outspread, she cried:

"Good-bye, Jack! Good-bye!"

He heard the cry, and looked. Never was a man overtaken by more
crushing fear. He reeled on the stringer piece, his face went white
to the roots of his hair, and he seemed to shrink and wither away
inside his clothes. He threw up his hands and groaned, "My God! My
God!" Then he controlled himself by a great effort.

"Good-bye, Lucy! Good-bye!" he called.

And he stood there on the wharf, waving his hands to her till the
Noeau was clear away and the faces lining her after-rail were vague
and indistinct.

"I thought you knew," said McVeigh, who had been regarding him
curiously. "You, of all men, should have known. I thought that was
why you were here."

"I know now," Kersdale answered with immense gravity. "Where's the
carriage?"

He walked rapidly--half-ran--to it. I had to half-run myself to
keep up with him.

"Drive to Doctor Hervey's," he told the driver. "Drive as fast as
you can."

He sank down in a seat, panting and gasping. The pallor of his face