on went out of his heart, for his eye fell on the tail of
the block and he saw that it was stranded. It had lain there--that thick
rope--in its house, carefully kept against the day of need, day after
day, week after week, year after year, and the long waiting had told on
the stout rope, slowly it had rotted, slowly--and no man knew it. And
now in the day of need when a good man's life depended on it, it was
failing. Was it though? Only three more men. And now only two--only the
old skipper and himself. No one had noticed the rope, and where was the
good of speaking of it. He watched the breeches-buoy, coming back to
them, and clearly, clearly he read as in letters of fire that one of
those two must die. Twelve hours ago he would have given his life for
the skipper's, gladly, willingly; but now--now it was different. It was
his right to live, he' told himself fiercely--his right, just as it was
the right of the skipper to be the last to leave the ship. He was an old
man, what was his life to him?--loyal enough to his owners--a rough
old sea-dog, hard and even cruel at times--he was old, he had lived
his life, he must be the one to stay. Even for the wife and children's
sake--the owners were not hard men--they would see they did not starve.
And he must see Susy again--just hold her in his arms once again.
Sweetheart, sweetheart, who so dear in all the world? It was his right
to go, he told himself again. Then he cut the lashings with which they
had bound the skipper to the mast, the breeches-buoy was so close now
and it was easier for him to do it. The old man might find a difficulty
by himself, and he would want to be all clear when next the buoy came
back. When next the buoy came back! He looked at the stranded rope and
knew that the buoy would never come back. Hardly would it reach the
shore. Certain it was it would never come back, and the wreck was
breaking up fast. It was his right to go, and no one would know. And
even if they did, he was only taking his rights. How could he give his
life, with all its fair possibilities, all its high hopes, for this
worn-out old shellback? And the buoy was here!

"You go, sir. It'll only make a few minutes' difference, and I can help
you. You're hurt, and you'll find it hard to manage by yourself."

The old man demurred a moment--staunch old sailor, he would have stuck
to the ship to the last, but the mate said again, "It only makes the
difference of a minute or two, sir. That's