the boat. It moves: he has got it under control. He stops, and
looks round. Beyond him is the open sea. Beneath him is the man
who has robbed him of Clara. The shadow of the deadly thought
grows and darkens over his face. He waits with his hands on the
boat--waits and thinks.

The iceberg drifts slowly--over the black water; through the ashy
light. Minute by minute, the dying fire sinks. Minute by minute,
the deathly cold creeps nearer to the sleeping man. And still
Richard Wardour waits--waits and thinks.



Fourth Scene.

The Garden.

Chapter 13.


The spring has come. The air of the April night just lifts the
leaves of the sleeping flowers. The moon is queen in the
cloudless and starless sky. The stillness of the midnight hour is
abroad, over land and over sea.

In a villa on the westward shore of the Isle of Wight, the glass
doors which lead from the drawing-room to the garden are yet
open. The shaded lamp yet burns on the table. A lady sits by the
lamp, reading. From time to time she looks out into the garden,
and sees the white-robed figure of a young girl pacing slowly to