half-minute, and then hung slack on his hands. He hauled in a fathom and let go again; the boat took water once more. The old man's face brightened, and he looked round eagerly for someone to whom he might tell the news. If the boat were only a couple of fathoms off the water, Simon Rust could hardly have been badly hurt by the fall. Only a question now whether he might be drowning down below.
"Hurry, lads," cried Joachim, hailing across to the other side. "There's a chance for him yet."
And while he still held the slack line, there came a tug; as it might be a hand grasping the side of the boat below. "Maybe it's only the wash of the water," thought Joachim. And he called down:
"Are you safe?"
But the Atlantic drew its heavy breath, and there came no answer from below.
Still he held the line. He might have made it fast meanwhile, and waited at his ease, but 'twas no time to be at ease, thought Joachim, when here was a learned man, knowing books and all manner of things, maybe called away that very hour. A powerful strange thing was life, beyond understanding.
A long quarter of an hour went by. When the wind carried that way, Joachim could hear the bells from Kirkeoen, and the sound came solemnly, mysteriously. Then he heard voices down by the water; the boat with the rescue party had come round. His own boys were rowing, and they, he knew, would bring her swiftly enough. He held his breath and listened.
"There he is," cries Marcelius.
"Is he there?" calls Joachim from above.
A little after, he can feel the line he holds being loosened from the boat; he leans out over the cliff-edge and calls:
"Is he alive?"
And Marecelius calls back: "Ay, you can haul in your end now."
"Praise and thanks to the Lord," murmured Joachim. And hauling in the line, he took a quid of tobacco, and set off to the south side to meet the others on the way. An altogether honest soul was Joachim. And as he went, he could not but reckon out in his own way what had happened in the matter of Simon Rust and his narrow escape from death. . . . Simon was a learned and a wily humbug, that was about the size of it; like as not he'd tipped the
