“Ay, every night, fair weather and foul; I’ve been used to both for a long time now, and I’m too tough to be easily damaged.”
“But why do you this, Jeph? You are not mad! If you were, I could understand it.”
“No matter, no matter,” said the old man, turning to gaze at the tombstone before quitting the place. “Some people are fond of having secrets. I’ve got one, and I like to keep it.”
“Well, I won’t try to pump it out of you, my old friend. Moreover, I haven’t got too much time to spare. I meant to go straight to your house to-night, Jeph, to tell you that I’m off to Australia to-morrow by peep o’ day.”
“Australia!” exclaimed Jeph, with a perplexed look in his old face.
“Ay, the blue peter’s at the mast-head and the anchor tripped.”
Here Bax related to his old comrade what he had previously told to Guy. At first Jeph shook his head, but when the young sailor spoke of love being the cause of his sudden departure, he made him sit down on the grave, and listened earnestly.
“So, so, Bax,” he said, when the latter had concluded, “you’re quite sure she’s fond o’ the other feller, are ye?”
“Quite. I had it from his own lips. At least he told me he’s fond of her, and I could see with my own eyes she’s fond of him.”
“Poor lad,” said Jeph, patting his friend’s shoulder as if he had been a child, “you’re quite right to go. I know what love is. You’ll never get cured in this country; mayhap foreign air’ll do it. I refused to tell you what made me come out here lad; but now that I knows how the wind blows with you, I don’t mind if I let ye into my secret. Love! ay, it’s the old story; love has brought me here night after night since ever I was a boy.”