to spoil himself at the beginning of his career. Understand what I
mean?'

"As I sat in the stern of the cutter while the men pulled back into the
shadow which was about to engulf the ship (for the moon was setting) I
felt I liked Jack the better for that kindly whisper out of earshot of
the estimable Mr. Bloom. It was like him. Now and again you could look
into the depths of his character, where dwelt the old immemorial virtues
of truth and charity and loyalty to his cloth. I even twisted round on
the gunwale as I steered and looked back affectionately at his short,
corpulent figure walking to and fro on the bridge deck, worrying himself
about the 'young feller,' the embodiment of a rough yet exquisite
altruism. It seemed to me a manifestation of love at least as worthy of
admiration as was his domestic fidelity. Oh, yes! You fellows call me a
cynic, but I believe in love, nevertheless. It is only your intense
preoccupation with one particular sort of love which evokes the cynicism
and which inspires the monstrous egotism of women like Mrs. Evans.

"'Hard over, Sir,' said the leading seaman. 'Way 'nuff, boys!' I flashed
my torch upon the tiny jetty which Gruenbaum had made near his house, for
he often went on fishing expeditions round the island, I had heard.
Steps had been cut down from a path in the face of the cliff which led
away up to some workings facing the sea, but which are out of sight.
When I had climbed up the jetty I said:

"'Now you wait here while I go along to the house, and make enquiries. I
don't suppose he's very far off.'

"I made my own way up the rough stones to the path, midway between the
soft whisper of the waves and the frightful edge above my head and I
felt a momentary vertigo. I was suspended in the depths of an
impenetrable darkness. All things--the jetty, the boat, the path, were
swallowed up. Even the ship was indicated only by the faint
hurricane-lamp at the gangway and the reflection of the galley-fire
against a bulkhead. Stone for building and for buttressing the
mine-galleries had been quarried out below, and the path was under-cut
and littered about with the debris of an old ore-tip. I moved slowly
toward Gruenbaum's house, and as my eyes became accustomed to the
darkness I saw another path, a more slanting stairway, on the face of
the cliff. I paused. It was some hundred yards or so to where Gruenbaum's
house stood, as you see, at the foot of the slope. In the darkness
Jack's