romised to do it. As the letter had fallen into
the box, he had prayed fervently, but without the faintest hope, that
it might never be delivered. A galley-slave who has broken ship and
won sanctuary does not advertise his whereabouts with a light heart.
He may be beyond pursuit, yet--he and the galley are both of this
world; things temporal only keep them apart, and if the master came
pricking, with a whip in his belt.... You must remember that Anthony
had been used very ill. At first, bound to the oar of Love, he had
pulled vigorously and found the sea silken, his chains baubles. Then a
storm had arisen. In his hands the docile oar had become a raging
termagant, and, when he would have been rid of it, the baubles had
opposed his will. He had been dragged and battered unspeakably. Over
all, the lash had been laid upon his bare shoulders; and that with a
nicety of judgment which should have been foreign to so white a wrist
and to eyes that could look so tender. Now that he had escaped out of
hell, it was not surprising that he was loth to discover his refuge.
Still, a promise must be respected....

For that matter, supplications do not always go empty away. The answer
to Anthony's came in the shape of a fire which attacked the last coach
but one upon a London train and partially destroyed two mailbags before
its flames were subdued. It follows that, though he did not know it,
such friends as the ex-officer had knew no more where he was than did
the man in the moon.

It is here convenient, believe me, to go imagining.

We have looked into Anthony's mind at the hour when he posted his
letter. Had he posted it this nineteenth day of January, instead of
six weeks ago, and we, as before, peered into his brain-pan, we should
have found his supplication that the missive might go astray even more
urgent. We should have noted that, while he was just as fearful to be
reminded of the galley and the tall dark ganger with the red, red mouth
and the merciless thong, he also viewed with alarm the possibility of
any distraction from his work. The galley-slave was become a votary.

Let us be quite clear about it.

Anthony had come to Gramarye to try to forget. In this he was steadily
unsuccessful. At the end of a month he had not advanced one inch. His
love for Valerie was as breathless, haunting, wistful as it had ever
been. The whole of the kingdom of his heart was hers alone, and, so
far as he could see, like t