. She was already out 
 of her berth and shooting athwart the river. " The 
 way this loonatic plucked that ship out is a cau- 
 tion," said the awed voice of my mate close to my 
 ear. " Hey ! Hallo ! Falk ! Hermann ! What's this 
 infernal trick ? " I yelled in a fury. 
 [41] 
 
FALK 
 
 Nobody heard me. Falk certainly could not hear 
 me. His tug was turning at full speed away under 
 the other bank. The wire hawser between her and 
 the Diana, stretched as taut as a harpstring, 
 vibrated alarmingly. 
 
 The high black craft careened over to the awful 
 •train. A loud crack came out of her, followed by 
 the tearing and splintering of wood. " There ! " 
 said the awed voice in my ear. " He's carried away 
 their towing chock." And then, with enthusiasm, 
 " Oh ! Look ! Look ! sir, Look ! at them Dutchmen 
 skipping out of the way on the forecastle. I hope 
 to goodness he'll break a few of their shins before 
 he's done with 'em." 
 
 I yelled my vain protests. The rays of the rising 
 sun coursing level along the plain warmed my back, 
 but I was hot enough with rage. I could not have 
 believed that a simple towing operation could sug- 
 gest so plainly the idea of abduction, of rape. Falk 
 was simply running off with the Diana. 
 
 The white tug careered out into the middle of the 
 river. The red floats of her paddle-wheels revolv- 
 ing with mad rapidity tore up the whole reach into 
 foam. The Diana in mid-stream waltzed round 
 [42] 
 
FALK 
 
 with as much grace as an old barn, and flew after 
 her ravishcr. Through the ragged fog of smoke 
 driving headlong upon the water I had a glimpse 
 of Falk's square motionless shoulders under a white 
 hat as big as a cart-wheel, of his red face, his yel- 
 low staring eyes, his great beard. Instead of keep- 
 ing a lookout ahead, he was deliberately turning his 
 back on the river to glare at his tow. The tall 
 heavy craft, never so used before in her life, seemed 
 to have lost her senses ; she took a wild sheer against 
 her helm, and for a moment came straight at us, 
 menacing and clumsy, like a runaway mountain. 
 She piled up a streaming, hissing, boiling wave 
 half-way up her blunt stem, my crew let out one 
 great howl, — and then we held our breaths. It was 
 a near thing. But Falk had her! He had her in 
 his clutch. I fancied I could hear the steel hawser 
 ping as it surged across the Diana^s forecastle, with 
 the hands on board of her bolting away from it in 
 all directions. It was a near thing. Hermann, with 
 his hair rumpled, in a snuffy flannel shirt and a pair 
 of mustard-coloured trousers, had rushed to help 
 with the wheel. I saw liis terrified round face; I 
 iaw his very teeth uncovered by a sort of ghastly 
 [43] 
 
FALK 
 fixed grin ; and in a great leaping tumult of water 
 between the two ships the Diana whisked past so 
 close that I could have flung a hair-brush at his 
 head, for, it seems, I had kept them in my hands 
 all the time. Meanwhile Mrs. Hermann sat placidly 
 on the skylight, with a woollen shawl on her shoul- 
 ders. The excellent woman in response to my in- 
 dignant gesticulations fluttered a handkerchief, 
 nodding and smiling in the kindest way imagina- 
 ble. The boys, only half-dressed, were jumping 
 about the poop in great glee, displaying their 
 gaudy braces ; and Lena in a short scarlet petticoat, 
 T-ith peaked elbows and thin bare arms, nursed the 
 rag-doll with devotion. The whole family passed 
 before m}' sight as if dragged across a scene of un- 
 paralleled violence. The last I saw was Hermann's 
 niece with the baby Hermann in her arms standing 
 apart from the others. Magnificent in her close- 
 fitting print frock she displayed something so com- 
 manding in the manifest perfection of her figure 
 that the sun seemed to be rising for her alone. The 
 flood of light brought out the opulence of her form 
 and the vigour of her youth in a glorifying way. 
 She went by perfectly motionless and as if lost in 
 [44] 
 
FALK 
 
 meditation ; onl}' the hem of her skirt stirred in the 
 draught; the sun rays broke on her sleek tawny 
 l)air ; that bald-headed ruffian, Nicholas, was whack- 
 ing her on the shoulder. I saw his tiny fat arm 
 rise and fall in a workmanhke manner. And then 
 the four cottage windows of the Diana came into 
 view retreating swiftly down the river. The sashes 
 were up, and one of the white calico curtains was 
 fluttered straight out like a streamer above the agi- 
 tated water of the wake. 
 
 To be thus tricked out of one's turn was an un- 
 heard of occurrence. In my agent's office, where I 
 went to complain at once, they protested with apol- 
 ogies they couldn't understand how the mistake 
 arose: but Schomberg when I dropped in later to get 
 some tiffin, though surprised to see me, was perfect- 
 ly ready vith an explanation. I found bJm seated at 
 the end" of a long narrow table, facing his vdie — a 
 scraggy little woman, with long ringlets and a blue 
 tooth, who smiled abroad stupidly and looked 
 frightened when 3'ou spoke to her. Between them a 
 waggling punkah fanned twenty cane-bottomed 
 chairs and tAvo rows of shiny plates. Three China- 
 men in white jackets loafed with napkins in their 
 [45] 
 
FALK 
 
 hands around that desolation. Schomberg's pet 
 iabU d'hote was not much of a success that day. 
 He was feeding himself ferociously and seemed to 
 overflow with bitterness. 
 
 He began by ordering in a brutal voice the chops 
 to be brought back for me, and turning in his chair: 
 " Mistake they told you? Not a bit of it ! Don't 
 you believe it for a moment, captain ! Falk isn't a 
 man to make mistakes unless on purpose." His 
 irm conviction was that Falk had been trying all 
 along to curry favour on the cheap with Hermann. 
 " On the cheap — mind you ! It doesn't cost him a 
 cent to put that insult upon you, and Captain Her- 
 mann gets in a day ahead of your ship. Time's 
 money! Eh.^ You are very friendly with Captain 
 Hermann I believe, but a man is bound to be pleased 
 at any little advantage he may get. Captain Her- 
 mann is a good business man, and there's no such 
 thing as a friend in business. Is there? " He 
 leaned forward and began to cast stealthy glances 
 as usual. " But Falk is, and always was, a misera- 
 ble fellow. I would despise him." 
 
 I muttered, grumpily, that I had no particiilar 
 retpect for Falk. 
 
 [46] 
 
" I would despise him," he insisted, with an ap- 
 pearance of anxiety which would have amused me 
 if I had not been fathoms deep in discontent. To 
 a young man fairly conscientious and as well-mean- 
 ing as only the young man can be, the current ill- 
 usage of life comes with a peculiar cruelty. Youth 
 that is fresh enough to believe in guilt, in innocence, 
 and in itself, will always doubt whether it have not 
 perchance deserved its fate. Sombre of mind and 
 without appetite, I struggled with the chop while 
 Mrs. Schomberg sat with her everlasting stupid 
 grin and Schomberg's talk gathered way like a slide 
 of rubbish. 
 
 " Let me tell you. It's all about that girl. I 
 don*t know what Captain Hermann expects, but if 
 he asked me I could tell him something about Falk. 
 He's a miserable fellow. That man is a perfect 
 slave. . That's what I call him. A slave. Last 
 year I started this table d'hote, and sent cards out 
 — ^you know. You think he had one meal in the 
 house ? Give the thing a trial .'' Not once. He has 
 got hold now of a Madras cook — a blamed fraud 
 that I hunted out of my cookhouse with a rattan. 
 He was not fit to cook for white men. No, not for 
 [47] 
 
FALK 
 
 the white men's dogs either; but, see, any damned 
 native that can boil a pot of rice is good enough for 
 Mr. Falk. Rice and a little fish he buys for a few 
 cents from the fishing boats outside is what he lives 
 on. You would hardly credit it — eh? A white 
 man, too. . . ." 
 
 He wiped his lips, using the napkin with indig- 
 nation, and looking at me. It flashed through my 
 mind in the midst of my depression that if all the 
 meat in the town was like these table d'hote chops, 
 Falk wasn't so far wrong. I was on the point of 
 saying this, but Schomberg's stare was intimidat- 
 ing. " He's a vegetarian, perhaps," I murmured 
 instead. 
 
 " He's a miser. A miserable miser," affirmed the 
 hotel-keeper with great force, " The meat here is 
 not so good as at home — of course. And dear too. 
 But look at me. I only charge a dollar for the tif- 
 fin, and one dollar and fifty cents for the dinner. 
 Show me anything cheaper. Why am I doing it? 
 There's little profit in this game. Falk wouldn't 
 look at it. I do it for the sake of a lot of young 
 white fellows here that hadn't a place where they 
 could get a decent meal and eat it decently in good 
 [48] 
 
FALK 
 
 company. There's first-rate company always at 
 my table." 
 
 The convinced way he surveyed the empty chairs 
 made me feel as if I had intruded upon a tiffin of 
 ghostly Presences. 
 
 " A white man should eat like a white man, dash 
 it all," he burst out impetuously. " Ought to eat 
 meat, must eat meat. I manage to get meat for my 
 patrons all the year round. Don't I.'' I am not ca- 
 tering for a dam' lot of coolies : Have another chop, 
 captain. . . . No? You, boy — takeaway!" 
 
 He threw himself back and waited grimly for the 
 curry. The half -closed jalousies darkened the room 
 pervaded by the smell of fresh Avhitewash : a swarm 
 of flies buzzed and settled in turns, and poor Mrs. 
 Schomberg's smile seemed to express the quintes- 
 sence of all the imbecility that had ever spoken, had 
 ever breathed, had ever been fed on infamous buffalo 
 meat within these bare walls. Schomberg did not 
 open his lips till he was ready to thrust therein a 
 spoonful of greasy rice. He rolled his eyes ridicu- 
 lously before he swallowed the hot stuff, and only 
 then broke out afresh. 
 
 *' It is tlic most degrading tiling. They take the 
 [49] 
 
FALE 
 
 diih up to the wheelhouse for hira with a cover on it, 
 and he shuts both the doors before he begins to eat. 
 Fact ! Must be ashamed of himself. Ask the engi- 
 neer. He can't do without an engineer — don't you 
 see — and as no respectable man can be expected to 
 put up with such a table, he allows them fifteen dol- 
 lars a month extra mess money. I assure you it is 
 so ! You just ask Mr. Ferdinand da Costa. That's 
 the engineer he has now. You may have seen him 
 about my place, a delicate dark young man, with 
 very fine eyes and a little moustache. He arrived 
 here a year ago from Calcutta. Between you and 
 me, I guess the money-lenders there must have been 
 after him. He rushes here for a meal every chance 
 he can get, for just please tell me what satisfaction 
 is that for a well-educated young fellow to feed all 
 alone in his cabin — like a wild beast? That's what 
 Falk expects his engineers to put up with for fifteen 
 dollars extra. And the rows on board every time a 
 little smell of cooking gets about the deck ! You 
 wouldn't believe ! The other day da Costa got the 
 cook to fry a steak for him — a turtle steak it was 
 too, not beef at all — and the fat caught or some- 
 thing. Young da Costa himself was telling me of 
 [50] 
 
FALK 
 
 it here in this room. * Mr. Schomberg ' — says he— 
 * if I had let a cylinder cover blow off through the 
 skylight by my negligence Captain Falk couldn't 
 have been more savage. He frightened the cook so 
 that he won't put anything on the fire for me now.* 
 Poor da Costa had tears in his eyes. Only try to 
 put yourself in his place, captain : a sensitive, gen- 
 tlemanly young fellow. Is he expected to eat his 
 food raw? But that's your Falk all over. Ask any 
 one you like. I suppose the fifteen dollars extra he 
 has to give keep on rankling — in there." 
 
 And Schomberg tapped his manly breast. I sat 
 half stunned by his irrelevant babble. Suddenly 
 he gripped my forearm in an impressive and cau- 
 tious manner, as if to lead me into a very cavern of 
 confidence. 
 
 " It's nothing but enviousness," he said in a low- 
 ered tone, which had a stimulating effect upon my 
 wearied hearing. " I don't suppose there is one 
 person in this town that he isn't envious of. I tell 
 you he's dangerous. Even I myself am not safe 
 from him. I know for certain he tried to poi- 
 ■on . . . ." 
 
 " Oh, come now," I cried, revolted. 
 [51] 
 
FALK 
 
 " But I know for certain. The people themselves 
 came and told me of it. He went about saying 
 everywhere I was a worse pest to this town than the 
 cholera. He had been talking against rae ever since 
 I opened this hotel. And he poisoned Captain Her- 
 mann's mind too. Last time the Diana was loading 
 here Captain Hermann used to come in every day 
 for a drink or a cigar. This time he hasn't been 
 here twice in a week. How do you account for 
 that?" 
 
 He squeezed my arm till he extorted from me 
 some sort of mumble. 
 
 " He makes ten times the money I do. I've 
 another hotel to fight against, and there is no other 
 tug on the river. I am not in his way, am I.'' He 
 wouldn't be fit to run an hotel if he tried. But that's 
 just his nature. He can't bear to think I am mak- 
 ing a living. I only hope it makes him properly 
 wretched. He's like that in everything. He 
 would like to keep a decent table well enough. 
 But no — for the sake of a few cents. Can't do it. 
 It's too much for him. That's what I call being a 
 slave to it. But he's mean enough to kick up a roAv 
 when his nose gets tickled a bit. See that.? That 
 [52] 
 
FALK 
 
 just paints him. Miserlj'^ and envious. You can't 
 account for it any other way. Can you? I have 
 been studying him these three years." 
 
 He was anxious I should assent to his theory. 
 And Indeed on thinking it over it would have been 
 plausible enough if there hadn't been always the 
 essential falseness of irresponsibility in Schom- 
 berg's chatter. However, I was not disposed to in- 
 vestigate the psychology of Falk. I was engaged 
 just then in eating despondently a piece of stale 
 Dutch cheese, being too much crushed to care what 
 I swallowed mj'self, let alone bothering my head 
 about Falk's ideas of gastronomy. I could expect 
 from their study no clue to his conduct in matters 
 of business, which seemed to me totally unrestrained 
 by morality or even by the commonest sort of de- 
 cency. How Insignificant and contemptible I must 
 appear,, for the fellow to dare treat me like this — I 
 reflected suddenly, writhing in silent agony. And 
 I consigned Falk and all his peculiarities to the devil 
 with so much mental fervour as to forget Schom- 
 berg's existence, till he grabbed my arm urgently. 
 " Well, you may think and think till every hair of 
 your head falls off, captain ; but you can't explain 
 
 it In any other way." 
 
 [5»] 
 
FALlt 
 
 For the sake of peace and quietness I admitted 
 hurriedly that I couldn't; persuaded that now hft 
 would leave off. But the only result was to make 
 his moist face shine with the pride of cunning. He 
 removed his hand for a moment to scare a black 
 mass of flies off the sugar-basin and caught hold of 
 my arm again. 
 
 " To be sure. And in the same way everybody is 
 aware he would like to get married. Only he can't. 
 Let me quote you an instance. Well, two years ago 
 a Miss Vanlo, a very ladylike girl, came from home 
 to keep house for her brother, Fred, who had an en- 
 gineering shop for small repairs by the water side. 
 Suddenly Falk takes to going up to their bunga- 
 low after dinner, and sitting for hours in the veran- 
 dah saying nothing. The poor girl couldn't tell 
 for the life of her what to do with such a man, so she 
 would keep on playing the piano and singing to 
 him evening after evening till she was ready to 
 drop. And it wasn't as if she had been a strong 
 young woman either. She was thirty, and the cli- 
 mate had been playing the deuce with her. Then — 
 don't you know — Fred had to sit up with them for 
 propriety, and during whole weeks on end never got 
 [64] 
 
FALK 
 
 a single chance to get to bed before midnight. 
 That was not pleasant for a tired man — was it? 
 And besides Fred had worries then because his shop 
 didn't pay and he was dropping money fast. He 
 just longed to get away from here and try his luck 
 somewhere else, but for the sake of his sister he 
 hung on and on till he ran himself into debt over his 
 ears — I can tell 3'ou. I, myself, could show a hand- 
 ful of his chits for meals and drinks in my drawer. 
 I could never find out tho' where he found all the 
 money at last. Can't be but he must have got some- 
 thing out of that brother of his, a coal merchant in 
 Port Said. Anyhow he paid everybody before he 
 left, but the girl nearly broke her heart. Disap- 
 pointment, of course, and at her age, don't you 
 know. . . . Mrs. Schomberg here was very friendly 
 with her, and she could tell you. Awful despair. 
 Fainting, fits. It was a scandal. A notorious scan- 
 dal. To that extent that old Mr. Siegers — not 
 your present charterer, but Mr. Siegers the father, 
 the old gentleman who retired from business on a 
 fortune and got buried at sea going home, he had 
 to interview Falk in his private office. He was a 
 man who could speak like a Dutch Uncle, and, be- 
 
FALK 
 
 sides, Messrs. Siegers had been helping Falk with 
 a good bit of money from the start. In fact you 
 ma}' say they made him as far as that goes. 
 It so happened that just at the time he turned up 
 here, their firm was chartering a lot of sailing ships 
 ever^^ year, and it suited their business that there 
 should be good towing facilities on the river. See.-' 
 . . . Well- — there's always an ear at the keyhole — 
 isn't there .^ In fact," he lowered his tone confiden- 
 tially, " in this case a good friend of mine ; a man 
 you can see here any evening ; only they conversed 
 rather low. Anyhow my friend's certain that Falk 
 was trying to make all sorts of excuses, and old Mr. 
 Siegers was coughing a lot. And yet Falk wanted 
 all the time to be married too. Why ! It's notorious 
 the man Ims been longing for years to make a home 
 for himself. Only he can't face the expense. 
 When it comes to putting his hand in his pocket — 
 it chokes liim off. That's the truth and no other. 
 I've always said so, and everybody agrees with me 
 by this time. What do you think of that — eh? " 
 
 He appealed confidently to my indignation, but 
 having a mind to annoy him I remarked, " that it 
 seemed to me very pitiful — if true." 
 166] 
 
FALX 
 
 He bounced in his chair as if I had run a pin into 
 him. I don't know what he might have said, only 
 at that moment we heard through the half open 
 door of the billiard-room the footsteps of two men 
 entering from the verandah, a murmur of two 
 voices; at the sharp tapping of a coin on a table 
 Mrs. Schomberg half rose irresolutel3\ " S>t still," 
 he hissed at her, and then, in an hospitable, jovial 
 tone, contrasting amazingly with the angry glance 
 that had made his wife sink in her chair, he cried 
 very loud : " Tiffin still going on in here, gentle- 
 men." 
 
 There was no answer, but the voices dropped sud- 
 denly. The head Chinaman went out. We heard 
 the clink of ice in the glasses, pouring sounds, the 
 shuffling of feet, the scraping of chairs. Schom- 
 berg, after wondering in a low mutter who the devil 
 could be there at this time of the day, got up napkin 
 in hand to peep through the doorway cautiously. 
 He retreated rapidly on tip-toe, and whispering be- 
 hind his hand informed me that it was Falk, Falk 
 himself who was in there, and, what's more. I.e l.id 
 Captain Hermann with him. 
 
 The return of the tug from the outer Roads was 
 [67] 
 
FALK 
 
 unexpected but possible, for Falk had taken away 
 the Diana at half-past five, and it was now two 
 o'clock. Schomberg wished me to observe that 
 neither of these men would spend a dollar on a tiffin, 
 which they must have wanted. But by the time I 
 was ready to leave the dining-room Falk had gone. 
 I heard the last of his big boots on the planks of 
 the verandah. Hermann was sitting quite alone in 
 the large, wooden room with the two lifeless billiard 
 tables shrouded in striped covers, mopping his face 
 diligently. He wore his best go-ashore clothes, a 
 stiff collar, black coat, large white waistcoat, grey 
 trousers. A white cotton sunshade with a cane han- 
 dle reposed between his legs, his side whiskers were 
 neatly brushed, his chin had been freshly shaved; 
 and he only distantly resembled the dishevelled and 
 terrified man in a snuffy night shirt and ignoble old 
 trousers I had seen in the morning hanging on to 
 the wheel of the Diana. 
 
 He gave a start at my entrance, and addressed 
 me at once in some confusion, but with genuine ea- 
 gerness. He was anxious to make it clear he had 
 nothing to do with what he called the " tam piz- 
 ness " of the morning. It was most inconvenient. 
 [58] 
 
FALK 
 He had reckoned upon another day up in town to 
 settle his bills and sign certain papers. There were 
 also some few stores to come, and sundry pieces of 
 " my ironwork," as he called it quaintly, landed for 
 repairs, had been left behind. Now he would have 
 to hire a native boat to take all this out to the ship. 
 It would cost five or six dollars perhaps. He had 
 had no warning from Falk. Nothing. . . . He 
 hit the table with his dumpy fist. . . . Der ver- 
 fluchte Kerl came in the morning like a " tam' 
 ropper," making a great noise, and took him away. 
 His mate was not prepared, his ship was moored 
 fast — he protested it was shameful to come upon 
 a man in that way. Shameful ! Yet such was the 
 power Falk had on the river that when I suggested 
 in a chilling tone that he might have simply refused 
 to have his ship moved, Hermann was quite startled 
 at the idea. I never realised so well before that this 
 is an age of steam. The exclusive possession of a 
 marine boiler had given Falk the whiphand of us 
 all. Hermann, recovering, put it to me appealingly 
 that I knew very well how unsafe it was to contra- 
 dict that fellow. At this I only smiled distantly. 
 " Der Kerl ! " he cried. He was sorry he had not 
 [69] 
 
FALK 
 
 refused. He was indeed. The damage ! The dam- 
 age! What for all that damage! There was no 
 occasion for damage. Did I know how much dam- 
 age he had done ? It gave me a certain satisfaction 
 to tell him that I had heard his old waggon of a 
 ship crack fore and aft as she went by. " You 
 passed close enough to me," I added significantly. 
 
 He threw both his hands up to heaven at the rec- 
 ollection. One of them grasped by the middle the 
 white parasol, and he resembled curiously a carica- 
 ture of a shopkeeping citizen in one of his own Ger- 
 man comic papers. " Ach ! That was dangerous," 
 he cried. I was amused. But directly he added 
 with an appearance of simplicity, " The side of 
 your iron ship would have been crushed in like — 
 like this matchbox." 
 
 " Would it.'' " I growled, much less amused now; 
 but by the time I had decided that this remark was 
 not meant for a dig at me he had worked himself 
 into a high state of resentfulness against Falk. 
 The inconvenience, the damage, the expense ! Gott- 
 ferdam! Devil take the fellow. Behind the bar 
 Schomberg with a cigar in his teeth, pretended to 
 be writing with a pencil on a large sheet of paper ; 
 [CO] 
 
FALK 
 
 and as Hermann's excitement increased it made me 
 comfortingly' a ware of my own calmness and supe- 
 riority. But it occurred to me while I listened to 
 his revihnge, that after all the good man had come 
 up in the tug. There perhaps — since he must come 
 to town — he had no option. But evidentl}' he had 
 had a drink with Falk, either accepted or offered. 
 How was that? So I checked him by saying loftily 
 that I hoped he would make Falk pay for every 
 penny of the damage. 
 
 " That's it ! That's it ! Go for him," called out 
 Schomberg from the bar, flinging his pencil down 
 and rubbing his hands. 
 
 We ignored his noise. But Hermann's excite- 
 ment suddenl}- went off the boil as when you remove 
 a saucepan from the fire. I urged on his considera- 
 tion that he had done now with Falk and Falk's con- 
 founded tug. He, Hennann, would not, perhaps, 
 turn up again in this part of the world for years to 
 come, since he was going to sell the Diana at the end 
 of this very trip (" Go home passenger in a mail 
 boat," he murmured mechanically). He was there- 
 fore safe from Falk's malice. All he had to do was 
 to race off to his consignees and stop payment of 
 
 [61] 
 
FALK 
 
 the towage bill before Falk had the time to get in 
 and lift the money. 
 
 Nothing could have been less in the spirit of my 
 advice than the thoughtful way in which he set 
 about to make his parasol stay propped against the 
 edge of the table. 
 
 While I watched his concentrated efforts with as- 
 tonishment he threw at me one or two perplexed, 
 half -shy glances. Then he sat down. " That's all 
 very well," he said reflectively. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that the man had been 
 thrown off his balance by being hauled out of the 
 harbour against his wish. His stolidity had been 
 profoundly stirred, else he would never have made 
 up his mind to ask me unexpectedly whether I had 
 not remarked that Falk had been casting eyes upon 
 his niece. " No more than myself," I answered with 
 literal truth. The girl was of the sort one necessa- 
 rily casts eyes at in a sense. She made no noise, 
 but she filled most satisfactorily a good bit of space. 
 
 " But you, captain, are not the same kind of 
 man," observed Hermann. 
 
 I was not, I am happy to say, in a position to 
 deny this. " What about the lady.^ " I could not 
 [62] 
 
FALK 
 
 help asking. At this he gazed for a time into my 
 face, earnestly, and made as if to change the sub- 
 ject. I heard him beginning to mutter something 
 unexpected, about his children growing old enough 
 to require schooling. He would have to leave them 
 ashore with their grandmother when he took up that 
 new command he expected to get in Germany. 
 
 This constant harping on his domestic arrange- 
 ments was funny. I suppose it must have been like 
 the prospect of a complete alteration in his life. An 
 epoch. He was going, too, to part with the Diana! 
 He had served in her for years. He had inherited 
 her. From an uncle, if I remember rightly. And 
 the future loomed big before him, occupying his 
 thought exclusively with all its aspects as on the 
 eve of a venturesome enterprise. He sat there 
 frowning and biting his lip, and suddenly he began 
 to fume and fret. 
 
 I discovered to my momentary amusement that 
 he seemed to imagine I could, should or ought, 
 have caused Falk in some way to pronounce him- 
 self. Such a hope was incomprehensible, but funny. 
 Then the contact with all this foolishness irritated 
 me. I said crossly that I had seen no symptoms, 
 [63] 
 
F A T. K 
 
 but if there were any — since he, Hermann, was so 
 sure — then it was still worse. What pleasure Falk 
 found in humbugging people in just that way I 
 couldn't say. It was, however, my solemn duty to 
 warn him. It had lately, I said, come to my knowl- 
 edge that there was a man (not a very long time 
 ago either) who had been taken in just like this. 
 
 All this passed In undertones, and at this point 
 Schomberg, exasperated at our secrecy, went out 
 of the room slamming the door with a crash that 
 positivel}' lifted us in our chairs. This, or else what 
 I had said, huffed my Hermann. He supposed, with 
 a contemptuous toss of his head towards the door 
 which trembled yet, that I had got hold of some of 
 that man's silly tales. It looked, indeed, as though 
 his mind had been thoroughly poisoned against 
 Schomberg. " His tales were — they were," he re- 
 peated, seeking for the word — " trash." They 
 were trash, he reiterated, and moreover I was young 
 yet . . . 
 
 This horrid aspersion (I regret I am no longer 
 exposed to that sort of insult) made me huffy too. 
 I felt ready in my own mind to back up every asser- 
 tion of Schomberg's and on any subject. In a mo- 
 [64] 
 
TALK 
 
 ment, devil only knows why, Hermann and I were 
 looking at each other most inimically. He caught 
 up his hat without more ado and I gave myself the 
 pleasure of calling after him : 
 
 " Take my advice and make Falk pay for break- 
 ing up your ship. You aren't likely to get any- 
 thing else out of him." 
 
 When I got on board my ship later on, the old 
 mate, who was very full of the events of the morn- 
 ing, remarked : 
 
 "I saw the tug coming back from the outer Roads 
 just before two p.m." (He never by any chance used 
 the words morning or afternoon. Always p.m. or 
 A.M., log-book stj'le.) " Smart work that. Man's 
 always in a state of hurry. He's a regular 
 chucker-out, ain't he, sir? There's a few pubs I 
 know of in the East-end of London that would be 
 all the better for one of liis sort around the bar." 
 He chuckled at his joke. " A regular chucker-out. 
 Now he has fired out that Dutchman head over heels, 
 I suppose our turn's coming to-morrow morning." 
 
 We were all on deck at break of da}' (even the 
 sick — poor devils — liad crawled out) ready to cast 
 off in the twinkling of an eye. Nothing came, 
 [65] 
 
FALK 
 
 Falk did not come. At last, when I began to think 
 that probably something had gone wrong in his 
 engine-room, we perceived the tug going by, full 
 pelt, down the river, as if we hadn't existed. For a 
 moment I entertained the wild notion that he was 
 going to turn round in the next reach. Afterwards 
 I watched his smoke appear above the plain, now 
 here, now there, according to the windings of the 
 river. It disappeared. Then without a word I 
 went down to breakfast. I just simply went down 
 to breakfast. 
 
 Not one of us uttered a sound till the mate, after 
 imbibing — by means of suction out of a saucer — • 
 his second cup of tea, exclaimed : " Where the devil 
 is the man gone to? " 
 
 " Courting ! " I shouted, with such a fiendish 
 laugh that the old chap didn't venture to open his 
 lips any more. 
 
 I started to the office perfectly calm. Calm with 
 excessive rage. Evidently they knew all about it 
 already, and they treated me to a show of conster- 
 nation. The manager, a soft-footed, immensely 
 obese man, breathing short, got up to meet me, 
 while all round the room the young clerks, bend- 
 [66] 
 
FALK 
 ing over the papers on their desks, cast upward 
 glances in my direction. The fat man, without 
 waiting for my complaint, wheezing heavily and 
 in a tone as if he himself were incredulous, con- 
 veyed to me the news that Falk — Captain Talk — 
 had declined — had absolutely declined — to tow my 
 ship — ^to have anything to do with my ship — this 
 day or any other day. Never ! 
 
 I did my best to preserve a cool appearance, but, 
 all the same, I must have shown how much taken 
 aback I was. We were talking in the middle of the 
 room. Suddenly behind my back some ass blew 
 his nose with great force, and at the same time an- 
 other quill-driver jumped up and went out on the 
 landing hastily. It occurred to me I was cutting 
 a foolish figure there. I demanded angrily to see 
 the principal in his private room. 
 
 The skin of Mr. Siegers' head showed dead white 
 between the iron grey streaks of hair lying plas- 
 tered cross-wise from ear to ear over the top of his 
 skull in the manner of a bandage. His narrow 
 sunken face was of an uniform and permanent ter- 
 ra-cotta colour, like a piece of pottery. He was 
 sickly, thin, and short, with wrists like a boy of ten. 
 [67] 
 
FALK 
 
 But from that debile body there issued a bullying 
 voice, tremendously loud, harsh and resonant, as 
 if produced by some powerful mechanical contriv- 
 ance in the nature of a fog-horn. I do not know 
 what he did with it in the private life of his home, 
 but in the larger sphere of business it presented the 
 advantage of overcoming arguments without the 
 slightest mental effort, by the mere volume of 
 sound. We had had several passages of arms. It 
 took me all I knew to guard the interests of my 
 owners — whom, nota bene, I had never seen — while 
 Siegers (who had made their acquaintance some 
 years before, during a business tour in Australia) 
 pretended to the knowledge of their innermost 
 minds, and, in the character of " our very good 
 friends," threw them perpetually at my head. 
 
 He looked at me with a jaundiced ej'e (there was 
 no love lost between us), and declared at once that 
 it was strange, very strange. His pronunciation 
 of English was so extravagant that I can't even 
 attempt to reproduce it. For instance, he said 
 " Fferic strantch." Combined with the bellowing 
 intonation it made the language of one's childhood 
 sound weirdly startling, and even if considered 
 [68] 
 
FALK 
 
 purely as a kind of unmeaning noifie it filled you 
 \rith astonishment at first. " They had," he con- 
 tinued, " been acquainted with Captain Falk for 
 very many years, and never had any reason. . . ." 
 
 " That's why I come to you, of course," I inter- 
 rupted. " I've the right to know the meaning of 
 this infernal nonsense." In the half light of the 
 room, which was greenish, because of the tree-tops 
 screening the window, I saw him writhe his meagre 
 shoulders. It came into my head, as disconnected 
 ideas will come at all sorts of times into one's head, 
 that this, most likely, was the very room where, if 
 the talc were true, Falk had been lectured by Mr. 
 Siegers, the father. Mr. Siegers' (the son's) over- 
 whelming voice, in brassy blasts, as though he had 
 been trying to articulate his words through a trom- 
 bone, was expressing his great regret at a conduct 
 characterised by a very marked want of discre- 
 tion. . . As I lived I was being lectured too ! His 
 deafening gibberish was difliicult to follow, but it 
 was 7117/ conduct — mine ! — that . . . Damn ! I 
 wasn't going to stand this. 
 
 " What on earth are you driving at ? " I asked 
 in a passion. I put my hat on my head (he never 
 [69] 
 
:f ALK 
 
 offered a seat to anybody), and as he seemed for 
 the moment struck dumb by my irreverence, I 
 turned my back on him and marched out. His vo- 
 cal arrangements blared after me a few threats of 
 coming down on the ship for the demurrage of the 
 lighters, and all the other expenses consequent 
 upon the delays arising from my frivolity. 
 
 Once outside in the sunshine my head swam. It 
 was no longer a question of mere delay. I per- 
 ceived myself involved in hopeless and humiliating 
 absurdities that were leading me to something very 
 like a disaster. " Let us be calm," I muttered to 
 myself, and ran into the shade of a leprous wall. 
 From that short side-street I could see the broad 
 main thoroughfare ruinous and gay, running 
 away, away between stretches of decaying mason- 
 ry, bamboo fences, ranges of arcades of brick and 
 plaster, hovels of lath and mud, lofty temple gates 
 of carved timber, huts of rotten mats — an im- 
 mensely wide thoroughfare, loosely packed as far 
 as the eye could reach with a barefooted and brown 
 multitude paddling ankle deep in the dust. For a 
 moment I felt myself about to go out of my mind 
 with worry and desperation. 
 [70] 
 
FALK 
 
 Some allowance must be made for the feelings 
 of a young man new to responsibility. I thought 
 of my crew. Half of them were ill, and I really 
 began to think that some of them would end by dy- 
 ing on board if I couldn't get them out to sea soon. 
 Obviously I should have to take my ship down the 
 river, either working under canvas or dredging 
 with the anchor down; operations which, in com- 
 mon with many modern sailors, I only knew theo- 
 retically. And I almost shrank from undertaking 
 them shorthanded and without local knowledge 
 of the river bed, which is so necessary for the con- 
 fident handling of the ship. There were no pilots, 
 no beacons, no buoys of any sort; but there was a 
 very devil of a current for anybody to see, no end 
 of shoal places, and at least two obviously awkward 
 turns of the channel between me and the sea. But 
 how dangerous these turns were I would not tell. I 
 didn't even know what my ship was capable of! 
 I had never handled her in my hfe. A misunder- 
 standing between a man and his ship in a difficult 
 river with no room to make it up, is bound to end in 
 trouble for the man. On the other hand, it must 
 be owned I had not much reason to count upon a 
 £71] 
 
PALK 
 
 general run of good luck. And suppoee I Imd the 
 misfortune to pile her up high and drj on some 
 beastly shoal? Tliat would have been tlie final un- 
 doing of that voyage. It was plain tliat if FaJJt 
 refused to tow me out he would also refuse to pull 
 me off'. This meant— what? A day lost at tlie 
 very best ; but more hkely a whole fortnight of 
 frizzling on some pestilential mudflat, of desperate 
 work, of discharging cargo; more than likely it 
 meant borrowing money at an exorbitant rate of 
 interest — from the Siegers' gang too at that. They 
 were a power in the port. And that elderly seaman 
 of mine, Gambril, had looked prett}- ghastly when 
 I went forward to dose him with quinine that morn- 
 ing. He would certainly die — not to speak of two 
 or three others that seemed nearly as bad, and of 
 the rest of them just ready to catch any tropical 
 disease going. Horror, ruin and everlasting re- 
 morse. And no help. None. I had fallen amongst 
 a lot of unfriendly lunatics ! 
 
 At any rate, if I must take my ship down myself 
 it was my duty to procure if possible some local 
 knowledge. But that was not easy. The only per- 
 son I could think of for that service was a certain 
 [7S] 
 
FALK 
 
 Johnson, former!}' captain of a country ship, but 
 now spliced to a countr}' wife and gone utterly to 
 the bad. I had only heard of him in the vaguest 
 way, as living concealed in the thick of two hundred 
 thousand natives, and only emerging into the light 
 of day for the purpose of hunting up some brandy. 
 I had a notion that if I could lay my hands on him 
 I would sober him on board my ship and use him 
 for a pilot. Better than nothing. Once a sailor 
 always a sailor — and he had known the river for 
 years. But in our Consulate (where I arrived drip- 
 ping after a sharp walk) they could tell me noth- 
 ing. The excellent young men on the staff, though 
 willing to help me, belonged to a sphere of the 
 white colony for which that sort of Johnson does 
 not exist. Their suggestion was that I should hunt 
 the man up myself with the help of the Consulate*s 
 constable — an ex-sergeant-major of a regiment of 
 Hussars." 
 
 This man, whose usual duty apparently consisted 
 in sitting behind a little table in an outer room 
 of Consular offices, when ordered to assist me in 
 my search for Johnson displayed lots of energy 
 and a marvellous amount of local knowledge of a 
 [78] 
 
FALK 
 
 sort. But he did not conceal an immense and scep« 
 tical contempt for the whole business. We explored 
 together on that afternoon an infinity of infamous 
 grog shops, gambling dens, opium dens. We 
 walked up narrow lanes where our gharry — a tiny 
 box of a thing on wheels, attached to a jibbing Bur- 
 mah pony — could by no means have passed. The 
 constable seemed to be on terms of scornful inti- 
 macy with Maltese, with Eurasians, with China- 
 men, with Klings, and with the sweepers attached 
 to a temple, with whom he talked at the gate. We 
 interviewed also through a grating in a mud wall 
 closing a blind alley an immensely corpulent Ital- 
 ian, who, the ex-sergeant-major remarked to me 
 perfunctorily, had " killed another man last year." 
 Thereupon he addressed him as " Antonio " and 
 " Old Buck," though that bloated carcase, appar- 
 ently more than half filling the sort of cell where- 
 in it sat, recalled rather a fat pig in a stye. Fa- 
 miliar and never unbending, the sergeant chucked 
 — absolutely chucked — under the chin a horribly 
 wrinkled and shrivelled old hag propped on a stick, 
 who had volunteered some sort of information : and 
 with the same stolid face he kept up an animated 
 [74] 
 
FALK 
 
 conversation with the groups of swathed brown 
 women, who sat smoking cheroots on the door-steps 
 of a long range of clay hovels. We got out of the 
 gharry and clambered into dwellings airy like 
 packing crates, or descended into places sinister 
 like cellars. We got in, we drove on, we got out 
 again for the sole purpose, as it seemed, of looking 
 behind a heap of rubble. The sun declined; my 
 companion was curt and sardonic in his answers, 
 but it appears we were just missing Johnson all 
 along. At last our conveyance stopped once more 
 with a jerk, and the driver jumping down opened 
 the door. 
 
 A black mudhole blocked the lane. A mound of 
 garbage crowned with the dead body of a dog ar- 
 rested us not. An empty Australian beef tin 
 bounded cheerily before the toe of my boot. Sud- 
 denly we clambered through a gap in a prickly 
 fence. . . . 
 
 It was a very clean native compound: and the 
 big native woman, with bare brown legs as thick 
 as bedposts, pursuing on all fours a silver dollar 
 that came rolling out from somewhere, was Mrs. 
 Johnson herself. " Your man's at home," said the 
 [75] 
 
F A L K 
 
 ex-sergeant, and stepped aside in complete and 
 marked indifference to anything that might follow. 
 Johnson — at home — stood with liis back to a native 
 house built on posts and with its walls made of 
 mats. In his left hand he held a banana. Out of 
 the right he dealt another dollar into space. The 
 woman captured this one on the wing, and there 
 and then plumped down on the ground to look at 
 us with greater comfort. 
 
 My man was sallow of face, grizzled, unshaven, 
 muddy on elbows and back ; where the seams of his 
 serge coat yawned you could see his white naked- 
 ness. The vestiges of a paper collar encircled his 
 neck. He looked at us with a grave, swaying sur- 
 prise. " Where do you come from .'' " he asked. 
 My heart sank. How could I have been stupid 
 enough to waste energy and time for this ? 
 
 But having already gone so far I approached a 
 little nearer and declared the purpose of my visit. 
 He would have to come at once with me, sleep on 
 board my ship, and to-morrow, with the first of the 
 ebb, he would give me his assistance in getting my 
 ship down to the sea, without steam. A six-hun- 
 dred-ton barque, drawing nine feet aft. I pro- 
 [76] 
 
FALK 
 
 posed to give him eighteen dollars for his local 
 knowledge ; and all the time I was speaking he 
 kept on considering attentively the various aspects 
 of the banana, holding first one side up to his eye, 
 then the other. 
 
 " You've forgotten to apologise," he said at last 
 with extreme precision. " Not being a gentleman 
 yourself, you don't know apparently when you in- 
 trude upon a gentleman. I am one. I wish you to 
 understand that when I am in funds I don't work, 
 and now ..." 
 
 I would have pronounced him perfectly sober 
 hadn't he paused in great concern to try and brush 
 a hole off the knee of his trousers. 
 
 " I have money — and friends. Every gentle- 
 man has. Perhaps you would like to know my 
 friend.'' His name is Falk. You could borrow 
 some money. Try to remember. F-A-L-K, Falk." 
 Abruptly his tone changed. " A noble heart," he 
 said muzzily. 
 
 " Has Falk been giving you some money ? " I 
 asked, appalled by the detailed finish of the dark 
 plot. 
 
 " Lent me, my good man, not given me. Lent," 
 [77] 
 
FALK 
 
 he corrected Buavelj. " Met me taking the air 
 last evening, and being as usual anxious to oblige 
 
 Hadn't you better go to the devil out of my 
 
 compound ? " 
 
 And upon this, without other warning, h« l«t 
 fly with the banana which missed my head, and took 
 the constable just under the left eye. He rushed 
 at the miserable Johnson, stammering with fury. 
 They fell. . . . But why dwell on the wretched- 
 ness, the breathlessness, the degradation, the sense- 
 lessness, the weariness, the ridicule and humiliation 
 and — and — the perspiration, of these moments? I 
 dragged the ex-hussar off. He was like a wild 
 beast. It seems he had been greatly annoyed at 
 losing his free afternoon on my account. The gar- 
 den of his bungalow required his personal atten- 
 tion, and at the slight blow of the banana the brute 
 in him had broken loose. We left Johnson on his 
 back, still black in the face, but beginning to kick 
 feebly. Meantime, the big woman had remained 
 sitting on the ground, apparently paralysed with 
 extreme terror. 
 
 For half an hour we jolted inside our rolling 
 box* sidt by sid^, in profound ftil*nc«. Th« «x-Mr- 
 
PALK 
 
 geant was busy staunching the blood of a long 
 scratch on his cheek. " I hope you're satisfied," he 
 said suddenly. " That's what comes of all that 
 tomfool business. If you hadn't quarrelled with 
 that tugboat skipper over some girl or other, all 
 this wouldn't have happened." 
 
 " You heard that story.?" I said. 
 
 " Of course I heard. And I shouldn't wonder if 
 the Consul-General himself doesn't come to hear 
 of it. How am I to go before him to-morrow with 
 that thing on my cheek — I want to know. Its 
 7/ou who ought to have got this !" 
 
 After that, till the gharry stopped and he 
 jumped out without leave-taking, he swore to him- 
 self steadily, horribly; muttering great, purpose- 
 ful, trooper oaths, to which the worst a sailor can 
 do is like the prattle of a child. For my part I had 
 just the strength to crawl into Schomberg's coffee- 
 room, where I wrote at a little table a note to the 
 mate instructing him to get everything ready foi 
 dropping down the river next day. I couldn't 
 face my ship. Well ! she had a clever sort of skip- 
 per and no mistake — poor thing! What a horrid 
 mess! I took my head between my hands. At 
 [79] 
 
FALK 
 
 times the obviousness of my innocence would reduce 
 me to despair. What had I done? If I had done 
 something to bring about the situation I should at 
 least have learned not to do it again. But I felt 
 guiltless to the point of imbecility. The room was 
 empty yet; only Schomberg prowled round me 
 goggle-eyed and with a sort of awed respectful cu- 
 riosity. No doubt he had set the story going him- 
 self; but he was a good-hearted chap, and I am 
 really persuaded he participated in all my troubles. 
 He did what he could for me. He ranged aside the 
 heavy matchstand, set a chair straight, pushed a 
 spittoon slightly with his foot — as you show small 
 attentions to a friend under a great sorrow — 
 sighed, and at last, unable to hold his tongue: 
 
 " Well ! I warned you, captain. That's what 
 comes of running your head against Mr. Falk. 
 Man'll stick at nothing." 
 
 I sat without stirring, and after surveying me 
 with a sort of commiseration in his eyes he burst 
 out in a hoarse whisper : " But for a fine lump of 
 a girl, she's a fine lump of a girl." He made a loud 
 smacking noise with his thick lips. " The finest 
 lump of a girl that I ever . . ." he was going on 
 [80] 
 
FALK 
 
 with great unction, but for some reason or other 
 broke off. I fancied myself throwing something 
 at his head. " I don't blame you, captain. Hang 
 me if I do," he said with a patronising air. 
 
 " Thank you," I said resignedly. It was no use 
 fighting against this false fate. I don't know even 
 if I was sure myself where the truth of the matter 
 began. The conviction that it would end disas- 
 trously had been driven into me by all the succes- 
 sive shocks my sense of security had received. I 
 began to ascribe an extraordinary potency to 
 agents in themselves powerless. It was as if 
 Schomberg's baseless gossip had the power to bring 
 about the thing Itself or the abstract enmity of 
 Falk could put my ship ashore. 
 
 I have already explained how fatal this last 
 would have been. For my further action, my 
 youth, my inexperience, my very real concern for 
 the health of my crew must be my excuse. The ac- 
 tion itself, when it came, was purely impulsive. It 
 was set in movement quite undiplomatically and 
 elmply by Falk's appearance In the doorway. 
 
 The room was full by then and buzzing with 
 [81] 
 
FALK 
 voices. I had been looked at with curiosity by 
 every one, but how am I to describe the sensation 
 produced by the appearance of Falk himself block- 
 ing the doorway? The tension of expectation 
 could be measiired by the profundity of the silence 
 that fell upon the very click of the billiard balls. 
 As to Schoniberg, he looked extremely frightened ; 
 he hated mortally any sort of row {fracas he called 
 it) in his estabhshment. Fracas was bad for busi- 
 ness, he affirmed; but, in truth, this specimen of 
 portly, middle-aged manhood was of a timid dis- 
 position. I don't know what, considering my pres- 
 ence in the place, they all hoped would come of it. 
 A sort of stag fight, perhaps. Or they may have 
 supposed Falk had come in only to annihilate me 
 completely. As a matter of fact, Falk had come in 
 because Hermann had asked him to inquire after the 
 precious wliite cotton parasol which, in the worry 
 and excitement of the previous day, he had forgot- 
 ten at the table where we had held our little discus- 
 Bion. 
 
 It was this that gave me my opportunity. I 
 don't think I would have gone to seek Falk out. 
 No. I don't think so. Tliere are limits. But there 
 [82] 
 
FALK 
 
 was an opportunity and I seized it — I have already 
 tried to explain why. Now I will merely state that, 
 in my opinion, to get his sickly crew into the sea 
 air and secure a quick despatch for his ship a skip- 
 per would be justified in going to any length, short 
 of absolute crime. He should put his pride in his 
 pocket ; he may accept confidences ; explain his in- 
 nocence as if it were a sin ; he may take advantage 
 of misconceptions, of desires and of weaknesses ; he 
 ought to conceal his horror and other emotions, 
 and, if the fate of a human being, and that human 
 being a magnificent young girl, is strangely in- 
 volved — why, he should contemplate that fate 
 (whatever it might seem to be) without turning a 
 hair. And all these things I have done; the ex- 
 plaining, the listening, the pretending — even to 
 the discretion — and nobody, not even Hermann's 
 niece, I believe, need throw stones at me now. 
 Schomberg at all events needn't, since from first to 
 last, I am happy to say, there was not the slightest 
 ** fracas." 
 
 Overcoming a nervous contraction of the wind- 
 pipe, I had managed to exclaim " Captain Falk ! " 
 His start of surprise was perfectly genuine, but 
 [83] 
 
FALK 
 
 afterwards he neither smiled nor scowled. He sim- 
 ply waited. Then, when I had said, " I must have 
 a talk with 3'ou," and had pointed to a chair at my 
 table, he moved up to me, though he didn't sit 
 down. Schomberg, however, with a long tumbler 
 in his hand, was making towards us prudently, and 
 I discovered then the only sign of weakness in Falk. 
 He had for Schomberg a repulsion resembling that 
 sort of physical fear some people experience at the 
 sight of a toad. Perhaps to a man so essentially 
 and silently concentrated upon himself (though he 
 could talk well enough, as I was to find out 
 presently) the other's irrepressible loquacity, em- 
 bracing every human being within range of the 
 tongue, might have appeared unnatural, disgust- 
 ing, and monstrous. He suddenly gave signs of 
 restiveness — positively like a horse about to rear, 
 and, muttering hurriedl}' as if In great pain, " No. 
 I can't stand that fellow," seemed ready to bolt. 
 This weakness of his gave me the advantage at the 
 ver3' start. " Verandah," I suggested, as if ren- 
 dering him a service, and walked him out by the 
 arm. We stumbled over a few chairs; we had the 
 feeling of open space before us, and felt the fresh 
 [84] 
 
FALK 
 
 breath of the river — fresh, but tainted. The Chi- 
 nese tlicatres across the water made, in the sparsely 
 twinkling masses of gloom an Eastern town pre- 
 sents at Tiiglit, blazing centres of light, and of a 
 distant and howling uproar. I felt him become 
 suddenly tractable again like an animal, like a 
 good-tempered horse when the object that scares 
 him is removed. Yes. I felt in the darkness there 
 how tractable he was, without m}^ conviction of his 
 inflexibilitj-^ — tenacity, rather, perhaps — being in 
 the least weakened. His very arm abandoning it- 
 self to my grasp was as hard as marble — like a limb 
 of iron. But I heard a tumultuous scuffling of 
 boot-soles within. The unspeakable idiots inside 
 were crowding to the windoAvs, climbing over each 
 other's backs behind the blinds, billiard cues and all. 
 Somebody broke a window pane, and with the sound 
 of falling glass, so suggestive of riot and devasta- 
 tion, Schomberg reeled out after us in a state of 
 funk which had prevented his parting with his 
 brandy and soda. He must have trembled like an 
 aspen leaf. The piece of ice in the long tumbler 
 he held in his hand tinkled with an effect of chat- 
 tering teeth. " I beg you, gentlemen," he expost- 
 [851 
 
PALK 
 
 ulated thickly. " Come ! Really, now, I must in- 
 sist . . .*' 
 
 How proud I am of ray presence of mind! 
 " Hallo," I said instantly in a loud and naive tone, 
 " somebody's breaking j'our windows, Schomberg. 
 Would you please tell one of your boys to bring 
 out here a pack of cards and a couple of lights? 
 And two long drinks. Will you ? " 
 
 To receive an order soothed him at once. It was 
 business. " Certainly," he said in an immensely 
 relieved tone. The night was rainy, with wander- 
 ing gusts of wind, and while we waited for the can- 
 dles Falk said, as if to justify his panic, " I don't 
 interfere in anybody's business. I don't give any 
 occasion for talk. I am a respectable man. But 
 this fellow is always making out something wrong, 
 and can never rest till he gets somebody to believe 
 him." 
 
 This was the first of my knowledge of Falk. 
 This desire of respectability, of being like every- 
 body else, was the only recognition he vouchsafed 
 to the organisation of mankind. For the rest he 
 might have been the member of a herd, not of a so- 
 ciety. Self-preservation was his only concern. 
 [86] 
 
FALK 
 
 Not selfishness, but mere self-preservation. Sel- 
 fishness presupposes consciousness, choice, the pres- 
 ence of other men ; but his instinct acted «is though 
 he were the last of mankind nursing that law like 
 the only spark of a sacred fire. I don't mean to 
 say that hving naked in a cavern would have satis- 
 fied him. Obviously he was the creature of the 
 conditions to which he was bom. No doubt self- 
 preservation meant also the preservation of these 
 conditions. But essentially it meant something 
 much more simple, natural, and powerful. How 
 shall I express it.? It meant the preservation of the 
 five senses of his body — let us say — taking it in its 
 narrowest as well as in its widest meaning. I think 
 you will admit before long the justice of this judg- 
 ment. However, as we stood there together in the 
 dark verandah I had judged nothing as yet — and 
 I had no desire to judge — which is an idle practice 
 anyhow. The light was long in coming. 
 
 " Of course," I said in a tone of mutual under- 
 standing, " it isn't exactly a game of cards I want 
 with you." 
 
 I saw him draw his hands down his face — the 
 [ST] 
 
FALK 
 
 vague stir of the passionate and meaningless ges- 
 ture ; but he waited in silent patience. It was only 
 when the lights had been brought out that he 
 opened his lips. I understood his mumble to mean 
 that " he didn't know any game." 
 
 *' Like this Schomberg and all the other fools 
 will have to keep off," I said tearing open the pack. 
 " Have you heard that we are universally supposed 
 to be quarrelling about a girl? You know who — 
 of course. I am really ashamed to ask, but is it 
 possible that you do me the honour to think me dan- 
 gerous.'' " 
 
 As I said these words I felt how absurd it was 
 and also I felt flattered — for, really, what else 
 could it be? His answer, spoken in his usual dis- 
 passionate undertone, made it clear that it was so, 
 but not precisel}' as flattering as I supposed. He 
 thought me dangerous with Hermann, more than 
 with the girl herself; but, as to quarrelling, I saw 
 at once how inappropriate the word was. We had 
 no quarrel. Natural forces arc not quarrelsome. 
 You can't quarrel with the wind tliat inconveniences 
 and humiliates you b}' blowing off j^our hat in a 
 street full of people. He had no quarrel with me. 
 [88] 
 
FALK 
 
 Neither would a boulder, falling on my head, have 
 had. He fell upon me in accordance with the law 
 by which he was moved — not of gravitation, like a 
 detached stone, but of self-preservation. Of course 
 this is giving it a rather wide interpretation. 
 Strictly speaking, he had existed and could have 
 existed without being married. Yet he told me that 
 he had found it more and more difficult to live 
 alone. Yes. He told me this in his low, careless 
 voice, to such a pitch of confidence had we arrived 
 at the end of half an hour. 
 
 It took me just about that time to convince him 
 that I had never dreamed of marrying Hermann's 
 niece. Could any necessity have been more extrava- 
 gant.'' And the difficulty was the greater because 
 he was so hard hit that he couldn't imagine any- 
 body being able to remain in a state of indifference. 
 Any man with eyes in his head, he seemed to think, 
 could not help coveting so much bodily magnifi- 
 cence. This profound belief was conveyed by the 
 manner he listened sitting sideways to the table and 
 playing absently with a few cards I had dealt to 
 him at random. And the more I saw into him the 
 more I saw of him. The wind swayed the lights 
 [89] 
 
FALK 
 
 so that his sunburnt face, whiskered to the eyes, 
 seemed to successively flicker, crimson at me and to 
 go out, I saw the extraordinary breadth of the 
 high cheek-bones, the perpendicular style of the 
 features, the massive forehead, steep like a chiF, 
 denuded at the top, largely uncovered at the tem- 
 ples. The fact is I had never before seen him with- 
 out his hat; but now, as if my fervour had made 
 him hot, he had taken it off and laid it gently on 
 the floor. Something peculiar in the shape and 
 setting of his yellow eyes gave them the provoking 
 silent intensity which characterised his glance. 
 But the face was thin, furrowed, worn ; I discov- 
 ered that through the bush of his hair, as you may 
 detect the gnarled shape of a tree trunk lost in a 
 dense undergrowth. These overgrown cheeks were 
 sunken. It was an anchorite's bony head fitted with 
 a Capuchin's beard and adjusted to a herculean 
 body. I don't mean athletic. Hercules, I take it, 
 was not an athlete. He was a strong man, suscep- 
 tible to female charms, and not afraid of dirt. 
 And thus with Falk, who was a strong man. He 
 was extremely strong, just as the girl (since I 
 must tliink of them together) was magnificently at- 
 [90] 
 
FALK 
 
 tractive by the masterful power of flesh and blood, 
 expressed in shape, in size, in attitude — that is by 
 a straight appeal to the senses. His mind mean- 
 time, preoccupied with respectability, quailed be- 
 fore Schomberg*s tongue and seemed absolutely 
 impervious to my protestations; and I went so far 
 as to protest that I would just as soon think of 
 marrying my mother's (dear old lady!) faithful 
 female cook as Hermann's niece. Sooner, I pro- 
 tested, in my desperation, much sooner; but it did 
 not appear that he saw anything outrageous in the 
 proposition, and in his sceptical immobility he 
 seemed to nurse the argument that at all events the 
 cook was very, very far away. It must be said that, 
 just before, I had gone wrong by appealing to the 
 evidence of my manner whenever I called on board 
 the Diana. I had never attempted to approach the 
 girl, or to speak to her, or even to look at her in any 
 marked way. Nothing could be clearer. But, as 
 his own idea of — let us say — courting, seemed to 
 consist precisely in sitting silently for hours in the 
 vicinity of the beloved object, that line of argu- 
 ment inspired him with distrust. Staring down his 
 extended legs he let out a grunt — as much as to 
 [91] 
 
F A L K 
 
 say, " Tliat's all very fine, but you can't throw dust 
 in my eyes." 
 
 At last I was exasperated into saying, " Why 
 don't you put the matter at rest by talking to Her- 
 mann ? " and I added sneeringly : " You don't ex- 
 pect me perhaps to speak for you? " 
 
 To this he said, very loud for him, " Would 
 you?" 
 
 And for the first time he lifted his head to look 
 at me with wonder and incredulity. He lifted his 
 head so sharply that there could be no mistake. I 
 had touched a spring. I saw the whole extent of 
 my opportunity-, and could hardly believe in it. 
 
 "AVhy. Speak to . . . Well, of course," I 
 proceeded very slowly, watching him with great at- 
 tention, for, on my word, I feared a joke. " Not, 
 perhaps, to the 3-oung lad}- herself. I can't speak 
 German, you know. But . . ." 
 
 He interrupted me Avith the earnest assurance 
 that Hermann had the highest opinion of mc ; and 
 at once I felt the need for th.c greatest possible 
 diplomacy at this juncture. So I demurred just 
 enough to draw him on. Falk sat up, but except 
 [92] 
 
FALK 
 
 for a very noticeable enlargement of the pupils, 
 till the irises of his eyes were reduced to two narrow 
 yellow rings, his face, I should judge, was incapa- 
 ble of expressing excitement. " Oh, yes ! Hermann 
 did have the greatest . . ." 
 
 " Take up your cards. Here's Schomberg peep- 
 ing at us through the blind ! " I said. 
 
 We went through the motions of what might 
 have been a game of ecarte. Presently the intoler- 
 able scandalmonger withdrew, probably to inform 
 the people in the billiard-room that we two were 
 gambling on the verandah Hke mad. 
 
 We were not gambling, but it was a game; a 
 game in which I felt I held the winning cards. The 
 stake, roughly speaking, was the success of the voy- 
 age — for me; and he, I apprehended, had nothing 
 to lose. Our intimacy matured rapidly, and before 
 many >\ ords had been exchanged I perceived that 
 the excellent Hermann had been making use of me. 
 That simple and astute Teuton had been, it seems, 
 holding me up to Falk in the light of a rival. I 
 was young enough to be shocked at so much duplic- 
 ity. " Did he tell you that in so many words.'' " I 
 asked with indignation. 
 
 [93] 
 
FALK 
 
 Hermann had not. He had given hints only; 
 and of course it had not taken very much to alarm 
 Falk; but, instead of declaring himself, he had 
 taken steps to remove the family from under my in- 
 fluence. He was perfectly straightforward about 
 it — as straightforward as a tile falling on your 
 head. There was no duplicity in that man; and 
 when I congratulated him on the perfection of his 
 arrangements — even to the bribing of the wretched 
 Johnson against me — he had a genuine movement 
 of protest. Never bribed. He knew the man 
 wouldn't work as long as he had a few cents in his 
 pocket to get drunk on, and, naturally (he said — 
 " naturally ") he let him have a dollar or two. He 
 was himself a sailor, he said, and anticipated the 
 view another sailor, like myself, was bound to take. 
 On the other hand, he was sure that I should have 
 to come to grief. He hadn't been knocking about 
 for the last seven years up and down that river for 
 nothing. It would have been no disgrace to me — 
 but he asserted confidently I would have had my 
 ship very awkwardly ashore at a spot two miles 
 below the Great Pagoda. . . . 
 
 And with all that he had no ill-will. That was 
 [M] 
 
PALK 
 
 evident. This was a crisis in which his only object 
 had been to gain time — I fancy. And presently 
 he mentioned that he had written for some jewel- 
 lery, real good jewellery — had written to Hong- 
 Kong for it. It would arrive in a day or two. 
 
 " Well, then," I said cheerily, " everything is all 
 right. All you've got to do is to present it to the 
 lady together with your heart, and live happy ever 
 after." 
 
 Upon the whole he seemed to accept that view as 
 far as the girl was concerned, but his eyelids 
 drooped. There was still something in the way. 
 For one thing Hermann disliked him so much. As 
 to me, on the contrary, it seemed as though he could 
 not praise me enough. Mrs. Hermann too. He 
 didn't know why they disliked him so. It made 
 everything most difficult. 
 
 I listened impassive, feeling more and more dip- 
 lomatic. His speech was not transparently clear. 
 He was one of those men who seem to live, feel, 
 suffer In a sort of mental twilight. But as to being 
 fascinated by the girl and possessed by the desire 
 of home life with her — it was as clear as daylight. 
 So much being at stake, he was afraid of putting 
 [95] 
 
FALK 
 
 it to the hazard of the declaration. Besides, there 
 was something else. And with Hermann being so 
 set against him ... 
 
 " I see," I said thoughtfully, while my heart beat 
 fast with the excitement of my diplomacy. " I 
 don't mind sounding Hermann. In fact, to show 
 you how mistaken you were, I am ready to do all I 
 can for you in that way." 
 
 A light sigh escaped him. He drew his hands 
 down his face, and it emerged, bon}'^, unchanged of 
 expression, as if all the tissues had been ossified. 
 All the passion was in those big brown hands. He 
 was satisfied. Then there was that other matter. 
 If there were anybody on earth it was I who could 
 persuade Hermann to take a reasonable view ! I 
 had a knowledge of the world and lots of expe- 
 rience. Hermann admitted this himself. And then 
 I was a sailor too. Falk thought that a sail- 
 or would bo able to understand certain things 
 best. . . . 
 
 He talked as if the Hermanns had been living all 
 
 their life in a rural hamlet, and I alone had been 
 
 capable, with my practice in life, of a large and 
 
 indulgent view of certain occurrences. That was 
 
 [96] 
 
FALK 
 
 what my diplomacy was leading me to. I began 
 suddenly to dislike it. 
 
 " I say, Falk," I asked quite brusquely, " you 
 haven't already a wife put awa}'^ somewhere.-' " 
 
 The pain and disgust of his denial were very 
 striking. Couldn't I understand that he was as 
 respectable as any white man hereabouts; earning 
 his living honestly. He was suffering from my sus- 
 picion, and the low undertone of his voice made his 
 protestations sound very pathetic. For a moment 
 he shamed me, but, my diplomacy notwithstanding, 
 I seemed to develop a conscience, as if in very 
 truth it were in my power to decide the success of 
 this matrimonial enterprise. By pretending hard 
 enough we come to believe anything — anything to 
 our advantage. And I had been pretending very 
 hard, because I meant j^et to be towed safely down 
 the riyer. But through conscience or stupidity, I 
 couldn't help alluding to the Yanlo affair. " You 
 acted rather badly there. Didn't you.'' " was what 
 I ventured actually to say — for the logic of our 
 conduct is always at the mercy of obscure and un- 
 foreseen impulses. 
 
 His dilated pupils swerved from my face, glan- 
 [97] 
 
FALK 
 
 cing at the window with a sort of scared fury. We 
 heard behind the blinds the continuous and sudden 
 clicking of ivory, a jovial murmur of many voices, 
 and Schomberg's deep manly laugh. 
 
 " That confounded old woman of a hotel-keeper 
 then would never, never let it rest ! " Falk ex- 
 claimed. " Well, yes ! It had happened two years 
 ago." When it came to the point he owned he 
 couldn't make up his mind to trust Fred Vanlo — 
 no sailor, a bit of a fool too. He could not trust 
 him, but, to stop his row, he had lent him enough 
 money to pay all his debts before he left. I was 
 greatly surprised to hear this. Then Falk could 
 not be such a miser after all. So much the better 
 for the girl. For a time he sat silent; then he 
 picked up a card, and while looking at it he 
 said: 
 
 " You need not think of anything bad. It was 
 an accident. I've been unfortunate once." 
 
 " Then in heaven's name say nothing about it." 
 
 As soon as these words were out of my mouth I 
 fancied I had said something immoral. He shook 
 his head negatively. It had to be told. He con- 
 sidered it proper that the relations of the lady 
 [98] 
 
FALK 
 
 should know. No doubt — I thought to myself — 
 had Miss Vanlo not been thirty and damaged by the 
 climate he would have found it possible to entrust 
 Fred Vanlo with this confidence. And then the fig- 
 ure of Hermann's niece appeared before my mind's 
 eye, with the wealth of her opulent form, her rich 
 youth, her lavish strength. With that powerful 
 and immaculate vitality, her girlish form must have 
 shouted aloud of life to that man, whereas poor 
 Miss Vanlo could only sing sentimental songs to 
 the strumming of a piano. 
 
 " And that Hermann hates me, I know it ! " he 
 cried in his undertone, with a sudden recrudescence 
 of anxiety. " I must tell them. It is proper that 
 they should know. You would say so yourself." 
 
 He then murmured an utterly mysterious allu- 
 sion to the necessity for peculiar domestic arrange- 
 ments. Though my curiosity was excited I did not 
 want to hear any of his confidences. I feared he 
 might give me a piece of information that would 
 make my assumed role of match-maker odious — 
 however unreal it was. I was aware that he could 
 have the girl for the asking; and keeping down a 
 desire to laugh in his face, I expressed a confident 
 [99] 
 
FALK 
 
 belief in my ability to argue away Hermann's dis- 
 like for him. " I am sure I can make it all right," 
 I said. He looked very pleased. 
 
 And when we rose not a word had been said about 
 towage ! Not a word ! The game was won and the 
 honour was safe. Oh ! blessed white cotton um- 
 brella ! We shook hands, and I w^as holding myself 
 with difficulty from breaking into a step dance of 
 joy when he came back, striding all the length of 
 the verandah, and said doubtfully : 
 
 " I say, captain, I have your word? You — 3-ou 
 — won't turn round ? " 
 
 Heavens! The fright he gave me. Behind his 
 tone of doubt there was something desperate and 
 menacing. The infatuated ass. But I was equal to 
 the situation. 
 
 " My dear Falk," I said, beginning to lie with 
 a glibness and effrontery that amazed me even at 
 the time — " confidence for confidence." (He had 
 made no confidences. ) "I will tell 3'ou that I am 
 already engaged to an extremely charming girl at 
 home, and so you understand. . . ." 
 
 He caught my hand and wrung it in a crushing 
 grip. 
 
 [100] 
 
FALK 
 
 " Pardon me. I feel it every day more difficult 
 to live alone . . ." 
 
 " On rice and fish," I interrupted smartly, gig- 
 gling with the sheer nervousness of a danger es- 
 caped. 
 
 He dropped my hand as if it had become sud- 
 denly red hot. A moment of profound silence en- 
 sued, as though something extraordinary had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 " I promise you to obtain Hermann's consent," 
 I faltered out at last, and it seemed to me that he 
 could not help seeing through that humbug- 
 ging promise. " If there's anything else to get 
 over I shall endeavour to stand by you," I conceded 
 further, feeling somehow defeated and overborne; 
 " but you must do your best yourself." 
 
 " I have been unfortunate once," he muttered 
 unemotionally, and turning his back on me he went 
 away, thumping slowly tlie plank floor as If his feet 
 had been shod with Iron. 
 
 Next morning, however, he was lively enough as 
 man-boat, a combination of splashing and shout- 
 ing; of the insolent commotion below with the 
 steady overbearing glare of the silent head-piece 
 [101] 
 
yit.- FALK 
 
 above. He turned us out most unnecessarily at an 
 ungodly hour, but it was nearly eleven in the morn- 
 ing before he brought me up a cable's length from 
 Hermann's ship. And he did it very badly too, in 
 a hurry, and nearly contriving to miss altogether 
 the patch of good holding ground, because, for- 
 sooth, he had caught sight of Hermann's niece on 
 the poop. And so did I; and probably as soon as 
 he had seen her himself. I saw the modest, sleek 
 glory of the tawny head, and the full, grey shape 
 of the girlish print frock she filled so perfectly, so 
 satisfactorily, with the seduction of unfaltering 
 curves — a very nymph of Diana the Huntress. 
 And Diana the ship sat, high-walled and as solid 
 as an institution, on the smooth level of the water, 
 the most uninspiring and respectable craft upon 
 the seas, useful and ugly, devoted to the support 
 of domestic virtues like any grocer's shop on shore. 
 At once Falk steamed away; for there was some 
 work for him to do. He would return in the even- 
 ing. 
 
 He ranged close by us, passing out dead slow, 
 without a hail. The beat of the paddle-wheels re- 
 verberating amongst the stony islets, as if from th« 
 [102] 
 
FALK 
 
 ruined walls of a vast arena, filled the anchorage 
 confusedly with the clapping sounds of a mighty 
 and leisurely applause. Abreast of Hermann's 
 ship he stopped the engines; and a profound si- 
 lence reigned over the rocks, the shore and the sea, 
 for the time it took him to raise his hat aloft before 
 the nymph of the grey print frock. I had snatched 
 up my binoculars, and I can answer for it she didn't 
 stir a limb, standing by the rail shapely and erect, 
 with one of her hands grasping a rope at the height 
 of her head, while the way of the tug carried slowly 
 past her the lingering and profound homage of the 
 man. There was for me an enormous significance 
 in the scene, the sense of having witnessed a solemn 
 declaration. The die was cast. After such a man- 
 ifestation he couldn't back out. And I reflected 
 that it was nothing whatever to me now. With a 
 rush of black smoke belching suddenly out of the 
 funnel, and a mad swirl of paddle-wheels provoking 
 a burst of weird and precipitated clapping, the tug 
 shot out of the desolate arena. The rocky islets 
 lay on the sea like the heaps of a cyclopean ruin 
 on a plain ; the centipedes and scorpions lurked un- 
 der the stones ; there was not a single blade of grass 
 [103] 
 
FALK 
 
 in sight anywhere, not a single lizard sunning him- 
 self on a boulder by the shore. When I looked 
 again at Hermann's ship the girl had disappeared. 
 I could not detect the smallest dot of a bird on the 
 immense sky, and the flatness of the land continued 
 the flatness of the sea to the naked line of the hori- 
 zon. 
 
 This is the setting now inseparably connected 
 with m}' knowledge of Falk's misfortune. My di- 
 plomacy had brought me there, and now I had only 
 to wait the time for taking up the role of an ambas- 
 sador. My diplomacy was a success ; my ship was 
 safe ; old Gambril would probably hve ; a feeble 
 sound of a tapping hammer came intermittently 
 from the Diana. During the afternoon I looked 
 at times at the old homely ship, the faithful nurse 
 of Hermann's progeny, or yawned towards the dis- 
 tant temple of Buddha, like a lonely hillock on the 
 plain, where shaven priests cherish the thoughts of 
 that Annihilation which is the worthy reward of us 
 all. Unfortunate ! Pie had been unfortunate once. 
 Well, that was not so bad as life goes. And what 
 the devil could be the nature of that misfortune.'* 
 I remembered that I had known a man before who 
 [104] 
 
FALK 
 
 had declared himself to have fallen, years ago, a 
 victim to misfortune; but this misfortune, whose 
 effects appeared permanent (he looked desper- 
 ately hard up) when considered dispassionately, 
 seemed indistinguishable from a breach of trust. 
 Could it be something of that nature? Apart, 
 however, from the utter improbability that he 
 would offer to talk of it even to his future uncle- 
 in-law, I had a strange feeling that Falk's physique 
 unfitted him for that sort of delinquency. As the 
 person of Hermann's niece exhaled the profound 
 physical charm of feminine form, so her ador- 
 er's big frame embodied to my senses the hard, 
 straight masculinity that would conceivably kill 
 but would not condescend to cheat. The thing 
 was obvious. I might just as well have suspected 
 the girl of a curvature of the spine. And I per- 
 ceived that the sun was about to set. 
 
 The smoke of Falk's tug hove in sight, far 
 away at the mouth of the river. It was time for 
 me to assume the character of an ambassador, and 
 the negotiation would not be difficult except in the 
 matter of keeping my countenance. It was all too 
 extravagantly nonsensical, and I conceived that it 
 [105] 
 
FALK 
 
 would be best to compose for myself a grave de- 
 meanour. I practised this in my boat as I went 
 along, but the bashfulness that came secretly upon 
 me the moment I stepped on the deck of the Diana 
 is inexplicable. As soon as we had exchanged 
 greetings Hermann asked me eagerly if I knew 
 whether Falk had found his white parasol. 
 
 " He's going to bring it to you himself directly," 
 I said with great solemnity. " Meantime I am 
 charged with an important message for which he 
 begs your favourable consideration. He is in love 
 with your niece. . . ." 
 
 " Ach So! ** he hissed with an animosity that 
 made my assumed gravity change into the most 
 genuine concern. What meant this tone? And I 
 hurried on. 
 
 " He wishes, with your consent of course, to ask 
 her to marry him at once — ^before you leave here, 
 that is. He would speak to the Consul." 
 
 Hermann sat down and smoked violently. Five 
 minutes passed in that furious meditation, and 
 then, taking the long pipe out of his mouth, he 
 burst into a hot diatribe against Falk — against his 
 cupidity, his stupidity (a fellow that can hardly 
 [106] 
 
FALK 
 
 be got to say " yes " or " no " to the simplest ques- 
 tion) — against his outrageous treatment of the 
 shipping in port (because he saw they were at his 
 mercy) — and against his manner of walking, 
 which to his (Hermann's) mind showed a conceit 
 positively unbearable. The damage to the old 
 Diana was not forgotten, of course, and there was 
 nothing of any nature said or done by Falk (even 
 to tlie last offer of refreshment in the hotel) that 
 did not seem to have been a cause of offence. 
 "Had the cheek" to drag him (Hermann) into 
 that coffee-room ; as though a drink from him could 
 make up for forty-seven dollars and fifty cents of 
 damage in the cost of wood alone — not counting 
 two days' work for the carpenter. Of course he 
 would not stand in the girl's way. He was going 
 home to Germany. There were plenty of poor 
 girls walking about in Germany. 
 
 " He's very much in love," was all I found to 
 say. 
 
 " Yes," he cried. " And it is time too after mak- 
 ing himself and me talked about ashore the last 
 voyage I was here, and then now again ; coming on 
 [107] 
 
FALK 
 
 board every evening unsettling the girl's mind, and 
 saying nothing. What sort of conduct is that? " 
 
 The seven thousand dollars the fellow was always 
 talking about did not, in his opinion, justify such 
 behaviour. Moreover, nobody had seen them. He 
 (Hermann) seriously doubted if there were seven 
 thousand cents, and the tug, no doubt, was mort- 
 gaged up to the top of the funnel to the firm of 
 Siegers. But let that pass. He wouldn't stand in 
 the girl's way. Her head was so turned that she 
 had become no good to them of late. Quite unable 
 even to put the children to bed without her aunt. 
 It was bad for the children ; they got unruly : and 
 yesterday he actually had to give Gustav a thrash- 
 ing. 
 
 For that, too, Falk was made responsible ap- 
 parentl3\ And looking at my Hermann's heavy, 
 puffy, good-natured face, I knew he would not ex- 
 ert himself till greatly exasperated, and, therefore, 
 would thrash very hard, and being fat would resent 
 the necessity. How Falk had managed to turn the 
 girl's head was more difficult to understand. I sup- 
 posed Hermann would know. And then hadn't 
 there been Miss Vanlo? It could not be his silvery 
 [108] 
 
FALK 
 
 tongue, or the subtle seduction of his manner; he 
 had no more of what is called " manner " than an 
 animal — which, however, on the other hand, is 
 never, and can never be called vulgar. Therefore 
 it must have been his bodily appearance, exhibiting 
 a virility of nature as exaggerated as his beard, and 
 resembling a sort of constant ruthlessness. It was 
 seen in the very manner he lolled in the chair. He 
 meant no offence, but his intercourse was charac- 
 terised by that sort of frank disregard of suscepti- 
 bilities a man of seven foot six, living in a world of 
 dwarfs, would naturally assume, without in the 
 least wishing to be unkind. But amongst men of 
 his own stature, or ney-rly, this frank use of his ad- 
 vantages, in such matters as the awful towage bills 
 for instance, caused much impotent gnashing of 
 teeth. When attentively considered it seemed ap- 
 palling at times. He was a strange beast. But 
 maybe women liked it. Seen in that light he was 
 well worth taming, and I suppose every woman at 
 the bottom of her heart considers herself as a tamer 
 of strange beasts. But Hermann arose with pre- 
 cipitation to carry the news to his wife. I had 
 barely the time, as he made for the cabin door, to 
 [109] 
 
FALK 
 
 grab him by the seat of his inexpressibles. I 
 begged him to wait till Falk in person had spoken 
 with him. There remained some small matter to 
 talk over, as I understood. 
 
 He sat down again at once, full of suspicion. 
 
 " What matter? " he said surlily. " I have had 
 enough of his nonsense. There's no matter at all, 
 as he knows very well ; the girl has nothing in the 
 world. She came to us in one thin dress when my 
 brother died, and I have a growing family." 
 
 " It can't be anything of that kind," I opined. 
 ** He's desperately enamoured of your niece. I 
 don't know why he did not say so before. Upon 
 my word, I believe it is because he was afraid to 
 lose, perhaps, the felicity of sitting near her on 
 your quarter deck." 
 
 I intimated my conviction that his love was so 
 great as to be in a sense cowardly. The effects of 
 a great passion are unaccountable. It has been 
 known to make a man timid. But Hermann looked 
 at me as if I had foolishly raved ; and the twilight 
 was dying out rapidly. 
 
 " You don't believe in passion, do you, Her- 
 mann? " I said cheerily. " The passion of fear will 
 ["0] 
 
make a cornered rat courageous. Falk's in a cor- 
 ner. He will take her off your hands in one tliin 
 frock just as she came to you. And after ten years* 
 service it isn't a bad bargain," I added. 
 
 Far from taking offence, he resumed his air of 
 civic virtue. The sudden night came upon hira 
 while he stared placidly along the deck, bringing 
 in contact with his thick lips, and taking away 
 again after a jet of smoke, the curved mouthpiece 
 fitted to the stem of his pipe. The night came 
 upon him and buried in haste his whiskers, his glob- 
 ular eyes, his puffy pale face, his fat knees and the 
 vast flat slippers on his fatherly feet. Only his 
 short arms in respectable white shirt-sleeves re- 
 mained very visible, propped up like the flippers of 
 a seal reposing on the strand. 
 
 " Falk wouldn't settle anything about repairs. 
 Told jne to find out first how much wood I should 
 require and he would see," he remarked ; and after 
 he had spat peacefully in the dusk we heard over 
 the water the beat of the tug's floats. There is, on 
 a calm night, nothing more suggestive of fierce and 
 headlong haste than the rapid sound made by the 
 paddle-wheels of a boat threshing her way through 
 [111] 
 
FALK 
 
 a quiet sea ; and the approach of Falk towards his 
 fate seemed to be urged by an impatient and pas- 
 sionate desire. The engines must have been driven 
 to the very utmost of their revolutions. We heard 
 them slow down at last, and, vaguely, the white 
 hull of the tug appeared moving against the black 
 islets, whilst a slow and rhythmical clapping as of 
 thousands of hands rose on all sides. It ceased all 
 at once, just before Falk brought her up. A sin- 
 gle brusque splash was followed by the long drawn 
 rumbling of iron links running through the hawse 
 pipe. Then a solemn silence fell upon the Road- 
 stead. 
 
 " He will soon be here," I murmured, and after 
 that we waited for him without a word. Meantime, 
 raising my e^'es, I beheld the glitter of a lofty sky 
 above the Diana^s mastheads. The multitude of 
 stars gathered into clusters, in rows, in lines, in 
 masses, in groups, shone all together, unanimously 
 — and the few isolated ones, blazing b}' themselves 
 in the midst of dark patches, seemed to be of a su- 
 perior kind and of an inextinguishable nature. But 
 long striding footsteps were heard hastening along 
 the deck ; the high bulwarks of the Diana made a 
 [112] 
 
FALK 
 
 deeper darkness. We rose from our chairs qjiickly, 
 and Falk, appearing before us, all in white, stood 
 still. 
 
 Nobody spoke at first, as though we had been 
 covered with confusion. His arrival was fiery, but 
 his white bulk, of indefinite shape and without fea- 
 tures, made him loom up like a man of snow. 
 
 " The captain here has been telling me . . ." 
 Hermann began in a homely and amicable voice; 
 and Falk had a low, nervous laugh. His cool, neg- 
 ligent undertone had no inflexions, but the strength 
 of a powerful emotion made him ramble in his 
 speech. He had always desired a home. It was 
 difficult to live alone, though he was not answera- 
 ble. He was domestic; there had been difficulties; 
 but since he had seen Hermann's niece he found 
 that it had become at last impossible to live by him- 
 self. " I mean — impossible," he repeated with no 
 sort of emphasis and only with the slightest of 
 pauses, but the word fell into my mind with the 
 force of a new idea. 
 
 " I have not said anything to her yet," Hermann 
 observed quietl}'. And Falk dismissed this b}' a 
 " That's all right. Certainly. Very proper," 
 [113] 
 
FALK 
 
 There was a necessity for perfect frankness — In 
 marrj'ing, especially. Hermann seemed attentive, 
 but he seized the first opportunity to ask us into the 
 cabin. " And by-the-by, Falk," he said innocent- 
 ly, as we passed in, " the timber came to no less 
 than forty-seven dollars and fifty cents." 
 
 Falk, uncovering his head, lingered in the pas- 
 sage. " Some other time," he said ; and Hermann 
 nudged me angrily — I don't know why. The girl 
 alone in the cabin sat sewing at some distance from 
 the table. Falk stopped short in the doorway. 
 Without a word, without a sign, without the slight- 
 est inclination of his bony head, by the silent in- 
 tensity of his look alone, he seemed to lay his her- 
 culean frame at her feet. Her hands sank slowly 
 on her lap, and raising her clear eyes, she let her 
 soft, beaming glance enfold him from head to foot 
 like a slow and pale caress. He was very hot when 
 he sat down; she, with bowed head, went on with 
 her sewing ; her neck was very white under the light 
 of the lamp ; but Falk, hiding his face in the palms 
 of his hands, shuddered faintly. He drew them 
 down, even to his beard, and his uncovered eyes as- 
 tonished me by their tense and irrational expres- 
 [114] 
 
FALK 
 
 sion — as though he had just swallowed a heavy 
 gulp of alcohol. It passed away while he was 
 binding us to secrecy. Not that he cared, but he 
 did not like to be spoken about ; and I looked at the 
 girl's marvellous, at her wonderful, at her regal 
 hair, plaited tight into that one astonishing and 
 maidenly tress. Whenever she moved her M'ell- 
 shaped head it would stir stiffly to and fro on her 
 back. The thin cotton sleeve fitted the irreproach- 
 able roundness of her arm like a skin ; and her very 
 dress, stretched on her bust, seemed to palpitate 
 like a living tissue with the strength of vitality ani- 
 mating her body. How good her complexion was, 
 the outline of her soft cheek and the small convo- 
 luted conch of her rosy ear ! To pull her needle she 
 kept the little finger apart from the others; it 
 seemed a waste of power to see her sewing — eter- 
 nally sewing — with that industrious and precise 
 movement of her arm, going on eternally upon all 
 the oceans, under all the skies, in innumerable har- 
 bours. And suddenly I heard Falk's voice declare 
 that he could not marry a woman unless she knew 
 of something in his life that had happened ten 
 years ago. It was an accident. An unfortunate ac- 
 
 [lis] 
 
FALK 
 
 cident. It would affect the domestic arrangements 
 of their home, but, once told, it need not be alluded 
 to again for the rest of their lives. " I should want 
 my wife to feel for me," he said. " It has made me 
 unhappy." And how could he keep the knowledge 
 of it to himself — he asked us — perhaps through 
 years and years of companionship? What sort of 
 companionship would that be.'' He had thought it 
 over. A wife must know. Tlien why not at once? 
 He counted on Hermann's kindness for presenting 
 the affair in the best possible light. And Her- 
 mann's countenance, mystified before, became very 
 sour. He stole an inquisitive glance at me. I 
 shook my head blankly. Some people thought, 
 Falk went on, that such an experience changed a 
 man for the rest of his life. He couldn't say. It 
 was hard, awful, and not to be forgotten, but he 
 did not think himself a worse man than before. 
 Only he talked in his sleep now, he believed. . . . 
 At last I began to think he had accidentally killed 
 some one; perhaps a friend — ^his own father may- 
 be ; when he went on to say that probably we were 
 aware he never touched meat. Throughout he 
 spoke English, of course on my account. 
 [116] 
 
FALK 
 
 He swayed forward heavily. 
 
 The girl, with her hands raised before her pale 
 eyes, was threading her needle. He glanced at her, 
 and his mighty trunk overshadowed the table, 
 bringing nearer to us the breadth of his shoulders, 
 the thickness of his neck, and that incongruous, an- 
 chorite head, burnt in the desert, hollowed and lean 
 as if by excesses of vigils and fasting. His beard 
 flowed imposingly downwards, out of sight, be- 
 tween the two brown hands gripping the edge of 
 the table, and his persistent glance made sombre by 
 the wide dilations of the pupils, fascinated. 
 
 " Imagine to yourselves," he said in his ordinary 
 voice, " that I have eaten man." 
 
 I could only ejaculate a faint "Ah!" of com- 
 plete enlightenment. But Hermann, dazed by the 
 excessive shock, actually murmured, " Himmel ! 
 Wliatfor?" 
 
 " It was my terrible misfortune to do so," said 
 Falk In a measured undertone. The girl, uncon- 
 scious, sewed on. Mrs. Hermann was absent in 
 one of the state-rooms, sitting up with Lena, who 
 was feverish ; but Hermann suddenly put both his 
 hands up with a jerk. The embroidered calotte 
 [117] 
 
FALK 
 
 fell, and, in the twinkling of an eye, he had rum- 
 pled his hair all ends up in a most extravagant 
 manner. In this state he strove to speak ; with 
 every effort his eyes seemed to start further out of 
 their sockets; his head looked like a mop. He 
 choked, gasped, swallowed, and managed to shriek 
 out the one word, " Beast ! " 
 
 From that moment till Falk went out of the cab- 
 in the girl, with her hands folded on the work lying 
 in her lap, never took her eyes off him. His own, 
 in the blindness of his heart, darted aU over the 
 cabin, only seeking to avoid the sight of Hermann's 
 raving. It was ridiculous, and was made almost 
 terrible by the stillness of every other person pres- 
 ent. It was contemptible, and was made appalling 
 by the man's overmastering horror of this awful 
 sincerity, coming to him suddenly, with the confes- 
 sion of such a fact. He walked with great strides ; 
 he gasped. He wanted to know from Falk how 
 dared he to come and tell him this.'' Did he think 
 himself a proper person to be sitting in this cabin 
 where his wife ana chiidren lived? Tell his niece! 
 Expected him to tell his niece ! His own brother's 
 daughter ! Shameless ! Did I ever hear tell of sud* 
 
FALK 
 
 impudence ? — he appealed to me. " This man here 
 ought to have gone and hidden himself out of sight 
 instead of . . ." 
 
 " But it's a great misfortune for me. But it's a 
 great misfortune for me," Falk would ejaculate 
 from time to time. 
 
 However, Hermann kept on running frequently 
 against the corners of the table. At last he lost a 
 slipper, and crossing his arms on his breast, walked 
 up with one stocking foot very close to Falk, in or- 
 der to ask him whether he did think there was any- 
 where on earth a woman abandoned enough to mate 
 with such a monster. " Did he ? Did he ? Did 
 he? " I tried to restrain him. He tore himself out 
 of my hands ; he found his slipper, and, endeavour- 
 ing to put it on, stormed standing on one leg — 
 and Falk, with a face unmoved and averted 
 eyes, grasped all his mighty beard in one vast 
 palm. 
 
 " Was it right then for me to die myself? " he 
 asked thoughtfully. I laid my hand on his shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " Go away," I whispered imperiously, without 
 wiy clear reason for this advice, except that } 
 
 [119] 
 
FALK 
 
 wished to put an end to Hermann's odious noise. 
 « Go away." 
 
 He looked searchingly for a moment at Hermann 
 before he made a move. I left the cabin too to see 
 him out of the ship. But he hung about the quar- 
 ter-deck. 
 
 " It is my misfortune," he said in a steady 
 voice. 
 
 ** You were stupid to blurt it out in such a man- 
 ner. After all, we don't hear such confidences 
 every day." 
 
 " What does the man mean ? " he mused in deep 
 undertones. " Somebody had to die — but why 
 me?" 
 
 He remained stiU for a time in the dark — silent ; 
 almost invisible. All at once he pinned my elbows 
 to m}-^ sides. I felt utterly powerless in his grip, 
 and his voice, whispering in my ear, vibrated. 
 
 " It's worse than hunger. Captain, do you know 
 what that means? And I could kill then — or be 
 killed. I wish the crowbar had smashed my skull 
 ten years ago. And I've got to live now. Without 
 her. Do you understand? Perhaps many years. 
 But how? What can be done? If I had allowed 
 [120] 
 
FALK 
 
 myself to look at her once I would have carried her 
 off before that man in my hands — like this." 
 
 I felt myself snatched off the deck, then suddenly 
 dropped — and I staggered backwards, feeling 
 bewildered and bruised. What a man ! All was 
 still; he was gone. I heard Hermann's voice de- 
 claiming in the cabin, and I went in. 
 
 I could not at first make out a single word, but 
 Mrs. Hermann, who, attracted by the noise, had 
 come in some time before, with an expression of 
 surprise and mild disapproval depicted broadly on 
 her face, was giving now all the signs of profound, 
 helpless agitation. Her husband shot a string of 
 guttural words at her, and instantly putting out 
 one hand to the bulkhead as if to save herself from 
 falling, she clutched the loose bosom of her dress 
 with the other. He harangued the two women ex- 
 traordinaril3^,with much of his shirt hanging out of 
 his waistbelt, stamping his foot, turning from one 
 to the other, sometimes throwing both his arms to- 
 gether, straight up above his rumpled hair, and 
 keeping them in that position while he rllercd a 
 passage of loud denunciation; at others folding 
 them tight across his breast — and then he hissed 
 [121] 
 
FALK 
 
 v^'ith indignation, elevating liis shoulders and pro- 
 truding his head. The girl was crying. 
 
 She had not changed her attitude. From her 
 steady eyes that, following Falk in his retreat, had 
 remained fixed wistfully on the cabin door, the 
 tears fell rapid, thick, on her hands, on the work in 
 her lap, warm and gentle like a shower in spring. 
 She wept without grimacing, without noise — very 
 touching, very quiet, with something more of pity 
 than of pain in her face, as one weeps in compassion 
 rather than in grief — and Hermann, before her, 
 declaimed. I caught several times the word 
 " Mensch," man ; and also " Fressen," which last I 
 looked up afterwards in my dictionary. It means 
 " Devour." Hermann seemed to be requesting an 
 answer of some sort from her; his whole body 
 swayed. She remained mute and perfectly still; 
 at last his agitation gained her ; she put the palms 
 of her hands together, her full lips parted, no 
 sound came. His voice scolded shrilly, his arms 
 went like a windmill — suddenly he shook a thick 
 fist at her. She burst out into loud sobs. He 
 seemed stupefied. 
 
 Mrs. Hermann rushed forward babbling rap- 
 
FALK 
 
 Idly. The two women fell on each other's necks, 
 and, with an arm round her niece's waist, she led her 
 away. Her own eyes were simply streaming, her 
 face was flooded. She shook her head back at me 
 negatively, I wonder why to this day. The girl's 
 head dropped heavily on her shoulder. They dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Then Hermann sat down and stared at the cabin 
 floor. 
 
 " We don't know all the circumstances," I ven- 
 tured to break the silence. He retorted tartly that 
 he didn't want to know of any. According to his 
 ideas no circumstances could excuse a crime — and 
 certainly not such a crime. This was the opinion 
 generally received. The duty of a human being 
 was to starve. Falk therefore was a beast, an ani- 
 mal; base, low, vile, despicable, shameless, and de- 
 ceitful. He had been deceiving him since last year. 
 He was, however, inclined to think that Falk must 
 have gone mad quite recently; for no sane person, 
 without necessity, uselessly, for no earthly reason, 
 and regardless of another's self-respect and peace 
 of mind, would own to having devoured human 
 flesh. " Why tell? " he cried. *' Who was asking 
 [128] 
 
FALK 
 
 him ? " It showed Falk's brutality because after 
 all he had selfishly caused him (Hermann) much 
 pain. He would have preferred not to know that 
 such an unclean creature had been in the habit of 
 caressing liis children. He hoped I would say noth- 
 ing of all this ashore, though. He wouldn't like it 
 to get about that he had been intimate with an 
 eater of men — a common cannibal. As to the scene 
 he had made (which I judged quite unnecessary) 
 he was not going to inconvenience and restrain 
 himself for a fellow that went about courting and 
 upsetting girls' heads, while he knew all the time 
 that no decent housewifel}'^ girl could think of mar- 
 rying him. At least he (Hermann) could not con- 
 ceive how any girl could. Fancy Lena ! . . . No, 
 it was impossible. The thoughts that would come 
 into their heads every time they sat down to a meal. 
 Horrible ! Horrible ! 
 
 " You are too squeamish, Hermann," I said. 
 
 He seemed to think it was eminently proper to be 
 squeamish if the word meant disgust at Falk's con- 
 duct; and turning up his eyes sentimentally he 
 drew my attention to the horrible fate of the victims 
 — the victims of that FaUc. I said that I knew 
 [12-i] 
 
/ FALK 
 
 nothing about them. He Beemed surprised. Could 
 not anybody imagine without knowing? He — for 
 instance — felt he would like to avenge them. But 
 what if — said I — there had not been any? They 
 might have died as it were, naturally — of starva- 
 tion. He shuddered. But to be eaten — after 
 death ! To be devoured ! He gave another deep 
 shudder, and asked suddenly, " Do you think it 
 is true?" 
 
 His indignation and his personality together 
 would have been enough to spoil the reality of the 
 most authentic thing. When I looked at him I 
 doubted the story — but the remembrance of Falk's 
 M'ords, looks, gestures, invested it not only with 
 an air of reality but with the absolute truth of 
 primitive passion. 
 
 " It is true just as much as you are able to make 
 it ; and exactly in the way you like to make it. For 
 my part, when I hear you clamouring about it, I 
 don't believe it is true at all." 
 
 And I left him pondering. The men in my boat 
 lying at the foot of Diana's side ladder told me that 
 the captain of the tug had gone away in his gig 
 some time ago. 
 
TALK 
 
 I let my fellows puU an easy stroke ; because of 
 the heavy dew the clear sparkle of the stars seemed 
 to fall on me cold and wetting. There was a sense 
 of lurking gruesome horror somewhere in ray mind, 
 and it was mingled with clear and grotesque 
 images. Schomberg*8 gastronomic tittle-tattle 
 was responsible for these; and I half hoped I 
 should never see Falk again. But the first thing 
 my anchor-watchman told me was that the captain 
 of the tug was on board. He had sent his boat 
 away and was now waiting for me in the cuddy. 
 
 He was lying full length on the stem settee, his 
 face buried in the cushions. I had expected to see 
 it discomposed, contorted, despairing. It was 
 nothing of the kind; it was just as I had seen it 
 twenty times, steady and glaring from the bridge 
 of the tug. It was immovably set and hungry, 
 dominated like the whole man by the singleness of 
 one instinct. 
 
 He wanted to hve. He had always wanted to 
 live. So we all do — but in us the instinct serves a 
 complex conception, and in him this instinct existed 
 alone. There is in such simple development a gi- 
 gtjatic forct, and Hk* the pathoi of t shild'a n^Sre 
 
FALK 
 
 and uncontrolled desire. He wanted that girl, and 
 the utmost that can be said for him was that he 
 wanted that particular girl alone. I think I saw 
 then the obscure beginning, the seed germinating 
 in the soil of an unconscious need, the first shoot 
 of that tree bearing now for a mature mankind the 
 flower and the fruit, the infinite gradation in 
 shades and in flavour of our discriminating love. 
 He was a child. He was as frank as a child too. 
 He was hungry for the girl, terribly hungry, as 
 he had been terribly hungry for food. 
 
 Don't be shocked if I declare that in my belief 
 it was the same need, the same pain, the same tor- 
 ture. We are in his case allowed to contemplate 
 the foundation of all the emotions — that one joy 
 which is to live, and the one sadness at the root of 
 the innumerable torments. It was made plain by 
 the way he talked. He had never suffered so. It 
 was gnawing, it was fire : it was there, like this ! 
 And after pointing below his breastbone, he made 
 a hard wringing motion with his hands. And I as- 
 sure you that, seen as I saw it with my bodily eyes, 
 it was anything but laughable. And again, as he 
 was presently to tell me (alluding to an early inci- 
 [1271 
 
falk: 
 
 dent of the disastrous voyage when some damaged 
 meat had been flung overboard), he said that a 
 time soon came when his heart ached (that was the 
 expression he used), and he was ready to tear his 
 hair out at the thought of all that rotten beef 
 thrown away. 
 
 I had heard all this; I witnessed his physical 
 struggles, seeing the working of the rack and hear- 
 ing the true voice of pain. I witnessed it all pa- 
 tiently, because the moment I came into the cuddy 
 he had called upon me to stand by him — ^and this, 
 it seems, I had diplomatically promised. 
 
 His agitation was impressive and alarming in 
 the httle cabin, like the floundering of a great 
 whale driven into a shallow cove in a coast. He 
 stood up ; he flung himself down headlong ; he tried 
 to tear the cushion with his teeth ; and again hug- 
 ging it fiercely to his face he let liimself fall on the 
 couch. The whole ship seem.ed to feel the shock 
 of his despair; and I contemplated with wonder the 
 lofty forehead, the noble touch of time on the un- 
 covered temples, the unchanged hungry character 
 of the face — so strangely ascetic and so incapable 
 of portraying emotion. 
 
 [128] 
 
FALK 
 
 What should he do? He had lived by being 
 near her. He had sat — in the evening — I knew? — ■ 
 all his life ! She sewed. Her head was bent — so. 
 Her head — like this — and her arms. Ah ! Had I 
 seen.'' Like this. 
 
 He dropped on a stool, bowed his powerful neck 
 whose nape was red, and with his hands stitched 
 the air, ludicrous, sublimely imbecile and compre- 
 hensible. 
 
 And now he couldn't have her ? No ! That was 
 too much. After thinking too that . . . What 
 had he done.'' What was my advice? Take her by 
 force? No? Mustn't he? Who was there then 
 to kill him ? For the first time I saw' one of his fea' 
 tures move; a fighting teeth-baring curl of the lip. 
 ..." Not Hermann, perhaps." He lost himself 
 in thought as though he had fallen out of the 
 world. 
 
 I may note that the idea of suicide apparently 
 (lid not enter his head for a single moment. It oc- 
 curred to me to ask: 
 
 " Where was it that tliis shipwreck of yours took 
 place?" 
 
 " Down south," he said vaguely with a start. 
 [129] 
 
FALK 
 
 " You are not down south now," I said. " Vio- 
 lence won't do. They would take her away from 
 you in no time. And what was the name of the 
 sliip.?" 
 
 " Borgmester Dahl," he said. "It was no ship- 
 wreck." 
 
 He seemed to be waking up by degrees from that 
 trance, and waking up calmed. 
 
 " Not a shipwreck ? What was it ? " 
 
 " Break down," he answered, looking more like 
 himself every moment. By this only I learned that 
 it was a steamer. I had till then supposed they 
 had been starving in boats or on a raft — or per- 
 haps on a barren rock. 
 
 " She did not sink then.'' " I asked in surprise. 
 He nodded. " We sighted the southern ice," he 
 pronounced dreamily. 
 
 " And you alone survived.'' " 
 
 He sat down. " Yes. It was a terrible misfor- 
 tune for me. Everything went wrong. All the 
 men went wrong. I survived." 
 
 Remembering the things one reads of it was diffi- 
 cult to realise the true meaning of his answers. I 
 ought to have seen at once — ^but I did not ; so diffi- 
 [130] 
 
FALK 
 
 cult is it for our minds, remembering so much, in- 
 structed so much, informed of so much, to get in 
 touch with the real actuahty at our elbow. And 
 with my head full of preconceived notions as to 
 how a case of " cannibalism and suffering at sea " 
 should be managed I said — " You were then so 
 lucky in the drawing of lots? " 
 
 *' Drawing of lots? " he said. " What lots? Do 
 you think I would have allowed my life to go for 
 the drawing of lots ? " 
 
 Not if he could help it, I perceived, no matter 
 what other life went. 
 
 " It was a great misfortune. Terrible. Awful," 
 he said. " Many heads went wrong, but the best 
 men would live." 
 
 " The toughest, you mean," I said. He consid- 
 ered the word. Perhaps it was strange to him, 
 though his English was so good. 
 
 " Yes," he asserted at last. " The best. It was 
 everybody for himself at last and the ship open to 
 all." 
 
 Thus from question to question I got the whole 
 story. I fancy it was the only way I could that 
 night have stood by him. Outwardly at least he 
 [131] 
 
FALK 
 
 was himself again ; the first sign of it was the re- 
 turn of that incongruous trick he had of drawing 
 both liis hands down his face — and it had its mean- 
 ing now, with that sHght shudder of the frame and 
 the passionate anguish of these hands uncovering 
 a hungry immovable face, the wide pupils of the 
 intent, silent, fascinating ej^es. 
 
 It was an iron steamer of a most respectable ori- 
 gin. The burgomaster of Falk's native town had 
 built her. She was the first steamer ever launched 
 there. The burgomaster's daughter had christened 
 her. Country people drove in carts from miles 
 around to see her. He told me all this. He got the 
 berth as what we should call a chief mate. He 
 seemed to think it had been a feather in his cap ; 
 and, in his own corner of the world, tliis lover of 
 life was of good parentage. 
 
 The burgomaster had advanced ideas in the 
 ship-owning line. At that time not every one 
 would have known enough to think of despatching 
 a cargo steamer to the Pacific. But he loaded her 
 with pitch-pine deals and sent her off to hunt for 
 her luck. Wellington was to be the first port, I 
 fancy. It doesn't matter, because in latitude 44)'^ 
 [132] 
 
FALK 
 
 south and somewhere halfway between Good Hope 
 and New Zealand the tail shaft broke and the pro- 
 peller dropped off. 
 
 The}' were steaming then with a fresh gale on 
 the quarter and all their canvas set, to help the en- 
 gines. But by itself the sail power was not enough 
 to keep way on her. When the propeller went the 
 ship broached-to at once, and the masts got 
 whipped overboard. 
 
 The disadvantage of being dismasted consisted 
 in this, that the}' had nothing to hoist flags on to 
 make themselves visible at a distance. In the 
 course of the first few days several ships failed to 
 sight them ; and the gale was drifting them out of 
 the usual track. The voj-age had been, from the 
 first, neither very successful nor very harmonious. 
 There had been quarrels on board. The captain 
 was a clever, melancholic man, who had no unusual 
 grip on his crew. The ship had been amply pro- 
 visioned for the passage, but, somehow or other, 
 several barrels of meat were found spoiled on open- 
 ing, and had been thrown overboard soon after 
 leaving home, as a sanitary measure. Afterwards 
 the crew of the Borgmester Dahl thought of that 
 [ 133 ] 
 
TALK 
 
 rotten carrion with tears of regret, covetousness 
 and despair. 
 
 She drove south. To begin with, there had been 
 an appearance of organisation, but soon the bonds 
 of discipline became relaxed. A sombre idleness 
 succeeded. They looked with sullen eyes at the hori- 
 zon. The gales increased: she lay in the trough, 
 the seas made a clean breach over her. On one 
 frightful night, when they expected their hulk to 
 turn over with them every moment, a heavy sea 
 broke on board, deluged the store-rooms and spoiled 
 the best part of the remaining provisions. It seems 
 the hatch had not been properly secured. This in- 
 stance of neglect is characteristic of utter discour- 
 agement. Falk tried to inspire some energy into 
 his captain, but failed. From that time he retired 
 more into himself, always trying to do his utmost 
 in the situation. It grew worse. Gale succeeded 
 gale, with black mountains of water hurling them- 
 selves on the Borgmester Dahl. Some of the men 
 never left their bunks; many became quarrelsome. 
 The chief engineer, an old man, refused to speak 
 at all to anybody. Others shut themselves up in 
 their berths to cry. On cahn days the inert steamer 
 [134] 
 
FALK 
 
 rolled on a leaden sea under a murky sky, or 
 showed, in sunshine, the squalor of sea waifs, the 
 dried white salt, the rust, the jagged broken 
 places. Then the gales came again. Thej kept 
 body and soul together on short rations. Once, an 
 English ship, scudding in a storm, tried to stand 
 by them, heaving-to pluckily under their lee. The 
 seas swept her decks; the men in oilskins clinging 
 to her rigging looked at them, and they made des- 
 perate signs over their shattered bulwarks. Sud- 
 denly her main-topsail went, yard and all, in a ter- 
 rific squall; she had to bear up under bare poles, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Other ships had spoken them before, but at first 
 they had refused to be taken off, expecting the as- 
 sistance of some steamer. There were very few 
 steamers in those latitudes then ; and when they 
 desired to leave this dead and drifting carcase, no 
 ship came in sight. They had drifted south out of 
 men's knowledge. They failed to attract the atten- 
 tion of a lonely whaler, and very soon the edge of 
 the polar ice-cap rose from the sea and closed the 
 southern horizon like a wall. One morning they 
 wcrt ftUnned by finding thcmMlvta floating 
 [IM] 
 
FALK 
 amongst detached pieces of ice. But the fear of 
 sinking passed awaj Hke their vigour, like their 
 hopes ; the shocks of the floes knocking against the 
 ship's side could not rouse them from their apathy : 
 and the Borgmester Dahl drifted out again un- 
 liarnied into open water. They hardly noticed 
 the change. 
 
 The funnel had gone overboard in one of the 
 heavy rolls ; tw o of their three boats had disap- 
 peared, washed away in bad weather, and the davits 
 swung to and fro, unsecured, with chafed rope's 
 ends waggling to the roll. Nothing was done on 
 board, and Falk told me how he had often hstened 
 to the water washing about the dark engine-room 
 where the engines, stilled for ever, were decaying 
 slowly into a mass of rust, as the stilled heart de- 
 cays within the lifeless body. At first, after the 
 loss of the motive power, the tiller had been thor- 
 oughly secured by lashings. But in course of time 
 these had rotted, chafed, rusted, parting one by 
 one : and the rudder, freed, banged heavily to and 
 fro night and day, sending dull shocks through the 
 whole frame of the vessel. This was dangerous. 
 Nobody c^red enough to lift a little finger. He 
 [136] 
 
FALK 
 
 told me that even now sometimes waking up at 
 night, he fancied he could hear the dull vibrating 
 thuds. The pintles carried away, and it dropped 
 off at last. 
 
 The final catastrophe came with the sending off 
 of their one remaining boat. It was Falk who bad 
 managed to preserA-e her intact, and now it was 
 agreed that some of the hands should sail away into 
 the track of the shipping to procure assistance. 
 She was provisioned with all the food they could 
 spare for the six who were to go. They waited for 
 a fine day. It was long in coming. At last one 
 morning they lowered her into the water. 
 
 Directly, in that demoralised crowd, trouble 
 broke out. Two men who had no business there 
 had jumped into the boat under the pretence of 
 unhooking the tackles, while some sort of squabble 
 arose on- the deck amongst these weak, tottering 
 spectres of a ship's company. The captain, who 
 had been for days living secluded and unapproach- 
 able in the chart-room, came to the rail. He or- 
 dered the two men to come up on board and men- 
 aced them with his revolver. They pretended to 
 obey, but suddenly cutting the boat's painter, gave 
 
F A L K 
 
 a shove against the ship's side and made ready to 
 hoist the sail. 
 
 " Shoot, sir ! Shoot them down ! " cried Falk— 
 " and I will jump overboard to regain the boat." 
 But the captain, after taking aim with an irreso- 
 lute arm, turned suddenly away. 
 
 A howl of rage arose. Falk dashed into his cabin 
 for his own pistol. When he returned it was too 
 late. Two more men had leaped into the water, but 
 the fellows in the boat beat them off with the oars, 
 I'.oisted the boat's lug and sailed awa}'. They were 
 never heard of again. 
 
 Consternation and despair possessed the remain- 
 ing ship's company, till the apathy of utter hope- 
 lessness re-asserted its sway. That day a fireman 
 committed suicide, running up on deck with his 
 throat cut from ear to ear, to the horror of all 
 hands. He was thrown overboard. The captain 
 had locked himself in the chart-room, and Falk, 
 knocking vainly for admittance, heard him recit- 
 ing over and over again the names of his \vife and 
 children, not as if calling upon them or commend- 
 ing them to God, but in a mechanica.1 voice like an 
 exercise of memory. Next day the doors of the 
 [138] 
 
F A L K 
 chart-room were swinging open to Ihe roll of the 
 ship, and the captain had disappeared. He must 
 during the night have jumped into the sea. Falk 
 locked both the doors and kept the keys. 
 
 The organised life of the ship had come to an 
 end. The solidarity of the men had gone. They 
 became indifferent to each other. It was Falk who 
 took in hand the distribution of such food as re- 
 mained. They boiled their boots for soup to eke 
 out the rations, which only made their hunger more 
 intolerable. Sometimes whispers of hate were 
 heard passing between the languid skeletons that 
 drifted endlessly to and fro, north and south, east 
 and west, upon that carcase of a ship. 
 
 And in this lies the grotesque horror of this som- 
 bre story. The last extremity of sailors, overtaking 
 a small boat or a frail craft, seems easier to bear, 
 because of the direct danger of the seas. The con- 
 fined space, the close contact, the imminent menace 
 of the waves, seem to draw men together, in spite 
 of madness, suffering and despair. But there was 
 a ship — safe, convenient, roomy : a ship with beds, 
 bedding, knives, forks, comfortable cabins, glass 
 and china, and a complete cook's galley, pervaded, 
 [139] 
 
FALK 
 
 ruled and possessed by the pitiless spectre of star- 
 vation. The lamp oil had been drunk, the wicks 
 cut up for food, the candles eaten. At night she 
 floated dark in all her recesses, and full of fears. 
 One day Falk came upon a man gnawing a splinter 
 of pine wood. Suddenly he threw the piece of wood 
 away, tottered to the rail, and fell over. Falk, too 
 late to prevent the act, saw him claw the ship's 
 side desperately before he went down. Next day 
 another man did the same thing, after uttering hor- 
 rible imprecations. But tliis one somehow man- 
 aged to get hold of the broken rudder chains and 
 hung on there, silently. Falk set about trying to 
 save him, and all the time the man, holding with 
 both hands, looked at him anxiously with his sunken 
 eyes. Then, just as Falk was ready to put his hand 
 on him, the man let go his hold and sank like a 
 stone. Falk reflected on these sights. His heart 
 revolted against the horror of death, and he said 
 to himself that he would struggle for every pre- 
 cious minute of his life. 
 
 One afternoon — as the survivors lay about on 
 the after deck — the carpenter, a tall man with a 
 black beard, spoke of the last sacrifice. There was 
 [140] 
 
FALK 
 
 nothing eatable left on board. Nobody said a 
 word to this ; but that compan}' separated quickly, 
 these listless feeble spectres slunk off one by one 
 to hide in fear of each other. Falk and the car- 
 penter remained on deck together. Falk liked 
 the big carpenter. He had been the best man of 
 the lot, helpful and ready as long as there was 
 anything to do, the longest hopeful, and had 
 preserved to the last some vigour and decision of 
 mind. 
 
 They did not speak to each other. Henceforth 
 no voices were to be heard conversing sadly on 
 board that ship. After a time the carpenter tot- 
 tered away forward; but later on, Falk going to 
 drink at the fresh-water pump, had the inspiration 
 to turn his head. The carpenter had stolen upon 
 him from behind, and, summoning all his strength, 
 was aiming with a crowbar a blow at the back of 
 his skull. 
 
 Dodging just in time, Falk made liis escape and 
 ran into his cabin. While he was loading his re- 
 volver thercj he heard the sound of heavy blows 
 struck upon the bridge. The locks of the chart- 
 room doors were slight, they flew open, and the car- 
 [141] 
 
FALK 
 
 penter, possessing himself of the captain's revolver, 
 fired a shot of defiance. 
 
 Falk was about to go on deck and have it out 
 at once, -when he remarked that one of the ports of 
 his cabin commanded the approaches to the fresh- 
 water pump. Instead of going out he remained in 
 and secured the door. " The best man shall sur- 
 vive," he said to himself — and the other, he rea- 
 soned, must at some time or other come there to 
 drink. These starving men would drink often to 
 cheat the pangs of their hunger. But the carpen- 
 ter too must have noticed the position of the port. 
 The}^ were the two best men in the ship, and the 
 game was with them,. All the rest of the day Falk 
 saw no one and heard no sound. At night he 
 strained his e^-es. It was dark — he heard a rustling 
 noise once, but he was certain that no one could 
 have come near the pump. It was to the left of his 
 deck port, and he could not have failed to see a 
 man, for the night was clear and starry. He saw 
 nothing; towards morning another faint noise 
 made him suspicious. Deliberately and quietly he 
 unlocked his door. He had not slept, and had not 
 [142] 
 
FALK 
 
 given way to the horror of the situation. He 
 wanted to live. 
 
 But during the night the carpenter, without at 
 all trying to approach the pump, had managed to 
 creep quietly along the starboard bulwark, and, 
 unseen, had crouched down right under Falk's deck 
 port. When daylight came he rose up suddenly, 
 looked in, and putting his arm through the round 
 brass framed opening, fired at Falk within a foot. 
 He missed — and Falk, instead of attempting to 
 seize the arm holding the weapon, opened his door 
 unexpectedly, and with the muzzle of his long re- 
 volver nearly touching the other's side, shot him 
 dead. 
 
 The best man had survived. Both of them had 
 at the beginning just strength enough to stand on 
 their feet, and both had displayed pitiless resolu- 
 tion, endurance, cunning and courage — all the 
 qualities of classic heroism. At once Falk threw 
 overboard the captain's revolver. He was a born 
 monopolist. Then after the report of the two 
 shots, followed by a profound silence, there crept 
 out into the cold, cruel dawn of Antarctic regions, 
 [143] 
 
FALK 
 
 from various lading-places, over the deck of that 
 dismantled corpse of a sliip floating on a grey sea 
 ruled by iron necessity and with a heart of ice — ■ 
 there crept into view one by one, cautious, slow, ea- 
 ger, glaring, and unclean, a band of hungry and 
 livid skeletons. Falk faced them, the possessor of 
 the onlj"^ fire-arm on board, and the second best man 
 — the carpenter — was lying dead between him and 
 them. 
 
 " He was eaten, of course," I said. 
 
 He bent his head slowlj^, shuddered a little, draw- 
 ing his hands over his face, and said, " I had never 
 any quarrel with that man. But there were our 
 lives between him and me." 
 
 Why continue the story of that ship, that story 
 before which, with its fresh-water pump like a 
 spring of death, its man with the weapon, the sea 
 ruled by iron necessity-, its spectral band swayed by 
 terror and hope, its mute and unhearing heaven .'' — 
 the fable of the Flying DutcJivian with its conven- 
 tion of crime and its sentimental retribution fades 
 like a graceful wreath, like a wisp of white mist. 
 What is there to say that every one of us cannot 
 guess for himself.!^ I believe Falk began by going 
 [144] 
 
FALK 
 
 through the ship, revolver in hand, to annex all the 
 matclies. Those starving wretches had plenty of 
 matches ! He had no mind to have the ship set on 
 fire under his feet, either from hate or from despair. 
 He lived in the open, camping on the bridge, com- 
 manding all the after deck and the only approach 
 to the pump. He lived ! Some of the others lived 
 too — concealed, anxious, coming out one by one 
 from their hiding-places at the seductive sound of 
 a shot. And he was not selfish. They shared, but 
 only three of them all were alive when a whaler, re- 
 turning from her cruising ground, nearly ran over 
 the water-logged hull of the Borgnuster Dahl, 
 which, it seems, in the end had in some way sprung 
 a leak in both her holds, but being loaded with deals 
 could not sink. 
 
 " They all died," Falk said. " These three too, 
 afterwards. But I would not die. All died, all ! 
 under this terrible misfortune. But was I too to 
 throw away my life.'* Could I.'' Tell me, captain.'' 
 I was alone there, quite alone, just like the others. 
 Each man was alone. Was I to give up my re- 
 volver.'' Who to? Or was I to throw it into the 
 sea? What would have been the good? Only the 
 [145] 
 
FALK 
 best man would survive. It was a great, terrible, 
 and cruel misfortune." 
 
 He had survived! I saw him before me as 
 though preserved for a witness to the mighty truth 
 of an unerring and eternal principle. Great beads 
 of perspiration stood on his forehead. And sud- 
 denly it struck the table with a heavy blow, as he 
 fell forward throwing his hands out. 
 
 " And this is worse," he cried. " This is a worse 
 pain ! This is more terrible." 
 
 He made my heart thump with the profound con- 
 viction of his cries. And after he had left me 
 alone I called up before my mental eye the image 
 of the girl weeping silently, abundantly, patiently, 
 and as if irresistibly. I thought of her tawny 
 hair. I thought how, if unplaited, it would have 
 covered her all round as low as the hips, like the 
 hair of a siren. And she had bewitched him. Fancy 
 a man who would guard his own life with the in- 
 flexibility of a pitiless and immovable fate, being 
 brought to lament that once a crowbar had missed 
 his skull! The sirens sing and lure to death, but 
 this one had been weeping silently as if for the pity 
 of his life. She was the tender and voiceless siren 
 [146] 
 
FALK 
 
 of this appalling navigator. He evidently wanted 
 to live his whole conception of life. Nothing else 
 would do. And she too was a servant of that life 
 that, in the midst of death, cries aloud to our senses. 
 She was eminently fitted to interpret for him its 
 feminine side. And in her own way, and with her 
 own profusion of sensuous charms, she also seemed 
 to illustrate the eternal truth of an unerring prin- 
 ciple. I don't know though what sort of principle 
 Hermann illustrated when he turned up early on 
 board my ship with a most perplexed air. It 
 struck me, however, that he too would do his best 
 to survive. He seemed greatly calmed on the sub- 
 ject of Falk, but still very full of it. 
 
 " What is it you said I was last night ? You 
 know," he asked after some preliminary talk. 
 " Too — too — I don't know. A very funny word.'* 
 
 " Squeamish.'' " I suggested. 
 
 " Yes. What does it mean? " 
 
 " That you exaggerate things — to yourself. 
 Without inquiry, and so on." 
 
 He seemed to turn it over in his mind. We went 
 on talking. This Falk was the plague of his life. 
 Upsetting everybody like this! Mrs. Hermann 
 [1*7] 
 
FALK 
 
 was unwell rather this morning. His niece wa» 
 crying still. There was nobody to look after the 
 children. He struck his umbrella on the deck. She 
 would be like that for months. Fancy carrjnng all 
 the way home, second class, a perfectly useless girl 
 who is crying all the time. It was bad for Lena 
 too, he observed ; but on what grounds I could not 
 guess. Perhaps of the bad example. That child 
 was already sorrowing and crying enough over the 
 rag doll. Nicholas was really the least sentimental 
 person of the family. 
 
 " Why does she weep ? " I asked. 
 
 " From pity," cried Hermann. 
 
 It was impossible to make out women. Mrs. Her- 
 mann was the only one he pretended to understand. 
 She was very, very upset and doubtful. 
 
 " Doubtful about what.? " I asked. 
 
 He averted his eyes and did not answer this. It 
 was impossible to make them out. For instance, 
 his niece was weeping for Falk. Now he (Her- 
 mann) would like to wring his neck — ^but then . . . 
 He supposed he had too tender a heart. " Frank- 
 ly," he asked at last, " what do you think of what 
 we heard last night, captain ? " 
 [148] 
 
FALK 
 
 " In all these tales," I observed, " there is always 
 a good deal of exaggeration." 
 
 And not letting him recover from his surprise I 
 assured him that I knew all the details. He begged 
 me not to repeat them. His heart was too tender. 
 The}' made him feel unwell. Then, looking at his 
 feet and speaking very slowly, he supposed that he 
 need not see much of them after they were married. 
 For, indeed, he could not bear the sight of Falk. 
 On the other hand it was ridiculous to take home a 
 girl with her head turned. A girl that weeps all 
 the time and is of no help to her aunt. 
 
 " Now you will be able to do with one cabin only 
 on your passage home," I said. 
 
 " Yes, I had thought of that," he said brightly, 
 almost. " Yes ! Himself, his wife, four children 
 — one cabin might do. Whereas if his niece 
 went . ..." 
 
 "And what does Mrs. Hermann say to it.?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 Mrs. Hermann did not know whether a man of 
 that sort could make a girl happy — she had been 
 greatly deceived in Captain Falk. She had been 
 very upset last night. 
 
 [ 149 ] 
 
FALK 
 
 Those good people did not seem to be able to re- 
 tain an impression for a whole twelve hours. I 
 assured him on my own personal knowledge that 
 Falk possessed in himself all the qualities to make 
 his niece's future prosperous. He said he was glad 
 to hear this, and that he would tell his wife. Then 
 the object of the visit came out. He wished me to 
 help him to resume relations with Falk. His niece, 
 he said, had expressed the hope I would do so in my 
 kindness. He was evidently anxious that I should, 
 for though he seemed to have forgotten nine-tenths 
 of his last night's opinions and the whole of his in- 
 dignation, yet he evidently feared to be sent to the 
 right-about. " You told me he was very much in 
 love," he concluded slyly, and leered in a sort of bu- 
 colic way. 
 
 " As soon as he had left my ship I called Falk on 
 board by signal — the tug still lying at the anchor- 
 age. He took the news with calm gravity, as 
 though he had all along expected the stars to fight 
 for him in their courses. 
 
 I saw them once more together, and only once — • 
 on the quarter-deck of the Diana. Hermann sat 
 smoking with a shirt-sleeved elbow hooked over the 
 [150] 
 
FALK 
 
 back of his chair. Mrs. Hermann was sewing 
 alone. As Falk stepped over the gangway, Her- 
 mann's niece, with a slight swish of the skirt and a 
 swift friendly nod to me, glided past my chair. 
 
 They met in sunshine abreast of the mainmast. 
 He held her hands and looked down at them, and 
 she looked up at him with her candid and unseeing 
 glance. It seemed to me they had come together 
 as if attracted, draAvn and guided to each other by 
 a mysterious influence. They were a com.plete 
 couple. In her grey frock, palpitating with life, 
 generous of form, olympian and simple, she was in- 
 deed the siren to fascinate that dark navigator, this 
 ruthless lover of the five senses. From afar I 
 seemed to feel the masculine strength with wliich 
 he grasped those hands she had extended to him 
 with a womanly SAviftness. Lena, a little pale, 
 nursing her beloved lump of dirty rags, ran to- 
 wards her big friend; and then in the drowsy si- 
 lence of the good old ship Mrs. Hermann's voice 
 rang out so changed that it made me spin round in 
 my chair to see what was the matter. 
 
 " Lena, come here ! " she screamed. And this 
 good-natured matron gave me a wavering glance^ 
 1151] 
 
FALK 
 dark and full of fearsome distrust. The child ran 
 back, surprised, to her knee. But the two, stand- 
 ing before each other in sunlight with clasped 
 hands, had heard nothing, had seen nothing and 
 no one. Three feet away from them in the shade 
 a seaman sat on a spar, very busy splicing a strop, 
 and dipping his fingers into a tar-pot, as if utterly 
 unaware of their existence. 
 
 When I returned in command of another ship, 
 some five years afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Falk 
 had left the place. I should not wonder if Schom- 
 berg's tongue had succeeded at last in scaring Falk 
 away for good ; and, indubitably, there was a tale 
 still going about the town of a certain Falk, owner 
 of a tug, who had won his wife at cards from the 
 captain of an English ship. 
 
 [152] 
 
AMY FOSTEB 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 Kennedy is a country doctor, and lives in Cole- 
 brook, on the shores of Eastbay. The high 
 ground rising abruptly behind the red roofs of the 
 little town crowds the quaint High Street against 
 the wall which defends it from the sea. Beyond 
 the sea-wall there curves for miles in a vast and 
 regular sweep the barren beach of shingle, with the 
 village of Brenzett standing out darkly across the 
 water, a spire in a clump of trees ; and still further 
 out the perpendicular column of a lighthouse, look- 
 ing in the distance no bigger than a lead pencil, 
 marks the vanishing-point of the land. The coun- 
 try at the back of Brenzett is low and flat, but the 
 bay is fairly well sheltered from the seas, and occa- 
 sionally a big ship, windbound or through stress 
 of weather, makes use of the anchoring ground a 
 mile and a half due north from you as you stand 
 at the back door of the " Ship Inn " in Brenzett. 
 [156] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 A dilapidated windmill near by lifting its shatteri'd 
 arms from a mound no loftier than a rubbish heap, 
 and a Martello tower squatting at the water's edge 
 half a mile to the south of the Coastguard cottages, 
 are familiar to the skippers of small craft. These 
 are the official seamarks for the patch of trust- 
 worthy bottom represented on the Admiralty charts 
 by an irregular oval of dots enclosing several fig- 
 ures six, with a tiny anchor engraved among them, 
 and the legend " mud and shells " over all. 
 
 The brow of the upland overtops the square 
 tower of the Colebrook Church. The slope is 
 green and looped by a white road. Ascending 
 along this road, you open a valle}^ broad and shal- 
 low, a wide green trough of pastures and hedges 
 merging inland into a vista of purple tints and 
 flowing lines closing the view. 
 
 In this valley down to Brenzett and Colebrook 
 and up to Darnford, the market town fourteen 
 miles away, lies the practice of my friend Kennedy. 
 He had begun life as surgeon in the Navy, and 
 afterwards had been the companion, of a famous 
 traveller, in the days when there were continents 
 with unexplored interiors. His papers on the 
 [156] 
 
/ 
 
 AMY FOSTER 
 
 fauna and flora made him known to scientific socie- 
 ties. And now he had come to a country practice 
 — from choice. The penetrating power of his 
 mind, acting like a corrosive fluid, had destroyed 
 his ambition, I fancy. His intelHgence is of a 
 scientific order, of an investigating habit, and of 
 that unappeasable curiosity which believes that 
 there is a particle of a general truth in every mys- 
 tery. 
 
 A good many years ago now, on my return from 
 abroad, he invited me to stay with him. I came 
 readily enough, and as he could not neglect his 
 patients to keep me company, he took me on his 
 rounds — thirty miles or so of an afternoon, some- 
 times. I waited for him on the roads; the horse 
 reached after the leafy twigs, and, sitting high in 
 the dogcart, I could hear Kennedy's laugh through 
 the half-oj)en door left open of some cottage. He 
 had a big, hearty laugh that would have fitted a 
 man twice his size, a brisk manner, a bronzed face, 
 and a pair of grey, profoundly attentive eyes. He 
 had the talent of making people talk to him freely, 
 and an inexhaustible patience in hstening to their 
 tales. 
 
 [157] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 One day, as we trotted out of a large village into 
 a shadj bit of road, I saw on our left hand a low, 
 black cottage, with diamond panes in the windows, 
 a creeper on the end wall, a roof of shingle, and 
 some roses climbing on the rickety trellis-work of 
 the tiny porch. Kennedy pulled up to a walk. A 
 woman, in full sunlight, was throwing a dripping 
 blanket over a line stretched between two old ap- 
 ple-trees. And as the bobtailed, long-necked chest- 
 nut, trying to get his head, jerked the left hand, 
 covered by a thick dogskin glove, the doctor raised 
 his voice over the hedge : " How's your child. 
 Amy.?" 
 
 I had the time to see her dull face, red, not with 
 a mantling blush, but as if her flat cheeks had been 
 vigorously slapped, and to take in the squat figure, 
 the scanty, dust}' brown hair drawn into a tight 
 knot at the back of the head. She looked quite 
 young. With a distinct catch in her breath, her 
 voice sounded low and timid. 
 
 " He's well, thank you." 
 
 We trotted again. " A young patient of 
 yours," I said; and the doctor, flicking the chest- 
 nut absently, muttered, " Her husband uied to be." 
 fllS] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 She seems a dull creature," I remarked list- 
 
 " Precisely," said Kennedy. " She is very pas- 
 sive. It's enough to look at the red hands hanging 
 at the end of those short arms, at those slow, prom- 
 inent brown eyes, to know the inertness of her mind 
 — an inertness that one would think made it ever- 
 lastingly safe from all the surprises of imagina- 
 tion. And yet which of us is safe.? At any rate, 
 such as you see her, she had enough imagination 
 to fall in love. She's the daughter of one Isaac 
 Foster, who from a small farmer has sunk into a 
 shepherd; the beginning of his misfortunes dating 
 from his runaway marriage with the cook of his 
 widowed father — a well-to-do, apoplectic grazier, 
 who passionately struck his name off his will, and 
 had been heard to utter threats against his life. 
 But this old affair, scandalous enough to serve as 
 a motive for a Greek tragedy, arose from the simi- 
 larity of their characters. There are other trage- 
 dies, less scandalous and of a subtler poignancy, 
 arising from irreconcilable differences and from 
 that fear of tlie Incomprehensible that hangs over 
 all our heads — over all our heads. . . ." 
 [159 1 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 The tired cliestnut dropped into a walk ; and the 
 rim of the sun, all red in a speckless sky, touched 
 familiarly the smooth top of a ploughed rise near 
 the road as I had seen it times innumerable touch 
 the distant horizon of the sea. The uniform 
 brownness of the harrowed field glowed with a rosy 
 tinge, as though the powdered clods had sweated 
 out in minute pearls of blood the toil of uncounted 
 ploughmen. From the edge of a copse a waggon 
 with two horses was rolling gently along the ridge. 
 Raised above our heads upon the sky-line, it loomed 
 up against the red sun, triumphantly big, enor- 
 mous, like a chariot of giants drawn by two slow- 
 stepping steeds of legendary proportions. And 
 the clumsy figure of the man plodding at the head 
 of the leading horse projected itself on the back- 
 ground of the Infinite with a heroic uncouthness. 
 The end of liis carter's whip quivered high up in 
 the blue. Kenned}^ discoursed. 
 
 " She's the eldest of a large family. At the age 
 of fifteen thej- put her out to service at the New 
 Barns Farm. I attended Mrs. Smith, the tenant's 
 wife, and saw that girl there for the first time. 
 Mrs. Smith, a genteel person with a sharp nose, 
 [160] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 made her put on a black dress every afternoon. I 
 don't know wliat induced me to notice her at all. 
 There are faces that call your attention by a cu- 
 rious want of definiteness in their whole aspect, as, 
 walking in a mist, you peer attentively at a vague 
 shape which, after all, may be nothing more cu- 
 rious or strange than a signpost. The only pecu- 
 liarit}' I perceived in her was a slight hesitation in 
 her utterance, a sort of preliminary stammer which 
 passes away with the first word. When sharply 
 spoken to, she was apt to lose her head at once ; but 
 her heart was of the kindest. She had never been 
 heard to express a dishke for a single human being, 
 and she was tender to every living creature. She 
 was devoted to Mrs. Smith, to Mr. Smith, to their 
 dogs, cats, canaries ; and as to INIrs. Smith's grey 
 parrot, its peculiarities exercised upon her a posi- 
 tive fascination. Nevertheless, when that outland- 
 ish bird, attacked by the cat, shrieked for help in 
 human accents, she ran out into the yard stopping 
 her ears, and did not prevent the crime. For Mrs. 
 Smith this was another evidence of her stupidity; 
 on the other hand, her want of charm, in view of 
 Smith's well-known frivolousness, was a great rec- 
 [161] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 ommendation. Her short-sighted eyes would swim 
 with pity for a poor mouse in a trap, and she had 
 been seen once by some boys on her knees in the wet 
 grass helping a toad in difficulties. If it's true, as 
 some German fellow has said, that without phos- 
 phorus there is no thought, it is still more true that 
 there is no kindness of heart without a certain 
 amount of imagination. She had some. She had 
 even more than is necessary to understand suffer- 
 ing and to be moved by pity. She fell in love un- 
 der circumstances that leave no room for doubt in 
 the matter; for you need imagination to form a 
 notion of beauty at all, and still more to discover 
 your ideal in an unfamiliar shape. 
 
 " How this aptitude came to her, what it did 
 feed upon, is an inscrutable mystery. She was 
 born in the village, and had never been further 
 away from it than Colebrook or perhaps Darnford. 
 She lived for four years with the Smiths. New 
 Barns is an isolated farmhouse a mile away from 
 the road, and she was content to look day after 
 da}- at the same fields, hollows, rises ; at the trees 
 and the hedgerows; at the faces of the four men 
 about the farm, always the same — day after day, 
 [162] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 month after month, year after year. She never 
 showed a desire for conversation, and, as it seemed 
 to me, she did not know how to smile. Sometimes 
 of a fine Sunday afternoon she would put on lier 
 best dress, a pair of stout boots, a large grey hat 
 trimmed with a black feather (I've seen her in that 
 finery), seize an absurdly slender parasol, climb 
 over two stiles, tramp over three fields and along 
 two hundred yards of road — never further. There 
 stood Foster's cottage. She would help her mother 
 to give their tea to the younger children, wash up 
 the crockery, kiss the little ones, and go back to 
 the farm. That Avas all. All the rest, all the 
 change, all the relaxation. She never seemed to 
 wish for anything more. And then she fell in love. 
 She fell in love silently, obstinately — perhaps help- 
 lessly. It came slowly, but when it came it worked 
 like a powerful spell; it was love as the Ancients 
 understood it : an irresistible and fateful impulse — 
 a possession ! Yes, it was in her to become haunted 
 and possessed by a face, by a presence, fatally, as 
 though she had been a pagan worshipper of form 
 under a joyous sky — and to be awakened at last 
 from that mysterious forgetfulness of self, from 
 [163] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 that enchantment, from that transport, by a 
 fear resembhng the unaccountable terror of a 
 brute. . . ." 
 
 With the sun hanging low on its western limit, 
 the expanse of the grass-lands framed in the coun- 
 ter-scarps of the rising ground took on a gorgeous 
 and sombre aspect. A sense of penetrating sad- 
 ness, like that inspired by a grave strain of music, 
 disengaged itself from the silence of the fields. 
 The men we met walked past slow, unsmiling, with 
 downcast eyes, as if the melancholy of an over-bur- 
 dened earth had Aveighted their feet, bowed their 
 shoulders, borne down their glances. 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor to my remark, " one 
 would think the earth is under a curse, since of all 
 her children these that cling to her the closest are 
 uncouth in body and as leaden of gait as if their 
 very hearts were loaded with chains. But here on 
 this same road you might have seen amongst these 
 heavy men a being lithe, supple, and long-limbed, 
 straight like a pine with something striving up- 
 wards in his appearance as though the heart witli- 
 in him had been buoyant. Perhaps it was only tlie 
 force of the contrast, but Avhen he was passing one 
 [164<] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 of these villagers here, the soles of his feet did not 
 seem to me to touch the dust of the road. He 
 vaulted over the stiles, paced these slopes with a 
 long elastic stride that made him noticeable at a 
 great distance, and had lustrous black eyes. He 
 was so different from the mankind around that, 
 with his freedom of movement, his soft — a little 
 startled, glance, his olive complexion and graceful 
 bearing, his humanity suggested to me the nature 
 of a woodland creature. He came from there." 
 
 The doctor pointed with his whip, and from the 
 summit of the descent seen over the rolling tops of 
 the trees in a park b}^ the side of the road, appeared 
 the level sea far below us, like the floor of an im- 
 mense edifice inlaid with bands of dark ripple, with 
 still trails of glitter, ending in a belt of glassy 
 water at the foot of the sky. The light blur of 
 smoke, from an invisible steamer, faded on the 
 great clearness of the horizon like the mist of a 
 breath on a mirror ; and, inshore, the white sails of 
 a coaster, with the appearance of disentangling 
 themselves slowly from under the branches, floated 
 clear of the foliage of the trees. 
 
 " Shipwrecked in the bay ? " I said. 
 [165] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 "Yes; he was a castaway. A poor emigrant 
 from Central Europe bound to America and washed 
 ashore here in a storm. And for him, who knew 
 nothing of the earth, England was an undiscovered 
 country. It was some time before he learned its 
 name ; and for all I know he might have expected 
 to find wild beasts or wild men here, when, crawling 
 in the dark over the sea-wall, he rolled down the 
 other side into a dyke, where it was another miracle 
 he didn't get drowned. But he struggled instinc- 
 tively like an animal under a net, and this blind 
 struggle threw him out into a field. He must have 
 been, indeed, of a tougher fibre than he looked to 
 withstand without expiring such buffetings, the 
 violence of his exertions, and so much fear. Later 
 on, in his broken English that resembled curiously 
 the speech of a young child, he told me himself that 
 he put his trust in God, believing he was no longer 
 in this world. And truly — he would add — how was 
 he to know? He fought his way against the rain 
 and the gale on all fours, and crawled at last 
 among some sheep huddled close under the lee of a 
 hedge. They ran off in all directions, bleating in 
 the darkness, and he welcomed the first familiar 
 [166] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 sound he heard on these shores. It must have been 
 two in the morning then. And this is all we know 
 of the manner of his landing, though he did not 
 arrive unattended by any means. Only his grisly 
 company did not begin to come ashore till much 
 later in the day. . . ." 
 
 The doctor gathered the reins, clicked his 
 tongue; we trotted down the hill. Then turning, 
 almost directly, a sharp comer into the High 
 Street, we rattled over the stones and were home. 
 
 Late in the evening Kennedy, breaking a spell 
 of moodiness that had come over him, returned to 
 the story. Smoking his pipe, he paced the long 
 room from end to end. A reading-lamp concen- 
 trated all its light upon the papers on his desk; 
 and, sitting by the open window, I saw, after the 
 windless, scorching day, the frigid splendour of a 
 hazy sea lying motionless under the moon. Not a 
 whisper, not a splash, not a stir of the shingle, not 
 a footstep, not a sigh came up from the earth be- 
 low — never a sign of life but the scent of climbing 
 jasmine; and Kennedy's voice, speaking behind me, 
 passed through the wide casement, to vanish out- 
 •idt in a chill and lumptuoui itiUntM. 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 ". . . The relations of shipwrecks in the 
 olden time tell us of much suffering. Often the 
 castaways were only saved from drowning to die 
 miserably from starvation on a barren coast; oth- 
 ers suffered violent death or else slavery, passing 
 through years of precarious existence with people 
 to whom their strangeness was an object of suspi- 
 cion, dislike or fear. We read about these things, 
 and they are very pitiful. It is indeed hard upon 
 a man to find himself a lost stranger, helpless, 
 incomprehensible, and of a m3\sterious origin, in 
 some obscure corner of the earth. Yet amongst all 
 the adventurers shipwrecked in all the wild parts of 
 the world there is not one, it seems to me, that ever 
 had to suffer a fate so simply tragic as the man I 
 am speaking of, the most innocent of adventurers 
 cast out by the sea in the bight of this bay, almost 
 within sight from this very window. 
 
 " He did not know the name of his ship. Indeed, 
 in the course of time we discovered he did not even 
 know that ships had names — * like Christian peo- 
 ple ' ; and when, one day, from the top of the Tal- 
 fourd Hill, he beheld the sea lying open to his view, 
 his eyes roamed afar, lost In an air of wild surprise, 
 [ 168 ] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 as though lie had never seen such a sight before. 
 And probably he liad not. As far as I could make 
 out, he had been hustled together with many others 
 on board an emigrant-ship lying at the moutli of 
 the Elbe, too bewildered to take note of his sur- 
 roundings, too weary to see anything, too anxious 
 to care. They were driven below into the 'tween- 
 deck and battened down from the very start. It 
 was a low timber dwelling — he would say — with 
 wooden beams overhead, like the houses in his coun- 
 try, but you went into it down a ladder. It was 
 very large, very cold, damp and sombre, with places 
 in the manner of wooden boxes where people had to 
 sleep, one above another, and it kept on rocking all 
 ways at once all the time. He crept into one of 
 these boxes and laid down there in the clothes in 
 which he had left his home many days before, keep- 
 ing his bundle and his stick by his side. People 
 groaned, children cried, water dripped, the lights 
 went out, the walls of the place creaked, and every- 
 thing was being shaken so that in one's little box 
 one dared not lift one's head. He had lost touch 
 with his only companion (a young man from the 
 same valley, he said), and all the time a great noise 
 [169] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 of wind went on outside and heavy blows fell- 
 boom ! boom ! An awful sickness overcame him, 
 even to the point of making him neglect his pray- 
 ers. Besides, one could not tell whether it was 
 morning or evening. It seemed always to be night 
 in that place. 
 
 " Before that he had been travelling a long, long 
 time on the iron track. He looked out of the win' 
 dow, which had a wonderfully clear glass in it, anu 
 the trees, the houses, the fields, and the long roads 
 seemed to fly round and round about him till his 
 head swam. He gave me to understand that he had 
 on his passage beheld uncounted multitudes of peo- 
 ple — whole nations — all dressed in such clothes as 
 the rich wear. Once he was made to get out of the 
 carriage, and slept through a night on a bench in 
 a house of bricks with his bundle under his head; 
 and once for many hours he had to sit on a floor of 
 flat stones dozing, with his knees up and with his 
 bundle between his feet. There was a roof over him, 
 which seemed made of glass, and was so high that 
 the tallest mountain-pine he had ever seen would 
 have had room to grow under it. Steam-machines 
 rolled in at one end and out at the other. People 
 [170] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 swarmed more than you can see on a feast-day 
 round the miraculous Holj Image in the yard of 
 the Carmelite Convent down in the plains where, 
 before he left his home, he drove his mother in a 
 wooden cart — a pious old woman who wanted to 
 offer prayers and make a vow for his safety. He 
 could not give me an idea of how large and lofty 
 and full of noise and smoke and gloom, and clang 
 of iron, the place was, but some one had told him 
 it was called Berlin. Then they rang a bell, and 
 another steam-machine came in, and again he was 
 taken on and on through a land that wearied his 
 eyes by its flatness without a single bit of a hill to 
 be seen anywhere. One more night he spent shut 
 up in a building like a good stable with a litter of 
 straw on the floor, guarding his bundle amongst a 
 lot of men, of whom not one could understand a 
 single word he said. In the morning they were all 
 led down to the stony shores of an extremely broad 
 muddy river, flowing not between hills but between 
 houses that seemed immense. There was a steam- 
 machine that went on the water, and they all stood 
 upon it packed tight, only now there were with 
 them many women and children who made much 
 [171] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 noise. A cold rain fell, the wind blew in his face ; 
 he was wet through, and his teeth chattered. He 
 and the }■ oung man from the same valley took each 
 other by the hand. 
 
 " They thought they were being taken to Amer- 
 ica straight away, but suddenly the steam-machine 
 bumped against the side of a thing like a house on 
 the water. The walls were smooth and black, and 
 there uprose, growing from the roof as it were, 
 bare trees in the shape of crosses, extremely high. 
 That's how it appeared to him then, for he had 
 never seen a ship before. This was the ship that 
 was going to swim all the way to America. Voices 
 shouted, everything swayed; there was a ladder 
 dipping up and down. He went up on his hands 
 and knees in mortal fear of falling into the water 
 below, which made a great splashing. He got sep- 
 arated from his companion, and when he descended 
 into the bottom of that ship his heart seemed to melt 
 suddenly within him. 
 
 " It was then also, as he told me, that he lost con- 
 tact for good and all with one of those three men 
 who the summer before had been going about 
 through all the little towns in the foothills of his 
 [172] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 country. They would arrive on market days driv- 
 ing in a peasant's cart, and would set up an office 
 in an inn or some other Jew's house. There were 
 three of them, of whom one with a long beard 
 looked venerable; and they had red cloth collars 
 round their necks and gold lace on their sleeves 
 like Government officials. They sat proudly behind 
 a long table ; and in the next room, so that the com- 
 mon people shouldn't hear, they kept a cunning 
 telegraph machine, through which they could talk 
 to the Emperor of America. The fathers hung 
 about the door, but the young men of the mountains 
 would crowd up to the table asking many questions, 
 for there was work to be got all the year round at 
 three dollars a day in America, and no military 
 service to do. 
 
 "But the American Kaiser would not take every- 
 body. Oh, no ! He himself had a great difficulty 
 in getting accepted, and the venerable man in uni- 
 form had to go out of the room several times to 
 work the telegraph on his behalf. The American 
 Kaiser engaged him at last at three dollars, he 
 being young and strong. However, many able 
 young men backed out, afraid of the great di*- 
 [173; 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 tance; besides, those only who had some money 
 could be taken. There were some who sold their 
 huts and their land because it cost a lot of money 
 to get to America; but then, once there, you had 
 three dollars a day, and if you were clever you 
 could find places where true gold could be picked 
 up on the ground. His father's house was getting 
 over full. Two of his brothers were married and 
 had children. He promised to send money home 
 from America by post twice a year. His father 
 sold an old cow, a pair of piebald mountain ponies 
 of his own raising, and a cleared plot of fair pas- 
 ture land on the sunny slope of a pine-clad pass to 
 a Jew inn-keeper in order to pay the people of the 
 ship that took men to America to get rich in a 
 short time. 
 
 " He must have been a real adventurer at heart, 
 for how many of the greatest enterprises in the 
 conquest of the earth had for their beginning just 
 such a bargaining away of the paternal cow for the 
 mirage or true gold far away ! I have been telling 
 you more or less in my own words what I learned 
 fragmentarily in the course of two or three 3'ears, 
 during which I seldom missed an opportunity of a 
 [174] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 friendly chat with him. He told me this story of 
 his adventure with many flashes of white teeth and 
 lively glances of black eyes, at first in a sort of anx- 
 ious baby-talk, then, as he acquired the language, 
 with great fluency, but alwa3's with that singing, 
 soft, and at the same time vibrating intonation that 
 instilled a strangel}'' penetrating power into the 
 sound of the most familiar English words, as if 
 they had been the words of an unearthly language. 
 And he always would come to an end, with many 
 emphatic shakes of his head, upon that awful sen- 
 sation of his heart melting within him directly he 
 set foot on board that ship. Afterwards there 
 semed to come for him a period of blank ignorance, 
 at any rate as to facts. No doubt he must have 
 been abominably sea-sick and abominably unhappy 
 — this soft and passionate adventurer, taken thus 
 out of his knowledge, and feeling bitterly as he lay 
 in his emigrant bunk his utter loneliness ; for his 
 was a highly sensitive nature. The next thing we 
 know of him for certain is that he had been hiding 
 in Hammond's pig-pound by the side of the road 
 to Norton six miles, as the crow flies, from the sea. 
 Of these experiences he was unwilling to speak: 
 [175] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 they seemed to have seared into his soul a sombre 
 sort of wonder and indignation. Through the ru- 
 mours of the country-side, which lasted for a good 
 man}' days after his arrival, we know that the fish- 
 ermen of West Colebrook had been disturbed and 
 startled by heavy knocks against the walls of 
 weatherboard cottages, and by a voice crying 
 piercingly strange words in the night. Se"eral of 
 them turned out even, but, no doubt, he had fled in 
 sudden alarm at their rough angry tones hailing 
 each other in the darkness. A sort of frenzy must 
 have helped him up the steep Norton hill. It was 
 he, no doubt, who early the following morning had 
 been seen lying (in a swoon, I should say) on the 
 roadside grass by the Brenzett carrier, who actually 
 got down to have a nearer look, but drew back, in- 
 timidated by the perfect immobility, and by some- 
 thing queer in the aspect of that tramp, sleeping 
 so still under the showers. As the day advanced, 
 some children came dashing into school at Norton 
 in such a fright that the schoolmistress went out 
 and spoke indignantly to a ' horrid-looking man ' 
 on the road. He edged away, hanging his head, 
 for a few steps, and then suddenly ran off with ex- 
 [176] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 traordlnarj fleetness. The driver of Mr. Brad- 
 ley's milk-cart made no secret of it that he had 
 lashed with his whip at a hairy sort of gipsy fel- 
 low who, jumping up at a turn of the road by the 
 Agents, made a snatch at the pony's bridle. And 
 he caught him a good one too, right over the face, 
 he said, that made him drop down in the mud a 
 jolly sight quicker than he had jumped up; but it 
 was a good half-a-mile before he could stop the 
 pony. Maybe that in his desperate endeavours to 
 get help, and in his need to get in touch with some 
 one, the poor devil had tried to stop the cart. Also 
 three boys confessed afterwards to throwing stonesi 
 at a funny tramp, knocking about all wet and 
 nmddy, and, it seemed, very drunk, in the narrow 
 deep lane by the limekilns. All this was the talk of 
 three villages for days ; but we have Mrs. Finn's 
 (the wife of Smith's waggoner) unimpeachable 
 testimony that she saw him get over the low wall of 
 Hammond's pig-pound and lurch straight at her, 
 babbling aloud in a voice that was enough to make 
 one die of fright. Having the baby with her in a 
 perambulator, IMrs. Finn called out to him to go 
 away, and as he persisted in coming nearer, she hit 
 [177] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 him courageously with her umbrella over the head: 
 and, without once looking back, ran like the wind 
 with the perambulator as far as the first house in 
 the village. She stopped then, out of breath, and 
 spoke to old Lewis, hammering there at a heap of 
 stones; and the old chap, taking off his immense 
 black wire goggles, got up on his shaky legs to 
 look where she pointed. Together they followed 
 with their eyes the figure of the man running over 
 a field; they saw him fall down, pick himself up, 
 and run on again, staggering and waving his long 
 arms above his head, in the direction of the New 
 Barns Farm. From that moment he is plainly in 
 the toils of his obscure and touching destiny. 
 There is no doubt after this of what happened to 
 him. All is certain now: Mrs. Smith's intense ter- 
 ror; Amy Foster's stolid conviction held against 
 the other's nei'\'ous attack, that the man ' meant no 
 harm ' ; Smith's exasperation ( on his return from 
 Darnford Market) at finding the dog barking 
 himself into a fit, the back-door locked, his wife in 
 hysterics ; and all for an unfortunate dirty tramp, 
 supposed to be even then lurking in his stackyarh. 
 Was he ? He would teach him to frighten women. 
 [178] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 " Smith is notoriously hot-tempered, but the 
 sight of some nondescript and miry creature sitting 
 crosslegged amongst a lot of loose straw, and 
 swinging itself to and fro like a bear in a cage, 
 made him pause. Then this tramp stood up si- 
 lently before him, one mass of mud and filth from 
 head to foot. Smith, alone amongst his stacks with 
 this apparition, in the stormy twilight ringing with 
 the infuriated barking of the dog, felt the dread 
 of an inexplicable strangeness. But when that be- 
 ing, parting with his black hands the long matted 
 locks that hung before his face, as you part the two 
 halves of a curtain, looked out at him with glisten- 
 ing, wild, black-and-white eyes, the weirdness of 
 this silent encounter fairly staggered him. He had 
 admitted since (for the story has been a legitimate 
 subject of conversation about here for 3'ears) that 
 he madfe more than one step backwards. Then a 
 sudden burst of rapid, senseless speech persuaded 
 him at once that he had to do with an escaped luna- 
 tic. In fact, that impression never wore off com- 
 pletely. Smith has not in his heart given up his 
 secret conviction of the man's essential insanity to 
 this very day. 
 
 [179] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 " As the creature approached him, jabbering in 
 a most discomposing manner, Smith (unaware that 
 he was being addressed as ' gracious lord,' and ad- 
 jured in God's name to afford food and shelter) 
 kept on speaking firmly but gently to it, and re- 
 treating all the time into the other yard. At last, 
 watching his chance, by a sudden charge he bun- 
 dled him headlong into the wood-lodge, and in- 
 stantly shot the bolt. Thereupon he wiped his 
 brow, though the day was cold. He had done his 
 duty to the community by shutting up a Avander- 
 ing and probably dangerous maniac. Smith isn't 
 a hard man at all, but he had room in his brain only 
 for that one idea of lunacy. He was not imagina- 
 tive enough to ask himself whether the man might 
 not be perishing with cold and hunger. Meantime, 
 at first, the maniac made a great deal, of noise in 
 the lodge. Mrs. Smith was screaming upstairs, 
 where she had locked herself in her bedroom; but 
 Amy Foster sobbed piteously at the kitchen door, 
 wringing her hands and muttering, ' Don't ! 
 don't ! ' I daresay Smith had a rough time of it 
 that evening with one noise and another, and this 
 insane, disturbing voice crying obstinately through 
 [180] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 the door only added to his irritation. He couldn't 
 possibly have connected this troublesome lunatic 
 with the sinking of a ship in Eastbay, of which 
 there had been a rumour in the Darnford market- 
 place. And I daresay the man inside had been very 
 near to insanity on that night. Before his excite- 
 ment collapsed and he became unconscious he was 
 throwing himself violently about in the dark, roll- 
 ing on some dirty sacks, and biting his fists with 
 rage, cold, hunger, amazement, and despair. 
 
 " He was a mountaineer of the eastern range of 
 the Carpathians, and the vessel sunk the night be- 
 fore in Eastbay was the Hamburg emigrant-ship 
 Hcrzogiii Sophia-Dorothea, of appalling mem- 
 ory. 
 
 " A few months later we could read In the papers 
 the accounts of the bogus ' Emigration Agencies ' 
 among the Sclavonian peasantry in the more re- 
 mote provinces of Austria. The object of these 
 scoundrels was to get hold of the poor ignorant 
 people's homesteads, and they were in league with 
 the local usurers. They exported their victims 
 through Hamburg mostly. As to the ship, I had 
 watched her out of this very window, reaching 
 [181] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 close-hauled under short canvas into the bay on a 
 dark, threatening afternoon. She came to an an- 
 chor, correctly by the chart, off the Brenzett Coast- 
 guard station. I remember before the night fell 
 locking out again at the outlines of her spars and 
 ringing tkiat stood out dark and pointed on a back- 
 ground of ragged, slaty clouds like another and a 
 slighter spire to the left of the Brenzett church- 
 tower. In the evening the wind rose. At midnight 
 I could hear in my bed the terrific gusts and the 
 sounds of a driving deluge. 
 
 " About that time the Coastguardmen thought 
 they saw the lights of a steamer over the anchoring- 
 ground. In a moment they vanished ; but it is clear 
 that another vessel of some sort had tried for shel- 
 ter in the bay on that awful, blind night, had 
 rammed the German ship amidships (a breach — 
 as one of the divers told me afterwards — ' that you 
 could sail a Thames barge through '), and then 
 had gone out either scathless or damaged, who shall 
 say; but had gone out, unknown, unseen, and fatal, 
 to perish mysteriously at sea. Of her nothing ever 
 came to light, and yet the hue and cry that was 
 raised all over the world would have found her out 
 [182] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 if she had been in existence anywhere on the face 
 of the waters. 
 
 " A completeness without a clue, and a stealthy 
 silence as of a neatly executed crime, characterise 
 this murderous disaster, which, as you may remem- 
 ber, had its gruesome celebrity. The wind would 
 have prevented the loudest outcries from reaching 
 the shore ; there had been evidently no time for sig- 
 nals of distress. It was death without any sort of 
 fuss. The Hamburg ship, filling all at once, cap- 
 sized as she sank, and at daylight there was not 
 even the end of a spar to be seen above water. Sl:e 
 was missed, of ccurie, and at first the Coastguard- 
 men surmised that she had either dragged :.cr an- 
 chor or parted lier cable some time during the 
 night, and had been blown out to sea. Then, after 
 the tide turned, the wreck must have shifted a little 
 and released some of the '^ndies, because a child 
 — a little fair-haired child in a red frock — 
 came ashore abreast of the Martrllo tower. By 
 the afternoon you could see along three miles of 
 beach dark figures with bare legs dashing in 
 and out of the tumbling foam, and rough-look- 
 ing men, women with hard faces, children, mostly 
 [183] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 fair-haired, were being carried, stiff and dripping, 
 on stretchers, on wattles, on ladders, in a long 
 procession past the door of the ' Ship Inn,' to be 
 laid out in a row under the north wall of the 
 Brenzett Church. 
 
 " Officially, the body of the little girl in the red 
 frock is the first thing that came ashore from that 
 ship. But I have patients amongst the seafaring 
 population of West Colebrook, and, unofficially, I 
 am informed that very early that morning two 
 brothers, who went down to look after their cobble 
 hauled up on the beach, found, a good way from 
 Brenzett, an ordinary ship's hencoop lying high 
 and dry on the shore, with eleven drowned ducks 
 inside. Their families ate the birds, and the hen- 
 coop was split into firewood with a hatchet. It is 
 possible that a man (supposing he happened to be 
 on deck at the time of the accident) might have 
 floated ashore on that hencoop. He might. I ad- 
 mit it is improbable, but there was the man — and 
 for days, nay, for weeks — it didn't enter our heads 
 that we had amongst us the only living soul that 
 had escaped from that disaster. The man himself, 
 even when he learned to speak intelligibly, could 
 [184] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 tell us very little. He remembered he had felt bet- 
 ter (after the ship had anchored, I suppose), and 
 that the darkness, the wind, and the rain took his 
 breath away. This looks as if he had been on deck 
 some time during that night. But we mustn't forget 
 he had been taken out of his knowledge, that he 
 had been sea-sick and battened down below for four 
 daj's, that he had no general notion of a ship or of 
 the sea, and therefore could have no definite idea 
 of what was happening to him. The rain, the 
 wind, the darkness he knew; he understood the 
 bleating of the sheep, and he remembered the pain 
 of his wretchedness and misery, his heartbroken as- 
 tonishment that it was neither seen nor understood, 
 his dismay at finding all the men angry and all the 
 women fierce. He had approached them as a beg- 
 gar, it is true, he said ; but in his country, even if 
 they gave nothing, they spoke gently to beggars. 
 The children in his country were not taught to 
 throw stones at those who asked for compassion. 
 Smith's strategy overcame him completely. The 
 wood-lodge presented the horrible aspect of ;i dwn- 
 gcon. What would be done to him next? . , . 
 No wonder that Amy Foster appeared to liis eyes 
 [ 185 ] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 with the aureole of an angel of light. The girl 
 had not been able to sleep for thinking of the poor 
 man, and in the morning, before the Smiths were 
 up, she slipped out across the back yard. Holding 
 the door of the wood-lodge ajar, she looked in and 
 extended to him half a loaf of white bread — * such 
 bread as the rich eat in my country,' he used to 
 say. 
 
 " At this he got up slowly from amongst all sorts 
 of rubbish, stiff, hungry, trembling, miserable, and 
 doubtful. * Can you eat this?' she asked in her 
 soft and timid voice. He must have taken her for 
 a ' gracious lady.' He devoured ferociously, and 
 tears were falling on the crust. Suddenly he 
 dropped the bread, seized her wrist, and im- 
 printed a kiss on her hand. She was not fright- 
 ened. Through his forlorn condition she had 
 observed that he was good-looking. She shut 
 the door and walked back slowly to the kitchen. 
 ]Much later on, she told ]\Irs. Smith, who shud- 
 dered at the bare idea of being touched by that 
 creature. 
 
 " Through this act of impulsive pity he was 
 brought back again within the pale of human rela- 
 [186] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 tions with his new surroundings. He never forgot 
 it — never. 
 
 " That very same morning old Mr. SwafFer 
 (Smith's nearest neighbour) came over to give his 
 advice, and ended by carrying him off. He stood, 
 unsteady on his legs, meek, and caked over in half- 
 dried mud, while the two men talked around him in 
 an incomprehensible tongue. Mrs. Smith had re- 
 fused to come downstairs till the madman was off 
 the premises ; Amy Foster, far from within the dark 
 kitchen, watched through the open back door ; and 
 he obeyed the signs that were made to him to the 
 best of his ability. But Smith was full of mistrust. 
 * Mind, sir ! It may be all his cunning,' he cried 
 repeatedly in a tone of warning. When Mr. 
 Swaffer started the mare, the deplorable being sit- 
 ting humbly by his side, through weakness, nearly 
 fell out over the back of the liigh two-wheeled cart. 
 Swaffer took him straight home. And it is then 
 that I come upon the scene. 
 
 " I was called in by the simple process of the old 
 man beckoning to me with his forefinger over the 
 gate of his house as I happened to be driving past. 
 I got down, of course. 
 
 [187] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 " * I've got something here,' he mumbled, lead- 
 ing the way to an outhouse at a little distance from 
 his other farm-buildings. 
 
 " It was there that I saw him first, in a long low 
 room taken upon the space of that sort of coach- 
 house. It was bare and whitewashed, with a small 
 square aperture glazed with one cracked, dusty 
 pane at its further end. He was lying on his back 
 upon a straw pallet ; they had given him a couple 
 of horse-blankets, and he seemed to have spent the 
 remainder of his strength in the exertion of clean- 
 ing himself. He was almost speechless; his quick 
 breathing under the blankets pulled up to his chin, 
 his glittering, restless black eyes reminded me of a 
 wild bird caught in a snare. While I was examining 
 him, old Swaffcr stood silently by the door, passing 
 the tips of his fingers along his shaven upper lip. 
 I gave some directions, promised to send a bottle of 
 medicine, and naturally made some inquiries. 
 
 " * Smith caught him in the stackyard at New 
 Barns,' said the old chap in his deliberate, unmoved 
 manner, and as if the other had been indeed a sort 
 of wild animal. ' That's how I came by him. 
 Quite a curiosity, isn't he? Now tell me, doctor — ■ 
 [188] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 you've been all over the world — don't you think 
 that's a bit of a Hindoo we've got hold of here.' 
 
 " I was greatly surprised. His long black hair 
 scattered over the straw bolster contrasted with the 
 olive pallor of liis face. It occurred to me he might 
 be a Basque. It didn't necessarily follow tliat he 
 should understand Spanish; but I tried him with 
 the few words I know, and also with some French. 
 The whispered sounds I caught by bending my car 
 to his lips puzzled me utterly. That afternoon the 
 young ladies from the Rectory (one of them read 
 Goethe with a dictionar}', and the other had strug- 
 gled with Dante for years), coming to see Miss 
 SwafFer, tried their German and Italian on him 
 from the doorwa3\ They retreated, just the least 
 bit scared by the flood of passionate speech which, 
 turning on his pallet, he let out at them. They ad- 
 mitted that the sound was pleasant, soft, musical — 
 but, in conjunction with his looks perhaps, it was 
 startling — so excitable, so utterly unlike anything 
 one had ever heard. The village boys climbed up 
 the bank to have a peep through the little square 
 aperture. Everybody was wondering what Mr. 
 Swaffer would do with him. 
 [189] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 " He simply kept him. 
 
 " SwafFer would be called eccentric were he not 
 so much respected. They will tell you that Mr. 
 SwafFer sits up as late as ten o'clock at night to 
 read books, and they will tell you also that he can 
 write a cheque for two hundred pounds without 
 thinking twice about it. He himself would tell 
 you that the Swaffers had owned land between 
 this and Darnford for these three hundred years. 
 He must be eighty-five to-day, but he does not look 
 a bit older than when I first came here. He is a 
 great breeder of sheep, and deals extensively in cat- 
 tle. He attends market days for miles around in 
 every sort of weather, and drives sitting bowed low 
 over the reins, his lank grey hair curling over the 
 collar of his warm coat, and with a green plaid rug 
 round his legs. The calmness of advanced age 
 gives a solemnity to his manner. He is clean- 
 shaved : his lips are thin and sensitive ; something 
 rigid and monachal in the set of his features lends 
 a certain elevation to the character of his face. He 
 has been known to drive miles in the rain to see a 
 new kind of rose in somebody's garden, or a mon- 
 strous cabbage grown by a cottager. He loves to 
 [ 190 ] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 hear tell of or to be shown something that he calls 
 ' outlandish.' Perhaps it was just that outlandish- 
 ness of the man which influenced old SwafFer. Per- 
 haps it was only an inexplicable caprice. All I 
 know is that at the end of three weeks I caught 
 sight of Smith's lunatic digging in Swaffer's kitch- 
 en garden. They had found out he could use a 
 spade. He dug barefooted. 
 
 " His black hair flowed over his shoulders. I 
 suppose it was Swaff'er who had given him the 
 striped old cotton shirt; but he wore still the na- 
 tional brown cloth trousers (in which he had been 
 washed ashore) fitting to the leg almost like 
 tights ; was belted with a broad leathern belt stud- 
 ded with little brass discs ; and had never yet ven- 
 tured into the village. The land he looked upon 
 seemed to him kept neatly, like the grounds round 
 a landowner's house ; the size of the cart-horses 
 struck him with astonishment; the roads resembled 
 garden walks, and the aspect of the people, espe- 
 cially on Sundays, spoke of opulence. He won- 
 dered what made them so hardhearted and their 
 children so bold. He got his food at the back door, 
 carried it in both hands carefull}"^ to his outhousci 
 [191] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 and, sitting alone on his pallt-t, would make the sign 
 of the cross before ho began. Beside the same pal- 
 let, kneeling in the early darkness of the short days, 
 he recited aloud the Lord's Prayer before he slept. 
 Whenever he saw old SwafFer he would bow with 
 veneration from the waist, and stand erect while 
 the old man, with his fingers over his upper lip, sur- 
 veyed him silently. He bowed also to Miss SwafFer, 
 who kept house frugally for her father — a broad- 
 shouldered, big-boned woman of forty-five, with 
 the pocket of her dress full of keys, and a grey, 
 steady eye. She was Church — as people said 
 (while her father was one of the trustees of the 
 Baptist Chapel) — and wore a little steel cross at 
 her waist. She dressed severel}^ in black, in mem- 
 ory of one of the innumerable Bradleys of the 
 neighbourhood, to whom she had been engaged 
 some twenty-five years ago — a young farmer who 
 broke his neck out hunting on the eve of the wed- 
 ding day. She had the unmoved countenance of 
 the deaf, spoke very seldom, and her lips, thin like 
 her father's, astonished one sometimes by a myste- 
 riously ironic curl. 
 
 *' These were the people to whom he owed alle- 
 [192] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 glance, and an overwhelming loneliness seemed to 
 fall from the leaden sky of that winter without sun- 
 shine. All the faces were sad. He could talk to 
 no one, and had no hope of ever understanding 
 anybody. It was as if these had been the faces of 
 people from the other world — dead people — he 
 used to tell mc years afterwards. Upon my word, 
 I wonder he did not go mad. He didn't know 
 where he was. Somewhere very far from his moun- 
 tains — somewhere over the water. Was this Amer- 
 ica, he wondered.'' 
 
 " If it hadn't been for the steel cross at Miss 
 Swaffer's belt he would not, he confessed, have 
 known whether he was in a Christian country at 
 all. He used to cast stealthy glances at it, and feel 
 comforted. There was nothing here the same as in 
 his country ! The earth and the water were differ- 
 ent; there were no images of the Redeemer by the 
 roadside. The very grass was different, and the 
 trees. All the trees but the three old Norway pines 
 on the bit of \a.vm before Swaffer's house, and 
 these reminded him of his country. He had been 
 detected once, after dusk, with his forehead against 
 the trunk of one of them, sobbing, and talking to 
 
 r 193 ] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 himself. They had been like brothers to him at that 
 time, he affirmed. Everything else was strange. 
 Conceive you the kind of an existence overshad- 
 owed, oppressed, by the everyday material appear- 
 ances, as if by the visions of a nightmare. At 
 night, when he could not sleep, he kept on thinking 
 of the girl who gave him the first piece of bread he 
 had eaten in this foreign land. She had been 
 neither fierce nor angry, nor frightened. Her face 
 he remembered as the only comprehensible face 
 amongst all these faces that were as closed, as mj^s- 
 terious, and as mute as the faces of the dead who 
 are possessed of a knowledge beyond the compre- 
 hension of the living. I wonder whether the mem- 
 ory of her compassion prevented him from cutting 
 his throat. But there ! I suppose I am an old sen- 
 timentalist, and forget the instinctive love of Hfe 
 which it takes all the strength of an uncomm.on de- 
 spair to overcome. 
 
 " He did the work which was given him with an 
 intelligence which surprised old SwafFer. By-and- 
 by it was discovered that he could help at the 
 ploughing, could milk the cows, feed the bullocks 
 in the cattle-yard, and was of some use with the 
 [194] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 sheep. He began to pick up words, too, very fast ; 
 and suddenly, one fine morning in spring, he res- 
 cued from an untimely death a grand-child of old 
 Swaffer. 
 
 " SwafFer's younger daughter is married to 
 Willcox, a solicitor and the Town Clerk of Cole- 
 brook. Regularly twice a year they come to stay 
 with the old man for a few days. Their only child, 
 a little girl not tliree years old at the time, ran out 
 of the house alone in her Httle white pinafore, and, 
 toddling across the grass of a terraced garden, 
 pitched herself over a low wall head first into the 
 horsepond in the yard below. 
 
 " Our man was out with the waggoner and the 
 plough in the field nearest to the house, and as he 
 was leading the team round to begin a fresh fur- 
 row, he saw, through the gap of the gate, what for 
 anybody else would have been a mere flutter of 
 something white. But he had straight-glancing, 
 quick, far-reaching eyes, that only seemed to flinch 
 and lose their amazing power before the immensity 
 of the sea. He was barefooted, and looking as out- 
 landish as the heart of Swaff^cr could desire. Leav- 
 ing the horses on the turn, to the inexpressible dis- 
 [195] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 gust of the waggoner he bounded off, going over 
 the ploughed ground in long leaps, and suddenly 
 appeared before the mother, thi'ust the child into 
 her arms, and strode away. 
 
 " The pond was not very deep ; but still, if he 
 had not had such good eyes, the child would have 
 perished — miserably suffocated in the foot or so of 
 sticky mud at the bottom. Old Swaff'er walked out 
 slowly into tlie field, waited till the plough came 
 over to his side, had a good look at him, and with- 
 out saying a word went back to the house. But 
 from that time they laid out his meals on the kitch- 
 en table ; and at first. Miss Swaffer, all in black and 
 with an inscrutable face, would come and stand in 
 the doorway of the living-room to see him make a 
 big sign of the cross before he fell to. I believe that 
 from that day, too, Swaffer began to pay him reg- 
 ular wages. 
 
 " I can't follow step by step his development. 
 He cut his hair short, was seen in the village and 
 along the road going to and fro to his work like 
 any other man. Children ceased to shout after him- 
 He became aware of social differences, but re- 
 mained for a long time surprised at the bare pov- 
 [ 196 ] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 erty of the clmrches among so much wealth. He 
 couldn't understand either why they were kept shut 
 up on week days. There was nothing to steal in 
 them. Was it to keep people from praying too 
 often.'' The rectory took much notice of him about 
 that time, and I believe the joung ladies attempted 
 to prepare the ground for his conversion. They 
 could not, however, break him of his habit of cross- 
 ing himself, but he went so far as to take off the 
 string with a couple of brass medals the size of a 
 sixpence, a tiny metal cross, and a square sort of 
 scapulary which he wore round his neck. He hung 
 them on the wall by the side of his bed, and he was 
 still to be heard every evening reciting the Lord's 
 Prayer, in incomprehensible words and in a slow, 
 fervent tone, as he had heard his old father do at 
 the head of all the kneeling famil}-^, big and little, 
 on every evening of his life. And though he wore 
 corduroys at work, and a slop-made pepper-and- 
 salt suit on Sundays, strangers would turn round 
 to look after him on the road. His foreignness had 
 a peculiar and indelible stamp. At last people be- 
 came used to see him. But they never became used 
 to him. His rapid, skimming walk; his swarthy 
 [197] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 complexion ; his hat cocked on the left ear ; liis hab- 
 it, on warm evenings, of wearing his coat over one 
 shoulder, like a hussar's dolman ; his manner of 
 leaping over the stiles, not as a feat of agility, but 
 in the ordinary course of progression — all these 
 peculiarities were, as one may say, so many causes 
 of scorn and offence to the inhabitants of the vil- 
 lage. TheTf wouldn't in their dinner hour lie flat 
 on their backs on the grass to stare at the sky. 
 Neither did they go about the fields screaming dis- 
 mal tunes. Many times have I heard his high- 
 pitched voice from behind the ridge of some slop- 
 ing sheep-walk, a voice light and soaring, like a 
 lark's, but with a melancholy human note, over our 
 fields that hear only the song of birds. And I 
 should be startled myself. Ah ! He was different : 
 innocent of heart, and full of good will, which no- 
 body wanted, this castaway, that, like a man trans- 
 planted into another planet, was separated by an 
 immense space from his past and by an immense 
 ignorance from his future. His quick, fervent ut- 
 terance positively shocked everybody. ' An excit- 
 able devil,' they called him. One evening, in the 
 tap-room of the Coach and Horses (having drunk 
 [198] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 some whisky), he upset them all by singing a love 
 song of his country. They hooted him down, and 
 he was pained; but Preble, the lame wheehvright, 
 and Vincent, the fat blacksmith, and the other nota- 
 bles too, wanted to drink their evening beer in 
 peace. On another occasion he tried to show them 
 how to dance. The dust rose in clouds from the 
 sanded floor; he leaped straight up amongst the 
 deal tables, struck his heels together, squatted on 
 one heel in front of old Preble, shooting out the 
 other leg, uttered wild and exulting cries, jumped up 
 to whirl on one foot, snapping his fingers above his 
 head — and a strange carter who was having a drink 
 in there began to swear, and cleared out with his 
 half-pint in his hand into the bar. But when sud- 
 denly he sprang upon a table and continued to 
 dance among the glasses, the landlord interfered. 
 He didn't want any ' accrobat tricks in the tap- 
 room.' They laid their hands on him. Having 
 had a glass or two, Mr. Swaffer's foreigner tried 
 to expostulate: was ejected forcibly: got a black 
 eye. 
 
 " I believe he felt the hostility of his human sur- 
 roundings. But he was tough — tough in spirit, 
 [199 J 
 
J AMY FOSTER 
 
 too, as well as in body. Only the memory of the 
 sea frightened him, with that vague terror that is 
 left by a bad dream. His home was far away ; and 
 he did not want now to go to America. I had often 
 explained to him that there is no place on earth 
 where true gold can be found lying ready and to be 
 got for the trouble of the picking up. How then, 
 he asked, could he ever return home with empty 
 hands when there had been sold a cow, two ponies, 
 and a bit of land to pay for his going.'' His eyes 
 would fill with tears, and, averting them from the 
 immense shimmer of the sea, he would throw him- 
 self face down on the grass. But sometimes, cock- 
 ing his hat with a little conquering air, he would 
 defy my wisdom. He had found his bit of true 
 gold. That was Amy Foster's heart ; which was ' a 
 golden heart, and soft to people's misery,* he 
 would say in the accents of overwhelming convic- 
 tion. 
 
 " He was called Yanko. He had explained that 
 this meant little John ; but as he would also repeat 
 very often that he was a mountaineer (some word 
 Bounding in the dialect of his country like Goorall) 
 he got it for his surname. And this is the only 
 1200^ 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 trace of him tliat the succeeding ages may find in 
 the marriage register of the parisli. There it 
 stands — Yanko Goorall — in the rector's handwrit- 
 ing. The crooked cross made by the castaway, a 
 cross whose tracing no doubt seemed to him the 
 most solemn part of the whole ceremony, is all that 
 remains now to perpetuate the memory of his name. 
 
 " His courtship had lasted some time — ever since 
 he got his precarious footing in the community. It 
 began by his buying for Amy Foster a green satin 
 ribbon in Darnford. This was what you did in his 
 country. You bought a ribbon at a Jew's stall on 
 a fair-day. I don't suppose the girl knew what to 
 do with it, but he seemed to think that his honoura- 
 ble intentions could not be mistaken. 
 
 " It was only when he declared his purpose to 
 get married that I fully understood how, for a hun- 
 dred futile and inappreciable reasons, how — shall 
 I say odious.'' — he was to all the countryside. 
 Every old woman in the village was up in arms. 
 Smith, coming upon him near the farai, promised 
 to break his head for him if he found him about 
 again. But he twisted his little black moustache 
 with such a bellicose air and rolled such big, black 
 [201] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 fierce eyes at Smith that this promise came to noth- 
 ing. Smith, however, told the girl that she must 
 be mad to take up with a man who was surely wrong 
 in his head. All the same, when she heard him in 
 the gloaming whistle from beyond the orchard a 
 couple of bars of a weird and mournful tune, she 
 would drop whatever she had in her hand — she 
 would leave Mrs. Smith in the middle of a sentence 
 • — and she would run out to his call. Mrs. Smith 
 called her a shameless hussy. She answered noth- 
 ing. She said nothing at all to anybody, and went 
 on her way as if she had been deaf. She and I alone 
 all in the land, I fancy, could see his very real 
 beauty. He was very good-looking, and most 
 graceful in his bearing, with that something wild 
 as of a woodland creature in his aspect. Her moth- 
 er moaned over her dismally whenever the girl came 
 to see her on her day out. The father was surly, 
 but pretended not to know; and Mrs. Finn once 
 told her plainly that * this man, my dear, will do 
 you some harm some day yet.' And so it went on. 
 They could be seen on the roads, she tramping stol- 
 idly in her finery — grey dress, black feather, stout 
 boots, prominent white cotton gloves that caught 
 [202] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 3-our eye a hundred yards away; and he, his coat 
 slung picturesquely over one shoulder, pacing by 
 her side, gallant of bearing and casting tender 
 glances upon the girl with the golden heart. I 
 wonder whether he saw how plain she was. Perhaps 
 among types so different from what he had ever 
 seen, he had not tlie power to judge; or perhaps 
 he was seduced by the divine quality of her 
 pity. 
 
 " Yanko was in great trouble meantime. In his 
 country you get an old man for an ambassador in 
 marriage affairs. He did not know how to pro- 
 ceed. However, one day in the midst of sheep in a 
 field (he was now Swaffer's under-shepherd with 
 Foster) he took off his hat to the father and de- 
 clared himself humbly. ' I daresay she's fool 
 enough to marry you,' was all Foster said. ' And 
 then,' heuscd to relate, ' he puts his hat on his head, 
 looks black at me as if he wanted to cut my throat, 
 whistles the dog, and off he goes, leaving me to do 
 the work.' The Fosters, of course, didn't like to 
 lose the wages the girl earned : Amy used to give all 
 her money to her mother. But there was in Foster 
 a very genuine aversion to that match. He con- 
 [203] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 tended that the fellow was very good with sheep, 
 but was not fit for any girl to marry. For one 
 thing, he used to go along the hedges muttering to 
 himself like a dam' fool; and then, these foreign- 
 ers behave very queerly to women sometimes. And 
 perhaps he would want to carry her off somewhere 
 — or run off himself. It was not safe. He 
 preached it to his daughter that the fellow might 
 ill-use her in some way. She made no answer. It 
 was, they said in the village, as if the man had done 
 something to her. People discussed the matter. It 
 was quite an excitement, and the two went on 
 * walking out ' together in the face of opposition. 
 Then something unexpected happened. 
 
 " I don't know whether old Swaffer ever under- 
 stood how much he was regarded in the light of a 
 father by his foreign retainer. Anyway the rela- 
 tion was curiously feudal. So when Yanko asked 
 formally for an interview — ' and the Miss too ' (he 
 called the severe, deaf Miss Swaffer simply Miss) 
 — it was to obtain their permission to marry. 
 Swaffer heard him unmoved, dismissed him by a 
 nod, and then shouted the intelligence into Miss 
 Swaffer's best ear. She showed no surprise, and 
 [204] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 only remarked grimly, in a veiled blank voice, * He 
 certainly won't get any other girl to marry him.* 
 
 " It is Miss Swaffer who has all the credit of the 
 munificence: but in a very few days it came out 
 that Mr. Swaffer had presented Yanko with a cot- 
 tage (the cottage you've seen this morning) and 
 something like an acre of ground — had made it 
 over to him in absolute property. Willcox expe- 
 dited the deed, and I remember him telling me he 
 had a great pleasure in making it ready. It re- 
 cited : ' In consideration of saving the life of my 
 beloved grandchild, Bertha Willcox.' 
 
 " Of course, after that no power on earth could 
 prevent them from getting married. 
 
 " Her infatuation endured. People saw her go- 
 ing out to meet him in the evening. She stared 
 with unblinking, fascinated eyes up the road where 
 he was .expected to appear, walking freeljs with a 
 swing from the hip, and humming one of the love- 
 tunes of his country. When the boy was born, he 
 got elevated at the ' Coach and Horses,' essayed 
 again a song and a dance, and was again ejected. 
 People expressed their commiseration for a woman 
 married to that Jack-in-the-box. He didn't care. 
 [205] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 There was a man now (he told me boastfully) to 
 whom he could sing and talk in the language of his 
 country, and show how to dance by-and-by. 
 
 " But I don't know. To me he appeared to have 
 grown less springy of step, heavier in body, less 
 keen of eye. Imagination, no doubt; but it seems 
 to me now as if the net of fate had been drawn 
 closer round him already. 
 
 " One day I met him on the footpath over the 
 Talfourd Hill. He told me that ' women were fun- 
 n3\' I had heard already of domestic differences. 
 People were saying that Amy Foster was begin- 
 ning to find out what sort of man she had married. 
 He looked upon the sea with indifferent, unseeing 
 eyes. His wife had snatched the child out of his 
 arms one day as he sat on the doorstep crooning to 
 it a song such as the mothers sing to babies in his 
 mountains. She seemed to think he was doing it 
 some harm. Women are funny. And she had ob- 
 jected to him praying aloud in the evening. Why ? 
 He expected the boy to repeat the prayer aloud 
 after him by-and-by, as he used to do after his old 
 father when he was a child — In his own country. 
 And I discovered he longed for their boy to grow 
 [206] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 up so that he could have a man to talk with In that 
 language that to our ears sounded so disturbing, 
 so passionate, and so bizarre. Why his wife 
 should dislike the idea he couldn't tell. But that 
 would pass, he said. And tilting his head know- 
 ingly, he tapped his breastbone to indicate that she 
 had a good heart : not hard, not fierce, open to com- 
 passion, charitable to the poor ! 
 
 " I walked away thoughtfully ; I wondered 
 y whether his difference, his strangeness, were not 
 penetrating with repulsion that dull nature they 
 had begun by irresistibly attracting. I won- 
 dered. . . ." 
 
 Tlie Doctor came to the window and looked out 
 at the frigid splendour of the sea, immense in 
 the haze, as if enclosing all the earth with all 
 the hearts lost among the passions of love and 
 fear. 
 
 " Physiologically, now," he said, turning away 
 abruptly, " it was possible. It was possible." 
 
 He remained silent. Then went on — 
 
 " At all events, the next time I saw him he was 
 ill — lung trouble. He was tough, but I daresay he 
 was not acclimatised as well as I had supposed. It 
 [207] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 was a bad winter ; and, of course, these mountain- 
 eers do get fits of home sickness ; and a state of de- 
 pression would make him vulnerable. He was lying 
 half dressed on a couch downstairs. 
 
 " A table covered with a dark oilcloth took up all 
 the middle of the little room. There was a wicker 
 cradle on the floor, a kettle spouting steam on the 
 hob, and some child's linen lay dr3'ing on the 
 fender. The room was warm, but the door opens 
 right into the garden, as you noticed perhaps. 
 
 " He was very feverish, and kept on muttering 
 to himself. She sat on a chair and looked at him 
 fixedly across the table with her brown, blurred 
 eyes. 'Why don't j-ou have him upstairs?' I 
 asked. With a start and a confused stammer she 
 said, ' Oh ! ah ! I couldn't sit with him upstairs, 
 Sir.' 
 
 " I gave her certain directions ; and going out- 
 side, I said again that he ought to be in bed up- 
 stairs. She wrung her hands. ' I couldn't. I 
 couldn't. He keeps on saying something — I don't 
 know what.' With the memory of all the talk 
 against the man that had been dinned into her ears, 
 I looked at her narrowly. I looked into her short- 
 [208] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 sighted eyes, at her dumb eyes that once in her life 
 had seen an enticing shape, but seemed, staring at 
 me, to see nothing at all now. But I saw she was 
 uneasy. 
 
 " ' What's the matter with him ? ' she asked in a 
 sort of vacant trepidation. ' He doesn't look very 
 ill, I never did see anybody look like this be- 
 fore. . . .' 
 
 " ' Do you think,' I asked indignantly, ' he is 
 shamming? ' 
 
 " ' I can't help it, sir,' she said stolidly. xVnd 
 suddenly she clapped her hands and looked right 
 and left. ' And there's the baby. I am so fright- 
 ened. He wanted me just now to give him the 
 baby. I can't understand what he says to it.' 
 
 " ' Can't you ask a neighbour to come in to- 
 night.'' ' I asked. 
 
 " * Please, sir, nobody seems to care to come,' she 
 muttered, dully resigned all at once. 
 
 " I impressed upon her the necessity of the 
 greatest care, and then had to go. There was a 
 good deal of sickness that winter. ' Oh, I hope he 
 won't talk ! ' she exclaimed softly just as I was go- 
 ing away. 
 
 [209] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 " I don't know how it is I did not see — but I 
 didn't. And yet, turning in my trap, I saw her 
 lingering before the door, very still, and as if med- 
 itating a flight up the miry road. 
 
 " Towards the night his fever increased. 
 
 " He tossed, moaned, and now and then muttered 
 a complaint. And she sat with the table between 
 her and the couch, watching ev^ry movement and 
 every sound, with the terror, the unreasonable ter- 
 ror, of that man she could not understand creeping 
 over her. She had drawn the wicker cradle close 
 to her feet. There was nothing in her now but tliie 
 maternal instinct and that unaccountable fear. 
 
 " Suddenly coming to himself, parched, he de- 
 manded a drink of water. She did not move. She 
 had not understood, though he may have thought 
 he was speaking in English. He waited, looking at 
 her, burning with fever, amazed at her silence and 
 immobility, and then he shouted impatientl}'^, 
 ' Water ! Give me water ! ' 
 
 " She jumped to her feet, snatched up the child, 
 and stood still. He spoke to her, and his passion- 
 ate remonstrances only increased her fear of that 
 strange man. I believe he spoke to her for a long 
 [210] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 time, entreating, wondering, pleading, ordering, I 
 suppose. She says she bore it as long as she could. 
 And then a gust of rage came over him. 
 
 " He sat up and called out terribly one word — 
 some word. Then he got up as though he hadn't 
 been ill at all, she says. And as in fevered dismay, 
 indignation, and wonder he tried to get to her 
 round the table, she simply opened the door and ran 
 out with the child in her arms. She heard him call 
 twice after her down the road in a terrible voice — 
 and fled. . . . Ah! but you should have seen stir- 
 ring behind the dull, blurred glance of these eyes 
 the spectre of the fear which had hunted her on 
 that night three miles and a half to the door of Fos- 
 ter's cottage ! I did the next day. 
 
 " And it was I who found him lying face down 
 and his body in a puddle, just outside the little 
 wicket-gate. 
 
 " I had been called out that night to an urgent 
 case in the village, and on my way home at day- 
 break passed by the cottage. The door stood open. 
 My man helped me to carry him in. We laid him 
 on the couch. The lamp smoked, the fire was out, 
 the chill of the stormy night oozed from the cheer- 
 [211] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 less yellow paper on the wall. ' Amj' ! ' I called 
 aloud, and my voice seemed to lose itself in the 
 emptiness of this tiny house as if I had cried in at 
 desert. He opened his eyes. * Gone ! * he said dis- 
 tinctly. ' I had only asked for water — only for a 
 little water. . . .' 
 
 " He was muddy. I covered him up and stood 
 waiting in silence, catching a painfully gasped 
 word now and then. They were no longer in his 
 own language. The fever had left him, taking 
 with it the heat of life. And with his panting 
 breast and lustrous eyes he reminded me again of a 
 wild creature under the net ; of a bird caught in a 
 snare. She had left him. She had left him — sick 
 — helpless — thirsty. The spear of the hunter had 
 entered his very soul. ' Why .'' ' he cried in the pen- 
 etrating and indignant voice of a man calling to a 
 responsible Maker. A gust of wind and a swish of 
 rain answered. 
 
 " And as I turned away to shut the door he pro- 
 nounced the word ' Merciful ! ' and expired. 
 
 " Eventually I certified heart-failure as the im- 
 mediate cause of death. His heart must have in- 
 deed failed him, or else he might have stood this 
 [212] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 night of storm and exi>osure, too. I closed his eyes 
 and drove away. Not very far from the cottage I 
 met Foster walking sturdily between the dripping 
 hedges with his collie at his heels. 
 
 " ' Do you know where your daughter is ? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 " ' Don't I ! ' he cried. ' I am going to talk to 
 him a bit. Frightening a poor woman Hke this.' 
 
 " ' He won't frighten her any more,' I said. 
 * He is dead.' 
 
 " He struck with his stick at the mud. 
 
 " * And there's the child.' 
 
 " Then, after thinking deeply for a while — 
 
 " * I don't know that it isn't for the best.' 
 
 " That's what he said. And she says nothing at 
 all now. Not a word of him. Never. Is his im- 
 age as utterl}'^ gone from her mind as his lithe and 
 striding figure, his carolling voice are gone from 
 our fields? He is no longer before her eyes to ex- 
 cite her imagination into a passion of love or fear ; 
 and his memory seems to have vanished from her 
 dull brain as a shadow passes away upon a white 
 screen. She lives in the cottage and works for Miss 
 Swaffer. She is Amy Foster for everybody, and 
 [213] 
 
AMY FOSTER 
 
 the child is ' Amy Foster's boy.' She calls him 
 Johnny — which means Little John. 
 
 " It is impossible to say whether this name re- 
 calls an^'thing to her. Does she ever think of the 
 past.? I have seen her hanging over the boy's cot 
 in a very passion of maternal tenderness. The lit- 
 tle fellow was lying on his back, a little frightened 
 at me, but very still, with his big black eyes, with 
 his fluttered air of a bird in a snare. And looking 
 at him I seemed to see again the other one — the 
 father, cast out m3'steriously by the sea to perish 
 In the supreme disaster of loneliness and despair." 
 
 [214] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 What was known of Captain Hagberd in the little 
 seaport of Colebrook was not exactly in his favour. 
 He did not belong to the place. He had come to 
 settle there under circumstances not at all myste- 
 rious — he used to be very communicative about 
 them at the time — but extremely morbid and un- 
 reasonable. He was possessed of some little money 
 evidently, because he bought a plot of ground, and 
 had a pair of ugly yellow brick cottages run up 
 very cheaply. He occupied one of them himself 
 and let the other to Josiah Carvil — blind Carvil, 
 the retired boat-builder — a man of evil repute as a 
 domestic tyrant. 
 
 These cottages had one wall in common, shared 
 in a line of iron railing dividing their front gar- 
 dens ; a wooden fence separated their back gardens. 
 Miss Bessie Carvil was allowed, as it were of right, 
 to throw over it the tea-cloths, blue rags, or an 
 apron that wanted drying. 
 I 217 1 
 
to-:morrow 
 
 " It rots the wood, Bessie my girl," the captain 
 would remark mildly, from his side of the fence, 
 each time he saw her exercising that privilege. 
 
 She was a tall girl; the fence was low, and 
 she could spread her elbows on the top. Her hands 
 would be red with the bit of washing she had done, 
 but her forearms were white and shapely, and she 
 would look at her father's landlord in silence — in 
 an informed silence which had an air of knowledge, 
 expectation and desire. 
 
 " It rots the wood," repeated Captain Hagberd. 
 " It is the only unthrifty, careless habit I know in 
 you. Why don't you have a clothes line out in your 
 back yard ? " 
 
 Miss Carvil would say nothing to this — she only 
 shook her head negatively. The tiny back yard 
 on her side had a few stone-bordered little beds of 
 black earth, in which the simple flowers she found 
 time to cultivate appeared somehow extravagantly 
 overgrown, as if belonging to an exotic clime ; and 
 Captain Hagberd's upright, hale person, clad in 
 No. 1 sail-cloth from head to foot, would be emer- 
 ging knee-deep out of rank grass and the tall weeds 
 on his side of the fence. He appeared, with the col- 
 [218] 
 
T O - ]M O R R O W 
 
 our and uncouth stiffness of the extraordinary ma- 
 terial in Avhich he chose to clothe himself — " for the 
 time being," would be his mumbled remark to any 
 observation on the subject — like a man roughened 
 out of granite, standing in a wilderness not big 
 enough for a decent billiard-room. A heavy figure 
 of a man of stone, with a red handsome face, a blue 
 wandering eye, and a great white beard flowing 
 to his waist and never trimmed as far as Colebrook 
 knew. 
 
 Seven years before, he had seriously answered, 
 " Next month, I think," to the chafRng attempt to 
 secure his custom made by that distinguished local 
 wit, the Colebrook barber, who happened to be sit- 
 ting insolently in the tap-room of the New Inn near 
 the harbour, where the captain had entered to buy 
 an ounce of tobacco. After paying for his pur- 
 chase with three half -pence extracted from the cor- 
 ner of a handkerchief which he carried in the cuff 
 of his sleeve. Captain Hagberd went out. As soon 
 as the door was shut the barber laughed. " The 
 old one and the young one will be strolling arm in 
 arm to get shaved in my place presently. The 
 tailor shall be set to work, and the barber, and the 
 [219] 
 
TO- MORROW 
 
 candlestick maker; high old times are coming for 
 Colebrook, they are coming, to be sure. It used to 
 be * next week,' now it has come to ' next month,' 
 and so on — soon it will be next spring, for all I 
 know." 
 
 Noticing a stranger listening to him with a va- 
 cant grin, he explained, stretching out his legs cyn- 
 ically, that this queer old Hagberd, a retired coast- 
 ing-skipper, was waiting for the "eturn of a son of 
 his. The boy had been driven away from home, he 
 shouldn't wonder; had run away to sea and had 
 never been heard of since. Put to rest in Davy 
 Jones's locker this man}' a da}', as likely as not. 
 That old man came flying to Colebrook three 
 years ago all in black broadcloth (had lost his wife 
 lately then), getting out of a third-class smoker 
 as if the devil had been at his heels ; and the only 
 thing that brought him down was a letter — a hoax 
 probably. Some joker had written to him about a 
 seafaring man with some such name who was sup- 
 posed to be hanging about some girl or other, either 
 in Colebrook or in the neighbourhood. " Funny, 
 ain't it ? " The old chap had been advertising in 
 the London papers for Harry Hagberd, and offer- 
 [ 220 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 ing rewards for any sort of likely information. 
 And the barber would go on to describe with sar- 
 donic gusto, how that stranger in mourning had 
 been seen exploring the country, in carts, on foot, 
 taking ever^^body into his confidence, visiting all 
 the inns and alehouses for miles around, stopping 
 people on the road with his questions, looking into 
 the very ditches almost ; first in the greatest excite- 
 ment, then with a plodding sort of perseverance, 
 growing slower and slower; and he could not even 
 tell you plainly how his son looked. The sailor 
 was supposed to be one of two that had left a tim- 
 ber ship, and to have been seen dangling after some 
 girl ; but the old man described a boy of fourteen 
 or so — " a clever-looking, high-spirited boy." And 
 when people only smiled at this he would rub his 
 forehead in a confused sort of way before he slunk 
 oif, looking offended. He found nobody, of 
 course; not a trace of anybody — never heard of 
 anything worth belief, at any rate; but he had not 
 been able somehow to tear himself away from Cole- 
 brook. 
 
 " It was the shock of tliis disappointment, per- 
 haps, coming soon after the loss of his wife, that 
 [221 1 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 had driven him crazy on that point," the barber 
 suggested, with an air of great psychological in- 
 sight. After a time the old man abandoned the ac- 
 tive search. His son had evidently gone away ; 
 but he settled himself to wait. His son had been 
 once at least in Colebrook in preference to his na- 
 tive place. There must have been some reason for 
 it, he seemed to think, some very powerful induce- 
 ment, that would bring him back to Colebrook 
 again. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Why, of course, Colebrook. 
 Where else? That's the only place in the United 
 Kingdom for your long-lost sons. So he sold up 
 his old home in Colchester, and down he comes here. 
 Well, it's a craze, like any other. Wouldn't catch 
 me going crazy over any of my youngsters clear- 
 ing out. I've got eight of them at home." The 
 barber was showing off his strength of mind in the 
 midst of a laughter that shook the tap-room. 
 
 Strange, though, that sort of thing, he would 
 confess, with the frankness of a superior intelli- 
 gence, seemed to be catching. His establishment, 
 for instance, was near the harbour, and whenever a 
 sailorman came in for a hair-cut or a shave — if it 
 [222] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 was a strange face he couldn't help thinking di- 
 rectly, " Suppose he's the son of old Hagberd ! " 
 He laughed at himself for it. It was a strong 
 craze. He could remember the time when the whole 
 town was full of it. But he had his hopes of the 
 old chap yet. He would cure him by a course of 
 judicious chaffing. He was watching the progress 
 of the treatment. Next week — next month — next 
 year ! When the old skipper had put off the date 
 of that return till next year, he would be well on 
 his way to not saying any more about it. In other 
 matters he was quite rational, so this, too, was 
 bound to come. Such was the barber's firm opin- 
 ion. 
 
 Nobody had ever contradicted him ; his own hair 
 had gone grey since that time, and Captain Hag- 
 berd's beard had turned quite white, and had ac- 
 quired a majestic flow over the No. 1 canvas suit, 
 which he had made for himself secretly with tarred 
 twine, and had assumed suddenly, coming out in 
 it one fine morning, whereas the evening before he 
 had been seen going home in his mourning of 
 broadcloth. It caused a sensation in the High 
 Street — shopkeepers coming to their doors, people 
 [223] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 in the houses snatching up their hats to run out — 
 a stir at which he seemed strangely surprised at 
 first, and then scared; but his only answer to the 
 wondering questions was that startled and evasive, 
 " For the present." 
 
 That sensation had been forgotten, long ago; 
 and Captain Hagberd himself, if not forgotten, 
 had come to be disregarded — the penalty of daili- 
 ness — as the sun itself is disregarded unless it 
 makes its power felt heavily. Captain Hagberd's 
 movements showed no infirmity: he walked stiffly 
 in his suit of canvas, a quaint and remarkable fig- 
 ure ; only his eyes wandered more f urtivel}'^ perhaps 
 than of yore. His manner abroad had lost its ex- 
 citable watchfulness ; it had become puzzled and 
 diffident, as though he had suspected that there 
 was somewhere about him something slightly com- 
 promising, some embarrassing oddity ; and yet had 
 remained unable to discover what on earth this 
 something wrong could be. 
 
 He was unwilling now to talk with the townsfolk. 
 
 He had earned for himself the reputation of an 
 
 awful skinflint, of a miser in the matter of living. 
 
 He mumbled regretfully in the shops, bought in- 
 
 [224] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 ferior scraps of meat after long hesitations ; and 
 discouraged all allusions to his costume. It was 
 as the barber had foretold. For all one could tell, 
 he had recovered already from the disease of hope ; 
 and only IVIiss Bessie Carvil knew that he said noth- 
 ing about his son's return because with him it was 
 no longer " next week," " next month," or even 
 " next year." It was " to-morrow." 
 
 In their intimacy of back yard and front gar- 
 den he talked with her paternally, reasonably, and 
 dogmatically, with a touch of arbitrariness. They 
 met on the ground of unreserved confidence, which 
 was authenticated by an affectionate wink now and 
 then. Miss Carvil had come to look forward rather 
 to these winks. At first they had discomposed her: 
 the poor fellow was mad. Afterwards she had 
 learned to laugh at them: there was no harm in 
 him. Now she was aware of an unacknowledged, 
 pleasurable, incredulous emotion, expressed by a 
 faint blush. He winked not in the least vulgarly ; 
 his thin red face with a well-modelled curved nose, 
 had a sort of distinction — the more so that when he 
 talked to her he looked with a steadier and more in- 
 telligent glance. A handsome, hale, upright, ca- 
 [225] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 pable man, with a white beard. You did not think 
 of his age. His son, he affirmed, had resembled 
 him amazingly from his earliest babyhood. 
 
 Harry would be one-and-thirty next July, he 
 declared. Proper age to get married with a nice, 
 sensible girl that could appreciate a good home. 
 He was a very high-spirited boy. High-spirited 
 husbands were the easiest to manage. These mean, 
 soft chaps, that you would think butter wouldn't 
 melt in their mouths, were the ones to make a wom- 
 an thoroughly miserable. And there was nothing 
 like a home — a fireside — a good roof: no turning 
 out of your warm bed in all sorts of weather. " Eh, 
 my dear? " 
 
 Captain Hagberd had been one of those sailors 
 that pursue their calhng within sight of land. One 
 of the many children of a bankrupt farmer, he had 
 been apprenticed hurriedly to a coasting skipper, 
 and had remained on the coast all his sea life. It 
 must have been a hard one at first: he had never 
 taken to it; his affection turned to the land, with 
 its innumerable houses, with its quiet lives gathered 
 round its firesides. Many sailors feel and profess 
 a rational dislike for the sea, but his was a pro- 
 [226] 
 
T O - IM O R K O W 
 
 found and emotional animosity — as if the love of 
 the stabler element had been bred into him through 
 many generations. 
 
 " People did not know what they let their boys in 
 for when they let them go to sea," he expounded to 
 Bessie. " As soon make convicts of them at once." 
 He did not believe you ever got used to it. The 
 weariness of such a life got worse as you got older. 
 What sort of trade was it in which more than half 
 your time you did not jjut your foot inside your 
 house.'' Directly you got out to sea you had no 
 means of knowing what went on at home. One 
 might have thought him weary of distant voyages ; 
 and the longest he had ever made had lasted a fort- 
 night, of which the most part had been sjjent at 
 anchor, sheltering from the weather. As soon as 
 his wife had inherited a house and enough to live on 
 (from a bachelor uncle who had made some money 
 in the coal business) he threw up his command of 
 an East-coast collier with a feeling as though he 
 had escaped from the galleys. After all these years 
 he might have counted on the fingers of his two 
 hands all the days he had been out of sight of Eng- 
 land. He had never known what it was to be o\^ 
 [227] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 of soundings. " I have never been further than 
 eighty fathoms from the land," was one of his 
 boasts. 
 
 Bessie Carvil heard all these things. In front of 
 their cottage grew an under-sized ash ; and on sum- 
 mer afternoons she would bring out a chair on the 
 grass-plot and sit down with her sewing. Captain 
 Hagberd, in his canvas suit, leaned on a spade. He 
 dug every day in his front plot. He turned it over 
 and over several times every year, but was not go- 
 ing to plant anything " just at present." 
 
 To Bessie Carvil he would state more explicitly : 
 " Not till our Harry comes home to-morrow." And 
 she had heard this formula of hope so often that it 
 only awakened the vaguest pity in her heart for 
 that hopeful old man. 
 
 Everything was put off in that way, and every- 
 thing was being prepared likewise for to-morrow. 
 There was a boxful of packets of various flower- 
 ;eeds to choose from, for the front garden. *' He 
 will doubtless let j-ou have your say about that, my 
 dear," Captain Hagberd intimated to her across 
 the railing. 
 
 [228] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 Miss Bessie's head remained bowed over her 
 work. She had heard all this so many times. But 
 now and then she would rise, lay down her sewing, 
 and come slowly to the fence. There was a charm 
 in these gentle ravings. He was determined that 
 his son should not go away again for the want of a 
 home all ready for him. He had been filling the 
 other cottage with all sorts of furniture. She im- 
 agined it all new, fresh with varnish, piled up as 
 in a warehouse. There would be tables wrapped 
 up in sacking; rolls of carpets thick and vertical 
 like fragments of columns, the gleam of white mar- 
 ble tops in the dimness of the drawn blinds. Cap- 
 tain Hagberd always described liis purchases to 
 her, carefullj', as to a person having a legitimate 
 interest in them. The overgrown yard of his cot- 
 tage could be laid over with concrete . . . after 
 to-moiTow. 
 
 " We may just as well do away with the fence. 
 You could have your drying-line out, quite clear of 
 your flowers." He winked, and she would blusli 
 faintly. 
 
 This madness that had entered her life through 
 the kind impulses of her heart had reasonable de- 
 [229] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 tails. \Vliat if some day his son returned? But 
 she could not even be quite sure that he ever had a 
 son; and if he existed anywhere he had been too 
 long away. When Captain Hagberd got excited 
 in his talk she would steady him by a pretence of 
 belief, laughing a little to salve her conscience. 
 
 Only once she had tried pityingly to throw some 
 doubt on that hope doomed to disappointment, but 
 the effect of her attempt had scared her verj' much. 
 All at once over that man's face there came an ex- 
 pression of horror and incredulity, as though he 
 had seen a crack open out in the firmament. 
 
 " You — ^^'ou — you don't think he's drowned ! " 
 
 For a moment he seenicd to her ready to go out 
 of his mind, for in his ordinary state she thought 
 him more sane than people gave him credit for. 
 On that occasion the violence of the emotion was 
 followed by a most paternal and complacent re- 
 covery. 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself, my dear," he said a lit- 
 tle cunningl}' : " the sea can't keep him. He does 
 not belong to it. None of us Hagberds ever did 
 belong to it. Look at me; I didn't get drowned. 
 Moreover, he isn't a sailor at all ; and if he is not a 
 [230] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 sailor he's bound to come back. There's nothing 
 to prevent him coming back. . . ." 
 
 His e^^es began to wander. 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 She never tried again, for fear the man should 
 go out of his mind on the spot. He depended on 
 her. She seemed the only sensible person in the 
 town; and he would congratulate himself frankly 
 before her face on having secured such a level- 
 headed wife for his son. The rest of the town, he 
 confided to her once, in a fit of temper, was certainly 
 queer. The way they looked at you — the way they 
 talked to you ! He had never got on with any one 
 in the place. Didn't like the people. He would 
 not have left liis own country if it had not been 
 clear that his son had taken a fancy to Colebrook. 
 
 She humoured him in silence, listening patiently 
 by the fence; crocheting with downcast eyes. 
 Blushes came with difficulty on her dead-white 
 complexion, under the negligently twisted opu- 
 lence of mahogany-coloured hair. Her father was 
 frankly carroty. 
 
 She had a full figure ; a tired, unrefreshed face. 
 When Captain Hagberd vaunted the necessity and 
 [231] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 propriety of a home and the delights of one's own 
 fireside, she smiled a little, with her lips only. Her 
 home delights had been confined to the nursing of 
 her father during the ten best years of her life. 
 
 A bestial roaring coming out of an upstairs win- 
 dow would interrupt their talk. She would begin 
 at once to roll up her crochet-work or fold her sew- 
 ing, without the slightest sign of haste. Mean- 
 while the howls and roars of her name would go on, 
 making the fishermen strolling upon the sea-wall 
 on the other side of the road turn their heads to- 
 wards the cottages. She would go in slowly at the 
 front door, and a moment afterwards there would 
 fall a profound silence. Presently she would re- 
 appear, leading by the hand a man, gross and un- 
 wieldy like a hippopotamus, with a bad-tempered, 
 surly face. 
 
 He was a widowed boat-builder, whom blindness 
 had overtaken years before in the full flush of busi- 
 ness. He behaved to his daughter as if she had 
 been responsible for its incurable character. He 
 had been heard to bellow at the top of his voice, 
 as if to defy Heaven, that he did not care: he had 
 wade enough money to have ham and eggs for his 
 [232] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 breakfast every morning. He tlmnkod God for it, 
 in a fiendish tone as though he were cursing. 
 
 Captain Hagberd had been so unfavourably im- 
 pressed by his tenant, that once he told jNIiss Bos- 
 sie, " He is a very extravagant fellow, my dear." 
 
 She was knitting that day, finishing a pair of 
 socks for her father, who expected her to keep up 
 the suppl}' dutifully. She hated knitting, and, as 
 she was just at the heel part, she had to keep her 
 eyes on her needles. 
 
 " Of course it isn't as if he had a son to provide 
 for," Captain Hagberd went on a little vacantly. 
 " Girls, of course, don't require so much — h'm — 
 h'm. They don't run away from home, my dear." 
 
 " No," said Miss Bessie, quietly. 
 
 Captain Hagberd, amongst the mounds of 
 turned-up earth, chuckled. With his maritime rig, 
 his weather-beaten face, his beard of Father Nep- 
 tune, he resembled a deposed sea-god who had ex- 
 changed the trident for the spade. 
 
 " And he must look upon you as already pro- 
 vided for, in a manner. That's the best of it with 
 the girls. The husbands . . ." He winked. Miss 
 Bessie, absorbed in her knitting, coloured faintly. 
 [233] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 ** Bessie ! my hat ! " old Carvil bellowed out sud- 
 denly. He had been sitting under the tree mute 
 and motionless, like an idol of some remarkably 
 monstrous superstition. He never opened his 
 mouth but to howl for her, at her, sometimes about 
 her ; and then he did not moderate the terms of his 
 abuse. Her system was never to answer him at all ; 
 and he kept up his shouting till he got attended to 
 — till she shook him by the arm, or thrust the 
 mouthpiece of his pipe between his teeth. He was 
 one of the few blind people who smoke. When he 
 felt the hat being put on his head he stopped his 
 noise at once. Then he rose, and they passed to- 
 gether through the gate. 
 
 He weighed heavily on her arm. During their 
 slow, toilful walks she appeared to be dragging 
 with her for a penance the burden of that infirm 
 bulk. Usually they crossed the road at once (the 
 cottages stood in the fields near the harbour, two 
 hundred yards away from the end of the street), 
 and for a long, long time they would remain in 
 view, ascending imperceptibly the flight of wooden 
 steps that led to the top of the sea-wall. It ran 
 on from east to west, shutting out the Channel like 
 [234] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 a neglected railway embankment, on vluch no train 
 had sver rolled Avithin memory of man. Groups 
 of sturdy fishermen would emerge upon the sky, 
 walk along for a bit, and sink without haste. Their 
 brown nets, like the cobwebs of gigantic spiders, 
 lay on the shabby grass of the slope; and, looking 
 up from the end of the street, tlie peojile of the 
 to^^l would recognise the two Carvils by the creep- 
 ing slowness of their gait. Captain Hagberd, pot- 
 tering aimlessly about his cottages, would raise his 
 head to see how they got on in their promenade. 
 
 He advertised still in the Sunday papers for 
 Harry Hagberd. These sheets were read in for- 
 eign parts to the end of the world, he informed Bes- 
 sie. At the same time he seemed to think that his 
 son was in England — so near to Colcbrook that he 
 would of course turn up " to-morrow." Bessie, 
 without committing herself to that opinion in so 
 many words, argued that in that case the expense 
 of advertising was unnecessary ; Captain Hagberd 
 had better spend that weekly half-crown on him- 
 self. She declared she did not know what he lived 
 on. Her argumentation would puzzle him and cast 
 [235] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 him down for a time. " They all do it," he pointed 
 out. There was a whole column devoted to appeals 
 after missing relatives. He would bring the news- 
 paper to show her. He and his wife had advertised 
 for years ; only she was an impatient woman. The 
 news from Colebrook had arrived the very day after 
 her funeral ; if she had not been so impatient she 
 might have been here now, with no more than one 
 day more to wait. " You are not an impatient 
 woman, my dear." 
 
 " I've no patience with you sometimes," she 
 would say. 
 
 If he still advertised for his son he did not offer 
 rewards for information any more; for, with the 
 muddled lucidity of a mental derangement he had 
 reasoned himself into a conviction as clear as day- 
 light that he had already attained all that could be 
 expected in that way. What more could he want.? 
 Colebrook was the place, and there was no need to 
 ask for more. Miss Carvil praised him for his good 
 sense, and he was soothed by the part she took in 
 his hope, which had become his delusion ; in that 
 idea which blinded his mind to truth and probabil- 
 ity, just as the other old man in the other cottage 
 [236] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 had been made blind, by another disease, to the 
 light and beauty of the world. 
 
 But anything he could interpret as a doubt — 
 any coldness of assent, or even a simple inattention 
 to the development of his projects of a home with 
 his returned son and his son's wife — would irritate 
 him into flings and jerks and wicked side glances. 
 He would dash his spade into the ground and walk 
 to and fro before it. Miss Bessie called it his tan- 
 trums. She shook her finger at him. Then, when 
 she came out again, after he had parted with her 
 in anger, he would watch out of the corner of his 
 eyes for the least sign of encouragement to ap- 
 proach the iron railings and resume his fatherly 
 and patronising relations. 
 
 For all their intimacy, wliich had lasted some 
 years now, they had never talked without a fence 
 or a railing between them. He described to lier all 
 the splendours accumulated for the setting-up of 
 their housekeeping, but had never invited her to an 
 inspection. No human eye was to behold them till 
 Harry had his first look. In fact, nobody had ever 
 been inside his cottage; he did his own housework, 
 and he guarded his son's privilege so jealously that 
 [257] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 the small objects of domestic use he bought some- 
 times in the town were smuggled rapidly across the 
 front garden under his canvas coat. Then, coming 
 out, he would remark apologetically, " It was only 
 a small kettle, my dear." 
 
 And, if not too tired with her drudgery, or wor- 
 ried beyond endurance by her father, she would 
 laugh at him with a blush, and say : " That's all 
 right. Captain Hagberd ; I am not impatient," 
 
 " Well, my dear, you haven't long to wait now," 
 he would answer with a sudden bashfulness, and 
 looking uneasily, as though he had suspected that 
 there was something wrong somewhere. 
 
 Every Monday' she paid him his rent over the 
 railings. He clutched the shillings greedily. He 
 grudged every penny he had to spend on his main- 
 tenance, and when he left her to make his purchases 
 his bearing changed as soon as he got into the 
 street. Away from the sanction of her pity, he felt 
 himself exposed without defence. He brushed the 
 walls with his shoulder. He mistrusted the queer- 
 ness of the people; yet, by then, even the town 
 children had left off calling after him, and the 
 tradesmen served him without a word. The slight- 
 [238] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 est allusion to his clothing had the power to puzzU 
 and frighten especially, as if it were something 
 utterly unwarranted and incomprehensible. 
 
 In the autumn, the driving rain drummed on his 
 sailcloth suit saturated almost to the stiffness of 
 sheet-iron, with its surface flowing with water. 
 When the weather was too bad, he retreated under 
 the tiny porch, and, standing close against the 
 door, looked at his spade left planted in the middle 
 of the yard. The ground was so much dug up all 
 over, that as the season advanced it turned to a 
 quagmire. When it froze hard, he was disconso- 
 late. What would Harry say.? And as he could 
 not have so much of Bessie's company at that time 
 of the year, the roars of old Carvil, that canie nmf- 
 fled through the closed windows, calling her in- 
 doors, exasperated him greatly. 
 
 " Why don't that extravagant fellow get you a 
 servant.?" he asked impatiently one mild after- 
 noon. She had thi'own something over her head to 
 run out for a while. 
 
 " I don't know," said the pale Bessie, wearily, 
 staring away with her heavy-lidded, grey, and un- 
 expectant glance. There were always smudgy 
 [239] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 shadows under her eyes, and she did not seem able 
 to see any change or any end to her life. 
 
 " You wait till you get married, my dear," said 
 her only friend, drawing closer to the fence. 
 " Harry will get you one." 
 
 His hopeful craze seemed to mock her own want 
 of hope with so bitter an aptness that in her ner- 
 vous irritation she could have screamed at him out- 
 right. But she only said in self-mockery, and 
 speaking to him as though he had been sane, 
 " Wh}^ Captain Hagberd, your son may not even 
 want to look at me." 
 
 He flung his head back and laughed his throaty 
 affected cackle of anger. 
 
 " What! That boy.? Not want to look at the 
 only sensible girl for miles around ? What do you 
 think I am here for, my dear — ^my dear — ni}^ dear.? 
 . . . What? You wait. You just wait. You'll 
 see to-morrow. I'll soon " 
 
 " Bessie ! Bessie ! Bessie ! " howled old Carvil in- 
 side. " Bessie ! — my pipe ! " That fat blind man 
 had given himself up to a very lust of laziness. He 
 would not hft his hand to reach for the things she 
 took care to leave at his very elbow. He would not 
 [ 2^0 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 move a limb; he would not rise from his chair, he 
 would not put one foot before another, in that par- 
 lour (where he knew his way as well as if he had his 
 sight), without calling her to his side and hanging 
 all his atrocious weight on her shoulder. He would 
 not eat one single mouthful of food without her 
 close attendance. He had made himself helpless 
 beyond his affliction, to enslave her better. She 
 stood still for a moment, setting her teeth in the 
 dusk, then turned and walked slowly indoors. 
 
 Captain Hagberd went back to his spade. The 
 shouting in Carvil's cottage stopped, and after a 
 while the window of the parlour downstairs was lit 
 up. A man coming from the end of the street with 
 a firm leisurely step passed on, but seemed to have 
 caught sight of Captain Hagberd, because he 
 turned back a pace or two. A cold white light lin- 
 gered in the western sky. The man leaned over the 
 gate in an interested manner. 
 
 " You must be Captain Hagberd," he said, with 
 easy assurance. 
 
 The old man spun round, pulling out his spade, 
 startled by the strange voice. 
 
 " Yes, I am," he answered nervously. 
 [241] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 The other, smiling straight at him, uttered very 
 slowly : " You've been advertising for your son, I 
 believe?" 
 
 " My son Harry," mumbled Captain Hagberd, 
 off his guard for once. " He's coming home to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " The devil he is ! " The stranger marvelled 
 greatly, and then went on, with only a slight 
 change of tone : " You've grown a beard like 
 Father Christmas himself." 
 
 Captain Hagberd drew a little nearer, and 
 leaned forward over his spade. " Go your way," 
 he said, resentfully and timidly at the same time, 
 because he was always afraid of being laughed at. 
 Every mental state, even madness, has its equi- 
 librium based upon self-esteem. Its disturbance 
 causes unhappiness; and Captain Hagberd lived 
 amongst a scheme of settled notions which it pained 
 him to feel disturbed by people's grins. Yes, peo- 
 ple's grins were awful. They hinted at something 
 wrong: but what? He could not tell; and that 
 stranger was obviously grinning — had come on 
 purpose to grin. It was bad enough on the streets, 
 but he had never before been outraged like this. 
 [242] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 The stranger, unaware how near he was of hav- 
 ing his head laid open with a spade, said seriously : 
 " I am not trespassing where I stand, am I ? I 
 fancy there's something wrong about your news. 
 Suppose you let me come in." 
 
 " You come in ! " murmured old Hagberd, with 
 inexpressible horror. 
 
 " I could give you some real information about 
 your son — the very latest tip, if you care to 
 hear." 
 
 " No," shouted Hagberd. He began to pace 
 wildly to and fro, he shouldered his spade, he ges- 
 ticulated with his other arm. " Here's a fellow — 
 a grinning fellow, who says there's something 
 wrong. I've got more information than you're 
 aware of. I've all the information I want. I've 
 had it .for years — for years — for years — enough 
 to last me till to-morrow. Let you come in, indeed ! 
 What would Harry say ? " 
 
 Bessie Carvil's figure appeared in black silhou- 
 ette on the parlour window ; then, with the sound of 
 an opening door, flitted out before the other cot- 
 tage, all black, but with something white over 
 her head. These two voices beginning to talk sud- 
 [243] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 denlj outside (she had heard them indoors) liad 
 given her such an emotion that she could not utter 
 a sound. 
 
 Captain Hagberd seemed to be trying to find his 
 way out of a cage. His feet squelched in the pud- 
 dles left by his industry. He stumbled in the holes 
 of the ruined grass-plot. He ran blindly against 
 the fence. 
 
 " Here, steady a bit ! " said the man at the gate, 
 gravely stretching his arm over and catching him 
 by the sleeve. " Somebody's been trj-ing to get at 
 3'^ou. Hallo ! what's this rig you've got on ? Storm 
 canvas, by George ! " He had a big laugh. 
 " Well, you are a character ! " 
 
 Captain Hagberd jerked himself free, and began 
 to back away shrinkingly. " For the present," he 
 muttered, in a crestfallen tone. 
 
 " What's the matter with liim.^ " The stranger 
 addressed Bessie with the utmost familiarity, in a 
 deliberate, explanatory tone. " I didn't want to 
 startle the old man." He lowered his voice as 
 though he had known her for years. " I dropped 
 into a barber's on my way, to get a twopenny 
 shave, and they told me there he was something of 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 a character. The old man has been a character all 
 his hfe." 
 
 Captain Hagberd, daunted by the allusion to his 
 clothing, had retreated inside, taking his spade 
 with him ; and the two at the gate, startled by the 
 unexpected slamming of the door, heard the bolts 
 being shot, the snapping of the lock, and the echo 
 of an affected gurgling laugh within. 
 
 " I didn't want to upset him," the man said, 
 after a short silence. " What's the meaning of all 
 this.'' He isn't quite crazy." 
 
 " He has been worrying a long time about his 
 lost son," said Bessie, in a low, apologetic tone. 
 
 " Well, I am his son." 
 
 " Harry ! " she cried— and was profoundly si- 
 lent. 
 
 "Know my name? Friends with the old man, 
 eh.?" • 
 
 " He's our landlord," Bessie faltered out, catch- 
 ing hold of the iron railing. 
 
 "Owns both them rabbit-hutches, does he?" 
 
 commented young Hagberd, scornfully'; *' just the 
 
 thing he would be proud of. Can you tell me who's 
 
 that chap coming to-morrow? You must know 
 
 [ 245 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 something of it. I tell you, it's a swindle on the old 
 man — nothing else." 
 
 She did not answer, helpless before an insur- 
 mountable difficulty, appalled before the necessity, 
 the impossibility and the dread of an explanation 
 in which she and madness seemed involved together. 
 
 " Oh — I am so sorry," she murmured. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he said, with serenity. 
 " You needn't be afraid of upsetting me. It's the 
 other fellow that'll be upset wh<en he least expects 
 it. I don't care a hang ; but there will be some fun 
 when he shows his mug to-morrow, I don't care 
 that for the old man's pieces, but right is right. 
 You shall see me put a head on that coon — whoever 
 he is!" 
 
 He had come nearer, and towered above her on 
 the other side of the railings. He glanced at her 
 hands. He fancied she was trembling, and it oc- 
 curred to him that she had her part perhaps in that 
 little game that was to be sprung on his old man 
 to-morrow. He had come just in time to spoil their 
 sport. He was entertained by the idea — scornful 
 of the baffled plot. But all his life he had been full 
 of indulgence for all sorts of women's tricks. She 
 [246] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 really was trembling very much; her wrap had 
 slipped off her head. " Poor devil ! " he thought. 
 " Never mind about that chap. I daresay he'll 
 change his mind before to-morrow. But what 
 about me ? I can't loaf about the gate til the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She burst out : " It is you — you yourself that he's 
 waiting for. It is you who come to-morrow." 
 
 He murmured. " Oh ! It's me ! " blankly, and 
 they seemed to become breathless together. Ap- 
 parently he was pondering over wli^t he had heard ; 
 then, without irritation, but evidently perplexed, 
 he said : " I don't understand. I hadn't written or 
 anytliing. It's my chum who saw the paper and 
 told me — this very morning. . . . Eh ? what .'' " 
 
 He bent his ear; she whispered rapidly, and he 
 listened for a while, muttering the words " yes " 
 and " I see " at times. Then, " But why won't to- 
 day do? " he queried at last. 
 
 "You didn't understand me ! " she exclaimed, 
 impatiently. The clear streak of light under the 
 clouds died out in the west. Again he stooped 
 slightly to hear better ; and the deep night buried 
 everything of the whispering woman and the 
 [2^7] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 attentive man, except the familiar contiguity of 
 their faces, with its air of secrecy and caress. 
 
 He squared his shoulders; the broad-brimmed 
 shadow of a hat sat cavalierly on his head. " Awk- 
 ward tliis, eh? " he appealed to her. " To-morrow.' 
 Well, well ! Never heard tell of anything like this. 
 It's all to-morro\s , then, without any sort of to-day, 
 as far as I can see." 
 
 She remained still and mute. 
 
 " And you have been encouraging tliis funny 
 notion," he said. 
 
 " I never contradicted him." 
 
 "Why didn't you.?" 
 
 " What for should I .'' " she defended herself. 
 " It would only have made him miserable. He 
 would have gone out of his mind," 
 
 " His mind ! " he muttered, and heard a short 
 nervous laugh from her. 
 
 " Where was the harm? Was I to quarrel with 
 the poor old man? It was easier to half believe it 
 myself." 
 
 " Aye, aye," he meditated, intelligently. " I 
 suppose the old chap got around you somehow with 
 his soft tidk. You are good-hearted." 
 [248] 
 
T O - U O 11 H \V 
 
 Her hands moved up in the dark nervously. 
 *' And it might liave been true. It was true. It 
 has come. Here it is. This is tl^e to-morrow we 
 have been waiting for." 
 
 Slie drew a breath, and he said, good-humour- 
 edly : " Aye, with the door shut. I wouldn't care 
 if . . . And you think he could be brought round 
 to recognise me . . . Eh,'* What.'' . . . You 
 could do it.'* In a week you say.f* H'm, I daresay 
 you could — but do you think I could hold out a 
 week in tlxis dead-alive place ? Not me ! I want 
 either hard work, or an all-fired racket, or more 
 space than there Is in the whole of England. I 
 have been in this place, though, once before, and for 
 more than a week. The old man was advertising 
 for me then, and a chum I had with me had a no- 
 tion of getting a couple of quid out of him by writ- 
 ing a lot- of sill}' nonsense in a letter. That lark did 
 not come off, though. We had to clear out — and 
 none too soon. But this time I've a chum waiting 
 for me in London, and besides . . ." 
 
 Bessie Carvii was breathing quickly. 
 
 " What If I tried a knock at the door.? " he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 [249] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 ** Try," she said. 
 
 Captain Hagberd's gate squeaked, and the shad- 
 ow of the son moved on, then stopped with another 
 deep laugh in the throat, like the father's, only 
 soft and gentle, thrilling to tlue woman's heart, 
 awakening to her ears. 
 
 " He isn't frisk}^ — is he? I would be afraid to 
 lay hold of him. The chaps are always telling me 
 I don't know my own strength." 
 
 " He's the most harmless creature that ever 
 lived," she interrupted. 
 
 " You wouldn't say so if you had seen him chas- 
 ing me upstairs with a hard leather strap," he said ; 
 " I haven't forgotten it in sixteen years." 
 
 She got warm from head to foot under anothei 
 soft, subdued laugh. At the rat-tat-tat of the 
 knocker her heart flew into her mouth. 
 
 " Hey, dad ! Let me in. I am Harry, I am 
 Straight ! Come back home a day too soon.'* 
 
 One of the windows upstairs ran up. 
 
 ** A grinning, information fellow," said the voice 
 of old Hagberd, up in the darkness. " Don't you 
 have anything to do with him. It will spoil every- 
 thing." 
 
 [250] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 Slve heard Harry Hagberd say, " Hallo, dad," 
 then a clanging clatter. The window rumbled 
 down, and he stood before her again. 
 
 " It's just like old times. Nearly walloped the 
 life out of me to stop me going a way, and now I 
 come back he throws a confounded shovel at my 
 head to keep me out. It grazed my shoulder." 
 
 She shuddered. 
 
 *' I wouldn't care," he began, " only I spent my 
 last shilling.s on the railwa}' fare and my last two- 
 pence on a shave — out of respect for the old man." 
 
 " Are 30U reallj- Harr^- Hagberd .'* " she asked. 
 ** Can you prove it? " 
 
 " Can I prove it.'' Can any one else prove it.'* " 
 he said jovially. " Prove with what.? What do I 
 want to prove? There isn't a single corner in the 
 world, barring England, perhaps, where you could 
 not find some man, or more likely woman, that 
 would remember me for Harry Hagberd. I am 
 more like Harry Hagberd than any man alive ; and 
 I can prove it to you in a minute, if you will let me 
 »tep inside your gate." 
 
 " Come in," she said. 
 
 He entered then the front garden of the Carvils. 
 
 r S51 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 His tall shadow strode with a swagger : she turned 
 her back on the window and waited, watching the 
 shape, of which the footfalls seemed the most mate- 
 rial part. The light fell on a tilted hat ; a power- 
 ful shoulder, that seemed to cleave the darkness; 
 on a leg stepping out. He swung about and stood 
 still, facing the illuminated parlour window at her 
 back, turning his head from side to side, laugliing 
 softly to himself. 
 
 " Just fancy, for a minute, the old man's beard 
 stuck on to my chin. Hey.'' Now say. I was the 
 very spit of him from a boy." 
 
 " It's true," she murmured to herself, 
 '* And that's about as far as it goes. He was al- 
 ways one of your domestic characters. Why, I re- 
 member how he used to go about looking very sick 
 for three days before he had to leave home on one 
 of his trips to South Shields for coal. He had a 
 standing charter from the gas-works. You would 
 think li^e was off on a whaUng cruise — three years 
 and a tail. Ha, ha ! Not a bit of it. Ten days on 
 the outside. The Skiimner of the Seas was a smart 
 craft. Fine name, wasn't it.? Mother's uncle 
 owned her. ..." 
 
 [252] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 He interrupted himself, and in a lowered voice, 
 " Did he ever tell you what mother died of? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Bessie, bitterly ; " from impa- 
 tience." 
 
 He made no sound for a while; then brusquely: 
 " They were so afraid I would turn out badly that 
 they fairly drove me away. Mother nagged at me 
 for being idle, and the old man said he would cut 
 ray soul out of my body rather than let me go to 
 sea. Well, it looked as if he would do it too — so I 
 went. It looks to me sometimes as if I had been 
 born to them by a mistake — in that other hutch of 
 a house." 
 
 " Where ought you to have been born by 
 rights.'' " Bessie Carvil interrupted him, defiantly. 
 
 " In the open, upon a beach, on a windy night," 
 he said, quick as lightning. Then he mused slowly. 
 " They were characters, both of them, by George; 
 and the old man keeps it up well — don't he? A 
 damned shovel on the Hark ! who's that mak- 
 ing that row ? ' Bessie, Bessie.' It's in youi 
 house." 
 
 " It's for me," she said, with indifference. 
 [263] 
 
TO-IMORROW 
 
 He stepped aside, out of the streak of light. 
 ** Your husband ? " he inquired, with the tone of a 
 man accustomed to unlawful trysts. " Fine voice 
 for a ship's deck in a thundering squaU." 
 
 " No ; my father. I am not married.'* 
 
 " You seem a fine girl, Miss Bessie, dear," he said 
 at once. 
 
 She turned her face away. 
 
 "Oh, I say, — what's up.? Who's murdering 
 him.?" 
 
 " He wants his tea." She faced him, still and 
 tall, with averted head, with her hands hanging 
 clasped before her. 
 
 " Hadn't you better go in ? " he suggested, after 
 watching for a while the nape of her neck, a patch 
 of dazzling white skin and soft shadow above the 
 tsombre line of her shoulders. Her wrap had slipped 
 down to her elbows. " You'll have all the town 
 coming out presently. I'll wait here a bit." 
 
 Her wrap fell to the ground, and he stooped to 
 pick it up ; she had vanished. He threw it over 
 his arm, and approaching the window squarely he 
 saw a monstrous form of a fat man in an arm- 
 chair, an unshaded lamp, the yawning of an enor- 
 [ 254. ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 mous mouth in a big flat face encircled by a ragged 
 halo of hair — Miss Bessie's head and bust. The 
 shouting stopped ; the blind ran down. He lost 
 himself in thinking how awkward it was. Father 
 mad ; no getting into the house. No money to get 
 back ; a hungry chum in London who would begin 
 to think he had been giv* the go-by. " Damn ! " 
 he muttered. He could break the door in, cer- 
 tainly ; but they would perhaps bundle him into 
 chokey for that without asking questions — no great 
 matter, only he was confoundedly afraid of being 
 locked up, even in mistake. He turned cold at the 
 thought. He stamped his feet on the sod- 
 den grass. 
 
 " Wliat are you? — a sailor.?" said an agitated 
 voice. 
 
 She had flitted out, a shadow herself, attracted 
 by the reckless shadow waiting under the wall of 
 her home. 
 
 " Anything. Enough of a sailor to be worth 
 my salt before the mast. Came homo that way this 
 time." 
 
 " Where do you come from? " she asked. 
 
 " Right away from a jolly good spree," he said, 
 1' 255 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 " by the London train — see ? Ough ! I hate being 
 shut up in a train. I don't mind a house so 
 much." 
 
 " Ah," she said; " that's lucky." 
 
 " Because in a house you can at any time open 
 the blamed door and walk away straight before 
 you." 
 
 " And never come back ? " 
 
 " Not for sixteen years at least," he laughed. 
 " To a rabbit hutch, and get a confounded old 
 shovel . . ." 
 
 *' A ship is not so very big," she taunted. 
 
 " No, but the sea is great." 
 
 She dropped her head, and as if her ears had 
 been opened to the voices of the world, she heard, 
 beyond the rampart of sea-wall, the swell of yester- 
 day's gale breaking on the beach with monotonous 
 and solemn vibrations, as if all the earth had been 
 a tolling bell. 
 
 " And then, why, a ship's a ship. You love her 
 and leave her ; and a voyage isn't a man'iage." He 
 quoted the sailor's saying lightly. 
 
 " It is not a marriage," she whispered. 
 
 ** I never took a false name, and I've never yet 
 [256] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 told a lie to a woman. What lie ? Why, the lie . 
 
 Take me or leave me, I say : and if you take me, 
 then it is . . ." He hummed a snatch, very low, 
 leaning against the wall. 
 
 Oh, ho, ho Rio ! 
 And fare thee well. 
 My bonnie young girl, 
 We're hoimd to Rio Grande. 
 
 " Capstan song," he explained. Her teeth chat- 
 tered. 
 
 " You are cold," he said. " Here's that affair 
 of yours I picked up." She felt his hands about 
 her, wrapping her closely. " Hold the ends to- 
 gether in front," he commanded, 
 
 " What did you come here for.'' " she asked, re- 
 pressing a shudder. 
 
 " Five quid," he answered, promptly. " We let 
 our spree go on a little too long and got hard up." 
 
 " You've been drinking.? " she said. 
 
 " Blind three days ; on purpose. I am not given 
 that way — don't you think. There's nothing and 
 nobody that can get over me unless I like. I can 
 [257] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 be as steadj as a rock. My chum sees the paper 
 this morning, and says he to me : * Go on, Harry : 
 loving parent. That's five quid sure.' So we 
 scraped all our pockets for the fare. Devil of a 
 lark!" 
 
 " You have a hard heart, I am afraid," she 
 sighed. 
 
 " What for ? For running away ? Why ! he 
 wanted to make a lawyer's clerk of me — just to 
 please himself. Master in his own house ; and my 
 poor mother egged him on — for my good, I sup- 
 pose. Well, then — so long; and I went. No, I 
 tell you : the day I cleared out, I was all black and 
 blue from his great fondness for me. Ah! he was 
 always a bit of a character. Look at that shovel 
 now. Off his chump? Not much. That's just 
 exactly like my dad. He wants me here just to 
 have somebody to order about. However, we two 
 were hard up; and what's five quid to him — once 
 in sixteen hard years ? " 
 
 " Oh, but I am sorry for you. Did you never 
 want to come back home ? " 
 
 " Be a lawyer's clerk and rot here — in some such 
 place as this ? " he cried in contempt. " What ! if 
 [258] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 the old man set me up in a home to-daj, I would 
 kick it down about my ears — or else die there be- 
 fore the third day was out." 
 
 " And where else is it that you hope to die? " 
 
 " In the bush somewhere ; in the sea ; on a blamed 
 mountain-top for choice. At home ? Yes ! the 
 world's my home ; but I expect I'll die in a hospital 
 some day. What of that? Any place is good 
 enough, as long as I've lived ; and I've been every- 
 thing you can think of almost but a tailor or a 
 soldier. I've been a boundary rider; I've sheared 
 sheep ; and humped my swag ; and harpooned a 
 whale. I've rigged ships, and prospected for gold, 
 and skinned dead bullocks, — and turned my back 
 on more money than the old man would have 
 scraped in his whole life. Ha, ha ! " 
 
 He overwhelmed her. She pulled herself to- 
 gether and managed to utter, " Time to rest 
 now." 
 
 He straightened himself up, away from the wall, 
 and in a severe voice said, " Time to go." 
 
 But he did not move. He leaned back again, 
 and hummed thoughtfully a bar or two of an out- 
 landish tunft. 
 
 [269] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 She felt as if she were about to cry. " That's 
 another of your cruel songs," she said. 
 
 " Learned it in Mexico — in Sonora." He talked 
 easily. " It is the song of the Gambucinos. You 
 don't know? The song of restless men. Nothing 
 could hold them in one place — not even a woman. 
 You used to meet one of them now and again, in 
 the old daj's, on the edge of the gold countrj^ awa}: 
 north there beyond the Rio Gila. I've seen it. A 
 prospecting engineer in Mazatlan took me along 
 with him to help look after the waggons. A 
 sailor's a handy chap to have about you anyhow. 
 It's all a desert: cracks in the earth that you can't 
 see the bottom of; and mountains — sheer rocks 
 standing up high like walls and church spires, only 
 a hundred times bigger. The valleys are full of 
 boulders and black stones. There's not. a blade of 
 grass to see; and the sun sets more red over that 
 country than I have seen it anywhere — blood-red 
 and angr}'. It is fine." 
 
 "You do not want to go back there again?" 
 she stammered out. 
 
 He laughed a little. " No. That's the blamed 
 gold country. It gave me the shivers sometimes 
 [260] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 to look at it — and we were a big lot of men together, 
 mind ; but these Gambucinos wandered alone. 
 They knew that country before anybod}' had ever 
 heard of it. They had a sort of gift for prospect- 
 ing, and the fever of it was on them too ; and they 
 did not seem to want the gold very much. They 
 would find some rich spot, and then turn their backs 
 on it ; pick up perhaps a little — enough for a 
 spree — and then be off again, looking for more. 
 They never stopped long where there were houses; 
 they had no wife, no chick, no home, never a chum. 
 You couldn't be friends with a Gambucino; they 
 were too restless — here to-day, and gone, God 
 knows where, to-morrow. They told no one of 
 their finds, and there has never been a Gambucino 
 well off. It was not for the gold they cared ; it was 
 the wandering about looking for it in the stony 
 country that got into them and wouldn't let them 
 rest ; so that no woman yet born could hold a Gam- 
 bucino for more than a week. That's what the 
 song says. It's all about a pretty girl that tried 
 hard to keep hold of a Gambucino lover, so that he 
 should bring her lots of gold. No fear! Off he 
 went, and she never saw him again." 
 [261] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 " What became of her? " she breathed out. 
 
 " The song don't tell. Cried a bit, I daresay. 
 They were the fellows: kiss and go. But it's the 
 looking for a thing — a something . . . Sometimes 
 I think I am a sort of Gambucino myself." 
 
 " No woman can hold you, then," she began in 
 a brazen voice, which quavered suddenly before the 
 end. 
 
 " No longer than a week," he joked, playing 
 upon her very heartstrings with the gay, tender 
 note of his laugh ; " and yet I am fond of them 
 all. Anything for a woman of the right sort. 
 The scrapes they got me into, and the scrapes they 
 got me out of! I love them at first sight. I've 
 fallen in love with you already, Miss — Bessie's your 
 name — eh ? " 
 
 She backed away a little, and with a trembling 
 laugh : 
 
 " You haven't seen my face yet." 
 
 He bent forward gallantly. " A little pale : it 
 suits some. But you are a fine figure of a girl, Miss 
 Bessie." 
 
 She was all in a flutter. Nobody had ever said 
 so much to her before. 
 
 [262] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 His tone changed. " I am getting middling 
 hungry, though. Had no breakfast to-day. 
 Couldn't you scare up some bread from that tea 
 for me, or " 
 
 She was gone already. He had been on the point 
 of asking her to let him come inside. No matter. 
 Anywhere would do. Devil of a fix ! What would 
 his chum think.'' 
 
 " I didn't ask you as a beggar," he said, jest- 
 ingly, taking a piece of bread-and-butter from the 
 plate she held before him. "I asked as a friend. 
 My dad is rich, you know." 
 
 " He starves himself for your sake." 
 
 " And I have starved for his whim," he said, tak- 
 ing up another piece. 
 
 " All he has in the world is for you," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 " Yes, if I come here to sit on it like a dam' toad 
 in a hole. Thank you ; and what about the shovel, 
 eh.'' He always had a queer way of showing his 
 love." 
 
 " I could bring him round in a week," she sug- 
 gested, timidly. 
 
 He was too hungry to answer her; and, holding 
 [263] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 the plate submissively to his hand, she began to 
 whisper up to him in a quick, panting voice. He 
 listened, amazed, eating slower and slower, till at 
 last his jaws stopped altogether. " That's his 
 game, is it.'' " he said, in a rising tone of scathing 
 contempt. An ungovernable movement of his arm 
 sent the plate flying out of her fingers. He shot 
 out a violent curse. 
 
 She shrank from him, putting her hand against 
 tlie wall. 
 
 " No ! " he raged. " He expects ! Expects me 
 — for his rotten money ! . . . . Who wants his 
 home.^ Mad — not he! Don't you think. He 
 wants his own way. He wanted to turn me into a 
 miserable lawyer's clerk, and now he wants to make 
 of me a blamed tame rabbit in a cage. Of me ! Of 
 me ! " His subdued angry laugh frightened her 
 now. 
 
 " The whole world ain't a bit too big for me to 
 spread my elbows in, I can tell you — what's your 
 name — Bessie — let alone a dam' parlour in a hutch. 
 Marry ! He wants me to marry and settle ! And 
 as likely as not he has looked out the girl too — 
 [ 264 ] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 dash my soul! And do you know the Judy, may 
 I ask?" 
 
 She shook all over with noiseless dry sobs; but 
 he was fuming and fretting too much to notice her 
 distress. He bit his thumb with rage at the mere 
 idea. A window rattled up. 
 
 " A grinning, information fellow," pronounced 
 old Hagberd dogmatically, in measured tones. 
 And the sound of his voice seemed to Bessie to make 
 the night itself mad — to pour insanity and dis* 
 aster on the earth. " Now I know what's wrong 
 with the people here, my dear. Why, of course! 
 With this mad chap going about. Don't you have 
 anything to do with him, Bessie, Bessie, I say ! " 
 
 They stood as if dumb. The old man fidgeted 
 and mumbled to himself at the window. Suddenly 
 he cried, piercingly : " Bessie — I see 3'ou. I'll tell 
 Harry.?' 
 
 She made a movement as if to run away, but 
 stopped and raised her hands to her temples. 
 Young Hagberd, shadowy and big, stirred no more 
 than a man of bronze. Over their heads the crazy 
 night M himpered and scolded in an old man's voice. 
 [265] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 " Send him away, my dear. He's only a vaga- 
 bond. What you want is a good home of your own. 
 That chap has no home — he's not like Harry. He 
 can't be Harry. Harry is coming to-morrow. Do 
 you r.ear? One day more," he babbled more ex- 
 citedl}" ; " never you fear- — Harry shall marry 
 you." 
 
 His voice rose very shrill and mad against the 
 regular deep soughing of the swell coiling heavily 
 about the outer face of the sea-wall. 
 
 " He will have to. I shall make him, or if not " 
 — he swore a great oath — " I'll cut him off with a 
 shilling to-morrow, and leave everj^thing to you. 
 I shall. To you. Let him starve." 
 
 The window rattled down. 
 
 Harry drew a deep breath, and took one step 
 toward Bessie. " So it's you — the girl," he said, 
 in a lowered voice. She had not moved, and she re- 
 mained half turned away from him, pressing her 
 head in the palms of her hands. "My word! " he 
 continued, with an invisible half-smile on his lips. 
 ** I have a great mind to stop. . . ." 
 
 Her elbows were trembling violently. 
 
 " For a week,'* he finished without a pause. 
 [266] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 She clapped her hands to her face. 
 
 He came up quite close, and took hold of her 
 wrists gently. She felt his breath on her ear. 
 
 " It's a scrape I am in — tliis, and it is you that 
 must see me through.'* He was trying to uncover 
 her face. She resisted. He let her go then, and 
 stepping back a little, " Have you got any 
 money? " he asked. " I must be off now." 
 
 She nodded quickly her shamefaced head, and he 
 waited, looking away from her, while, trembling 
 all over and bowing her neck, she tried to find the 
 pocket of her dress. 
 
 " Here it is ! " she whispered. " Oh, go away ! 
 go away for God's sake ! If I had more — more — 
 I would give it all to forget — to make you for- 
 get." 
 
 He extended his hand. "No fear! I haven't 
 forgotten a single one of you in the world. Some 
 gave me more than money — but I am a beggar now 
 — and you women always had to get me out of my 
 scrapes." 
 
 He swaggered up to the parlour window, and in 
 the dim light filtering through the blind, looked at 
 the coin lying in hie palm. It was a half-sovereign. 
 
 [mi 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 He slipped it into his pocket. She stood a little on 
 one side, with her head drooping, as if wounded; 
 with her arms hanging passive by her side, as if 
 dead. 
 
 " You can't buy me in," he said, " and you can't 
 buy yourself out." 
 
 He set his hat firmly with a little tap, and next 
 moment she felt herself lifted up in the powerful 
 embrace of his arms. Her feet lost the ground; 
 her head hung back ; he showered kisses on her face 
 with a silent and over-mastering ardour, as if in 
 haste to get at her very soul. He kissed her pale 
 cheeks, her hard forehead, her heavy ej^elids, her 
 faded lips; and the measured blows and sighs of 
 the rising tide accompanied the enfolding power 
 of his arms, the over\vhelming might of his caresses. 
 It was as if the sea, breaking down the wall pro- 
 tecting all the homes of the town, had sent a wave 
 over her head. It passed on ; she staggered back- 
 wards, with her shoulders against the wall, ex- 
 hausted, as if she had been stranded there after a 
 storm and a shipwreck. 
 
 She opened her eyes after awhile; and listening 
 to the firm, leisurely footsteps going away with 
 [268] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 their conquest, began to gather her skirts, staring 
 all the time before her. Suddenly she darted 
 through the open gate into the dark and deserted 
 street. 
 
 " Stop ! " she shouted. " Don't go ! " 
 
 And listening with an attentive poise of the head, 
 she could not tell whether it was the beat of the 
 swell or his fateful tread that seemed to fall cruelly 
 upon her heart. Presently every sound grew 
 fainter, as though she were slowly turning into 
 stone. A fear of this awful silence came to her — 
 worse than the fear of death. She called upon her 
 ebbing strength for the final appeal : 
 
 " Harry ! " 
 
 Not even the dying echo of a footstep. Noth- 
 ing. The thundering of the surf, the voice of the 
 restless sea itself, seemed stopped. There was not 
 a sound — no whisper of life, as though she were 
 alone and lost in that stony country of which she 
 had heard, where madmen go looking for gold and 
 spurn the find. 
 
 Captain Hagberd, inside his dark house, had 
 kept on the alert. A window ran up; and in the 
 silence of the stony country a voice spoke above her 
 [269] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 head, high up in the black air- — the voice of mad- 
 ness, lies and despair — the voice of inextinguish- 
 able hope. " Is he gone yet — that information 
 fellow? Do you hear him about, my dear? " 
 
 She burst into tears. " No ! no ! no ! I don't 
 hear him any more," she sobbed. 
 
 He began to chuckle up there triumphantly. 
 " You frightened him away. Good girl. Now we 
 shall be all right. Don't you be impatient, my dear. 
 One day more." 
 
 In the other house old Carvil, wallowing regally 
 in his arm-chair, with a globe lamp burning by his 
 side on the table, yelled for her, in a fiendish voice : 
 " Bessie ! Bessie ! you Bessie ! " 
 
 She heard him at last, and, as if overcome by 
 fate, began to totter silently back toward her stuffy 
 little inferno of a cottage. It had no lofty portal, 
 no terrilic inscription of forfeited hopes — she did 
 not understand wherein she had sinned. 
 
 Captain Hagberd had gradually worked himself 
 into a state of noisy happiness up there. 
 
 " Go in ! Keep quiet ! " she turned upon him 
 tearfully, from the doorstep below. 
 
 He rebelled against her authority in his great 
 [270] 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 joy at having got rid at last of that " something 
 wrong." It was as if all the hopeful madness of the 
 world had broken out to bring terror upon her 
 heart, with the voice of that old man shouting of 
 his trust in an everlasting to-morrow. 
 
 THE ENI> 
 
 [371] 
 
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