I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. " "And Thames Darrell would do anything for you, Jack," replied a blithe voice. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. That is what I must do.
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