I was silent for a moment.
"My ship goes to-morrow morning," I answered; "I am not likely to see your wife again. I shall not seek her."
"That is not enough," moaned the old man; "she will find a way. She will come to you. Promise me you will not take her away with you; if you do you will have an old man's murder on your head."
I moved impatiently.
"I am not going to take her away," I answered.
"But promise me. If I have your promise I shall feel certain."
I hesitated, and looked across at Suzee, a patch of beautiful colour against the grey background of bent and aged trees.
What had I intended to do, I asked myself. I could not take her, in any case. I had not meant that. A virtuous American ship like the Cottage City would hardly admit a Suzee to share my cabin.
Then what did my promise matter if it but reflected the fact, and if it satisfied him?
"You are not willing to promise," he said, coming close to me and peering into my face; "I feel it."