saved me in the surf last night. 'Twas he that landed with me."
There was a look of sad amaze that came on Ratsey's face when I said that—a look that woke in me an awful surmise. "What!" cried he, "was that Master Elzevir that dragged thee through the surf?"
"Ay, 'twas he landed with me, 'twas he landed with me," I said, trying, as it were, to make true by repeating that which I feared was not the truth. There was a minute's silence, and then Ratsey spoke very softly: "There was none landed with you; there was no soul saved from that ship alive save you."
His words fell, one by one, upon my ear as if they were drops of molten lead. "It is not true," I cried; "he pulled me up the beach himself, and it was he that pushed me forward to the rope."
"Ay, he saved thee, and then the undertow got hold of him and swept him down under the curl. I could not see his face, but might have known there never was a man, save Elzevir, could fight the surf on Moonfleet beach like that. Yet had we known 'twas he, we could have done no more, for many risked their lives last night to save you both. We could have done no more."
Then I gave a great groan for utter anguish to think that he had given up the safety he had won for himself, and laid down his life, there on the beach, for me; to think that he had died on the threshold of his home, that I should never get a kind look from him again, nor ever hear his kindly voice.
It is wearisome to others to talk of deep grief, and besides that, no words, even of the wisest man, can ever set it forth, nor even if we were able could our memory
