Lieutenant Cary repeated the question, but received no answer; and, supposing that Lord Robert was troubled with one of his occasional fits of patrician haughtiness, and being to the full as high-spirited as himself, left him to his contemplations. These were of no pleasant nature; for though emaciated, ragged, and dirty, and in many respects different from the handsome youth he had lately seen, the young sailor (who by this time stood on the deck of the Diomede) was Philip Harley! He now felt that his dislike and abhorrence had arisen to a more intolerable degree than ever; he fretted at the perverse accident that had thrown this hated object in his way, and actually proceeded some paces to request his uncle to remove Philip Harley from the ship; but then he recollected that he should most likely be forced to enter into particulars that he detested to recall, besides giving his enemy reason to suppose that the presence or absence of so abject a creature could be of the least consequence to him. "No," said he to himself, "let him remain; he will, in the discipline of a man-of-war, be cured perhaps of his audacity, and learn submission to proper authority." This was the result of Lord Robert's debate with himself. At first, he had been a little touched by Philip's pale and altered countenance; but, on a second glance, he found his enemy had recognised him, and returned his glance with a look so full of reproach and contempt, that Lord Robert vowed within himself that his haughty spirit should be broken. Alas, for Philip! he needed no worse enemy than himself. Instead of a manly resignation to what he knew was unavoidable, and a determination to perform his duties so well as to gain respect from the crew--instead of pursuing this course, which would have partly defeated the hatred of his enemy,--he continued so sullen and contrary, that no means, whether good or bad, could bring him out of his fits of obstinacy. There needed no interference of Lord Robert's to bring on him the most severe and cruel punishments. But no bodily pain could subdue Philip; disgrace and suffering only rendered him furious and desperate; and he was considered mutinous and ungovernable to such a degree, that he passed the first three months of a seafaring life in a succession of confinement and punishment.