tomb; but he had no thought of complaints. A new country and a new life
lay before him; he cared little for the troubles and privations by the
way. To-night his mind was given over to reflections arising out of the
incidents of the last few hours. They were not pleasant reflections. The
adventure loomed like a misfortune. He hated the idea of the notoriety it
would bring him; and, picturing himself the object of the sentimental
admiration of a score of simpering busybodies of both sexes, fumed
fiercely, and framed biting invectives. A voice close to his ear startled
him. Turning sharply, he saw the head of Phil Ryan on a level with his
own. Phil was standing on the lowermost bunk, offering the first tribute,
a pint pannikin of steaming hot grog.

''Tis the thing the docthor orthered,' said Ryan, with timorous humour,
fearing an ungenerous response.

It was Jim's first impulse to refuse the offer with out compliments, but
at that moment the greasy ship's lantern swinging above them on a rope's
end illumined the Irishman's face, and Done saw his mark upon it--a long
purple wheal under the left eye, a week old yesterday, but still
conspicuous. For a reason he could not have explained even to himself,
that changed the young man's mind. He drank the liquor, and returned the
pannikin with a 'Thank you!' not over-cordial.

'Yer a proper man, Done,' said Ryan, 'an' I'm proud I fought wid ye, an'
mighty glad ye bate me. Good-night!'

'Good-night,' answered Done coldly. He had been too long at variance with
men to take kindly to popularity now.

II