own
room.

"I will sit with him myself," said the captain. "You must not be
selfish, my child, in using your privilege. You forget that what
gratifies you may also be a pleasure to others. I am going to town in a
few days. Who knows if I may see the dear fellow again."

"Father!" exclaimed Rosalind, seizing his arm almost roughly; "he is
getting better. The doctor says so."

"My poor child," said her father, with a forced cheerfulness far more
terrifying to the girl than his previous melancholy, "I was wrong to
alarm you. Yes, of course he is getting better; of course. Come, we
must all be brave."

Rosalind, quite broken down, went to her bed and cried herself to sleep.

When the captain entered the sick-chamber, he found the mother at the
bedside.

"My dear Eva," said he, "let me beg you to take a little rest. I will
remain here. Do give me the pleasure for once. You know how I shall
value the privilege."

Mrs Ingleton, who was in truth fairly worn out, was fain to consent, on
condition that she should be called at once if necessary.

Having escorted her affectionately to the door, Captain Oliphant seated
himself at the bedside, and looked hard at his ward.

The boy lay in a feverish doze, his large dark eyes half-closed, and his
head turning now and again restlessly on the pillow.

"My poor dear fellow," said his guardian, bending over him, "how do you
feel this afternoon!"

"Better, I think. Where's Rosalind?"

"Gone to bed. I am really afraid of her becoming ill. She looks so
pale and worn."

"She was so good to me," said Roger. "I never thought of her getting
ill. How long have I been ill?" he asked.

"Three weeks, my boy. What a narrow escape you had. You know I never
heard yet what happened that day in the boat. How did it all happen?"

Whereupon Roger, rousing himself still more, began to go over the events
of that memorable day, which at that distance of time seemed to loom out
in his mind more terrible than at the time.

His guardian, deeply interested in the narrative, drew him out into a
full and particular account of all that passed: the picnic on the
island, the sudden storm, the drive before the wind, the awful roar of
the surf on the shore, what each one said and thought and prepared for,
and then of the crowning excitement of the rescue, the struggle in the
water, and the drowning sensations.

When all was told the boy's head fell exhausted on the pillow, his che