About three in the morning, chance, and the set of the current, and the bias of his own right-handed body, so decided it between them that he came to shore upon the beach in front of Attwater's. There he sat down, and looked forth into a world without any of the lights of hope. The poor diving dress of self-conceit was sadly tattered! With the fairy tale of suicide, of a refuge always open to him, he had hitherto beguiled and supported himself in the trials of life; and behold! that also was only a fairy tale, that also was folk-lore. With the consequences of his acts he saw himself implacably confronted for the duration of life: stretched upon a cross, and nailed there with the iron bolts of his own cowardice. He had no tears; he told himself no stories. His disgust with himself was so complete that even the process of apologetic mythology had ceased. He was like a man cast down from a pillar, and every bone broken. He lay there, and admitted the facts, and did not attempt to rise. Dawn began to break over the far side of the atoll, the sky brightened, the clouds became dyed with gorgeous colours, the shadows of the night lifted. And, suddenly, Herrick was aware that the lagoon and the trees wore again their daylight livery; and he saw, on board the Farallone, Davis extinguishing the lantern, and smoke rising from the galley. Davis, without doubt, remarked and recognised the figure on the beach; or perhaps hesitated to recognise it; for after he had gazed a long while from under his hand, he went into the house and fetched a glass. It was very powerful; Herrick had often used it. With an instinct of shame, he hid his face in his hands. 'And what brings you here, Mr Herrick-Hay, or Mr Hay-Herrick?' asked the voice of Attwater. 'Your back view from my present position is remarkably fine, and I would continue to present it. We can get on very nicely as we are, and if you were to turn round, do you know? I think it would be awkward.' Herrick slowly rose to his feet; his heart throbbed hard, a hideous excitement shook him, but he was master of himself. Slowly he turned, and faced Attwater and the muzzle of a pointed rifle. 'Why could I not do that last night?' he thought. 'Well, why don't you fire?' he said aloud, with a voice that trembled. Attwater slowly put his gun under his arm, then his hands in his pockets. 'What brings you here?' he repeated. 'I don't know,' said Herrick; and then, with a cry: 'Can you do anything with me?' 'Are you armed?' said Attwater. 'I ask for the form's sake.' 'Armed? No!' said Herrick. 'O yes, I am, too!' And he flung upon the beach a dripping pistol. 'You are wet,' said Attwater. 'Yes, I am wet,' said Herrick. 'Can you do anything with me?' Attwater read his face attentively. 'It would depend a good deal upon what you are,' said he. 'What I am? A coward!' said Herrick. 'There is very little to be done with that,' said Attwater. 'And yet the description hardly strikes one as exhaustive.'