Chapter Twenty Eight.

Chapter Twenty Eight.Katrine lay dazed and senseless, a huddled mass in a corner of the boat, mercifully oblivious of the perilous lowering down the great hull of the ship, of the gradual leaving behind of all that was most dear. The climax of emotion through which she had passed, had exhausted for the time being all power of sensation. While not actually unconscious, her mind was torpid. Nothing mattered, her very powers of fear were at an end. What was past, was past, what would come, would come; nothing mattered the cast of a die!In the boat were women, dazed like herself, others again weeping and lamenting; others, like Mrs Mannering, composed and brisk, showing at their best, when those from whom more might have been expected proved broken reeds.It was all dream-like and unreal. Tossed on the waves in the crowded boat, the great hull of the ship looked a rampart of strength. To have left that stronghold to toss in this cockleshell—the dazed brain marvelled feebly at such inconsistency. High on the deck a confused mass of people moved to and fro, but their faces were indistinguishable, and soon vanished from sight. The sounds of a voice shouting peremptory orders mingled with the dashing of the waves, but soon that also became inaudible, as the boat floated farther and farther away.Katrine sat motionless, oblivious of all that was happening around. The hood of her coat had fallen back from her head and her bleached face had a fixed, almost terrible beauty. Nancy Mannering glanced at her anxiously from time to time, and finally shook her strongly by the arm.“Now! Brace up, Katrine!” cried the strong voice, “brace up! It don’t matter much what happens to you and to me, my dear. We are just women—unattached women at that—there are too many of our sort knocking around, but here’s some one here whodoescount—a little man for you to cuddle and protect! Heaven knows the kind he’ll grow up; he’ll be none the worse, any way, for remembering this night, and who knows! some woman may fare the better for your pains. Here, sonny! stop that row. Come to the pretty lady. She’ll nurse you, and tell you tales.”A sturdy weight was deposited on Katrine’s lap; in the dim light she recognised the features of her former enemy, the redoubtable Jackey, all drawn and wet with tears. Separated from his father, overcome by the hopeless terror of childhood, he had lost his braggart airs, and appeared just a pitiful baby thing, longing to be kissed and held. His wet face nozzled into Katrine’s breast, his little legs in the ridiculous knickerbockers dangled limply over her knees, and the sight, the touch, awoke her to life. She gathered the child in her arms and crooned over him, and Jackey wreathed her neck with his arms, and pressed wet kisses on her cheek! Presently, gathering confidence, he began to question after the manner of childhood.“How soon shall we be drowned? How much does it hurt to be drowned? As much as a tooth? Will the water be cold? Would it be brave to scream? Will you hold me tight, so that I can’t leave go? Must we say our prayers before we’re drowned?”“We are not going to be drowned, I hope, Jackey. By-and-bye a big boat will come along and take us up, but you can say your prayers all the same. Pray for your father on our own big ship, and, and—”“And the parrot, and the goat, and all Thy dumb creatures,” responded Jackey, who was evidently not without religious instruction. He mumbled petitions into Katrine’s neck. “God bless and keep my dear father, ’serve him from danger, make him a good boy. Bless the parrot. Keep Thy young goat. Let him be meek and gentle in spirit. Bless the man I kicked, and mend his legs so he can swim when the boat goes down!”“Oh, Jackey,” sobbed Katrine wildly. “Oh, Jackey!” She strained the little form in her arms, and buried her face in his curls. So far children had not entered intimately into her life, and the maternal instinct had remained dormant, as it does with many women until the time arrives when their own child is laid in their arms, but now as Jackey’s soft, heavy little body nestled against her own, she realised with a new poignancy the possibility of yet another joy, another opening of the gates of life!She rocked to and fro, murmuring soothing words, and Jackey cuddled close, vigorously sucked his thumb, then uncorked his lips to ask another question:“Will the big ship come quick?”“I hope so, Jackey! I think so.”“Will our own ship go down? If it goes down to the bottom of the sea, will my Daddy be dead?”He lifted his eyes to her face, big, innocent blue eyes, widened in breathless anxiety. Katrine winced before them, tortured by the thought that suffering could come so soon; that a babe like this should feel its shaft.“If my Daddy is dead, can I have his penknife for my own?”No! Jackey did not realise. Thank God for that. The babe was a babe still. Cradled in kind arms, comfortable and warm, he could dream his little dream, build his airy castles unperturbed by the pain of others. That one afternoon’s experience had taught Katrine to be thankful for a callousness which she would previously have condemned. Time enough for Jackey and his kind to realise the nature of death!“You shall have a knife, Jackey; the best that Bombay can produce. And your Daddy, too, I hope. Couldn’t you go to sleep now, dear? Put your little thumb in your mouth, and shut your eyes, and pretend you are safe in your bunk. I’ll hold you fast.”Jackey was tired, and the suggestion appealed. He wriggled to and fro, poked ruthlessly with elbows and knees, until he had fitted himself to his entire satisfaction, burrowed his head beneath the lapel of Katrine’s coat, and relapsed into limp and weighty slumber. Katrine was tired too; tired with a very extremity of fatigue, but not for worlds would she have relinquished the weight of that burden.Presently Mrs Mannering held a flask to her lips and she felt the hot smart of brandy,—just one sip, and then the flask was withdrawn, for Nancy Mannering was jealous of her stores, not knowing for how long they might be needed. There were biscuits also in those capacious pockets, bars of chocolate, and fruit taken from the saloon tables, but no adult passenger in the boat was treated to these luxuries; they were reserved for the embryo men and women of the future.The boat drifted on, the men for the most part resting upon their oars. It was not desired to float far from the ship, since the best hope of rescue lay in keeping in her vicinity. The fog was slowly lightening, and the flare of the electric lights showed a faint gold patch through the grey. Katrine kept her eyes fixed on that patch. So long as it continued, she could hold on to hope. If it died out, so would the light fade from her own life...Sitting huddled in her seat, Jackey’s little form pillowed in her arm, Katrine’s thoughts reviewed her past life and marvelled at the strangeness of it. Paced with the possibility of death, all the years that were past counted for nothing as compared with the happening of a few short days. Martin, Grizel, the friends and companions of her youth—she repeated their names, and sought to visualise each countenance in turn. In vain! the likenesses refused to appear; even Martin’s face was blurred, or was it that she had not enough patience, enough interest, to spare for the effort? Bedford was the world; apart from him she was incapable of a regret.The boat drifted on. Now the sailors had turned her head and were rowing slowly back towards the ship. The yellow blur still shone through the fog. The men discussed together as to the amount of damage that had been done, the possibility of keeping the hulk afloat. Nancy Mannering turned and spoke into Katrine’s ear:“My dear, one word! ... You mayn’t suspect it, but I’ve a heart—. In a physical Sense, I mean, no sentiment; and it’s a poor thing. I don’t expect to be drowned, but a little more of this excitement, and it may play tricks. It’s all one, I’m not whining, but if Ishouldpan out, and you get through, will you just write to my boy? Tell him I asked you, and that he is not to grieve. Bound to go somehow, some day, and, why not now? I’ve no particular wish to live on here, but you can tell him this—wherever I am, whatever comes next, there’ll be no peace for me unlesshekeeps straight! That Iknow, and he’d better know it, too.” She was silent for some moments, during which Katrine heard the quick intake of her breath, then: “And tell him,” she added with difficulty, “tell him I’ve always been an ostrich, hiding, not my head, but my heart. Somehow I couldn’t let it out, but,” her voice deepened to a full, rich note, “there’s never been a moment of his life, since he was born, when I wouldn’t have been flayed—slowly! for his good! Tell him his mother loved him more than her life.”“I’ll tell him; I won’t write. I’ll travel the length of India, if need be, to tell him myself,” cried Katrine, deeply touched. To discover a hidden weakness in her jaunty, self-sufficient companion was to feel herself infused with new strength. She was needed, and the woman in her rose to the? demand. She hitched Jackey on one side so as to free her right arm, and fumbling in her companion’s pocket found and extracted the flask.“Meantime, if you have no care for yourself, think ofhim, and be careful forhissake. What is the use of talking of love, if you won’t do even that for his sake? Be sensible for yourself as well as for other people!”“Mr Dick, your common-sense is invaluable!” Mrs Mannering drank, smacked her lips, and grunted with satisfaction. “That’s good! That’s better. I needed that.” Then after a momentary pause. “Remember though,if I docome through, your work is to forget. No bringing up of deathbed confidences! ... Anything in the same line that I can do for yourself?”“No,” answered Katrine shortly. If the end came, Martin and Grizel could console each other without help from her. And their figures were misty. Even Jackey himself counted for more at this moment, embodying as he did a great potential possibility of life. As for Jim Blair—ah! let Jim hug his false dreams: let him never awake!The hours dragged on. The children slept; some of the women slept also, worn out by their fears. Katrine’s cramped arms still held their burden, but Nancy Mannering had turned herself round in her seat, presenting her broad back as a support.“Let yourself go, my dear; lean your weight on me. Nothing like a support to your back. I was at the opera just before I sailed—six shillings’ worth of gallery, and never a rail at the back. Leaned back against a young lad’s knees, and he wriggled in seventeen fits. Prudery, eh? Or perhaps I was too old. Well! Well!”The voice had its old jaunty tone, but the language in which she spoke was unintelligible.Opera! Katrine shrank at the sound. Face to face with death, the trivial happenings of life retreated to an illimitable distance. Was it possible that one had ever cared for such baubles—had counted them among the goods of life!At the stern of the boat a woman was praying aloud, while those around joined in with tears and sobs. Katrine roused herself to listen, and caught fervid confessions of sin and wrong-doing. Her thoughts turned inward; she also ought to pray, to make confession. Drearily she asked herself what she had done, and failed to discover a tangible offence. Honestly she had endeavoured; honestly she had refrained. Looking back over her life she could find no shrinking from duty, no unfair dealing, no violation of a law. She had not “gone astray,” she had not been “vile and sinful altogether”; the woman’s abasement of self-blame left her untouched. The searchlight of conscience revealed sin indeed, but not of commission.Lack of level—that was the flaw—of whole-hearted, unselfish love which gave all and asked for no return; love which could transform the commonest events, and make of duty a joy!Grizel possessed that love; a spring of tenderness and sympathy, welling within her heart. She had found it easy to live with a querulous old woman. “She doesn’t worry me: Iloveher!” Katrine heard again the tone of the deep, rich voice giving the simple explanation. She herself had placed Martin before all created things, but there had been no tenderness in her heart. With opened eyes she looked back on the critical, exacting sentiment which she had called love, and found it unworthy the name. Her arms tightened round the sleeping child. This then was the secret of life. Love—“the fulfilment of the law.” If life were spared, it would be the motive spring for which she would strive; given that, the rest would follow. The women at her side were imploring for forgiveness, and comfort in death. Katrine prayed for life. “More life: fuller life!Fill my mean heart—!”Ten minutes later when the rescuing ship steamed into view the sight which should have brought exhilaration broke down the most sternly-kept composure. Men and women wept together, wept and laughed, and sobbed and clung, even the most composed giving way to their emotion now that the strain was at an end.On she came, a stately form, summoned by the wondrous message of the air, racing through the water to the noble work of rescue. Nearer and nearer, until she was close at hand, and white faces looked down from the crowded decks. The nightmare of removal from the boat was accomplished in safety. Katrine felt her waist encircled by a tender arm, and heard a woman’s voice addressing her in tremulous tones. Her cramped limbs could hardly move, she was half-led, half-carried into a luxurious cabin, undressed, laid in a warm, fresh bed, fed with soup and wine. The women who waited upon her shed tears as they worked, but she herself was dry-eyed. She was thinking of that yellow glimmering light through the fog, the light of the ship which held her world,—the ship with a hole in her side...But an hour later Nancy Mannering came to her bedside with a face working with emotion, to tell glad news. The passengers of the injured ship had been transferred to the C—, but the crew remained at their posts, for the water-tight compartments were bravely doing their work, and there was hope of keeping her afloat until Bombay Harbour could be reached. Meantime the rescuing vessel had her in tow.“Shut your eyes, my beauty, and sleep!” said Nancy Mannering gently. “He’s off to his bed. I’ve seen him, and touched him, and heard his voice. He’s a real live man and no ghost, as to-morrow morning you’ll see for yourself, and if you ever say good-bye to him again,—well! you deserve all you may get.—Go to sleep, child, go to sleep, and thank the good God!”But the next morning Katrine did not get up. She was prostrate with physical collapse, and there was no mental effort to spur her into action. She did not want to meet Bedford. Now that safety was assured, it was torture to remember her own words, and to realise that the first confession of love had come from her own lips, not his. She welcomed the weariness and pain which kept her a prisoner in the cabin; dreaded the meeting which must inevitably come. The dread and the shame, the excitement and the distress, increased her physical ailments; the doctor was summoned, once and again, before the day was over, and other methods failing prescribed a sleeping-draught to secure a night’s rest before landing. As a result Katrine slept heavily, but awoke to so crushing a headache that movement appeared out of the question.No matter, Nancy Mannering assured her. It would be hours before the ship had disgorged her double complement of passengers, to say nothing of the luggage. She was to lie still, recover slowly, go on shore quietly later on when the fuss and racket were over. The captain had sent a special message to assure her of his consideration and help. Two other women were prostrate like herself. They also were to wait.Katrine settled down again into a fitful sleep, through which the tramp of feet, the clamour of voices, the banging of luggage, beat confusedly upon her brain. From time to time Mrs Mannering crept in to look at her, and stole out unnoticed; it was not until late in the afternoon, when quiet reigned on the deck overhead, that she met opened eyes and a smile of welcome.“I’m dreadfully lazy! I’m afraid it’s ever so late, but I can dress quickly now for my head is better. Is—?”She stopped short, flushing, but Mrs Mannering was intentionally obtuse.“Yes, all right! The poor old ship kept up to the end. They are getting out the baggage. Pray heaven it isdry! in any case we’ll be thankful for what we can get. It looked as if we might not have a rag to our backs. That good soul Anderson is looking after our part of the spoil; Captain Bedford would have done it, but it was all he could do to get through himself. Had to rush off to take up a company by the first train. They’ve been kept waiting for him by this upset. However, our rooms are booked at the hotel, and we can lie low for a few days till we get our breath.”Katrine stared blankly. She had shrunk from the thought of meeting Bedford, yet it came as a shock to hear that he had gone on and left her behind. They hadallgone on,—the passengers among whom she had lived so closely during those last weeks; but for Nancy Mannering she was alone in the strange new world. It was a lonesome feeling. She sat on the side of her bunk, smiling a difficult smile.“Oh! Yes. That will be nice. And my friends have arranged for my journey. The agent will call—”“Be hanged to agents! I’ve sworn by all my gods to stick to you till I see you safely landed with your friends. It’s only a few score miles out of my way, and that counts for nothing in this country. The good Bedford will see me housed when we arrive.”“Scores of miles out of your way! Forme? Mrs Mannering, it is too much! I can’t let you do it. You are the kindest, most unselfish of creatures.”Mrs Mannering grimaced.“Don’t be too sure!” she said dryly. “Curiosity poses under many forms. I’ve a weakness for being on in the last act. Well! dress yourself, and come along, and be sure to speak prettily to the captain before you leave. He’s behaved like a brick. There’s tea in the saloon.”By six o’clock Katrine and her chaperon were safely housed in the hotel, appreciating as they had never done before the blessings ofterra firma. The next morning their baggage was restored to them, practically undamaged, and what was to Katrine most important of all, a letter arrived from Jim Blair.She sat alone in her room holding the unopened envelope in her hand, gaining courage for the ordeal of reading the loving words. Strange how deep a hold this unknown man had taken of her affections! Bedford she loved with the stored-up passion of her life, but even Bedford himself had not been able to lessen her tenderness towards the man who had come into her life at the moment when she needed him most, and brought solace to her sore heart. It was cruelly hard to be obliged to bring pain and disappointment to so generous a lover. She flinched and coloured at the thought of her own conduct as viewed from the outside—just the weak, commonplace story of the pretty girl who starts on a voyage which is to bring her to a waiting lover, meets another manen route, and is false to her tryst,—but it was typical of Katrine’s conception of the character of her unknown lover, that through all her troubled thoughts the conviction remained that Jim would understand,—that however he might suffer he would neither be bitter nor unjust.She sighed, and bracing herself resolutely, tore open the envelope. The blood rushed to her face as she read the opening words:“My Own Katrine,“No! I am not breaking my truce. This little breathing space between the sea voyage and the start up-country doesn’t count in the scheme. It’s a No-man’s land, of which this man would be a fool if he didn’t take possession forthwith!“Besides, beloved, there are things that I want to say; things thatneedto be said... Your journey is nearly over, our meeting is close at hand, and if the truth were known there’s more fear than expectation in your heart! I know you too well not to realise that—but the fear must go! Get it out of your head once for all, little girl, that you have anything to dread from me. I want you, I want you badly, but most of all I want your happiness. That sounds the sort of thing one reads in books—just a bit too lofty and impersonal to be true, but if you come to worry it out, it’s only a higher kind of selfishness. Once love with your own heart and soul, love some one, that is to say,more than yourself, and as the most obvious of consequences, happiness is impossible for yourself unless it has first and foremost filled that other heart. Don’t worry yourself by any idea that you are pledged to me, in honour bound, or any nonsense of the kind. You arenot; you are as free as air. If you should happen to like another man better than me (you won’t!) I’d help you to him. If you don’t want me (you will!) I’ll stand aside. Dear little girl, be aisy! I’m on your side.“That ‘mad’ letter of yours was delicious sense. The veritable Katrine revealed herself more therein than in any letter I have yet received. And your little discourse on tenderness—that touched me! It is a quality which, as you say, is wanting in the love of many men, and the lack of it leaves a record on the faces of weary women. But, after all, you know, the doing or undoing, whichever you choose to call it, is in the main the fault of some other woman in the past! Why do mothers spoil their boys instead of training them in the small domestic kindnesses and attentions which will be so valuable later on? If I had a son... upon my life I believe I’d spoil him too!“Seriously though, Katrine, it must be pre-eminently tenderness which is filling my heart today, for Icanimagine; Icanunderstand! I am so sorry for you, poor, puzzled girl! Is that a good augury for the future?“I shall come in to see you at the Middleton bungalow the day you arrive. No club meetings for me. Just an hour or two for rest and refreshment, and then—enter Jim Blair! Poor little girl, are you trembling in your shoes? If only I could convince you of my sincerity! Was it for nothing, Katrine, that my heart went out to you across the seas; was it for nothing that my cry touched your heart; was it for nothing that after years of block and difficulty, the way was opened out which brings you here to me? Go on in faith for one week longer!“Jim Blair.”The letter fell from Katrine’s hands and fluttered to the ground. She hid her face in her hands.

Katrine lay dazed and senseless, a huddled mass in a corner of the boat, mercifully oblivious of the perilous lowering down the great hull of the ship, of the gradual leaving behind of all that was most dear. The climax of emotion through which she had passed, had exhausted for the time being all power of sensation. While not actually unconscious, her mind was torpid. Nothing mattered, her very powers of fear were at an end. What was past, was past, what would come, would come; nothing mattered the cast of a die!

In the boat were women, dazed like herself, others again weeping and lamenting; others, like Mrs Mannering, composed and brisk, showing at their best, when those from whom more might have been expected proved broken reeds.

It was all dream-like and unreal. Tossed on the waves in the crowded boat, the great hull of the ship looked a rampart of strength. To have left that stronghold to toss in this cockleshell—the dazed brain marvelled feebly at such inconsistency. High on the deck a confused mass of people moved to and fro, but their faces were indistinguishable, and soon vanished from sight. The sounds of a voice shouting peremptory orders mingled with the dashing of the waves, but soon that also became inaudible, as the boat floated farther and farther away.

Katrine sat motionless, oblivious of all that was happening around. The hood of her coat had fallen back from her head and her bleached face had a fixed, almost terrible beauty. Nancy Mannering glanced at her anxiously from time to time, and finally shook her strongly by the arm.

“Now! Brace up, Katrine!” cried the strong voice, “brace up! It don’t matter much what happens to you and to me, my dear. We are just women—unattached women at that—there are too many of our sort knocking around, but here’s some one here whodoescount—a little man for you to cuddle and protect! Heaven knows the kind he’ll grow up; he’ll be none the worse, any way, for remembering this night, and who knows! some woman may fare the better for your pains. Here, sonny! stop that row. Come to the pretty lady. She’ll nurse you, and tell you tales.”

A sturdy weight was deposited on Katrine’s lap; in the dim light she recognised the features of her former enemy, the redoubtable Jackey, all drawn and wet with tears. Separated from his father, overcome by the hopeless terror of childhood, he had lost his braggart airs, and appeared just a pitiful baby thing, longing to be kissed and held. His wet face nozzled into Katrine’s breast, his little legs in the ridiculous knickerbockers dangled limply over her knees, and the sight, the touch, awoke her to life. She gathered the child in her arms and crooned over him, and Jackey wreathed her neck with his arms, and pressed wet kisses on her cheek! Presently, gathering confidence, he began to question after the manner of childhood.

“How soon shall we be drowned? How much does it hurt to be drowned? As much as a tooth? Will the water be cold? Would it be brave to scream? Will you hold me tight, so that I can’t leave go? Must we say our prayers before we’re drowned?”

“We are not going to be drowned, I hope, Jackey. By-and-bye a big boat will come along and take us up, but you can say your prayers all the same. Pray for your father on our own big ship, and, and—”

“And the parrot, and the goat, and all Thy dumb creatures,” responded Jackey, who was evidently not without religious instruction. He mumbled petitions into Katrine’s neck. “God bless and keep my dear father, ’serve him from danger, make him a good boy. Bless the parrot. Keep Thy young goat. Let him be meek and gentle in spirit. Bless the man I kicked, and mend his legs so he can swim when the boat goes down!”

“Oh, Jackey,” sobbed Katrine wildly. “Oh, Jackey!” She strained the little form in her arms, and buried her face in his curls. So far children had not entered intimately into her life, and the maternal instinct had remained dormant, as it does with many women until the time arrives when their own child is laid in their arms, but now as Jackey’s soft, heavy little body nestled against her own, she realised with a new poignancy the possibility of yet another joy, another opening of the gates of life!

She rocked to and fro, murmuring soothing words, and Jackey cuddled close, vigorously sucked his thumb, then uncorked his lips to ask another question:

“Will the big ship come quick?”

“I hope so, Jackey! I think so.”

“Will our own ship go down? If it goes down to the bottom of the sea, will my Daddy be dead?”

He lifted his eyes to her face, big, innocent blue eyes, widened in breathless anxiety. Katrine winced before them, tortured by the thought that suffering could come so soon; that a babe like this should feel its shaft.

“If my Daddy is dead, can I have his penknife for my own?”

No! Jackey did not realise. Thank God for that. The babe was a babe still. Cradled in kind arms, comfortable and warm, he could dream his little dream, build his airy castles unperturbed by the pain of others. That one afternoon’s experience had taught Katrine to be thankful for a callousness which she would previously have condemned. Time enough for Jackey and his kind to realise the nature of death!

“You shall have a knife, Jackey; the best that Bombay can produce. And your Daddy, too, I hope. Couldn’t you go to sleep now, dear? Put your little thumb in your mouth, and shut your eyes, and pretend you are safe in your bunk. I’ll hold you fast.”

Jackey was tired, and the suggestion appealed. He wriggled to and fro, poked ruthlessly with elbows and knees, until he had fitted himself to his entire satisfaction, burrowed his head beneath the lapel of Katrine’s coat, and relapsed into limp and weighty slumber. Katrine was tired too; tired with a very extremity of fatigue, but not for worlds would she have relinquished the weight of that burden.

Presently Mrs Mannering held a flask to her lips and she felt the hot smart of brandy,—just one sip, and then the flask was withdrawn, for Nancy Mannering was jealous of her stores, not knowing for how long they might be needed. There were biscuits also in those capacious pockets, bars of chocolate, and fruit taken from the saloon tables, but no adult passenger in the boat was treated to these luxuries; they were reserved for the embryo men and women of the future.

The boat drifted on, the men for the most part resting upon their oars. It was not desired to float far from the ship, since the best hope of rescue lay in keeping in her vicinity. The fog was slowly lightening, and the flare of the electric lights showed a faint gold patch through the grey. Katrine kept her eyes fixed on that patch. So long as it continued, she could hold on to hope. If it died out, so would the light fade from her own life...

Sitting huddled in her seat, Jackey’s little form pillowed in her arm, Katrine’s thoughts reviewed her past life and marvelled at the strangeness of it. Paced with the possibility of death, all the years that were past counted for nothing as compared with the happening of a few short days. Martin, Grizel, the friends and companions of her youth—she repeated their names, and sought to visualise each countenance in turn. In vain! the likenesses refused to appear; even Martin’s face was blurred, or was it that she had not enough patience, enough interest, to spare for the effort? Bedford was the world; apart from him she was incapable of a regret.

The boat drifted on. Now the sailors had turned her head and were rowing slowly back towards the ship. The yellow blur still shone through the fog. The men discussed together as to the amount of damage that had been done, the possibility of keeping the hulk afloat. Nancy Mannering turned and spoke into Katrine’s ear:

“My dear, one word! ... You mayn’t suspect it, but I’ve a heart—. In a physical Sense, I mean, no sentiment; and it’s a poor thing. I don’t expect to be drowned, but a little more of this excitement, and it may play tricks. It’s all one, I’m not whining, but if Ishouldpan out, and you get through, will you just write to my boy? Tell him I asked you, and that he is not to grieve. Bound to go somehow, some day, and, why not now? I’ve no particular wish to live on here, but you can tell him this—wherever I am, whatever comes next, there’ll be no peace for me unlesshekeeps straight! That Iknow, and he’d better know it, too.” She was silent for some moments, during which Katrine heard the quick intake of her breath, then: “And tell him,” she added with difficulty, “tell him I’ve always been an ostrich, hiding, not my head, but my heart. Somehow I couldn’t let it out, but,” her voice deepened to a full, rich note, “there’s never been a moment of his life, since he was born, when I wouldn’t have been flayed—slowly! for his good! Tell him his mother loved him more than her life.”

“I’ll tell him; I won’t write. I’ll travel the length of India, if need be, to tell him myself,” cried Katrine, deeply touched. To discover a hidden weakness in her jaunty, self-sufficient companion was to feel herself infused with new strength. She was needed, and the woman in her rose to the? demand. She hitched Jackey on one side so as to free her right arm, and fumbling in her companion’s pocket found and extracted the flask.

“Meantime, if you have no care for yourself, think ofhim, and be careful forhissake. What is the use of talking of love, if you won’t do even that for his sake? Be sensible for yourself as well as for other people!”

“Mr Dick, your common-sense is invaluable!” Mrs Mannering drank, smacked her lips, and grunted with satisfaction. “That’s good! That’s better. I needed that.” Then after a momentary pause. “Remember though,if I docome through, your work is to forget. No bringing up of deathbed confidences! ... Anything in the same line that I can do for yourself?”

“No,” answered Katrine shortly. If the end came, Martin and Grizel could console each other without help from her. And their figures were misty. Even Jackey himself counted for more at this moment, embodying as he did a great potential possibility of life. As for Jim Blair—ah! let Jim hug his false dreams: let him never awake!

The hours dragged on. The children slept; some of the women slept also, worn out by their fears. Katrine’s cramped arms still held their burden, but Nancy Mannering had turned herself round in her seat, presenting her broad back as a support.

“Let yourself go, my dear; lean your weight on me. Nothing like a support to your back. I was at the opera just before I sailed—six shillings’ worth of gallery, and never a rail at the back. Leaned back against a young lad’s knees, and he wriggled in seventeen fits. Prudery, eh? Or perhaps I was too old. Well! Well!”

The voice had its old jaunty tone, but the language in which she spoke was unintelligible.Opera! Katrine shrank at the sound. Face to face with death, the trivial happenings of life retreated to an illimitable distance. Was it possible that one had ever cared for such baubles—had counted them among the goods of life!

At the stern of the boat a woman was praying aloud, while those around joined in with tears and sobs. Katrine roused herself to listen, and caught fervid confessions of sin and wrong-doing. Her thoughts turned inward; she also ought to pray, to make confession. Drearily she asked herself what she had done, and failed to discover a tangible offence. Honestly she had endeavoured; honestly she had refrained. Looking back over her life she could find no shrinking from duty, no unfair dealing, no violation of a law. She had not “gone astray,” she had not been “vile and sinful altogether”; the woman’s abasement of self-blame left her untouched. The searchlight of conscience revealed sin indeed, but not of commission.Lack of level—that was the flaw—of whole-hearted, unselfish love which gave all and asked for no return; love which could transform the commonest events, and make of duty a joy!

Grizel possessed that love; a spring of tenderness and sympathy, welling within her heart. She had found it easy to live with a querulous old woman. “She doesn’t worry me: Iloveher!” Katrine heard again the tone of the deep, rich voice giving the simple explanation. She herself had placed Martin before all created things, but there had been no tenderness in her heart. With opened eyes she looked back on the critical, exacting sentiment which she had called love, and found it unworthy the name. Her arms tightened round the sleeping child. This then was the secret of life. Love—“the fulfilment of the law.” If life were spared, it would be the motive spring for which she would strive; given that, the rest would follow. The women at her side were imploring for forgiveness, and comfort in death. Katrine prayed for life. “More life: fuller life!Fill my mean heart—!”

Ten minutes later when the rescuing ship steamed into view the sight which should have brought exhilaration broke down the most sternly-kept composure. Men and women wept together, wept and laughed, and sobbed and clung, even the most composed giving way to their emotion now that the strain was at an end.

On she came, a stately form, summoned by the wondrous message of the air, racing through the water to the noble work of rescue. Nearer and nearer, until she was close at hand, and white faces looked down from the crowded decks. The nightmare of removal from the boat was accomplished in safety. Katrine felt her waist encircled by a tender arm, and heard a woman’s voice addressing her in tremulous tones. Her cramped limbs could hardly move, she was half-led, half-carried into a luxurious cabin, undressed, laid in a warm, fresh bed, fed with soup and wine. The women who waited upon her shed tears as they worked, but she herself was dry-eyed. She was thinking of that yellow glimmering light through the fog, the light of the ship which held her world,—the ship with a hole in her side...

But an hour later Nancy Mannering came to her bedside with a face working with emotion, to tell glad news. The passengers of the injured ship had been transferred to the C—, but the crew remained at their posts, for the water-tight compartments were bravely doing their work, and there was hope of keeping her afloat until Bombay Harbour could be reached. Meantime the rescuing vessel had her in tow.

“Shut your eyes, my beauty, and sleep!” said Nancy Mannering gently. “He’s off to his bed. I’ve seen him, and touched him, and heard his voice. He’s a real live man and no ghost, as to-morrow morning you’ll see for yourself, and if you ever say good-bye to him again,—well! you deserve all you may get.—Go to sleep, child, go to sleep, and thank the good God!”

But the next morning Katrine did not get up. She was prostrate with physical collapse, and there was no mental effort to spur her into action. She did not want to meet Bedford. Now that safety was assured, it was torture to remember her own words, and to realise that the first confession of love had come from her own lips, not his. She welcomed the weariness and pain which kept her a prisoner in the cabin; dreaded the meeting which must inevitably come. The dread and the shame, the excitement and the distress, increased her physical ailments; the doctor was summoned, once and again, before the day was over, and other methods failing prescribed a sleeping-draught to secure a night’s rest before landing. As a result Katrine slept heavily, but awoke to so crushing a headache that movement appeared out of the question.

No matter, Nancy Mannering assured her. It would be hours before the ship had disgorged her double complement of passengers, to say nothing of the luggage. She was to lie still, recover slowly, go on shore quietly later on when the fuss and racket were over. The captain had sent a special message to assure her of his consideration and help. Two other women were prostrate like herself. They also were to wait.

Katrine settled down again into a fitful sleep, through which the tramp of feet, the clamour of voices, the banging of luggage, beat confusedly upon her brain. From time to time Mrs Mannering crept in to look at her, and stole out unnoticed; it was not until late in the afternoon, when quiet reigned on the deck overhead, that she met opened eyes and a smile of welcome.

“I’m dreadfully lazy! I’m afraid it’s ever so late, but I can dress quickly now for my head is better. Is—?”

She stopped short, flushing, but Mrs Mannering was intentionally obtuse.

“Yes, all right! The poor old ship kept up to the end. They are getting out the baggage. Pray heaven it isdry! in any case we’ll be thankful for what we can get. It looked as if we might not have a rag to our backs. That good soul Anderson is looking after our part of the spoil; Captain Bedford would have done it, but it was all he could do to get through himself. Had to rush off to take up a company by the first train. They’ve been kept waiting for him by this upset. However, our rooms are booked at the hotel, and we can lie low for a few days till we get our breath.”

Katrine stared blankly. She had shrunk from the thought of meeting Bedford, yet it came as a shock to hear that he had gone on and left her behind. They hadallgone on,—the passengers among whom she had lived so closely during those last weeks; but for Nancy Mannering she was alone in the strange new world. It was a lonesome feeling. She sat on the side of her bunk, smiling a difficult smile.

“Oh! Yes. That will be nice. And my friends have arranged for my journey. The agent will call—”

“Be hanged to agents! I’ve sworn by all my gods to stick to you till I see you safely landed with your friends. It’s only a few score miles out of my way, and that counts for nothing in this country. The good Bedford will see me housed when we arrive.”

“Scores of miles out of your way! Forme? Mrs Mannering, it is too much! I can’t let you do it. You are the kindest, most unselfish of creatures.”

Mrs Mannering grimaced.

“Don’t be too sure!” she said dryly. “Curiosity poses under many forms. I’ve a weakness for being on in the last act. Well! dress yourself, and come along, and be sure to speak prettily to the captain before you leave. He’s behaved like a brick. There’s tea in the saloon.”

By six o’clock Katrine and her chaperon were safely housed in the hotel, appreciating as they had never done before the blessings ofterra firma. The next morning their baggage was restored to them, practically undamaged, and what was to Katrine most important of all, a letter arrived from Jim Blair.

She sat alone in her room holding the unopened envelope in her hand, gaining courage for the ordeal of reading the loving words. Strange how deep a hold this unknown man had taken of her affections! Bedford she loved with the stored-up passion of her life, but even Bedford himself had not been able to lessen her tenderness towards the man who had come into her life at the moment when she needed him most, and brought solace to her sore heart. It was cruelly hard to be obliged to bring pain and disappointment to so generous a lover. She flinched and coloured at the thought of her own conduct as viewed from the outside—just the weak, commonplace story of the pretty girl who starts on a voyage which is to bring her to a waiting lover, meets another manen route, and is false to her tryst,—but it was typical of Katrine’s conception of the character of her unknown lover, that through all her troubled thoughts the conviction remained that Jim would understand,—that however he might suffer he would neither be bitter nor unjust.

She sighed, and bracing herself resolutely, tore open the envelope. The blood rushed to her face as she read the opening words:

“My Own Katrine,

“No! I am not breaking my truce. This little breathing space between the sea voyage and the start up-country doesn’t count in the scheme. It’s a No-man’s land, of which this man would be a fool if he didn’t take possession forthwith!

“Besides, beloved, there are things that I want to say; things thatneedto be said... Your journey is nearly over, our meeting is close at hand, and if the truth were known there’s more fear than expectation in your heart! I know you too well not to realise that—but the fear must go! Get it out of your head once for all, little girl, that you have anything to dread from me. I want you, I want you badly, but most of all I want your happiness. That sounds the sort of thing one reads in books—just a bit too lofty and impersonal to be true, but if you come to worry it out, it’s only a higher kind of selfishness. Once love with your own heart and soul, love some one, that is to say,more than yourself, and as the most obvious of consequences, happiness is impossible for yourself unless it has first and foremost filled that other heart. Don’t worry yourself by any idea that you are pledged to me, in honour bound, or any nonsense of the kind. You arenot; you are as free as air. If you should happen to like another man better than me (you won’t!) I’d help you to him. If you don’t want me (you will!) I’ll stand aside. Dear little girl, be aisy! I’m on your side.

“That ‘mad’ letter of yours was delicious sense. The veritable Katrine revealed herself more therein than in any letter I have yet received. And your little discourse on tenderness—that touched me! It is a quality which, as you say, is wanting in the love of many men, and the lack of it leaves a record on the faces of weary women. But, after all, you know, the doing or undoing, whichever you choose to call it, is in the main the fault of some other woman in the past! Why do mothers spoil their boys instead of training them in the small domestic kindnesses and attentions which will be so valuable later on? If I had a son... upon my life I believe I’d spoil him too!

“Seriously though, Katrine, it must be pre-eminently tenderness which is filling my heart today, for Icanimagine; Icanunderstand! I am so sorry for you, poor, puzzled girl! Is that a good augury for the future?

“I shall come in to see you at the Middleton bungalow the day you arrive. No club meetings for me. Just an hour or two for rest and refreshment, and then—enter Jim Blair! Poor little girl, are you trembling in your shoes? If only I could convince you of my sincerity! Was it for nothing, Katrine, that my heart went out to you across the seas; was it for nothing that my cry touched your heart; was it for nothing that after years of block and difficulty, the way was opened out which brings you here to me? Go on in faith for one week longer!

“Jim Blair.”

The letter fell from Katrine’s hands and fluttered to the ground. She hid her face in her hands.

Chapter Twenty Nine.The delight and excitement which is felt by most travellers on a first introduction to the East was dimmed in Katrine’s case by the pressure of events past and to come. The shadow of death had loomed too recently to be easily repelled. The thought of what might have been pierced knife-like through the thankfulness for what was, and recovered life seemed a frail and dream-like treasure hardly as yet to be realised.Katrine found some comfort in the fact that she was not alone in absent-mindedness and lack of appreciation, since Nancy Mannering also was far from her normal self. She was restless, and on edge; at once excited and reserved, affectionate and chilling. She would sit through a whole meal in silence, and leave the table chuckling with laughter. She would drag Katrine out for drives through the hot, bright streets, play the part of show-woman with exaggerated fervour, and suddenly, for no apparent reason, stop short in the middle of a sentence, and refuse to speak again. Excitement, reserve, tenderness, and sarcasm, followed each other in rapid sequence, and added not a little to the strain of the waiting days, but Katrine bore patiently with the varying moods, realising that to a woman of intensely practical nature the very fact of having opened her heart in the hour of danger would be enough to close it more tightly than ever when that danger was past. “If we get out of this, your work is to forget!” Those had been Mrs Mannering’s own words, but, poor dear soul! she herself was evidently finding the task difficult, lashing herself for her ill-placed confidence! Moreover, she also had a meeting in store... Every time that Katrine’s reflections brought her round to this point, Mrs Mannering and her idiosyncrasies were forgotten in the whirl of her own thoughts. So far as was possible she tried to shut her mind to what lay ahead, to encourage, rather than fight against, the languor of mind and body which gave a dream-like unreality to life. As Jim Blair had said, this time was a rest by the way, a No-man’s land, when her chief duty was to rest and gather strength.On the third day the two ladies started on their three days’ journey up country, under the most luxurious conditions which it was possible to attain. Everything had been thought of, everything arranged; agent and officials waited upon them with an assiduity which the older traveller, at least, had no difficulty in tracing to its source. Short of climatic exigencies the long journey was robbed of discomfort, but the length, the heat, above all the dust, made it nevertheless a trying experience to the English girl.At first the novelty of the country arrested her attention, but long before the four days were over, interest had evaporated, and she was consumed by alternate longings to reach her destination, and a panic of dread at what awaited her when there. How incomprehensible to be dreading a destination which meant Dorothea, and the fulfilment of a lifelong dream! How still more incomprehensible to find it an effort to think of Dorothea at all!After what seemed an eternity of waiting, the journey came to an end. The train drew up before a little sun-baked station which was like a score of others that had been passed before, and on the platform stood a man in uniform, and a woman in white whose thin, sweet face was turned eagerly towards the windows of the train, and with a rush of pain and joy the traveller recognised the friend of her girlhood. The two women kissed, and clung, and gazed, and fell back to gaze again. On Dorothea’s face was written love and admiration, touched with the wistfulness of the exile. This young, fresh girl was only a year her junior—how sweet, how pink, howEnglishshe appeared! The sight of her was as a breath of green lanes sunk deep between flowering hedges. Katrine’s eyes felt the smart of tears. How thin, how old, how changed, but oh, how sweet! sweeter than ever, and with just the old, dear, loving ways. As for Jack Middleton himself, he had improved in appearance, as men have a trying habit of doing, in contradistinction to their women kind. He looked broader, more imposing, the loss of complexion was in his case little detriment. When he had left England he had been but a lanky youth, now he was a man, and a handsome man at that. Katrine looking on felt a pang of resentment. This land of exile demanded many tolls of the women who followed their men-kind to its shores, not least among them the loss of youth and bloom! Captain Middleton took charge of Mrs Mannering, and the two friends drove home together, hand in hand, but silent. There was so much to be said that it seemed difficult to begin, and Katrine was subtly conscious that Dorothea shared her own feeling of shyness and strain. Three days had passed since Bedford’s return, the story of the wreck had been told—how much, how little, had Dorothea divined? Each moment Katrine braced herself to hear a name—twonames; when time passed on without mention of either, the silence but added to her strain.At each turn of the dusty path she glanced ahead with shrinking eyes, each bungalow held a possibility, a dread. Didhelive there? Was he perhaps even now looking out from behind those shrouding-blinds? And of what was Dorothea thinking as she sat so silently by her side? The look in her sweet, tired eyes, the clinging touch of the thin hand were so eloquent of love that Katrine’s heart could not but be content with her welcome, but her thoughts were awhirl.It was a relief to both women when the bungalow was reached, and the appearance of the small son set their tongues free. Dorothea flushed with pride as she listened to her friend’s appreciation of her son’s beauty and charm, and the urchin, scenting the arrival of a new slave, put forth his best wiles. He was a beautiful child, but in a colourless, fragile fashion which differentiated him sadly from the children at home. As Katrine held his limp little hand and looked at the tracery of blue veins on the delicate forehead, her heart swelled with pity and tenderness.“I held a child, a little boy like this, in my arms all the time in,—in the boat, Doll!” she said softly. “He comforted me! I realised then—what it might mean—”“Yes!” Dorothea’s voice had an edge of pain. Her own treasure was held by so frail a thread that the value of him could not be discussed. Katrine divined as much, and switched the conversation to the safer subject of appearances.“He’s adorable, Doll. A gem! Beyond all my dreams. And such a discreet blend! Your eyes, and Jack’s nose. Jack’s hair, your complexion—”“Ah, my dear, that’s a lost joy! Don’t talk of complexions to me, and you so pink and white. Katrine, you are so pretty! I never thought you were going to be so pretty, though, of course, I’ve had photographs.”Involuntarily Katrine’s eyes turned towards the mantelpiece, where a certain photograph had been wont to stand, a bold photograph which had made eyes at bachelor guests; had first pitied, and then decoyed. “I give you my word it looked as if itwantedto come!” The blood rose in her cheeks; looking across the room at Dorothea, she perceived that she also had flushed. Had she read the unspoken thought?Once again the child’s garrulity came to the rescue, but while she played with him and drank her tea Katrine was conscious that Dorothea’s eyes were wandering towards the clock, and that she was summoning courage for an announcement which had to be made.Presently it came.“Shall I take you to your room, dear? Your boxes have arrived and you must be longing to have a bath and change. And it’s getting late. Pour o’clock. There is just an hour before—Jim comes!”“Comes here?”Dorothea nodded.“He insisted. I tried to make it later, but it was no use. Five o’clock, not a moment later.”Katrine rose hastily. Suppose he came earlier, and found her unprepared! She was eager to reach the stronghold of her own room.“I think,” she announced haughtily, “it’s presumptuous! One wants a little time... Send word that I’m tired, and prefer to wait until to-morrow.”Dorothea held out her hands with a gesture which signified that she might send as many messages as she pleased, but the result would be the same.“I’ll stay in my room!” Katrine threatened.Dorothea laughed.“It would makenodifference! He’d interview you through the door, he’d say all that hehadto say, only—we should all overhear! It’s no use, Kitty, you might as well give in. When Jim Blair makes up his mind it’s useless to fight. He carries it through.”Not this time! Katrine said to herself. Not this time. Nevertheless it seemed impossible to avoid the meeting. It had to come. Perhaps the truest wisdom lay in getting it over. She looked at Dorothea, a deep questioning glance, mutely imploring confidence, but Dorothea would speak of nothing but such practical matters as baths, the temperature of water, the opening and unpacking of trunks. Not once had she mentioned Bedford’s name. How much, how little, did Dorothea divine?

The delight and excitement which is felt by most travellers on a first introduction to the East was dimmed in Katrine’s case by the pressure of events past and to come. The shadow of death had loomed too recently to be easily repelled. The thought of what might have been pierced knife-like through the thankfulness for what was, and recovered life seemed a frail and dream-like treasure hardly as yet to be realised.

Katrine found some comfort in the fact that she was not alone in absent-mindedness and lack of appreciation, since Nancy Mannering also was far from her normal self. She was restless, and on edge; at once excited and reserved, affectionate and chilling. She would sit through a whole meal in silence, and leave the table chuckling with laughter. She would drag Katrine out for drives through the hot, bright streets, play the part of show-woman with exaggerated fervour, and suddenly, for no apparent reason, stop short in the middle of a sentence, and refuse to speak again. Excitement, reserve, tenderness, and sarcasm, followed each other in rapid sequence, and added not a little to the strain of the waiting days, but Katrine bore patiently with the varying moods, realising that to a woman of intensely practical nature the very fact of having opened her heart in the hour of danger would be enough to close it more tightly than ever when that danger was past. “If we get out of this, your work is to forget!” Those had been Mrs Mannering’s own words, but, poor dear soul! she herself was evidently finding the task difficult, lashing herself for her ill-placed confidence! Moreover, she also had a meeting in store... Every time that Katrine’s reflections brought her round to this point, Mrs Mannering and her idiosyncrasies were forgotten in the whirl of her own thoughts. So far as was possible she tried to shut her mind to what lay ahead, to encourage, rather than fight against, the languor of mind and body which gave a dream-like unreality to life. As Jim Blair had said, this time was a rest by the way, a No-man’s land, when her chief duty was to rest and gather strength.

On the third day the two ladies started on their three days’ journey up country, under the most luxurious conditions which it was possible to attain. Everything had been thought of, everything arranged; agent and officials waited upon them with an assiduity which the older traveller, at least, had no difficulty in tracing to its source. Short of climatic exigencies the long journey was robbed of discomfort, but the length, the heat, above all the dust, made it nevertheless a trying experience to the English girl.

At first the novelty of the country arrested her attention, but long before the four days were over, interest had evaporated, and she was consumed by alternate longings to reach her destination, and a panic of dread at what awaited her when there. How incomprehensible to be dreading a destination which meant Dorothea, and the fulfilment of a lifelong dream! How still more incomprehensible to find it an effort to think of Dorothea at all!

After what seemed an eternity of waiting, the journey came to an end. The train drew up before a little sun-baked station which was like a score of others that had been passed before, and on the platform stood a man in uniform, and a woman in white whose thin, sweet face was turned eagerly towards the windows of the train, and with a rush of pain and joy the traveller recognised the friend of her girlhood. The two women kissed, and clung, and gazed, and fell back to gaze again. On Dorothea’s face was written love and admiration, touched with the wistfulness of the exile. This young, fresh girl was only a year her junior—how sweet, how pink, howEnglishshe appeared! The sight of her was as a breath of green lanes sunk deep between flowering hedges. Katrine’s eyes felt the smart of tears. How thin, how old, how changed, but oh, how sweet! sweeter than ever, and with just the old, dear, loving ways. As for Jack Middleton himself, he had improved in appearance, as men have a trying habit of doing, in contradistinction to their women kind. He looked broader, more imposing, the loss of complexion was in his case little detriment. When he had left England he had been but a lanky youth, now he was a man, and a handsome man at that. Katrine looking on felt a pang of resentment. This land of exile demanded many tolls of the women who followed their men-kind to its shores, not least among them the loss of youth and bloom! Captain Middleton took charge of Mrs Mannering, and the two friends drove home together, hand in hand, but silent. There was so much to be said that it seemed difficult to begin, and Katrine was subtly conscious that Dorothea shared her own feeling of shyness and strain. Three days had passed since Bedford’s return, the story of the wreck had been told—how much, how little, had Dorothea divined? Each moment Katrine braced herself to hear a name—twonames; when time passed on without mention of either, the silence but added to her strain.

At each turn of the dusty path she glanced ahead with shrinking eyes, each bungalow held a possibility, a dread. Didhelive there? Was he perhaps even now looking out from behind those shrouding-blinds? And of what was Dorothea thinking as she sat so silently by her side? The look in her sweet, tired eyes, the clinging touch of the thin hand were so eloquent of love that Katrine’s heart could not but be content with her welcome, but her thoughts were awhirl.

It was a relief to both women when the bungalow was reached, and the appearance of the small son set their tongues free. Dorothea flushed with pride as she listened to her friend’s appreciation of her son’s beauty and charm, and the urchin, scenting the arrival of a new slave, put forth his best wiles. He was a beautiful child, but in a colourless, fragile fashion which differentiated him sadly from the children at home. As Katrine held his limp little hand and looked at the tracery of blue veins on the delicate forehead, her heart swelled with pity and tenderness.

“I held a child, a little boy like this, in my arms all the time in,—in the boat, Doll!” she said softly. “He comforted me! I realised then—what it might mean—”

“Yes!” Dorothea’s voice had an edge of pain. Her own treasure was held by so frail a thread that the value of him could not be discussed. Katrine divined as much, and switched the conversation to the safer subject of appearances.

“He’s adorable, Doll. A gem! Beyond all my dreams. And such a discreet blend! Your eyes, and Jack’s nose. Jack’s hair, your complexion—”

“Ah, my dear, that’s a lost joy! Don’t talk of complexions to me, and you so pink and white. Katrine, you are so pretty! I never thought you were going to be so pretty, though, of course, I’ve had photographs.”

Involuntarily Katrine’s eyes turned towards the mantelpiece, where a certain photograph had been wont to stand, a bold photograph which had made eyes at bachelor guests; had first pitied, and then decoyed. “I give you my word it looked as if itwantedto come!” The blood rose in her cheeks; looking across the room at Dorothea, she perceived that she also had flushed. Had she read the unspoken thought?

Once again the child’s garrulity came to the rescue, but while she played with him and drank her tea Katrine was conscious that Dorothea’s eyes were wandering towards the clock, and that she was summoning courage for an announcement which had to be made.

Presently it came.

“Shall I take you to your room, dear? Your boxes have arrived and you must be longing to have a bath and change. And it’s getting late. Pour o’clock. There is just an hour before—Jim comes!”

“Comes here?”

Dorothea nodded.

“He insisted. I tried to make it later, but it was no use. Five o’clock, not a moment later.”

Katrine rose hastily. Suppose he came earlier, and found her unprepared! She was eager to reach the stronghold of her own room.

“I think,” she announced haughtily, “it’s presumptuous! One wants a little time... Send word that I’m tired, and prefer to wait until to-morrow.”

Dorothea held out her hands with a gesture which signified that she might send as many messages as she pleased, but the result would be the same.

“I’ll stay in my room!” Katrine threatened.

Dorothea laughed.

“It would makenodifference! He’d interview you through the door, he’d say all that hehadto say, only—we should all overhear! It’s no use, Kitty, you might as well give in. When Jim Blair makes up his mind it’s useless to fight. He carries it through.”

Not this time! Katrine said to herself. Not this time. Nevertheless it seemed impossible to avoid the meeting. It had to come. Perhaps the truest wisdom lay in getting it over. She looked at Dorothea, a deep questioning glance, mutely imploring confidence, but Dorothea would speak of nothing but such practical matters as baths, the temperature of water, the opening and unpacking of trunks. Not once had she mentioned Bedford’s name. How much, how little, did Dorothea divine?

Chapter Thirty.Alone in the quaint un-English bedroom Katrine bathed and made her toilette. Dorothea’s loving hands had already opened the box which had come safely through so many perils, and there, upon the topmost tray, lay the clothes which had been packed with careful forethought for this special occasion. A fine white gown of an elaborate simplicity which bore the hall-mark of Grizel’s taste, dainty shoes and stockings, the touch of blue which was necessary to the success of any costume intended for Katrine, even the large tortoise-shell pins for her hair. With what expectation, what fond, shy hopes had they been laid together! It had been with something like the reverence of a bride for her wedding robe, that she had smoothed those folds. Katrine shivered. An overwhelming pity rose in her heart, not alone for herself, but also for the good, tender man for whom was stored so bitter a disappointment. Patient, trustful Jim Blair, who was even now awaiting her coming with a lover’s eagerness and impatience! A moment later, her thoughts had flown back on the wing of a feminine impulse to a still dearer personality.On shipboard it had been difficult to attain a delicacy of toilette; she had been swathed in veils, hot and wind-blown,—it was impossible to strangle a truant wish that Bedford might see her now!Katrine stood rigid by the doorway, gathering courage, then desperately flung it open. The unfamiliar scent of the East assailed her nostrils, that scent which even more than sight proclaimed a change of country. She paced the long corridor, and caught the sound of Dorothea’s voice. She was talking; a deeper tone was heard in reply. Jim Blair had arrived! In another moment she would meet him face to face. It seemed to Katrine as if at that sound every pulse in her own body ceased beating; there came a moment of breathlessness, of almost swooning inability to think or move, then once again she braced herself, and opened the door.Against the light, his back turned towards her, stood a tall, uniformed figure. Dorothea, flushed and trembling, swept forward and enveloped her friend in a fervid embrace. “It is Jim!” she whispered in low, intent accents. “Jim Blair. Be kind to him, Katrine,be kind!”She slid out of the retaining arms, a wraith-like embodiment of the Dorothea who had been, and sped from the room. The door closed behind her, and Katrine stood, a motionless figure, watching another, motionless as her own. Had he heard? Did he realise her presence?He was tall and broad; the lines of his uniform fitted tightly to his figure. He looked a man of whom a woman might be proud, but he was a man without a personality; a man whose face was hidden.Katrine laid her hand on the back of a couch and spoke two trembling words:“Captain Blair!”At the sound of her voice he turned, wheeling towards her with a swift light movement, so that she might see his face, might look in his eyes—grey, magnetic eyes, curiously light against the sunburn of his face...Five minutes later, seated upon the huge bamboo couch, supported by strong arms which seemed to bound the world, Katrine slowly recovered collected thought.“You—are—Jim! ... Jim is—You! ... Then what of Captain Bedford? Where is he?Isthere a Captain Bedford? Is he a real living man, or just a fictitious person invented for—”“Indeed no! He is real enough, poor fellow, but in Egypt still, laid by the heel; unable to move. I only—only took his place!”“I think,” announced Katrine slowly, “I am very angry!”It seemed an incongruous statement to make, considering the position and appearance of the speaker, but the hearer received it with a gravity which showed that his own conscience was not altogether at ease.“Dearest, before you judge, let me speak! Hear what I have to say! I had no intention of deceiving you. Such an idea never entered my head until at the last moment a cable arrived to say that Bedford was incapacitated, and could not sail. We were worried, all of us, to think that you should miss his help. I was racking my brains to think what I could do, when the inspiration came to meet you myself. It was an easy matter to get off for a few weeks, as there was leave owing to me, and I had started almost before I had time to think. Then came misgivings! I did not know how you would take it, if it would seem to you like going back on my promise. I had promised to keep on neutral ground for three months, and atête-à-têteon shipboard seemed hardly playing the game.—I started on the heat of an impulse, afire to see you at the first possible moment; I landed at Port Said in a blue funk, the joy at the thought of meeting swallowed in dread of what you might say. I would have given a pile at that moment to have been safely back in India. Then—you know how! we met on shore. I knew you at the first glance, and, Katrine! you knewme. No matter who I was, or by what name I called myself, you belonged to me,and you knew it!“At that moment, for the first time, it flashed into my head to take Bedford’s place in Bedford’s name. I had seen the list of passengers, and I knew no one on board. Ours is an out-of-the-way station, and I have seldom been home these last years. It seemed to me that if I kept close and avoided the smoke-room, I might very well get through the rest of the voyage without an explanation as to name. And I remembered what you had said—all the little feminine arguments you had used rose up and argued with me as they had never done before. You said that to meet a man with whom you were expected, almost pledged, to fall in love, was a big handicap to success; that if we could have a chance of meeting in the ordinary way, as strangers pledged to no special interest, we could test the strength of the mutual attraction far more surely. And another time you said (I think this influenced me more than anything else!) you said that one glance at my face, five minutes in my society, would tell you more than a hundred letters! Do you remember saying that? The inference was that the shape of my nose or ears was to count more than character.”His strong hands pulled her round, so that her eyes met his.“Katrine! do you like my ears? Are you satisfied with them now that you see them in flesh?”“I take no interest in your ears. What are your ears to me? I was thinking of Jim Blair’s ears, and you are,—I don’t knowwhatyou are—a compound person, more strange than a hundred strangers... Oh,Jim! how could you? If you realised so much, why couldn’t you realise more? If I was already yours, then why trouble to play a part? Yes, I am angry;I am! I think you were wrong.”“Sweetheart, I know it! Nobody knows it better than I. I am not excusing myself, only explaining how it came about. One false step, and then it seemed impossible to go back. I could not face the thought of owning up on board, we were so happy, so innocently happy, that it seemed criminal to break it all up. Confess now that I behaved well, that I made an exemplary escort?”“You—you—made me dreadfully in love with you,” protested Katrine, stiffening her back, and holding him off with determined hands, when his delight at the confession took an active form. “Andunhappy! Did you think it was a light thing to me to feel my loyalty slipping from me day by day—to be obliged to love one man, when another man was waiting? Did you think I hadnoheart for Jim Blair?”“I knew you had, and I loved you for it. Do you remember how you put me on my guard? But IwasJim Blair, you darling, so all was well. I was afraid you’d worry, but at the worst it was a matter ofdays, and those days were going to save us months of waiting. That’s the way I put it, trying to convince myself that all would work out for the best. We should have remained on terms of the strictest friendship, if—if it hadn’t been for—”Katrine shuddered. It would be long before she could talk calmly of the awesome experience through which she had passed. Her arms relaxed, she sank back, and they clung together in silence for long healing minutes.“You never told me,” she whispered, “even at the end—what wethoughtwas the end! You let me leave you, not knowing... Why did you not tell me then, and let me die in peace?”His eyes met hers, gravely, questioning.“Wouldit have made for peace? Would death have seemed more easy, or less? Was your brain clear enough to grasp explanations, or to have felt any comfort, if youhad? And, beloved,—in the face of death what was aname? I lovedyou, you loved me, what did it matter by what name I was called? If it had been the end,—well! it would not have been as Miss Beverley and Captain—anything, that we should have met on another plane.—If we were saved, it was only a matter of two or three days...”“One can suffer a good deal in two or three days! How do you suppose I felt in that train, looking forward to meeting you—both!”His eyes twinkled; the grave face broke into a smile.“Exactly as you would have done, for months instead of days, if we had kept to the original agreement! No! beloved, I apologise, but don’t expect me to be abject. I’ve thought it out, not once, but a dozen times, and I can’t see that on the whole you’ve suffered more than you were bound to do in any case. And what have you been saved? Three months of uncertainty and waiting. And what have you gained? Three months of happiness to add to the score of life. It’s a big haul, my Katrine! It is worth a few pangs?”“You twist things about; your arguments are specious; they are arguments without premises. Who said I was going to waive three months? I’m not at all sure that I shall. What would they say at home? They know I’m not the sort of girl to fall in love on a few days’ acquaintance.”“Why bring Cranford into the question? Does it matter one button what they think? Besides, I don’t wish to be boastful, but as a matter of fact, youdid!”“I didn’t!” Katrine contradicted. “No! thank goodness, I am restored to my own confidence. I understand now that it was only because youwereJim, because I recognisedyourselfin spite of disguises that I did—fall! I was really absolutely loyal throughout, but other people won’t understand—Mrs Mannering, for instance! I told her there was ‘some one else.’”“And I went one better, and told her who I was! We had a heart-to-heart talk that morning in Bombay before I left, and cleared up all misunderstandings. She’s a good sort. We owe her a lot. Perhaps some day we may be able to pay some of it back, to her boy.”Katrine nodded dumbly. She was occupied in reviewing her journey up country in the light of the revelation, and seeing in it an explanation of her companion’s idiosyncrasies, her mysterious chuckles of laughter, her tenderness, alternated with raillery, her suppressed excitement at the moment of arrival. She had known all the time, even in Bombay, when the letter arrived! Katrine started, confronted by another mystery.“The letter! The one at Bombay—”“What about it?”“You wrote it, of course, but how, when? Not before our voyage. Youknewwhen you wrote—”“Yes; I knew,” he said softly. “It was written on the night we arrived. I trusted to your ignorance of the country in the matter of postmarks, and to your femininity to pass the absence of date! Was it selfish of me to send it? I knew you would be expecting to hear, and it was a comfort to me to write. Besides, I felt that a moment would come when it would be a comfort to you, too. You had trained me to understand that your mind worked in flashes, and that at a glance you could grasp a situation which would petrify a poor male thing. Remembering this, I believed—Ihopedthat at the very moment of discovery you might remember what I had said, and realise that all was right between us—always had been right, always would be to the end! I wanted you to realise that that letter had been writtenafterwe had met, and that my love had changed only to grow deeper.”Katrine sighed; a deep, long-drawn sigh in which was the sound of immeasurable content.“Oh, I am glad,” she sighed. “I amglad! Even at the height of my love the thought of Jim Blair tugged at my heart. It hurt me to hurt him. He had wound his life so closely with mine that I couldn’t drag them apart. And a bit of me loved him still, went on loving, and wanting his love. After having accepted so much, I could never have been really satisfied to throw him over, even for—Jim! I was going to say for ‘you’ but youareJim, and I can have you both! There’s no one to throw over; no one to be unhappy—”Katrine paused; in her deep eyes a gleam of laughter awoke and danced. “There’s only one drawback, Captain Bedford—Blair—Jim—John—whatever you chose to call yourself, and forthatyou have yourself to blame!”“I’ll bear it. I’ll bear anything! What is it now?” asked Jim, smiling.“I shall always,” replied Katrine demurely, “I shall always feel that I am married totwomen!”The End.

Alone in the quaint un-English bedroom Katrine bathed and made her toilette. Dorothea’s loving hands had already opened the box which had come safely through so many perils, and there, upon the topmost tray, lay the clothes which had been packed with careful forethought for this special occasion. A fine white gown of an elaborate simplicity which bore the hall-mark of Grizel’s taste, dainty shoes and stockings, the touch of blue which was necessary to the success of any costume intended for Katrine, even the large tortoise-shell pins for her hair. With what expectation, what fond, shy hopes had they been laid together! It had been with something like the reverence of a bride for her wedding robe, that she had smoothed those folds. Katrine shivered. An overwhelming pity rose in her heart, not alone for herself, but also for the good, tender man for whom was stored so bitter a disappointment. Patient, trustful Jim Blair, who was even now awaiting her coming with a lover’s eagerness and impatience! A moment later, her thoughts had flown back on the wing of a feminine impulse to a still dearer personality.

On shipboard it had been difficult to attain a delicacy of toilette; she had been swathed in veils, hot and wind-blown,—it was impossible to strangle a truant wish that Bedford might see her now!

Katrine stood rigid by the doorway, gathering courage, then desperately flung it open. The unfamiliar scent of the East assailed her nostrils, that scent which even more than sight proclaimed a change of country. She paced the long corridor, and caught the sound of Dorothea’s voice. She was talking; a deeper tone was heard in reply. Jim Blair had arrived! In another moment she would meet him face to face. It seemed to Katrine as if at that sound every pulse in her own body ceased beating; there came a moment of breathlessness, of almost swooning inability to think or move, then once again she braced herself, and opened the door.

Against the light, his back turned towards her, stood a tall, uniformed figure. Dorothea, flushed and trembling, swept forward and enveloped her friend in a fervid embrace. “It is Jim!” she whispered in low, intent accents. “Jim Blair. Be kind to him, Katrine,be kind!”

She slid out of the retaining arms, a wraith-like embodiment of the Dorothea who had been, and sped from the room. The door closed behind her, and Katrine stood, a motionless figure, watching another, motionless as her own. Had he heard? Did he realise her presence?

He was tall and broad; the lines of his uniform fitted tightly to his figure. He looked a man of whom a woman might be proud, but he was a man without a personality; a man whose face was hidden.

Katrine laid her hand on the back of a couch and spoke two trembling words:

“Captain Blair!”

At the sound of her voice he turned, wheeling towards her with a swift light movement, so that she might see his face, might look in his eyes—grey, magnetic eyes, curiously light against the sunburn of his face...

Five minutes later, seated upon the huge bamboo couch, supported by strong arms which seemed to bound the world, Katrine slowly recovered collected thought.

“You—are—Jim! ... Jim is—You! ... Then what of Captain Bedford? Where is he?Isthere a Captain Bedford? Is he a real living man, or just a fictitious person invented for—”

“Indeed no! He is real enough, poor fellow, but in Egypt still, laid by the heel; unable to move. I only—only took his place!”

“I think,” announced Katrine slowly, “I am very angry!”

It seemed an incongruous statement to make, considering the position and appearance of the speaker, but the hearer received it with a gravity which showed that his own conscience was not altogether at ease.

“Dearest, before you judge, let me speak! Hear what I have to say! I had no intention of deceiving you. Such an idea never entered my head until at the last moment a cable arrived to say that Bedford was incapacitated, and could not sail. We were worried, all of us, to think that you should miss his help. I was racking my brains to think what I could do, when the inspiration came to meet you myself. It was an easy matter to get off for a few weeks, as there was leave owing to me, and I had started almost before I had time to think. Then came misgivings! I did not know how you would take it, if it would seem to you like going back on my promise. I had promised to keep on neutral ground for three months, and atête-à-têteon shipboard seemed hardly playing the game.—I started on the heat of an impulse, afire to see you at the first possible moment; I landed at Port Said in a blue funk, the joy at the thought of meeting swallowed in dread of what you might say. I would have given a pile at that moment to have been safely back in India. Then—you know how! we met on shore. I knew you at the first glance, and, Katrine! you knewme. No matter who I was, or by what name I called myself, you belonged to me,and you knew it!

“At that moment, for the first time, it flashed into my head to take Bedford’s place in Bedford’s name. I had seen the list of passengers, and I knew no one on board. Ours is an out-of-the-way station, and I have seldom been home these last years. It seemed to me that if I kept close and avoided the smoke-room, I might very well get through the rest of the voyage without an explanation as to name. And I remembered what you had said—all the little feminine arguments you had used rose up and argued with me as they had never done before. You said that to meet a man with whom you were expected, almost pledged, to fall in love, was a big handicap to success; that if we could have a chance of meeting in the ordinary way, as strangers pledged to no special interest, we could test the strength of the mutual attraction far more surely. And another time you said (I think this influenced me more than anything else!) you said that one glance at my face, five minutes in my society, would tell you more than a hundred letters! Do you remember saying that? The inference was that the shape of my nose or ears was to count more than character.”

His strong hands pulled her round, so that her eyes met his.

“Katrine! do you like my ears? Are you satisfied with them now that you see them in flesh?”

“I take no interest in your ears. What are your ears to me? I was thinking of Jim Blair’s ears, and you are,—I don’t knowwhatyou are—a compound person, more strange than a hundred strangers... Oh,Jim! how could you? If you realised so much, why couldn’t you realise more? If I was already yours, then why trouble to play a part? Yes, I am angry;I am! I think you were wrong.”

“Sweetheart, I know it! Nobody knows it better than I. I am not excusing myself, only explaining how it came about. One false step, and then it seemed impossible to go back. I could not face the thought of owning up on board, we were so happy, so innocently happy, that it seemed criminal to break it all up. Confess now that I behaved well, that I made an exemplary escort?”

“You—you—made me dreadfully in love with you,” protested Katrine, stiffening her back, and holding him off with determined hands, when his delight at the confession took an active form. “Andunhappy! Did you think it was a light thing to me to feel my loyalty slipping from me day by day—to be obliged to love one man, when another man was waiting? Did you think I hadnoheart for Jim Blair?”

“I knew you had, and I loved you for it. Do you remember how you put me on my guard? But IwasJim Blair, you darling, so all was well. I was afraid you’d worry, but at the worst it was a matter ofdays, and those days were going to save us months of waiting. That’s the way I put it, trying to convince myself that all would work out for the best. We should have remained on terms of the strictest friendship, if—if it hadn’t been for—”

Katrine shuddered. It would be long before she could talk calmly of the awesome experience through which she had passed. Her arms relaxed, she sank back, and they clung together in silence for long healing minutes.

“You never told me,” she whispered, “even at the end—what wethoughtwas the end! You let me leave you, not knowing... Why did you not tell me then, and let me die in peace?”

His eyes met hers, gravely, questioning.

“Wouldit have made for peace? Would death have seemed more easy, or less? Was your brain clear enough to grasp explanations, or to have felt any comfort, if youhad? And, beloved,—in the face of death what was aname? I lovedyou, you loved me, what did it matter by what name I was called? If it had been the end,—well! it would not have been as Miss Beverley and Captain—anything, that we should have met on another plane.—If we were saved, it was only a matter of two or three days...”

“One can suffer a good deal in two or three days! How do you suppose I felt in that train, looking forward to meeting you—both!”

His eyes twinkled; the grave face broke into a smile.

“Exactly as you would have done, for months instead of days, if we had kept to the original agreement! No! beloved, I apologise, but don’t expect me to be abject. I’ve thought it out, not once, but a dozen times, and I can’t see that on the whole you’ve suffered more than you were bound to do in any case. And what have you been saved? Three months of uncertainty and waiting. And what have you gained? Three months of happiness to add to the score of life. It’s a big haul, my Katrine! It is worth a few pangs?”

“You twist things about; your arguments are specious; they are arguments without premises. Who said I was going to waive three months? I’m not at all sure that I shall. What would they say at home? They know I’m not the sort of girl to fall in love on a few days’ acquaintance.”

“Why bring Cranford into the question? Does it matter one button what they think? Besides, I don’t wish to be boastful, but as a matter of fact, youdid!”

“I didn’t!” Katrine contradicted. “No! thank goodness, I am restored to my own confidence. I understand now that it was only because youwereJim, because I recognisedyourselfin spite of disguises that I did—fall! I was really absolutely loyal throughout, but other people won’t understand—Mrs Mannering, for instance! I told her there was ‘some one else.’”

“And I went one better, and told her who I was! We had a heart-to-heart talk that morning in Bombay before I left, and cleared up all misunderstandings. She’s a good sort. We owe her a lot. Perhaps some day we may be able to pay some of it back, to her boy.”

Katrine nodded dumbly. She was occupied in reviewing her journey up country in the light of the revelation, and seeing in it an explanation of her companion’s idiosyncrasies, her mysterious chuckles of laughter, her tenderness, alternated with raillery, her suppressed excitement at the moment of arrival. She had known all the time, even in Bombay, when the letter arrived! Katrine started, confronted by another mystery.

“The letter! The one at Bombay—”

“What about it?”

“You wrote it, of course, but how, when? Not before our voyage. Youknewwhen you wrote—”

“Yes; I knew,” he said softly. “It was written on the night we arrived. I trusted to your ignorance of the country in the matter of postmarks, and to your femininity to pass the absence of date! Was it selfish of me to send it? I knew you would be expecting to hear, and it was a comfort to me to write. Besides, I felt that a moment would come when it would be a comfort to you, too. You had trained me to understand that your mind worked in flashes, and that at a glance you could grasp a situation which would petrify a poor male thing. Remembering this, I believed—Ihopedthat at the very moment of discovery you might remember what I had said, and realise that all was right between us—always had been right, always would be to the end! I wanted you to realise that that letter had been writtenafterwe had met, and that my love had changed only to grow deeper.”

Katrine sighed; a deep, long-drawn sigh in which was the sound of immeasurable content.

“Oh, I am glad,” she sighed. “I amglad! Even at the height of my love the thought of Jim Blair tugged at my heart. It hurt me to hurt him. He had wound his life so closely with mine that I couldn’t drag them apart. And a bit of me loved him still, went on loving, and wanting his love. After having accepted so much, I could never have been really satisfied to throw him over, even for—Jim! I was going to say for ‘you’ but youareJim, and I can have you both! There’s no one to throw over; no one to be unhappy—”

Katrine paused; in her deep eyes a gleam of laughter awoke and danced. “There’s only one drawback, Captain Bedford—Blair—Jim—John—whatever you chose to call yourself, and forthatyou have yourself to blame!”

“I’ll bear it. I’ll bear anything! What is it now?” asked Jim, smiling.

“I shall always,” replied Katrine demurely, “I shall always feel that I am married totwomen!”

The End.

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