With the swift insidiousness of morphine, peace ran through his veins, soothed his racked body, his jangled nerves.

The Three Friends had made the harbor, and was gliding through water flat as a pond.

But David did not know why the change had come.

He knew only that his soul and body were at rest, that the sun was shining, that he had passed through the valley of the shadow, and once more was a sane, sound young man.
With a savage thrust of the shoulder he sent Lighthouse Harry sprawling from the gun.

With swift, practised fingers he fell upon its mechanism.
He wrenched it apart.