He took off his own and brandished it furiously. But all on a sudden he let fall his arm--he stretched his head forward, and his glassy eyes seemed to protrude from their sockets; his breath went and came shrilly through his open mouth; and then, giving a scream, he shrieked, “It’s gone! it’s gone!” and as if the disappointment were a blow dealt him by some heavy instrument, he gave a great gasp, collapsed, and fell like a bundle of rags from his seat. The fit of convulsive trembling that had seized Holdsworth passed; he caught sight of the boy lying on his side, with his eyes, wide open, fixed upon his face. The child was pointing to his throat. Holdsworth raised him and laid him along the seat, not conceiving that the little creature had fallen from his resting-place during the night, but that he had placed himself in that position the better to rest his limbs. He moistened his lips with rum, but on looking attentively at his face, perceived indications denoting approaching death as clearly as though the piteous message was written upon his brow. This perception gave him exquisite misery. The bright eyes of the child, suggesting sweet memories of the little wife he had left at Southbourne, had endeared the boy to him; he had been his playmate and companion on the “Meteor;” he had watched the deep and beautiful love of the mother; and her death, recent as it was, had imparted the deepest pathos to the little orphan, and made his claims upon Holdsworth’s protection and love infinitely eloquent and appealing. That he should be dying now--now that the bright sun was climbing the brilliant morning sky--dying for want of a cup of water, a morsel of bread--dying without a mother’s love to enfold him in his last struggle and waft his young and innocent soul to God on the wings of a prayer, such as _her_ agony, _her_ devotion only could dictate--oh, it was too pitiful! “My little boy--look up!--tell me--do you suffer? Where is the pain? Is it in your throat? Oh my poor innocent!” His tears blinded him. He took his handkerchief and dipped it into the sea and laid it upon the child’s throat. The little creature seemed to feel his love, for he made a movement as if he would nestle against him, and smiled wanly, but could not speak. His young dying face was an unbearable sight, and Holdsworth, groaning, gazed wildly around the horizon as if there--or there--or there--must be the ship sent by God to save the boy’s life!