She did not speak; and he asked, in a tone that was half entreaty: “Have you not felt this at all?”
She told him frankly: “Yes; I like and admire you immensely, Cap’n Pawl.”
He struck the table again. “I said it. Then why must you talk of this love that you say you have for Dan Darrin?”
“I love Dan; I but like you,” she told him.
He flung up his hand. “Words, words. I tell you, there’s something between us, you and me, more than liking. I’m not a man to be liked. Harsh, and cold, and rough with my men, God-denying, without scruple, called ‘Black Pawl’ for the sake of the deeds I have done. You’d not be ‘liking’ such a man. It’s more than ‘liking,’ Ruth. I tell you, there’s more.”
She shook her head slowly. “You are—all that which you say,” she agreed. “And yet—there’s good in the heart of you. I like that good in you.”
“I’m black to my soul,” he boasted. She laughed softly.
“No man’s that,” she told him. “No man’s that; and you least of all.”
He sat back in his chair, hands palm down on the table before him, and stared at his bony fingers. And at last he flung up his head and leveled his eyes on her. “Have it so,” he agreed. “Have it so, on your side. But on mine, this is no matter of liking. There’s a deeper bond. I—” He leaned toward her, his face working. “Ruth, I don’t know what it is,” he cried appealingly. “But it’s there; it’s there. I’m drawn to you, pulled to you. It’s there, I say.”
She met his eyes, and answered: “I’m—drawn to you, too, Cap’n Pawl. There is—affection in me for you. I would do a great deal to help you.”