hospital; and though as yet there had been no complaint or symptom
of panic, the face of each man, soldier, sailor, or prisoner, wore an
expectant look, as though he wondered whose turn would come next. On the
ship--rolling ceaselessly from side to side, like some wounded creature,
on the opaque profundity of that stagnant ocean--a horrible shadow had
fallen. The Malabar seemed to be enveloped in an electric cloud, whose
sullen gloom a chance spark might flash into a blaze that should consume
her.

The woman who held in her hands the two ends of the chain that would
produce this spark, paused, came up upon deck, and, after a glance
round, leant against the poop railing, and looked down into the
barricade. As we have said, the prisoners were in knots of four and
five, and to one group in particular her glance was directed. Three men,
leaning carelessly against the bulwarks, watched her every motion.

"There she is, right enough," growled Mr. Gabbett, as if in continuation
of a previous remark. "Flash as ever, and looking this way, too."

"I don't see no wipe," said the practical Moocher.

"Patience is a virtue, most noble knuckler!" says the Crow, with
affected carelessness. "Give the young woman time."

"Blowed if I'm going to wait no longer," says the giant, licking his
coarse blue lips. "'Ere we've been bluffed off day arter day, and kep'
dancin' round the Dandy's wench like a parcel o' dogs. The fever's
aboard, and we've got all ready. What's the use o' waitin'? Orfice, or
no orfice, I'm for bizness at once!--"

"--There, look at that," he added, with an oath, as the figure of
Maurice Frere appeared side by side with that of the waiting-maid, and
the two turned away up the deck together.

"It's all right, you confounded muddlehead!" cried the Crow, losing
patience with his perverse and stupid companion. "How can she give us
the office with that cove at her elbow?"

Gabbett's only reply to this question was a ferocious grunt, and a
sudden elevation of his clenched fist, which caused Mr. Vetch to retreat
precipitately. The giant did not follow; and Mr. Vetch, folding his
arms, and assuming an attitude of easy contempt, directed his attention
to Sarah Purfoy. She seemed an object of general attraction, for at the
same moment a young soldier ran up the ladder to the forecastle, and
eagerly bent his gaze in her direction.

Maurice Frere had come behind her and touched her on the shoulder. Since
their conversat