"Not likely to break out again and cut another throat?"
"Never again. I say this. When he killed Madonna's husband, he was mad; now he is not mad—not more mad than anybody else. He craves only one thing—peace."
CHAPTER VII
THE COMPACT
Bendigo lit his pipe and turned to his only book. It was "Moby Dick." Herman Melville's masterpiece had long ago become for the old sailor the one piece of literature in the world. It comprised all that interested him most in this life, and all that he needed to reconcile him to the approach of death and the thought of a future existence beyond the grave. "Moby Dick" also afforded him that ceaseless companionship with great waters which was essential to content.
"Well," he said to Doria, "get you gone. Look round as usual to see that all's snug aloft and below; then turn in. Leave only the light in the hall and the front door on the latch. Did you mark if he had a watch to know the hour?"
"He had no watch, but Mrs. Pendean thought upon that and lent him hers."
Bendigo nodded and picked up a clay pipe, while Doria spoke again.
"You feel quite steady in your nerves? You would not like me to lie in readiness to come forward if you want me!"