Federigo had been his inseparable companion through all the vicissitudes
of his southern life; the secret of his faithful attachment, as Salvé
suspected, being that the latter had saved money, which he had turned
into gold pieces and kept in a belt round his waist. He had never, like
Federigo, sought occasions to squander his pay on land in gambling or in
other diversions. He hated women; and in the taverns which were
frequented by sailors he was looked upon as a dangerous customer, to
whom it was prudent to give as wide a berth as possible. Federigo, he
fancied, looked upon him as his reserve cash-box; and when on one
occasion, after they came into port, the Brazilian proposed that they
should desert and put their money into some mines that were very
favourably reported of just then, and share the profits, Salvé remarked
with perfect composure that he thought it highly probable that if they
started upon any expedition of the kind, his friend, if he got him alone
some fine night in a lonely place, would quietly stick his knife into
him and make off with the whole. He therefore declined the proposition,
but their relations nevertheless continued as friendly as before. Money
was the only power, Salvé reflected with bitterness, and this
satisfaction at least he could now enjoy in life.

It had become so obvious to him that Federigo's attachment was more to
his money than to himself, that he determined to get rid of his irksome
attentions. Accordingly, when they arrived at Nieuwediep, he made all
his arrangements for leaving the vessel, legally this time, without
saying a word to him of his intention; and Federigo only heard of it at
the last moment when he met him coming up with his hammock clothes. He
turned pale, and tears came into his eyes,--whether from a feeling of
injured friendship, or from disappointment, Salvé could not quite make
out. The expression of his face, with his restless small black eyes,