"I am sorry for that."
"Why? I told my girl who was responsible for my salvation. You.... Ah, don't shake your head, Prince. My living, my being here on this deck alive, sane, and, thank God! with a feeling of manhood strong in me, is due to you. But for you, I should have gone overboard.... Yes, I know it; I want you to know that I know it. I can never repay you, that's out of the region of possibility, but you might like to feel that you took a fellow-creature out of the slough, even if the fellow isn't worth much. You saved my life and you've made it worth living—to me, at any rate."
He spoke with a catch in his voice; gratitude moved him. So earnest was his speech of thankfulness that it moved Masters also; Dick went on:
"I came aboard with the knowledge in my heart that I should make a hole in the water. I got my girl up to London, the only friend that has stuck to me, to say good-bye to her. And I meant it, Prince; meant it for a final good-bye, a good-bye for ever. Thanks to you, old chap, that's a thing of the past; the shadow has passed away."
"I hope, Dick—nay, more than hope—I am confident, never to return."
"I pray God so, Prince! I do! I do! I say that reverently. I pray God so. I'm a bit fearful of when this trip is over; just a bit; that's all that's wrong with me. You've been my anchor; I don't know how I shall ride on a tempting sea without you. You are not as other men—no, let me say it—I have clung to you, Prince, old fellow, like—well, like the ivy clings to the oak. I can't help thinking, when the oak's gone what's to become of the ivy."
"You'll go back home well, and find other ties."
Then he gave utterance to the phrase which had been persistently ringing in his ears so long:
"You will go back well enough to marry."
Dick started; smiled. The memory of that last interview came back to him too; he answered: