She hurried thither and opened the door, and there lay the girl tossing and moaning in high fever, brought on by excitement.
“Lorrd bless you, ma’am, is it yerself sure? Troth I thought you had forgot me entirely, and left me here to perish alone. Faix I’m burning up, so I am. May the divil fly away wid all say fights, for this has been the death iv me, so it has. Sure, I’m murthered complately from head to fut. And you left me to me fate, so you did.”
“Hush, Judith! You must be quiet, or you will grow worse. Try to compose yourself now, while I go and get something that will do you good,” said Miss Conyers, laying a towel wet with cold water upon the girl’s burning head.
Then she went in search of a surgeon and procured an opiate, which she administered to her patient. Then she renewed the wet towel, rearranged the disordered bed, darkened the room and left Judith to repose. If any of my readers imagine this portrait of Judith to be overdrawn, I can assure them it is not. I knew this girl for years. She was just the “medley of contraries”—the mixture of wit and folly, good sense and absurdity, spirit and cowardice, selfishness and self-devotion, that I represent her to have been. I lost her, and could have better spared a better.
From the cabin Miss Conyers returned to the cockpit, to her wounded, bringing smiles to the faces of the poor sufferers, as she tenderly eased their positions, turned their pillow, bathed their faces and hands, or held cooling drinks to their feverish lips.
It was while Britomarte was engaged in this humane work, that the surgeon was summoned on the upper deck. But little did she imagine that he was called to attend Justin or that Justin had the slightest need of his care.
Britomarte did not confine her attentions to the wounded on the Xyphias. But when she had done all she could for them she visited the Sea Scourge and ministered to the sufferers there.
The next morning the repairs upon the Xyphias were completed, so that she was once more in good fighting order.
The men were then transferred to the Sea Scourge to expedite the work there. Lieutenant Ethel found the decks of the prize clean and sweet, the wounded men in their hammocks, and the work progressing so rapidly that the privateer would be fit for sailing in twenty-four hours.
Britomarte, worn out by her arduous labors of the day before, slept very late that morning; and upon entering the cabin she found that the breakfast had been long set. She was very hungry, but not knowing the condition of her companions, she patiently waited for their appearance, only wondering at their prolonged absence.