“Ah, poor old Zebedee!” sighed Triggs:  “’tis all dickey with he.  The day I started I see Sammy Tucker to Fowey, and he was tellin’ that th’ ole chap was gone reg’lar tottlin’-like, and can’t tell thickee fra that; and as for Joan Hocken, he says you wouldn’t knaw her for the same.  And they’s tooked poor foolish Jonathan, as is more mazed than iver, to live with ’em; and Mrs. Tucker, as used to haggle with everybody so, tends on ‘em all hand and foot, and her’s given up praichin’ ’bout religion and that, and ’s turned quite neighborly, and, so long as her can save her daughter, thinks nothin’s too hot nor too heavy.”

“Dear Joan!” sighed Eve:  “she’s started by the coach on her way up here now.”

“Whether she hath or no!” exclaimed Triggs in surprise.  “Then take my word they’s heerd that Jerrem’s to be hanged, and Joan’s comin’ up to be all ready to hand for ’t.”

“No, not that,” groaned Eve, for at the mere mention of the word the vague dread seemed to shape itself into a certainty.  “Oh, Captain Triggs, don’t say that if Adam gets off you don’t think Jerrem’s life will be spared.”

“Wa-al, my poor maid, us must hope so,” said the compassionate captain; “but ‘tis the warst o’ they doin’s that sooner or later th’ endin, of ’em must come.  ’Twould never do to let ’em prosper allays,” he added with impressive certainty, “or where ‘ud be the use o’ parsons praichin’ up ’bout heaven and hell?  Why, now, us likes good liquor cheap to Fowey; and wance ’pon a time us had it too, but that ha’n’t bin for twenty year.  Our day’s gone by, and so ‘ull theirs be now; and th’ excise ’ull come, and revenoos ’ull settle down, and folks be foaced to take to lousterin’ for the bit o’ bread they ates, and live quiet and paceable, as good neighbors should.  So try and take heart; and if so be that Adam can give they Bailey chaps the go-by, tell un to come ’longs here, and us ‘ull be odds with any o’ they that happens to be follerin’ to his heels.”

Charmed with this friendly promise, Eve said “Good-bye,” leaving the captain puzzled with speculations on women and the many curious contradictions which seem to influence their actions; while, the hour being now too late to return to the prison, she took her way to her own room, thinking it best to begin the preparations which in case of Adam’s escape and any sudden departure it would be necessary to have completed.

Perhaps it was her interview with Captain Triggs, the sight of the wharf and the ships, which took her thoughts back and made them bridge the gulf which divided her past life from her present self.  Could the girl she saw in that shadowy past—­headstrong, confident, impatient of suffering and unsympathetic with sorrow—­be this same Eve who walked along with all hope and thought of self merged in another’s happiness and welfare?  Where was the vanity, where were the tricks and coquetries, passports to that ideal existence after which in the old days she had so thirsted?  Trampled out of sight and choked beneath the fair blossoms of a higher life, which, as in many a human nature, had needed sorrow, humiliation and a great watering of tears before there could spring forth the flowers for a fruit which should one day ripen into great perfection.