ly boat
grate its keel upon the Island beach, and the tramp of their sodden
sea-boots. How many were there?"

"I never heard. Only one body was cast up, and that is buried by the
churchyard wall. Shall we go in?"

"Yes."

They entered through the black doorway. The church was very dim and
smelt musty and venerable, rather as the cover of an old and worn Bible
smells. And now that they were within it, the bells sounded different,
less magical, more full of human music; their office--the summoning of
men to pray, the benediction of the marriage tie, the speeding of the
departed on the eternal road--became apparent and evoked accustomed
thoughts.

"Where is the belfry?" said Sir Graham in a whisper.

"This way. We have to pass the vestry and go up a stone staircase."

Uniacke moved forward along the uncarpeted pavement, on which his feet,
in their big nailed boots, rang harshly. The painter followed him
through a low and narrow door which gave on to a tiny stairway, each
step of which was dented and crumbled at the uneven edge. They ascended
in the dark, not without frequent stumbling, and heard always the bells
which seemed sinking down to them from the sky. Presently a turn brought
them to a pale ray of light which lay like a thread upon the stone. At
the same moment the bells ceased to sound. Both Uniacke and Sir Graham
paused simultaneously, the vision of the light and the cessation of the
chimes holding them still for an instant almost without their knowledge.
There was a silence that was nearly complete, for the tower walls were
thick, and kept the sea voices and the blowing winds at bay. And while
they waited, involuntarily holding their breath, a hoarse and uneven
voice cried out, anxiously and hopefully from above:

"Are ye comin', mates? Are ye comin'? Heave along, boys! D'ye hear me!
I'm your skipper. Heave along!"

Uniacke half turned to the painter, whose face was very white.

"What are ye waitin' for?" continued the voice. "I heard ye comin'. I
heard ye at the door. Come up, I say, and welcome to ye! Welcome to ye
all, mates. Ye've been a damned long time comin'."

"He thinks--he thinks--" whispered Uniacke to his companion.

"I know. It's cruel. What shall we--"

"Ye've made the land just in time, mates," continued the voice. "For
there's a great gale comin' up to-night. The 'Flying Fish' couldn't live
in her under bare poles, I reckon. I'm glad ye've got ashore. Where are
ye, I say? Where are