and every bone broken. He lay there, and admitted the facts, and
did not attempt to rise.

Dawn began to break over the far side of the atoll, the sky brightened,
the clouds became dyed with gorgeous colours, the shadows of the night
lifted. And, suddenly, Herrick was aware that the lagoon and the trees
wore again their daylight livery; and he saw, on board the Farallone,
Davis extinguishing the lantern, and smoke rising from the galley.

Davis, without doubt, remarked and recognised the figure on the beach;
or perhaps hesitated to recognise it; for after he had gazed a long
while from under his hand, he went into the house and fetched a glass.
It was very powerful; Herrick had often used it. With an instinct of
shame, he hid his face in his hands.

'And what brings you here, Mr Herrick-Hay, or Mr Hay-Herrick?' asked
the voice of Attwater. 'Your back view from my present position is
remarkably fine, and I would continue to present it. We can get on very
nicely as we are, and if you were to turn round, do you know? I think it
would be awkward.'

Herrick slowly rose to his feet; his heart throbbed hard, a hideous
excitement shook him, but he was master of himself. Slowly he turned,
and faced Attwater and the muzzle of a pointed rifle. 'Why could I not
do that last night?' he thought.

'Well, why don't you fire?' he said aloud, with a voice that trembled.

Attwater slowly put his gun under his arm, then his hands in his
pockets.

'What brings you here?' he repeated.

'I don't know,' said Herrick; and then, with a cry: 'Can you do anything
with me?'

'Are you armed?' said Attwater. 'I ask for the form's sake.'

'Armed? No!' said Herrick. 'O yes, I am, too!' And he flung upon the
beach a dripping pistol.

'You are wet,' said Attwater.

'Yes, I am wet,' said Herrick. 'Can you do anything with me?'

Attwater read his face attentively.

'It would depend a good deal upon what you are,' said he.

'What I am? A coward!' said Herrick.

'There is very little to be done with that,' said Attwater. 'And yet the
description hardly strikes one as exhaustive.'

'Oh, what does it matter?' cried Herrick. 'Here I am. I am broken
crockery; I am a burst drum; the whole of my life is gone to water; I
have nothing left that I believe in, except my living horror of myself.
Why do I come to you? I don't know; you are cold, cruel, hateful; and
I hate you, or I think I hate you. But you are an honest man, an honest
gentleman.