rvin' dog lookin' at a bone. You ought to
know 'ow starvin' 'urts...." The strenuous voice soared and quivered. "You
learned that at Gueldersdorp! Yet you can see your 'usband dyin' of
'unger, an' never put out your 'and! Dyin' for want of a kiss an' a bit o'
cuddle--that's the kind o' dyin' I mean--dyin' for what Gawd gives to the
very brutes He myde! Seems to you I talk low!... Well, there's nothink
lower than Nature, _An' She Goes As 'Igh As 'Eaven_!" said Emigration
Jane.

The wide, sweeping gesture with which the shabby little woman took in land
and sea and sky was quite noble and inspiring to witness. And now the
tears were running down her face, and her voice lost its raucous
shrillness, and became plaintive, and even soft.

"I'm to tell you everythink I've seen, an' know about the Doctor.... I've
seen 'im age, age, a bit more every d'y. I've seen 'im waste, waste, with
loneliness and trouble--never turnin' bitter on accounts of it--never
grudgin' 'elp that 'e could give to man or woman or kid. Late on the night
you left 'ome I see 'im come up to your bedroom. 'E switched on the light.
'E forgot the blinds was up. 'E looked round, all 'aggard an' lost an'
wild-like, before 'e dropped down cryin' beside the bed."

She sobbed, and dropped on her own knees in the sand among the prickly
yellow dwarf roses, weeping quite wildly, and wringing her hands.

"The mornin' found 'im there. Six weeks ago that was; an' every night
since then it's bin the syme gyme. Never the blinds left up since that
first time, but always light, and his shadow moves about. An' in my bed I
wake a-cryin' so, an' don't know which of 'em I'm cryin' for--the lonely
shadow or the lonely man----"

She could not go on, and W. Keyse took up the tale.

"She's told you true. Maybe we'd never 'ave come but for the feelin' that
things was workin' up to wot the pypers call a Domestic Tragedy. Or at the
best the break-up of a 'Ome. That's wot my wife she kep' on stuffin' into
me," said W. Keyse. "An'--strewth! when the Doctor sent for me an' pyde me
orf ... full wages right on up to the end o' the year, an' the syme to
Morris an' the 'ouse'old staff, tellin' us e's goin' on a voyage, I s'ys
to 'er, 'It's come!'"

"On a voyage! Where?"

"Oh, carn't you guess?" cried the woman on the ground, desperately looking
up with tragic eyes out of a swollen, tear-stained face.

A mist came before Lynette's vision, and a sudden tremor shook her like a
reed. Sh