alth and prospects; a letter almost
touching in the light of our past relations, in the twilight of their
complete rupture. He said that he had booked two berths to Naples,
that we were bound for Capri, which was clearly the island of the
Lotos-eaters, that we would bask there together, "and for a while
forget." It was a charming letter. I had never seen Italy; the
privilege of initiation should be his. No mistake was greater than to
deem it an impossible country for the summer. The Bay of Naples was
never so divine, and he wrote of "faery lands forlorn," as though the
poetry sprang unbidden to his pen. To come back to earth and prose, I
might think it unpatriotic of him to choose a German boat, but on no
other line did you receive such attention and accommodation for your
money. There was a hint of better reasons. Raffles wrote, as he had
telegraphed, from Bremen; and I gathered that the personal use of some
little influence with the authorities there had resulted in a material
reduction in our fares.

Imagine my excitement and delight! I managed to pay what I owed at
Thames Ditton, to squeeze a small editor for a very small check, and my
tailors for one more flannel suit. I remember that I broke my last
sovereign to get a box of Sullivan's cigarettes for Raffles to smoke on
the voyage. But my heart was as light as my purse on the Monday
morning, the fairest morning of an unfair summer, when the special
whirled me through the sunshine to the sea.

A tender awaited us at Southampton. Raffles was not on board, nor did
I really look for him till we reached the liner's side. And then I
looked in vain. His face was not among the many that fringed the rail;
his hand was not of the few that waved to friends. I climbed aboard in
a sudden heaviness. I had no ticket, nor the money to pay for one. I
did not even know the number of my room. My heart was in my mouth as I
waylaid a steward and asked if a Mr. Raffles was on board. Thank
heaven--he was! But where? The man did not know, was plainly on some
other errand, and a-hunting I must go. But there was no sign of him on
the promenade deck, and none below in the saloon; the smoking-room was
empty but for a little German with a red moustache twisted into his
eyes; nor was Raffles in his own cabin, whither I inquired my way in
desperation, but where the sight of his own name on the baggage was
certainly a further reassurance. Why he himself kept in the
backgr