“If I had, you'd not have seen me here,” replied Jack, sullenly. “The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife.”
“It was her own fault,” observed Blueskin, moodily. “She wouldn't let me go. I did it in self-defence.”
“I care not why you did it,” said Jack, sternly. “We work together no more.”
“Come, come, Captain,” remonstrated Blueskin. “I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. You know as well as I do that it was accident.”
“Accident or not,” rejoined Sheppard; “you're no longer pall of mine.”
“And so this is my reward for having made you the tip-top cracksman you are,” muttered Blueskin;—“to be turned off at a moment's notice, because I silenced a noisy woman. It's too hard. Think better of it.”
“My mind's made up,” rejoined Jack, coldly,—“we part to-night.”
“I'll not go,” answered the other. “I love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off.”
“Well!” remarked Jonathan, who had paid little attention to the latter part of the conversation: “this is an awkward business certainly: but we must do the best we can in it. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. I can accommodate you below.”
“I don't require it,” returned Sheppard. “I'm tired of the life I'm leading. I shall quit it and go abroad.”