His deep calm voice came to me over the water.

“That’s what I call courage,” he said.  “I could never have done it.”

The “King” had been right.  He knew his daughter.

By this I was nearing the boats, though as yet no one had seen me.  They were all too busy with the confusion on deck, where four men lay dead, and three others still kept up their gibberish of fear.

I saw Calypso and Charlie Webster stand a moment looking down at the figure of Tobias, prostrate at their feet.

“I am sorry I had to kill him,” I heard Charlie’s deep growl.  “I meant to keep him for the hangman.”

But suddenly I saw him start forward and stamp heavily on something.

“No, you don’t,” I heard him roar—­and I learned afterward that Tobias, though mortally wounded, was not yet dead, and that, as the two had stood looking down on him, they had seen his hand furtively moving toward the fallen revolver that lay a few inches from him on the deck.  Just as he had grasped it, Charlie’s heavy boot had come down on his wrist.  But Tobias was still game.

“Not alive, you English brute!” he was heard to groan out, and, snatching free his wrist too swiftly to be prevented, he had gathered up all his remaining strength, and hurled himself over the side into the sea.

I was but a dozen yards away from him, as he fell; and, as he rose again, it was for his dying eyes to fix with a glare upon me.  They dilated with terror, as though he had seen a ghost.  Then he gave one strange scream, and fell back into the sea, and we saw him no more.

* * * * *

It will be easier for the reader to imagine, than for me to describe, the look on the faces of Calypso and Charlie Webster when they saw me appear at almost the same spot where poor Tobias had just gone bubbling down.  Words I had none, for I was at the end of my strength, and I broke down and sobbed like a child.

“Thank God you are safe—­my treasure, my treasure!” was all I could say, after they had lifted me aboard, and I lay face down on the deck, at her feet.  Swiftly she knelt by my side, and caressed my shoulder with her dear hand.

All of which—­particularly my reference to “my treasure”—­must have been much to the bewilderment of the good simple-hearted Charlie, towering, innocent-eyed, above us.  I believe I stayed a little longer at her feet than I really had need to, for the comfort of her being so near and kind; but, presently, we were all aroused by a voice from the cliffs above.  It was the “King,” with his bodyguard, Erebus and the crew of the Flamingo—­no Samson, alas!  The sound of the firing had reached them in the woods, and they had come hurrying to discover its cause.

So we deferred asking our questions, and telling our several stories, till we were pulled ashore.

As Calypso was folded in her father’s arms, he turned to me: