“Couldn’t do it after you were drowned.”
“I shouldn’t be drowned,” said Aleck, slowly and thoughtfully.
“Be quiet—don’t bother—I’m so tired—regularly beat out after all that trying up yonder; and so are you. I say, Aleck, I’m beginning to be afraid that we shall never see the sunshine again.”
Aleck said nothing, but lay gazing sadly at the dimly-seen arch in the water, and followed the waving to and fro of the great fronds of sea-wrack, till he shuddered once or twice and seemed to feel them clinging round his head and neck, making it dark, but somehow without causing the horrible, strangling, helpless sensation he had suffered from before. In fact, it seemed to be pleasant and restful, and by degrees produced a sensation of coolness that was most welcome after the stifling heat at the top of the zigzag, which had been made worse by the odour of the burning candle.
Then Aleck ceased to think, but lay in the cool, soft darkness, till all at once he started up sitting and wondering.
“Why, I’ve been asleep,” he said to himself. “Here, sailor.”
“Yes; what was that?”
“I don’t know. I seemed to hear something.”
“Have you been asleep?”
“Yes; have you?”