The footsteps came nearer; they stopped at her door; they went north; they came back south. They kept her in this high-wrought attitude for half an hour. Then they retired softly; and, when they were gone, she gave way and fell on her knees and began to cry hysterically. Then she got calmer, and then she wondered and puzzled herself; but she slept no more that night. In the morning she found that the fire was lighted on a sort of shelf close to the boat. Mr. Hazel had cut the shelf and lighted the fire there for Welch's sake, who had complained of cold in the night. While Hazel was gone for the crayfish, Welch asked Helen to go for her prayer-book. She brought it directly, and turned the leaves to find the prayers for the sick. But she was soon undeceived as to his intention. "Sam had it wrote down how the _Proserpine_ was foundered, and I should like to lie alongside my messmate on that there paper, as well as in t'other place" (meaning the grave). "Begin as Sam did, that this is my last word." "Oh, I hope not. Oh, Mr. Welch, pray do not leave me!" "Well, well then, never mind that; but just put down as I heard Sam; and his dying words, that the parson took down, were the truth." "I have written that." "And that the two holes was on her port-side, and seven foot from her stain-post; and _I_ say them very augers that is in our cutter made them holes. Set down that." "It is down." "Then I'll put my mark under it; and you are my witness." Helen, anxious to please him in everything, showed him where to put his mark. He did so; and she signed her name as his witness. "And now, Mr. Welch," said she, "do not you fret about the loss of the ship; you should rather think how good Providence has been to us in saving us three out of so many that sailed in that poor ship. That Wylie was a wicked man; but he is drowned, or starved, no doubt, and there is an end of him. You are alive, and we are all three to see Old England again. But to live, you must eat; and so now do pray make a good breakfast to-day. Tell me what you can fancy. A cabbage?" "What, you own it is a cabbage?" "Of course I do," said Helen, coaxing. "You must excuse Mr. Hazel; these learned men are so crotchety in some things, and go by books; but you and I go by our senses, and to us a cabbage is a cabbage, grow where it will. Will you have one?" "No, miss, not this morning. What I wants this morning very bad, indeed, it is--I wants a drink made of the sweet-smelling leaves, like as you strewed over my messmate--the Lord in heaven bless you for it." "Oh, Mr. Welch, that is a curious fancy; but you shall not ask me twice for anything; the jungle is full of them, and I'll fetch you some in five minutes. So you must boil the water."