A poor painted girl, with a voice that had some little sweetness left, and a pathos all its own, came next with a song just old enough to have associations for some of those who heard. It was, however, a sweet song in itself, and in a few bars a hush had fallen on the audience; even Bullocky sat back in his chair, his huge beard leveled at the singer. "You are going far away, far away from poor Jeannette; There's no one left to love me now, and you too will forget; But my heart will be with you wherever you may go-- Can you look me in the face and say the same, Jeannot? When you wear the jacket red, and the beautiful cockade, Oh! I fear you will forget all the promises you made. With a gun upon your shoulder and a bayonet by your side, You'll be taking some proud lady and be making her your bride-- You'll be taking some proud lady and be making her your bride!" So it ran; and Denis caught himself pressing his dear new amulet to his heart. He was so saddened that he did not see Bullocky until he heard him roar, "No, he won't, my dear! I'll stretch him stiff and stark if he do!" at which one behind gave a laugh, and so brought that formidable fist within an inch of his nose, while with the other paw the gorilla dashed away a tear that ought to have filled a wineglass. Denis lost half the next verse in watching him. Bullocky was now sprawling across the table, his great face hidden in the hirsute folds of his powerful arms. "Oh! if I were King of France, or still better Pope of Rome, I'd have no fighting men abroad, no weeping maids at home. All the world should be at peace, or, if kings must show their might, Why, let them who make the quarrel be the only ones to fight-- Yes, let them who make the quarrel be the only ones to fight!" Bullocky's shoulders were heaving with vinous sobs. He did not join in the tempest of applause, and before the last verse had been repeated his emotions reached their anti-climax in a sounding snore. Denis gave Doherty a nod, and they deserted under cover of the final furore. Near the exit of the marquee a degenerate sailor reeled into them; and it shocked Denis slowly to identify the blurred features of his late shipmate, the chief officer of the _North Foreland_. It was but a week since he had given evidence as clear as it was creditable at the inquest in Mr. Kitto's wool-shed. "Seen you come in," said the mate. "Thought you was in blue water by this time." "How so?" asked Denis. "Homeward bound," hiccoughed the mate. "I'm not going home yet," said Denis. "I'm going to try my luck on the diggings first." The chief swayed incredulous. "Thought that was all plain sailin'?" said he. "Thought you was to go home with 'em, an' marry her at t' other end if not at this? Well, well, you might just as well have taken my advice!" "What advice?" asked Denis, coldly.