Mulford and Rose now felt something like that security, without the sense of which happiness itself is but an uneasy feeling, rendering the anticipations of evil the more painful by the magnitude of the stake. There they sat, now, in the stern-sheets by themselves, Jack Tier having placed himself near the bows of the boat, to look out for rocks, as well as to trim the craft. It was not long before Rose was leaning on Harry’s shoulder, and ere an hour was past, she had fallen into a sweet sleep in that attitude, the young man having carefully covered her person with a capacious shawl, the same that had been used on the wreck. As for Jack, he maintained his post in silence, sitting with his arms crossed, and the hands thrust into the breast of his jacket, sailor fashion, a picture of nautical vigilance. It was some time after Rose had fallen asleep, that this singular being spoke for the first time. “Keep her away a bit, maty,” he said, “keep her away, half a point or so. She’s been travelin’ like a racer since we left the brig; and yonder’s the first streak of day.” “By the time we have been running,” observed Mulford, “I should think we must be getting near the northern side of the reef.” “All of that, sir, depend on it. Here’s a rock close aboard on us, to which we are coming fast—just off here, on our weather bow, that looks to me like the place where you landed after that swim, and where we had stowed ourselves when Stephen Spike made us out, and gave chase.” “It is surprising to me, Jack, that you should have any fancy to stick by a man of Spike’s character. He is a precious rascal, as we all can see, now, and you are rather an honest sort of a fellow.” “Do you love the young woman there, that’s lying in your arms, as it might be, and whom you say you wish to marry?” “The question is a queer one, but it is easily answered. More than my life, Jack.” “Well, how happens it that _you_ succeed, when the world has so many other young men who might please her as well as yourself?” “It may be that no other loves her as well, and she has had the sagacity to discover it.” “Quite likely. So it is with me and Stephen Spike. I fancy a man whom other folk despise and condemn. _Why_ I stand by him is my own secret; but stand by him I do and will.” “This is all very strange, after your conduct on the island, and your conduct to-night. I shall not disturb your secret, however, Jack, but leave you to enjoy it by yourself. Is this the rock of which you spoke, that we are now passing?” “The same; and there is the spot in which we was stowed when they made us out from the brig; and hereaway, a cable’s length, more or less, the wreck of that Mexican craft must lie.” “What is that rising above the water, thereaway, Jack; more on our weather-beam?” “I see what you mean, sir; it looks like a spar. By George! there’s two on ’em; and they _do_ seem to be the schooner’s masts.”