eaking, for just then I saw Mr Frewen go to the boy
on the tub, and dash some water over his face.

"Now, my lad," he said, "you must get up and walk about."

He took hold of the boy's arm, but did not pull him up, for the lad
fought against him angrily, and then I knew I was that boy staring hard
at the doctor, and then at Mr Denning, who came along the deck from the
companion-way far-distant, crying--

"Doctor--my sister--come directly--she's dying!"

The doctor went away directly, and I saw him going what seemed to be
miles away, but so gently and easily that it was like something in a
dream. Mr Brymer went after him, and the cook and the two men stood
watching them till they disappeared through the saloon entrance, while
the men in the forecastle kept on singing a chorus, sounding now loud
and now soft, just as one hears the music of a great organ when the
performer opens and closes the swell.

I don't know how long it was afterwards, but it did not seem to matter,
for everything was so pleasant and calm, before I saw Mr Brymer come
back with the doctor, and directly after, though he seemed to be still a
long way off, Mr Brymer said--

"I must send another man. He is hanging fast asleep over the wheel."

Then I saw Mr Frewen catch at one of the shrouds and stand gazing at
him vacantly, and then I felt quite pleased, for Bob Hampton was there
along with Neb Dumlow.

"It is all going to be right now," I thought, though I did not know that
anything was wrong, and I felt as if I was just dropping off into a
delicious sleep.

But all was quite clear and plain again, as I heard Bob Hampton say--

"Some one has been playing larks with the grub, sir. I can't go to the
wheel, for I can't--can't--can't--can't--Here, hold up Neb, lad; don't
lurch about like that."

"I'm a-going down, matey, I'm a-going down," growled Dumlow, and I saw
him sink on the deck.

"You scoundrels, you've been at the rum!" cried Mr Brymer, and he drew
his pistol, but only gave a stagger, and caught about in the air to try
and save himself from falling. "Help--Frewen--something--give me
something," he panted, and Mr Frewen came to him, feeling his way with
his arms stretched out just as if he were playing at blindman's buff.

He came on as if from a great distance, till he touched Mr Brymer, and
I heard him whisper the one word--"Treachery."

"I knew it!" cried the mate, fiercely, and cocking his pistol he
staggered for a moment ju