"You _shall_ not go!" cries Roger, frantically. "It is throwing away
your life. There are those whose lives can be better spared; let _them_
go. Let _me_ go. Fabian, think of that old man at home."

"My dear fellow, don't bury me in such a hurry," says Fabian, lightly.
"These poor fellows below have wives and families depending on them, and
no one implores them not to go. I will take my chance with them. Now
listen--"

"But not alone!" says Roger; "you shall not go alone. I will go with
you. To venture in such a sea--but, of course, that should not be
considered. Well, come then, come!" The poor boy, in spite of himself,
does consider it, but bravely pushes forward in the vague thought that
if he goes he may be of use to his friend, his brother.

"Impossible!" says Fabian. "There is not room for another. If we come
back again unsuccessful, I promise you, you shall try your chance then.
Here, don't look so gloomy, but hold my coat, and keep it dry, as I
daresay I shall be chilly enough when I get back to you."

He speaks with the utmost cheerfulness, indeed with a subdued gayety
that might emanate from a quiet man just starting on a pleasurable
expedition.

"Do you know the danger?" says Roger, in a broken voice, clinging to his
hand, but feeling that all remonstrance will be in vain.

"Tut! why should there be more danger for me than for another? Now go
back to her--she is there, is she not? my _dear_ little Dulce. Tell her
from me-- No!--tell her nothing. Good-by, old man; wish me a safe return
till I come; and--and--be good to her--always love her--"

He turns abruptly aside, and, springing down from the rock where he has
been standing, finds himself again on the beach. He is hurrying once
more toward the boat, which having sustained some slight injuries in its
last attempt is not quite seaworthy, but requires some looking after by
the men before they can start afresh, when he is stopped by the pressure
of two soft hands upon his arm.

Turning, he looks into Portia's eyes. She is haggard, ghastly in her
pallor, but unspeakably beautiful. Her fair hair, having come undone,
is waving lightly in the tempestuous wind. Her lips are parted.

"You are not going _out there_?" she says, pointing with a shudder to
the tumultuous waves, and speaking in a tone so full of agony and
reckless misery that it chills him. "You _shall_ not! Do you hear?
Fabian! Fabian! listen to me."

It is so dark and wild that no one can se