early ten. In the heat of argument they had forgotten the
lapse of time. They scrambled over boulders and through the lantana
bushes down to the path, and just caught the boat.

When they reached the Quay they were surprised again by the splendour
of the night. The moon, just past the full, flooded the streets with
white light that left deep shadows between the buildings like a
charcoal drawing. They took a tram to the Haymarket, as they were
afraid of being recognized in the Waterloo cars, and reached Regent
Street after eleven. The hotels had disgorged their customers, who
were talking loudly in groups on the footpath or lurching homeward with
uneven steps. Jonah was explaining that he must see Clara all the way
home on account of the lateness of the hour, when he was astonished to
hear someone sobbing in the monumental mason's yard as if his heart
would break. He turned and looked. The headstones and white marble
crosses stood in rows with a faint resemblance to a graveyard; the
moonlight fell clear and cold on these monuments awaiting a purchaser.
Some, already sold, were lettered in black with the name of the
departed. Jonah and Clara stared, puzzled by the noise, when they saw
an old man in the rear of the yard in a top hat and a frock coat,
clinging to a marble cross. He lurched round, and instantly Clara,
with a gasp of amazement and shame, recognized her father.

She moved into the shadows of a house, humiliated to her soul by this
exhibition; but Jonah laughed, in spite of himself, at the figure cut
by Dad among the ready-made monuments. As he laughed, Dad caught sight
of him, and clinging to a marble angel with one arm for support,
beckoned wildly with the other.

"Come here--come here," he cried between his sobs. "I'm all alone with
the dead, and nobody to shed a tear 'cep' meself. Shame on you, shame
on you," he cried, raising his voice in bitter grief, "to pass the poor
fellows in their graves without sheddin' tear!"

He stopped and stared with drunken gravity at the name on the nearest
tombstone, trying to read the words which danced before his eyes in the
clear light. Jonah saw them plainly.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
SARAH JAMES,
Aged Eighty-five.

A fresh burst of grief announced that Dad had deciphered the lettering.

"Sam!" he cried bitterly. "Me old fren' Sam! To think of bringing him
here without letting me know! The besh fren' I ever had."

Here sobs choked his uttera