Before sunset the boy became delirious, and mouthed shocking gibberish, being unable to articulate. For a whole half-hour this babbling lasted, and then died out, and the boy grew conscious. Holdsworth supported his head on his knee, but he slightly twisted it round to look at the sun, which was just then resting, a great orb of burning gold, upon the line of the horizon. He watched the sun intently, undazzled by the splendour, until it vanished, when he uttered a low wailing cry and stretched his arms out to it. Holdsworth felt his little body trembling, and some convulsive movements passed through him. Holdsworth kissed his forehead, and the boy smiled, and with that smile his spirit passed away. When he could not doubt that he was dead, Holdsworth removed the little jacket from the child’s back, covered his face with it, and laid him in the bottom of the boat. The mere exertion of doing this made him fall half-swooning upon a seat, on which Johnson came staggering over the thwarts and gave him some rum. There was now no more than a quarter of a pint left in the bottle. “Master,” said the man, bringing his lips close to Holdsworth’s ear, “if I die first, please throw my body overboard. I don’t like the notion of drifting about in this boat maybe for weeks, and becoming a sight not fit to be looked at, if e’er a ship should come by.” “I shan’t live to do you that service,” muttered Holdsworth. “I don’t feel as if I could last out much longer.” “The curse of God is on us!” said Johnson. “There’s nothing but calms, and to think of two being left out o’ seven!” The night fell quickly. At about ten o’clock a breeze came up from the north, and blew coolly and gratefully over the burning heads of the two men. It took the boat aback, and Holdsworth, acting from sheer instinct, put her before it, and hauling the sheet aft, steered east. No clouds came up with the wind; it was a summer breeze which might lull at any moment, or veer round, perhaps, to the south-west, and bring up a change of weather. Lying pretty close to the wind the boat required no steering, which was fortunate, for the yoke-lines soon slipped out of Holdsworth’s hands, and a torpor stole over him, which, without actually suspending his consciousness, rendered his perceptions dreamy and useless. He rested with his back against the side of the boat, his head upon his breast, and his eyes half closed. Johnson crouched near the mast. The breeze proved steady during the night, but died away towards the small hours; then, at daybreak, sprang up afresh from the west. The heeling over of the boat aroused the two men, who languidly, and with gestures terribly significant of their growing indifference to their fate, dipped the sail, and again let the boat lie close to save the trouble of steering her. When the morning was a little advanced, Johnson crept to the side of the dead boy and groped about him. “What are you doing?” cried Holdsworth fiercely.