"Not as much as I do pretty Rose Budd, Jack; Rosy is so delightful to look at!" The muscles of Jack's face twitched a little, and she looked deeply mortified; for, to own the truth, she hoped that the conversation had so far turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to have revived in him some of his former interest in herself. It is true, he still believed her dead; but this was a circumstance Jack overlooked--so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival, and be just. She felt the necessity of being more explicit, and determined at once to come to the point. "Stephen Spike," she said, steadily, drawing near to the bed-side, "you should be told the truth, when you are heard thus extolling the good looks of Rose Budd, with less than eight-and-forty hours of life remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three years a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you read the letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the sea, _that_ would have told you where she is to be found." Spike stared at the speaker intently; and when her cracked voice ceased, his look was that of a man who was terrified as well as bewildered. This did not arise still from any gleamings of the real state of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience pricked him, when he heard that his much-wronged wife was alive. He fancied, with a vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that a woman abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many long and suffering years. "Are you sure of what you say, Jack? You wouldn't take advantage of my situation to tell me an untruth?" "As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite lately--talked with her of _you_--in short, she is now at Key West, knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your bed-side." Notwithstanding all this, and the many gleamings he had had of the facts during their late intercourse on board the brig, Spike did not guess at the truth. He appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to increase. "I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing but a moment to collect her own thoughts. "Jack Tier--the real Jack Tier--he who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore at the same time you desarted your wife, _did_ die of the fever, as you was told, in eight-and-forty hours a'ter the brig went to sea." "Then who, in the name of Heaven, are you? How came you to hail by another's name as well as by another sex?" "What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in a strange land?"