He died that night, smiling to the last. He was able to speak, now and then, before the end; and Joel and Priss were near him, at his side, soothing him, listening....

He asked Joel, once: “Shall I tell you—where—pearls...”

Joel shook his head. “I do not want them,” he said. “They have enough blood to turn them crimson. Let them lie.”

And Mark smiled, and nodded faintly. “Right, boy. Let them lie....” And his eyes shone up at them; and he whispered presently: “That was—a fight to tell about, Joel....”

In those hours beside Mark, Priss completed the transition from girl to woman. She was very sober, and quiet; but she did not weep, and she answered Mark’s smiles. And Mark, watching her, seemed to remember something, toward the last. Joel saw his eyes beckon; and he bent above his brother, and Mark whispered weakly:

“Treasure—Priss, Joel. She’s—worth all.... Kissed her, but she fought me....”

Joel gripped his brother’s hand. “I knew there was no—harm in you—or in her,” he said. “Don’t trouble, Mark....”

When old Aaron had stitched the canvas shroud, they laid Mark on the cutting stage; and Joel read over him from the Book, while the men stood silent by. Chastened men, heads bandaged, arms in slings ... Big Jim Finch at one side, shamed of face. Varde, sullen as ever, but with hopelessness writ large upon him. Morrell, and old Hooper....

Joel finished, and he closed the Book. “Unto the deep....” The cutting stage tilted, and the wave leaped and caught its burden and bore it softly down.... The sun was shining, the sea danced, the wind was warm on fair Priscilla’s cheek....

And as though, the brief, dramatic chapter being ended, another must at once begin, the masthead man presently called down to Joel the long, droning hail:

“Ah-h-h-h! Blow-w-w-w-w!”

And he flung his arm toward where a misty spout sparkled in the sun a mile or two away. Minutes later, the boats took water; and the Nathan Ross was about her business again.

Joel wrote in the log that night, with Priscilla beside him, her fingers in his hair. Priscilla had been very humble, till Joel took her in his arms and comforted her....

He set down the ship’s position; he recorded their capture, that day, of a great bull cachalot; and then:

“... This day Mark Shore was buried at sea. He died late last night, from wounds received when he fought valiantly to put down the mutiny of the crew. Fourth brother of the House of Shore....”

And below, the ancient and enduring epitaph:

Priscilla, reading over his shoulder, pointed to this line and whispered sorrowfully: “But I—called you coward, Joel.” He looked up at her, and smiled a little. “I know better now,” she said. “So—give me the pen ... And close your eyes....”

He heard the scratch of steel on paper; and when he opened his eyes again he saw that Priscilla had underscored, with three deep strokes, the first word of that honorable line.