confer surprising help by stealth. . . . He wished now that, in spite
of experience, he had married and begotten children--an heir at
least. It would be a fine thing to restore the stock to a prospect
of honour. He wondered that in the past he had never realised his
plain duty in this light and taken the risk. As it was, the old name
could only be preserved in a commonalty's gratitude.

The flagged floor galled him cruelly; for he was of lean build.
Shift his posture or his weight as he might, after a few seconds'
ease his haunch-pins were pressing again upon the pavement, with no
cushion of flesh but a crushed nerve or two that kept telephoning
misery to his knee and fetching fierce darts of pain for response.
A quick succession of these, running into one as though a red-hot
iron had been applied under the thigh, searing it to the very bone,
stabbed suddenly into his brain with a new terror. He had forgotten
the anonymous letter and its threat!

He was a rich man now. The business of a rich man was to stay at
home and preserve his riches while making use of them-like
Pamphlett. Who in this world ever heard of a rich man being hauled
off to serve in the Navy as a common seaman? The thing was
unprecedented. He could buy himself out; at the worst by paying up
the money he had drawn.

Yes, but this would involve disclosing his wealth, and the source of
it. . . . He was terribly afraid of publicity. He had enemies, as
the letter proved: he suspected that the law itself might be another
enemy--you could never predict which side the law would take--and
between them, if they got to know his secret, they would despoil him.
. . . On the other hand if, covering his secret, he opposed but a