And what chance had he, a desperate adventurer with a record of outlawry, against such a rival as that, a man of parts, moreover, as he was bound to admit?
You conceive the bitterness of his soul.

He beheld himself to be as the dog in the fable that had dropped the substance to snatch at a delusive shadow.
He sought comfort in a line on the open page before him: "levius fit patientia quicquid corrigere est nefas." Sought it, but hardly found it.
A boat that had approached unnoticed from the shore came scraping and bumping against the great red hull of the Arabella, and a raucous voice sent up a hailing shout.

From the ship's belfry two silvery notes rang clear and sharp, and a moment or two later the bo'sun's whistle shrilled a long wail.
The sounds disturbed Captain Blood from his disgruntled musings.

He rose, tall, active, and arrestingly elegant in a scarlet, gold-laced coat that advertised his new position, and slipping the slender volume into his pocket, advanced to the carved rail of the quarter-deck, just as Jeremy Pitt was setting foot upon the companion.
"A note for you from the Deputy-Governor," said the master shortly, as he proffered a folded sheet.
Blood broke the seal, and read.

Pitt, loosely clad in shirt and breeches, leaned against the rail the while and watched him, unmistakable concern imprinted on his fair, frank countenance.
Blood uttered a short laugh, and curled his lip.