On his arrival he found that a messenger had come on board during his absence, with the letters of thanks from the king’s loving cousins, and with directions that he should return with them forthwith.  This suited the views of Vanslyperken; he wrote a long letter to the widow, in which he expressed his willingness to sacrifice everything for her—­not only to hang his dog, but to hang himself if she wished it—­lamented his immediate orders for sailing, and hinted that, on his return, he ought to find her more favourable.  The widow read the letter, and tossed it into the grate with a Pish!  “I was not born yesterday, as the saying is,” cried the widow Vandersloosh.

Chapter XIII

In which the ship’s company join in a chorus, and the corporal goes on a cruise.

Mr Vanslyperken is in his cabin, with Snarleyyow at his side, sitting upon his haunches, and looking in his master’s face, which wears an air of anxiety and discomfiture; the fact is, that Mr Vanslyperken is anything but content; he is angry with the widow, with the ship’s company, with the dog, and with himself; but his anger towards the dog is softened, for he feels that, if anything in this world loves him, it is the dog—­not that his affection is great, but as much as the dog’s nature will permit; and, at all events, if the animal’s attachment to him is not very strong, still he is certain that Snarleyyow hates everybody else.  It is astonishing how powerful is the feeling that is derived from habit and association.  Now that the life of his cur was demanded by one, and, as he was aware, was sought for by many, Vanslyperken put a value upon him that was extraordinary.  Snarleyyow had become a precious jewel in the eyes of his master, and what he suffered in anxiety and disappointment from the perverse disposition of the animal, only endeared him the more.  “Yes, my poor dog,” apostrophised the lieutenant, “they would seek your life—­nay, that hard-hearted woman demands that you should be laid—­dead at her porch.  All conspire against you, but be not afraid, my dog, your master will protect you against all.”

Vanslyperken patted the animal on the head, which was not a little swelled from the blows received from the broom of Babette, and Snarleyyow rubbed his nose against his master’s trousers, and then raised himself up, by putting his paw upon his master’s knee.  This brought the dog’s head more to the light, and Vanslyperken observed that one eye was swelled and closed.  He examined it, and, to his horror, found that it had been beaten out by the broom of Babette.  There was no doubt of it, and Mr Vanslyperken’s choler was extreme.  “Now, may all the curses of ophthalmia seize the fagot,” cried the lieutenant; “I wish I had her here.  My poor, poor dog!” and Vanslyperken kissed the os frontis of the cur, and what perhaps had never occurred since childhood, and what nothing else could have brought about, Mr Vanslyperken wept—­actually wept over an animal, which was not, from any qualification he possessed, worth the charges of the cord which would have hanged him.  Surely the affections have sometimes a bent towards insanity.