At last she stood before him, looking down upon his haggard, storm-lined features, from which the blind eyes stared up vacantly with an expression which even in her agitation she could not help but notice. "You, Jack--you?" she began softly, and her voice trembled in spite of a great endeavour to keep it steady. "Yes, me, Loyola," came the reply; but how dull, how indifferent, how hard and cold were the well-known tones. An icy chill crept shuddering down her back at the sound of this strange new voice, so different to the one she had been used to in the old happy days, now so far away, so long ago, though not in time. The pallor of her face took on a greyish tinge and the sadness in her eyes deepened. There was no forgiveness, as there was no hope. Why should she expect it? Ah! but what a difference it would have made to her! How it would have helped her to bear her fate! For a second she tottered on the verge of a breakdown, and then rallied, drawing upon that splendid woman's courage which enables such as her to stand and bear with fate where others would fall and be crushed. Bravely she forced herself to continue, beating down the misery and despair which the cold tones of his voice had raised within her. "And what are you doing here, Jack?" "Tossed ashore by the capricious sea. I might ask you the same question, had I not already heard your story." "Not from--Hawksley?" She stumbled miserably over her husband's name, and then with a sudden fear cast an uneasy look over her shoulder. "No; the bluejacket," said Jack's even voice, and he got slowly to his feet. "Won't you--won't you even shake hands, Jack?" pleaded the woman in her low, sad voice. "I know you won't forgive me, and I don't expect you to; but----" It was the "but," the misery, the despair, the utter hopelessness, and yet the passionate entreaty in that last little word which conquered Jack's iron-bound soul and swept away his righteous indignation at a treatment which had spoiled his life. He was touched; that "but" weighed down the scales on the side of his love, till his grievance, his outraged feelings, and the resultant misery leaped from him lightly as a feather. "Why, of course I will. And as for forgiving you, I've forgiven you long ago." The new warmth in his voice brought a bright flush of pleasure to the woman's face. "Oh, Jack," she began; but stopped, watching with slowly growing amazement whilst the blind man tried to find her outstretched hand. What was the matter with Jack? Why did he paw the air in that uncertain fashion, instead of grasping the hand she extended to him? Anxiously she looked at him, unable to fathom his strange action; then took his wavering hand in hers and held it, a great comfort and a new joy springing up within her. What surer sign of friendship, of love, of deep understanding than a firm hand-grasp? His bony fingers closed on her slender ones with a grip that made her wince, and a sudden light lit up his dull eyes.