"'Yes, yes, yes,' the Northman assented, hurriedly--then added an
unexpected and dreamy-voiced 'Perhaps.'

"Was he pretending to be drunk, or only trying to appear sober? His
glance was straight, but it was somewhat glazed. His lips outlined
themselves firmly under his yellow moustache. But they twitched. Did
they twitch? And why was he drooping like this in his attitude?

"'There's no perhaps about it,' pronounced the commanding officer
sternly.

"The Northman had straightened himself. And unexpectedly he looked
stern, too.

"'No. But what about the tempters? Better kill that lot off. There's
about four, five, six million of them,' he said, grimly; but in a moment
changed into a whining key. 'But I had better hold my tongue. You have
some suspicions.'

"'No, I've no suspicions,' declared the commanding officer.

"He never faltered. At that moment he had the certitude. The air of the
chart-room was thick with guilt and falsehood braving the discovery,
defying simple right, common decency, all humanity of feeling, every
scruple of conduct.

"The Northman drew a long breath. 'Well, we know that you English are
gentlemen. But let us speak the truth. Why should we love you so very
much? You haven't done anything to be loved. We don't love the other