mile was not, properly speaking, a smile at all, chevalier; it was the
torture which came of snuff getting into its nostrils, and when the
beast made that uncanny noise and snapped its jaws together, it was
simply the outcome of a sneeze. The thing would be farcical if it were
not that tragedy hangs on the thread of it, and that a life, a useful
human life, was destroyed by means of it. Yes, it was clever, it was
diabolically clever; but you know what Bobby Burns says about the best
laid schemes of mice and men. There's always a Power--higher up--that
works the ruin of them."

With that he walked by, and, going to young Scarmelli, put out his hand.

"You're a good chap and you've got a good girl, so I expect you will be
happy," he said; and then lowered his voice so that the rest might not
reach the chevalier's ears. "You were wrong to suspect the little
stepmother," he added. "She's true blue, Scarmelli. She was only playing
up to those fellows because she was afraid the 'senor' would drop out
and close the show if she didn't, and that she and her husband and the
children would be thrown out of work. She loves her husband--that's
certain--and she's a good little woman; and, Scarmelli!"

"Yes, Mr. Cleek?"

"There's nothing better than a good woman on this earth, my lad. Always
remember that. I think you, too, have found one. I hope you have. I hope
you'll be happy. What's that? Owe me? Not a rap, my boy. Or, if you feel
that you must give me something, give me your prayers for equal luck,
and--send me a slice of the wedding cake. Good-night!"

And twisted round on his heel and walked out; making his way out to the
streets and facing the journey to Clarges Street afoot. For to be
absolutely without envy of any sort is not given to anything born of
woman; and the sight of this man's happiness, the knowledge of this
man's reward, brought upon him a bitter recollection of how far he still
was from his own.

Would he ever get that reward? he wondered. Would he ever be nearer to
it than he was to-night? It hurt--yes, it hurt horribly, sometimes, this
stone-cold silence, this walking always in shadowed paths without a ray
of light, without the certainty of arriving _anywhere_, though he plod
onward for a lifetime--and the old feeling of savage resentment, the old
sense of self-pity--the surest thing on God's earth to blaze a trail
for the oncoming of the worst that is in a man--bit at the soul of him
and touched him on t