... And Fleury was the one who had ceased to talk. But he had acted, too.... They saw that he was held by some power of his giving to them. He was like light. He had given the whole material force of his body to hold off that destruction which had come with the dying of Stackhouse. He had not eaten, even as they had eaten. They feared for him, because he was the centre and mainspring of their pilgrimage. Especially this haunt became more grippable in the heart of the ninth night.... There was a small tin of water left, less than three pints, very far from clean; and somewhat less than a pound of crackers. Bellair awoke to find Fleury gone from his place between him and the woman. He was in the stern, in the old seat of Stackhouse, praying. ... Fleury met the tenth day with an exaltation that awed Bellair and the woman; and there came from it a fear to Bellair’s heart that had nothing to do with self, nor with the Mother, nor the Gleam. They were all weak, and two men utterly weak. Through their will and denial, and the extraordinary force and health of her own nature, the child had not yet been dangerously denied. It had become a sort of natural religion with the three--a readiness to die for the Gleam. “This is our last day,” said Fleury, before the western horizon was marked clear.... The Faraway Woman told them another story of what the wise old shepherd dog told the puppies--that it was better to begin on crackers and water--and end on cookies and cream.... 11 Bellair believed about this being the last day. The authority was quite enough, but there was still something akin to eternity in the possible space of another daylight and distance. The announcement did not bring him an unmixed gladness, for the mysterious fear of the night haunted him--the thing that had come to him under the full and amazing moon while Fleury prayed.... Day revealed no sign. They sat speechless and bowed under the smiting noon--the little boat in the wide, green deep under a fleckless, windless sky, proud of its pure part in infinite space. That was the day the child moaned, as significantly for the ears of men, as for the mother. He was a waif to look at--the little heart at times like one of them in stoicism--then nestling to the mother-breast and the turning away in astonishment and pain. The Mother’s eyes were harrowing. “This is our last day,” Fleury repeated. “I believe you,” she said. “Then drink and eat----” “I did--it is--it is--oh, I did!” “Land or rain or a ship, I do not know--but this is the last day----”