As I reflected, the idea took yet stronger possession of me.  Yes, it was in all respects the best.  The curse should end now.  “Even as the Heart of the Ruby is Blood and its Eyes a Flaming Fire, so shall it be for them that would possess it:  Fire shall be their portion and Blood their inheritance for ever.”  For ever?  No:  the river should wash the blood away and quench the fire.  Then arose another text and hammered at the door of my remembrance.  “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”  “Many waters”—­“many waters":—­the words whispered appealingly, invitingly, in my ears.  “Many waters.”  My feet beat a tune to the words.

I reached my lodgings, ran upstairs, took out the key and the tin box, and descended again into the hall.  My landlord was slipping down the latch.  He stared at seeing me.

“Do not latch the door just yet:  I am going out again,” I said simply.

“Going out!  I thought, sir, it was you as just now come in.”

“Yes, but I must go out again:—­it is important.”

He evidently thought me mad; and so indeed I was.

“What, sir, in that dress?  You’ve got no hat—­no—­”

I had forgotten.  “True,” I said; “get me a hat and coat.”

He stared and then ran upstairs for them.  Returning he said, “I have got you these, sir; but I can’t find them as you usually wears.”

“Those will do,” I answered.  “I must have left the others at the theatre.”

This reduced him to utter speechlessness.  Mutely he helped me to don the cloak over my thin evening dress.  I slipped the tin box and the key into the pockets.  As I stepped out once more into the night, my landlord found his speech.

“When will you be back, sir?”

The question startled me for a moment; for a second or two I hesitated.

“I asked because you have no latch-key, as I suppose you left it in your other coat.  So that—­”

“It does not matter,” I answered.  “Do not sit up.  I shall not be back before morning;” and with that I left him still standing at the door, and listening to my footsteps as they hurried down the street.

“Before morning!” Before morning I should be in another world, if there were another world.  And then it struck me that Claire and I might meet.  She had taken her own life and so should I. But no, no—­Heaven would forgive her that; it could not condemn my saint to the pit where I should lie:  it could not be so kindly cruel; and then I laughed a loud and bitter laugh.

Still in my dull stupor I found myself nearing the river.  I have not mentioned it before, but I must explain now, that during the summer I had purchased a boat, in which my Claire and I were used to row idly between Streatley and Pangbourne, or whithersoever love guided our oars.  This boat, with the approach of winter, I had caused to be brought down the river and had housed in a waterman’s shed just above Westminster, until the return of spring should bring back once more the happy days of its employment.