‘Don’t speak about it, please!’ he answered, pulling his hand out of hers almost roughly; ‘I wish--I wish I could have done more, but--but--Come! Hannah!’ he exclaimed, interrupting himself; ‘we must go home! It is late, and my two journeys have tired me. Good-night, Mrs Crampton! Good-night to everybody! we must leave the further discussion of the matter to another time,’ and, with a hasty nod all round, he left the room. He did appear very tired when they reached their home, very exhausted and overdone, but his condition did not tend to give him a good night’s rest. On the contrary, long after Hannah had sunk into the dreamless sleep which waits on a good conscience joined to a good digestion, her unhappy husband lay wide awake staring into the darkness, and starting at every shadow that lurked in the corners of the room. CHAPTER VIII. Amongst Frederick Walcheren’s varied accomplishments, swimming held a prominent position. From a child he had exercised this most useful of all practices, until he was as much at home in the water as on land. And on that fatal Saturday there was every inducement for him to spend a long time in his favourite occupation. The day was transcendently beautiful; the sea was sparkling with electricity and warm as a tepid bath; and the beach was crowded with spectators, eager to watch and applaud the various feats of natation which he performed. He was in good temper with himself and the world, poor fellow! and anxious to give them all the pleasure in his power. So he remained in the warm, exhilarating water as long as possible, performing all sorts of extraordinary dives and plunges and strange modes of swimming, whilst the people on the shore were full of admiration for his skill. At last he felt he had had about enough of it for the present, and dressed to return to the hotel. As he descended the steps of his machine, a young man of ordinary appearance, who was apparently waiting for him, came forward. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he began, ‘but, from witnessing your feats of skill in the water, I presume you are a swimming master, and should like to know your terms for a course of lessons.’ Frederick laughed heartily at the idea, but he was not snob enough to be offended by the young man’s mistake. ‘Indeed, I wish I were anything half so useful,’ he replied; ‘but I am only an amateur like yourself. Swimming is not at all difficult; it only requires pluck and practice. Anyone could attain my proficiency if he cared to take the trouble.’ ‘You’ll forgive me for mentioning it, sir?’ said the stranger, who feared he might have offended him.