In the growing calamity of his life, she had swum more distant, like the moon in mist.

The letter of farewell, the dishonourable hope that had surprised and corrupted him in his distress, the changed scene, the sea, the night and the music--all stirred him to the roots of manhood.

'I WILL win her,' he thought, and ground his teeth.

'Fair or foul, what matters if I win her ?' 'Fo' bell, matey.

I think um fo' bell'-- he was suddenly recalled by these words in the voice of Uncle Ned.
'Look in at the clock, Uncle,' said he.