Out of the steerage side of the crowd a tall figure issued forth, begrimed with smoke.  She could not see, but she knew.  As a tame bird flutters to the human breast of its protector when affrighted by some mortal foe, so Maggie fluttered and cowered into his arms.  And, for a moment, there was no more terror or thought of danger in the hearts of those twain, but only infinite and absolute peace.  She had no wonder how he came there:  it was enough that he was there.  He first thought of the destruction that was present with them.  He was as calm and composed as if they sat beneath the thorn-tree on the still moorlands, far away.  He took her, without a word, to the end of the quarter-deck.  He lashed her to a piece of spar.  She never spoke: 

“Maggie,” he said, “my only chance is to throw you overboard.  This spar will keep you floating.  At first, you will go down—­deep, deep down.  Keep your mouth and eyes shut.  I shall be there when you come up.  By God’s help, I will struggle bravely for you.”

She looked up; and by the flashing light he could see a trusting, loving smile upon her face.  And he smiled back at her; a grave, beautiful look, fit to wear on his face in heaven.  He helped her to the side of the vessel, away from the falling burning pieces of mast.  Then for a moment he paused.

“If—­Maggie, I may be throwing you in to death.”  He put his hand before his eyes.  The strong man lost courage.  Then she spoke: 

“I am not afraid; God is with us, whether we live or die!” She looked as quiet and happy as a child on its mother’s breast! and so before he lost heart again, he heaved her up, and threw her as far as he could over into the glaring, dizzying water; and straight leaped after her.  She came up with an involuntary look of terror on her face; but when she saw him by the red glare of the burning ship, close by her side, she shut her eyes, and looked as if peacefully going to sleep.  He swam, guiding the spar.

“I think we are near Llandudno.  I know we have passed the little Ormes’ head.”  That was all he said; but she did net speak.

He swam out of the heat and fierce blaze of light into the quiet, dark waters; and then into the moon’s path.  It might be half an hour before he got into that silver stream.  When the beams fell down upon them he looked at Maggie.  Her head rested on the spar, quite still.  He could not bear it.  “Maggie—­dear heart! speak!”

With a great effort she was called back from the borders of death by that voice, and opened her filmy eyes, which looked abroad as if she could see nothing nearer than the gleaming lights of Heaven.  She let the lids fall softly again.  He was as if alone in the wide world with God.