A new shout proclaimed that the deck had been gained, on the other side of the bark.  Much the greater part of the deck-load had now irretrievably disappeared, and the movements of the relieved vessel were more lively and sane.  Maso called to him one or two of the regular crew, and together they rolled up the canvass, in a manner peculiar to the latine rig; for a breath of hot air, the first of any sort that had been felt for many hours passed athwart the bark.  This duty was performed, as canvass is known to be furled at need, but it was done securely.  Maso then went among the laborers again, encouraging them with his voice, and directing their efforts with his counsel.

“Thou art not equal to thy task,” he said, addressing one who was vainly endeavoring to roll a bale to the side of the vessel, a little apart from the rest of the busy crowd; “thou wilt do better to assist the others, than to waste thy force here.”

“I feel the strength to remove a mountain!  Do we not work for our lives?”

The mariner bent forward, and looked into the other’s face.  These frantic and ill-directed efforts came from the Westphalian student.

“Thy star has disappeared,” he rejoined, smiling—­for Maso had smiled in scenes far more imposing, than even that with which he was now surrounded.

“She gazes at it still; she thinks of one that loves her, who is journeying far from the fatherland.”

“Hold!  Since thou wilt have it so, I will help thee to cast this bale into the water.  Place thine arm thus; an ounce of well-directed force is worth a pound that acts against itself.”

Stooping together, their united strength did that which had baffled the single efforts of the scholar.  The package rolled to the gangway, and the German, frenzied with excitement, shouted aloud!  The bark lurched, and the bale went over the side, as if the lifeless mass were suddenly possessed with the desire to perform the evolution which its inert weight had so long resisted.  Maso recovered his footing, which had been deranged by the unexpected movement, with a seaman’s dexterity, but his companion was no longer at his side.  Kneeling on the gangway, he perceived the dark bale disappearing in the element, with the feet of the Westphalian dragging after.  He bent forward to grasp the rising body, but it never returned to the surface, being entangled in the cords, or, what was equally probable, retained by the frantic grasp of the student, whose mind had yielded to the awful character of the night.

The life of Il Maledetto had been one of great vicissitudes and peril.  He had often seen men pass suddenly into the other state of existence, and had been calm himself amid the cries, the groans, and what is far more appalling, the execrations of the dying, but never before had he witnessed so brief and silent an end.  For more than a minute, he hung suspended over the dark and working water, expecting to see