THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
3* I * * * * 6 
say here — when men c:e their souls go into 
moths ? ” 
w No ” He started suddenly. No — I — 
never heard that. Grey/’ Liking at him I 
?aw he had gone white under the coppery ■ tan. 
and his hands were clenched. 
I guessed I had trenched on forbidden 
ground, so, leaving the moth alone, went on 
talking of Africa’s strange customs and 
superstitions. 
" Why. up country /’ I said, far up the 
yellow rivers with their eternal smell of 
mangoes, I suppose there are tribes which 
are as cruel and savage as ever.” 
*' Oh. it's a queer country'/’ he said, looking 
beyond his cleared garden to the ring of 
dense bush, broken by the towering cotton 
trees, and beyond it the dim outline of 
mountains, blue in the shimmering haze. 
” But there are strange things in all lands.” 
he went on, dreamily, his eyes on the big 
moth. k One cannot say whence they come 
or whither they go. Yet ” The' man’s 
face changed to an expression of intense 
sadness ; one caught a glimpse of the hidden 
sorrow' which would never let him rest. 
“ I’ll tell you about it,” he said, suddenly, 
nodding towards the moth. “ though it's a 
thing I have never spoken of.” 
He sat lost in thought for a moment, and 
then began : — 
I was, as I’ve told you, one of the many 
who have to do for themselves. My boy- 
hood was a happy one, and I was trained, 
in accordance with my own wish, as an 
engineer, when my father died suddenly, 
taking almost all his income with him. 
I here was the usual family break-up. and I 
w as shipped to Canada with a pittance in my 
pocket-book and the customary directions 
behind me to become a millionaire at once. 
Oh ! one can do so much in a great strange 
land with inexperience and fifty pounds ! I 
was as full of high hopes as those I had left 
behind me. Of course, I was cheated of half 
my little store ; the dream of becoming a 
millionaire or even a moderate success faded 
for ever, but I was quick to learn, and got 
regular employment on the Canadian Pacific. 
It meant enough to eat and the right to live, 
which was a great deal to me. and I rose to 
engine-driver in quite a short time. 
I met Jenny there — he spoke her name 
with difficulty. She was a lady; but, poor 
as I was, when I asked her she faced the idea 
of life in a cottage as an engine-driver’s wife 
quite happily. How we planned out our 
lives I There was nothing to wait for, and 
- e were married at -.nee. Y/ e had enough to 
live on a comfortable little home, and if if 
she had lived on I should be out there still 
instead of being the wanderer I have turned 
into. But that does not matter. 
We were married in October, and in 
- 
hard.y know, xor she never saw a. doctor, but 
she was very bad. It took all my extra 
money to buy her soup and jellies, and I 
could not even afford to hire a nurse, so that 
I 'pent many anxious h urs with her when I 
was at home. 
I was running the regular night express 
from Koolnav to Bloville then, and the early 
morning squatters' train back from Bloville 
to Koolnav. so I was always pretty tired 
when I got in about seven. When Jenny was 
well she had breakfast ready, and I used to 
turn in and sleep like a log for a few hours so 
as to be fresh for the night run. 
Y'jvr my peer little _;~1 lav panting in 
i I 
never heard her grumble at our life. As I 
say. she was in some kind of fever, with fits 
of shivering and lassitude When I came in 
she was worn out from a long, Ionelv night, 
and instead of resting. I had to tddv up the 
cottage, get her some hot tea, and some 
breakfast for myself. My rest was only 
snatched ; I could not bear to leave her for 
a minute during the cay. and it was impossible 
to ask for leave off at night, for they were 
short-handed on the line, and a man who 
goes off his job is very likely to be told he 
can stay — for good. So I nursed mv airl and 
ran my trains until, practically without sleep 
for three days and nights, mv head began to 
feel as if there was an iron band round it, my 
mouth was dry and my eyes aching, as I 
brewed myself some coffee and started out 
on the third night of her illness. 
Jenny was weak bur fairly easy, promising 
me pitifully that she would sleep and be quite 
well in the morning. 
Dear girl. How she must have dreaded 
those long, lonely nights. I left milk and 
water beside her. and some cooling medicine 
I had got from town, kissed her little, shrunken 
face, and swung away. 
“ I watch for you. Bill, on the runs.” she 
said, in a wandering voice, just as I went out. 
“ I watch for you. dear/' 
The thaws of spring were with us : the 
ground was a great slush, and every river a 
roaring, icy torrent, swollen with bitter snow- 
water. The night was drizzly and misty, and 
I stumbled through it. rubbing my aching 
eyes. My head felt as if the inside had been 
