What would become of them? he often asked when some word of Joan’s revealed the altered aspect of their affairs; and then, overcome by the helplessness of their forlorn condition, he would entreat Reuben to stand by them—­not to forget Joan, not to forsake her.  And Reuben, strangely moved by sight of this poor giddy nature’s overwrought emotion, would try to calm him with the ready assurance that while he lived Joan should never want a friend, and, touched by his words, the two would clasp his hands together, telling each other of all the kindness he had showed them, praying God would pay him back in blessings for his goodness.  Nor were theirs the only lips which spoke of gratitude to Reuben May:  his name had now become familiar to many who through his means were kept from being ignorant of the sad fate which awaited their boon companion, their prime favorite, the once madcap, rollicking Jerrem—­the last one, as Joan often told Reuben, whom any in Polperro would have fixed on for evil to pursue or misfortune to overtake, and about whom all declared there must have been “a hitch in the block somewheres, as Fate never intended that ill-luck should pitch upon Jerrem.”  The repetition of their astonishment, their indignation and their sympathy afforded the poor fellow the most visible satisfaction, harassed as he was becoming by one dread which entirely swallowed up the thought and fear of death.  This ghastly terror was the then usual consignment of a body after death to the surgeons for dissection; and the uncontrollable trepidation which would take possession of him each time this hideous recollection forced itself upon him, although unaccountable to Reuben, was most painful for him to witness.  What difference could it make what became of one’s body after death?  Reuben would ask himself, puzzled to fathom that wonderful tenderness which some natures feel for the flesh which embodies their attractions.  But Jerrem had felt a passing love for his own dear body:  vanity of it had been his ruling passion, its comeliness his great glory—­so much so that even now a positive satisfaction would have been his could he have pictured himself outstretched and lifeless, with lookers-on moved to compassion by the dead grace of his winsome face and slender limbs.  Joan, too, was caught by the same infection.  Not to lie whole and decent in one’s coffin!  Oh, it was an indignity too terrible for contemplation; and every time they were away from Jerrem she would beset Reuben with entreaties and questions as to what could be done to avoid the catastrophe.

The one plan he knew of had been tried—­and tried, too, with repeated success—­and this was the engaging of a superior force to wrest the body from the surgeon’s crew, a set of sturdy miscreants with whom to do battle a considerable mob was needed; but, with money grown very scarce and time so short, the thing could not be managed, and Reuben tried to tell Joan of its impossibility while they two were walking to a place in which it had been agreed they should find some one with a message from Eve, who, together with Adam, was in hiding on board the vessel Captain Triggs had spoken of.  But instead of the messenger Eve herself arrived, having ventured this much with the hope of hearing something that would lessen Adam’s despair and grief at learning the fate of Jerrem.