“His sleep was troubled, for he was calling out, and his hands and feet were twitching now and then, and cruel dreams were weighing on his sleeping, even more heavily, perhaps, than they had been upon his waking thoughts. So I awoke him. He sprang up instantly, looking very wild, and sat upon the rock. ‘Where am I? What’s the matter? Is that you, Hardy?’ were the questions with which he greeted me so quickly that I could not answer one of them. Then he smiled in his natural way, and said, ‘After all, it was only a dream.’
“‘What was it?’ I asked. ‘Tell me, Dean, what it was.’
“‘O, it was not much, but you see it put me in a dreadful fright. I thought a ship was steering close in by the land; I thought I saw you spring upon the deck and sail away; and as you sailed away upon the silvery sea, I thought you turned and mocked me, and I cursed you as I stood upon the beach, until some foul fiend, in punishment for my wicked words, caught me by the neck, and dragged me through the sea, and tied me fast to the vessel’s keel, and there I was with his last words ringing in my ears, with the gurgling waters, “Follow him to your doom,” when you awoke me. “Follow him to your doom!” I seem to hear the demon shrieking even now, though I’m wide enough awake.’
“‘I don’t wonder at your fright, and I’m glad I woke you!’ said I, not knowing what else to say.
“‘It all comes,’ went on the little fellow, ‘of my being angry with you, Hardy’; and so he asked me to forgive him, and not think badly of him, and said he would not be so ungrateful any more, and many such things, which it pained me very much to have him say; and so I made him stop, and then somehow or other we got our arms around each other’s neck, and we kissed each other’s cheeks, and great cataracts of tears came tearing from each other’s eyes; and the first and last unkindness that had come between us was passed and gone forever.
“‘But do you really think,’ said the Dean, when he got his voice again,—‘do you really think that, if a ship don’t come along and take us off, we can live here on this wretched little island,—that is, when the summer goes, and all the birds have flown away, and the darkness and the cold are on us all the time?’”
“‘To be sure we can,’ I answered; but, to tell the truth, I had very great doubts about it, only I thought that this would strengthen up the Dean; and as I had, by this time, made for myself a better definition to Job’s comforter than a something to go around the neck, I had no idea of being called by that name any more.
“‘I’m glad to hear you say that!’ exclaimed the Dean. ‘Indeed I am!’
“There was no need to give me such very strong assurance that he was ‘glad to hear it,’ for his face showed as plain as could be that he was glad to hear me say anything that had the least hope in it.
“After this the Dean grew quite cheerful. Suddenly he asked, ‘Do you know, Hardy, if this island has a name?’