Читать книгу: «The Light That Failed», страница 13

Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We’re falling pretty low.’

Something cried aloud within him: – This will hurt more than anything that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and tantalise, and in the end drive you mad.

‘I know it, I know it!’ Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; ‘but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she’d come.’

Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would allow her to be idle for the rest of her days.

‘I shouldn’t have known you,’ she said approvingly. ‘You look as you used to look – a gentleman that was proud of himself.’

‘Don’t you think I deserve another kiss, then?’ said Dick, flushing a little.

‘Maybe – but you won’t get it yet. Sit down and let’s see what I can do for you. I’m certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can’t go through the housekeeping books every month. Isn’t that true?’

‘You’d better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.’

‘Couldn’t do it in these chambers – you know that as well as I do.’

‘I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your while.’

‘I’d try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn’t care to have to work for both of us.’ This was tentative.

Dick laughed.

‘Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?’ said he. ‘Torp took it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.’

‘It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!’

‘Well?’

‘Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a penny! Oh my!’

‘You can have the penny. That’s not bad for one year’s work. Is that and a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?’

The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, but she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them.

‘Yes; but you’d have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we’d find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms here and there. They don’t look as full as they used.’

‘Never mind, we’ll let him have them. The only thing I’m particularly anxious to take away is that picture I used you for – when you used to swear at me. We’ll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as ever we can.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said uneasily.

‘I don’t know where I can go to get away from myself, but I’ll try, and you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You’ll like that.

Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it’s good to put one’s arm round a woman’s waist again.’

Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm were thus round Maisie’s waist and a kiss had just been given and taken between them, – why then… He pressed the girl more closely to himself because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the solace of her company – and certainly he would relapse into his original slough if she withdrew it – he would not be more than just a little vexed.

It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his companion.

She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach.

‘I shouldn’t worrit about that picture if I was you,’ she began, in the hope of turning his attention.

‘It’s at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know it as well as I do.’

‘I know – but – ’

‘But what? You’ve wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer.

Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine hundred pounds to – to us. I simply didn’t like to think about it for a long time. It was mixed up with my life so. – But we’ll cover up our tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the beginning, Bess.’

Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries to explain the breakage of a pipe.

‘I’m very sorry, but you remember I was – I was angry with you before Mr. Torpenhow went away?’

‘You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to be.’

‘Then I – but aren’t you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn’t tell you?’

‘Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when you might just as well be giving me another kiss?’

He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want.

Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, ‘I was so angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren’t angry, are you?’

‘What? Say that again.’ The man’s hand had closed on her wrist.

‘I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,’ faltered Bessie. ‘I thought you’d only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn’t you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you’re hurting me.’

‘Isn’t there anything left of the thing?’

‘N’nothing that looks like anything. I’m sorry – I didn’t know you’d take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren’t going to hit me?’

‘Hit you! No! Let’s think.’

He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet.

Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie’s return and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the Melancolia – lovelier in his imagination than she had ever been on canvas – reappeared. By her aid he might have procured mor money wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid’s folly, there was nothing to look for – not even the hope that he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie’s eyes. A woman will forgive the man who has ruined her life’s work so long as he gives her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he will never forgive the destruction of his work.

‘Tck – tck – tck,’ said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. ‘It’s an omen, Bessie, and – a good many things considered, it serves me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie’s running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad – small blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn’t it so? What made you do it?’

‘Because I was that angry. I’m not angry now – I’m awful sorry.’

‘I wonder. – It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m to blame for making the mistake.’

‘What mistake?’

‘Something you wouldn’t understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!’ Dick was talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist.

‘I ain’t a piece of dirt, and you shouldn’t call me so! I did it ‘cause I hated you, and I’m only sorry now ‘cause you’re – ‘cause you’re – ’

‘Exactly – because I’m blind. There’s noting like tact in little things.’

Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that her great revenge had only made Dick laugh.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, and took her into his arms. ‘You only did what you thought right.’

‘I – I ain’t a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I’ll never come to you again.’

‘You don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’m not angry – indeed, I’m not.

Be quiet for a minute.’

Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick’s first thought was connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore.

Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman.

The first pang – the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest pleasure.

They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the love of their life, and in their new wives’ arms are compelled to realise it.

It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone.

These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie to his heart.

‘Though you mayn’t know it,’ he said, raising his head, ‘the Lord is a just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It serves me right – how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.’

‘Let me go,’ said Bess, her face darkening. ‘Let me go.’

‘All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?’

‘Never. Let me go, I tell you; you’re making fun of me.’

‘Indeed, I’m not. I’m making fun of myself… Thus. “He saved others, himself he cannot save.” It isn’t exactly a school-board text.’ He released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could not escape. ‘What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can do!’

‘I’m sorry; I’m awful sorry about the picture.’

‘I’m not. I’m grateful to you for spoiling it… What were we talking about before you mentioned the thing?’

‘About getting away – and money. Me and you going away.’

‘Of course. We will get away – that is to say, I will.’

‘And me?’

‘You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.’

‘Then you won’t – ?’

‘I’m afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to yourself.’

‘You said you couldn’t do anything without me.’

‘That was true a little while ago. I’m better now, thank you. Get me my hat.’

‘S’pose I don’t?’

‘Beeton will, and you’ll lose fifty pounds. That’s all. Get it.’

Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as respectable as a real lady.

‘Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn’t taste, but it doesn’t matter, and I’ll think things out. What’s the day of the week, Bess?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘Then Thursday’s mail-day. What a fool – what a blind fool I have been!

Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat’s for old time’s sake. Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last trip – Gad, won’t Torp stare to see me! – a hundred and thirty-two leaves seventy-eight for baksheesh – I shall need it – and to play with.

What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn’t your fault, child; it was mine altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out!

I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand pounds at four per cent – that’s safe interest – means a hundred and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a year – also safe – is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we’ll go to the bank.’

Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely.

‘Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible.

What ship’s going?’

‘The Colgong,’ said the clerk.

‘She’s a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and the docks?’

‘Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.’

‘Thanks. Change, please. I can’t see very well – will you count it into my hand?’

‘If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their trunks, life would be worth something,’ said the clerk to his neighbour, who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction.

‘We are now,’ quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, ‘beyond the reach of man, or devil, or woman – which is much more important. I’ve had three little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn’t ask you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We’ll breakfast, and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Going away, of course. What should I stay for?’

‘But you can’t look after yourself?’

‘I can do anything. I didn’t realise it before, but I can. I’ve done a great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie doesn’t object.’ Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. ‘I suppose you’re right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and you’ll get your money.’

‘Shall I sure?’

‘I don’t bilk, and you won’t know whether I do or not unless you come.

Oh, but it’s long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie, – send Beeton here as you go out.’

The housekeeper came.

‘What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?’ said Dick, imperiously.

‘’Tisn’t for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore out dreadful.’

‘I’m insured for two hundred and seventy.’

‘Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don’t say – ’

‘Oh, damn your longwindedness! You’ve made your pickings out of me and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.’

‘Fifty,’ said Mr. Beeton, without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Double it; or I’ll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.’

He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars.

‘That’s sinful, sir,’ said the housekeeper, alarmed.

‘It’s my own. One hundred or – ’

‘One hundred it is. It’ll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster mended.’

‘I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring that price at once!’

‘I hope I’ve done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all you, sir.’

‘Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I’m going.’

‘But the quarter’s notice?’

‘I’ll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.’

Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable view.

‘It’s very sudden – but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to him now!’

There was a sound of chanting from Dick’s room.

 
     ‘We’ll never come back any more, boys,
     We’ll never come back no more;
     We’ll go to the deuce on any excuse,
     And never come back no more!
 
 
     Oh say we’re afloat or ashore, boys,
     Oh say we’re afloat or ashore;
     But we’ll never come back any more, boys,
     We’ll never come back no more!’
 

‘Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?’

‘Quick, he’s going to shoot himself – ‘avin’ gone mad!’ said Mrs. Beeton.

Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of the promises to ‘find everything to-morrow, sir.’

‘Oh, you copper-nosed old fool – you impotent Academician!’ he shouted at last. ‘Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it’s loaded.

It’s among my campaign-kit somewhere – in the parcel at the bottom of the trunk.’

Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin case of stationery.

‘These we don’t want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else I’ll keep. Pack ‘em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you’ve done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.’

It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began, following his right hand with his left: ‘“The badness of this writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen.” H’mph! – even a lawyer can’t mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn’t be witnessed. Now an inch lower – why did I never learn to use a type-writer? – “This is the last will and testament of me, Richard Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous will to revoke.” – That’s all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the paper was I? – “I leave everything that I possess in the world, including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight pounds held for me” – oh, I can’t get this straight.’ He tore off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. Then: ‘I leave all the money I possess in the world to’ – here followed Maisie’s name, and the names of the two banks that held the money.

‘It mayn’t be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to dispute it, and I’ve given Maisie’s address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow you must take me to the landlord and I’ll pay forfeit for leaving without notice, and I’ll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while I’m away. Now we’re going to light up the studio stove. Stay with me, and give me my papers as I want ‘em.’

No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year’s accumulation of bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove every document in the studio – saving only three unopened letters; destroyed sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike.

‘What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough in one place, to be sure,’ said Mr. Beeton, at last.

‘He does. Is there anything more left?’ Dick felt round the walls.

‘Not a thing, and the stove’s nigh red-hot.’

‘Excellent, and you’ve lost about a thousand pounds’ worth of sketches.

Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds’ worth, if I can remember what I used to be.’

‘Yes, sir,’ politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of the way.

There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could not be accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking up the last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there remained no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, and sat down before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting iron cracked in the silence of the night.

CHAPTER XV

 
     With a heart of furious fancies,
     Whereof I am commander;
     With a burning spear and a horse of air,
     To the wilderness I wander.
 
 
     With a knight of ghosts and shadows
     I summoned am to tourney —
     Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end,
     Methinks it is no journey.
 

– Tom a’ Bedlam’s Song.

‘GOOD-BYE, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here’s a hundred – all that I got for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for some time. You’ve been a good little girl, all things considered, but you’ve given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.’

‘Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is – and I am free, I mean.’

‘Who’ll look after you on this ship?’

‘The head-steward, if there’s any use in money. The doctor when we come to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the Lord will provide, as He used to do.’

Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography of a ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him.

Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about, for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel.

The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very familiar sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance.

‘Oh, it’s good to be alive again!’ He yawned, stretched himself vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar Square is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous little cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong b reeze found him, blew his cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that the weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than half a gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales – and these are coin of more value than silver if properly handled – smoked with him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that he promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said.

And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread and the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said.

‘Take me,’ said Dick, to the doctor, ‘to Madame Binat’s – if you know where that is.’

‘Whew!’ said the doctor, ‘I do. There’s not much to choose between ‘em; but I suppose you’re aware that that’s one of the worst houses in the place. They’ll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.’

‘Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.’

So he was brought to Madame Binat’s and filled his nostrils with the well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose.

Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation.

Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, scandalised, so far as a ship’s doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick’s reception. Dick was delighted at it. ‘They remember me here after a year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I want a long talk with you when you’re at liberty. It is good to be back again.’

In the evening she set an iron-topped cafe-table out on the sands, and Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal.

‘Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? We have not forgotten thee.’

‘I was over there in England and I went blind.’

‘But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here – I and Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow ‘Tina – she is still alive – so often and so well that ‘Tina laughed when the papers arrived by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for thee.’

‘I am not poor – I shall pay you well.’

‘Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.’ Under her breath, ‘Mon Dieu, to be blind and so young! What horror!’

Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire.

‘And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire as they used to do when the war was here – ten years ago. Beyond Cairo there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent’s passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is impossible also,’ said she.

‘I must go to Suakin.’ He knew, thanks to Alf’s readings, that Torpenhow was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work toward.

‘But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men always – and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?’

‘My friend is there.

‘Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.’

Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick’s glass anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that he should bow his head in assent and say – ‘No. He is a man, but – if it should arrive… blamest thou?’

‘I blame?’ she laughed shrilly. ‘Who am I that I should blame any one – except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it is very terrible.’

‘I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer goes down the Canal to Suakin – and the post-boats – But even then – ’

‘Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt go – thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house is a little quiet – I must attend to my guests – and afterwards go to bed. Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.’

‘To-morrow?’

‘As soon as may be.’ She was talking as though he were a child.

He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with one eye on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick’s interests. To this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments, and more than kind to camel agents of no nationality whatever.

In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a necklace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick.

‘It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the morning chocolate.’ She sat down on the side of the bed whispering: – ‘It is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers for George.’

‘Thank you.’ He reached out sleepily for the cup. ‘You are much too kind, Madame.’

‘If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.’ She looked at her liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. ‘Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.’