far from
being at ease. He could not suffer himself to remain hidden at Ahalala
without saying something of his whereabouts to Mrs. Smith. After what
had happened between them he would be odious to himself if he omitted to
keep the promise which he had made to her. And yet he would so fain have
forgotten her,--or rather have wiped away from the reality of his past
life that one episode, had it been possible. A month's separation had
taught him to see how very silly he had been in regard to this
woman,--and had also detracted much from those charms which had
delighted him on board ship. She was pretty, she was clever, she had
the knack of being a pleasant companion. But how much more than all
these was wanted in a wife? And then he knew nothing about her. She
might be, or have been, all that was disreputable. If he could not shake
himself free from her, she would be a millstone round his neck. He was
aware of all that, and as he thought of it he would think also of the
face of Hester Bolton, and remember her form as she sat silent in the
big house at Chesterton. But nevertheless it was necessary that he
should write to Mrs. Smith. He had promised that he would do so, and he
must keep his word.

The name of the woman had not been mentioned between him and Dick Shand
since they left the ship. Dick had been curious, but had been afraid to
inquire, and had in his heart applauded the courage of the man who had
thus been able to shake off at once a woman with whom he had amused
himself. Caldigate himself was continually meditating as he worked with
the windlass in his hand, or with his pick at the bottom of the hole,
whether in conformity with the usages of the world he could not
simply--drop her. Then he remembered the words which had passed between
them on the subject, and he could not do it. He was as yet too young to
be at the same time so wise and so hard. 'I shall hold you as engaged to
me,' he had said, 'and myself as engaged to you.' And he remembered the
tones of her voice as, with her last words, she had said to him, 'My
love, my love!' They had been very pleasant to him then, but now they
were most unfortunate. They were unfortunate because there had been a
power in them from which he was now unable to extricate himself.

Therefore, during one of those leisure periods in which Mick and Dick
were at work, he wrote his letter, with the paper on his knees,
squatting down just within his tent on a deal case which had