It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. "Boat there!" cried a voice, which Mr. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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