Biddy arose from her knees, just as Spike withdrew his eyes from his pursuers.  The boatswain and another confidant were in readiness to cast the poor creature into the sea, the moment their leader gave the signal.  The intended victim saw and understood the arrangement, and she spoke earnestly and piteously to her murderers.

“It’s not wanting will be violence!” said Biddy, in a quiet tone, but with a saddened countenance.  “I know it’s my turn, and I will save yer sowls from a part of the burden of this great sin.  God, and His Divine Son, and the Blessed Mother of Jesus have mercy on me if it be wrong; but I would far radder jump into the saa widout having the rude hands of man on me, than have the dreadful sight of the missus done over ag’in.  It’s a fearful thing is wather, and sometimes we have too little of it, and sometimes more than we want—­”

“Bear a hand, bear a hand, good woman,” interrupted the boatswain, impatiently.  “We must clear the boat of you, and the sooner it is done the better it will be for all of us.”

“Don’t grudge a poor morthal half a minute of life, at the last moment,” answered Biddy.  “It’s not long that I’ll throuble ye, and so no more need be said.”

The poor creature then got on the quarter of the boat, without any one’s touching her; there she placed herself with her legs outboard, while she sat on the gunwale.  She gave one moment to the thought of arranging her clothes with womanly decency, and then she paused to gaze with a fixed eye, and pallid cheek, on the foaming wake that marked the rapid course of the boat.  The troughs of the sea seemed less terrible to her than their combing crests, and she waited for the boat to descend into the next.

“God forgive ye all, this deed, as I do!” said Biddy, earnestly, and bending her person forward, she fell, as it might be “without hands,” into the gulf of eternity.  Though all strained their eyes, none of the men, Jack Tier excepted, ever saw more of Biddy Noon.  Nor did Jack see much.  He got a frightful glimpse of an arm, however, on the summit of a wave, but the motion of the boat was too swift, and the water of the ocean too troubled, to admit of aught else.

A long pause succeeded this event.  Biddy’s quiet submission to her fate had produced more impression on her murderers than the desperate, but unavailing, struggles of those who had preceded her.  Thus it is ever with men.  When opposed, the demon within blinds them to consequences as well as to their duties; but, unresisted, the silent influence of the image of God makes itself felt, and a better spirit begins to prevail.  There was not one in that boat who did not, for a brief space, wish that poor Biddy had been spared.  With most, that feeling, the last of human kindness they ever knew, lingered until the occurrence of the dread catastrophe which, so shortly after, closed the scene of this state of being on their eyes.

“Jack Tier,” called out Spike, some five minutes after Biddy was drowned, but not until another observation had made it plainly apparent to him that the man-of-war’s men still continued to draw nearer, being now not more than fair musket-shot astern.