A matter of a thousand miles."

It will be remembered that this was part of the song sung by Galt Roscoe
on the Whi-Whi River, the day we rescued Mrs. Falchion and Justine
Caron. Kilby sang the whole song over to himself until he reached a
point overlooking the valley. Then he stood silent for a time, his
glance upon the town. The walk had sobered him a little. "Phil, old
pal," he said at last, "you ain't got the taste of raw whiskey with you
now. When a man loses a pal he loses a grip on the world equal to all
that pal's grip was worth.... I'm drunk, and Phil's down there among the
worms--among the worms!... Ah!" he added in disgust, and, dashing his
hand across his eyes, struck off into the woods again, making his way
to the summer hotel, where he had promised to meet Mrs. Falchion. He
inquired for her, creating some astonishment by his uncouth appearance
and unsteady manner.

He learned from Justine that Mrs. Falchion had gone to see Roscoe, and
that he would probably meet her if he went that way. This he did. He was
just about to issue into a partly open space by a ravine near the
house, when he heard voices, and his own name mentioned. He stilled and
listened.

"Yes, Galt Roscoe," said a voice, "Sam Kilby is the man that loved
Alo--loved her not as you did. He would have given her a home, have made
her happy, perhaps. You, when Kilby was away, married her--in native
fashion--which is no marriage--and KILLED her."

"No, no, I did not kill her--that is not so. As God is my Judge, that is
not so."

"You did not kill her with the knife?... Well, I will be honest now, and
say that I believe that, whatever I may have hinted or said before. But
you killed her just the same when you left her."

"Mercy Falchion," he said desperately, "I will not try to palliate my
sin. But still I must set myself right with you in so far as I can. The
very night Alo killed herself I had made up my mind to leave the navy. I
was going to send in my papers, and come back to Apia, and marry her as
Englishmen are married. While I remained in the navy I could not, as
you know, marry her. It would be impossible to an English officer. I
intended to come back and be regularly married to her."

"You say that now," was the cold reply.

"But it is the truth, the truth indeed. Nothing that you might say could
make me despise myself more than I do; but I have told you all, as I
shall have to tell it one day before a just God. You have spar