The man she had inquired for in the bar, Rigby—he guessed it was he—was speaking. A husky-toned voice, but the listener could plainly catch the words:

"There! Don't cry, old girl. I have broken my promise to you, I know. You thought I had gone out of England, and I haven't. Well, I am going—going early to-morrow."

"Dick!"

"Gospel truth, old girl. When I said good-bye last time, I meant it. But I got in with the boys and it was the old story. You know; I needn't tell you. I don't blame the boys; they think it a lark, that's all. First one comes and then the other, and each one doesn't know how far I've gone already. I have myself to blame; no one else. I have been lying here over a fortnight with the D.T.'s—came out of them two days ago. Doctor says I shall be able to go abroad to-morrow. He's a good sort; says the Mediterranean cruise will be the thing to set me on my legs. You said so; he says so. He has been kind enough to see to things, booked my berth, and I am going to-morrow from St. Katharine's dock on La Mascotte.

"Dick!"

"I am speaking honest, old girl; I am going. I might have gone without writing to you to come up and see me, and you would have been spared this, but I couldn't. I felt that I wanted to say good-bye, old girl, because—because you've been so good to me—more than I deserve. Because," there was a quaver in the speaker's voice, "because I believe it will be the last time."

"Dick!"

The listener, a fierce pain at his heart, heard the catch in her voice, the gasping way in which she ejaculated the name. The man continued:

"It is possible to travel too far on the downward road. So far that you get lost for ever and ever in the valley. I have been down a great big distance. There is a presentiment in possession of me that, somehow, I shall never come back to England. That I shall never come back to worry you again!"

"Dick! Dick! Dick!"

The listening man could hear the heart-breaking sound; the woman's sobs as she spoke. Despite Rigby, despite all, his heart went out to her. Involuntarily he stretched out his arms. They fell to his side again, empty. There was the door between.

"Don't cry. After all, it is perhaps for the best. See what a failure I am. If I drink myself to death perhaps it would be best. Pity it takes so long, that's all. See how like a blackguard I have behaved to you."

The listener could not see, but he knew her actions to be expostulating.

"Ah, it's so; it's so.... I know; I'm sober now. When I come out of it I lie thinking, thinking, thinking. Realize then what a foul beast I have made of myself. When I think how I have behaved to you—to you, my staunch, devoted, dear old pal, the one soul who has stuck to me through thick and thin, I hate myself, I hate myself; and I wonder you don't hate me too."

"You know I love you, Dick. You know that no soul in the whole world loves you as I do."

"Somehow I'd rather see you fly into a rage and call me all the evil names you could invent than look at me so lovingly and sadly; I would indeed. I should feel more that I had deserved to lose you; it would hurt less. But I know you love me; that is one reason why I have determined on trying this Mediterranean trip. Do you know, before I sat down to write to you yesterday, I made a balance of my hands. Held the pen in one and a razor in the other——"

"Dick! Dick! Oh, for God's sake don't talk so!"

"You would never have known, Mab. I am staying here in the name of Rigby. You don't read the police intelligence in the papers. If you had, you would never have linked an account of a drunkard's suicide in a Lambeth hotel with me. You would have thought me on blue water, keeping my promise to you."

The man at the door could hear the sounds of her grief still. It was agony to him; he ground his teeth. That she should suffer so, and he so close, so helpless to help her!

"The pen won the day, Queenie." The speaker was trying to infuse a note of cheeriness. "Don't cry, old girl; there is nothing to cry about after all. I'm here right enough. I wrote you to come up; to say good-bye to the man who has wronged you so. If I live through the trip I shall come back a better, sounder, healthier man. With the courage to fight this drink devil for life or death, for all I am worth."

"And, please God, conquer him, Dick!"

"And what about yourself, little woman? Have you been ill? You look worn out, worn and thinner. You haven't been worrying about me?"

"No, Dick; about Grace. She has been ill; dying once, I thought, but thank God she is as well to-day as ever she was."

"Our little Gracie has been as ill as all that? Poor little soul! And I've been drinking from morning till night, selfish brute that I am, without any thought for you or her. Good God! Why was I born—answer me that?"

The listening man had started back, horrified at the speaker's use of the word, Our. So stupefied was he that he hardly heard the latter part of the man's speech. So, then, this drink-sodden being, posturing under the name of Rigby, was the father of Gracie! Of the little girl he had helped to nurse back to life.

He shook off the numbness which had gripped him; there was more to hear. The thread was taken up again; the mother was speaking:

"——for us to love each other dearly, Dick, all through our lives. Let that be reason enough. Banish those presentiments of yours, dearest. Go bravely on this voyage. It must benefit you, give you strength—moral strength."

"I am a pretty nice sort of beauty to be thinking of moral strength——"

"Don't turn away from me like that; I can't bear it! Pray for strength, Dick; pray for it! Oh, come back to me, Dick dear, your old, old self. My heart aches for you all the while you are away from me. Come back to me, Dick, come back to my loving arms, stronger and better—yourself."

"I'm going to, old girl—going to try hard this time. I can be stronger when I am away from the boys. On board La Mascotte there won't be a soul I shall know. It will be torture for me to travel in solitude, for I don't expect such a wreck as I am will make friends. I carry my story written on my face; every man can read it first glance. At the same time, there will be safety in it. From the time I set foot on deck till the time I come back—if ever I come back——"

"Dick!"

"I'll only take claret; will not touch a drop of spirits; so help me God!"

The listener thought he heard a sigh, a despondent sigh, as the man uttered this resolution; probably it had been so resolved before. But it might have been fancy; the dividing door was too thick for him to hear with certainty.

"God will help you, Dick. He must. I believe you, Dick, I believe you. You mean well, and you will succeed. You will come back, and we shall be happy. My dear, dear old Dick; happy again, I know it."

"We will hope so, Queenie."

"Another man, Dick! A strong, healthy and well man. And what I am praying to see, Dick—for I think the tie will help you to keep straight—well and able to marry."

There ensued a moment's silence. The listener's imagination supplied the gap. What he had seen at the back of the bungalow at Wivernsea helped him thereto. He heard the passionate sobbing; the impact of their lips. Then he heard no more.

A great blurring veil seemed to come over sight, hearing, even faculty; to enshroud him. He staggered away as if physically injured. What he had heard hurt so.

On the other side of the door were Gracie's mother, Gracie's father. And they were talking of his coming back from a voyage well enough to marry.

His thoughts went away. Were of that sweet, innocent little child down at Wivernsea. As she came before him he almost groaned; it was too terrible, too horrible. Poor little Gracie!

Trembling fingers unlocked the door; he got downstairs somehow; down to the level of the bar. Called for brandy there, and, regardless of its quality, swallowed it.

It was a mechanical act. Instinct told him that he needed brandy, and he wanted to be doing something; inaction at that moment was maddening.

He walked outside.