blindness of his frenzy, had he seen when she had gone nor whither she
went. As for Sir John Malyoe, he stood in the light of a lantern, his
face gone as white as ashes, and I do believe if a look could kill, the
dreadful malevolent stare he fixed upon Barnaby True would have slain
him where he stood.

After Captain Manly had so shaken some wits into poor Barnaby he,
unhappy wretch, went to his cabin, as he was bidden to do, and there,
shutting the door upon himself, and flinging himself down, all dressed
as he was, upon his berth, yielded himself over to the profoundest
passion of humiliation and despair.

There he lay for I know not how long, staring into the darkness, until
by and by, in spite of his suffering and his despair, he dozed off into
a loose sleep, that was more like waking than sleep, being possessed
continually by the most vivid and distasteful dreams, from which he
would awaken only to doze off and to dream again.

It was from the midst of one of these extravagant dreams that he was
suddenly aroused by the noise of a pistol shot, and then the noise of
another and another, and then a great bump and a grinding jar, and then
the sound of many footsteps running across the deck and down into the
great cabin. Then came a tremendous uproar of voices in the great cabin,
the struggling as of men's bodies being tossed about, striking violently
against the partitions and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a
screaming of women's voices, and one voice, and that Sir John Malyoe's,
crying out as in the greatest extremity: "You villains! You damned
villains!" and with the sudden detonation of a pistol fired into the
close space of the great cabin.