“But I dare not stay ashore all night alone,” Maud was saying when I came back to myself. “It would be so much nicer if he would be friendly with us and help us. We could all live comfortably aboard.” “We will,” I asserted, still savagely, for the destruction of my beloved shears had hit me hard. “That is, you and I will live aboard, friendly or not with Wolf Larsen.” “It’s childish,” I laughed later, “for him to do such things, and for me to grow angry over them, for that matter.” But my heart smote me when we climbed aboard and looked at the havoc he had done. The shears were gone altogether. The guys had been slashed right and left. The throat-halyards which I had rigged were cut across through every part. And he knew I could not splice. A thought struck me. I ran to the windlass. It would not work. He had broken it. We looked at each other in consternation. Then I ran to the side. The masts, booms, and gaffs I had cleared were gone. He had found the lines which held them, and cast them adrift. Tears were in Maud’s eyes, and I do believe they were for me. I could have wept myself. Where now was our project of remasting the _Ghost_? He had done his work well. I sat down on the hatch-combing and rested my chin on my hands in black despair. “He deserves to die,” I cried out; “and God forgive me, I am not man enough to be his executioner.” But Maud was by my side, passing her hand soothingly through my hair as though I were a child, and saying, “There, there; it will all come right. We are in the right, and it must come right.” I remembered Michelet and leaned my head against her; and truly I became strong again. The blessed woman was an unfailing fount of power to me. What did it matter? Only a set-back, a delay. The tide could not have carried the masts far to seaward, and there had been no wind. It meant merely more work to find them and tow them back. And besides, it was a lesson. I knew what to expect. He might have waited and destroyed our work more effectually when we had more accomplished. “Here he comes now,” she whispered. I glanced up. He was strolling leisurely along the poop on the port side. “Take no notice of him,” I whispered. “He’s coming to see how we take it. Don’t let him know that we know. We can deny him that satisfaction. Take off your shoes—that’s right—and carry them in your hand.” And then we played hide-and-seek with the blind man. As he came up the port side we slipped past on the starboard; and from the poop we watched him turn and start aft on our track. He must have known, somehow, that we were on board, for he said “Good-morning” very confidently, and waited for the greeting to be returned. Then he strolled aft, and we slipped forward. “Oh, I know you’re aboard,” he called out, and I could see him listen intently after he had spoken.