He rose. The woman on the couch got up and threw her arms round his
neck. Her eyes put two gleams in the deep shadow of the room. She knew
his passion for truth, his horror of deceit, his humanity.

"Oh, my poor, poor------"

"I shall never know," he repeated, sternly, disengaged himself, pressed
her hands to his lips, and went out.





THE BLACK MATE (1884)


A good many years ago there were several ships loading at the Jetty,
London Dock. I am speaking here of the 'eighties of the last century, of
the time when London had plenty of fine ships in the docks, though not
so many fine buildings in its streets.

The ships at the Jetty were fine enough; they lay one behind the other;
and the __Sapphire__, third from the end, was as good as the rest of
them, and nothing more. Each ship at the Jetty had, of course, her chief
officer on board. So had every other ship in dock.

The policeman at the gates knew them all by sight, without being able to
say at once, without thinking, to what ship any particular man belonged.
As a matter of fact, the mates of the ships then lying in the London
Dock were like the majority of officers in the Merchant Service--a