I looked at Nelly. Her eyes were ablaze and her cheeks flushed, and the words "waiting for his step" rang in my ears. Mazarion had got his step a year ago--he had told me so himself. I could say nothing. "I suppose you have seen John," Mrs. Carstairs went on. "You and he used to be such friends. When did you last meet?" "About six weeks ago, in Rangoon; he was looking very well." "I am so glad. We--that is, Nelly has not heard for nearly two months, and when he last wrote he said he was very busy, and likely to go on a long cruise." Now I knew Mazarion had held that port appointment for nearly six months, and would hold it for a year or so to come without any likelihood of going on a cruise, and I of course knew that he was lying--lying to the dear heart that loved him so well. To this day I know not whether I did right or wrong in holding my tongue, in saying nothing, and when I left them I left them still in that fool's paradise of trust and love and hope. I saw them once again before I left. I could not go back without one more look at Nelly. As I said good-bye she timidly slipped a small packet into my hands, and I promised it would reach John Mazarion in safety. On the voyage back I thought of many things, and reproached myself for having parted with Mazarion as I had. For her sake I should have made some effort to pull him right, and as it were I had simply kicked him down a step lower, for I had made him feel his infamy, and that is not the way to help a man to recover his own self-respect. I had been hasty--for the moment my temper had got the better of me--with the usual result. And so I determined not to send him Nelly's gift, but, on reaching Rangoon, to deliver the packet with my own hands. I found him in his office on the river face, and, as I expected, there was a coldness and constraint in his manner. Our eyes met--his still with anger in them--and then he dropped his look. "I have brought this," I said, "from Miss Carstairs. I promised it should reach you safely." He took the packet from me in silence, but I saw his hands shake and the crow's-feet gather about his eyes. He fumbled with the seals, then let the packet drop on the table, and looked at me again as I blurted out: "I have said nothing--not a word." "I do not understand, sir." "John Mazarion," I cut in, "you are still to her what you have ever been. Man! you know not what you are throwing away. See here, John! You are my oldest friend, and I can't let you go like this. Pull up and turn round; give yourself a chance. If--if money is wanted--well, I've saved a bit----" He simply leaned back in his chair and laughed. And such a laugh! There was not a ring of mirth in it--a tuneless, mocking laugh such as might come from the throat of a devil. Then he stopped and looked at me, the hard lines still in the corners of his mouth and round his eyes.