The two men on the poop turned as the boatswain piped. They turned to
walk aft, on the weather side, along the wet planks, so trimly
parquetted. They walked quietly, the one from a natural timidity, the
other from custom, following the old tradition of the sea, which bids
all men respect the sleeper. The timid one, never a great talker,
spoke little; but his wandering eyes were busy taking in the view,
noting all things, even when his fellow thought him least alive. He
was the friend of Captain Margaret, the ship’s owner. His name was
Edward Perrin. He was not yet thirty-five, but wild living had aged
him, and his hair was fast turning grey. He was wrinkled, and his
drawn face and drooping carriage told of a sapped vitality, hardly
worth the doctoring. It was only now and then, when the eyes lifted
and the face flushed with animation, that the soul showed that it
still lived within, driving the body (all broken as it was) as
furiously as it had ever driven. He suffered much from ill-health, for
he was ever careless; and when he was ill, his feeble brains were
numbed, so that he talked with difficulty. When he was well he had
brilliant but exhausting flashes, touches of genius, sallies of
gaiety, of tenderness, which gave him singular charm, not abiding, but
enough to win him the friends whom he irritated when ill-health
returned. In his youth he had run through his little fortune in evil
living. Now that he was too weak for further folly, he lived upon a
small pittance which he had been unable to spend owing to the
forethought of a bequeathing aunt. He had only two interests in life:
Captain Margaret, whom he worshipped with touching loyalty; and the
memories of his wild youth, so soon spoiled, so soon ended. Among
those memories was the memory of a woman who had once refused his
offer of marriage. He had not loved the woman, for he was incapable of
love; he was only capable of affection; but the memory of this woman
was sweet to him because she seemed to give some note of splendour,
almost of honour, to his vicious courses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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