to observe what in the nature of things is not easily
observable in itself, and still less so under the special circumstances.
In the majority of ships a second officer has not many points of contact
with the captain's wife. He sits at the same table with her at meals,
generally speaking; he may now and then be addressed more or less kindly
on insignificant matters, and have the opportunity to show her some small
attentions on deck. And that is all. Under such conditions, signs can
be seen only by a sharp and practised eye. I am alluding now to troubles
which are subtle often to the extent of not being understood by the very
hearts they devastate or uplift.

Yes, Mr. Powell, whom the chance of his name had thrown upon the floating
stage of that tragicomedy would have been perfectly useless for my
purpose if the unusual of an obvious kind had not aroused his attention
from the first.

We know how he joined that ship so suddenly offered to his anxious desire
to make a real start in his profession. He had come on board breathless
with the hurried winding up of his shore affairs, accompanied by two
horrible night-birds, escorted by a dock policeman on the make, received
by an asthmatic shadow of a ship-keeper, warned not to make a noise in
the darkness of the passage because the captain and his wife were already
on board. That in itself was already somewhat unusual. Captains and
their wives do not, as a rule, join a moment sooner than is necessary.
They prefer to spend the last moments with their friends and relations. A
ship in one of London's older docks with their restrictions as to lights
and so on is not the place for a happy evening. Still, as the tide
served at six in the morning, one could understand them coming on board
the evening before.

Just then young Powell felt as if anybody ought to be glad enough to be
quit of the shore. We know he was an orphan from a very early age,
without brothers or sisters--no near relations of any kind, I believe,
except that aunt who had quarrelled with his father. No affection stood
in the way of the quiet satisfaction with which he thought that now all
the worries were over, that there was nothing before him but duties, that
he knew what he would have to do as soon as the dawn broke and for a long
succession of days. A most soothing certitude. He enjoyed it in the
dark, stretched out in his bunk with his new blankets pulled over him.
Some clock ashore beyond the do