He took off his coat, which he folded and placed on the parapet; then he unbuttoned his waistcoat.  As he was about to take it off, his hand struck against something in the pocket.  It was the red book which had been given him by the librarian of the House of Lords:  he drew it from the pocket, examined it in the vague light of the night, and found a pencil in it, with which he wrote on the first blank that he found these two lines,—­

“I depart.  Let my brother David take my place, and may he be happy!”

Then he signed, “Fermain Clancharlie, peer of England.”

He took off his waistcoat and placed it upon the coat; then his hat, which he placed upon the waistcoat.  In the hat he laid the red book open at the page on which he had written.  Seeing a stone lying on the ground, he picked it up and placed it in the hat.  Having done all this, he looked up into the deep shadow above him.  Then his head sank slowly, as if drawn by an invisible thread towards the abyss.

There was a hole in the masonry near the base of the parapet; he placed his foot in it, so that his knee stood higher than the top, and scarcely an effort was necessary to spring over it.  He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned over.  “So be it,” said he.

And he fixed his eyes on the deep waters.  Just then he felt a tongue licking his hands.

He shuddered, and turned round.

Homo was behind him.

CONCLUSION.

THE NIGHT AND THE SEA.

CHAPTER I.

A WATCH-DOG MAY BE A GUARDIAN ANGEL.

Gwynplaine uttered a cry.

“Is that you, wolf?”

Homo wagged his tail.  His eyes sparkled in the darkness.  He was looking earnestly at Gwynplaine.

Then he began to lick his hands again.  For a moment Gwynplaine was like a drunken man, so great is the shock of Hope’s mighty return.

Homo!  What an apparition!  During the last forty-eight hours he had exhausted what might be termed every variety of the thunder-bolt.  But one was left to strike him—­the thunderbolt of joy.  And it had just fallen upon him.  Certainty, or at least the light which leads to it, regained; the sudden intervention of some mysterious clemency possessed, perhaps, by destiny; life saying, “Behold me!” in the darkest recess of the grave; the very moment in which all expectation has ceased bringing back health and deliverance; a place of safety discovered at the most critical instant in the midst of crumbling ruins—­Homo was all this to Gwynplaine.  The wolf appeared to him in a halo of light.

Meanwhile, Homo had turned round.  He advanced a few steps, and then looked back to see if Gwynplaine was following him.

Gwynplaine was doing so.  Homo wagged his tail, and went on.

The road taken by the wolf was the slope of the quay of the Effroc-stone.  This slope shelved down to the Thames; and Gwynplaine, guided by Homo, descended it.