e knew at once that sleep
would not come to her. Her eyes burned as though weighted with many
scalding tears, but she could not weep. She could only lie staring
vaguely before her, and dumbly endure that suffering which she had
vainly fancied could never again be her portion. She could only
strive--and strive in vain--to shut out the vision of the man she loved
standing alone at the altar waiting for the woman who had played him
false.

The dinner hour approached. Mechanically she rose and dressed. She did
not shrink from meeting the eyes of strangers. They simply did not exist
for her. She took her place in the great dining saloon, looking neither
to right nor left. The buzz of conversation all around her passed her
by. She might have been sitting in utter solitude. And all the while the
misery gnawed ever deeper into her heart.

She rose at last, before the meal was ended, and went up to the great
empty deck. She felt as if she would stifle below. But, up above, the
wash of the sea and the immensity of the night soothed her somewhat. She
found a secluded corner, and leaned upon the rail, gazing out over the
black waste of water.

What was he doing, she wondered. How was he spending this second night
of misery? Had he begun to console himself already? She tried to think
so, but failed--failed utterly.

Irresistibly the memory of the man swept over her, his gentleness, his
chivalry, his unfailing kindness. She was beginning to see the whole
bitter tragedy by the light of her repentance. He had loved her, surely
he had loved her in those old days when she had tricked him in sheer,
childish gaiety of soul. And, for her sake, that her suffering might be
the briefer, he had masked his love. She had never thought so before,
but she saw it clearly now.

It had all been a miserable misunderstanding from beginning to end, but
she was sure, now, that he had loved her faithfully for all those years.
And if it were against all reason to think so, if all her experience
told her that men were not moulded thus, had not his chosen friend
declared him to be one in ten thousand, and did not her quivering
woman's heart know him to be such? Ah, what had she done? What had she
done?

"Oh, Pat!" she sobbed. "Pat! Pat! Pat!"

The great idol of her pride had fallen at last, and she wept her heart
out up there in the darkness, till physical exhaustion finally overcame
her, and she could weep no more.

XI

"Won't you sit down?" a