“But—he would be master of the ship, Father. Black as he was, black as I made him, he would have been master of the Deborah. And that could not be.”
The missionary laid his hand on Black Pawl’s shoulder. “Let us take him away,” he said. “Let us tend you.”
Black Pawl’s arms tightened around his son. “No, Father. I’ll keep him—till the end.”
“You’re not dying,” Dan Darrin cried. Black Pawl smiled, and looked toward the missionary.
“Tell him,” he said; and the man of the church nodded.
“Yes, he is dying, Dan,” he said.
Black Pawl asked wistfully: “And what will God say to this, Father?”
“No harsh words, Black Pawl.”
“You’re sure? Sure?”
“Very sure.”