This conversation surprised Staines not a little.  However, he said, with great warmth, it was false.  His wife had danced and flirted with some young gentleman at one time, when there was a brief misunderstanding between him and her, but sweetheart she had never had, except him.  He courted her fresh from school.  “Now, my good soul,” said he, “make your mind easy; the ship is a good one, and well handled, and in no danger whatever, and my wife is in no danger from your husband.  Since you and your brother tell me that he is a villain, I am bound to believe you.  But my wife is an angel.  In our miserable hour of parting, she vowed not to marry again, should I be taken from her.  Marry again! what am I talking of?  Why, if he visits her at all, it will be to let her know I am alive, and give her my letter.  Do you mean to tell me she will listen to vows of love from him, when her whole heart is in rapture for me?  Such nonsense!”

This burst of his did not affront her, and did not comfort her.

At last the wind abated; and after a wearisome calm, a light breeze came, and the schooner crept homeward.

Phoebe restrained herself for several days; but at last she came back to the subject; this time it was in an apologetic tone at starting.  “I know you think me a foolish woman,” she said; “but my poor Reginald could never resist a pretty face; and she is so lovely; and you should have seen how he turned when she came in to my place.  Oh, sir, there has been more between them than you know of; and when I think that he will have been in England so many months before we get there, oh, doctor, sometimes I feel as I should go mad; my head it is like a furnace, and see, my brow is all wrinkled again.”

Then Staines tried to comfort her; assured her she was tormenting herself idly; her husband would perhaps have spent some of the diamond money on his amusement; but what if he had? he should deduct it out of the big diamond, which was also their joint property, and the loss would hardly be felt.  “As to my wife, madam, I have but one anxiety; lest he should go blurting it out that I am alive, and almost kill her with joy.”

“He will not do that, sir.  He is no fool.”

“I am glad of it; for there is nothing else to fear.”

“Man, I tell you there is everything to fear.  You don’t know him as I do; nor his power over women.”

“Mrs. Falcon, are you bent on affronting me?”

“No, sir; Heaven forbid!”

“Then please to close this subject forever.  In three weeks we shall be in England.”

“Ay; but he has been there six months.”

He bowed stiffly to her, went to his cabin, and avoided the poor foolish woman as much as he could without seeming too unkind.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Mrs. Staines made one or two movements—­to stop Lord Tadcaster—­with her hand, that expressive feature with which, at such times, a sensitive woman can do all but speak.