The hour passed and Julian reappeared. The partial relief of mind which had come to all the others had in degree reached him. It enabled him, as he came down the wheel-house stair, to reflect, though with a shudder, upon that furious treatment which alone, he had somewhere heard, would counteract an opium poisoning, and upon Lucian's utter inability to endure any part of such a treatment. He found Ramsey hearkening at the door again, newly disquieted. The two servants were out at the rail of the wide guards. "Ought his breathing," she said, "to sound like that?" Julian thought not, but even a sister's solicitude offended his lifelong sentiment of paramount ownership in his brother. "Stand away, I'll let you know," he replied, passed in, and closed the door. Then all at once, as so often has happened to so many of us, he saw his heedlessness where he had fancied himself vigilant. The light was dim. He knelt close to the sleeper. One long stare into the pale yet livid face was enough. Lucian was dying. Julian leaped to his feet to seek aid but saw its futility and fell again to his knees. Lucian was dying of the "black-drop" which his brother, in haughty ignorance, by the hand of Phyllis, had given him. Presently Julian found voice, yet, mindful still of the listening Ramsey, let himself only softly murmur: "Oh, Lucian, my brother! Oh, Lucian, my twin brother! I've killed you, killed you twice over, my twin brother! God! but you're right not to live a cripple. And it was I who crippled you! Oh, Lucian, I'm the cripple now!" Ramsey tapped. He sprang to the door and without opening it answered: "Yes, in a minute. He--he's all right." At the wash-stand he lifted the phial of black-drop still half full. As quietly as if the dose were a dram at the bar he filled the measuring--glass and drank its last drop. Then he turned to the door and barely opened it. "He's all right, Ramsey.... Yes.... Yes. He's done just the right thing. So have I. Now, go away, please, wherever you like, only don't--stay--here just to bother us. I'll merely lie down beside him without--What?... No, go away! You'll find us all right in the morning." LXIII THE CAPTAIN'S CHAIR On the next afternoon but one, while hundreds went down to the steamboat landing to view the new _Enchantress_, there was a double funeral in the old French cemetery, Saint Louis Street, New Orleans. Returning from it together, Watson and his former "cub" spoke of Gideon Hayle. "He takes the loss of them boys harder'n what I'd 'a' thought he would," said the younger pilot. And Watson replied: "Yes, but he don't take it as hard as what, years ago, he tuck their fust refus'n' to go with him on the river."