"You ought to be proud," I said. "You can lie there and think that through your blackguards the ship has been blown up, and is now burning, and would burn to the water's edge if we couldn't stop it. The captain looks as if he were dying; you are nearly killed; you've nearly killed poor Mr Denning, who came this voyage for the benefit of his health; you have had Miss Denning insulted and exposed to no end of dangers; poor old Neb Dumlow has a shot in him; and we've been treated more like dogs than anything else; while now your beautiful friends have turned upon you, and left you to be burned in the ship they have set on fire, for aught they care. Yes; you ought to be proud of your work." He groaned, and I felt as if I should like to bite my tongue off, as I wondered how I could have said such bitter things. "I say, don't faint," I cried, and leaned over him, and sprinkled his face with water, for his eyelids had drooped, and a terribly ghastly look came over his face. But even as I tried to bring him to, I felt as if I were only doing so to make him hear my reproaches once more. He opened his eyes after a few moments, and looked up at me. "Here," I said roughly; "I'd better fetch the doctor to you." "What for?" he cried. "He will only try and save my life, when it would be better for me to die out of the way. I want to die. How can I face people at home again? No, no, don't fetch him. It's all over. There is no hope for me now." "Can I help you, Walters?" said Miss Denning, suddenly appearing at the door-way; and as I looked at her bright gentle face, with my wretched messmate's words still ringing in my ears, I could not help thinking that there must be hope even for such a cowardly traitor as he had proved, when she was here ready to help him and forgive all the past. "Yes, Miss Denning, I think you can," I said very clumsily, I know. "Walters knows what a brute he has been, and of course he is horribly sorry, and bad now, and keeps on speaking about there being no hope for him, and wanting to die. I can't talk to him, because I don't seem to be able to do anything but pitch into him--I mean with words--but you can." "Poor fellow!" she said gently; and she laid her hand upon his hot brow; "he is very feverish, and in great pain." "Yes, of course he is," I cried hurriedly; "but that's the way. I couldn't have said that. It would do any fellow good. And I say, Miss Denning, you tell him that I didn't mean all I said," I continued. "He's done wrong, and he's sorry for it, and I'm sure I'll forgive him if you will." She smiled at us both so gently that the stupid weak tears came in my eyes. "That means you will," I cried hurriedly. "Then I say, you speak to him, and make him feel that talking about dying's no good. He can't show how sorry he is if he does, can he?" "Of course not."