Within, Rorie and the black were asleep together in the kitchen; outside was a wonderful clear night of stars, with here and there a cloud still hanging, last stragglers of the tempest.

It was near the top of the flood, and the Merry Men were roaring in the windless quiet of the night.

Never, not even in the height of the tempest, had I heard their song with greater awe.

Now, when the winds were gathered home, when the deep was dandling itself back into its summer slumber, and when the stars rained their gentle light over land and sea, the voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc.

They seemed, indeed, to be a part of the world's evil and the tragic side of life.