"Be a little more gentle with her!" Reginald exclaimed. "We can bring her to in a better manner than that;" and as he spoke he went to the spirit flask he had brought up from the yacht, and moistened her lips with some of the whisky, and bathed her forehead with water from one of the calabashes. "What the devil is the matter with the girl?" asked her brother. "She has never been used to indulging in such weaknesses--what does it mean?" "It means," the other replied, "that the storm has frightened her." "Bah! she has seen plenty of them since she was born. We are used to storms here." "And also," Reginald went on, "she saw a man--you--outside, listening to us. She saw your hand on the blind and your face through the slats, but did not recognise you. It is not strange that she should be frightened." But by this time Barbara was coming round--she opened her eyes as her brother spoke, then closed them again, as though the sight of him was horrible to her, and shivered a little. But, after a moment, she opened them once more, and, fixing them on him, said-- "You have come back. Where is father?" "He is dead," he said, using no tone of regret as he spoke, and, indeed, speaking as he might have done of the death of some stranger. "He is dead not an hour ago. The storm drove us here, brought us home. But as we reached the shore, for we could not get round to the creek, the breakers flung our boat over, and us out of it. I was fortunate enough to scramble on land, but the old man had no such luck. He was carried out to sea again, and I saw no more of him." Barbara had burst into tears at the first intimation of her father's death, and now she wept silently, her brother sitting regarding her calmly while he sipped at Reginald's flask as though it were his own!--and the latter felt his whole heart go out to her in sympathy. Yet--how could he comfort her? The one whose place it was to do that was now by her side, but being a rough, uncouth brute, as it was easy to see he was, he neither offered to do so, nor, it seemed probable, would he have done aught but mock at any kind words Reginald might speak. "Father! Father!" the girl sobbed. "Oh, father! And I have been looking forward so much to your return--hoping so much from it. Thinking how happy we might be." Her brother--who seemed to consider that, after having told her of old Alderly's death, no further remark on the subject was necessary, and who, if he knew what sympathy meant, certainly did not consider it needful to exhibit any--had by now turned his back to them and, going to a cupboard, was busily engaged in foraging in it. Reginald had seen Barbara take food out of this cupboard ere this, both for him and for herself--food consisting of dried goat's flesh, cheese and other simple things--and therefore he was not surprised at the man doing so now. But he was somewhat surprised at hearing Barbara, while her brother's back was turned, whisper to him--