the first evening of his attack. After that I had reasons for dispensing
with his generous services. The night after Roscoe was taken ill we were
passing through the canal, the search-light of the 'Fulvia' sweeping the
path ahead of it and glorifying everything it touched. Mud barges were
fairy palaces; Arab punts beautiful gondolas; the ragged Egyptians on the
banks became picturesque; and the desolate country behind them had a wide
vestibule of splendour. I stood for half an hour watching this scene,
then I went below to Roscoe's cabin and relieved the bookmaker. The sick
man was sleeping from the effects of a sedative draught. The bookmaker
had scarcely gone when I heard a step behind me, and I turned and saw
Justine Caron standing timidly at the door, her eyes upon the sleeper.
She spoke quietly. "Is he very ill?"

I answered that he was, but also that for some days I could not tell how
dangerous his illness might be. She went to the berth where he lay, the
reflected light from without playing weirdly on his face, and smoothed
the pillow gently.

"If you are willing, I will watch for a time," she said. "Everybody is
on deck. Madame said she would not need me for a couple of hours. I
will send a steward for you if he wakes; you need rest yourself."

That I needed rest was quite true, for I had been up all the night
before; still I hesitated. She saw my hesitation, and added:

"It is not much that I can do, still I should like to do it. I can at
least watch." Then, very earnestly: "He watched beside Hector."

I left her with him, her fingers moving the small bag of ice about his
forehead to allay the fever and her eyes patiently regarding him. I went