there."

"Yes, I remember quite well. He helped us in that Fenston row."

"He's the one, and a good man, too. But I did like that beat, as I was on it so long. It is too tame up here, and you know I'm fond of a bit of excitement now and then."

"You got it down there all right, didn't you, especially when the docks were full?"

"You bet," and the sergeant smacked his lips as past scenes came to his mind. "But it's quiet at the docks now. I haven't seen you there for the last few days, sir."

"I know you haven't, and you won't see me there again for some time.
I'm going down to-night to have one more look at the old place."

"Why, not going away!" the sergeant exclaimed in surprise.

"That's about it."

"My, my! What in the world shall we do without you! There'll be no one to take an interest in things down there now."

"Oh, there'll be plenty, I guess."

"You're the first one who ever did, and I'm damned sure those high-brows won't follow your lead. Not a bit of it! They're too much taken up with their pink teas, and such things, and wouldn't think of soiling their nice hands with dock trash."

The sergeant was on his favourite subject now, and his temper was rising. Douglas had heard his opinions before, and was not anxious to listen to them again.

"I must be off now, Sergeant. I shall always remember your kindness."

"But you'll be sure to give us a call, sir? The missus will feel all cut up if you don't."

"Yes, I'll be around as soon as I can. So, good-night."

The worthy sergeant stood and watched him as he moved away.

"Too bad," he muttered. "We can't afford to lose the likes of him. Wonder where in the world he's going. I've always said we couldn't keep him forever, and I guess I was right. It must be a mighty big thing that would take him away from the docks. He should be a chief of police instead of being nothing but a go-cart."

While the sergeant was thus musing, Douglas moved as rapidly as possible along the crowded streets. He wished to get away from the commotion of the throngs that he might consider the thoughts that were uppermost in his mind. Keeping steadily on, he at length reached the street running along the front of the harbour. It was a narrow street, dimly lighted, with huge warehouses on both sides. There was little traffic now, as this was a winter port, and the big ocean liners did not come here during the summer months. It was not a desirable locality, especially at night, and most people shunned the place. The few Douglas met were either hurrying to get away as soon as possible or slinking slowly along, preferring this gloomy abode to the brightly-lighted parts of the city.

The street at length became wider where the docks ran out into the harbour. At several of these small steamers were lying, and a number of sailing craft. Here men were busy loading and unloading the vessels. Douglas did not stop to watch them, as at other times, but kept steadily on until he reached the last dock which was entirely deserted. One electric light shed its beams out over the water, which was kept burning as a guide to incoming boats. Down this dock he walked, and when he came close to the water he stood for a while and looked out over the harbour. It was an inspiring sight to see the lights gleaming on the opposite shore, and from the passing tugs and other vessels.

Here a large warehouse ran along one side of the dock almost to the water's edge. Just around the nearest corner was a steamer's broken shaft, and noticing this, Douglas sat down upon it to rest. It was almost high tide, and the water lapped lazily against the dock. There was a restful quietness here, and Douglas enjoyed the respite from the busy crowds. Below the dock several small tugs were moored, and the sound of voices came to him occasionally from that direction. He thought of the last time he had visited this place, and how the dock then was the scene of such hustling commotion, for a big ocean liner was all ready to leave. She had gone and had left not a visible trace behind. So it would be with him, he mused. Soon he himself would be away, and the life of the city would go on the same and none would remember him. His thoughts drifted to the principal ones who were responsible for his going, and his face hardened, while his hands clenched. He knew what they would say when they heard of it. There would be a slight lifting of the eyebrows, no more than good breeding would allow. It would be mentioned at afternoon teas, and at card-tables. He could imagine what some of them would say. "Poor fellow, his head was somewhat turned with that dock work. He will learn wisdom as he gets older." Yes, such remarks as these would be made, and then he would be entirely forgotten.

He remained musing in this fashion for some time, lost to the world around him. He was going away—he knew not whither, defeated for a while but not beaten. He had the future before him, and he would make good. If he could not do it here, he would in some other place.

The sound of voices at last aroused him. It came from his left, and he peered around the corner of the warehouse. For a few seconds he could see no one, but he knew there were people not far off who were talking in a most earnest manner. Presently, out of the darkness stepped a man and a woman, and passed directly under the electric lamp. He saw their faces distinctly, especially the woman's, which was strained and haggard, as she listened to her companion. As they came nearer and stood close to the edge of the dock, it was possible for Douglas to overhear parts of the conversation. He could not see their faces now, though he could observe their forms, and he knew that the woman was standing near the water, and it was quite evident that she was weeping.

"But you promised me, Ben; you really did," she was saying.

"I know I did, Jean, but we must wait a while," was the reply.

"But we cannot wait," the woman urged. "You know how serious it is if we delay much longer. All will know, and I shall be disgraced."

"Tut, tut," and the man stamped angrily upon the floor of the dock.
"Don't talk so foolishly. A few weeks won't make any difference."

"How long do you think?" the woman asked.

"Oh, five or six, I should imagine."

"No, I tell you that will be too late. It must not be longer than two.
Promise me that it will not be more than that."

"Well, I promise," the man slowly assented.

"Swear to it, then," the woman demanded. "Place your left hand upon your heart, and hold your right hand up to heaven, and swear by Him who is watching and listening that you will be true to your word."

A coarse, brutal laugh came from the man's lips.

"Won't you believe me?" he demanded.

"Not unless you swear."

"Well, I won't, so that's the end of it."

At these words the woman gave a low moan, and what she said Douglas could not hear. Whatever it was it made the man angry and he again stamped his foot.

"What do I care?" he growled. "You can go to the snivelling old idiot and tell him all you want to."

"Oh, Ben!" and the woman laid a hand upon his arm, "how can you say such things?"

With a curse he flung her hand away, and then in a twinkling he gave her a push, and before she could recover herself she had gone backwards over the edge of the dock. With a frightened cry she disappeared, and the man,