“Of course not, says Cloete.  Wasn’t your brother himself in charge?  It’s providential. . .  Oh! cries George, shocked. . .  Well, say it’s the devil, says Cloete, cheerfully.  I don’t mind!  You had nothing to do with it any more than a baby unborn, you great softy, you. . .  Cloete has got so that he almost loved George Dunbar.  Well.  Yes.  That was so.  I don’t mean he respected him.  He was just fond of his partner.

“They go back, you may say fairly skipping, to the hotel, and find the wife of the captain at the open window, with her eyes on the ship as if she wanted to fly across the bay over there. . .  Now then, Mrs. Dunbar, cries Cloete, you can’t go, but I am going.  Any messages?  Don’t be shy.  I’ll deliver every word faithfully.  And if you would like to give me a kiss for him, I’ll deliver that too, dash me if I don’t.

“He makes Mrs. Harry laugh with his patter. . .  Oh, dear Mr. Cloete, you are a calm, reasonable man.  Make him behave sensibly.  He’s a bit obstinate, you know, and he’s so fond of the ship, too.  Tell him I am here—­looking on. . .  Trust me, Mrs. Dunbar.  Only shut that window, that’s a good girl.  You will be sure to catch cold if you don’t, and the Captain won’t be pleased coming off the wreck to find you coughing and sneezing so that you can’t tell him how happy you are.  And now if you can get me a bit of tape to fasten my glasses on good to my ears, I will be going. . .

“How he gets on board I don’t know.  All wet and shaken and excited and out of breath, he does get on board.  Ship lying over, smothered in sprays, but not moving very much; just enough to jag one’s nerve a bit.  He finds them all crowded on the deck-house forward, in their shiny oilskins, with faces like sick men.  Captain Harry can’t believe his eyes.  What!  Mr. Cloete!  What are you doing here, in God’s name? . . .  Your wife’s ashore there, looking on, gasps out Cloete; and after they had talked a bit, Captain Harry thinks it’s uncommonly plucky and kind of his brother’s partner to come off to him like this.  Man glad to have somebody to talk to. . .  It’s a bad business, Mr. Cloete, he says.  And Cloete rejoices to hear that.  Captain Harry thinks he had done his best, but the cable had parted when he tried to anchor her.  It was a great trial to lose the ship.  Well, he would have to face it.  He fetches a deep sigh now and then.  Cloete almost sorry he had come on board, because to be on that wreck keeps his chest in a tight band all the time.  They crouch out of the wind under the port boat, a little apart from the men.  The life-boat had gone away after putting Cloete on board, but was coming back next high water to take off the crew if no attempt at getting the ship afloat could be made.  Dusk was falling; winter’s day; black sky; wind rising.  Captain Harry felt melancholy.  God’s will be done.  If she must be left on the rocks—­why, she must.  A man should take what God sends him