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作者: Henryk Sienkiewicz

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But with the sally he seemed to have forgotten it and recommenced
pacing the floor, his hands in his pockets and his brows knit.
His mind had gone off again to this other vastly important thing.
She noticed it with a twinge of vexation. She vastly preferred
the personal.
"What was it old Jed Martin said to you this afternoon?" he
asked.
"That if the opinions of old sailors were of any account Nat
Burns could get up a pretty good case against you for the loss of
the _May Schofield_."
"I suppose he meant his own opinion. He's an old sailor now, but
if he lives to be a hundred and fifty he'll never be a good one.
I could beat his vessel if I was on a two-by-four with a
pillow-case for a mains'l. I can't understand why he has turned
against me."
"It isn't only he, it's--"
"I know it!" he burst out passionately. "It's the whole island of
Grande Mignon from Freekirk Head to Southern Cross. Not a man nor
woman but has turned against me since that awful day.

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