looked like some gaunt
spectre towering above me, the blackness of the shadows only intensifying
the whiteness of his face.

"Go on, go on. I know what you would say. You would have me wipe out the
past and forget. Forget the home she ruined and the dead mother's heart
she broke. Forget the weary months abroad, the tramping of London's
streets looking into every woman's face, afraid it was she. Forget these
years of exile and poverty, living here in this hulk like a dog, my very
name unknown. When I am dead, they will say I have been cruel to her. God
knows, perhaps I have; listen!" Then, glancing cautiously towards Emily's
room and lowering his voice, he stooped down, his white sunken face close
to mine, his eyes burning, gazed long and steadily into my face as if
reading my very thoughts, and then, gathering himself up, said slowly:
"No, no. I will not Let it all be buried with me. I cannot,--cannot!" and
sank into his chair.

After a while he raised his head, picked up the portrait from the table
and looked into its eyes eagerly, holding it in both hands; and muttering
to himself, crossed the room, and threw himself on his bed. I stirred the
fire, wrapped my coat about me and fell asleep on the lounge. Later, I
awoke and crept into his room. He was lying on his back, the picture still
clasped in his hands.

* * * * *

A week later, I reached the landing opposite the Hulk. There I met Dan's
wife. Dan himself had been away for several days. She told me that two
nights before she had been roused by a woman who had come up on the night
express and wanted to be rowed over to the Hulk at once. She was in great
distress, and did not mind the danger. Dan was against taking her, the ice
being heavy and the night dark; but she begged so hard he had not the
heart to refuse her. She seemed to be expected, for Emily was waiting with
a lantern on the bridge and put her arms around her and led her into the
Hulk.

Dan being away, I found another boatman, and we pushed out into the river.
I stood up in the boat and looked over the waste of ice and snow. Under
the leaden sky lay the lifeless Hulk. About the entrance and on the bridge
were black dots of figures, standing out in clear relief like crows on
the unbroken snow.

As I drew nearer, the dots increased in size and fell into line, the
procession slowly creeping along the tottering bridge, crunching the snow
under foot. Then I made out littl