The engine had stopped. She neared in the deep dusk, a harp of lights, and with the steady sound of a waterfall.... She was just moving. There was a hail from the heights. “Hai!” answered Bellair. It was a poor, broken sound. Now they felt the strange, different heat of the steamer--earth-heat--and a thousand odours registered on their clean senses--milk and meat, coal-smoke, and the steam of hot ashes, perfumes, metal and paint.... A hoarse voice called down: “Are any of you sick--infectious?” “No--just hunger and thirst--clean as a new berth.” It was Bellair again. “Stay off well. We’re putting down a ladder. Watch the green light.” They saw it come down to them--to the very water. Then they were uplifted. This was the world coming back--but a changed world. A great kindness had come over all men. Bellair saw the tears in the eyes of the people gathered on the deck. He almost expected to see Bessie Brealt there.... Perhaps the change had come from her singing.... There was a choke in the voices of the people gathered around them. “Please,” he managed to say, “don’t keep us apart to-night--we three. Please let us be together.” And down the deck-passage he heard the voices of women, and among them, the Faraway Woman’s voice, in answer: “Yes, I will go with you thankfully--but not for long. My companions and I must be together very soon. We three--to-night--it is promised between us.” There was no voice from Fleury. The kindness of every one, that was like a poignant distress to Bellair. He dared not speak; in fact, there was danger of him breaking down even without words. The eyes about him were searching, in their eagerness to help. An Englishman came forward at intervals and gripped his hand; a German spoke to others of the remarkable condition of the boat and its three, after ten days; another German moved in and out helping, without any words, though his eyes lifted Bellair over several pinches of emotion. The American ship-doctor was the best of all; young, gruff, humorous, quick-handed, doing and saying the right thing.... They brought him stimulants and sups of water by the teaspoon. The merest aroma of thin broth in the bottom of a tea-cup was lifted to his lips. He was helped to a hot bath; a splendid quiet friendliness about it all. Now it occurred to Bellair that they were tremendously eager to hear his story. He wanted to satisfy them.... “It was the fifth day--that Stackhouse died,” he was saying, though he was mistaken. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him ... owns a lot of ships and islands down here.... That was the climax for us. He died hard and he was a big man--but we did not murder him.... His body did not sink....” There was a boom of running water in the bathroom; the steam rising. Bellair’s voice was ineffectual. The face of the ship-surgeon bent to him in the steam, saying: