t mean that, you know, but these
crashes are so dreadful, an' my poor 'ead is like to split--which the
planks of this ship will do if they go on creakin' so. I _know_ they
will, for 'uman-made things can't--"

"You make your mind easy, my woman," said her husband, coming forward at
the moment and sitting down to comfort her. "Things are lookin' a
little better overhead, so one o' the men told me, an' I heard Terrence
say that we're goin' to have lobscouse for dinner to-day, though what
that may be I can't tell--somethin' good, I suppose."

"Something thick, an' luke-warm, an' greasy, _I_ know," groaned Peggy,
with a shudder.

There was a bad man on board the ship. There usually is a bad man on
board of most ships; sometimes more than one. But this one was
unusually bad, and was, unfortunately, an old acquaintance of the
Mitfords. Indeed, he had been a lover of Mrs Mitford, when she was
Peggy Owen, though her husband knew nothing of that. If Peggy had known
that this man--Ned Jarring by name--was to be a passenger, she would
have prevailed on her husband to go by another vessel; but she was not
aware of it until they met in the fore-cabin the day after leaving port.

Being a dark-haired, sallow-complexioned man, he soon became known on
board by the name of Black Ned. Like many bad men, Jarring was a
drunkard, and, when under the influence of liquor, was apt to act
incautiously as well as wickedly. On the second day of the gale he
entered the fore-cabin with unsteady steps, and looked round with an air
of solemn stupidity. Besides being dark and swarthy, he was big and
strong, and had a good deal of the bully in his nature. Observing that
Mrs Mitford was seated alone in a dark corner of the cabin with a still
greenish face and an aspect of woe, he staggered towards her, and,
sitting down, took her hand affectionately.

"Dear Peggy," he began, but he got no further, for the little woman
snatched her hand away, sprang up, and confronted him with a look of
blazing indignation. Every trace of her sickness vanished as if by
magic. The greenish complexion changed to crimson, and the woebegone
tones to those of firm resolution, as she exclaimed--

"Ned Jarring, if you ever again dare to take liberties with _me_, I'll
tell my 'usband, I will; an' as sure as you're a-sittin' on that seat
'e'll twist you up, turn you outside in, an' fling you overboard!"

Little Mrs Mitford did not wait for a response, but, turni