rabbe Hawtree, Esquire; no, we'll drop the last and
stick to E. Crabbe without the Esquire, d----n it! Lord! what a mess
I've made of it, and this rankles, Ringfield. Listen. Over at Argosy
Island there's a slabsided, beastly, canting Methodist Yankee who has a
shop too. Must copy the Britisher, you see. Must emulate--gentleman."

His sentences were beginning to be less clear now. His head was
falling forward. "Well! then--this fine fellow does well out of _his_
shop; sets up another down the river and yet another over at Beausoley.
He's made money! He's rich, married, and has a big family. Why don't
I make money, Ringfield, and get away from here? Why don't you make
money and not go about preaching? Eh? So careless of the single life!
Who said that? Whoever said that, knew what--was talking about. I
know what I'm talking about. I'm a gentleman, that's what I am,
Ringfield, and yet I can't make money."

The wagging head toppled--he fell over on the table. The fire and
youth Ringfield had observed were gone and in their place were the
decrepit tone and the surly animalism which one associated with the
guide. Here, then, thought the young and impressionable minister, is
the living result of two corroding vices; the man is a sot, but
something beside the lust for liquor has helped to make him one. He
has followed after sin in the shape of his neighbour's wife, and
perhaps the latter's decline may be traced to the working of remorse
and the futile longing after a better life.

As he was thus thinking, the vision of his thought actually flitted
past the window without turning her head. Still with those thin hands
picking at her shabby skirts and with that tremulous smile she emerged
from the wood and Ringfield heard her singing long after the rustling
of the closely arched branches had ceased. Crabbe seemed to be
dropping asleep when Ringfield touched him on the arm and tried again
to reason with him.

"Tell me, I ask it for your own good and for that of the poor
unfortunate woman who has just gone by, tell me what there is between
you, how far the matter went, how long ago it was. Tell me, and I will
help you perhaps to get away, leave this place and all in it. That
would be the best thing. Come, Crabbe, I'll believe in you if you've
lost belief in yourself. Can I, can anyone, do more than that?"

The Englishman rallied, passed a hand across his brow, then rose
unsteadily to his feet, looking ar