become of me. Suppose I'm the Devil; suppose I'm your twin soul, and in
exchange for my life have given you the half of manhood that you lacked
and I possessed; suppose I'm just a deserter from his Majesty's fleet, a
poor devil of a marine, with gifts above his station, who ran away and
took to privateering, and was wrecked at your doors. Suppose that I am
really Zebedee Minards; or suppose that I heard your name spoken in
Sheba kitchen, and took a fancy to wear it myself. Suppose that I shall
vanish to-day in a smell of brimstone; or that I shall leave in irons in
the hold of the frigate now in Troy harbour. What's her name?"

He was dressed by this time in Zeb's old clothes.

"The _Recruit_."

"Whither bound?"

"Back to Plymouth to-night, an' then to the West Indies wi' a convoy."

"Hurry, then; don't fumble, or Ruby'll be tired of waiting. You'll find
a pencil and scrap of paper in my breast pocket. Hand them over."

Zeb did so, and the stranger, seating himself again on the slope, tore
the paper in half, and began to scribble a few lines on each piece.
By the time he had finished and folded them up, Zeb stood before him
dressed in the plum-coloured suit.

"Ay," said the stranger, looking him up and down, and sucking the pencil
contemplatively; "she'll marry you out of hand."

"I doubt it."