He was tempted to turn over and go to sleep, for he still felt very weary, and his repose had not restored his wonted vigor. But he concluded to go on deck, as every prudent skipper should, before he finished his nap. Rising leisurely from his bunk, he made his way to the standing room where he was almost paralyzed at the discovery of Lily lying apparently dead upon the floor.
Dan was prompt and decided in action; and taking the insensible girl in his arms, he placed her upon the cushioned seat. Tremulous with emotion, he bent over her to ascertain whether his worst fears were to be realized. Her heart beat; there was life, and there was hope.
"Cyd! Cyd!" shouted he, in tones which would have roused a sleepier boy than his fellow-fugitive, and which, had it been heard a quarter of an hour sooner, would have brought the slave-hunters upon them.
Cyd leaped from his couch as the imperative tones of Dan reached his ears, fully believing that the enemy, for whom they had been so patiently preparing, was upon them. Seizing a gun which lay upon the table, he rushed aft, ready to do his share in the impending battle.
"Wha—wha—whar's de nigger-hunters?" demanded he, furiously.
"They are not here; there is no danger," replied Dan, calmly, as he continued to rub the temples of Lily.
"Possifus! Wha—wha—what's de matter wid Missy Lily?" cried he, as soon as he saw the insensible form of the maiden.
"Bring me a pitcher of water, Cyd."
"Is she dead?" gasped the poor fellow, as he obtained a better view of the pale face of Lily.
"No, no; bring me the water—quick."