At this jibe he clenched his hands to chastise Joe; but felt too much crushed to make even the attempt, and turned in silence away.
On the second or third day after his expulsion from the cabin, when retiring to his place between decks—the same quarter in which the four hammocks had been hung—he encountered Miss Basset, and passed her so closely that he felt her skirts brush against him.
Though dark and soft, Ethel's eyes were at times keen and piercing, for they possessed a wonderful power and beauty of expression—a beauty one may meet with perhaps but once in a lifetime. As she passed Hawkshaw, she drew aside her skirt, as if to avoid contact, and hastily cast down her eyes, as if loath to humiliate him, while her breast heaved, and her cheek grew painfully pale; but in her eyes, as they flashed beneath their downcast lashes, Hawkshaw could see the horror, the loathing, and even terror with which his presence inspired her.
More humbled than ever by this, though he could have expected nothing else, he slunk to his place of penance—his prison he deemed it, as he seldom left it—and casting himself upon the sea-chest, groaned aloud in rage, in bitterness, and agony of spirit.
His food was brought to him by Quaco, the black cook; but his appetite was gone, so each meal was taken away almost untasted.
"By golly, Massa Hawkshaw, you had better eat and keep strong," said Quaco, with a grin on his shining face.
"Why—what the devil is it to you whether I eat or not, you black thief?" asked Hawkshaw, savagely.
"Kindness, on'y kindness, massa—yaas, yaas," he replied, grinning more broadly than ever.
"I want none, even from you."
"Dat be bad—dat is; but, golly! don't you know what Pedro Barradas am up to?"