death?"

"From the code," I said, in half soliloquy.

"From the what?"

"Oh, never mind, Hungerford. I suppose he is shadowing--Mrs. Falchion?"

He eyed me closely.

"I mean the woman that chucked his name; that turned her back on him when
he was in trouble; that hopes he is dead, if she doesn't believe that he
is actually; that would, no doubt, treat him as a burglar if he went to
her, got down on his knees, and said: 'Mercy, my girl, I've come back to
you a penitent prodigal. Henceforth I shall be as straight as the sun,
so help me Heaven and your love and forgiveness!'"

Hungerford paused, as if expecting me to reply; but, leaning forward on
my knees and smoking hard, I remained silent. This seemed to anger him,
for he said a little roughly: "Why doesn't he come out and give you
blazes on the promenade deck, and corner her down with a mighty cheek,
and levy on her for a thousand pounds? Both you and she would think more
of him. Women don't dislike being bullied, if it is done in the right
way--haven't I seen it the world over, from lubra to dowager? I tell
you, man--sinning or not--was meant to be woman's master and lover, and
just as much one as the other."

At this point Hungerford's manner underwent a slight change, and he
continued: "Marmion, I wouldn't have come near you, only I noticed you
have altered your course, and are likely to go on a fresh tack. It isn't