into the walled garden, silent, warm, odorous with the perfume of
imprisoned flowers, which, like herself, were lost to sight in a
world buried in darkness.

The narrow, ill-lighted, rustic streets I knew so well on my way to
the harbour were extremely quiet. I felt in my heart that the
further one ventures the better one understands how everything in
our life is common, short, and empty; that it is in seeking the
unknown in our sensations that we discover how mediocre are our
attempts and how soon defeated! Jacobus's boatman was waiting at
the steps with an unusual air of readiness. He put me alongside
the ship, but did not give me his confidential "Good-evening, sah,"
and, instead of shoving off at once, remained holding by the
ladder.

I was a thousand miles from commercial affairs, when on the dark
quarter-deck Mr. Burns positively rushed at me, stammering with
excitement. He had been pacing the deck distractedly for hours
awaiting my arrival. Just before sunset a lighter loaded with
potatoes had come alongside with that fat ship-chandler himself
sitting on the pile of sacks. He was now stuck immovable in the
cabin. What was the meaning of it all? Surely I did not--

"Yes, Mr. Burns, I did," I cut him short. He was beginning to make
gestures of despair when I stopped that, too, by giving him the key
of my desk and desiring him, in a tone which admitted of no
argument, to go below at once, pay Mr. Jacobus's bill, and send him
out of the ship.

"I don't want to see him," I confessed frankly, climbing the poop-