ages. At this stage I did not see Marlow for some time. At last, one e

ed with a remark which had not occur

ever went to sea? After all, the wife of the captain of the Ferndale-" the la

f only because I have been kee

his is the first I hear

e morning Mr. Powell came in for breakfast; and after the first awkwardness of meeting a ma

their mutual liking before eit

kept in to

l was friendly but elusive. I don't think he ever wanted to avoid me. But it is a fact that he used to disappear out of the river in a very mysterio

ep a man and a dog. But I had no dog-friend to invite. Fyne's dog who saved Flora de Barral's life is the last dog-friend I had. I was rather lonely cruising about; but that, too, on the river h

simple?" I as

mys

ally are th

or a moment in a

tween two low grassy banks; on both sides of me was the flatness of the Essex marsh, perfectly still. All I saw moving was a heron; he was flying low, and disappeared in the murk. Before I had gone half a mile, I was up with the building the roof of which I had seen from the river. It looked like a small barn. A row of piles driven into the soft bank in front of it and supporting a few planks made a sort of wharf. All this was black in the falling dusk, and I could just distinguish the whitish ruts of a cart-track stretching over the marsh towards the higher land, far away. Not a sound was to be heard. Against the low streak of light in the sky I could see the mast of Powell's cutter moored to the bank some twenty yards, no more, beyond that blac

y once, and walked off contemptuously into the darkness from which he had come. I had not expected a call from a bullock, though a moment's thought would have shown me that there must be lots of cattle and sheep on that marsh. Then everything became still as before. I might have imagined myself arrived on a desert island. In fact, as I reclined smoking a sense of absolute loneliness grew on me. And just as it had become intens

ing you here!" he exclaimed, a

n in for company. It

was here?" h

d. "I tell you I c

his arm. I did not wait to be asked twice, as you may guess. His cutter has a very neat little cabin, quite big enough for two men not only to sleep but to sit and smoke in. We left the scuttle wide open, of course. As to his provisions for supper, they were not of a luxuriou

set him goi

mpenetrable expression which somehow assured me of his

*

talk?" I said

him . . . a

o the

on. But in this case it did not matter. I-we-have already the inner knowledge. We know the history of Flora de Barral. We know something of Captain Anthony. We have the secret of the situation. The man was intoxicated with the pity and tenderness of his part. Oh yes! Intoxicated is not too strong a word; for you know that love and desire take many disguises. I believe that the girl had been frank with him, with

fool. Oh dear no! But he had no training in the usual conventions, and we must remember that he had no experience whate

uelty, like a bucket of water on the flame. Clearly a shock. But the effects of a bucket of water are diverse. They depend on the kind of flame. A mere blaze of dry straw, of course . . . b

girl went up at last and opened the door of that room where our man, I am cer

u that you must write to my sister to say so, I give you back your word." But then, don't you see, it could not have been that. I have the practical certi

olation of that girlish figure had a sort of perversely seductive charm, making its way through his

observed Marlow. "However, a plain fact settl

his that nothing whatev

poken finally. Only other people did not find her out at once . . . I would not go so far as to say she believed it altogether. That would be hardly possible. But then haven't the most flattered, the most conceited of us their moments of doubt? Haven't they? Well, I don't know. There may be lucky beings in this world unable to believe any evil of themselves. For my own part I'll tell you that once, many years ago now, it came to my knowledge that a fellow I had been mixed up with in a certain transaction-a clever fellow whom I really despised-was going around telling people that I was a consummate hypocrite. He could know nothing of it. It suited his humour to say so. I had given him no ground for that particular calumny. Yet to this day there are moments when it comes into my mind, and involun

who had been described to us by Mr. Powell, or another, I don't know. Possibly some other man. He, looking over the side, saw, in his own words, 'the c

ow all this?"

erjected a

and led her aft. The ship-keeper let them into the saloon. He had the keys of all the cabins, and stumped in after them. The c

fitted up as the captain's state-room. The other was vacant, and furnished with arm-chairs and a round table, more like a room on shore, except for the long curved settee following the shape of the ship's stern. In a dim inclined mirror, Flora caught sight down to the waist of a pale-faced girl in a white straw hat trimmed with roses, distant, shadowy, as if immersed in water, and was surprised to recognize herself in those surroundings. They seemed to her arbitrary, bizarre, strange. Captain An

for a time in one or another of the state-rooms, and then reappearing again in the distance. The girl, always following the captain, had her sunshade in her hands. Mostly she would hang her head, but now and then she would look up. They had a lot to say to each other, and seemed to forget they weren't alone in the ship. He saw the captain put his hand on her shoulder, and was preparing himself with a certain zest for what might follow, when the "old man" seemed to recollect himself, and came striding down all the length of

never done so before. Always had a nod and a pleasant word for a man. From this slight the ship-keeper drew a conclusion unfavourable to the strange girl. He gave them time to get down on the wharf before crossing the d

nd expressed himself about the girl "who had got hold of the captain" disparagingly

rown intimacy of the sea, which in its duration and solitude had its unguarded moments, no words had passed, even of the most casual, to prepare him for the vision of his captain associated with any kind of girl. His impression had been that wom

was a confounded old ship-keeper set talking. He snubbed the ship-keeper, and tried to think of that insignific

ipse the rest of mankind were of course not similar; though in time he had acquired the conviction that he was "taking care" of them both. The "old lady" of course had to be looked after as long as she lived. In regard to Captain Anthony, he used to say that: why should he leave him? It wasn't likely that he

head sunk between the shoulders, his staring prominent eyes and a florid colour, gave him a rat

s state-room and everywhere, he stared anxiously as if expecting to see on the bulkheads, on the deck, in the air, something unusual-sign, mark, emanation, shadow-he hardly knew what-some subtle change wrought by the passage of a girl. But there was nothing. He entered the unocc

n the table and asked in his kind way: 'How did you find your mother, Franklin?'-'The old lady's first-rate, sir, thank you.' And then they had nothing to say to each other. It was a strange and disturbing feeling for Franklin. He, just back from leave, the shi

was staring from the doorway of his state-room. Franklin said, "Yes, sir." But the captain, silent, leaned a little forward grasping the door handle. So he, Franklin, walked aft keeping his eyes on him. When he had come up quite close he said again, "Yes, sir?" interrogatively. Still silence. The mate d

s wron

stare changed to a sort of sinister surprise. Franklin g

hink that there's

don't look quite yoursel

e," said the captain in such an aggressive t

suppose I know you a bit by this time. I could see

They are great hands at spying out something wrong. I dare say they know what they have made of the world. A dam' poor job of it and that's plain. It's a confoundedly ugly place, Mr. Franklin. You don't know anything of it? Well-no, we sailors don't. Only now and then one of us runs against something cruel or underhand, enough to make your hair stand on en

a matter as the alterations to be carried out in the cabin. The work did not seem to him to be called for in such a hurry. What was the use of altering anything? It was a very good accommodation, spacious, well-distributed, on a rather old-fashioned plan, and with its decorations somewhat tarnished. But a dab of varnis

more to hear, and made a movement to leave the saloon. But the captain continued after a slight pause, "You will be surprised, no doubt, w