I was resigned now to my lot. I had prayed for death, had wished to die, and had rebelled when I began to improve. There were so many happy young lads and lovely maidens, for whom life seemed to hold so much, it stretched out so beautiful before their eyes; and yet the grim old reaper had garnered them in and left me here. I had ceased to fear death; it had lost its sting for me, and the dread of it was gone. I thought of it now as some old friend, long lost and loved, whose face I had not seen for many years, and whom I longed and yearned to behold once more. To lie down in its open arms and wake no more--only quiet, peace, oblivion, only the snow of winter to lie above me, and the dew of heaven to fall upon the mound where I lay. Ah! rest after toil would be sweet. But now I was resigned; I would bow to the inevitable. It was the will of God that I should live, and with it I was content. Oliver, whistling some merry tune, came into the room where I lay one bright morning. I had been thinking of the island, and had idly wondered what had become of the pirates' vessel, for I had not seen it when we left. I looked up at the sound of his footsteps. "Lad, what has become of the ship of the pirates?" I asked. "I have not seen it for months." "Drake put some of his crew upon it, and she sailed before us," he answered gayly. "On it I have since learned were my Lord Dunraven and the priest. The gentlemen tell me" (he dropped into one of the chairs) "that the Spaniards are about to fit out a noble fleet, called the great Armada, to invade England. Philip has sworn to humble her pride, so that she will trouble him no more. This is why Sir Francis has put on full sail for the last few days. He wishes to be in at the death," and he whistled in a trifle louder key. "I but hope that we will arrive in time to help put down these Dons!" he cried, breaking off in the middle of a measure, his eyes flashing. "They have long tried to rule the world with an iron hand, and 'tis full time that old England should show them a thing or two." "Thou dost talk strangely, Oliver," I answered, with a laugh at his vehemence. "We are most likely to lose our heads if we reach England safe; 'twould be best for us to fall into the hands of the Spaniards as prisoners of war. Perhaps we might escape from them to some place where we would be safe; at any rate our necks would be saved, and that would be something to be thankful for under present conditions." The boy's face had grown long as he listened to me. "I had not thought of that," he said, his brow puckered. "'Tis a strange situation to be in," and with that he betook himself thoughtfully on deck.