er be dawn?" The children were chilled with the wind, but
their elders would scarcely have felt an Arctic frost. With growing
impatience they waited, glancing at times at two women who held
themselves somewhat aloof from the others; two women who had married
again, and whose second husbands waited, awkwardly enough, with them.

Slowly the weary windy night wore away, the old woman, deaf to their
appeals, still keeping her door fast. The dawn was not yet, though the
oft-consulted watches announced it near at hand. It was very close now,
and the watchers collected by the door. It was undeniable that things
were seen a little more distinctly. One could see better the grey, eager
faces of his neighbours.

They knocked upon the door, and the old woman's eyes filled as she
opened it and saw those faces. Unasked and unchid they invaded the
cottage and crowded round the door.

"I will go up and fetch him," said the old woman.

If each could have heard the beating of the other's hearts, the noise
would have been deafen-ing, but as it was there was complete silence,
except for some overwrought woman's sob.

The old woman opened the door leading to the room above, and with the
slow, deliberate steps of age ascended the stairs, and those below heard
her calling softly to her son.

Two or three minutes passed and she was heard descending the stairs
again--alone. The smile, the pity, had left her face, and she seemed
dazed and strange.

"I cannot wake him," she said piteously. "He sleeps so sound. He is
fatigued. I have shaken him, but, he still sleeps."

As she stopped, and looked appealingly round, the other old woman took
her hand, and pressing it led her to a chair. Two of the men sprang
quickly up the stairs. They were absent but a short while, and then they
came down like men bewildered and distraught. No need to speak. A low
wail of utter misery rose from the women, and was caught up and repeated
by the crowd outside, for the only man who could have set their hearts
at rest had escaped the perils of the deep, and died quietly in his bed.

THE END.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of More Cargoes, by W. W. Jacobs

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