Rob struggled feebly into a sitting position, and fancied he could hear a sound. There was moonshine on the smooth water, and the trees cast a thick shade; but he closed his eyes again, and began to lower himself down to drop into the sleep from which there would be no waking here on earth.
“Ask—Mr Brazier—to look,” he muttered feebly, and closed his heavy eyes.
“No, no: you,” cried Shaddy, who was kneeling beside him. “He’s asleep, like. He can’t move. Rouse up, lad, for the sake of home and all you love. I’m nearly beat out, but your young ears can listen yet, and your eyes see. There’s help coming, I tell you.”
“Help?” cried Rob, making a snatch at his companion’s arm.
“Yes, or else I’m dreaming it, boy. I’m off my head, and it’s all ’mazed and thick. That’s right, listen. Hold up by me. Now, then, what’s that black speck away yonder, like a bit o’ cloud? and what’s that noise?”
“Oars,” said Rob huskily, as he gave a kind of gasp.
“What?”
“Oars—and—a boat,” cried the boy, his words coming with a strange catching of the breath.
“Hurray! It is—it is,” cried Shaddy; and collecting all his remaining strength, he uttered a hoarse hail, which was supplemented by a faint harsh cry from Rob, as he fell back senseless in their rough nest of boughs in the fork of that prison tree.