The captain of the brigantine, who was tender-hearted, and really cared for her, had decided that this was a case of typhoid. He told the fishermen to keep away--for the germs might get into the fish they were preparing to send off to market. So he had been the nurse. But all he could do was feed her. For two weeks--during part of which time she was unconscious--she had not been washed, and her bed had not been changed. Outside it was a dark night, and the fog hung low and menacing over the water. The big trap-boat with six men, and the skipper's sons among them, had been missing since morning. The skipper had stayed home to take care of the poor little servant girl. While he sat beside her wretched bunk, his mind was divided between her plight and his anxiety for the six men out there in the angry, ugly sea. "I wonder where the b'ys are now," he muttered. Then he would go to the door and peer out under his hand into the night. Nothing there but the dark and the mystery. "'Twas time they were back,--long, long ago!" he would say. "'Tis a wonderful bad night for the fog. I doubt they'll find their way in. I should 'a' gone out wi' them. But no, she needed me! Poor girl! The Lord, He gives, an' the Lord He takes away: blessed be the name o' the Lord!" Wiping his eyes on his rough sleeve, the captain came back and helped the Doctor put clean linen on the bed and wash the poor girl's grimy face. She was unconscious now: her life was ebbing fast. The captain went to the door again and again. Outside there was no sound but the low moaning of the night wind in the blackness. The fishermen, afraid of what the mysterious disease might do for them, were keeping their distance. Suddenly as the captain glanced on the pale face of the girl, he gasped. "She's dead, Doctor, she's dead!" The Doctor felt her heart. It was true. The spirit of the brave little maid had gone at last beyond the beck and call of men. It was midnight, and over the dim and smoking lamp the captain and the Doctor decided that the best thing to do was to make a bonfire of the girl's few poor effects. So they took her meagre clothes and miserable bedding out on the cliffs, piled them, soaked them in oil, and set them afire. The flames leapt high and made a beacon to be seen afar. Out there on the black face of the deep six hopeless, helpless men in a trap-boat, groping their way blindly, saw the flames and took heart again. "See!" they cried to one another. "Look there! Up yonder on the cliffs! They're givin' us a light to steer by!" They drove their oars into the yeasty waves again with strength renewed. Little did they know what it was that had made the light for them. When at last they dragged their boat ashore and hobbled to the hut, they saw the body of the girl, the lamp, and the captain and the Doctor making the body ready for the burial. They entered the hut, and were told what had happened.