HORNE--Nor me. Jimmy did it alone. [_Craftily._] We’d all three swear Bible oaths to that in any court. And even if ye’d given the word, there ain’t no good thinkin’ more o’ it, sir. Didn’t they deserve all they got--that thief o’ a cook and that boy? Wasn’t they plottin’ on the sly to steal the gold? BARTLETT--[_His eyes gleaming._] Aye! HORNE--And when you said he’d get no share of it, didn’t he lie to your face that it wasn’t gold--thinkin’ we’d leave it be and he’d git it all for himself? BARTLETT--[_With sudden rage._] Aye, brass and junk, he said, the lyin’ scum! That’s what he keeps sayin’ when I see him in sleep! He didn’t believe--makin’ a mock o’ me--an’ then he owned up himself ’twas gold! He knew! He lied a-purpose! He was a cunnin’ rat--a thief ashore afore they shipped him with us, I reckon. HORNE--[_Eagerly._] Most like, sir. BARTLETT--[_Rising to his feet--with confident defiance._] They deserved no better nor they got. Let ’em rot! [_Pouring out another drink for himself and_ HORNE.] We’ll drink, an’ then ye get back to the ship. Tell Cates and Jimmy we sail at dawn--sure! [_He drinks._] HORNE--Luck, sir! [_He drinks. There is a knock at the door on the left followed by_ MRS. BARTLETT’S _voice calling feebly_, “ISAIAH! ISAIAH!” BARTLETT _starts but makes no answer. He seems suddenly sunk in gloom again._ HORNE _turns to him questioningly._] It’s Mrs. Bartlett, sir. Shall I open the door? BARTLETT--No. I ain’t aimin’ to see her--yet awhile. [_Then with sudden reasonless rage._] Let her in, damn ye! [HORNE _goes and unhooks the door_. MRS. BARTLETT _enters. She is a slight, slender little woman of fifty. Sickness, or the inroads of a premature old age, have bowed her shoulders, whitened her hair, and forced her to walk feebly with the aid of a cane. A resolute spirit still flashes from her eyes, however, and there is a look of fixed determination on her face. She stands gazing at her husband. There is something accusing in her stare._] BARTLETT--[_Avoiding her eyes--brusquely._] Well? What is it ye want o’ me, Sarah? MRS. B.--I want to speak with you alone, Isaiah. HORNE--I’ll be gettin’ back aboard, sir. [_Starts to go._] BARTLETT--[_In a tone almost of fear._] Wait. I’m goin’ with ye. [_Turning to his wife--with a certain rough tenderness._] Ye oughtn’t to walk down the hill here, Sarah. The doctor told ye to rest in the house and save your strength. MRS. B.--I want to speak to you alone, Isaiah. You never come to home no more, hardly, so I had to come to ye. [_Accusingly._] You know it ain’t walkin’ is sappin’ my strength, Isaiah. BARTLETT--[_Very uneasily._] I’ve got to work on the schooner, Sarah. That’s why I’ve no time to home. MRS. B.--She’ll be sailin’ soon? BARTLETT--[_Suddenly turning on her defiantly._] Tomorrow at dawn! MRS. B.--[_With her eyes fired accusingly on his._] And you be goin’ with her? BARTLETT--[_In the same defiant tone._] Yes, I be! Who else’d captain her?