The flush deck was without wells. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up.
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