On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. She fidgeted and looked away. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. Take it, I tell you. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. Where can I have heard it!" "Devil knows," rejoined Blueskin. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. He got off on it. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance.
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