“Yes, I had better go,” said the lad thoughtfully; “but—I am sorry to leave you, all the same.”
“Hah! That makes me feel warm,” cried Saint Simon—“that and the knowledge that the horses can’t get loose. There, go on down. After all, he’s worse off than we.”
Denis crept along by the bulwarks till he could reach the cabin hatch, lowered himself down to where a vile-odoured lamp was swinging from the cabin ceil, and then, moving slowly, having hard work to keep his feet, he reached the spot where the suffering monarch lay, to find to his great relief that Francis had sunk into a deep sleep, and was breathing heavily, leaving him nothing to do but sit down and watch.
Chapter Six.
How to land horses.
It was a long and dreary night, full of suffering; but, like the worst, it slowly came to an end. The grey dawn began to creep through the dim skylight, grew stronger and brighter, and at last the sun arose, with the King still sleeping profoundly, and Denis standing at the top of the cabin ladder, gazing out over a glorious foaming sea, all purple, orange, and gold, wide awake to the beauty of the scene, and ready to wonder what had become of the horror and darkness of the night.
There was a fresh breeze blowing and the sea was rough, but the clumsy craft rode more easily and had ceased to pitch and toss. Far ahead too the sea looked smoother, and so Denis said to the rough-looking skipper, who came up with a nod and smile.
“Only looks so,” he said, “because it is so far off. But the wind is going down, and in a couple of hours we shall be in smooth water. How’s your master?”