a bottle of spirits, a
little keg of tobacco, and two or three clay pipes, for the old sea
captain never smoked till after supper and then puffed steadily
until he went to bed.

He turned now and asked Doria a question.

"You've cast your peepers over the poor chap to-day," he said, "and
you're a clever man and know a bit of human nature. What did you
make of my brother?"

"I looked closely and listened also," answered the servant; "and
this I think--the man is very sick."

"Not likely to break out again and cut another throat?"

"Never again. I say this. When he killed Madonna's husband, he was
mad; now he is not mad--not more mad than anybody else. He craves
only one thing--peace."

CHAPTER VII

THE COMPACT

Bendigo lit his pipe and turned to his only book. It was "Moby
Dick." Herman Melville's masterpiece had long ago become for the old
sailor the one piece of literature in the world. It comprised all
that interested him most in this life, and all that he needed to
reconcile him to the approach of death and the thought of a future
existence beyond the grave. "Moby Dick" also afforded him that
ceaseless companionship with great waters which was essential to
content.

"Well," he said to Doria, "get you gone. Look round as usual to see
that all's snug aloft and below; then turn in. Leave only the light
in the hall and the front door on the latch. Did you mark if he had
a watch to know the hour?"

"He had no watch, but Mrs. Pendean thought upon that and lent him
hers."

Bendigo nodded and picked up a clay pipe, while Doria spoke again.

"You feel quite steady in your nerves? You would not like me to lie
in readiness to come forward if you want me!"

"No, no--turn in and go to sleep. And no spying, as you're a
gentleman. I'll talk reason to the poor fellow. I reckon it's going
to be all right. We know that he's had shell shock and all the rest
of it, so I dare say the law won't be very hard upon him."

"The dead man's wife was an angel to Robert Redmayne. He thought at
first that she had come to give him up. But her eyes showed him that
she had come in mercy. May I speak of your niece a moment before I
go?"

Bendigo shrugged his round shoulders and pushed his hand through his
red hair.

"It's no good speaking of her till you've spoken to her," he said.
"I know what you are after very well. But it's up to her, I reckon,
not me. She's gone her own way since she was a nipper--got her
father'