HAPPINESS—UNHAPPINESS—AND A MAN OF THE WORLD.

The birth of his son opened up to Ellison a new world. For the first month of that baby life everything connected with his own past was forgotten in one intense joy of possession. He began to understand that hitherto he had only vegetated; now he lived the life of a man who was not only a husband but a parent. The thread of his existence was a continuous one, woven and drawn in by the pink tenderness of a baby fingers. And as he noticed the growth of intelligence in those little eyes—the first faint dawning of the human soul within—his pleasure and delight increased a thousand-fold. He could hardly believe that the child was his own, his very own, bound to him by all the ties of flesh and blood—a veritable human, with a soul to be lost or to be saved by his influence. On the strength of his happiness he began to build gigantic castles in the air, and, what was more, to handsomely furnish them.

As for Esther, the motherhood that had come to her added a charm to her sweetness that her husband, much as he loved her, had neither known nor guessed that she possessed. The child was a perpetual mystery to her, and a never-ending charm. And yet with it all her husband was always the chiefest in her eyes. There was a difference in the love she felt for them—a difference that she could hardly account for or understand. One was of the other, yet not the other. One was a love she had in a measure created for herself; the other was nothing more nor less than herself. Indeed, their home life was now almost as perfect as it was possible for it to be. With a substantial banking account—how obtained Ellison never allowed himself to think; the new pearling season approaching with glowing prospects; a tender, loving wife to care for and protect; a son and heir to bind them closer to each other, he might indeed esteem himself a lucky man. Murkard found occasion, one morning, to tell him so in the store.

"Everything seems to prosper with you now, Ellison. If I had such a wife and son to work for, there'd be nothing I couldn't do."

"There shall be nothing I can't do. If things have changed, so much the better. I will make hay while the sun shines, and you must help me."

"There is nothing I would do more willingly. You know you may always count on my hearty cooperation."

Ellison shook him warmly by the hand.

"I know," he said. "You have been a good friend to me, Murkard."

"And you will forget it all in a moment."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I'm only looking ahead. A habit of mine. Forget it." He turned to the desk at which he had been writing, and took up some papers. "Now let us talk business. The season is beginning, as you know. Are you ready for it?"

"Quite. The boats are in first-class trim; the two new divers will be here to-morrow; we shall get to sea on Thursday morning, all being well."

"And you still intend going with them?"

"On this particular trip—yes! I want to see how things work out yonder, and what chances there are for a floating station."

A floating station, in pearling parlance, is a larger vessel than the ordinary diving lugger, capable of anchoring in the vicinity of the fleet, of carrying stores sufficient to supply the boats during their operations, and of taking over their cargoes of shell when obtained. By this means the time which would otherwise be occupied in sailing the distance backward and forward to the land station, not unfrequently a distance of some hundreds of miles, would be saved, and the luggers enabled to go on working uninterruptedly. A floating station is also capable of meeting ships in the open sea, and of transhipping to them her cargo of shell, packed and addressed direct to the London markets, by this means again saving agents' fees, storage, wharfage, etc., etc., in Thursday Island. The advantages to be gained by employing such a vessel must be obvious.

"I wonder you like to tear yourself away just at present," said Murkard, after a little pause.

"I don't like it. I am dreading it like the coward I am; but it's got to be done, Murkard. Try as I will I can't blink that fact. As I told you a month ago, I intend to put my shoulder to the wheel now with a vengeance. I think I've proved since we came here that I'm made of the right sort of stuff. Well, I'm going to do twice as much now in support of that assertion. I have made one firm resolve?"

"And that is?"

"That save for the purposes of my business, in the strictest sense of the word, I will not touch a penny of that five thousand pounds. And I will deny myself no toil and no thrift that can help me to repay every farthing of what I do take, and with interest. Then it shall go back to England."

"But, man, you must be mad! It's your own money. As much yours as the child in yonder."

"Not the two in the same breath, as you love your life, Murkard. No! When I took the money I took it as a loan, and only as a loan. By God's help I will repay every farthing of it, and with interest. So only can I hope to satisfy my conscience."

Murkard looked at him. There was determination in every line of Ellison's face. He lifted his hand from the desk, and put it on the other's shoulder.

"Ellison, you're a brave man, and I respect you for it."

"That's because you don't know everything."

"I know quite enough to convince me of the justice of what I have just said. If there's any more at the back of it—I'll respect you the more for that too."

"Well, at any rate, that's enough on the subject for the present. Of course, while I'm away you will be in charge here. You understand that, don't you? I leave everything in your hands, including the safety of my wife and child. I need not say I trust you."

"You need have no fears on that score. I will guard them as if they were my own. How long do you expect to be away?"

"At least a month. It is no use going so far for less. If we have much luck I may stay longer; but it is very doubtful."

"Very doubtful, I should think."

Ellison picked up his hat and left the store. On returning to the house he found Esther seated on the veranda, the baby sleeping in a cradle by her side. He took the hammock and stretched himself out. Without speaking she signed to him, by taking his hand, to look; then stooping she drew the mosquito netting back from the cradle head, and showed him the child lying fast asleep. Hand in hand they looked down upon the little pink face; and the one little arm outside the quilt, with its tiny fist tight clenched, seemed to draw the father's and mother's hearts if possible closer even than before. Then she dropped the net again, and turned towards her husband. She saw that his face was preternaturally solemn.

"You have something to tell me," she said.

"Something rather unpleasant, I'm afraid," he murmured in reply. "And yet, after all, looked straight in the face, it is not very much. I meant to have told you before, but I've been putting it off from day to day. The fact is, Esther, I'm going away with the luggers the day after to-morrow for a month."

"You—going—away—and—for—a month! Oh, Cuthbert!"

It was the first real parting since their marriage, and the news came as an unpleasant shock to her. But Esther knew she must be brave, and not try to hinder him from what was evidently his duty. Calling Mrs. Fenwick out to the veranda, she gave the child to her; then, taking her husband's arm, she went with him down the path towards the shore.

"It is weak of me to think I can expect to keep you with me always," she said, when they had gone a little way. "But baby and I will miss you dreadfully."

"It must be, darling. You see, I must work now even harder than before."

"Why must you? We are doing well enough as it is, surely?"

"Yes, things have improved, certainly; but while that loan hangs over me I shall know no peace. It haunts me night and day. You would not have me idle my time away here on the strength of that money, would you?"

"Of course not. But I fear whatever you did, I should think right."

"Forgive my doubting that assertion. I'm certain, darling, if you saw me idle, even your love would not be above telling me so."

"But I should only tell you because I loved you."

"That is precisely why I am going away. I want to work hard, that I may prevent your ever being called upon to tell me."

"We are getting a little out of our depths, are we not?"

They had reached a little clearing in the jungle. Here she stopped, and taking his great brown hand in hers, stroked it with her own white fingers. Then, looking up into his face with a faint little smile, through which the tears threatened at any moment to burst, she said:

"Go, and may God prosper your labours!"

That was the last of her opposition.

Two days later Ellison gave the signal for departure, and the three luggers weighed anchor and stood out of the bay. His own boat was the last to leave, and until the headland shut her from his sight, Ellison waved a farewell to the white figure standing in the veranda. Then the sea took him into her arms, and for a month the station knew him no more.

It was sundown on the twenty-third day at sea. Work was almost over. The sun was little more than a hand's breadth above the horizon, and another hour would find him gone. Hardly a ripple disturbed the pearly serenity of the ocean; the only spot of land to be seen was a tiny island just peeping up on the sky-line away to starboard. Ellison sat upon the combing of the main hatch, holding the diver's life-line in his hand, watching the movements of the other boats, and listening to the throbbing of the air-pump on the deck beside him. It was nearly time for the diver to ascend.

Suddenly the line he held twitched violently in his hand. It was a signal to haul up the canvas bag containing the oysters gathered. He hauled in, and having emptied the contents on the deck, lowered the bag to be re-filled. Then with his knife he set to work to open the oysters. The first and second were valuable shells, but destitute of pearls; the third contained an almost insignificant gem; the fourth he opened carefully, with a sort of premonition that it would be found to contain something valuable. If the truth were known, he was thinking more of Esther than the work upon which he was engaged. When he did look inside, he almost dropped the shell in amazement. Tangled among the beard, and half hidden from his sight, was an enormous black pearl, perfect, so far as he could make out, in symmetry, and larger than a hazel-nut. Trembling with eagerness, yet without allowing a sign to escape him to show his crew that he had made a find out of the ordinary, he disentangled the gem from its bearded setting, and with exquisite care removed it altogether from the shell. He could hardly believe his good fortune. Perfect in shape, of enormous size, and, as far as he could tell, without a flaw, it was a jewel fit for a royal crown. He was afraid to think of its value, but from what he knew of pearls, five thousand pounds would hardly buy it.

He had barely time to conceal it in his pocket and order one of the Kanakas to stow the shells in their proper places, when the diver signalled that he was coming up. As soon as he had seen him disrobed he descended to his cabin, and after another careful examination of the gem, put it away in a place of safety. If his calculation of its value proved anything like correct, he would now be able to pay off his debt, relieve his mind of its weight of anxiety, and start again with a fresh sheet. But even without this marvellous bit of good fortune their trip had been phenomenally successful; now, with this additional piece of good luck, he felt that he was justified in weighing anchor the following morning and setting sail for home.

And what a home-coming it was, to be sure! What questions had to be asked and answered; how every change in the son and heir had to be described and noted. And indeed, as Ellison was only too glad to admit to himself, he was indeed a bonny boy. His heart throbbed with joy and pride as he held him in his arms.

And who shall paint Esther's delight in having her husband with her again? She could hardly bear him out of her sight.

When luncheon was over, and they had adjourned to the veranda, she came to business.

"You have not yet told me what success you met with, Cuthbert? I have prayed that you might be fortunate—night and morning."

"Then your prayers have been answered, darling, as any prayers of yours would be."

He led her back into the sitting room, and having made certain that no one was near to spy upon them, took from his pocket the little box which contained the pearl. In her soft white hand the gem looked as black as night.

"Oh, Cuthbert!" she cried, in supreme astonishment; "a black pearl! and such a large one. Oh, this is the greatest luck that could possibly befall us. Have you any idea what it is worth!"

"I hardly know, but at least I should think enough to liquidate that debt, and lay the foundation of our future fortunes."

"As much as that? Oh, husband mine, it is indeed an answer to my prayers. And now you will be quite free?"

"Yes, free—quite free."

His voice took a fuller tone as he said it. He threw his head back and laughed like his old happy self. Then, seating himself beside her, he began to question her on other subjects.

"It's a funny thing that Murkard should have chanced to be away just when I arrived. What time did he cross to the township?"

"About eleven o'clock, I think. Cuthbert, I want to talk to you about him."

"Well," he said, looking at her laughingly, "what has the old fellow been up to while I've been away? Making love to you? I'll certainly break his head for him if he has."

"Don't be silly! I want to talk to you seriously; I am alarmed about him. He frightens me terribly at times."

"Come, come, you mustn't be silly. There's nothing but what's honest about Murkard, I'll stake my life on that. He wouldn't willing hurt a fly. But in what way does he frighten you?"

"He looks so queer, and once or twice when I've sent for him he hasn't been able to come. I have serious suspicions that he has been drinking heavily lately."

"Is that so? Well, I'll soon stop that. And yet we must not be too hard on him, poor fellow, he has much to put up with. Hark! that sounds like his voice."

He rose and looked out across the veranda. Murkard was standing at his hut door, calling to a Kanaka on the beach. Ellison put on his hat and went across to him. Hearing steps behind him, Murkard turned round, and the other saw his face. It was of a whitey-gray colour, almost that of zinc; the pouches under his eyes were dark and swollen, while the eyes themselves had a shifty trick of roaming about as he talked. His hair was now almost entirely gray over the temples. His hands shook violently. He seemed to have aged years in that one month.

"Why, Murkard, how's it with you?" Ellison began briskly, resolved not to show that he noticed the queerness of his greeting. "But you're not looking well, man."

"I am quite well—quite well. I've had a touch of fever lately, but I'm better now. I'm glad to see you back. I hope you think I've taken proper care of your wife and child in your absence."

"I'm sure you have, old man. And now take my arm and come in here for a chat. I've great news for you."

They went into the store together, and Ellison seated himself on a bale of rope. Murkard picked idly at the edge of the counter with nervous, trembling hands. A figure passed the door, but neither of them saw it.

"Murkard, this has been a wonderful month for me."

"How—how? Why don't you speak out? Why do you keep me in suspense?"

"Nerves," said Ellison to himself. "I must stop this as soon as possible." Then aloud he continued, taking out the gem and placing it on the counter: "Three hundred pounds' worth of shell in the luggers, and that beauty."

Murkard picked up and turned the great black pearl over and over without answering. Finally he said:

"I suppose you will be a rich man now?"

"I shall be able, at least, to square that debt and start afresh, if that's what you mean. It's the greatest luck that ever came to a man. Congratulate me, old chap."

"I do congratulate you, from the bottom of my heart. You'll be able to square that debt, you say? Well, well, perhaps so—perhaps so."

"I feel as if a new life had been given me."

"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! We want no new lives. What should we do with new lives, when we don't know how to make use of those we've got? It's hell-fire for some of us, I tell you—hell-fire."

"Steady, old man, steady!"

"Listen to me, Cuthbert Ellison." He leaned over the counter, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "What's the worth of money when your immortal soul's in danger? Look at me and answer me that; look at me, I say. Stung with empoisonment and robed in fire, as somebody says:

He sawed the air with his hands, while Ellison gazed at him in complete astonishment.

"My dear fellow, what on earth's the matter with you?"

Murkard laughed nervously, and tried to pull himself together.

"Nothing—nothing; why should there be? I'm not very well to-day, that's all. Glad to see you home again—can't you understand?"

"I understand that. But I know also that you must go steady, old man. You're trembling like a day-old kitten. This won't do at all, you know."

"I shall be better to-morrow. It's only transi—trans—what the devil word do I want?—transitory."

"And now about this beauty," Ellison tapped the pocket containing the pearl. "We must put it away somewhere where it will be safe. In the meantime, 'mum's' the word; do you understand?"

Murkard nodded, and moved towards the safe standing in a corner of the office. Again the figure passed the door unnoticed.

"You'd better put it in here," suggested Murkard, placing the key in the lock, and swinging the heavy door open. Suddenly he jumped back as if he had been shot, and stood trembling against the counter.

"What's wrong with you now, man?" Ellison cried almost angrily.

"Can't you see? can't you see? For Heaven's sake, come back!" He seized Ellison by the shoulder, and pulled him back towards the other side of the hut. "Can't you see that the floor's giving way, and if we're not careful we shall both fall into the pit? The sea washes under it, and it's over two thousand feet deep!"

His face was the colour of note-paper, and great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.

"Nonsense!" said Ellison. "The floor's as strong as I am, and there's no pit to fall into, even if it did give way. Murkard, my friend, I don't like the look of this at all. I shall have to put you to bed."

"Stuff! I'm as well as you are. I see my mistake now; it was the shadow that frightened me. But for the moment I really did think the floor was giving way. My nerves are not quite the thing. It's overwork. I must have a tonic."

Ellison put the pearl in the lower drawer of the safe, and then securely locked the door again. Both he and Murkard held keys, and for the moment he was in some doubt as to whether he should give the duplicate back to the other in his present state. Yet he hardly liked to refuse, for fear of offending him.

"Are you afraid to trust me with my key again, Mr. Ellison?" snarled Murkard.

"Afraid to trust you—what are you thinking about? Of course not; there's your key? Now you just come along with me, and I'll put you to bed."

"Bosh! I'm not going to bed; I've got my work to do, and I'll thank you to mind your own business. When I want your sympathy I'll ask you for it. In the meantime, be so good as to spare me the indignity of offering it."

"It is certainly time I looked after him," said Ellison to himself. "This is the liquor again, with a vengeance!"

But in spite of his first refusal, Murkard allowed himself to be led to his hut. Once there, he threw himself on his bed, and announced his intention of going to sleep.

"The best thing you can possibly do. I'll come back in a little while and have a look at you."

He left him picking at the pattern on his counterpane, and went back to the house. When he got there, to his surprise he discovered his wife sitting in the veranda talking to a stranger—a tall man about thirty years of age, neatly dressed, and boasting a handsome, aristocratic face.

As Ellison approached he heard his wife say:

"This is my husband."

The stranger rose, and came across the veranda to meet him. He lifted his hat politely, and smiled in a most bewitching manner.

Ellison thought he had seldom seen a pleasanter face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ellison. I have the pleasure of bearing a letter of introduction to you from the Government Resident over yonder."

He took a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat, and gave it to Ellison. On the envelope was written, "Introducing the Hon. George Merton."

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Merton? I am very pleased to have the opportunity of making your acquaintance. Have you been long in the settlement?"

"I arrived in the China boat last week. I am globe-trotting, I may as well tell you—though it will probably prejudice you against me. I have been three months in Japan, and am now on my way to Melbourne."

"Don't you find your stay in Thursday Island rather uninteresting?"

"On the contrary, I am so far interested that I am thinking of spending another month here. I want to see all I can of the pearling industry in that time."

"Then perhaps I can help you."

"The Resident was kind enough to say he felt sure you would."

"If you will give us the pleasure of your company, my wife and I will try to make your stay as pleasant as possible."

"I am vastly obliged to you. You are really a most hospitable people. I hope, if ever you visit England, you'll let me return the compliment."

"Thank you. We're rough and ready, but we're always glad to see folk from the outside world. Our intellectual circle, you see, is rather limited."

Esther rose to go into the house. She turned to their guest:

"You will hear a great deal about shell, copra, bÊche-de-mer, etc., before you leave us. But I hope it won't bore you. Now I will go and prepare your room for you. Cuthbert, will you send one of the boys across to the settlement for Mr. Merton's bag?"

"With pleasure."

"It's really very good of you to take me in like this," said Mr. Merton, when they were alone.

Ellison replied in suitable terms. Hospitality was one of his strong points, and the stranger was evidently a cultivated man. He looked forward to a week or so of very pleasant intercourse. It was years since he had enjoyed an intellectual conversation.

"You have a pretty place here, Mr. Ellison," said the other, after a brief stroll. "The jungle on the hill, and the cluster of houses among the palms at the foot, present a charming effect."

"I hope you will be able to say you like it when you have seen more of it. It is pretty, but one is apt to find it a little quiet."

"How many men do you employ?"

"About a dozen; mostly Kanakas."

"But surely I saw you walking with a white man just now. Rather afflicted, I think."

"Ah, yes; my storekeeper, Mr. Murkard. A very old friend. I'm sorry to say he's not well enough to assist in welcoming you. By the same token, I think if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll go across and see how he is. I'm rather anxious about him."

"Do, by all means. I'll walk back to the house." Ellison went down the path to the hut. He listened for a moment at the door, but only the sound of heavy breathing came from within. He went in, to find Murkard lying prone upon the floor insensible. The hut reeked of brandy, and Ellison was not surprised when he found an empty bottle underneath the bed.

"This is getting to be too much of a good thing, my friend," he said, addressing the recumbent figure. "I shall have to keep a sharper eye on you for the future, I can see."

He lifted him up, and placed him on the bed. Then he began his search for concealed spirit. At the end of five minutes he was almost convinced that the bottle he had discovered was the only one. And yet it seemed hardly likely that it could be so. Suddenly his eye lighted on a hole in the palm leaf thatch. Standing on a box he could thrust his hand into it. He did so, and felt the smooth cold side of a bottle. He drew it out—an unopened bottle of Hennessey's Cognac. Again he inserted his hand, and again he drew out a bottle—another—and still another. There was enough concealed there to kill a man in Murkard's present state. He wrapped them up in a towel, so that none of the hands should suspect, and conveyed them across to his own room. Once there, he sat down to think.

"He'll not move for an hour or two, then he'll wake and look for these. When he can't find 'em he'll probably go off his head right away, and we shall have to watch him in grim earnest. Poor old Murkard! Poor old chap!"

Fortunately for his spirits that evening, Merton proved a most sympathetic and agreeable companion. He ingratiated himself with Ellison by praising his wife, and he won Esther to his side by the interest and admiration he displayed for the baby. He was a fluent and clever conversationalist, and by the time dinner was over both husband and wife had agreed that he was a very pleasant addition to their party. But the triumph of the stranger was yet to come. They sat smoking in the veranda, watching the wonderful southern stars and listening to the murmur of the wavelets on the beach. Only their pipes showed their whereabouts, and when Esther joined them she could hardly distinguish between her husband and their guest.

"Won't you play us something, Mrs. Ellison?" Merton said, after a few moments. "I feel sure you are a musician. Indeed, I saw a pile of music by the piano."

"Do you play or sing, Mr. Merton?" she said, as she turned to comply with his request.

"A little," he replied. "If you will perform first, I will do my best to follow you."

"A bargain," said Ellison. And his wife sat down to the piano.

When she had finished both men thanked her, and Merton rose from his chair and went in to fulfil his promise.

Esther seated herself by her husband's side and her hand found his. Merton struck a few chords and then began to sing. The attention of the couple in the veranda was riveted immediately. Few men could sing as Merton sang; his voice was a tenor of the richest quality, his execution faultless. He sang as one inspired, and the song he chose suited him exactly; it was "Si j'etais Roi!" When he had finished not a sound came from the veranda; he smiled to himself. That silence was greater praise than any thanks. He knew his power, and he had discovered by intuition that the man and woman were in sympathy with him. He began to play again; this time the song was an English one. The music was his own, the words some of the most beautiful Tennyson ever wrote:

His voice sank almost to a whisper as he uttered the last words. They seemed to hang and tremble upon the silent air for some seconds after he had finished; the effect was complete upon his audience. He left the piano and came out again to the veranda.

"Thank you. You are a wonderful singer," said Esther, tears still wet upon her eyelashes. "I have never heard anything like your voice before, and yet we have had many well-known singers among the pearlers in the settlement."

Ellison was silent. The influence of the music and the wail of the song were still upon him, and he could not shake them off. They seemed in some mysterious fashion to remind him of his dead but not forgotten past.

Merton seated himself, and turned the conversation into another channel. He had created the effect he desired, and that was sufficient for the present. He did not want to appear conceited.

"Hark!" said Esther suddenly, holding up her hand. "I thought I heard someone calling."

They all listened, but no sound rewarded their attention.

"The sea," said her husband, "or a night-bird in the scrub."

"Where is Mr. Murkard to-night?" asked Esther. "I have not seen him since you returned."

Merton suddenly leaned forward, and then as suddenly sat back. Ellison noticed his action, but attached no importance to it.

"He's not at all well, dear. As I'm rather anxious about him, I induced him to go to bed."

Merton sat suddenly upright.

"You were quite right, Mrs. Ellison. I heard someone call then. Who can it be?"

Again they listened, this time with more success. It was the voice of a man in deadly terror, and it came from the hut opposite. Ellison sprang to his feet.

"Murkard!" he cried. "I must go to him."

He dashed across the veranda and down the path to the hut. On the threshold, and before opening the door, he paused to light a match. When he entered, the room was in total darkness. He knew a candle stood on the table near the door, and having found it, he lit it; then holding it aloft, he looked about him. The bed was disordered, half the clothes were lying on the floor. A moment later he sighted the man of whom he was in search. He was crouched in the furthest corner, staring wildly before him. His long legs were drawn up close to his chin—his broad shoulders seemed to overlap his body. But his eyes were his chief horror; they seemed to be starting from their sockets. Streams of perspiration—the perspiration of living fear—rolled down his cheeks, and every now and then he uttered a cry of abject terror.

"Hold me back—hold me back!" he yelled. "I'm falling—falling—falling! Is there no help—my God—no help! Help! Help! Help!"

Ellison put down the candle and ran towards him.

"Murkard, what on earth does this mean? Pull yourself together! You're all right!"

But the man took no notice. He only drew himself further into his corner and clutched at the woodwork of the wall.

"Don't come near me," he cried; "for pity's sake, don't come near me! You're shaking me, you're loosening my hold, and I shall fall!" His voice went up to a shriek again. "I shall fall! I'm falling, falling, falling! Help! Help! Help!"

Again and again he shrieked. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet, tottered to and fro, and next moment fell forward unconscious. At the same moment Ellison heard a footstep behind him. Looking round he saw Merton standing in the doorway.

"What is the matter with him?" he asked. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"D. T., I'm afraid. And a pretty bad case, I think. What can we do?"

"Get him on to his bed, I should say, and send for the doctor."

"Well, let's try."

Between them they picked him up and carried him to his bed. Having laid him there, Ellison said:

"Would you mind staying with him for a minute while I send a hand across to the settlement for the medico?"

"Go ahead, I'll watch him."

Ellison went out and left them alone together. As soon as the door had closed upon him Merton leaned over the bed and looked fixedly at the man stretched upon it.

"Yes," he said, when he had finished his scrutiny, "I thought I couldn't be mistaken. It's the very man himself. This is getting interesting. My friend,—what do you call yourself? Oh, Murkard—when you recover your wits again you'll have a little surprise in store for you. In the meantime I've got to play my cards carefully, or that fool may suspect."

Five minutes later Ellison returned. Merton turned to him.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Watch him till the doctor comes. Don't you stay. Go to bed and try to forget all about him."

"Sure I can be of no use?"

"Certain."

"Then I think I will take your advice and say good-night!"

"Good-night!"

As he went across to the house Merton smiled to himself.

"Forget him? When I forget him may my right hand forget its cunning. No, no, my friend, you and I have a score to settle before we can forget! In the meantime Diplomacy must be my watchword."