lumpy bulk against each hip, felt the scrappy iron in his pockets touch
his ribs at every breath, the downward drag of all these pounds hanging
upon his shoulders. He looked very dull too, sitting idle there, and his
yellow face, with motionless black eyes, had something passive and sad
in its quietness.

When he heard eight bells struck above his head, he rose and made ready
to go out. His movements seemed aimless, his lower lip had dropped a
little, his eyes roamed about the cabin, and the tremendous tension of
his will had robbed them of every vestige of intelligence.

With the last stroke of the bell the Serang appeared noiselessly on the
bridge to relieve the mate. Sterne overflowed with good nature, since he
had nothing more to desire.

"Got your eyes well open yet, Serang? It's middling dark; I'll wait till
you get your sight properly."

The old Malay murmured, looked up with his worn eyes, sidled away into
the light of the binnacle, and, crossing his hands behind his back,
fixed his eyes on the compass-card.

"You'll have to keep a good look-out ahead for land, about half-past
three. It's fairly clear, though. You have looked in on the captain as
you came along--eh? He knows the time? Well, then, I am off."

At the foot of the ladder he stood aside for the captain. He watched him
go up with an even, certain tread, and remained thoughtful for a moment.
"It's funny," he said to himself, "but you can never tell whether that
man has seen you or not. He might have heard me breathe this time."

He was a wonderful man when all was said and done. They said he had had
a name in his day. Mr. Sterne could well believe it; and he concluded
serenely that Captain Whalley must be able to see people more or less
--as himself just now, for instance--but not being certain of anybody,
had to keep up that unnoticing silence of manner for fear of giving
himself away. Mr. Sterne was a shrewd guesser.

This necessity of every moment brought home to Captain Whalley's heart
the humiliation of his falsehood. He had drifted into it from paternal
love, from incredulity, from boundless trust in divine justice meted out
to men's feelings on this earth. He would give his poor Ivy the benefit
of another month's work; perhaps the affliction was only temporary.
Surely God would not rob his child of his power to help, and cast him
naked into a night without end. He had caught at every hope; and when
the evidence of his misfortune was st