the ocean, seemed to lead to its very verge where the sun was setting,

when the profound stillness of the spot was broken by a loud cry for

help; he listened, doubtful of his having heard aright, when the cry

was repeated with even greater vehemence than before, and, starting

to his feet, he hastened in the direction whence it proceeded.

The tale told itself at once: some scattered garments lay on the beach;

a human head was just visible above the waves at a little distance

from the shore; and an old man, wringing his hands in agony, was

running to and fro, shrieking for assistance. The invalid, whose

strength was now sufficiently restored, threw off his coat, and rushed

towards the sea, with the intention of plunging in, and dragging the

drowning man ashore.

'‘Hasten here, Sir, in God's name; help, help, sir, for the love of

Heaven. He is my son, Sir, my only son!’ said the old man frantically,

as he advanced to meet him. ‘My only son, Sir, and he is dying before

his father's eyes!’

At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checked himself in

his career, and, folding his arms, stood perfectly motionless.

‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man, recoiling, ‘Heyling!’

The stranger smiled, and was silent.

‘Heyling!’ said the old man wildly; ‘my boy, Heyling, my dear boy,

look, look!’ Gasping for breath, the miserable father pointed to the

spot where the young man was struggling for life.

‘Hark!’ said the old man. ‘He cries once more. He is alive yet. Heyling,

save him, save him!’

The stranger smiled again, and remained immovable as a statue. '‘I

have wronged you,’ shrieked the old man, falling on his knees, and

clasping his hands together. ‘Be revenged; take my all, my life; cast

me into the water at your feet, and, if human nature can repress a

struggle, I will die, without stirring hand or foot. Do it, Heyling, do it,

but save my boy; he is so young, Heyling, so young to die!’

‘

‘Listen,’ said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely by the wrist;

I will have life for life, and here is ONE. MY child died, before his

father's eyes, a far more agonising and painful death than that young

slanderer of his sister's worth is meeting while I speak. You laughed -

laughed in your daughter's face, where death had already set his hand

at our sufferings, then. What think you of them now! See there, see

there!’

The Pickwick Papers