Just as he was preparing to follow, the wherry containing Rowland and his men, which had drifted in their wake, was dashed against his boat. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. Her back stiffened. “Don’t come nearer!” she said.
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