had been the shock of the surprise. Then, leaning over the bulwarks, he
gazed meditatively forth across the starlit waste of black waters to
where the uncertain loom of the land was fading on their starboard
quarter, and as he did so all the morbid side of his character came to
the fore. Was ever a more utterly forlorn, aimless, God-forsaken
wanderer afloat on life's sea? Here he was returning, with what object
he knew not, poorer in pocket, a good ten years chipped out of his
life--at least it seemed so--and nothing to look forward to on this side
the rave. And by a strange coincidence, separated from him only by the
few inches of iron and planking immediately beneath his feet, stood one
other gazing forth through the open scuttle at the same starlit scene of
sky and sea. With a weariful sigh Mona turned away from the window;
then, opening her dressing bag, she took out a small bottle and held it
to the light. Yes, she would do it. Only a few drops. Sleep was what
she wanted--sleep, sleep--blessed--oblivious sleep, sweet,
illusion-bringing sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

"DARK ROLL THE DEEPENING DAYS..."

In the very circumscribed limits of shipboard it is difficult enough for
any two people who want to avoid each other to do so. Given, however,
two who are, even in spite of themselves, animated by no such wish, the
thing is well-nigh impossible.

Thus it proved to these two. Roden Musgrave, for all his steel-plated
armour of pride, for all his strength of purpose, was conscious of a
weak place, of a joint in his harness. Deep down in his heart was a
great craving, even for a little while, for the old time as it had been.
Again he reviewed all that had gone before; again he began to find
excuses for her. She had been startled, shocked, horrified. She had
been "got at" by Suffield, who, he feared, was at heart a bit of a
sneak. Moreover, he himself had hustled, had scurried her too
impetuously. A little further time for reflection, for accustoming
herself to the--it must be owned rather startling--idea, and she would
have acted very differently. He had expected too much--had
unconsciously fallen back into the old, old blunder of his salad days,
expecting to find something of the nature of an angel; discovering, of
course, only a woman.

Not all at once did he come round to this change of opinion. He could
not forget that she had believed the charge against him in its
entirety--believed that he