"I dare say nothing's purely good or purely evil. What's good in the dunghill feeds them, the rest is a stink." "Damn the thing, blind and stubborn as you are, I like you, Ben Cory.... Do you play chess?" "A little." "I found a set of men in the cabin. We must play now and then." "If you like...." "Nothing left then, Beneen, of the friendship I hoped there was between thee and me?" "I don't know how to answer that. I don't see how there can be friendship if one man enslaves another, if one man does what another must hate and reject." "You're very bitter, boy." "I don't possess my own life, if it can be destroyed at your whim, a lift of your finger. I think his life is all any man owns. I think that's cause for bitterness, Shawn. I refused as soon as I understood, the first day. There've been three nights when you could have stood in to shore and let me swim for it." Shawn laughed a little, silently. "I know--you couldn't have me spreading word of you. And it's true, I would have done so at once." Shawn said slowly: "I could not destroy your life, I think. I spoke as if I might, only in hope of persuading you, opening your eyes. I keep you with me for the same reason, now that's no lie. The friendship abides in me, though you've turned against me. And now you have my word on this: when I have won my little fleet, and my men, and am ready for the regions where none will follow me, I will be finding some means to set you free, and you still unwilling to go with me. I'll put you aboard some other ship, or leave you in a foreign port if I can. You have my word on it--yet I think you may go with me. And for the present I do be asking nothing of you but a seaman's labor, no violence. No violence, Beneen." Ben knew somehow that, even in that moment, when brown stains were still visible on the deck in spite of all the scrubbing and washing down, Shawn's sorrow at Ben's rejection of him was quite real, quite honest and deep, and so was his belief that Ben's mind would change and that he himself could change it. A most divided man, who could condemn war and practice it. One could picture him sheltering a fallen nestling in his hand, while his heel pressed on the bloody corpse of one of his own breed. But Ben was forced to understand after a while that such insane division is not, by most men, called insanity. They call it necessity. For a year now, Shawn had kept his word. No violence was required of Ben. When action approached, as it did hardly more than a dozen times in the whole year, Ben was tied, not cruelly, down in the forecastle, and saw only the aftermath. It seemed to Ben now as he watched the tropic glory of the May moon--this fading slowly, for morning was not far away--that it was true enough, as was said in the Book of Proverbs: _For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he_--and maybe, Ben speculated, any madman is merely one who believes a thing which the one who names him mad is forced to call a lie.