"I think it's impossible, Tom." "Don't say think, sir. It's what you say without the think, and so I tell you. Impossible, and I don't say that because I ain't willing to work. I'll take an oar, and row till I drop if you like, but what good will one man do, or one man and a young gentleman? You needn't say you think it's impossible, sir, for you know it is, and that all we can do is to sit and wait. To-morrow morning, I'll rig up the flag over an oar, so as to keep the sun off Mr Russell, sir." "If the ship hasn't come and picked us up, Tom." The sailor was silent. "Don't say you think she will not," cried the lad. "Very well, sir, but I'll say this she can't sir, till there's some wind, and that's why it is. The captain has either took the schooner or give it up; and then, as he was coming back to pick us up, he's been and got becalmed. When the crew has whistled enough and the wind come, he'll make all sail, but whether he'll find any of us left to pick up is more'n I can say." The man ceased speaking, and resting his chin upon his hands, sat watching the glittering water stretching right away beneath the moon, a scene of beauty so grand that for the moment it thrilled Mark, but only for that moment; the next he was in utter despair, famished, his mouth dry, and above all, suffering from a terrible feeling of horror which made him shrink within himself, as he knew that he was face to face with a fearful lingering death. "Beg pardon, sir," said Tom Fillot, suddenly, their companionship in misfortune having in no wise interfered with the sailor's respect for his superior, "like to try a bit o' 'bacco, sir?" Mark shook his head. "O' course not. You ain't used to it and don't want it. Try and go to sleep, sir. I'll keep the watch." "Sleep?" cried Mark, bitterly; "what for? to wake up and find it morning with the sun up, ready to scorch us to death?" "That's looking at the very worst side of things, sir," replied the sailor, cheerfully. "There's always a best side as well as a worst, and we're as likely to see one side as the other." "Don't, don't keep on talking," cried Mark, passionately. "All right, sir," said Tom Fillot. "I'll be as dumb as a ship's lead." "I mean--I didn't mean to speak roughly to you, Tom Fillot," cried Mark, eagerly. "I didn't want to wound you, but I know you were saying all that to try and cheer me." "Well, sir, to be downright honest, p'raps it was." "Then don't please. I'm sick and faint, and ready to die." "Nay, not you, sir. Too much pluck in you." "Pluck!" cried Mark, bitterly. "I'm in despair."