circumstances threw a haze of mystery round the man. They laid hold of my imagination and hampered my tongue.
Towards midnight our talk of London died away, and we stood side by side leaning over the bulwarks, and staring dreamily over the silent starlit sea, each pursuing his own thoughts. It was the atmosphere for sentiment, and I began upon my gratitude.
"If I may say it," said I, after a time, "you have saved my life."
"Chance," he answered; "just chance."
"I prefer to make my thanks to the accessible agent."
"Thank no one. You had the need, and I the knowledge, and I injected and fed you much as I might have collected a specimen. I was bored, and wanted something to do. If I'd been jaded that day, or hadn't liked your face, well—it's a curious question where you would have been now."
This damped my mood a little. "At any rate———" I began.
"It's a chance, I tell you," he interrupted, "as everything is in a man's life. Only the asses won't see it. Why am I here now—an outcast from civilisation—instead of being a happy man enjoying all the pleasures of London? Simply because—eleven years ago—I lost my head for ten minutes on a foggy night."
He stopped. "Yes?" said I.
"That's all."
We relapsed into silence. Presently he laughed. "There's something in this starlight that loosens
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