"Nay, she's coing to dee, and she's ferry sorry she wasna always coot frien's." "Oh, never mind that now, Watty!" "Put she toes mind, Meester Stevey, and she's ferry sorry. Ye'll pe coing pack to Scotland, sir, and ye'll tak' care an' co and tell my mither a' aboot her and how she deed." Steve could bear no more. He hurried across to where Andrew was lying, and took him a basin of the doctor's soup. But his success was very little better here. All the men were in the dull, apathetic state pretty well expressed by the Highlander, who, after partaking of a few spoonfuls of the stimulus, said softly: "Ye'll do her a favour?" "Yes, Andra, if I can. But stop; do me one first. Get up, and try and help us." "Nay, she'll never ket oop acain," said the man. "Ye'll chust wait till she's deed, an' then come an' tak' awa' the pipes. They're doon here peside me in her plankets, and she'll tak' care of them an' carry them pack hame wi' her; an' laddie, if she'll try an' learn the pipes, it's the far pestest music as effer wass, an' she'll thenk sometimes apoot puir Andra McByle?" Steve promised. At another time he could have laughed; but now, in, that dim, gloomy place, surrounded by the faces of the gaunt men whose eyes gleamed faintly in the light of the lanthorn, it all seemed to be more than he could bear; and at last, when everything possible had been done, he followed the doctor back to the cabin, where they sat down in silence. The doctor was the first to speak. "It's hard work, Steve boy," he said; "but we've got to do it, and with God's help we will. Poor fellows! they have the muscles, but they have no energy; and I tell you frankly, I'm beginning to be afraid." "Afraid? What of?" said Steve anxiously. "That one of them will die; and if we come to that, the effect upon the others will be terrible." Steve shuddered. "Can we do anything else?" "No more than we are doing, lad," said the doctor wearily, "only wait." CHAPTER FORTY ONE. "NEVER SAY DIE." Three days passed, during which Mr Handscombe and Steve worked hard watching by turns over their sick; and in spite of the boy's desire to evade the task, the doctor forced him to come out for a tramp in the snow by the light of the moon. The Norsemen, who bore the winter better than the rest, had begun to lose hope, and declined to leave the fire, while the cook always pleaded for excuse--want of time. It would have been very beautiful out there; but the state of the crew, and his own want of energy, made the fiord look like a cold, dark, cruel, icy prison, and Steve was always glad to get back into the shelter of the ship. Then came a morning when the doctor complained of being unwell, and asked Steve to go alone to attend to the men. With a feeling of horror that he could not conceal, the boy slowly left the doctor's cabin.