n a fox.
They had simultaneously caught sight of something dark, half sunk in
the shallow water. In a moment they were struggling up the shingle slope
toward the fire, carrying a heavy weight. They laid their burden by
the fire, where the snow had melted away, and it was a man. He was in
oilskins, and some one cut the tape that tied his sou'wester. His face
was covered with blood.

"'Tis warm," said the man who had cut away the oilskin cap, and with his
hand he wiped the blood away from the eyes and mouth. Some one in the
background drew a cork, with his teeth, and a bottle was handed down to
those kneeling on the ground.

Suddenly the man sat up--and coughed.

"Shipmets," he said, with a splutter, and lay down again. Some one held
the bottle to his lips and wiped the blood away from his face again.

"My God!" shouted a bystander, gruffly. "'Tis William Brooke, of the
Cottages."

"Yes. 'Tis me," said the man, sitting up again. "Not that arm, mate;
don't ye touch it. 'Tis bruk. Yes; 'tis me. And 'The Last Hope' is on
the tail of the Inner Curlo--and the spar that knocked me overboard
fell on the old man, and must have half killed him. But Loo Barebone's
aboard."

He rose to his knees, with one arm hanging straight and piteous from his
shoulder, then slowly to his feet. He stood wavering for a moment, and
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spluttered. Then, looking
straight in front of him, with that strange air of a whipped dog which
humble men wear when the hand of Heaven is upon them, he staggered up
the beach toward the river and Farlingford.

"Where are ye goin'?" some one asked.

"Over to mine," was the reply. "A'm going to my old woman, shipmets."

And he staggered away in the darkness.

CHAPTER XL. FARLINGFORD ONCE MORE

After a hurried consultation, Septimus Marvin was deputed to follow
the injured man and take him home, seeing that he had as yet but half
recovered his senses. This good Samaritan had scarcely disappeared when
a shout from the beach drew the attention of all in another direction.

One of the outposts was running toward the fire, waving his lantern and
shouting incoherently. It was a coastguard.

"Comin' ashore in their own boat," he cried. "They're coming in in their
own boat!"

"There she rides--there she rides!" added Sea Andrew, almost
immediately, and he pointed to the south.

Quite close in, just outside the line of breakers, a black shadow was
rising an