The former, Rufane Ringbolt, was, if not a good, not a bad-looking man, about forty years of age; his eyes were clear, blue, and penetrating, but cunning, leery, and shifting at times. The expression of his mouth, about the curves especially, was sinister and lascivious. There was a self-confident and reckless bearing about him too aggressive to be that of a gentleman or officer, for he had been the latter once, having served in Her Majesty's navy, but been--dismissed. He and his captain had both fallen in love with one of those fast young ladies who are to be met with on the promenades of Portsmouth and Plymouth; but, as she preferred the young lieutenant to the elderly captain, the latter was always 'down' on the former, who from that moment became what is known in the service as 'a marked man.' His temper was sorely tried, and he soon found himself before a court-martial, charged with neglect of duty and insubordination. Never while he lived did Ringbolt forget the day of that court-martial in the cabin of the _Victory_, and amid his potations it always came most vividly before him in its bitter details, with the sunshine streaming through the cabin windows, the ripple on the harbour waves, and Portsmouth Hard in the distance. There was the exulting and malevolent face of the prosecutor when the court was cleared for 'finding;' there was the ringing of the bell that announced it was reopened, and in custody of the master-at-arms, with cocked hat and drawn sword, he--the prisoner--appeared before the court, all captains in full uniform, whose faces were graven on his memory. During the proceedings his sword had been laid on the table, with the point towards the president and the hilt towards himself; now he saw that its position was reversed, and he knew that all was over, and he went down the ship's side into a shore boat a broken and degraded man! And as the young lady, the cause of all the mischief, soon afterwards bestowed her hand upon the elderly captain who had 'smashed him,' Ringbolt had ever after but a very poor opinion of womankind. He felt some natural curiosity about the damsel he had been the means of bringing on board the cutter, but there all further interest in her ended. He thought if Sir Redmond Sleath, whose general character was well known to him, knew the lady it was all right; he had no fear of being deemed an accessory in an abduction; for though Mr. Ringbolt did not fear God, like many other men in the world, he mightily feared the police. As for the Vierlander woman, she thought the ailing girl was the wife of one of the two Englanders, though she saw no wedding-ring on her finger; but then, like all foreigners, she thought the Englanders very eccentric.