“There is no time to be lost,” observed the surgeon, hurrying away to his own cabin without answering the question.
“Our lives are in God’s hands, young lady,” said the captain, in a kind tone. “The doctor will do all he can for your papa; be assured of that.”
The surgeon instantly returned with a restorative; after taking which the sick man recovered slightly, and was able to utter a few words in a faint voice. He recognised his children, and beckoned them to approach.
“I am leaving you, I fear,” he whispered; “for I feel as I have never felt before. Walter, take care of Emily; never leave her. Think of your dear mother and me sometimes.” Then he turned his glance towards the captain. “These, sir, will be orphans before many hours have passed,” he said, in a faltering voice. “You, perhaps, are a father, and can feel for me. As a fellow-creature, you can do so. You have been the means of preserving the lives of those children; watch over them, and do what you can for them. They will tell you about themselves. I cannot speak more.”
While he was uttering these words, he seemed about to relapse into a state of insensibility. His eye was growing dim. He stretched out his hands, however, and took those of his children; and thus, almost without uttering another word, his spirit passed away.
“We will leave your father now,” said the surgeon; and made a sign to the captain, who led the boy and girl out of the cabin.
The boy seemed to understand what had happened; but there was an anxious, scared, and inquiring expression on the countenance of the little girl, which showed that even now she was not certain that her father had been taken from her.
Captain Davenport was a father, and a kind, affectionate one, and knew how to sympathise with the bereaved children. He had been in the cabin but a few minutes when a midshipman entered.
“She is sinking, sir!” he exclaimed.
Captain Davenport hurried on deck. The boy had caught the words, and followed him. Just then Merlin uttered a low, mournful howl. They were just in time to see the after-part of the dismasted ship, as, plunging head first, she went down beneath the foaming billows.