mouth of the harbor; and, passing two or three open-doored grog shops full of noisy niggers, I wandered back to the schooner, but before boarding her followed the track I had seen in the daylight trending round Mount Cook. The moon was bright, and the view over the bay—the distant ranges on the other side—the entrance to the Endeavour river and Cooktown itself, circled by the range that follows the entire coast line of Queesland—made an enchanting picture.
I was lying on a great boulder of stone to which I climbed, had lit my pipe and was enjoying the beautiful view, when I heard voices approaching from beyond me, and presently, along the path below, I saw a man and a woman advancing slowly. To my amazement I recognized the voice of the man. It was that of Mr. Chris. Who was the woman, though! As they drew near I saw and recognized the captain's wife.
I didn't quite know what to do—whether to make my presence known to them or not. I did not wish to embarrass them, so I lay still on the top of the rock which overhung the path. On they came, talking very earnestly.
"It's no use, Chris, talking like that. I know you love me—loved me long before I ever met him. Can't you be content? I wouldn't marry you, with only a coasting mate's pay—now, could I? You men are so unreasonable."
"You make me mad, woman. I don't know what I'm doing sometimes. I feel I could kill him."
"Ha! ha! you talk like a great big baby, Chris. They'd hang you, Chris, and you wouldn't have me after all. And I'd be a widow—and the schooner and all would be mine. That would be fine, wouldn't it?"
"You don't love him, then" I could hear the strain in the mate's voice from where I was.
"Love him? Don't be so idiotie, Chris. I had to look out for myself, and he was willing to marry me—most men wouldn't do it."
