f his life. He knew that he alone, out of
all the men there, possessed the necessary skill and nerve to reach
the boat if she could be reached at all. There was a bare chance and a
great risk. This man whom he hated was drowning before his eyes. Let
him drown, then! Why should he risk--ay, and perchance lose--his life
for his enemy? No one could blame him for refusing--and if Braithwaite
were out of the way, Mary Stella might yet be his!

The temptation and victory passed in a few brief seconds. He stepped
forward, cool and self-possessed.

"I'm going out. I want one man with me. No one with child or wife.
Who'll go?"

"I will," shouted Mosey Louis. "I haf some spat wid dat Leon, but I
not lak to see him drown for all dat!"

Benjamin offered no objection. The French Canadian's arm was strong
and he possessed skill and experience. Mr. Murray caught Benjamin's
arm.

"No, no, Benjamin--not you--I can't see both my boys drowned."

Benjamin gently loosed the old man's hold.

"It's for Mary Stella's sake," he said hoarsely. "If I don't come
back, tell her that."

They launched the large dory with difficulty and pulled out into the
surf. Benjamin did not lose his nerve. His quick arm, his steady eye
did not fail. A dozen times the wild-eyed watchers thought the boat
was doomed, but as often she righted triumphantly.

At last the drowning men were reached and somehow or other hauled on
board Benjamin's craft. It was easier to come back, for they beached
the boat on the sand. With a wild cheer the men on the shore rushed
into the surf and helped to carry the half-unconscious Braithwaite and
Leon ashore and up to the Murray fish-house. Benjamin went home before
anyone knew he had gone. Mosey Louis was left behind to reap the
honours; he sat in a circle of admiring lads and gave all the details
of the rescue.

"Dat Leon, he not tink he know so much now!" he said.

Braithwaite came to the shore next day somewhat pale and shaky. He
went straight to Benjamin and held out his hand.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Benjamin bent lower over his work.

"You needn't thank me," he said gruffly. "I wanted to let you drown.
But I went out for Mary Stella's sake. Tell me one thing--I couldn't
bring myself to ask it of anyone else. When are you to be--married?"

"The 12th of September."

Benjamin did not wince. He turned away and looked out across the sea
for a few moments. The last agony of his great renunciation was upon