e his dastardly conduct he was in that worst position of the
man who can forgive neither himself nor the person he has injured.
So much had Lovibond done for him by the fine scheme that had brought
matters to such a pass. But having gone so far, Lovibond had found
himself at a stand. His next step he could not see. Capt'n Davy must not
be allowed to leave the island, but how to keep him from going away was
a bewildering difficulty. To tell him the truth was impossible, and to
concoct a further fable was beyond Lovibond's invention. And so it was
that when Lovi-bond received the letter from Jenny Crow, he rose to the
cue it offered like a drowning man to a life-buoy.

"Jealousy--the very thing!" he thought; and not until he was already
in the thick of his enterprise as wizard of that passion did he realize
that if it was an effectual instrument to his end it was also a cruel
one.

He found Capt'n Davy in the midst of the final preparations for their
journey. These consisted of the packing of clothes into trunks, bags,
sacks, and hampers. On the floor of the sitting-room lay a various
assortment of coats, waistcoats, trowsers, great-coats, billycock hats
and sou'-westers, together with countless shirts and collars, scarfs
and handkerchiefs. At Davy's order Willie Quarrie had gathered up the
garments in armsful out of drawers and wardrobes, and heaped them at his
feet for inspection. This process they were undergoing with a view to
the selection of such as were suitable to the climate in which it
was intended that they should be worn. The hour was 8.30 a.m., the
"Snaefell" was announced to sail for Liverpool at nine.

But, as Lovibond entered the room, a scene of yet more primitive
interest was actively proceeding. A waiter of the hotel was strutting
across the floor and sputtering out protests against this unseemly use
of the sitting-room. The person was the same who the night before had
haunted Davy's elbow with his obsequious "Yes, sirs," "No, sirs," and
"Beg pardon, sirs"; but the morning had brought him knowledge of Davy's
penury, and with that wisdom had come impudence if not dignity.

"The ideal!" he cried. "Turnin' a 'otel drawrin'-room into a charwoman's
laundry!"

"Make it a rag shop at once," said Davy, as he went on quietly with his
work.

"A rag shop it is, and I'll 'ave no more of it," said the waiter
loftily. "Who ever 'eard of such a thing?"

"No?" said Davy. "Well, well, now! Who'd have thought it?