Burchester, he had borne the nickname of "the merry monarch." Certain
wild deeds in a youth that had not been beyond reproach had seemed to
warrant this, but of later years a friend had bestowed a more gracious
title upon him, and to all who could claim intimacy with him he had
become "Charles Rex." The name fitted him like a garment. A certain
arrogance, a certain royalty of bearing, both utterly unconscious and
wholly unfeigned, characterized him. Whatever he did, and his actions
were often far from praiseworthy, this careless distinction of mien
always marked him. He received an almost involuntary respect where he
went.

Captain Larpent who commanded his yacht _The Night Moth_--most morose and
unresponsive of men--paid him the homage of absolute acquiescence.
Whatever his private opinions might be, he never expressed them unless
invited to do so by his employer. He never criticized by word or look.
Saltash was wont to say that if he decided to turn pirate he believed
that Larpent would continue at his post without the smallest change of
front. To raise a protest of any sort would have been absolutely foreign
to his nature. He was made to go straight ahead, to do his duty without
question and with perfect self-reliance.

On the present occasion, having cruised from port to port in the
Mediterranean for nearly six weeks, it was certainly no ill news to him
to hear that Saltash had at last had enough. The weather was perfect, too
perfect for a man of his bull-dog instincts. He was thoroughly tired of
the endless spring sunshine and of the chattering, fashionable crowds
that Saltash was wont to assemble on the yacht. He was waiting with an
iron patience for the word that should send them forth over the great
Atlantic rollers, with the ocean spray bursting over their bows and the
sting of the ocean wind in their faces. That was the sort of life that