"Dear good man," said Mrs. Seagrave, "whatever may be our fates, and that is for the Almighty to decide for us, as long as I have life, what you have done for me and mine shall never be forgotten." Mrs. Seagrave then bent over him, and kissing his forehead, rose and retired weeping into the house. "William," said Ready, "I can't talk now; raise my head a little, and then leave me. You have not looked round lately. Come again in about half an hour. Leave me now, Mr. Seagrave; I shall be better if I doze a little." They complied with Ready's request; went up to the planks, and examined carefully all round the stockade; at last they stopped. "This is a sad business, William," said Mr. Seagrave. William shook his head. "He would not let me go," replied he; "I wish he had. I fear that he is much hurt." "I should say that he cannot recover, William. We shall miss him to-morrow if they attack us." "I hardly know what to say, papa; but I feel that since we have been relieved, I am able to do twice as much as I could have done before." "I feel the same, but still with such a force against us, two people cannot do much." "If my mother and Juno load the muskets for us," replied William, "we shall at all events do as much now as we should have been able to do if there were three, so exhausted as we should have been." "Perhaps so; at all events we will do our best, for we fight for our lives and for those most dear to us." William went softly up to Ready, and found that he was dozing; he therefore did not disturb him, but returned to his father. Now that their thirst had been appeased, they all felt the calls of hunger. Juno and William went and cut off steaks from the turtle, and fried them; they all made a hearty meal, and perhaps never had they taken one with so much relish in their lives. It was nearly daylight, when William, who had several times been softly up to Ready, found him with his eyes open. "How do you find yourself, Ready?" said William. "I am quiet and easy, William, and without much pain; but I think I am sinking, and shall not last long. Recollect that if you are obliged to escape from the stockade, you take no heed of me, but leave me where I am. I cannot live, and were you to move me, I should only die the sooner." "I had rather die with you, than leave you, Ready." "No, that is wrong; you must save your mother, and your brothers and sister; promise me that you will do as I wish." William hesitated. "I point out to you your duty, William. I know what your feelings are, but you must not give way to them; promise me this, or you will make me very miserable." William squeezed Ready's hand; his heart was too full to speak. "They will come at daylight, William; you have not much time to spare; climb to the look-out, and wait there till day dawns; watch them as long as you can, and then come and tell me what you have seen." Ready's voice became faint after this exertion of speaking so much.