"He--he is not dead?" I gasped; and I fell a-trembling with horror at
the idea of one whom I had known vigorous and strong so short a time
before, lying there at my feet, robbed of the power of making any
reparation for the crime he had so weakly committed, and with no chance
for repentance.

"I--I say, he is not dead, is he?"

I spoke fiercely, for Mr Frewen had not replied; and now I caught and
held on by his hand.

He quite started, and turned upon me.

"I--I beg your pardon, Dale," he cried. "I was thinking of something
else--of those on board that unfortunate ship. It seems so cowardly to
leave them to their fate."

"How could we help it, Mr Frewen? What could we do? But tell me about
Walters."

"Yes," he said, drawing a long breath, as if he were making an effort to
keep his mind fixed upon the present--"yes, I'll tell you."

"Then he is dead?" I whispered, with a shudder; and as I looked down
into the bottom of the boat, where all was perfectly black, I seemed to
see the white face of the lad quite plainly, with his fixed eyes gazing
straight at me, full of appeal, and as if asking forgiveness for the
past.

"No, not dead, Dale," said Mr Frewen in a low voice. "Be quiet. Don't
talk about it. We have quite enough to depress us without that. I can
say nothing for certain in this black darkness, and he may recover."

"Is the wound so very bad?" I asked.

"Dangerous enough, as far as I can tell; but he has everything against
him, my lad."

"But if he dies?" I exclaimed in horror.

"Well?" said Mr Frewen bitterly. "If he were a man, I should say it
were the best thing that could happen. He has as a young officer
hopelessly dishonoured himself. He can only be looked upon as a
criminal."

I could not argue with him, and relapsed into silence, thinking the
while of the horror of my messmate's condition, and asking myself
whether it would not have been possible for him to redeem the past, and
grow up into a straightforward, honourable man.

It was a hard matter to mentally discuss, but as I sat in the darkness
that night, with hardly a word spoken by my companions, I forgot all
Walters' bitterness and dislike, and only thought of his being young and
strong like myself; and that he had those at home who would be
heart-broken if they heard of his death, and would feel his disgrace as
bitterly as he must have felt it himself, when all came to be known.

"I won't think it was his nature,