“Fact,” replied the other.  “Here’s your ring back.  I wouldn’t let her wear it any longer.”

“However did you do it?” inquired Evans, taking the ring in a dazed fashion.

“Oh, easy as possible,” said the mate.  “She liked me best, that’s all.”

“But what did you say to her?” persisted Evans.

The other reflected.

“I can’t call to mind exactly,” he said at length.  “But, you may rely upon it, I said everything I could against you.  But she never did care much for you.  She told me so herself.”

“I wish you joy of your bargain,” said Evans solemnly, after a long pause.

“What do you mean?” demanded the mate sharply.

“A girl like that,” said the skipper, with a lump in his throat, “who can carry on with two men at once ain’t worth having.  She’s not my money, that’s all.”

The mate looked at him in honest bewilderment.

“Mark my words,” continued the skipper loftily, “you’ll live to regret it.  A girl like that’s got no ballast.  She’ll always be running after fresh neckties.”

“You put it down to the necktie, do you?” sneered the mate wrathfully.

“That and the clothes, cert’nly,” replied the skipper.

“Well, you’re wrong,” said the mate.  “A lot you know about girls.  It wasn’t your old clothes, and it wasn’t all your bad behaviour to her since she’s been aboard.  You may as well know first as last.  She wouldn’t have nothing to do with me at first, so I told her all about Mary Jones.”

“You told her that?” cried the skipper fiercely.

“I did,” replied the other.  “She was pretty wild at first; but then the comic side of it struck her—­you wearing them old clothes, and going about as you did.  She used to watch you until she couldn’t stand it any longer, and then go down in the cabin and laugh.  Wonderful spirits that girl’s got.  Hush!  Here she is!”

As he spoke the girl came on deck, and, seeing the two men talking together, remained at a short distance from them.

“It’s all right, Jane,” said the mate; “I’ve told him.”

“Oh!” said Miss Cooper, with a little gasp.

“I can’t bear deceit,” said the mate; “and now it’s off his mind, he’s so happy he can’t bear himself.”

The latter part of this assertion seemed to be more warranted by facts than the former, but Evans made a choking noise, which he intended as a sign of unbearable joy, and, relinquishing the wheel to the mate, walked forward.  The clear sky was thick with stars, and a mind at ease might have found enjoyment in the quiet beauty of the night, but the skipper was too interested in the behaviour of the young couple at the wheel to give it a thought.  Immersed in each other, they forgot him entirely, and exchanged little playful slaps and pushes, which incensed him beyond description.  Several times he was on the point of exercising his position as commander and ordering the mate below, but in the circumstances interference was impossible, and, with a low-voiced good-night, he went below.  Here his gaze fell on William Henry, who was slumbering peacefully, and, with a hazy idea of the eternal fitness of things, he raised the youth in his arms, and, despite his sleepy protests, deposited him in the mate’s bunk.  Then, with head and heart both aching, he retired for the night.