'Then you thought—'
'Thought nothin'! There was no time to think. I see the spar comin' an' I says, "Blazes! That'll kill the skipper!" an' I tried to stop it.'
'You ain't sorry you did it?'
'Sorry nothin. What's done's done.'
'See here, Bill,' said old Jansen earnestly. 'I'll tell you what you did. You did your duty! An' you laid down your life for another. You saved the captain's life, an' mebbe the ship, an' all our lives through him. An' you did it without thought o' reward. Don't you s'pose you'll get a little credit for that?'
'I'm thinkin',' said Bill. He lay silent for a minute. 'Read that again,' he requested.
Old Jansen did so, and after a pause he added, 'Now, if I was you I wouldn't worry no more about hell. Just make your mind as easy as you can. That's a better way to go.'
'I've got that,' said Bill. 'It's all right. Go on; read to me some more.'
Jansen lifted the book and resumed his reading. He turned the pages frequently, choosing passages with which he was familiar. The other moaned at intervals. With every roll of the ship, water plashed faintly underneath the bunks. The lantern swung unwearied, and sodden clothing slapped against the walls. Dark shadows rose and stooped and rose again as if longing and afraid to peer into the narrow berth. The sound of the storm outside was grave and insistent.
The reader came to the end of a passage, and laid the book on his knee. Suddenly he realized that the moans had ceased. He leaned over and looked at the man in the bunk. He was dead.