pipes in their mouths, and all in the wildest state of enjoyment,
dripping with perspiration and dancing indefatigably. There were French
and Swedish sailors in their red woollen shirts, Norwegians and Danes in
blue, with white canvas trousers, Yankees and English all in blue; and
as they swung the gracefully dressed Dutch girls with their small white
caps and little capes, and petticoats fastened up to do justice to the
neat shoes and white stockings below, vying with each other who should
dance the best and longest, the foundation of many a friendship or
enmity was laid, to be prosecuted later on in the evening over a bottle
of brandy or in a stand-up fight.

Salvé and Federigo were sitting over their gin in a side-room which
opened into the dancing-room, and was filled with men talking and
drinking, or with couples who came in to rest for a moment. Neither took
part in the dancing. Salvé was gloomy and out of tune for pleasure,
although, for Federigo's sake, he made his humour as little apparent as
possible. Federigo looked very disconsolate, and during the early part
of the evening sat and sipped his glass abstractedly. But as the time
wore on he kept filling Salvé's glass unconsciously as it were, and
getting apparently more and more drunk himself, until he several times
spilt the contents of his own glass on the floor. He became very
talkative, recalling incident after incident of their life together. "I
shall never forget you," he cried, with open-hearted impulsiveness,
"never!" And as he repeated the word, there was a gleam of suppressed
feeling of some kind or other in his eye.

Salvé's attention was preoccupied at the moment. He had heard two voices
speaking Norwegian by the window at his back, and it made his heart
knock against his ribs--it was so long since he had heard his
mother-tongue. They were two men belonging to timber ships, and one of