In this connection I thought of Belle
Treherne, and of how I should appear in her eyes if that little scene
with Mrs. Falchion, now always staring me in the face, were rehearsed
before her. I came quickly to my feet, with a half-imprecation at myself;
and a verse of a crude sea-song was in my ears:
"You can batten down cargo, live and dead,
But you can't put memory out of sight;
You can paint the full sails overhead,
But you can't make a black deed white. . . ."
Angry, I said to myself: "It wasn't a black deed; it was foolish, it was
infatuation, it was not right, but it is common to shipboard; and I lost
my head, that was all."
Some time later I was still at work in the dispensary, when I heard Mr.
Treherne's voice calling to me from outside. I drew back the curtain. He
was leaning on his daughter's arm, while in one hand he carried a stick.
"Ah, Doctor, Doctor," cried he, "my old enemy, sciatica, has me in its
grip, and why, in this warm climate, I can't understand. I'm afraid I
shall have to heave-to, like the 'Fulvia', and lay up for repairs. And,
by the way, I'm glad we are on our course again.
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