rily upon the
pillow--and so died.

* * * * *

And this was the end of it. This was the end of all that made life life
to me. I buried him there, in hearing of the wash of a strange sea on a
strange shore. I stayed by the grave till the priest and the bystanders
were gone. I saw the earth filled in to the last sod, and the
gravedigger stamp it down with his feet. Then, and not till then, I felt
that I had lost him for ever--the friend I had loved, and hated, and
slain. Then, and not till then, I knew that all rest, and joy, and hope
were over for me. From that moment my heart hardened within me, and my
life was filled with loathing. Day and night, land and sea, labour and
rest, food and sleep, were alike hateful to me. It was the curse of
Cain, and that my brother had pardoned me made it lie none the lighter.
Peace on earth was for me no more, and goodwill towards men was dead in
my heart for ever. Remorse softens some natures; but it poisoned mine.
I hated all mankind; but above all mankind I hated the woman who had come
between us two, and ruined both our lives.

He had bidden me seek her out, and be the messenger of his forgiveness.
I had sooner have gone down to the port of Genoa and taken upon me the
serge cap and shotted chain of any galley-slave at his toil in the public
works; but for all that I did my best to obey him. I went back, alone
and on foot. I went back, intending to say to her, "Gianetta Coneglia,
he forgave you; but God never will." But she was gone. The little shop
was let to a fresh occupant; and the neighbours only knew that mother and
daughter had left the place quite suddenly, and that Gianetta was
supposed to be under the "protection" of the Marchese Loredano. How I
made inquiries here and there--how I heard that they had gone to
Naples--and how, being restless and reckless of my time, I worked my
passage in a French steamer, and followed her--how, having found the
sumptuous villa that was now hers, I learned that she had left there some
ten days and gone to Paris, where the Marchese was ambassador for the Two
Sicilies--how, working my passage back again to Marseilles, and thence,
in part by the river and in part by the rail, I made my way to
Paris--how, day after day, I paced the streets and the parks, watched at
the ambassador's gates, followed his carriage, and at last, after weeks
of waiting, discovered her address--how, having written to req