The Gentleman A Romance of the Sea by Ollivant, Alfred, 1874-1927

The shrill voice ceased. There was silence in the cabin.

"That's the story, Mr. Dark. And I may say I don't believe _one_ word of it."

"Thank you, my lord," came the other's voice, deep and rumbling.

"And if you'll give me your word that it's all moonshine," continued Nelson, "why, I'll ask you to shake my hand and forgive me. And that's an end of the dirtiest bit of business I ever had to handle."

The other's voice stuck in his throat. Out it came at last like muffled drums.

"My lord, you're a gentleman."

Nelson came to him with outstretched hand and a wonderful smile.

"Forgive me," he said.

The darkness drifted from the saint's face, leaving behind it evening calm, the stars beginning to shine.

Folding his arms, he bowed deliberately.

Nelson's hand dropped. He stopped short, and his smile died. In a flash the man of action, brisk and curt, had taken the place of the comrade chivalrously admitting a mistake.

"Then I must trouble you to fetch the key of the powder-magazine, and to follow me." He clapped on his cocked hat.

The great man turned swiftly.

"One moment, my lord," and he was gone.

III

There was a rush up the companion-ladder, and the noise of running feet on the deck overhead.

"Great God!" groaned Nelson, ghastly, and flung open the port.

A dark mass with straggling legs shot past.

There was the plump of a body striking the sea, and crash of showering waters.

"_Man overboard!_" roared a voice from the deck. "_Back tops'ls. Here, sir!_"

A rope coiled out and splashed the water.

Nelson's head was through the port.

The man came up beneath him, and turned to face the ship and his Admiral.

"O, Dark! Dark! Dark!" cried Nelson, and there was agony in his voice.

Dark looked up, the hair plastered about his forehead.

"Nelson," he shouted. "I ask your pardon."

"It's yours, Dark," choked the other. "But O! I thought--I thought you loved me!--every man of you."

"Often and often I could have killed you," gasped the other, bobbing to the seas.

"Rather that than this!" sobbed the great seaman. "Murder's the braver deed."

"I was mad!" groaned the other. "She was in my blood. She was my soul. She _is_ my soul--the Christ be kind to her! O, if any man in the world can understand, that man should be Lord Nelson."

"No! no! no!" raved Nelson, tossing with his head, stamping with his feet, thumping the port with his fists. "Myself! my wife! my friend!--but _not_ my country! _Not_ that, Dark! _never_ that!"

"_Lively there!_" roared the voice from the deck. "_Lower away_."

There was the splash of a boat.

Dark flung aside the rope to which he had been holding.

There was silence in the cabin.

Through it came a despairing voice from the water.

"I can't sink!--My God, my God!--I can't sink!"

Nelson swept the pistol off the table and thrust through the port.

"Catch!" he gasped, and threw.

The man rose to it like a leaping fish, flung a high hand, and caught it. Then he sank back.

"Thank you, my lord," he cried, terrible joy in his voice. "May God forgive me as you have done."

Kit had a vision of a black mouth open, a thrusting barrel ringed with teeth, two screwed eyes, and then--

"Don't look, boy!" screamed Nelson, and plucked him away.

The slamming port drowned another sound.

CHAPTER LXXVII

THE _MEDUSA_ GOES ABOUT

I