At that moment footsteps were heard descending the companion ladder, and a seaman, muffled in a storm jacket and sou'-wester, both of which were shining with salt spray, approached the berth in which Morley lay.
"Bartelot—Tom Bartelot! old friend and school-fellow," he exclaimed, with bewilderment, "where on earth did you come from?"
"Not from among the clouds and gulls, as you did, Morley," replied the other, laughing.
"And so—so you are beside me!"
"Of course I am, and right glad to see you again, Ashton; but this is a queer business of yours, old fellow."
"How?—why?—where am I?"
"Aboard my ship, to be sure."
"Then I have had fever again, and have never been at home; have never seen Ethel! Have never been thrown into Acton Chine! I have had dreams, Tom—oh, such dreams!"
"I rather think you have, Morley."
"How mad I must have been, and such queer things I must have said. Did I speak about the Bassets and the Isle of France? I would have sworn that I had seen Ethel, had spoken to her, and—and kissed her many times. Dear Ethel! And so we are still on board your brig in the Bonny River?"