m gaining my point. Sebastian is wavering."

"Then when he engages a berth, you propose to go by the same steamer?"

"Yes. It makes all the difference. When he tries to follow we, he is
dangerous; when he tries to avoid me, it becomes my work in life to
follow him. I must keep him in sight every minute now. I must quicken
his conscience. I must make him FEEL his own desperate wickedness. He is
afraid to face me: that means remorse. The more I compel him to face me,
the more the remorse is sure to deepen."

I saw she was right. We took the train to Bombay. I found rooms at the
hospitable club, by a member's invitation, while Hilda went to stop with
some friends of Lady Meadowcroft's on the Malabar Hill. We waited for
Sebastian to come down from the interior and take his passage. Hilda,
with her intuitive certainty, felt sure he would come.

A steamer, two steamers, three steamers, sailed, and still no Sebastian.
I began to think he must have made up his mind to go back some other
way. But Hilda was confident, so I waited patiently. At last one morning
I dropped in, as I had often done before, at the office of one of the
chief steamship companies. It was the very morning when a packet was to
sail. "Can I see the list of passengers on the Vindhya?" I asked of the
clerk, a sandy-haired Englishman, tall, thin, and sallow.

The clerk produced it.

I scanned it in haste. To my surprise and delight, a pencilled entry
half-way down the list gave the name, "Professor Sebastian."

"Oh, Sebastian is going by this steamer?" I murmured, looking up.

The sandy-haired clerk hummed and hesitated. "Well, I believe he's
going, sir," he answered at last; "but it's a bit uncertain. He's a
fidgety man, the Professor. He came down here this morning and asked
to see the list, the same as you have done. Then he engaged a berth
provisionally--'mind, provisionally,' he said--that's why his name
is only put in on the list in pencil. I take it he's waiting to know
whether a party of friends he wishes to meet are going also."

"Or wishes to avoid," I thought to myself, inwardly; but I did not say
so. I asked instead, "Is he coming again?"

"Yes, I think so: at 5.30."

"And she sails at seven?"

"At seven, punctually. Passengers must be aboard by half-past six at
latest."

"Very good," I answered, making up my mind promptly. "I only called to
know the Professor's movements. Don't mention to him that I came. I may
look in again myself a