ith proofs--with incontrovertible proofs. At night, when off duty,
he would steal out of his cabin in pyjamas (for more proofs) and stand
a full hour, perhaps, on his bare feet below the bridge, as absolutely
motionless as the awning stanchion in its deck socket near by. On the
stretches of easy navigation it is not usual for a coasting captain to
remain on deck all the time of his watch. The Serang keeps it for him as
a matter of custom; in open water, on a straight course, he is usually
trusted to look after the ship by himself. But this old man seemed
incapable of remaining quietly down below. No doubt he could not sleep.
And no wonder. This was also a proof. Suddenly in the silence of the
ship panting upon the still, dark sea, Sterne would hear a low voice
above him exclaiming nervously--

"Serang!"

"Tuan!"

"You are watching the compass well?"

"Yes, I am watching, Tuan."

"The ship is making her course?"

"She is, Tuan. Very straight."

"It is well; and remember, Serang, that the order is that you are to
mind the helmsmen and keep a lookout with care, the same as if I were
not on deck."

Then, when the Serang had made his answer, the low tones on the bridge
would cease, and everything round Sterne seemed to become more still
and more profoundly silent. Slightly chilled and with his back aching a
little from long immobility, he would steal away to his room on the
port side of the deck. He had long since parted with the last vestige
of incredulity; of the original emotions, set into a tumult by the
discovery, some trace of the first awe alone remained. Not the awe of
the man himself--he could blow him up sky-high with six words--rather it
was an awestruck indignation at the reckless perversity of avarice (what
else could it be?), at the mad and somber resolution that for the
sake of a few dollars more seemed to set at naught the common rule
of conscience and pretended to struggle against the very decree of
Providence.

You could not find another man like this one in the whole round
world--thank God. There was something devilishly dauntless in the
character of such a deception which made you pause.

Other considerations occurring to his prudence had kept him tongue-tied
from day to day. It seemed to him now that it would yet have been easier
to speak out in the first hour of discovery. He almost regretted
not having made a row at once. But then the very monstrosity of the
disclosure . . . Why! He could