from
all question of feeling, Julie Le Breton's friends must naturally desire
that he should see her, acknowledge her before his two sons, and, with
their consent, provide for her before his death.

But, ah, he had not been mistaken! He remembered her hurried refusal
when he had asked her if he should telegraph for her to her Paris
"friends"--how, in a sudden shame, he had turned away that he might not
see the beloved false face as she spoke, might not seem to watch or
suspect her.

He had just had time to send off a messenger, first to his friend at the
Cafe Gaillard, and then to the Hotel du Rhin, before escorting her to
the sleeping-car.

Ah, how piteous had been that dull bewilderment with which she had
turned to him!

"But--my ticket?"

"Here they are. Oh, never mind--we will settle in town. Try to sleep.
You must be very tired."

And then it seemed to him that her lips trembled, like those of a
miserable child; and surely, surely, she must hear that mad beating of
his pulse!

Boulogne was gone in a flash. Here was the Somme, stretched in a pale
silver flood beneath the moon--a land of dunes and stunted pines, of
wide sea-marshes, over which came the roar of the Channel. Then again
the sea was left behind, and the rich Picard country rolled away to
right and left. Lights here and there, in cottage or villa--the lights,
perhaps, of birth or death--companions of hope or despair.

Calais!

The train moved slowly up to the boat-side. Delafield jumped out. The
sleeping-car was yielding up its passengers. He soon made out the small
black hat and veil, the slender form in the dark travelling-dress.

Was she fainting? For she seemed to him to waver as he approached her,
and the porter who had taken her rugs and bag was looking at her in
astonishment. In an instant he had drawn her arm within his, and was
supporting her as he best could,

"The car was very hot, and I am so tired. I only want some air."

They reached the deck.

"You will go down-stairs?"

"No, no--some air!" she murmured, and he saw that she could hardly keep
her feet.

But in a few moments they had reached the shelter on the upper deck
usually so well filled with chairs and passengers on a day crossing. Now
it was entirely deserted. The boat was not full, the night was cold and
stormy, and the stream of passengers had poured down into the shelter of
the lower deck.

Julie sank into a chair. Delafield hurriedly loosened the shawl she