"That's true," he said. "I _will_ try. Do you remember the first
night at sea when we sailed from England in the _Wanderer_?"

"As well as if it was yesterday."

"A calm, still night," the other went on, thoughtfully. "No
clouds, no stars. Nothing in the sky but the broad moon, and
hardly a ripple to break the path of light she made in the quiet
water. Mine was the middle watch that night. You came on deck,
and found me alone--"

He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence for
him.

"Alone--and in tears."

"The last I shall ever shed," Wardour added, bitterly.

"Don't say that! There are times when a man is to be pitied
indeed, if he can shed no tears. Go on, Richard."

Wardour proceeded--still following the old recollections, still
preserving his gentler tones.

"I should have quarreled with any other man who had surprised me
at that moment," he said. "There was something, I suppose, in
your voice when you asked my pardon for disturbing me, that
softened my heart. I told you I had met with a disappointment
which had broken me for life. There was no need to explain
further. The only hopeless wretchedness in this world is the