But Anthony was on him like a wolf. A terrible blow on the side of the head stopped Blake's jeers, and he rocked on his feet; another one down below, and the life was wheezing out of his throat. Blake closed; his great arms wound about Anthony; the young man strove with all his power, but he could not escape. He heard the hurrying feet of the seamen behind him; then came the voice of mademoiselle, high-pitched, almost a scream. "Go back!" it said. "Go back! I'll fire if you take another step." Anthony forced Blake around, and so saw the length of the deck forward, over his shoulder. The girl, her eyes blazing, her hair loosened, stood between him and the sailors; she had the pistol he had given her, and it was lifted menacingly. More time! What a girl! And time was what he needed then; just a little time. He dug his elbow into Blake's throat and so shut off his breath; the frightful blow on the side of the head had weakened the man; but let him fight his way through this phase and he would recover. Viciously the elbow dug deeper; with his great chest empty, the man let go; his aimless feet took him back a step, and then the whistling blows smashed into his body, and he fell. Panting, torn, his face black and threatening, Anthony turned upon the two men. "Hoist out the yawl," he said. With his own weight added to the lines, the boat was swung out and lowered. Blake, broken and unconscious, was put into it, as was the body of Tarrant; then the seamen pulled away toward the brig. And when they had gone the _Rufus Stevens_ was put into the wind once more; and Anthony, leaning against the wheel, said to mademoiselle: "That is the last." "Oh, I hope and pray it is so!" she said. He took a shining strand of the dark, loosened hair in his hand and kissed it; and she clung to him and looked up at him. And the winds of the ocean stirred about them and filled the sails; and the great ship, for whose safety they had endured so much, bore them slowly homeward. [Illustration: "AND THE WINDS OF THE OCEAN STIRRED ABOUT THEM AND FILLED THE SAILS."] XLIV The warehouse of Rufus Stevens' Sons stood on the waterfront, huge, square, and with many windows. There was no rutted road here, with its scum of foul, black mud; stones were set in smoothly and solidly. The row of brick arches opening into the warehouse were high enough to admit a laden dray. Anthony stood in the mouth of one and looked in. The place was like a dim vast cavern packed with riches and filled with aromatic smells; porters, draymen, and clerks moved about in the half-light like gnomes; never before had Anthony been so impressed by the complete meaning of order, routine, spaciousness, wealth.