land?" he said.

"The nearest?"

Fitz nodded.

"Oh, about eight hundred miles."

"And where's that? Somewhere south?"

"No, north by east."

"Do you mean it?"

It was Poole's turn now to nod.

The young midshipman sank back aghast, trying to mentally fill up the
blank between that night off the dark waters near Liverpool, and the
bright sunny sea before him now.

It was a thorough failure, for before many minutes had passed, his
thinking powers seemed to be rendered misty by a sunny glow through
which he was wafted back to England, Kent, and his own old pleasant
home.

His head had sunk back, and he was sleeping peacefully and well, not in
the least disturbed by his attendant as the breakfast-things were
removed and the cabin touched up. This done, Poole stood beside him,
examining his position.

"Seems comfortable enough," he said, "and I don't think he can roll
over. Poor old chap! It does seem a nasty turn, but it was not our
fault. I hope he'll soon settle down, because he seems to be the sort
of fellow, if he wasn't quite so cocky, that one might come to like."

CHAPTER SIX.

ON TWO SIDES.

Fitz Burnett slept on during the greatest part of that day and most of
the next; each time that he woke up he seemed better, and ready for the
food that he had missed for so long and which was now so carefully
prepared for him.

Very little had been said; the skipper's son attended upon him
assiduously, and was ready to enter into conversation, but his advances
were met so shortly and snappishly, that he soon contented himself with
playing the nurse seriously, while the invalid frowned and kept his eyes
fixed upon the sea through the open cabin-window, rarely glancing at his
attendant at all.

It was on the fourth day after the lad had recovered his senses and
learned the truth of his position, that Poole made a remark about this
change in their passenger to his father, who had come into the cabin to
find the midshipman fast asleep.

"Is it right, father, that he should sleep so much?" said the lad.

"Certainly. He's getting on fast. Let him sleep as much as he can.
His wound is growing together again as quickly as it can. Can't you see
how much better he is?"

"Well, I thought I could, dad," was the reply; "but every now and then I
think he's getting worse."

"Eh? What makes you think that, lad? Does he begin to mope for his
liberty?"

"I dare say he does, dad. It's only natural; bu