g
rock. He began to pull, and shortly he knew from the rope taken in
that the man he was now rescuing must soon be close to the top of the
rock. He steadied himself for a moment, and drew a long breath, that
he might at the next effort complete the rescue. He had just bent his
back to the work when a flash of lightning revealed to each other the
two men--the rescuer and the rescued.

Eric Sanson and Abel Behenna were face to face--and none knew of the
meeting save themselves; and God.

On the instant a wave of passion swept through Eric's heart. All his
hopes were shattered, and with the hatred of Cain his eyes looked out.
He saw in the instant of recognition the joy in Abel's face that his
was the hand to succour him, and this intensified his hate. Whilst the
passion was on him he started back, and the rope ran out between his
hands. His moment of hate was followed by an impulse of his better
manhood, but it was too late.

Before he could recover himself, Abel encumbered with the rope that
should have aided him, was plunged with a despairing cry back into the
darkness of the devouring sea.

Then, feeling all the madness and the doom of Cain upon him, Eric
rushed back over the rocks, heedless of the danger and eager only for
one thing--to be amongst other people whose living noises would shut
out that last cry which seemed to ring still in his ears. When he
regained the Flagstaff Rock the men surrounded him, and through the
fury of the storm he heard the harbour-master say:--

'We feared you were lost when we heard a cry! How white you are! Where
is your rope? Was there anyone drifted in?'

'No one,' he shouted in answer, for he felt that he could never
explain that he had let his old comrade slip back into the sea, and at
the very place and under the very circumstances in which that comrade
had saved his own life. He hoped by one bold lie to set the matter at
rest for ever. There was no one to bear witness--and if he should have
to carry that still white face in his eyes and that despairing cry in
his ears for evermore--at least none should know of it. 'No one,' he
cried, more loudly still. 'I slipped on the rock, and the rope fell
into the sea!' So saying he left them, and, rushing down the steep
path, gained his own cottage and locked himself within.

The remainder of that night he passed lying on his bed--dressed and
motionless--staring upwards, and seeming to see through the darkness a
pale face gleaming w