After a time the moans ceased. A great sea boomed on the deck outside, and washed aft. The lantern swung violently, and the ship's bell tolled. Jansen looked into the bunk; Bill's eyes were fixed on him.
'I want to ask you, Jansen,' he said in a low voice. 'D'ye think there is any chance for me?'
The other hesitated. 'I—I'm afraid not,' he stammered.
'I don't mean a chance to live,' explained Bill. 'I mean, d'ye think I've got to go to hell?'
Jansen's tone grew positive. 'No,' he said, 'I don't.'
'I wisht there was a parson here,' muttered the man in the bunk. 'There used to be a old chap that come regular to the Sailors' Home—gray whiskers, he had, an' a long coat—I wisht he was here. He'd tell me.'
The man on the chest listened, his elbows on his knees, his head on his hands.
'I shook hands with him many a time,' continued Bill. 'He'd tell me—'
Jansen started, and looked up. His bright, deep-set eyes had taken on a look intent, glowing.
'Shall I read to ye a bit?' he asked. 'I've got a book—it might strike ye—now.'