“Woman!” cried an old white-haired gentleman, “you ought to be downright ashamed of yourself, talking in that manner in the hearing of that unfortunate man; a person of your age might know just a little better!” The old maid tossed her yellow face. “And let me add, madam, that but for God’s grace and mercy you might occupy a position similar to his. Good-day, miss!”
There was a barrier about the spot where the quarter-deck and midships joined. Thus far might steerage passengers walk aft, but no farther. To this barrier Reginald now walked boldly up, and, while the ladies for the most part backed away, as if he had been a python, and the children rushed screaming away, the old gentleman kept where he was.
“God bless you, sir,” said Reginald, loud enough for all to hear, “for defending me. The remarks those unfeeling women make in my hearing pierce me to the core.”
“And God bless you, young man, and have mercy on your soul.” He held out his hand, and Reginald shook it heartily. “I advise you, Mr Grahame, to make your peace with God, for I cannot see a chance for you. I am myself a New York solicitor, and have studied your case over and over again.”
“I care not how soon death comes. My hopes are yonder,” said Reginald.
He pointed skywards as he spoke.
“That’s good. And remember:
“‘While the lamp holds out to burn,
The greatest sinner may return.’
“I’ll come and see you to-morrow.”
“A thousand thanks, sir. Good-day.”