"Barry! Captain Barry!" screamed Emily, wildly. "Where is he?" "There!" gasped Revere, hoarsely. "And is there no hope?" "None. He is gone forever. My God, wasn't it terrible? He held up the ship!" "Grandfather!" cried the girl, distraught. "Let us run to him." The old man still sat on the porch, staring at what had been the object of his gaze for so many years. There was a peaceful, yet sorrowful, look upon his face. He had seen the ship fall; he realized that his hour had come. He was fronting death and he knew it, yet he was as calm as he had been when he had fronted death many times years before. They gathered about him, understanding, helpless. "Ay," he said, "the cruise is over. Where's Barry?" "Under the ship, sir." "And a good end! Strike the flag. I've lost my last command." Instantly Revere ran to the foot of the staff and silently cast off the halliards. As the little blue flag of a rear-admiral, with its white stars, came floating gracefully, reluctantly, down from the masthead where it had flown so long, the veteran slowly and painfully rose to his feet. With his right hand he lifted the sword of the _Constitution_, with his old vigor and his old grace he bared the blade and brought it up before him in graceful salute, while the flag fell into Revere's arms. "Come aboard, sir," he said, softly, as if to an Eternal Captain. He stood erect a moment and then sank gently back into the chair. For the first time in his life he forgot the weapon in his hand. The sword fell clattering at his feet. The emblem of power, authority, and rank, all now slipping from him, lay neglected where it fell. A smile quivered upon his lips, but otherwise he sat still and quiet, looking out into the future. A few seconds. The light faded from his eyes, the life left his heart. The ship had fallen, the flag was down. It was the end. The old man had entered the last haven, dropped anchor in the final harbor. The little breeze which lifted his white hairs so tenderly had wafted his soul into another country, a better--that is, an heavenly! With a low cry, Emily threw herself on her knees before him. Down on Ship House Point a light, a flame, burst out amid the torn and shattered timbers. In a few moments the ruins of the now unheeded ship were blazing furiously. Barry had cunningly planned it so that the ship, after it had buried him, should be his funeral pyre. Fitting it might have been, thought Revere in his heart, as he looked at the flames roaring up from the ship, if the body of the admiral, like that of the Vikings of old, might have been laid upon its burning timbers. * * * * * L'ENVOI.