ward me, as I thus assisted her wishes.
"You hear, father," said she, fondling him, "Tom agrees with me."

"Ah!" replied Bramble, with a sigh, "if--but we cannot have all we wish
in this world."

Bessy and I both felt what he would have referred to, and we were
silent. She cast down her eyes, and appeared busy with her fork,
although she was eating nothing. I no longer felt the repugnance that I
had a short time before, and I was in deep reverie, watching the changes
of her beautiful countenance, when she looked up. Our eyes met: she must
have read my thoughts in mine, for from that moment each hour increased
our intimacy and confidence. We were no longer afraid of each other.

A day or two after this conversation an opportunity was given to me of
going up the river, which I did not neglect; and having delivered up
charge of the ship, I hastened down to Greenwich. I found everything in
_statu quo_ at my mother's house, and Virginia much pleased at there
being no lodgers. Anderson I met walking with Ben the Whaler and my
father. He told me that Spicer had refused to have his leg amputated,
when the surgeon had pointed out the necessity of the operation; and
that it was now said that it was too late to have the operation
performed, and that there was little or no chance of his recovery. They
asked me many questions relative to the narrow escape of Bramble, and
the behavior of Bessy.

As soon as I could get away, I set off to the hospital to see Spicer;
for, as the reader must be aware, I had many reasons for having
communication with him--not that I expected that at first he would
acknowledge anything. I knew that his heart was hardened, and that he
had no idea of his danger; but I had his secret--he was indeed in my
power, and I hoped by terrifying him to obtain the information which I
wished.

I found him in bed, in the corner of the hospital ward, to the left. He
was looking very pale, and apparently was in great pain.

"Spicer," said I, "I have come to see you; I am sorry to hear of your
accident. How is your leg? is it better?"

"No, not much," replied he, writhing, "I am in great pain; another man
would scream out with agony, but I'm like the wolf--I'll die without
complaint."

"But you don't think that you're going to die, Spicer?"

"No, Jack, I don't think that; I never have thought that, when I have
been worse than now. I'll never believe that I'm dead until I find
myself so. It must come some time or