The captain groaned aloud, "Would to God it had been me instead of him!" Between his harrowing solicitude for Ella, and the awful belief that Houghton had given his life for him, he passed moments which whitened his hair. As they neared the landing the water grew stiller, and their progress more rapid. Assured of safety, the negro began to reason and apologize. "Mus' be reas'n'ble, boss," he said. "I dun declar ter you dat we'd all be at de bottom, feedin' fishes, if I'd dun wot you ax. Been no use nohow. Young Marse Houghton mus' got cotched in de riggin' or he'd come up an' holler. I couldn't dibe a'ter 'im in de dark, and in dat swashin' sea." "Stop your cursed croaking. If you had known how to manage your boat it wouldn't have happened." "I dun my bes', boss. S'pose I want ter lose my boat an' my life? I'se jis' busted, an' I kin neber go out on de harbor agin widout fearin' I see young Marse Houghton's spook. I'se wus off dan you is, but I'se he'p you wen we gits asho', if you ain't 'tankerous." "Certainly you must help us," said Mrs. Hunter, decidedly. "You must get men and a carriage. Captain Bodine has lost his crutches, and his daughter is in a swoon. If you help us I will testify that you did the best you could under the circumstances." "All right, missus. I kin swar dat it ud been death to hab dun any oder ting." The carriage was brought, and men lifted into it the unconscious girl and the almost equally helpless veteran. Then one mounted the box with the driver and another ran for a physician, who was directed to go to Mrs. Bodine's residence. The negro carefully moored Houghton's boat, feeling that there might be something propitiatory to the dreaded ghost in this act. He then hastened to his humble cabin, and filled the cars of his family and neighbors with lamentations over the lost boat and lost man, and also with self-gratulations that he was alive to tell the story. On the way home, Mara took the stricken veteran's hand and said: "Captain, you must bear up under this. In no respect have you been to blame." "Nevertheless," he replied, and there was almost desperation in his tone: "I feel that it will prove the most terrible misfortune of my life. Ella may never be herself again, and I have wronged one to whom I can never make reparation--a noble, generous boy who has taken a revenge like himself, but which is scorching my very soul." "You are noble yourself, captain, or you wouldn't feel it so keenly," was the gentle reply. Mrs. Bodine, without waiting for explanations, peremptorily ordered that Ella should be carried to her room. The veteran, using a second pair of crutches which he kept in reserve, went to the adjoining apartment, buried his face in his hands, and groaned audibly. He knew not how to perform one imperative and pressing duty, that of relating to Mr. Houghton what had happened. Aware of what was on his mind, Mara came to him and said, "I will go and tell his father."