But she spoke no more. The man in him straight way shamed her into silence with a look. She bowed her head, yet not quite in shame, for there was that in her eyes which made her appear as if his suffering was a gratuitous infliction. But at this moment he was stronger, and he drew her eyes up by the sheer force of his will. “I need no money now,” he coldly declared. “I need nothing--not even you; and can you fancy that, after waiting all these years for this hour, money would satisfy me? Do you know,” he continued slowly and musingly, “I can look upon you now--yes, at this moment--with more indifference than you ever showed to me? A moment ago I loved you: now I think you horrible; because you are no woman; you have a savage heart. And some day you will suffer as I do, so terribly that even the brazen serpent could not cure you. Then you will remember me.” He was about to leave her, but he had not taken two steps before he turned, with all the anger and the passion softened in his eyes, and said, putting his hand out towards yet not to touch her, “Good-bye--for the last time.” And then the look was such as might be turned upon a forgiven executioner. “Good-night,” she replied, and she did not look into his eyes, but out to sea. Her eyes remained fixed upon its furtive gloom. She too was furtive and gloomy at this moment. They were both sleek, silent, and remorseless. There was a slight rustle to her dress as she changed her position. It was in grim keeping with the pitiless rustle of the sea. And so they parted. I saw him move on towards the companion-way, and though I felt instinctively that all had gone ill with him, I was surprised to see how erect he walked. After a minute I approached her. She heard me coming, and presently turned to me with a curious smile. “Who is Mr. Charles Boyd?” she asked. “I did not pierce his disguise. I could not tell whether I had met him on board before. Have I? But my impression is that I had not seen him on the ship.” “No, you had not seen him,” I replied. “He had a fancy to travel, until yesterday, with the second-class passengers. Now he has a first-class cabin--in his proper place, in fact.” “You think so--in his proper place?” The suggestion was not pleasant. “Assuredly. Why do you speak in that way?” was my indignant reply. She took my arm as we moved on. “Because he was slightly rude to me.” I grew bold, and determined to bring her to some sort of reckoning. “How rude were you to him?” “Not rude at all. It is not worth while being so--to anybody,” was her chilly answer. “I was under the impression you had met him before,” I said gravely. “Indeed? And why?” She raised her eyebrows at me. I pushed the matter to a conclusion. “He was ill the other day--he has heart trouble. It was necessary for me to open the clothes about his neck. On his breast I saw a little ivory portrait of a woman’s head.”