The doctor raised his finger.
The man's face twitched convulsively, the lids opened wider, there came a short, inward gasp, and the jaw dropped.
"He's dead," said the doctor, and rose to his feet. Then he took his handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the dead man's face.
As the words fell from his lips Lucy caught at the wall, and with an almost hysterical cry of joy threw herself into Jane's arms.
The captain leaned back against the life-boat and for some moments his eyes were fixed on the body of his dead son.
"I ain't never loved nothin' all my life, doctor," he said, his voice choking, "that it didn't go that way."
Doctor John made no reply except with his eyes. Silence is ofttimes more sympathetic than the spoken word. He was putting his remedies back into his bag so that he might rejoin Jane. The captain continued:
"All I've got is gone now—the wife, Archie, and now Bart. I counted on these two. Bad day's work, doctor—bad day's work." Then in a firm tone, "I'll open the doors now and call in the men; we got to git these two bodies up to the Station, and then we'll get 'em home somehow."
Instantly all Lucy's terror returned. An unaccountable, unreasoning panic took possession of her. All her past again rose before her. She feared the captain now more than she had Bart. Crazed over the loss of his son he would blurt out everything. Max would hear and know—know about Archie and Bart and all her life!
Springing to her feet, maddened with an undefinable terror, she caught the captain's hand as he reached out for the fastenings of the door.