bringing him many
shillings, he did not correct it. Accordingly, from Cape Sable the news
of Jimmie's suicide was reported. That afternoon it appeared in all the
late editions of the evening papers.

Pleading fever, Jimmie explained to his landlord that for him to venture
out by day was most dangerous, and sent the landlord after the
newspapers. The feelings with which he read them were mixed. He was
proud of the complete success of his plot, but the inevitableness of it
terrified him. The success was _too_ complete. He had left himself no
loophole. He had locked the door on himself and thrown the key out of
the window. Now, that she was lost to him forever, he found, if that
were possible, he loved his wife more devotedly than before. He felt
that to live in the same world with Jeanne and never speak to her, never
even look at her, could not be borne. He was of a mind to rush to the
wharf and take another leap into the dark waters, and this time without
a life-line. From this he was restrained only by the thought that if he
used infinite caution, at infrequent intervals, at a great distance, he
still might look upon his wife. This he assured himself would be
possible only after many years had aged him and turned his hair gray.
Then on second thoughts he believed to wait so long was not absolutely
necessary. It would be safe enough, he argued, if he grew a beard. He
always had been clean-shaven, and he was confident a beard would
disguise him. He wondered how long a time must pass before one would
grow. Once on a hunting-trip he had gone for two weeks without shaving,
and the result had not only disguised but disgusted him. His face had
changed to one like those carved on cocoanuts. A recollection of this
gave him great pleasure. His spirits rose happily. He saw himself in the
rags of a tramp, his face hidden in an unkempt beard, skulking behind
the hedges that surrounded his house. From this view-point, before
sailing away from her forever, he would again steal a look at Jeanne. He
determined to postpone his departure until he had grown a beard.
Meanwhile he would plead illness, and keep to his room, or venture out
only at night. Comforted by the thought that in two weeks he might again
see his wife, as she sat on the terrace or walked in her gardens, he
sank peaceably to sleep.

The next morning the landlord brought him the papers. In them were many
pictures of himself as a master of foxhounds, as a polo-player, as