Something earth-bound slowly left his face. In contrast it grew mild and reckonable; but within an hour he was wild with pain, and dangerous for night was falling. In the light of the moon there was treachery. Bellair and Fleury sat together in the centre. The other’s bulk was great and the boat small. In becoming custodian of a bottle of whiskey, Bellair now required help. He wished it in the sea, but there was a pang of cruelty about that. The new force that animated Stackhouse had to be reckoned with. It was both cunning and destructive. There was no murder in their hearts.... Stackhouse drew his feet under him, helping them with his hands; his eyeballs turned upward from the agony of cramps in his limbs; then he sank forward on his knees. The craft of desire had turned from fighting to speech. The moon was grey upon his breast and gleamed from his eyes. “You will listen to a man who is dying. Yes, Bellair, you will listen--who listened to me so much.... Give me drink, so I can talk----” “It may save you--but not if you take it all at once.” The creature winced, but his passion moved to its appointed ends. He drew forth the large brown wallet they had often seen; rubbed it in his hands, until his fingers could feel; then opened the leather band. From one receptacle he lifted a thick package of bank-notes. “I liked you, Bellair--almost as I liked one Belding. I could have done much for you. I hate _that_ man, for he has made my death hard----” His face turned toward Fleury, but did not meet the preacher’s eyes. “The _Jade_ brought a sweet cargo to Ameriga, and Stackhouse does not bank in New York.... Bellair, I want to drink--so the talk will come----” So absurd was the sound of cargo and banking that Bellair thought his mind had wandered again, yet he said: “You are better. You cannot drink each hour. If this is to help you, you must be sane.” “I have something to say of imbortance--you will help me, Bellair. It is for you.” The faces of Fleury and the mother gave him no help. They were kind, but the thing seemed beneath them, as if they were waiting for him to come back from it. “You have stood by that man, and not by me,” Stackhouse said hoarsely. “So that I meant to toss this in the sea at the last--this and all the papers----” He lifted the bank-notes and showed him the collection of separately-banded documents. “I am a rich man, and I have no heir. I had thought of you, but you turned away from me and did not continue to listen. You went to him of the breachings--but you have now what is needful for me and I will bay. I have no heir. I said that before. I dell you now. A dying man does not lie. There are papers to make you rich, for I have other fortunes. Look, I will toss it into the sea--if you do not give me that bottle----” Bellair laughed at him. “These are thousand dollar notes--there are fifty of them----”