"A comely gentleman," went on the captain, disregarding the questioner. "Though methinks as pale as any wench who had lost her lover. Not a wrinkle on the face of him, and the forehead of him wide and smooth, ay, and as cold looking as any slab of stone from Portland cliff. But the eyes of man! I caught the look of them, and they seemed to pass through my brain learning in one glance more about me than ever I knew myself. And the smile of man! Can see it now as he turned to his fellow and said: 'The sailor is the man to drive our care away, good Burbage.' And then he said softly those words you have now been singing, 'One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.' A Christian gentleman, they told me. A great actor, and a poet who made money, they told me. Should watch his 'Tempest' played. Would make you feel on shipboard, and hold on to a pillar of the pit to steady your feet withal." "He loved a mariner," said a voice. "The Englishman smells of salt water, say they in France. 'Tis better, so honest Will did say, than to smell of civet." "How goes the weather?" demanded the captain suddenly. "Snowing. Our little barque is but a drift." The sailor who had sought to learn the poet's name repeated his question, and while the information was being driven into his obtuse head by half a dozen of his mates in concert, the curtain dividing the cabin became suddenly agitated, a white hand fluttered for an instant, and a bright voice called: "Your food is ready, children." The sailors rose, laughing as heartily at the pleasantry as though they had not heard it before, and obeyed the summons gladly. To every man was set a great bowl of stew, and the fair cook, resting her hands upon her sides, watched them as they set to work. "You are idle," she declared. "I have but little meat left, and you, great children that you are, require so much feeding. In the morning I shall turn you out to hunt. The snow shall have stopped by then, and you may follow the deer by their fresh tracks." Madeleine nodded severely at the sailors as she thus made known to them her mind. The crew were still over supper, and Silas was telling one of his sea stories to ears which had already heard it a score of times, but listened patiently because it was the master speaking, when a deep sound broke among the hills and rolled onward through the snow, making the rough coast throb. The skipper's mouth was open to laugh at his own excellent wit, but that sound brought his lips together, as it caused all his listeners to start for the door. The same cry was upon every tongue, as their hands dragged away the sail which stretched across the entrance: "A gun!" They poured into the terrible whiteness, huddling as close as sheep. Nothing was visible, except the steady masses shed from the clouds like wool. Not a sound, nor any sign of life. They waited, straining their eyes out to sea, but the gun did not roar again.