ddenly seemed to him that there was written upon his fore head, "This
is a brother of Cain." For the first time in his life he had a shrinking
from the light, and from the sun which he had loved like a Persian, had,
in a sense, unconsciously worshipped.

He was scarcely aware where he was. He had wandered on until he had come
to the end of the bridge and into the great groups of traffickers who,
at this place, made a market of their wares. Here sat a seller of sugar
cane; there wandered, clanking his brasses, a merchant of sweet waters;
there shouted a cheap-jack of the Nile the virtues of a knife from
Sheffield. Yonder a camel-driver squatted and counted his earnings; and
a sheepdealer haggled with the owner of a ghiassa bound for the sands of
the North. The curious came about him and looked at him, but he did not
see or hear. He sat upon a stone, his gaze upon the river, following
with his eyes, yet without consciously observing, the dark riverine
population whose ways are hidden, who know only the law of the river and
spend their lives in eluding pirates and brigands now, and yet again the
peaceful porters of commerce.

To his mind, never a criminal in this land but less a criminal than he!
For their standard was a standard of might the only right; but he--his
whole life had been nurtured in an atmosphere of right and justice, had
been a spiritual demonstration against force. He was with out fear, as
he was without an undue love of life. The laying down of his life had
never been presented to him; and yet, now that his conscience was his
only judge, and it condemned him, he would gladly have given his life to
pay the price of blood.

That was impossible. His life was not his own to give, save by suicide;
and that would be the unpardonable insult to God and humanity. He
had given his word to the woman, and he would keep it. In those brief
moments she must have suffered more than most men suffer in a long life.
Not her hand, however, but his, had committed the deed. And yet a sudden
wave of pity for her rushed over him, because the conviction seized him
that she would also in her heart take upon herself the burden of his
guilt as though it were her own. He had seen it in the look of her face
last night.

For the sake of her future it was her duty to shield herself from any
imputation which might as unjustly as scandalously arise, if the facts
of that black hour ever became known. Ever became known? The thought
that