The shipwrecked person seemed to be about forty years of age; it was difficult to judge of his person, but his face and head were attractive. He was rather patient than resigned; and if he forbore to complain of his suffering, it was evident that the pride of a man habitually trusting to himself, rather than the Christian submitting to Providence, restrained his tongue.
There was nothing in the case of the sufferer to render his situation particularly perilous, unless a fever should supervene, so said the doctor, but he also confessed that the symptoms indicated more than ordinary exhaustion of shipwreck and the consequence of broken limbs, so he advised a disposition of worldly affairs, as one of the best means of tranquillizing his system.
In the night, while Amelia relieved the watch of the other person, the sufferer called her to him, and when she had disposed his limbs in a favorable position, he remarked that during the whole of her kind attendance on him he had never seen her face—her voice he had heard, it seemed familiar to him, and the name by which she was called was one that he could never forget.
Amelia drew the curtain aside, and the light of the night-lamp gave the patient a full view of her face. He started:
“And that face, too!—looks and name, too! Do I dream, or is it real?”
“What do you see?” said Amelia with kindness. “You seem astonished at my name—is it so unusual, or so familiar to you?”
“You surely are not of this place? And the name —”
“I am of this place—though I was not born here—and though Amelia is the name of my mother, I have reason to believe that I was named for the daughter of one of our excellent neighbors.”
“It is so—yes. I must have been dreaming—perhaps I am feverish. Will you talk a little, however, and let me hear your voice?”
“If you feel able to hear me talk, perhaps you would prefer to hear me read a short passage in the Bible.”