Philip would have repaired to the beach, to see what had become of Lord Robert; but he thought it probable that some new cause of offence might arise between them. However, in the afternoon, he had occasion to visit the beach to search for some pieces of wreck. When he reached the shore, he found there had been a very high tide the preceding night, and many articles were scattered on the sand; as staves, pieces of rope, and splinters from the mast. These Philip carefully collected, and placed above high-water mark, lest they should be washed to sea again. In the course of this important avocation, he approached the cave where Lord Robert had again taken up his residence: but he had been too busily engaged to think of him, till his eye was attracted by the flash of his epaulet in the evening sun; and he saw him, at a little distance, bending over some employment, in which he was too much occupied to perceive the approach of Philip, who was tempted to draw near enough to ascertain what it was that so deeply engaged his attention; but he did so somewhat cautiously, lest he should again give offence. He soon was near enough to discover that Lord Robert's employment was that of digging a grave in the sand, with a butt-stave, and near him lay the bodies of five seamen, which the high tide had washed on shore, close to the entrance of Lord Robert's cave. Philip felt a bitter pang as he gazed on the lifeless remains of his unfortunate messmates; and seizing another stave, he placed himself opposite to Lord Robert, and began to assist in the sad duty; but neither spoke.
One of the bodies was that of a midshipman, whom Lord Robert had loved; and as he now proceeded to place his remains in the narrow bed he had scooped for him with so much toil, his tears fell fast on the face of the deceased. When he attempted to raise him from the shingle, to lay him decently in the grave, the effort was too much for him. Philip immediately sprang forwards and assisted him, otherwise the corpse would have fallen from his grasp. He did not reject the aid of his foe; but he did not even glance at him in return. In silence they began their melancholy task; in silence they proceeded in it; and the moon had risen high and shone with splendour by the time they had dug the last grave, when unfortunately, as they placed the seaman in the "house appointed for all living," Philip recognised his features: it was the boatswain of the Diomede! A crowd of agonizing feelings passed through Philip's breast, as he recollected that from this man's hand he had received such disgraceful punishment. He first turned pale, and then scarlet; and it recurred to his mind, that this person had only been the passive instrument obeying the orders of others.
"It was thy malice, tyrant! that added this worst wrong to all the rest," thought he. True, he did not utter these words: but he regarded Lord Robert with a look, in which hatred and rage were but too visibly painted to escape his Lordship's observation, though he was ignorant of the cause of it; but he thought it shocking of Philip to take the opportunity of insulting him at such an awful time, particularly when he had condescended to permit his assistance; and he returned Philip's indignant look in so disdainful a manner, that, scarcely conscious that he was the first himself to renew hostilities, Philip took fire, and provokingly reminded his Lordship "that his haughty looks were useless, when directed to him; and he advised him to reserve them for those who cared for them, if he could find any such in the island."
"To the full as many as will endure your low-bred insolence," returned Lord Robert with equal scorn. "However, Mr. Harley, if I might condescend to speak to you in the language of entreaty, it would be to request the favour of your absence. You have taken possession of the only habitable spot in the island, and I have not attempted to deprive you of it; and I think the least you can do, in return for my moderation, is to leave me undisturbed on my barren domain."
"If all my security were the moderation of Lord Robert Summers," replied Philip with a contemptuous laugh, "I should be as soon driven from my dwelling here as I was forced from the home of my parents: but here I can, by the strength of my own right hand, maintain my rights; and whoever attempts to invade them, may chance to repent of his folly."
As Philip uttered this threat, he finished casting the last heap of sand on the boatswain's grave; on which, apparently exhausted with fatigue, Lord Robert had seated himself. The sight of these bodies had recalled the fate of his uncle, and he had been lately weeping bitterly; and when young Harley observed his tearful eyes, and the evident languor and despondency visible in his whole appearance, his conscience again smote him; he remembered what he had so lately suffered from self-reproach; and he reflected, that if he so much abused the mere bodily superiority his strength gave him, it was by no means wonderful that when Lord Robert possessed so much power, he should exert it when offended.
He paused, and looked earnestly at Lord Robert. The moon shone brightly on his face; the flush of resentment had faded from it; and he looked so ill, and there was such an expression of hopeless dejection in his eyes, that Philip was greatly touched; and he even thought of apologizing to him for what he had lately said, and of entreating him to return with him to the Valley of Limes. While he yet hesitated, Lord Robert looked up, and waved his hand impatiently for him to be gone: and Philip, finding that the conquest of his own pride was too great an effort to be made at that time, retired to his home, self-condemned and unhappy.
Lord Robert continued sitting on the grave, in a listless attitude, leaning his head on his hand, almost unconscious that he was alone. The faintness and languor which had been for some time stealing on him, seemed so wholly overpowering, as even to take away the inclination of retorting Philip's last innuendo; but now, though the words still rang upon his ear, and he fully understood their meaning to comprise reproach, insult, and threat, either of which was sufficient to put his proud spirit in a flame, yet he was conscious of a growing confusion in his own mind, which seemed to prevent his forming a suitable reply; and, for the first time in his life, he found himself unwilling to continue the war of words. He felt an impatient desire of quiet; and, forgetful that Philip would most likely pay no attention to his mandate, he motioned for him to retire, with no little of his habitual air of superiority. Philip, however, did obey in this instance. Lord Robert, after some minutes, raised his aching head from his hand, and, looking round to see if he were gone, uttered an expression of satisfaction at finding himself alone.
Lord Robert's naturally fine constitution had been greatly impaired since his residence in the island, by the pain of mind he had suffered from the loss of his uncle and friends, the remorse he felt for his numerous errors, joined to his discontent and impatience at being placed in a situation so uncongenial to all his former habits. Besides, he suffered from the hardships which he was forced to endure: sleeping on the flinty rock, or passing the night on the turf under the lime-tree—a most unhealthy practice—for the dews were very heavy, and, in common to all hot countries, very noxious to those who were exposed to their influence.
He had lost his hat when the boat was overset; and, trivial as this loss may appear to the natives of a temperate climate, it was attended with very painful consequences to Lord Robert, on whose head the rays of the sun fell with unmitigated violence, and occasioned him the most acute headache whenever he was exposed to the noon-day heat. After his retreat from the Valley of Limes, he had for many hours paced the beach in a tumult of rage, with the perpendicular rays of a tropical sun darting on his uncovered head. The night he had passed without sleep; and, early in the morning, he found the remains of the unfortunate seamen. He was ill and feverish; and it was only by a strong effort that he so far overcame his painful languor as to attempt the necessary but mournful task of giving them burial.