“Adieu, most exquisite and most wicked!” he said.  “I return—­no more!”

The cigarette fell from his lips into the dark water and there came a faint sound like the hiss of a serpent in the stillness.  He laughed as he heard it, and pursued his way aboard the yacht.

He found a young sailor, evidently posted to await his coming, snoring in a corner, and shook him awake.

The man blundered up with a confused apology, and Saltash laughed at him derisively.

“Wasting the magic hours in sleep, Parker?  Well, I suppose dreams are better than nothing.  Were they—­good dreams?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” said Parker, grinning foolishly.

Saltash clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.  “Well, I’m ready for the open sea now,” he said.  “We’ll leave our dreams behind.”

He was always on easy terms with his sailors who worshipped him to a man.

He whistled a careless air as he went below.  The magic of Valrosa had loosed its hold, and he was thinking of the wide ocean and buffeting waves that awaited him.  He turned on the lights of the saloon and stopped there for another cigarette and a drink, first walking to and fro, finally flinging himself on a crimson velvet settee and surrendering himself luxuriously to a repose for which he had not felt the need until that moment.

So lying, he heard the stir and tramp of feet above him, the voices of men, the lifting of the gangway; and presently the yacht began to throb as though suddenly endowed with life.  He felt the heave of the sea as she left her moorings, and the rush of water pouring past her keel as she drew away from the quay.

He stretched himself with lazy enjoyment.  It was good to come and go as he listed, good to have no ties to bind him.  He supposed he would always be a wanderer on the face of the earth, and after all wandering suited him best.  True, there were occasions on which the thought of home allured him.  The idea of marriage with some woman who loved him would spring like a beacon out of the night in moments of depression.  Other men found a permanent abiding-place and were content therewith; why not he?  But he only played with the notion.  It did not seriously attract him.  He was not a marrying man, and, as he had said to Larpent, the woman did not exist who could hold him.  The bare thought of Sheila Melrose sent a mocking smile to his lips.  Did she think—­did she really think—­that she possessed the necessary qualifications to capture a man of his experience?  He dismissed her with a snap of the fingers.  Sheila had practically everything in life to learn, and he did not propose to be her teacher.

His cigarette was finished and he got up.  The yacht was speeding like a winged thing on her way.  There was never any fuss of departure when Larpent was in command.  He stood for a few seconds in indecision, contemplating going up on to the bridge for a word with his captain and a glance round.  But some fantastic scruple deterred him.  He had made his farewell.  He did not wish to see Valrosa again.  He turned instead and went to his cabin.