him, and said: "Well?"

"Well, there isn't anything very startling. I suppose he wishes I had
left him in the dingey on No Man's Sea. He's a fool."

"Indeed, why?"

"Marmion, are your brains softening? Why does he shadow a woman who
wouldn't lift her finger to save him from battle, murder, or sudden
death?"

"From the code," I said, in half soliloquy.

"From the what?"

"Oh, never mind, Hungerford. I suppose he is shadowing--Mrs. Falchion?"

He eyed me closely.

"I mean the woman that chucked his name; that turned her back on him
when he was in trouble; that hopes he is dead, if she doesn't believe
that he is actually; that would, no doubt, treat him as a burglar if he
went to her, got down on his knees, and said: 'Mercy, my girl, I've come
back to you a penitent prodigal. Henceforth I shall be as straight as
the sun, so help me Heaven and your love and forgiveness!'"

Hungerford paused, as if expecting me to reply; but, leaning forward on
my knees and smoking hard, I remained silent. This seemed to anger him,
for he said a little roughly: "Why doesn't he come out and give you
blazes on the promenade deck, and corner her down with a mighty cheek,
and levy on her for a thousand pounds? Both you and she would think more
of him. Women don't dislike being bullied, if it is done in the right
way--haven't I seen it the world over, from lubra to dowager? I tell
you, man--sinning or not--was meant to be woman's master and lover, and
just as much one as the other."

At this point Hungerford's manner underwent a slight change, and he
continued: "Marmion, I wouldn't have come near you, only I noticed you
have altered your course, and are likely to go on a fresh tack. It isn't
my habit to worry a man. I gave you a signal, and you didn't respond at
first. Well, we have come within hail again; and now, don't you think
that you might help to straighten this tangle, and try to arrange a
reconciliation between those two?

"The scheme is worth trying. Nobody need know but you and me. It
wouldn't be much of a sacrifice to her to give him a taste of the thing
she swore to do--how does it run?--'to have and to hold from this day
forward'?--I can't recall it; but it's whether the wind blows fair or
foul, or the keel scrapes the land or gives to the rock, till the sea
gulps one of 'em down for ever. That's the sense of the thing, Marmion,
and the contract holds between the two, straight on into the eternal
belly. Whatever happe