"No, I didn't. I think it was this man. He killed Black Diamond; and
Black Diamond killed him back."
His heart was swollen almost to bursting.
A row of heads now bobbed all along the side, staring at the dead man. It awed them, this lay-figure with the dreadful stillness brooding about it, rocking with the rock of the sea. They spoke of it with lowered voices reverently.
"Funny thing—him so quiet. Don't seem nat'ral like."
"Warn't like that ten minutes since."
"That Black Diamond!—and can't lift his own hand now!"
"Ah, makes a change, Death, don't it?"
"One thing sure," ended a philosopher. "Like it or not—sooner or later—in this world we all gets our desarts."
So these solemn children, big of the sea, brooded over the Great Mystery. Here they were in the dark, the night blind about them, the old sea roaming round; and here was It. Dimly they tried to apprehend It. Somehow It made them feel strangely small, and somehow strangely great.
Reuben was still pumping the dead man's hand up and down, the tears coursing down his face.