I live by food, the living image of my murdered Billy!"

NIGHT THE NINETEENTH.

THE CASTAWAYS.

(Foe's Narrative Continued.)

"A miracle? Well, I had always supposed poor Billy to be a mongrel
of such infinite variety of descent that the world might never hope
to behold his like. But, after all, the strains even of dogs are
limited in number; and what Nature has produced she can reproduce.

"But the apparition, just there, and at that moment, was a miracle to
me. I sat staring at it even when the boat's stem took the beach
gently, and it was Farrell who first crawled over her side to land.
His knees shook, and the dog, leaping against him, nearly bowled him
over. Then the sight of water seemed to galvanise his legs, and he
tottered frantically up the small foreshore to the cascade, beside
which he fell and drank, letting the spray drench his head, neck, and
shoulders. The animal had gone with him, gambolling and barking, and
now ran to and fro and leapt over his body three or four times, still
barking. All his welcome was for Farrell. To me, as I followed,
staggering, the animal paid no heed at all, until he saw me drawing
close, when he suddenly turned about, showed his teeth and started to
growl. His tail stiffened, the hairs on his chine bristled up, and I
believe in another moment he would have flown at me.

"Partly of knowledge, however, and partly of weakness, I checked
this. My feet had no sooner felt firm ground than I found myself
weak as a year-old child. The strength of will that had held me up
through that awful voyage--and it was awful, Roddy--went draining out
of me, and the last of my bodily strength with it, like grain through
a hole in a sack. As the dog bristled up, I fell forward on hands
and knees, laughing hysterically, and the dog winced back as if
before a whip, and cringed. . . . You know, I dare say, that no dog
will ever attack a man who falls forward like that, or crouches as if
to sit, _and laughs_? . . . So I dropped from this posture right
prone by the edge of the basin hollowed by the little waterfall, and
drank my fill.

"What next do you guess we did? . . . We rolled over on the sand
under the shade of the cliff, and slept. . . .

"We slept for three mortal hours. I've no doubt we should have slept
oblivious for another three, had not the making tide aroused me with
its cool wash around my ankles. The sun, too, was stealing our
resting-place from us, or the c