silas lebrun, captain and part-owner of the brig agnes and mary of jersey, was an early riser. moreover, the old gentleman entertained peculiar views as to the homage due to morpheus. he made no elaborate toilet before entering the presence of that most lovable god. indeed he always slept in his boots, and the cabin-boy had on several occasions invited the forecastle hands to believe that he neither removed the ancient sealskin cap from his head nor the wooden pipe from his lips when slumber soothed his senses; but this statement was always set aside as unauthenticated.

in person the ancient sailor was almost square, with short legs and a body worthy of promotion to something higher. his face was wrinkled and brown, like the exterior of that incomprehensible fruit the medlar, which is never ripe till it is bad, and then it is to be avoided. a yellow-grey beard clustered closely round a short chin, and when perchance the sealskin cap was absent yellow-grey hair of a similar hue completed the circle, standing up as high from his brow as fell the beard downward from his chin. a pair of intensely blue eyes, liquid always with the milk of human kindness, rendered the hirsute medlar a pleasant thing to look at.

the agnes and mary was ready for sea, her cargo of potatoes, with a little light weight in the way of french beans and eggs, comfortably stowed, and as captain lebrun emerged from what he was pleased to call his “state-room” with the first breath of a clear morning he performed his matinal toilet with a certain sense of satisfaction. this operation was simple, consisting merely in the passage of four very brown fingers through the yellow-grey hair, and a hurried dispersal of the tobacco ash secreted in his beard.

the first object that met the mariner's astonished gaze was the long black form of a man stretched comfortably upon the cabin locker. the green mud adhering to the sleeper's thin shoes showed that he had climbed on board at low tide when the harbour was dry.

captain lebrun gazed meditatively at the intruder for some moments. then he produced a powerfully-scented pipe of venerable appearance, which had been, at various stages of its existence, bound in a seaman-like manner with pieces of tarred yarn. he slowly filled this object, and proceeded to inform it in a husky voice that he was “blowed.” the pipe was, apparently, in a similar condition, as it refused absolutely to answer to the powerful suction applied to it.

he then seated himself with some difficulty upon the corner of the low table, and examined the sleeper critically.

“poor devil,” he again said, addressing himself to his pipe. “he's one of them priest fellows.—hi, mister!” he observed, raising his voice.

christian vellacott woke up at once, and took in the situation without delay. he was not of those who must go through terrible contortions before regaining their senses after sleep.

“good morning, captain!” he observed pleasantly.

“oh—yourn't a parlee voo, then!”

“no, i'm an englishman.”

“indeed. then you'll excuse me, but what in the name of glory are you doing here?”

christian sat up and looked at his muddy shoes with some interest.

“well, the truth is that i am bolting. i want to get across to england. i saw where you hailed from by your rig, and clambered on board last night. it seemed to me that when an englishman is in a hole he cannot do better than go to a fellow-countryman for help.”

captain lebrun made a mighty effort to force a passage through his pipe, and was rewarded by a very high-pitched squeak.

“ay!” he said doubtfully. “but what sort of hole is it? nothing dirty, i'm hopin'. who are yer? why are ye runnin' away, and who are ye runnin' from?”

though a trifle blunt the sailor's manner was not unfriendly, and christian laughed before replying.

“well,” he said, “to tell you the whole story would take a long time. you remember perhaps there was a row, about two months ago, respecting some english rifles found in paris?”

“of course i remember that; we had a lot o' trouble with the customs just then. the thing was ferreted out by a young newspaper fellow!”

christian rubbed his hands slowly together. he was terribly anxious to hear the sequel.

“i am that newspaper fellow,” he said, with a quick smile.

captain lebrun slowly stood up. he contemplated his pipe thoughtfully, then laying it upon the table he turned solemnly towards christian, and held out a broad brown hand which was covered with scales in lieu of skin.

“shake hands, mister?” he said.

christian obliged him.

“and now,” he said quickly, “i want to know what has happened since—since i left england. has there been a great row? has ... has anybody wondered where i was?”

the old sailor may have had his suspicions. he may have guessed that christian vellacott had not left england at the dictates of his own free will, for he looked at him very kindly with his liquid blue eyes, and replied slowly:—

“i couldn't say that nobody hasn't been wonderin' where ye was, but—but there's been nothing in the papers!”

“that is all right! and now will you give me a passage, captain?”

“course i will! we sail about eleven this morning. i'm loaded and cleared out. but i should like you to have a change o' clothes. can't bear to see ye in them black things. it makes me feel as if i was talkin' to a priest.”

“i should like nothing better,” replied christian, as he rose and contemplated his own person reflectively.

“come into my state-room then. i've got a few things of my own, and a bit of a slop-chest: jerseys and things as i sell to the men.”

the captain's wardrobe was of a marine character and somewhat rough in texture. he had, however, a coat and waistcoat of thick blue pilot-cloth which fitted christian remarkably well, but the continuations thereof were so absurdly out of keeping with the young fellow's long limbs as to precipitate the skipper on to the verge of apoplexy. when he recovered, and his pipe was re-lighted, he left the cabin and went forward to borrow a pair of the required articles from tom slake, an ordinary seaman of tall and slim proportions. in a short time christian vellacott bore the outward semblance of a very fair specimen of the british tar, except that his cheeks were bleached and sunken, which discrepancy was promptly commented upon by the blunt old sailor.

secrecy was absolutely necessary, so tom, of the long legs, was the only person to whom christian's presence was made known; and he it was who (in view of a possible berth as steward later on) was entrusted with the simple culinary duties of the vessel.

breakfast, as served up by tom, was of a noble simplicity. a long shiny loaf of yesterday's bread, some butter in a saucer—which vessel was deemed entirely superfluous in connection with cups—brown sugar in an old mustard-tin, with portions of yellow paper adhering to it, and solid slices of bacon brought from the galley in their native frying-pan. such slight drawbacks, however, as there might have been in the matter of table-ware disappeared before the sense of kindly hospitality with which captain lebrun poured the tea into a cracked cup and a borrowed pannikin, dropping in the sugar with careful judgment from his brown fingers. such defects as there might have lurked in the culinary art as carried on in the galley vanished before the friendly solicitude with which tom tilted the frying-pan to pour into christian's plate a bright flow of bacon-fat cunningly mingled with cinders.

when the meal had been duly despatched captain lebrun produced his pipe and proceeded to fill it, after having extracted from its inward parts the usual high-toned squeak.

christian leant back against the bulkhead with his hands buried deeply in tom's borrowed pockets. he felt much more at home in pilot cloth than in cashmere.

“there is one more thing i should like to borrow,” he said.

“ay?” repeated the captain interrogatively, as he searched in his waistcoat-pocket for a match.

“ay, what is it?”

“a pipe. i have not had a smoke for two months.”

the captain struck a light upon his leg.

“i've got one somewhere,” he replied reassuringly; “carried it for many years now, just in case this one fell overboard or got broke.”

tom, who happened to be present, smiled audibly behind a hand which was hardly a recommendation for the coveted berth of steward, but christian looked at the battered pipe with sympathetic gravity.

at ten o'clock the agnes and mary warped out of harbour and dropped lazily down the rance, setting sail as she went. christian had spent most of the morning in the little cabin smoking captain lebrun's reserve pipe, and seeking to establish order among the accounts of the ship. the accounts were the bête noire of the old sailor's existence. upon his own confession he “wasn't no arithmetician,” and christian found, upon inspecting his accounts, no cause to contradict this ambiguous statement.

when the agnes and mary was clear of the harbour he went on deck, where activity and maritime language reigned supreme. the channel was narrow and the wind light, consequently the little brig drifted more or less at her own sweet will. this would have been well enough had the waterway been clear of other vessels, but the jersey steamer was coming in, with her yellow funnel gleaming in the sunlight, her mail-flag fluttering at her foremast, and her captain swearing on the bridge, with the whistle-pull in his hand.

seeing that the agnes and mary had no steerage way, the captain stopped his engines for a few minutes, and then went ahead again at half-speed. this brought the vessels close together, and, as is the invariable custom in such circumstances, the two crews stared stonily at each other. on the deck were one or two passengers enjoying the morning air after a cramped and uncomfortable night. among these was an old man with a singularly benign expression; he was standing near the after-wheel, gazing with senile placidity towards st. malo. as the vessels neared each other, however, he walked towards the rail, and stood there with a pleasant smile upon his face, as if ready to exchange a greeting with any kindred soul upon the agnes and mary.

christian vellacott, seated upon the rail of the after-deck, saw the old man and watched him with some interest—not, however, altering his position or changing countenance. the vessels moved slowly on, and, in due course, the two men were opposite to each other, each at the extreme stern of his ship.

then the young journalist removed captain lebrun's spare pipe from his lips, and leaning sideways over the water, called out:

“good morning, signor bruno!”

the effect of this friendly greeting upon the benevolent old gentleman was peculiar. he grasped the rail before him with both hands, and stared at the young englishman. then he stamped upon the deck with a sudden access of fury.

“ah!” he exclaimed fiercely, while a tiger-like gleam shone out from beneath his smooth white brows. “ah! it is you!”

christian swung his legs idly, and smiled with some amusement across the little strip of water.

suddenly the old man plunged his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat. he appeared to be tugging wildly at some article which was caught in the lining of his clothes, when a remarkable change came over his face. a dull red colour flew to his cheeks, and his eyes gleamed ruddily, as if shot with blood. then without a word he fell forward with his breast against the painted rail, remained there a second, and as the two ships passed away from each other, rolled over upon his back on the clean deck, grasping a pistol in his right hand.

christian vellacott sat still upon the rail, swinging one leg, and smiling reflectively. he saw the old man fall and the other passengers crowd round him, but the agnes and mary had now caught the breeze and was moving rapidly out to sea, where the sunlight danced upon the water in little golden bars.

“apperlexy!” said a voice in the journalist's ear. he turned and found captain lebrun standing at his side looking after the steamer. “apperlexy!”

“do you think so?” asked christian.

“i do,” was the reply, given with some conviction. “i seen a man fall just like that; he was a broad-built man wi' a thick neck, and in a moment of excitement he fell just like that, and died a'most at once. apperlexy they said it was.”

“it seemed to come over him very suddenly, did it not?” said christian absently.

“ay, it did,” said the captain. “ye seemed to know him!”

christian turned and looked his companion full in the face. “i have met him twice,” he said quietly. “he was in england for some years, i believe; a political refugee, he called himself.”

by sea and land captain lebrun had learnt to devote an exclusive attention to his own affairs, allowing other men to manage theirs, well or ill, according to their fancy. he knew that christian vellacott wished to tell him no more, and he was content that it should be so, but he had noticed a circumstance which, from the young journalist's position, was probably invisible. he turned to give an order to the man at the wheel, and then walked slowly and with some difficulty (for captain lebrun suffered, in a quiet way, agonies from rheumatism) back towards his passenger.

“seemed to me,” he said reflectively, as he looked upwards to see if the foretopsail was shivering, “as if he had something in his hand when a' fell.”

christian followed the captain's gaze. the sails were now filling well, and there was an exhilarating sound of straining cordage in the air while the vessel glided on. the young journalist was not an impressionable man, but he felt all these things. the sense of open freedom, the gentle rise and fall of the vessel, the whirring breeze, and the distant line of high land up the rance towards dinant—all these were surely worth hearing, feeling, and seeing; assuredly, they added to the joy of living.

“something in his hand,” he repeated gravely; “what was it?”

captain lebrun turned sideways towards the steersman, and made a little gesture with his left hand. a wrinkle had appeared in one corner of the foretopsail. then he looked round the horizon with a sailor's far-seeing gaze, before replying.

“seemed to me,” he mumbled, without taking his pipe from his lips, “that it was a revolver.”

then the two men smoked in silence for some time. the little vessel moved steadily out towards the blue water, passing a lighthouse built upon a solitary rock, and later a lightship, with its clean red hull gleaming in the sunlight as it rose and fell lazily. so close were they to the latter that the man watching on deck waved his hand in salutation.

still vellacott had vouchsafed no reply to captain lebrun's strange statement. he sat on the low rail, swinging one leg monotonously, while the square little sailor stood at his side with that patient maritime reflectiveness which is being slowly killed by the quicker ways of steam.

“my calling brings me into contact with a rum lot of people,” said the young fellow at last, “and i suppose all of us make enemies without knowing it.”

with this vague elucidation the little skipper was forced to content himself. he gave a grunt of acquiescence, and walked forward to superintend the catheading of the anchor.