He followed her in silence to where Mrs. Pigeon was lying.
"Is it so bad?" he asked gently, as he leaned over her close enough to see her poor thin face.
"Yes," she murmured. "Sit by me for a few minutes."
He sat down, and took her wasted hand in his: it was like the hand of a skeleton, thin and cold--a hand already dead, though it closed on Joshua's fingers.
"Every one speaks well of you," said Mrs. Pigeon in broken tones: "I have heard the captain speak many times of your courage and goodness and constancy."
"I have been glad to hear it, and am glad to hear it again," replied Joshua; "it is my best reward as a sailor."
"You have a kind heart, I am sure," continued the dying woman. "If it were in your power to lessen the bitter grief that even a mere acquaintance might suffer, you would do so."
"I think I would."
"I am sure you would; if only for the sake of those you love at home, and to whom you would wish that others might be kind when grief comes to them. You will forgive me for speaking thus; but I am dying, and I am a woman. I cannot say much more; I am too weak. If I could see you do one little thing, I should be glad."
"I will do any thing you ask."