"'Five minutes, sir,' said the madman.
"Had Skipper Job gone below again? Or would he come aft? For two minutes not a word was said. My customer and I were waiting for the first stroke of twelve. Soon I heard voices forward; then the tramp of feet coming aft over the deck—treading softly. They paused by the house, and the whispering ceased. Was it a rescue, or was it not? I could not tell. The men above seemed to have no concern with me. But, indeed, they had.
"'John, b'y,' a strange voice called, 'is you below?'
"''Tis me brother Timothy,' my customer whispered. 'I must be goin' home.'
"'John, b'y, is you below?'
"'Ay, Timothy!'
"'Come up, b'y. I'm goin' ashore now, an' 'tis time you was in bed.'
"My customer put up the axe, and, with a sign to me to keep silence, went on deck, with me following. He jumped in the punt, as docile as a child, gave us all good-night, and was rowed ashore. We did not see him again; for the wind blew fresh from the nor'west in the morning, and by night we were anchored at Point-o'-Bay. Whether or not the fairies had commanded the poor fellow to kill me at twelve o'clock, I do not know. He did not say so; but I think they had."