ngrateful wretches!" cried Trafford,
frantically,--"the lad has done more for you and yours than you can
ever repay! He went across the sea this time to do you good, and it's
for your sakes that he's out in the peril yonder! Will you let him
drown without even an attempt to save him? Will you?"

Dirk shook his head. "It be no use," he said, "but we ken try. I be
not one to hev it said that I be unthankful. Here, lads, give us a
hand! Ef I'll be riskin' my life fur any one, 'tis fur the lad
yender."

They dragged a boat down to the curling line of foam, and watching for
a favorable opportunity, launched it. Trafford sprang in with them,
and they pushed into the darkness. It seemed hardly three minutes to
those who stood around the fire, before a great wave came riding in
and threw the boat and its load upon the sand. Dirk sprang up and
seized Trafford before the returning flood had engulfed him. He
pointed to the rent ribs of the boat, saying, as he shook himself,--

"It be as I told ye. Yer lad be beyont yer gold or yer help."

They made no more attempts. Trafford gave up the idea of a rescue, and
paced up and down the sand in the very face of the surf that drenched
him at every tumble. Utterly helpless! The cold, cruel sea mocked his
despair and frenzy. It was great and mighty, and even now was
swallowing his treasure, he thought, which lay almost within his power
to save. So near!--and yet death between! The thought made him half
wild with despair and horror. Yet there was no help,--nowhere to turn
for aid or succor,--not the faintest hope of saving the boy's life.
The sea must swallow him.

The fishermen looked askance at the wild, desperate figure that rushed
up and down the sand as if it sought to burst through the sea and save
its treasure, and whispered gloomily among themselves. Suddenly the
man wheeled about and came up to the fire, crying, fiercely,--

"Hagar, you have a God! I cannot find him. Pray to him,--pray to him!
Quick, woman!--pray to him before it's too late!"

"Lord help ye, Mas'r Dick!" said Hagar, "I's jes' prayin' fur de dear
chile ebery minnit! Don't ye know it? But de Lord's out
thar!"--pointing with her skinny finger to the depths of darkness
which shrouded the sea, with such vehemence as to startle the
fishermen; "he's wid dat boy, and thar can't nuffin kill his soul.
It's only goin' to glory quicker'n de rest ob us. Don't ye know it,
Mas'r Dick?--can't ye feel it? What'