The room was not big enough for the curses that welled up in the big heart of the sailor. The atmosphere became impregnated in a moment with the smell of turpentine and bilge-water, and a freshly opened consignment of flour of sulphur. Mr. Liscomb had snatched the paper from him. Jack glanced over his shoulder while he read. Priscilla sat down. Her face had become deathly pale. She watched Captain Lyman weeping into a large handkerchief of the bandana variety. She felt as if she were taking part in a tableau. Then the door opened, and the senior partner entered with another newspaper in his hand. “Good heavens! you have seen it also?” he cried. “A terrible thing!--a shocking thing!--the best thing that could have happened! Good-morning, Mrs. Wingfield. Don’t allow yourself to be upset. Let me get you a glass of wine--brandy perhaps would be better.” “There is no need,” said Priscilla. “You see, I don’t know what has happened. Please don’t try to break it gently to me, Mr. Liscomb.” “A kiddie with curls as fair as flax, ma’am,” cried Captain Lyman, waving his handkerchief in the direction of the lady. The senior partner stared at him. “This is Captain Lyman,” said Priscilla. “Lucy she was called at her christening, and she was as innocent as a lamb before he got hold of her. But she killed him--killed him dead--it’s all in that paper--and I didn’t even know that she was in this country, sir. She didn’t come across to kill him; I’ll swear that she didn’t. But maybe it would have been better if I’d told her the truth.” “The truth is--ah--sometimes justifiable,” said Mr. Liscomb. “This, however, is a clear case of self-defence. She will not be imprisoned for a day.” “But she loved him, sir,” said Captain Lyman. “What is it makes women love a man like that; can you tell me?” “Self-defence,” came the voice of the junior partner. “He was following her with a revolver. He had fired three shots, one of them grazed her shoulder. There were two witnesses--she seized the first weapon that came to her hand--he ran upon the prongs.” “Justifiable, oh, of course,” said the senior partner. He glanced towards Priscilla. “Bad taste to congratulate her,” he whispered to his brother Reggie. “Get them out of this as soon as possible; and send me in a copy of the writ in Farraget’s case. Get rid of the sailor. He’s no credit to the office.” “I can’t forget her--fair hair and such sweet blue eyes,” resumed Captain Lyman. “Come along with us, Captain Lyman,” said Priscilla. “Thank heaven we’ve got rid of them so easily,” said the senior Liscomb. “The woman did the best job for the Wingfields that ever was done for them,” said the junior. “As the case stood, I doubt very much if Sir Gabriel would have given us a decree, and there was no evidence for a divorce. They can get married to-morrow.”