n the deck and with the certainty
that all those on the _Miwaka_ could not be saved. I felt the noose as
if it had been already tied about my neck! And I had done no wrong,
Father! I had only thought wrong!

"'So long as one lived among those on the _Miwaka_ who had seen what
was done, I knew I would be hanged; yet I would have saved them if I
could. But, in my comprehension of what this meant, I only stared at
Stafford where he lay and then at Spearman, and I let him get control
of the tug. The tug, whose wheel I had lashed, heading her into the
waves, had been moving slowly. Spearman pushed me aside and went to
the wheelhouse; he sent Luke to the engines, and from that moment Luke
was his. He turned the tug about to where we still saw the lights of
the _Miwaka_. The steamer had struck upon the reef; she hung there for
a time; and Spearman--he had the wheel and Luke, at his orders, was at
the engine--held the tug off and we beat slowly to and fro until the
_Miwaka_ slipped off and sank. Some had gone down with her, no doubt;
but two boats had got off, carrying lights. They saw the tug
approaching and cried out and stretched their hands to us; but Spearman
stopped the tug. They rowed towards us then, but when they got near,
Spearman moved the tug away from them, and then again stopped. They
cried out again and rowed toward us; again he moved the tug away, and
then they understood and stopped rowing and cried curses at us. One
boat soon drifted far away; we knew of its capsizing by the
extinguishing of its light. The other capsized near to where we were.
Those in it who had no lifebelts and could not swim, sank first. Some
could swim and, for a while they fought the waves.'"

Alan, as he listened, ceased consciously to separate the priest's voice
from the sensations running through him. His father was Stafford,
dying at Corvet's feet while Corvet watched the death of the crew of
the _Miwaka_; Alan himself, a child, was floating with a lifebelt among
those struggling in the water whom Spearman and Corvet were watching
die. Memory; was it that which now had come to him? No; rather it was
a realization of all the truths which the priest's words were bringing
together and arranging rightly for him.

He, a child, saved by Corvet from the water because he could not bear
witness, seemed to be on that tug, sea-swept and clad in ice, crouching
beside the form of his father while Corvet stood aghast--Corvet, st