yage was one long torture to me, for it
was then that I first served my apprenticeship in shame and disgrace.
By the captain's offensive gallantry, the lower officers' familiarity of
manner, and the sailors' ironical glances whenever I appeared on deck, I
saw that my position was a secret for no one. Everybody knew that I was
the mistress and not the wife of the man whom I called my husband: and,
without being really conscious of it, perhaps, they made me cruelly
expiate my fault. Moreover, reason had regained its ascendency, my eyes
were gradually opening to the truth, and I was beginning to learn the
real character of the scoundrel for whom I had sacrificed all that makes
life desirable.

"Not that he had wholly ceased to practise dissimulation. But after the
evening meal he often lingered at table smoking and drinking with
his friend the captain, and when he joined me afterward, heated with
alcohol, he shocked me by advocating theories which were both novel
and repulsive to me. Once, after drinking more than usual, he entirely
forgot his assumed part, and revealed himself in his true character.
He declared he bitterly regretted that our love affair had ended so
disastrously. It was deplorable to think that so happily conceived and
so skilfully conducted a scheme should have terminated in bloodshed. And
the blow had fallen just as he fancied he had reached the goal; just as
he thought he would reap the reward of his labor. In a few weeks' more
time he would undoubtedly have gained sufficient influence over me to
persuade me to elope with him. This would, of course, have caused a
great scandal; the next day there would have been a family conclave; a
compromise would have been effected, and finally, a marriage arranged
with a large dowry, to hush up the affair. 'And I should now be a
rich man,' he added, 'a very rich man--I should be rolling through the
streets of Paris in my carriage, instead of being on board this cursed
ship, eating salt cod twice a day, and living on charity.'

"Ah! it was no longer possible to doubt. The truth was as clear as
daylight. I had never been loved, not even an hour, not even a moment.
The loving letters which had blinded me, the protestations of affection
which had deceived me, had been addressed to my father's millions, not
to myself. And not unfrequently I saw Arthur Gordon's face darken, as he
talked with evident anxiety about what he could do to earn a living for
himself and me in A