Martin; whatever his faults may have been, it isn't the time for a wife
to remember them."

To this Mr. Martin responded dubiously, remarking that there were some
carryings on upon the part of husbands which it was difficult for a wife
not to remember.

The good ship sped on, unhindered by adverse winds or foul weather, and
was within twenty-four hours of her destination when John Saltram was at
last able to crawl out of the cabin, where he had lain for some eight or
nine days crippled and helpless.

The first purpose which he set himself to accomplish was an interview
with Marian's father. He wanted to grapple his enemy somehow--to
ascertain the nature of the game that was being played against him. He
had kept himself very quiet for this purpose, wishing to take Percival
Nowell by surprise; and on this last day but one of the voyage, when he
was able for the first time to rise from his berth, no one but the
steward and the surgeon knew that he intended so to rise.

He had taken the steward in some measure into his confidence; and that
official, after helping him to dress, left him seated in the cabin, while
he went to ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Nowell. Mr. Martin, the
steward, came back after about five minutes.

"He's in the saloon, sir, reading, quite alone. You couldn't have a
better opportunity of speaking to him."

"That's a good fellow. Then I'll go at once."

"You'd better take my arm, sir; you're as weak as a baby, and the ship
lurches a good deal to-day."

"I'm not very strong, certainly. I begin to think I never shall be strong
again. Do you know, Martin, I was once stroke in a university eight. Not
much vigour in my biceps now, eh?"

It was only a few paces from one cabin to the other; but Mr. Saltram
could scarcely have gone so far without the steward's supporting arm. He
was a feeble-looking figure, with a white wan face, as he tottered along
the narrow passage between the tables, making his way to that end of the
saloon where Percival Nowell lounged luxuriously, with his legs stretched
at full length upon the sofa, and a book in his hand.

"Mr. Nowell, I believe," said the sick man, as the other looked up at
him with consummate coolness. Whatever his feelings might be with regard
to his daughter's husband, he had had ample time to prepare himself for
an encounter with him.

"Yes, my name is Nowell. But I have really not the honour to----"

"You do not know me," answered John Saltram. "