"No, nor any good either, I should think, Dennis Wayman," said a man
who was lounging at the bar; "Black Milsom is the name we gave him over
at Rotherhithe. I worked with him in a shipbuilder's yard seven years
ago: a surly brute he was then, and a surly brute he is now; and a
lazy, skulking vagabond into the bargain, living an idle life out at
that cottage of his among the marshes, and eating up his pretty
daughter's earnings."

"You seem to know Milsom's business as well as you do your own, Joe
Dermot," answered the landlord, with some touch of anger in his tone.

"It's no use looking savage at me, Dennis," returned Dermot; "I never
did trust Black Milsom, and never will. There are men who would take
your life's blood for the price of a gallon of beer, and I think Milsom
is one of 'em."

Valentine Jernam listened attentively to this conversation--not
because he was interested in Black Milsom's character, but because he
wanted to hear anything that could enlighten him about the girl who had
awakened such a new sentiment in his breast.

The clerk had followed his master, and stood in the shadow of the
doorway, listening even more attentively than his employer; the small,
restless eyes shifted to and fro between the faces of the speakers.

More might have been said about Mr. Thomas Milsom; but it was evident
that the landlord of the 'Jolly Tar' was inclined to resent any
disrespectful allusion to that individual. The man called Joe Dermot
paid his score, and went away. The captain and his factotum retired to
the two dingy little apartments which were to accommodate them for the