After a satisfactory pause, during which I had gradually collected my ideas, I inquired, suddenly:
"How long is it since we were lifted from the raft, and where are the other survivors?"
"All safe, I believe, and on board, well cared for, like yourself. It has been nearly two days since your raft was overhauled. This was what the captain called it," and she smiled.
"The baby—where is he? I hope he lived."
"Yes, he is at last out of danger, and we have obtained a nurse for him. He would only trouble you now; but it is very natural you should be anxious about him."
"Yes, he was my principal care on the raft, and I do not wish to lose sight of him. When I am better, you must let him share my room until we reach our friends."
"Oh, certainly!" and again she smiled her evil smile. "No one, so far as I know of, has any right or wish to separate you; but, for the present, you are better alone."
"Yes, I am strangely weak—confused, even," and I passed my hand over my blistered face and dishevelled hair with something of the feeling of the little woman in the story who doubted her own identity. Alas! there was not even a familiar dog to bark and determine the vexed question, "Is this I?"
Helpless as an infant, flaccid as the sea-weed when taken from its native element, feeble in mind from recent suffering, broken in body, I was cast on the mercies of strangers, ignorant, until they saw me, of my existence, yet not indifferent to it, as their care testified.
"You will take some food now," said the woman, kindly. "Your weakness is not unfavorable, since it proves the fierce fever broken; but you must hasten to gather strength for what lies before you. We shall be in port to-morrow."