Try how he would, he was fain to conic to the conclusion that he must lie passive amongst those reeds, saying a few words to Wat Kilby from time to time, to encourage him; for the old man, sturdy as he was, seemed to have taken quite a fatalist view of their case. "Wait for daylight, skipper?" he said, sadly. "No; I think it be morning that will have to wait for me, and I shan't answer to my number. The cold water be getting into my joints, and I be too stiff to move." To remain for long in their cramped and helpless situation seemed to Gil at first impossible; but hour after hour glided away, and save the rippling of the water hardly a sound greeted the sufferers' ears. Too numbed and helpless even to cry out for help, they lay waiting for morning, hardly hoping to see the dawn, for at any moment a slip would have sent them into deep water, to go down at once. Sometimes a soft wind stirred the thick steamy mist upon the water and rustled the reeds above their heads; while, at intervals through the night, the cry of some coot or duck floated weirdly across the great Pool, but, at last, all those things seemed to Gil to be part of a confused dream, as he grew, more and more numbed and helpless. The water washed higher over his face, but he could not raise his head to avoid it, nor disturb the current of his thoughts, which were flowing placidly enough now, and quite unmingled with despair, along his life-course; and it seemed ridiculous to him that he, who had braved so many perils of the mighty sea, should perish on this pitiful pond. Then he began to think of Mace and her feelings when she heard of his death; and, with a sigh, he thought it seemed hard indeed that he should die now when he was so sure of her love. But he whispered a blessing upon her to the soft summer breeze, and thanked Heaven that they had parted so happily that night. Wat Kilby had not spoken for hours, but lay there in a state of torpor, till suddenly he exclaimed:-- "You there, skipper?" "Yes, Wat." "I wouldn't care so much only--" There was a pause here. "Only that I have got my bag of tobacco here in my pocket, and it be quite wet through." After that, there was utter silence. Volume 2, Chapter IV. HOW TWO WENT A-FISHING, AND WHAT THEY CAUGHT. "You may argue, Brother Brisdone, till all is blue," said Master Peasegood, "but I maintain that what I say is right. Now, look here; go back to the early days, and take your own apostle." "My own apostle?" said Father Brisdone, smiling, as they walked down the lane, soon after sunrise, one bearing a basket the other a bag. The heavy dew lay upon leaf and strand, and sparkled in the brilliant sunshine; birds sang and flitted from bough to bough, scattering the heavy drops from off each spray; and, as the two clerics had come out of the cottage after an early breakfast, they had stood breathing the soft pure air, and smiled back at smiling Nature. "My own apostle?" said Father Brisdone.