wed it I
will away to the galley."

While speaking, this individual had been busying himself with a bottle,
from which he extracted a small quantity of white powder, which he mixed
with water and then handed me the mixture to drink.

"Thank you," said I, handing him back the glass. "And now, monsieur, do
me the favour to tell me your name, in order that I may know to whom I
am indebted for my preservation."

"My name?" he repeated, with a laugh. "Oh, that will keep, monsieur,
that will keep. At present your most urgent necessity is food, which I
am now going to get for you. When I return I will tell you all you may
wish to know, while you are eating. For the present, adieu, monsieur.
If you feel disposed to sleep again, do so; sleep is nearly as valuable
as food to you just now. When I have some of the latter ready for you I
will wake you, never fear."

So saying, and before I could utter another word, he vanished, slamming
the cabin door after him.

His retirement caused me a sensation of distinct relief, at which I was
very greatly annoyed with myself; for had not this man doubly saved my
life, first by rescuing me from the raft, and afterwards by nursing me
through what I believed had been a serious illness? Yet, ingrate that I
was, even in the brief interview that I have just described I had taken
an unmistakable dislike to the man! It was not so much that he was
unclean in person and attire,--it was possible that there might be a
good and sufficient excuse for that,--but what had excited my antipathy,
when I came to analyse the feeling, was a certain false ring in his
voice, a subtle something in his manner suggestive of the idea that his
friendliness and heartiness were not natural to him--were assumed for a
purpose. Yet why it should be so, why he should have rescued me from
the raft and afterwards troubled himself to fight and drive out the
fever that threatened to destroy me, unless from a feeling of humanity
and compassion for my pitiable condition, I could not imagine; yet there
had been--or so I fancied--a fierce, shifty gleam in his coal-black eyes
during the few brief minutes that he had bent over me as I lay there in
my bunk, that seemed to reveal cruelty and treachery, rather than pity
and good-will. Let me describe the man. Standing there beside my bunk,
he had conveyed to me the impression of an individual nearly six feet in
height,--I afterwards found his stature to be five feet ten in