Leaning on the windlass, with the fresh nor'wester roaring out of a sky like crystal, the spray flying over them, and the water swashing about their feet, Applebo told his story to Bell while the two waited for Heldstrom to die. And, as he finished and Bell was staring at him with round goggle eyes, his fat face haggard and colourless, there came from somewhere in the water-soaked hull an odd, jarring explosion and a mass of froth welled up into the waist. "There goes one o' the water-tanks," said Bell. "I had 'em emptied and plugged, to buoy us. She may sink now." The concussion seemed to have aroused Heldstrom. He opened his eyes. "Go...!" said he. "I t'ink she vas settling." Neither man moved. And then it seemed as though Heldstrom for the first time understood. "Ho!" he cried, and the strength came into his voice again and the brightness into his eyes. "So it vas because of me that you wait? Ha ... that it is fine! But you must not!" He looked at Bell. "You have dose little ger'rls..." The blue eyes softened. "Go, my old friend. Gif me your hand und go...!" Bell, the tears gushing from his eyes, took the bloodless hand in his, squeezed, then dropped it. Heldstrom looked at Applebo. "Kiss me ... my son," said he. Applebo knelt and kissed him. A sea broke in the waist and the wash boiled thigh-deep over the quarter-deck. It splashed over Heldstrom as he lay on the staging. The cold water seemed to rouse him. He hove himself upright and flung both arms aloft. "To God....!" he cried, and fell back, dead. Bell looked at Applebo. "We've no time to lose..." said he. "She's going." "I'll take his body with me to the yawl," said Applebo. "I suppose you want to be the last to leave your ship." "Of course," said Bell, quietly. CHAPTER XVIII Our saga closes far from the sea and the sad tales it has to tell. Here were fresh odours of moss and fern in place of the salt ones of brine and sedge. The murmur of the wind in the tall pines is sweeter far than wave-talk ... but there were other murmurs of which we must take account. At the foot of a tall pine were Hermione and Applebo. Behind them the late autumn woods and at their feet a small expanse of crystal water, smooth as a mirror except where broke by the rush of some avid trout. A glorious jewel of a lake was this, rimmed about with emeralds and rubies, set in gold and reflecting an azure as pure as it is possible for an Adirondack sky to hold. On the far shore nestled a little camp in a clump of beeches and a thin column of blue wood-smoke rose straight into the still, spicy air. From the shadowed bank to the right came the flash of a canoe-paddle and a splash of crimson colour.