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Updated: June 3, 2025
There was a consultation of the authorities Mrs Stellasis, namely, and the captain, and Mark Ruthine. The captain disgraced himself early in the proceedings. "Perhaps it is only a flirtation," he said. Whereupon Mrs. Stellasis laughed scornfully, and the mariner collapsed.
For he knew the great waters, and loved them with all the quiet strength of a slow-tongued man. Before very long some one came behind and touched him on the shoulder. He turned, and in the fading light looked into the smiling face of his late companion the same and yet quite different, for the beard was gone, and there only remained the long fair moustache. "Yes," said Dr. Mark Ruthine, "Jem Agar.
Such things are when a woman bears a child in the midst of great passion." "Yes," said Mark Ruthine, "I know." "The night he was born," Mrs. Agar went on, "I first saw and spoke to that man after he had come back from India after I had learnt what he had done." Ruthine turned round towards Jem and Dora. "You hear that," he said to them.
It was singular that Seymour Michael should give way at that moment to a little shrinking movement of fear back and away, not from Jem, who towered huge and powerful above him, but from the frail and delicate younger brother. Mark Ruthine, who was standing behind, saw the movement and wondered at it. For it would appear that, of all his judges, Seymour Michael feared the weakest most.
Agar, but the young fellow was evidently his first care. While he was kneeling by the low chair examining Arthur's eyes and face, Mrs. Agar suddenly rose and crossed the room. "Is he dead?" she said abruptly. "Who?" inquired Mark Ruthine, without looking round. "Seymour Michael." "Yes." "Quite?" "Yes." "Then Arthur killed him?" "Yes."
He turned and beckoned to Mark Ruthine, who presently joined them, after paying the boatmen. "The nine forty-five is the train," he said to him. "We may as well walk up. The streets of Plymouth are not pleasant to drive through." So the cab was sent on with the luggage, and the three men turned to the slope that leads up to the Hoe.
He was gazing at the green English hills and far faint valley of the Tamar with a curious gleam of excitement in his eyes. Half an hour later they landed. "You stick by me," said Jem Agar, when they discerned the small wiry form of Seymour Michael awaiting them on the quay. "I want you to hear everything." This man was, as Ruthine had said, dangerous. He was too calm.
"Rum chap!" muttered the Captain, looking at his watch when the footsteps had died away over the silent decks. "One of the queerest specimens I know," retorted Dr. Mark Ruthine, who was fingering a pen and looking longingly towards the inkstand. The Captain a man of renowned discretion quietly departed.
Mark Ruthine was attending to the luggage, which was being piled upon a cab. "Have you not had breakfast?" asked Agar. "Well, I have had a little, but I don't mind a second edition. That waiter chap at the hotel got me out of bed much too soon. However, it is worth getting up the night before to see you back, old chap."
"Then," said Ruthine, "he does not know now that you are the woman whom Seymour Michael wronged. He need never know it. The paroxysm had come on before you spoke that was why I shouted. He was mad with hate, before you opened your lips." Mrs. Agar was now beginning to realise what was at stake. The mother's love was re-awakening.
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