ronger than hope, he tried not to
believe the manifest thing.

In vain. In the steadily darkening universe a sinister clearness fell
upon his ideas. In the illuminating moments of suffering he saw life,
men, all things, the whole earth with all her burden of created nature,
as he had never seen them before.

Sometimes he was seized with a sudden vertigo and an overwhelming
terror; and then the image of his daughter appeared. Her, too, he had
never seen so clearly before. Was it possible that he should ever be
unable to do anything whatever for her? Nothing. And not see her any
more? Never.

Why? The punishment was too great for a little presumption, for a little
pride. And at last he came to cling to his deception with a fierce
determination to carry it out to the end, to save her money intact, and
behold her once more with his own eyes. Afterwards--what? The idea of
suicide was revolting to the vigor of his manhood. He had prayed for
death till the prayers had stuck in his throat. All the days of his life
he had prayed for daily bread, and not to be led into temptation, in a
childlike humility of spirit. Did words mean anything? Whence did the
gift of speech come? The violent beating of his heart reverberated in
his head--seemed to shake his brain to pieces.

He sat down heavily in the deck-chair to keep the pretense of his watch.
The night was dark. All the nights were dark now.

"Serang," he said, half aloud.

"Ada, Tuan. I am here."

"There are clouds on the sky?"

"There are, Tuan."

"Let her be steered straight. North."

"She is going north, Tuan."

The Serang stepped back. Captain Whalley recognized Massy's footfalls on
the bridge.

The engineer walked over to port and returned, passing behind the chair
several times. Captain Whalley detected an unusual character as of
prudent care in this prowling. The near presence of that man brought
with it always a recrudescence of moral suffering for Captain Whalley.
It was not remorse. After all, he had done nothing but good to the poor
devil. There was also a sense of danger--the necessity of a greater
care.

Massy stopped and said--

"So you still say you must go?"

"I must indeed."

"And you couldn't at least leave the money for a term of years?"

"Impossible."

"Can't trust it with me without your care, eh?"

Captain Whalley remained silent. Massy sighed deeply over the back of
the chair.

"It would just do to save me," he said in a tremulo