"The river was flowing in and out of the lock at the same rate, so that
the level of the water remained constant.  The first thing the man did
was to close the lower sluices and then open those in the upper gate to
their fullest extent.  The water began to rise.

"'Can you hold out?' he cried.

"The drowning man turned to him a face already contorted by the agony of
exhaustion, and answered with a feeble 'No.'

"He looked around for something to throw to the man.  A plank had lain
there in the morning, he remembered stumbling over it, and complaining of
its having been left there; he cursed himself now for his care.

"A hut used by the navvies to keep their tools in stood about two hundred
yards away; perhaps it had been taken there, perhaps there he might even
find a rope.

"'Just one minute, old fellow!' he shouted down, 'and I'll be back.'

"But the other did not hear him.  The feeble struggles ceased.  The face
fell back upon the water, the eyes half closed as if with weary
indifference.  There was no time for him to do more than kick off his
riding boots and jump in and clutch the unconscious figure as it sank.

"Down there, in that walled-in trap, he fought a long fight with Death
for the life that stood between him and the woman.  He was not an expert
swimmer, his clothes hampered him, he was already blown with his long
race, the burden in his arms dragged him down, the water rose slowly
enough to make his torture fit for Dante's hell.

"At first he could not understand why this was so, but in glancing down
he saw to his horror that he had not properly closed the lower sluices;
in each some eight or ten inches remained open, so that the stream was
passing out nearly half as fast as it came in.  It would be another five-
and-twenty minutes before the water would be high enough for him to grasp
the top.

"He noted where the line of wet had reached to, on the smooth stone wall,
then looked again after what he thought must be a lapse of ten minutes,
and found it had risen half an inch, if that.  Once or twice he shouted
for help, but the effort taxed severely his already failing breath, and
his voice only came back to him in a hundred echoes from his prison
walls.

"Inch by inch the line of wet crept up, but the spending of his strength
went on more swiftly.  It seemed to him as if his inside were being
gripped and torn slowly out: his whole body cried out to him to let it
sink and lie in rest at the bottom.

"At length his unconscious burden opened its eyes and stared at him
stupidly, then closed them again with a sigh; a minute later opened them
once more, and looked long and hard at him.

"'Let me go,' he said, 'we shall both drown.  You can manage by
yourself.'

"He made a feeble effort to release himself, but the other held him.

"'Keep still, you fool!' he hissed; 'you're going to get out of this with
me, or I'm going down with you.'

"So the grim struggle went on in silence, till the man, looking up, saw
the stone coping just a little way above his head, made one mad leap and
caught it with his finger-tips, held on an instant, then fell back with a
'plump' and sank; came up and made another dash, and, helped by the
impetus of his rise, caught the coping firmly this time with the whole of
his fingers, hung on till his eyes saw the stunted grass, till they were
both able to scramble out upon the bank and lie there, their breasts
pressed close against the ground, their hands clutching the earth, while
the overflowing water swirled softly round them.

"After a while, they raised themselves and looked at one another.

"'Tiring work,' said the other man, with a nod towards the lock.

"'Yes,' answered the husband, 'beastly awkward not being a good swimmer.
How did you know I had fallen in?  You met my wife, I suppose?'

"'Yes,' said the other man.

"The husband sat staring at a point in the horizon for some minutes.  'Do
you know what I was wondering this morning?' said he.

"'No,' said the other man.

"'Whether I should kill you or not.'

"'They told me,' he continued, after a pause, 'a lot of silly gossip
which I was cad enough to believe.  I know now it wasn't true,
because--well, if it had been, you would not have done what you have
done.'

"He rose and came across.  'I beg your pardon,' he said, holding out his
hand.

"'I beg yours,' said the other man, rising and taking it; 'do you mind
giving me a hand with the sluices?'

"They set to work to put the lock right.

"'How did you manage to fall in?' asked the other man, who was raising
one of the lower sluices, without looking round.

"The husband hesitated, as if he found the explanation somewhat
difficult.  'Oh,' he answered carelessly, 'the wife and I were chaffing,
and she said she'd often seen you jump it, and'--he laughed a rather
forced laugh--'she promised me a--a kiss if I cleared it.  It was a
foolish thing to do.'

"'Yes, it was rather,' said the other man.

"A few days afterwards the man and woman met at a reception.  He found
her in a leafy corner of the garden talking to some friends.  She
advanced to meet him, holding out her hand.  'What can I say more than
thank you?' she murmured in a low voice.

"The others moved away, leaving them alone.  'They tell me you risked
your life to save his?' she said.

"'Yes,' he answered.

"She raised her eyes to his, then struck him across the face with her
ungloved hand.

"'You damned fool!' she whispered.

"He seized her by her white arms, and forced her back behind the orange
trees.  'Do you know why?' he said, speaking slowly and distinctly;
'because I feared that, with him dead, you would want me to marry you,
and that, talked about as we have been, I might find it awkward to avoid
doing so; because I feared that, without him to stand between us, you
might prove an annoyance to me--perhaps come between me and the woman I
love, the woman I am going back to.  Now do you understand?'

"'Yes,' whispered the woman, and he left her.

"But there are only two people," concluded Jephson, "who do not regard
his saving of the husband's life as a highly noble and unselfish action,
and they are the man himself and the woman."

We thanked Jephson for his story, and promised to profit by the moral,
when discovered.  Meanwhile, MacShaughnassy said that he knew a story
dealing with the same theme, namely, the too close attachment of a woman
to a strange man, which really had a moral, which moral was: don't have
anything to do with inventions.

Brown, who had patented a safety gun, which he had never yet found a man
plucky enough to let off, said it was a bad moral.  We agreed to hear the
particulars, and judge for ourselves.

"This story," commenced MacShaughnassy, "comes from Furtwangen, a small
town in the Black Forest.  There lived there a very wonderful old fellow
named Nicholaus Geibel.  His business was the making of mechanical toys,
at which work he had acquired an almost European reputation.  He made
rabbits that would emerge from the heart of a cabbage, flap their ears,
smooth their whiskers, and disappear again; cats that would wash their
faces, and mew so naturally that dogs would mistake them for real cats,
and fly at them; dolls, with phonographs concealed within them, that
would raise their hats and say, 'Good morning; how do you do?' and some
that would even sing a song.

"But he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an artist.  His
work was with him a hobby, almost a passion.  His shop was filled with
all manner of strange things that never would, or could, be sold--things
he had made for the pure love of making them.  He had contrived a
mechanical donkey that would trot for two hours by means of stored
electricity, and trot, too, much faster than the live article, and with
less need for exertion on the part of the driver; a bird that would shoot
up into the air, fly round and round in a circle, and drop to earth at
the exact spot from where it started; a skeleton that, supported by an
upright iron bar, would dance a hornpipe; a life-size lady doll that
could play the fiddle; and a gentleman with a hollow inside who could
smoke a pipe and drink more lager beer than any three average German
students put together, which is saying much.

"Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could make a man
capable of doing everything that a respectable man need want to do.  One
day he made a man who did too much, and it came about in this way.

"Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday.  Its first
birthday put Doctor Follen's household into somewhat of a flurry, but on
the occasion of its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor Follen gave a ball in
honour of the event.  Old Geibel and his daughter Olga were among the
guests.

"During the afternoon of the next day, some three or four of Olga's bosom
friends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped in to have a chat
about it.  They naturally fell to discussing the men, and to criticising
their dancing.  Old Geibel was in the room, but he appeared to be
absorbed in his newspaper, and the girls took no notice of him.

"'There seem to be fewer men who can dance, at every ball you go to,'
said one of the girls.

"'Yes, and don't the ones who can, give themselves airs,' said another;
'they make quite a favour of asking you.'

"'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third.  'They always say exactly
the same things: "How charming you are looking to-night."  "Do you often
go to Vienna?  Oh, you should, it's delightful."  "What a charming dress
you have on."  "What a warm day it has been."  "Do you like Wagner?"  I
do wish they'd think of something new.'

"'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a fourth.  'If a man dances well
he may be a fool for all I care.'

"'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully.

"'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous speaker, not noticing
the interruption.  'All I ask of a partner is that he shall hold me
firmly, take me round steadily, and not get tired before I do.'

"'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said the girl who had
interrupted.

"'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 'what a capital
idea!'

"'What's a capital idea?' they asked.

"'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that would go by
electricity and never run down.'

"The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.

"'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 'he would never
kick you, or tread on your toes.'

"'Or tear your dress,' said another.

"'Or get out of step.'

"'Or get giddy and lean on you.'

"'And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief.  I do
hate to see a man do that after every dance.'

"'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in the supper-room.'

"'Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all the stock remarks,
you would not be able to tell him from a real man,' said the girl who had
first suggested the idea.

"'Oh yes, you would,' said the thin girl, 'he would be so much nicer.'

"Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with both his
ears.  On one of the girls glancing in his direction, however, he
hurriedly hid himself again behind it.

"After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where Olga heard
him walking up and down, and every now and then chuckling to himself; and
that night he talked to her a good deal about dancing and dancing
men--asked what they usually said and did--what dances were most
popular--what steps were gone through, with many other questions bearing
on the subject.

"Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and was very
thoughtful and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to break into a
quiet low laugh, as if enjoying a joke that nobody else knew of.

"A month later another ball took place in Furtwangen.  On this occasion
it was given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber merchant, to celebrate his
niece's betrothal, and Geibel and his daughter were again among the
invited.

"When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father.  Not finding
him in the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop.  He appeared in
his shirt-sleeves, looking hot, but radiant.

"'Don't wait for me,' he said, 'you go on, I'll follow you.  I've got
something to finish.'

"As she turned to obey he called after her, 'Tell them I'm going to bring
a young man with me--such a nice young man, and an excellent dancer.  All
the girls will like him.'  Then he laughed and closed the door.

"Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, but she had
a pretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning, and so, to a
certain extent, was able to prepare the guests for what was coming.
Anticipation ran high, and the arrival of the famous mechanist was
eagerly awaited.

"At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed by a great
commotion in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly face red with
excitement and suppressed laughter, burst into the room and announced in
stentorian tones:

"'Herr Geibel--and a friend.'

"Herr Geibel and his 'friend' entered, greeted with shouts of laughter
and applause, and advanced to the centre of the room.

"'Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,' said Herr Geibel, 'to introduce you to
my friend, Lieutenant Fritz.  Fritz, my dear fellow, bow to the ladies
and gentlemen.'

"Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz's shoulder, and the
lieutenant bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh clicking noise
in his throat, unpleasantly suggestive of a death rattle.  But that was
only a detail.

"'He walks a little stiffly' (old Geibel took his arm and walked him
forward a few steps.  He certainly did walk stiffly), 'but then, walking
is not his forte.  He is essentially a dancing man.  I have only been
able to teach him the waltz as yet, but at that he is faultless.  Come,
which of you ladies may I introduce him to, as a partner?  He keeps
perfect time; he never gets tired; he won't kick you or tread on your
dress; he will hold you as firmly as you like, and go as quickly or as
slowly as you please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of
conversation.  Come, speak up for yourself, my boy.'

"The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons of his coat, and
immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones that appeared to
proceed from the back of his head, remarked suddenly, 'May I have the
pleasure?' and then shut his mouth again with a snap.

"That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the company was
undoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to dance with him.  They
looked askance at his waxen face, with its staring eyes and fixed smile,
and shuddered.  At last old Geibel came to the girl who had conceived the
idea.

"'It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,' said Geibel, 'an
electric dancer.  You owe it to the gentleman to give him a trial.'

"She was a bright saucy little girl, fond of a frolic.  Her host added
his entreaties, and she consented.

"Herr Geibel fixed the figure to her.  Its right arm was screwed round
her waist, and held her firmly; its delicately jointed left hand was made
to fasten itself upon her right.  The old toymaker showed her how to
regulate its speed, and how to stop it, and release herself.

"'It will take you round in a complete circle,' he explained; 'be careful
that no one knocks against you, and alters its course.'

"The music struck up.  Old Geibel put the current in motion, and Annette
and her strange partner began to dance.

"For a while every one stood watching them.  The figure performed its
purpose admirably.  Keeping perfect time and step, and holding its little
partner tightly clasped in an unyielding embrace, it revolved steadily,
pouring forth at the same time a constant flow of squeaky conversation,
broken by brief intervals of grinding silence.

"'How charming you are looking to-night,' it remarked in its thin, far-
away voice.  'What a lovely day it has been.  Do you like dancing?  How
well our steps agree.  You will give me another, won't you?  Oh, don't be
so cruel.  What a charming gown you have on.  Isn't waltzing delightful?
I could go on dancing for ever--with you.  Have you had supper?'

"As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl's
nervousness wore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing.

"'Oh, he's just lovely,' she cried, laughing, 'I could go on dancing with
him all my life.'

"Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers in the
room were whirling round behind them.  Nicholaus Geibel stood looking on,
beaming with childish delight at his success,

"Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his ear.  Geibel
laughed and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly towards the
door.

"'This is the young people's house to-night,' said Wenzel, as soon as
they were outside; 'you and I will have a quiet pipe and a glass of hock,
over in the counting-house.'

"Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious.  Little Annette
loosened the screw regulating her partner's rate of progress, and the
figure flew round with her swifter and swifter.  Couple after couple
dropped out exhausted, but they only went the faster, till at length they
were the only pair left dancing.

"Madder and madder became the waltz.  The music lagged behind: the
musicians, unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring.  The younger
guests applauded, but the older faces began to grow anxious.

"'Hadn't you better stop, dear,' said one of the women, 'You'll make
yourself so tired.'

"But Annette did not answer.

"'I believe she's fainted,' cried out a girl, who had caught sight of her
face as it was swept by.

"One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its
impetus threw him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased feet laid
bare his cheek.  The thing evidently did not intend to part with its
prize easily.

"Had any one retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help thinking,
might easily have been stopped.  Two or three men, acting in concert,
might have lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a
corner.  But few human heads are capable of remaining cool under
excitement.  Those who are not present think how stupid must have been
those who were; those who are, reflect afterwards how simple it would
have been to do this, that, or the other, if only they had thought of it
at the time.

"The women grew hysterical.  The men shouted contradictory directions to
one another.  Two of them made a bungling rush at the figure, which had
the result of forcing it out of its orbit in the centre of the room, and
sending it crashing against the walls and furniture.  A stream of blood
showed itself down the girl's white frock, and followed her along the
floor.  The affair was becoming horrible.  The women rushed screaming
from the room.  The men followed them.

"One sensible suggestion was made: 'Find Geibel--fetch Geibel.'

"No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he was.  A
party went in search of him.  The others, too unnerved to go back into
the ballroom, crowded outside the door and listened.  They could hear the
steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor, as the thing spun
round and round; the dull thud as every now and again it dashed itself
and its burden against some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new
direction.

"And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating over
and over the same formula: 'How charming you are looking to-night.  What
a lovely day it has been.  Oh, don't be so cruel.  I could go on dancing
for ever--with you.  Have you had supper?'

"Of course they sought for Geibel everywhere but where he was.  They
looked in every room in the house, then they rushed off in a body to his
own place, and spent precious minutes in waking up his deaf old
housekeeper.  At last it occurred to one of the party that Wenzel was
missing also, and then the idea of the counting-house across the yard
presented itself to them, and there they found him.

"He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel forced
their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered the
room, and locked the door behind them.

"From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps,
followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low voices
again.

"After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to
enter, but old Wenzel's broad shoulders barred the way.

"'I want you--and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing a couple of the elder
men.  His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white.  'The rest of
you, please go--get the women away as quickly as you can.'

"From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making of
mechanical rabbits and cats that mewed and washed their faces."

We agreed that the moral of MacShaughnassy's story was a good one.




CHAPTER XII


How much more of our--fortunately not very valuable--time we devoted to
this wonderful novel of ours, I cannot exactly say.  Turning the dogs'-
eared leaves of the dilapidated diary that lies before me, I find the
record of our later gatherings confused and incomplete.  For weeks there
does not appear a single word.  Then comes an alarmingly business-like
minute of a meeting at which there were--"Present: Jephson,
MacShaughnassy, Brown, and Self"; and at which the "Proceedings commenced
at 8.30."  At what time the "proceedings" terminated, and what business
was done, the chronicle, however, sayeth not; though, faintly pencilled
in the margin of the page, I trace these hieroglyphics: "3.14.9-2.6.7,"
bringing out a result of "1.8.2."  Evidently an unremunerative night.

On September 13th we seem to have become suddenly imbued with energy to a
quite remarkable degree, for I read that we "Resolved to start the first
chapter at once"--"at once" being underlined.  After this spurt, we rest
until October 4th, when we "Discussed whether it should be a novel of
plot or of character," without--so far as the diary affords
indication--arriving at any definite decision.  I observe that on the
same day "Mac told a story about a man who accidentally bought a camel at
a sale."  Details of the story are, however, wanting, which, perhaps, is
fortunate for the reader.

On the 16th, we were still debating the character of our hero; and I see
that I suggested "a man of the Charley Buswell type."

Poor Charley, I wonder what could have made me think of him in connection
with heroes; his lovableness, I suppose--certainly not his heroic
qualities.  I can recall his boyish face now (it was always a boyish
face), the tears streaming down it as he sat in the schoolyard beside a
bucket, in which he was drowning three white mice and a tame rat.  I sat
down opposite and cried too, while helping him to hold a saucepan lid
over the poor little creatures, and thus there sprang up a friendship
between us, which grew.

Over the grave of these murdered rodents, he took a solemn oath never to
break school rules again, by keeping either white mice or tame rats, but
to devote the whole of his energies for the future to pleasing his
masters, and affording his parents some satisfaction for the money being
spent upon his education.

Seven weeks later, the pervadence throughout the dormitory of an
atmospheric effect more curious than pleasing led to the discovery that
he had converted his box into a rabbit hutch.  Confronted with eleven
kicking witnesses, and reminded of his former promises, he explained that
rabbits were not mice, and seemed to consider that a new and vexatious
regulation had been sprung upon him.  The rabbits were confiscated.  What
was their ultimate fate, we never knew with certainty, but three days
later we were given rabbit-pie for dinner.  To comfort him I endeavoured
to assure him that these could not be his rabbits.  He, however,
convinced that they were, cried steadily into his plate all the time that
he was eating them, and afterwards, in the playground, had a stand-up
fight with a fourth form boy who had requested a second helping.

That evening he performed another solemn oath-taking, and for the next
month was the model boy of the school.  He read tracts, sent his spare
pocket-money to assist in annoying the heathen, and subscribed to _The
Young Christian_ and _The Weekly Rambler_, an Evangelical Miscellany
(whatever that may mean).  An undiluted course of this pernicious
literature naturally created in him a desire towards the opposite
extreme.  He suddenly dropped _The Young Christian_ and _The Weekly
Rambler_, and purchased penny dreadfuls; and taking no further interest
in the welfare of the heathen, saved up and bought a second-hand revolver
and a hundred cartridges.  His ambition, he confided to me, was to become
"a dead shot," and the marvel of it is that he did not succeed.

Of course, there followed the usual discovery and consequent trouble, the
usual repentance and reformation, the usual determination to start a new
life.

Poor fellow, he lived "starting a new life."  Every New Year's Day he
would start a new life--on his birthday--on other people's birthdays.  I
fancy that, later on, when he came to know their importance, he extended
the principle to quarter days.  "Tidying up, and starting afresh," he
always called it.

I think as a young man he was better than most of us.  But he lacked that
great gift which is the distinguishing feature of the English-speaking
race all the world over, the gift of hypocrisy.  He seemed incapable of
doing the slightest thing without getting found out; a grave misfortune
for a man to suffer from, this.

Dear simple-hearted fellow, it never occurred to him that he was as other
men--with, perhaps, a dash of straightforwardness added; he regarded
himself as a monster of depravity.  One evening I found him in his
chambers engaged upon his Sisyphean labour of "tidying up." A heap of
letters, photographs, and bills lay before him.  He was tearing them up
and throwing them into the fire.

I came towards him, but he stopped me.  "Don't come near me," he cried,
"don't touch me.  I'm not fit to shake hands with a decent man."

It was the sort of speech to make one feel hot and uncomfortable.  I did
not know what to answer, and murmured something about his being no worse
than the average.

"Don't talk like that," he answered excitedly; "you say that to comfort
me, I know; but I don't like to hear it.  If I thought other men were
like me I should be ashamed of being a man.  I've been a blackguard, old
fellow, but, please God, it's not too late.  To-morrow morning I begin a
new life."

He finished his work of destruction, and then rang the bell, and sent his
man downstairs for a bottle of champagne.

"My last drink," he said, as we clicked glasses.  "Here's to the old life
out, and the new life in."

He took a sip and flung the glass with the remainder into the fire.  He
was always a little theatrical, especially when most in earnest.

For a long while after that I saw nothing of him.  Then, one evening,
sitting down to supper at a restaurant, I noticed him opposite to me in
company that could hardly be called doubtful.

He flushed and came over to me.  "I've been an old woman for nearly six
months," he said, with a laugh.  "I find I can't stand it any longer."

"After all," he continued, "what is life for but to live?  It's only
hypocritical to try and be a thing we are not.  And do you know"--he
leant across the table, speaking earnestly--"honestly and seriously, I'm
a better man--I feel it and know it--when I am my natural self than when
I am trying to be an impossible saint."

That was the mistake he made; he always ran to extremes.  He thought that
an oath, if it were only big enough, would frighten away Human Nature,
instead of serving only as a challenge to it.  Accordingly, each
reformation was more intemperate than the last, to be duly followed by a
greater swing of the pendulum in the opposite direction.

Being now in a thoroughly reckless mood, he went the pace rather hotly.
Then, one evening, without any previous warning, I had a note from him.
"Come round and see me on Thursday.  It is my wedding eve."

I went.  He was once more "tidying up."  All his drawers were open, and
on the table were piled packs of cards, betting books, and much written
paper, all, as before, in course of demolition.

I smiled: I could not help it, and, no way abashed, he laughed his usual
hearty, honest laugh.

"I know," he exclaimed gaily, "but this is not the same as the others."

Then, laying his hand on my shoulder, and speaking with the sudden
seriousness that comes so readily to shallow natures, he said, "God has
heard my prayer, old friend.  He knows I am weak.  He has sent down an
angel out of Heaven to help me."

He took her portrait from the mantelpiece and handed it me.  It seemed to
me the face of a hard, narrow woman, but, of course, he raved about her.

As he talked, there fluttered to the ground from the heap before him an
old restaurant bill, and, stooping, he picked it up and held it in his
hand, musing.

"Have you ever noticed how the scent of the champagne and the candles
seems to cling to these things?" he said lightly, sniffing carelessly at
it.  "I wonder what's become of her?"

"I think I wouldn't think about her at all to-night," I answered.

He loosened his hand, letting the paper fall into the fire.

"My God!" he cried vehemently, "when I think of all the wrong I have
done--the irreparable, ever-widening ruin I have perhaps brought into the
world--O God! spare me a long life that I may make amends.  Every hour,
every minute of it shall be devoted to your service."

As he stood there, with his eager boyish eyes upraised, a light seemed to
fall upon his face and illumine it.  I had pushed the photograph back to
him, and it lay upon the table before him.  He knelt and pressed his lips
to it.

"With your help, my darling, and His," he murmured.

The next morning he was married.  She was a well-meaning girl, though her
piety, as is the case with most people, was of the negative order; and
her antipathy to things evil much stronger than her sympathy with things
good.  For a longer time than I had expected she kept him
straight--perhaps a little too straight.  But at last there came the
inevitable relapse.

I called upon him, in answer to an excited message, and found him in the
depths of despair.  It was the old story, human weakness, combined with
lamentable lack of the most ordinary precautions against being found out.
He gave me details, interspersed with exuberant denunciations of himself,
and I undertook the delicate task of peace-maker.

It was a weary work, but eventually she consented to forgive him.  His
joy, when I told him, was boundless.

"How good women are," he said, while the tears came into his eyes.  "But