At last he rose and gazed steadily at his brother’s face, and there was something of awe in his eyes. Outside the doctor was waiting and murmured a few words of sympathy.
“How is Mr. Gaunt?” Edward asked quietly, and his voice sounded strange in his ears.
“Still unconscious. But there is no danger, so long as he is kept quiet.”
Drake went on deck where he was immediately joined by Captain Armstrong, who gripped his hand in silent sympathy.
“I have just pulled up another steamer,” the captain remarked cheerfully; and that was his way of concealing his sorrow.
Life on board continued as though nothing had happened, but when the sun rose in the morning, every man on the ship stood bareheaded on deck. Wearing his robes of office, Edward Drake stood prayer-book in hand, and in a steady voice read the words of the burial service over his brother’s body, which rested before him, swathed in the flags of his country.
His voice died away, and he turned, and the sound of the cleaving of water struck his ears. His face was set and he gave a little cry when he saw that John Gaunt was behind him.
“I told Mr. Gaunt that he must not come,” the doctor cried in great distress.
But the millionaire smiled and held out his hand to Drake.
“I wish it had been I,” he said simply, and then fell back into the doctor’s arms unconscious.