at she had never reached San Francisco.
At last, when he was half sick again with worrying, arrived a horrible
epistle in Clara's hand and signed by her name, informing him of her
monstrous windfall of wealth and terminating the engagement. The crudest
thing in this cruel forgery was the sentence, "Do you not think that in
paying courtship to me in the desert you took unfair advantage of my
loneliness?"

She had trampled on his heart and flouted his honor; and while he writhed
with grief he writhed also with rage. He could not understand it; so
different from what she had seemed; so unworthy of what he had believed
her to be! Well, her head had been turned by riches; it was just like a
woman; they were all thus. Thus said Thurstane, a fellow as ignorant of
the female kind as any man in the army, and scarcely less ignorant than
the average man of the navy. He declared to himself that he would never
have anything more to do with her, nor with any of her false sex. At
twenty-three he turned woman-hater, just as Mrs. Stanley at forty-five had
turned man-hater, and perhaps for much the same sort of reason.

Shortly after Thurstane had received what he called his cashiering, his
company was ordered from Fort Yuma to San Francisco. It had garrisoned the
Alcatraz fort only two days, and he had not yet had a chance to visit the
city, when he was sent on this expedition to San Diego to hunt down a
deserting quartermaster-sergeant. The result was that he found himself
shipped for a three days' voyage with the woman who had made him first the
happiest man in the army and then the most miserable.

How should he endure it? He would not see her; the truth is that he could
not endure the trial; but what he said to himself was that he _would_ not.
In the darkness tears forced their way out of his eyes and mingled with
the spray which the wind was already flinging over the bows. Crying! Three
months ago, if any man had told him that he was capable of it, he would
have considered himself insulted and would have felt like fighting. Now he
was not even ashamed of it, and would hardly have been ashamed if it had
been daylight. He was so thoroughly and hopelessly miserable that he did
not care what figure he cut.

But, once more, what should he do? Oh, well, he would follow Coronado's
advice; yes, damn him! follow the scoundrel's advice; he could think of
nothing for himself. He would stay out until late; then he would steal
below and go t