His strange companion entered the inn and returned presently, saying:  “She has not yet arrived.  Delayed by the fog.  We will have our dinner, if you please.”

Jack had not broken his fast since nine and felt keenly the need of refreshment, but he answered: 

“I think that I would better wait for Margaret.”

“No, she will have dined at Tillbury,” said the masterful lady.  “It will save time.  Please come and have dinner, sir.”

He followed her into the inn.  The landlady, a stout, obsequious woman, led them to a small dining-room above stairs lighted by many candles where an open fire was burning cheerfully.

A handsomely dressed man waited by them for orders and retired with the landlady when they were given.

From this point the scene at the inn is described in the diary of the American.

“She drew off her hat and veil and a young woman about twenty-eight years of age and of astonishing beauty stood before me.”

“‘There, now, I am out of business,’ she remarked in a pleasant voice as she sat down at the table which, had been spread before the fireplace.  ’I will do my best to be a companion to you until Margaret arrives.’

“She looked into my eyes and smiled.  Her sheath of ice had fallen from her.

“‘You will please forgive my impertinence,’ said she.  ’I earn my living by it.  In a world of sentiment and passion I must be as cold and bloodless as a stone, but in fact, I am very—­very human.’

“The waiter came with a tray containing soup, glasses and a bottle of sherry.  We sat down at the table and our waiter filled two glasses with the sherry.

“‘Thank you, but self-denial is another duty of mine,’ she remarked when I offered her a glass of the wine.  ’I live in a tipsy world and drink—­water.  I live in a merry world and keep a stern face.  It is a vile world and yet I am unpolluted.’

“I drank my glass of wine and had begun to eat my soup when a strange feeling came over me.  My plate seemed to be sinking through the table.  The wall and fireplace were receding into dim distance.  I knew then that I had tasted the cup of Circe.  My hands fell through my lap and suddenly the day ended.  It was like sawing off a board.  The end had fallen.  There is nothing more to be said of it because my brain had ceased to receive and record impressions.  I was as totally out of business as a man in his grave.  When I came to, I was in a berth on the ship King William bound for New York.  As soon as I knew anything, I knew that I had been tricked.  My clothes had been removed and were lying on a chair near me.  My watch and money were undisturbed.  I had a severe pain in my head.  I dressed and went up on deck.  The Captain was there.

“‘You must have had a night of it in Gravesend,’ he said.  ’You were like a dead man when they brought you aboard.’

“‘Where am I going?’ I asked.