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“Bellairs？”herepeated。“Notinthesaloon，Iamsure。Hemaybeinthesecondclass。Thelistsarenotmadeout，but——Hullo！
’HarryD。Bellairs？’Thatthename？He’sthererightenough。”
AndthenextmorningIsawhimontheforwarddeck，sittinginachair，abookinhishand，ashabbypumaskinrugabouthisknees：thepictureofrespectabledecay。Offandon，Ikepthiminmyeye。Hereadagooddeal，hestoodandlookeduponthesea，hetalkedoccasionallywithhisneighbours，andoncewhenachildfellhepickeditupandsoothedit。Idamnedhiminmyheart；thebook，whichIwassurehedidnotread——thesea，towhichIwasreadytotakeoathhewasindifferent——thechild，whomIwascertainhewouldaslievehavetossedoverboard——allseemedtomeelementsinatheatricalperformance；andI
madenodoubthewasalreadynosingafterthesecretsofhisfellow-passengers。Itooknopainstoconcealmyself，myscornforthecreaturebeingasstrongasmydisgust。Butheneverlookedmyway，anditwasnightbeforeIlearnedhehadobservedme。
Iwassmokingbytheengine-roomdoor，fortheairwasalittlesharp，whenavoiceroseclosebesidemeinthedarkness。
“Ibegyourpardon，Mr。Dodd。”itsaid。
“Thatyou，Bellairs？”Ireplied。
“Asingleword，sir。Yourpresenceonthisshiphasnoconnectionwithourinterview？”heasked。“Youhavenoidea，Mr。Dodd，ofreturninguponyourdetermination？”
“None。”saidI；andthen，seeinghestilllingered，Iwaspoliteenoughtoadd“Goodevening；“atwhichhesighedandwentaway。
Thenextday，hewasthereagainwiththechairandthepumaskin；readhisbookandlookedattheseawiththesameconstancy；andthoughtherewasnochildtobepickedup，I
observedhimtoattendrepeatedlyonasickwoman。Nothingfosterssuspicionliketheactofwatching；amanspieduponcanhardlyblowhisnosebutweaccusehimofdesigns；andI
tookanearlyopportunitytogoforwardandseethewomanformyself。Shewaspoor，elderly，andpainfullyplain；Istoodabashedatthesight，feltIowedBellairsamendsfortheinjusticeofmythoughts，andseeinghimstandingbytherailinhisusualattitudeofcontemplation，walkedupandaddressedhimbyname。
“Youseemveryfondofthesea。”saidI。
“Imayreallycallitapassion，Mr。Dodd。”hereplied。“Andthetallcataracthauntedmelikeapassion。”hequoted。“Ineverwearyofthesea，sir。Thisismyfirstoceanvoyage。Ifinditagloriousexperience。”Andoncemoremydisbarredlawyerdroppedintopoetry：“Rollon，thoudeepanddarkblueocean，roll！”
ThoughIhadlearnedthepieceinmyreading-bookatschool，I
cameintotheworldalittletoolateontheonehand——andI
daresayalittletooearlyontheother——tothinkmuchofByron；
andthesonorousverse，prodigiouslywelldelivered，struckmewithsurprise。
“Youarefondofpoetry，too？”Iasked。
“Iamagreatreader。”hereplied。“AtonetimeIhadbeguntoamassquiteasmallbutwellselectedlibrary；andwhenthatwasscattered，Istillmanagedtopreserveafewvolumes——
chieflyofpiecesdesignedforrecitation——whichhavebeenmytravellingcompanions。”
“Isthatoneofthem？”Iasked，pointingtothevolumeinhishand。
“No，sir。”hereplied，showingmeatranslationofthe_SorrowsofWerther_，“thatisanovelIpickedupsometimeago。Ithasaffordedmegreatpleasure，thoughimmoral。”
“O，immoral！”criedI，indignantasusualatanycomplicationofartandethics。
“Surelyyoucannotdenythat，sir——ifyouknowthebook。”hesaid。“Thepassionisillicit，althoughcertainlydrawnwithagooddealofpathos。Itisnotaworkonecouldpossiblyputintothehandsofalady；whichistoberegrettedonallaccounts，forIdonotknowhowitmaystrikeyou；butitseemstome——asadepiction，ifImakemyselfclear——torisehighaboveitscompeers——evenfamouscompeers。EveninScott，Dickens，Thackeray，orHawthorne，thesentimentofloveappearstometobefrequentlydonelessjusticeto。”
“Youareexpressingaverygeneralopinion。”saidI。
“Isthatso，inde
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