  THE third day afterward the Deborah sailed away from her island anchorage. Her rigging was shipshape again; her sticks were spliced and splinted and strong for any gale. The wide seas lay ahead of them, with home at the end of the blue leagues stretching from their bow. And Dan Darrin was master, on the quarter-deck, with old Flexer as his mate. Spiess was below, ironed, oppressed by a stupor that was like death itself. Life was done, for him, as truly as for those two, Black Pawl, and Red Pawl, his son. He wasted in his irons; he had no stomach for food; and in the second month of their slow homeward way, he died. Before they left the island, that which remained of Black Pawl and his son they had borne ashore; and they left father and son together there, within sound of the waves upon the beach. Above them whispered eternally the strong, swift winds they both had loved. Ruth was not unhappy in that parting; for she felt in her heart that all was forever well with them, with Black Pawl, and with his son. She could not find a reason for this faith that dwelt in her; but when she spoke of it to the old missionary, he nodded; and he said: “I feel that too, Ruth. It is as though by Black Pawl’s hand they were both redeemed.” She was happy with Dan, too. Since the day when they both had been wakened by the shot, they had not spoken of that which lay between them. But—it was in their eyes for each to see. He knew, and she knew; and in their long silences together they communed. Dan would not speak. A reticence was upon him; he was afraid of breaking in upon her thoughts of Black Pawl. He was afraid there was no room for him in her overflowing heart until the memories had somewhat passed; and he was content to wait. There was a slow strength in him; he would be ready when she turned to him. But—Ruth did not wish to wait. And she considered the matter, with a smile twisting the corners of her mouth; she considered it for a On the evening of the seventh day, the missionary was reading at the table in the cabin. Dan sat across from him, and Ruth was at Dan’s side. Dan was writing up the log; she watched him, and smiled fondly when his big hand tightened clumsily upon the pen. At last she got up and went lightly to the companion and ascended to the deck. Dan marked her going, looked after her, and bent again to his task. After a little, old Flexer came down from the deck and stood uncertainly at the foot of the companion. Dan looked across at him and asked: “What’s up, Mr. Flexer?” “I don’t rightly know,” Flexer said, and he took off his cap and scratched his head. “Miss Ruth tell’t me to come down. She looked like as if there was something in her mind.” “Ruth? What for?” “I don’t rightly know,” said Flexer again; and then he heard a step behind him and moved awkwardly aside as Marvin, the cook, came down Dan and the missionary got up. They could not take their eyes from Ruth. There was a glory in her countenance. And while they stood, she crossed to Dan’s side and looked up at him. Dan could not speak; but the old missionary asked: “What is it, Ruth? What is in your mind?” She took Dan’s hand, and with him faced the man of the church. And she said softly, her face a lovely flame: “This, Father. This is in my mind. If Dan—” She could not finish, but there was no need. The missionary smiled. He stepped a little forward and so presently began to speak the old enduring words. Overhead the swinging oil lamp guttered. Flexer and Marvin watched from the shadows. And once Ruth saw Flexer standing there; and for a moment thought she saw Black Pawl himself, watching with happy eyes, with someone well beloved at his side.... THE END |
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