“Listen, Captain!  We’ll go together—­you understand.  I’ll help you—­but we must get a larger boat first—­you know.”

“But they won’t give it,” said Captain Bunker mysteriously.  “Didn’t you hear the Council—­the owners—­the underwriters say:  ’He lost his ship, he’s ruined and disgraced, for rum, all for rum!’ And we want rum, you know, and it’s all over there, in the Excelsior’s locker!”

“Yes, yes,” said Hurlstone soothingly; “but there’s more in the bigger boat.  Come with me.  We’ll let the man loose, and we’ll make him show us his bigger boat.”

It was an unfortunate suggestion; for the Captain, who had listened with an insane chuckle, and allowed himself to be taken lightly by the hand, again caught sight of the prostrate fisherman.  A yell broke from him—­his former frenzy returned.  With a cry of “Treachery! all hands on deck!” he threw off Hurlstone and rushed into the water.

“Help!” cried the young man, springing after him, “It is madness.  He will kill himself!”

The water was shallow, they were both wading, they both reached the boat at the same time; but the Captain had scrambled into the stern-sheets, and cast loose the painter, as Hurlstone once more threw his arms about him.

“Hear me, Captain.  I’ll go with you.  Listen!  I know the way through the fog.  You understand:  I’ll pilot you!” He was desperate, but no longer from despair of himself, but of another; he was reckless, but only to save a madman from the fate that but a moment before he had chosen for himself.

Captain Bunker seemed to soften.  “Get in for’ard,” he said, in a lower voice.  Hurlstone released his grasp, but still clinging to the boat, which had now drifted into deeper water, made his way to the bow.  He was climbing over the thwarts when a horrified cry from the fisherman ashore and a jarring laugh in his ear caused him to look up.  But not in time to save himself!  The treacherous maniac had suddenly launched a blow from an oar at the unsuspecting man as he was rising to his knees.  It missed his head, but fell upon his arm and shoulder, precipitating him violently into the sea.

Stunned by the shock, he sank at first like lead to the bottom.  When he rose again, with his returning consciousness, he could see that Captain Bunker had already hoisted sail, and, with the assistance of his oars, was rapidly increasing his distance from the shore.  With his returning desperation he turned to strike out after him, but groaned as his one arm sank powerless to his side.  A few strokes showed him the madness of the attempt; a few more convinced him that he himself could barely return to the shore.  A sudden torpor had taken possession of him—­he was sinking!