child. And, as if
in a nightmare of humiliation, every featureless man seemed an enemy.

He let his hand fall heavily on the table. Mr. Van Wyk, arms down,
chin on breast, with a gleam of white teeth pressing on the lower lip,
meditated on Sterne's "The game's up."

"The Serang of course does not know."

"Nobody," said Captain Whalley, with assurance.

"Ah yes. Nobody. Very well. Can you keep it up to the end of the trip?
That is the last under the agreement with Massy."

Captain Whalley got up and stood erect, very stately, with the great
white beard lying like a silver breastplate over the awful secret of his
heart. Yes; that was the only hope there was for him of ever seeing her
again, of securing the money, the last he could do for her, before he
crept away somewhere--useless, a burden, a reproach to himself. His
voice faltered.

"Think of it! Never see her any more: the only human being besides
myself now on earth that can remember my wife. She's just like her
mother. Lucky the poor woman is where there are no tears shed over
those they loved on earth and that remain to pray not to be led into
temptation--because, I suppose, the blessed know the secret of grace in
God's dealings with His created children."

He swayed a little, said with austere dignity--

"I don't. I know only the child He has given me."

And he began to walk. Mr. Van Wyk, jumping up, saw the full meaning
of the rigid head, the hesitating feet, the vaguely extended hand.
His heart was beating fast; he moved a chair aside, and instinctively
advanced as if to offer his arm. But Captain Whalley passed him by,
making for the stairs quite straight.

"He could not see me at all out of his line," Van Wyk thought, with a
sort of awe. Then going to the head of the stairs, he asked a little
tremulously--

"What is it like--like a mist--like . . ."

Captain Whalley, half-way down, stopped, and turned round undismayed to
answer.

"It is as if the light were ebbing out of the world. Have you ever
watched the ebbing sea on an open stretch of sands withdrawing farther
and farther away from you? It is like this--only there will be no flood
to follow. Never. It is as if the sun were growing smaller, the stars
going out one by one. There can't be many left that I can see by this.
But I haven't had the courage to look of late . . ." He must have been
able to make out Mr. Van Wyk, because he checked him by an authoritative
gesture and a stoical--

"