“Oh no. Miss Denning has been attending to me, bless her!”
“Amen, and a double blessing,” said Mr Brymer. “There, keep a good heart, man, and pray for another day or two’s calm. We’ll do everything possible. Good-bye.”
“I know you will, Brymer. Go on, then. You will all do your best.”
He smiled at me then, and I followed the mate, who was hurrying along to the end of the saloon.
“Let’s look at Walters first.”
“No. You go; I can’t, my lad. If I do I shall feel as if I must throw him overboard. He might have saved us from all this. Go and see him, and don’t let him starve; though I suppose Mr Frewen’s feeding him now on physic.”
He hurried away, as I felt that in all probability Miss Denning had been there to see to the wretched lad; and so it proved, for on the locker close to his head was a glass of fresh water, and the white handkerchief bound round his head, still moist with eau-de-cologne, was evidently one of hers.
His eyes were closed as I entered, but after a minute he opened them and looked at me fixedly.
I could not help shuddering, and thinking how horribly bad he looked, but the repelling feeling gave way to pity directly, as I thought of how sharply he was being punished for all he had done—wounded, suffering severely in body, and far worse, I was sure, in mind.
I hesitated for a few moments, hardly knowing how to approach him, for mentally I felt farther from him than ever. We had never been friends, for I knew that he had never liked me, while now, as I gazed at him, and thought of all the sufferings he had caused, I felt that we ought to be enemies indeed. And so I behaved to him like the worst enemy I ever had, and as he gazed at me fixedly I went and laid my hand upon his forehead.