When he had taken off the first raw edge, she spoke:
"Do you know, I don't think that black eye is exactly becoming to you."
Ellison made as if he would like to cover it up.
"Oh, you can't hide it now. I noticed it directly you showed yourself this morning. I wonder who gave it you? for of course you've been fighting. I don't like a quarrelsome man!"
"I'm sorry I should appear before you in such a bad light, for naturally I want to stand well with you."
"I understand. You mean about the billet. Well, will you tell me how you got it – the eye, I mean?"
"Willingly, if you think it will make my case any better."
"I'm not quite sure that it will, but you'd better go on."
She laid herself back in the great chair and folded her hands behind her head. Her face struck him in a new light. There was an expression on it he had not expected to find there; its presence harmonised with the pictures and the piano and made him pause before he spoke. In that moment he changed his mind and let the words he was about to speak die unuttered.
"The story is simple enough. I was drawn into a quarrel and obliged to fight a man. I broke his jaw, he gave me this and this."
He pointed first to his eye and then to his ear. She nodded her head and smiled.
"Do you know that you have come out of that test very well?"
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
"Well, then, let me tell you. I was trying you. I didn't really want to know how you got that bruise, because – well, because, you see, I knew beforehand. I've heard the whole story. You stood up for your deformed friend and thrashed the man who was coward enough to strike him. That is the correct version, I think, isn't it? Ah, I see it is. Well, Paddy the Lasher, the man you fought, is one of our hands. I had only just returned from making inquiries about him when you turned up this morning. I like your modesty, and if you'll let me, I think I'll shake hands with you on it!"
Without knowing exactly why he did it, Ellison rose and gravely shook hands with her. In these good clothes his old manner, in a measure, came back to him, and he felt able to do things with a grace that had long been foreign to his actions. He sat down again, drank off his beer, and turned once more to her.
"How can I thank you enough for your goodness to me? I have never enjoyed a meal so much in my life."
"I am glad of that. I think you look better than you did an hour ago. It must be awful to be so hungry."
"It is, and I am more than grateful to you for relieving it. I hope you will believe that."
"I think I do. And now about your friend. Don't you think you had better go and look after him? I have told the cook to send some food across to the hut. Will you see that he eats it?"
"Of course I will. I'll go at once."
He rose and went towards the door. She had risen too, and now stood with one hand upon the mantelpiece, the other toying with the keys hanging from her belt. The fresh breeze played through the palm fronds beyond the veranda, and whisked the dry sand on to the clean white boards. He wanted to set one matter right before he left.
"As I said just now, I'm afraid I don't appear to very great advantage in your eyes," he remarked.
"I'm not exactly sure that you do," she answered candidly. "But I'll see if I can't let by-gones be by-gones. Remember, however, if I do take you on you must both show me that my trust is not misplaced."
"For myself I will promise that."
"It may surprise you to hear that I am not so much afraid of your mate as of yourself. I have seen his face, and I think I like it."
"I'm certain you're right. I am a weak man; he is not. If either of us fails you, I don't think it will be Murkard."
"I like you better for sticking up for your friend."
"I am sorry for that, because you may think I do it for effect."
"I'll be better able to tell you about that later on. Now go."
He raised his hat and crossed from the veranda to the hut. Murkard was awake and was sitting up on the bed.
"Thank Heaven you've come back, old man. Where the deuce am I, and how did I get here? My memory's gone all to pieces, and, from the parched condition of my tongue, my interior must be following it. Have I been ill, or what?"
"You've been jolly near drowned, if that's any consolation to you. We were swimming the strait, don't you remember, when you suddenly collapsed. You gave me an awful fright."
"Then you saved my life?"
"I suppose folk would call it by that name."
"All right. That's another nick in the score. I'm obliged to you. You have a big reckoning against me for benefits conferred. Be sure, however, I'll not forget it if ever the opportunity occurs. And now what does this pile of goodly raiment mean? By Jove! methinks I smell food, and it makes me ravenous."
The door opened and Rhotoma Jimmy appeared with a tray.
"Young missis send this longa you."
"All right, old man, put it down over there. I believe I'm famished enough to eat both the victuals and the tray."
"Go ahead, and while you're eating I'll talk. In the first place, your scheme has succeeded admirably. I have spoken to the girl, interested her in us, and I think she'll take us on."
"Good! You're a diplomatist after my own heart."
"But, old man, there must be no hanky-panky over this. If we get the billets we must play fair by her – we must justify her confidence."
"As bad as all that, and in this short time, eh? Well, I suppose it's all right. Yes, we'll play fair."
"Don't run away with any nonsense of that sort. The girl is a decent little thing, but nothing more. She has been very good to us, and I'd rather clear out at once than let any harm come to her from either of us – do you understand?"
"Perfectly." He finished his meal in silence, and then threw himself down upon the bed. "Now let me get to sleep again. I'm utterly played out. Drunk last night and nearly drowned to-day is a pretty fair record, in all conscience."
Ellison left the hut, and that he might not meet his benefactress again so soon, went for a stroll along the beach. The tide was out and the sand was firm walking. He had his own thoughts for company, and they were in the main pleasant ones. He had landed on his feet once more, just when he deemed he had reached the end of his tether. Whatever else it might be, this would probably be his last bid for respectability; it behooved him, therefore, to make the most of it. He seated himself on a rock just above high-water mark and proceeded to think it out.
Murkard slept for another hour, and then set to work to dress himself. Like Ellison, he found the change of raiment very acceptable. When he was ready he looked at himself in the glass with a new interest, which passed off his face in a sneer as his eyes fell upon the reflection of his ungainly, inartistic back.
"Certainly there's devilish little to recommend me in that," he said meditatively. "And yet there was a time when my society was sought
