It was barely light enough to see his face, but it looked wild and haggard in the ragged gleams of moonlight which the black flitting clouds suffered to break forth at intervals; and his words, after this, were too incoherent to understand. Walter saw that the long intensity of fear had rendered him half delirious and not master of himself. Soon after he sank into a stupor, half sleep, half exhaustion, and even the lurching of the boat did not rouse him any more.
“Walter, he’s asleep, or—oh! is he dead, Walter?” asked Charlie, in horror.
“No, no, Charlie; there, put your hand upon his heart. You see it beats; he is only exhausted, and in a sort of swoon.”
“But he will be pitched over, Walter.”
“Then I’ll show you what we’ll do, Charlie. We must make the best of everything.” Walter lifted up the useless rudder, pulled out the string of it to lash Kenrick safely to the stern bench by which he lay, and took off his own coat in order to cover him up that he might sleep; and then, anxious above all things to relieve Charlie’s terror, the unselfish boy, thinking only of others, sat beside him on the centre bench, and encircled him with a protecting arm. And, as though to increase their misery, the cold rain began to fall in torrents.
“O Walter, it’s so cold, and wet, and stormy, and pitch dark. I’m frightened, Walter. I try not to be, but I can’t help it. Take me on your knees and pray for us again.”
Walter took him on his knees, and laid his head against his own breast, and folded him in his arms, and wiped his tears; and the little boy’s sobs ceased as Walter’s voice rose once more in a strain of intense prayer.
“Walter, God must grant that prayer; I’m sure He must; He can’t reject it,” said Charlie simply.
“He will answer it in the way best for us, Charlie; whatever that is.”
“But shall we die?” asked his brother again, with a cold shudder at the word.