deck, looking dreadfully ill,
and altogether like a miserable, unhappy child. Her beauty was greatly
gone, and Lord Rothie did not pay her much attention.

Robert had as yet made no attempt to communicate with her, for there was
scarcely a chance of her concealing a letter from the baron. But as soon
as they were in smooth water, he wrote one, telling her in the simplest
language that the baron was a bad man, who had amused himself by making
many women fall in love with him, and then leaving them miserable: he
knew one of them himself.

Having finished his letter, he began to look abroad over the smooth
water, and the land smooth as the water. He saw tall poplars, the spires
of the forest, and rows of round-headed dumpy trees, like domes. And
he saw that all the buildings like churches, had either spires like
poplars, or low round domes like those other trees. The domes gave an
eastern aspect to the country. The spire of Antwerp cathedral especially
had the poplar for its model. The pinnacles which rose from the base of
each successive start of its narrowing height were just the clinging,
upright branches of the poplar--a lovely instance of Art following
Nature's suggestion.

CHAPTER XXIII. ROBERT FINDS A NEW INSTRUMENT.

At length the vessel lay alongside the quay, and as Mysie stepped from
its side the skipper found an opportunity of giving her Robert's letter.
It was the poorest of chances, but Robert could think of no other.
She started on receiving it, but regarding the skipper's significant
gestures put it quietly away. She looked anything but happy, for her
illness had deprived her of courage, and probably roused her conscience.
Robert followed the pair, saw them enter The Great Labourer--what
could the name mean? could it mean The Good Shepherd?--and turned away
helpless, objectless indeed, for he had done all that he could, and that
all was of no potency. A world of innocence and beauty was about to be
hurled from its orbit of light into the blackness of outer chaos; he
knew it, and was unable to speak word or do deed that should frustrate
the power of a devil who so loved himself that he counted it an honour
to a girl to have him for her ruin. Her after life had no significance
for him, save as a trophy of his victory. He never perceived that such
victory was not yielded to him; that he gained it by putting on the
garments of light; that if his inward form had appeared in its own
ugliness, not one of