asudden
bound
upwards
into
sanguineness
which
reminds
him
of
her
daughter
,
"
why
we
should
not
all
be
very
comfortable
.
"
Jim
is
pondering
in
his
mind
upon
the
significance
of
this
"
all
,
"
whether
it
is
meant
to
include
only
Mr.
Le
Marchant
,
or
whether
,
under
its
shelter
,
he
himself
may
creep
into
that
promised
comfort
,
when
she
of
whom
they
have
been
speaking
re-enters
.
She
has
a
packet
of
photographs
,
presumably
suitable
for
amputation
,
in
her
hand
,
in
which
is
also
held
a
telegram
,
which
she
extends
to
Burgoyne
.
"
I
met
M
.
Cipriani
bringing
you
this
.
It
seems
that
you
ought
to
have
had
it
two
days
ago
,
but
,
by
some
mistake
,
it
was
put
into
another
gentleman
's
room
—
a
gentleman
who
has
never
arrived
—
and
there
it
has
remained
.
He
was
full
of
apologies
,
but
I
told
him
what
culpable
carelessness
it
showed
.
I
do
trust
,
"
with
a
sweetly
solicitous
look
,
"
that
it
is
not
anything
that
matters
.
"
"
It
cannot
be
of
much
consequence
,
"
replies
Jim
indifferently
,
while
a
sort
of
pang
darts
through
him
at
the
thought
of
how
strangely
destitute
he
is
of
people
to
be
uncomfortably
anxious
about
,
and
so
tears
it
open
.
An
English
telegram
transmitted
by
French
clerks
often
wears
a
very
different
air
from
that
meant
to
be
imparted
to
it
by
the
sender
,
which
is
,
perhaps
,
the
reason
why
Jim
remains
staring
so
long
at
his
—
so
long
that
the
two
women
's
good
manners
prompt
them
to
remove
their
sympathetic
eyes
from
him
,
and
to
attempt
a
little
talk
with
each
other
.
"
I
hope
you
have
no
bad
news
?
"
The
elder
one
permits
herself
this
inquiry
after
a
more
than
decent
interval
has
elapsed
,
during
which
he
has
made
no
sign
.
He
gives
a
start
,
as
one
too
suddenly
awaked
out
of
deep
sleep
.
"
Bad
news
?
"
he
repeats
in
an
odd
voice
—
"
what
is
bad
news
?
That
depends
upon
people
's
tastes
.
It
is
for
you
to
judge
of
that
;
it
concerns
you
as
much
or
more
than
it
does
me
.
"
So
saying
,
he
places
the
paper
in
her
hand
,
and
,
walking
away
to
the
little
square
window
—
open
,
despite
the
wildness
of
the
weather
—
looks
out
upon
the
indigo-coloured
night
.
Although
his
back
is
turned
towards
them
,
he
knows
that
Elizabeth
is
reading
over
her
mother
's
shoulder
—
reading
this
:
"
Bourgouin
,
"
Grand
Hotel
,
"
Algiers
.
"
Have
heard
of
Le
Marchants
.
If
you
do
not
wire
to
the
contrary
,
shall
cross
to-morrow
.
—
Byng
,
Marseille
.
"
He
is
not
left
long
in
doubt
as
to
their
having
mastered
the
meaning
of
the
missive
.
"
He
is
coming
!
"
says
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
with
a
species
of
gasp
;
"
and
you
told
me
—
not
five
minutes
ago
you
told
me
"
—
with
an
accent
of
reproach
—
"
that
there
was
not
the
remotest
chance
of
it
.
Oh
,
stop
him
!
stop
him
!
Telegraph
at
once
!
The
office
will
be
open
for
two
or
three
hours
yet
!
There
is
plenty
,
plenty
of
time
!
Oh
,
telegraph
at
once
—
at
once
!
"
"
It
is
too
late
,
"
replies
Jim
,
retracing
his
steps
to
the
table
;
"
you
forget
that
it
is
two
days
old
.
You
see
,
they
have
spelt
my
name
wrong
;
that
accounts
for
the
mistake
.
Bourgouin
!
It
looks
odd
spelt
Bourgouin
,
does
not
it
?
"
He
hears
himself
giving
a
small
,
dry
laugh
,
which
nobody
echoes
.
"
He
must
have
sailed
yesterday
,
"
continues
the
young
man
,
wishing
he
could
persuade
his
voice
to
sound
more
natural
;
"
he
may
be
here
at
any
moment
.
If
the
weather
had
been
decent
,
he
would
have
arrived
ere
now
.
"
"
Then
there
is
nothing
to
be
done
!
"
rejoins
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
in
a
tone
of
flat
desperation
,
sitting
down
again
on
the
chair
out
of
which
she
had
instinctively
risen
at
the
little
stir
of
the
telegram
's
arrival
.
Elizabeth
is
dead
silent
.
Though
there
is
no
direction
by
the
eye
to
show
that
Jim
's
next
remark
is
aimed
at
her
,
there
can
be
no
doubt
that
it
is
awkwardly
thrown
in
her
direction
.
"
If
this
had
not
been
delayed
—
if
it
had
not
been
too
late
,
would
you
have
wished
,
would
you
have
decided
to
stop
him
?
"
"
What
is
the
use
of
asking
me
such
a
question
now
that
it
is
too
late
?
"
replies
she
,
with
more
of
impatience
,
almost
wrath
,
in
her
voice
than
he
has
ever
before
heard
that
most
gentle
organ
express
.
But
besides
the
ire
and
irritation
,
there
is
another
quality
in
it
which
goads
him
to
snatch
a
reluctant
glance
at
her
.
She
is
extremely
agitated
,
but
underlying
the
distress
and
disturbance
of
her
face
there
is
an
undoubted
light
shining
like
a
lamp
through
a
pale
pink
shade
—
a
light
that
,
with
all
her
laughter
and
her
jokes
,
was
not
there
half
an
hour
ago
.
He
had
often
reproached
himself
that
,
by
his
clumsiness
,
he
had
stuck
a
knife
into
her
tender
heart
.
She
is
even
with
him
to-night
.
To-night
the
tables
are
turned
.
It
is
she
that
has
stuck
a
knife
into
him
.
It
is
clear
as
day
that
she
is
glad
it
is
too
late
.
CHAPTER
VIII
.
"
After
all
,
"
says
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
presently
,
rallying
a
little
,
her
naturally
buoyant
temperament
—
that
temperament
which
she
has
transmitted
with
such
curious
fidelity
to
her
child
,
coming
to
her
rescue
;
"
after
all
,
there
is
no
reason
why
you
should
see
him
,
Elizabeth
.
There
is
no
reason
why
she
should
see
him
,
is
there
,
Mr.
Burgoyne
?
It
could
serve
no
possible
end
—
could
it
?
—
and
only
be
exceedingly
painful
to
them
both
.
You
will
explain
to
him
,
will
not
you
?
You
will
take
any
message
from
her
?
You
will
tell
him
that
she
really
is
not
up
to
it
,
will
not
you
?
It
is
quite
true
,
I
am
sure
.
You
are
not
,
are
you
darling
?
She
is
not
,
is
she
?
"
The
mother
turns
as
she
speaks
eagerly
from
one
to
the
other
,
addressing
each
in
turn
;
but
from
neither
does
she
obtain
any
answer
.
"
Or
I
would
speak
to
him
myself
;
if
you
thought
that
better
,
"
continues
she
,
still
interrogating
them
with
her
handsome
,
careworn
eyes
.
"
I
would
say
anything
you
wished
said
to
him
,
and
I
would
be
careful
to
say
it
as
kindly
as
possible
.
I
am
sure
he
would
understand
;
he
would
see
the
sense
,
the
justice
of
it
,
would
not
he
?
There
is
no
need
for
her
to
expose
herself
to
such
useless
suffering
,
is
there
,
Mr.
Burgoyne
?
"
—
appealing
desperately
to
him
by
name
,
since
he
will
not
respond
to
any
less
direct
address
—
"
when
either
you
or
I
are
more
than
ready
to
shield
her
from
it
,
are
not
we
?
"
Thus
apostrophized
,
Jim
is
compelled
to
break
the
silence
,
which
seems
to
himself
to
wall
him
round
like
a
petrifaction
.
It
is
to
Elizabeth
that
he
offers
his
hardly-won
speech
.
"
I
think
I
need
not
tell
you
,
"
he
says
gravely
,
and
with
passable
steadiness
,
"
that
I
would
help
you
in
any
way
I
could
.
"
She
stands
a
moment
or
two
irresolute
,
her
features
all
quivering
as
if
with
pain
;
and
yet
,
underlying
and
under-shining
the
pain
,
something
that
is
not
pain
.
Then
she
puts
out
a
hand
impulsively
to
each
.
If
the
one
that
gives
itself
to
Burgoyne
had
struck
him
on
the
mouth
,
instead
of
offering
itself
with
affectionate
confidence
to
his
clasp
,
it
could
not
have
hurt
him
more
than
do
those
small
fingers
that
lie
in
his
,
trembling
with
a
passion
that
is
not
for
him
.
"
You
are
both
very
good
to
me
,
"
she
says
brokenly
.
"
As
to
you
,
mammy
,
that
is
an
old
story
.
But
I
really
believe
that
there
is
nothing
disagreeable
that
you
,
too
"
—
with
a
slight
grateful
pressure
of
the
lifeless
hand
that
so
slackly
keeps
possession
of
hers
—
"
would
not
do
for
me
.
But
do
not
think
me
obstinate
if
I
say
that
I
think
—
I
am
sure
—
that
it
would
be
better
—
that
it
would
hurt
him
less
—
if
I
spoke
to
him
myself
.
"
"
It
is
not
a
question
of
what
will
hurt
him
least
,
"
cries
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
,
with
an
agony
of
impatience
in
her
tone
.
"
The
thing
to
be
considered
is
what
will
hurt
you
least
.
Mr.
Burgoyne
,
am
I
not
right
?
Do
tell
her
that
I
am
!
Ought
not
she
to
think
of
what
will
hurt
her
least
?
"
But
Jim
is
incapable
of
coming
a
second
time
to
her
rescue
.
His
eyes
are
painfully
fastened
upon
Elizabeth
,
and
he
is
watching
the
pain
fall
off
,
as
it
were
,
from
her
face
,
and
the
light
spread
rosily
over
it
.
Some
instinct
makes
her
withdraw
that
hand
of
hers
which
he
has
shown
so
little
eagerness
to
retain
,
ere
she
says
,
in
a
low
but
perfectly
firm
voice
:
"
Well
,
then
,
I
think
it
will
hurt
me
least
,
too
.
"
Five
minutes
later
Jim
has
left
the
room
—
ostensibly
to
make
arrangements
for
his
friend
's
arrival
,
in
reality
because
he
cannot
count
upon
his
own
self-control
if
he
remain
in
it
.
The
survivors
of
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
's
acquaintance
remain
undecapitated
.
The
widow-headed
Life
Guardsman
and
the
baby-bodied
cornet
lie
unregarded
on
the
table
,
while
Elizabeth
herself
is
stretched
along
the
floor
,
with
her
face
pressed
against
her
mother
's
knees
.
Jim
has
decided
to
sit
up
for
his
friend
.
He
is
perfectly
aware
that
neither
will
the
two
women
go
to
bed
.
But
he
has
no
desire
that
their
vigil
should
be
shared
in
common
.
It
is
equally
impossible
to
him
to
take
part
in
the
noisy
mirth
of
the
rest
of
the
hotel
,
which
,
having
taken
the
place
of
their
measureless
daylight
ennui
,
now
boils
over
in
ebullient
laughter
,
in
dancing
,
squeaking
,
and
noisily
scampering
out
of
the
public
drawing-room
into
the
hall
and
up
the
stairs
.
It
is
not
till
the
clamour
has
declined
,
until
,
indeed
,
its
total
cessation
tells
him
that
the
promiscuous
revellers
have
retired
to
their
apartments
,
that
he
issues
from
his
,
and
takes
possession
of
the
now
empty
smoking-room
,
whence
he
can
hear
more
distinctly
than
from
his
own
bedroom
any
noise
of
wheels
approaching
the
hotel
.
The
wind
has
risen
again
,
and
it
needs
an
ear
very
finely
pricked
to
dissever
from
its
mad
singing
,
and
from
the
storming
of
the
frantic
rain
,
any
lesser
and
alien
sound
.
What
a
terrific
night
in
which
to
be
out
on
the
raging
sea
!
Worse
even
than
that
one
last
week
,
when
the
Moïse
broke
her
shaft
,
and
tossed
for
twenty-four
hours
at
the
mercy
of
the
waves
.
Possibly
the
weather
may
have
already
yesterday
been
so
rough
at
Marseille
as
to
prevent
his
setting
off
.
But
the
idea
—
at
the
first
blush
eagerly
welcomed
by
him
—
is
dismissed
from
his
mind
almost
as
soon
as
entertained
.
If
the
boat
has
started
—
and
it
is
only
under
such
heavy
penalties
that
the
mail-boats
do
not
start
,
that
this
contingency
hardly
ever
occurs
—
Byng
will
have
started
too
.
A
terrific
bang
at
the
casement
seems
to
come
as
a
comment
upon
this
conviction
.
He
will
have
started
;
but
will
he
ever
arrive
?
It
is
said
that
in
eight
years
during
which
they
have
been
running
no
catastrophe
has
ever
sent
one
of
this
line
of
steamers
to
the
bottom
;
but
yet
they
are
cranky
little
craft
,
with
engines
too
big
for
them
—
built
rather
for
speed
than
safety
.
The
clock
has
struck
,
with
a
repetition
that
seems
strangely
frequent
through
the
sleeping
house
:
11
,
11.30
,
12
,
12.30
.
"
I
will
give
him
half
an
hour
more
,
"
says
the
watcher
to
himself
,
"
and
then
I
will
turn
in
.
"
Of
this
allotted
half-hour
only
five
minutes
are
yet
left
to
run
,
when
,
in
a
lull
in
the
hurricane
,
the
sound
which
Jim
's
hearing
has
been
so
long
stretched
to
catch
—
the
sound
of
wheels
on
the
gravel
—
is
at
length
audible
.
During
the
last
two
hours
he
has
heard
many
phantom
wheels
—
many
of
those
ghostly
coaches
that
the
wind
drives
shrieking
through
the
winter
nights
.
But
these
are
real
ones
.
Before
the
drowsy
porter
,
nodding
in
his
little
den
,
can
reach
the
hall-door
,
Jim
has
opened
it
—
opened
it
just
in
time
to
admit
a
man
who
,
his
pace
still
further
accelerated
by
the
mighty
hands
of
the
pushing
blast
,
is
bounding
up
the
steps
.
If
any
doubt
as
to
this
person
's
identity
lingered
in
Jim
's
mind
,
his
first
words
would
dispel
it
.
"
She
is
here
?
There
is
no
mistake
?
She
is
here
?
"
"
How
late
you
are
!
"
cries
the
other
,
apparently
regarding
the
new
arrival
's
utterance
more
as
an
ejaculation
than
as
a
question
expecting
or
needing
an
answer
.
"
Why
are
you
so
late
?
Did
the
engines
break
down
?
"
"
She
is
here
?
"
repeats
Byng
insistently
,
taking
no
notice
of
the
queries
addressed
to
him
.
"
You
have
not
deceived
me
?
For
mercy
's
sake
say
that
you
have
not
deceived
me
!
"
"
Why
should
I
deceive
you
?
"
rejoins
Jim
impatiently
.
"
Yes
;
certainly
she
is
here
.
"
They
are
in
the
hall
by
now
—
the
hall
which
,
the
Grand
Hotel
being
gasless
,
is
lit
by
only
one
weak
paraffin
lamp
,
which
the
gust
from
the
door
,
necessarily
still
open
to
admit
of
the
carrying
in
of
the
traveller
's
bags
and
rugs
,
is
making
even
more
faint
and
flickering
than
its
wont
.
"
You
must
have
had
a
fine
tossing
!
"
"
I
believe
you
;
they
all
thought
we
were
going
to
make
a
dinner
for
the
fishes
—
ha
,
ha
!
All
but
I
.
I
knew
better
.
I
knew
that
I
could
not
come
to
grief
when
she
had
called
me
to
her
.
"
Byng
's
hat
is
rammed
down
over
his
brows
,
and
his
fur
coat
turned
up
so
high
round
his
ears
that
it
is
impossible
in
the
obscurity
to
see
his
face
;
but
there
is
something
in
the
tone
of
his
voice
—
a
loud
,
wild
rollicking
—
that
makes
the
idea
cross
Jim
's
mind
that
he
has
been
drinking
.
What
a
shock
it
will
give
to
Elizabeth
if
,
in
her
covert
vigil
—
he
has
no
more
doubt
that
she
has
been
watching
than
that
he
has
been
doing
so
himself
—
she
overhears
that
thick
,
raised
voice
!
Prompted
by
this
thought
,
he
says
hastily
:
"
Come
into
the
dining-room
.
I
told
them
to
put
something
to
eat
for
you
there
.
"
Byng
complies
;
and
when
they
have
reached
the
empty
salle
à
manger
,
whose
whitewash
looks
weird
and
unnatural
in
the
chill
of
the
night
,
he
sends
his
hat
skimming
down
one
of
the
long
tables
,
and
,
grasping
both
Jim
's
hands
in
his
,
cries
out
,
in
the
same
loud
tone
of
intoxicated
triumph
:
"
Oh
,
my
dear
old
chap
,
how
good
it
is
to
see
your
ugly
old
mug
again
!
If
you
had
known
—
oh
,
if
you
had
only
known
!
—
what
I
went
through
during
the
twenty-four
hours
after
I
sent
you
that
telegram
,
when
through
every
hour
,
through
every
minute
and
second
of
every
hour
,
I
said
to
myself
,
'
It
may
come
now
—
my
death-warrant
may
come
now
!
In
five
minutes
it
may
have
come
!
'
But
it
did
not
,
it
did
not
!
I
ought
to
have
known
"
—
with
an
accent
of
ecstasy
—
"
that
of
her
pitifulness
she
would
relent
at
last
.
She
is
infinitely
pitiful
,
is
not
she
?
but
I
shall
upbraid
her
a
little
—
oh
,
do
not
be
afraid
;
it
will
be
gently
,
most
gently
—
for
having
kept
me
so
long
,
so
inhumanly
long
,
upon
my
gridiron
!
I
had
always
"
—
breaking
into
a
rather
wild
laugh
—
"
something
of
a
tenderness
for
St.
Lawrence
,
but
during
the
last
seven
months
I
have
loved
him
like
a
brother
!
"
He
goes
on
again
,
with
scarcely
a
pause
,
or
apparently
any
consciousness
of
the
unresponsive
silence
of
his
auditor
:
"
But
what
does
it
matter
now
?
"
beginning
to
stride
about
with
his
eyes
cast
up
to
the
beamed
ceiling
and
his
lifted
hands
locked
together
—
"
what
does
it
matter
?
'
After
long
grief
and
pain
,
to
feel
the
arms
of
my
true
love
round
me
once
again
!
'
You
may
think
that
I
word
it
extravagantly
,
"
returning
to
Jim
as
he
leans
downcast
and
shocked
upon
one
of
the
chairs
of
the
monotonous
table-d'hôte
row
;
"
but
in
the
hope
itself
,
the
more
than
hope
,
there
is
nothing
extravagant
;
you
must
own
that
yourself
.
If
she
had
not
meant
to
put
an
end
to
my
long
agony
,
she
would
not
have
sent
for
me
;
not
to
stop
me
was
to
send
for
me
.
"
"
You
are
labouring
under
a
mistake
,
"
says
Jim
coldly
,
and
yet
with
an
inward
quaking
as
to
the
effect
that
his
words
may
produce
;
"
she
had
not
the
option
of
stopping
you
.
By
some
accident
I
did
not
receive
your
telegram
till
four
hours
ago
.
She
could
not
have
stopped
you
if
she
had
wished
.
"
The
idea
,
as
I
have
already
said
,
has
occurred
to
Burgoyne
that
his
companion
is
under
the
influence
of
intoxication
;
but
either
this
is
not
the
case
,
or
the
shock
of
the
last
words
has
the
effect
of
instantly
sobering
him
.
"
I
—
I
—
do
not
understand
,
"
he
says
in
a
voice
out
of
which
all
the
insane
exhilaration
has
been
conjured
as
if
by
magic
;
"
I
do
not
follow
you
.
What
do
you
mean
?
"
"
I
mean
,
"
replies
Jim
,
in
a
matter-of-fact
,
level
tone
,
meant
to
have
a
calming
effect
upon
his
auditor
,
"
that
owing
,
I
suppose
,
to
my
name
being
spelt
wrongly
—
Bourgouin
instead
of
Burgoyne
—
your
telegram
was
given
to
someone
else
,
and
did
not
reach
me
till
nine
o'clock
this
evening
.
"
Byng
puts
up
his
hand
to
his
throat
,
and
,
unfastening
the
collar
of
his
fur
coat
as
if
it
were
strangling
him
,
throws
back
the
coat
itself
.
Now
that
he
sees
him
freed
from
enveloping
wrap
and
concealing
hat-brim
,
Jim
can
realize
the
full
amount
of
change
and
deterioration
that
are
visible
in
his
appearance
;
can
see
how
bloodshot
his
eyes
are
;
how
lined
his
mouth
;
and
how
generally
ravaged
and
dimmed
his
good
looks
.
"
I
am
to
understand
,
then
,
that
—
that
she
would
have
stopped
my
coming
if
she
could
.
"
Jim
is
silent
.
He
cannot
answer
that
question
with
any
certainty
even
to
himself
.
"
She
would
have
escaped
me
again
if
she
had
had
the
chance
!
What
am
I
saying
?
"
—
with
a
sudden
access
of
terror
in
his
tone
—
"
she
may
have
escaped
me
already
!
She
may
be
gone
!
Tell
me
the
truth
—
do
not
dare
to
tell
me
anything
but
the
bare
truth
.
I
saw
that
you
hesitated
when
I
asked
you
whether
she
was
really
here
.
Is
she
gone
?
"
"
Gone
!
"
repeats
Jim
,
with
an
exasperated
jerk
of
the
head
towards
the
window
,
against
which
the
rain
and
wind
are
hurling
themselves
with
threefold
rage
,
as
if
to
recapture
the
victim
just
escaped
them
.
"
To-night
—
in
this
storm
?
How
likely
!
Come
,
be
rational
;
try
to
keep
your
head
,
and
let
us
have
a
truce
to
this
ranting
.
I
give
you
my
word
of
honour
that
she
is
here
,
under
this
roof
;
asleep
,
I
should
hope
,
if
your
bellowings
have
not
awoke
her
.
"
The
latter
clause
may
perhaps
come
under
the
head
of
a
pardonable
fiction
;
at
all
events
,
it
has
,
despite
its
incivility
,
the
desired
effect
of
soothing
,
to
some
extent
,
the
agitation
of
him
to
whom
it
is
addressed
.
"
Asleep
!
"
he
repeats
,
while
an
ecstatic
smile
breaks
over
his
handsome
,
dissipated
face
.
"
Good
angels
guard
her
slumbers
!
But
"
—
with
a
rather
ominous
return
of
excitement
—
"
are
you
sure
that
she
is
asleep
—
that
she
has
gone
to
bed
yet
?
They
used
to
sit
up
very
late
in
Florence
sometimes
.
If
she
has
not
gone
to
bed
,
why
should
not
I
see
her
;
why
should
not
I
fall
at
her
feet
now
—
to-night
?
"
"
My
dear
boy
,
"
rejoins
Jim
,
with
a
praiseworthy
attempt
to
answer
this
modest
and
sensible
proposal
with
patient
good-humour
,
"
have
you
any
idea
what
time
it
is
?
I
should
have
thought
it
might
have
occurred
even
to
you
that
1.30
A.M.
is
scarcely
a
suitable
hour
for
paying
a
morning
call
!
Do
not
be
a
fool
!
Pull
yourself
together
.
I
swear
to
you
that
she
has
every
intention
of
seeing
you
to-morrow
.
Come
"
—
trying
to
laugh
—
"
you
will
not
have
long
to
wait
!
It
is
to-morrow
already
;
and
,
meantime
,
sit
down
and
eat
something
;
you
must
be
as
empty
as
a
drum
.
"
But
to
this
prudent
if
homely
counsel
Byng
opposes
an
obstinate
negation
,
adorned
with
excited
asseverations
that
food
shall
never
cross
his
lips
until
they
have
pastured
upon
his
lady
's
pardoning
hand
.
The
same
prohibition
does
not
,
however
,
apparently
apply
to
drink
,
as
he
pours
more
than
half
the
bottle
of
happily
not
very
potent
wine
,
prepared
for
his
refreshment
,
into
a
tumbler
,
and
tosses
it
off
at
a
draught
.
He
offers
an
even
stouter
refusal
to
Burgoyne
's
suggestion
that
he
should
go
to
bed
;
and
as
he
utters
it
a
flash
of
cunning
suspicion
comes
into
his
eyes
,
shocking
his
friend
with
a
gleam
as
of
possible
and
scarcely
latent
madness
.
Across
the
latter
's
brain
darts
the
query
,
which
had
proposed
itself
more
than
once
to
him
last
spring
at
Florence
:
"
Is
there
insanity
in
Byng
's
blood
"
Not
certainly
on
the
distaff
side
,
the
side
of
his
eminently
sane
and
wholesome
mother
;
but
can
he
be
throwing
back
to
some
distempered
ancestor
?
"
What
security
have
I
if
I
go
to
bed
that
she
will
not
steal
away
from
me
in
the
night
?
It
was
in
the
night
—
almost
in
the
night
—
that
she
stole
away
from
me
before
.
"
From
this
logic
it
is
impossible
to
move
him
;
and
although
,
with
some
return
to
his
old
sweet-natured
kindliness
of
manner
,
he
begs
his
friend
not
to
think
it
necessary
to
keep
him
company
,
yet
the
latter
is
far
too
ill
at
ease
as
to
his
condition
,
both
of
mind
and
body
,
to
comply
.
The
porter
,
having
drawn
the
natural
inference
that
as
soon
as
the
traveller
has
refreshed
his
body
he
will
wish
to
retire
to
rest
,
has
put
out
the
lights
in
the
smoking-room
;
the
salle
à
manger
is
therefore
the
only
room
in
the
hotel
where
lamps
still
burn
,
and
in
it
the
two
men
spend
the
dreary
remaining
hours
of
the
night
,
Byng
walking
up
and
down
like
a
captive
beast
,
frequently
going
to
the
door
,
opening
it
,
putting
his
head
out
into
the
darkness
,
and
listening
suspiciously
if
,
perchance
,
he
may
hear
the
footfall
of
Elizabeth
fleeing
away
from
him
even
through
the
hurricane
.
As
the
time
goes
on
,
his
restlessness
increases
rather
than
diminishes
.
Jim
has
vainly
tried
to
distract
his
thoughts
by
putting
questions
to
him
as
to
his
pursuits
and
companions
since
their
last
parting
—
by
inquiries
as
to
the
extent
and
direction
of
his
travels
.
Did
he
get
as
far
as
Palestine
?
How
long
is
it
since
he
left
Cairo
?
etc.
But
to
all
his
interrogations
Byng
gives
brief
and
unsatisfactory
answers
,
putting
a
final
stop
to
them
by
breaking
out
excitedly
:
"
Why
do
you
go
on
questioning
me
as
to
where
I
have
been
,
and
what
I
have
done
?
I
tell
you
I
have
been
nowhere
,
and
done
nothing
;
I
believe
that
my
body
has
been
here
and
there
,
but
my
soul
has
been
nowhere
;
it
has
been
lying
dead
!
Would
you
expect
a
man
who
has
been
lying
six
months
in
his
coffin
to
give
you
a
catalogue
of
his
adventures
?
My
soul
has
been
dead
,
I
tell
you
—
dead
and
putrescent
.
What
is
the
use
of
putting
me
through
a
catechism
about
its
doings
?
"
Before
the
long-delaying
dawn
shows
its
pale
profile
upon
the
deep
obscurity
,
it
seems
to
Jim
as
if
six
midwinter
nights
must
have
pieced
themselves
end
to
end
.
But
it
comes
at
last
;
and
at
last
also
,
by
dint
of
strenuous
representations
to
his
companion
as
to
how
unfit
he
is
,
in
his
present
travel-stained
and
disordered
condition
,
to
offer
himself
to
Elizabeth
's
eyes
,
he
induces
him
to
let
himself
be
led
to
the
bedroom
prepared
overnight
for
him
,
and
to
refresh
himself
with
a
bath
and
a
change
of
clothes
.
Even
this
concession
he
obtains
only
in
exchange
for
an
exacted
promise
to
seek
out
Elizabeth
at
the
earliest
possible
hour
at
which
she
may
be
presumed
accessible
,
and
urgently
to
entreat
of
her
an
instant
interview
with
his
friend
.
Jim
feels
that
he
is
keeping
his
word
handsomely
when
,
not
a
minute
later
than
nine
o'clock
,
he
finds
himself
knocking
at
the
door
of
the
Le
Marchants
'
apartment
—
that
door
with
which
of
late
his
knuckles
have
grown
so
pleasantly
and
friendlily
familiar
.
It
is
opened
to
him
by
Elizabeth
herself
,
and
he
follows
her
silently
through
the
ante-room
into
the
little
salon
.
Arrived
there
,
he
looks
mournfully
round
with
a
sort
of
feeling
as
of
taking
farewell
of
the
familiar
objects
.
It
is
impossible
that
Elizabeth
can
have
spent
the
just-past
stormy
night
in
gathering
flowers
,
and
yet
the
flowers
have
a
freshened
air
.
She
must
have
been
carefully
rearranging
them
.
The
bits
of
brocade
,
too
,
the
Turkish
embroideries
,
the
haiks
,
and
the
praying-carpets
,
wear
a
more
festal
appearance
than
usual
.
The
little
room
looks
decked
as
if
for
a
gala
.
His
jealous
fancy
cannot
but
admit
that
Elizabeth
herself
is
dressed
in
her
ordinary
morning
gown
,
but
even
over
it
some
holiday
transmutation
has
passed
.
He
cannot
trust
himself
to
verify
whether
that
holiday
look
is
on
her
face
too
.
"
He
has
come
;
you
know
that
,
I
suppose
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
What
a
catch
in
her
breath
!
He
must
steal
a
glance
at
her
.
She
will
think
it
unnatural
if
he
does
not
;
and
perhaps
his
eye
may
not
be
offended
by
so
much
radiance
as
he
feared
.
In
her
voice
there
was
something
not
very
distant
from
a
sob
.
The
result
of
his
glance
shows
itself
in
what
sounds
like
a
reproach
.
"
I
do
not
believe
that
you
went
to
bed
at
all
.
"
"
Yes
,
I
did
!
yes
,
I
did
!
"
hurrying
away
eagerly
from
the
subject
of
herself
,
as
from
something
irrelevant
and
importunate
;
"
and
—
he
—
how
is
he
?
How
does
he
look
?
Had
not
he
a
dreadful
crossing
?
Does
he
want
to
see
me
?
to
see
me
soon
?
to-day
?
"
There
is
such
a
breathless
passion
in
her
tone
,
coupled
with
something
so
apologetic
for
putting
her
questions
to
him
,
that
his
heart
,
hitherto
half
touched
,
half
angered
by
the
pathos
of
her
little
preparations
,
melts
wholly
towards
her
.
"
Of
course
he
wants
to
see
you
—
wants
it
very
,
very
much
,
"
replies
he
;
and
,
to
his
credit
,
replies
without
any
harshness
marring
the
cordial
kindness
of
his
tone
.
"
As
much
as
"
—
with
a
rather
melancholy
smile
—
"
you
want
to
see
him
.
No
,
do
not
be
angry
.
Why
should
not
you
wish
to
see
each
other
?
"
"
Oh
,
there
is
every
reason
!
"
cries
she
miserably
—
"
the
same
reason
that
there
always
was
.
But
"
—
with
rising
agitation
—
"
where
is
it
to
be
?
How
soon
?
When
does
he
wish
it
?
"
"
He
is
waiting
outside
now
.
"
She
starts
painfully
.
"
Now
!
Oh
,
poor
fellow
!
we
must
not
keep
him
waiting
;
and
yet
"
—
stretching
out
her
hand
in
detention
—
"
tell
me
,
before
he
comes
in
—
tell
me
,
is
he
changed
?
Is
he
?
Is
he
the
same
as
he
was
?
"
Jim
hesitates
,
and
the
painful
perplexity
written
on
his
brow
is
misread
by
her
.
"
You
are
vexed
with
me
for
teasing
you
with
so
many
tiresome
questions
.
Oh
,
forgive
me
!
I
ought
not
to
take
advantage
of
your
kindness
;
but
we
have
grown
to
depend
upon
you
so
;
and
I
will
promise
not
to
worry
you
with
any
other
,
if
you
will
only
answer
me
this
one
.
Is
he
changed
—
much
changed
?
"
"
I
am
afraid
,
"
replies
Jim
,
with
the
slowness
of
one
who
is
trying
to
convey
unpleasant
tidings
in
the
least
unpleasant
terms
,
"
that
you
must
be
prepared
to
find
him
a
good
deal
altered
.
"
"
Altered
!
How
?
"
"
I
do
not
quite
know
how
to
describe
it
"
—
uneasily
—
"
but
you
must
not
be
shocked
if
you
find
him
a
good
deal
changed
in
looks
;
and
he
is
—
he
seems
,
in
a
very
excited
state
.
"
She
makes
a
clutch
at
his
hand
.
"
Do
you
mean
"
—
her
voice
has
sunk
to
a
horror-struck
whisper
—
"
that
he
is
—
mad
?
"
"
Mad
!
Oh
,
of
course
not
,
"
with
a
strained
laugh
;
"
you
must
not
jump
to
such
conclusions
.
But
I
do
not
think
he
is
quite
himself
,
that
is
all
.
He
looks
as
if
he
had
not
eaten
or
slept
for
a
fortnight
;
and
if
you
play
such
tricks
as
that
with
yourself
,
you
must
expect
to
get
a
little
off
your
balance
.
"
She
is
still
terrifiedly
clutching
his
hand
,
though
with
no
consciousness
of
doing
so
,
nor
that
the
fingers
so
tightly
gripped
by
her
are
not
made
of
dry
stick
.
"
You
must
not
look
so
frightened
,
"
he
says
soothingly
.
"
I
would
not
have
said
anything
to
you
,
only
that
I
thought
it
better
you
should
be
prepared
—
that
it
should
not
take
you
quite
by
surprise
;
and
also
because
I
wanted
to
give
you
a
hint
,
that
you
might
be
a
little
careful
what
you
say
to
him
,
or
,
at
all
events
,
how
you
say
it
.
"
Still
she
does
not
speak
,
and
there
is
scarcely
any
diminution
of
the
horror
of
her
look
.
"
If
you
do
not
mind
,
I
think
it
would
be
as
well
to
have
someone
within
call
,
if
he
—
he
—
became
—
unreasonable
.
"
"
Do
you
think
,
"
she
asks
,
with
a
sort
of
scorn
,
"
that
I
am
afraid
of
him
—
afraid
for
myself
?
"
"
No
,
that
I
am
sure
you
are
not
;
but
I
cannot
shake
off
the
idea
that
—
poor
fellow
!
—
he
may
be
on
the
verge
of
some
grave
illness
;
and
in
that
sort
of
case
one
never
knows
what
may
happen
.
So
,
if
you
do
not
mind
—
—
"
"
As
you
please
,
"
she
answers
,
docile
even
now
.
"
Do
as
you
think
best
;
and
will
you
tell
him
that
I
am
ready
to
see
him
?
"
The
misgivings
with
which
Jim
complies
with
this
request
are
not
much
allayed
by
the
manner
and
voice
of
him
who
receives
it
,
and
who
has
been
raging
up
and
down
the
narrow
corridor
.
"
She
will
not
see
me
,
I
suppose
?
"
"
On
the
contrary
,
she
will
see
you
now
.
But
stay
!
"
catching
him
by
the
arm
as
he
springs
past
him
.
"
One
moment
!
For
God
's
sake
control
yourself
!
Behave
like
a
gentleman
.
Do
not
make
her
a
scene
;
she
is
not
up
to
it
.
"
Byng
's
answer
is
to
fling
resentfully
away
the
detaining
hand
of
his
Mentor
,
while
he
says
,
with
a
furious
look
coming
into
his
bloodshot
eyes
:
"
What
do
you
mean
by
keeping
me
here
,
preaching
to
me
,
while
she
is
waiting
for
me
?
"
The
rudeness
of
both
words
and
actions
is
so
unlike
the
real
Byng
,
that
it
is
with
an
even
more
sinking
spirit
than
before
that
Jim
follows
him
with
his
eyes
as
he
passes
out
of
sight
into
the
salon
.
As
soon
as
the
door
is
shut
behind
him
,
he
himself
takes
up
the
position
he
had
suggested
in
the
ante-room
.
CHAPTER
IX
.
There
are
few
things
more
trying
to
an
active-minded
person
than
to
sit
occupationless
,
vaguely
waiting
.
At
first
,
it
is
true
,
the
keenness
of
Jim
's
alarm
prevents
his
feeling
the
ennui
which
would
be
the
natural
result
of
his
situation
.
Poignantly
anxious
questions
succeed
each
other
in
his
mind
.
Has
he
had
any
right
to
permit
the
interview
at
all
?
How
far
is
Byng
accountable
for
his
actions
?
What
chance
is
there
that
his
already
rocking
reason
will
stand
the
shock
of
a
meeting
which
,
even
in
his
sanest
moments
,
would
have
so
wildly
excited
him
?
And
if
not
,
what
may
be
the
consequences
?
Grisly
headings
of
newspaper
paragraphs
write
themselves
in
the
air
before
him
—
"
Homicidal
Mania
,
"
"
Murder
and
Suicide
.
"
The
details
of
a
tragic
story
which
,
illustrated
by
sensational
woodcuts
,
he
had
idly
read
a
day
or
two
ago
in
a
venerable
Police
News
,
left
lying
on
the
smoking-room
table
,
recur
to
his
memory
.
It
was
a
tale
of
a
groom
who
,
in
an
access
of
jealous
madness
,
had
shot
a
scullion
sweetheart
through
the
head
,
and
then
blown
his
own
brains
out
.
The
tale
had
made
but
little
impression
on
him
at
the
time
—
unhappily
,
it
is
scarcely
possible
to
take
up
a
journal
without
the
eye
alighting
upon
some
such
—
but
it
comes
back
to
him
now
with
terrifying
vividness
.
What
security
is
there
that
such
tragedies
may
be
confined
to
grooms
and
kitchen-maids
?
How
does
he
know
that
Byng
has
not
a
revolver
hidden
in
his
breast-pocket
?
How
can
he
tell
that
he
is
not
at
this
very
moment
drawing
it
out
?
He
(
Jim
)
ought
to
have
made
sure
,
before
exposing
her
to
such
a
peril
,
that
the
danger
was
minimized
by
Byng
's
being
weaponless
.
Is
it
too
late
to
make
sure
of
that
even
now
?
He
takes
one
step
towards
the
salon
door
,
then
hastily
retraces
it
.
Pooh
!
he
is
growing
as
mad
as
Byng
.
They
will
come
out
and
find
him
eavesdropping
.
He
retreats
to
the
table
,
which
is
at
the
greatest
distance
allowed
by
the
room
's
narrow
enceinte
from
the
scene
of
the
drama
whose
dénouement
he
is
expecting
,
and
,
sitting
down
,
takes
up
a
book
.
It
happens
to
be
Elizabeth
's
Italian
exercise-book
,
and
the
sight
of
it
conjures
up
before
his
memory
her
forlorn
figure
stooping
disconsolately
over
the
page
,
wrapped
in
her
brown
furs
,
as
he
had
seen
it
on
that
rainy
night
that
seems
now
so
distant
.
He
had
pitied
her
for
being
lonely
then
.
Well
,
whatever
else
she
may
be
,
she
is
not
lonely
now
.
He
catches
his
breath
.
It
is
quite
a
quarter
of
an
hour
since
he
began
his
watch
.
How
quiet
they
are
!
There
is
a
murmur
of
voices
,
but
there
is
nothing
that
in
the
least
indicates
violence
.
Before
his
eyes
there
flashes
in
grotesque
recollection
the
hideous
picture
in
the
Police
News
which
illustrates
the
high
words
with
which
the
catastrophe
of
the
groom
and
kitchenmaid
had
been
heralded
.
He
has
been
making
a
mountain
out
of
a
mole-hill
;
has
been
exaggerating
his
friend
's
emotional
temperament
,
naturally
further
heightened
by
sleeplessness
and
want
of
food
,
into
incipient
insanity
.
If
he
were
mad
,
or
at
all
tending
that
way
,
would
he
be
talking
in
the
low
rational
key
which
he
obviously
must
be
?
It
is
evident
that
her
presence
,
her
eye
,
her
—
yes
,
what
more
likely
?
—
her
touch
have
soothed
and
conjured
away
what
of
excessive
or
perilous
there
was
in
his
emotion
.
They
have
been
together
half
an
hour
now
.
All
danger
is
certainly
over
.
Why
should
he
any
longer
continue
his
officious
and
needless
watch
?
—
superfluously
spying
upon
them
?
Relieved
as
to
what
he
had
thought
his
worst
fear
,
and
yet
with
an
uncommon
bitterness
about
his
heart
,
he
turns
to
withdraw
,
and
his
hand
is
already
on
the
lock
of
the
door
which
leads
into
the
corridor
,
when
suddenly
,
without
any
warning
,
there
reaches
his
ear
the
noise
of
a
loud
,
crashing
fall
,
followed
—
accompanied
,
rather
—
by
a
piercing
scream
.
In
infinitely
less
than
a
second
he
finds
himself
on
his
knees
beside
the
prostrate
body
of
Byng
,
who
,
with
blood
pouring
from
his
forehead
,
is
stretched
upon
the
floor
of
the
salon
.
Even
at
this
second
there
flashes
upon
him
,
ludicrous
and
dreadful
,
the
memory
of
the
Police
News
.
This
scene
has
a
grotesque
likeness
to
the
final
one
of
the
groom
and
kitchenmaid
series
,
only
that
in
the
present
case
the
heroine
,
instead
of
staggering
backward
with
the
top
of
her
head
flying
up
to
the
ceiling
,
is
hanging
unharmed
over
her
fallen
lover
.
"
Are
you
hurt
?
"
cries
Jim
in
frantic
anxiety
,
looking
at
her
across
the
prostrate
figure
,
and
unable
to
eradicate
from
his
mind
the
revolver
idea
.
"
Did
he
hit
you
?
I
did
not
hear
a
shot
.
"
"
Oh
no
,
no
!
but
he
,
"
fetching
her
breath
in
terrible
gasps
,
and
hanging
over
the
bleeding
man
with
that
utter
abandonment
of
all
disguise
,
in
which
a
great
naked
grief
sweeps
away
our
sophistications
—
"
he
is
dead
!
"
"
Oh
no
,
he
is
not
,
"
answers
Jim
hastily
,
tearing
open
Byng
's
waistcoat
and
laying
his
hand
upon
his
heart
.
"
He
has
only
fainted
.
Get
some
water
!
Have
you
got
any
salts
?
No
;
do
not
lift
his
head
"
—
seeing
that
she
is
agonizedly
trying
to
raise
his
prone
head
and
rest
it
upon
her
knees
—
"
he
had
better
be
as
flat
as
he
can
.
Quick
,
some
water
!
"
She
does
not
need
to
be
twice
told
.
In
an
instant
she
has
sprung
to
the
table
,
and
brought
thence
the
china
jug
out
of
which
she
is
wont
to
water
her
flowers
,
and
also
the
big
cut-glass
bottle
of
smelling-salts
with
which
Jim
has
often
seen
poor
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
solacing
herself
when
racked
with
that
neuralgic
headache
which
means
worry
.
He
splashes
water
out
of
the
one
upon
Byng
's
ashy
face
,
and
holds
the
other
to
his
pale
nostrils
;
while
Elizabeth
,
once
more
flinging
herself
upon
her
knees
,
wipes
the
blood
from
his
temples
with
her
little
useless
gossamer
inch
of
handkerchief
.
"
How
did
it
happen
?
"
asks
Jim
rapidly
.
"
What
did
he
do
to
himself
?
"
The
heads
of
the
two
ministrants
are
very
close
to
each
other
as
they
bend
together
over
the
swooned
youth
.
Jim
can
see
a
little
smear
of
Byng
's
blood
upon
one
of
her
white
cheeks
.
The
sight
gives
him
a
shudder
.
Byng
seems
to
have
made
her
more
his
own
by
that
gory
baptism
than
by
all
his
frenzied
vows
and
tears
.
"
Oh
,
I
do
not
know
,
"
she
answers
,
still
fetching
both
breath
and
words
with
difficulty
.
"
He
was
standing
up
,
and
he
seemed
quite
right
;
and
then
,
all
of
a
sudden
,
in
a
minute
,
he
went
down
like
a
log
,
and
hit
his
forehead
against
the
sharp
corner
of
the
table
"
—
with
a
convulsive
shiver
at
the
recollection
.
"
I
ought
to
have
saved
him
!
I
ought
;
but
I
was
not
quick
enough
.
I
stood
stock-still
,
and
now
he
is
dead
!
You
say
that
he
is
not
;
but
I
am
sure
he
is
dead
!
"
"
Oh
no
,
nonsense
!
he
is
not
,
"
replies
Jim
brusquely
,
thinking
a
certain
harshness
of
manner
the
best
recipe
for
her
.
"
He
is
alive
,
sure
enough
;
and
as
for
the
cut
on
his
forehead
,
now
that
you
have
wiped
the
blood
away
,
you
can
see
for
yourself
that
it
is
not
at
all
a
deep
one
.
It
is
merely
a
big
scratch
.
I
have
often
had
a
worse
out
hunting
from
a
bramble
,
in
jumping
through
a
hedge
.
Oh
,
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
,
here
you
are
!
That
is
all
right
.
We
have
had
an
accident
,
you
see
.
He
has
fallen
down
in
a
faint
,
and
given
himself
a
bit
of
a
knock
.
That
is
all
;
do
not
be
frightened
.
It
looks
worse
than
it
is
—
Oh
,
M
.
Cipriani
,
vous
voilà
!
Envoyez
chercher
un
médecin
tout
de
suite
!
Il
y
a
un
M
.
Crump
"
—
catching
in
his
destitution
at
the
thought
of
even
Sybilla
's
objectionable
friend
.
But
hereupon
half
a
dozen
voices
—
for
by
this
time
even
more
than
that
number
of
inmates
of
the
hotel
have
thronged
into
the
little
room
—
raise
themselves
to
pronounce
another
name
—
the
name
of
one
who
both
stands
higher
in
medical
fame
and
is
more
quickly
procurable
.
In
search
of
him
Zameth
,
the
porter
,
is
instantly
despatched
,
and
meanwhile
about
the
inanimate
body
sympathizers
stand
three
deep
,
until
reluctantly
dispersed
by
a
hint
of
a
nature
so
broad
as
not
to
be
misunderstood
from
Jim
,
to
the
effect
that
the
patient
would
have
a
better
chance
of
coming
to
himself
if
he
were
allowed
to
have
a
breath
of
air
.
By
the
time
the
doctor
arrives
—
there
is
some
small
delay
before
he
appears
—
all
are
got
rid
of
,
and
,
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
having
gone
to
give
directions
for
having
Jim
's
room
arranged
for
the
sick
man
,
both
because
it
is
on
the
ground-floor
and
also
of
a
better
size
than
that
allotted
to
him
,
Jim
and
Elizabeth
are
once
again
left
tête-à-tête
.
Once
again
they
kneel
on
either
side
of
the
prone
figure
.
How
dreadfully
dead
and
how
extravagantly
long
it
looks
!
Once
again
he
sees
that
blood-smear
on
her
face
.
It
is
just
above
her
one
dimple
,
and
stands
out
in
ghastly
incongruity
over
that
little
pitfall
for
love
and
laughter
.
How
passionately
he
wishes
that
he
might
ask
her
to
go
and
wash
it
off
!
If
he
did
she
would
not
hear
him
.
She
has
no
ears
left
,
no
eyes
,
no
sense
,
save
for
that
livid
face
,
splashed
with
the
water
which
has
not
brought
him
back
to
life
,
and
with
the
red
drops
still
slowly
trickling
from
the
wound
on
his
brow
,
and
which
have
stained
here
and
there
the
damp
tendrils
of
his
hair
—
for
that
livid
face
and
for
the
flaccid
hands
,
which
she
rubs
between
her
own
with
an
ever
more
terrified
energy
,
as
he
still
gives
no
sign
of
returning
consciousness
.
By-and-by
he
is
taken
out
of
her
custody
.
She
is
robbed
even
of
the
wretched
satisfaction
of
chafing
his
poor
senseless
fingers
.
On
the
arrival
of
the
doctor
he
is
carried
off
,
and
laid
upon
the
bed
that
has
been
made
ready
for
him
.
She
follows
them
miserably
as
they
bear
him
staggeringly
across
the
hall
—
a
powerfully-built
young
man
of
over
six
feet
high
,
in
the
perfect
inertness
of
syncope
,
is
no
light
weight
—
and
looks
hungrily
over
the
threshold
of
the
bedroom
;
but
when
she
attempts
to
cross
it
Jim
puts
her
gently
back
.
"
No
,
dear
,
no
!
"
he
says
.
(
He
is
almost
sure
afterwards
that
for
that
once
in
his
life
he
calls
her
"
dear
.
"
)
"
You
had
better
not
.
We
think
he
is
coming
round
,
and
if
you
are
the
first
person
he
sees
when
he
comes
to
himself
it
might
be
bad
for
him
—
might
hurt
him
.
You
would
not
hurt
him
,
would
you
?
"
"
No
,
I
would
not
hurt
him
,
"
she
answers
slowly
.
And
so
turns
in
her
utter
tractableness
,
and
goes
away
meekly
without
a
word
.
It
is
evening
again
now
,
almost
the
same
hour
at
which
Jim
and
Elizabeth
were
beheading
photographs
twenty-four
hours
ago
.
Twenty-four
hours
!
It
feels
more
like
twenty-four
years
.
This
is
what
he
says
to
himself
as
he
once
again
opens
the
door
of
the
Le
Marchants
'
apartment
.
It
is
the
first
time
during
the
whole
day
,
except
to
snatch
a
couple
of
mouthfuls
of
food
,
that
he
has
left
Byng
's
side
;
and
it
is
only
due
to
the
fact
that
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
is
supplying
his
place
,
and
has
sent
him
on
a
message
to
her
daughter
,
that
he
has
quitted
his
post
.
He
knows
that
she
has
meant
to
do
him
a
kindness
in
despatching
him
upon
this
errand
;
but
he
is
not
sure
that
it
is
one
.
Elizabeth
is
not
in
the
salon
,
but
the
screen
that
masks
the
door
separating
that
room
from
the
little
alcove
beyond
is
folded
back
.
Over
the
doorway
is
a
hanging
of
Eastern
embroidery
—
as
to
the
meaning
of
the
strange
gold
scrolls
that
look
like
Arab
letters
on
whose
red
ground
Elizabeth
and
he
have
often
idly
speculated
.
He
pushes
it
aside
,
and
sees
her
standing
with
her
back
towards
him
,
the
flimsy
muslin
window-curtains
drawn
back
as
she
looks
out
on
the
night
.
The
alcove
is
on
ordinary
occasions
scarcely
ever
occupied
,
and
there
is
something
uneasy
and
uncomfortable
that
matches
the
wretchedness
of
her
other
circumstances
in
finding
her
standing
there
alone
and
idle
.
The
elements
have
long
finished
their
raging
,
and
fallen
to
boisterous
play
.
It
has
been
a
fine
day
,
and
though
the
sun
has
long
laid
down
his
sceptre
,
he
has
passed
it
on
with
scarcely
diminished
,
though
altered
,
radiance
to
his
white
imitator
.
It
is
broad
moonlight
—
startlingly
broad
.
The
moon
hangs
overhead
,
with
never
a
cloud-kerchief
about
her
great
disk
.
The
winds
that
,
loudly
sporting
,
are
up
and
abroad
have
chased
every
vapour
from
the
sky
,
which
is
full
of
throbbing
white
stars
.
Before
he
reaches
her
side
she
has
heard
him
,
and
turned
to
meet
him
,
with
a
mixed
hunger
and
pitiful
hope
in
her
wan
face
.
She
thinks
that
he
has
come
to
fetch
her
.
He
must
kill
that
poor
hope
,
and
the
quicklier
the
more
mercifully
.
"
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
sent
me
.
I
came
to
tell
you
that
he
has
recovered
consciousness
.
You
see
,
you
were
wrong
"
-with
an
attempt
at
a
reassuring
smile
—
"
he
is
not
dead
,
after
all
.
He
is
conscious
;
that
is
to
say
,
he
is
not
insensible
;
but
I
am
afraid
he
is
not
quite
himself
yet
,
and
you
must
not
—
must
not
mind
—
must
not
be
frightened
,
I
mean
—
if
he
begins
to
shout
out
and
talk
nonsense
by-and-by
:
the
doctor
says
it
is
what
we
must
expect
.
"
"
And
may
I
—
may
n't
I
—
will
not
you
let
me
?
"
What
a
quivering
voice
the
hope
has
,
and
yet
how
alive
it
is
!
However
clumsily
,
and
with
whatever
bitter
yearnings
over
the
pain
he
is
causing
her
,
he
must
knock
it
on
the
head
at
once
.
"
Go
to
him
?
—
impossible
!
quite
out
of
the
question
!
The
great
object
is
to
keep
him
perfectly
quiet
,
and
if
once
he
caught
sight
of
you
—
"
"
But
if
he
is
not
himself
,
"
interrupts
she
,
with
a
pathetic
pertinacity
,
"
he
would
not
know
me
.
I
could
not
do
him
any
harm
if
he
did
not
know
me
,
and
I
might
do
something
—
oh
,
ever
such
a
little
thing
for
him
!
If
you
knew
what
it
was
to
stand
here
and
do
nothing
—
do
nothing
indeed
!
"
—
with
a
change
of
tone
to
one
of
agonized
self-reproach
;
—
"
have
not
I
done
enough
already
?
Oh
,
would
anyone
have
believed
that
it
would
be
I
that
should
kill
him
!
"
She
turns
back
to
the
window
again
,
and
dashes
her
forehead
with
violence
against
the
frame
.
Outside
the
tall
date-palm
is
shaken
through
all
its
plumes
by
the
loud
breeze
;
it
is
swaying
and
waving
and
blowing
,
and
not
less
is
its
solid
shadow
cut
out
by
the
moonshine
's
keen
knife
on
the
terrace
,
wavering
and
shaking
too
,
as
if
convulsed
by
laughter
.
The
porch
of
the
hotel
—
mere
whitewash
and
plaster
,
as
memory
and
reason
tell
one
that
it
is
—
stands
out
in
glorified
ivory
like
the
portals
of
such
a
palace
as
we
see
in
vision
,
when
"
Good
dreams
possess
our
fancy
.
"
"
I
ca
n't
have
you
talking
such
nonsense
,
"
says
Jim
,
in
an
exceedingly
kind
and
not
very
steady
voice
,
for
his
own
feelings
are
horribly
harrowed
;
and
on
thinking
over
the
scene
afterwards
,
he
cannot
swear
that
,
at
this
point
,
he
did
not
pass
a
most
brotherly
arm
for
one
moment
round
the
poor
little
heaving
shoulder
,
which
is
shaking
almost
as
much
as
the
palm-tree
's
shadow
.
"
He
is
not
going
to
die
;
he
is
not
thinking
of
dying
.
Nobody
has
killed
him
—
least
of
all
you
.
"
She
makes
him
no
answer
,
nor
lifts
her
stricken
head
,
over
which
he
looks
out
,
while
the
ghostly
mirth
shakes
the
landscape
;
at
his
wits
'
end
,
in
search
of
consolation
.
Below
waves
a
sea
of
foliage
,
out
of
which
the
strong
elfin
light
has
stolen
all
the
colour
.
From
that
colourless
dark
ocean
rises
far
away
to
the
right
the
dazzling
little
snowy
dome
of
a
mosque
,
showing
like
a
transfigured
mushroom
;
and
down
below
the
rounding
bay
is
seen
laying
its
foam-lips
in
white
glory
on
the
land
.
"
Dr.
Stephens
feels
sure
that
he
must
have
had
a
sunstroke
.
You
know
that
he
has
been
in
the
East
.
He
was
a
month
in
Cairo
;
the
sun
has
great
power
there
,
even
in
winter
,
and
he
is
sure
to
have
exposed
himself
recklessly
.
He
was
on
his
way
home
—
had
got
as
far
as
Paris
,
it
seems
—
when
he
accidentally
heard
that
you
were
here
.
Since
then
,
no
doubt
,
he
has
neither
eaten
nor
slept
;
so
you
see
how
little
you
are
to
blame
.
You
know
that
I
told
you
how
odd
he
was
before
you
even
saw
him
.
Do
not
you
remember
?
"
—
trying
to
recall
every
circumstance
that
may
tend
to
reassure
her
—
"
I
warned
you
that
you
would
have
to
be
careful
what
you
said
to
him
?
"
His
words
have
a
very
different
effect
from
that
intended
by
him
.
"
Oh
,
that
is
why
I
cannot
forgive
myself
!
"
says
she
,
with
what
sounds
almost
like
a
cry
of
physical
pain
.
"
You
did
warn
me
;
I
had
no
excuse
.
In
his
state
I
ought
never
—
it
was
murdering
him
to
tell
him
—
"
She
breaks
off
.
To
tell
him
what
?
Jim
bites
his
lips
hard
to
hinder
himself
from
putting
this
question
,
as
he
again
,
in
mercy
to
her
,
looks
away
from
her
out
into
the
night
.
The
moon
has
swum
over
the
housetop
by
now
;
but
one
can
see
her
handiwork
as
plainly
as
ever
in
the
broad
argent
fringe
,
like
the
border
of
a
cloak
,
that
marks
where
the
waves
are
breaking
on
the
beach
.
One
often
talks
of
a
fringe
without
really
meaning
that
there
is
much
likeness
to
one
;
but
to-night
the
moon-washed
breakers
really
do
wear
that
aspect
—
a
fringe
of
silver
with
long
silver
tags
and
ends
.
"
But
I
was
so
deceived
,
"
she
continues
,
with
that
wail
still
in
her
voice
;
"
he
was
not
violent
.
After
what
you
had
told
me
,
I
expected
him
to
be
violent
;
but
he
was
not
:
he
was
quite
gentle
and
quiet
,
and
he
did
beg
so
hard
,
and
I
was
so
glad
to
see
him
again
,
that
I
felt
I
was
giving
in
—
that
I
should
give
way
altogether
if
I
did
not
tell
him
—
tell
him
at
once
,
without
giving
myself
time
to
think
;
and
so
I
did
"
—
growing
very
breathless
and
incoherent
—
"
and
in
a
second
;
and
then
all
in
a
minute
,
without
any
warning
,
just
as
if
I
had
shot
him
through
the
head
,
he
went
down
with
a
crash
.
I
did
not
see
it
,
for
I
was
not
looking
at
him
.
I
could
not
bear
to
look
at
him
while
I
told
him
.
I
had
both
hands
over
my
face
,
and
then
—
and
then
—
I
heard
him
fall
.
"
What
can
Jim
say
to
her
?
Fear
lest
any
dastardly
unchivalrous
curiosity
may
seem
to
pierce
through
whatever
sympathetic
question
he
might
put
to
her
keeps
him
dumb
,
and
stupidly
staring
at
the
bowing
,
ironically
merry
palm
.
"
And
now
,
"
she
goes
on
,
lifting
her
face
,
and
he
is
shocked
to
see
how
livid
it
is
in
the
moonlight
,
"
he
will
go
out
of
the
world
thinking
me
much
worse
than
I
really
am
,
for
I
had
not
time
to
tell
him
all
.
He
heard
only
the
