"'Madame,' he said, 'I need no help, being by God's leave a man'—and he laid some stress upon the 'man,' but not boastfully—rather as though all women did, or might need help, by the mere circumstance of their sex—'and as for going hence, why yesterday I was bound for Africa. I sailed unexpectedly into a fog off Scilly. I was wrecked in a calm sea on the Golden Ball—I was thrown up on Tresco—no one on that ship escaped but myself. No sooner was I safe than the fog lifted—-'
"'You will stay?' Mrs. Lovyes interrupted. 'No?'
"'Yes,' said he, 'Jarvis Grudge will stay.'
"And she turned thoughtfully away. But I caught a glimpse of her face as we went out, and it wore the saddest smile a man could see.
"Mr. Grudge and I walked for a while in silence.
"'And what sort of a name has Mr. John Lovyes in these parts?' he asked.
"'An honest sort,' said I emphatically—'the name of a man who loves his wife.'
"'Or her money,' he sneered. 'Bah! a surly ill-conditioned dog, I'll warrant, the curmudgeon!"
"'You are marvellously recovered of your cold,' said I.
"He stopped, and looked across the Sound. Then he said in a soft, musing voice: 'I once knew just such another clever boy. He was so clever that men beat him with sticks and put on great sea-boots to kick him with, so that he lived a miserable life, and was subsequently hanged in great agony at Tyburn.'