"I am very sorry, sir," said the skipper coolly, "but I have got another duty to do now, and that is to make you quite well. This is only a fast trading schooner, but in his way a skipper is as big a man as the captain of a Queen's man-of-war. He is master, and you have got to obey--the more so because it is for your own good. Why don't I set you ashore? Because I can't. As soon as I safely can, off you go, but till then just you take it coolly and get well." "Put me aboard the first ship you see." "I shall put you where I like, my boy; so once more I tell you that you have got to obey me and get well. If you go on like this, exciting yourself, we shall have the fever back again, and then, mark this, the words of truth, you will be too ill to ask me to write to your mother and tell her how bad you are." Poor Fitz's lips parted, and he lay back upon his pillow speechless and staring with a strange, wistful look in his eyes, making not the slightest resistance, not even attempting to speak again, as the skipper laid a hand once more upon his forehead, keeping it there a few minutes before he removed it. "Not so hot," he said, "as I expected to feel it. Go on, Poole, my boy, and get him his breakfast as soon as you can." The lad took his father's place as he vacated it and moved towards the cabin-door, but only to return directly, step to the side of the berth, and take one of the middy's hands and hold it between his own. "There, there," he said, "I am sorry to be so hard with you, my lad, for you have spoken very bravely and well. Come! A sailor has to take the ups and downs of his profession. You are all in the downs now, and are, so to speak, my prisoner; but we shan't put you in irons, eh, Poole?" "No, father," said the lad addressed, smiling; "not quite." "And I shall be disgraced--disgraced!" groaned the midshipman. "Disgraced! Nonsense! What for? Why, my lad, your captain when he knows all ought to put a big mark against your name; and I have no doubt he will." As he spoke he left the cabin without another word, and the silence was just as great within; but it was a busy silence all the same, while Fitz lay back, unable to avoid feeling how cool and pleasant was the touch of the water, and how gentle were his attendant's hands. He was still miserable, but there was something very satisfying later on in being propped up with a great locker-cushion and a well-stuffed pillow, feeling the deliciously warm morning air float through the open cabin-window, what time, by the help of the skipper's son, he partook of a capital breakfast, at first feeling that every mouthful was choking him, then with eager appetite, Poole smiling pleasantly at him all the while. It was annoying too, for the middy felt that, to use his own term, he ought to hate this "filibustering young ruffian" with all his heart. As for speaking to him unless it were to give him some imperious order, he mentally vowed he would not do that.