had done wrong--"

"But he hasn't," insisted Flora de Barral with a quite unexpected
fierceness. "You mustn't even suppose it. Haven't you read the
accounts of the trial?"

"I am not supposing anything," Anthony defended himself. He just
remembered hearing of the trial. He assured her that he was away from
England, the second voyage of the _Ferndale_. He was crossing the
Pacific from Australia at the time and didn't see any papers for weeks
and weeks. He interrupted himself to suggest:

"You had better tell him at once that you are happy."

He had stammered a little, and Flora de Barral uttered a deliberate and
concise "Yes."

A short silence ensued. She withdrew her hand from his arm. They
stopped. Anthony looked as if a totally unexpected catastrophe had
happened.

"Ah," he said. "You mind..."

"No! I think I had better," she murmured.

"I dare say. I dare say. Bring him along straight on board to-morrow.
Stop nowhere."

She had a movement of vague gratitude, a momentary feeling of peace
which she referred to the man before her. She looked up at Anthony.
His face was sombre. He was miles away and muttered as if to himself:

"Where could he want to stop though?"

"There's not a single being on earth that I would want to look at his
dear face now, to whom I would willingly take him," she said extending
her hand frankly and with a slight break in her voice, "but you--
Roderick."

He took that hand, felt it very small and delicate in his broad palm.

"That's right. That's right," he said with a conscious and hasty
heartiness and, as if suddenly ashamed of the sound of his voice, turned
half round and absolutely walked away from the motionless girl. He even
resisted the temptation to look back till it was too late. The gravel
path lay empty to the very gate of the park. She was gone--vanished.
He had an impression that he had missed some sort of chance. He felt
sad. That excited sense of his own conduct which had kept him up for
the last ten days buoyed him no more. He had succeeded!

He strolled on aimlessly a prey to gentle melancholy. He walked and
walked. There were but few people about in this breathing space of a
poor neighbourhood. Under certain conditions of life there is precious
little time left for mere breathing. But still a few here and there
were indulging in that luxury; yet few as they were Captain Anthony,
though the least exclusive of men, resented their presen