eting. But this other man was coming up behind her. He was
very close now. His fiery person seemed to radiate heat, a tingling
vibration into the atmosphere. She was exhausted, careless, afraid to
stumble, ready to fall. She fancied she could hear his breathing. A
wave of languid warmth overtook her, she seemed to lose touch with the
ground under her feet; and when she felt him slip his hand under her arm
she made no attempt to disengage herself from that grasp which closed
upon her limb, insinuating and firm.

He conducted her through the dangers of the quayside. Her sight was dim.
A moving truck was like a mountain gliding by. Men passed by as if in a
mist; and the buildings, the sheds, the unexpected open spaces, the
ships, had strange, distorted, dangerous shapes. She said to herself
that it was good not to be bothered with what all these things meant in
the scheme of creation (if indeed anything had a meaning), or were just
piled-up matter without any sense. She felt how she had always been
unrelated to this world. She was hanging on to it merely by that one arm
grasped firmly just above the elbow. It was a captivity. So be it. Till
they got out into the street and saw the hansom waiting outside the gates
Anthony spoke only once, beginning brusquely but in a much gentler tone
than she had ever heard from his lips.

"Of course I ought to have known that you could not care for a man like
me, a stranger. Silence gives consent. Yes? Eh? I don't want any of
that sort of consent. And unless some day you find you can speak . . .
No! No! I shall never ask you. For all the sign I will give you you
may go to your grave with sealed lips. But what I have said you must
do!"

He bent his head over her with tender care. At the same time she felt
her arm pressed and shaken inconspicuously, but in an undeniable manner.
"You must do it." A little shake that no passer-by could notice; and
this was going on in a deserted part of the dock. "It must be done. You
are listening to me--eh? or would you go again to my sister?"

His ironic tone, perhaps from want of use, had an awful grating ferocity.

"Would you go to her?" he pursued in the same strange voice. "Your best
friend! And say nicely--I am sorry. Would you? No! You couldn't.
There are things that even you, poor dear lost girl, couldn't stand. Eh?
Die rather. That's it. Of course. Or can you be thinking of taking
your father to that infernal