"We have done—good work," he said. "Go on—with it. I fear I shall—not—be with you."
His eyes closed, and Mazoe, who thought that he was spent, burst into tears.
Below in the camp arose a mighty clamor of shouting. Everson's eyelids fluttered open.
"Why do the soldiers cheer?" he asked.
Mazoe listened intently to the shouting.
"They cheer because the king is coming," he answered.
Everson smiled faintly.
"Tell him—I have made—a way—for him—"
His voice trailed away, and he sank into unconsciousness. And though he did not die, he sailed so near to the quiet coasts that it was many weeks before he knew that the work he had begun had gone on without him, and had been done well.