Chapter 11

The lark will make her hymn to God,
The partridge call her brood,
While I forget the heath I trod,
The fields wherein I stood.

'Tis dule to know not night from morn,
But deeper dule to know
I can but hear the hunter's horn
That once I used to blow. -- The Only Son.

IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was
heavy.

'Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's
generally the other way about.'

'Can a drunkard swear on his honour?' said Dick.

'Yes, if he has been as god a man as you.'

'Then I give you my word of honour,' said Dick, speaking hurriedly
through parched lips. 'Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've
kept me sober for two days,--if I ever was drunk,--and I've done no work.

Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out.

The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than
ever. I swear I can see all right when I'm--when I'm moderately screwed,
as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all--the stuff I
want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. It
only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.'

'If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and--the
other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?'

'I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you
could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I
shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.'

'Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my
heart.'

Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil
of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The
Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had
hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he
was 'a drunken beast'; but the reproof did not move him.

'You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we
shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three
months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more
work in hand--but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make
you hate me less?'

'No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow won't
speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.'

Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that at
the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a kiss,
and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a little
fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and their
talk was of war in the near future, the