n the
hate in my face, for my great love turned to great hate even while she
spoke, and all the wholesome currents of my being seemed poisoned by the
supreme passion, and she turned pale, and her hand dropped, and I cursed
her.

March 10.--A call from Uncle John interrupted me the other day, and I
have had no heart to write since. My moods shame me. I wrote those words
with burning cheek and throbbing heart. I have just read them without an
emotion. Why can't I be a man, and not a silly, raving boy? Not that the
hate that burns in my heart is abating. It can never abate. It will grow
and grow, and keep me true to my purpose. No more mooning over art and
the hope of a great name; but hard work and money-making. Uncle John
promises us both fortunes. He feels confident that his explosive will
work such wonders in Australian mines that within ten years we can go
back to England rich beyond the dreams of avarice. But I shall never see
England again. No matter what I may have written here. Never shall I set
foot on the land that rears such women as the one I hate. Captain
Raymond was almost angry when he learned that in Uncle John's
innocent-looking boxes was a compound powerful enough to blow us all out
of the water. But he was somewhat reassured when uncle insisted that as
long as the _Albatross_ floated she and we were safe; for he says that
the explosive is only an explosive when wet. Captain Raymond said that
he'd try and keep it dry then, and he sent men into the hole where the
boxes were stored, and had them placed carefully in an unused cabin. We
are the only passengers. I made sure that no woman was to be on board
during the long voyage. I came near being disappointed in this, for
Captain Raymond tells me that his wife was to sail with him, and had
made all preparations, even to sending some boxes of clothing aboard,
when the sudden death of her father prevented her from going. I'm sure
I'm sorry that Mrs. Raymond's father is dead, but I'm very glad that
Mrs. Raymond is not on this ship. I don't want to look on woman's face,
nor hear woman's voice. There's but one woman to me in the wide world,
and, dear mother, forgive me if sometimes I cannot thank her for
bringing me into the world. You understand me, mother. You know what I
have suffered. You can sympathize with me when I say that I exult at the
thought that leagues of ocean lie between me and that other woman,
who----

March 12.--A strange thing has happened s