“‘The No Man’s Sea is a gaol of souls, And its gate is a burning sun, And deep beneath it a great bell tolls For a death that never is done. “‘Alas! for any that comes anear, That lies on its moveless breast; The grumbling water shall be his bier, And never a place of rest.”’ “There are four of the verses. Well, I made a motion to stop the rowing, and was mum for a minute. The men got nervous. They looked at the boat in front of us, and then turned round, as though to see if the ‘Dancing Kate’ was still in sight. I spoke, and they got more courage. I stood up in the boat, but could see nothing in the dingey. I gave a sign to go on, and soon we were alongside. In the bottom of the dingey lay a man, apparently dead, wearing the clothes of a convict. One of the crew gave a grunt of disgust, the others said nothing. I don’t take to men often, and to convicts precious seldom; but there was a look in this man’s face which the prison clothes couldn’t demoralise--a damned pathetic look, which seemed to say, ‘Not guilty.’ “In a minute I was beside him, and found he wasn’t dead. Brandy brought him round a little; but he was a bit gone in the head, and muttered all the way back to the ship. I had unbuttoned his shirt, and I saw on his breast a little ivory portrait of a woman. I didn’t let the crew see it; for the fellow, even in his delirium, appeared to know I had exposed the thing, and drew the linen close in his fingers, and for a long time held it at his throat.” “What was the woman’s face like, Hungerford?” I asked. He parried, remarking only that she had the face of a lady, and was handsome. I pressed him. “But did it resemble any one you had ever seen?”