The old man shook his head.

'He is no child--even now. He will look at me with those eyes of his, and ask why--and then am I done.'

Later, Rhoda ventured down to Christian, mending his dredge on the quay, and persuaded him away. In vain; for some waylaid him, and there in her hearing got his promise, in swimming and rowing to do his best for the credit of the fleet. Rhoda dared only press his hand and look entreaty while his answer hung. A dazed look came and pa.s.sed. Afterwards, his face of mild inquiry daunted remonstrance, as Giles foretold.

Philip fetched him away eventually, but had not even the favour of a look from Rhoda. She kept down her head, biting back tears and words of rage and grief.

'I think he means well--does Philip,' sighed Giles unhappily.

Lois said bitterly: 'Like Samson blind, he goes to make sport for the Philistines.'

Rhoda broke into pa.s.sionate weeping.

'Ah, ah!' she cried, 'it is unbearable. At every turn strangers I saw--who have come and heard--who will see, and our Christian will hear--alone, all alone. Oh, would that I were a brother to stand by him!

Philip mean well! He prides himself on it, he parades it as a virtue, and to himself pretends that he does not hate. But once, he forgot, and looked--and I saw--hate--hate and fear. And I know, though he do contrary, that his blood will dance for joy at any affront to Christian.

I know--and he takes Christian out to show!'

Giles got on his feet.

'If I am ever to tread the old quay, it may well be to-day.'

The remonstrance of Lois lacked vigour. He took help of Rhoda's shoulder the length of the downward street, and then shambled off alone to Christian's protection.

One, two, three hours pa.s.sed, and twilight. Then back they came, Christian's ample strength charged with the old man's weight. Giles swore within his beard in his way that the women knew.

'He takes his way for no asking or need of mine,' he declared gruffly; 'and he might use his strength to better purpose.'

'Christian outdone!'

'No,' Christian said, 'I think not. No, none say so.'

He stretched wearily, sighed, and, laying his head down on his arms, slept profoundly. They exchanged woful looks.

'Poor lad, poor lad!' said the old man brokenly.

'Ah, yes; he bested the lot: in rowing hardly, in swimming easily. Oh, don't ask! it was pretty bad. Bad! Oh, good Lord, but it makes one man sweat again to look back on it.

'Oh! G.o.d d.a.m.n their greedy eyes! Yet some few of our lot turned fair ashamed of their own handiwork; and when one brute of the Islands said--no matter what, but his own fellows muttered shame--and Philip would have struck him, yonder poor fool knocked up his arm quick.

'Yes, Philip, girl! and I tell you I saw no hate: and he looked long and close too.'

Stirless in sleep, Christian offered remonstrance to nerves that quivered under the halting tale.

'The worst? no, the worst was after the young fools in their cups got heady. And in the end--well, the end of all was that Philip floored his man. And that should have been Christian's business, and he would not stir, though I nudged him to be up and at such foul jests. "I have heard nothing unfit," he says. And I wished I were underground. I never want to foot the quay again. Poor lad! ay, and poor spirit! the very man of him has got flawed.'

'No,' said Lois painfully, 'however it came he did worthily, up to his name.'

Giles closed his mouth, but shook his head mournfully, and Rhoda drew to him.

This fell when late gales were closing the season to the coral fishers.

Little more than a week after, Christian came back with his broken arm.

Then want came looming straight ahead. Every due was paid, but none knew by what hard stinting, for resolute pride uttered no plea, and hid every sign. That the waning life of Giles should suffer from no lack, the others fared the harder. A haggard Christian, befitting a chastened lot, drew no comment; and if Rhoda grew a little pale, and Lois shrunk and grey, known cares they had for allowance, barring any guess at scant bread.

The hardest of trials to a willing, strong man met Christian when, re-knit and sound, he offered for work and found that no man would hire him. His strange ill-luck cut him off from fellowship, so strong was the suspicion that a malignant influence had marked him down jealously. The only one to withstand the general verdict, to link him in, to persuade some favour to his hands, was the unrewarded Philip, whose best endeavour but won for him few, and brief, and ill-paid spells of labour. A many there were who would not take his services at a gift, and he knew it.

Refuse, stranded out of touch of the human tide, he hung idle on the quay, through shortening days from morn to night, resolutely patient of the leaden hours and of the degradation on his famous strength.

Lois foresaw that bitter need might drive him away at last, but as yet she could not bid him go, for Giles was slowly dying.

CHAPTER XII

Philip sought out Christian secretly, to hint that on a venture three gold pieces might be his. Christian understood him well enough. In the veiled language of the coast, a venture signified honourable service for brave men, though the law of the land held otherwise, and rewarded it as felony. A well-knit League carried on far and near a contraband trade in the lives of proscribed men, and even the scrupulous honesty of Christian brought no reluctance to engage.

'When, and with whom?' he asked.

'To-morrow, you and I,' said Philip, and watched him anxiously.

'Then are you of the League?' said Christian indifferently, nettling the other, still in the young pride of a desired a.s.sociation. The Alien at his best, he knew, would never have been reckoned fit; for though he excelled in strength, he lacked head.

'You and I together,' he said, 'are fairly equal to any other three, and so can our gains be the larger.'

Yet Christian would not readily close on the rich relief. He fixed on the other a thoughtful eye, pondering a question of fairness that might not be imparted. Philip flushed a little.

'I am answerable to the League,' he said nervously; 'and though from outsiders we exact oaths, I will take it upon me to accept as sufficient your bare word for good faith and secrecy.'

This was no more than Christian's credit had established; for from boyhood, under the strict schooling of Lois, he had kept to his word as sacredly as others to their oaths, and from pride and a scruple had ever refused to be sworn.

Long seemed the pause and the trying scrutiny before Christian sighed and said, 'So be it.'

'And secrecy?'

'I promise secrecy.'

'And you will not refuse a strict promise to obey orders--mine?'

A vague foreboding warned Christian to stay, but reason could not sufficiently uphold it against his dire need of the gold. He promised.

'I take it,' said Philip carelessly, 'that your boat would be the easier to handle. Mine is over heavy for two.'

'I cannot risk what is not wholly mine.'

'The League makes good all loss. And remember,' he looked away, and his voice had a strange note, 'if we do not come back--for long--or ever--the League sees to it that our folk do not want.'

Christian looked at him hard.