ed his shoulders, drew back, and waited.

The vessel was hove to outside the bay, as if hesitating. Brigond was
considering whether it were better, with his scant chart, to attempt the
bay, or to take small boats and make for the shore. He remembered the
reefs, but he did not know of the needle of rock. Presently he saw
Gaspard's boat coming. "Someone who knows the bay," he said; "I see a
hut on the cliff."

"Hello, who are you?" Brigond called down as Gaspard drew alongside.

"A Hudson's Bay Company's man," answered Gaspard.

"How many are there of you?"

"Myself alone."

"Can you pilot us in?"

"I know the way."

"Come up."

Gaspard remembered Brigond, and he veiled his eyes lest the hate he felt
should reveal him. No one could have recognised him as the young pilot
of twenty years before. Then his face was cheerful and bright, and in
his eye was the fire of youth. Now a thick beard and furrowing lines hid
all the look of the past. His voice, too, was desolate and distant.

Brigond clapped him on the shoulder. "How long have you lived off
there?" he asked, as he jerked his finger towards the shore.

"A good many years."

"Did anything strange ever happen there?" Gaspard felt his heart
contract again, as it did when Brigond's hand touched his shoulder.

"Nothing strange is known."

A vicious joy came into Brigond's face. His fingers opened and shut.
"Safe, by the holy heaven!" he grunted.

"'By the holy heaven!'" repeated Gaspard, under his breath.

They walked forward. Almost as they did so there came a big puff of wind
across the bay: one of those sudden currents that run in from the ocean
and the gulf stream. Gaspard saw, and smiled. In a moment the vessel's
nose was towards the bay, and she sailed in, dipping a shoulder to the
sudden foam. On she came past reef and bar, a pretty tumbril to the
slaughter. The spray feathered up to her sails, the sun caught her on
deck and beam; she was running dead for the needle of rock.

Brigond stood at Gaspard's side. All at once Gaspard made the sacred
gesture and said, in a low tone, as if only to himself: "Pardon, mon
capitaine, mon Jesu!" Then he turned triumphantly, fiercely, upon
Brigond. The pirate was startled. "What's the matter?" he said.

Not Gaspard, but the needle rock replied. There was a sudden shock;
the vessel stood still and shivered; lurched, swung shoulder downwards,
reeled and struggled. Instantly she began to sink.

"The boats! lower