RED PAWL fell forward into Black Pawl’s lap. And the Captain’s arms went around his son and held him close; and the revolver fell upon the deck at one side. Close against his breast Black Pawl held the body of the son he had killed.

The muffled crack of the revolver had shattered the stillness that compassed the schooner. The men on deck cried out, they began to shout hysterically. Dan Darrin was out of his bunk at the sound, and racing for the companion, half dressed. He burst up on deck to behold Black Pawl with his dead son in his arms. He was at Black Pawl’s side in a single leap; and at first he did not see that the Captain was hurt. He cried:

“What is it, sir?”

Black Pawl looked up at him, and he smiled; and he said quietly:

“Dan Darrin, you’re master of the Deborah!”

Dan Darrin turned pale; he was tugging at Red’s body. Black Pawl said: “Let him be; let me have him till the end, Dan.”

“What’s happened?” Dan demanded hoarsely. “What’s happened, Cap’n Pawl?”

Black Pawl looked toward where the man Spiess still knelt stolidly at his task. He said with a slow effort upon every word: “Spiess knifed me, Dan. At Red’s bidding, I’ve no doubt. But don’t log that, Dan, my boy. Spiess knifed me. And—I’ve killed my son. I shot Red Pawl. So you’ll take the ship, and take her safely home.”

Dan stared; and Black Pawl added huskily: “Take—Ruth, too, Dan Darrin. She loves you; and she’s worth your love. My Ruth!”

“Let me fix you up, sir,” Dan Darrin begged. “You’ll be all right.”

Black Pawl shook his head. “I’m near gone, Dan. Let me rest till the end.” And then his eyes, looking over Dan’s head, lighted proudly. The missionary, roused by the shot as Dan had been, was coming now. Black Pawl smiled at him.

“Eh, Father!” he said wearily. “There was an atonement! The bitter cup! And—I’ve drunk deep, Father. I’ve killed my son.”

The old missionary had the gift of understanding; and a part of what had passed, he understood. But—he looked to Dan Darrin with a question in his eyes, and Dan said swiftly:

“Spiess knifed the Captain. And he knew it was Red Pawl’s doing; so he shot the mate.”

Black Pawl shook his head. “No, Father. Not because my death was his doing. Not for that I killed him. You will—understand.”

“Yes, Black Pawl,” said the missionary. “Yes, I understand.”

“I loved him, Father.”

“I know.”

“I’d no anger because he killed—me. That was due me. I’d no anger for that.”

“I know,” said the man of the church again.

“But—he would be master of the ship, Father. Black as he was, black as I made him, he would have been master of the Deborah. And that could not be.”

The missionary laid his hand on Black Pawl’s shoulder. “Let us take him away,” he said. “Let us tend you.”

Black Pawl’s arms tightened around his son. “No, Father. I’ll keep him—till the end.”

“You’re not dying,” Dan Darrin cried. Black Pawl smiled, and looked toward the missionary.

“Tell him,” he said; and the man of the church nodded.

“Yes, he is dying, Dan,” he said.

Black Pawl asked wistfully: “And what will God say to this, Father?”

“No harsh words, Black Pawl.”

“You’re sure? Sure?”

“Very sure.”

“I killed him in love, Father.”

“I know.”

Black Pawl was silent, with closed eyes for a little; and then he asked gently: “Think you, I’ve a right to see my girl again?”

The missionary said swiftly. “Dan, bring Ruth—swiftly.”

Dan, on his feet to go, echoed Black Pawl’s words with an amazed question in his voice. “His girl?” he asked.

“His daughter,” the man of the church told him. The missionary stayed by Black Pawl’s side, and Black Pawl, eyelids drooping, held his dead son closer in his arms. He heard Ruth’s step, and looked up as she bent above him.

“Eh, sweet!” he said wistfully. “Put your hand on my head. Your fingers in my hair. Your mother—used to do so.”

Black Pawl looked long at her; then his eyes closed again, and through the shut lids tears seeped, and ran down his cheeks, and dropped on the head of his son, held close against his breast. Ruth spoke to him; but he seemed not to hear her. For a little time he did not stir; but when they sought to lift Red Pawl away, his arms tightened their hold.

At the last, his eyes opened once more, and looked down upon his son. And he whispered huskily, for the breath was strangling in his lungs:

“Eh, Dan—my son! I fathered you in—love; but I bred you in hate—and rancor—and cruelty. And—I’ve killed you—at the last. But I always—loved you—little Dan.... My little—boy—”

His head fell gently forward until it rested on the head of his son. He did not move again.