tion walked across the street to the nearest hotel.

"There are circumstances, and circumstances, Tom Craig. This girl is
as good a little woman as ever put foot in shoe leather, but she had no
grit in her, and that's the whole secret. Come in and take a drink,
and I'll tell you the whole yarn before I go aboard and see the young
fellow. I've got a letter for him--from her--in my pocket. It'll be a
regular stiffener for him, poor chap; but if I'm any judge of a man
he'll not make a song about it."

Entering a sitting-room of the hotel, the two men seated themselves at
one of the tables and ordered drinks; then Watson, wiping his florid,
heated face with his handkerchief, pulled out a letter from his
breast-pocket and banged it down upon the table.

"That letter, Tom Craig, was written by a broken-hearted woman to the
man she loves in her own weak-hearted way, if you understand me. And I
have to give that blarsted letter to one of the best chaps that I ever
met. And I don't like doing it, Tom Craig, I don't like doing it."

"Why don't you post it?"

"Because I can't. Didn't I tell you I'm going off to see him now? He
knows that I know the girl who promised herself to him, and the first
thing he will ask me will be about her; and then I'll have to tell him
she's been married this six months to an old fellow, old enough to be
her grandfather, poor child."

"Matter o' money, I suppose?"

"Matter of keeping body and soul together, Tom. It was this way. This
young fellow and the girl were sweet on each other a long time ago,
when her father was one of the big bugs of Sydney, but the girl's
mother wouldn't have no sailor man courting her daughter. So there was
a hitch for a time, and Barry--that's his name--was forbidden to see
her again. He went off to sea again, got a berth as mate in the Tahiti
trade, and when he came back to Sydney found that his girl and her
father were close upon starving. The old man had lost all his money
and the girl was earning a living by serving in a draper's shop--close
by here, in George Street. The young fellow had precious little money,
but he gave the old man all he had except a few shillings--something
like six quid. Mind you, Tom Craig, the girl told me all this herself."

"He must be a good sort of a chap, Watson."

"Good! He's solid gold. Well, as I was saying, he did what he could
for the old gentleman and the girl, and the same night as he met them
he sailed.