'Twasn't often the fishing-smacks went out
without us. We'd watch their lights from our bedroom window; when they
were swung aboard we were out and down to the quay before you could say
'knife.' They always waited for us; but your Uncle Dan was the
favourite, he was the chap for luck. When I get on my legs, we might go
down there, you and I? For a bit, just to see? What d'you say, old
girl?"

Their eyes met.

"I'd like to look at the smack lights going to sea on a dark night; pity
you're such a duffer in a boat--we might go out with them. Do you a
power of good! You're not looking the thing, my dear."

His voice died wistfully, and his glance, sweeping her face, rested on
her hands, which held and twisted Greta's letter. After a minute or two
of silence he boomed out again with sudden energy:

"Your aunt'll want to come and sit with me, after dinner; don't let her,
Chris, I can't stand it. Tell her I'm asleep--the doctor'll be here
directly; ask him to make up some humbug for you--it's his business."

He was seized by a violent fit of pain which seemed to stab his breath
away, and when it was over signed that he would be left alone. Christian
went back to her letter in the other room, and had written these words,
when the gong summoned her to dinner:

"I'm like a leaf in the wind, I put out my hand to one thing, and it's
seized and twisted and flung aside. I want you--I want you; if I could
see you I think I should know what to do--"

XXII

The rain drove with increasing fury. The night was very black. Nicholas
Treffry slept heavily. By the side of his bed the night-lamp cast on to
the opposite wall a bright disc festooned by the hanging shadow of the
ceiling. Christian was leaning over him. For the moment he filled all
her heart, lying there, so helpless. Fearful of waking him she slipped
into the sitting-room. Outside the window stood a man with his face
pressed to the pane. Her heart thumped; she went up and unlatched the
window. It was Harz, with the rain dripping off him. He let fall his
hat and cape.

"You!" she said, touching his sleeve. "You! You!"

He was sodden with wet, his face drawn and tired; a dark growth of beard
covered his cheeks and chin.

"Where is your uncle?" he said; "I want to see him."

She put her hand up to his lips, but he caught it and covered it with
kisses.

"He's asleep--ill--speak gently!"

"I came to him first," he muttered.

Christian lit