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"We will hear all that at Stagholme," said Jem sternly, and Mark Ruthine merely looked at him over the top of a newspaper which he was not reading. To thine own self be true; And it must follow as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man. Human nature is, after all, a hopeless failure. Not even the very best instinct is safe.
Norah still saw a good deal of Mrs. Stellasis. She still took a great interest in the "specimen," whose small ailments received her careful attention. With Mark Ruthine she was almost familiar, in her quiet way. She came to his little surgery to get such minute potions as the "specimen" might require. She even got to know the bottles, and mixed the drugs herself while he laughingly watched her.
And he continued to attend to his business with that watchful care which made the Mahanaddy one of the safest boats afloat. Presently Mark Ruthine left the bridge and went to his cabin to pack. As he descended he paused, and retracing his steps forward he went and touched Jem Agar on the arm. "It's all right," he said. "I'll go with you." Agar nodded.
This would account for her apparent ignorance of the fact that she was beautiful. As he led the way down below Ruthine glanced at her again. He had an easy excuse for so doing on the brass-bound stairs, where landsmen feet may slip. He was, above all things, a novelist, although he wrote under another and greater name, and those around him knew him not.
Ruthine glanced at her. He saw that she was quite self-possessed, with something more complete than the self-possession of good breeding. It was quite obvious that this woman for Norah Hood was leaving girlhood behind had led a narrow, busy life.
Jem Agar was looking very grave, with a sudden pinched appearance about the lips which was only half concealed by his moustache. "Why should he do that?" he asked sharply. "He would do it if it suited his purpose. He is not the man to take into consideration such things as feelings especially the feelings of others." "You're a bit hard on him, Ruthine," said Jem doubtfully.
Neither man answered him, but they turned also and looked, standing one on each side of him. Then at last Jem Agar spoke, breaking a silence which had been brooding since the Mahanaddy came out of the Canal. "I want to know," he said, "exactly how things stand with my people at home." He continued to look out over the bay towards the Mahanaddy, but Mark Ruthine was looking at Seymour Michael.
"I presume," he said, "that I am right in taking it for granted that you have carried out your share of the contract?" "My dear fellow, it has been perfectly wonderful. The secret has been kept perfectly." "By all concerned?" "Eh! yes." Michael was glancing furtively at Mark Ruthine, as the fox glances back over his shoulder, not at the huntsman, but at the hounds.
Give us ah! give us but Yesterday! In the old days, when the Mahanaddy was making her reputation, she had her tragedy. And Dr. Mark Ruthine has not forgotten it, nor forgiven himself yet. Doctors, like the rest of us, are apt to make a hideous mistake or two which resemble the stream anchors of a big steamer warping out into the Hooghly. We leave them behind, but we do not let go of them.
I have known him for years, have watched him, have studied him." All eyes turned towards Seymour Michael, who stood half-cringing, trembling with fear and hatred towards his relentless judges. "Years ago," pursued Ruthine, "at the outset of life, he committed a wanton crime. He did a wrong to a poor innocent woman, whose only fault was to love him beyond his deserts.
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