But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. . No: I must face it out. “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction.
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