before into Delli and the Portuguese authorities, on some pretence
of irregularity in his papers, had inflicted a fine upon him and had
arrested his brig.

Morrison never had any spare cash in hand. With his system of trading
it would have been strange if he had; and all these debts entered in
the pocketbook weren't good enough to raise a millrei on--let alone a
shilling. The Portuguese officials begged him not to distress himself.
They gave him a week's grace, and then proposed to sell the brig at
auction. This meant ruin for Morrison; and when Heyst hailed him across
the street in his usual courtly tone, the week was nearly out.

Heyst crossed over, and said with a slight bow, and in the manner of a
prince addressing another prince on a private occasion:

"What an unexpected pleasure. Would you have any objection to drink
something with me in that infamous wine-shop over there? The sun is
really too strong to talk in the street."

The haggard Morrison followed obediently into a sombre, cool hovel which
he would have distained to enter at any other time. He was distracted.
He did not know what he was doing. You could have led him over the edge
of a precipice just as easily as into that wine-shop. He sat down like
an automaton. He was speechless, but he saw a glass full of rough red
wine before him, and emptied it. Heyst meantime, politely watchful, had
taken a seat opposite.

"You are in for a bout of fever, I fear," he said sympathetically.

Poor Morrison's tongue was loosened at that.