"What d'yez know of Lavelle?" Without pausing for an answer, he went on: "'The Prince' is drown-ded these twinty odd year. An' his poor bhoy—he's gone this past twilve-month. A man—a prince av min loike his father, he was. I was along av th' bhoy in th' Yakutat."
Emily's senses went reeling.
"The Yakutat?" she gasped.
"Aye, th' Yakutat—th' big Alaskan brute. She did for th' bhoy, but 'Th' Prince' would have loiked t' have been with us that night." A boastfulness of pride came into his voice. His eyes closed for a second as if he saw a vision. "'Twas loike mush whin she piled up. Misther Lavelle kept a-tellin' Graham he was sthandin' in too close, but 'twas no use. I heard him meself toll him twict. I was at th' wheel th' lasht toime. I can see th' two av thim just outside th' wheel-house now. 'You're wrong,' says 'Th' Prince's' son. 'I'm masther here,' says Graham. Dhrunk he was wid th' lust av pride an' power loike whin fools command. An' maybe he was dhrunk, too, wid somethin' else. 'Take yure orders or go t' yure room.' An' 'Th' Prince's' son says he: 'I'll take me orders.' I was at th' wheel agin in th' mid-watch. God help me 'twas meself that stheered her up on th' rocks, obeying orders. She climbed thim loike a woild horse. Th' scut av a third officher had th' bridge. 'Full spade asthern' he give her as' I knew thin she was broke in two. 'Full spade ahead,' an' she'd a-hung on th' rocks till mornin' whin th' shore folk could have saw us."
The old man paused.
"Yes, yes, go on," whispered Emily.
"A sup av water. That's it. Thankee, nurse. Where was I? Oh——Misther Lavelle comes a-tumblin' up an' Graham an' th' foorth officher. 'All hands t' th' boats,' says Graham. A mad, crazy coward he was. Says I t' meself, 'I want none av ye,' an' I followed 'The Prince's' son. 'T' th' boats.' Huh! An' not enough boats for th' half av thim aboord. I lep' from th' wheel an' shtuck t' Misther Lavelle. We had a din av woild animals t' foight. But we got our boat away—th' childer an' th' women an' th' ould folk. Lavelle he was for goin' back aboord. 'Twas suicide. I shoved off. We cleared th' side an' just thin a big naygur I had lopped av' th' ear an' overboord from th' deck reaches up an' catches our gunnle. 'Th' Prince's' son cracks at him with an oar. A fule shtood up i' th' boat, sayin', 'Take him aboord.' An' we full thin as a tick. Th' next minynte an' over we wint.
"Loike an hour ago I see it. Says a littul lady forninst me—we'd taken her husband aboord 'cause we'd seen him sick about th' deck—says she, 'If we must die, we'll die thegither, Jawn.' An' all round was Bedlam."
With a shudder he lay back. Emily Granville knew that it was of her mother and father that the derelict had just spoken. But even in the stress of feeling which possessed her there formed in her mind an high, practical purpose. She knew that if this man could but reach the ears of the world with this tale it meant the vindication of Paul Lavelle. It meant all that was dear to him—his good name, his honor restored. The sailor must not die. He must live. She would fight death for him and in justice she must conquer. If she could do this thing for her love she would have nothing else to ask of life.
But of a sudden dread seized her. Perhaps it was only the tale of a disordered brain that she had heard. Why had not this man come forward at the inquiry which had sent Paul forth branded a coward? Why had he not told this story then? If he had been on the Yakutat that night, how was it that Paul did not remember him? Could it be that this man's weakened mind had found suggestion for the tale from the force of her own mental desire?