red rocks.
It was very puzzling and confusing, and when for the third time he felt that he was saying that he was so hot and so thirsty he uttered a sigh and said to himself that he must get up and drink a glass of water and open his bed-room window, before lying down again.
This thought roused him a little from his deep, heavy, stupefied state, and he had a surprise. For he made an effort to get up, and then felt startled on realising the fact that he was not lying down, but sitting in an awkward position, his head hanging back over the side of a chair, and his neck stiffened and aching.
Then he knew that he was not at home in Devonshire, but in the state-room of a ship, and that the heat was stifling.
This was enough to rouse him from his state of stupefaction a little more, and then as he straightened his neck and looked about he fully awoke with one mental leap.
His first glance was at Carey, who had moved and lay in a different position, but was quite motionless now.
His next was at the little port-hole window, which he unfastened and threw open, to feel a puff of soft air and hear the gentle washing of the ocean, which spread out calm and still like a sea of gold beneath an orange sky.
It was very calm, just heaving softly, and from a distance came at intervals the deep booming roar of the breakers on a reef; but there was hardly a breath of air, for the terrible hurricane had passed.
Stiff and aching from the awkward position in which he had slept, the doctor crossed to the door and pushed it open wide, with the result that the suffocating atmosphere of the cabin began rapidly to give place to the soft, warm, pure air, every breath of which cleared the late sleeper’s brain and gave him strength.
“Bostock—Bostock,” he said, softly; but there was no answer, and he bent down and touched the sleeper on the shoulder.
“Where away then?” grumbled the man.
“Bostock, wake up.”
“Heave to! D’yer hear? heave to!” came in low, muttered tones.
“Bostock, man, wake up. You’ve been asleep these ten or twelve hours.”
Still no sensible reply, and the doctor gave the man a rough shake.
“Ay, ay, sir,” he shouted. “All hands on deck! Tumble up, you lubbers; tumble up.”
“Hush!”
“Eh? The doctor! All right, sir. Why, I’ve been asleep!”
“Yes, yes, but be quiet,” whispered his companion. “I was overcome and have slept too.”
“But the youngster, sir?” whispered the old sailor, hoarsely, as he rose to his feet. “How is he, sir?”
“He has slept heavily. He does not seem any worse.”
“I’m so thirsty!” came feebly from the boy’s berth.
“Dear lad!” said Bostock, quickly. “I’ll get some water for him to drink.”
“Yes, quickly,” cried the doctor, as he recalled his dream-like ideas and grasped the truth.
The old sailor hurried out, and the doctor laid his hand gently on his patient’s head, to find it moist with perspiration. As he did so the boy’s eyes opened and he stared at the doctor wonderingly for a few moments before the light of recognition came into them, and he smiled.
“Doctor!” he said. “You here?”
“Yes, my dear boy,” said the doctor, gently. “How do you feel?”
“Been dreaming horribly, and got such a bad headache. But—but—”
He stared about him, then back at the doctor, and an anxious look came into his eyes.
“Have—have I been ill?” he said, in a husky voice, and he raised one hand to catch at the doctor’s, but let it fall with a faint cry of pain.
“Yes, a little; but you are getting better, my dear boy,” said the doctor, soothingly. “Don’t be alarmed; only lie still.”
“My shoulder throbs and burns, and my head is all queer. Ah, I remember now,” he cried, excitedly; “I fell.”
“Yes, yes, but—”
“Oh, doctor,” cried the boy, in a voice full of excitement, “don’t say I broke my new double glass!”
“My dear lad,” cried the doctor, smiling; “I don’t know.”
“Doctor!”
“But if you have I’ll buy you another.”
“So I fell from up aloft?”
“Here you are, sir,” came in a hoarse voice; “got at the tank quite easy, and I found a sound glass.”
Then the sturdy fellow gave a frisk after the fashion of an ancient goat.
“Hooroar!” he cried; “Jack’s alive O! I knew he wouldn’t die a bit!”
“Hush! Silence, man!” cried the doctor. “Mind! you’re spilling the water.”
“So I am,” said the old sailor, gruffly, and he began to pour out a glassful from the tin he held in one hand, raising the other so as to make the clear, cool liquid sparkle in bubbles as if he meant to give it a head.
“Ha!” sighed Carey, smiling. “Quick! I am so thirsty.”
He was about to try and rise, but the doctor checked him.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “I’ll raise you up, pillow and all, and Bostock shall hold it to your lips. No, stop.—Is the vessel much broken up, my man?”
“Not a bit, sir, but I expect she’s got holes in her bottom.”
“I won’t be a minute, Carey, lad. I’m going to my surgery. Don’t move.”
He hurried out, leaving Bostock standing with the glass and tin of water, breathing hard and staring down at the injured boy.
“Here, Bob,” said Carey, faintly. “What’s the matter?”
“You lie still and wait till the doctor comes back, my lad,” said the old fellow, gruffly.
“I am lying still,” said Carey, peevishly. “Tell me directly; what’s the matter?”
“Why, you said you knowed. I heard yer. You said you fell from up aloft.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Carey; “but the doctor asked you if the ship was much broken up.”
“Did he, sir?”
“You know he did, and you said she had got some holes
