At the final thought she went white with terror.
Slowly she approached the man, and leaning over placed
her hand upon his shoulder.
"Mr. Byrne!" she whispered.
The mucker turned his face toward her. It looked tired and
haggard.
"Wot is it?" he asked, and his tone was softer than she had
ever heard it.
"I think Mr. Theriere is dying," she said, "and I--I-- Oh, I
am so afraid."
The man flushed to the roots of his hair. All that he could
think of were the ugly words he had spoken a short time
before--and now Theriere was dying! Byrne would have
laughed had anyone suggested that he entertained any other
sentiment than hatred toward the second officer of the
Halfmoon--that is he would have twenty-four hours before;
but now, quite unexpectedly, he realized that he didn't want
Theriere to die, and then it dawned upon him that a new
sentiment had been born within him--a sentiment to which he
had been a stranger all his hard life--friendship.
He felt friendship for Theriere! It was unthinkable, and yet
the mucker knew that it was so. Painfully he crawled over to
the Frenchman's side.
"Theriere!" he whispered in the man's ear.
The officer turned his head wearily.
"Do youse know me, old pal?" asked the mucker, and
Barbara Harding knew from the man's voice that there were
tears in his eyes; but what she did not know was that they
welled there in response to the words the mucker had just
spoken--the nearest approach to words of endearment that
ever had passed his lips.
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