Then Ethel joined with her, and insisted so touchingly and so vehemently, that Morley was compelled to yield, and they rushed to the bedside of Mr. Basset, just as Heriot and Tom Bartelot placed him in a comfortable sitting posture, well bolstered up, and covered with warm blankets, where he sat breathing heavily; but with his eyes closed, and his head reclining on the shoulder of the young doctor, in whose face there shone a bright smile of joy and triumph.
"Papa, papa, speak to me!" cried Ethel, in a piercing voice, as she thrust herself between Captain Phillips and Tom Bartelot, knelt by the side of the bed—which was nearly level with the cabin-floor—and stroked his brow with a delicate and tremulous hand, while caressingly she drew his head upon her own breast; "you are not dying, papa—you cannot be dying! oh, say so—speak to your own Ethel!"
A slight quivering of the eyelids, and, if possible, a heavier respiration, was his sole response.
Again she spoke to him more imploringly, and this time the head was raised for a moment, but only to drop more heavily on her bosom.
"Will he die?—will he die?—speak, Leslie!" exclaimed Rose, while wringing her hands.
"No, not if my skill, with God's blessing, can save him, Rose. He is recovering rapidly."
"But recovering from what?" asked Ethel, shrilly; "what manner of ailment or maltreatment is this?"
"Himself will tell you all about it to-morrow; to-day he must sleep—I say must, my dear Miss Basset," said Heriot, in an impressive whisper.
"Oh, that by dying I could save my papa—my own dear papa!" cried Rose, as she rocked herself to and fro, her eyes streaming with tears the while.
"Don't talk so, Rose," said Heriot, almost angrily; "people can do more good by living than by dying, so, if you are determined to stay here, let us see what a dear little nurse you can make. There is no assistant a medical man appreciates so much as a capital nurse; so look alive, you little fairy—end this bother, and squeeze that sponge."