‘What, pretty Peter,’ she cried to him, ‘art home again, good fellow? Thou ’rt welcome, by my troth. Come now and sup with me at the Pair of Oars. There is pretty company there, I warrant thee, Lilias Lightbody, Martha Kittlelegs, and Cicely Shakesheets and other jolly wenches and their fellows, as merry a crew as one’s heart could desire. Convey me thither, my little pigsnye, for I did ever dote on thee.’ ‘Nay, good Belle, I am fast,’ quoth Peter, ‘the Devil be damned for it. I cannot stir till morning, with the cog to be berthed and the hold to be cleared.’ ‘The Devil damn thee for a liar,’ cried the woman. ‘Thou couldst if thou wouldst, I warrant. Hast thou worn thy rotten carcass out in France that thou art afeared to put foot ashore, thou whoreson fish-head, thou? Thou art a radish and no man, a filthy remnant, a dead dog----’ ‘What, thou old beldame,’ cursed Peter in good set terms, ‘thou scarecrow, thou bundle of rags and bones and paint, thou whited sepulchre, thou old corruption, thou waiting gravewoman. Hook thyself to some dead-drunken land lubber, for thou makest me retch to look on thee. Go to, thou art past thy trade, get thee to a hospital, thou.’ The woman replied to him with another volley of abuse, and then turning, retreated slowly into the darkness whence she came. Peter howled jeers and ribaldry after her as long as he judged her within earshot; then he settled himself once more upon his coil of rope and applied himself to his wine-stoup. He laughed aloud. He had suddenly called to mind how he and other good fellows in the _Holy Trinity_ had pillaged the Fleming barge off Gravelines, and how, after they had rummaged the vessel from stem to stern, they had hurled the mariners into the sea to swim their way home, if so they might. He remembered one fat Fleming in especial, who had made them almost burst with laughter, such comic antics did he cut when he understood what fate was to befall him. His face had turned pasty white and his eyes yellow with fear, he had pattered prayers like a priest in mortal terror of Hell Fire, and when they shoved him overboard into the sea, and he struck the water plump like a lump of lead, he had screamed out ‘Mother!’ ’Twas truly comical to hear such a fat old devil cry out for his mother as though he had been a two-years’ child. Peter fingered the dagger, which hung round his neck on a lanyard; it was a good dagger of fine Spanish steel, it had once hung from that same Fleming’s neck. A bell began to toll from the town solemnly and dolefully. It was the passing bell, rung that Christian men might pray for a soul upon the threshold of the great darkness. Peter listened for the mournful strokes, mechanically he counted them up till ten, and then began from one again. Suddenly the bell ceased. Peter knew that the soul had gone out into the darkness, and he crossed himself and said _Pater Noster_, as he had been taught to do as a child.