Feeling better! Had he been ill, then? He supposed he must have been; otherwise, why was he lying there—wherever he might be—on his back, with his head bandaged and racked with pain, and with no strength in him? Ill! of course he was; every nerve in his body bore testimony to the fact. But where was he? what was the matter with him? and whose was this gentle, tender voice—that somehow seemed so familiar—that questioned him? Everything was vague, confused, and incomprehensible, with a dominating impression that there was pressing, urgent need for him to be up and attending to something without an instant’s delay.
As he lay there, painfully cogitating in a vain endeavour to disentangle the threads of mingled thought that seemed to be inextricably wound together in his throbbing, struggling brain, two warm drops splashed upon his face, and the same low voice that he had heard before, cried—
“Spare him, O God; spare him; have mercy!” and the handkerchief was again applied to his nostrils.
The tide of life ebbed back for a moment; he again sank into oblivion; and presently revived to the consciousness that soft arms were supporting him—arms that quivered and shook with the violent sobbing that fell upon his ears—while a shower of hot tears bathed his face. And then, all in an instant, recollection, vivid, intense, complete, came to him, and he opened his eyes.
For a moment he could see nothing. Then he became aware that the sun was streaming brilliantly in through the open port-hole near the head of his bunk, while a soft, warm, yet refreshing breeze was playing about his temples; and that Miss Trevor was bending over him with streaming eyes that gazed down upon him wild with anxiety and grief.
“Why, what is this? what is the matter? and why am I lying here idle when I ought to be on deck looking after the ship?” he murmured, attempting at the same time to rise.
But the imprisoning arms held him firmly down; the streaming eyes met his in an intensity of gaze that seemed to devour him; and the tender voice gain cried with indescribable fervour—
“Thank God; oh, thank God for this great mercy! You are alive! And you will continue to live. Yes, you must live; promise me that you will. Here; drink this, quickly.” And she held to his lips a tumbler containing a liquid that, pungent to the taste, at once revived him.
“Thanks; a thousand thanks!” murmured Leslie, gratefully. “I feel better now. Please let me get up; I must go on deck at once.”
“No; no, you must not; indeed you must not; there is no need,” answered Miss Trevor; and Leslie thought he detected a tone of sadness mingled with relief in the accents of her voice.