"I should do as you were thinking of doing earlier in the evening. I should go home by the first ship, and marry her quick!" "What! Leave him digging his fortune and writing her all about it every mail?" Devenish had already vowed that he would never do that. He repeated the vow with an oath. "But you don't know that she's getting any letters," remarked Jewson, calmly. Ralph gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean by that?" "Only that he may not be writing to her; he didn't in the beginning, you see; that letter I posted was his first." "How do you know?" "His mate told me so." "You did post it, Jewson?" The steward chuckled as he shook his head. "That's tellings," said he, slyly. "You can think I didn't, or you can think I did. He deserved to have it posted, didn't he? He deserves so well of me and you, don't he? All's fair in them two things, you know; if it's the one thing with you, it's the other with me; it's bloody war between me and the second mate, and will be whether you stay or not!" Devenish was revolted in spite of his worst self. But he was also relieved, and his conscience deadened as quickly as it had come to life again. If the letter had not been posted, it was through no fault of his, and even now he knew nothing about it. And if Jewson, for his own reasons, chose to stay behind on the diggings, in order to thwart the man who so richly deserved thwarting, neither had he, Ralph, anything on earth to do with that. Yet his nature shrank from such an ally, even as he began to appreciate the creature's value, and he frowned as he filled the Turk's head for the twentieth time that night. His hand was as steady as his speech. It was his better nature that was under eclipse. Meanwhile, the steward took the opportunity of surreptitiously replenishing Ralph's pannikin, and still more surreptitiously emptying his own upon the ground. "So you propose to hold a watching brief on my behalf?" said Ralph at last, and forced a smile at the idea. "I propose to keep an eye on him for you, if that's what you mean," replied the steward. "But Sergeant Rackham's going to do that as it is. He says he'll be level with our friend in a month." "A month!" echoed Jewson, scornfully. "He'll be a made man in a month, if he goes on as he's begun. He's tumbled on a jeweler's shop, or I'm much mistaken." "Well, you can't take it from him, can you?" "Perhaps not." "You mean you can!" exclaimed Devenish, irritated by the confident subtlety of the man's manner. "Oh, no, I don't." Devenish tilted the pannikin and set it down with a clatter. "Then what do you mean? Out with it, Jewson. I'm sick of beating about the bush!" "So am I," said the steward, dryly. "If you can't turn a man out of his hole, and prevent him getting all that's to be got out of it, what on earth can you do that's any good to me?" "If you went home," said Jewson, slowly, "I could keep him here till it was no use his following you--till you were married!"