about twenty-two, beardless and boyish, but the firm, straight mouth,
with its compressed, slightly protuberant lips, and the thick line of
dark brows, throwing the eyes into shadows, imparted an appearance of
sullen reserve that belonged to an older face. His scrutiny condemned men
and repelled them. His figure, about three inches above middle height,
was that of a labourer whose strength was diffused through the limbs by
swift and subtle exercise. There was nothing rugged in his powerful
outline, and every attitude had an architectural suggestion of strength.

Captain Evan peered at the youth closely, and not without a hint of
suspicion. 'Your name's Done, isn't it?' he said.

The Hermit nodded shortly.

'How did all this happen, my man?'

'I was leaning on the gunnel by the main-chains when I heard a cry and a
splash, and saw the girl's body past. I dropped in after her.'

'You saved her life, then?'

'I helped her to keep afloat till the boat reached us.'

'Good boy!' Captain Evan put out his hand as if with the intention of
giving Done an approving pat on the shoulder, but the young man turned
away abruptly, thrusting himself through the men, who had clustered
around him muttering diffident compliments, and endeavouring to shake him
by the hand.

'Blast it all, don't maul a man about!' said the hero sulkily, and the