s out of
my hands for ever."

The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his great,
sun-burned hand.

"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your word, and
a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one thing I will say
first. So far as I am concerned I regret nothing and I fear nothing, and
I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Curse the beast, if
he had as many lives as a cat he would owe them all to me! But it's
the lady, Mary--Mary Fraser--for never will I call her by that accursed
name. When I think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life
just to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul
into water. And yet--and yet--what less could I do? I'll tell you my
story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you as man to man what less could I
do.

"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect that you
know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officer
of the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first day I met her she was the only
woman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time
since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed
the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was
never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated
a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all
good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a free
woman, but I could never again be a free man.

"Next time I came back from sea I heard of her marriage. Well, why
shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money--who could carry
them better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty.
I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as
that. I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had
not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary
Fraser.

"Well, I never thought to see her again; but last voyage I was promoted,
and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of
months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane I met
Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me about her, about him, about
everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken
hound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her whose boots he was
not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself--and
m