them into a mantle. I could go as--a noble Roman, perhaps!" Then a
slight, ironical smile crossed his lips, and he stretched out his thin
but shapely arms, as if in derision of himself.

"You will go as Menelaus the Greek," said I.

"I as Menelaus the Greek?" The smile became a little grim.

"Yes, as Menelaus; and I will go as Paris." I doubt not that my voice
showed a good deal of self-scorn at the moment; but there was a kind of
luxury in self-abasement before him. "Your wife, I know, intends to go
as Helen of Troy. It is all mumming. Let it stand so, as Menelaus and
Helen and Paris before there was any Trojan war, and as if there never
could be any--as if Paris went back discomfited, and the other two were
reconciled."

His voice was low and broken. "I know you exaggerate matters, and
condemn yourself beyond reason," he replied. "I will do as you say.
But, Dr. Marmion, it will not be all mumming, as you shall see."

A strange look came upon his face at this. I could not construe it;
and, after a few words of explanation regarding his transference to the
forward part of the ship, I left him. I found the purser, made the
necessary arrangements for him, and then sought my cabin, humbled in many
ways. I went troubled to bed. After a long wakefulness, I dozed away
into that disturbed vestibule of sleep where the world's happenings
mingle with the visions of unconsciousness. I seemed to see a man's
heart beating in his bosom in growing agonies, until, with one last
immense palpitation, it burst, and life was gone. Then the dream
changed, and I saw a man in the sea, drowning, who seemed never to drown