“Man overboard! stop the ship!” came from the excited passengers.  “Man overboard!” What could be done!  The man was gone.  He had not one chance in a thousand to be rescued.  Had he fallen overboard without much notice, the ship would have gone right on—­Why should a world be stopped in its even course to save one soul?—­but too many had seen this.  Signal bells were rung, the engines slowed down, and then stopped.  Lights flashed here and there, other officers of higher rank came on the scene; a boat fully manned was lowered.  It bobbed up and down on the waves like a cork.  Back into the track of the ship it went, and was soon lost to view.

The search was continued for an hour, then given up.  No trace of the man could be found.  The small boat was raised to the deck, the engine moved again, and the big ship went on its way.

Chester lingered among the steerage, passengers and listened to the story of the lost man who, it seems, had been one of those unfortunate ones who had failed to pass the health inspector at New York and had therefore been sent back to his native land, Ireland.  He was known as Mike, what else, no one could tell.  And the woman?  Poor girl, she had wandered in her night dress to the ship’s side, and in some unknown way had gotten overboard as far as the protruding piece of iron.  How Mike had reached her, or how long they had occupied their perilous position, no one could tell.  He was gone, and the woman was saved to her husband and her baby.

The night was growing late; but there was no sleep for Chester.  Many of the passengers, having been awakened by the stopping of the ship, were up, hurriedly dressed, and enquiring what the trouble was.  Chester met Elder Malby in the companion-way.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Elder.

“A man has been lost at sea,” replied the other.  “Come into the saloon, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Chester was visibly affected as he related what he had seen.  At the conclusion of his story he bowed his face into his hands for a moment.  Then he looked into the Elder’s face with a smile.

“Well, it’s too bad, too bad,” said George Malby.

“Do you think so?”

“Well—­why—­isn’t it a terrible thing to die like that?”

“I hope not,” replied Chester.  “I think the dying part was easy enough, and the manner of it was glorious.  He was a poor fellow who had failed to land.  He had no doubt thought to make fame and fortune in the new world.  Now he has gone to a new world indeed.  He entered it triumphantly, I hope.  As far as I know, he ought to be received as a hero in that world to which he has gone.”

Chester’s eyes shone and his face was aglow.  “Elder Malby,” he continued, “I remember what you told me just yesterday,—­To our immortal soul, nothing that others can do, matters much; a man’s own actions is what counts.  Neither does it matter much when or how a man leaves this life; the vital thing is what he has done and how he has done it up to the point of departure.  The Lord will take care of the rest.”