"Yes, as he says, to live her life as she likes while he lives his." "I will not iron him, doctor; for that would mean arrest, a trial, and publicity. Where is he now?" "In his room, drunk and defiant." Dunbar threw off his long oilskin coat, doffed his sou'wester, and descended the cabin stairs; I followed, and my wife, standing in the open doorway of Ella's room, beckoned to me. "I have just told her," she whispered, "but she seems too dazed to realize it." Dunbar, who had halted in the middle of the cabin, approached. "May I speak to her?" he asked, quietly. We assented, and he stepped into the stateroom. The poor girl, white and wasted, looked at him as I have seen a kitten look at a huge dog, but she made no protest. "Miss Madison," said Dunbar, gently, "do you remember the boy in the jail about ten years ago, to whom you were kind when others--excepting the doctor here--were not? Do you remember John Dunbar, who served a four-year sentence?" She nodded, slowly and weakly, with the light of recognition stealing over her face. "I am that boy, Miss Madison. Your kindness made a man of me. I studied and worked and saved, looking forward to the time when I might reach your level and ask you to be my wife. In all these years of absence I have not spent ten seconds of my waking life without thinking of you, your face and figure, trying to recall your voice, your gestures, and expression. I want that you should know this--that you should know how I loved you and what that love has done for me, so that you will not think that your life is a complete failure, even though your present trouble ends things for me. I am going to die. Good-by." He leaned over, put his arms around her neck and gently lifted her; then he pressed his lips to hers, long and passionately, and, laying her down, brushed past us at the door. "Where is he?" he asked, grimly. "In his room," I answered. "But, Dunbar, what are you thinking of? You're not thinking of dying, are you?" "That, and other things." He opened the door of Lance's room. "Mr. Lance," he said. "Come out of that." "What do you mean by this intrusion, Captain Dunbar? This is the after cabin, and my private room, where you have no business to be. You are my sailing-master. Go on deck where you belong." Lance's voice was thick, and he spoke brokenly. But this ended it; Dunbar's face, voice, and manner sobered him. "Come out of that room!" thundered Dunbar, "or I'll drag you out by the hair. COME!" The last word was like a trumpet-blast, and Lance followed him out into the cabin.