Nelson turned.
The giant was following them at a panther-prowl.
As Kit saw him a phrase from the Old Book flashed to his mind—the Body of this Death.
Only the eyes lived; abysms through which the boy gazed down to behold the last nicker of a drowning soul.
It was not quite out, that gallant little light. Down there in the tumult of dark waters it fought for life despairingly.
Without, the man was black and white and strangely still. Within, God and
Devil were at battle. And the Devil was winning.
The giant prowled across the deck, kneading his hands.
"Can I have a word with your lordship?"
The voice was clogged and husky as the voice of one dead for centuries.
"By all means," briskly.