recognized that the charm of a quiet
watch on deck when one may let one's thoughts roam in space and time had
been spoiled without remedy. What shocked him most was the implied
aspersion of complicity on Mrs. Anthony. It angered him. In his own
words to me, he felt very "enthusiastic" about Mrs. Anthony.
"Enthusiastic" is good; especially as he couldn't exactly explain to me
what he meant by it. But he felt enthusiastic, he says. That silly
Franklin must have been dreaming. That was it. He had dreamed it all.
Ass. Yet the injurious word stuck in Powell's mind with its associated
ideas of prisoner, of escape. He became very uncomfortable. And just
then (it might have been half an hour or more since he had relieved
Franklin) just then Mr. Smith came up on the poop alone, like a gliding
shadow and leaned over the rail by his side. Young Powell was affected
disagreeably by his presence. He made a movement to go away but the
other began to talk--and Powell remained where he was as if retained by a
mysterious compulsion. The conversation started by Mr. Smith had nothing
peculiar. He began to talk of mail-boats in general and in the end
seemed anxious to discover what were the services from Port Elizabeth to
London. Mr. Powell did not know for certain but imagined that there must
be communication with England at least twice a month. "Are you thinking
of leaving us, sir; of going home by steam? Perhaps with Mrs. Anthony,"
he asked anxiously.

"No! No! How can I?" Mr. Smith got quite agitated, for him, which did
not amount to much. He was just asking for the sake of something to talk
about. No idea at all of going home. One could not always do what one
wanted and that's why there were moments when one felt ashamed to live.
This did not mean that one did not want to live. Oh no!

He spoke with careless slowness, pausing frequently and in such a low
voice that Powell had to strain his hearing to catch the phrases dropped
overboard as it were. And indeed they seemed not worth the effort. It
was like the aimless talk of a man pursuing a secret train of thought far
removed from the idle words we so often utter only to keep in touch with
our fellow beings. An hour passed. It seemed as though Mr. Smith could
not make up his mind to go below. He repeated himself. Again he spoke
of lives which one was ashamed of. It was necessary to put up with such
lives as long as there was no way out, no possible issue.