“Another thing,” said Cammock. “While you live aft, you’ll act aft. You’ll hold no conversation with any member of my crew, except through one of my officers. And I shall expect you to keep from the main deck and the ’tween-decks. I say nothing about your insults. Them’s only the bubbling in your mind, I guess. I’m sorry for you. But give me no more, sir. If you do, or if you break the rules I make, you’ll go in irons till we land.” “Anything more?” said Stukeley. “There’ll be more when I see you need it.” “All right, Maggy. I’ll remember this. Is that all now?” “Yes. That’s all,” said Margaret. “Then I advise you to let me go.” “There’s the door,” said Margaret, turning back the key. “Allow me to come with you.” “Thank you. I choose my own company.” “No, sir,” said Cammock. “We shall do that for you. You ain’t fit to choose your own company. I’m sorry to have to say it.” “You wait, Mr. Cammock. You wait.” “Will you come on deck, Stukeley?” said Margaret. “Or will you join your wife?” “You may go to hell,” said Stukeley. With this repartee he walked aft to vent his spleen upon Olivia. Guessing his intention, Margaret stayed with him till the bell called the starboard watch on deck. VII. THE TOBACCO MERCHANT “This is all our world; We shall know nothing here but one another.” _The Two Noble Kinsmen._ Six days after striking soundings, the _Broken Heart_ sailed up the James River with the flood, to let go her anchor off Jamestown as the last gun of her salute was fired. Her colours were dipped to the colours on the Governor’s flagstaff. Her sails were all clued up together; the bunts of the furls were tight and shapely, crossed by the broad black bands of the bunt-gaskets.