"I know only the simple prayers of the sea," Lavelle added. With that Emily found her voice.
"She—she would want you to say those—and so would I—if——" Her eyes closed, and as from a great distance she heard him intoning the Lord's prayer. She realized that never before had she known its full meaning. There came a pause and she looked up. The boat was fluttering into the wind. The Chinamen, save Chang, who had to stand to the helm, and Rowgowskii, were on their knees.
Lavelle stood with Elsie in his outstretched arms, facing an arc in the sky where a blush of the dawn still lingered. The breeze seemed to pause. As Chang checked the boat's way Lavelle bent over and laid the burden in his arms upon the sea. So might a mother have put down a child to rest.
"'We therefore commit her body to the deep,'" he said very distinctly, "'to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of this body, when the sea shall give up her dead.'"
His gaze lingered overside for a moment and then he added:
"It's a clean grave, little woman."
Turning quickly away from the sea he seemed another man.
"Sail on!" he snapped at the helmsman.