they were making up their periodical accounts at the
bank and there was no chance that he could follow her. He was imprisoned
by his work. He took up a paper and saw that there was a boat sailing
for Australia next morning. She must be now well on the way to London.
He could not prevent the sobs that were wrung painfully from him.

"I've done everything in the world for her," he cried, "and she had the
heart to treat me like this. How cruel, how monstrously cruel!"

After two days of misery he received a letter from her. It was written
in her school-girl hand. She had always written with difficulty:

_Dear Bertie:_
_I couldn't stand it any more._
_I'm going back home. Good-bye._

_Ethel._

She did not say a single word of regret. She did not even ask him to
come too. Lawson was prostrated. He found out where the ship made its
first stop and, though he knew very well she would not come, sent a
cable beseeching her to return. He waited with pitiful anxiety. He
wanted her to send him just one word of love; she did not even answer.
He passed through one violent phase after another. At one moment he told
himself that he was well rid of her, and at the next that he would force
her to return by withholding money. He was lonely and wretched. He
wanted his boy and he wanted her. He knew that, whatever he pretended to
himself, there was only one thing to do and that was to follow her. He
could never live without her now. All his plans for the future were like
a house of cards and he scattered them with angry impatience. He did not
care whether he threw away his chances for the future, for nothing in
the world mattered but that he should get Ethel back again. As soon as
he could he went into Aberdeen and told the manager of his bank that he
meant to leave at once. The manager remonstrated. The short notice was
inconvenient. Lawson would not listen to reason. He was determined to be
free before the next boat sailed; and it was not until he was on board
of her, having sold everything he possessed, that in some measure he
regained his calm. Till then to those who had come in contact with him
he seemed hardly sane. His last action in England was to cable to Ethel
at Apia that he was joining her.

He sent another cable from Sydney, and when at last with the dawn his
boat crossed the bar at Apia and he saw once more the white houses
straggling along the bay he felt an immense relief. The doctor came on
board and t