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 THE LIGHT THAT FAILED
 
 Copyright, 1899, by H. M. Caldwell Co. 
 
 "Not blind! I won't have him blind.'"
 
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 DEDICATION 
 
 If I were hanged on the highest hill, 
 Mother o mine, O mother o' mine! 
 
 I know whose love would follow me still, 
 Mother S mine, O mother o' mine ! 
 
 If I were drowned in the deepest sea, 
 Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! 
 
 I know whose tears would come down to me, 
 Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! 
 
 If I were damned of body and soul, 
 I know whose prayers would make me whole, 
 Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine I
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This is the story of The Light that Failed as 
 it was originally conceived by the Writer. 
 
 S.UDYARD Kipling.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 So we settled it all when the storm was done 
 
 As comfy as comfy could be ; 
 And I was to wait in the barn, my dears. 
 
 Because I was only three, 
 And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot, 
 
 Because he was five and a man ; 
 And that's how it all began, my dears, 
 
 And that's how it all began. 
 
 Big Barn Storus. 
 
 t(\ \ THAT do you think she'd do if she caught 
 VV us? We oughtn't to have it, you 
 know," said Maisie. 
 
 " Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom," 
 Dick answered, without hesitation. " Have you 
 got the cartridges ? " 
 
 " Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are jog- 
 gling horribly. Do pin-fire cartridges go off of 
 their own accord ? " 
 
 "Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are 
 afraid, and let me carry them." 
 
 ' ' I'm not afraid. " Maisie strode forward swiftly, 
 a hand in her pocket and her chin in the air. 
 Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. 
 
 The children had discovered that their lives 
 would be unendurable without pistol-practice. 
 After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had 
 9
 
 to The Light that Failed 
 
 saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a 
 badly-constructed Belgian revolver. Maisie could 
 only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for 
 the purchase of a hundred cartridges. " You can 
 save better than I can, Dick," she explained; "I 
 like nice things to eat, and it doesn't matter to 
 you. Besides, boys ought to do these things." 
 
 Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but 
 went out and made the purchases, which the 
 children were then on their way to test. Revol- 
 vers did not lie in the scheme of their daily life as 
 decreed for them by the guardian who was in- 
 correctly supposed to stand in the place of a 
 mother to these two orphans. Dick had been 
 under her care for six years, during which time 
 she had made her profit of the allowances sup- 
 posed to be expended on his clothes, and, partly 
 through thoughtlessness, partly through a nat- 
 ural desire to pain, she was a widow of some 
 years anxious to marry again, had made his 
 days burdensome on his young shoulders. 
 Where he had looked for love, she gave him 
 first aversion and then hate. Where he, grow- 
 ing older, had sought a little sympathy, she 
 gave him ridicule. The many hours that she 
 could spare from the ordering of her small house 
 ihe devoted to what she called the home-training 
 of Dick Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in 
 the main by her own intelligence and a keen study
 
 The Light that Failed II 
 
 of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this mat- 
 ter. At such times as she herself was not per- 
 sonally displeased with Dick, she left him to un- 
 derstand that he had a heavy account to settle 
 with his Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe 
 his God as intensely as he loathed Mrs. Jennett; 
 and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for 
 the young. Since she chose to regard him as a 
 hopeless liar, when dread of pain drove him to 
 his first untruth he naturally developed into a liar, 
 but an economical and self-contained one, never 
 throwing away the least unnecessary fib, and 
 never hesitating at the blackest, were it only 
 plausible, that might make his life a little easier. 
 The treatment taught him at least the power of 
 living alone, a power that was of service to him 
 when he went to a public school and the boys 
 laughed at his clothes, which were poor in quality 
 and much mended. In the holidays he returned 
 to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, and, that the 
 chain of discipline might not be weakened by as- 
 sociation with the world, was generally beaten, 
 on one count or another, before he had been 
 twelve hours under her roof. 
 
 The autumn of one year brought him a com- 
 panion in bondage, a long-haired, grey-eyed lit- 
 tle atom, as self-contained as himself, who moved 
 about the house silently and for the first few 
 weeks spoke only to the goat that was her chief-
 
 12 The Light thai Failed 
 
 est friend on earth and lived in the back-garden. 
 Mrs. Jennett objected to the goat on the grounds 
 that he was un-Christian, which he certainly 
 was. "Then," said the atom, choosing her 
 words very deliberately, "I shall write to my 
 lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very 
 bad woman. Amomma is mine, mine, mine!" 
 Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the hall, where 
 certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The 
 atom understood as clearly as Dick what this 
 meant. "I have been beaten before," she said, 
 still in the same passionless voice; "I have been 
 beaten worse than you can ever beat me. If you 
 beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and 
 tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. 
 I am not afraid of you." Mrs. Jennett did not go 
 into the hall, and the atom, after a pause to assure 
 herself that all danger of war was past, went out, 
 to weep bitterly on Amomma's neck. 
 
 Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first 
 mistrusted her profoundly, for he feared that she 
 might interfere with the small liberty of action 
 left to him. She did not, however; and she vol- 
 unteered no friendliness until Dick had taken the 
 first steps. Long before the holidays were over, 
 the stress of punishment shared in common drove 
 the children together, if it were only to play into 
 each other's hands as they prepared lies for Mrs. 
 Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school,
 
 The Light that Failed 13 
 
 Maisie whispered, "Now I shall be all alone to 
 take care of myself; but," and she nodded her 
 head bravely, " I can do it. You promised to 
 send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon." 
 A week later she asked for that collar by return 
 of post, and was not pleased when she learned 
 that it took time to make. When at last Dick 
 forwarded the gift she forgot to thank him for it. 
 
 Many holidays had come and gone since that 
 day, and Dick had grown into a lanky hobblede- 
 hoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. 
 Not for a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her 
 tender care of him, but the average canings of a 
 public school Dick fell under punishment about 
 three times a month filled him with contempt 
 for her powers. "She doesn't hurt," he ex- 
 plained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 
 "and she is kinder to you after she has whacked 
 me." Dick shambled through the days unkept 
 in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys 
 of the school learned to know, for when the 
 spirit moved him he would hit them, cunningly 
 and with science. The same spirit made him 
 more than once try to tease Maisie, but the girl 
 refused to be made unhappy. "We are both 
 miserable as it is," said she. " What is the use of 
 trying to make things worse ? Let's find things 
 to do, and forget things." 
 
 The pistol was the outcome of that search. It
 
 14 The Light that Failed 
 
 could only be used on the muddiest foreshore of 
 the beach, far away from bathing-machines and 
 pier-heads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keel- 
 ing. The tide ran out nearly two miles on that 
 coast and the many-colored mud-banks, touched 
 by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead 
 weed. It was late in the afternoon when Dick 
 and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amommt 
 trotting patiently behind them. 
 
 " Mf ! " said Maisie, sniffing the air. " I wonder 
 what makes the sea so smelly. I don't like it." 
 
 "You never like anything that isn't made just 
 for you," said Dick, bluntly. "Give me the 
 cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does 
 one of these little revolvers carry ? " 
 
 "Oh, half a mile," said Maisie, promptly. "At 
 least it makes an awful noise. Be careful with 
 the cartridges; I don't like those jagged stick-up 
 things on the rim. Dick, do be careful." 
 
 "All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at 
 the breakwater out there." 
 
 He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The 
 bullet threw up a spurt of mud to the right of the 
 weed-wreathed piles. 
 
 "Throws high and to the right. You try, 
 Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all round." 
 
 Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to 
 the verge of the mud, her hand firmly closed on 
 the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up.
 
 The Light that Failed 15 
 
 Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. 
 Amomma returned very cautiously. He was ac- 
 customed to strange experiences in his afternoon 
 walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, 
 made investigations with his nose. Maisie fired, 
 but could not see where the bullet went. 
 
 "1 think it hit the post," she said, shading her 
 eyes and looking out across the sailless sea. 
 
 " I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell 
 Buoy," said Dick, with a chuckle. "Fire low 
 and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, 
 look at Amomma! he's eating the cartridges!" 
 
 Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in 
 time to see Amomma scampering away from the 
 pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred 
 to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored 
 of his mistress, Amomma had naturally swal- 
 lowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie 
 hurried up to assure herself that Dick had not 
 miscounted the tale. 
 
 "Yes, he's eaten two." 
 
 44 Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about 
 inside him and blow up, and serve him right. 
 . . . Oh, Dick! have 1 killed you?" . 
 
 Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to 
 deal with. Maisie could not explain how it had 
 happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated 
 her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the 
 pistol had gone off in his face. Then she heard
 
 1 6 The Light that Failed 
 
 him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside 
 him, crying, "Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I 
 didn't mean it." 
 
 "Of course you didn't," said Dick, coming out 
 of the smoke and wiping his cheek. " But you 
 nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings 
 awfully." A neat little splash of grey lead on a 
 stone showed where the bullet had gone. Maisie 
 began to whimper. 
 
 "Don't," said Dick, jumping to his feet and 
 shaking himself. " I'm not a bit hurt." 
 
 "No, but I might have killed you," protested 
 Maisie, the corners of her mouth drooping. 
 "What should I have done then ?" 
 
 "Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett." Dick 
 grinned at the thought; then, softening, " Please 
 don't worry about it. Beside, we are wasting 
 time. We've got to get back to tea. I'll take 
 the revolver for a bit." 
 
 Maisie would have wept on the least encour- 
 agement, but Dick's indifference, albeit his hand 
 was shaking as he picked up the pistol, restrained 
 her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick 
 methodically bombarded the breakwater. "Got 
 it at last! " he exclaimed, as a lock of weed flew 
 from the wood. 
 
 " Let me try," said Maisie, imperiously. "I'm 
 all right now." 
 
 They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver
 
 The Light that Failed 17 
 
 nearly shook itself to pieces, and Amomma the 
 outcast because he might blow up at any mo- 
 ment browsed in the background and wondered 
 why stones were thrown at him. Then they 
 found a balk of timber floating in a pool which 
 was commanded by the seaward slope of Fort 
 Keeling, and they sat down together before this 
 new target. 
 
 "Next holidays," said Dick, as the now thor- 
 oughly fouled revolver kicked wildly in his hand, 
 "we'll get another pistol, central fire, that 
 will carry farther." 
 
 "There won't be any next holidays for me," 
 said Maisie. " I'm going away." 
 
 " Where to ? " 
 
 "I don't know. My lawyers have written to 
 Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to be educated some- 
 where, in France, perhaps, I don't know 
 where; but I shall be glad to go away." 
 
 " I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. 
 Look here, Maisie, is it really true you're going ? 
 Then these holidays will be the last I shall see 
 anything of you ; and I go back to school next 
 week. I wish " 
 
 The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. 
 Maisie was picking grass-tufts and throwing 
 them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy 
 nodding all by itself to the illimitable levels of 
 the mud-flats and the milk-white sea beyond.
 
 18 The Light thai Failed 
 
 "I wish," she said, after a pause, "that I 
 could see you again some time. You wish that 
 too?" 
 
 "Yes, but it would have been better if if 
 you had shot straight over there down by the 
 breakwater." 
 
 Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. 
 And this was the boy who only ten days before 
 had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper 
 ham-frills and turned him out, a bearded derision, 
 among the public ways! Then she dropped her 
 eyes: this was not the boy. 
 
 "Don't be stupid," she said, reprovingly, and 
 with swift instinct attacked the side-issue. 
 " How selfish you are! Just think what I should 
 have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm 
 quite miserable enough already." 
 
 "Why? Because you're going away from 
 Mrs. Jennett?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " From me, then ? " 
 
 No answer for a long time. Dick dared not 
 look at her. He felt, though he did not know, 
 all that the past four years had been to him, and 
 this the more acutely since he had no knowledge 
 to put his feelings in words. 
 
 "I don't know," she said. "I suppose it is." 
 
 "Maisie, you must know. I'm not suppos- 
 ing."
 
 The Light that Failed 19 
 
 "Let's go home," said Maisie, weakly. 
 
 But Dick was not minded to retreat. 
 
 "I can't say things," he pleaded, "and I'm 
 awfully sorry for teasing you about Amomma the 
 other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't 
 you see? And you might have told me that you 
 were going, instead of leaving me to find out." 
 
 "You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's 
 the use of worrying?" 
 
 "There isn't any; but we've been together 
 years and years, and I didn't know how much I 
 cared." 
 
 " I don't believe you ever did care." 
 
 "No, I didn't; but I do, I care awfully now, 
 Maisie," he gulped, "Maisie, darling, say you 
 care too, please." 
 
 "I do; indeed I do; but it won't be any use." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I am going away." 
 
 "Yes, but if you promise before you go. 
 Only say will you?" A second "darling" 
 came to his lips more easily than the first. There 
 were few endearments in Dick's home or school 
 life; he had to find them by instinct. Dick 
 caught the little hand blackened with the escaped 
 gas of the revolver. 
 
 " I promise," she said, solemnly; "but if I care 
 there is no need for promising." 
 
 " And you do care ? " For the first time in the
 
 20 The Light that Failed 
 
 last few minutes their eyes met and spoke for 
 them who had no skill in speech. . . . 
 
 "Oh, Dick, don't! please don't! It was all 
 right when we said good-morning; but now it's 
 all different!" Amomma looked on from afar. 
 He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but 
 he had never seen kisses exchanged before. The 
 yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its 
 head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that 
 was a failure, but since it was the first, other 
 than those demanded by duty, in all the world 
 that either had ever given or taken, it opened to 
 them new worlds, and every one of them glo- 
 rious, so that they were lifted above the consider- 
 ation of any worlds at all, especially those in 
 which tea is necessary, and sat still, holding each 
 other's hands and saying not a word. 
 
 "You can't forget now," said Dick at last. 
 There was that on his cheek that stung more than 
 gunpowder. 
 
 "1 shouldn't have forgotten anyhow," said 
 Maisie, and they looked at each other and saw 
 that each was changed from the companion of 
 an hout ago to a wonder and a mystery they 
 could not understand. The sun began to set, and 
 a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the fore- 
 shore. 
 
 "We shall be awfully late for tea," said 
 Maisie- " Let's go home."
 
 The Light that Failed 21 
 
 " Let's use the rest of the cartridges first," said 
 Dick; and he helped Maisie down the slope of 
 the fort to the sea, a descent that she was quite 
 capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely 
 Maisie took the grimy hand. Dick bent forward 
 clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and Dick 
 blushed. 
 
 " It's very pretty," he said. 
 
 "Pooh!" said Maisie, with a little laugh of 
 gratified vanity. She stood close to Dick as he 
 loaded the revolver for the last time and fired over 
 the sea with a vague notion at the back of his 
 head that he was protecting Maisie from all the 
 evils in the world. A puddle far across the mud 
 caught the last rays of the sun and turned into a 
 wrathful red disc. The light held Dick's attention 
 for a moment, and as he raised his revolver there 
 fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, 
 in that he was standing by Maisie who had 
 promised to care for him for an indefinite length 
 of time till such date as A gust of the 
 growing wind drove the girl's long black hair 
 across his face as she stood with her hand on his 
 shoulder calling Amomma "a little beast," and 
 for a moment he was in the dark, a darkness 
 that stung. The bullet went singing out to the 
 empty sea. 
 
 "Spoiled my aim," said he, shaking his head. 
 "There aren't any more cartridges; we shall
 
 22 The Light that Failed 
 
 have to run home." But they did not run. They 
 walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a 
 matter of indifference to them whether the 
 neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges 
 in his inside blew up or trotted beside them; for 
 they had come into a golden heritage and were 
 disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their 
 years. 
 
 "And I shall be" quoth Dick, valiantly. 
 Then he checked himself: "I don't know what I 
 shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass any 
 exams., but I can make awful caricatures of the 
 masters. Ho! ho! " 
 
 "Be an artist, then," said Maisie. "You're 
 always laughing at my trying to draw; and it 
 will do you good." 
 
 "I'll never laugh at anything you do," he 
 answered. " I'll be an artist, and I'll do things." 
 
 "Artists always want money, don't they?" 
 
 " I've got a hundred and twenty younds a year 
 gf my own. My guardians tell me I'm to have it 
 when I come of age. That will be enough to 
 begin with." 
 
 "Ah, I'm rich," said Maisie. "I've got three 
 hundred a year all my own when I'm twenty-one. 
 That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than 
 she is to you. I wish, though, that I had some- 
 body that belonged to me, just a father or a 
 another."
 
 The Light that Failed 23 
 
 "You belong to me," said Dick, "forever and 
 ever." 
 
 "Yes, we belong forever. It's very nice." 
 She squeezed his arm. The kindly darkness hid 
 them both, and, emboldened because he could only 
 just see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long 
 lashes veiling the grey eyes, Dick at the front 
 door delivered himself of the words he had been 
 boggling over for the last two hours. 
 
 "And I love you, Maisie," he said, in a 
 whisper that seemed to him to ring across the 
 world, the world that he would to-morrow or 
 next day set out to conquer. 
 
 There was a scene, not, for the sake of dis- 
 cipline, to be reported, when Mrs. Jennett would 
 have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful un- 
 punctuality, and secondly for nearly killing him- 
 self with a forbidden weapon. 
 
 " I was playing with it, and it went off by 
 itself," said Dick, when the powder-pocked 
 cheek could no longer be hidden, "but if you 
 think you're going to lick me you're wrong. 
 You are never going to touch me again. Sit 
 down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us 
 out of that, anyhow." 
 
 Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie 
 said nothing, but encouraged Dick with her eyes, 
 and he behaved abominably all that evening. 
 Mrs. Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment
 
 24 The Light that Failed 
 
 of Providence and a descent into Tophet later, 
 but Dick walked in Paradise and would not hear. 
 Only when he was going to bed Mrs. Jennett 
 recovered and asserted herself. He had bidden 
 Maisie good-night with down-dropped eyes and 
 from a distance. 
 
 "If you aren't a gentleman you might try to 
 behave like one," said Mrs. Jennett, spitefully. 
 "You've been quarreling with Maisie again." 
 
 This meant that the usual good-night kiss had 
 been omitted. Maisie, white to the lips, thrust 
 her cheek forward with a fine air of indifference, 
 and was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out 
 of the room red as fire. That night he dreamed 
 a wild dream. He had won all the world and 
 brought it to Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she 
 turned it over with her foot, and, instead of say- 
 ing, "Thank you," cried 
 
 "Where is the grass collar you promised for 
 Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, 
 When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two, 
 Ridin', ridin', ridin, 1 two an' two, 
 Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, 
 Ail the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two. 
 
 Barrack-Room Ballad. 
 
 "I'm not angry with the British public, but I 
 wish we had a few thousand of them scattered 
 among these rocks. They wouldn't be in such a 
 hurry to get at their morning papers then. Can't 
 you imagine the regulation householder Lover 
 of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and 
 all that lot frizzling on hot gravel?" 
 
 "With a blue veil over his head, and his 
 clothespin strips. Has any man here a needle? 
 I've got a piece of sugar-sack." 
 
 "I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square 
 inches of it then. Both my knees are worn 
 through." 
 
 " Why not six square acres, while you're about 
 it ? But lend me the needle, and I'll see what I 
 can do with the selvage. I don't think there's 
 enough to protect my royal body from the cold 
 blast as it is. What are you doing with that 
 everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?" 
 
 *5
 
 a6 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Study of our Special Correspondent repairing 
 his wardrobe," said Dick, gravely, as the other 
 man kicked off a pair of sorely-worn riding- 
 breeches and began to fit a square of coarse 
 canvas over the most obvious open space. He 
 grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the void 
 developed itself. 
 
 "Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot-man 
 there! lend me all the sails of that whale-boat." 
 
 A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern- 
 sheets, divided itself into exact halves with one 
 flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The 
 man of the tattered breeches, clad only in a Nor- 
 folk jacket and a grey flannel shirt, went on with 
 his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the 
 sketch. 
 
 Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a 
 sand-bank which was dotted with English sol- 
 diery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing 
 their clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissa- 
 riat-boxes, sugar-bags, and flour- and small-arm- 
 ammunition-cases showed where one of the 
 whale-boats had been compelled to unload has- 
 tily; and a regimental carpenter was swearing 
 aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient allow- 
 ance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched 
 gaping seams of the boat herself. 
 
 "First the bloomin' rudder snaps," said he to 
 the world in general; "then the mast goes; an'
 
 The Light that Failed 27 
 
 then, s' 'elp me, when she can't do nothin' else, 
 she opens 'erself out like a cock-eyed Chinese 
 lotus." 
 
 "Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever 
 you are," said the tailor, without looking up. 
 " Dick, 1 wonder when I shall see a decent shop 
 again." 
 
 There was no answer, save the incessant angry 
 murmur of the Nile as it raced round a basalt- 
 walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half 
 a mile up-stream. It was as though the brown 
 weight of the river would drive the white men 
 back to their own country. The indescribable 
 scent of Nile mud in the air told that the stream 
 was falling and that the next few miles would 
 be no light thing for the whale-boats to over- 
 pass. The desert ran down almost to the banks, 
 where, among grey, red, and black hillocks, a 
 camel-corps was encamped. No man dared 
 even for a day lose touch of the slow-moving 
 boats; there had been no fighting for weeks past, 
 and throughout all that time the Nile had never 
 spared them. Rapid had followed rapid, rock 
 rock, and island-group island-group, till the rank 
 and file had long since lost all count of direction 
 and very nearly of time. They were moving 
 somewhere, they did not know why, to do 
 something, they did not know what. Before 
 them lay the Nile, and at the other end of it was
 
 28 The Light that Failed 
 
 one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town 
 called Khartoum. There were columns of Brit- 
 ish troops in the desert, or in one of the many 
 deserts; there were columns on the river; there 
 were yet more columns waiting to embark on 
 the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at As- 
 sioot and Assuan; there were lies and rumors 
 running over the face of the hopeless land from 
 Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men supposed 
 generally that there must be some one in author- 
 ity to direct the general scheme of the many 
 movements. The duty of that particular river- 
 column was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the 
 water, to avoid trampling on the villagers' crops 
 when the gangs "tracked " the boats with lines 
 thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep 
 and food as was possible, and, above all, to press 
 .on without delay in the teeth of the churning 
 Nile. 
 
 With the soldiers sweated and toiled the corre- 
 spondents of the newspapers, and they were al- 
 most as ignorant as their companions. But it 
 was above all things necessary that England at 
 breakfast should be amused and thrilled and in- 
 terested, whether Gordon lived or died, or half 
 the British army went to pieces in the sands. 
 The Soudan campaign was a picturesque one, 
 and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and 
 again a "Special " managed to get slain, which
 
 The Light that Failed 29 
 
 was not altogether a disadvantage to the paper 
 that employed him, and more often the hand- 
 to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of mirac- 
 ulous escapes which were worth telegraphing 
 home at eighteenpence the word. There were 
 many correspondents with many corps and col- 
 umns, from the veterans who had followed on 
 the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo in 
 '82, what time Arabi Pasha called himself king, 
 who had seen the first miserable work round 
 Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly 
 and the scrub swarmed with spears, to young- 
 sters jerked into the business at the end of a tele- 
 graph-wire to take the place of their betters 
 killed or invalided. 
 
 Among the seniors those who knew every 
 shift and change in the perplexing postal ar- 
 rangements, the value of the seediest, weediest 
 Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alex- 
 andria, who could talk a telegraph clerk into 
 amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a 
 newly-appointed staff-officer when press regula- 
 tions became burdensome was the man in the 
 flannel shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He 
 represented the Central Southern Syndicate in 
 the campaign, as he had represented it in the 
 Egyptian war, and elsewhere. The syndicate 
 did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of 
 attack and the like. It supplied the masses, and
 
 yo The Light that Failed 
 
 all it demanded was picturesqueness and abun- 
 dance of detail; for there is more joy in England 
 over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of 
 square to rescue a comrade than over twenty 
 generals slaving even to baldness at the gross 
 details of transport and commissariat. 
 
 He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on 
 the edge of a recently-abandoned redoubt about 
 the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of shell- 
 torn bodies on the gravel plain. 
 
 "What are you for ?" said Torpenhow. The 
 greeting of the correspondent is that of the com- 
 mercial traveler on the road. 
 
 "My own hand," said the young man, with- 
 out looking up. " Have you any tobacco ? " 
 
 Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, 
 and when he had looked at it said, "What's 
 your business here ? " 
 
 "Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm 
 supposed to be doing something down at the 
 painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in 
 charge of the condenser on one of the water- 
 ships. I've forgotten which." 
 
 "You've cheek enough to build a redoubt 
 with," said Torpenhow, and took stock of the 
 new acquaintance. " Do you always draw like 
 that?" 
 
 The young man produced more sketches. 
 "Row on a Chinese pig-boat," said he, senten-
 
 The Light that Failed 31 
 
 tiously, showing them one after another. " Chief 
 mate dirked by a comprador. Junk ashore off 
 Hakodate. Somali muleteer being flogged. 
 Star-shell bursting over camp at Berbera. Slave- 
 dhow being chased round Tajurrah Bay. Soldier 
 lying dead in the moonlight outside Suakin, 
 throat cut by Fuzzies." 
 
 " H'm! " said Torpenhow, "can't say I care for 
 Verestchagin-and-water myself, but there's no 
 accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are 
 you?" 
 
 "No. I'm amusing myself here." 
 
 Torpenhow looked at the aching desolation of 
 the place. "'Faith, you've queer notions of 
 amusement. 'Got any money ?" 
 
 "Enough to go on with. Look here: do you 
 want me to do war-work ?" 
 
 "/ don't. My syndicate may, though. You 
 can draw more than a little, and I don't suppose 
 you care much what you get, do you ?" 
 
 " Not this time. I want my chance first." 
 
 Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and 
 nodded. "Yes, you're right to take your first 
 chance when you can get it." 
 
 He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the 
 Two War-Ships, rattled across the causeway into 
 the town, and wired to his syndicate, "Got man 
 here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I 
 arrange ? Will do letterpress with sketches."
 
 32 The Light that Failed 
 
 The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs 
 and murmuring, "I knew the chance would 
 come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to 
 sweat for it if I come through this business 
 alive! " 
 
 In the evening Torpenhow was able to an- 
 nounce to his friend that the Central Southern 
 Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying 
 expenses for three months. " And, by the way, 
 what's your name ? " said Torpenhow. 
 
 " Heldar. Do they give me a free hand ? " 
 
 "They've taken you on chance. You must 
 justify the choice. You'd better stick to me. 
 I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do 
 what I can for you. Give me some of your 
 sketches taken here, and I'll send 'em along." To 
 himself he said, "That's the best bargain the 
 Central Southern has ever made; and they got 
 me cheaply enough." 
 
 So it came to pass that, after some purchase of 
 horse-flesh and arrangements financial and politi- 
 cal, Dick was made free of the New and Honor- 
 able Fraternity of war correspondents, who all 
 possess the inalienable right of doing as much 
 work as they can and getting as much for it as 
 Providence and their owners shall please. To 
 these things are added in time, if the brother be 
 worthy, the power of glib speech that neither 
 man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed
 
 The Light that Failed 33 
 
 is in question, the eye of a horse-coper, the skill 
 of a cook, the constitution of a bullock, the di- 
 gestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability 
 to all circumstances. But many die before they 
 attain to this degree, and the past-masters in the 
 craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes 
 when they are in England, and thus their glory 
 is hidden from the multitude. 
 
 Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's 
 fancy chose to lead him, and between the two 
 they managed to accomplish some work that al- 
 most satisfied themselves. It was not an easy 
 life in any way, and under its influence the two 
 were drawn very closely together, for they ate 
 from the same dish, they shared the same water- 
 bottle, and, most binding tie of all, their mails 
 went off together. It was Dick who managed to 
 make gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm 
 hut far beyond the Second Cataract, and, while 
 the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed him- 
 self of some laboriously acquired exclusive infor- 
 mation, forwarded by a confiding correspondent 
 of an opposition syndicate, made a careful dupli- 
 cate of the matter, and brought the result to Tor- 
 penhow, who said that all was fair in love or 
 war correspondence, and built an excellent de- 
 scriptive article from his rival's riotous waste of 
 words. It was Torpenhow who but the tale of 
 their adventures, together and apart, from Philae
 
 34 The Light that Failed 
 
 to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, 
 would fill many books. They had been penned 
 into a square side by side, in deadly fear of be- 
 ing shot by over-excited soldiers; they had 
 fought with baggage-camels in the chill dawn; 
 they had jogged along in silence under blinding 
 sun on indefatigable little Egyptian horses; and 
 they had floundered on the shallows of the Nile 
 when the whale-boat in which they had found a 
 berth chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half 
 her bottom-planks. 
 
 Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and 
 the whale-boats were bringing up the remainder 
 of the column. 
 
 "Yes," said Torpenhow, as he put the last 
 rude stitches into his over-long-neglected gear, 
 "it has been a beautiful business." 
 
 "The patch or the campaign?" said Dick. 
 "Don't think much of either, myself." 
 
 "You want the Euryalus brought up above the 
 Third Cataract, don't you? and eighty-one-ton 
 guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with 
 my breeches." He turned round gravely to ex- 
 hibit himself, after the manner of a clown. 
 
 "It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on 
 the sack. G. B. T. Government Bullock Train. 
 That's a sack from India." 
 
 "It's my initials, Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. 
 I ftole the cloth on purpose. What the mischief
 
 The Light t hat Failed 35 
 
 are the camel-corps doing yonder?" Torpenhow 
 shaded his eyes and looked across the scrub- 
 strewn gravel. 
 
 A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the 
 bank hurried to their arms and accoutrements. 
 
 "'Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,'" 
 remarked Dick, calmly. "D'you remember the 
 picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners 
 copy it. That scrub's alive with enemy." 
 
 The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the in- 
 fantry to come to them, and a hoarse shouting 
 down the river showed that the remainder of the 
 column had wind of the trouble and was hasten- 
 ing to take share in it. As swiftly as a reach of 
 still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn 
 ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and 
 alive with armed men. Mercifully, it occurred to 
 these to stand far off for a time, to shout and 
 gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered 
 himself of a long story. The camel-corps did 
 not fire. They were only too glad of a little 
 breathing-space, until some sort of square could 
 be formed. The men on the sand-bank ran to 
 their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled 
 up within shouting distance, were thrust into the 
 nearest bank and emptied of all save the sick and 
 a few men to guard them. The Arab orator 
 ceased his outcries, and his friends howled. 
 
 " They look like the Mahdi's men," said Tor-
 
 36 The Light that Failed 
 
 penhow, elbowing himself into the crush of the 
 square; "but what thousands of 'em there are! 
 The tribes hereabout aren't against us, I know." 
 
 "Then the Mahdi's taken another town," said 
 Dick, "and set all these yelping devils free to 
 chaw us up. Lend us your glass." 
 
 "Our scouts should have told us of this. 
 We've been trapped," said a subaltern. " Aren't 
 the camel-guns ever going to begin ? Hurry up, 
 you men!" 
 
 There was no need for any order. The men 
 flung themselves panting against the sides of the 
 square, for they had good reason to know that 
 whoso was left outside when the fighting began 
 would very probably die in an extremely unpleas- 
 ant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound 
 camel-guns posted at one corner of the square 
 opened the ball as the square moved forward by 
 its right to get possession of a knoll of rising 
 ground. All had fought in this manner many 
 times before, and there was no novelty in the 
 entertainment: always the same hot and stilling 
 formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same 
 boltlike rush of the enemy, the same pressure on 
 the weakest side of the square, the few minutes 
 of desperate hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the 
 silence of the desert, broken only by the yells of 
 those whom the handful of cavalry attempted to 
 pursue. They had grown careless. The camel-
 
 The Light that Failed yj 
 
 guns spoke at intervals, and the square slouched 
 forward amid the protests of the camels. Then 
 came the attack of three thousand men who had 
 not learned from books that it is impossible for 
 troops in close order to attack against breech- 
 loading fire. A few dropping shots heralded 
 their approach, and a few horsemen led, but the 
 bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with 
 rage, and armed with the spear and the sword. 
 The instinct of the desert, where there is always 
 much war, told them that the right flank of the 
 square was the weakest, for they swung clear of 
 the front. The camel-guns shelled them as they 
 passed, and opened for an instant lanes through 
 their midst, most like those quick-closing vistas 
 in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the train 
 races by at full speed ; and the infantry fire, held 
 till the opportune moment, dropped them in 
 close-packed hundreds. No civilized troops in 
 the world could have endured the hell through 
 which they came, the living leaping high to avoid 
 the dying who clutched at their heels, the 
 wounded cursing and staggering forward, till 
 they fell a torrent black as the sliding water 
 above a mill-dam full on the right flank of the 
 square. Then the line of the dusty troops and 
 the faint blue desert sky overhead went out \x 
 rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated 
 ground and the tinder-dry clumps of scrub be
 
 38 The Light that Failea 
 
 came matters of surpassing interest, for men 
 measured their agonized retreat and recovery by 
 these things, counting mechanically and hewing 
 their way back to chosen pebble and branch. 
 There was no semblance of any concerted fight- 
 ing. For aught the men knew, the enemy might 
 be attempting all four sides of the square at once. 
 Their business was to destroy what lay in front 
 of them, to bayonet in the back those who passed 
 over them, and, dying, to drag down the slayer 
 till he could be knocked on the head by some 
 avenging gun-butt. Dick waited quietly with 
 Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress be- 
 came unendurable. There was no hope of at- 
 tending to the wounded till the attack was re- 
 pulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly 
 toward the weakest side. There was a rush 
 from without, the short hough-hough of the stab- 
 bing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by 
 thirty or forty others, dashed through, yelling 
 and hacking. The right flank of the square 
 sucked in after them, and the other sides sent 
 help. The wounded, who knew that they had 
 but a few hours more to live, caught at the 
 enemy's feet and brought them down, or, stag- 
 gering to a discarded rifle, fired blindly into* the 
 scuffle that raged in the centre of the square. 
 Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him 
 violently across his helmet, that he had fired his
 
 The Light that Failed 39 
 
 revolver into a black, foam-flecked face which 
 forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a 
 face, and that Torpenhow had gone down under 
 an Arab whom he had tried to ** collar low," and 
 was turning over and over with his captive, feel- 
 ing for the man's eyes. The doctor was jabbing 
 at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless 
 soldier was firing over Dick's shoulder: the flying 
 grains of powder stung his cheek. It was to 
 Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The 
 representative of the Central Southern Syndicate 
 had shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, 
 wiping his thumb on his trousers. The Arab, 
 both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then 
 snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, 
 who was panting under shelter of Dick's revol- 
 ver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped 
 limply. His upturned face lacked one eye. The 
 musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers mingled with 
 it. The rush had failed, and the enemy were 
 flying. If the heart of the square were shambles, 
 the ground beyond was a butcher's shop. Dick 
 thrust his way forward between the maddened 
 men. The remnant of the enemy were retiring, 
 as the few the very few English cavalry rode 
 down the laggards. 
 
 Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood- 
 stained Arab spear cast aside in the retreat lay 
 across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the
 
 40 The Light that Failed 
 
 illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun 
 caught the steel and turned it into a savage red 
 disc. Some one behind him was saying, "Ah, 
 get away, you brute!" Dick raised his revolver 
 and pointed toward the desert. His eye was held 
 by the red splash in the distance, and the clamor 
 about him seemed to die down to a very far- 
 away whisper, like the whisper of a level sea. 
 There was the revolver and the red light, . . . 
 and the voice of some one scaring something 
 away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before, 
 probably in a past life. Dick waited for what 
 should happen afterward. Something seemed to 
 crack inside his head, and for an instant he stood 
 in the dark, a darkness that stung. He fired at 
 random, and the bullet went out across the desert 
 as he muttered, "Spoiled my aim. There aren't 
 any more cartridges. We shall have to run 
 home." He put his hand to his head and brought 
 it away covered with blood. 
 
 "Old man, you're cut rather badly," said Tor- 
 penhow. "I owe you something for this busi- 
 ness. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be 
 ill here." 
 
 Dick had fallen stiffly on Torpenhow's shoul- 
 der, and was muttering something about aim- 
 ing low and to the left. Then he sank to the 
 ground and was silent. Torpenhow dragged 
 him off to a doctor and sat down to work out an
 
 The Light that Failed 41 
 
 account of what he was pleased to call "a san- 
 guinary battle, in which our arms had acquitted 
 themselves," etc. 
 
 All that night, when the troops were encamped 
 by the whale-boats, a black figure danced in the 
 strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted 
 that Khartoum the accursed one was dead, was 
 dead, was dead, that two steamers were rock- 
 staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of all 
 their crews there remained not one; and 
 Khartoum was dead, was dead, was dead! 
 
 But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watch- 
 ing Dick, who was calling aloud to the restless 
 Nile for Maisie, and again Maisie! 
 
 "Behold a phenomenon," said Torpenhow, re- 
 arranging the blanket. "Here is a man, pre- 
 sumably human, who mentions the name of one 
 woman only. And I've seen a good deal of de- 
 lirium, too. Dick, here's some fizzy drink." 
 
 "Thank you, Maisie," said Dick.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 So he thinks he shall take to the sea again 
 For one more cruise with his buccaneers, 
 To singe the beard of the King of Spain, 
 And capture another Dean of Jaen 
 And sell him in Algiers. 
 
 A Dutch Picture. 
 
 The Soudan campaign and Dick's broken head 
 had been some months ended and mended, and 
 the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a 
 certain sum on account for work done, which 
 work they were careful to assure him was not al- 
 together up to their standard. Dick heaved the 
 letter into the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in 
 the same town, and bade a warm farewell to 
 Torpenhow at the station. 
 
 " 1 am going to lie up for a while and rest," said 
 Torpenhow. "I don't know where I shall live 
 in London, but if God brings us to meet, we 
 shall meet. Are you staying here on the off- 
 chance of another row ? There will be none till 
 the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. 
 Mark that. Good-bye; bless you; come back 
 when your money's spent; and give me your ad- 
 dress." 
 
 Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismallia, and 
 4*
 
 The Light that Failed 4) 
 
 Port Said, especially Port Said. There is iniquity 
 in many parts of the world, and vice in all, but 
 the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and 
 all the vices in all the continents finds itself at 
 Port Said. And through the heart of that sand- 
 bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long 
 above the Bitter Lakes, move, if you will only 
 wait, most of the men and women you have 
 known in this life. Dick established himself in 
 quarters more riotous than respectable. He spent 
 his evenings on the quay, and boarded many 
 ships, and saw very many friends, gracious 
 Englishwomen with whom he had talked not too 
 wisely in the veranda of Shepheard's Hotel, 
 hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the 
 contract troop-ships employed in the campaign, 
 army officers by the score, and others of less 
 reputable trades. He had choice of all the races 
 of the East and West for studies, and the ad- 
 vantage of seeing his subjects under the influence 
 of strong excitement, at the gaming-tables, sa- 
 loons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For recrea- 
 tion there was the straight vista of the Canal, the 
 blazing sands, the procession of shipping, and the 
 white hospitals where the English soldiers lay. 
 He strove to set down in black and white and 
 color all that Providence sent him, and when that 
 supply was ended sought about for fresh material. 
 It was a fascinating employment, but it ran away
 
 44 The Light that Failed 
 
 with his money, and he had drawn in advance 
 the hundred and twenty pounds to which he was 
 entitled yearly. "Now 1 shall have to work and 
 starve!" thought he, and was addressing himself 
 to this new fate when a mysterious telegram ar- 
 rived from Torpenhow in England, which said, 
 "Come back, quick: you have caught on. 
 Come." 
 
 A large smile overspread his face. "So soon! 
 that's good hearing,' said he to himself. "There 
 will be an orgie to-night. I'll stand or fall by my 
 luck. 'Faith, it's time it came!" He deposited 
 half of his funds in the hands of his well-known 
 friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and ordered 
 himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur 
 Binat was shaking with drink, but Madame smiled 
 sympathetically 
 
 "Monsieur needs a chair, of course, and of 
 course Monsieur will sketch: Monsieur amuses 
 himself strangely." 
 
 Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the 
 inner room. "I understand," he quavered. "We 
 all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, as I 
 have been." Dick nodded. "In the end," said 
 Binat, with gravity, " Monsieur will descend alive 
 into hell, as I have descended." And he laughed. 
 
 "You must come to the dance, too," said Dick; 
 "I shall want you." 
 
 "For my face ? I knew it would be so. For
 
 The Light that Failed 45 
 
 my face? My God! and for my degradation so 
 tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He 
 is a devil. Or at least do thou, Celeste, demand 
 of him more." The excellent Binat began to kick 
 and scream. 
 
 "All things are for sale in Port Said," said 
 Madame. "If my husband comes it will be so 
 much more. Eh, 'ow you call 'alf a sovereign." 
 
 The money was paid, and the mad dance was 
 held at night in a walled courtyard at the back of 
 Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in faded 
 mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow 
 shoulders, played the piano, and to the tin-pot 
 music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari 
 girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene 
 lamps. Binat sat upon a chair and stared with 
 eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance 
 and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the 
 drink that took the place of blood in his veins, 
 and his face glistened. Dick took him by the 
 chin brutally and turned that face to the light. 
 Madame Binat looked over her shoulder and 
 smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against 
 the wall and sketched for an hour, till the kero- 
 sene lamps began to smell, and the girls threw 
 themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground 
 Then he shut his book with a snap and movet 
 away, Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. "Show 
 me," he whimpered. " I too was once an artist,
 
 46 The Light that Failed 
 
 even I!" Dick showed him the rough sketch. 
 "Am I that?" he screamed. "Will you take 
 that away with you and show all the world that 
 it is I, Binat?" He moaned and wept. 
 
 "Monsieur has paid for all," said Madame. 
 "To the pleasure of seeing Monsieur again." 
 
 The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up 
 the sandy street to the nearest gambling-hell, 
 where he was well known. " If the luck holds, 
 it's an omen; if I lose, I must stay here." He 
 placed his money picturesquely about the board, 
 hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck 
 held. Three turns of the wheel left him richer 
 by twenty pounds, and he went down to the 
 snipping to make friends with the captain of a 
 decayed cargo-steamer, who landed him in Lon- 
 don with fewer pounds in his pocket than he 
 cared to think about. 
 
 A thin grey fog hung over the city, and the 
 streets were very cold; for summer was in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 "It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the 
 knack of altering much," Dick thought, as he 
 cramped from the Docks westward. "Now, 
 what must I do?" 
 
 The packed houses gave no answer. Dick 
 looked down the long lightless streets and at 
 the appalling rush of traffic. "Oh, you rabbit-
 
 The Light that Failed 47 
 
 hutches!" said he, addressing a row of highly- 
 respectable semi-detached residences. " Do you 
 know what you've got to do later on ? You have 
 to supply me with menservants and maidserv- 
 ants," here he smacked his lips, "and the 
 peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll get 
 clothes and boots, and presently I will return 
 and trample on you." He stepped forward en- 
 ergetically; he saw that one of his shoes was 
 burst at the side. As he stooped to make inves- 
 tigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. "All 
 right," he said. "That's another nick in the 
 score. I'll jostle you later on." 
 
 Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and 
 Dick left his last shop with the certainty that he 
 would be respectably arrayed for a time, but 
 with only fifty shillings in his pocket. He re- 
 turned to streets by the Docks, and lodged him- 
 self in one room, where the sheets on the bed 
 were almost audibly marked in case of theft, and 
 where nobody seemed to go to bed at all. When 
 his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern 
 Syndicate for Torpenhow's address, and got it, 
 with the intimation that there was still some 
 money owing to him. 
 
 " How much ?" said Dick, as one who habitu- 
 ally dealt in millions. 
 
 "Between thirty and forty pounds. If it 
 would be any convenience to you, of course we
 
 48 The Light that Failed 
 
 could let you have it at once; but we usually 
 settle accounts monthly." 
 
 "If I show that I want anything now, I'm 
 lost," he said to himself. "All I need I'll take 
 later on." Then, aloud, "It's hardly worth 
 while; and I'm going into the country for a 
 month, too. Wait till I come back, and I'll 
 see about it." 
 
 " But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not in- 
 tend to sever your connection with us?" 
 
 Dick's business in life was the study of faces, 
 and he watched the speaker keenly. " That man 
 means something," he said. " I'll do no busi- 
 ness till I've seen Torpenhow. There's a big 
 deal coming." So he departed, making no 
 promises, to his one little room by the Docks. 
 And that day was the seventh of the month, and 
 that month, he reckoned with awful distinctness, 
 had thirty-one days in it! 
 
 It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and 
 healthy appetites to exist for twenty-four days 
 on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the 
 experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. 
 Dick paid seven shillings a week for his lodging, 
 which left him rather less than a shilling a day 
 for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase 
 was of the materials of his craft; he had been 
 without them too long. Half a day's investiga- 
 tion and comparison brought him to the con-
 
 The Light that Failed 49 
 
 elusion that sausages and mashed potatoes, two- 
 pence a plate, were the best food. Now, sau- 
 sages once or twice a week for breakfast are not 
 unpleasant. As lunch, even, with mashed po- 
 tatoes, they become monotonous. As dinner 
 they are impertinent. At the end of three days 
 Dick loathed sausages, and, going forth, pawned 
 his watch to revel on sheep's head, which is not 
 as cheap as it looks, owing to the bones and 
 the gravy. Then he returned to sausages and 
 mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself en- 
 tirely to mashed potatoes for a day, and was un- 
 happy because of pain in his inside. Then he 
 pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought 
 regretfully of money thrown away in times past. 
 There are few things more edifying unto Art 
 than the actual belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick 
 in his few walks abroad he did not care for 
 exercise; it raised desires that could not be satis- 
 fied found himself dividing mankind into two 
 classes, those who looked as if they might give 
 him something to eat, and those who looked 
 otherwise. "I never knew what I had to learn 
 about the human face before," he thought; and, 
 as a reward for his humility, Providence caused 
 a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick fed 
 that night to leave half-eaten a great chunk of 
 bread. Dick took it, would have fought all the 
 world for its possession, and it cheered him.
 
 yo The Light that Failed 
 
 The month dragged through at last, and, nearly 
 prancing with impatience, he went to draw his 
 money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow's ad- 
 dress and smelt the smell of cooking meats all 
 along the corridors of the chambers. Torpenhow 
 was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his 
 room, to be received with a hug which nearly 
 cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow dragged him to 
 the light and spoke of twenty different things in 
 the same breath. 
 
 " But you're looking tucked up," he concluded. 
 
 "Got anything to eat?" said Dick, his eye 
 roaming round the room. 
 
 "I shall be having breakfast in a minute. 
 What do you say to sausages ? " 
 
 "No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been 
 starving on that accursed horse-flesh for thirty 
 days and thirty nights." 
 
 "Now, what lunacy has been your latest?" 
 
 Dick spoke of the last few weeks with un- 
 bridled speech. Then he opened his coat; there 
 was no waistcoat below. " I ran it fine, awfully 
 fine, but I've just scraped through." 
 
 "You haven't much sense, but you've got a 
 backbone, anyhow. Eat, and talk afterward." 
 Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he 
 could gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a 
 filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke who for 
 three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco.
 
 The Light that Failed 5 1 
 
 ' Ouf ! " said he. ' ' That's heavenly 1 Well ? " 
 "Why in the world didn't you come to me ?" 
 "Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old 
 man. Beside, I had a sort of superstition that 
 this temporary starvation that's what it was, 
 and it hurt would bring me more luck later. 
 It's over and done with now, and none of the 
 syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. 
 What's the exact state of affairs as regards my- 
 self?" 
 
 "You had my wire? You've caught on here. 
 People like your work immensely. I don't know 
 why, but they do. They say you have a fresh 
 touch and a new way of drawing things. And, 
 because they're chiefly home-bred English, they 
 say you have insight. You're wanted by half a 
 dozen papers; you're wanted to illustrate books." 
 Dick grunted scornfully. 
 "You're wanted to work up your smaller 
 sketches and sell them to the dealers. They 
 seem to think the money sunk in you is a good 
 investment. Good Lord! who can account for 
 the fathomless folly of the public ? " 
 
 " They're a remarkably sensible people." 
 "They are subject to fits, if that's what you 
 mean; and you happen to be the object of the 
 latest fit among those who are interested in what 
 they call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a 
 phenomenon, or whatever you please. I ap-
 
 53 The Light that Failed 
 
 peared to be the only person who knew anything 
 about you here, and I have been showing the 
 most useful men a few of the sketches you gave 
 me from time to time. Those coming after your 
 work on the Central Southern Syndicate appear 
 to have done your business. You're in luck." 
 
 "Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a 
 man has been kicking about the world like a dog, 
 waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I 
 want a place to work in first." 
 
 "Come here," said Torpenhow, crossing the 
 landing. "This place is a big box room really, 
 but it will do for you. There's your skylight, 
 or your north light, or whatever window you 
 call it, and plenty of room to thrash about in, 
 and a bedroom beyond. What more do you 
 need?" 
 
 "Good enough," said Dick, looking round the 
 large room that took up a third of a top story in 
 the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A 
 pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and 
 showed the much dirt of the place. Three steps 
 led from the door to the landing, and three more 
 to Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase 
 disappeared into darkness, pricked by tiny gas- 
 jets, and there were sounds of men talking and 
 doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm 
 gloom. 
 
 "Do they give you a free hand here?" said
 
 The Light that Failed 53 
 
 Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael enough to 
 know the value of liberty. 
 
 "Anything you like: latch-keys and license 
 unlimited. We are permanent tenants for the 
 most part here. Tisn't a place I would recom- 
 mend for a Young Men's Christian Association, 
 but it will serve. I took these rooms for you 
 when I wired." 
 
 " You're a great deal too kind, old man." 
 
 "You didn't suppose you were going away 
 from me, did you ? " Torpenhow put his hand on 
 Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and 
 down the room, henceforward to be called the 
 studio, in sweet and silent communion. They 
 heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. "That's 
 some ruffian come up for a drink," said Torpen- 
 how; and he raised his voice cheerily. There en- 
 tered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle- 
 aged gentleman in a satin-faced frock-coat. His 
 lips were parted and pale, and there were deep 
 pouches under the eyes. 
 
 "Weak heart," said Dick to himself, and, as he 
 shook hands, "very weak heart. His pulse is 
 shaking his fingers." 
 
 The man introduced himself as the head of the 
 Central Southern Syndicate and " one of the most 
 ardent admirers of your work, Mr. Heldar. I 
 assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we 
 are immensely indebted to you ; and I trust, Mr.
 
 54 The Light that Failed 
 
 Heldar, you won't forget that we were largely 
 instrumental in bringing you before the public." 
 He panted because of the seven flights of stairs. 
 
 Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid 
 lay for a moment dead on his cheek. 
 
 " I shan't forget," said Dick, every instinct of 
 defence roused in him. "You've paid me so 
 well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, 
 when I am settled in this place I should like to 
 send and get my sketches. There must be nearly 
 a hundred and fifty of them with you." 
 
 "That is er is what I came to speak about. 
 I fear we can't allow it exactly, Mr. Heldar. In 
 the absence of any specified agreement, the 
 sketches are our property, of course." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you are going to 
 keep them ?" 
 
 "Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your 
 own terms, Mr. Heldar, to assist us in arranging 
 a little exhibition, which, backed by our name 
 and the influence we naturally command among 
 the press, should be of material service to you. 
 Sketches such as yours " 
 
 " Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, 
 you paid me the lowest rates you dared. You 
 can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, 
 they're all I've got in the world! " 
 
 Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. 
 
 Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw
 
 The Light that Failed 55 
 
 the whole of his little stock in trade, the first 
 weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset 
 of his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose 
 name Dick had not caught aright, who said that 
 he represented a syndicate, which was a thing 
 for which Dick had not the least reverence. The 
 injustice of the proceedings did not much move 
 him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too 
 often in other places to be squeamish over the 
 moral aspects of right and wrong. But he 
 ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in 
 the frock-coat, and when he spoke again it was 
 with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow knew 
 well for the beginning of strife. 
 
 44 Forgive me, sir, but you have no no younger 
 man who can arrange this business with me?" 
 
 44 1 speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for 
 a third party to " 
 
 "You will in a minute. Be good enough to 
 give back my sketches." 
 
 The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at 
 Torpenhow, who was leaning against the wall. 
 He was not used to ex-employees who ordered 
 him to be good enough to do things. 
 
 "Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal," said 
 Torpenhow, critically; "but I'm afraid, I am very 
 much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be 
 careful, Dick: remember, this isn't the Soudan." 
 
 " Considering what services the syndicate have
 
 56 The Light that Failed 
 
 done you in putting your name before the 
 world " 
 
 This was not a fortunate remark ; it reminded 
 Dick of certain vagrant years lived out in loneli- 
 ness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The mem- 
 ory did not contrast well with the prosperous 
 gentleman who proposed to enjoy the fruit of 
 those years. 
 
 "1 don't know quite what to do with you," 
 began Dick, meditatively. "Of course you're a 
 thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your 
 case you'd probably die. I don't want you dead 
 on this floor, and, besides, it's unlucky just as 
 one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only ex- 
 cite yourself." He put one hand on the man's 
 forearm and ran the other down the plump body 
 beneath the coat. "My goodness!" said he to 
 Torpenhow, "and this grey oaf dares to be a thief! 
 I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black 
 hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half 
 a pound of wet dates, and he was as tough as 
 whipcord. This thing's soft all over like a 
 woman." 
 
 There are few things more poignantly humili- 
 ating than being handled by a man who does not 
 intend to strike. The head of the syndicate be- 
 gan to breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, 
 pawing him, as a cat paws a soft hearth-rug. 
 Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden
 
 Copyright, 1899, by H. M. Caldwell Co. 
 
 "'You, who don't know when you may die."
 
 The Light that Failed yj 
 
 pouches underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 
 "You were going to steal my things, mine, 
 mine, mine! you, who don't know when you 
 may die. Write a note to your office, you say 
 you're the head of it, and order them to give 
 Torpenhow my sketches, every one of them. 
 Wait a minute: your hand's snaking. Now!" 
 He thrust a pocketbook before him. The note 
 was written. Torpenhow took it and departed 
 without a word, while Dick walked round and 
 round the spellbound captive, giving him such 
 advice as he conceived best for the welfare of his 
 soul. When Torpenhow returned with a gigan- 
 tic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, 
 "Now, I hope this will be a lesson to you; and 
 if you worry me when I have settled down to 
 work with any nonsense about actions for as- 
 sault, believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle 
 you, and you'll die. You haven't very long to 
 live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsah, get out!" 
 The man departed, staggering and dazed. Dick 
 drew a long breath: " Phew! what a lawless lot 
 these people are! The first thing a poor orphan 
 meets is gang robbery, organized burglary! Think 
 of the hideous blackness of that man's mind! 
 Are my sketches all right, Torp ?" 
 
 "Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. 
 Well, I must say, Dick, you've begun well." 
 
 " He was interfering with me. It only meant
 
 $8 The Light that Failed 
 
 a few pounds to him, but it was everything to 
 me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave 
 him some medical advice gratis about the state of 
 his body. It was cheap at the little flurry it cost 
 him. Now, let's look at my things." 
 
 Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself 
 down on the floor and was deep in the portfolio, 
 chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over 
 and thought of the price at which they had been 
 bought. 
 
 The afternoon was well advanced when Tor- 
 penhow came to the door and saw Dick dancing 
 a wild saraband under the skylight. 
 
 "I builded better than I knew, Torp," he said, 
 without stopping the dance. "They're good! 
 They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I 
 shall have an exhibition of them on my own 
 brazen hook. And that man would have cheated 
 me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now 
 that I didn't actually hit him ?" 
 
 " Go out," said Torpenhow, " go out and pray 
 to be delivered from the sin of arrogance, which 
 you never will be. Bring your things up from 
 whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to 
 make this barn a little more shipshape." 
 
 " And then oh, then," said Dick, still capering, 
 " we will spoil the Egyptians ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, 
 When the smoke of the cooking hung grey : 
 
 He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn. 
 And he looked to his strength for his prey. 
 But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. 
 
 And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, 
 
 And he bayed to the moon as she rose. In Seonee. 
 
 "Well, and how does success taste?" said 
 Torpenhow, some three months later. He had 
 just returned to chambers after a holiday in the 
 country. 
 
 "Good," said Dick, as he sat licking his lips 
 before the easel in the studio. " I want more, 
 heaps more. The lean years have passed, and 
 I approve of these fat ones." 
 
 "Be careful, old man. That way lies bad 
 work." 
 
 Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair 
 with a small fox-terrier asleep on his chest, 
 while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a 
 background, and a lay-figure were the only fixed 
 objects in the place. They rose from a wreck of 
 oddments that began with felt-covered water- 
 bottles, belts, and regimental badges, and ended 
 with a small bale of second-hand uniforms and a 
 59
 
 60 The Light that Failed 
 
 stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet 
 on the dais showed that a military model had 
 just gone away. The watery autumn sunlight 
 was failing, and shadows sat in the corners of 
 the studio. 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, deliberately, "I like the 
 power; I like the fun; I like the fuss; and above 
 all I like the money. I almost like the people 
 who make the fuss and pay the money. Al- 
 most. But they're a queer gang, an amazingly 
 queer gang!" 
 
 "They have been good enough to you, at any 
 rate. That tin-pot exhibition of your sketches 
 must have paid. Did you see that the papers 
 called it the ' Wild Work Show * ? " 
 
 " Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I 
 wanted to; and, on my word, I believe it was 
 because they believed I was a self-taught flag- 
 stone artist. 1 should have got better prices if I 
 had worked my things on wool or scratched 
 them on camel-bone instead of using mere black 
 and white and color. Verily, they are a queer 
 gang, these people. Limited isn't the word to 
 describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who 
 told me that it was impossible that shadows on 
 white sand should be blue, ultramarine, as 
 they are. 1 found out, later, that that man had 
 been as far as Brighton beach ; but he knew all 
 about Art, confound him. He gave me a lecture
 
 The Light that Failed 61 
 
 on it, and recommended me to go to school to 
 learn technique. I wonder what old Kami would 
 have said to that." 
 
 "When were you under Kami, man of extra- 
 ordinary beginnings ? " 
 
 "I studied with him for two years in Paris. 
 He taught by personal magnetism. All he ever 
 said was, 'Continue^, mes en/ants,' and you 
 had to make the best you could of that. He had 
 a divine touch, and he knew something about 
 color. Kami used to dream color; I swear he 
 could never have seen the genuine article; but he 
 evolved it; and it was good." 
 
 "Recollect some of those views in the Sou- 
 dan?" said Torpenhow, with a provoking drawl. 
 
 Dick squirmed in his place. "Don't! It 
 makes me want to get out there again. What 
 color that was! Opal and umber and amber and 
 claret and brick-red and sulphur cockatoo-crest 
 sulphur against brown, with a nigger-black 
 rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a 
 decorative frieze of camels festooning in front of 
 a pure pale turquoise sky." He began to walk up 
 and down. " And yet, you know, if you try to 
 give these people the thing as God gave it keyed 
 down to their comprehension and according to 
 the powers He has given you " 
 
 "Modest man! Goon." 
 
 "Half a dozen epicene young pagans who
 
 62 The Light that Failed 
 
 haven't even been to Algiers will tell you, first, 
 that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that 
 it isn't Art." 
 
 "This comes of my leaving town for a month. 
 Dickie, you've been promenading among the 
 toy-shops and hearing people talk." 
 
 "I couldn't help it," said Dick, penitently. 
 " You weren't here, and it was lonely these long 
 evenings. A man can't work forever." 
 
 "A man might have gone to a pub, and got 
 decently drunk." 
 
 "I wish I had; but I forgathered with some 
 men of sorts. They said they were artists, and I 
 knew some of them could draw, but they 
 wouldn't draw. They gave me tea, tea at five 
 in the afternoon ! and talked about Art and the 
 state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. 
 I've heard more about Art and seen less of her in 
 the last six months than in the whole of my life. 
 Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for 
 some continental syndicate, out with the desert 
 column ? He was a regular Christmas-tree of 
 contraptions when he took the field in full fig, 
 with his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing- 
 case, housewife, gig-lamps, and the Lord knows 
 what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and 
 show us how they worked; but he never seemed 
 to do much except fudge his reports from the 
 Nilghai. See?"
 
 The Light that Failed 63 
 
 " Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than 
 ever. He ought to be up here this evening. I 
 see the comparison perfectly. You should have 
 kept clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you 
 right; and I hope it will unsettle your mind." 
 
 *' It won't. It has taught me what Art holy 
 sacred Art means." 
 
 "You've learned something while I've been 
 away. What is Art ?" 
 
 "Give 'em what they know, and when you've 
 done it once do it again." Dick dragged forward 
 a canvas laid face to the wall. " Here's a sample 
 of real Art. It's going to be a facsimile repro- 
 duction for a weekly. I called it 'His Last 
 Shot.' It's worked up from the little water- 
 color I made outside EI Maghrib. Well, I lured 
 my model, a beautiful rifleman, up here with 
 drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I 
 tredrored him, and I made him a flushed, di- 
 sheveled, bedevilled scallawag, with his helmet 
 at the back of his head, and the living fear of 
 death in his eye, and the blood oozing out of a cut 
 over his ankle-bone. He wasn't pretty, but he 
 was all soldier and very much man." 
 
 "Once more, modest child!" 
 
 Dick laughed. "Well, it's only to you I'm 
 talking. I did him just as well as I knew how, 
 making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then 
 the art-manager of that abandoned paper said
 
 64 The Light that Failed 
 
 that his subscribers wouldn't like it. It was bru- 
 tal and coarse and violent, man being naturally 
 gentle when he's fighting for his life. They 
 wanted something more restful, with a little 
 more color. 1 could have said a good deal, but 
 you might as well talk to a sheep as an art-man- 
 ager. I took my 'Last Shot' back. Behold the 
 result! I put him into a lovely red coat without 
 a speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots, 
 observe the high light on the toe. That is Art. 
 I cleaned his rifle, rifles are always clean on 
 service because that is Art. I pipeclayed his 
 helmet, pipeclay is always used on active 
 service, and is indispensable to Art. I shaved 
 his chin, I washed his hands, and gave him an 
 air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pat- 
 tern-plate. Price, thank Heaven, twice as much 
 as for the first sketch, which was moderately 
 decent." 
 
 "And do you suppose you're going to give 
 that thing out as your work ?" 
 
 "Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the 
 interests of sacred, home-bred Art and Dicken- 
 son's Weekly" 
 
 Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. 
 Then came the verdict, delivered from rolling 
 clouds: " If you were only a mass of blathering 
 vanity, Dick, I wouldn't mind, I'd let you go to 
 the deuce on your own mahl-stick; but when I
 
 The Light that Failed 65 
 
 consider what you are to me, and when I find 
 that to vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny 
 pique of a twelve-year-old girl, then I bestir my- 
 self in your behalf. Thus!" 
 
 The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot 
 shot through it, and the terrier jumped down, 
 thinking rats were about. 
 
 "If you have any bad language to use, use it. 
 You have not. I continue. You are an idiot, 
 because no man born of woman is strong enough 
 to take liberties with his public, even though 
 they be which they ain't all you say they are." 
 
 " But they don't know any better. What can 
 you expect from creatures born and bred in this 
 light?" Dick pointed to the yellow fog. "If 
 they want furniture-polish, let them have furni- 
 ture-polish, so long as they pay for it. They are 
 only men and women. You talk as though they 
 were gods." 
 
 "That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to 
 do with the case. They are the people you have 
 to work for, whether you like it or not. They 
 are your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, 
 you aren't strong enough to trifle with them, 
 or with yourself, which is more important. 
 Moreover, Come back, Binkie: that red daub 
 isn't going anywhere, unless you take precious 
 good care, you will fall under the damnation of 
 the check-book, and that's worse than death.
 
 66 The Light that Failed 
 
 You will get drunk you're half drunk already 
 on easily-acquired money. For that money and 
 your own infernal vanity you are willing to deliber- 
 ately turn out bad work. You'll do quite enough 
 bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as 
 I love you and as I know you love me, I am not 
 going to let you cut off your nose to spite your 
 face for all the gold in England. That's settled. 
 Now swear." 
 
 "Don't know," said Dick. "I've been trying 
 to make myself angry, but I can't, you're so 
 abominably reasonable. There will a be row on 
 Dickenson' s Weekly, I fancy." 
 
 " Why the Dickenson do you want to work on 
 a weekly paper? It's slow bleeding of power." 
 
 "It brings in the very desirable dollars," said 
 Dick, his hands in his pockets. 
 
 Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 
 "Why, I thought it was a man! " said he. "It's 
 a child." 
 
 "No, it isn't," said Dick, wheeling quickly. 
 "You've no notion what the certainty of cash 
 means to a man who has always wanted it badly. 
 Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys; 
 on that Chinese pig-boat, for instance, when we 
 ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho- 
 Wang wouldn't allow us anything better, and it 
 all tasted of pig, Chinese pig. I've worked for 
 this, I've sweated and I've starved for this, line
 
 The Light that Failed &] 
 
 on line and month after month. And now I've 
 got it I am going to make the most of it while it 
 lasts. Let them pay they've no knowledge." 
 
 "What does Your Majesty please to want? 
 You can't smoke more than you do; you won't 
 drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the 
 dark, by the look of you. You wouldn't keep a 
 horse the other day when I suggested, because, you 
 said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross 
 the street you take a hansom. Even you are not 
 foolish enough to suppose that theatres and all the 
 live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life. 
 What earthly need have you for money ?" 
 
 "It's there, bless its golden heart," said Dick. 
 " It's there all the time. Providence has sent me 
 nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. I 
 haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm 
 keeping my teeth filed. Perhaps some day you and 
 I will go for a walk round the wide earth." 
 
 "With no work to do, nobody to worry us, 
 and nobody to compete with? You would be 
 unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't 
 go. I don't care to profit by the price of a man's 
 soul, for that's what it would mean. Dick, it's 
 no use arguing. You're a fool." 
 
 " Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese 
 pig-boat, our captain got enormous credh>for 
 saving about twenty-five thousand very sea-sick 
 little pigs, when our old tramp of a steamer fell
 
 68 The Light that Failed 
 
 foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking those pigs 
 as a parallel " 
 
 "Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I 
 try to improve your soul, you always drag in 
 some irrelevant anecdote from your very shady 
 past. Pigs aren't the British public; credit on the 
 high seas isn't credit here; and self-respect is 
 self-respect all the world over. Go out for a 
 walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I 
 say, if the Nilghai comes up this evening can I 
 show him your diggings ?" 
 
 "Surely. You'll be asking whether you must 
 knock at my door, next." And Dick departed, 
 to take counsel with himself in the rapidly-gath- 
 ering London fog. 
 
 Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai 
 labored up the staircase. He was the chiefest, as 
 he was the hugest, of the war correspondents, 
 and his experiences dated from the birth of the 
 needle-gun. Saving only his ally, Keneu the 
 Great War Eagle, there was no man mightier in 
 the craft than he, and he always opened his con- 
 versation with the news that there would ba 
 trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow 
 laughed as he entered. 
 
 " Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those 
 little states are always screeching. You've heard 
 about Dick's luck?" 
 
 "Yes; he has been called up to notoriety,
 
 The Light that Failed 69 
 
 hasn't he ? I hope you keep him properly hum- 
 ble. He wants suppressing from time to time." 
 
 "He does. He's beginning to take liberties 
 with what he thinks is his reputation." 
 
 "Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't 
 know about his reputation, but he'll come a 
 cropper if he tries that sort of thing." 
 
 "So I told him. I don't think he believes it." 
 
 "They never do when they first start off. 
 What's that wreck on the ground there ? " 
 
 "Specimen of his latest impertinence." Tor- 
 penhow thrust the torn edges of the canvas to- 
 gether and showed the well-groomed picture to 
 the Nilghai, who looked at it for a moment and 
 whistled. 
 
 " It's a chromo," said he, " a chromo-litholeo- 
 margarine fake! What possessed him to do it? 
 And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note 
 that catches a public who think with their boots 
 and read with their elbows! The cold-blooded 
 insolence of the work almost saves it; but he 
 mustn't go on with this. Hasn't he been praised 
 and cockered up too much ? You know these 
 people here have no sense of proportion. They'll 
 call him a second Detaille and a third-hand Meis- 
 sonier while his fashion lasts. It's windy diet 
 for a colt." 
 
 "I don't think it affects Dick much. You 
 might as well call a young wolf a lion and expect
 
 70 The Light that Failed 
 
 him to take the compliment in exchange for a 
 shin-bone. Dick's soul is in the bank. He's 
 working for cash." 
 
 "Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose 
 he doesn't see that the obligations of the service are 
 just the same, only the proprietors are changed." 
 
 " How should he know? He thinks he is his 
 own master." 
 
 " Does he ? I could undeceive him for his good, 
 if there's any virtue in print. He wants the 
 whip-lash." 
 
 "Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him 
 myself, but I like him too much." 
 
 " I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try 
 to cut me out with a woman at Cairo once. I 
 forgot that, but I remember now." 
 
 " Did he cut you out ? " 
 
 "You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, 
 after all, what's the good ? Leave him alone and 
 he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, 
 dragging or wagging his tail behind him. 
 There's more in a week of life than in a lively 
 weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate 
 him ponderously in the Cataclysm." 
 
 "Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short 
 of a crowbar would make Dick wince. His soul 
 seems to have been fired before we came across 
 him. He's intensely suspicious and utterly law- 
 less."
 
 The Light that Failed 71 
 
 "Matter of temper," said the Nilghai. "It's 
 the same with horses. Some you wallop and 
 they work, some you wallop and they jib, and 
 some you wallop and they go out for a walk 
 with their hands in their pockets." 
 
 "That's exactly what Dick has done," said 
 Torpenhow. "Wait till he comes back. In the 
 meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll 
 show you some of his last and worst work in his 
 studio." 
 
 Dick had instinctively sought running water 
 for a comfort to his mood of mind. He was 
 leaning over the Embankment wall, watching 
 the rush of the Thames through the arches of 
 Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of 
 Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost him- 
 self in the study of the faces flocking past. Some 
 had death written on their features, and Dick 
 marveled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy 
 jmd coarse-built for the most part, were alight 
 with love; others were merely drawn and lined 
 with work; but there was something, Dick knew, 
 to be made out of them all. The poor at least 
 should suffer that he might learn, and the rich 
 should pay for the output of his learning. Thus 
 his credit in the world and his cash balance at 
 the bank would be increased. So much the bet- 
 ter for him. He had suffered. Now he would 
 Uke toll of the ills of others.
 
 73 The Light that Failed 
 
 The fog was driven apart for a moment, and 
 the sun shone, a blood-red wafer, on the water. 
 Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of 
 the tide between the piers die down like the wash 
 of the sea at low tide. A girl hard pressed by 
 her lover shouted shamelessly, "Ah, get away, 
 you beast!" and a shift of the same wind that 
 had opened the fog drove across Dick's face the 
 black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth be- 
 low the wall. He was blinded for the moment, 
 then spun round and found himself face to face 
 with Maisie. 
 
 There was no mistaking. The years had 
 turned the child to a woman, but they had not 
 altered the dark-grey eyes, the thin scarlet lips, 
 or the firmly modeled mouth and chin; and, that 
 all should be as it was of old, she wore a closely- 
 fitting grey dress. 
 
 Since the human soul is finite and not in the 
 least under its own command, Dick, advancing, 
 said, " Halloo! " after the manner of schoolboys, 
 and Maisie answered, "Oh, Dick, is that you?" 
 Then, against his will, and before the brain newly 
 released from considerations of the cash balance 
 had time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of 
 Dick's body throbbed furiously and his palate 
 dried in his mouth. The fog shut down again, 
 and Maisie's face was pearl-white through it. 
 No word was spoken, but Dick fell into step at
 
 The Light that Failed 73 
 
 her side, and the two paced the Embankment 
 together, keeping the step as perfectly as in their 
 afternoon excursions to the mud-flats. Then 
 Dick, a little hoarsely 
 
 "What has happened to Amomma?" 
 
 "He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. 
 He was always greedy. Isn't it funny ? " 
 
 " Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma ?" 
 
 " Ye es. No. This. Where have you come 
 from?" 
 
 " Over there." He pointed eastward through 
 the fog. "And you?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm in the north, the black north, across 
 all the Park. I am very busy." 
 
 "What do you do?" 
 
 " I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do." 
 
 "Why, what's happened? You had three 
 hundred a year." 
 
 " I have that still. I am painting; that's all." 
 
 "Are you alone, then ?" 
 
 " There's a girl living with me. Don't walk 
 so fast, Dick; you're out of step." 
 
 "Then you noticed it too?" 
 
 " Of course I did. You're always out of step." 
 
 "So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the 
 painting?" 
 
 "Of course. I said I should. I was at the 
 Slade, then at Merton's in St. John's Wood, the 
 big studio, then I pepper-potted, I mean I went
 
 74 The Light that Failed 
 
 to the National, and now I'm working under 
 Kami." 
 
 " But Kami is in Paris surely ?" 
 
 "No; he has his teaching studio at Vitry-sur- 
 Marne. I work with him in the summer, and I 
 live in London in the winter. I'm a house- 
 holder." 
 
 " Do you sell much ?" 
 
 "Now and again, but not often. There is my 
 'bus. I must take it or lose half an hour. Good- 
 bye, Dick." 
 
 " Good-bye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where 
 you live ? I must see you again; and perhaps I 
 could help you. I I paint a little myself." 
 
 " I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is 
 no working light. I walk from the Marble Arch 
 down and back again; that is my little excursion. 
 But of course I shall see you again." She stepped 
 into the omnibus and was swallowed up by the 
 fog. 
 
 "Well I am damned!" exclaimed Dick, 
 and returned to the chambers. 
 
 Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting 
 on the steps to the studio door, repeating the 
 phrase with an awful gravity. 
 
 " You'll be more damned when I've done with 
 you," said the Nilghai, upheaving his bulk from 
 behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf 
 of half-dry manuscript. " Dick, it is of common 

 
 The Light that Failed 75 
 
 report that you are suffering from swelled 
 h<ad." 
 
 "Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the 
 Balkans and all the little Balkans ? One side of 
 your face is out of drawing, as usual." 
 
 "Never mind that. I am commissioned to 
 smite you in print. Torpenhow refuses from 
 false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot- 
 boilers in your studio. They are simply dis- 
 graceful." 
 
 "Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can 
 slate me, you're wrong. You can only describe, 
 and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, 
 as a P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be 
 swift. I'm going to bed." 
 
 "H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals 
 with your pictures. Here's the peroration: 'For 
 work done without conviction, for power wasted 
 on trivialities, for labor expended with levity for 
 the deliberate purpose of winning the easy ap- 
 plause of a fashion-driven public ' " 
 
 "That's 'His Last Shot,' second edition. Go 
 on. 
 
 " ' public, there remains but one end, the 
 
 oblivion that is preceded by toleration and ceno- 
 taphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Hel- 
 dar has yet to prove himself out of danger.'" 
 
 " Wow wow wow wow wow! " said Dick, 
 profanely. " It's a clumsy ending and vile jour-
 
 76 The Light that Failed 
 
 nalese, but it's quite true. And yet," he sprang 
 to his feet and snatched at the manuscript, ' ' you 
 scarred, deboshed, battered old gladiator! you're 
 sent out when a war begins, to minister to the 
 blind, brutal, British public's bestial thirst for 
 blood. They have no arenas now, but they must 
 have special correspondents. You're a fat gladia- 
 tor who comes up through a trapdoor and talks 
 of what he's seen. You stand on precisely the 
 same level as an energetic bishop, an affable ac- 
 tress, a devastating cyclone, or mine own sweet 
 self. And you presume to lecture me about my 
 work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd cari- 
 cature you in four papers! " 
 
 The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of 
 this. 
 
 " As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small 
 so!" The manuscript fluttered in slips down 
 the dark well of the staircase. "Go home, Nil- 
 ghai," said Dick; "go home to your lonely little 
 bed, and leave me in peace. I am about to turn 
 in till to-morrow." 
 
 "Why, it isn't seven yet!" said Torpenhow, 
 with amazement. 
 
 "It shall be two in the morning, if I choose," 
 said Dick, backing to the studio door. " I go to 
 grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want 
 any dinner." 
 
 The door shut and was locked.
 
 The Light that Failed jj 
 
 " What can you do with a man like that ? " said 
 the Nilghai. 
 
 " Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter." 
 
 At eleven there was kicking on the studio door. 
 " Is the Nilghai with you still ? " said a voice from 
 within. " Then tell him he might have condensed 
 the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epi- 
 gram: 'Only the free are bond, and only the 
 bond are free.' Tell him he's an idiot, Torp, and 
 tell him I'm another." 
 
 "All right. Come out and have supper. 
 You're smoking on an empty stomach." 
 
 There was no answer.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 I have a thousand men," said he, 
 " To wait upon my will, 
 And towers nine upon the Tyne, 
 And three upon the Till." 
 
 " And what care I for your men," said she, 
 " Or towers from Tyne to Till, 
 Sith you must go with me," she said, 
 " To wait upon my will ? " 
 
 Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. 
 
 Next morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in 
 deepest repose of tobacco. 
 
 "Well, madman, how d'you feel ? " 
 " I don't know. I'm trying to find out." 
 "You had much better do some work." 
 "Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a 
 discovery. Torp, there's too much Ego in my 
 Cosmos." 
 
 "Not really! Is this revelation due to my lec- 
 tures, or the Nilghai's ? " 
 
 "It came to me suddenly, all on my own ac- 
 count. Much too much Ego; and now I'm going 
 to work." 
 
 He turned over a few half-finished sketches, 
 drummed on a new canvas, cleaned three brushes, 
 set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay-figure, rattled 
 78
 
 The Light that Failed 79 
 
 through his collection of arms and accoutrements, 
 and then went out abruptly, declaring that he had 
 done enough for the day. 
 
 '* This is positively indecent," said Torpenhow, 
 "and the first time that Dick has ever broken up 
 a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that 
 he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or 
 something equally valuable. That comes of leav- 
 ing him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been 
 going out of evenings. I must look to this." He 
 rang for the baldheaded old housekeeper, whom 
 nothing could astonish or annoy. 
 
 " Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I 
 was out of town ? " 
 
 "Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all 
 the time. Mostly 'e dined in; but 'e brought 
 some most remarkable fancy young gentlemen 
 up 'ere after theatres once or twice. Remark- 
 able fancy they was. You gentlemen on the top 
 floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem 
 to me, sir, droppin' a walkin'-stick down five 
 flights 0' stairs an' then goin' down four abreast 
 to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin' 
 singin', ' Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin',' 
 not once, or twice, but scores o' times, isn't 
 charity to the other tenants. What I say is, ' Do 
 as you would be done by.' That's my motto." 
 
 "Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top 
 floor isn't the quietest in the house."
 
 80 The Light that Failed 
 
 " I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to 
 Mr. Heldar friendly, an' he laughed, an' did me a 
 picture of the missis that is as good as a colored 
 print. It 'asn't the 'igh shine of a photograph, 
 but what I say is, 'Never look a gift-horse in the 
 mouth.' Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes 'aven't been 
 on him for weeks." 
 
 "Then it's all right," said Torpenhow to him- 
 self. "Orgies are healthy, and Dick has a head 
 of his own, but when it comes to women mak- 
 ing eyes I'm not so certain. Binkie, never you be 
 a man, little dorglums, They're contrary brutes, 
 and they do things without any reason." 
 
 Dick had turned northward across the Park, 
 but he was walking in the spirit on the mud-flats 
 with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remem- 
 bered the day when he had decked Amomma's 
 horns with the ham-frills, and Maisie, white with 
 rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years 
 seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was 
 connected with every hour of them! Storm 
 across the sea, and Maisie in a grey dress on the 
 beach, sweeping her drenched hair out of her 
 eyes and laughing at the homeward race of the 
 fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, 
 and Maisie sniffing scornfully, with her chin in 
 the air; Maisie flying before the wind that threshed 
 the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot 
 about her ears; Maisie, very composed and inde-
 
 The Light that Failed 81 
 
 pendent, telling lies to Mrs. Jennet while Dick 
 supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie pick- 
 ing her way delicately from stone to stone, a 
 pistol in her hand and her teeth firm-set; and 
 Maisie in a grey dress sitting on the grass be- 
 tween the mouth of a cannon and a nodding 
 yellow sea-poppy. The pictures passed before 
 him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. 
 Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that 
 was as new to his mind as it was foreign to his 
 experience. It never occurred to him that there 
 might be other calls upon his time than loafing 
 across the Park in the forenoon. 
 
 "There's a good working light now," he said, 
 watching his shadow placidly. "Some poor 
 devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's 
 Maisie." 
 
 She was walking toward him from the Marble 
 Arch, and he saw that no mannerism of her gait 
 had been changed. It was good to find her still 
 Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbor. 
 No greeting passed between them, because there 
 had been none in the old days. 
 
 "What are you doing out of your studio at 
 this hour ? " said Dick, as one who was entitled 
 to ask. 
 
 " Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin 
 and scraped it out. Then I left it in a little heap 
 of paint-chips and came away."
 
 8a The Light that Failed 
 
 "I know what palette-knifing means. What 
 was the piccy ?" 
 
 "A fancy head that wouldn't come right, 
 horrid thing!" 
 
 " I don't like working over scraped paint when 
 I'm doing flesh. The grain comes up woolly as 
 the paint dries." 
 
 "Not if you scrape properly." Maisie waved 
 her hand to illustrate her methods. There was a 
 dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. 
 
 "You're as untidy as ever." 
 
 "That comes well from you. Look at your 
 own cuff." 
 
 "By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't 
 think we've much altered in anything. Let's see, 
 though." He looked at Maisie critically. The 
 pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between 
 the tree-trunks of the Park and made a back- 
 ground for the grey dress, the black velvet toque 
 above the black hair, and the resolute profile. 
 
 "No, there's nothing changed. How good it 
 is! D'you remembei when I fastened your hair 
 into the snap of a hand-bag ?" 
 
 Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and 
 turned her full face to Dick. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said he. "That mouth is 
 down in the corners a little. Who's been worry- 
 ing you, Maisie?" 
 
 "No one but myself. I never seem to get on
 
 The Light that Failed 83 
 
 with my work, and yet 1 try hard enough, and 
 Kami says " 
 
 "' Continue^, mesdemoiselles. Continue^ tou- 
 jour s, mes en/ants.' Kami is depressing. I beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 " Yes, that's what he says. He told me last 
 summer that I was doing better and he'd let me 
 exhibit this year." 
 
 "Not in this place, surely ?" 
 
 " Of course not. The Salon." 
 
 "You fly high." 
 
 " I've been beating my wings long enough. 
 Where do you exhibit, Dick?" 
 
 "I don't exhibit. I sell." 
 
 " What is your line, then ? " 
 
 "Haven't you heard?" Dick's eyes opened. 
 Was this thing possible ? He cast about for some 
 means of conviction. They were not far from 
 the Marble Arch. "Come up Oxford Street a 
 little and I'll show you." 
 
 A small knot of people stood round a print- 
 shop that Dick knew well. "Some reproduction 
 of my work inside," he said, with suppressed 
 triumph. Never before had success tasted so 
 sweet upon the tongue. "You see the sort of 
 things 1 paint. D'you like it?" 
 
 Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a 
 field-battery going into action under fire. Two 
 artillerymen stood behind her in the crowd.
 
 &j The Light that Failed 
 
 "They've chucked the off lead-'orse," said one 
 to the other. "'E's tore up awful, but they're 
 makin' good time with the others. That lead- 
 driver drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cun- 
 nin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse." 
 
 "Number Three'U be off the limber, next jolt," 
 was the answer. 
 
 "No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced 
 against the iron ? 'E's all right." 
 
 Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with 
 joy fine, rank, vulgar triumph. She was more 
 interested in the little crowd than in the picture. 
 That was something that she could understand. 
 
 "And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so! " 
 she said at last, under her breath. 
 
 " Me, all me! " said Dick, placidly. " Look at 
 their faces. It hits 'em. They don't know what 
 makes their eyes and mouths open ; but I know. 
 And I know my work's right." 
 
 "Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come 
 to one!" 
 
 "Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and 
 look for it. What do you think ? " 
 
 " I call it success. Tell me how you got it." 
 
 They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered 
 himself of the saga of his own doings, with all 
 the arrogance of a young man speaking to a 
 woman. From the beginning he told the tale, 
 the I I l's flashing through the records as tele-
 
 The Light that Failed 85 
 
 graph-poles fly past the traveler. Maisie lis- 
 tened and nodded her head. The histories of 
 strife and privation did not move her a hair's- 
 breadth. At the end of each canto he would 
 conclude, " And that gave me some notion of 
 handling color," or light, or whatever it might be 
 that he had set out to pursue and understand. 
 He led her breathless across half the world, speak- 
 ing as he had never spoken in his life before. 
 And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came 
 upon him a great desire to pick up this maiden 
 who nodded her head and said, "1 understand. 
 Go on," to pick her up and carry her away 
 with him, because she was Maisie, and because 
 she understood, and because she was his right, 
 and a woman to be desired above all women. 
 
 Then he checked himself abruptly. " And so 
 1 took all I wanted," he said, "and had to fight 
 for it. Now you tell." 
 
 Maisie's tale was almost as grey as her dress. 
 It covered years of patient toil backed by savage 
 pride that would not be broken though dealers 
 laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was 
 unkind and even sarcastic, and girls in other 
 studios were painfully polite. It had a few 
 bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial 
 exhibitions, but it wound up with the oft-re- 
 peated wail, " And so you see, Dick. I had no 
 success, though I worked so hard."
 
 86 The Light that Failed 
 
 Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie 
 spoken when she could not hit the breakwater, 
 half an hour before she had kissed him. And 
 that had happened yesterday. 
 
 "Never mind," he said. "I'll tell you some- 
 thing, if you'll believe it." The words were 
 shaping themselves of their own accord. "The 
 whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth 
 one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort Keeling." 
 
 Maisie flushed a little. "It's all very well for 
 you to talk, but you've had the success and I 
 haven't." 
 
 " Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. 
 Maisie, dear, it sounds a bit absurd, but those ten 
 years never existed, and I've come back again. 
 It really is just the same. Can't you see ? You're 
 alone now and I'm alone. What's the use of 
 worrying ? Come to me instead, darling." 
 
 Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. 
 They were sitting on a bench. "I understand," 
 she said, slowly. " But I've got my work to do, 
 and I must do it." 
 
 "Do it with me, then, dear. I won't inter- 
 rupt." 
 
 " No, I couldn't. It's my work, mine, mine, 
 mine! I've been alone all my life in myself, 
 and I'm not going to belong to anybody except 
 myself. I remember things as well as you do, 
 but that doesn't count. We were babies then,
 
 The Light that Failed 87 
 
 and we didn't know what was before us. Dick, 
 don't be selfish. I think I see my way to a little 
 success next year. Don't take it away from me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for 
 speaking stupidly. I can't expect you to throw 
 up all your life just because I'm back. I'll go to 
 my own place and wait a little." 
 
 "But, Dick, I don't want you to go out of 
 my life, now you've just come back." 
 
 "I'm at your orders; forgive me." Dick de- 
 voured the troubled little face with his eyes. 
 There was triumph in them, because he could 
 not conceive that Maisie should refuse sooner or 
 later to love him, since he loved her. 
 
 "It's wrong of me," said Maisie, more slowly 
 than before; "It's wrong and selfish; but, oh, 
 I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. 
 Now I've seen you again, it's absurd, but I 
 want to keep you in my life." 
 
 ' ' Naturally. We belong. " 
 
 "We don't; but you always understood me, 
 and there is so much in my work that you could 
 help me in. You know things and the ways of 
 doing things. You must." 
 
 "I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. 
 Then I suppose you won't care to lose sight of 
 me altogether, and you want me to help you in 
 your work?" 
 
 "Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever
 
 88 The Light that Failed 
 
 come of it. That's why I feel so selfish. Let 
 things stay as they are. I do want your help." 
 
 "You shall have it. But let's consider. I 
 must see your pics first, and overhaul your 
 sketches, and find out about your tendencies. 
 You should see what the papers say about my 
 tendencies! Then I'll give you good advice, and 
 you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?" 
 
 Again there was unholy triumph in Dick's eye. 
 
 "It's too good of you, much too good. Be- 
 cause you are consoling yourself with what will 
 never happen, and I know that, and yet I wish to 
 keep you. Don't blame me later, please." 
 
 "I'm going into the matter with my eyes 
 open. Moreover, the queen can do no wrong. 
 It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's 
 your audacity in proposing to make use of me." 
 
 " Pooh ! You're only Dick, and a print-shop." 
 
 "Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, 
 you believe, don't you, that I love you ? I don't 
 want you to have any false notions about broth- 
 ers and sisters." 
 
 Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped 
 her eyes. 
 
 "It's absurd, but I believe. I wish I could 
 send you away before you get angry with me. 
 But but the girl that lives with me is red- 
 haired, and an impressionist, and all our notions 
 clash."
 
 The Light that Failed 89 
 
 "So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three 
 montns from to-day we shall be laughing at this 
 together." 
 
 Maisie shook her head mournfully. " I knew 
 you wouldn't understand, and it will only hurt 
 you more when you find out. Look at my face, 
 Dick, and tell me what you see." 
 
 They stood up and faced each other for a mo- 
 ment. The fog was gathering, and it stifled the 
 roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. 
 Dick brought all his painfully-acquired knowl- 
 edge of faces to bear on the eyes, mouth, and 
 chin underneath the black velvet toque. 
 
 "It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me," 
 he said. "We've both nice little wills of our 
 own, and one or other of us has to be broken. 
 Now about the future. I must come and see 
 your pictures some day, I suppose when the 
 red-haired girl is on the premises." 
 
 " Sundays are my best times. You must come 
 on Sundays. There are such heaps of things I 
 want to talk about and ask your advice about. 
 Now I must get back to work." 
 
 "Try to find out before next Sunday what I 
 am," said Dick. "Don't take my word for any 
 thing I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and 
 bless you." 
 
 Maisie stole away like a little grey mouse. 
 Dick watched her till she was out of sight, but
 
 90 The Light that Failed 
 
 he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, 
 "I'm a wretch, a horrid, selfish wretcft. But 
 it's Dick, and Dick will understand." 
 
 No one has yet explained what actually hap- 
 pens when an irresistible force meets the im- 
 movable post, though many have thought 
 deeply, even as Dick thought. He tried to as- 
 sure himself that Maisie would be led in a few 
 weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a 
 better way of thinking. Then he remembered 
 much too distinctly her face and all that was 
 written on it. 
 
 "If I know anything of heads," he said, 
 "there's everything in that face but love. I shall 
 have to put that in myself; and that chin and 
 mouth won't be won for nothing. But she's 
 right. She knows what she wants, and she's 
 going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all 
 the people in the wide world, to use me! But 
 then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that 
 fact; and it's good to see her again. This busi- 
 ness must have been simmering at the back of 
 my head for years. . . . She'll use me as I 
 used Binat at Port Said. She's quite right. It 
 will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every 
 Sunday, like a young man courting a house- 
 maid. She's sure to come round; and yet that 
 mouth isn't a yielding mouth. I shall be want- 
 ing to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to
 
 The Light that Failed 91 
 
 look at her pictures, I don't even know what 
 sort of work she does yet, and I shall have to 
 talk about Art, Woman's Art! Therefore, par- 
 ticularly and perpetually, damn all varieties of 
 Art. It did me a good turn once, and now it's in 
 my way. I'll go home and do some Art." 
 
 Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with 
 a terrible thought. The figure of a solitary woman 
 in the fog suggested it. 
 
 "She's all alone in London, with a red-haired 
 impressionist girl, who probably has the digestion 
 of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. 
 Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like 
 lone women, meals at all hours, and tea with 
 all meals. I remember how the students in Paris 
 used to pig along. She may fall ill at any min- 
 ute, and I shan't be able to help. Whewl this is 
 ten times worse than owning a wife." 
 
 Torpenhow came into the studio at dusk, and 
 looked at Dick with his eyes full of the austere 
 love that springs up between men who have 
 tugged at the same oar together and are yoked 
 by custom and use and the intimacies of toil. 
 This is a good love, and, since it allows, and 
 even encourages, strife, recrimination, and the 
 most brutal sincerity, does not die, but increases, 
 and is proof against any absence and evil con- 
 duct. 
 
 Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow
 
 92 The Light that Failed 
 
 the filled pipe of council. He thought of Maisie 
 and her possible needs. It was a new thing to 
 think of anybody but Torpenhow, who could 
 think for himself. Here at last was an outlet for 
 that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie bar- 
 barically with jewelry, a thick gold necklace 
 round that little neck, bracelets upon the rounded 
 arms, and rings of price upon her hands, the 
 cool, temperate, ringless hands that he had taken 
 between his own. It was an absurd thought, 
 for Maisie would not even allow him to put one 
 ring on one finger, and she would laugh at 
 golden trappings. It would be better to sit with 
 her quietly in the dusk, his arm round her neck 
 and her face on his shoulder, as befitted husband 
 and wife. Torpenhow's boots creaked that night, 
 and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows con- 
 tracted and he murmured an evil word because 
 he had taken all his success as a right and part 
 payment for past discomfort, and now he was 
 checked in his stride by a woman who ad- 
 mitted all the success and did not instantly care 
 for him. 
 
 " I say, old man," said Torpenhow, who had 
 made one or two vain attempts at conversation, 
 "I haven't put your back up by anything I've 
 said lately, have I ? " 
 
 "You! No. How could you?" 
 
 " Liver out of order ? "
 
 The Light that Failed 93 
 
 "The truly healthy man doesn't know he has 
 a liver. I'm only a bit worried about things in 
 general. 1 suppose it's my soul." 
 
 "The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a 
 soul. What business have you with luxuries of 
 that kind?" 
 
 " It came of itself. Who's the man that says 
 that we're all islands shouting lies to each other 
 across seas of misunderstanding?" 
 
 " He's right, whoever he is, except about the 
 misunderstanding. I don't think we could mis- 
 understand each other." 
 
 The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in 
 clouds. Then Torpenhow, insinuatingly 
 
 "Dick, is it a woman ? " 
 
 " Be hanged if it's anything remotely resemb- 
 ling a woman; and if you begin to talk like that, 
 I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint trim- 
 mings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hun- 
 garias to play among three-and-sixpenny pot- 
 palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye 
 plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who 
 yelps and maunders and moans over what her 
 guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 
 'em, Torp, in a snuff-brown velvet coat with 
 yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll like 
 that." 
 
 "Too thin, Dick. A better man than you 
 denied with cursing and swearing on a memorable
 
 94 The Light that Failed 
 
 occasion. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's 
 no business of mine, of course, but it's comfort- 
 ing to think that somewhere under the stars 
 there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. 
 Whether it'll come from heaven or earth, I don't 
 know, but it's bound to come and break you up 
 a little. You want hammering." 
 
 Dick shivered. "All right," said he. "When 
 this island is disintegrated it will call for you." 
 
 " I shall come round the corner and help to dis- 
 integrate it some more. We're talking nonsense. 
 Come along to a theatre." 
 
 y
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 " And you may lead a thousand men, 
 Nor ever draw the rein, 
 But ere ye lead the Faery Queen 
 'Twill burst your heart in twain." 
 
 He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, 
 
 The bridle from his hand, 
 And he is bound by hand and foot 
 
 To the Queen o' Faery-land. 
 
 Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. 
 
 Some weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, 
 Dick was returning across the Park to his studio. 
 "This," he said, "is evidently the thrashing that 
 Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but 
 the queen can do no wrong; and she certainly 
 has some notion of drawing." 
 
 He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie, 
 always under the green eyes of the red-haired 
 impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate at 
 sight, and was tingling with a keen sense of 
 shame. Sunday after Sunday, putting on his best 
 clothes, he had walked over to the untidy house 
 north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, 
 and then to criticise and advise upon them as he 
 realized that they were productions on which ad- 
 vice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, 
 95
 
 96 The Light that Failed 
 
 and his love grew with each visit, he had been 
 compelled to cram his heart back from between 
 his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie 
 several times and very much indeed. Sunday 
 after Sunday, the head above the heart had 
 warned him that Maisie was not yet attainable, 
 and that it would be better to talk as connectedly 
 as possible upon the mysteries of the craft that 
 was all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to 
 endure weekly torture in the studio built out over 
 the clammy back garden of a frail stuffy little 
 villa where nothing was ever in its right place 
 and nobody ever called, to endure and to watch 
 Maisie moving to and fro with the teacups. He 
 abhorred tea, but, since it gave him a little longer 
 time in her presence, he drank it devoutly, and 
 the red-haired girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed 
 him without speaking. She was always watch- 
 ing him. Once, and only once, when she had 
 left the studio, Maisie showed him an album that 
 held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers, 
 the briefest of hurried notes on some of her 
 pictures sent to outlying exhibitions. Dick 
 stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on 
 the open page. "Oh, my love, my love," he 
 muttered, "do you value these things? Chuck 
 'em into the waste-paper basket!" 
 
 "Not till I get something better," said Maisie. 
 shutting the book.
 
 The Light that Failed 97 
 
 Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public 
 and a very deep regard for the maiden, did de- 
 liberately propose, in order to secure more of 
 these coveted cuttings, that he should paint a 
 picture which Maisie should sign. 
 
 "That's childish," said Maisie, "and I didn't 
 think it of you. It must be my work. Mine, 
 mine, mine!" 
 
 "Go and design decorative medallions for rich 
 brewers' houses. You are thoroughly good at 
 that." Dick was sick and savage. 
 
 " Better things than medallions, Dick," was the 
 answer, in tones that recalled a grey-eyed atom's 
 fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would 
 have abased himself utterly, but that the other 
 girl trailed in. 
 
 Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts 
 of pencils that could almost draw of themselves 
 and colors in whose permanence he believed, and 
 he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in 
 hand. It demanded, among other things, -an ex- 
 position of the faith that was in him. Torpen- 
 how's hair would have stood on end had he heard 
 the fluency with which Dick preached his own 
 gospel of Art. 
 
 A month before, Dick would have been equally 
 astonished; but it was Maisie's will and pleasure, 
 and he dragged his words together to make plain 
 to her comprehension all that had been hidden to
 
 98 The Light that Failed 
 
 himself of the whys and wherefores of work. 
 There is not the least difficulty in doing a thing 
 if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to 
 explain your method. 
 
 "I could put this right if I had a brush in my 
 hand," said Dick, despairingly, over the modeling 
 of a chin that Maisie complained would not "look 
 flesh," it was the same chin that she had scraped 
 out with the palette-knife, " but I find it almost 
 impossible to teach you. There's a queer grim 
 Dutch touch about your painting that 1 like; but 
 I've a notion that you're weak in drawing. You 
 foreshorten as though you never used the model, 
 and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing 
 with flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you 
 don't know it yourself, you shirk hard work. 
 Suppose you spend some of your time on line 
 alone. Line doesn't allow of shirking. Oils do, 
 and three square inches of flashy, tricky stuff 
 in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing 
 off, as I know. That's immoral. Do line- 
 work for a little while, and then I can tell more 
 about your powers, as old Kami used to say." 
 
 Maisie protested : she did not care for the pure 
 line. 
 
 " I know," said Dick. "You want to do your 
 fancy heads with a bunch of flowers at the base 
 of the neck to hide bad modeling." The red- 
 haired girl laughed a little. " You want to do
 
 The Light that Failed 99 
 
 landscapes with cattle knee-deep in grass to hide 
 bad drawing. You want to do a great deal 
 more than you can do. You have sense of color, 
 but you want form. Color's a gift, put it aside 
 and think no more about it, but form you can 
 be drilled into. Now, all your fancy heads and 
 some of them are very good will keep you ex- 
 actly where you are. With line you must go 
 forward or backward, and it will show up all 
 your weaknesses." 
 
 " But other people " began Maisie. 
 
 "You musn't mind what other people do. If 
 their souls were your soul, it would be different. 
 You stand and fall by your own work, remem- 
 ber, and it's waste of time to think of any one 
 else in this battle." 
 
 Dick paused, and the longing that had been so 
 resolutely put away came back into his eyes. He 
 looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly as 
 words, Was it not time to leave all this barren 
 wilderness of canvas and counsel and join hands 
 with Life and Love ? 
 
 Maisie assented to the new programme of 
 schooling so adorably that Dick could hardly re- 
 strain himself from picking her up then and there 
 and carrying her off to the nearest registrar's of- 
 fice. It was the implicit obedience to the spoken 
 word and the blank indifference to the unspoken 
 desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held
 
 loo The Light that Failed 
 
 authority in that house, authority limited, in- 
 deed, to one-half of one afternoon in seven, but 
 very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to 
 appeal to him on many subjects, from the proper 
 packing of pictures to the condition of a smoky 
 chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted 
 him about anything. On the other hand, she 
 accepted his appearances without protest, and 
 watched him always. He discovered that the 
 meals of the establishment were irregular and 
 fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, 
 pickles, and biscuit, as he had suspected from 
 the beginning. The girls were supposed to 
 market week and week about, but they lived, 
 with the help of a charwoman, as casually as the 
 young ravens. Maisie spent most of her income 
 on models, and the other girl reveled in appara- 
 tus as refined as her work was rough. Armed 
 with knowledge dear-bought from the Docks, 
 Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starva- 
 tion meant the crippling of power to work, 
 which was considerably worse than death. 
 Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought 
 to what she ate and drank. When his trouble 
 returned upon him, as it generally did in the long 
 winter twilights, the remembrance of that little 
 act of domestic authority and his coercion with a 
 hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room chim 
 ney stung Dick like a whip-lash.
 
 The Light that Failed 101 
 
 He conceived that this memory would be the 
 extreme of his sufferings, till one Sunday, the 
 red-haired girl announced that she would make 
 a study of Dick's head, and that he would be 
 good enough to sit still, and quite as an after- 
 thought look at Maisie. He sat, because he 
 could not well refuse, and for the space of half 
 an hour he reflected on all the people in the past 
 whom he had laid open for the purposes of his 
 own craft. He remembered Binat most dis- 
 tinctly, that Binat who had once been an artist 
 and talked about degradation. 
 
 It was the merest monochrome roughing in of 
 a head, but it presented the dumb waiting, the 
 longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslave- 
 ment of the man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. 
 
 "I'll buy it," said Dick, promptly, "at your 
 own price." 
 
 " My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be 
 as grateful if" The wet sketch fluttered from 
 the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of the 
 studio stove. When she picked it up it was 
 hopelessly smudged. 
 
 "Oh, it's all spoiled!" said Maisie. "And I 
 never saw it. Was it like ?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Dick, under his breath to the 
 red-haired girl, and he removed himself swiftly. 
 
 "How that man hates me!" said the girl. 
 " And how he loves you, Maisie! "
 
 102 The Light that Failed 
 
 "What nonsense! I know Dick's very fond 
 of me, but he has his work to do, and I have 
 mine." 
 
 "Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows 
 there is something in impressionism, after all. 
 Maisie, can't you see?" 
 
 "See? See what?" 
 
 "Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any 
 man to look at me as that man looks at you, I'd 
 I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. 
 Oh, how he hates me! " 
 
 She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred 
 was tempered with gratitude for a few moments, 
 and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only the 
 sense of shame remained, and he was nursing it 
 across the Park in the fog. "There'll be an ex- 
 plosion one of these days," he said, wrathfully. 
 "But it isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite 
 right, as far as she knows, and I can't blame her. 
 This business has been going on for three months 
 nearly. Three months! and it cost me ten 
 years' knocking about to get at the notion, the 
 merest raw notion, of my work. That's true; 
 but then I didn't have pins, drawing-pins and 
 palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday. Oh, 
 my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody 
 will have a very bad time of it. No, she won't. 
 I'd be as big a fool about her as I am now. I'll 
 poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,
 
 The Light that Failed 103 
 
 she's unwholesome, and now I'll pass on 
 these present bad times to Torp." 
 
 Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick 
 more than once lately on the sin of levity, and 
 Dick had listened and replied not a word. In the 
 weeks between the first few Sundays of his dis- 
 cipline he had flung himself savagely into his 
 work, resolved that Maisie should at least know 
 the full stretch of his powers. Then he had 
 taught Maisie that she must not pay the least at- 
 tention to any work outside her own, and Maisie 
 had obeyed him all too well. She took his coun- 
 sels, but was not interested in his pictures. 
 
 " Your things smell of tobacco and blood," she 
 said once. " Can't you do anything except sol- 
 diers?" 
 
 " I could do a head of you that would startle 
 you," thought Dick, this was before the red- 
 haired girl had brought him under the guillotine, 
 but he only said, "I am very sorry," and har- 
 rowed Torpenhow's soul that evening with 
 blasphemies against Art. Later, insensibly and 
 to a large extent against his own will, he ceased 
 to interest himself in his own work. For Maisie's 
 sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed 
 to him he lost each Sunday he would not con- 
 sciously turn out bad stuff, but, since Maisie did 
 not care even for his best, it were better not to 
 do anything at all save wait and mark time be-
 
 104 Th e Light that Failed 
 
 tween Sunday and Sunday. Torpenhow was 
 disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and 
 then attacked him one Sunday evening when 
 Dick felt utterly exhausted after three hours' bit- 
 ing self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There 
 was Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to 
 consult the Nilghai, who had come in to talk 
 continental politics. 
 
 "Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in 
 the temper?" said the Nilghai. "It isn't worth 
 worrying over. Dick is probably playing the 
 fool with a woman." 
 
 "Isn't that bad enough ?" 
 
 "No. She may throw him out of gear and 
 knock his work to pieces for a while. She may 
 even turn up here some day and make a scene on 
 the staircase: one never knows. But until Dick 
 speaks of his own accord you had better not touch 
 him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle." 
 
 "No; I wish he were. He is such an aggress- 
 ive, cocksure, you-be-damned feilow." 
 
 " He'll get that knocked out of him in time. 
 He must learn that he can't storm up and down 
 the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick 
 brush. You're fond of him ? " 
 
 " I'd take any punishment that's in store for 
 him if 1 could ; but the worst of it is, no man can 
 save his brother." 
 
 "No, and the worser of it is, there is no dis-
 
 The Li ght that Failed 105 
 
 charge in this war. Dick must learn his lesson 
 like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be 
 trouble in the Balkans in the spring." 
 
 "That trouble is long coming. I wonder if 
 we could drag Dick out there when it comes 
 off?" 
 
 Dick entered the room soon afterward, and the 
 question was put to him. "Not good enough," 
 he said, shortly. "I'm too comfy where 1 am." 
 
 "Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the 
 papers seriously?" said the Nilghai. "Your 
 vogue will be ended in less than six months, 
 the public will know your touch and go on to 
 something new, and where will you be then?" 
 
 " Here, in England." 
 
 " When you might be doing decent work among 
 us out there? Nonsense! I shall go, the Keneu 
 will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will 
 be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, 
 and we shall have as much as ever we can do, 
 with unlimited fighting and the chance for you 
 of seeing things that would make the reputation 
 of three Verestchagins." 
 
 " Urn! " said Dick, pulling at his pipe. 
 
 " You prefer to stay here and imagine that all 
 the world is gaping at your pictures ? Just think 
 how full an average man's life is of his own pur- 
 suits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of 
 him find time to look up between mouthfuls and
 
 106 The Light that Failed 
 
 grunt something about something they aren't the 
 least interested in, the net result is called fame, 
 reputation, or notoriety, according to the taste 
 and fancy of the speller my lord." 
 
 "I know that as well as you do. Give me 
 credit for a little gumption." 
 
 " Be hanged if I do! " 
 
 "Be hanged, then; you probably will be, for 
 a spy, by excited Turks. Heigh-ho! I'm weary, 
 dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me." 
 Dick dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep 
 in a minute. 
 
 "That's a bad sign," said the Nilghai, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat 
 where it was beginning to burn, and put a pillow 
 behind the head. "We can't help; we can't 
 help," he said. " It's a good ugly sort of old co- 
 coanut, and I'm fond of it. There's the scar of 
 the wipe he got when he was cut over in the 
 square." 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle 
 mad." 
 
 " I should. He's a most business-like madman." 
 
 Then Dick began to snore furiously. 
 
 "Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of 
 thing. Wake up, Dick, and go and sleep some- 
 where else, if you intend to make a noise about 
 it"
 
 The Light that Failed 107 
 
 "When a cat has been out on the tiles all 
 night," said the Nilghai in his beard, "I notice 
 that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural 
 history." 
 
 Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and 
 yawning. In the night-watches he was overtaken 
 with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he 
 wondered he had never conceived it before. It 
 was full of craft. He would seek Maisie on a 
 week-day, would suggest an excursion, and 
 would take her by train to Fort Keeling, over the 
 very ground that they two had trodden together 
 ten years ago. 
 
 "As a general rule," he explained to his chin- 
 lathered reflection in the morning, "it isn't safe 
 to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one 
 of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel 
 sad; but this is an exception to every rule that 
 ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once." 
 
 Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shop- 
 ping when he arrived, and Maisie in a paint-spat- 
 tered blouse was warring with her canvas. She 
 was not pleased to see him ; for week-day visits 
 were a stretch of the bond ; and it needed all his 
 courage to explain his errand. 
 
 "I know you've been working too hard," he 
 concluded, with an air of authority. " If you do 
 that, you'll break down. You had much better 
 come."
 
 lo6 The Light that Failed 
 
 " Where ? " said Maisie, wearily. She had been 
 standing before her easel too long, and was very 
 tired. 
 
 " Anywhere you please. We'll take a train to- 
 morrow and see where it stops. We'll have 
 lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the 
 evening." 
 
 " If there's a good working light to-morrow I 
 lose a day." Maisie balanced the heavy white 
 chestnut palette irresolutely. 
 
 Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his 
 lips. He had not yet learned patience with the 
 maiden to whom her work was all in all. 
 
 "You'll lose ever- so many more, dear, if you 
 use every hour of working light. Overwork's 
 only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. 
 I'll call for you to-morrow after breakfast early." 
 
 " But surely you are going to ask " 
 
 "No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. 
 Besides, she hates me as much as 1 hate her. She 
 won't care to come. To-morrow, then; and 
 pray that we get sunshine." 
 
 Dick went away delighted, and by consequence 
 did no work whatever. He strangled a wild de- 
 sire to order a special train, but bought a great 
 grey kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black 
 marten, and then retired into himself to consider 
 things. 
 
 " I'm going out for the day to-morrow with
 
 The Light that Failed 109 
 
 Dick," said Maisie to the red-haired girl when the 
 latter returned, tired, from marketing in the Edg- 
 ware Road. 
 
 11 He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor 
 thoroughly scrubbed while you're away. It's 
 very dirty." 
 
 Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for 
 months, and looked forward to the little excite- 
 ment, but not without misgivings. 
 
 "There's nobody nicer than Dick when he 
 talks sensibly," she thought, "but I'm sure he'll 
 be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell 
 him anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be 
 sensible I should like him so much better." 
 
 Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his 
 appearance next morning and saw Maisie, grey- 
 ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the 
 hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imi- 
 tations of grained wood, were surely the fittest 
 background for such a divinity. The red-haired 
 girl drew her into the studio for a moment and 
 kissed her hurriedly. Maisie's eyebrows climbed 
 to the top of her forehead; she was altogether 
 unused to these demonstrations. "Mind my 
 hat," she said, hurrying away, and ran down the 
 steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. 
 
 " Are you quite warm enough ? Are you sure 
 you wouldn't like some more breakfast? Put 
 this cloak over your knees."
 
 no The Light that Failed 
 
 "I'm quite comfy, thanks. Where are we 
 going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing like that. 
 People will think we're mad." 
 
 "Let 'em think, if the exertion doesn't kill 
 them. They don't know who we are, and I'm 
 sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, 
 you're looking lovely! " 
 
 Maisie stared directly in front of her and did 
 not reply. The wind of a keen clear winter 
 morning had put color into her cheeks. Over- 
 head, the creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were 
 thinning away one by one against a pale-blue 
 sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off 
 from water-spout committees and cab-rank cabals 
 to clamor of the coming of spring. 
 
 " It will be lovely weather in the country," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " But where are we going?" 
 
 " Wait and see." 
 
 They stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought 
 tickets. For less than half the fraction of an in- 
 stant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by 
 the waiting-room fire, that it was much more 
 pleasant to send a man to the booking-office 
 than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. 
 Dick put her into a Pullman, solely on account 
 of the warmth there; and she regarded the 
 extravagance with grave scandalized eyes as the 
 train moved out into the country.
 
 The Light that Failed III 
 
 ' "I wish I knew where we are going," she 
 repeated for the twentieth time. The name of a 
 well-remembered station flashed by, toward the 
 end of the run, and Maisie was enlightened. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, you villain!" 
 
 "Well, I thought you might like to see the 
 place again. You haven't been here since old 
 times, have you ?" 
 
 "No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; 
 and she was all that was ever there." 
 
 "Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the 
 windmill above the potato-fields; they haven't 
 built villas there yet; d'you remember when I 
 shut you up in it?" 
 
 " Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told 
 it was you." 
 
 "She guessed. I jammed a stick under the 
 door and told you that I was burying Amomma 
 alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You 
 had a trusting nature in those days." 
 
 They laughed and leaned to look out, identi- 
 fying ancient landmarks with many reminiscen- 
 ces. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of 
 Maisie's cheek, very near his own, and watched 
 the blood rise under the clear skin. He con- 
 gratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked 
 that the evening would bring him a great re- 
 ward. 
 
 When the train stopped they went out to
 
 112 The Light that Failed 
 
 look at an old town with new eyes. First, but 
 from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. 
 Jennett. 
 
 "Suppose she should come out now, what 
 would you do ? " said Dick, with mock terror. 
 
 " I should make a face." 
 
 "Show, then," said Dick, dropping into the 
 speech of childhood. 
 
 Maisie made that face in the direction of the 
 mean little villa, and Dick laughed aloud. 
 
 "'This is disgraceful,'" said Maisie, mimick- 
 ing Mrs. Jennett's tone. " ' Maisie, you run in at 
 once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle for 
 the next three Sundays. After all I've taught 
 you, too, and three helps every Sunday at din- 
 ner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. 
 If you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at 
 least'" 
 
 The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remem- 
 bered when it had last been used. 
 
 "'Try to behave like one,'" said Dick, 
 Dromptly. "Quite right. Now we'll get some 
 lunch and go on to Fort Keeling, unless you'd 
 rather drive there ? " 
 
 "We must walk, out of respect to the place. 
 How little changed it all is! " 
 
 They turned in the direction of the sea through 
 unaltered streets, and the influence of old things 
 lay upon them. Presently they passed a con-
 
 The Light that Failed 113 
 
 fectioner's shop much considered in the days 
 when their joint pocket-money amounted to a 
 shilling a week. 
 
 "Dick, have you any pennies?" said Maisie, 
 half to herself. 
 
 "Only three; and if you think you're going 
 to have two of 'em to buy peppermints with, 
 you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't 
 ladylike." 
 
 Again they laughed, and again the color came 
 into Maisie's cheeks as the blood boiled through 
 Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went 
 down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across 
 the waste, wind-bitten land that no builder had 
 thought it worth his while to defile. The winter 
 breeze came in from the sea and sang about their 
 ears. 
 
 " Maisie," said Dick, "your nose is getting a 
 crude Prussian blue at the tip. I'll race you as 
 far as you please for as much as you please." 
 
 She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh 
 set off, swiftly as the ulster allowed, till she was 
 out of breath. 
 
 "We used to run miles," she panted. "It's 
 absurd that we can't run now." 
 
 " Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek 
 in town. When I wished to pull your hair you 
 generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top 
 of your voice. I ought to know, because those
 
 114 The Light that Failed 
 
 shrieks were meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a 
 cane and " 
 
 " Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in 
 my life." 
 
 " No, of course you never did. Good heavens 1 
 look at the sea." 
 
 "Why, it's the same as ever! " said Maisie. 
 
 Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton 
 that Dick, properly dressed and shaved, had left 
 the house at half-past eight in the morning with 
 a traveling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled 
 in at midday for chess and polite conversation. 
 
 "It's worse than anything I imagined," said 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 "Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You 
 fuss over him like a hen with one chick. Let 
 him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You 
 can whip a young pup off feather, but you can't 
 whip a young man." 
 
 " It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's 
 a girl." 
 
 "Where's your proof?" 
 
 "He got up and went out at eight this morn- 
 ing, got up in the middle of the night, by Jove! 
 a thing he never does except when he's on 
 service. Even then, remember, we had to kick 
 him out of his blankets before the fight began at 
 El-Maghrib. It's disgusting."
 
 The Light that Failed 115 
 
 " It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy 
 a horse at last. He might get up for that, might- 
 n't he?" 
 
 11 Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told 
 us if there was a horse in the wind. It's a girl." 
 
 " Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married 
 woman." 
 
 "Dick has some sense of humor, if you 
 haven't. Who gets up in the grey dawn to call 
 on another man's wife ? It's a girl." 
 
 " Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him 
 that there's somebody else in the world besides 
 himself." 
 
 "She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, 
 and she'll marry him, and ruin his work forever. 
 He'll be a respectable married man before we can 
 stop him, and he'll never go on the long trail 
 again." 
 
 "All quite possible, but the earth won't spin 
 the other way when it happens. . . . Ho! 
 ho! I'd give something to see Dick 'go wooing 
 with the boys.' Don't worry about it. These 
 things be with Allah, and we can only look on. 
 Get the chessmen." 
 
 The red-haired girl was lying down in her own 
 room, staring at the ceiling. The footsteps of 
 people on the pavement sounded, as they grew 
 indistinct in the distance, like a many-time>-re-
 
 n6 The Light that Failed 
 
 peated kiss that was all one long kiss. Her 
 hands were by her side, and they opened and 
 shut savagely from time to time. 
 
 The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of 
 the studio knocked at her door: " Beg y' pardon, 
 miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, not 
 to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' 
 mottled, an' disinfectink. Now, jist before 1 took 
 my pail into the passage I thought it would be 
 pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' 
 ask you what sort of soap you was wishful that 
 I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, 
 miss " 
 
 There was nothing in the speech to have caused 
 the paroxysm of fury that drove the red-haired 
 girl into the middle of the room, almost shout- 
 ing 
 
 " Do you suppose / care what you use ? Any 
 kind will do! any kind! " 
 
 The woman fled, and the red-haired girl 
 looked at her own reflection in the glass for an 
 instant and covered her face with her hands. It 
 was as though she had shouted some shameless 
 secret aloud.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Roses red and roses white 
 Plucked I for my love's delight. 
 She would none of all my posies, 
 Bade me gather her blue roses. 
 
 Half the world I wandered through, 
 Seeking where such flowers grew; 
 Half the world unto my quest 
 Answered but with laugh and jest 
 
 It may be beyond the grave 
 She shall find what she would have. 
 Oh, 'twas but an idle quest, 
 Roses white and red are best ! 
 
 Blue Roses. 
 
 Indeed the sea had not changed. Its waters 
 were low on the mud-banks, and the Marazion 
 bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. 
 On the white beach-sand dried stumps of sea- 
 poppy shivered and chatted together. 
 
 "I don't see the old breakwater," said Maisie, 
 under her breath. 
 
 " Let's be thankful that we have as much as 
 we have. I don't believe they've mounted a 
 single new gun on the fort since we were here 
 Come and look." 
 
 117 _
 
 1 1 8 The Light that Failed 
 
 They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and 
 sat down in a nook sheltered from the wind 
 under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder 
 cannon. 
 
 "Now, if Amomma were only here!" said 
 Maisie. 
 
 For a long time both were silent. Then Dick 
 took Maisie's hand and called her by her name. 
 
 She shook her head and looked out to sea. 
 
 "Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any differ- 
 ence?" 
 
 " No! " between clenched teeth. '' I'd I'd tell 
 you if it did; but it doesn't. Oh, Dick, please be 
 sensible." 
 
 " Don't you think that it ever will ?" 
 
 "No, I'm sure it won't" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still 
 regarding the sea, spoke hurriedly 
 
 "I know what you want perfectly well, but 1 
 can't give it you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed 
 it isn't. If I felt that I could care for any one 
 But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't under- 
 stand what the feeling means." 
 
 "Is that true, dear?" 
 
 "You've been very good to me, Dickie; and 
 the only way I can pay you back is by speaking 
 the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself 
 quite enough as it is."
 
 The Li ght that Failed 1 19 
 
 "What in the world for?" 
 
 " Because because I take everything that you 
 give me and I give you nothing in return. It's 
 mean and selfish of me, and whenever 1 think of 
 it it worries me." 
 
 "Understand once for all, then, that I can 
 manage my own affairs, and if I choose to do 
 anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a 
 single thing to reproach yourself with, darling." 
 
 "Yes, I have, and talking only makes it 
 worse." 
 
 "Then don't talk about it." 
 
 "How can I help myself? If you find me 
 alone for a minute you are always talking about 
 it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't 
 know how I despise myself sometimes." 
 
 "Great goodness!" said Dick, nearly jumping 
 to his feet. "Speak the truth now, Maisie, if 
 you never speak it again! Do I does this 
 worrying bore you ? " 
 
 "No. It does not." 
 
 " You'd tell me if it did?" 
 
 "I should let you know, I think." 
 
 "Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But 
 you must learn to forgive a man when he's in 
 love. He's always a nuisance. You must have 
 known that ? " 
 
 Maisie did not consider the last question worth 
 answering, and Dick was forced to repeat it.
 
 120 The Light that Failed 
 
 "There were other men, of course. They al- 
 ways worried just when I was in the middle of 
 my work, and wanted me to listen to them." 
 
 '"Did you listen?" 
 
 " At first; and they couldn't understand why I 
 didn't care. And they used to praise my pic- 
 tures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be 
 proud of the praise, and tell Kami, and I shall 
 never forget once Kami laughed at me." 
 
 "You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do 
 you?" 
 
 "I hate it. I never laugh at other people 
 unless unless they do bad work. Dick, tell me 
 honestly what you think of my pictures gener- 
 ally, of everything of mine that you've seen." 
 
 "'Honest, honest, and honest over!'" quoted 
 Dick from a catchword of long ago. " Tell me 
 what Kami always says." 
 
 Maisie hesitated. " He he says that there is 
 feeling in them." 
 
 " How dare you tell me a fib like that ? Re- 
 member, I was under Kami for two years. I 
 know exactly what he says." 
 
 " It isn't a fib." 
 
 "It's worse; it's a half truth. Kami says, 
 vvhen he puts his head on one side, so, 7/ y 
 i du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris.' " 
 He rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to 
 io.
 
 The Light that Failed \2\ 
 
 " Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning 
 to think that he is right." 
 
 "Certainly he is." Dick admitted that two 
 people in the world could do and say no wrong. 
 Kami was the man. 
 
 "And now you say the same thing. It's so 
 disheartening." 
 
 " I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. 
 Besides, I love you too much to pretend about 
 your work. It's strong, it's patient sometimes, 
 not always, and sometimes there's power in 
 it, but there's no special reason why it should be 
 done at all. At least that's how it strikes me." 
 
 "There's no special reason why anything in 
 the world should ever be done. You know that 
 as well as I do. I only want success." 
 
 " You're going the wrong way to get it, then. 
 Hasn't Kami ever told you so ?" 
 
 "Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know 
 what you think. My work's bad, to begin with." 
 
 " I didn't say that, and I don't think it." 
 
 "It's amateurish, then." 
 
 "That it most certainly is not. You're a 
 workwoman, darling, to your boot-heels, and I 
 respect you for that." 
 
 " You don't laugh at me behind my back ?" 
 
 " No, dear. You see, you are more to me than 
 any one else. Put this cloak thing round you, or 
 you'll get chilled."
 
 132 The Light that Failed 
 
 Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, 
 turning the grey kangaroo fur to the outside. 
 
 "This is delicious," she said, rubbing her chin 
 thoughtfully along the fur. " Well ? Why am I 
 wrong in trying to get a little success ? " 
 
 "Just because you try. Don't you understand, 
 darling ? Good work has nothing to do with 
 doesn't belong to the person who does it. It's 
 put into him or her from outside." 
 
 11 But how does that affect " 
 
 "Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn 
 how to do our work, to be masters of our ma- 
 terials instead of servants, and never to be afraid 
 of anything." 
 
 "I understand that." 
 
 "Everything else comes from outside our- 
 selves. Very good. If we sit down quietly to 
 work out notions that are sent to us, we may or 
 we may not do something that isn't bad. A 
 great deal depends on being master of the bricks 
 and mortar of the trade. But the instant we be- 
 gin to think about success and the effect of our 
 work to play with one eye on the gallery we 
 lose power and touch and everything else. At 
 least that's how I have found it. Instead of be- 
 ing quiet and giving every power you possess 
 to your work, you're fretting over something 
 which you can neither help nor hinder by a 
 minute. See?"
 
 The Light that Failed 123 
 
 "It's so easy for you to talk in that way. 
 People like what you do. Don't you ever think 
 about the gallery ? " 
 
 "Much too often; but I'm always punished 
 for it by loss of power. It's as simple as the 
 Rule of Three. If we make light of our work 
 by using it for our own ends, our work will 
 make light of us, and, as we're the weaker, we 
 shall suffer." 
 
 "I don't treat my work lightly. You know 
 that it's everything to me." 
 
 "Of course; but, whether you realize it or not, 
 you give two strokes for yourself to one for your 
 work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do exactly 
 the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. 
 Most of the French schools, and all the schools 
 here, drive the students to work for their own 
 credit, and for the sake of their pride. I was 
 told that all the world was interested in my 
 work, and everybody at Kami's talked turpentine, 
 and I honestly believed that the world needed ele- 
 vating and influencing, and all manner of imperti- 
 nences, by my brushes. By Jove, I actually be- 
 lieved that! When my little head was bursting 
 with a notion that I couldn't handle because I 
 hadn't sufficient knowledge of my craft, I used 
 to run about wondering at my own magnificence 
 and getting ready to astonish the world." 
 
 " But surely one can do that sometimes ?**
 
 124 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Very seldom with malice aforethought, dar- 
 ling. And when it's done it's such a tiny thing, 
 and the world's so big, and all but a millionth 
 part of it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me 
 and I'll show you something of the size of the 
 world. One can no more avoid working than 
 eating, that goes on by itself, but try to see 
 what you are working for. I know such little 
 heavens that I could take you to, islands tucked 
 away under the Line. You sight them after 
 weeks of crashing through water as black as 
 black marble because it's so deep, and you sit in 
 the fore-chains day after day and see the sun 
 rise almost afraid because the sea's so lonely." 
 
 " Who is afraid ? you, or the sun ?" 
 
 "The sun, of course. And there are noises 
 under the sea, and sounds overhead in a clear 
 sky. Then you find your island alive with hot, 
 moist orchids that make mouths at you and can 
 do everything except talk. There's a waterfall in it 
 three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of green 
 jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees 
 live up in the rocks ; and you can hear the fat 
 cocoanuts falling from the palms; and you order 
 an ivory-white servant to sling you a long, yel- 
 low hammock with tassels on it like ripe maize, 
 and you put up your feet and hear the bees hum 
 and the water fall till you go to sleep." 
 
 " Can one work there ? "
 
 The Light that Failed 125 
 
 " Certainly. One must do something always. 
 You hang your canvas up in a palm-tree and let 
 the parrots criticise. When they scuffle you 
 heave a ripe custard-apple at them, and it bursts 
 in a lather of cream. There are hundreds of 
 places. Come and see them." 
 
 " I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. 
 Tell me another." 
 
 "What do you think of a big, red, dead city 
 built of red sandstone, with raw green aloes 
 growing between the stones, lying out neglected 
 on honey-colored sands ? There are forty dead 
 kings there, Maisie, each in a gorgeous tomb 
 finer than all the others. You look at the palaces 
 and streets and shops and tanks, and think that 
 men must live there, till you find a wee grey 
 squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market- 
 place, and a jeweled peacock struts out of a 
 carved doorway and spreads its tail against a 
 marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. Then 
 a monkey a little black monkey walks through 
 the main square to get a drink from a tank forty 
 feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the 
 water's edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, 
 in case he should fall in." 
 
 "Is all that true?" 
 
 "I have been there and seen. Then evening 
 comes, and the lights change till it's just as 
 though you stood in the heart of a king-opaL
 
 ia6 The Light that Failed 
 
 A little before sundown, as punctually as clock- 
 work, a big bristly wild boar, with all his family 
 following, trots through the city gate, churning 
 the foam on his tusks. You climb on the shoul- 
 der of a blind black stone god and watch that 
 pig choose himself a palace for the night and 
 stump in wagging his tail. Then the night-wind 
 gets up, and the sands move, and you hear the 
 desert outside the city singing, ' Now I lay me 
 down to sleep,' and everything is dark till the 
 moon rises. Maisie darling, come with me and 
 see what the world is really like. It's very 
 lovely, and it's very horrible, but I won't let 
 you see anything horrid, and it doesn't care 
 your life or mine for pictures or anything else 
 except doing its own work and making love. 
 Come, and I'll show you how to brew sangaree, 
 and sling a hammock, and oh, thousands of 
 things, and you'll see for yourself what color 
 means, and we'll find out together what love 
 means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed to 
 do some good work. Come away! " 
 
 "Why?" said Maisie. 
 
 " How can you do anything until you have 
 seen everything, or as much as you can ? And 
 besides, darling, I love you. Come along with 
 me. You have no business here; you don't be- 
 long to this place; you're half a gypsy, your 
 face tells that; and I even the smell of open
 
 The Light that Failed 127 
 
 water makes me restless. Come across the sea 
 and be happy! " 
 
 He had risen to his feet, and stood in the 
 shadow of the gun, looking down at the giri. 
 The very short winter afternoon had worn away, 
 and, before they knew, the winter moon was 
 walking the untroubled sea. Long ruled lines of 
 silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide 
 was turning over the mud-banks. The wind 
 had dropped, and in the intense stillness they 
 could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass 
 many yards away. A faint beating like that of a 
 muffled drum, came out of the moon-haze. 
 
 "What's that?" said Maisie, quickly. "It 
 sounds like a heart beating. Where is it ? " 
 
 Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to 
 his pleadings that he could not trust himself to 
 speak, and in this silence caught the sound. 
 Maisie fro'm her seat under the gun watched him 
 with a certain amount of fear. She wished so 
 much that he would be sensible and cease to 
 worry her with over-sea emotion that she both 
 could and could not understand. She was not 
 prepared, however, for the change in his face as 
 he listened. 
 
 "It's a steamer," he said, "a twin-screw 
 steamer, by the beat. I can't make her out, but 
 she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah! " 
 ts the red of a rocket streaked the haze, "she's
 
 128 The Light that Failed 
 
 standing in to signal before she clears the Chan- 
 nel." 
 
 "Is it a wreck?" said Maisie, to whom these 
 words were as Greek. 
 
 Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. " Wreck! 
 What nonsense! She's only reporting herself. 
 Red rocket forward there's a green light aft 
 now, and two red rockets from the bridge." 
 
 ** What does that mean ?" 
 
 " It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running 
 to Australia. I wonder which steamer it is." 
 The note of his voice had changed; he seemed 
 to be talking to himself, and Maisie did not ap- 
 prove of it. The moonlight broke the haze for a 
 moment, touching the black sides of a long 
 steamer working down Channel. "Four masts 
 and three funnels she's in deep draught, too. 
 That must be the Bart along, or the Bhutia. No, 
 the Bhutia has a clipper bow. It's the Barra- 
 long, to Australia. She'll lift the Southern Cross 
 in a week, lucky old tub! oh, lucky old tub! " 
 
 He stared intently, and moved up the slope of 
 the fort to get a better view, but the mist on the 
 sea thickened again, and the beating of the screws 
 grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little an- 
 grily, and he returned, still keeping his eyes to 
 seaward. "Have you ever seen the Southern 
 Cross blazing right over your head ? " he asked. 
 "It's superb 1"
 
 The Light that Failed 129 
 
 " No," she said, shortly, " and I don't want to. 
 If you think it's so lovely, why don't you go and 
 see it yourself?" 
 
 She raised her face from the soft blackness of 
 the marten skins about her throat, and her eyes 
 shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the 
 grey kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of 
 the coldest. 
 
 " By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen 
 idol tucked up there." The eyes showed that 
 they did not appreciate the compliment. "I'm 
 sorry," he continued. "The Southern Cross 
 isn't worth looking at unless some one helps you 
 to see. That steamer's out of hearing." 
 
 "Dick," she said, quietly, "suppose I were 
 to come to you now, be quiet a minute, just 
 as I am, and caring for you just as much as I 
 do." 
 
 "Not as a brother, though? You said you 
 didn't in the Park." 
 
 " I never had a brother. Suppose I said, ' Take 
 me to those places, and in time, perhaps, I might 
 really care for you,' what would you do ?" 
 
 ".Send you straight back to where you came 
 from, in a cab. No, I wouldn't; I'd let you 
 walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And 1 
 wouldn't run the risk. You're worth waiting for 
 till you can come without reservation." 
 
 "Do you honestly believe that?"
 
 130 The Light thai Failed 
 
 " 1 have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it 
 never struck you in that light ? " 
 
 "Ye es. I feel so wicked about it." 
 
 "Wickeder than usual ?" 
 
 " You don't know all I think. It's almost too 
 awful to tell." 
 
 " Never mind. You promised to tell me the 
 truth at least." 
 
 " It's so ungrateful of me, but but, though I 
 know you care for me, and I like to have you 
 with me, I'd I'd even sacrifice you, if that would 
 bring me what I want." 
 
 " My poor little darling! I know that state of 
 mind. It doesn't lead to good work." 
 
 "You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise 
 myself." 
 
 "I'm not exactly flattered, I had guessed as 
 much before, but I'm not angry. I'm sorry for 
 you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness 
 like that behind you, years ago." 
 
 "You've no right to patronize me! I only 
 want what I have worked for so long. It came 
 to you without any trouble, and and I don't 
 think it's fair." 
 
 " What can I do ? I'd give ten years of my life 
 to get you what you want. But I can't help you; 
 even I can't help." 
 
 A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went 
 on
 
 The Light that Failed \}\ 
 
 " And I know by what you have just said that 
 you're on the wrong road to success. It isn't got 
 at by sacrificing other people, I've had that 
 much knocked into me; you must sacrifice your- 
 self, and live under orders, and never think for 
 yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your 
 work except just at the beginning, when you're 
 reaching out after a notion." 
 
 " How can you believe all that ?" 
 
 "There's no question of belief or disbelief. 
 That's the law, and you take it or refuse it as you 
 please. I try to obey, but I can't, and then my 
 work turns bad on my hands. Under any cir- 
 cumstances, remember, four-fifths of everybody's 
 work must be bad. But the remnant is worth 
 the trouble for its own sake." 
 
 "Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad 
 work ? " 
 
 "It's much too nice. But May I tell you 
 something ? It isn't a pretty tale, but you're so 
 like a man that I forget when I'm talking to 
 you." 
 
 "Tell me." 
 
 " Once when I was out in the Soudan I went 
 over some ground that we had been fighting on 
 for three days. There were twelve hundred 
 dead; and we hadn't time to bury them." 
 
 "How ghastly!" 
 
 "I had been at work on a big double-sheet
 
 1^2 The Light that Failed 
 
 sketch, and I was wondering what people would 
 think of it at home. The sight of that field taught 
 me a good deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible 
 toadstools in all colors, and I'd never seen men 
 in bulk go back to their beginnings before. So I 
 began to understand that men and women were 
 only material to work with, and that what they 
 said or did was of no consequence. See? 
 Strictly speaking, you might just as well put 
 your ear down to the palette to catch what your 
 colors are saying." 
 
 "Dick, that's disgraceful-!" 
 
 "Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. 
 Unfortunately, everybody must be either a man 
 or a woman." 
 
 "I'm glad you allow that much." 
 
 " In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. 
 But ordinary people, Maisie, must behave and 
 work as such. That's what makes me so 
 savage." He hurled a pebble toward the sea as 
 he spoke. " I know that it is outside my busi- 
 ness to care what people say ; I can see that it 
 spoils my output if I listen to 'em; and yet, con- 
 found it all," another pebble flew seaward, " I 
 can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right 
 way. ven when I can see on a man's forehead 
 'Jiat he is lying his way through a clump of pretty 
 speeches, those lies make me happy and play the 
 mischief with my hand."
 
 The Light that Failed 133 
 
 " And when he doesn't say pretty things ?" 
 
 "Then, belovedest," Dick grinned, "I forget 
 that I am the steward of these gifts, and I want 
 to make that man love and appreciate my work 
 with a thick stick. It's too humiliating alto- 
 gether; but I suppose even if one were an angel 
 and painted humans altogether from outside, one 
 would lose in touch what one gained in grip." 
 
 Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an 
 angel. 
 
 "But you seem to think," she said, "that 
 everything nice spoils your hand." 
 
 " I don't think. It's the law, just the same as 
 it was at Mrs. Jennett's. Everything that is nice 
 does spoil your hand. I'm glad you see so 
 clearly." 
 
 " I don't like the view." 
 
 " Nor I. But have got orders: what can do ? 
 Are you strong enough to face it alone ? " 
 
 "I suppose I must." 
 
 "Let me help, darling. We can hold each 
 other very tight and try to walk straight. We 
 shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than 
 stumbling apart. Maisie, can't you see reason ? " 
 
 "I don't think we should get on together. 
 We should be two of a trade, so we should 
 never agree." 
 
 "How I should like to meet the man who 
 made that proverb! He lived in a cave and ate
 
 i^ The Light that Failed 
 
 raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own 
 arrow-heads. Well ? " 
 
 "I should be only half married to you. I 
 should worry and fuss about my work, as I do 
 now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to 
 speak to." 
 
 "You talk as if no one else in the world had 
 ever used a brush. D'you suppose that I don't 
 know the feeling of worry and bother and can't- 
 get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it 
 four days out of the seven. What difference 
 would that make ? " 
 
 " A great deal if you had it too." 
 
 "Yes, but I could respect it. Another man 
 might not. He might laugh at you. But there's 
 no use talking about it. If you can think in that 
 way you can't care for me yet." 
 
 The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks, 
 and twenty little ripples broke on the beach be- 
 fore Maisie chose to speak. 
 
 "Dick," she said, slowly, "I believe very 
 much that you are better than I am." 
 
 " This doesn't seem to bear on the argument 
 but in what way ? " 
 
 "I don't quite know, but in what you said 
 about work and things ; and then you're so pa- 
 tient. Yes, you're better than I am." 
 
 Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an 
 average man's life. There was nothing in the
 
 The Light that Failed 135 
 
 review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He 
 lifted the hem of the cloak to his lips. 
 
 "Why," said Maisie, making as though she 
 had not noticed, "can you see things that I can't ? 
 I don't believe what you believe; but you're 
 right, I believe." 
 
 "If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't 
 have seen it but for you, and I know that I 
 couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed 
 to make everything clear for a minute; but I 
 don't practice what I preach. You would help 
 me. . . . There are only us two in the world 
 for all purposes, and and you like to have me 
 with you?" 
 
 "Of course I do. I wonder if you can realize 
 how utterly lonely I am 1 " 
 
 "Darling, I think I can." 
 
 "Two years ago, when I first took the little 
 house, I used to walk up and down the back- 
 garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can 
 you?" 
 
 " It's some time since I tried. What was the 
 trouble ? Overwork ? " 
 
 " I don't know; but I used to dream that I had 
 broken down, and had no money, and was 
 starving in London. I thought about it all day, 
 and it frightened me oh, how it frightened 
 me!" 
 
 " I know that fear. It's the most terrible of
 
 1^6 The Light that Failed 
 
 all. It wakes me up in the night sometimes. 
 You oughtn't to know anything about it." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Never mind. Is your three hundred a year 
 safe?" 
 
 "It's in Consols." 
 
 "Very well. If any one comes to you and 
 recommends a better investment, even if I 
 should come to you, don't you listen. Never 
 shift the money for a minute, and never lend a 
 penny of it, even to the red-haired girl." 
 
 "Don't scold me sol I'm not likely to be 
 foolish." 
 
 " The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls 
 for three hundred a year; and women come and 
 talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a 
 ten-pound note there; and a woman has no con- 
 science in a money debt. Stick to your money, 
 Maisie; for there's nothing more ghastly in the 
 world than poverty in London. It's scared me. 
 By Jove, it put the fear into me! And one 
 oughtn't to be afraid of anything." 
 
 To each man is appointed his particular dread, 
 the terror that, if he does not fight against it, 
 must cow him even to the loss of his manhood. 
 Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want 
 had entered into the deeps of him, and, lest he 
 might find virtue too easy, that memory stood 
 behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers
 
 The Light that Failed \yj 
 
 came to buy his wares. As the Nilghai quaked 
 against his will at the still green water of a lake 
 or mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any 
 white arm that could cut or stab and loathed 
 himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he 
 had once tasted half in jest. His burden was 
 heavier than the burdens of his companions. 
 
 Maisie watched the face working in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 " You've plenty of pennies now," she said, 
 soothingly. 
 
 "I shall never get enough," he began, with 
 vicious emphasis. Then, laughing, "I shall al- 
 ways be threepence short in my accounts." 
 
 " Why threepence ? " 
 
 "I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool 
 Street Station to Blackfriars Bridge. It was a six- 
 penny job, you needn't laugh; indeed it was, 
 and I wanted the money desperately. He only 
 gave me threepence; and he hadn't even the de- 
 cency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, 
 I shall never get that odd threepence out of the 
 world." 
 
 This was not language befitting the man who 
 had preached of the sanctity of work. It jarred 
 on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause, 
 which, since all men desire it, must be of the 
 right. She hunted for her little purse and gravely 
 took out a threepenny bit.
 
 1^8 The Light that Failed 
 
 " There it is," she said. " I'll pay you, Dickie; 
 and don't worry any more; it isn't worth while. 
 Are you paid ? " 
 
 "I am," said the very human apostle of fair 
 craft, taking the coin. "I'm paid a thousand 
 times, and we'll close that account. It shall live 
 on my watch-chain ; and you're an angel, Maisie." 
 
 "I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little 
 cold. Good gracious! the cloak is all white, and 
 so is your moustache 1 I never knew it was so 
 chilly." 
 
 A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's 
 ulster. He, too, had forgotten the state of the 
 weather. They laughed together, and with that 
 laugh ended all serious discourse. 
 
 They ran inland across the waste to warm 
 themselves, then turned to look at the glory of 
 the full tide under the moonlight and the intense 
 black shadows of the furze-bushes. It was an 
 additional joy to Dick that Maisie could see color 
 even as he saw it, could see the blue in the white 
 of the mist, the violet that is in grey palings, and 
 all things else as they are, not of one hue, but a 
 thousand. And the moonlight came into Maisie's 
 soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of 
 herself and of the things she took interest in, of 
 Kami, wisest of teachers, and of the girls in the 
 studio, of the Poles, who will kill themselves 
 with overwork if they are not checked; of the
 
 The Light that Failed 1^9 
 
 French, who talk at great length of much more 
 than they will ever accomplish ; of the slovenly 
 English, who toil hopelessly and cannot under- 
 stand that inclination does not imply power; of 
 the Americans, whose rasping voices in the hush 
 of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to 
 breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indi- 
 gestion; of tempestuous Russians, neither to hold 
 nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost stories till the 
 girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to 
 learn one thing, and, having mastered that much, 
 stolidly go away and copy pictures forevermore. 
 Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie 
 who spoke. He knew the old life. 
 
 " It hasn't changed much," he said. " Do they 
 still steal colors at lunch-time ? " 
 
 "Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course 
 they do. I'm good I only attract ultramarine; 
 but there are students who'd attract flake-white." 
 
 " I've done it myself. You can't help it when 
 the palettes are hung up. Every color is common 
 property once it runs down, even though you 
 do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people 
 not to waste their tubes." 
 
 "I should like to attract some of your colors, 
 Dick. Perhaps I might catch your success with 
 them." 
 
 "I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like 
 to. What in the world, which you've just missed
 
 140 The Light that Failed 
 
 a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want 
 of success, or a three-storied success, matter com- 
 pared with No, I won't open that question 
 again. It's time to go back to town." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Dick, but" 
 
 " You're much more interested in that than you 
 are in me." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think I am." 
 
 "What will you give me if I tell you a sure 
 short-cut to everything you want, the trouble 
 and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest ? Will 
 you promise to obey me ? " 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "In the first place, you must never forget a 
 meal because you happen to be at work. You 
 forgot your lunch twice last week," said Dick, at 
 a venture, for he knew with whom he was 
 dealing. 
 
 "No, no, only once, really." 
 
 " That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a 
 cup of tea and a biscuit in place of a regular 
 dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble." 
 
 " You're making fun of me! " 
 
 " I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, 
 my love, my love, hasn't it dawned on you yet 
 what you are to me ? Here's the whole earth in a 
 conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or 
 drench you to the skin, or cheat you out of your 
 money, or let you die of overwork and under-
 
 The Light that Failed 141 
 
 feeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after 
 you. Why, I don't even know if you have sense 
 enough to put on warm things when the weath- 
 er's cold." 
 
 "Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to 
 really! How do you suppose I managed when 
 you were away?" 
 
 "I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now 
 I'm back I'd give everything I have for the right 
 of telling you to come in out of the rain." 
 
 " Your success too ?" 
 
 This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to re- 
 frain from bad words. 
 
 "As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, 
 Maisie! You've been cooped up in the schools 
 too long, and you think every one is looking at 
 you. There aren't twelve hundred people in the 
 world who understand pictures. The others pre- 
 tend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve 
 hundred men dead in toadstool-beds. It's only 
 the voice of the tiniest little fraction of people that 
 makes success. The real world doesn't care a 
 tinker's doesn't care a bit. For aught you or I 
 know, every man in the world may be arguiqg 
 with a Maisie of his own." 
 
 "Poor Maisie!" 
 
 "Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while 
 he's fighting for what's dearer than his life he 
 wants to look at a picture ? And even if he did.
 
 14* The Light that Failed 
 
 and if all the world did, and a thousand million 
 people rose up and shouted hymns to my honor 
 and glory, would that make up to me for the 
 knowledge that you were out shopping in the 
 Edgware Road on a rainy day without an um- 
 brella ? Now we'll go to the station." 
 
 " But you said on the beach " persisted Maisie, 
 with a certain fear. 
 
 Dick groaned aloud: "Yes, I know what I 
 said. My work is everything I have, or am, or 
 hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learned the 
 law that governs it; but I've some lingering sense 
 of fun left, though you've nearly knocked it out 
 of me. I can just see that it isn't everything to all 
 the world. Do what I say, and not what I do." 
 
 Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable 
 matters, and they returned to London joyously. 
 The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an 
 eloquent harangue on the beauties of exercise. 
 He would buy Maisie a horse, such a horse as 
 never yet bowed head to bit, would stable it, 
 with a companion, some twenty miles from Lon- 
 don, and Maisie, solely for her health's sake, 
 should ride with him twice or thrice a week. 
 
 "That's absurd," said she. "It wouldn't be 
 proper." 
 
 " Now, who in all London to-night would have 
 sufficient interest or audacity to call us two to ac- 
 count for anything we chose to do ? "
 
 The Light that Failed 143 
 
 Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the 
 hideous turmoil. Dick was right; but horseflesh 
 did not make for Art as she understood it. 
 
 "You're very nice sometimes, but you're very 
 foolish more times. I'm not going to let you give 
 me horses, or take you out of your way to-night. 
 I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to 
 promise me something. You won't think any 
 more about that extra threepence, will you ? Re- 
 member, you've been paid; and I won't allow 
 you to be spiteful and do bad work for a little 
 thing like that. You can be so big that you 
 mustn't be tiny." 
 
 This was turning the tables with a vengeance. 
 There remained only to put Maisie into her 
 hansom. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, simply. '* You'll come 
 on Sunday. It has been a beautiful day, Dick. 
 Why can't it be like this always?" 
 
 "Because love's like line- work: you must go 
 forward or backward; you can't stand still. By 
 the way, go on with your line-work. Good- 
 night, and, for my for any sake, take care of 
 yourself." 
 
 He turned to walk home, meditating. The day 
 had brought him nothing that he hoped for, but 
 surely this was worth many days it had 
 brought him nearer to Maisie. The end was only 
 a question of time now, and the prize well worth
 
 144 The Light that Failed 
 
 the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned 
 to the river. 
 
 "And she understood at once," he said, look- 
 ing at the water. "She found out my pet beset- 
 ting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, 
 how she understood! And she said I was better 
 than she was! Better than she was!" He 
 laughed at the absurdity of the notion. " I won- 
 der if girls guess at one-half a man's life. They 
 can't, or they wouldn't marry us." He took 
 her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the 
 light of a miracle and a pledge of the comprehen- 
 sion that, one day, would lead to perfect happi- 
 ness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, 
 with none to save her from danger. And the 
 packed wilderness was very full of danger. 
 
 Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after 
 the manner of the heathen as he threw the piece 
 of silver into the river. If any evil were to befall, 
 let him bear the burden and let Maisie go un- 
 scathed, since the threepenny piece was dearest 
 to him of all his possessions. It was a small coin 
 in itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames 
 held it, and surely the Fates would be bribed for 
 this once. 
 
 The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him 
 free from thought of Maisie for the moment. He 
 took himself off the bridge and went whistling 
 to his chambers with a strong yearning for some
 
 The Light that Failed 145 
 
 man-talk and tobacco after his first experience of 
 an entire day spent in the society of a woman. 
 There was a stronger desire at his heart when 
 there rose before him an unsolicited vision of the 
 Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for the 
 Southern Cross.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 And these two, as I have told you, 
 Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
 Chibiabos, the musician, 
 And the very strong man, Kwasind. 
 
 Hiawatha. 
 
 Torpenhow was paging the last sheets of some 
 manuscript, while the Nilghai, who had come 
 for chess and remained to talk tactics, was read- 
 ing through the first part, commenting scornfully 
 the while. 
 
 "It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy," 
 said he; "but as a serious consideration of affairs 
 in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much." 
 
 " It's off my hands at any rate. . . . Thirty- 
 seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine slips altogether, 
 aren't there ? That should make between eleven 
 and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. 
 Heigho!" Torpenhow shuffled the writing to- 
 gether and hummed 
 
 Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, 
 If I'd as much money as I could tell, 
 I never would cry, Young lambs to sell ! 
 
 Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, 
 but in the best of tempers with all the world. 
 140
 
 The Light that Failed 147 
 
 " Back at last ?" said Torpenhow. 
 
 "More or less. What have you been do- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Work. Dickie, you behave as though the 
 Bank of England were behind you. Here's Sun- 
 day, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't 
 done a line. It's scandalous." 
 
 "The notions come and go, my children they 
 come and go like our 'baccy," he answered, fill- 
 ing his pipe. "Moreover," he stooped to thrust 
 a spill into the grate, "Apollo does not always 
 stretch his Oh, confound your clumsy jests, 
 Nilghai!" 
 
 "This is not the place to preach the theory of 
 direct inspiration," said the Nilghai, returning 
 Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to 
 their nail on the wall. "We believe in cobblers' 
 wax. La! where you sit down." 
 
 "If you weren't so big and fat," said Dick, 
 looking round for a weapon, "I'd" 
 
 "No skylarking in my rooms. You two 
 smashed half my furniture last time you threw 
 the cushions about. You might have the de- 
 cency to say How d' you do ? to Binkie. Look 
 at him." 
 
 Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and 
 was fawning round Dick's knee, and scratching 
 at his boots. 
 
 "Dear man!" said Dickie, snatching him up,
 
 148 The Light that Failed 
 
 and kissing him on the black patch above his 
 right eye. "Did urns was, Binks? Did that 
 ugly Nilghai turn you off the sofa ? Bite him, 
 Mr. Binkle." He pitched him on the Nilghai's 
 stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkre 
 pretended to destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till 
 a sofa cushion extinguished him, and panting he 
 stuck out his tongue at the company. 
 
 "The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morn- 
 ing before you were up, Torp. I saw him mak- 
 ing love to the butcher at the corner when the 
 shutters were being taken down just as if he 
 hadn't enough to eat in his own proper house," 
 said Dick. 
 
 "Binks, is that a true bill?" said Torpenhow 
 severely. The little dog retreated under the 
 sofa-cushion, and showed by the fat white back 
 of him that he really had no further interest in 
 the discussion. 
 
 "'Strikes me that another disreputable dog 
 went for a walk, too," said the Nilghai. " What 
 made you get up so early ? Torp said you might 
 be buying a horse ? " 
 
 "He knows it would need three of us for a 
 serious business like that. No, I felt lonesome 
 and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, 
 and watch the pretty ships go by." 
 
 "Where did you go?" 
 
 "Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or
 
 The Light that Failed 149 
 
 Snigly, or some one horse watering-place was 
 its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two 
 hours' run from London and the ships went by." 
 
 "Did you see anything you knew?" 
 
 "Only the Barralong outward to Australia, 
 and an Odessa grain-boat loaded down by the 
 head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt 
 good." 
 
 "Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see 
 the Barralong?" said Torpenhow, pointing. 
 
 " Because I've nothing except these things and 
 my painting duds. Besides, I wanted to do 
 honor to the sea." 
 
 "Did she make you feel restless?" asked the 
 Nilghai, keenly. 
 
 "Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I 
 went." 
 
 Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look 
 as Dick, stooping, busied himself among the 
 former's boots and trees. 
 
 "These will do," he said at last; "I can't say I 
 think much of your taste in slippers, but the fit's 
 the thing." He slipped his feet into a pair of 
 sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a 
 long chair, and lay at length. 
 
 "They're my own pet pair," Torpenhow said. 
 " I was just going to put them on myself." 
 
 " 'All your reprehensible selfishness. Just be- 
 cause you see me happy for a minute, you want
 
 iy> The Light that Failed 
 
 to worry me and stir me up. Find another 
 pair." 
 
 " Good for you that Dick can't wear your 
 clothes, Torp. You two live communistically," 
 said the Nilghai. 
 
 "Dick never has anything that I can wear. 
 He's only useful to sponge upon." 
 
 "Confound you, have you been rummaging 
 round among my caches, then ? " said Dick. " 1 
 put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. 
 How do you expect a man to keep his accounts 
 properly if you " 
 
 Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpen- 
 how joined him. 
 
 "Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort 
 of a financier. You loaned me a fiver about a 
 month back. Do you remember ? " Torpenhow 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 "Do you remember that I paid it you ten 
 days later, and you put it at the bottom of the 
 tobacco?" 
 
 " By Jove, did I ? I thought it was in one of 
 my color-boxes." 
 
 " You thought! About a week ago I went into 
 your studio to get some 'baccy and found it." 
 
 " What did you do with it ? " 
 
 "Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him." 
 
 "You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice
 
 The Light that Failed 151 
 
 the money not though you gave him Army 
 beef. Well, I suppose 1 should have found it out 
 sooner or later. What is there to laugh at ? " 
 
 '* You're a most amazing cuckoo in many di- 
 rections," said the Nilghai, still chuckling over 
 the thought of the dinner. "Nevermind. We 
 had both been working very hard, and it was 
 your unearned increment we spent, and as you're 
 only a loafer it didn't matter." 
 
 " That's pleasant from the man who is burst- 
 ing with my meat, too. I'll get that dinner back 
 one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre 
 now." 
 
 " 'Put our boots on, and dress, and wash ? " 
 The Nilghai spoke very lazily. 
 
 " I withdraw the motion." 
 
 "Suppose, just for a change as a startling 
 variety, you know we, that is to say we, get 
 our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our 
 work." Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick 
 only wriggled his toes inside the soft leather 
 moccasins. 
 
 " What a one-idead clucker it is! If I had any 
 unfinished figures on hand, I haven't any model; 
 if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I 
 never leave charcoal unfixed over night; and if ) 
 had my spray and twenty photographs of back- 
 grounds, I couldn't do anything to-night. I don'* 
 feel that way."
 
 152 The Light that Failed 
 
 " Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he ? " said 
 the Nilghai. 
 
 11 Very good, I will do some work," said Dick, 
 rising swiftly. "I'll fetch the Nungapunga 
 Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nil- 
 ghai Saga." 
 
 "Aren't you worrying him a little too much?" 
 asked the Nilghai, when Dick had left the room. 
 
 " Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if 
 he likes. It makes me savage to hear him praised 
 for past work when I know what he ought to 
 do. You and I are arranged for " 
 
 "By Kismet and our own powers, more's the 
 pity. I have dreamed of a good deal." 
 
 " So have I, but we know our limitations now. 
 I'm dashed if I know what Dick's may be when 
 he gives himself to his work. That's what 
 makes me so keen about him." 
 
 "And when all's said and done, you will be 
 put aside quite rightly for a female girl." 
 
 "I wonder. . . . Where do you think he 
 has been to-day ? " 
 
 "To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his 
 eyes when he talked about her ? He's as restless 
 as a swallow in autumn." 
 
 "Yes; but did he go alone?" 
 
 "I don't know, and I don't care, but he has 
 the beginnings of the go-fever upon him. He 
 wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no
 
 The Light that Failed 153 
 
 mistaking the signs. Whatever he may have 
 said before, he has the call upon him now." 
 
 "It might be his salvation," Torpenhow said. 
 
 " Perhaps if you care to take the responsi- 
 bility of being a saviour: I'm averse to tampering 
 with souls myself." 
 
 Dick returned with a great clasp sketch-book 
 that the Nilghai knew well and did not love too 
 much. In it Dick had drawn in his playtime all 
 manner of moving incidents, experienced by 
 himself or related to him by the others, of all the 
 four corners of the earth. But the wider range 
 of the Nilghai's body and life attracted him most. 
 When truth failed here he fell back on fiction of 
 the wildest, and represented incidents in the 
 Nilghai's career that were unseemly, his mar- 
 riages with many African princesses, his shame- 
 less betrayal, for Arab wives, of army corps to 
 the Mahdi, his tattooment by skilled operators in 
 Burmah, his interview (and his fears) with the 
 yellow headsman in the blood-stained execution- 
 ground of Canton, and finally, the passings of 
 his spirit into the bodies of whales, elephants, 
 and toucans. Torpenhow from time to time 
 had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole 
 was a curious piece of art, because Dick decided, 
 having regard to the name of the book which 
 being interpreted means "naked," that it would 
 be wrong to draw the Nilghai with any clothes
 
 154 The Light that Failed 
 
 on, under any circumstances. Consequently the 
 last sketch, representing that much-enduring man 
 calling on the War Office to press his claims to 
 the Egyptian medal, was hardly delicate. He 
 settled himself comfortably at Torpenhow's table 
 and turned over the pages. 
 
 "What a fortune you would have been to 
 Blake, Nilghai!" he said. "There's a succulent 
 pinkness about some of these sketches that's 
 more than lifelike. 'The Nilghai surrounded 
 while bathing by the Madieh ' that was founded 
 on fact, eh ?" 
 
 " It was very nearly my last bath, you irrever- 
 ent dauber. Has Binkie come into the Saga 
 yet?" 
 
 "No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything ex- 
 cept eat and kill cats. Let's see. Here you are 
 as a stained-glass saint, in a church. 'Deuced 
 decorative lines about your anatomy ; you ought 
 to be grateful for being handed down to posterity 
 in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in 
 rare and curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. 
 What shall I try this time ? The domestic life of 
 the Nilghai?" 
 
 "'Hasn't got any." 
 
 "The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. 
 Of course! Mass-meeting of his wives in Traf- 
 algar Square. That's it. They came from the 
 ends of the earth to attend Nilghai's wedding to
 
 The Light that Failed 155 
 
 an English bride. This shall be in sepia. It's a 
 sweet material to work with." 
 
 "It's a scandalous waste of time," said Tor- 
 penhow. 
 
 "Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in spe- 
 cially when you begin without the pencil." He 
 set to work rapidly. "That's Nelson's Column. 
 Presently the Nilghai will appear shinning up it." 
 
 "Give him some clothes this time." 
 
 " Certainly a veil and an orange-wreath, be- 
 cause he's been married." 
 
 " Gad, that's clever enough! " said Torpenhow, 
 over his shoulder, as Dick brought out of the 
 paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat 
 back and laboring shoulder pressed against the 
 stone. 
 
 "Just imagine," Dick continued, "if we could 
 publish a few of these dear little things every 
 time the Nilghai subsidizes a man who can write, 
 to give the public an honest opinion of my 
 pictures." 
 
 "Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I 
 have done anything of that kind. I know I can't 
 hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I 
 give the job to another. Young Maclagan, for 
 instance " 
 
 "No-o one half-minute, old man; stick your 
 hand out against the dark of the wall-paper 
 you only burble and call me names. That left
 
 156 The Light that Failed 
 
 shoulder's out of drawing. I must literally 
 throw a veil over that. Where's my pen-knife ? 
 Well, what about Maclagan ?" 
 
 " I only gave him his riding-orders to to lam- 
 bast you on general principles for not producing 
 work that will last." 
 
 "Whereupon that young fool," Dick threw 
 back his head and shut one eye as he shifted the 
 page under his hand, "being left alone with an 
 ink-pot and what he conceived were his own 
 notions, went and spilled them both over me in 
 the papers. You might have engaged a grown 
 man for the business, Nilghai. How do you 
 think the bridal veil looks now, Torp ? " 
 
 "How the deuce do three dabs and two 
 scratches make the stuff stand away from the 
 body as it does?" said Torpenhow, to whom 
 Dick's methods were always new. 
 
 "It just depends on where you put 'em. If 
 Maclagan had known that much about his busi- 
 ness he might have done better." 
 
 "Why don't you put the damned dabs into 
 something that will stay, then?" insisted the 
 Nilghai, who had really taken considerable 
 trouble in hiring for Dick's benefit the pen of a 
 young gentleman who devoted most of his wak- 
 ing hours to an anxious consideration of the aims 
 and ends of Art, which, he wrote, was one and 
 indivisible.
 
 The Light that Failed 1 57 
 
 "Wait a minute till I see how I am going to 
 manage my procession of wives. You seem to 
 have married extensively, and I must rough 'em 
 in with the pencil Medes, Parthians, Edomites. 
 . . . Now, setting aside the weakness and 
 the wickedness and and the fat-headedness of 
 deliberately trying to do work that will live, as 
 they call it, I'm content with the knowledge that 
 I've done my best up to date, and I shan't do 
 anything like it again for some hours at least 
 probably years. Most probably never." 
 
 11 What! any stuff you have in stock your best 
 work?" said Torpenhow. 
 
 "Anything you've sold?" said the Nilghai. 
 
 " Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better 
 than that, it can't be sold, and I don't think any 
 one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't. . . 
 . And yet more and more wives, on the north 
 side of the square. Observe the virtuous horror 
 of the lions!" 
 
 "You may as well explain," said Torpenhow, 
 and Dick lifted his head from the paper. 
 
 "The sea reminded me of it," he said, slowly. 
 "I wish it hadn't. It weighs some few thou- 
 sand tons unless you cut it out with a cold 
 chisel." 
 
 "Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us 
 here," said the Nilghai. 
 
 "There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a
 
 158 The Light that Failed 
 
 fact. I was loafing from Lima to Auckland in a 
 big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into 
 a cargo-boat and owned by a second-hand Italian 
 firm. She was a crazy basket. We were cut 
 down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we 
 thought ourselves lucky when we kicked seven 
 knots an hour out of her. Then we used to stop 
 and let the bearings cool down, and wonder 
 whether the crack in the shaft was spreading." 
 
 "Were you a steward or a stoker in those 
 days?" 
 
 "I was flush for the time being, so I was a 
 passenger, or else I should have been a steward, I 
 think," said Dick, with perfect gravity, returning 
 to the procession of angry wives. "I was the 
 only other passenger from Lima, and the ship 
 was half empty, and full of rats and cockroaches 
 and scorpions." 
 
 " But what has this to do with the picture ?" 
 
 "Wait a minute. She had been in the China 
 passenger trade and her lower deck had bunks 
 for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken 
 down, and she was empty up to her nose, and 
 the lights came through the port-holes most 
 annoying lights to work in till you got used to 
 them. I hadn't anything to do for weeks. The 
 ship's charts were in pieces and our skipper 
 daren't run south for fear of catching a storm. 
 So he did his best to knock all the Society Islands
 
 The Light that Failed 159 
 
 out of the water one by one, and I went into the 
 lower deck, and did my picture on the port side 
 as far forward in her as I could go. There was 
 some brown paint and some green paint that they 
 used for the boats, and some black paint for iron- 
 work, and that was all 1 had." 
 
 "The passengers must have thought you 
 mad." 
 
 "There was only one, and it was a woman; 
 but it gave me the notion of my picture." 
 
 " What was she like ? " said Torpenhow. 
 
 "She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; 
 with morals to match. She couldn't read or 
 write, and she didn't want to, but she used to 
 come down and watch me paint, and the skipper 
 didn't like it, because he was paying her passage 
 and had to be on the bridge occasionally." 
 
 "I see. That must have been cheerful." 
 
 "It was the best time I ever had. To begin 
 with, we didn't know whether we should go up 
 or go down any minute when there was a sea 
 on; and when it was calm it was paradise; and 
 the woman used to mix the paints and talk 
 broken English, and the skipper used to steal 
 down every few minutes to the lower deck, be- 
 cause he said he was afraid of fire. So, you see, 
 we could never tell when we might be caught, 
 and I had a splendid notion to work out in only 
 three keys of color."
 
 160 The Light that Failed 
 
 " What was the notion ? " 
 "Two lines in Poe 
 
 " Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down 
 
 under the sea, 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful 
 
 Annabel Lee. 
 
 It came out of the sea all by itself. I drew that 
 fight, fought out in green water over the naked, 
 choking soul, and the woman served as the model 
 for the devils and the angels both sea-devils and 
 sea-angels, and the soul half drowned between 
 them. It doesn't sound much, but when there 
 was a good light on the lower deck it looked 
 very fine and creepy. It was seven by four- 
 teen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting 
 light." 
 
 "Did the woman inspire you much?" said 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 "She and the sea between them immensely. 
 There was a heap of bad drawing in that picture. 
 I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten 
 for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened 
 damnably, but for all that it's the best thing I've 
 ever done; and now I suppose the ship's broken 
 up or gone down. Whew! What a time that 
 was!" 
 
 "What happened after all ? " 
 
 "It all ended. They were loading he r with
 
 The Light that Failed 161 
 
 wool when I left the ship, but even the stevedores 
 kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of 
 the demons scared them, I honestly believe." 
 
 "And the woman?" 
 
 "She was scared too when it was finished. 
 She used to cross herself before she went down 
 to look at it. Just three colors and no chance of 
 getting any more, and the sea outside and un- 
 limited love-making inside, and the fear of death 
 atop of everything else, O Lord ! " He had ceased 
 to look at the sketch, but was staring straight in 
 front of him across the room. 
 
 "Why don't you try something of the same 
 kind now ?" said the Nilghai. 
 
 " Because those things come not by fasting and 
 prayer. When I find a cargo-boat and a Jewess- 
 Cuban and another notion and the same old life, 
 I may." 
 
 "You won't find them here," said the Nilghai. 
 
 "No, I shall not." Dick shut the sketch-book 
 with a bang. "This room's as hot as an oven. 
 Open the window, some one." 
 
 He leaned into the darkness, watching the 
 greater darkness of London below him. The 
 chambers stood much higher than the other 
 houses, commanding a hundred chimneys- 
 crooked cowls that looked like sitting cats as they 
 swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc 
 mysteries supported by iron stanchions and
 
 1 6a The Light that Failed 
 
 clamped by S-pieces. Northward the lights of 
 Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square threw a 
 copper-colored glare above the black roofs, and 
 southward lay all the orderly lights of the Thames. 
 A train rolled out across one of the railway 
 bridges, and its thunder drowned for a minute 
 the dull roar of the streets. The Nilghai looked 
 at his watch and said shortly, "That's the Paris 
 night-mail. You can book from here to St. 
 Petersburg if you choose." 
 
 Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the 
 window and looked across the river. Torpenhow 
 came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over 
 quietly to the piano and opened it. Binkie, mak- 
 ing himself as large as possible, spread out upon 
 the sofa with the air of one who is not to be 
 lightly disturbed. 
 
 "Well," said the Nilghai to the two pairs of 
 shoulders, " have you never seen this place be- 
 fore?" 
 
 A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed 
 her barges to wharf. Then the boom of the traf- 
 fic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged 
 Dick. ' ' Good place to bank in bad place to bunk 
 in, Dickie, isn't it?" 
 
 Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in 
 the words of a general not without fame, still 
 rooking out on the darkness" ' My God, what a 
 city to lootl'"
 
 The Light that Failed 163 
 
 Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers 
 and sneezed plaintively. 
 
 '.'We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold," said 
 Torpenhow. "Come in," and they withdrew 
 their heads. " You'll be buried in Kensal Green, 
 Dick, one of these days, if it isn't closed by the 
 time you want to go there buried within two 
 feet of some one else, his wife and his family." 
 
 "Allah forbid! I shall get away before that 
 time comes. Give a man room to stretch his legs, 
 Mr. Binkie." Dick flung himself down on the 
 sofa and tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning 
 heavily the while. 
 
 " You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out 
 of tune," Torpenhow said to the Nilghai. "It's 
 never touched except by you." 
 
 " A piece of gross extravagance," Dick grunted. 
 " The Nilghai only comes when I'm out." 
 
 "That's because you're always out. Howl, 
 Nilghai, and let him hear." 
 
 The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, 
 His writings are watered Dickens and water; 
 But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high 
 Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die ! 
 
 Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the 
 Nungapunga Book. " How do they call moose 
 in Canada, Nilghai?" 
 The man laughed. Singing was his one polite
 
 164 The Light that Failed 
 
 accomplishment, as many Press-tents in far-off 
 lands had known. 
 
 " What shall I sing ? " said he, turning in the 
 chair. 
 
 " Moll Roe in the Morning,'" said Torpenhow, 
 at a venture. 
 
 "No," said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai 
 opened his eyes. The old chanty whereof he, 
 among a very few, possessed all the words was 
 not a pretty one, but Dick had heard it many times 
 before without wincing. Without prelude he 
 launched into that stately tune that calls together 
 and troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea 
 
 Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, 
 Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain. 
 
 Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could 
 hear the bows of the Harralong crashing into the 
 green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. 
 Then came the chorus 
 
 We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, 
 We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas, 
 Until we take 'soundings in the Channel of Old England 
 From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues. 
 
 "Thirty-five thirty-five," said Dick, petu- 
 lantly. " Don't tamper with Holy Writ. Go on, 
 Nilghai." 
 
 The first land we made it was called the Deadman, 
 
 and they sang to the end very vigorously.
 
 The Light that Failed 165 
 
 " That would be a better song if her head were 
 turned the other way to the Ushant light, for 
 instance," said the Nilghai. 
 
 " Flinging its arms about like a mad windmill," 
 said Torpenhow. " Give us something else, Nil- 
 ghai. You're in fine fog-horn form to-night." 
 
 " Give us the ' Ganges Pilot': you sang that in 
 the square the night before El-Maghrib. By the 
 way, 1 wonder how many of the chorus are alive 
 to-night," said Dick. 
 
 Torpenhow considered for a minute. "By 
 Jove! I believe only you and I. Raynor, Vick- 
 ery and Deenes all dead ; Vincent caught small- 
 pox in Cairo, carried it here and died of it. Yes, 
 only you and I and the Nilghai." 
 
 " Umph! And yet the men here who've done 
 their work in a well-warmed studio all their 
 lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I 
 charge too much for my pictures." 
 
 "They are buying your work, not your insur- 
 ance policies, dear child," said the Nilghai. 
 
 " I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't 
 preach. Go on with the ' Pilot.' Where in the 
 world did you get that song ? " 
 
 " On a tombstone," said the Nilghai. " On a 
 tombstone in a distant land. I made it an ac- 
 companiment with heaps of bass chords." 
 
 "Oh, Vanity! Begin." And the Nilghai be- 
 gan
 
 166 The Light that Failed 
 
 " I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with 
 
 the tide, 
 I have my sailing orders, while ye at anchor ride. # 
 
 And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea 
 With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light 
 
 and free. 
 
 "Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a 
 
 wedge 
 Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge. 
 Cries Charnock, Scatter the fagots, double that Brahmin in 
 
 two, 
 The tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you ! ' 
 
 " Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark ? 
 Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours ? Why, 
 hark!" 
 
 They were all singing now, Dick with the roar 
 of the wind of the open sea about his ears as the 
 deep bass voice let itself go. 
 
 " The morning gun Ho, steady ! the arquebuses to me ! 
 I ha' sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart as my lead doth 
 sound the sea. 
 
 " Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, 
 Moor me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. 
 My blessing to Kate at Fairlight Holwell, my thanks to you ; 
 Steady ! We steer for Heaven, through sand-drifts cold and 
 blue." 
 
 " Now what is there in that nonsense to make 
 a man restless ? " said Dick, hauling Binkie from 
 his feet to his chest
 
 The Light that Failed 167 
 
 " It depends on the man," said Torpenhow. 
 
 " The man who has been down to look at the 
 sea," said the Nilghai. 
 
 " I didn't know she was going to upset me in 
 this fashion." 
 
 "That's what men say when they go to say 
 good-bye to a woman. It's more easy though to 
 get rid of three women than a piece of one's life 
 and surroundings." 
 
 " But a woman can be " began Dick, unguard- 
 edly. 
 
 "A piece of one's life," continued Torpenhow. 
 "No, she can't." His face darkened for a mo- 
 ment. "She says she wants to sympathize with 
 you and help you in your work, and everything 
 else that clearly a man must do for himself. 
 Then she sends round five notes a day to ask 
 why the dickens you haven't been wasting your 
 time with her." 
 
 " Don't generalize," said the Nilghai. " By the 
 time you arrive at five notes a day you must have 
 gone through a good deal and behaved accord- 
 ingly. 'Shouldn't begin these things, my son." 
 
 " I shouldn't have gone down to the sea," said 
 Dick, just a little anxious to change the conversa- 
 tion. " And you shouldn't have sung." 
 
 "The sea isn't sending you five notes a day," 
 said the Nilghai. 
 
 "No, but I'm fatally compromised- She's an
 
 1 68 The Light that Failed 
 
 enduring old hag, and I'm sorry I ever met her. 
 Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a three- 
 pair back?" 
 
 "Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why 
 in the world shouldn't you listen to her ? " said 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up 
 his voice with a shout that shook the windows, 
 in "The Men of the Sea," that begins, as all 
 know, "The sea is a wicked old woman," and 
 after racing through eight lines whose imagery is 
 truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking of 
 a capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up 
 to the bars where the men sweat and tramp in 
 the shingle. 
 
 i 
 
 " Ye that bore us, O restore us ! 
 She is kinder than ye ; 
 For the call is on our heart-strings ! ' 
 Said The Men of the Sea." 
 
 The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple 
 craft, intending that Dick should hear. But Dick 
 was waiting for the farewell of the men to their 
 wives. 
 
 ** * Ye that love us, can ye move us ? 
 She is dearer than ye ; 
 And your sleep will be the sweeter/ 
 Said The Men of the Sea."
 
 The Light that Failed 169 
 
 The rough words beat like the blows of the 
 waves on the bows of the rickety boat from Lima 
 In the days when Dick was mixing paints, mak- 
 ing love, drawing devils and angels in the half 
 dark, and wondering whether the next minute 
 would place the Italian captain's knife between 
 his shoulder-blades. And the go-fever, which is 
 more real than many doctors' diseases, waked 
 and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond 
 anything in the world, to go away and taste the 
 old hot, unregenerate life again, to scuffle, 
 swear, gamble, and love light loves with his fel- 
 lows; to take ship and know the sea once more, 
 and by her beget pictures ; to talk to Binat among 
 the sands of Port Said while Yellow 'Tina mixed 
 the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and 
 see the smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again 
 till the shining black faces came through, and in 
 that hell every man was strictly responsible for 
 his own head, and his own alone, and struck 
 with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, ut- 
 terly impossible, but 
 
 a 'Oh, our fathers, in the churchyard, 
 She is older than ye, 
 And our graves will be the greener,' 
 Said The Men of the Sea." 
 
 "What is there to hinder?" said Torpenhow, 
 in the long hush that followed the song.
 
 170 The Light that Failed 
 
 "You said a little time since that you wouldn't 
 come for a walk round the world, Torp." 
 
 "That was months ago, and I only objected 
 to your making money for traveling expenses. 
 You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. 
 Go away and do some work, and see some 
 things." 
 
 " Get some of the fat off you; you're disgrace- 
 fully out of condition," said the Nilghai, making 
 a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful 
 of Dick generally over the right ribs. " Soft as 
 putty pure tallow born of over-feeding. Train 
 it off, Dickie." 
 
 "We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time 
 you have to take the field you'll sit down, wink 
 your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit." 
 
 "Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go 
 to Lima again, or to Brazil. There's always 
 trouble in South America." 
 
 " Do you suppose I want to be told where to 
 go? Great Heavens, the only difficulty is to 
 know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, 
 as I told you before." 
 
 "Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and 
 turn into adipocere with the others," said Tor- 
 penhow. " Are you thinking of commissions in 
 hand? Pay forfeit and go. You've money 
 enough to travel as a king if you please." 
 
 "You've the grisliest notions of amusement,
 
 The Light that Failed 171 
 
 Torp. I think I see myself shipping first class 
 on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third 
 engineer what makes the engines go rounds and 
 whether it isn't very warm in the stokehold. Ho! 
 ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at 
 all, which I'm not going to do. I shall com- 
 promise, and go for a small trip to begin with." 
 
 "That's something at any rate. Where will 
 you go?" said Torpenhow. " It would do you 
 all the good in the world, old man." 
 
 The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye and 
 refrained from speech. 
 
 " I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, 
 where I shall hire one horse, and take him very 
 carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall 
 walk him back again, in case he should acciden- 
 tally burst into a lather and make Rathray angry. 
 1 shall do that to-morrow, for the sake of air and 
 exercise." 
 
 "Bah!" Dick had barely time to throw up 
 his arm and ward off the cushion that the dis- 
 gusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. 
 
 "Air and exercise indeed," said the Nilghai, 
 sitting down heavily on Dick. " Let's give him 
 a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp." 
 
 At this point the conference broke up in disor- 
 der, because Dick would not open his mouth till 
 the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was some 
 trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows be-
 
 172 The Light that Failed 
 
 tween his teeth; and even when it was there he 
 weakly tried to puff against the force of the 
 blast, and his cheeks blew up with a great ex- 
 plosion; and the enemy becoming helpless with 
 laughter he so beat them over the head with a 
 soft sofa-cushion that that became unsewn and 
 distributed its feathers, and Binkie, interfering 
 in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the 
 half-empty bag and advised to scratch his way 
 out, which he did after a while, traveling rapidly 
 up and down the floor in the shape of an agitated 
 green haggis, and when he came out looking for 
 satisfaction, the three pillars of his world were 
 picking feathers out of their hair. 
 
 " A prophet has no honor in his own country," 
 said Dick, ruefully, dusting his knees. "This 
 filthy fluff will never brush off my bags." 
 
 " It was all for your good," said the Nilghai. 
 "'Nothing like air and exercise." 
 
 "All for your good," said Torpenhow, not in 
 the least with reference to past clowning. " It 
 would let you focus things at their proper worth 
 and prevent your becoming slack in this hot- 
 house of a town. Indeed it would, old man. I 
 shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. 
 Only, you make a joke of everything." 
 
 "Before God I do no such thing," said Dick, 
 quickly and earnestly. "You don't know me if 
 you think that."
 
 The Light that Failed 173 
 
 "/don't think it," said the Nilghai. 
 
 " How can fellows like ourselves, who know 
 what life and death- really mean, dare to make a 
 joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save 
 ourselves from breaking down or going to the 
 other extreme. Can't I see, old man, how you're 
 always anxious about me, and try to advise me 
 to make my work better? Do you suppose I 
 don't think about that myself? But you can't 
 help me you can't help me not even you. I 
 must play my own hand alone in my own way." 
 
 "Hear, hear," from the Nilghai. 
 
 "What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga 
 that I've never drawn in the Nungapunga 
 Book?" Dick continued to Torpenhow, who 
 was a little astonished at the outburst. 
 
 Now there was one blank page in the book 
 given over to the sketch that Dick had not drawn 
 of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; 
 when that man, being young and forgetting that 
 his body and bones belonged to the paper that 
 employed him, had ridden over sunburned slip- 
 pery grass in the rear of Bredow's brigade on the 
 day that the troopers flung themselves at Can- 
 robert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty 
 battalions in front, to save the battered 24th Ger- 
 man Infantry, to give time to decide the fate of 
 Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant came 
 back to Fh vigay that cavalry can attack and
 
 174 The Light that Failed 
 
 crumple and break unshaken infantry. When- 
 ever he was inclined to think over a life that 
 might have been better, an income that might 
 have been larger, and a soul that might have 
 been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would 
 comfort himself with the thought, "I rode with 
 Bredow's brigade at Vionville," and take heart for 
 any lesser battle the next day might bring. 
 
 "I know," he said, very gravely. "I was al- 
 ways glad that you left it out." 
 
 " I left it out because Nilghai taught me what 
 the German army learned then, and what Schmidt 
 taught their cavalry. I don't know German. 
 What is it? 'Take care of the time and the 
 dressing will take care of itself.' I must ride my 
 own line to my own beat, old man." 
 
 " Tempo ist richtung. You've learned your 
 lesson well," said the Nilghai. "He must go 
 alone. He speaks truth, Torp." 
 
 " Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be hideously 
 wrong. I must find that out for myself, as I have 
 to think things out for myself, but I daren't turn 
 my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me 
 a great deal more than you know not to be able 
 to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own 
 work and live my own life in my own way, be- 
 cause I'm responsible for both. Only don't think 
 1 frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches 
 and sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks."
 
 The Light that Failed 175 
 
 There was an uncomfortable pause. Then 
 Torpenhow said blandly, "What did the Gov- 
 ernor of North Carolina say to the Governor of 
 South Carolina ? " 
 
 " Excellent notion. It is a long time between 
 drinks. There are the makings of a very fine prig 
 in you, Dick," said the Nilghai. 
 
 "Ive liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, 
 with the feathers in his mouth." Dick picked up 
 the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. 
 " You're tied up in a sack and made to run about 
 blind, Binkie-wee, without any reason, and it has 
 hurt your little feelings. Never mind. Sic volo, 
 sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't 
 sneeze in my eye because I talk Latin. Good- 
 night." 
 
 He went out of the room. 
 
 "That's distinctly one for you," said the Nil- 
 ghai. " I told you it was hopeless to meddle with 
 him. He's not pleased." 
 
 " He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make 
 it out. He has the go-fever upon him and he 
 won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to 
 go some day when he doesn't want to," said Tor- 
 penhow. 
 
 In his own room Dick was settling a question 
 with himself and the question was whether all
 
 176 The Light that Failed 
 
 the world, and all that was therein, and a burn- 
 ing desire to exploit both, was worth one three- 
 penny piece thrown into the Thames. 
 
 "It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to 
 think about it," he decided. " After all the honey- 
 moon will be that tour with reservations ; only 
 . . . only I didn't realize that the sea was so 
 strong. I didn't feel it so much when I was with 
 Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He's be- 
 ginning again." 
 
 But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia 
 that the Nilghai sang, and before it was ended 
 Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether 
 clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and 
 at peace. 
 
 The mood had come and gone with the rising 
 and the falling of the tide by Fort Keeling.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 '* If I have taken the common clay 
 And wrought it cunningly 
 In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, 
 The greater honor to me." 
 
 ** If thou hast taken the common clay, 
 .And thy hands be not free 
 From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil 
 The greater shame to thee." 
 
 The Two Potters. 
 
 He did no work of any kind for the rest of the 
 week. Then came another Sunday. He dreaded 
 and longed for the day always, but since the red- 
 haired girl had sketched him there was rather 
 more dread than desire in his mind. 
 
 He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his 
 suggestions about line-work. She had gone off 
 at score filled with some absurd notion for a 
 "fancy head." It cost Dick something to com- 
 mand his temper. 
 
 "What's the goou of suggesting anything ? 
 he said, pointedly. 
 
 "Ah, but this will be a picture, a real picture; 
 177
 
 178 The Light that Failed 
 
 and I know that Kami will let me send it to the 
 Salon. You don't mind, do you?" 
 
 " I suppose not. But you won't have time for 
 the Salon." 
 
 Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 "We're going over to France a month sooner 
 because of it. I shall get the idea sketched out 
 here and work it up at Kami's." 
 
 Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near 
 to being disgusted with his queen who could do 
 no wrong. "Just when I thought I had made 
 some headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. 
 It's too maddening!" 
 
 There was no possibility of arguing, for the 
 red-haired girl was in the studio. Dick could 
 only look unutterable reproach. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said, "and I think you make 
 a mistake. But what's the idea of your new 
 picture?" 
 
 "I took it from a book." 
 
 "That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the 
 places for pictures. And " 
 
 "It's this," said the red-haired girl behind him. 
 " I was reading it to Maisie the other day from 
 The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the 
 book?" 
 
 " A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pic- 
 tures in it. What has taken her fancy ?"
 
 The Light that Failed 179 
 
 "The description of the Melancolia 
 
 " Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, 
 But all too impotent to lift the regal 
 Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. 
 
 And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) 
 
 " The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, 
 The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown, 
 Voluminous indented, and yet rigid 
 As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, 
 Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down." 
 
 There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of 
 the lazy voice. Dick winced. 
 
 " But that has been done already by an obscure 
 artist of the name of Dilrer," said he. " How 
 does the poem run ? 
 
 Three centuries and threescore years ago, 
 With phantasies of his peculiar thought. 
 
 You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will 
 be waste of time." 
 
 "No, it won't," said Maisie, putting down the 
 teacups with clatter to reassure herself. " And 
 I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful 
 thing it would make ?" 
 
 " How in perdition can one do work when one 
 hasn't had the proper training? Any fool can 
 get a notion. It needs training to drive the thing
 
 180 The Light that Failed 
 
 through, training and conviction; not rushing 
 after the first fancy." Dick spoke between his 
 teeth. 
 
 "You don't understand," said Maisie. "1 
 think I can do it." 
 
 Again the voice of the girl behind him 
 
 Baffled and beaten back, she works on still ; 
 Weary and sick of soul, she works the more. 
 Sustained by her indomitable will, 
 
 The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore. 
 And all her sorrow shall be turned to labor 
 
 1 fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the 
 picture." 
 
 " Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures ? No, 
 1 shan't, dear. The notion in itself has fascinated 
 me. Of course you don't care for fancy heads, 
 Dick. I don't think you could do them. You 
 like blood and bones." 
 
 " That's a direct challenge. If you can do a 
 Melancolia that isn't merely a sorrowful female 
 head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. 
 What d'you know about Melancolias ? " Dick 
 firmly believed that he was even then tasting 
 three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. 
 
 "She was a woman," said Maisie, "and she 
 suffered a great deal, till she could suffer no 
 more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and 
 then 1 painted her and sent her to the Salon." 
 
 r
 
 The Light that Failed 181 
 
 The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, 
 laughing. 
 
 Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. 
 
 "Never mind about the picture," he said. 
 " Are you really going back to Kami's a month 
 before your time ? " 
 
 " I must, if I want to get the picture done." 
 
 " And that's all you want ? " 
 
 "Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick." 
 
 "You haven't the power. You have only the 
 ideas the ideas and the little cheap impulses. 
 How you could have kept at your work for ten 
 years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are 
 really going, a month before you need ? " 
 
 " I must do my work." 
 
 "Your work bah! ... No, I didn't 
 mean that. It's all right, dear. Of course you 
 must do your work, and I think I'll say good- 
 bye for this week." 
 
 " Won't you even stay for tea ? " 
 
 "No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, 
 dear? There's nothing more you particularly 
 want me to do, and the line-work doesn't matter." 
 
 " I wish you could stay, and then we could 
 talk over my picture. If only one single picture's 
 a success it draws attention to all the others. 1 
 know some of my work is good, if only people 
 could see. And you needn't have been so rude 
 about it"
 
 1 8s The Light that Failed 
 
 "I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over 
 some one of the other Sundays. There are four 
 more yes, one, two, three, four before you go. 
 Good-bye, Maisie." 
 
 Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, 
 till the red-haired girl returned, a little white at 
 the corners of her lips. 
 
 "Dick's gone off," said Maisie. "Just when I 
 wanted to talk about the picture. Isn't it selfish 
 of him?" 
 
 Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, 
 shut them again, and went on reading The City 
 of Dreadful Night. 
 
 Dick was in the Park, walking round and round 
 a tree that he had chosen as his confidante for many 
 Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and 
 when he found that the infirmities of the English 
 tongue hemmed in his rage, he sought consola- 
 tion in Arabic, which is expressly designed for 
 the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with 
 the reward of his patient service; nor was he 
 pleased with himself; and it was long before he 
 arrived at the proposition that the queen could do 
 no wrong. 
 
 "It's a losing game," he said. "I'm worth 
 nothing when a whim of hers is in question. 
 But in a losing game at Port Said we used to 
 double the stakes and go on. She do a Melan- 
 colia! She hasn't the power, or the insight, or
 
 The Light that Failed 183 
 
 the training. Only the desire. She's cursed 
 with the curse of Reuben. She won't do line- 
 work, because it means real work; and yet she's 
 stronger than I am. I'll make her understand 
 that I can beat her on her own Melancolia. Even 
 then she wouldn't care. She says I can only do 
 blood and bones. I don't believe she has blood 
 in her veins. All the same I love her; and I must 
 go on loving her; and if I can humble her in- 
 ordinate vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that 
 shall be something like a Melancolia, ' the Mel- 
 ancolia that transcends all wit.' I'll do it at once, 
 con bless her." 
 
 He discovered that the notion would not come 
 to order, and that he could not free his mind for 
 an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. 
 He took very small interest in her rough studies 
 for the Melancolia when she showed them next 
 week. The Sundays were racing past, and the 
 time was at hand when all the church bells in 
 London could not ring Maisie back to him. Once 
 or twice he said something to Binkie about 
 " hermaphroditic futilities," but the little dog re- 
 ceived so many confidences both from Torpen- 
 how and Dick that he did not trouble his tulip- 
 ears to listen. 
 
 Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They 
 were going by the Dover night-boat; and they 
 hoped to return in August. It was then February,
 
 184 The Light that Failed 
 
 and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. 
 Maisie was so busy stripping the small house 
 across the Park, and packing her canvases, that 
 she had no time for thought. Dick went down 
 to Dover and wasted a day there fretting over a 
 wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very 
 last allow him one small kiss ? He reflected that 
 he might capture her by the strong arm, as he 
 had seen women captured in the Southern Soudan, 
 and lead her away; but Maisie would never be 
 led. She would turn her grey eyes upon him and 
 say, "Dick, how selfish you are!" Then his 
 courage would fail him. It would be better, after 
 all, to beg for that kiss. 
 
 Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she 
 stepped from the night-mail on to the windy 
 pier, in a grey waterproof and a little grey cloth 
 traveling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so 
 lovely. Her green eyes were hollow and her lips 
 were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and went 
 to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. 
 The mail-bags were thundering into the forehold, 
 and the red-haired girl was watching them. 
 
 "You'll have a rough passage to-night," said 
 Dick. "It's blowing outside. I suppose I may 
 come over and see you if I'm good ? " 
 
 "You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I 
 want you I'll send for you. But I shall write 
 from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of
 
 The Light that Failed 185 
 
 things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you 
 have been so good to me! so good to me! " 
 
 "Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any 
 difference, has it?" 
 
 "I can't tell a fib. It hasn't in that way. 
 But don't think I'm not grateful." 
 
 "Damm the gratitude!" said Dick, huskily, to 
 the paddle-box. 
 
 "What's the use of worrying? You know 1 
 should ruin your life, and you'd ruin mine, as 
 things are now. You remember what you said 
 when you were so angry that day in the Park ? 
 One of us has to be broken. Can't you wait till 
 that day comes ? " 
 
 "No, love. I want you unbroken all to my- 
 self." 
 
 Maisie shook her head. " My poor Dick, what 
 can I say ? " 
 
 "Don't say anything. Give me a kiss ? Only 
 one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I won't take any 
 more. You might as well, and then I can be sure 
 you're grateful." 
 
 Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took 
 his reward in the darkness. It was only one 
 kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, 
 it was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free 
 angrily, and Dick stood abashed and tingling 
 from head to heel. 
 
 "Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare
 
 l86 The Light that Failed 
 
 you. I'm sorry. Only keep well and do good 
 work, specially the Melancolia. I'm going to 
 do one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be care- 
 ful what you drink. Country drinking-water is 
 bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write 
 to me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say 
 good-bye to the what-you-call-um girl, and 
 can't I have another kiss? No. You're quite 
 right. Good-bye." 
 
 A shout told him that it was not seemly to 
 charge up the mail-bag incline. He reached the 
 pier as the steamer began to move off, and he 
 followed her with his heart. 
 
 "And there's nothing nothing in the wide 
 world to keep us apart except her obstinacy. 
 These Calais night-boats are much too small. 
 I'll get Torp to write to the papers about it. 
 She's beginning to pitch already." 
 
 Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she 
 heard a little gasping cough at her elbow. The 
 red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold 
 flame. 
 
 " He kissed you! " she said. " How could you 
 let him, when he wasn't anything to you ? How 
 dared you take a kiss from him ! Oh, Maisie, 
 let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick, deadly 
 sick." 
 
 "We aren't into open water yet. Go down, 
 dear, and I'll stay here. I don't like the smell of
 
 The Light that Failed 187 
 
 the engines. . . . Poor Dick! He deserved 
 one, only one. But I didn't think he'd frighten 
 me so." 
 
 Dick returned to town next day just in time 
 for lunch, for which he had telegraphed. To 
 his disgust, there were only empty plates in the 
 studio. He lifted up his voice like the bears in 
 the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow entered, looking 
 very guilty. 
 
 " H'sh! " said he. " Don't make such a noise. 
 I took it. Come into my rooms, and I'll show 
 you why." 
 
 Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on 
 Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl asleep and breathing 
 heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the blue- 
 and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, 
 dabbled with mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed 
 with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at the 
 shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny um- 
 brella, and, above all, the disgraceful condition of 
 the kid-topped boots, declared all things. 
 
 "Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You 
 mustn't bring this sort up here. They steal 
 things from the rooms." 
 
 "It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in 
 after lunch, and she staggered into the hall. I 
 thought she was drunk at first, but it was col- 
 lapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I 
 brought her up here and gave her your lunch.
 
 1 88 The Light that Failed 
 
 She was fainting from want of food. She went 
 fast asleep the minute she had finished." 
 
 "I know something of that complaint. She's 
 been living on sausages, I suppose. Torp, you 
 should have handed her over to a policeman for 
 presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor 
 little wretch! Look at that face! There isn't an 
 ounce of immorality in it. Only folly, slack, 
 fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. 
 D'you notice how the skull begins to show 
 through the flesh padding on the face and cheek- 
 bone?" 
 
 " What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't 
 hit a woman when she's down. Can't we do 
 anything ? She was simply dropping with star- 
 vation. She almost fell into my arms, and when 
 she got to the food she ate like a wild beast. It 
 was horrible." 
 
 " I can give her money, which she would prob- 
 ably spend in drinks. Is she going to sleep for- 
 ever?" 
 
 The girl opened her eyes and glared at trie 
 men between terror and effrontery. 
 
 " Feeling better ? " said Torpenhow. 
 
 "Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gen- 
 tlemen that are as kind as you are. Thank you." 
 
 "When did you leave service?" said Dick, 
 who had been watching the scarred and chapped 
 hands.
 
 The Light that Failed 189 
 
 "How did you know I was in service? I 
 was. General servant. I didn't like it." 
 
 "And how do you like being your own mis- 
 tress ? " 
 
 "Do I look as if I liked it?" 
 
 "I suppose not. One moment. Would you 
 be good enough to turn your face to the win- 
 dow?" 
 
 The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face 
 keenly, so keenly that she made as if to hide 
 behind Torpenhow. 
 
 "The eyes have it," said Dick, walking up and 
 down. " They are superb eyes for my business. 
 And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. 
 This has been sent from heaven to make up for 
 what was taken away. Now the weekly 
 strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in 
 earnest. Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. 
 Raise your chin a little, please." 
 
 "Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring 
 somebody out of her wits," said Torpenhow, 
 who could see the girl trembling. 
 
 "Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let 
 him hit me! I've been hit cruel to-day because I 
 spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like 
 that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let 
 him look at me like that, neither! Oh, I feel as 
 if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like 
 that!"
 
 190 The Light that Failed 
 
 The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave 
 way, and the girl wept like a little child and be- 
 gan to scream. Dick threw open the window, 
 and Torpenhow flung the door back. 
 
 '* There you are," said Dick, soothingly. " My 
 friend here can call for a policeman, and you can 
 run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt 
 you." 
 
 The girl sobbed convulsively for a few min- 
 utes, and then tried to laugh. 
 
 "Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now 
 listen to me for a minute. I'm what they call an 
 artist by profession. You know what artists 
 do?" 
 
 " They draw the things in red and black ink op 
 the pop-shop labels." 
 
 " I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels 
 yet. Those are done by the Academicians. I 
 want to draw your head." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because it's pretty. That is why you will 
 come to the room across the landing three times 
 a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give 
 you three quid a week just for sitting still and 
 being drawn. And there's a quid on account." 
 
 "For nothing? Oh, my!" The girl turned 
 the sovereign in her hand, and with more foolish 
 tears; "Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid 
 of my bilking you?"
 
 The Light that Failed 191 
 
 "No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and re- 
 member this place. And, by the way, what's 
 your name?" 
 
 "I'm Bessie, Bessie It's no use giving the 
 rest. Bessie Broke, Stone-broke if you like. 
 What's your names ? But there, no one ever 
 gives the real ones." 
 
 Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. 
 
 "My name's Heldar, and my friend's called 
 Torpenhow ; and you must be sure to come here. 
 Where do you live?" 
 
 " South-the-water, one room, five and six- 
 pence a week. Aren't you making fun of me 
 about that three quid ? " 
 
 "You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time 
 you come, remember, you needn't wear that 
 paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the 
 colors you'll be likely to need." 
 
 Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a 
 ragged pocket-handkerchief. The two men 
 looked at each other. 
 
 "You're a man," said Torpenhow. 
 
 " I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our busi- 
 ness to run about the earth reforming Bessie 
 Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right 
 on this landing." 
 
 " Perhaps she won't come back." 
 
 " She will if she thinks she can get food and 
 v armth here. I know she will, worse luck
 
 193 The Light that Failed 
 
 But remember, old man, she isn't a woman: she's 
 my model; and be careful." 
 
 "The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow, 
 a gutter-snippet and nothing more." 
 
 "So you think. Wait till she has been fed a 
 little and freed from fear. That fair type recovers 
 itself very quickly. You won't know her in a 
 week or two, when that abject fear has died out 
 of her eyes. She'll be too happy and smiling for 
 my purposes." 
 
 " But surely you're taking her out of charity ? 
 to please me ? " 
 
 "I am not in the habit of playing with hot 
 coals to please anybody. She has been sent from 
 heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help 
 me with my Melancolia." 
 
 "Never heard a word about the lady before." 
 
 "What's the use of having a friend, if you 
 must sling your notions at him in words ? You 
 ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've 
 heard me grunt lately ? " 
 
 "Even so; but grunts mean anything in your 
 language, from bad 'baccy to wicked dealers. 
 And I don't think I've been much in your confi- 
 dence for some time." 
 
 "It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought 
 to have understood that it meant the Melancolia." 
 Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, 
 keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs
 
 The Light that Failed 193 
 
 " Now don't you see it ? Bessie's abject futility, 
 and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one or two 
 details in the way of sorrow that have come un- 
 der my experience lately. Likewise some orange 
 and black, two keys of each. But I can't ex- 
 plain on an empty stomach." 
 
 ** It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick 
 to your soldiers, Dick, instead of maundering 
 about heads and eyes and experiences." 
 
 "Think so?" Dick began to dance on his 
 heels, singing 
 
 They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready 
 cash, 
 You ought to 'ear the way they laugh an' joke ; 
 They are tricky an' they're funny when they've got the ready 
 money, 
 Ow ! but see 'em when they're all stone-broke." 
 
 Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie 
 in a four-sheet letter of counsel and encourage- 
 ment, and registered an oath that he would get 
 to work with an undivided heart as soon as 
 Bessie should reappear. 
 
 The girl kept her appointment unpainted and 
 unadorned, afraid and overbold by turns. When 
 she found that she was merely expected to sit 
 still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appoint- 
 ments of the studio with freedom and some 
 point. She liked the warmth and the comfort
 
 1 94 The Light that Failed 
 
 and the release from fear of physical pain. Dick 
 made two or three studies of her head in mono- 
 chrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia 
 would not arrive. 
 
 " What a mess you keep your things in! " said 
 Bessie, some days later, when she felt herself 
 thoroughly at home. " I s'pose your clothes are 
 just as bad. Gentlemen never think what but- 
 tons and tape are made for." 
 
 "I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they 
 go to pieces. I don't know what Torpenhow 
 does." 
 
 Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's 
 room, and unearthed a bale of disreputable 
 socks. "Some of these I'll mend now," she 
 said, "and some I'll take home. D'you know, 
 I sit all day long at home doing nothing, just like 
 a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in 
 the house than if they was so many flies? I 
 don't have any unnecessary words, but I put 'em 
 down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to 
 me. No; it's quite nice these days. I lock my 
 door, and they can only call me names through 
 the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, 
 mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow wears his 
 socks out both ends at once." 
 
 "Three quid a week from me, and the delights 
 of my society. No socks mended. Nothing 
 from Torp except a nod on the landing now and
 
 The Light that Failed 195 
 
 again, and all his socks mended. Bessie is very 
 much a woman," thought Dick; and he looked at 
 her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had 
 transformed the girl, as Dick knew they would. 
 
 "What are you looking at me like that for?" 
 she said, quickly. "Don't. You look reg'lar bad 
 when you look that way. You don't think much 
 0' me, do you?" 
 
 "That depends on how you behave." 
 
 Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was diffi- 
 cult at the end of ,a sitting to bid her go out into 
 the grey streets. She very much preferred the 
 studio and a big chair by the stove, with some 
 socks in her lap as an excuse for delay. Then 
 Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be 
 moved to tell strange and wonderful stories of 
 her past, and still stranger ones of her present 
 improved circumstances. She would make them 
 tea as though she had a right to make it; and 
 once or twice on these occasions Dick caught 
 Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, 
 and because Bessie's flittings about the room 
 made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he realized 
 whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. 
 And Bessie was exceedingly careful of the con- 
 dition of Torpenhow's linen. She spoke very 
 little to him, but sometimes they talked together 
 on the landing. 
 
 "I was a great fool," Dick said to himself.
 
 196 The Light that Failed 
 
 "I know what red firelight looks like when a 
 man's trampling through a strange town; and 
 ours is a lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I 
 wonder Maisie doesn't feel that sometimes. But 
 I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of 
 beginning things. One never knows where they 
 stop." 
 
 One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the 
 last limit of the light, Dick was roused from a 
 nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. 
 He jumped to his feet. "Now what ought I to 
 do ? It looks foolish to go in. Oh, bless you, 
 Binkie!" The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's 
 door open with his nose and came out to take 
 possession of Dick's chair. The door swung 
 wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing 
 could see Bessie in the half-light making her 
 little supplication to Torpenhow. She was 
 kneeling by his side, and her hands were clasped 
 across his knee. 
 
 " I know, I know," she said, thickly. " Tisn't 
 right o' me to do this, but I can't help it; and you 
 were so kind, so kind; and you never took any 
 notice o' me. And I've mended all your things 
 so carefully, I did. Oh, please, 'tisn't as if i 
 was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't think 
 of it. But cou couldn't you take and live with 
 me till Miss Right comes along? I'm only Miss 
 Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the
 
 The Light that Failed 197 
 
 bare bone for you. And I'm not ugly to look at. 
 Say you will?" 
 
 Dick hardly recognized Torpenhow's voice in 
 reply 
 
 " But look here. It's no use. I'm liable to be 
 ordered off anywhere at a minute's notice if a 
 war breaks out. At a minute's notice dear." 
 
 " What does that matter? Until you go, then. 
 Until you go. Tisn't much I'm asking, and 
 you don't know how good I can cook." She 
 had put an arm round his neck and was draw- 
 ing his head down. 
 
 " Until I go, then." 
 
 "Torp," said Dick across the landing. He 
 could hardly steady his voice. "Come here a 
 minute, old man. I'm in trouble." "Heaven 
 send he'll listen to me!" There was something 
 very like an oath from Bessie's lips. She was 
 afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase 
 in panic, but it seemed an age before Torpenhow 
 entered the studio. He went to the mantelpiece, 
 buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a 
 wounded bull. 
 
 "What the devil right have you to interfere?" 
 he said, at last. 
 
 "Who's interfering with which? Your own 
 sense told you long ago you couldn't be such a 
 fool. It was a tough rack, St Anthony, but 
 you're all right now."
 
 198 The Light that Failed 
 
 "I oughtn't to have seen her moving about 
 these rooms as if they belonged to her. That's 
 what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of 
 hankering, doesn't it?" said Torpenhow, pit- 
 eously. 
 
 "Now you talk sense. It does. But, since 
 you aren't in a condition to discuss the disadvan- 
 tages of double housekeeping, do you know what 
 you're going to do ?" 
 
 "I don't. I wish I did." 
 
 " You're going away for a season on a brilliant 
 tour to regain tone. You're going to Brighton, 
 or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the 
 ships go by. And you're going at once. Isn't it 
 odd? I'll take care of Binkie, but out you go 
 immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds 
 the bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and 
 
 go- 
 
 " I believe you're right. Where shall I go ?" 
 
 "And you call yourself a special correspond- 
 ent! Pack first and inquire afterward." 
 
 An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into 
 the night in a hansom. " You'll probably think 
 of some place to go to while you're moving," said 
 Dick. "Go to Euston, to begin with, and oh 
 yes get drunk to-night." 
 
 He returned to the studio, and lighted more 
 candles, for he found the room very dark. 
 
 "Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel!
 
 The Light that Failed 199 
 
 Won't you hate me to-morrow? Binkie, come 
 here." 
 
 Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth- 
 rug, and Dick stirred him with a meditative foot. 
 
 "I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. 
 She said she could cook. That showed premedi- 
 tated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will 
 go to perdition ; but if you are a woman, and say 
 that you can cook, you will go to a much worse 
 place."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 What's you that follows at my side ? 
 
 The foe that ye must fight, my lord, 
 That hirples swift as I can ride ? 
 
 The shadow of the night, my lord. 
 Then wheel my horse against the foe ! 
 
 He's down and overpast, my lord. 
 Ye war against the sunset glow : 
 
 The darkness gathers fast, my lord. 
 
 The Fight of Heriot's Fora. 
 
 "This is a cheerful life," said Dick, some days 
 later. "Torp's away; Bessie hates me; 1 can't get 
 at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's letters 
 are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. 
 What gives a man pains across his head and spots 
 before his eyes, Binkie ? Shall us take some liver 
 pills?" 
 
 Dick had just gone through a lively scene with 
 Bessie. She had for the fiftieth time reproached 
 him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained 
 her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear 
 to him that she only sat for the sake of his money. 
 "And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man 
 than you," she concluded. 
 
 " He is. That's why he went away. / should 
 have stayed and made love to you." 
 
 The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowl 
 200
 
 The Light that Failed 201 
 
 ing. "Tome! I'd like to catch you! Iflwasn't 
 afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what I'd 
 do. D'you believe me?" 
 
 Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live 
 in the company of a notion that will not work 
 out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman 
 who talks too much. He would have answered, 
 but at that moment there unrolled itself from one 
 corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the film- 
 iest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the grey 
 haze would not go. 
 
 "This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we 
 will go to a medicine-man. We can't have our 
 eyes interfered with, for by these we get our 
 bread; also mutton-chop bones for little dogs." 
 
 The doctor was an affable local practitioner 
 with white hair, and he said nothing till Dick be- 
 gan to describe the grey film in the studio. 
 
 "We all want a little patching and repairing 
 from time to time," he chirped. "Like a ship, 
 my dear sir, exactly like a ship. Sometimes the 
 hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; 
 sometimes the rigging, and then I advise; some- 
 times the engines, and we go to the brain-special- 
 ist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, 
 and then we see an oculist. I should recommend 
 you to see an oculist. A little patching and re- 
 pairing from time to time is all we want. An 
 oculist, by all means."
 
 202 The Light that Failed 
 
 Dick sought an oculist, the best in London. 
 He was certain that the local practitioner did not 
 know anything about his trade, and more certain 
 that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced 
 to wear spectacles. 
 
 "I've neglected the warnings of my lord the 
 stomach too long. Hence these spots before the 
 eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could." 
 
 As he entered the dark hall that led to the con- 
 sulting-room a man cannoned against him. Dick 
 saw the face as it hurried out into the street. 
 
 "That's the writer-type. He has the same 
 modeling of the forehead as Torp. He looks 
 very sick. Probably heard something he didn't 
 like." 
 
 Even as he thought, a great fear came upon 
 Dick, a fear that made him hold his breath as he 
 walked into the oculist's waiting-room, with the 
 heavy carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and 
 the sober-hued prints on the wall. He recognized 
 a reproduction of one of his own sketches. 
 
 Many people were waiting their turn before 
 him. His eye was caught by a flaming red-and- 
 gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came 
 to that eye-doctor, and they needed large-type 
 amusement. 
 
 "That's idolatrous bad Art," he said, drawing 
 the book toward himself. "From the anatomy 
 of the angels, it has been made in Germany."
 
 The Light that Failed 20) 
 
 He opened it mechanically, and there leaped to 
 his eyes a verse printed in red ink 
 
 The next good joy that Mary had, 
 
 It was the joy of three, 
 To see her good Son Jesus Christ 
 
 Making the blind to see ; 
 Making the blind to see, good Lord, 
 
 And happy may we be. 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost 
 
 To all eternity ! 
 
 Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn 
 came, and the doctor was bending above him 
 seated in an armchair. The blaze of a gas- 
 microscope in his eyes made him wince. The 
 doctor's hand touched the scar of the sword-cut 
 on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how 
 he had come by it. When the flame was re- 
 moved, Dick saw the doctor's face, and the fear 
 came upon him again. The doctor wrapped 
 himself in a mist of words. Dick caught allu- 
 sions to "scar," "frontal bone," "optic nerve," 
 "extreme caution," and the "avoidance of 
 mental anxiety." 
 
 " Verdict ?" he said, faintly. " My business is 
 painting, and I daren't waste time. What do 
 you make of it?" 
 
 Again the whirl of words, but this time they 
 conveyed a meaning. 
 
 " Can you give me anything to drink ? "
 
 204 The Light that Failed 
 
 Many sentences were pronounced in that dark- 
 ened room, and the prisoners often needed cheer- 
 ing. Dick found a glass of liquor brandy in his 
 hand. 
 
 "As far as I can gather," he said, coughing 
 above the spirit, "you call it decay of the optic 
 nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. 
 What is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and 
 worry ? " 
 
 " Perhaps one year." 
 
 "My God! And if I don't take care of my- 
 self?" 
 
 " I really could not say. One cannot ascertain 
 the exact amount of injury inflicted by the 
 sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and expos- 
 ure to the strong light of the desert, did you say ? 
 with excessive application to fine work? I 
 really could not say." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but it has come without 
 any warning. If you will let me, I'll sit here for 
 a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very 
 good in telling me the truth. Without any 
 warning ; without any warning. Thanks." 
 
 Dick went into the street, and was rapturously 
 received by Binkie. "We've got it very badly, 
 little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. We'll 
 go to the Park to think it out." 
 
 They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew 
 well, and they sat down to think, because his
 
 The Light that Failed 2 $ 
 
 legs were trembling under him and there was 
 cold fear at the pit of his stomach. 
 
 " How could it have come without any warn- 
 ing ? It's as sudden as being shot. It's the liv- 
 ing death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the 
 dark in one year if we're careful, and we shan't 
 see anybody, and we shall never have anything 
 we want, not though we live to be a hundred." 
 Binkie wagged his tail joyously. "Binkie, we 
 must think. Let's see how it feels to be blind." 
 Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and 
 Catherine-wheels floated inside the lids. Yet 
 when he looked across the Park the scope of his 
 vision was not contracted. He could see per- 
 fectly, until a procession of slow-wheeling fire- 
 works defiled across his eyeballs. 
 
 " Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's 
 go home. If only Torp were back, now ! " 
 
 But Torpenhow was in the south of England, 
 inspecting dockyards in the company of the 
 Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of 
 mystery. 
 
 Dick had never asked anybody to help him in 
 his joys or his sorrows. He argued, in the lone- 
 liness of the studio, henceforward to be decorated 
 with a film of grey gauze in one corner, that, it 
 his fate were blindness, all the Torpenhows in 
 the world could not save him. " I can't call him 
 off his trip to sit down and sympathize with me.
 
 206 The Light that Failed 
 
 I must pull through the business alone," he said. 
 He was lying on the sofa, eating his moustache 
 and wondering what the darkness of the night 
 would be like. Then came to his mind the 
 memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. A 
 soldier had been nearly hacked in two by a 
 broad-bladed Arab spear. For one instant the 
 man felt no pain. Looking down, he saw that 
 his life-blood was going from him. The stupid 
 bewilderment on his face was so intensely comic 
 that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and 
 unstrung from a fight for life, had roared with 
 laughter, in which the man seemed as if he 
 would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish 
 grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he 
 pitched grunting at their feet. Dick laughed 
 again, remembering the horror. Jt seemed so 
 exactly like his own case. " But I have a little 
 more time allowed me," he said. He paced up 
 and down the room, quietly at first, but after- 
 ward with the hurried feet of fear. It was as 
 though a black shadow stood at his elbow and 
 urged him to go forward; and there were only 
 weaving circles and floating pin-dots before his 
 eyes. 
 
 "We must be calm, Binkie; we must be 
 calm." He talked aloud for the sake of distrac- 
 tion. "This isn't nice at all. What shall we 
 do? We must do something. Our time is
 
 The Light that Failed xrj 
 
 short. I shouldn't have believed that this morn- 
 ing; but now things are different. Binkie, 
 where was Moses when the light went out ?" 
 
 Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred 
 terrier should, but made no suggestion. 
 
 "'Were there but world enough and time, 
 This coyness, Binkie, were no crime. . . . 
 But at my back I always hear'" He wiped 
 his forehead, which was unpleasantly damp. 
 "What can I do? What can I do? I haven't 
 any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, 
 but I must do something, or 1 shall go off my 
 head." 
 
 The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping 
 every now and again to drag forth long-neglected 
 canvases and old notebooks; for he turned to 
 his work by instinct, as a thing that could not 
 fail. "You won't do, and you won't do," he 
 said, at each inspection. "No more soldiers. 
 I couldn't paint 'em. Sudden death comes home 
 too nearly, and this is battle and murder both 
 for me." 
 
 The day was failing, and Dick thought for a 
 moment that the twilight of the blind had come 
 upon him unawares. "Allah Almighty!" he 
 cried, despairingly, "help me through the time 
 of waiting, and I won't whine when my punish- 
 ment comes. What can I do now, before the 
 light goes?"
 
 208 The Light that Failed 
 
 There was no answer. Dick waited till he 
 could regain some sort of control over him- 
 self. His hands were shaking, and he prided 
 himself on their steadiness; he could feel that his 
 lips were quivering, and the sweat was running 
 down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven 
 forward by the desire to get to work at once 
 and accomplish something, and maddened by 
 the refusal of his brain to do more than repeat 
 the news that he was about to go blind. "It's 
 a humiliating exhibition," he thought, "and I'm 
 glad Torp isn't here to see. The doctor said I 
 was to avoid mental worry. Come here and let 
 me pet you, Binkie." 
 
 The little dog yelped because Dick nearly 
 squeezed the bark out of him. Then he heard 
 the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, 
 understood that his trouble stood off from him 
 
 "Allah is good, Binkie. Not quite so gentle 
 as we could wish, but we'll discuss that later. I 
 think I see my way to it now. All those studies 
 of Bessie's head were nonsense, and they nearly 
 brought your master into a scrape. I hold the 
 notion now as clear as crystal, 'the Melancolia 
 that transcends all wit' There shall be Maisie in 
 that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and 
 Bess, of course, because she knows all about 
 Melancolia, though she doesn't know she knows; 
 and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall
 
 The Light that Failed 209 
 
 all end up with a laugh. That's for myself. 
 Shall she giggle or grin? No, she shall laugh 
 right out of the canvas, and every man and 
 woman that ever had a sorrow of their own shall 
 what is it the poem says ? 
 
 " Understand the speech and feel a stir 
 Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. 
 
 4 In all disastrous fight ' ? That's better than 
 painting the thing merely to pique Maisie. I can 
 do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, 
 I'm going to hold you up by your tail. You're 
 an omen. Come here." 
 
 Binkie swung head downward for a moment 
 without speaking. 
 
 "'Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're 
 a brave little dog, and you don't yelp when 
 you're hung up. It is an omen." 
 
 Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as 
 he looked saw Dick walking up and down, rub- 
 bing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick 
 wrote a letter to Maisie full of the tenderest re- 
 gard for her health, but saying very little about 
 his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be 
 born. Not till morning did he remember that 
 something might happen to him in the future. 
 
 He fell to work, whistling softly, and was 
 swallowed up in the clean, clear joy of creation, 
 which does not come to man too often, lest he
 
 2io The Light that Failed 
 
 should consider himself the equal of his God, and 
 so refuse to die at the appointed time. He forgot 
 Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, but 
 remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very lit- 
 tle stirring, into a tremendous rage, that he might 
 watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. He 
 threw himself without reservation into his work, 
 and did not think of the doom that was to over- 
 take him, for he was possessed with his notion, 
 and the things of this world had no power upon 
 him. 
 
 "You're pleased to-day," said Bessie. 
 
 Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and 
 went to the sideboard for a drink. In the even- 
 ing, when the exaltation of the day had died 
 down, he went to the sideboard again, and after 
 some visits became convinced that the eye-doctor 
 was a liar, since he still could see everything very 
 clearly. He was of opinion that he would even 
 make a home for Maisie, and that whether she 
 liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood 
 passed next morning, but the sideboard and all 
 upon it remained for his comfort. Again he set 
 to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots 
 and dashes and blurs till he had taken counsel 
 with the sideboard, and the Melancolia both on 
 the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier 
 than ever. There was a delightful sense of irre- 
 sponsibility upon him, such as they feel who
 
 The Light that Failed ail 
 
 walking among their fellow-men know that the 
 death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, 
 since fear is but waste of the little time left, are 
 riotously happy. The days passed without event. 
 Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though 
 her voice seemed to Dick to come from a distance, 
 her face was always very near, and the Melan- 
 colia began to flame on the canvas, in the likeness 
 of a woman who had known all the sorrow in 
 the world and was laughing at it. It was true 
 that the corners of the studio draped themselves 
 in grey film and retired into the darkness, that 
 the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head 
 were very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters 
 were hard to read and harder still to answer. He 
 could not tell her of his trouble, and he could not 
 laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia 
 which was always going to be finished. But the 
 furious days of toil and the nights of wild dreams 
 made amends for all, and the sideboard was his 
 best friend on earth. Bessie was singularly dull. 
 She used to shriek with rage when Dick stared 
 at her between half-closed eyes. Now she 
 sulked, or watched him with disgust, saying 
 very little. 
 
 Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. 
 An incoherent note heralded his return. "News! 
 great news!" he wrote. "The Nilghai knows, 
 and so does the Keneu. We're all back on
 
 212 The Light that Failed 
 
 Thursday. Get lunch and clean your accoutre- 
 ments." 
 
 Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused 
 him for that he had ever sent Torpenhow away 
 and ruined her life. 
 
 "Well," said Dick, brutally, "you're better as 
 you are, instead of making love to some drunken 
 beast in the street." He felt that he had rescued 
 Torpenhow from great temptation. 
 
 "I don't know if that's any worse than sitting 
 to a drunken beast in a studio. You haven't 
 been sober for three weeks. You've been soak- 
 ing the whole time; and yet you pretend you're 
 better than me!" 
 
 "What d'you mean?" said Dick. 
 
 "Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow 
 comes back." 
 
 It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met 
 Bessie on the staircase without a sign of feeling. 
 He had news that was more to him than many 
 Bessies, and the Keneu and the Nilghai were 
 trampling behind him, calling for Dick. 
 
 "Drinking like a fish," Bessie whispered. 
 "He's been at it for nearly a month." She fol- 
 lowed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. 
 
 They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be wel- 
 comed over-effusively by a drawn, lined, 
 shrunken, haggard wreck, unshaven, blue- 
 white about the nostrils, stooping in the shoul-
 
 The Light that Failed 313 
 
 ders, and peering under his eyebrows nervously. 
 The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. 
 
 "Is this you?" said Torpenhow. 
 
 " All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's 
 quite well, and I've been doing some good work." 
 He reeled where he stood. 
 
 " You've done some of the worst work you've 
 ever done in your life. Man alive, you're" 
 
 Torpenhow turned to his companions appeal- 
 ingly, and they left the room to find lunch else- 
 where. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof 
 of a friend is much too sacred and intimate a 
 thing to be printed, and since Torpenhow used 
 figures and metaphors which were unseemly, 
 and contempt untranslatable, it will never be 
 known what was actually said to Dick, who 
 blinked and winked and picked at his hands. 
 After a time the culprit began to feel the need of 
 a little self-respect. He was quite sure that he 
 had not in any way departed from virtue, and 
 there were reasons, too, of which Torpenhow 
 knew nothing. He would explain. 
 
 He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and 
 spoke to the face he could hardly see. 
 
 "You are right," he said. "But I am right, 
 too. After you went away I had some trouble 
 with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he 
 turned a gasogene I mean a gas-engine into 
 my eye. That was very long ago. He said,
 
 214 The Light that Failed 
 
 'Scar on the head, sword-cut and optic nerve. ' 
 Make a note of that. So I am going blind. 1 
 have some work to do before I go blind, and I 
 suppose that 1 must do it. I cannot see much 
 now, but I can see best when I am drunk. I did 
 not know I was drunk till I was told, but I must 
 go on with my work. If you want to see it, 
 there it is." He pointed to the all but finished 
 Melancolia and looked for applause. 
 
 Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to 
 whimper feebly, for joy at seeing Torpenhow 
 again, for grief at misdeeds if indeed they were 
 misdeeds that made Torpenhow remote and 
 unsympathetic, and for childish vanity hurt, since 
 Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his 
 wonderful picture. 
 
 Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long 
 pause, and saw the two walking up and down 
 as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder. 
 Hereat she said something so improper that it 
 shocked even Binkie, who was dribbling patiently 
 on the landing with the hope of seeing his mas- 
 ter again.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The lark will make her hymn to God, 
 
 The partridge call her brood, 
 While I forget the heath I trod, 
 
 The fields wherein I stood. 
 Tis dule to know not night from morn, 
 
 But deeper dule to know 
 I can but hear the hunter's horn 
 
 That once I used to blow. The Only Son, 
 
 It was the third day after Torpenhow's return, 
 and his heart was heavy. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to 
 work without whiskey ? It's generally the other 
 way about." 
 
 "Can a drunkard swear on his honor ?" said 
 Dick. 
 
 " Yes, if he has been as good a man as you." 
 
 "Then I give you my word of honor," said 
 Dick, speaking hurriedly through parched lips. 
 "Old man, 1 can hardly see your face now. 
 You've kept me sober for two days, if 1 ever 
 was drunk, and I've done no work. Don't keep 
 me back any more. I don't know when my eyes 
 may give out. The spots and dots and the pains 
 and things are crowding worse than ever. I 
 swear I can see all right when I'm when I'm 
 moderately screwed, as you say. Give me three 
 215
 
 216 The Light that Failed 
 
 more sittings from Bessie and all the stuff I 
 want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill 
 myself in three days. It only means a touch of 
 D. T. at the worst." 
 
 " If I give you three days more will you prom- 
 ise me to stop work and the other thing, 
 whether the picture's finished or not?" 
 
 "I can't. You don't know what that picture 
 means to me. But surely you could get the 
 Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie 
 me up. I shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I 
 should for the work." 
 
 "Go on, then. I give you three days; but 
 you're nearly breaking my heart." 
 
 Dick returned to his work, toiling as one pos- 
 sessed; and the yellow devil of whiskey stood 
 by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. 
 The Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all 
 or nearly all that he had hoped she would be. 
 Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that 
 he was "a drunken beast"; but the reproof did 
 not move him. 
 
 " You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight 
 of land now, and soon we shall lie back and 
 think about what we've done. I'll give you 
 three months' pay when the picture's finished, 
 and next time I have any more work in hand 
 but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' 
 pay make you hate me less?"
 
 The Light that Failed ai<7 
 
 "No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hat- 
 ing you. Mr. Torpenhow won't speak to me 
 any more. He's always looking at map-things 
 and red-backed books." 
 
 Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege 
 to Torpenhow, or that he had at the end of her 
 passionate pleading picked her up, given her a 
 kiss, and put her outside the door with a recom- 
 mendation not to be a little fool. He spent most 
 of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and 
 their talk was of war in the near future, the hir- 
 ing of transports, and secret preparations among 
 the dockyards. He did not care to see Dick till 
 the picture was finished. 
 
 "He's doing first-class work," he said to the 
 Nilghai, ' ' and it's quite out of his regular line. But, 
 for the matter of that, so's his infernal drinking." 
 
 "Never mind. Leave him alone. When he 
 has come to his senses again we'll carry him off 
 from this place and let him breathe clean air. 
 Poor Dick! I don't envy you, Torp, when his 
 eyes fail." 
 
 "Yes, it will be a case of 'God help the man 
 who's chained to our Davie.' The worst is that 
 we don't know when it will happen; and I be- 
 lieve the uncertainty and the waiting have sent 
 Dick to the whiskey more than anything else." 
 
 " How the Arab who cut his head open would 
 grin if he knew!"
 
 2i8 The Light that Failed 
 
 " He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. 
 He's dead. That's poor consolation now." 
 
 In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow 
 heard Dick calling for him. "All finished! " he 
 shouted. "I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a 
 beauty ? Isn't she a darling ? I've been down to 
 hell to get her; but isn't she worth it?" 
 
 Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman 
 who laughed, a full-lipped, hollow-eyed woman 
 who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had 
 intended she should. 
 
 "Who taught you how to doit?" said Tor- 
 penhow. "The touch and notion have nothing 
 to do with your regular work. What a face it 
 is! What eyes, and what insolence!" Uncon- 
 sciously he threw back his head and laughed 
 with her. "She's seen the game played out, I 
 don't think she had a good time of it, and now 
 she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Where did you get the mouth and chin 
 from ? They don't belong to Bess." 
 
 " They're some one else's. But isn't it good ? 
 Isn't it thundering good ? Wasn't it worth the 
 whiskey ? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the 
 best I can do." He drew his breath sharply, and 
 whispered, "Just God! what could I not do ten 
 years hence, if I can do this now ! By the way, 
 what do you think of it, Bess ? "
 
 The Light that Failed 219 
 
 The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Tor- 
 penhow because he had taken no notice of her. 
 
 "I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing 
 I ever saw," she answered, and turned away. 
 
 "More than you will be of that way of think- 
 ing, young woman. Dick, there's a sort of mur- 
 derous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the 
 head that I don't understand," said Torpenhow. 
 
 "That's trick-work," said Dick, chuckling 
 with delight of being completely understood. 
 " I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer swagger. 
 It's a French trick, and you wouldn't understand; 
 but it's got at by slewing round the head a trifle, 
 and a tiny, tiny foreshortening of one side of the 
 face from the angle of the chin to the top of the 
 left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under 
 the lobe of the ear. It was flagrant trick-work; 
 but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled to play 
 with it. Oh, you beauty ! " 
 
 " Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it." 
 
 "So will every man who has any sorrow of 
 his own," said Dick, slapping his thigh. " He 
 shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord 
 Harry, just when he's feeling properly sorry for 
 himself he shall throw back his head and laugh, 
 as she is laughing. I've put the life of my 
 heart and the light of my eyes into her, and I 
 don't care what comes. ... I'm tired, 
 awfully tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take
 
 22Q The Light that Failed 
 
 away the whiskey, it has served its turn, and 
 give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over for 
 luck. Cover the picture." 
 
 He dropped asleep in the long chair, his face 
 white and haggard, almost before he had finished 
 the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's 
 hand. " Aren't you never going to speak to me 
 any more?" she said; but Torpenhow was look- 
 ing at Dick. 
 
 "What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll 
 take him in hand to-morrow and make much of 
 him. He deserves it. Eh! what was that, 
 Bess?" 
 
 "Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, 
 and then I'll go. You couldn't give me that 
 three months' pay now, could you? He said 
 you were to." 
 
 Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his 
 own rooms. Bessie faithfully tidied up the stu- 
 dio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a 
 bottle of turpentine on a duster, and began to 
 scrub the face of the Melancolia viciously. The 
 paint did not smudge quickly enough. She 
 took a palette-knife and scraped, following each 
 stroke with the wet duster. In five minutes the 
 picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colors. 
 She threw the paint-stained duster into the studio 
 stove, stuck out her tongue at the sleeper, and 
 whispered, "Bilked!" as she turned to run
 
 Copyright, 1899, by H. M. Caldwell Co. 
 
 Bessie Destroys the Picture.
 
 The Light that Failed 221 
 
 down the staircase. She would never see Tor- 
 penhow any more, but she had at least done 
 harm to the man who had come between her 
 and her desire and who used to make fun of her. 
 Cashing the check was the very cream of the jest 
 to Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across 
 the Thames, to be swallowed up in the grey 
 wilderness of South-the-water. 
 
 Dick slept till late into the evening, when Tor- 
 penhow dragged him off to bed. His eyes were 
 as bright as his voice was hoarse. " Let's have 
 another look at the picture," he said, insistently 
 as a child. 
 
 " You go to bed," said Torpenhow. " You 
 aren't at all well, though you mayn't know it. 
 You're as jumpy as a cat." 
 
 "I reform to-morrow. Good-night." 
 
 As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow 
 lifted the cloth above the picture, and almost 
 betrayed himself by outcries: "Wiped out! > 
 scraped out and turped out! If Dick knows this 
 to-night he'll go perfectly mad. He's on the 
 verge of jumps as it is. That's Bess, the little 
 fiend! Only a woman could have done that! 
 with the ink not dry on the check, too! Dick 
 will be raving mad to-morrow. It was all my 
 fault for trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my 
 poor Dick, the Lord is hitting you very hard! " 
 
 Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure
 
 222 The Light that Failed 
 
 joy, and partly because the well-known Cathe- 
 rine-wheels inside his eyes had given place 
 to crackling volcanoes of many-colored fire. 
 "Spout away," he said, aloud. "I've done my 
 work, and now you can do what you please." 
 He lay still, staring at the ceiling, the long-pent- 
 up delirium of drink in his veins, his brain on 
 fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to 
 be considered, and his hands crisped and dry. 
 He had just discovered that he was painting the 
 face of 'the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed 
 with millions of lights, and that all his wondrous 
 thoughts stood embodied hundreds of feet below 
 his tiny swinging plank, shouting together in his 
 honor, when something cracked 'inside his tem- 
 ples like an overstrained bowstring, the glittering 
 dome broke inward, and he was alone in the 
 thick night. 
 
 " I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's 
 light a lamp and see how the Melancolia looks. 
 There ought to have been a moon." 
 
 It was then that Torpenhow heard his name 
 called by a voice that he did not know, in the 
 rattling accents of deadly fear. 
 
 "He's looked at the picture," was his first 
 thought, as he hurried into the bedroom and found 
 Dick sitting up and beating the air with his hands. 
 
 "Torp! Torp! Where are you? For pity's 
 sake, come to me!"
 
 The Light that Failed 22y 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 Dick clutched at his shoulder. " Matter! I've 
 been lying here for hours in the dark, and you 
 never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. 
 I'm all in the dark. In the dark, I tell you! " 
 
 Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of 
 Dick's eyes, but there was no light in those eyes. 
 He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. 
 The grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder 
 made Torpenhow wince. 
 
 "Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me 
 alone now, would you ? I can't see. D'you un- 
 derstand ? It's black, quite black, and I feel 
 as if I was falling through it all." 
 
 "Steady, does it." Torpenhow put his arm 
 round Dick and began to rock him gently to and 
 fro. 
 
 "That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep 
 very quiet for a while, this darkness will lift. 
 It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!" 
 Dick knit his brows and stared desperately in 
 front of him. The night air was chilling Tor- 
 penhow's toes. 
 
 "Can you stay like that a minute?" he said. 
 "I'd get my dressing-gown and some slip- 
 pers.'' 
 
 Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands 
 and waited for the darkness to clear away. 
 "What a time you've been!" he cried, when
 
 224 The Light that Failed 
 
 Torpenhow returned. " It's as black as ever. 
 What are you banging about in the doorway ?" 
 
 "Long chair, horse-blanket, pillow. Going 
 to sleep by you. Lie down now; you'll be bet- 
 ter in the morning." 
 
 " I shan't!" The voice rose to a wail. "My 
 God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and the darkness 
 will never go away." He made as if to leap 
 from the bed, but Torpenhow's arms were 
 round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his 
 shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of 
 him. He could only gasp, " Blind 1 " and wriggle 
 feebly. 
 
 "Steady, Dickie, steady!" said the deep voice 
 in his ear, and the grip tightened. " Bite on the 
 bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're 
 afraid." The grip could draw no closer. Both 
 men were breathing heavily. Dick threw his 
 head from side to side and groaned. 
 
 "Let me go," he panted. "You're cracking 
 my ribs. We we mustn't let them think we're 
 afraid, must we, all the powers of darkness and 
 that lot ? " 
 
 " Lie down. It's all over now." 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, obediently. "But would 
 you mind letting me hold your hand ? I feel as 
 if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops 
 through the dark so." 
 
 Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw
 
 The Light that Failed 225 
 
 from the long chair. Dick clutched it tightly, 
 and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpen- 
 how withdrew his hand, and, stooping over 
 Dick, kissed him lightly on the forehead, as men 
 do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the 
 hour of death, to ease his departure. 
 
 In the grey dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talk- 
 ing to himself. He was adrift on the shoreless 
 tides of delirium, speaking very quickly 
 
 "It's a pity, a great pity; but it's helped, and 
 it must be eaten, Master George. Sufficient unto 
 the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, 
 putting aside all Melancolias and false humors, it 
 is of obvious notoriety such as mine was that 
 the queen can do no wrong. Torp doesn't know 
 that. I'll tell him when we're a little farther into 
 the desert. What a bungle those boatmen are 
 making of the steamer-ropes! They'll have that 
 four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I 
 told you so there she goes! White foam on 
 green water, and the steamer slewing round. 
 How good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I 
 can't. I'm afflicted with ophthalmia. That was 
 one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it extends 
 up the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's 
 a joke, Torp. Laugh, you graven image, and 
 stand clear of the hawser. . . . It'll knock 
 you into the water and make your dress all dirty, 
 Maisie dear."
 
 226 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Oh!" said Torpenhow. "This happened 
 before. That night on the river." 
 
 " She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get 
 muddy, and you're quite near enough to the break- 
 water. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew 
 you'd miss. Low and to the left, dear. But 
 you've no conviction. Everything in the world 
 except conviction. Don't be angry, darling. I'd 
 cut my hand off if it would give you anything 
 more than obstinacy. My right hand, if it would 
 serve." 
 
 "Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island 
 shouting across seas of misunderstanding with a 
 vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy," said 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. 
 Sometimes Dick lectured at length on his craft, 
 then he cursed himself for his folly in being en- 
 slaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss only 
 one kiss before she went away, and called to 
 her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she 
 would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven 
 and earth witness that the queen could do no 
 wrong. 
 
 Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned 
 every detail of Dick's life that had been hidden 
 from him. For three days Dick raved through 
 his past, and then slept a natural sleep. "What 
 a strain he has been running under, poor chap! "
 
 The Light that Failed 221 
 
 said Torpenhow. "Dick, of all men, handing 
 himself over like a dog! And I was lecturing 
 him on arrogance! I ought to have known that 
 it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. 
 What a demon that girl must be! Dick's given 
 her his life, confound him ! and she's given him 
 one kiss apparently." 
 
 " Torp," said Dick from the bed, "go out for 
 a walk. You've been here too long. I'll get up. 
 Hi! This is annoying. 1 can't dress myself. 
 Oh, it's too absurd!" 
 
 Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led 
 him to the big chair in the studio. He sat quietly 
 waiting under strained nerves for the darkness to 
 lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick 
 adventured on a voyage round the walls. He hit 
 his shins against the stove, and this suggested to 
 him that it would be better to crawl on all-fours, 
 one hand in front of him. Torpenhow found him 
 on the floor. 
 
 "I'm trying to get the geography of my new 
 possessions," said he. "D'you remember that 
 nigger you gouged in the square ? Pity you 
 didn't keep the odd eye. It would have been 
 useful. Any letters for me ? Give me all the 
 ones in fat grey envelopes with a sort of crown 
 thing outside. They're of no importance." 
 
 Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. 
 on the envelope flap. Dick put it into his pocket.
 
 228 The Light that Failed 
 
 There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might 
 not have read, but it belonged to himself and to 
 Maisie, who would never belong to him. 
 
 "When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop 
 writing. It's better so. I couldn't be any use to 
 her now," Dick argued, and the tempter suggested 
 that he should make known his condition. Every 
 nerve in him revolted. "I have fallen low enough 
 already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, 
 it would be cruel to her." He strove to put 
 Maisie out of his thoughts; but the blind have 
 many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides 
 of his strength came back to him in the long em- 
 ployless days of dead darkness, Dick's soul was 
 troubled to the core. Another letter, and an- 
 other, came from Maisie. Then there was 
 silence, and Dick sat by the window, the pulse 
 of summer in the air, and pictured her being won 
 by another man, stronger than himself. His 
 imagination, the keener for the dark background 
 it worked against, spared him no single detail 
 that might send him raging up and down the 
 studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to 
 be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco 
 would not taste in the darkness. The arrogance 
 of the man had disappeared, and in its place were 
 settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind 
 passion that Dick confided to his pillow at night. 
 The intervals between the paroxysms were filled
 
 The Light that Failed 229 
 
 with intolerable waiting and the weight of intol- 
 erable darkness. 
 
 "Come out into the Park," said Torpenhow. 
 "You haven't stirred out since the beginning of 
 things." 
 
 " What's the use ? There's no movement in 
 the dark; and, besides," he paused irresolutely 
 at the head of the stairs, "something will run 
 over me." 
 
 "Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly." 
 
 The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous 
 terror, and he clung to Torpenhow's arm. 
 "Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your 
 foot!" he said, petulantly, as he turned into the 
 Park. " Let's curse God and die." 
 
 "Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorized 
 compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards! " 
 
 Dick's figure straightened. "Let's get near 
 'em. Let's go in and look. Let's get on the 
 grass and run. I can smell the trees." 
 
 "Mind the low railing. That's all right!" 
 Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of grass with his 
 heel. "Smell that," he said. " Isn't it good?" 
 Dick snuffed luxuriously. "Now pick up your 
 feet and run." They approached as near to the 
 regiment as was possible. The clank of bayo- 
 nets being unfixed made Dick's nostrils quiver. 
 
 "Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't 
 they?"
 
 2JQ The Light that Failed 
 
 " Yes. How did you know ? " 
 
 "Felt it. Oh, my men! my beautiful men!" 
 He edged forward as though he could see. "I 
 could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em 
 now?" 
 
 "They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump 
 when the band begins." 
 
 "Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the si- 
 lences that hurt. Nearer, Torp! nearer! Oh, 
 my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a 
 minute! one half minute! " 
 
 He could hear the armed life almost within 
 reach of him, could hear the slings tighten across 
 the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum 
 from the ground. 
 
 "Sticks crossed above his head," whispered 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 "I know. / know! Who should know if I 
 don't? H'sh!" 
 
 The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the 
 men swung forward to the crash of the band. 
 Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in 
 his face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and 
 the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big 
 drum pounded out the tune. It was a music- 
 hail refrain that made a perfect quickstep 
 
 He must be a man of decent height, 
 
 He must be a man of weight, 
 He must come home on a Saturday night 
 
 In a thoroughly sober state ;
 
 The Light that Failed 331 
 
 He must know how to love me, 
 
 And he must know how to kiss ; 
 And if he's enough to keep us both 
 
 I can't refuse him bliss. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Torpenhow, as he 
 saw Dick's head fall when the last of the regi- 
 ment had departed. 
 
 " Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the run- 
 ning, that's all. Torp, take me back. Why 
 did you bring me out?"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 There were three friends that buried the fourth, 
 The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes; 
 
 And they went south and east, and north, 
 The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. 
 
 There were three friends that spoke of the dead, 
 
 The strong man fights, but the sick man dies 
 
 * And would he were here with us now," they said, 
 " The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes." 
 
 Ballad. 
 
 The Nilghai was angry with Torpenhow, 
 Dick had been sent to bed, blind men are evei 
 under the orders of those who can see, and 
 since he had returned from the Park had fluently 
 sworn at Torpenhow because he was alive, and 
 all the world because it was alive and could see, 
 while he, Dick, was dead in the death of the 
 blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon 
 their associates. Torpenhow had said something 
 about a Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick had retired in 
 a black fury to handle and rehandle three un- 
 opened letters from Maisie. 
 
 The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in 
 forpenhow's rooms. Behind him sat the Keneu, 
 the Great war fcagle, and between them lay a 
 232
 
 The Light that Failed 233 
 
 large map embellished with black and white- 
 headed pins. 
 
 "1 was wrong about the Balkans," said the 
 Nilghai. " But I'm not wrong about this busi- 
 ness. The whole of our work in the Southern 
 Soudan must be done over again. The public 
 doesn't care, of course, but the government does, 
 and they are making their arrangements quietly. 
 You know that as well as I do." 
 
 '* I remember how the people cursed us when 
 our troops withdrew from Omdurman. It was 
 bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't 
 go," said Torpenhow. He pointed through the 
 open door; it was a hot night. "Can you blame 
 me?" 
 
 The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large 
 and very happy cat 
 
 "Don't blame you in the least. It's uncom- 
 monly good of you, and all the rest of it, but 
 every man even you, Torp must consider his 
 work. I know it sounds brutal, but Dick's out 
 of the race, down, gastados, expended, fin- 
 ished, done for. He has a little money of his 
 own. He won't starve, and you can't pull out 
 of your slide for his sake. Think of your own 
 reputation." 
 
 "Dick's was five times bigger than mine and 
 yours put together." 
 
 "That was because he signed his name to
 
 234 The Light that Failed 
 
 everything he did. It's all ended now. You 
 must hold yourself in readiness to move out. 
 You can command your own prices, and you do 
 better work than any three of us." 
 
 "Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay 
 here to look after Dick for a while. He's as 
 cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think 
 he likes to have me near him." 
 
 The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary 
 about soft-headed fools who throw away their 
 careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed 
 angrily. The constant strain of attendance on 
 Dick had worn his nerves thin. 
 
 "There remains a third fate," said the Keneu, 
 thoughtfully. "Consider this, and be not larger 
 fools than is necessary. Dick is or rather was 
 an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and 
 a certain amount of audacity." 
 
 "Oho!" said the Nilghai, who remembered 
 an affair at Cairo. "I begin to see. Torp, I'm 
 sorry." 
 
 Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: "You were 
 more sorry when he cut you out, though. Go 
 on Keneu." 
 
 "I've often thought, when I've seen men die 
 out in the desert, that if the news could be sent 
 through the world, and the means of transport 
 were quick enough, there would be one woman 
 at least at each man's bedside."
 
 The Light that Failed 235 
 
 "There would be some mighty quaint revela- 
 tions. Let us be grateful things are as they are," 
 said the Nilghai. 
 
 "Let us rather reverently consider whether 
 Torp's three-cornered ministrations are exactly 
 what Dick needs just now. What do you think 
 yourself, Torp?" 
 
 " I know they aren't. But what can I do ?" 
 
 "Lay the matter before the board. We are 
 all Dick's friends here. You've been most in his 
 life." 
 
 " But I picked it up when he was off his head." 
 
 "The greater chance of its being true. I 
 thought we should arrive. Who is she?" 
 
 Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as 
 a special correspondent who knows how to 
 make a verbal precis should tell it. The men 
 listened without interruption. 
 
 "Is it possible that a man can come back 
 across the years to his calf-love ? " said the Ke- 
 neu. "Is it possible?" 
 
 " I give the facts. He says nothing about it 
 now, but he sits fumbling three letters from her 
 when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to 
 do?" 
 
 "Speak to him," said the Nilghai. 
 
 "Oh yes! Write to her, I don't know her 
 full name, remember, and ask her to accept him 
 out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you
 
 236 The Light that Failed 
 
 were sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember 
 what happened, eh ? Go into the bedroom and 
 suggest full confession and an appeal to this 
 Maisie girl, whoever she is. I honestly believe 
 he'd try to kill you; and the blindness has made 
 him rather muscular." 
 
 " Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear," said 
 the Keneu. "He will go to Vitry-sur-Marne, 
 which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway, single 
 track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out 
 in '70 because there was a poplar on the top of a 
 hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire. 
 There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there, 
 or ought to be. Where this studio Torp spoke 
 about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's busi- 
 ness. I have given him his route. He will dis- 
 passionately explain the situation to the girl, and 
 she will come back to Dick, the more especially 
 because, to use Dick's words, 'there is nothing 
 but her damned obstinacy to keep them apart.' " 
 
 "And they have four hundred and twenty 
 pounds a year between 'em. Dick never lost his 
 head for figures, even in his delirium. You 
 haven't the shadow of an excuse for not going," 
 said the Nilghai. 
 
 Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. " But 
 it's absurd and impossible. I can't drag her back 
 by the hair." 
 
 "Our business the business for which we
 
 The Light that Failed 237 
 
 draw our money is to do absurd and impossible 
 things, generally with no reason whatever ex- 
 cept to amuse the public. Here we have a 
 reason. The rest doesn't matter. I shall share 
 these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow 
 returns. There will be a batch of unbridled 
 ' specials ' coming to town in* a little while, and 
 these will serve as their headquarters. Another 
 reason for sending Torpenhow away. Thus 
 Providence helps those who help others, and " 
 here the Keneu dropped his measured speech 
 "we can't have you tied by the leg to Dick 
 when the trouble begins. It's your only chance 
 of getting away; and Dick will be grateful." 
 
 " He will, worse luckl I can but go and try. 
 I can't conceive a woman in her senses refusing 
 Dick." 
 
 "Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you 
 wheedle an angry Mahdieh woman into giving 
 you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. 
 You had better not be here to-morrow afternoon, 
 because the Nilghai and I will be in possession. 
 It is an order. Obey." 
 
 "Dick," said Torpenhow next morning, "can 
 I do anything for you ?" 
 
 "No! Leave me alone. How often must 
 remind you that I'm blind ? " 
 
 "Nothing I could go for to fetch for to earn 
 for to bring ? "
 
 238 The Light that Failed 
 
 " No. Take those infernal creaking boots of 
 yours away.'" 
 
 "Poor chap!" said Torpenhow to himself. 
 "I must have been sitting on his nerves lately. 
 He wants a lighter step." Then, aloud, "Very 
 well. Since you're so independent, I'm going off 
 for four or five days. Say good-bye at least. 
 The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu 
 has my rooms." 
 
 Dick's face fell. "You won't be longer than a 
 week at the outside ? I know I'm touched in the 
 temper, but I can't get on without you." 
 
 "Can't you? You'll have to do without me 
 in a little time, and you'll be glad I'm gone." 
 
 Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and 
 wondered what these things might mean. He 
 did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, 
 and yet Torpenhow's constant tendernesses 
 jarred on him. He did not exactly know what 
 he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and 
 Maisie's unopened letters felt worn and old from 
 much handling. He could never read them for 
 himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might 
 have sent him some fresh ones to play with. 
 The Nilghai entered with a gift, a piece of red 
 modeling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find 
 interest in using his hands. Dick poked and 
 patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, "Is it 
 like anything in the world?" he said, drearily.
 
 The Light that Failed 239 
 
 "Take it away. I may get the touch of the 
 blind in fifty years. Do you know where Tor- 
 penhow has gone?" 
 
 The Nilghai knew nothing. "We're staying 
 in his rooms till he comes back. Can we do 
 anything for you?" 
 
 " I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think 
 I'm ungrateful; but I'm best alone." 
 
 The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his 
 drowsy brooding and sullen rebellion against fate. 
 He had long since ceased to think about the work 
 he had done in the old days, and the desire to do 
 more work had departed from him. He was ex- 
 ceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness 
 of his tender grief soothed him. But his soul 
 and his body cried for Maisie, Maisie who 
 would understand. His mind pointed out that 
 Maisie, having her own work to do, would not 
 care. His experience had taught him that when 
 money was exhausted women went away, and 
 that when a man was knocked out of the race 
 the others trampled on him. "Then at the 
 least," said Dick, in reply, "she could use me as 
 I used Binat, for some sort of a study. I 
 wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, 
 even though I knew that another man was mak 
 ing love to her. Ugh ! what a dog I am ! " 
 
 A voice on the staircase began to sing joy 
 fully
 
 ,24o The Light that Failed 
 
 When we go go go away from here, 
 
 Our creditors will weep and they will wail, 
 Our absence much regretting when they find that we've been 
 getting 
 
 Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail. 
 
 Following the trampling of feet, slamming of 
 Torpenhow's door, and the sound of voices in 
 strenuous debate, some one squeaked, "And see, 
 you good fellows, I have found a new water- 
 bottle, firs'-class patent eh, how you say? 
 Open himself inside out." 
 
 Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice 
 well. " That's Cassavetti, come back from the 
 Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. 
 There's a row somewhere, and I'm out of it!" 
 
 The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 
 " That's for my sake," Dick said, bitterly. " The 
 birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't 
 tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and 
 Mackaye. Half the War Correspondents in Lon- 
 don are there; and I'm out of it." 
 
 He stumbled across the landing and plunged 
 into Torpenhow's room. He could feel that it 
 was full of men. "Where's the trouble?" said 
 he. " In the Balkans at last ? Why didn't some 
 one tell me ?" 
 
 " We thought you wouldn't be interested," said 
 the Nilghai, shamefacedly. " It's in the Soudan, 
 as usual."
 
 The Light that Failed 241 
 
 "You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you 
 talk. 1 shan't be a skeleton at the feast. Cassa- 
 vetti, where are you ? Your English is as bad as 
 ever." 
 
 Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle 
 of the maps, and the talk swept forward, carry- 
 ing him with it. Everybody spoke at once, dis- 
 cussing press censorships, railway-routes, trans- 
 port, water-supply, the capacities of generals, 
 these in language that would have horrified a 
 trusting public, ranting, asserting, denouncing, 
 and laughing at the top of their voices. There 
 was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan 
 at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was 
 well to be in readiness. The Keneu had tele- 
 graphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen 
 a perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be 
 ordered forward, and was reading it out amid 
 profane interruptions, and the Keneu introduced 
 to Dick some man unknown who would be em- 
 ployed as war artist by the Central Southern Syn- 
 dicate. "It's his first outing," said the Keneu. 
 "Give him some tips about riding camels." 
 
 "Oh, those camels !" groaned Cassavetti. "I 
 shall learn to ride him again, and now I am so 
 much all soft ! Listen, you good fellows. I know 
 your military arrangement very well. There will 
 go the Royal Argalshire Sutherlanders. So it was 
 read to me upon best authority."
 
 242 The Light that Failed 
 
 A roar of laughter interrupted him. 
 
 " Sit down," said the Nilghai. " The lists aren't 
 even made out in the War Office." 
 
 "Will there be any force at Suakin?" said a 
 voice. 
 
 Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, 
 thus: "How many Egyptian troops will they 
 use ? God help the Fellaheen ! There's a railway 
 in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court. 
 We shall have the Suakin-Berber line built at 
 last. Canadian voyagers are too careful. Give 
 me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat. Who 
 commands the Desert column ? No, they never 
 blew up the big rock in the Ghineh bend. We 
 shall have to be hauled up, as usual. Somebody 
 tell me if there's an Indian contingent, or I'll 
 break everybody's head. Don't tear the map in 
 two. It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to con- 
 nect with the African companies in the South. 
 There's Guinea-worm in most of the wells on that 
 route." Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, 
 bellowed like a fog-horn and beat upon the table 
 with both hands. 
 
 "But what becomes of Torpenhow?" said 
 Dick, in the silence that followed. 
 
 "Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love- 
 making somewhere, I suppose," said the Nilghai. 
 
 " He said he was going to stay at home," said 
 the Keneu.
 
 The Light that Failed 243 
 
 " Is he ? " said Dick with an oath. " He won't. 
 I'm not much good now, but if you and the Nil- 
 ghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him 
 till he sees reason. He stay behind, indeed 1 
 He's the best of you all. There'll be some tough 
 work by Omdurman. We shall come there to 
 stay, this time. But I forgot. I wish 1 were 
 going with you." 
 
 "So do we all, Dickie," said the Keneu. 
 
 ''And I most of all," said the new artist of 
 the Central Southern Syndicate. "Could you 
 tell me " 
 
 "I'll give you one piece of advice," Dick an- 
 swered, moving toward the door. " If you hap- 
 pen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't 
 guard. Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll 
 find it cheapest in the end. Thanks for letting 
 me look in." 
 
 " There's grit in Dick," said the Nilghai, an hour 
 later, when the room was emptied of all save the 
 Keneu. 
 
 "It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. 
 Did you notice how he answered to it ? Poor 
 fellow! Let's look at him," said the Keneu. 
 
 The excitement of the talk had died away. 
 Dick was sitting by the studio table, with his 
 head on his arms, when the men came in. He 
 did not change his position. 
 
 " It hurts," he moaned. " God forgive me, but
 
 244 The Light that Failed 
 
 it hurts cruelly; and yet, y'know, the world has 
 a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I 
 see Torp before he goes ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. You'll see him," said the Nilghai.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The sun went down an hour ago, 
 
 I wonder if I face toward home, 
 If I lost my way in the light of day 
 
 How shall I find it now night is come ? 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 " Maisie, come to bed." 
 
 " It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry." 
 
 Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and 
 looked at the moonlight on the straight, poplar- 
 flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry- 
 sur-Marne and parched it to the bone. The grass 
 was dry-burned in the meadows, the clay by the 
 bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside 
 flowers were long since dead, and the roses in 
 the garden hung withered on their stalks. The 
 heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves 
 was almost intolerable. The very moonlight on 
 the wall of Kami's studio across the road seemed 
 to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the 
 big bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of 
 inky black that caught Maisie's eye and annoyed 
 her. 
 
 "Horrid thing! It should be all white," she 
 murmured. " And the gate isn't in the middle 
 of the wall, either. I never noticed that before." 
 245
 
 246 The Light that Failed 
 
 Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, 
 the heat of the past few weeks had worn her 
 down; secondly, her work, and particularly the 
 study of a female head intended to represent the 
 Melancolia and not finished in time for the Salon, 
 was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as 
 much two days before; fourthly, but so com- 
 pletely fourthly that it was hardly worth think- 
 ing about, Dick, her property, had not written 
 to her for more than six weeks. She was angry 
 with the heat, with Kami, and with her work, 
 but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. 
 
 She had written to him three times, each time 
 proposing a fresh treatment of her Melancolia. 
 Dick had taken no notice of these communica- 
 tions. She had resolved to write no more. When 
 she returned to England in the autumn for her 
 pride's sake she could not return earlier she 
 would speak to him. She missed the Sunday 
 afternoon conferences more than she cared to ad- 
 mit. All that Kami said was, " Continue^, mad- 
 emoiselle, continue^ tou/ours," and he had been 
 repeating his wearisome counsel through the hot 
 summer, exactly like a cicala, an old grey cicala 
 in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge 
 felt hat. But Dick had tramped masterfully up 
 and down her little studio north of the cool green 
 London park, and had said things ten times 
 worse than continue^, before he snatched the
 
 The Light that Failed 247 
 
 brush out of her hand and showed her where her 
 error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, 
 contained some trivial advice about not sketch- 
 ing in the sun or drinking water at wayside 
 farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but 
 three times, as if he did not know that Maisie 
 could take care of herself. 
 
 But what was he doing, that he could not 
 trouble to write? A murmur of voices in the 
 road made her lean from the window. A cav- 
 alryman of the little garrison in the town was 
 talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight glittered 
 on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was hold- 
 ing in his hand lest it should clank inopportunely. 
 The cook's cap cast deep shadows on her face, 
 which was close to the conscript's. He slid his 
 arm round her waist, and there followed the 
 sound of a kiss. 
 
 " Faugh! " said Maisie, stepping back. 
 
 "What's that?" said the red-haired girl, who 
 was tossing uneasily outside her bed. 
 
 "Only a conscript kfssing the cook," said 
 Maisie. "They've gone away now." She leaned 
 out of the window again, and put a shawl over 
 her nightgown to guard against chills. There 
 was a very small night-breeze abroad, and a sun- 
 baked rose below nodded its head as one who 
 knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that 
 Dick should turn his thoughts from her work and
 
 248 The Light that Failed 
 
 his own and descend to the degradation of Su- 
 zanne and the conscript ? He could not! The rose 
 nodded its head and one leaf therewith. It 
 looked like a naughty little devil scratching its 
 ear. Dick could not, "because," thought Maisie, 
 "he is mine, mine, mine. He said he was. 
 I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only 
 spoil his work if he does; and it will spoil mine 
 too." 
 
 The rose continued to nod in the futile way 
 peculiar to flowers. There was no earthly reason 
 why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, 
 except that he was called by Providence, which 
 was Maisie, to assist Maisie in her work. And 
 her work was the preparation of pictures that 
 went sometimes to English provincial exhibi- 
 tions, as the notices in the scrapbook proved, 
 and that were invariably rejected by the Salon 
 when Kami was plagued into allowing her to 
 send them up. Her work in the future, it seemed, 
 would be the preparation of pictures on exactly 
 similar lines which would be rejected in exactly 
 the same way 
 
 The red-haired girl threshed distressfully across 
 the sheets. " It's too hot to sleep," she moaned; 
 and the interruption jarred. 
 
 Exactly the same way. Then she would di- 
 vide her years between the little studio in Eng- 
 land and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne.
 
 The Light that Failed 249 
 
 No, she would go to another master, who should 
 force her into the success that was her right, if 
 patient toil and desperate endeavor gave one a 
 right to anything. Dick had told her that he had 
 worked ten years to understand his craft. She 
 had worked ten years, and ten years were noth- 
 ing, Dick had said that ten years were nothing, 
 but that was in regard to herself only. He had 
 said this very man who could not find time to 
 write that he would wait ten years for her, and 
 that she was bound to come back to him sooner 
 or later. He had said this in the absurd letter 
 about sunstroke and diphtheria; and then he had 
 stopped writing. He was wandering up and 
 down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. She would 
 like to lecture him now, not in her nightgown, 
 of course, but properly dressed, severely and 
 from a height. Yet if he was kissing other girls 
 he certainly would not care whether she lectured 
 him or not. He would laugh at her. Very good. 
 She would go back to her studio and prepare 
 pictures that went, etc., etc. The mill-wheel of 
 thought swung round slowly, that no section of 
 it might be slurred over, and the red-haired girl 
 tossed and turned behind her. 
 
 Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided 
 that there could be no doubt whatever of the vil- 
 lany of Dick. To justify herself, she began, un- 
 womanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a
 
 250 The Light that Failed 
 
 boy, and he had said he loved her. And he 
 kissed her, kissed her on the cheek, by a yel- 
 low sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like 
 the maddening dry rose in the garden. Then 
 there was an interval, and men had told her 
 that they loved her just when she was busiest 
 with her work. Then the boy came back, and 
 at their very second meeting had told her that he 
 loved her. Then he had But there was no 
 end to the things he had done. He had given 
 her his time and his powers. He had spoken to 
 her of Art, housekeeping, technique, teacups, the 
 abuse of pickles as a stimulant, that was rude, 
 sable hair-brushes, he had given her the best 
 in her stock, she used them daily; he had given 
 her advice that she profited by, and now and 
 again a look. Such a look! The look of a 
 beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to 
 his mistress's feet. In return she had given him 
 nothing whatever, except here she brushed her 
 mouth against the open-work sleeve of her night- 
 gown the privilege of kissing her once. And 
 on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not 
 enough, and more than enough ? and if it was 
 not, had he not cancelled the debt by not writing 
 and probably kissing other girls ? 
 
 " Maisie, you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie 
 down," said the wearied voice of her companion. 
 "I can't sleep a wink with you at the window."
 
 The Light that Failed 351 
 
 Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not an- 
 swer. She was reflecting on the meannesses of 
 Dick, and on other meannesses with which he 
 had nothing to do. The remorseless moonlight 
 would not let her sleep. It lay on the skylight 
 of the studio across the road in cold silver; she 
 stared at it intently and her thoughts began to 
 slide one into the other. The shadow of the big 
 bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened 
 again, and faded out as the moon went down 
 behind the pasture and a hare came limping 
 home across the road. Then the dawn-wind 
 washed through the upland grasses, and brought 
 coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by the 
 drought-shrunk river. Maisie's head fell for- 
 ward on the window-sill, and the tangle of 
 black hair covered her arms. 
 
 " Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill." 
 
 "Yes, dear; yes, dear." She staggered to her 
 bed like a wearied child, and as she buried her 
 face in the pillows she muttered, "I think I 
 think. . . . But he ought to have written." 
 
 Day brought the routine of the studio, the 
 smell of paint and turpentine, and the monoto- 
 nous wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, 
 but a golden teacher if the pupil were only in 
 sympathy with him. Maisie was not in sympa- 
 thy that day, and she waited impatiently for the 
 end of the work. She knew when it was com-
 
 252 The Light that Failed 
 
 ing; for Kami would gather his black alpaca coat 
 into a bunch behind him, and, with faded blue 
 eyes that saw neither pupils nor canvas, look 
 back into the past to recall the history of one 
 Binat. "You have all done not so badly," he 
 would say. " But you shall remember that it is 
 not enough to have the method, and the art, and 
 the power, nor even that which is touch, but you 
 shall have also the conviction that nails the work 
 to the wall. Of the so many I have taught," 
 here the students would begin to unfix drawing- 
 pins or get their tubes together, "the very so 
 many that I have taught, the best was Binat. All 
 that comes of the study and the work and the 
 knowledge was to him even when he came. 
 After he left me he should have done all that 
 could be done with the color, the form, and the 
 knowledge. Only, he had not the conviction. 
 So to-day I hear no more of Binat, the best of 
 my pupils, and that is long ago. So to-day, 
 too, you will be glad to hear no more of me. 
 Continue^, mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with 
 conviction." 
 
 He went into the garden to smoke and mourn 
 over the lost Binat as the pupils dispersed to their 
 several cottages or loitered in the studio to make 
 plans for the cool of the afternoon. 
 
 Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, 
 restrained a desire to grimace before it, and was
 
 The Light that Failed 253 
 
 hurrying across the road to write a letter to Dick, 
 when she was aware of a large man on a white 
 troop-horse. How Torpenhow had managed in 
 the course of twenty hours to find his way to the 
 hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry- 
 sur-Mame, to discuss with them the certainty of 
 a glorious revenge for France, to reduce the colo- 
 nel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the 
 best horse in the squadron for the journey to 
 Kami's studio, is a mystery that only special cor- 
 respondents can unravel. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said he. " It seems an 
 absurd question to ask, but the fact is that I don't 
 know her by any other name: Is there any young 
 lady here that is called Maisie ?" 
 
 "I am Maisie," was the answer from the 
 depths of a great sun-hat. 
 
 "I ought to introduce myself," he said, as the 
 horse capered in the blinding white dust. "My 
 name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best 
 friend, and and the fact is that he has gone 
 blind." 
 
 " Blindl " said Maisie, stupidly. " He can't be 
 blind." 
 
 "He has been stone-blind for nearly two 
 months." 
 
 Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly 
 white. "No! No! Not blind! I won't have 
 him blindl"
 
 254 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Would you care to see for yourself?'' said 
 Torpenhow. 
 
 "Now, at once?" 
 
 "Oh no! The Paris train doesn't go through 
 this place till eight to-night. There will be am- 
 ple time." 
 
 ' ' Did Mr. Heldar send you to me ? " 
 
 "Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort 
 of thing. He's sitting in his studio, turning over 
 some letters that he can't read because he's 
 blind." 
 
 There was a sound of choking from the sun- 
 hat. Maisie bowed her head and went into the 
 cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, 
 complaining of a headache. 
 
 " Dick's blind! " said Maisie, taking her breath 
 quickly as she steadied herself against a chair- 
 back. "My Dick's blind!" 
 
 " What ? " The girl was on the sofa no longer. 
 
 "A man has come from England to tell me. 
 He hasn't written to me for six weeks." 
 
 " Are you going to him ?" 
 
 "I must think." 
 
 "Think! / should go back to London and see 
 him, and I should kiss his eyes and kiss them 
 and kiss them until they got well again! If you 
 don't go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about ? 
 You wicked little idiot! Go to him at once. 
 Go!"
 
 The Light that Failed 255 
 
 Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he pre- 
 served a smile of infinite patience as Maisie ap- 
 peared bare-headed in the sunshine. 
 
 "I am coming," said she, her eyes on the 
 ground. 
 
 "You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven 
 this evening." This was an order delivered by 
 one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie 
 said nothing, but she felt grateful that there was 
 no chance of disputing with this big man who 
 took everything for granted and managed a 
 squealing horse with one hand. She returned to 
 the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, 
 and between tears, kisses, very few of those, 
 menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, 
 the sultry afternoon wore away. Thought might 
 come afterward. Her present duty was to go to 
 Dick, Dick who owned the wondrous friend 
 and sat in the dark playing with her unopened 
 letters. 
 
 " But what will you do ?" she said to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 "I? Oh, I shall stay here and finish your 
 Melancolia," she said, smiling pitifully. "Write 
 to me afterward." 
 
 That night there ran a legend through Virty- 
 sur-Marne of a mad Englishman, doubtless suf- 
 fering from sunstroke, who had drunk all thf 
 officers of the garrison under the table, had bor-
 
 256 The Light that Failed 
 
 rowed a horse from the lines, and had then and 
 there eloped, after the English custom, with one 
 of those more than mad English girls who drew 
 pictures down there under the care of that good 
 Monsieur Kami. 
 
 "They are very droll," said Suzanne to the 
 conscript in the moonlight by the studio wall. 
 "She walked always with those big eyes that 
 saw nothing, and yet she kisses me on both 
 cheeks as though she were my sister, and gives 
 me see ten francs ! " 
 
 The conscript levied a contribution on both 
 gifts; for he prided himself on being a good 
 soldier. 
 
 Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during 
 the journey to Calais ; but he was careful to at- 
 tend to all her wants, to get her a compartment 
 entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He 
 was amazed at the ease with which the matter 
 had been accomplished. 
 
 "The safest thing would be to let her think 
 things out. By Dick's showing, when he was 
 off his head, she must have ordered him about 
 very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being 
 under orders." 
 
 Maisie never told. She sat in the empty com- 
 partment often with her eyes shut, that she might 
 realize the sensation of blindness. It was an 
 order that she should return to London swiftly,
 
 The Light that Failed 257 
 
 and she found herself at last almost beginning to 
 enjoy the situation. This was better than look- 
 ing after luggage and a red-haired friend who 
 never took any interest in her surroundings. 
 But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that 
 she, Maisie, of all people, was in disgrace. 
 Therefore she justified her conduct to herself 
 with great success, till Torpenhow came up to 
 her on the steamer and without preface began to 
 tell the story of Dick's blindness, suppressing a 
 few details, but dwelling at length on the mis- 
 eries of delirium. He stopped before he reached 
 the end, as though he had lost interest in the sub- 
 ject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was 
 furious with him and with herself. 
 
 She was hurried on from Dover to London al- 
 most before she could ask for breakfast, and she 
 was past any feeling of indignation now was 
 bidden curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some 
 lead-covered stairs while Torpenhow went up to 
 make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she 
 was being treated like a naughty little girl made 
 her pale cheeks flame. It was all Dick's fault for 
 being so stupid as to go blind. 
 
 Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he 
 opened very softly. Dick was sitting by the 
 window, with his chin on his chest. There were 
 three envelopes in his hand, and he turned them 
 over and over. The big man who gave orders
 
 258 The Light that Failed 
 
 was no longer by her side, and the studio door 
 snapped behind her. 
 
 Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he 
 heard the sound. "Hullo, Torp! Is that you? 
 I've been so lonely." 
 
 His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the 
 blind. Maisie pressed herself up into a corner of 
 the room. Her heart was beating furiously, and 
 she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. 
 Dick was staring directly at her, and she realized 
 for the first time that he was blind. Shutting her 
 eyes in a railway-carriage to open them when she 
 pleased was child's play. This man was blind 
 though his eyes were wide open. 
 
 "Torp, is that you? They said you were 
 coming." Dick looked puzzled and a little irri- 
 tated at the silence. 
 
 "No: it's only me," was the answer, in a 
 strained little whisper. Maisie could hardly move 
 her lips. 
 
 "H'm!" said Dick, composedly, without mov- 
 ing. "This is a new phenomenon. Darkness 
 I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing 
 voices." 
 
 Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he 
 talked to himself? Maisie's heart beat more 
 wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose 
 and began to feel his way across the room, touch- 
 ing each table and chair as he passed. Once he
 
 The Light that Failed 259 
 
 caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on 
 his knees to feel what the obstruction might be. 
 Maisie remembered him walking in the Park as 
 though all the earth belonged to him, tramping 
 up and down her studio two months ago, and 
 flying up the gangway of the Channel steamer. 
 The beating of her heart was making her sick, and 
 Dick was coming nearer, guided by the sound of 
 her breathing. She put out a hand mechanically to 
 ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did 
 not know which. It touched his chest, and he 
 stepped back as though he had been shot. 
 
 "It's Maisie! " said he, with a dry sob. " What 
 are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I came I came to see you, please." 
 
 Dick's lips closed firmly. 
 
 "Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've 
 had some bother with my eyes, and " 
 
 "I know. I know. Why didn't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 "I couldn't write." 
 
 " You might have told Mr. Torpenhow." 
 
 " What has he to do with my affairs ?" 
 
 "He he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. 
 He thought I ought to see you." 
 
 "Why, what has happened? Can I do any 
 thing for you? No, I can't. I forgot." 
 
 " Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, 
 and Let me take you back to your chair."
 
 36o 77k Light that Failed 
 
 "Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that 
 out of pity. I never meant to tell you anything 
 about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and 
 done for. Let me alone! " 
 
 He groped back to his chair, his chest laboring 
 as he sat down. 
 
 Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of 
 her heart, to be followed by a very bitter shame. 
 He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from 
 the girl through every step of the impetuous flight 
 to London ; for he was, indeed, down and done for 
 masterful no longer but rather a little abject; 
 neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to 
 be looked up to only some blind one that sat in 
 a chair and seemed on the point of crying. She 
 was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him 
 more sorry than she had ever been for any one in 
 her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words. 
 So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little 
 hurt, because she had honestly intended that her 
 journey should end triumphantly; and now she 
 was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct 
 from love. 
 
 "Well?" said Dick, his face steadily turned 
 away. " I never meant to worry you any more. 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 He was conscious that Maisie was catching her 
 breath, but was as unprepared as herself for the 
 torrent of emotion that followed. People who
 
 The Light that Failed a6i 
 
 cannot cry easily weep unrestrainedly when the 
 fountains of the great deep are broken up. She 
 had dropped into a chair and was sobbing with 
 her face hidden in her hands. 
 
 " I can't I can't! " she cried, desperately. " In- 
 deed, I can't. It isn't my fault. I'm so sorry. 
 Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry." 
 
 Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the 
 words lashed like a whip. Still the sobbing con- 
 tinued. It is not good to realize that you have 
 failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the 
 mere possibility of making sacrifices. 
 
 "I do despise myself indeed I do. But I 
 can't. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn't ask me would 
 you ? " wailed Maisie. 
 
 She looked up for a minute, and by chance it 
 happened that Dick's eyes fell on hers. The un- 
 shaven face was very white and set, and the lips 
 were trying to force themselves into a smile. 
 But it was the worn-out eyes that Maisie feared. 
 Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place 
 some one that she could hardly recognize till he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? 
 I told you how it would be. What's the use of 
 worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it 
 isn't worth it." 
 
 "You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, 
 Dick, help me help me!" The passion of tears
 
 262 The Light that Failed 
 
 had grown beyond her control and was begin- 
 ning to alarm the man. He stumbled forward 
 and put his arm round her, and her head fell on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite 
 right, and you've nothing to reproach yourself 
 with you never had. You're only a little upset 
 by the journey, and I don't suppose you've had 
 any breakfast. What a brute Torp was to bring 
 you over." 
 
 "I wanted to come. I did indeed," she pro- 
 tested. 
 
 " Very well. And now you've come and seen, 
 and I'm immensely grateful. When you're 
 better you shall go away and get something to 
 eat. What sort of a passage did you have com- 
 ing over ? " 
 
 Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first 
 time in her life glad that she had something to 
 lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder 
 tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure 
 where her shoulder might be. 
 
 She drew herself out of his arms at last and 
 waited, trembling and most unhappy. He had 
 felt his way to the window to put the width of 
 the room between them, and to quiet a little the 
 tumult in his heart. 
 
 " Are you better now ?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, but don't you hate me?"
 
 The Light that Failed 26} 
 
 "I hate you? My God! I?" 
 
 " Isn't isn't there anything I could do for you, 
 then ? I'll stay here in England to do it, if you 
 like. Perhaps I could come and see you some- 
 times." 
 
 " I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to 
 see me any more, please. I don't want to seem 
 rude, but don't you think perhaps you had 
 almost better go now." 
 
 He was conscious that he could not bear him- 
 self as a man if the strain continued much longer. 
 
 " I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. 
 Oh, I'm so miserable." 
 
 "Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; 
 I'd tell you if you had. Wait a moment, dear. 
 I've got something to give you first. I meant it 
 for you ever since this little trouble began. It's 
 my Melancolia; she was a beauty when I last saw 
 her. You can keep her for me, and if ever 
 you're poor you can sell her. She's worth a few 
 hundreds at any state of the market." He groped 
 among his canvases. "She's framed in black. 
 Is this a black frame that I have my hand on ? 
 There she is. What do you think of her ? " 
 
 He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint 
 toward Maisie, and the eyes strained as though 
 they would catch her wonder and surprise. One 
 thing and one thing only could she do for him. 
 
 "Well?"
 
 264 The Light thai Failed 
 
 The voice was fuller and more rounded, be- 
 cause the man knew he was speaking of his best 
 work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic 
 desire to laugh caught her by the throat. But 
 for Dick's sake whatever this mad blankness 
 might mean she must make no sign. Her voice 
 choked with hard-held tears as she answered, 
 still gazing on the wreck 
 
 "Oh, Dick, it is good!" 
 
 He heard the little hysterical gulp and took il 
 for tribute. "Won't you have it, then? I'll 
 send it over to your house if you will." 
 
 "I? Oh yes thank you. Ha! ha!" If she 
 did not fly at once the laughter that was worse 
 than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, 
 choking and blinded, down the staircases that 
 were empty of life to take refuge in a cab and go 
 to her house across the Parks. There she sat 
 down in the almost dismantled drawing-room 
 and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless till 
 the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. 
 Behind the sorrow, the shame, and the humilia- 
 tion, lay fear of the cold wrath of the red-haired 
 girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had 
 never feared her companion before. Not until 
 she found herself saying, " Well, he never asked 
 me," did she realize her scorn of herself. 
 
 And that is the end of Maisie. 
 
 For Dick was reserved more searching torment
 
 The Light that Failed 365 
 
 He could not realize at first that Maisie, whom he 
 had ordered to go, had left him without a word 
 of farewell. He was savagely angry against 
 Torpenhow, who had brought upon him this 
 humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. 
 Then his dark hour came and he was alone with 
 himself and his desires to get what help he could 
 from the darkness. The queen could do no 
 wrong, but in following the right, so far as it 
 served her work, she had wounded her one subject 
 more than his own brain would let him know. 
 
 " It's all I had and I've lost it," he said, as soon 
 as the misery permitted clear thinking. "And 
 Torp will think that he has been so infernally 
 clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. 
 I must think this out quietly." 
 
 " Hullo! " said Torpenhow, entering the studio 
 after Dick had enjoyed two hours of thought. 
 " I'm back. Are you feeling any better?" 
 
 "Torp, I don't know what to say. Come 
 here." Dick coughed huskily, wondering, in- 
 deed, what he should say, and how to say it tem- 
 perately. 
 
 "What's the need for saying anything ? Get 
 up and tramp." Torpenhow was perfectly sat- 
 isfied. 
 
 They walked up and down as of custom, Tor- 
 penhow's hand on Dick's shoulder, and Dick bur- 
 ied in his own thoughts.
 
 266 The Light that Failed 
 
 "How in the world did you find it all out ? " 
 said Dick at last. 
 
 "You shouldn't go off your head if you want 
 to keep secrets, Dickie. It was absolutely im- 
 pertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rock- 
 eting about on a half-trained French troop-horse 
 under a blazing sun you'd have laughed. There 
 will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven 
 other devils " 
 
 " I know the row in the Southern Soudan. I 
 surprised their councils the other day, and it made 
 me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go ? 
 Who d'you work for?" 
 
 " 'Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted 
 to see how your business would turn out." 
 
 "Would you have stayed with me, then, if 
 things had gone wrong?" He put his question 
 cautiously. 
 
 " Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man." 
 
 "You've tried to be an angel very success- 
 fully." 
 
 "Oh ye es! . . . Well, do you attend the 
 function to-night ? We shall be half screwed be- 
 fore the morning. All the men believe the war's 
 a certainty." 
 
 "I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the 
 same to you. I'll stay quiet here." 
 
 " And meditate ? I don't blame you. You de- 
 serve a good time if ever a man did."
 
 The Light that Failed 267 
 
 That night there was tumult on the stairs. 
 The correspondents poured in from theatre, din- 
 ner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that 
 they might discuss their plan of campaign in the 
 event of military operations being a certainty. 
 Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bid- 
 den all the men they had worked with to the 
 orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the housekeeper, declared 
 that never before in his checkered experience had 
 he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. 
 They waked the chambers with shoutings and 
 song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the 
 younger. For the chances of war were in front 
 of them, and all knew what those meant. 
 
 Sitting in his own room, a little perplexed by 
 the noise across the landing, Dick suddenly began 
 to laugh to himself. 
 
 "When one comes to think of it the situation 
 is intensely comic. Maisie's quite right poor 
 little thing. I didn't know she could cry like that 
 before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm 
 sure he'd be quite fool enough to stay at home 
 and try to console me if he knew. Besides, it 
 isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over 
 like a broken chair. I must carry this business 
 through alone as usual. If there isn't a war, 
 and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. 
 If there is a war I mustn't interfere with another 
 man's chances. Business is business, and I want
 
 268 The Light that Failed 
 
 to be alone I want to be alone. What a row 
 they're making! " 
 
 Somebody hammered at the studio door. 
 
 "Come out and frolic, Dickie," said the Nil- 
 ghai. 
 
 "I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling 
 frolicsome." 
 
 "Then I'll tell the boys and they'll draw you 
 like a badger." 
 
 " Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner 
 be left alone just now." 
 
 "Very good. Can we send anything in to 
 you ? Fizz, for instance. Cassavetti is begin- 
 ning to sing songs of the Sunny South already." 
 
 For one minute Dick considered the proposition 
 seriously. 
 
 "No, thanks. I've a headache already." 
 
 "Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion 
 on the young. All my congratulations, Dick. I 
 also was concerned in the conspiracy for your 
 welfare." 
 
 "Go to the devil and oh, send Binkie in 
 here." 
 
 The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous 
 from having been made much of all the evening. 
 He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely 
 inside the studio he realized that this was no place 
 for tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick's 
 lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed
 
 The Light that Failed 269 
 
 with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, 
 and rose in the morning with a painfully clear 
 head to receive Torpenhow's more formal con- 
 gratulations and a particular account of the last 
 night's revels. 
 
 " You aren't looking very happy for a newly- 
 accepted man," said Torpenhow. 
 
 " Never mind that it's my own affair, and I'm 
 all right. Do you really go ? " 
 
 "Yes. With the old Central Southern as 
 usual. They wired and I accepted on better 
 terms than before." 
 
 " When do you start ? " 
 
 "The day after to-morrow for Brindisi." 
 
 "Thank God." Dick spoke from the bottom 
 of his heart. 
 
 " Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're 
 glad to get rid of me. But men in your condition 
 are allowed to be selfish." 
 
 " I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred 
 pounds cashed for me before you leave ? " 
 
 "That's a slender amount for housekeeping, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, it's only for marriage expenses." 
 
 Torpenhow brought him the money, counted 
 it out in fives and tens, and carefully put it away 
 in the writing-table. 
 
 "Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his 
 ravings about his girl until I go. Heaven send
 
 270 The Light that Failed 
 
 us patience with a man in love!" said he to 
 himself. 
 
 But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or 
 marriage. He hung in the doorway of Torpen- 
 how's room when the latter was packing and 
 asked innumerable questions about the coming 
 campaign, till Torpenhow began to feel annoyed. 
 
 "You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you 
 consume your own smoke, don't you?" he said 
 on the last evening. 
 
 "1 I suppose so. By the way, how long do 
 you think this war will last?" 
 
 "Days, weeks, or months. One can never 
 tell. It may go on for years." 
 
 " I wish I were going." 
 
 " Good heavens! You're the most unaccount- 
 able creature! Hasn't it occurred to you that 
 you're going to be married thanks to me?" 
 
 " Of course, yes. I'm going to be married so 
 I am. Going to be married. I'm awfully grate- 
 ful to you. Haven't I told you that ? " 
 
 "You might be going to be hanged by the 
 look of you," said Torpenhow. 
 
 And the next day Torpenhow bade him good- 
 bye, and left him to the loneliness he had so much 
 desired.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him 
 
 Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save. 
 Yet at the last, with his masters around him, 
 
 He of the Faith spoke as master to slave ; 
 Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him, 
 
 Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver, 
 Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, 
 
 He called upon Allah and died a believer. 
 
 Kizilbashi. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but but isn't, 
 nothin' going to happen ?" said Mr. Beeton. 
 
 "No! " Dick had just waked to another morn- 
 ing of blank despair and his temper was of the 
 shortest. 
 
 " 'Tain't my regular business o' course, sir; and 
 what I say is, ' Mind your own business and let 
 other people mind theirs'; but just before Mr. 
 Torpenhow went away he give me to under- 
 stand, like, that you might be moving into a 
 house of your own, so to speak a sort of house 
 with rooms upstairs and downstairs where you'd 
 be better attended to, though I try to act just by 
 all our tenants. Don't I ? " 
 
 "Ah! That must have been a mad-house. 1 
 shan't trouble you to take me there yet. Get ms 
 my breakfast, please, and leave me alone." 
 271
 
 X]2 The Light that Failed 
 
 " I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, 
 but you know I hope that as far as a man can I 
 tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen 
 in chambers and more particular those whose 
 lot is hard such as you, for instance, Mr. Heldar. 
 You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you ? Soft-roe 
 bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says 
 is, ' Never mind a little extra trouble so long as 
 you gives satisfaction to the tenants.' " 
 
 Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. 
 Torpenhow had been long away; there was no 
 more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had set- 
 tled down to his new life, which he was weak 
 enough to consider nothing better than death. 
 
 It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing 
 the day and night; dropping to sleep through 
 sheer weariness at midday, and rising restless in 
 the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his 
 awakenings, would grope along the corridors of 
 the chambers till he heard some one snore. Then 
 he would know that the day had not yet come, 
 and return wearily to his bedroom. Later he 
 learned not to stir till there was a noise and 
 movement in the house and Mr. Beeton advised 
 him to get up. Once dressed and dressing, 
 now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy 
 business, because collars, ties, and the like, hid 
 themselves in far corners of the room, and search 
 meant head-beating against chairs and trunks
 
 The Light that Failed 273 
 
 once dressed, there was nothing whatever to do 
 except to sit still and brood till the three daily 
 meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from 
 lunch and lunch from dinner, and though a man 
 prayed for hundreds of years that his mind might 
 be taken from him, God would never hear. 
 Rather the mind was quickened and the revolv- 
 ing thoughts ground against each other as mill- 
 stones grind when there is no corn between; and 
 yet the brain would not wear out and give him 
 rest. It continued to think, at length, with im- 
 agery and all manner of reminiscences. It re- 
 called Maisie and past success, reckless travels by 
 land and sea, the glory of doing work and feeling 
 that it was good, and suggested all that might 
 have happened had the eyes only been faithful to 
 their duty. When thinking ceased through sheer 
 weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on. 
 tide of overwhelming, purposeless fear dread 
 of starvation always, terror lest the unseen ceil- 
 ing should crush down upon him, fear of fire ir. 
 the chambers and a louse's death in red flame, 
 and agonies of fiercer horror that had nothing to 
 do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed 
 his head, and clutching the arms of his chair 
 fought with his sweating self till the tinkle of 
 plates told him that something to eat was being 
 set before him. 
 Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had
 
 274 The Light that Failed 
 
 time to spare, and Dick learned to hang upon his 
 speech which dealt with badly-fitted gas-plugs, 
 waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving 
 picture-nails into walls, and the sins of the char- 
 woman or the housemaids. In the lack of better 
 things the small gossip of a servant's hall be- 
 comes immensely interesting, and the screwing 
 of a washer on a tap an event to be talked over 
 for days. 
 
 Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would 
 take Dick out with him when he went market- 
 ing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen 
 over fish, lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so 
 forth, while Dick rested his weight first on one 
 foot and then on the other and played aimlessly 
 with the tins and string-ball on the counter. 
 Then they would perhaps meet one of Mr. Bee- 
 ton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, 
 would hold his peace till Mr. Beeton was willing 
 to go on again. 
 
 The life did not increase his self-respect. He 
 abandoned shaving as a dangerous exercise, and 
 being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure 
 of his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes 
 were properly brushed, and since he had never 
 taken any care of his personal appearance he be- 
 came every known variety of sloven. A blind 
 man cannot eat with cleanliness till he has been 
 some months used to the darkness. If lie de-
 
 The Light that Failed 275 
 
 mand attendance and grow angry at the want of 
 it, he must assert himself and stand upright. 
 Then the meanest menial can see that he is blind 
 and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man 
 will keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For 
 amusement he may pick coal lump by lump out 
 of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a little 
 heap in the fender, keeping count of the lumps, 
 which must all be put back again, one by one and 
 very carefully. He may set himself sums if he 
 cares to work them out; he may talk to himself 
 or to the cat if she chooses to visit him ; and if 
 his trade has been that of an artist, he may sketch 
 in the air with his forefinger; but that is too 
 much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He 
 may go to his bookshelves and count his books, 
 ranging them in order of their size; or to his 
 wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in 
 piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer 
 from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. Even this en- 
 tertainment wearies after a time; and all the 
 times are very, very long. 
 
 Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where 
 Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps and nuts, lengths 
 of gas-pipes, oil-bottles and string. 
 
 " If I don't have everything just where I know 
 where to look for it, why, then, I can't find any- 
 thing when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the 
 amount of little things that these chambers uses
 
 i'jS The Light that Failed 
 
 up," said Mr. Beeton. Fumbling at the handle of 
 the door as he went out: "It's hard on you, sir, 
 I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to 
 do anything, sir?" 
 
 "I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that 
 enough?" 
 
 "I wasn't doubting for a moment that you 
 couldn't pay your way, sir; but I 'ave often said 
 to my wife, ' It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as if 
 he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, 
 but quite a young gentleman. That's where it 
 comes so 'ard.'" 
 
 " I suppose so," said Dick, absently. This par- 
 ticular nerve through long battering had ceased 
 to feel much. 
 
 "I was thinking," continued Mr. Beeton, still 
 making as if to go, " that you might like to hear 
 my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an 
 evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only 
 nine." 
 
 " I should be very grateful," said Dick. " Only 
 let me make it worth his while." 
 
 "We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course 
 it's in your own 'ands; but only to 'ear Alf sing 
 ' A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother! ' Ah! " 
 
 " I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come in 
 this evening with the newspapers." 
 
 Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with 
 many school-board certificates for good conduct,
 
 The Light that Failed 177 
 
 and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. Bee- 
 ton remained, beaming, while the child wailed 
 his way through a song of some eight eight-line 
 verses in the usual whine of the young Cockney, 
 and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the 
 foreign telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf re- 
 turned to his parents rather pale and scared. 
 
 "'E said 'e couldn't stand it no more," he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "He never said you read badly, Alf?" Mrs. 
 Beeton spoke. 
 
 "No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 
 'eard any one read like that, but 'e said 'e couldn't 
 abide the stuff in the papers." 
 
 "P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. 
 Were you readin' him about Stocks, Alf ? " 
 
 "No; it was all about fightin' out there where 
 the soldiers is gone a great long piece with all 
 the lines close together and very hard words in 
 it. 'E give me 'arf a crown because I read so 
 well. And 'e says the next time there's anything 
 'e wants read 'e'll send for me." 
 
 "That's good hearing, but I do think for all 
 the half-crown put it into the kicking-donkey 
 money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it he 
 might have kept you longer. Why, he couldn't 
 have begun to understand how beautiful you 
 read." 
 
 "He's best left to hisself gentlemen always
 
 278 The Light that Failed 
 
 are when they're downhearted," said Mr. Bee- 
 ton. 
 
 Alf's rigorously limited powers of compre- 
 hending Torpenhow's special correspondence 
 had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He 
 could hear, through the boy's nasal chant, the 
 camels grunting in the squares behind the sol- 
 diers outside Suakin; could hear the men swear- 
 ing and chaffing across the cooking pots, and 
 could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it drifted 
 over the camp before the wind of the desert. 
 
 That night he prayed to God that his mind 
 might be taken from him, offering for proof that 
 he was worthy of this favor the fact that he had 
 not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not 
 answered, and indeed Dick knew in his heart of 
 hearts that only a lingering sense of humor and 
 no special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, 
 he had persuaded himself, would be a ludicrous 
 insult to the gravity of the situation as well as a 
 weak-kneed confession of fear. 
 
 "Just for the fun of the thing," he said to the 
 cat, who had taken Binkie's place in his establish- 
 ment, "I should like to know how long this is 
 going to last. I can live for a year on the hun- 
 dred pounds Torp cashed for me. I must have 
 two or three thousand at least at the Bank 
 twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is 
 to say. Then I fall back on my hundred and
 
 The Light that Failed 279 
 
 twenty a year which will be more by that time. 
 Let's consider. Twenty-five thirty-five a man's 
 in his prime then, they say forty-five a middle- 
 aged man just entering politics fifty-five 'died 
 at the comparatively early age of fifty-five,' ac- 
 cording to the newspapers. Bah! How these 
 Christians funk death! Sixty-five we're only 
 getting on in years. Seventy-five is just possible 
 though. Great Hell, cat O! fifty years more of 
 solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die, 
 and Beeton will die, and Torp will die, and Mai 
 everybody else will die, but I shall be alive 
 and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry 
 for myself. I should like some one else to be 
 sorry for me. Evidently I'm not going mad be- 
 fore I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever. 
 Some day when you're vivisected, cat O! they'll 
 tie you down on a little table and cut you open 
 but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good 
 care that you don't die. You'll live, and you'll 
 be very sorry then that you weren't sorry for me. 
 Perhaps Torp will come back or ... I wish 
 I could go to Torp and the Nilghai, even though 
 I were in their way." 
 
 Pussy left the room before the speech was 
 ended, and Alf, as he entered, found Dick ad- 
 dressing the empty hearth-rug. 
 
 "There's a letter for you, sir," he said. "Per- 
 haps you'd like me to read it."
 
 280 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you." 
 
 The outstretched hand shook just a little and 
 the voice was not over-steady. It was within 
 the limits of human possibility that that was no 
 letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three 
 closed envelopes only too well. It was a foolish 
 hope that the girl should write to him, for he did 
 not realize that there is a wrong which admits of 
 no reparation though the evildoer may with tears 
 and the heart's best love strive to mend all. It is 
 best to forget that wrong whether it be caused 
 or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work 
 once put forward. 
 
 "Read it, then," said Dick, and Alf began 
 intoning according to the rules of the Board 
 School 
 
 "/ could have given you love, I could have 
 given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of. 
 Do you suppose I cared what you were ? But 
 you choose to whistle everything down the wind 
 for nothing. My only excuse for you is that 
 you are so young." 
 
 "That's all," he said, returning the paper to be 
 dropped into the fire. 
 
 "What was in the letter?" asked Mrs. Beeton 
 when Alf returned. 
 
 "I don't know. I think it was a circular or a 
 tract about not whistlin' at everything when 
 vou're young."
 
 The Light that Failed 281 
 
 "I must have stepped on something when I 
 was alive and walking about and it has bounced 
 up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is un- 
 less it was all a joke. But 1 don't know any one 
 who'd take the trouble to play a joke on me. 
 . . . Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds 
 tempting enough. I wonder whether I have lost 
 anything really?" 
 
 Dick considered for a long time but could not 
 remember when or how he had put himself in the 
 way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands. 
 
 Still, the letter as touching on matters that he 
 preferred not to think about stung him into a 
 fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. 
 When his heart was so full of despair that it 
 would hold no more, body and soul together 
 seemed to be dropping without check through 
 the darkness. Then came fear of darkness and 
 desperate attempts to reach the light again. But 
 there was no light to be reached. When that 
 agony had left him sweating and breathless, the 
 downward flight would recommence till the 
 gathering torture of it spurred him into another 
 fight as hopeless as the first. Followed some few 
 minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that he 
 saw. Then the procession of events would re- 
 peat itself till he was utterly worn out and the 
 brain took up its everlasting consideration of 
 Maisie and might-have-beens.
 
 282 The Light that Failed 
 
 At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to 
 his room and volunteered to take him out. "Not 
 marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks 
 if you like." 
 
 M Be damned if I do," quoth Dick. " Keep to 
 the streets and walk up and down. I like to hear 
 the people round me." 
 
 This was not altogether true. The blind in the 
 first stages of their infirmity dislike those who can 
 move with a free stride and unlifted arms but 
 Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. 
 Once and only once since Maisie had shut the 
 door he had gone there under Alf's charge. Alf 
 forgot him and fished for minnows in the Ser- 
 pentine with some companions. After half an 
 hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with rage 
 and wrath, caught a passer-by who introduced 
 him to a friendly policeman, who led him to a 
 four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He never 
 told Mr. Beeton of Alf's forgetfulness, but . . . 
 this was not the manner in which he was used to 
 walk the Parks aforetime. 
 
 " What streets would you like to walk down, 
 then?" said Mr. Beeton, sympathetically. His 
 own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking 
 on the grass of the Green Park with his family, 
 and half a dozen paper bags full of food. 
 
 "Keep to the river," said Dick, and they kept 
 to the river, and the rush of it was in his ears till
 
 The Light that Failed 283 
 
 they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck 
 thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton ex- 
 plaining the beauties of the scenery as he went 
 on. 
 
 "And walking on the other side of the pave- 
 ment," said he, "unless I'm much mistaken, is 
 the young woman that used to come to your 
 rooms to be drawed. I never forgets a face and 
 I never remembers a name, except paying tenants, 
 o' course!" 
 
 "Stop her," said Dick. "It's Bessie Broke. 
 Tell her I'd like to speak to her again. Quick, 
 man!" 
 
 Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of 
 the omnibuses and arrested Bessie then on her 
 way northward. She recognized him as the man 
 in authority who used to glare at her when she 
 passed up Dick's staircase, and her first impulse 
 was to run. 
 
 "Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?" said Mr. 
 Beeton, planting himself in front of her. "You 
 was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd 
 like to see you." 
 
 "Why?" said Bessie, faintly. She remem- 
 bered indeed had never for long forgotten an 
 affair connected with a newly-finished picture. 
 
 "Because he has asked me to do so, and be- 
 cause he's most particular blind." 
 
 "Drunk?"
 
 2&4 The Light that Failed 
 
 "No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's 
 him over there." 
 
 Dick was leaning against the parapet of the 
 bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed him out a stub- 
 bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty magenta 
 colored neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat 
 There was nothing to fear from such an one. 
 E- en if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could 
 not follow far. She crossed over and Dick's face 
 lighted up. It was long since a woman of any 
 kind had taken the trouble to speak to him. 
 
 "I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?" said Bessie, 
 a little puzzled. Mr. Beeton stood by with the 
 air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. 
 
 "I'm very well indeed, and, by Jovel I'm 
 glad to see hear you, I mean, Bess. You never 
 thought it worth while to turn up and see us 
 again after you got your money. I don't know 
 why you should. Are you going anywhere in 
 particular just now ? " 
 
 "I was going for a walk," said Bessie. 
 
 "Not the old business ?" Dick spoke under his 
 breath. 
 
 "Lor, no! I paid my premium" Bessie was 
 very proud of that word " for a barmaid, sleep- 
 ing in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. 
 Indeed I am." 
 
 Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in 
 the loftiness of human nature. Therefore he dis-
 
 The Light that Failed 285 
 
 solved himself like a mist and returned to his 
 gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie 
 watched the flight with a certain uneasiness; but 
 so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the 
 harm that had been done to him. . . . 
 
 "It's hard work pulling the beer-handles," she 
 went on, "and they've got one of them penny- 
 in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong 
 by a penny at the end of the day but then 1 
 don't believe the machinery is right. Do you?" 
 
 " I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton." 
 
 "He's gone." 
 
 " I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, 
 then. I'll make it worth your while. You see." 
 The sightless eyes turned toward her and Bessie 
 saw. 
 
 "It isn't taking you out of your way?" he 
 said, hesitatingly. " I can ask a policeman if it 
 is." 
 
 " Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at 
 four. That's easy hours." 
 
 " Good God! but I'm on all the time. I wish 
 I had some work to do too. Let's go home, 
 Bess." 
 
 He turned and cannoned into a man on the 
 sidewalk, recoiling with an oath. Bessie took 
 his arm and said nothing as she had said noth- 
 ing when he had ordered her to turn her face a 
 little more to the light. Thev walked for some
 
 286 The Light that Failed 
 
 time in silence, the girl steering him deftly 
 through the crowd. 
 
 "And where's where's Mr. Torpenhow?" 
 she inquired at last. 
 
 " He has gone away to the desert." 
 
 " Where's that ? " 
 
 Dick pointed to the right. "East out of the 
 mouth of the river," said he. "Then west, then 
 south, and then east again, all along the under- 
 side of Europe. Then south again, God knows 
 how far." The explanation did not enlighten 
 Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and 
 looked to Dick's path till they came to the cham- 
 bers. 
 
 " We'll have tea and muffins," he said, joyously. 
 " I can't tell you, Bessie, how glad I am to find 
 you again. What made you go away so sud- 
 denly ?" 
 
 "I didn't think you'd want me any more," she 
 said, emboldened by his ignorance. 
 
 " I didn't as a matter of fact but afterward 
 At any rate I'm glad you've come. You know 
 the stairs." 
 
 So Bessie led him home to his own place 
 there was no one to hinder and shut the door 
 of the studio. 
 
 "What a mess!" was her first word. "All 
 these things haven't been looked after for months 
 and months."
 
 The Light that Failed 287 
 
 "No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect 
 them to care." 
 
 "I don't know what you expect them to do. 
 They ought to know what you've paid them 
 for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the 
 easel." 
 
 " I don't use it much now." 
 
 "All over the pictures and the floor, and all 
 over your coat. I'd like to speak to them house- 
 maids." 
 
 " Ring for tea, then." Dick felt his way to the 
 one chair he used by custom. 
 
 Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, 
 was touched. But there remained always a keen 
 sense of new-found superiority, and it was in 
 her voice when she spoke. 
 
 " How long have you been like this ?" she said, 
 wrathfully, as though the blindness were some 
 fault of the housemaids 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "As you are." 
 
 "The day after you went away with the 
 check, almost as soon as my picture was fin- 
 ished; I hardly saw her alive." 
 
 "Then they've been cheating you ever since, 
 that's all. I know their nice little ways." 
 
 A woman may love one man and despise an- 
 other, but on general feminine principles she will 
 do her best to save the man she despises from
 
 388 The Light that Failed 
 
 being defrauded. Her loved one can look to 
 himself, but the other man, being obviously an 
 idiot, needs protection. 
 
 "I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much," said 
 Dick. Bessie was flouncing up and down the 
 room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of 
 enjoyment as he heard the swish of her skirts 
 and the light step between. 
 
 "Tea and muffins," she said, shortly, when the 
 ring at the bell was answered; " two teaspoon- 
 fuls and one over for the pot. I don't want the 
 old teapot that was here when I used to come. 
 It don't draw. Get another." 
 
 The housemaid went away scandalized, and 
 Dick chuckled. Then he began to cough as 
 Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing 
 the dust. 
 
 "What are you trying to do ? " 
 
 " Put things straight. This is like unfurnished 
 lodgings. How could you let it go so ?" 
 
 " How could I help it ? Dust away." 
 
 She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all 
 the pother entered Mrs. Beeton. Her husband 
 on his return had explained the situation, wind- 
 ing up with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, 
 "Do unto others as you would be done by." 
 She had descended to put into her place the per- 
 son who demanded muffins and an uncracked 
 teapot as though she had a right to both.
 
 The Ligh t that Failed 289 
 
 "Muffins ready yet?" said Bess, still dusting. 
 She was no longer a drab of the streets but a 
 young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had 
 paid her premium and was entitled to pull beer- 
 handles with the best. Being neatly dressed in 
 black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, 
 and there passed between the two women cer- 
 tain regards that Dick would have appreciated. 
 The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had 
 won, and Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins 
 and make scathing remarks about models, 
 hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. 
 
 " There's nothing to be got of interfering with 
 him, Liza," he said. " Alf, you go along into the 
 street to play. When he isn't crossed he's as 
 kindly as kind, but when he's crossed he's the 
 devil and all. We took too many little things 
 out of his room since he was blind to be that 
 particular about what he does. They ain't no 
 objects to a blind man, of course, but if it was to 
 come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did 
 introduce him to that girl because I'm a feelin' 
 man myself." 
 
 " Much too feelin' 1 " Mrs. Beeton slapped the 
 muffins into the dish, and thought of comely 
 housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. 
 
 "I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to 
 judge him hard so long as he pays quiet and regu- 
 lar as he do. I know how to manage young
 
 290 The Light that Failed 
 
 gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and 
 what I says is, let each stick to his own business 
 and then there won't be any trouble. Take them 
 muffins down, Liza, and be sure you have no 
 words with that young woman. His lot is cruel 
 hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than 
 any one I've ever served." 
 
 "That's a little better," said Bessie, sitting 
 down to the tea. " You needn't wait, thank you, 
 Mrs. Beeton." 
 
 "I had no intention of doing such, I do assure 
 you." 
 
 Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she 
 knew, was the way in which real ladies routed 
 their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first- 
 class public-house one may become a real lady at 
 ten minutes' notice. 
 
 Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was 
 both shocked and displeased. There were drop- 
 pings of food all down the front of his coat; the 
 mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped 
 sullenly; the forehead was lined and contracted; 
 and on the lean temples the hair was a dusty in- 
 determinate color that might or might not have 
 been called grey. The utter misery and self- 
 abandonment of the man appealed to her, and at 
 the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling 
 that he was humbled and brought low who had 
 once humbled her.
 
 The Light that Failed 291 
 
 "Oh! it is good to hear you moving about," 
 said Dick, rubbing his hands. "Tell us all about 
 your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live 
 now." 
 
 "Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as 
 you'd see by looking at me. You don't seem to 
 live too well. What made you go blind that 
 sudden ? Why isn't there any one to look after 
 you?" 
 
 Dick was too thankful for the sound of her 
 voice to resent the tone of it. 
 
 "I was cut across the head a long time ago, 
 and that ruined my eyes. I don't suppose any- 
 body thinks it worth while to look after me any 
 more. Why should they? and Mr. Beeton 
 really does everything I want." 
 
 "Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, 
 then, while you was well ? " 
 
 " A few, but I don't care to have them looking 
 at me." 
 
 " I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. 
 Take it off, it don't become you." 
 
 "Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I 
 think of what becomes me these days ?" 
 
 " You ought. Get that taken off before I come 
 here again. 1 suppose I can come, can't I ? " 
 
 " I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't 
 think I treated you very well in the old days. 1 
 used to make you angry."
 
 2()2 The Light that Failed 
 
 " Very angry, you did." 
 
 "I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me 
 when you can and as often as you can. God 
 knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that 
 trouble except you and Mr. Beeton." 
 
 "A lot of trouble he's taking and she too." 
 This with a toss of the head. "They've let you 
 do anyhow and they haven't done anything for 
 you. I've only to look to see that much. I'll 
 come, and I'll be glad to come, but you must go 
 and be shaved, and you must get some other 
 clothes those ones aren't fit to be seen." 
 
 "I have heaps somewhere," he said, helplessly. 
 
 " I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give 
 you a new suit and I'll brush it and keep it clean. 
 You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, 
 but it doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep." 
 
 " Do I look like a sweep, then ?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for 
 you!" she cried, impulsively, and took Dick's 
 hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if 
 to kiss she was the only woman who had taken 
 pity on him, and he was not too proud for a lit- 
 tle pity now. She stood up to go. 
 
 "Nothing o' that kind till you look more like a 
 gentleman. It's quite easy when you get shaved 
 and some clothes." 
 
 He could hear her drawing on her gloves and 
 rose to say good-bye. She passed behind him.
 
 The Light that Failed 293 
 
 kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, 
 and ran away as swiftly as on the day when she 
 had destroyed the Melancolia. 
 
 "To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar," she said 
 to herself, "after all he's done to me and all! 
 Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved 
 he wouldn't be so bad to look at, but . . . 
 Oh them Beetons, how shameful they've treated 
 him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirts on his 
 back to-day just as well as if I'd aired it. To- 
 morrow, I'll see ... I wonder if he has 
 much of his own. It might be worth more than 
 the bar I wouldn't have to do any work and 
 just as respectable if no one knew." 
 
 Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting 
 gift. He was acutely conscious of it in the nape 
 of his neck throughout the night, but it seemed, 
 among very many other things, to enforce the 
 wisdom of getting shaved. He was shaved ac- 
 cordingly in the morning, and felt the better for 
 it. A fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the 
 knowledge that some one in the world said that 
 she took an interest in his personal appearance, 
 made him carry himself almost upright; for the 
 brain was relieved for a while from thinking of 
 Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might 
 have given that kiss and a million others. 
 
 " Let us consider/' said he after lunch. " The 
 girl can't care, and it's a toss-up whether she
 
 294 The Light that Failed 
 
 comes again or not, but if money can buy her to 
 look after me she shall be bought. Nobody else 
 in the world would take the trouble, and I can 
 make it worth her while. She's a child of the 
 gutter holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she 
 shall have everything she wants if she'll only come 
 and talk and look after me." He rubbed his 
 newly-shorn chin and began to perplex himself 
 with the thought of her not coming. " I suppose 
 I did look rather a sweep," he went on. "I had 
 no reason to look otherwise. I knew things 
 dropped on my clothes, but it didn't matter. It 
 would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. 
 Maisie came once, and that was enough for her. 
 She was quite right. She had something to work 
 for. This creature has only beer-handles to pull, 
 unless she has deluded some young man into 
 keeping company with her. Fancy being cheated 
 for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling 
 pretty low." 
 
 Something cried aloud within him: This will 
 hurt more than anything that has gone before. It 
 will recall and remind and suggest and tantalize, 
 and in the end drive you mad. 
 
 " I know it, I know it ! " Dick cried, clenching 
 his hands despairingly; "but, good heavens! is 
 a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of 
 his life except three meals a day and a greasy 
 waistcoat ? I wish she'd come."
 
 The Light that Failed 295 
 
 Early in the afternoon time she came, because 
 there was no young man in her life just then, and 
 she thought of material advantages which would 
 allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. 
 
 "I shouldn't have known you," she said, ap- 
 provingly. "You look as you used to look a 
 gentleman that was proud of himself." 
 
 " Don't you think I deserve another kiss then ? " 
 said Dick, flushing a little. 
 
 " Maybe but you won't get it yet. Sit down 
 and let's see what I can do for you. I'm certain 
 sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't 
 go through the housekeeping books every month. 
 Isn't that true ? " 
 
 " You'd better come and housekeep for me 
 then, Bessie." 
 
 "'Couldn't do it in these chambers you know 
 that as well as I do." 
 
 " I know, but we might go somewhere else, if 
 you thought it worth your while." 
 
 "I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I 
 shouldn't care to have to work for both of us." 
 This was tentative. 
 
 Dick laughed. 
 
 "Do you remember where I used to keep my 
 bank-book ?" said he. " Torp took it to be bal- 
 anced just before he went away. Look and 
 
 
 
 see. 
 
 " It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah ! "
 
 296 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten 
 pounds nine shillings and a penny! Oh my! " 
 
 " You can have the penny. That's not bad for 
 one year's work. Is that and a hundred and 
 twenty pounds a year good enough ?" 
 
 The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost 
 within her reach now, but she must, by being 
 housewifely, show that she deserved them. 
 
 "Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took 
 an inventory, I think we'd find that Mr. Beeton 
 has been prigging little things out of the rooms 
 here and there. They don't look as full as they 
 used." 
 
 "Never mind, we'll let him have them. The 
 only thing I'm particularly anxious to take away 
 is that picture I used you for when you used to 
 swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, 
 and get away as far as ever we can." 
 
 "Oh yes," she said, uneasily. 
 
 "I don't know where I can go to getaway 
 from myself, but I'll try, and you shall have all 
 the pretty frocks that vou care for. You'll like 
 that. Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! 
 it's good to put one's arm round a woman's waist 
 again." 
 
 Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy 
 within the brain. If his arm were thus round 
 Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and
 
 The Light that Failed 297 
 
 taken between them, why then. ... He 
 pressed the girl more closely to himself because 
 the pain whipped him. She was wondering how 
 to explain a little accident to the Melancolia. At 
 any rate, if this man really desired the solace of 
 her company and certainly he would relapse 
 into his original slough if she withdrew it he 
 would not be more than just a little vexed. It 
 would be delightful at least to see what would 
 happen, and by her teachings it was good for a 
 man to stand in certain awe of his companion. 
 
 She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his 
 reach. 
 
 " I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was 
 you," she began, in the hope of turning his at- 
 tention. 
 
 "It's at the back of all my canvases some- 
 where. Find it, Bess ; you know it as well as I 
 do." 
 
 " I know but " 
 
 " But what ? You've wit enough to manage 
 the sale of it to a dealer. Women haggle much 
 better than men. It might be a matter of eight 
 or nine hundred pounds to to us. I simply 
 didn't like to think about it for a long time. It 
 was mixed up with my life so. But we'll cover 
 up our tracks and get rid of everything, eh ? 
 Make a fresh start from the beginning, Bess." 
 
 Then she began to repent very much indeed,
 
 298 The Light that Failed 
 
 because she knew the value of money. Still, it 
 was probable that the blind man was overesti- 
 mating the value of his work. Gentlemen, she 
 knew, were absurdly particular about their 
 things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid 
 giggles when she tries to explain the breakage 
 of a pipe. 
 
 "I'm very sorry, but you remember I was I 
 was angry with you before Mr. Torpenhow went 
 away ? " 
 
 " You were very angry, child ; and on my word 
 I think you had some right to be." 
 
 " Then I but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow 
 didn't tell you?" 
 
 "Tell me what? Good gracious, what are 
 you making such a fuss about when you might 
 just as well be giving me another kiss." 
 
 He was beginning to learn, not for the first 
 time in his experience, that kissing is a cumula- 
 tive poison. The more you get of it, the more 
 you want. Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whis- 
 pering, as she did so, "I was so angry I rubbed 
 out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't 
 angry, are you ? " 
 
 "What? Say that again.* The man's hand 
 had closed on her wrist. 
 
 "I rubbed it out with turps and the knife," 
 faltered Bessie. "I thought you'd only have to 
 do it over again. You did do it over again,
 
 The Light that Failed 299 
 
 didn't you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you're 
 hurting me." 
 
 " Isn't there anything left of the thing ? " 
 
 "N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm 
 sorry I didn't know you'd take on about it; 1 
 only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to 
 hit me?" 
 
 "Hit you! No! Let's think." 
 
 He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but 
 stood staring at the carpet. Then he shook his 
 head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of 
 the stock-whip across his nose warns him back 
 to the path to the shambles that he would escape. 
 For weeks he had forced himself not to think of 
 the Melancolia, because she was a part of his 
 dead life. With Bessie's return and certain new 
 prospects that had developed themselves the 
 Melancolia lovelier in his imagination than she 
 had ever been on canvas reappeared. By her 
 aid he might have procured more money where- 
 with to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well 
 as another taste of an almost forgotten success. 
 Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid's folly, 
 there was nothing to look for not even the hope 
 that he might some day take an abiding interest 
 in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been 
 made to appear ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A 
 woman will forgive the man who has ruined her 
 life's work so long as he gives her love: a man
 
 3<x> The Light that Failed 
 
 may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, 
 but he will never forgive the destruction of his 
 work. 
 
 " Tck tck tck," said Dick, between his teeth, 
 and then laughed softly. " It's an omen, Bessie, 
 and a good many things considered, it serves 
 me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! 
 that accounts for Maisie's running away. She 
 must have thought me perfectly mad small 
 blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn't it 
 so ? What made you do it ? " 
 
 "Because I was that angry. I'm not angry 
 now I'm awful sorry." 
 
 "I wonder. It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm 
 to blame for making the mistake." 
 
 "What mistake?" 
 
 " Something you wouldn't understand, dear. 
 Great heavens! to think that a little piece of dirt 
 like you could throw me out of my stride!" 
 Dick was talking to himself as Bessie tried to 
 shake off his grip on her wrist. 
 
 " I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call 
 me so! I did it 'cause I hated you, and I'm only 
 sorry now 'cause you're 'cause you're" 
 
 "Exactly because I'm blind. There's noth- 
 ing like tact in little things." 
 
 Bessie began to sob. She did not like being 
 shackled against her will; she was afraid of the 
 blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry
 
 The Light that Failed 301 
 
 too that her great revenge had only made Dick 
 laugh. 
 
 "Don't cry," he said, and took her into his 
 arms. "You only did what you thought right." 
 
 " I I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say 
 that I'll never come to you again." 
 
 "You don't know what you've done to me. 
 I'm not angry indeed, I'm not. Be quiet for a 
 minute." 
 
 Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's 
 first thought was connected with Maisie, and it 
 hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore. 
 
 Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally him- 
 self to the wrong woman. The first pang the 
 first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the 
 play, for the very just Providence who delights 
 in causing pain has decreed that the agony shall 
 return, and that in the midst of keenest pleasure. 
 They know this pain equally who have forsaken 
 or been forsaken by the love of their life, and in 
 their new wives' arms are compelled to realize it. 
 It is better to remain alone and suffer only the 
 misery of being alone, so long as it is possible to 
 find distraction in daily work. When that re- 
 source goes the man is to be pitied and left 
 alone. 
 
 These things and some others Dick considered 
 while he was holding Bessie to his heart. 
 
 "Though you mayn't know it," he said, rais-
 
 joi The Light that Failed 
 
 ing his head, "the Lord is a just and a terrible 
 God, Bess ; with a very strong sense of humor. 
 It serves me right how it serves me right! Torp 
 could understand it if he were here; he must 
 have suffered something at your hands, child, but 
 only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that 
 to my credit, some one." 
 
 "Let me go," said Bess, her face darkening. 
 "Let me go." 
 
 " All in good time. Did you ever attend Sun- 
 day-school ? " 
 
 " Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making 
 fun of me." 
 
 "Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself. 
 . . . Thus. 'He saved others, himself he 
 cannot save.' It isn't exactly- a school-board 
 'text." He released her wrist, but since he was 
 between her and the door, she could not escape. 
 "What an enormous amount of mischief one 
 little woman can do! " 
 
 "I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the pic- 
 ture." 
 
 " I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it. 
 . . . What were we talking about before you 
 mentioned the thing ?" 
 
 " About getting away and money. Me and 
 you going away." 
 
 "Of course. We will get away that is to 
 say, I will."
 
 The Light that Failed 303 
 
 "And me?" 
 
 " You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoil- 
 ing a picture." 
 
 " Then you won't ?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds 
 for pretty things all to yourself." 
 
 "You said you couldn't do anything without 
 me. 
 
 "That was true a little while ago. I'm better 
 now, thank you. Get me my hat." 
 
 "S'pose I don't?" 
 
 "Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. 
 That's all. Get it." 
 
 Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied 
 the man sincerely, had kissed him with almost 
 equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it 
 pleased her to be in a way and for a time his 
 protector, and above all there were four thousand 
 pounds to be handled by some one. Now 
 through a slip of the tongue and a little feminine 
 desire to give a little, not too much, pain she had 
 lost the money, the blessed idleness and the 
 pretty things, the companionship, and the chance 
 of looking outwardly as respectable as a real 
 lady. 
 
 " Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, 
 but it doesn't matter, and I'll think things out. 
 What's the day of the week, Bess ? " 
 
 "Tuesday."
 
 ^04 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool 
 what a blind fool I have been! Twenty-two 
 pounds covers my passage home again. Allow 
 ten for additional expenses. We must put up at 
 Madame Binat's for old sake's sake. Thirty-two 
 pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost 
 of the last trip Gad, won't Torp stare to see 
 me! a hundred and thirty-two leaves seventy- 
 eight for baksheesh I shall need it and to play 
 with. What are you crying for, Bess? It 
 wasn't your fault, child; it was mine altogether. 
 Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes 
 and take me out! I want the pass-book and the 
 check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand 
 pounds at four per cent. that's safe interest 
 means a hundred and sixty pounds a year; one 
 hundred and twenty pounds a year also safe 
 is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty 
 pounds added to three hundred a year means 
 gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll 
 go to the bank." 
 
 Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored 
 in his money belt, Dick caused Bessie, now thor- 
 oughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to 
 the P. and O. offices, where he explained things 
 tersely. 
 
 "Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the 
 baggage-hatch as possible. What ship's go- 
 ing?"
 
 The Light that Failed 305 
 
 "The Colgong," said the clerk. 
 
 "She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a 
 tender, or Galleons and the docks?" 
 
 "Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday." 
 
 "Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very 
 well will you count it into my hand?" 
 
 " If they all took their passages like that in- 
 stead of talking about their trunks,, life would be 
 worth something," said the clerk to his neighbor, 
 who was trying to explain to a harassed mother 
 of many that condensed milk is just as good for 
 babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and 
 unmarried, he spoke with conviction. 
 
 "We are now," quoth Dick, as they returned 
 to the studio, patting the place where his money- 
 belt covered ticket and money, "beyond the 
 reach of man, or devil, or woman which is 
 much more important. I've three little affairs to 
 carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask 
 you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday 
 morning at nine. We'll breakfast, and you shall 
 take me down to Galleons Station." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Going away of course. What should I stay 
 for?" 
 
 " But you can't look after yourself?" 
 
 "I can do anything. I didn't realize it before, 
 but I can. I've done a great deal already. Res- 
 olution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie
 
 yo6 The Light that Failed 
 
 doesn't object." Strangely enough, Bessie ob- 
 jected, and Dick laughed. "I suppose you're 
 right. Well, come at nine the day after to-mor- 
 row and you'll get your money." 
 
 "Shall I sure?" 
 
 "I don't bilk, and you won't know whether 1 
 do or not unless you come. Oh, but it's long 
 and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie, send 
 Beeton here as you go out." 
 
 The housekeeper came. 
 
 "What are all the fittings of my rooms 
 worth ? " said Dick, imperiously. 
 
 "Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is 
 very pretty and some is wore out dreadful." 
 
 " I'm insured for two hundred and seventy." 
 
 "Insurance policies is no criterion, though I 
 don't say " 
 
 "Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've 
 made your pickings out of me and the other ten- 
 ants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a 
 public-house the other day. Give a straight an- 
 swer to a straight question." 
 
 "Fifty," said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks 
 and burn the rest." 
 
 He felt his way to a bookstand that supported 
 a pile of sketch-books, and wrenched out one of 
 the mahogany pillars.
 
 The Light that Failed 507 
 
 "That's sinful, sir," said the housekeeper, 
 alarmed. 
 
 "It's my own. One hundred or " 
 
 "One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and 
 six to get that there pilaster mended." 
 
 " I thought so. What an out and out swindler 
 you must have been to spring that price at once! " 
 
 "I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of 
 the tenants, least of all you, sir." 
 
 "Never mind that. Get me the money to- 
 morrow, and see that all my clothes are packed 
 in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going." 
 
 " But the quarter's notice ?" 
 
 " I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and 
 leave me alone." 
 
 Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his 
 wife, who decided that Bessie was at the bottom of 
 it all. Her husband took a more charitable view. 
 
 "It's very sudden but then he was always 
 sudden in his ways. Listen to him now! " 
 
 There was a sound of chanting from Dick's 
 room. 
 
 We'll never come back any more, boys, 
 We'll never come back no more ; 
 We'll go to the deuce on any excuse, 
 And never come back no more ! 
 Oh say we're afloat or ashore, boys, 
 Oh say we're afloat or ashore ; 
 But we'll never come back any more, boys, 
 We'll never come back no more I "
 
 308 The Light that Failed 
 
 "Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce 
 is my pistol?" 
 
 "Quick, he's going to shoot himself 'avln' 
 gone mad!" said Mrs. Beeton. 
 
 Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it 
 was some time before the latter, threshing up 
 and down his bedroom, could realize the inten- 
 tion of the promises to "find everything to-mor- 
 row, sir." 
 
 "Oh, you copper-nosed old fool you im- 
 potent Academician!" he shouted at last. "Do 
 you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the 
 pistol in your silly shaking hand then. If you 
 touch it, it will go off, because it's loaded. It's 
 among my campaign-kit somewhere in the 
 parcel at the bottom of the trunk." 
 
 Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself 
 of a forty-pound weight field-equipment con- 
 structed by the knowledge of his own experi- 
 ence. It was this put-away treasure that he was 
 trying to find and rehandle. Mr. Beeton whipped 
 the revolver out of its place on the top of the 
 package, and Dick drove his hand among the 
 khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth leg- 
 bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over 
 a pair of swan-neck spurs. Under these and the 
 water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin case 
 of stationery. 
 
 "These we don't want; you can have them,
 
 The Light that Failed 309 
 
 Mr. Beeton. Everything else I'll keep. Pack 'em 
 on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When 
 you've done that come into the studio with your 
 wife. I want you both. Wait a minute; get 
 me a pen and a sheet of notepaper." 
 
 It is not an easy thing to write when you can- 
 not see, and Dick had particular reasons for 
 wishing that his work should be clear. So he 
 began, following his right hand with his left: 
 "'The badness of this writing is because I am 
 blind and cannot see my pen.' H'mph! Even a 
 lawyer can't mistake that. It must be signed, I 
 suppose, but it needn't be witnessed. Now an 
 inch lower why did I never learn to use a type- 
 writer ? ' This is the last will and testament of 
 me, Richard Heldar. I am in sound bodily and 
 mental health, and there is no previous will to 
 revoke.' That's all right. Damn the pen! 
 Whereabouts on the paper was I ? ' I leave 
 everything that I possess in the world, including 
 four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven 
 hundred and twenty-eight pounds held for me ' 
 Oh, I can't get this straight." He tore off half 
 the sheet and began again with the caution about 
 the handwriting. Then: " I leave all the money 
 I possess in the world to" here followed 
 Maisie's name, and the names of the two banks 
 that held his money. 
 
 "It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a
 
 310 The Light that Failed 
 
 shadow of a right to dispute it, and I've given 
 Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is 
 my signature; you've seen it often enough to 
 know it; I want you and your wife to witness 
 it. Thanks. To-morrow you must take me to 
 the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for leaving with- 
 out notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in 
 case anything happens when I'm away. Now 
 we're going to light up the studio stove. Stay 
 with me, and give me my papers as I want 
 em. 
 
 No one knows until he has tried how fine a 
 blaze a year's accumulation of bills, letters, and 
 dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove 
 every document in the studio saving only three 
 unopened letters: destroyed sketch-books, rough 
 note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike. 
 
 "What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about 
 him if he stays long enough in one place, to be 
 sure," said Mr. Beeton at last. 
 
 "He does. Is there anything more left?" 
 Dick felt round the walls. 
 
 "Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot." 
 
 "Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand 
 pounds' worth of sketches. Ho! ho! Quite a 
 thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what 
 I used to be." 
 
 "Yes, sir," politely. Mr. Beeton was quite 
 sure that Dick had gone mad, otherwise he
 
 The Light that Failed 311 
 
 would have never parted with his excellent fur- 
 niture for a song. The canvas things took up 
 storage room and were much better out of the 
 way. 
 
 There remained only to leave the little will in 
 safe hands: that could not be accomplished till 
 to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor pick- 
 ing up the last pieces of paper, assured himself 
 again and again that there remained no written 
 word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, 
 and sat down before the stove till the fire died 
 out and the contracting iron cracked in the si- 
 lence of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 With a heart of furious fancies, 
 
 Whereof I am commander; 
 With a burning spear and a horse of air. 
 
 To the wilderness I wander. 
 With a knight of ghosts and shadows 
 
 I summoned am to tourney 
 Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, 
 
 Methinks it is no : ourney. 
 
 Tom a* Bedlam's Song. 
 
 " Good-bye, Bess ; I promised you fifty. Here's 
 a hundred all that I got for my furniture from 
 Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for 
 some time. You've been a good little girl, all 
 things considered, but you've given me and Tor- 
 penhow a fair amount of trouble." 
 
 "Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, 
 won't you?" 
 
 " Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the 
 gang-plank and into the cabin. Once aboard the 
 lugger and the maid is and I am free, I mean." 
 
 "Who'll look after you on the ship?" 
 
 "The head-steward, if there's any use in 
 money. The doctor when we come to Port 
 Said, if 1 know anything of P. and O. doctors. 
 After that, the Lord will provide, as He used to 
 do." 
 
 312
 
 The Light that Failed 313 
 
 Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil 
 of a ship full of leavetakers and weeping relatives. 
 Then he kissed her, and laid himself down in his 
 bunk until the decks should be clear. He who 
 had taken so long to move about his own dark- 
 ened rooms well understood the geography of a 
 ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own com- 
 forts was as wine to him. Before the screw be- 
 gan to thrash the ship along the Docks he had 
 been introduced to the head-steward, had royally 
 tipped him, secured a good place at table, opened 
 out his baggage, and settled himself down with 
 joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to 
 feel his way as he moved about, for he knew 
 everything so well. Then God was very kind: a 
 deep sleep of weariness came upon him just as he 
 would have thought of Maisie, and he slept till 
 the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames 
 and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel. 
 
 The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and 
 paint, and a very familiar sound in the next cabin 
 roused him to his new inheritance. 
 
 "Oh, it's good to be alive again!" He 
 yawned, stretched himself vigorously, and went 
 on deck to be told that they were almost abreast 
 of the lights of Brighton. This is no more open 
 water than Trafalgar Square is a common; the 
 free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less 
 Dick could feel the healing of the sea at work
 
 314 The Light that Failed 
 
 upon him already. A boisterous little cross-swell 
 swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; 
 and one wave breaking far aft spattered the 
 quarterdeck and the pile of new deck chairs. He 
 heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, 
 was stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing 
 luxuriously, felt his way to the smoking-room 
 by the wheel. There a strong breeze found him, 
 blew his cap off and left him bareheaded in 
 the doorway, and the smoking-room steward, 
 understanding that he was a voyager of experi- 
 ence, said that the weather would be stiff in the 
 chops off the Channel and more than half a gale 
 in the Bay. These things fell as they were fore- 
 told, and Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It 
 is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay firm 
 hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in mov- 
 ing from place to place. On land the man who 
 feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea 
 even a blind man who is not seasick can jest 
 with the doctor over the weakness of his fellows. 
 Dick told the doctor many tales and these are 
 coin of more value than silver if properly handled 
 smoked with him till unholy hours of the night, 
 and so won his shortlived regard that he promised 
 Dick a few hours of his time when they came to 
 Port Said. 
 
 And the sea roared or was still as the winds 
 blew, and the engines sang their song day and
 
 The Light that Failed 315 
 
 night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and 
 Tom the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning 
 under the opened hatch-grating where the cool 
 winds blew, and the awnings were spread and 
 the passengers made merry, and at last they came 
 to Port Said. 
 
 "Take me," said Dick to the doctor, "to 
 Madame Binat's if you know where that is." 
 
 "Whew!" said the doctor, "I do. There's 
 not much to choose between 'em; but I suppose 
 you're aware that that's one of the worst houses 
 in the place. They'll rob you to begin with, and 
 knife you later." 
 
 "Not they. Take me there, and I can look 
 after myself." 
 
 So he was brought to Madame Binat's and 
 filled his nostrils with the well-remembered smell 
 of the East, that runs without a change from the 
 Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with 
 the villainous Lingua Franca of the Levant. The 
 heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with 
 the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the 
 sand, and his coat-sleeve was warm as new- 
 baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. 
 
 Madame Binat smiled with the smile that 
 knows no astonishment when Dick entered the 
 drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. 
 But for a little accident of complete darkness he 
 could hardly realize that he had ever quitted the
 
 316 The Light that Failed 
 
 old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody 
 opened a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. 
 The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur Binat, 
 who, by the way, had spoken of art and degra- 
 dation. Binat was dead; Madame said as much 
 when the doctor departed, scandalized, so far as 
 a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's 
 reception. Dick was delighted at it. "They re- 
 member me here after a year. They have for- 
 gotten me across the water by this time. Ma- 
 dame, I want a long talk with you when you're 
 at liberty. It is good to be back again." 
 
 In the evening she set an iron-topped caf6-table 
 out on the sands, and Dick and she sat by it, 
 while the house behind them filled with riot, 
 merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came 
 out and the lights of the shipping in the harbor 
 twinkled by the head of the Canal. 
 
 "Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; 
 but what dost thou do here ? We have not for- 
 gotten thee." 
 
 " I was over there in England and I went 
 blind." 
 
 "But there was the glory first. We heard of 
 it here, even here I and Binat; and thou hast 
 used the head of Yellow 'Tina she is still alive 
 so often and so well that 'Tina laughed when 
 the papers arrived by the mail-boats. It was al- 
 ways something that we here could recognize in
 
 The Light that Failed 317 
 
 the paintings. And then there was always the 
 glory and the money for thee." 
 
 "I am not poor I shall pay you well." 
 
 "Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything." 
 Under her breath, " Mon Dieu, to be blind and so 
 young! What horror 1" 
 
 Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, 
 or his own with the discolored hair at the tem- 
 ples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was 
 too anxious to get to the front once more, and 
 explained his desire. 
 
 "And where ? The Canal is full of the English 
 ships. Sometimes they fire as they used to do 
 when the war was here ten years ago. Beyond 
 Cairo there is fighting, but how canst thou go 
 there without a correspondent's passport ? And 
 in the desert there is always fighting, but that is 
 impossible also," said she. 
 
 "I must go to Suakin." He knew, thanks to 
 Alf's readings, that Torpenhow was at work 
 with the column that was protecting the con- 
 struction of the Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. 
 steamers do not touch at that port, and, besides, 
 Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or 
 advice was worth anything. They were not re- 
 spectable folk, but they could cause things to be 
 accomplished, which is much more important 
 when there is work toward. 
 
 " But at Suakin they are always fighting. That
 
 318 The Light that Failed 
 
 desert breeds men always and always more 
 men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin ?" 
 
 "My friend is there." 
 
 "Thy friencl! Chtt! Thy friend is death, 
 then." 
 
 Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table- 
 top, filled Dick's glass anew, and looked at him 
 closely under the stars. There was no need that 
 he should bow his head in assent and say 
 
 "No. He is a man, but if it should arrive 
 . . . blamest thou?" 
 
 "I blame?" she laughed, shrilly. "Who am 
 I that I should blame any one except those who 
 try to cheat me over their consommations. But 
 it is very terrible." 
 
 "I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A 
 great deal has changed within the year, and the 
 men I knew are not here. The Egyptian light- 
 house steamer goes down the Canal to Suakin 
 and the post-boats But even then " 
 
 "Do not think any longer. / know, and it is 
 for me to think. Thou shalt go thou shalt go 
 and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the 
 house is a little quiet I must attend to my guests 
 and afterward go to bed. Thou shalt go, in 
 truth, thou shalt go." 
 
 "To-morrow?" 
 
 "As soon as may be." She was talking as 
 though he were a child.
 
 The Light that Failed 319 
 
 He sat at the table listening to the voices in the 
 harbor and the streets, and wondering how soon 
 the end would come, till Madame Binat carried 
 him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The 
 house shouted and sang and danced and reveled, 
 Madame Binat moving through it with one eye 
 on the liquor payments and the girls and the 
 other on Dick's interests. To this latter end she 
 smiled upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers 
 of fellaheen regiments, was gracious to Cypriote 
 commissariat underlings, and more than kind to 
 camel agents of no nationality whatever. 
 
 In the early morning, being then appropriately 
 dressed in a flaming red silk ball-dress, with a 
 front of tarnished gold embroidery and a neck- 
 lace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate 
 and carried it in to Dick. 
 
 "It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh ? 
 Drink and eat the roll too. Thus in France moth- 
 ers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, 
 the morning chocolate." She sat down on the 
 side of the bed whispering : 
 
 " It is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the light- 
 house boat. That is a bribe of ten pounds Eng- 
 lish. The captain is never paid by the Govern- 
 ment. The boat comes to Suakin in four days. 
 There will go with thee George, a Greek mule- 
 teer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay ; 
 they must not know of thy money. George will
 
 320 The Light that Failed 
 
 go with thee as far as he goes with his mules. 
 Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved 
 is here, and if I do not receive a telegram from 
 Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers 
 for George." 
 
 " Thank you." He reached out sleepily for the 
 cup. ''You are much too kind, Madame." 
 
 "If there were anything that I might do I 
 would say, stay here and be wise; but I do not 
 think that would be best for thee." She looked 
 at her liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. 
 "Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go. It 
 is best so. My boy, it is best so." 
 
 She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. 
 "That is for good-morning," she said, going 
 away. "When thou art dressed we will speak 
 to George and make everything ready. But first 
 we must open the little trunk. Give me the 
 keys." 
 
 "The amount of kissing lately has been simply 
 scandalous. I shall expect Torp to kiss me next. 
 He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his 
 way, though. Well, it won't last long Ohe, 
 Madame, help me to my toilette of the guillotine! 
 There will be no chance of dressing properly out 
 yonder." 
 
 He was rummaging among his new campaign 
 kit, and roweling his hands with the spurs. 
 There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-
 
 The Light that Failed 321 
 
 jacks, spotless blue leg-bands, khaki coat and 
 breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed helmet. The 
 right way is the way of the untired man, master 
 of himself, setting out upon an expedition, well 
 pleased. 
 
 "Everything must be very correct," Dick ex- 
 plained. "It will become dirty afterward, but 
 now it is good to feel well dressed. Is every- 
 thing as it should be ? " 
 
 He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the 
 fulness of the blouse on the right hip and fin- 
 gered his collar. 
 
 "I can do no more," Madame said, between 
 laughing and crying. "Look at thyself but I 
 forgot." 
 
 "I am very content." He stroked the crease- 
 less spirals of his leggings. " Now let us go and 
 see the captain and George and the lighthouse 
 boat. Be quick, Madame." 
 
 " But thou canst not be seen by the harbor 
 walking with me in the daylight. Figure to your- 
 self if some English ladies " 
 
 "There are no English ladies; and if there are, 
 1 have forgotten them. Take me there." 
 
 In spite of his burning impatience it was nearly 
 evening ere the lighthouse boat began to move. 
 Madame had said a great deal both to George and 
 the captain touching the arrangements that were 
 to be made for Dick's benefit. Very few men
 
 322 The Light that Failed 
 
 who had the honor of her acquaintance cared to 
 disregard Madame's advice. That sort of con- 
 tempt might end in being knifed by a stranger in 
 a gambling hell upon surprisingly short provoca- 
 tion. 
 
 For six days two of them were wasted in the 
 crowded Canal the little steamer worked her 
 way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the 
 superintendent of lighthouses; and Dick made 
 it his business to propitiate George, who was dis- 
 tracted with fears for the safety of his light-of- 
 love and half inclined to make Dick responsible 
 for his own discomfort. When they arrived 
 George took him under his wing, and together 
 they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered 
 with the material and wastage of the Suakin- 
 Berber line, from locomotives in disconsolate 
 fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. 
 
 " If you keep with me," said George, " nobody 
 will ask for passports or what you do. They are 
 all very busy." 
 
 "Yes; but I should like to hear some of the 
 Englishmen talk. They might remember me. I 
 was known here a long time ago when I was 
 someone indeed." 
 
 "A long time ago is a very long time ago here. 
 The graveyards are full. Now listen. This new 
 railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan that 
 is seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say
 
 The Light that Failed }2$ 
 
 that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan the English troops 
 go forward, and everything that they require will 
 be brought to them by this line." 
 
 "Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better 
 business than fighting Fuzzies in the open." 
 
 "For this reason even the mules go up in the 
 iron-train." 
 
 "Iron what?" 
 
 "It is all covered with iron, because it is still 
 being shot at." 
 
 "An armored train. Better and better 1 Go 
 on, faithful George." 
 
 "And I go up with my mules to-night. Only 
 those who particularly require to go to the camp 
 go out with the train. They begin to shoot not 
 far from the city." 
 
 "The dears they always used to!" Dick 
 snuffed the smell of parched dust, heated iron, 
 and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old 
 life was welcoming him back most generously. 
 
 " When I have got my mules together I go up 
 to-night, but you must first send a telegram to 
 Port Said, declaring that I have done you no 
 harm." 
 
 "Madame has you well in hand. Would you 
 stick a knife into me if you had the chance ?" 
 
 " I have no chance," said the Greek. " She is 
 there with that woman." 
 
 "I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between
 
 324 The Light that Failed 
 
 love of woman and the chance of loot. I sym- 
 pathize with you, George." 
 
 They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, 
 for all the world was desperately busy and had 
 scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was 
 the last place under sky that would be chosen for 
 holiday-ground. On their return the voice of an 
 English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. 
 The blue goggles were over his eyes and he 
 walked with his hand on George's elbow as he 
 replied 
 
 "Egyptian Government mules. My orders 
 are to give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai- 
 el-Hassan. 'Any occasion to show my papers ? " 
 
 "Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no 
 right to ask, but not seeing your face before I " 
 
 "I go out in the train to-night, I suppose," 
 said Dick, boldly. " There will be no difficulty in 
 loading up the mules, will there?" 
 
 " You can see the horse-platforms from here. 
 You must have them loaded up early." The 
 young man went away wondering what sort of 
 broken down waif this might be who talked like 
 a gentleman and consorted with Greek muleteers. 
 Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer 
 is no small thing, but the bluff loses relish when 
 one plays it from the utter dark, and stumbles up 
 and down rough ways, thinking and eternally 
 thinking of what might have been if things had
 
 The Light that Failed 5 
 
 fallen out otherwise, and all had been as it was 
 not. 
 
 George shared his meal with Dick and went off 
 to the mule-lines. His charge sat alone in a shed 
 with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut 
 eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with 
 parted lips. There was a great bustle and 
 clamor about him. He grew afraid and almost 
 called for George. 
 
 "I say, have you got your mules ready?" It 
 was the voice of the subaltern over his shoulder. 
 
 " My man's looking after them. The the fact 
 is I've a touch of ophthalmia and I can't see very 
 well." 
 
 " By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in 
 hospital for a while. I've had a turn of it myself. 
 It's as bad as being blind." 
 
 " So I find it. When does this armored train 
 go?" 
 
 " At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the 
 seven miles." 
 
 " Are the Fuzzies on the rampage eh ?" 
 
 "About three nights a week. 'Fact is I'm in 
 acting command of the night-train. It generally 
 runs back empty to Tanai for the night." 
 
 " Big camp at Tanai, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column 
 somehow." 
 
 is that far off?"
 
 pb The Light that Failed 
 
 "Between thirty and forty miles in an in- 
 fernal thirsty country." 
 
 "Is the country quiet between Tanai and our 
 men?" 
 
 "More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it 
 alone, or with a subaltern's command for the 
 matter of that, but the scouts get through in some 
 extraordinary fashion." 
 
 "They always did." 
 
 "Have you been here before, then?" 
 
 "I was through most of the trouble when it 
 first broke out." 
 
 "In the service and cashiered," was the sub- 
 altern's first thought, so he refrained from put- 
 ting any questions. 
 
 "There's your man coming up with the mules. 
 It seems rather queer" 
 
 "That I should be mule-leading?" said Dick. 
 
 "I didn't mean to say so but it is. Forgive me 
 it's beastly impertinence I know, but you 
 speak like a man who has been at a public school. 
 There's no mistaking the tone." 
 
 "I am a public school man." 
 
 "I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt 
 your feelings, but you're a little down on your 
 luck, aren't you ? I saw you sitting with your 
 head in your hands, and that's why I spoke." 
 
 "Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and 
 completely broke as a man need be."
 
 The Light that Failed 327 
 
 "Suppose I mean I'm a public school man 
 myself. Couldn't I perhaps take it as a loan y' 
 know and" 
 
 ' ' You're much too good, but on my honor I've 
 as much money as 1 want. ... I tell you 
 what you could do for me, though, and put me 
 under an everlasting obligation. Let me come 
 into the bogie truck of the train. There is a fore- 
 truck, isn't there?" 
 
 " Yes. How d'you know ?" 
 
 "I've been in an armored train before. Only 
 let me see hear some of the fun I mean, and I'll 
 be grateful. I go at my own risk as a non-com- 
 batant." 
 
 The young man thought for a minute. " All 
 right," he said. "We're supposed to be an 
 empty train, and there's no one to blow me up 
 at the other end." 
 
 George and a horde of yelling amateur assist- 
 ants had loaded up the mules, and the narrow- 
 gauge armored train, plated with three-eighths 
 inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, 
 stood ready to start. 
 
 Two bogie trucks running before the loco- 
 motive were completely covered in with plat- 
 ing, except that the leading one was pierced 
 in front for the nozzle of a machine-gun, and 
 the second at either side for lateral fire. The 
 trucks together made one long iron-vaulted
 
 328 The Light that Failed 
 
 chamber in which a score of artillerymen were 
 rioting. 
 
 " Whitechapel last train! Ah, I see yer 
 kissin' in the first class there!" somebody 
 shouted, just as Dick was clambering into the 
 forward truck. 
 
 "Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the 
 Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin' train. Echo, sir. 
 Speshul edition! Star, sir." "Shall I get you a 
 foot-warmer?" said another. 
 
 " Thanks. I'll pay my footing," said Dick, and 
 relations of the most amicable were established 
 ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, 
 and the train jolted out over the rough track. 
 
 "This is an immense improvement on shoot- 
 ing the unimpressionable Fuzzy in the open," 
 said Dick, from his place in the corner. 
 
 "Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he 
 goes!" said the subaltern, as a bullet struck the 
 outside of the truck. " We always have at least 
 one demonstration against the night-train. Gen- 
 erally they attack the rear-truck where my junior 
 commands. He gets all the fun of the fair." 
 
 " Not to-night though ! Listen!" said Dick. 
 A flight of heavy-handed bullets was succeeded 
 by yelling and snouts. The children of the des- 
 ert valued their nightly amusement, and the 
 train was an excellent mark. 
 
 "Is it worth while giving them half a hopper
 
 The Light that Failed 329 
 
 full ? " the subaltern asked of the engine which 
 was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. 
 
 "I should just think so! This is my section of 
 the line. They'll be playing old Harry with my 
 permanent way if we don't stop 'em." 
 
 " Right O!" 
 
 " Hrrmph / " said the machine gun through all 
 its five noses as the subaltern drew the lever 
 home. The empty cartridges clashed on the 
 floor and the smoke blew back through the 
 truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the 
 rear of the train, a return fire from the darkness 
 without and unlimited howling. Dick stretched 
 himself on the floor, wild with delight at the 
 sounds and the smells. 
 
 " God is very good I never thought I'd hear 
 this again. Give 'em hell, men. Oh, give 'em 
 hell!" he cried. 
 
 The train stopped for some obstruction on the 
 line ahead and a party went out to reconnoitre, 
 but came back cursing, for spades. The children 
 of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the 
 rails, and twenty minutes were lost in clearing 
 it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, 
 to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, 
 the steady clack and kick of the machine guns, 
 and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the 
 train came under the protection of the roaring 
 camp at Tanai-el-Hassan.
 
 3>> The Light that Failed 
 
 " Now, you see why it takes an hour and a 
 half to fetch her through," said the subaltern, un- 
 shipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. 
 
 "It was a lark, though. I only wish it had 
 lasted twice as long. How superb it must have 
 looked from outside! " said Dick, sighing regret- 
 fully. 
 
 "It palls after the first few nights. By the 
 way, when you've settled about your mules, 
 come and see what we can find to eat in my 
 tent. I'm Bennil of the Gunners in the artillery 
 lines and mind you don't fall over my tent- 
 ropes in the dark." 
 
 But it was all dark to Dick. He could only 
 smell the camels, the hay-bales, the cooking, the 
 smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents 
 as he stood, where he had dropped from the 
 train, shouting for George. There was a sound 
 of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the 
 rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George 
 was unloading the mules. 
 
 The engine was blowing off steam nearly in 
 Dick's ear; a cold wind of the desert danced be- 
 tween his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired 
 and dirty so dirty that he tried to brush his 
 coat with his hands. That was a hopeless job; 
 he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to 
 count over the many times that he had waited in 
 strange or remote places for trains or camels,
 
 The Light that Failed 331 
 
 mules or horses, to carry him to his business. 
 In those days he could see few men more 
 clearly and the spectacle of an armed camp at 
 dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure 
 to the eye. There was color, light, and motion, 
 without which no man has much pleasure in liv- 
 ing. This night there remained for him only 
 one more journey through the' darkness that 
 never lifts to tell a man how far he has trav- 
 eled. Then he would grip Torpenhow's hand 
 again Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, 
 and lived in the midst of the action that had once 
 made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: 
 not in the least to be confused with the blind, 
 bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to 
 the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, 
 and come as near to the old life as might be. 
 Afterward he would forget everything: Bessie, 
 who had wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly 
 wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived in a strange 
 unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and 
 matters that no men needed ; that irrational be- 
 ing who had offered him love and loyalty for 
 nothing, but had not signed her name; and mos( 
 of all Maisie, who, from her own point of view 
 was undeniably right in all she did, but oh, a 
 this distance, so tantalizingly fair. 
 
 George's hand on his arm pulled him back to 
 the situation.
 
 }}2 The Light thai Failed 
 
 "And what now?" said George. 
 
 "Oh yes, of course. What now? Take me 
 to the camel-men. Take me to where the scouts 
 sit when they come in from the desert. They 
 sit by their camels, and the camels eat grain out 
 of a black blanket held up at the corners, and the 
 men eat by their side just like camels. Take me 
 there!" 
 
 The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick 
 stumbled many times over the stumps of scrub. 
 The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick 
 knew they would. The light of the dung-fires 
 flickered on their bearded faces, and the camels 
 bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It 
 was no part of Dick's policy to go into the desert 
 with a convoy of supplies. That would lead to 
 impertinent questions, and since a blind non- 
 combatant is not needed at the front, he would 
 probably be forced to return to Suakin. He 
 must go up alone, and go immediately. 
 
 "Now for one last bluff the biggest of all," 
 he said. "Peace be with you, brethren!" The 
 watchful George steered him to the circle of the 
 nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks 
 bowed gravely, and the camels, scenting a Euro- 
 pean, looked sideways curiously like brooding 
 hens, half ready to get to their feet. 
 
 "A beast and a driver to go to the fighting 
 line to-night," said Dick.
 
 The Light that Failed }$) 
 
 "A Mulaid?" said a voice, scornfully naming 
 the best baggage-breed that he knew. 
 
 "A Bisharin," returned Dick, with perfect 
 gravity. "A Bisharin without saddle-galls. 
 Therefore no charge of thine shock-head." 
 
 Two or three minutes passed. Then 
 
 "We be knee-haltered for the night. There 
 is no going out from the camp." 
 
 "Not for money?" 
 
 "H'ml Ah! English money?" 
 
 Another depressing interval of silence. 
 
 " How much ?" 
 
 "Twenty-five pounds English paid into the 
 hand of the driver at my journey's end, and as 
 much more into the hand of the camel-sheik 
 here, to be paid when the driver returns." 
 
 This was royal payment, and the sheik, who 
 knew that he would get his commission on the 
 deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. 
 
 "For scarcely one night's journey fifty 
 pounds. Land and wells and good trees and 
 wives to make a man content for the rest of his 
 days. Who speaks?" said Dick. 
 
 "I," said a voice. "I will go but there is no 
 going from the camp." 
 
 "Fool! I know that a camel can break his 
 knee-halter, and the sentries do not fire if one 
 goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and an- 
 other twenty-five pounds. But the beast must
 
 334 The Light that Failed 
 
 be a good Bisharin; I will take no baggage* 
 camel." 
 
 Then the bargaining began, and at the end of 
 half an hour the first deposit was paid over to 
 the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver. 
 Dick heard the latter say: " A little way out only. 
 Any baggage-beast will serve. Am I a fool to 
 waste my cattle for a blind man ? " 
 
 "And though I cannot see" Dick lifted his 
 voice a little "yet I carry that which has six 
 eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do 
 not reach the English troops in the dawn he will 
 be dead." 
 
 "But where, in God's name, are the troops?" 
 
 "Unless thou knowest let another man ride. 
 Dost thou know ? Remember it will be life or 
 death to thee." 
 
 "I know," said the driver, sullenly. "Stand 
 back from my beast. I am going to slip him." 
 
 "Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's 
 head a moment. I want to feel his cheek." The 
 hands wandered over the hide till they found the 
 branded half-circle that is the mark of the Bish- 
 arin, the light-built riding-camel. "That is well. 
 Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of 
 God comes on those who try to cheat the blind." 
 
 The men chuckled by the fires at the camel- 
 driver's discomfiture. He had intended to sub- 
 stitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt
 
 The Light that Failed 335 
 
 "Stand back!" one shouted, lashing the Bish- 
 arin under the belly with a quirt. Dick obeyed 
 as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his 
 hand, and a cry went up, "Illaha! Aho! He 
 is loose." 
 
 With a roar and a grunt the Bisharin rose to 
 his feet and plunged forward toward the desert, 
 his driver following with shouts and lamenta- 
 tion. George caught Dick's arm and hurried him 
 stumbling and tripping past a disgusted sentry 
 who was used to stampeding camels. 
 
 " What's the row now ? " he cried. 
 
 " Every stitch of my kit on that blasted drome- 
 dary," Dick answered, after the manner of a 
 common soldier. 
 
 "Go on, and take care your throat's not cut 
 outside you and your dromedary's." 
 
 The outcries ceased when the camel had disap- 
 peared behind a hillock, and his driver had called 
 him back and made him kneel down. 
 
 "Mount first," said Dick. Then climbing into 
 the second seat and gently screwing the pistol 
 muzzle into the small of his companion's back, 
 " Go on in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, 
 George. Remember me to Madame, and have a 
 good time with your girl. Get forward, child of 
 the Pit!" 
 
 A few minutes later he was shut up in a great 
 silence, hardly broken by the creaking of the
 
 336 The Light that Failed 
 
 saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick 
 adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and 
 pitch of the pace, girthed his belt tighter, and felt 
 the darkness slide past. For an hour he was 
 conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. 
 
 " A good camel," he said at last. 
 
 " He has never been underfed. He is my own 
 and clean bred," the driver replied. 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 His head dropped on his chest and he tried to 
 think, but the tenor of his thoughts was broken 
 because he was very sleepy. In the half doze it 
 seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn 
 at Mrs. Jennett's. He had committed some crime 
 as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked 
 him up in his bedroom. But he could never re- 
 peat more than the first two lines of the hymn 
 
 When Israel of the Lord beloved 
 Out of the land of bondage came. 
 
 He said them over and over thousands of 
 times. The driver turned in the saddle to see if 
 there were any chance of capturing the revolver 
 and ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him 
 over the head with the butt, and stormed himself 
 wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of 
 camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up ris- 
 ing ground. A shot was fired, and the silence 
 shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep.
 
 The Light that Failed }yj 
 
 Dick could think no longer. He was too tired 
 and stiff and cramped to do more than nod un- 
 easily from time to time, waking with a start and 
 punching the driver with the pistol. 
 
 "Is there a moon ?" he asked, drowsily. 
 
 " She is near her setting." 
 
 "I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. 
 At least let me hear the desert talk." 
 
 The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness 
 came one breath of wind. It rattled the dead 
 leaves of a shrub some distance away and 
 ceased. A handful of dry earth detached itself 
 from the edge of a rain trench and crumbled 
 softly to the bottom. 
 
 " Go on. The night is very cold." 
 
 Those who have watched till the morning 
 know how the last hour before the light length- 
 ens itself into many eternities. It seemed to 
 Dick that he had never since the beginning of 
 original darkness done anything at all save jolt 
 through the air. Once in a thousand years he 
 would finger the nail-heads on the saddle-front 
 and count them all carefully. Centuries later 
 he would shift his revolver from his right 
 hand to his left and allow the eased arm to 
 drop down at his side. From the safe distance 
 of London he was watching himself thus em- 
 ployed, watching critically. Yet whenever he 
 put out his hand to the canvas that he might
 
 3)$ The Light that Failed 
 
 paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of 
 the sinking moon, the black shadow of the camel 
 and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held 
 a revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist 
 to collar-bone. Moreover, he was in the dark, 
 and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. 
 
 The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of 
 a change in the air. 
 
 " I smell the dawn," he whispered. 
 
 "It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have 
 I done well?" 
 
 The camel stretched out its neck and roared as 
 there came down wind the pungent reek of 
 camels in square. 
 
 "Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on." 
 
 "They are moving in their camp. There is so 
 much dust that I cannot see what they do." 
 
 " Am I in better case ? Go forward." 
 
 They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the 
 howling and the bubbling of the beasts and the 
 hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the 
 day. Two or three shots were fired. 
 
 " Is that at us ? Surely they can see that I am 
 English," Dick spoke angrily. 
 
 "Nay, it is from the desert," the driver an- 
 swered, cowering in his saddle. "Go forward, 
 my child ! Well it is that the dawn did not un- 
 cover us an hour ago." 
 
 The camel headed straight for the column and
 
 The Light that Failed 339 
 
 the shots behind multiplied. The children of the 
 desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of 
 surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, 
 and were getting their distance by snap-shots at 
 the only moving object without the square. 
 
 "What luck! What stupendous and imperial 
 luck!" said Dick. "It's 'just before the battle, 
 mother.' Oh, God has been most good to me! 
 Only " the agony of the thought made him screw 
 up his eyes for an instant "Maisie. . . ." 
 
 "Allahu! We are in," said the man, as he 
 drove into the rearguard and the camel knelt. 
 
 "Who the deuce are you? Despatches or 
 what ? What's the strength of the enemy behind 
 that ridge ? How did you get through ? " asked 
 a dozen voices. For all answer Dick took a 
 long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted 
 from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty 
 voice, "Torpenhow! One, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor- 
 pen-how." 
 
 A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for 
 a light to his pipe moved very swiftly toward 
 that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to 
 fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks 
 around. Gradually the scattered white cloudlets 
 drew out into long lines of banked white that 
 hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before 
 they turned over wave-like and glided into the 
 valleys. The soldiers in the square were cough-
 
 340 The Light that Failed 
 
 ing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed 
 their view, and they edged forward to get be- 
 yond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet and 
 roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. 
 Some one had cut its throat to prevent confusion. 
 Then came the thick sob of a man receiving his 
 death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony 
 and redoubled firing. 
 
 There was no time to ask any questions. . 
 
 "Get down, manl Get down behind the 
 camel!" 
 
 "No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the 
 battle." Dick turned his face to Torpenhow and 
 raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, 
 miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Tor- 
 penhow saw that his hair was grey on the tem- 
 ples, and that his face was the face of an old 
 man. 
 
 * ' Come down, you damned fool 1 Dickie, come 
 off!" 
 
 And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, 
 pitching sideways from the Bisharin's saddle at 
 Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the last, 
 even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet 
 through his head. 
 
 Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, 
 with Dick's body in his arms. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 001 116 855 6