"You wish that sometimes, too?" he said at length in a low voice.

"Sometimes? I wish it always-every day, every hour, every moment!" She paused, and then let the quivering words break out. "You'd better know it; you 'd better know the worst of me. I'm not the saint you suppose; the duty I do is poisoned by the thoughts I think. Day by day, hour by hour, I wish him dead. When he goes out I pray for something to happen; when he comes back I say to myself: 'Are you here again?' When I hear of people being killed in accidents I think: 'Why was n't he there?' When I read the death-notices in the paper I say: 'So-and-so was just his age.' When I see him taking such care of his health and his diet, -as he does, you know, except when he gets reckless and begins to drink too much, when I see him exercising and resting, and eating only certain things, and weighing himself, and feeling his muscles, and boasting that he has n't gained a pound, I think of the men who die from overwork, who throw their lives away for some big object, and I say to myself: 'What can kill a man who thinks only of himself?' And night after night I keep myself from going to sleep for fear I may dream that he 's dead. When I dream that, and wake and find him there, it's worse than ever-and my thoughts are worse than ever, too!"

She broke off on a stifled sob, and the thump-thump of the water under the floor was like the beat of a loud, rebellious heart.

"There, you know the truth! Is it too bad for you?"

He answered in a low voice, as if unconscious of her question: "Such things do sometimes happen, you know."

"Do they?" She laughed. "Yes, I've seen it happen-in happy marriages!"

They were silent again, not approaching each other. Abruptly Isabel turned, feeling her way toward the door. As she did so, the profound stillness of the night was broken by the sound of a man's voice, caroling out somewhat unsteadily the refrain of a music-hall song.

The two in the boat-house darted toward each other with a simultaneous movement, clutching hands as they

met.

"He 's coming!" Isabel breathed.

Wrayford detached himself hastily from her hold.

"He may only be out for a turn before he goes to bed. Wait a minute. I'll see if I can make out." He felt his way to the bench, scrambled up on it, and stretching his body forward, managed to bring his eyes in line with the opening above the door.

"It's as black as pitch. I can't see anything.

The refrain rang out nearer.

"Wait! I saw something twinkle. There it is again. It's coming this waydown the path. It's his cigar."

There was a long rattle of thunder through the stillness.

"It's the storm!" Isabel gasped. "He's coming to see about the launch." Wrayford dropped noiselessly from the bench to her side.

"He's coming-yes."

She caught him by the arm.

"Is n't there time to get up the path and slip under the shrubbery?" she whispered.

"No, no; he 's in the path now. He'll be here in two minutes. He'll find us." He felt her hand tighten on his arm. "You must go in the skiff, then. It's the only way.'

"And let him find you here? And hear my oars? Isabel, listen-there 's something I must say.'

She flung herself against him, shaken with dry sobs.

"Isabel, just now I did n't tell you everything. He 's ruined his mothertaken everything of hers, too. And he 's got to tell her; it can't be kept from her."

She uttered a startled sound and drew away.

"Is this the truth? Why did n't you tell me before?"

"He forbade me. You were not to know."

Close above them, in the shrubbery, Stilling rolled out:

She seemed not to hear him. "Youyou-you-he 'll kill you!" she cried out. Wrayford laughed and released her. She drew away and stood shrinking close against the wall, her hands pressed to her breast. Wrayford straightened himself and listened intently. Then he dropped to his knees and laid his hands against the boards of the sliding-floor. It yielded at once with a kind of evil alacrity; and at their feet they saw, in the night, another night that moved and shimmered. Wrayford sprang up, and threw himself back against the wall, behind the door.

A key rattled, and after a moment's fumbling the door swung open noisily. Wrayford and Isabel saw a black bulk against the obscurity. It moved a step, lurched forward, and vanished from them. In the depths there was a long cry and a splash.

"Go! go!" Wrayford cried out, feeling blindly for Isabel in the blackness.

"Go?" she shuddered back, wrenching herself away from him with horror.

He stood still a moment, as if dazed; then she saw him suddenly plunge from her side, and heard another splash far down, and a tumult in the beaten water.

In the darkness she cowered close to the opening, pressing her face over the edge, and frantically crying out the name of each in turn. Suddenly she began to see; the obscurity was less opaque, a faint moon-pallor diluted it. Isabel vaguely discerned the two shapes struggling in the black pit below her; once she saw the gleam of a face. Then she glanced up desperately for some means of rescue, and caught sight of the oars ranged on brackets against the wall. She snatched down the nearest, bent over the opening, and pushed the oar down into the blackness, calling her husband's name.

The clouds had swallowed up the moon again, and she could see nothing below

her, but she still heard a tumult in the beaten water.

"Cobham! Cobham!" she screamed.

As if in answer, she felt a mighty clutch on the oar, a clutch that strained her arms to the breaking-point as she tried to brace her knees against the runners of the sliding-floor.

'Hold on! hold on! hold on!" a voice gasped out from below; and she held on, with racked muscles, with bleeding palms, with eyes straining from their sockets, and a heart that tugged at her like the weight on the oar.

Suddenly the weight relaxed, and the oar slipped up through her lacerated hands. She felt a wet bulk scrambling over the edge of the opening, and Stilling's voice, raucous and strange, groaned out, close to her: "God! I thought I was done for."

He staggered to his knees, coughing and sputtering, and the water dripped on her from his clothes.

She flung herself down, straining over the pit. Not a sound came up from it. "Austin! Austin! Quick! Another oar!" she shrieked.

Stilling gave a cry. "My God! Was it Austin? What in hell- Another oar? No, no; untie the skiff, I tell you. But it's no use. Nothing 's any use. I felt him lose hold as I came up."

AFTER that she remembered nothing more till, hours later, as it appeared to her, she became dimly aware of her husband's voice, high, hysterical and important, haranguing a group of scared lantern-struck faces that seemed to have sprung up mysteriously about them in the night.

"Poor Austin! Poor fellow . terrible loss to me . . . mysterious dispensation. Yes, I do feel gratitude-miraculous escape-but I wish he could have known that I was saved!"

ON

N my journey to South Africa in January, 1900, in the Hospital-ship Maine, I had anticipated a certain amount of rough weather in the Bay of Biscay, but was not prepared to meet the full gale into which we ran, which lasted six days, and which, according to the authorities, was the worst for many years. To encounter this in midwinter, in a comparatively small ship, fitted up as a hospital, with large hatchways and skylights, and with inadequate means of battening down, was, it must be admitted, something of a trial. Indeed, we lay to forty-eight hours, adding to our physical misery the knowledge that we were making no headway. I never realized before how one can suffer by color. The green of my attractive little cabin, which I had thought so reposeful, became a source of acute suffering, and I had to find a neutral-tinted cushion on which to rest my eyes. The sound of the waves breaking on the deck with the report of cannon-balls brought to mind our mission, and I remember thinking, as I rolled in sleepless wretchedness, that if we went to the bottom, at least we should be counted as victims of the war.

The seventeen days of our journey to Cape Town were busy ones; we were spared monotony by the work of getting the wards in order, and to rescue our hundreds of gifts from the chaos of the hold was no light occupation. In the hurry of departure many things were forgotten, and many were put anywhere to be out of the way. We had very little

time in which to appear shipshape before our arrival in Cape Town, on the 23d of January.

Cape Town, with its bay full of transports disembarking troops, the feverish activity of its docks, and its streets crowded with khaki-clad soldiers, seemed indeed the real thing. My first impression of the bay at 6 A.M., with innumerable vessels and forests of masts, the clouds breaking on Table Mountain, and the rising sun turning all into a pink glory, will not soon fade from my memory. Though worn and tired, and realizing that our work was all before us, we rejoiced to be in measurable distance of it. As we were rolling about outside the breakwater, by the kindness and exertions of Sir Edward Chichester, who was in charge of the port, we were given a berth inside. As soon as possible I started off to see the Governor, Sir Alfred (now Lord) Milner, to get my letters and telegrams and gather what news I could. This was very meager. I have since ascertained that Lord Kitchener's first order to all officers was to practise the utmost discretion, and that any information as to war news was strictly forbidden. This was owing to the mass of spies and the disloyalty in Cape Town, much valuable. information being continually transmitted. to the enemy. The Standard Bank was an amazing sight of bustling activity, men in every variety of khaki-colored clothes, trousers, breeches, puttees, gaiters, sombreros, helmets, and field-service caps,

medical officer came on board, and after visiting the ship, informed us that we were at once to be sent to Durban to fill up with patients and return to England. I remonstrated, and explained to him the purpose and mission of the ship, pointing out the fact that were it to be treated merely as a transport for convalescents, the international value of the gift would certainly suffer, and the large, expensive, and efficient medical staff on board would have nothing to do and would be greatly disappointed, as of course interesting seri