"Nay, not you, sir. You're in command here, and as an officer you've got to let yourself drift off nowhere, and think about taking care of us. That's your duty, sir, and you know it. What's to become o' us if you cut yourself adrift? That won't do at all. There, sir, let's wait for day. We may have quite a breeze come with the sun, and soon after catch sight of the _Naughtylass_ bowling down to us. For, trust me, they'll see us fast enough. Young Mr Bob Howlett'll be up at the masthead spying out with his glass, see if he ain't. Better have a sleep, sir." "No, man, no; I'm too ill and miserable to sleep." "Then if you won't mind, sir, and'll give me leave, I will have a snooze. For I can't do you no good, and it will rest me, so as I shall be able to do something in the morning." "Sleep if you can," said Mark, bitterly. "Nay, sir, I can't sleep if you take it and speak like that. Dessay I shall be just as well awake." "No, no, lie down and rest a bit," cried Mark. "Mean it, sir?" "Mean it, man? yes." "Then thank ye, sir; and if you want me, just give the word, and I'll tumble up at once." To the lad's wonder, Tom Fillot lay down in the bottom of the boat, and five minutes after he was breathing deeply and as regularly as if nothing whatever were wrong. How that night passed Mark Vandean could hardly tell. He crept from place to place in the boat to see how the men were, and then crept back to his old seat close by Mr Russell. Then, with the boat gently rising and falling, he waited for the day, thinking of home, of the possibilities of escape, and above all, of the terrible hunger and fearful thirst which dried him up. "Will morning never come?" he cried, bitterly, and then prayed that it might not, as he recalled the sufferings of the past day; and now he was content to sit, thankful that the day did not break, for there was rest and less pain in the moonlight. It was like the delirium of a fever, in which one moment it was all calm, soft light in darkness, the next the sun had rolled above the horizon, and the boy strained his eyes in all directions for the coming ship, but looked in vain. Sea--smooth, slowly-heaving sea--everywhere, all ruddy gold and amber now, and heat once more burning into his brain, till a strange sense of weariness came over him, a feeling as of the beginning of sleep. He fought against this time after time, and strove to keep to his duty, but it was all-powerful, and at last, feeling that he was sinking into delirium or a deadly sleep, he stretched out his hand to awaken Tom Fillot, but paused so as to give one despairing glance round. The next instant he had glided down into the bottom of the boat, insensible to everything save his fevered dream, which was of green fields, sparkling waters, and home.