"Oh, don't you mistake me, sir," said Jabez. "It wasn't no help I was asking for. I'm doing very well with the boat and the potatoes. It was only I was thinking I wouldn't like nothing exactly to happen to me along of this crazy lunatic here if you understand me, sir. . . . I'm not so sure if they give me time I couldn't get through these bits of rope here. I'm pretty strong in the arm, or used to be--not so dusty even now. If I could work at them a bit----" The door opened and Crispin came in. He appeared to Harkness as he stepped in, quietly closing the door behind him, like some strange creature of a dream. He seemed himself, in the way that he moved with his eyes nearly closed, somnambulistic. He was wearing now only his white silk pyjamas, and of these the sleeves were rolled up showing his fat white arms. His red hair stood on end like an ill-fitting wig. In one hand he carried a curved knife with a handle of worked gold. In the room, blazing with sunlight, he was like a creature straight from the boards of some neighbouring theatre, even to the white powder that lay in dry flakes upon his face. He opened his eyes, staring at the sunlight, and in their depths Harkness saw the strangest mingling of terror, pathos, eager lust, and a bewildered amazement, as though he were tranced. The gaze with which he turned to Harkness had in it a sudden appeal; then that appeal sank like light quenched by water. He was wrung up on the instant to intensest excitement. His whole body trembled. His mouth opened as though he would speak, then closed again. He came close to Harkness. He put out his hand and touched his neck. "We are alone," he said, in his soft beautiful voice. He stroked Harkness's neck. The soft boneless fingers. Harkness looked at him, and, strangely, at that moment their eyes were very close to one another. They looked at one another gently. In Harkness's eyes was no malice; in Crispin's that strange mingling of lust and unhappiness. Harkness only said: "Crispin, whatever you do to us leave that girl alone. I beg you leave her. . . ." He closed his eyes then. God helping him he would not speak another word. But a triumphant exultation surged through him because he knew that he was not afraid. There was no fear in him. It was as though the warm sun beating on his body gave him courage. Standing behind the safeguard of his closed eyes his real soul seemed to slip away, to run down the circular staircase into the hall and pass happily into the garden, down the road to the sea. His soul was free and Crispin's was imprisoned. He heard Crispin's voice: "Will you admit now that I have you in my hand? If I touch you here how you will bleed--bleed to death if I do not prevent it. Do you remember Shylock and his pound of flesh? 'Oh! upright Judge!' But there is no judge here to stay me!"