THEY stood for a while on a terrace overlooking the river by the side of the hospital. Immediately below, a crowd of boys were bathing, and noisy, chasing and ducking one another, running to and fro with many cries, and splashing in the mud.  
The river was stretched more widely before them. The sun played on its yellow wavelets so that they shone with a glitter of gold. A past with a long tail of , and a huge East Indiaman noiselessly by. In the late afternoon there was over the scene an old-time air of ease and . The stately flood carried the mind away, so that the followed it in thought, and went down, as it broadened, with its crowd of traffic, till presently a sea-smell reached the , and the river, ever , flowed into the sea. And the ships went east and west and south, bearing their merchandise to the uttermost parts of the earth, to southern, summer lands of palm-trees and dark-skinned peoples, bearing the name and wealth of England. The Thames became an of the power of the empire, and those who watched felt stronger in its strength, and proud of their name and of the undiminished glory of their race.
 
But Gerald looked sadly.
 
“In a very little while it must take me away from you, Bertha.”
 
“But think of the freedom and the vastness. Sometimes in England one seems oppressed by the lack of room; one can hardly breathe.”
 
“It’s the thought of leaving you.”
 
She put her hand on his arm ; and then, to take him from his sadness, suggested that they should walk.
 
Greenwich is half London, half country town; and the unexpected union gives it a . If the and docks of London still preserve the spirit of Charles Dickens, here it is the happy breeziness of Captain Marryat which fills the imagination. Those tales of a freer life and of the sea-breezes come back amid the gray streets, still peopled with the vivid characters of Poor . In the park, by the side of the labourers, navvies from the neighboring docks, asleep on the grass, or watching the boys play a cricket, may be seen fantastic old persons who would have delighted the pen of the seaman-novelist.
 
Bertha and Gerald sat beneath the trees, looking at the people, till it grew late, and then wandered back to the Ship for dinner. It amused them immensely to sit in the old coffee-room and be waited on by a black waiter, who absurdly the various dishes.
 
“We won’t be economical to-day,” cried Bertha. “I feel reckless.”
 
“It takes all the fun away if one counts the cost.”
 
“Well, for once let us be foolish and forget the morrow.”
 
And they drank , which to women and boys is the of dissipation and magnificence. Presently Gerald’s green eyes flashed more brightly, and Bertha reddened before their gaze.
 
“I shall never forget to-day, Bertha,” said Gerald. “As long as I live I shall look back upon it with regret.”
 
“Oh, don’t think that it must come to an end, or we shall both be .”
 
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
 
Bertha laughed, showing her teeth, and was glad that her own knowledge told her she looked her best.
 
“But come on the terrace again and smoke there. We’ll watch the sunset.”
 
They sat alone, and the sun was already sinking. The heavy western clouds were a rich and vivid red, and over the river the bricks and stood out in ink-black masses. It was a sunset that singularly fitted the scene, combining in audacious colour with the river’s strength. The wavelets danced like little flames of fire.
 
Bertha and the youth sat silently, very happy, but with the regret at their hearts that their hour of joy would have no morrow. The night fell, and one by one the stars shone out. The river flowed noiselessly, restfully; and around them twinkled the lights of the riverside towns. They did not speak, but Bertha knew the boy thought of her, and desired to hear him say so.
 
“What are you thinking of, Gerald?”
 
“What should I be thinking of, but you—and that I must leave you.”
 
Bertha could not help the exquisite pleasure that his words gave: it was so delicious to be really loved, and she knew his love was real. She turned her face, so that he saw her dark eyes, darker in the night.
 
“I wish I hadn’t made a fool of myself before,” he whispered. “I feel it was all horrible; you’ve made me so ashamed.”
 
“Oh, Gerald, you’re not remembering what I said the other day? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve been so sorry ever since.”
 
“I wish you loved me. Oh, Bertha, don’t stop me now. I’ve kept it in so long, and I can’t any more. I don’t want to go away without telling you.”
 
“Oh, my dear Gerald, don’t,” said Bertha, her voice almost breaking. “It’s no good, and we shall both be dreadfully unhappy. My dear, you don’t know how much older I am than you. Even if I wasn’t married, it would be impossible for us to love one another.”
 
“But I love you with all my heart.”
 
He seized her hands and pressed them, and she made no effort to resist.
 
“Don’t you love me at all?” he asked.
 
Bertha did not answer, and he nearer to look into her eyes. Then leaving her hands, he flung his arms about her and pressed her to his heart.
 
“Bertha, Bertha!” He kissed her . “Oh, Bertha, say you love me. It would make me so happy.”
 
“My dearest,” she whispered, and taking his head in her hand, she kissed him.
 
But the kiss that she had received fired her blood and she could not resist now from doing as she had wished. She kissed him on the lips, and on the eyes, and she kissed his curly hair. But at last she tore herself away, and sprang to her feet.
 
“What fools we are! Let’s go to the station, Gerald; it’s growing late.”
 
“Oh, Bertha, don’t go yet.”
 
“We must. I daren’t stay.”
 
He tried to take her in his arms, begging her eagerly to remain.
 
“Please don’t, Gerald,” she said. “Don’t ask me, you make me too unhappy. Don’t you see how hopeless it is? What is the use of our loving one another? You’re going away in a week and we shall never meet again. And even if you were staying, I’m married and I’m twenty-six and you’re only nineteen. My dearest, we should only make ourselves ridiculous.”
 
“But I can’t go away. What do I care if you’re older than I? And it’s nothing if you’re married: you don’t care for your husband and he doesn’t care two straws for you.”
 
“How do you know?”
 
“Oh, I saw it. I felt so sorry for you.”
 
“You dear boy!” murmured Bertha, almost crying. “I’ve been dreadfully unhappy. It’s true, Edward never loved me—and he didn’t treat me very well. Oh, I can’t understand how I ever cared for him.”
 
“I’m glad.”
 
“I would never allow myself to fall in love again. I suffered too much.”
 
“But I love you with all my heart, Bertha; don’t you see it? Oh, this isn’t like what I’ve felt before; it’s something quite new and different. I can’t live without you, Bert............