"'No.'
"'Is anyone with him—anyone he loves?'
"'No, he is quite alone.'
"'Poor, poor fellow! Give him these, please,' and she laid the roses in my hand.
"Some hours later the messenger again tapped me on the shoulder.
"'All ready, sir, Mr. Hunter says.'
"On the lower deck, close to the sea, a deck slashed with racing waves in a storm, were grouped a body of sailors and officers; all had their coats and caps on. Against the wall of the ship stood the Captain, an open book in his hand. Above his head flared a bull's-eye backed by a ship's reflector, marking the high light in the composition. Beneath him, almost under the book, which cast a shadow like the outstretched wings of a bird, lay a black box, straight-sided and flat-topped. I edged my way through the encircling crowd and stood nearer, the roses in my hand.
"The words now fell clear and strong from the Captain's lips, every man uncovering his head.
"'Man that is born of woman——'
"I reached down to lay the flowers on the lid—loose, as she had given them to me.