a railing, which was all that interposed between him and
eternity.

At first he was only conscious of greyness and the noise of winds
and waters, but presently a black daub seemed to hover for a second
somewhere on the verge of his world, to hover and disappear. He wondered
what it was. A smut, perhaps. He rubbed his face. The daub returned.
It was very large for a smut. He strove to locate it, and found that it
must be somewhere on his left cheek. With a great effort he took out his
pocket-handkerchief. Suddenly the daub assumed monstrous proportions.
He turned his head, and perceived the lady in black whom he had seen
tripping over the gangway on his arrival.

She was a few steps from him, leaning upon the rail in an attitude of
the deepest dejection, with her face averted; yet it struck him that her
right shoulder was oddly familiar, as her back had surely been. The turn
of her head, too--he coughed despairingly. The lady took no notice. He
coughed again. Interest was quickening in him. He was determined to see
the lady's face.

This time she looked around, showing a pale countenance bedewed with
tears, and totally devoid of any expression which he could connect with
a consciousness of his presence. For a moment she stared vacantly at
him, while he, with almost equal vacancy, regarded her. Then a thrill of
surprise shook him. A sudden light of knowledge leaped up in him, and he
exclaimed:

"Mademoiselle Verbena!" "Monsieur?" murmured the lady, with an accent
of surprise.

"Mademoiselle Verbena! Surely it is--it must be!"

He had staggered sideways, nearing her.

"Mademoiselle Verbena, do you not know me? It is I, Eustace Greyne, the
father of your pupils, the husband of Mrs. Eustace Greyne?"

An expression of stark amazement came into the lady's face at these
words. She leaned forward till her eyes were close to Mr. Greyne's then
gave a little cry.

"_Mon Dieu!_ It is true! You are so altered that I could not recognise.
And then--what are you doing here, on the wide sea, far from madame?"

"I was just about to ask you the very same question!" cried Mr. Greyne.

IV

"Alas, monsieur!" said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, "I go
to see my poor mother."

"But I understood that she was dying in Paris."

"Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honore, I found that they
had removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said--a warm
climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to