to
plead his cause, even as Job did in the night of his terror. In
his strong, simple speech he told everything to God--told him the
wrongs that had been done him, the provocations he had endured.
His solemnly low implorations were drenched with agonizing tears,
and they only ceased when the dayspring came and drove the somber
terrors of the night before it.

Then he took his boat and went off to sea, though the waves were
black and the wind whistling loud and shrill. He wanted the
loneliness that only the sea could give him. He felt that he
must "cry aloud" for deliverance from the great strait into which he
had fallen. No man could help him, no human sympathy come between
him and his God. Into such communions not even the angels enter.

At sundown he came home, his boat loaded with fish, and his soul
quiet as the sea was quiet after the storm had spent itself. Karen
said he "looked as if he had seen Death"; and Paul answered: "No
wonder at that; a man in an open boat in such weather came near to
him." Others spoke of his pallor and his weariness; but no one saw
on his face that mystical self-signature of submission which comes
only through the pang of soul-travail.

He had scarcely changed his clothing and sat down to his tea before
Paul said: "A strange thing has happened. Trenby's ship is still
in harbor. He cannot be found; no one has seen him since he left the
ship yesterday. He bade Matilda Sabiston good-by in the morning, and
in the afternoon he told his men to be ready to lift anchor when the
tide turned. The tide turned, but he came not; and they wondered
at it, but were not anxious; now, however, there is a great fear
about him."

"What fear is there?" asked Liot.

"Men know not; but it is uppermost in all minds that in some way his
life-days are ended."

"Well, then, long or short, it is God who numbers our days."

"What do you think of the matter?" asked Paul.

"As you know, kinsman," answered Liot, "I have ever hated Bele, and
that with reason. Often I have said it were well if he were hurt,
and better if he were dead; but at this time I will say no word, good
or bad. If the man lives, I have nothing good to say of him; if he
is dead, I have nothing bad to say."

"That is wise. Our fathers believed in and feared the fetches of
dead men; they thought them to be not far away from the living, and
able to be either good friends or bitter enemies to them."

"I have heard that often. No saying is o