it, you know." To this he was brought by the
subsequent look which appeared in John Gordon's eyes.

"I think not."

"Men will say so."

"I don't care a straw what men say, or women."

"And you to come back in the same ship with me and my wife! You
couldn't do it. The Fields wouldn't receive you." Gordon bethought
himself whether this imagined rejection might not arise rather from
the character of his travelling companions. "To bring back the
mother of three little sainted babes, and then to walk in upon every
shilling of property which had belonged to their father! You never
could hold up your head in Kimberley again."

"I should have to stand abashed before your virtue?"

"Yes, you would. I should be known to have come back with my poor
repentant wife,--the mother of three dear babes. And she would be
known to have returned with her misguided husband. The humanity of
the Fields would not utter a word of reproval to either of us. But,
upon my word, I should not like to stand in your shoes. And how you
could sit opposite to her and look her in the face on the journey
out, I don't know."

"It would be unpleasant."

"Deuced unpleasant, I should say. You remember the old Roman saying,
'Never be conscious of anything within your own bosom.' Only think
how you would feel when you were swelling it about in Kimberley,
while that poor lady won't be able to buy a pair of boots for herself
or her children. I say nothing about myself. I didn't think you were
the man to do it;--I didn't indeed."

Gordon did find himself moved by the diversity of lights through
which he was made to look at the circumstances in question. In the
first place, there was the journey back with Mr Tookey and his wife,
companions he had not anticipated. The lady would probably begin by
soliciting his intimacy, which on board ship he could hardly refuse.
With a fellow-passenger, whose husband has been your partner, you
must quarrel bitterly or be warm friends. Upon the whole, he thought
that he could not travel to South Africa with Mr and Mrs Fitzwalker
Tookey. And then he understood what the man's tongue would do if he
were there for a month in advance. The whole picture of life, too,
at the Fields was not made attractive by Mr Tookey's description.
He was not afraid of the reception which might be accorded to Mrs
Tookey, but saw that Tookey found himself able to threaten him with
violent evils, simply because he would claim his own. Then there s