“You murdering hound,� I cried, “you have brought this upon us,� but he would only plead piteously for water, disregarding my bitter reproaches.
I was for killing him outright with my cutlass, which I picked up, but she would not have it so. She got a half cocoanut shell, filled it with water, and brought it to him. She bathed his brow and gave him some to drink. It gave him temporary relief but his minutes were numbered. His life was going out by seconds.
“God!� he cried, as his eyes caught the gleam of the gold and silver bars, “the treasure!� He stretched out his hand toward it, and then stopped. “I’m undone,� he choked out with a fearful scream. “Mistress!�
“Yes?�
“Forgive—�
Indeed she forgave him, I make no doubt, but her forgiveness came too late, for his head dropped—he had been looking sideways—and his face buried itself in the wet sand.
“Is he dead?� she asked, awe-struck.
I nodded. No closer inspection was needed to establish the truth of that fact.
“He died with a prayer for forgiveness.�
“And few men have ever had greater need for that forgiveness,� said I, drawing her away.