his various conquests, those that he
courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area
railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an
impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically
afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. "_To hang
for ever over_." It was an obsession, a torture. He had lately failed
to keep several of these appointments, whose note used to be an unbounded
trustfulness in the language of sentiment and manly tenderness. The
confiding disposition of various classes of women satisfied the needs of
his self-love, and put some material means into his hand. He needed it
to live. It was there. But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran
the risk of starving his ideals and his body . . . "_This act of madness
or despair_."

"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to hang for ever" as far as all
mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men could
never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's knowledge
was as precise as the newspaper man could make it--up to the very
threshold of the "_mystery destined to hang for ever_. . . ."

Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of the
steamer had seen: "A lady in a black dress and a black veil, wandering at
midnight alongside, on the quay. 'Are you going by the boat, ma'am,' he
had asked her encouragingly. 'This way.' She seemed not to know what to
do. He helped her on board. She seemed weak."

And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with a
white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. The
stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed quite
unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. The next
the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. The stewardess
then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed that
the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in one of the hooded
seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not answer anything that was
said to her. She seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief
steward, and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat
consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in
audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul
there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went away
to arrange for her removal dow