Standing thus, looking out along the pathway of the Francis Cadman, Done had reviewed his life almost daily, sometimes broadly and briefly, as given here—­sometimes going into excruciating details of suffering, shame, terror, and hate; but his eyes were always turned forward.

Done meditated uninterruptedly for nearly an hour.  Gradually the conversation of the group behind him had drifted from his business and the affair of the previous night to the great absorbing topic of the past four months—­Australia, the land of mad dreams, where the hills were powdered with precious ‘dust,’ and the rivers purled over nuggets of pure gold.

A hand fell upon the young man’s shoulder; he turned sharply, angrily, and beheld the bland face and trim figure of Captain Evan.  With the Captain was a handsome lady in black, who had already created in Jim’s mind a confused impression of massed raven hair and big, innocent dark eyes that had a trick of floating up from under heavy lids and thick, long lashes to their greatest magnitude, and then disappearing again like revolving lights.

‘All right after your plunge, my lad?’ inquired the Captain heartily.

Done gave the expected reply, conscious of the eyes signalling appreciation, and there was a pause.

‘You do not inquire after the young lady, Done!’

‘I’ve heard the men speaking of her, Captain.  I understand she’ pretty well?’

‘Still, a little gentlemanly attention, you know.  She is most grateful.’

Done stiffened a trifle, and the line of brows asserted itself.

‘I don’t ape gentility,’ he said quietly.  ’I’m glad the young lady’s well again, but genteel formal ain’t much in my line, I think.’

‘Hem!’ The Captain’s eyes narrowed, his air of patronage lifted.  He was as gentlemanly an old sea-dog as ever bully-damned a ship from the gates of hell on a blind night, and was proud of his first-cabin accomplishments.  ‘This lady is Mrs. Donald Macdougal,’ he said.  ’Miss Lucy Woodrow is Mrs. Macdougal’s companion.’

Jim gathered his soft cap in a handful and bowed moderately; but the lady held out dainty gloved fingers, and flashed her bright eyes upon him.

‘We all think you quite a hero, Mr. Done,’ she lisped—­’ quite!’

‘Fact is,’ said the Captain, ’the ladies and gentle men greatly admire your noble conduct.’

‘Most noble and brave,’ added Mrs. Macdougal softly.

The young man had a presentiment of mischief, and fortified himself.

‘And,’ the Captain continued, ’they have held a little meeting to consider the idea of—­ah, expressing their appreciation in a—­er——­hem!—­an adequate and proper manner.’

The Captain was quoting the chief orator—­himself.  He paused with an expectant air, but Done was apparently quite impassive; evidently the fact that the ladies and gentlemen of the first class wished to put on record their very proper respect for British pluck and the positive virtues by giving the hero of the moment an inscribed watch or a gold locket did not appeal to this young man.