which holds out that deep sensation to those who embrace it. It is
difficult to define, I admit."

"I should call it the peace of the sea," said Mr. Charles Powell in an
earnest tone but looking at us as though he expected to be met by a laugh
of derision and were half prepared to salve his reputation for common
sense by joining in it. But neither of us laughed at Mr. Charles Powell
in whose start in life we had been called to take a part. He was lucky
in his audience.

"A very good name," said Marlow looking at him approvingly. "A sailor
finds a deep feeling of security in the exercise of his calling. The
exacting life of the sea has this advantage over the life of the earth
that its claims are simple and cannot be evaded."

"Gospel truth," assented Mr. Powell. "No! they cannot be evaded."

That an excellent understanding should have established itself between my
old friend and our new acquaintance was remarkable enough. For they were
exactly dissimilar--one individuality projecting itself in length and the
other in breadth, which is already a sufficient ground for irreconcilable
difference. Marlow who was lanky, loose, quietly composed in varied
shades of brown robbed of every vestige of gloss, had a narrow, veiled
glance, the neutral bearing and the secret irritability which go together
with a predisposition to congestion of the liver. The other, compact,
broad and sturdy of limb, seemed extremely full of sound organs
functioning vigorously all the time in order to keep up the brilliance of
his colouring, the light curl of his coal-black hair and the lustre of
his eyes, which asserted themselves roundly in an open, manly face.
Between two such organisms one would not have expected to find the