"Indeed not."
"I shall lose him soon. He will not live long," she said, and tears came into her eyes.
"God will spare him to you, Miss Robertson. Have courage. Our trials are nearly ended. Once ashore he will recover his health—it is this miserable confinement, this gloomy cabin, this absence of the comforts he has been used to, that are telling upon his mind. He will live to recall all this in his English home. The worst has never come until it is passed—that is my creed; because the worst may be transformed into good even when it is on us."
"You have the courage," she answered, "not I. But you give me courage. God knows what I should have done but for you."
I looked into her brave soft eyes, swimming in tears, and could have spoken some deep thoughts to her then, awakened by her words.
I was silent a moment, and then said—
"You must not go on deck to-day. Indeed, I think you had better remain below until I ask you to join me."
"Why? Is there any new danger?"
"Nothing you need fear. The men who fancy themselves very nearly at their journey's end, threaten to grow boisterous. But my importance to them is too great to allow them to offend me yet. Still, it will be best for you to keep out of sight."
"I will do whatever you wish."