then
returned to help him to bed. He sat reeling on the bench, his chin on
his breast, catching himself up as before with little sharp terrified
recoveries, and I was forced to put my hand on him again to make him
understand I had come back. He then made as if to rise, but trembled so
violently that he sank down again with a groan, and I was obliged to put
my whole strength to the lifting of him to get him on to his legs. He
leaned heavily upon me, breathing hard, stooping very much and
trembling. When we got to his cabin I perceived that he would never be
able to climb into his hammock, nor had I the power to hoist a man of
his bulk so high. To end the perplexity I cut the hammock down and laid
it on the deck, and covering him with a heap of clothes, unslung the
lanthorn, wished him good-night, closed the door, and returned to the
furnace.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE ICE BREAKS AWAY.

It was not yet eight o'clock. I was restless in my mind, under a great
surprise, and was not sleepy. I filled a pipe, made me a little pannikin
of punch, and sat down before the fire to think. If ever I had suspected
the accuracy of my conjecture that the Frenchman's sudden astonishing
indisposition was the effect of his extreme age coming upon him and
breaking down the artificial vitality with which he had bristled into
life under my hands, I must have found fifty signs to set my misgivings
at rest in his drowsiness, nodding, bowed form, weakness, his tottering
and trembling, and other features of his latest behaviour. If I was
right, then I had reason to be thankful to Almighty God for this
unparalleled and most happy dispensation, for now I should have nothing
to fear from the old rogue's vindictiveness and horrid greed. Supposing
him to be no more than a hundred, the infirmities of five score years
would stand between him and me, and protect me as effectually as his
death. I had nothing to dread from a man who could scarce stand, whose
palsied hand could scarce clasp a knife, whose evil tongue could scarce
articulate the terrors of his soul or the horrors of his recollection.

The wonder of it all was so great it filled me with admiration and
astonishment. Had he been dead and come to life again, as Lazarus, or
one of those bodies which arose during the time our Lord hung upon the
cross, then, questionless, he must have picked up the chain of his life
at the link which death had broken, and continued his natural walk into
age a