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it down to Honiton's realisation of the short period of freedom that remained to him. His observant eyes had not failed to notice the growing intimacy between Honiton and Jocelyn Upton, but he was far from a perception of the real relation between them. That was such an unexpected development, even to the two principally concerned, that he could hardly have anticipated it. He had been thinking of Honiton and his dreary future when the man himself entered the cabin. Brown looked up, but did not meet the usual friendly smile that could make Honiton's face so pleasant to look on, nor was there any answer to his word of greeting. Honiton sat down heavily, and, elbows on knees, sunk his head in his hands. Peter Brown looked at him in dismay. The man was taking his false position desperately to heart, he thought. Placing a kindly hand on the humped shoulder, he rocked his prisoner gently to and fro. “Don’t take it to heart, Honiton,” he said with clumsy sympathy. There was no answer. Honiton did not even look up. The detective removed his hand, and used it to scrape his lean jaw as he stood looking down on his prisoner. He was filled with a pity that he could not express. His imagination pictured Honiton with close-cropped hair—in prison clothes—exercising in a file of beetle-browed criminals. He

had never felt like this for a prisoner before—but then he had never before had a prisoner like this. So long as Honiton had retained his spirits, his careless manner, and his cheery laugh, this aching sympathy had lain dormant, unperceived by himself, and now it surprised him by its intensity. The very fervour of it lifted him from his awkwardness, and gave him words. He sat down beside the tortured man, and placed a long skinny arm round his shoulders. “Cheer up, Honiton,” he said. “You’ve stuck it well up to now. Forget the future until it comes, and then face it like a man. It may not be so very bad after all. With luck and an easy judge you may get off lightly, and before you know it you’ll be out— making a fresh start in life.” Honiton’s head sunk more deeply in his hands. He gave no other sign that he heard. “Anything I can do to make it easier for you I'll do,” went on Peter Brown. “I can never forget what you did for me at Waletta. I admit I never expected to see you again, and when you walked in I had the biggest surprise of my life. Honiton, if you had the pluck to do that, you're surely not the man to fail when it comes to taking punishment l’” “For God's sake, Brown, let me alone. I’m not worth your trouble. If you knew

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With a sigh of relief she realised that he was asleep. By degrees she disentangled herself, and with great care and anxiety slipped from the bunk to the floor. Charlie stirred and started in his sleep, but did not awaken. Now that the immediate need for action was over, Joan found herself a-tremble from head to foot. A terrible sense of utter loneliness possessed her, as though she were unclean and cast out from mankind. She dreaded her husband's awakening. Though she had subdued his mania with so much success, she felt that she had not the courage to face a renewal of it ; and she knew instinctively that it was not at an end. Her thoughts went out, with

out her own volition, to Peter Brown. What he was—what he had done—affected her not at all. She wanted his sympathy, his help, and in the reaction following upon her ordeal, she was left without the power to resist her desire, or even to consider the advisability of resisting it. Hurriedly she pinned up her dark tangled hair and wrapped herself in a dressing-gown. She knew where to find him. It was the hour at which the passengers retired to their cabins to prepare for dinner. Charlie was still asleep,though restless and muttering. She must risk leaving him for a moment. She opened the door noiselessly and slipped out, closing it as noiselessly behind her.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Since the cowardice of the deception of which he had been guilty in the morning, Honiton had endured torture indescribable. To have borne the gnawing of his conscience in solitude would have been almost a relief, but he was not suffered to be alone. Jocelyn claimed him, and expected to find him a mirror of her own happiIless.

Never was a man more hopelessly placed. His very love was his punishment. He forced himself to talk, he laughed at Jocelyn's sallies, he entered each and every of her varying happy moods, while behind it

all his mind worked in a fog of misery and self-contempt. Peter Brown he avoided. He could not bear to meet his kindly eyes, though he knew the time would come when a meeting was unavoidable. The time came in the hour before dinner. The detective was in their cabin when Honiton entered. Brown liked Honiton, and liking him, pitied him. He had noticed the change that had taken place in his prisoner after the arrival at Gibraltar the previous evening, and it pained him. Having no knowledge of its true cause, he put it down to Honiton's realisation of the short period of freedom that remained to him. His observant eyes had not failed to notice the growing intimacy between Honiton and Jocelyn Upton, but he was far from a perception of the real relation between them. That was such an unexpected development, even to the two principally concerned, that he could hardly have anticipated it. He had been thinking of Honiton and his dreary future when the man himself entered the cabin. Brown looked up, but did not meet the usual friendly smile that could make Honiton's face so pleasant to look on, nor was there any answer to his word of greeting. Honiton sat down heavily, and, elbows on knees, sunk his head in his hands. Peter Brown looked at him in dismay. The man was taking his false position desperately to heart, he thought. Placing a kindly hand on the humped shoulder, he rocked his prisoner gently to and fro. “Don’t take it to heart, Honiton,” he said with clumsy sympathy. There was no answer. Honiton did not even look up. The detective removed his hand, and used it to scrape his lean jaw as he stood looking down on his prisoner. He was filled with a pity that he could not express. His imagination pictured Honiton with close-cropped hair—in prison clothes—exercising in a file of beetle-browed criminals. He

had never felt like this for a prisoner before—but then he had never before had a prisoner like this. So long as Honiton had retained his spirits, his careless manner, and his cheery laugh, this aching sympathy had lain dormant, unperceived by himself, and now it surprised him by its intensity. The very fervour of it lifted him from his awkwardness, and gave him words. He sat down beside the tortured man, and placed a long skinny arm round his shoulders. “Cheer up, Honiton,” he Said. “You’ve stuck it well up to now. Forget the future until it comes, and then face it like a man. It may not be so very bad after all. With luck and an easy judge you may get off lightly, and before you know it you'll be out— making a fresh start in life.” Honiton's head sunk more deeply in his hands. He gave no other sign that he heard. “Anything I can do to make it easier for you I'll do,” went on Peter Brown. “I can never forget what you did for me at Valetta. I admit I never expected to see you again, and when you walked in I had the biggest surprise of my life. Honiton, if you had the pluck to do that, you’re surely not the man to fail when it comes to taking punishment l’’ “For God's sake, Brown, let me alone. I’m not worth your trouble. If you knew

He groaned in his agony, and With a sigh of relief she realised that he was asleep. By degrees she disentangled herself, and with great care and anxiety slipped from the bunk to the floor. Charlie stirred and started in his sleep, but did not awaken. Now that the immediate need for action was over, Joan found herself a-tremble from head to foot. A terrible sense of utter loneliness possessed her, as though she were unclean and cast out from mankind. She dreaded her husband's awakening. Though she had subdued his mania with so much success, she felt that she had not the courage to face a renewal of it ; and she knew instinctively that it was not at an end. Her thoughts went out, with

out her own volition, to Peter Brown. What he was—what he had done—affected her not at all. She wanted his sympathy, his help, and in the reaction following upon her ordeal, she was left without the power to resist her desire, or even to consider the advisability of resisting it. Hurriedly she pinned up her dark tangled hair and wrapped herself in a dressing-gown. She knew where to find him. It was the hour at which the passengers retired to their cabins to prepare for dinner. Charlie was still asleep,though restless and muttering. She must risk leaving him for a moment. She opened the door noiselessly and slipped out, closing it as noiselessly behind her.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Since the cowardice of the deception of which he had been guilty in the morning, Honiton had endured torture indescribable. To have borne the gnawing of his conscience in solitude would have been almost a relief, but he was not suffered to be alone. Jocelyn claimed him, and expected to find him a mirror of her own happiIleS8.

Never was a man more hopelessly placed. His very love was his punishment. He forced himself to talk, he laughed at Jocelyn's sallies, he entered each and every of her varying happy moods, while behind it

all his mind worked in a fog of misery and self-contempt. Peter Brown he avoided. He could not bear to meet his kindly eyes, though he knew the time would come when a meeting was unavoidable. The time came in the hour before dinner. The detective was in their cabin when Honiton entered. Brown liked Honiton, and liking him, pitied him. He had noticed the change that had taken place in his prisoner after the arrival at Gibraltar the previous evening, and it pained him. Having no knowledge of its true cause, he put it down to Honiton's realisation of the short period of freedom that remained to him. His observant eyes had not failed to notice the growing intimacy between Honiton and Jocelyn Upton, but he was far from a perception of the real relation between them. That was such an unexpected development, even to the two principally concerned, that he could hardly have anticipated it. He had been thinking of Honiton and his dreary future when the man himself entered the cabin. Brown looked up, but did not meet the usual friendly smile that could make Honiton's face so pleasant to look on, nor was there any answer to his word of greeting. Honiton sat down heavily, and, elbows on knees, sunk his head in his hands. Peter Brown looked at him in dismay. The man was taking his false position desperately to heart, he thought. Placing a kindly hand on the humped shoulder, he rocked his prisoner gently to and fro. “Don’t take it to heart, Honiton,” he said with clumsy sympathy. There was no answer. Honiton did not even look up. The detective removed his hand, and used it to scrape his lean jaw as he stood looking down on his prisoner. He was filled with a pity that he could not express. His imagination pictured Honiton with close-cropped hair—in prison clothes—exercising in a file of beetle-browed criminals. He

had never felt like this for a prisoner before—but then he had never before had a prisoner like this. So long as Honiton had retained his spirits, his careless manner, and his cheery laugh, this aching sympathy had lain dormant, unperceived by himself, and now it surprised him by its intensity. The very fervour of it lifted him from his awkwardness, and gave him words. He sat down beside the tortured man, and placed a long skinny arm round his shoulders. “Cheer up, Honiton,” he said. “You’ve stuck it well up to now. Forget the future until it comes, and then face it like a man. It may not be so very bad after all. With luck and an easy judge you may get off lightly, and before you know it you'll be out— making a fresh start in life.” Honiton’s head sunk more deeply in his hands. He gave no other sign that he heard. “Anything I can do to make it easier for you I'll do,” went on Peter Brown. “I can never forget what you did for me at Waletta. I admit I never expected to see you again, and when you walked in I had the biggest surprise of my life. Honiton, if you had the pluck to do that, you’re surely not the man to fail when it comes to taking punishment l’’ “For God's sake, Brown, let me alone. I’m not worth your trouble. If you knew

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