ever a tear. Only with the strange light in his wild eyes he looked
on and listened.

Rachel stirred, and called to him.

"Are you there, Jason?" she said, feebly, and he stepped to her side.

"Closer," she whispered; and he took her cold hand in both his hands,
and then her dim eyes knew where to look for his face.

"Good-bye, my brave lad," she said. "I do not fear to leave you. You
are strong, you are brave, and the world is kind to them that can
fight it. Only to the weak it is cruel--only to the weak and the
timid--only to women--only to helpless women sold into the slavery of
heartless men."

And then she told him everything--her love, her loyalty, her life. In
twenty little words she told the story.

"I gave him all--all. I took a father's curse for him. He
struck me--he left me--he forgot me with another woman.
Listen--listen--closer still--still closer," she whispered, eagerly,
and then she spoke the words that lie at the heart of this history.

"You will be a sailor, and sail to many lands. If you should ever
meet your father, remember what your mother has borne from him. If
you should never meet him, but should meet his son, remember what
your mother has suffered at the hands of his father. Can you hear me?
Is my speech too thick? Have you understood me?"

Jason's parched throat was choking, and he did not answer.

"My brave boy, farewell," she said. "Good-bye," she murmured again,
more faintly, and after that there was a lull, a pause, a sigh, a
long-drawn breath, another sigh, and then over his big brown hands
her pallid face fell forward, and the end was come.

For some minutes Jason stood there still in the same impassive
silence. Never a tear yet in his great eyes, now wilder than they
were; never a cry from his dry throat, now surging hot and athirst;
never a sound in his ears, save a dull hum of words like the plash of
a breaker that was coming--coming--coming from afar. She was gone
who had been everything to him. She had sunk like a wave, and the
waves of the ocean were pressing on behind her. She was lost, and the
tides of life were flowing as before.

The old pastor shuffled to his feet, mopping his moist eyes with his
red handkerchief. "Come away, my son," he said, and tapped Jason on
the shoulder.

"Not yet," the lad answered hoarsely. And then he turned with a dazed
look and said, like one who speaks in his sleep, "My father has
killed my mother."

"No, no, don't say that," said