At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. "Enough!" rejoined Wild; "he shall not return. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. He was also aware that all his arguments would shatter themselves against her resolutions. Honestly, I never did. I shall count it a privilege. The barometer says nothing, neither the sky nor the water; the skipper has the "feel" that out yonder there's a big blow moving. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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