pleaded John, and the man's hand was
unsteady as he poured out the wine.

"You ought not to listen. Go, and, drink some brandy."

John footman went from the room.

"My brave Dick! Richard! what a face you've got!"

He showed a deep frown on a colourless face.

"Can't you bear to hear of blood? You know, it was only one naughty woman
out of the world. The clergyman of the parish didn't refuse to give her
decent burial. We Christians! Hurrah!"

She cheered, and laughed. A lurid splendour glanced about her like lights
from the pit.

"Pledge me, Dick! Drink, and recover yourself. Who minds? We must all
die--the good and the bad. Ashes to ashes--dust to dust--and wine for
living lips! That's poetry--almost. Sentiment: `May we never say die till
we've drunk our fill! Not bad--eh? A little vulgar, perhaps, by Jove! Do
you think me horrid?"

"Where's the wine?" Richard shouted. He drank a couple of glasses in
succession, and stared about. Was he in hell, with a lost soul raving to
him?

"Nobly spoken! and nobly acted upon, my brave Dick! Now we'll be
companions." She wished that heaven had made her such a man. "Ah! Dick!
Dick! too late! too late!"

Softly fell her voice. Her eyes threw slanting beams.

"Do you see this?"

She pointed to a symbolic golden anchor studded with gems and coiled with
a rope of hair in her bosom. It was a gift of his.

"Do you know when I stole the lock? Foolish Dick! you gave me an anchor
without a rope. Come and see."

She rose from the table, and threw herself on the sofa.

"Don't you recognize your own hair! I should know a thread of mine among
a million."

Something of the strength of Samson went out of him as he inspected his
hair on the bosom of Delilah.

"And you knew nothing of it! You hardly know it now you see it! What
couldn't a woman steal from you? But you're not vain, and that's a
protection. You're a miracle, Dick: a man that's not vain! Sit here." She
curled up her feet to give him place on the sofa. "Now let us talk like
friends that part to meet no more. You found a ship with fever on board,
and you weren't afraid to come alongside and keep her company. The fever
isn't catching, you see. Let us mingle our tears together. Ha! ha! a man
said that once to me. The hypocrite wanted to catch the fever, but he was
too old. How old are you, Dick?"

Richard pushed a few months forward.

"Twenty-one? You just look it, you blooming boy. Now tell me my age,
Adonis!--Tw