You must bear in mind, too, that although you, friend reader, may give a shrewd guess at the truth, Hunston had not the remotest notion of where he was.
This said, you may perhaps understand the fearful effect of this waking vision upon the guilty wretch.
Bear in mind that he had been lurking in a close and stifling hold, into which no single ray of sunlight penetrated, for three whole days—three long nights.
Unwelcome conscience tapped and would not be deceived.
A man with the guilt of Hunston upon his mind could not afford to be alone—nay, nor in the dark either.
* * * * *
When he recovered consciousness, his first sensations were of burning in the throat, and opening his eyes, he found himself being cared tenderly for by one of the sailors who had brought him there.
"Come, come, I say, mister," said the honest tar, who had had a bit of a fright on finding Hunston's condition, "this won't do, you know."
"I am better now," murmured Hunston, faintly.
"You are a little, precious little. You will have to come on deck now, and chance what the skipper says about the job."