his last thoughts of the night before, hastened to the cabin.

Mac was awake; perhaps had not slept. Over his head Goddedaal's canary

twittered shrilly from its cage.

"How are you?" asked Carthew.

"Me arrum's broke," returned Mac; "but I can stand that. It's this place

I can't abide. I was coming on deck anyway."

"Stay where you are, though," said Carthew. "It's deadly hot above, and

there's no wind. I'll wash out this----" and he paused, seeking a word

and not finding one for the grisly foulness of the cabin.

"Faith, I'll be obliged to ye, then," replied the Irishman. He spoke

mild and meek, like a sick child with its mother. There was now no

violence in the violent man; and as Carthew fetched a bucket and swab

and the steward's sponge, and began to cleanse the field of battle,

he alternately watched him or shut his eyes and sighed like a man near

fainting. "I have to ask all your pardons," he began again presently,

"and the more shame to me as I got ye into trouble and couldn't do

nothing when it came. Ye saved me life, sir; ye're a clane shot."

"For God's sake, don't talk of it!" cried Carthew. "It can't be talked

of; you don't know what it was. It was nothing down here; they fought.

On deck--O, my God!" And Carthew, with the bloody sponge pressed to his

face, struggled a moment with hysteria.

"Kape cool, Mr. Cart'ew. It's done now," said Mac; "and ye may bless God

ye're not in pain and helpless in the bargain."

There was no more said by one or other, and the cabin was pretty well

cleansed when a stroke on the ship's bell summoned Carthew to breakfast.

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>