"You mean dead?"
"Aye, dead."
"Would it have mattered so much?"
"Only that I should have died likewise!"
"Because of the loneliness?" says I.
"Indeed," she sighed, staring into the fire, "because of the loneliness."
"I serve some purpose, then, in the scheme of things?"
"Yes, Martin, you teach a woman how, even in this desolation, being weak and defenceless she may trust to a man's honour and find courage and great comfort in his strength. 'Twas foolish of me to be horror-struck at your stained garments when you had been slaying that I might eat."
"'Tis all forgot!" says I, hastily.
"And as for the murders on the ship—O Martin, as if you might ever make me believe you had committed murder—or ever could. You that under all your bitterness are still the same gentle boy I knew so long ago."