ly in the
morning. It was hardly light, and the deep scratch of finger-nails on
his face--it is so awkward when drunken fools wake at the wrong
minute--attracted no attention from the few people he encountered. He
did not give them long to look at him, for he hurried swiftly through
the streets, towards the quays where the ships lay loading their
cargoes. He seemed to have urgent business to transact down there,
business that would brook no delay, and that was, if one might guess
from his uneasy glances over his shoulder, of a private nature. With one
hand he held tight hold of something in his trousers pocket, the other
rested on his belt, hard by a little revolver. In his business it is
necessary to be ready for everything.

Meanwhile Mr. Benham, having no affairs to trouble him, and no more
business to transact, stayed where he was.

CHAPTER XIX.

LAST CHANCES.

At an early hour on Sunday all Kirton seemed astir. The streets were
alive with thronging people, with banners, with inchoate and still
amorphous processions, with vendors of meat, drink, and newspapers.
According to the official arrangements, the proceedings were not to
begin till one o'clock, and, in theory, the forenoon hours were left
undisturbed; but, what with the people who were taking part in the
demonstration, and those who were going to look on, and those who hoped
to suck some profit to themselves out of the day's work, the ordinary
duties and observances of a Sunday were largely neglected, and Mr.
Puttock, passing on his way to chapel at the head of his family, did not
lack material for reprobation in the temporary superseding of religious
obligations.

The Governor and his family drove to the Cathedral, according to their
custom, Eleanor Scaife having pleaded in vain for leave to walk about
the streets instead. Lady Eynesford declined to recognise the occasion,
and Eleanor had to content herself with stealthy glances to right and
left till the church doors engulfed her. The only absentee was Alicia
Derosne, and she was not walking about the streets, but sitting under
the verandah, with a book unopened on her knees, and her eyes set in
empty fixedness on the horizon. The luxuriant growth of a southern
summer filled her nostrils with sweet scents, and the wind, blowing off
the sea, tempered the heat to a fresh and balmy warmth; the waves
sparkled in the sun, and the world was loud in boast of its own beauty;
but poor Alicia, like man