it was killing me.
I got ill--I nearly died; once I ran away at night and tried to get to
the sea. But I came back--there were my wife and girl. We had a
little money, and I gave it all up and we came to live down here. I
have done nothing since; rather shameful, isn't it, for a strong man?
They have thought that here; they think that I am a waster--by their
lights I am. But the things I have learnt! I didn't know what living
was until I came here! I knew nothing, I did nothing, I was a dead
man. What do I care for their thoughts of me! They are in the dark!"

He had spoken eagerly, almost breathlessly. He was defending his
position, and Harry knew that he had been waiting for years to say
these things to some one of his own kind who would understand. And he
understood only too well! Had he not himself that very evening been
tempted to escape, to flee his duty? He had resisted, but the
temptation had been very strong--that very voice of Cornwall of which
Bethel had spoken--and if it were to return he did not know what answer
he might give. But he was not thinking of Bethel; his thoughts were
with the wife and daughter. That poor pathetic little woman--and the
girl----

"And your wife and daughter?" he said. "What of them?"

"They are happy," Bethel said eagerly. "They are indeed. I don't see
them very often, but they have their own interests--and friends. My
wife and I never had very much in common--Ah! you're going to scold,"
he said, laughing, "and say just what all these other horrid people
say. But I know. I grant it you all. I'm a waster--through and
through; it's damnably selfish--worst of all, in this energetic and
pushing age, it's idle. Oh! I know and I'm sorry--but, do you know,
I'm not ashamed. I can't see it seriously. I wouldn't harm a fly.
Why can't they let me alone? At least I am happy."

They had reached the outskirts of the town by this time and Bethel
stopped before a little dark house with red shutters and a tiny strip
of garden.

"Here we are!" said he. "This is my place. Come in and smoke! It
must be past your dinner hour up at 'The Flutes.' Come and have
something with me."

Harry laughed. "They have already ceased wondering at my erratic
habits," he said. "New Zealand is a bad place for method."

He followed Bethel in. It was a tiny hall, and on entering he stumbled
over an umbrella-stand that lounged forward in a rickety position.
Bethel apologised. "W